“Just eight,” Bonnie said, with a grin, as if she was glad he’d not guessed too many years since she was fifteen. “And not much has changed in the castle, if you ask me.”
Brogan frowned. “So…you arrived here when Lady Irmengarde lived here already?”
“Och, no, lad!” she shook her head, eyes big with surprise. “She’s only been here a year or two. No…I were here before she arrived, when his lordship oversaw the place alone, see?”
“I see,” Brogan nodded. His tummy clenched with a sweet sensation – he was finding out more about her! He paused, wanting to ask the best questions while he had a chance to find out. “Well…they must have wed recently, then?”
“Aye! Two years ago, at most!” Bonnie chuckled, as if he was stating the obvious. “And in that time, things have got better for us. More supplies in winter, kinder treatment. The baroness is a grand woman.”
“I believe it,” Brogan nodded.
“That feller ought tae kiss the earth she treads on. Miserly scum he is – baron or no. Forgive me, but that’s what he is, and I speak my mind.”
“I understand,” Brogan nodded slowly. “And Lady Irmengarde herself?”
“What about her?” Bonnie asked defensively.
“Does she like the castle? Did she come from further north, before she settled here in the borderlands?”
Bonnie shrugged. “I don’t know, Brogan.” She stared out across the courtyard as if, for a moment, she was staring into the past. “I recall when she came here. It was a winter day, and she rode at the head of a long train of guardsmen. She were wearing a green dress, trimmed with velvet. I thought she looked as bonny as a newly leafed tree. She looked quiet, too – sort of inwards…I do not ken the words for it. Like she was far away inside, even though she was here.”
“I understand,” Brogan nodded. He imagined that, by that time, she would have guessed what manner of a man the baron was.
“Och! There’s Fergal. Ahoy, laddie!” she yelled.
Brogan turned to see her friend – and his – the guardsman, striding over. He caught Bonnie in his arm and kissed her brow.
Brogan looked away. He didn’t want to embarrass his friends by watching their intimate moments.
“Want a pint?” Bonnie inquired, frowning.
“No…I should work,” Brogan said. He headed back into the stables, thoughts full of Lady Irmengarde. He wished, more than anything, he could talk with her and help her in some way.
He was finishing the stalls – the one empty one at the far end still needed cleaning out occasionally, even if no horses occupied it – when he heard a noise.
He turned as footsteps came up the aisle between the stalls. He stared.
“Milady!”
Dressed in a dark riding dress with russet brocaded cuffs, Irmengarde looked more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. The long black hair she wore loose caught the air’s motion as she walked and her pale skin glistened.
“Mr. Covell,” she said. She was smiling.
Brogan just stood where he was, staring openly.
“Mr. Covell?” she frowned. “Will you saddle my horse? I have had good news. I believe Lord Dougal will be holding the road for us, should any invading army creep this far up the valley.”
“Invading army?” Brogan ran a hand down his face, where sweat dripped into his shirt, unchecked. “Milady…what’s happening?”
Irmengarde grinned. “I forgot – you weren’t at the council yesterday. Nor was I, but I heard of it. We have heard rumors that some Scots lairds wish to overthrow the new King. It is our duty to subdue them, should it happen.”
“I see?” Brogan said, though he couldn’t keep the question from his voice. He wondered why a woman so obviously connected to the Scots cause would join anyone in supporting an English influence on the throne.
“If it seems necessary, the baron will station himself at Filkirk awhile. I will remain here to oversee the place for him.”
“I see,” Brogan said again. He wanted to smile – now he knew why she looked so relieved! She would have a respite from that horrid man.
“I wish to go out for a ride on Grayswift,” she said, and he could hear the relief in her voice, and the music of it. “I understand the baron is away riding.”
“I see,” he said for the third time, and this time she laughed.
“Will you accompany me? I am sure there are horses needing freedom.”
He grinned. “Snowstorm always does.”
