by Spear, Terry
She couldn't help the tears in her eyes that were running again down her cheeks.
"Nay, lass. 'Tis all right just yet."
She felt so needy, wanting more of his touch, a tighter embrace, but he seemed distracted.
“The soup is ready, but I should check your bandages first before we eat.” But she didn't let go of him.
He kissed the top of her head. "Aye. Let me remove my belt. I hoped you would take a look at them when I returned." He pulled away and unbuckled his belt.
Anora stared at Niall's tunic, surprised he still wore John's tunic when she had not seen his own drying over the fire.
“What is wrong, Anora?” he asked, as he put his sword on the table.
“You are wearing John’s tunic. Where is your own?”
“I hid it in the byre this morn. It would not have been a good idea to leave it lying about. Besides, you have not mended it for me yet.” He gave her a small smile.
Loving the way his mouth curved up in a teasing light, the way his dark brown eyes met her gaze and held it, the way he touched her with a tender caress—she realized just how much she had missed him.
Anora took a deep breath, glad he was all right. “Aye, 'twas much too wet last night. I will mend it today. My stitches may not be as fancy as what you are used to though.”
“You dinna have to worry about such things, Anora. I am sure they will be much grander than what I would do with the garment.”
Anora smiled. Niall groaned as he lifted his arms to pull off his tunic, and she quickly reached over to assist him. “You must lie down. You will never heal if you do not rest.”
She laid the tunic aside and unwrapped the bandage with a gentle touch. When she pulled the last layer from his chest and saw fresh blood, she frowned. “You are bleeding again. You must quit doing such strenuous tasks.”
“I will ask Cian Murray and his clansmen to leave me alone until I heal properly should I encounter them in your byre again.” He smiled tenderly down at her.
“Did… did you have any trouble?" She was afraid he might have had to fight more men, and hoped he had not. She carefully wiped the blood from around his injury.
"Nay, lass." He caressed her hair, and she looked up at him.
Her eyes were still teary. "Did you see any sign of your friend?” She had been afraid to ask, fearing his friend was dead.
He let out his breath. “Nay.”
Anora swallowed hard, worried he had not survived.
"It doesna mean he is dead. Just like I wasna. The Viking is even harder to kill than me."
Anora took a deep breath, certain Niall said so more for her benefit than anything. He looked more than anxious about his friend, no matter the face he tried to put on for her. “I will have to get some more mead to drink with our meal. Why do you not sit for a moment and rest? I will help to wash you as well.”
This time, Niall did as Anora suggested, no longer worried that she would tell anyone about his presence here. How could she? She'd helped him get rid of a bunch of dead men, and the ones still living would most likely want her dead now, too. If they learned of it.
Anora retrieved the mead, but before she could return to the cottage with the refilled flask, a man called out to her.
“Oh, Master Basil,” Anora said, whipping about, her hand to her breast. “You frightened me.”
Matthew's father looked similarly to Matthew, lanky like him, only a little taller and a lot grayer. He had a shiny spot on the top of his head, too, where the hair had fallen out. He was a kindly gentleman, with warm green eyes, and she oft wished his wife treated him with kindness like he treated others.
“I am concerned that a group of Murray have been searching for a couple of thieves. With you being out here all alone...,” he said.
“Aye, well, my distant cousin is here with me, and we are just fine,” she quickly said.
“My son told me about him. Niall, Matthew said his name was. How do you know this man is your relation? Is he French?” Master Basil glanced back at the cottage, his brow furrowed.
She was afraid he wanted to see Niall and question him or confront him or something.
“'Tis truly terrible about these men—stealing and the like. I hope Matthew has taken a proper escort,” she said, not wishing to answer the question one way or another.
“Is this… relation of yours still here?”
“Uh, aye, but he had a bad night last eve and is sleeping this afternoon. He had injured his back and 'twas bothering him something fierce.” She tried not to wring her belt through her fingers, a bad habit she had when she was nervous.
“Aye, Matthew said that, too. Are you sure that you are all right? Matthew said that the man would not let you out of his sight.” Matthew’s father looked back at the cottage, while Anora took a step in that direction. She was glad Niall didn't come out to see Mr. Basil, when after all Niall had been through, he needed to rest.
“We are just fine. Well, I must see to my meal. Would you care for some? I thank you so for the beef you sent me. That is what I am cooking this afternoon.” She offered, to be polite, but she knew he would not sit down with them to eat. His wife would have a fit if he ate with Anora and hadn't had her approval first.
“Nay, my dear. If you are all right then, I will check on you later since Matthew is not around to do the task. We do not like it that you live out here so far from the village the way that you do. 'Tis not safe for a woman alone. Good day.”
Anora watched as Master Basil walked back down the path to Banbh. Upon reaching the road, he glanced back at her, wherein she smiled and waved at him, glad he was leaving. He waved back, but didn't smile, then continued on his way.
Once he had disappeared from sight, Anora ran into the cottage with the mead. “I am so sorry, Niall,” she said, glancing at the chair where Niall had been sitting. Not seeing him there, she looked around the room. “Niall?” she asked, then rushed into the smaller room. She found him lying in her bed with the covers pulled over his head. She lit a candle.
