“Thank you, yes,” she whispered gratefully. She ran a hand down her brow, feeling he jewel that Clovis had tied there – a fashionable addition to her outfit, it nevertheless felt as if the ruby burned her skin. She wanted to tear it off, tear the brocade gown from her body, renounce her place here. However, where could she go?
Instead, she had to sit here, drinking water and eating meat and trying to pretend she was curled up in her little turret room, alone.
“Milady? What say you, of the castle’s stores?”
“Excuse me?” she raised a brow at Lord Dougal, who had spoken to her without any warning.
“I said, what think you of the readiness of this castle, should there be a siege?”
“A siege?” Irmengarde reached for her wine cup, feeling her heart thud in alarm. She pressed the metal rim to her lip and drank a little, hoping it might serve to calm her raging nerves.
“My wife runs little in the castle,” Clovis said dismissively. “I don’t expect her to. Why should she be able to keep track of stocks and usage?”
Irmengarde stared at him, shocked at the magnitude of the insult. He said it indulgently, but she saw the cruel look in his eyes as he glanced at her.
“My lord!” she drew in a breath to protest, but the visiting chieftain had already started to change the topic, focused on Clovis. She was shifted sideways from the conversation, like she didn’t exist.
She looked around the hall, feeling dazed. There were twenty men seated at the long bench, while she, Clovis and Lord Dougal sat alone together on the benches on the platform. The squires filled another long bench, mingling with the castle’s own guardsmen, who all ate together in the great hall. The place was filled with the din of conversation.
The thought of war was something she did not wish to contemplate. Yet, it seemed, these men were here to talk of it. Why else would Lord Dougal, their nearby neighbor, ruler of Filkirk, be here now?
“Excuse me,” she whispered. “I feel faint.”
Standing, she pushed in her chair, leaning heavily on the back. She looked down at Lord Dougal’s worried gaze.
“Milady? Is there aught that can be done? Need we summon a healer, or…?”
“I’m fine,” she whispered. “Just overly hot, hereabouts.”
She headed swiftly to the door of the hall and into the cold outer hallway.
The wind was howling round the castle, she noticed – inside the hall, with the doors closed and all the men busy talking, there was too much din to notice it. Here, it made a howling that made her cold, even though the place avoided the worst of the weather. She leaned against the stone and shivered, wondering if she would ever feel warm.
“Milady! The fire’s burning in the attic room,” a maidservant said, walking swiftly past with a tray on which she carried a salver of gravy.
“Thank you,” Irmengarde said raggedly. She walked swiftly up the hallway towards the turret. When she got to the top, she tensed. A guard stepped out in front of her.
“Milady? I’m sorry. His lordship said nobody was to come up here.”
“What?” Irmengarde stared. “That’s impossible! There’s no reason…”
“I’m sorry, milady,” he said softly. He looked embarrassed, Irmengarde thought, as if having to enforce this directive gave him as much pain as it confused her. “But his lordship said it’s unsafe to be up here in this room alone. The wind and weather are too fierce tonight.”
“What?” she said again. “But that’s ridiculous.”
“Sorry, milady,” he said. He looked at the floor. He had a pikestaff in his hands, and he lowered it so that it didn’t menace her. All the same, she felt her heart twist with pain.
“I will have to sleep elsewhere tonight,” she whispered.
Yet where could she go? The guests were meant to sleep in the turret where she usually slept – they had decided to put them there, despite how cold the north tower was, because of the rain and wind that tore against the eastern side. All the same, she would have gladly slept there, her refuge from Clovis. It seemed he’d guessed her plan.
“I can sleep in the still room, if I must! I will not be forced to be near that…that monster.”
She lifted her skirt a little and walked swiftly down the stairs, then turned right to where the Northern turret started. Her friendly guardsman was standing at the door.
“No…” she murmured, not wanting to hear that this tower, too, was barred to her. He raised a brow, frowning.
“Milady? What is amiss?”