They shared a playful smile. Brogan felt his voice get lost, his throat close with emotions. He was shy, happy, and completely at a loss as to what to do or say next.
He walked behind her to the mounting block, feeling a shyness he had never felt before. When she slipped up into the saddle so easily, her grace apparent, and her ease on horseback, he felt his face flush with warmth. He could watch her forever. She was so beautiful!
He swung into the saddle as swiftly as he could, and rode beside her, feeling a profound stillness descending over him. As they rode out together, he felt the need to say something mixing with the need to find just the right words to say.
“It’s a beautiful day,” she said, breaking the silence.
“Um, yes,” he said. His throat was tight and he coughed to clear it. “It is.”
She laughed, a small, sweet sound, as if he’d said something funny. His face reddened.
“I reckon it might rain,” he said, glancing up. The trees grew tall and dense here, the pines clad in thick, dark green leaves that blocked out all but the barest glimpse of the sky. All the same, he could see how cloudy it was overhead, and could almost smell the rain on the air between the still trees.
“It likely will,” Irmengarde said. “It’s the pattern of the days here.”
“I see,” he said.
They rode together in silence. As they headed up the pass, the roadway widened, so that they were riding together, side by side. He rode alongside her, drawing a sharp breath as his leg bumped against hers.
She raised a brow, clearing her throat. “About yesterday…”
“I didn’t…”
They spoke at the same time. He flushed red.
“You speak first, if you please,” he said with a tight throat. “Milady.”
She nodded. It might have been his imagination, but he could hear a tightness in her voice, too, as if she too were unsure of what to say next. “I wished to explain. Yesterday, I was out of sorts. I was not myself. All the same, I thank you for understanding.”
He stared. Now he had absolutely no idea of what to say next. She wasn’t vexed with him? She was pleased by what he did? He felt like he could not have been more surprised if a crossbow bolt had pinned him to a tree. He had no idea, either, of how to act next.
“I’m sorry you were upset yesterday,” he said.
“I see,” she said, and he could hear amusement, simmering in her warm voice. He blushed. “And what had you planned to say?” She asked. “I interrupted you, too.”
“You didn’t,” he swallowed. “I was going to say I apologize. I didn’t mean any offense by what I…how I…what I did,” he said.
She turned to look at him. Her dark eyes were wide. He could see sparks of warmth in their depths. “I should be more careful in what I say,” she said. “But I can say, at least, that no offense was taken.”
“I see.” He drew in a shaky breath – it felt like the air had turned to porridge, and he was struggling to breathe it. He paused, utterly astounded. “Well…milady, I…now that we know, I…”
“What do we do about it?” she asked.
His face went red. He nodded. “Aye, milady.”
She turned away. They had stopped riding now, their horses side-by-side under the trees.
“We will continue as before,” she said.
He swallowed hard. “Yes, milady. Um…milady?”
“Aye?” she frowned. He stared at her and felt like he wanted to drown in that beautiful smile. Her lips were s
erious, but her eyes were bright.
“I just heard…the overseer wants me to stay here.”
“That’s grand,” she said. He felt the praise in her words, in the way she looked at him, and his body flushed with uncontrollable heat.
“So…well…whenever ye need me for anything. I’m here.”
She smiled tenderly. “I know,” she said simply. “And I am glad for it. Should we ride?”
Brogan heard the lilt of challenge in her voice, and pressed his knees to his horse’s flank, just as, laughing, she blazed away.
“Aye, milady!” he called after her. “We’re off!”
He felt his heart soar, his back sweat, his heart burn, his cheeks hurt and knew that he was happier than he would ever be, happier than he had ever known could be possible.
If I can stay here, and simply see her sometimes, if I can ride with her, talk with her, and help her when possible, then I am eternally contented.
THE POWER OF JOY
“Milady…I aired the robe – the darkest one.” A young voice echoed into the warm, still air of the solar, making Irmengarde look up from her tapestry work.
