Isobel lifted the latch with care and eased the door open. The hall lay quiet and in darkness. The hearth at the other end was the only thing giving off light to guide her path. She gathered her hair and tied it with a strip of leather and then inhaled a deep breath. Letting it out slowly, she took the first steps across the stone floor. As she grew closer, she saw a small table and two chairs arranged in front of the fire. Athdar stood, leaning his arm against the mantel of the hearth, staring up at the tapestry above it.
‘Did you help to repair that?’ he asked quietly. He had not acknowledged her arrival, so his words surprised her. Pleased that he had waited, she moved closer.
‘Aye. I worked with my mother, your sister and the others to fix it. It was unravelling there near this edge,’ she said, walking up next to him and pointing to the lower, closest corner of the large woven and embroidered piece. ‘Lady Jocelyn fixed the fraying bear and deer there.’
‘They were her favourites.’ He reached up and touched the edge of the tapestry before turning to face her. ‘She would tell tales about each of the animals after our mother finished them.’ He held out his hand and guided her to sit, still smiling at what must be pleasant memories.
Once they were seated, he held out a cup to her, one he had on a tray next to the board. She accepted it and sipped the watered ale.
The light of the low flames flashed to life for a moment and illuminated his face to her. For once, he lost the pain that she could see in his gaze and took on the look of the younger man she remembered from her childhood. She could imagine for a moment the adolescent who vexed his sister and his parents. The man before he...
Lost so much.
She lifted her cup and leaned forwards to look at the board. If she continued to think about the many tragedies he’d faced, she would cry.
‘So, are you better than your father at this?’ he asked, as he settled in his chair.
‘He will never admit it, but, aye, I am,’ she confessed quietly. ‘Though I cannot win over Duncan’s wife on a regular basis.’ Duncan’s wife Marian was a formidable opponent in this game. Even her father had given up trying to beat her.
‘But you have tried?’ he asked, as he moved the black pieces to his side. She scooped up the red ones and began to put them in their places.
‘She taught me the game.’
His swallow was audible and she laughed at his reaction. ‘Mayhap I should seek my bed after all?’
‘Nay. I will not surrender this early. Let us test our abilities before calling for a retreat.’ His eyes sparkled then and she found herself lost in them for a moment longer than it took for him to notice.
‘Very well, if that is what you want,’ she teased.
They fell into a comfortable silence as she made the first move and then studied the one he made. She neither rushed nor delayed, but took her time and learned his method and strategies. He was skilled, though he played discreetly. Several times he surprised her with a riskier choice, but each risk taken was rewarded with success. In the end, Isobel struggled to make her loss appear real and not to lose in earnest.
‘You are a dangerous opponent, Isobel Ruriksdottir.’
‘But you won, Athdar,’ she said. Lifting the cup to her lips, she drank before she said anything more.
‘You let me win. You should have claimed several of my pieces when I put them in jeopardy.’
She had learned long ago that men did not particularly care for women who could best them so she had no intention of admitting he was right. But, when she met his gaze, she decided differently.
‘Are you insulted?’ she asked, watching his response.
‘Aye. Insulted that you think I need to be coddled like a bairn.’ The sparkling was back in his eyes, so she doubted he was truly insulted.
‘We could play again...’
‘An honest game?’
‘If that is what you want?’
They launched into the game without another word, the play going back and forth between them and the outcome was never a certainty for either of them. Finally, Isobel made her last move and won. She placed all the pieces she’d collected in the wooden box next to the board before raising her eyes and looking at Athdar.
Would he truly accept defeat well? Or would he be angry in spite of his words?
‘Well played, Isobel,’ he said. ‘I thought I might be the victor until you made those last three moves. More than skilful, lass. You have a real talent for this.’
His compliment and his appreciation of her skills brought a blush to her cheeks. The warmth of it spread through her.
Athdar stood, gathered the rest of the pieces in the box and closed it. He lifted the board and tucked it under his arm. She waited for him to put it up in its place on the mantel.
Isobel had no idea of how much time had passed while they played. She looked at the hearth and realised it had burned down quite low. A few lamps around the hall still threw some light down its length and shadows into its dark corners. No one had entered since they’d been there—most likely all were in their beds asleep as they should be.
‘Athdar, I...’
‘Isobel...’
She laughed softly and waited for him to speak first. Just as he opened his mouth to begin, a cough echoed through the emptiness. They both turned to find her mother standing outside their chamber’s door.
‘I should go,’ she whispered.
‘Aye. Go on then,’ he said. ‘If you need me to speak to her, I will.’
‘Goodnight, Athdar,’ she said, taking the first step away from him.
‘Goodnight to you.’
She’d taken a few steps towards her chamber when his voice came as a whisper from behind her.
‘Isobel.’
She shivered at what her name sounded like when whispered so.
Isobel quickened her steps when in fact she had no wish to face her mother’s ire too soon. She wanted to savour the pleasure of being with Athdar, alone, as a man and woman. She let his words of praise repeat in her thoughts until she was but a few paces from her mother.
