“Och, Lise ratted me out, did she?” Chuckling, he seated Elisabeth in her place and motioned Eric to a chair beside his own. “I’ll thank ye to be calling me Gabriel. Stuff and nonsense, the nobility. Little wonder Robert avoids it whenever he can.”
“Robert?” Eric asked as he sat.
“The Bruce, King of Scotland,” Gabriel replied in a rolling brogue filled with pride. “Truth be told, as a lad he wielded more daring than sense. But he’s won the hearts of the people, as well as their loyalty. Most kings seek riches and power, but not Robert. He wants nothing less than freedom for us all.”
“An admirable goal,” Eric commented, taking a portion from the platter of bread and cheese Christian handed to him. “Lady Elisabeth tells me you wish to hear my impressions of what happened yestreen.”
“For the love of Mary,” Sarah chided, bustling over to the table. “Surely the battle talk can wait ’til we’ve all had something to eat.”
The three men rose as she joined them, and Gabriel seated her with the same care he had his daughter. When she was settled, he filled her cup with mead and gave her a boyish grin. “And where be David and Brennan? ’Tis not like them to miss a meal.”
“They’ve gone out hunting.” She paused for a quiet laugh. “I’m not certain if it’s deer or maids they’re after.”
“They’re Redmond,” Christian boasted. “We can do both at once.”
Eric smiled in spite of himself. Elisabeth’s family shared her light-hearted demeanor, and it was a refreshing change for a man who for months had enjoyed only the company of a horse. Sarah kept him well occupied with questions about the current state of affairs in France. She seemed eager to converse in her native tongue, and Eric was pleased to oblige her.
After a time, Gabriel leaned back in his imposing chair. “And now, if ye will, tell me what the Devil happened to my daughter.”
Eric relayed the story quickly, leaving out the more gruesome details to avoid spoiling their meal. “I’ve no idea who they were,” he concluded.
“Aye, Lise told it much the same way,” Gabriel said. “But she could tell me very little about you.”
Eric took a sip of mead, quickly sorting through his life for harmless details that would satisfy his host. “I was born in Marchet to a seamstress. I’ve a way with horses, so when I was ten, I became a stable boy at a nearby château. One day I saddled the lord’s stallion for him, and he took notice of me.”
The earl grinned, refilling Eric’s wooden cup himself. “No doubt ye were a big, strapping lad.”
“Aye. He trained me to be his squire.” In truth, his wealthy benefactor had done a good deal more than that, but Eric preferred that the Redmond remember him as a lowly-born soldier of no importance to anyone. And then, without thinking he said, “When I was ten and five, we traveled to the Holy Land.”
“On crusade?” Christian interrupted, leaning in with great interest.
With an inward groan, Eric simply nodded. He hadn’t intended to reveal so much about his past, but the Redmonds’ friendly ways made it nigh impossible for him to maintain his customary reserve.
He felt curious eyes on him, and against his better judgment, he glanced over at Elisabeth. Sympathy shadowed her expression, and instinct told him she’d learned a great deal more about him than he’d openly shared.
That realization prompted him to gain his feet. “With your permission, mil—Gabriel,” he amended with a slight bow, “I’ll retrieve my mount and borrow a pack horse from your stables. With luck, I’ll return with your nephews before dark.”
“If ye take me and two packhorses,” Christian offered as he stood, “ye won’t be needing luck.”
“Truly, that’s not necessary.”
“My cousins they were,” the young nobleman reminded him, tapping his chest for emphasis. “And I’ll be bringing them home.”
They locked stares for several moments. Christian showed no sign of backing down, and Eric suspected that any time he spent arguing would be a pointless waste of breath.
“Very well.” After bowing to Gabriel, Eric took Sarah’s hand for a kiss. “Many thanks for the fine meal, Lady Sarah. The goose was excellent.”
“You’re entirely welcome. I’ll set aside some dinner for you and Christian to eat when you come back.”
“Please don’t trouble yourself on my account. I won’t be staying.”