“I’m seeking the healer,” she said quickly. “Is Mrs. McNeal in?”
“Milady!” a voice called from the shadow behind him. The solid, homely presence of the healer appeared on the step. Her face was tense. “We’re having a night of foul weather…my still room’s full of casualties. Mr. Peele fractured his collarbone, and we have two poor souls as almost drowned when the burne came down in flood…a bad night. I’ve scarce room in there as it is, and I’m already going out for another call. Can we use the lower parlor?”
“Yes, of course,” Irmengarde whispered. “The castle turns no one away.”
When Mrs. McNeal had gone, hurrying out into the night, a swathing canvas cloak pulled over her shoulders, Irmengarde leaned against the wall, tears pouring down her cheeks. Her last refuge was denied her. She could either try and sleep in the solar – praying that Clovis wouldn’t look for her there – or face him and hope he had drunk too much to do anything but sleep.
“I wish I was anywhere but here.”
She covered her face with her hands, crying hard. The torches bracketed to the wall cast ruddy light on the corridor, and, mercifully, she was alone there – at least for the moment. All the other guards were in the hall, along with Clovis and the household’s guests.
“I wish I could run away!”
Suddenly, it was all too much for her. The way he’d leaned over her, so threatening, as he’d stood in the doorway when he arrived back. The feeling of his hands, tying the jewel in place on her brow. His insinuating voice.
She reached up and ripped the jewel from her brow, casting it across the hallway. It hit the stones with a click, and rolled off.
Sobbing, she covered her face with her hands. She knew she was behaving in a way she didn’t like, but she couldn’t help it. The pain and rage were too much to bear. She wanted to tear the black-and-russet dress from her body, rip her hair. Scream her pain where nobody could hear her. She was a frightened prisoner in her own home, and she had no escape.
“I want to run away from here – far, far away.”
She heard the door open and tensed. The wind howled up the hallway, making her shiver. She rubbed her hands up and down her biceps, the thin black brocade sleeves affording little protection against a wind that poured down from the mountains, cold and swift.
“I’d better close it,” she whispered to herself. As she heard it bang shut, she winced and walked more swiftly. All they needed was for the lower door to break. Not now – not when there was some sort of threat of attack on the fort.
“I wonder if…oh!” she gasped as she walked into somebody, hurrying down the hallway. She looked up.
“You!”
Brogan, the horse trainer, looked down into her face. His hand was on her shoulder, and she felt its touch like fire. Her whole body was awash with feelings. She felt her heart thudding as she looked into his eyes.
“Milady! I’m sorry,” he said. His cheeks went red and she could almost imagine he was as hesitant and surprised as her. “I didn’t think you were abroad now.”
“I couldn’t take the heat of the hall a second more,” she whispered. “Oh, Mr. Covell…”
To her immense embarrassment, she covered her face with her hands, unable to hold back the tears. The humiliation, fear, the unspoken pain…all of them mixed and mingled within her in a sorrow that was too much to bear.
“Oh, milady,” he whispered. She sniffed, trying to hold back the tears, but unable to stop. His
words were so kind, his voice so gentle. She didn’t know if she could bear it without reaching for him and holding him close.
“Please,” she sniffed. “Forget about this…?”
“Milady, I couldn’t forget,” he whispered. “I can nae forget.”
“You must think I’m a fool,” she whispered.
“A fool? No!” he sounded almost angry. “Milady! I think you are…I think you’re beautiful, and wise, and tender hearted. I think…och, what am I saying?”
She blinked up at him, unable to believe it herself. Had he truly just said those things? He had gone white.
“Forgive my stupid mouth,” he said.
She smiled at him. “Oh, Covell,” she whispered.
He flushed and looked at his feet. “Och, milady. My father always said I’d make trouble for myself with me loose tongued gibbering.”
“I would prefer to think that was no mere loose tongued nonsense.” She gave him a sharp-eyed glare.
He grinned. “I’m making it worse, aren’t I?”
