Adventures of a Highlander

by Emilia Ferguson

  Amice! How can you even think such things?

  Shocked as she was by her own response, she couldn't help a smile. He is...remarkable.

  She let herself think over the encounter. Every word they had said to each other was lodged firmly in her mind. She let the musical French tongue wash through her, coloring each phrase they'd exchanged with its own shining glamour. She recalled how his eyes had looked into hers, what he'd said.

  “...so beautiful a lady.”

  She grinned, glowing.

  He really thought she was beautiful! It was such a nice feeling. No one had actually ever said that to her before, she realized. Of course, her mother and aunts said she was beautiful, but she had always just assumed they were being sweet. In a household that boasted the striking Joanna and her lovely cousin Leona, she had always felt just ordinary.

  The inn bedchamber featured a big bed, covered with thick linen covers, a fire and a dressing table on which balanced a silver mirror. She looked into the mirror, contemplating her reflection.

  An oval face with big, earnest eyes looked out at her. She had full lips, a small chin, and her brown eyes were fringed with black lashes that contrasted with her pale red hair.

  I suppose I'm not exactly ugly...

  Amice chuckled to herself. What was she even thinking? Her face grew serious again as she recalled that she wasn't here for fun and games, but to help her cousins.

  She frowned, feeling suddenly distressed again. What if she couldn't help her cousins? What if she couldn't find them? All things considered, she didn't even know where to begin.

  I wonder if Monsieur de Courin would know where to start?

  The thought made her heart beat faster. Of course he would! Yes, he might not have actually seen their ship, she reasoned, but he would be able to help her to ask questions! At least he might have heard of Conn, who was now the Count of Annecy.

  She looked about the room, and then stood, reaching for her cloak. She hoped he would still be down in the dining room when she got there.

  At the door, she paused. Her hair, which she wore loose, as a young girl would, was disheveled after the long trip. She reached for her comb and took a moment to brush through it, biting her lip a little to make the color stronger.

  Amice, stop being silly! Your cousins' lives might be in the balance. Go down.

  She couldn't help that she wanted to look her best for him and, turning from the mirror one last time, headed downstairs again.

  The noise of the taproom washed up to her – raucous laughs, crude shouts. She tensed. Was she quite mad? Here she was, a young lady, a nobleman's child, heading down to the common dining room of an inn in Queensferry. It was dangerous. Not to even mention highly improper. As it was, her mother had hesitated to send her without a second escort. However, they both trusted Bronn and knew he would keep an eye out for her.

  “Hey! Billie! Tell the story again!”

  “Nay! You heard it th' first time!”

  Amice shuddered at the coarse shouts, the language becoming quite descriptive and even cruder as Billie launched into retelling the tale. She was sure that if any of them caught sight of her, as a young woman, unaccompanied, she would be treated foully.

  Why didn't I go and find Bronn instead?

  She hovered in the doorway of the dining room, looking in. The firelight flooded the place and she had to slit her eyes to see against the sudden brightness. She could make out three or four figures standing by the counter and several more at tables. When she appeared, blinking in the lamplight, they fell silent.

  The silence was predatory. Amice felt her heart thump in the casing of her chest. Why had she come down? Without the innkeeper to stand between her and these men – and maybe even in spite of his help, for what could he do against more than one or two? – she was in serious danger.

  “Missy!” one of the men shouted. He said it in a wheedling tone, teasing and demanding at once, and Amice took root in the doorway. She weighed up her options: run back down the hallway and hide in her bedchamber, or run down the stairs to the stable where Bronn waited. While she hesitated, someone laughed.

  One of the men shouted something coarse, the meaning of which she barely understood. Then he stepped forward even as his companions cackled.

  No. No, no, no. Amice wanted to run but her mind had frozen. Her feet were planted in the floor and she couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't shout...

  “You will leave the lady alone.”

  A voice spoke, lethally, from her elbow. Amice felt herself almost collapse, relief robbing her of her tight-reined strength. The voice had spoken fluent French, firm and commanding. The men who faced them didn't understand his words, but, not unsurprisingly, they understood his threatening physical presence.