“We’ll discuss that later,” she answered with a smile.
He was tempted to argue with her, but thought better of it and merely shook his head before following Christian from the hall. Out in the expansive stables, they traded pleasantries while they saddled their own mounts and prepared two pack horses for their journey. They trotted through the gates at a reasonable pace, and Eric assumed that his companion was as eager to complete their task as he was.
Before long, he understood that Christian Redmond was a very shrewd man.
Behind the young nobleman’s jovial manner and easy smile lurked a quick mind. Much like his sister, he clearly relied on more than his eyes to interpret the world around him. This day, Eric was at the center of that world.
It was not a position he relished.
He’d shared all he wished to during the noontime meal, yet Christian had scores more questions for him. While they sounded innocent enough, Eric knew better. The Scot was testing him at every turn.
“What a remarkable horse Micah is,” he said at one point. “Was he a gift from the lord you served in France?”
“No.”
With most people, simple answers stemmed the questions. Not so with Christian.
“He’s a Belgian, is he not?”
“He is.”
Christian patted his mount’s neck affectionately. “Wallace was bred in Dublin and shipped to Edinburgh. When I saw him, I knew I had to have him. Where was it that ye found Micah?”
Eric glanced over at his companion. Pure intent shone from his face, natural curiosity lighting his eyes. A well-rehearsed expression, no doubt, intended to put an opponent or a lady at ease to ensure that any struggle between them would be brief. “I acquired him from a breeder in Aimée.”
Hopeful that would satisfy his companion’s desire to know where he’d come from, Eric guided Micah and his trailing horse to a nearby stream. Christian followed his lead, leaning back over his saddle to stare up at the sky.
“Lise thinks you’re in danger,” he commented while he considered the clouds. “Is it possible that whatever you’re running from will follow you here?”
“What makes you think I’m running?”
“I’m a Scot, not an imbecile.”
As if expressing his agreement, Wallace bobbed his head in the water, splashing Micah. The Belgian snorted his displeasure and sidled a few paces away.
Christian laughed at the horses’ antics, then angled his head to give Eric a thoughtful look. “You’re far from home with a finely tooled sword, a valuable destrier and the clothes on your back. Ye canna fault me for wondering why.”
“No one from my past knows I’m alive. Even if they did, none would bother to track me half a league, much less across the ocean.” They had their own necks to worry about, he added silently.
“Once you’ve finished this task for us,” Christian continued, “what are your plans?”
“To find a place for the winter. Perhaps some farmer would like the help of a strong back and a capable pair of hands.”
“You’re a knight, Eric, no matter what ye wish to call yourself. The Redmond could put your skills to much better use than mucking stalls and turning soil.”
“I’ve fought in more battles than I care to recall, for reasons I never understood. No more.”
Christian sat up in his saddle, fixing Eric with an earnest stare. “Our reasons are plain as barley. If we canna win this war, the English will swallow us whole.” He gazed out over the trees with a melancholy expression. “Everything that is Scotland will disappear.”
“I fight only those who a
ttack. I kill only those who will not retreat. I leave the field only when all opponents have been vanquished or all hope is lost.” The vow trailed easily off his tongue, a remnant of the life he was so desperate to leave behind him. Hearing the iciness in his tone, he sought to ease the bite of his words. “You love your homeland and your kin, and you willingly offer them your sword and your life. That is your choice, but I’ve yet to come across anything worthy of such a sacrifice.”
Mercifully, Christian had nothing more to say and fell silent. Relieved that their conversation was over, Eric guided Micah back to the trail and pushed him into a trot that would end their grim errand as quickly as possible.
Chapter Four
Elisabeth watched from an upper window as grooms led two packhorses laden with large sacks into the bailey. Her hands on either side of the window, she pressed her forehead to the glass and closed her eyes.
“Thank you, God, for letting us bring them home.”
“Glenda, I told ye to keep her away from the windows.” Plainly irritated, Christian marched across her private chamber and slammed the shutters closed.