“Are you all right?” He'd worried her to death.
He pulled the covers aside, and she touched her fingers to his temple. He took her hand and kissed it. “I am fine. You told the man I was resting, and I came right in here in case he wished to investigate your story further.”
“Matthew's father would not have done that.” At least she didn't think so.
“I dinna believe he thinks I am your relation.”
Anora smiled and moistened a cloth, then washed Niall’s chest. “How could he have? I have no relations that live here, after all.”
Niall frowned. “You are no' a princess.”
“Nay, I am not a princess. Where would you have gotten such a notion?” Anora said, chuckling, and finished cleaning his chest and his arms. “You must sit up, so that I may bandage you again.”
Niall sat up with Anora’s help, and she wrapped a clean bandage around his chest.
“You dinna mind if I stay longer?” he asked. "I willna for verra much longer. Mayhap just this eve.
She looked away, then, not wanting him to go. But she knew it wasn't safe for him here. She met his gaze again. “You saved me from a fate worse than anything I have ever feared, even riding a horse.”
Studying her, Niall nodded. “Then mayhap I can show you that a horse is naught to fear.”
“Nay. I need not have anything further to do with animals bigger than my sheep,” Anora said firmly, and headed back into the main room.
Niall followed her and took his seat at the table, while Anora ladled soup into bowls. Returning to the fire, she pulled the roast from the spit and laid it onto a wooden platter, then brought the meat to the table. Niall eyed the beef with a smile.
“You may cut it, if you like, and aren't hurting too terribly much.” She was afraid he would do it whether he was hurting or not, just too prove he could. She should have just carved it herself.
After slicing a piece off, and without taking his eyes from his duty as he sli
d the sharpened knife through the meat, he asked, “What ship were you on?”
Surprised he'd bring it up, she wondered how long he'd been considering the matter. She had thought he hadn't believed her.
Anora took a spoonful of her soup. “When?”
He frowned at her. “When you were six, of course.”
“I… do not remember that much when I was six. Do you recall anything when you were that old?”
Niall nodded. “Aye, many things. I remember riding on the hunts, fighting in mock skirmishes, swimming in the cold loch. Some of the ladies of my clan tried to teach me how to dance, even. We laughed hard as I recall. They were a patient lot.”
"When you were six?" she asked, incredulously.
"Thereabouts," he said, smiling.
“And now?”
“I believe I can dance fairly well. But as to this other matter... you said you had lost your kingdom.”
“Aye, was that not a good story?”
Niall studied Anora for a moment, and she swore he saw right through her. She struggled to come up with another subject to talk about when he asked another question.
“If I were to question the inhabitants of Banbh, what would they tell me of you?” He skewered a slice of beef and set it on her plate. He lifted another slice for his own.
“I do not know. I know very few of them.” Anora took another sip of her soup, again, trying to come up with something else to talk about, but other than his friend or worrying that the Highland brigands might return, she could think of nothing else to mention.
Niall noticed Anora running her hands over her tasseled belt and wondered if the lass was like a bard who made up tales to entertain. Some of what she said was mayhap true and mixed in with more of a made-up tale. He wondered.
“You are no' a princess.” Not a princess, Niall thought, but a countess. The countess he was looking for.
Anora laughed. “What difference does it make? If I were a princess, no one would believe me anyway. And the king, my father, has long since given up on me, if he is even king any longer. If I had a princely brother, he would not want a shepherdess sister… so I am a shepherdess, naught more.”
“Philippe, the Amorous? King of the Franks is your father?" he suddenly asked, worried that mayhap she was a princess, not the countess he was seeking, or the count had lied to James.
She frowned at Niall. "I know that is what the English call him, but…, 'tis all an unfounded rumor, I am sure. But aye. That king. Or mayhap, my father was the king's younger brother."
"Hugh… he was in the Crusades. Philippe had been excommunicated and couldn't serve due to falling in love with the Countess of Anjou and abducting her."
"He was in love with her, so I have heard."
"But he already had a wife."
"Aye. Or mayhap, my father was a…" She worried her lower lip and shrugged. "A fisherman who fished me out of the sea."
Niall studied her for some time, trying to decipher her words, which of it was true—if any of it. "But if you were a princess," he said, humoring her, "you could live in a castle, have servants carry out your every wish, marry a prince, a duke or a king…”
“Until someone wishes to take over my castle and then I would be hiding with a sheepherder in some meadow nearby some town like Banbh.”
Niall frowned at her. “The count said your ship was overtaken by the English and for many years the family thought you were lost, along with everyone else aboard the ship.”
“I have never been at sea. I told you it was just a story. Have I told you the one about the page who stayed beyond the castle walls after the gates were shut, and every night, the gate guard would have to open the portcullis to allow him inside?"
"Let me guess," he said. "'Twas a French castle."
"Mayhap. This happened for several nights in a row. The page wailed and carried on outside the gates, until the gatekeeper would let him in. On the last night, the king decided that the boy, who was seven at the time...”
“And you were?”
