Adventures of a Highlander

by Emilia Ferguson

  “They're harmless, really,” he whispered. Amice smiled.

  “Thank you, Henry.” She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back.

  When they arrived in the hall, the sudden warmth of the crowd enveloping them, murmured conversation filling their ears, they were approached by Lord Adair. He smiled warmly.

  “My lady! Lord Henri! Welcome! Please, let me introduce you to my father, the duke.”

  Amice swallowed nervously as she and Henry walked up the hall behind their host, conscious of the fact that all eyes were upon them. She heard a lady whisper something behind her hand and heard a gentleman murmur in response. She felt tense. Henry, beside her, looked completely at ease. Only she, who knew him well by now, detected a jump in his temple that showed he was concerned.

  “My lord father,” Adair said in a courtly voice. “Allow me to present Henri, lord de Courin. He is visiting from France. And this is Lady Amice, daughter of the thane of Dunkeld.”

  Amice blushed and curtsied to the tall, gray-haired man who turned to face them. He had a long, solemn face and massive shoulders. He had evidently been a fearsome warrior in his youth. She felt nervous as those sad eyes searched her face.

  “Pleased to meet you, my lady,” he said, bowing low. He looked at Henry and she saw a strange look cloud those knowing blue eyes. She felt herself stiffen. Henry didn't so much as blink. “Welcome to Scotland, Lord Henri.”

  Henry bowed low. “I am honored to be here, my lord. And even more to make your acquaintance.”

  “Mm,” the duke said mildly. “We don't see many envoys in this house.”

  Amice closed her eyes, feeling her heart thud. He suspects something. I don't know how I know, but I do. He's seen Henry somewhere before.

  “I am not an envoy, sir,” Henry said smoothly. “I am merely a wanderer, enchanted by all I hear of Scotland. I had to visit it.”

  “Oh.” the duke raised a brow. “You have lands that govern themselves, then? Lucky you! I am tied down by all my obligations in my duchy.”

  Henri didn't blink. “Well, I am merely a count, my lord. You are a noble duke. I am sure my responsibilities pale into insignificance in comparison.”

  “Maybe.”

  Amice cleared her throat. “It was so kind of you to invite us,” she said, favoring him with a big grin. “We were so pleased to be able to attend such a lovely gathering as this.”

  His face softened. “I'm pleased you accepted. Not often we have such a pretty face to grace our halls. What say you, son?”

  Adair coughed. He was staring at Amice and she felt hot color flood her cheeks.

  “Um, yes, Father.”

  His father laughed. “Yes. Now, I think it's time for a dance, eh? We're all here and we should dance before we dine.”

  Adair nodded. His father beckoned to a serving man, who must have relayed some command, because in a few moments the sound of a piper, then a hand-drum, joining it, started.

  The music pulsed, and lilted and stirred Amice's soul. She looked at Henry.

  “Shall we dance?” he said.

  She nodded.

  Soon, they were with the other guests, on the dance floor.

  Amice felt she ought to pinch herself as she faced Henry. He was so handsome and she felt so lovely. Here they were, in a hall in the city itself, with lilting music propelling them into the grave, sweet steps of a sarabande. She thought her heart would break for the beauty of it.

  Henry was a good dancer. He knew the steps and imbued them with a careless ease, as if he walked this way, not danced. He held out his hand and she placed her palm on it in the motions of the dance. His hand was hot and his skin smooth and she felt the contact jolt through her as if a spark jumped between their hands.

  He looked into her eyes and she looked into his. The hall, with all its finery and graceful dancers disappeared before her. There was only Henry, and the dance, and the space where their hands touched.

  Before she knew it, the dance was ending and they were bowing to each other, joining the other guests as they drifted off the floor.

  Henry took her arm and she linked hers through his, as naturally as if they did this every day. They walked without apparent intent, to the edge of the dance floor.

  “My lady,” he whispered. She looked up into his eyes.

  “My lord.”