  The man who stood before her shrugged and backed off, grinning.

  “Only funning,” he muttered under his breath as he took his seat. The comment made Amice want to slap him. Funning, my eye, she wanted to say. There was no joke intended. They had meant to harm her.

  “My lady,” Monsieur de Courin murmured in her ear. “Come away, please?”

  Amice swallowed, nodding once. She backed away over the threshold and into the dark hallway. Henri de Courin looked into her face, blue eyes seeming troubled.

  “My lady. I'm so glad I was there. Come. Let's go somewhere safer.”

  Amice nodded, feeling as if she had sprinted half a mile. She was bone-achingly weary all of a sudden. It's the relief.

  She followed Henri into a side room that turned out, as he held a tinder to the coals and lit a lamp, to be a parlor. He motioned her to the carved wooden settee, then sat down opposite on a clothes box.

  “My lady. You are very daring. But this place is not safe.”

  Amice swallowed, nodding. “I know that.” She braced herself for him to begin lecturing her, feeling more than slightly annoyed by the presumption. Men had threatened her, and he was a man. How did she know he wasn't the sort who would take advantage of a girl in similar circumstances? A gentleman or not, he could still be dangerous.

  “I'm just glad I found you,” he said gently. “Now, I know it's improper for me to speak with you alone, so I hope you can forgive me,” he continued. Amice blinked, surprised. It seemed as if he'd read her thoughts, almost.

  “I can forgive you,” she said mildly. He laughed.

  “I'm most glad. Now, since I happen to have bumped into you again, might I ask you what I wished to ask earlier?”

  Amice swallowed, feeling her heart thump. “It depends,” she said.

  “Depends?”

  “It depends what it is,” she said. She hadn't meant it to be a teasing statement, but the look on his face was one of such consternation that she couldn't help laughing about it.

  “My lady,” he said, running a hand through that blond hair absently. He was laughing, and the warmth lit his eyes. “You are sharp.”

  “Only with you,” Amice said honestly. Then they both laughed.

  “That ought to wound me, but strangely, it makes me glad.”

  Amice felt the words settle on her soul. Her eyes looked into his and neither of them broke the gaze. She felt as if she was slowly catching fire.

  She coughed. “I was glad I found you,” Amice began slowly. “Not just because of...what you did for me just then. But because I needed to ask you something.”

  “Oh.” He blinked. “Well, then. I propose my terms. A question for a question.”

  Amice stared. “Very well,” she said, amazed. How abrupt was this man?

  “You can start, my lady. Lady's privilege.”

  She made a face, and then spoke. “You sailed from France. Yesterday, you say. Did your ship encounter no problems? No detention? No inspection at the port?” she asked, intrigued. Why did he escape notice? Why were Conn and Leona being investigated? Where were they?

  “Ah.” He frowned. “Well, my lady, that makes things difficult. For several reasons. You see...I didn't arrive yesterda
y.”

  She watched his face. Why was he so worried? And why had he lied to her? Not for the first time, she wondered what was happening here.

  “Oh,” she said, blandly.

  “Yes.”

  They both sat still for a bit. Amice twitched and Henry spread his hands, inspecting the knuckles thoughtfully. Several questions went through her mind. When did you arrive, then? Why keep it a secret? What is a Frenchman doing here in Queensferry, alone, at the end of winter?

  She didn't say any of those things, though. They were, she decided, not her place. The only interest she had right now was finding Conn and Leona and speaking for their release. Or that was her only interest, at any rate, until she met the tall, handsome gentleman.

  “I suppose that sounds strange,” Henri said after a moment. Amice said nothing. He coughed, or it could have been a laugh, she wasn't sure. “Well, I wish I could do more to explain, my lady. But all I can do is promise that, in time, it will become clear. And I believe that is the best answer I can make to your question.”

  “Very well,” Amice said, feeling her heart flip over as she realized it was his turn to ask his own question. What would he say?

