“Elisabeth!” The older one embraced her warmly, holding her close. “We’ve been searching all night. Where have ye been?”
“Safely tucked away, Father. I’m sorry to have worried you.” Micah’s reins firmly in hand, she turned to Eric. “Gabriel Redmond, this is Eric Jordanne. He rescued me after we were attacked in the forest.”
“Attacked? Who’d be daring such a thing?” he demanded in a heavy brogue, dark eyes landing hard on Eric.
“I’m not certain. Fortune alone set me in your daughter’s path.”
Gabriel eyed him with a curious expression as they shook hands. “You’re French.”
“I am.”
A bolt of apprehension shot up his back, and Eric did his best to appear unconcerned. Since he knew of no other way to speak, his accent would be a hindrance, at best. At worst, it could get him killed.
“Ten men descended on us,” Elisabeth explained. When her father looked to her, she quietly added, “They killed Gavin and Merrick.”
“Sweet Mary,” Gabriel murmured, crossing himself. “Good men they were, whatever the task. They deserved better than to be left for the wolves.”
“They weren’t,” Eric told him. “I hid their bodies so they could be retrieved and buried properly.”
“Did ye now?” the younger one commented, tilting his head with a wry grin. “That was clever of ye.”
“Men of courage should be honored when they die.”
“That they should.” Giving Eric an assessing look, he offered a strong hand. “Christian Redmond. This troublesome bit,” he slipped an arm around Elisabeth’s shoulders, “is my sister.”
“Don’t be a beast,” she scolded, pushing him away.
She gave Micah’s reins to a waiting stable boy, and Gabriel tucked her hand protectively into the crook of his arm. They set a quick pace toward the hall, leaving Eric little choice but to follow.
“Ye look as if ye’ve been brawling,” Christian said as he fell into step beside Eric.
“We had some trouble south of here. I hope your sister will be safe now that she’s home.”
“I’ll make certain of it.”
Eric caught an unmistakable warning in the reply. Though the insult was masked with another careless grin, those hazel eyes snapped with intelligence. Despite his amiable mien, Eric suspected that underestimating the tall Scot would be a grave mistake.
They stepped into the massive gathering hall, and Eric paused to take in his surroundings. Two arched fireplaces stood opposite one another, with long tables occupying the stone floor between them. Two more tables stretched across the front of the room, level with the others but obviously intended to serve as a place of honor. Behind these hung a banner, its field of deep blue and garnet framing the silhouette of a proud stag stitched in gold. Apparently, Gabriel Redmond was more than his daughter’s simple introduction implied. Even in France, only a nobleman of high rank would be in possession of such a fine holding.
Maids bustled about preparing for the noontime meal, and the heavenly aroma of roasting goose made Eric’s stomach growl. He’d been keeping to the shadows for so long, he could barely recall the last time he’d eaten at a table, not straight from the fire with his dagger and singed fingers.
“Elisabeth!” A woman dusted with flour ran over to her, folding her into a hug. “I’ve been praying all night that you’d turn up safe and sound. May all the saints be praised.”
When the woman held Elisabeth at arm’s length, it was a simple thing to mark them as mother and daughter.
“I’m so sorry you were worried, Mother. I had no way of sending word to you.” She turned to Eric. “This is Eric Jordanne, the man who rescued me.”
“Fáilte,” she said with a smile. “Welcome to Caileann. I’m Gabriel’s wife Sarah. Forgive my appearance, but I’ve been trying to stay busy to keep from worrying.”
“Did it help?” Elisabeth asked, brushing some flour from her mother’s cheek.
“Not even the tiniest bit.”
Though her voice sounded much like Elisabeth’s, her unusual accent was tinged with something pleasantly familiar to his ears. “You’re French,” he blurted without thinking.
“With a dash of Scots for flavor,” Sarah replied with a soft laugh. “My father’s family still lives in Rouen.”