“You seem to have a talent for digging yourself further into the mud,” she said with a smile.
“Och, I do, milady. In all ways. Now…Might I ask if you were trying to go into the courtyard? Because if you were, I suggest you don’t go alone. It’s wild out there.”
“I wasn’t,” she whispered. “Or at least…Mayhap you could help me to the storehouse?” she said, thinking fast. The one chance she had to avoid Clovis was if she really did make herself ill. Then Mrs. McNeal would be able to sequester her with the other casualties.
And if I check the storehouse, at least I’ll know how we stand, should there be a war.
Gathering her skirt in one hand, she walked beside Mr. Covell. As they walked to the door where he’d lately entered, she couldn’t help but be aware of his strong frame, walking slowly beside her. She felt herself slip on the step and he reached out and gripped her hand. In that moment, he stared down at her, and their eyes met.
“Mr. Covell…”
“Milady.”
She leaned forward, as if some overwhelming impulse drove her. He seemed to feel the same, because he leaned forward too, and his lips gently brushed the skin of her face, just between the eyebrows. The place which had been adorned with the ruby – his kiss was worth a thousand rubies to her.
“Mr. Covell…we cannot…”
He swallowed hard. His eyes, when they held hers, were full of gentleness. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
His hands fell to his sides and he looked at the floor, ashamed.
She shook her head.
“You are not at fault. I just…we mustn’t,” she said.
“I know. And I beg to be forgiven.”
“There is naught to forgive.”
Her eyes held his for a second, and she saw confusion there. As well as joy.
She felt her own heart soar.
“I should go, Mr. Covell,” she said, her voice tight with too many feelings to name. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Lady Irmengarde.”
Hurrying back along the hallway, she heard the click of her shoe soles break the silence of the place, the only other sound besides the howling of the wind around the perimeter. The only sound, besides the beating of her heart, loud in her ears.
* * *
Brogan hurried down the hallway to the door. There, he turned and stared back down the corridor.
How can I understand what just happened? I can’t even begin to reckon it all out.
He couldn’t believe she’d really been there. That she’d really touched him. That he’d pressed his lips to that pale, fine skin and lived to recall it. He closed his eyes, recalling her to memory. She was the most beautiful woman he could have imagined – nay! He would never have imagined such beauty could exist in a human being, seeing only the exquisite freedom of horses as his standard.
Had that really occurred? Had he really just kissed Lady Irmengarde on the brow?
“I will never forget.”
He stared at the empty hallway, shaking his head in amazement. His whole body was aching, each part of him crying out for her to stay, for her to touch him and for her to rest her head against his shoulder, let him embrace her in his strong arms and hold her close to his skin.
“I should go.”
His body was afire, and he thought if he stayed here any longer, he would do something rash. He would at the very least attack the baron. That was not something he could do, and live. Strangely, now that he had met Lady Irmengarde, he very desperately did not wish to die. He wanted to find out what would happen next.
IN TIME
Brogan woke the next morning with a lightness in his heart he had never experienced – or, if he had, he’d long since forgotten what it felt like. He could feel the dawn's chorus as if it were part of him. He felt his heart soaring and he couldn’t stop smiling.
“Och, you’re cheery,” Bonnie said as she went past. Back bent, she carried a load of fresh water to the brewery – one wooden bucket in her left hand and another in her right.
Brogan nodded. “Aye. I am, that.” He could feel the chill of morning on his cheeks and smell the dew and his mind was full of thoughts of yesterday, and his talk with the baroness.
Bonnie said something in reply, but he was too far away and too self-contained to hear it. He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face.
“Morning, Covell,” Mr. Miller’s voice said from somewhere. Brogan swiveled round and found him, standing by the entrance to the stable. He felt himself deflate, but all the same he couldn’t entirely lose the feeling of joy that filled him every time he thought of yesterday.
She felt so warm and soft, so sweet under my lips’ touch!