“Oh. Thank you,” Irmengarde said. “I will dress at six of the clock.”
“Very good, milady.”
The maid curtsied and left. Irmengarde leaned back on the warm wooden settee and looked up at the roof, then closed her eyes.
Bliss. Freedom.
Clovis was still out with Lord Dougal. He, as far as she knew, would only return at six of the clock. Then they would have a farewell banquet and the laird and his men would leave. She felt her heart soar with delight at the thought that Clovis might even accompany him partway. It would get him out of the castle for a morning, at least, if not another day.
It is no bad thing to rejoice in the small respites, at least.
If he could simply be away more, she could, she reckoned, almost manage the times he was present. At least, when he was away, her home was safe. It felt like being let out of jail. For the first time in so long, the halls felt safe and sheltering.
“No fear of rages, no fear of cruel words. No fear of anything worse.”
She leaned back on the settee and felt like she might cry with sheer relief. Her hands rested on the fine linen she was sewing, the diversion of a full hour without fear of interruption before her. She could really get some work done on it, without being so distracted. In place of her usual fear, she felt warm and contented. The fire, crackling in the grate, sounded like the crunch of leaves on stones.
I hope to ride again.
She sat up, shaking her head at her own silliness. She knew she was being foolish, but she couldn’t help it. The merest thought of Brogan Covell brought such joy to her heart, accompanied by such a sweet tingle to her tummy. She liked the fact that he was here simply so she could think about him. She looked forward to every opportunity for seeing him.
He is a man who would do no harm to anyone intentionally.
She closed her eyes a moment, allowing her imagination to inform her what he might be like, to kiss his lips. She recalled the touch of his soft mouth on her forehead and thought of pressing her body against his firm chest, of how his lips would feel on hers, tender and soft.
“Milady? The cook wished tae ask your plans for dessert?”
“I’ll come now, Mrs. Watts.”
She set the tapestry aside and headed down towards the kitchens. The place was a flurry of activity, the fires burning in the grates providing the only light. The darkness was lit with coppery shades from the embers and the cook labored over the fire.
“Milady!” she acknowledged Irmengarde with a brief bob. “I was just finishing the fish. You say we’re to have plaice tonight?”
“Yes, if you please,” Irmengarde nodded. The scent of the place was intensely savory, and she breathed in and felt a pang of hunger. The worst thing about feasts was having to wait for dinner! She frowned. “You have enough onions, for making the good sauce?”
An hour passed down there swiftly – final changes to be made to the plans for the feast were always tricky to oversee.
“Milady!” a maid summoned at the door, face flushing in the hot blast from the kitchen.
“Yes?” Irmengarde blinked, wiping black hair from her eyes where it stuck to her sweat-soaked brow.
“Beg your pardon, but Mr. Marling sent me down…the team has come in with the log and nobody can say where it should be!”
Irmengarde nodded briskly. “I’m coming, Brenna.”
After a few minutes overseeing the hauling in of the big logs for the fireplace in the hall, she was interrupted by the same maid, looking nervous.
“Milady! Shall I dress you now?”
She nodded to her maid. “I’ll be up directly.” She hadn’t realized it was already so late.
The dark blue robe was laid out for her on the bed, and glimmered softly in the firelight, for it was made of velvet. It had been sewn last year and saved until winter, and a special enough occasion demanding its use. Irmengarde had decided tonight was that event. She wondered, with a small flush warming her skin, if the thought that Brogan Covell might see it had informed her choice.
“The gold kirtle, milady?” her maid asked, opening the big chest in the corner where she stored her things.
“The one with the pattern,” she decided. It was sewn with silver threads on a blue fabric, and it would match the dress perfectly. She intended to wear the silver necklace even her husband admitted suited her.
“Very good, milady.”