“You found Gavin and Merrick?”
His scowl softened into an indulgent smile. “Eric led us straight to them.”
“Rebecca will be glad to know she can bury her sons.” Tears stung her eyes, and she turned away from him.
“There’s no point in torturing yourself with this, Lise. What’s done is done.”
“I know, but I feel responsible. If I hadn’t taken it into my head to go out riding that day, they’d still be alive. How can I ever forget that?”
“You won’t.” Taking her hands, he gave her a sad smile. “But ye must remember they willingly gave their lives for yours. Mourn them, but honor those lives as they deserve.”
Blinking back her tears, she nodded. “Father Blair is burying them on the morrow?”
“Aye. Already, Redmond are arriving to meet with Father and attend the funeral. Which reminds me, he wants to speak with Eric. Have ye seen him?”
“No, but I’ve not been belowstairs.” She gave him a knowing look. “Glenda wouldn’t allow me to leave my rooms.”
“There’s naught for ye to do down there but be trampled.”
Elisabeth rolled her eyes. “I’m much sturdier than you think. Are you forgetting that for five years I managed John’s estate and played hostess to every laird in the Highlands?”
“Ye did it well, no doubt in that.”
“But you won’t allow me into my own hall?”
He tapped her nose to quiet her the way he had when they were children. He eased the insult with a grin and a kiss for her forehead. After he left her chambers, she stole across the braided rug to release the shutters.
“Stay away from that window!”
Blast him and his perceptive hide.
Elisabeth filled the rest of her afternoon with busy work meant to distract her from the guilty grief that swept over her when she least expected it. At last, the chapel bells announced the end of the day, and she donned another of the black downs she detested to join the gathering in the hall. During meals the Redmond clan came together as a family, albeit a very large, raucous one. This night, there were even more seated around the tables, and the hum of voices was incessant. Serving maids kept the platters well-stocked, the tankards full, and provided a good bit of the conversation.
But if she heard one more dreamy-eyed lass utter the name Eric Jordanne, she’d scream.
Seated at a nearby table, he seemed to be enjoying the camaraderie, smiling while he listened to their stories. The circle was a merry one and after the meal, people stood around it to join in and add their own accounts of whichever battle was being rehashed. When one of the council members pulled her father off into a corner, she took advantage of the opportunity to find some quiet and discreetly slipped out the servant’s door.
Eric was being treated to yet another unbelievable tale when he caught the motion of a slender form off to his left. He turned to look and saw only a closing door, but a casual glance about showed him Elisabeth had left the hall. All evening she’d been subdued, and he knew she was grieving over her cousins. Lady Sarah was nowhere about, and her brothers were currently mired in a debate with several others over the state of Scotland’s defenses. Meanwhile, her father was talking with a graybeard who clearly had difficulty hearing anything the earl said.
His wary mind cautioned him that Elisabeth shouldn’t be left unguarded, even in the relative safety of her father’s stronghold. Tempted to go after her, Eric discarded the notion, fearing she might perceive it as intrusive. Then he had a vision of her standing alone in the dark, staring up at the early stars while tears rolled down her cheeks. Even in his imaginings, he couldn’t bear to see a woman cry.
Outside the keep, light spilled through the windows and wide-open doors into the rear courtyard, and he stayed to the shadows so she’d not see him. The sprawling gardens burst with the vibrant reds and golds of autumn, joined by the crisp scent of neatly trimmed boxwood hedges. A wolf howled in the distance, his call answered by several others. Small animals scurried about chasing after their meals, accompanied by the song of cicadas and nightingales. Beyond that, he heard nothing.
Had he somehow missed Elisabeth? A sobering thought entered his mind, and he looked out at the wall surrounding the garden. No, she’d not be foolish enough to leave the castle. While he pondered where she might be, he absently turned a corner and nearly ran her down.
“Please forgive me, milady,” he murmured as he steadied her. “’Tis not like me to be so clumsy.”
“Were you spying on me?” she demanded, chiding him with a tilt of her head.