  “Well. Now is it my turn?” he asked. His face was strangely expressionless, and Amice felt the first twinge of alarm. How had she let herself get isolated in this place with this stranger? She stood and was about to call out, when he spoke, stopping her.

  “Your cousins are being detained to avoid an incident,” he said levelly. “I might be able to help you find them. First, I must ask. Is that the reason why you are here?”

  Amice stared at him. Why would he ask such a strange question? Of course it was! What reason would she possibly have to lie about her purposes to a man she'd never met? She cleared her throat to make a sharp retort, and he chuckled.

  “I've offended you. I'm sorry. But my lady, I had to know.”

  Amice sighed, feeling her head sink forward. It was late, she was tired and confused. Worse, nothing made sense. “Yes,” she said dully.

  “Yes?”

  “Yes, that's the truth!” she snapped, feeling her patience suddenly fray through. “I am here to find my cousins. They may be in danger. Cousin Leona is expecting a child! I'm here to take them safely home. Why do you think I'm lying to you?”

  Her voice went hoarse with feeling. She heard it and knew she couldn't change it. She sank back down on the seat and sighed, covering her face with her hands.

  She was as good as alone in a strange inn, in a dangerous port town, with a man she had no reason to trust. She might be facing her own barbarous death. If he used her and killed her, who would know? They would fish her out of the river tomorrow and nobody in her family would ever know where she had disappeared.

  As she realized the intensity of her predicament, her shoulders shook with sobs. She bit her lip, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Shoulders heaving, she sobbed silent tears, tracking silver pathways down her cheeks.

  “Here,” a voice said gently. Suddenly he was beside her on the settee, and his hand covered hers. “Please. Don't cry.”

  He was fishing in his pocket for something and Amice remembered she had his handkerchief. She took it out and showed him. “Here it is.”

  He smiled. “I didn't know you'd kept it.”

  Amice blushed. Foolish girl! Now he knows you like him. What will he think of you?

  “I did keep it,” she said stonily. She looked at her hands. “I didn't have one.”

  He laughed. “Well, take mine, then.” He folded her hands over it. “I'm sure no scrap of linen ever had such a good fate as to touch that cheek.”

  Amice felt a slow shiver work through her body and up toward her heart. His face was beside hers. He had left his hands were they were, holding hers. His mouth was close to hers.

  Before she had time to think about it, his lips moved over hers. He kissed her.

  Amice wanted to protest, but his touch on her skin there was so tender, so pleasant, that it died in her throat. She closed her eyes as he lifted a hand and cupped her head with it, lifting her mouth gently so it pressed a little more firmly to his. She shivered as his lips stroked over hers, playing lightly over her mouth. They nibbled and nuzzled her lips, feeling exploratory. She sighed.

  He leaned forward and now his mouth parted over hers. She could taste the sweetness of him when her own tongue flicked suddenly out. She felt him tense as she tasted him and was astonished by her boldness.

  All of a sudden, she sat up, blinking hard.

  “What will you think of me?” she murmured. She felt her face burn with shame and looked at her hands. Who did she think she was, kissing a stranger in the top room of an inn? She should be shocked at her own behavior. Strangely, all she could feel was joy and the flutter of wonder in her heart.

  She heard him laugh, and her heart fluttered more.

  “Lady Amice,” he said in a voice that stroked over her like warm syrup. “If I were to enumerate exactly what I thought of you, you would blush so sweetly, I would have to kiss you more. But suffice to say that I'm sorry I presumed on you like that. It was my fault.”

  Amice stared at him.

  He smiled.

  Gently, very deliberately, he bent down to kiss her again. Like the first kiss, this was a hesitant one, gentle, the gentlest trace of his mouth moving over hers. All the same, it lit fires within and made her want to stay here with him always.

  All too briefly, he stopped. He sat up, looking into her eyes. He shook his head.

  “I'm an idiot,” he said frankly.

  Amice frowned. “No, you aren't,” she said sincerely. “Why do you think you are? What did you do?”