“Such a beautiful cathedral they have there.” Remembering his manners, he took her dusty hand for a kiss. “Now I understand why you insisted your daughter learn the language.”
She slanted a bemused look at Elisabeth, who quickly glanced away.
“I’d hoped to have someone to converse with,” Sarah confided in French. “Sadly, she shows more talent for fencing.”
“I learned enough to know what you just said,” Elisabeth informed her saucily.
“I trust,” Sarah continued in English, “that you’ve also learned enough to escort our guest abovestairs and offer him a bath and some clean clothes.”
“That I have. Would you send Meg and some of the lads to Christian’s room with fresh bathwater?”
“Of course. We cannot thank you properly for bringing Elisabeth home to us, Eric. Whatever you need, simply ask.” With a motherly smile, Sarah hurried back the way she’d come.
Elisabeth slipped her arm through Eric’s and marched him up a set of curving stairs to the private quarters above. All of the doors stood open, and she ushered him through one that led into a chamber filled with light from four tall windows.
The room was simply furnished with heavy oaken furniture and a large tester bed draped in burgundy velvet. Books were piled on the tables and chairs, the walls crowded with maps depicting every corner of the known world. The only feminine touch was the intricately woven rug that brightened the plank floor.
“Please sit.” She motioned to one of the empty chairs before adding several logs to the small fire.
Eric did as she bade him, then leaned down to remove his mud-caked boots. “Did I speak out of turn, milady?”
She gave him a confused look. “Nay. Why do you ask?”
“Your mother seemed surprised that I knew of your lessons with her.”
“Oh, that.” Elisabeth blushed a becoming shade of rose and busied herself straightening the pewter candlesticks on the mantel. “I don’t often mention my studies to anyone, and I suppose she found it amusing that I’d be so open with someone I met so recently.”
“I’m honored, but why would you choose to confide in me?” Subtly avoiding his gaze, she shrugged a delicate shoulder. Though it was unforgivably rude, he felt compelled to ask, “Do you regret it now?”
Her expressive eyes met his, and what he saw there confirmed his suspicions. She no longer trusted him. A heavy silence stretched between them, unbreachable as any wall. While he was searching for a way to reassure her, a pretty young woman with blond hair and a matched set of dimples appeared in the doorway.
“Are you ready for us, Elisabeth?”
Judging by the lady’s expression, she was as glad to see the maid as he was. “We are, Meg. Come in.”
The maid was plainly with child, and Eric came to his feet to relieve her of the buckets she carried.
“There’s no need for that,” she told him. “They’re not heavy.”
Fearing he’d insulted her, he set the buckets down and nodded respectfully. “I only meant to be of help.”
“That you have, to be sure.” After a curious glance at Elisabeth, Meg looked back to him and smiled. “Will you be needing anything else, then?”
“No, thank you.”
Two boys set the tub in front of the fireplace while four others emptied buckets of steaming water into it. They then stared openly at Eric, eyes wide as if they’d never seen the like of him before. In truth, they probably hadn’t, and he was reminded once again that he was very far from home. Meg mixed in the cool water she’d brought and left with the boys close on her heels.
“I’ll fetch you something clean to wear,” Elisabeth said as she moved toward the
door.
“Don’t trouble yourself, milady. These clothes suit me well enough.”
“When you’re ready,” she continued as if he’d not spoken, “you can join us in the hall. My father will want to hear everything.”
Eric shook his head in bewilderment. If all Scottish women were like this one, he mused, their men had very little chance at winning an argument.
“Was that a smile?” Elisabeth teased with a quick laugh. “I believe ’twas just a bit of a grin.”
“I suppose it was.”
“You suppose?” She stepped closer, tilting her head while she studied him. “Has it been so long that you don’t remember how it feels?”
Until he’d met her, feeling anything at all was a distant memory shrouded in pain. She’d unlocked a part of him that had been sealed tight against the world, to keep at bay anyone who might recognize him for what he was and send him back to a certain death. How ironic it was that the first woman to lure him from his self-imposed exile had no interest in him whatsoever.