  His mouth came down gently onto hers. Her lips parted under his tongue and she gasped as it slid into her mouth, probing and tasting her. He held her close, his hand stroking her hair. Her body was pulsing and flooding with heat, and she did not know what she wanted, except that, somehow, she needed to press her body against his, to feel that firm hard form against her.

  He moved back and she gasped as their lips parted. She blinked, realizing that her eyes had been closed, her whole body questing blindly to merge with his. She sighed.

  “Oh...Lord Henri, I...” she was suddenly flustered. What was she doing? What had she been thinking?

  He smiled. Very tenderly, he moved his hand from her shoulder. “I regret, my lady, that I should stop kissing you. If I do not, I am afraid I...” he shook his head. “I'm afraid I will do something regrettable. For both of us.”

  Amice frowned. She half-understood what he meant, and she blushed. She had heard of what men and women did with each other, had seen her maids, flushed and laughing, discussing it with big smiles and loud whispers. She realized with some surprise that her own body had been questing for that. That thing of which she'd heard in those whispered exchanges. She was startled. How did it, her body, know it, when she didn't know? It was most confusing.

  Henry smiled, his blue eyes regretful. “My lady, you are so beautiful. I could go on kissing you all night.”

  Amice blushed. “Oh, my lord. My dear Henry.”

  He kissed her, very gently, and then withdrew.

  Amice felt her whole body tingle at the touch on her lips. It lingered there, a slow fire, long after he had moved and stood beside her again.

  She looked across the hall and caught two eyes on her. Lord Adair. He had a bleak expression. Amice shuddered and drew close to Henry.

  That one is trouble. Both of them.

  The big, imposing duke and his handsome son could bring them into danger. The father suspected something, she knew it. One wrong word and they could both be dead.

  She nodded to him. He nodded stiffly back. Amice felt Henry move. He put himself right by her side, close and protective. His hand brushed hers, lightly.

  “I think it's another dance, yes?” He inclined his head toward the dance floor, where people were standing, lined up opposite each other in what looked like the start of a roundelay.

  “Yes,” Amice said quietly.

  “Well. Shall we?”

  Amice nodded and together they glided onto the floor.

  Amice caught Adair's eyes on them again, but then he turned to a lady beside him in a garnet-dark gown with hair a mass of spicy curls. He bowed to her and they walked smoothly to join them.

  With Adair involved with the lady, Amice felt herself less tense. She smiled up at Henry and he looked down into her eyes. Then they were lost again in that held gaze.

  Amice heard a cough and glanced at a smooth-faced young lord with red hair who looked vaguely annoyed. She realized with some horror that she had been standing in the middle of the dance floor while the other couples moved around them.

  “Do excuse me,” she blurted. He gave her a small smile.

  “Of course, milady.”

  Amice and Henry resumed the dance, both somewhat dazed.

  Later, the company drifted to the long benches and trestles, where the dinner was being held. Amice stared in amazement at pies and roast game, tureens of turnips, cabbage, beans, beets, and all manner of things issued from the kitchen. She had never seen so much food in one place, nor so elaborately prepared.

  They were seated at the high table, some way down from the duke and his son, where they sat beside the salt-cellar. The spice-haired woman wa
s there, near Lord Adair, which relieved her anxiousness somewhat. He wouldn't be watching them overmuch. As it was, she was right. He was staring at the other woman, talking earnestly together.

  All the same, she felt a shiver as the duke turned his sad eyes on them. He probably isn't looking at us. All the same, she shuddered.

  “My lady.” Henry raised his glass to her. She smiled and raised hers. They were tankards made of solid pewter, and must have been worth a substantial amount on their own. The whole place spoke of restrained luxury, from the oaken benches to the roaring hearth to the high ceilings, vaulted and beautiful and lost in the dark above their heads.

  “My lord.”

  They drank and ate, talked and laughed, and enjoyed the evening. Amice felt herself relaxing, allowing the effect of good food and good company to relax her. She and Henry smiled at each other and talked.