‘Who won?’
The words were not the ones she had expected to hear when she’d clearly misled her mother and Jocelyn. At the least, she expected a warning about such behaviour. Instead her mother surprised her by asking about the game.
‘I did,’ Isobel whispered as she followed her mother back inside the chamber. Lady Jocelyn sat up in the bed, watching her enter.
‘How did he take the loss?’ she asked, smoothing the bedcovers over her lap and pushing her long sleep braid over her shoulder. Isobel’s mother sat on the edge of the bed and listened.
‘He complimented me on my playing.’
The two older women exchanged some glance she could not read. Then they looked back to her.
‘’Tis now the middle of the night, child,’ her mother said softly. ‘Seek your bed.’
When she had expected a reprimand for ignoring the lady’s words and for sneaking out of her chamber in the dark of night to meet with Athdar alone, all she received instead was an enigmatic expression. Isobel sensed that both women supported her exploring the possibility of a relationship with Lady Jocelyn’s brother. Though separated in age by almost a score of years and though her parents must have some other marriage plans in mind, her mother did nothing to warn her off. And the lady had specifically invited her along on this visit. Knowing they would both speak their minds when they wished to, Isobel undressed and slid back under the bedcovers on her cot.
Try as she might, sleep would not come to her. She tossed and turned, reliving each moment spent with Athdar, replaying the games in her thoughts. And watching the way his mouth curved when he laughed...and the way his eyebrows gathered tight when she’d made an unexpected move. But mostly she thought about the way they’d sim
ply been together and how comfortable it felt to be in his company.
* * *
If they’d played through half the night, then she had spent the other half going back over every minute of it. Sooner than she thought possible, the faint light of the rising sun pierced the darkness of the chamber with thin beams around the edges of the window shutters. Isobel turned for the final time and listened as the sounds of the keep’s inhabitants waking and beginning their day also crept into the room.
She waited for her mother and Lady Jocelyn to stir before sitting up on the cot and loosening the tangles in her hair, which had come undone from its braid during the restless hours. Stretching her arms over her head, she settled at the side of the cot and watched as a serving woman brought in a bucket of steaming water to them, then it took little time to wash and dress and prepare for the day.
* * *
Planning on breaking her fast and then seeking out Laria for her first lesson, Isobel was surprised to find Laria in the hall.
‘Good morrow,’ she said to the older woman as she walked towards the table in the front of the room. ‘I did not expect you to come for me.’
‘I need to finish harvesting some plants to the south of here, so it seemed the practical thing to do,’ Laria replied before turning to Lady Jocelyn and Isobel’s mother. ‘Lady. Margriet,’ she said with a nod. ‘The air has turned colder. Bring a sturdy cloak.’
Lady Jocelyn smiled at her, letting her know that this brusque approach was the custom for the healer. Isobel rushed back to their chamber to get her heavy cloak and leather gloves. Knowing she would be working alongside Laria this morn, she’d already pulled on her short boots which would protect her feet from the damp grass and mud. Within minutes she was ready and back in the hall, listening to Jocelyn talking with Laria. Her mother held out a small parcel to her as Laria turned to leave.
‘You did not eat. Some bread and cheese.’
In many other noble houses, great store was placed in the conducting of meals with formality, but as long as she could remember the laird and lady ate among their kith and kin. If tasks were to be done, a simple meal like this one was enough. So, it might seem unusual to many others of the same rank as Lady Jocelyn to dispense with a meal with little comment, yet it was not for them. If Laria thought it strange, she did not say. A nod to the others was the only signal that they were leaving and would be about their day’s work.
* * *
She spent the chilly, cloudy morning following Laria across fields and into forests as she collected the last fresh leaves and cuttings from many different plants. The healer spoke about each one as she cut, wrapped and placed it into the large basket she gave Isobel to carry. There seemed to be none of the reticence that Isobel had first felt from the older woman. Indeed, she now seemed pleased to have an assistant as she carried out this important task in preparing for the coming winter.
They spoke little other than Laria’s instructions about how each plant would be preserved and prepared, all the time walking across MacCallum lands. Though the air warmed a bit as the sun rose higher in the sky, it lost only the coldest bit of chill and never grew to the point that she could remove her cloak completely.
* * *
After several hours, they neared the keep and Laria dismissed her until the next morn.
Isobel had never thought herself pampered or lazy. That is until Laria dragged her to and fro for these last hours, leaving her exhausted. She drew nearer to the gates of the keep, watching villagers on the way back to their cottages, and found a place where the sun’s rays warmed a section of the low wall of a narrow bridge. She sat, gathering the cloak around her and leaning her face back to feel the sun’s warmth on her cheeks for a few moments before going inside.
Some quiet seconds passed and Isobel thought she might doze, tired as she was, so she leaned back against the trunk of a tree that grew next to the wall. Sitting still for the first time since getting out of her bed this morn just past dawn felt good. She knew people passed her by, but the sounds faded away as sleep overtook her.
‘Isobel?’