She seemed to be waiting for him to say something, but such thoughts weren’t meant to be shared. After several moments, she gave in with a sigh.
“I’ll go and find you something to wear.”
With that, she swept from Christian’s bedchamber as if she were draped in a silk ball gown rather than battered wool. An irresistible force was she, this Scottish lass with the bewitching smile and sparkling eyes.
The sooner he left her and Caileann behind, the better.
Chapter Three
As she closed Christian’s door, Elisabeth’s heart was racing as it had never done in her life. She made Eric Jordanne uneasy. Twice now she’d sensed him reaching out to her, only to pull away. Was it his mind that resisted or his heart?
Foolishness, she chided herself as she descended the stairs. If she weren’t cautious, she’d find herself drawn into the life of a man she knew very little about. With her mourning nearly done, she should be pondering her future, not a mysterious foreigner clearly anxious to be on his way.
“Elisabeth!”
She was near the main doors when she heard Christian’s bellow. Turning, she waited for him to cross the hall and join her.
“You wanted something?” she asked innocently.
“Aye, and I’d wager ye know what it is.”
Concern girded his eyes and, despite her own misgivings, she reassured him with a smile. “Eric saved my life. Would you have me lock him outside the gates and shove food through to him?”
“If it meant you’d be safe. How do you know he’s not one of the men who abducted you?”
“He’s treated me with nothing but kindness and respect. He had every opportunity to harm me, but he didn’t. What does that say to you?”
Even to her own ears, her words sounded forced. Did she truly believe them? Part of her did, perhaps, the part that remained a hopeful, trusting girl of ten and six. However, the woman who’d learned too much about life to remain so naïve needed a bit more convincing.
“It tells me he knows where to find ye, and he’s biding his time.”
“Not all men think like you.”
She wasn’t entirely certain of that, and she had no idea if Eric Jordanne thought that way or not. In truth, she knew almost nothing about him, and her inexplicable fondness for the French knight worried her greatly. But she had no intention of confiding that to anyone.
He deflected her insult with an unabashed grin. “Name one that doesn’t.”
“Father.”
Christian groaned. “Name a younger one. Not a priest,” he added quickly.
“You’ve a wicked mind for one named as you are.” In spite of herself, she had to laugh. “But I bow to your argument. I canna name another.”
He put a companionable arm about her shoulders and escorted her down the wide steps to the bailey. “Because he doesn’t exist. Women were put on this earth for men to admire, and so we do.”
“You do a great deal more than that,” Elisabeth reminded him.
“True enough.” He chuckled, then asked, “Where is it you’re heading now?”
“To the smithy. I estimate Bowen to be near Eric’s size, and I want to ask him if he’ll lend Eric something to wear while I mend his clothes.”
Christian didn’t respond, but a few strides later he stopped walking and turned to her. Taking her hands in his, he pinned her with an uncharacteristically sober look. “What then, Lise? Will ye let him go or find another reason to keep him here?”
“I’ve no cause to do such a thing,” she snapped, jerking her hands free. “I’m grateful for his help, and I wish to repay him. ’Tis as simple as that.”
“Nothing between a man and a woman is ever simple,” he grumbled. “Did ye not learn that from the bastard ye married?”
“You know as well as I that Grandda claimed John as a Redmond.”
“Which means damned little considering how poorly he treated you.”
Having defended him as a proper widow should, she sighed. “He was as good a husband as he knew how to be.”
“He whored his way through the Highlands, and well ye know it.”
“He wanted children, and I couldn’t give them to him.” She swallowed down the bitter sorrow that would never completely leave her. “What else would you have him do?”
“Show a bit of discretion, not parade his mistresses about in front of you.”
“You shouldn’t be speaking ill of him now that he’s gone.” Grasping Christian’s chin gently, she shook his head. “None of us is perfect.”