  “So you have no brothers, you said?” she asked.

  “That's right,” Henry nodded. “One sister, though I've not seen her in years. Jeanne. She married when I was a lad and we don't see each other regularly.” He made a wry smile and reached for the tureen of cabbage in the center of the table.

  “That's sad,” Amice said.

  “Indeed.” He shrugged. “But one can't help it.”

  Amice sipped her drink and smiled. “I'm also the youngest.”

  “Are you?” He grinned. “I would never have guessed.”

  She made a face. He roared.

  “Oh, Henry.” Amice felt her heart fill with love for him.

  “What?” he asked, blue eyes tender.

  “I...” she shook her head. “I'm so glad we met.”

  “Me, too.”

  After the dinner, the party started drifting off. Some of the guests said their good-nights to the duke and went up to the guest quarters. Some left through the great front door, heading out into the night. Henry looked at Amice when the guests beside them departed.

  “Shall we go?”

  “Yes, my lord,” she nodded. “I'm sleepy.” It had been a long day.

  “Mm.” He nodded, stifling a yawn. “Let's retire.”

  They went together to thank the duke, who looked quite tired himself. He barely looked at them and Amice felt the knot that had tied up inside her relax as she realized he wasn't going to study them too closely.

  “Thank you, my lord, for your hospitality,” she said.

  “Oh, aye,” he said, dismissive. “Of course, my lady. Have a good rest.”

  “Thank you, my lord. You too.”

  She curtsied, Henry bowed, and then they were turning to Lord Adair.

  “Goodnight, my lord,” Henry said first.

  “Goodnight, Lord Henri.”

  His voice was firmly polite. Amice shivered. She curtsied and he bid her goodnight too in the same distant, formal way. She let out a sigh of relief as she and Henry left.

  They walked up the stairs slowly together, heading to the place where they were quartered. At the top of the stairs they stopped.

  Henry's hand was on her wrist. She looked into his eyes. She felt lightheaded with tiredness and something else, some strange spark that was flaring within her. He moved closer and his hands rested on her shoulders. He looked into her eyes.

  His mouth came down on hers gently, lingering there. His tongue, soft and quick, dabbed at her lips and she sighed as that strange spark jolted inside her. She let her lips part and his probing tongue slid between.

  Then his arms enfolded her and she felt his hard body press against her. She moved against him, loving the feel of his strong arms on her body, the way his hands stroked her hair, the warm probing mouth on hers. She could feel heat rising in her and need was flaming through her body, making her shiver with intensity.

  He gasped and pulled back.

  “I...” he stammered. “We shouldn't.”

  They parted at her bedchamber door. He leaned forward and kissed her again, a searing, passionate kiss that made her feel breathless. She fell in through the door and they tumbled onto the bed together.

  He was on top of her and the sweet weight of his body made her own cry out with need. She could feel his breath quickening and knew he felt as she did. His hands were stroking her, first her hair and then moving down. They stroked the bare skin of her throat, tracing fire through her body. His lips moved lower, sucking gently at the pale skin of her chin, her neck, her shoulder. She was shuddering with desire.

  “My lady.” He sat up, eyes huge. “I...We shouldn't!” He sounded firm and urgent. She smiled up at him, her own body a cacophony of need.

  “I know,” she whispered. “But I want...”

  “Oh, my lady,” he chuckled, distracted. “You have no idea how much I want, my lady. Nevertheless, we cannot. I am a gentleman. You are a lady. We mustn't.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  She sat up, feeling strangely bereft as he went out of the chamber.

  All the same, when she disrobed and lay in the soft, warm bed, plush pillows under her head, she couldn't help a delicious smile as she remembered the way it had felt when they lay like that, with him embracing her.

  A SECRET THREAT

  The next morning Henry awoke to the sound of wheels rumbling in a courtyard. It was a familiar sound; the produce arriving in the castle bake house. He opened his eyes on the hazy light of his chamber and stretched, relishing the feel of the soft mattress below him.