Irmengarde held her breath with a feeling of excitement as her maid finished dressing her. She couldn’t recall feeling like this as she was getting prepared for dinner, for an age, and she suspected that Brogan was a cause for it.
She stared into the big silvery mirror on the wall opposite. It showed her a tall, composed woman in a long dress of blue velvet so dark it was like deep midnight. Her hair was brushed and bound back in a braid, and her slim throat was adorned with a big pendant in the shape of a drop of silver. She turned to the side and studied her appearance. She was very tall, she thought, and slim. Her high cheekbones looked good with the hairstyle, and her lips showed up a dark velvety red on her pale face.
“By, milady. You look grand.”
She flushed, smiling. “Thank you,” she said sincerely.
The maid curtsied and Irmengarde turned one more time before the mirror, then headed to the door.
“Wife? Are you ready? We don’t wish to make our guests wait.”
“I’m coming, Clovis,” she called. She felt confident and beautiful. Tonight, nothing could touch her. She drifted to the door where he stood, wrapped in furs, his well-muscled legs planted in place, clad in green hose.
“You’re wont to take an age, getting ready,” he grumbled. All the same, Irmengarde noticed, he couldn’t find anything critical to say. She slipped in beside him and together they walked down the hallway.
“You look well-dressed,” she said, allowing him more acknowledgment than he ever gave her.
“Huh,” he grumbled.
The hall was full of people. Irmengarde, walking in through the great doors beside her husband, Lord Dougal, his attendants and the rest of the platform party beside her, felt the noise still and felt, as she always did, a flutter in her tummy as she ascended the steps.
“Stand to greet his lordship!” their steward – a long-faced sort by the name of Gylas – yelled.
The knights and men all stood from where they sat on the long benches arrayed about the hall. Irmengarde looked fleetingly down the rows of muscled men and to the back-most table.
He must be there.
She tried to focus in the darkened corner, but the torches wavered and it was obscured.
“Milady, sit down,” Clovis hissed.
Irmengarde felt her stomach tighten with offense, but she recalled the fact that, now, she was not alone. She filled her mind with the beautiful face and caring glances of Brogan, and looked at the
table, avoiding his cruel glance. She sat down, along with the rest of the platform party.
“Welcome to my hall!” Clovis shouted, his voice echoing across the packed stone walls. He stood with legs apart, a picture of flushed arrogance.
“Slainte!” the company yelled. People beat on boards, raised tankards and generally wished the baron health.
Irmengarde felt her fingers twisting each other, and found her mind wondering how genuine any of those wishes actually were. If Brogan could suspect the fellow’s cruelty, how many of his servants already hated him for it? She looked along the rows of benches, and tried to discern what lay beneath the smiling faces.
Most of them probably praise him for his policies, and don’t recognize that many of their livelihoods improved, when I arrived.
The thought was one laced with irony, but, after all, it was only natural. Why should they know whence the increased stocks and care for their households came? She did it because she genuinely cared, and not for praise.
When Clovis had finished his announcements, cheering broke out again and he sat back down in the seat, face flushed, a big smile plastered over his expression.
“You see? They praise me for averting war.”
“You did well, husband,” Irmengarde whispered.
“Much thanks I’ve had, from you,” he muttered.
Irmengarde flinched. Don’t think of him, her mind repeated. Think of somebody who cares about you.
She built Brogan’s face up in her mind, heard his laugh. Shared a grin with him in her mind’s eye.
“Milady?” Lord Dougal said, leaning in across the table. “I must compliment you on the dinner. You keep things well-stocked here…very well-stocked.”
Clovis snorted in derision, but the man’s face was serious. Irmengarde blushed.
“Thank you, Lord Dougal.”
“It’s true! A fine lass, and one who runs a grand feast.” His eyes shone and he raised a glass to her. She felt a little smile appear on her lips and looked down, hoping Clovis wouldn’t notice how pleased she was.
“Thank you, sir,” she said again.
Her Highland Protector (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 2) Page 9