“Indeed not. I was admiring your gardens.”
“In the dark?”
Her sassy tone did little to disguise the tremor in her voice, the damp trails on her cheeks. At the sight of them, his anger vanished. “I thought you might wish for some company.”
“I’m perfectly capable of walking about on my own, thank you.”
Her chin began trembling, and she looked away from him. Such courage he’d never seen in a woman, wrapped about a heart as tender as a child’s. Gently, he turned her head so he could see her face. The tears coursing down her cheeks all but shredded his heart. He smoothed them away, but more rushed in to replace them.
Without a word, he drew her into his arms and rested her head against his chest. He knew of no words to ease her suffering, so he simply held her while she cried.
Gradually, her sobs eased, and she sank into his embrace until they stood so close he could feel the beat of her heart. As the breeze moved through her hair, he caught the scent of roses. He wanted nothing more than to tunnel his hands into the mass of curls and tip her head back for a kiss that would leave them both breathless.
As it had the night before, holding her unleashed a torrent of emotions he was hard-pressed to control. It seemed that by returning her cousins, he’d regained her trust, and that knowledge filled him with pride. That she’d allowed him to comfort her made him want to go further, remove the sad memory of this night with one of pleasure. He longed to free her from the staid black gown and explore the tantalizing curves beneath, to know every part of her before he left Caileann.
He wanted to brand himself on her memory so she would never forget him.
When she gazed up at him and smiled, he clung to his last scrap of honor like a shield.
“Thank you, Eric.”
Before trusting himself to speak, he cleared a lustful growl from his throat. “For what?”
“For rescuing me.” She added a faint smile. “Again.”
“I’m only glad I could be of help.” With his knuckle, he brushed away the last of her tears. “You’re feeling better?”
She nodded. “It’s been a long day. I think I’ll go up to bed.”
Reluctantly, he released her and stepped away. “Pleasant dreams, milady.”
She moved past him but unexpectedly turned
back. Resting a hand alongside his jaw, she went on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Whisper-soft, that kiss nearly drove him to his knees.
As she continued past him and into the keep, it was all he could do to stand there and watch her go.
***
Wanting to avoid awkward farewells, Eric saddled Micah and left Caileann long before first light. The guards wished him well and lowered the heavy portcullis behind him.
As the morning wore on, the persistent mist became a drizzle, and gathering clouds promised there would be more to come. Such a dreary land this was. In the short time he’d been in Scotland, it had rained two days of every three. Eric missed the warmth and sunshine of Aimée, the open fields and fragrant vineyards. He acknowledged that he could never go back, but he hoped to one day find another place to call home.
From behind him, the distinctive wail of bagpipes echoed through the hills. The music wandered high and low, as if searching for something that was lost. He’d experienced much sadness in his lifetime, but it was the most mournful sound he’d ever heard.
Micah’s ears twitched in the rain, and he halted in the midst of the trail. He turned toward the music, hanging his mighty head as if he understood the purpose of the lament. Eric’s heart felt heavy as well, which puzzled him. The people he loved were gone, and in battle he’d seen countless men die. Death was something he’d reluctantly come to accept.
But Gavin and Merrick Redmond hadn’t been at war. They’d gone riding with Elisabeth. Their deaths were a waste of two young men who would never again return to those who loved them. He’d been alone so long, Eric had forgotten what it meant to have a family. The piper’s sorrowful tune reminded him.
Micah moved forward on his own, and Eric found himself atop a small hillock gazing down at a cemetery. A line of people wearing Redmond plaid over their dark clothes trailed toward a small plot of land marked by dozens of hand-hewn stone crosses. Whether plain or elaborately carved, each showed the respect the clan felt for the one buried there.
Eric backed Micah further into the thin cover of saplings near the edge of the hill. While he had no desire to intrude on the Redmonds’ mourning, he felt an obligation to honor the dead brothers who’d lost their lives defending Elisabeth. Fortune alone had spared him the same fate.
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