  It's rare I spend such a comfortable evening.

  It was. It wasn't just the warmth, the comfortable mattress or the delicious meal. It was her. Lady Amice.

  He closed his eyes, recalling every detail of the previous evening. His body hardened as he recalled how it felt when his tongue thrust between those moist lips, or how her plump breasts pushed against his chest as he lay on her, soft and round and inviting to hand and mouth.

  He shivered, wanting her.

  “Whist,” he said to himself, and laughed. His body was strained with need and the more details he remembered the more hopeless it was. He sat up.

  “Time to get downstairs.”

  He had always woken early. It was a habit that had set him apart in his father's home, where the noblemen tended not to surface before nine of the clock at the earliest. He himself was always alert the moment he heard the carts rumble into the yard and wanted to be up and about.

  I like the quiet, before the others stir.

  He drew off his nightshirt, the cold making his body tense. He reached for his tunic, shrugging it on, rolling muscular shoulders to let it settle well. Then he sat down to draw on his trews and splashed his face in the pitcher of water on the nightstand. He winced.

  “It's so cold.”

  He chuckled. It was January, and the winter still held the land, though he had to agree with the customs official that spring was approaching now.

  He dried his face on a linen scrap and went downstairs.

  In the great hall, the men at arms were seated at their breakfast. He nodded to them. He guessed he probably wouldn't be able to speak much with them, and besides, he had drawn quite a few startled expressions. He wasn't surprised – it wasn't often a foreign nobleman turned up in the hall to enjoy their breakfast. The castle guests would likely meet up in the solar where it was quieter.

  Not much chance of getting any information. He sighed. He went out of the side door into the courtyard, taking a brisk stroll. Already men were on the practice ground, and he could hear the grunts as they took turns facing each other with their swords.

  Upstairs again, he paused in the hallway he guessed led to the solar, just up from the upper colonnade. Should he go in? It wasn't likely anyone was about. He went in.

  The room was cool and gray-shadowed, the light filtering in through the row of long arched windows that overlooked the yard. His eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, and he stopped in his tracks when they focused on red hair.

  “My lady?”

  She turned, those brown eyes wide, soft lips parted in a little “o” s
hape that ignited his blood.

  “Lord Henry!” she smiled at him. “You rise early too?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  She laughed, a tinkle like bells ringing. “Well, then. You must join me. A very worried serving maid went to fetch me porridge.”

  Henry chuckled. “I'm sure she's never seen guests up early.”

  Amice nodded. “Quite.”

  They sat in companionable silence, both enjoying the morning's stillness. The maid returned, armed with a vast cauldron that smelled delicious. It proved to contain thick, rich oaten porridge. Henry reached for the ladle and grinned when Amice lifted the pottery bowl, passing it to him.

  “You first?”

  “Yes.”

  They giggled and he filled the dish, which she took with wide eyes.

  “Mm.” She laughed. “This is a proper breakfast.”

  “Yes.” Henry made a face. “I am sorry about that sorry mess yesterday.”

  “Well, we more than made up for it later.”

  “Indeed.”

  She smiled and reached for the silver cellar of salt, scattering a generous handful on the porridge, which was served with butter and well-salted. Henry frowned.

  “I must confess this is new to me.”

  Amice chuckled. “Scottish staple. Enjoy it.”

  Henry lifted a mouthful to his lips, wincing at how hot it was.

  She giggled. “Blow on it a little.”

  “Is that not rude?” He raised a brow.

  “It probably is, in company, but I'm here and I told you to.”

  He roared with laughter. He obeyed her command and blew, then ate it. It was delicious.

  As they ate, they talked.

  “I think I'll want to talk to Adair today,” Henry said. He made a face. “Well, that's too strong. I have to talk to Adair today. I'm trying to find this...information,” he sighed. “I would tell you more, but I don't want to endanger you. With these things, the less one knows, the better.”