He bit back the smile. Miller grumbled behind him. He heard his boots crunch on the flagstones and turned around to face the overseer.
“You’re up earlier than usual,” the fellow observed critically. “And I’m here tae tell ye that the horses need a run. Snowstorm in particular.”
“Aye,” Brogan agreed, lifting the rake and the shovel. “I ken they need a run, and a muck out, at least for now.”
“You di nae have to tell me my trade,” Miller grumbled. “No matter what you think.”
“I ken that,” Brogan said respectfully, as he heaved a pile of manure out of the corner of Sandstorm’s stall. A pale brown mare, she was much calmer than Snowstorm, though he believed they had been purchased together, both jennet horses, used mainly for everyday rides.
“Well, I have tae tell ye something,” Miller grumbled. “You’ve done great things for our horses. Snowstorm in particular – I reckoned the lad would never be safe tae ride. Now, he’s as right as rain. I have tae admit, I am impressed.”
Brogan stared – of all the things he expected to hear in his lifetime, praise from Mr. Miller, the overseer, was not one of them. “Thank you,” he said modestly in reply.
“Lad…I ken we did nae see each other’s viewpoints – not at first. But now…well, I’d like tae ask ye tae stay on. If ye’re amenable.”
Brogan felt his heart soar. He couldn’t quite believe it. He looked at his feet, feeling genuinely humbled by the offer. “That means a lot, Mr. Miller.”
“Och, lad. Get on doing it, then,” the man grumbled.
As he turned away, Brogan, watching him limp off to the yard, wondered if there was some hereto unexpected softness in the man.
“Hey, he’s a strange sort, eh?” he said to the horse. She snorted at him and rolled one eye, as if to prove to him that his job was not yet finished here.
“Aye,” he chuckled to her, and closed the gate, scraping the shovel a little on the floor as he headed into the next stall.
It was sunny out, but the wind was cold. Nevertheless, by the time he had finished half the row of stalls – five horses’ worth of stabling – he was soaked with sweat. As he worked, he heard a woman singing out in the yard. He peered out, seeing Bonnie there, cleaning out a big pail.
A thoug
ht occurred to him. He was going to be able to stay here. He should try to find out more about the lifestyle of the castle. Mayhap, he thought with a twist of pleasure, he would be able to study Irmengarde in more detail – so many facts about her life were mysterious to him. He wanted to find out more about her. He felt as if she was a beautiful song, that might go on forever, and he wanted to hear every single verse, missing no single nuance of the story.
“Hello, there,” he said, coming out in his sweat-soaked shirt, leaning on his shovel in what he hoped was a casual manner.
“You look wrecked,” Bonnie observed, giving him a sideways glance.
He chuckled. “Reckon I am. Mucking out’s hard work.”
“Aye! You’re telling somebody as knows,” Bonnie said. “I’m the one as cleans out the must from the barrels.”
“I see,” Brogan said, noticing she had a particularly noxious-looking substance in the bucket. He guessed it to be the residue from the brewed beer, but was too unsure to ask. If that was what came out of it, he wasn’t sure he was going to drink it with quite the relish he usually experienced. At least if he didn’t know for sure, he could enjoy it blithely yet.
“Well…reckon we need tae work,” Bonnie said, resting her hands on the small of her back. She looked tired. Brogan wondered how old she was, and guessed she was probably no older than Irmengarde, save that her life had been more physically demanding.
Not that the poor lady hasn’t had more than her share of travail.
“Bonnie…I was wanting tae ask…how does one go about finding a place to stay, here?”
“Och, that’s easy!” Bonnie chuckled, as if he was remarkably ignorant. “If they want ye tae stay on, they’ll find ye a place. Places go with the job, see? Like me. I worked here since I was a lass of fifteen. I stay up there in the garret.” She jerked her head up at the high roof of the brewery.
“I see,” Brogan said slowly. That gave him pause for thought. “So…you’ve been here a few years, then?”
Her Highland Protector (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 2) Page 8