“About six, I guess,” Anora said, as she swirled her mead in her cup, “anyway the king said the boy would have to stay out for the night all that eve. The page wailed and lamented, begged, and screamed. 'Twas something awful to hear, but finally he fell asleep, and when the gates were opened in the morn, the boy was cured of his late-night wanderings.”
She had lived in a castle. With the king of the Franks. Devil take her. Was she telling the truth? Or reliving some childhood fantasy? He had to know if she was the right woman.
Anora smiled again. “I told you it was a story.”
“And the boy’s name?”
“Pierre.”
“A French boy?”
“I would assume. The name does sound French after all.”
“'Tis no' a true story.”
“Nay, 'tis not. You are right."
He didn't believe her. Niall sipped the remainder of his broth from his bowl, making her smile. “Would you like some more?”
“If you dinna mind. I thought you were angry with me for asking for more of your pork stew last eve.”
“Nay, I did not like that the two of you seemed to be competing over me, however.”
“Competing? Me?”
“Of course, not you. Where would I have ever gotten such a notion?” Anora returned to the table with the bowl full of soup for Niall, refilled his cup with mead, then sat back down at the table.
“You could be French,” he said slowly, watching her reaction.
“I am not French,” Anora said, looking like she stubbornly resisted the idea. “I am a Scot.”
Niall nodded, but he was certain she was not. “If you were sailing from our coast…”
“What makes you think I was on a ship? Did I tell you the story of the fish that got away?”
Niall laughed. No matter how much he had to learn the truth from her, he couldn't deny she amused him with her tales. “I dinna know what to think of you, lass.”
“Good, that is how it should be. If you thought I were a princess, you might insist I go back to live with the king…”
She paused, arched a brow, and he smiled. “Or mayhap he would wish to marry you off to someone of nobility.”
Anora refilled her cup of mead. “I like my life as a shepherdess. I would never wish for it to be any other way.”
“But if you were a princess…”
Anora stood abruptly. “I must clean out the sheep’s pen. Please rest awhile, and I will see how you are in a bit.”
“You willna stay with me while I finish the delightful roast you have made for us?”
Anora sighed, then retook her seat. “I believe you are the most handsome man I have ever encountered.”
Niall raised his brows at hearing the news. “Whatever made you think to say that, Anora?”
“Poor Matthew, he has a weak chin and an unmanly nose. Now you, your jaw is strong and persuasive.”
“I thought you said I was demanding.”
“Commanding, you said. And you have the loveliest dark brown eyes, like a stormy dark sea.”
“That you have never been on.”
“Aye." Anora frowned as she stared at her empty cup.
"Why do you not marry Matthew?”
“Did you not hear him? He wishes for me to move in with his mother and father. His father is like Matthew, kind and helpful, but his mother, ah, what a nightmare that would be, only I would have to live it all day long.”
“What is wrong with Matthew’s mother?” Niall finished his beef, then stood to carve another slice. As he sat back down, he looked up to see Anora watching him, and he smiled. “I believe I should take you with me when I return, as James's cooks could learn a thing or two from you.” But that was not the real reason he wished to take her to Craigly. He feared she was the countess, and not only that, but he didn't wish to leave her behind in any event.
“I like where I live just fine. As to your question, Matthew’s mother is the most criti
cal woman I know. She bosses Master Basil before the sun rises in the morning until way past the time when the sun has set. She is so argumentative. If you say the sky has clouds, she will say it is mostly filled with the sun. She says my cottage is too frilly for her taste…" She motioned to the baskets hanging on one wall, "…while to me, hers is cold and austere.”
And Anora did not love Matthew. Why could she not admit that?
Anora grabbed the empty bowls. “I must wash these now and you must get your rest.” Anora headed for the door, and Niall joined her, sword in hand. “Where are you going to now?” she asked.
“I will help you.”
“What if Cian's men return? You should lie down.”
“I enjoy being with you, but more importantly, if anyone should return, you may need my protection again.”
Anora shook her head and continued out the door. “You should rest.”
After washing her dishes, she set them on a board to dry, then heard a horse whinny inside her byre. She turned to Niall and frowned at him. “Do not tell me you brought one of the horses back with you. And housed him in my byre?”
Chapter 10
“Nay, no' all the horses are in the byre. Only Gunnolf's and mine," Niall told Anora, seeing how concerned she was as she stared at the building as if it suddenly had spawned mnathan nighe, the fairies carrying omens of death.
He'd rethought the matter and knew leaving his and Gunnolf's horses in the woods nearby would not be a good idea. He'd had enough trouble already with getting them back. Trying to reach Craigly Castle on foot would not be a viable option.
The notion of riding anything at the moment, though, was making him ill.
He believed if he did not lie down soon, he would collapse at any moment, his head and side aching, his body overheated from exertion, his vision blurring with pain, it was so intense.
"I need to find the lass—the French countess." Niall sounded as weary as he felt, instead of determined as he needed to be. But he wanted her to know how important this was.
Truth be told, he didn't believe he could ride any further, but he had to quickly move the horses from Anora's byre in the event any of Cian's men returned and discovered them there.