  He chuckled. “I...I should resist you. I just can't.”

  Amice felt new color touch her cheeks. She blushed. “That does not sound so bad to me.”

  He laughed, trying to keep the noise down. His shoulders shook. “My lady, I am delighted to hear it.” His hand covered hers again and he stopped laughing. “Truly, that is the best thing I have heard in ages. But now, I think we have to be careful.”

  “Careful?” Amice frowned. His hands on hers, squeezing her fingers, lit fires in the most unimaginable places in her. She blinked and tried to think. It wasn't easy.

  “Well,” he paused. “Here we are. We both know something about the other, but not very much. We are both in danger. We both seek something. In addition, I am in serious danger of forgetting all restraint with you. So, we should perhaps say our goodnights. We will meet at breakfast, maybe?”

  Amice knew she was flushed and breathless, but she couldn't change that. She couldn't believe what she had just heard. “Yes,” she managed. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Goodnight, my lady. I hope I can help you. It would be my very greatest pleasure.”

  The word pleasure lingered on his tongue and Amice shivered. She smiled. “I would be happy if you could, sir. I appreciate your help. You already aided me.”

  He looked at his hands. “It was nothing,” he said hoarsely. Amice smiled.

  “It was certainly something. Now, goodnight monsieur.”

  “Goodnight, my lady.”

  Amice hurried away along the hallway, running down and then up the stairs to her bedchamber. She leaned on the door, heart beating fast. Only when she had bolted it behind her and sat down heavily on the clothes chest, by the hearth side, did she finally stop shaking.

  What is going on?

  She shook her head. She was in Queensferry, seeking her cousins. She had no idea where to start looking – the port master had already said he couldn't help her look for them. Now she had met a strange man, a man with secrets. She felt more close to him than she had ever felt to anyone before.

  “You just met, Amice.”

  She shook her head. She knew it was silly, but it was how she felt.

  She lit the lantern on the dressing table at the embers, as he had. Then she started to undress. Her body, pale and curved in the flames' brightness,
seemed strange to her. It was as if she strove to see herself through his eyes. She sighed.

  He called me beautiful...really.

  She slid into her nightgown and blew out the lamp, then bundled under the covers and tried to get warm. As she curled up, hands round her knees for warmth, she realized she was holding something. With a surprise that was tinged with a delicious sense of expectancy, she discovered it was du Courin's handkerchief.

  She tucked it under the pillow and fell asleep with it by her face. She could just smell the sweet musk and spiced scent that reminded her already, forcefully and wonderfully, of him. She fell asleep with a big smile on her lips that night.

  BRUSH WITH DANGER

  Henry woke, without knowing what woke him. He tensed and listened carefully. He had been having a beautiful dream, starring the lady Amice and himself, and fairly colorful in its contents. He blushed.

  Well, it isn't as if dreaming isn't allowed in this country, is it?

  He felt himself smile. If it wasn't allowed, the dream he'd just had would almost certainly rate as a terrible crime. He shook his head and forced himself to listen. What had woken him?

  He thought he heard a scuffle downstairs in the taproom. He tensed. Listened harder. Smoke.

  Acrid and tinged with the scent of coal, the scent of smoke curled up to his nose from the floor, strong and insistent.

  The inn is on fire.

  On pure instinct, Henry rolled out of bed and came up standing. He dragged on his shirt, which he'd left by the bed instinctively, and drew on his trews unseeing. The room was almost completely dark; the only light the fitful light of the night sky, leaking in through the uncovered window by the fire.

  He dressed and knelt, blowing on the embers to give faint light. Then he looked about. He grabbed his case – he traveled with a single saddlebag, bearing only a few papers and his coin, and nothing else – and headed out.

  Smoke filled the hallway. He coughed. He knelt down, breathing in the clearer air that hung just above the ground. Anyone who traveled on a ship regularly knew some things about what to do if it caught on fire – fires at sea were more common than people thought. On a contraption made of wood, all it needed was a cook with a careless hand or one forgetful sailor to get roasted in the dark.