“Aye, well, he was more imperfect than most.”
She couldn’t deny that. He rested an arm lightly over her shoulders, and they continued on to the blacksmith’s hut. The generous Bowen was more than willing to offer up some spare garments to their visitor, and he handed them to Elisabeth with a bow. “With my thanks to him for bringing you safely home.”
He and Christian began an involved discussion of a new metalworking process Bowen had been experimenting with, and she left them with their heads together over several blobs of iron he’d produced.
Alone at last, Elisabeth gave the clothes to a maid in the bailey, asking her to see that Eric got them. Then she skirted the busy gathering hall and went for a stroll in the gardens, mulling over her conversation with Christian while she walked. They’d always shared a close bond, and he seemed to sense her conflicting emotions concerning all that had happened to her in the past year. Her union with John had been a cordial one, and while his death had been unexpected, she’d gladly returned home and adjusted to her change in status.
And then, in the course of a single day, all that had changed. Gavin and Merrick had died trying to protect her, and she’d only escaped with her own life because a man she’d never met had taken it upon himself to rescue her. At once fascinating and exasperating, Eric had piqued a good deal more than her curiosity. Precisely what, she couldn’t say, and that vexed her more than anything else.
Perhaps it was the flutter she felt whenever he looked at her, his eyes filled with respect and admiration. The first emotion she’d seen from John, but the second she hadn’t experienced. She’d not had the joy of being courted as so many of her friends had been. Instead, The Bruce had entreated her to think of her country. Strengthening the ties between Gabriel’s lowlanders and their Highland relations would help make Scotland stronger for the generations of Redmond to come, he’d insisted. After much thought, Elisabeth had agreed to the match, proud to be serving clan and country in the only way a woman could.
Treasured but unloved, she’d held her head high and dutifully made the best of her situation. Now there seemed to be a faint but tantalizing set of footprints leading toward something else.
Absolute nonsense, she chided herself, shaking the image from her mind. When she reached Christian’s chamber, she found the door open and walked through it assuming Eric had already left. Instead, he stood at the window, looking out at the gathering clouds.
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“There’s a storm coming,” he said without taking his eyes from the distant hills.
Having grown accustomed to his keen senses, she didn’t waste a thought wondering how he knew that it was she who’d entered the room. Instead, she laughed. “This is Scotland. There’s always a storm coming.”
He turned to face her, and she swallowed a gasp. Freshly shaven and garbed in Redmond colors, he was a sight to behold. The crisp white shirt reflected the brilliant blue of his eyes, the dark trews making his legs appear even longer than they had before. With a length of plaid draped across his broad chest, he was a sight to behold.
Perhaps she’d not return his clothes after all.
“Something amuses you, milady?”
With great effort, she quelled her baffling reaction to him. “Of course not. I only came to see if you’re hungry.”
“Famished.” He offered his arm. “Might I have the honor of escorting you, Lady Redmond?”
After an awkward moment, she accepted the courtly gesture. “You needn’t call me that,” she said as they left her chambers. “The Redmond aren’t much for titles and such.”
“So I gathered when you introduced your father by his given name. Never have I encountered a nobleman of such humility.”
His approving tone made Elisabeth beam with pride. “During the battle for Caileann, my father and his men swept in from the west to outflank the English. Then they stormed the castle and reclaimed it for The Bruce. In gratitude, he gave it to Father, along with the title of earl. Which he despises,” she added in a hushed voice as Gabriel approached them.
“There ye be, Jordanne.” He greeted their guest enthusiastically, shaking his hand while clapping him on the shoulder. Though he was a bit long in the tooth, her father was still stronger than many of his soldiers. How Eric stayed on his feet was a mystery.
“Come and sit with us, have a bite or two.” Gabriel artfully stepped between them, motioning toward the head table with one arm while settling the other around Elisabeth.
Amusement showed in Eric’s eyes, but he nodded politely. “I’m grateful for your generosity, Lord Redmond.”
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