She heard someone saying her name. Sleep held her firmly and she just could not open her eyes.
‘Lass?’
Then she felt a large hand on her shoulder, squeezing it as her name was spoken again in that deep, appealing voice.
‘Isobel? Are you well, lass?’
He watched as her eyes fluttered open and, as she recognised him, Athdar began to reach out to steady her, placing his other hand on her shoulder and waiting for her to wake completely before letting go. There was going to be hell to pay from her mother already from last night’s infraction of manners, but if Margriet saw her daughter asleep on the bridge because he’d kept her up half the night, body parts might be maimed or removed. His body parts.
‘Athdar,’ she whispered as she straightened up and stretched her neck and shoulders a few times. Then she smiled at him and stood. ‘The sun felt so good when I sat down, I must have drifted off to sleep.’ A wonderful blush crept up into her cheeks, showing her embarrassment about being caught.
‘It was a cruel thing I did to you, Isobel. Kept you up most of the night. Then I allowed Laria to find you just as you left your chamber. And now, puir wee lass, you’ve had to find sleep sitting on the bridge. I am a terrible host.’
Isobel stood and he moved back so she could. He wanted to touch the dark shadows that marred the creamy colour of her cheeks and make them go away. As he lifted his hand towards her, he heard people nearby. People walking across the bridge. People who could see everything he did and hear everything he said.
He took another step back and then another and then waited for her to step away from the place on the wall where she’d been sitting. After she shook out her cloak, he held his arm out to her.
‘Come, let me see you back to the hall.’
Isobel glanced around them and nodded to the men he’d left sitting on their horses waiting for him.
He’d forgotten them when he noticed her asleep on the wall.
‘You have duties, Laird MacCallum, and I must not keep you from them,’ she said, loudly enough for them to hear. ‘But I thank you for your kindness.’
Athdar wanted to thank her for saving his dignity in this. He’d, again, lost his mind at the sight of her and forgotten the tasks he was in the middle of doing.
‘We go to check on the repairs to the mill.’
From the sly glances from Padruig and the others, he would suffer for this. So, after she bid him farewell, he nodded and watched as she turned and walked towards the gates. He’d only just climbed up on his horse when the whispered taunts began. He listened in silence, for responding to them would make it worse and draw attention he did not want. Then as they reached the road that led to the mill, his destination, he realised what he must say.
‘I was showing her the hospitality of my home,’ he said to them. ‘But what excuse do you have for not paying attention to a young, attractive woman who is of marriageable age?’
He rode off then, while kenning two things. He knew that the young bachelors among his men, especially Fergus and Niall, and even the recently widowed Connal would look a bit differently at Isobel at supper. And he knew that he had made a grievous error in dealing with his own attraction to the lass. If he did not strengthen his resolve never to marry again, a lass like Isobel could make him change his mind.
Chapter Six
Warmth surrounded her and Isobel did not wish to move. She pulled and tucked the bedcovers high around her neck and dipped her face down to stay warm in the cooler air of the chamber. Dawn must have come and gone some time ago from the brightness of the room. Still, considering that yesterday had been busier than she’d thought possible when she accepted the lady’s invitation to visit her, a sense of guilt filled her as she realised how late it mus
t be.
She’d expected to be a guest, possibly working on embroidery—which she had—or making the acquaintance of some of the lady’s other kith and kin—which she had. Instead she’d worked more and harder than she did at home, mending clothes and linens, cutting and cooking vegetables for preserving, cleaning two storerooms and visiting most, if not all, of the villagers.
And she’d spent most of each morning working with Laria and learning about the healing arts and herbs. She now kenned the difference between an intinction, a tincture, an infusion and a tea, a poultice, a posset and a rub, and how to grind the dried leaves of many plants to make a passable paste to treat all sorts of ailments and complaint.
The most disappointing part of all this work was that she had not been able to challenge Athdar to another match—because each night she’d barely made it through supper awake. And try as she might, she could not rouse herself once she’d got into bed to see if he’d waited for her in the hall.
Now, on her fourth morning, she decided she was going to have a lazy day and remain abed until the sun. No more climbing through bushes and marshes. No more crawling along the streambed searching for certain grasses and flowers.
No more.
Mayhap she would read, selecting a book from the MacCallums’ collection, which Jocelyn had described to her, and finding a sunny place in the hall to enjoy it. Then, after a day of leisure, she would be rested enough to stay awake and try to sneak back and play chess with Athdar.
Or...
The knock surprised her. The second, louder knock forced her from her cocoon. The third, more relentless knock told her clearly that lazy day was at an end.
‘Come in,’ she called out, still lying abed.
The maid called Glenna entered and closed the door behind her. She waited until Isobel had climbed from the cot and faced her before speaking.
‘Lady Jocelyn said to tell you she is waiting at table for you, mistress,’ Glenna said.
‘At table? Has she not broken her fast?’ she asked as she dug into her travelling trunk and found a clean shift, gown and stockings. No matter the place or time or reason, she did not want Lady Jocelyn waiting for her.
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