Marion shrugged. ‘It made things easier.’ She stretched out her arms. ‘Give me the baby now, Cecily.’
At the bottom of the bed, Greta knelt on the floor, packing up her cloth bag. With one hand on her knee, she levered herself slowly to her feet. ‘I will go down and ask the servants to bring up some hot water. I will tell them to leave it at the door...’ she glanced pointedly at Cecily ‘...so you can prepare yourself.’ Her slight, wizened figure slipped through the door and into the stairwell beyond.
She means until I have swapped places with my sister, Cecily thought. Guilt swung over her. How could she do this? How could she take this baby away from his mother?
‘Can I hold him?’ Isabella’s voice called faintly from the bed. ‘Mother, please may I hold my baby?’
Marion nodded abruptly at Cecily, pursing her lips. But Cecily was already carrying the tiny baby over to her sister, laying him in her arms. A huge smile broke across Isabella’s face as she stared down at the child in wonder. The glowing, pearly perfection of a new-born. The small, puckered mouth, the snub nose. Biting her lip, Cecily dipped her head away. Tears of sadness brimming in her eyes. She hadn’t counted on this. She hadn’t counted on how she would feel when the baby was placed in the arms of his rightful mother. What the hell was she doing?
‘This is not right,’ she hissed at her mother. Moving around to Marion, Cecily touched her mother’s elbow, drawing her away from the bed so Isabella wouldn’t hear her words. ‘We cannot go on with this ridiculous plan.’
‘What?’ her mother hissed, her thin lips curling. ‘Don’t you dare do this, Cecily. You cannot back out now! We are so very nearly there!’
‘Look at Isabella, Mother. Look at how she holds the baby. We cannot take that child away from her.’
‘We are not taking the child away from her!’ Marion snapped. ‘Isabella will be here, with the boy, as he grows up. But we have to go through the charade for Lord Simon to make the whole thing believable and then he will leave us alone. You cannot back out now; not after what you did.’
‘It was an accident.’ A shudder of memory rose in Cecily’s chest.
‘Whatever it was, my girl, this is the debt you have to pay. On that day, the day your brother, Raymond, died, you took away our livelihood and now you need to give it back to us.’
The thick air of the chamber, the smell of sweat and blood, pressed down on Cecily. Her head thumped in pain. She touched the sore spot on her forehead where her head had hit the rock, remembering. That man’s careful hands, moving over the injury. Her skin smarted, burned.
‘And remember, Cecily,’ Marion’s tone softened, adopting a cajoling tone, ‘that if you do this, what the rewards will be. I will tell you where William is. And maybe, maybe, I can forgive you for what you have done. We can be a proper family again.’
And there it was, the bribe. The chance that her mother would love her again.
Cecily half closed her eyes. She needed to think, to escape the fug of the chamber. If only for a moment. ‘I must... I need some fresh air.’
‘Open the window, then.’ Her mother’s voice was shrill. ‘You need to stay here, with me, and help with Isabella. As soon as we clean her up, you can swap places with her.’
Cecily’s hand was on the door latch, pulling the door ajar, listening out for any activity on the stairs.
‘Where are you going?’ Marion’s eyes rounded in horror. ‘You cannot leave! Come back here at once!’
‘I will be back in a moment.’ Ignoring her mother’s pleas, Cecily slipped out of the chamber.
* * *
‘Wish me luck.’ Lachlan grinned at Simon as he kicked his booted foot from the stirrups, thudding down on to the leaf-strewn ground. His leg wound ached painfully with the force of the landing; he winced. Bringing the worn leather reins over the horse’s head, he handed them to one of Simon’s men. Some of them carried torches, the bright flares holding back the dark, seizing the horsemen in a circle of light.
Leaning down from his saddle, Simon knocked his fist against Lachlan’s broad shoulder. ‘You’ll do it. Try and find out as much information as you can, then come back out to us. I want to know what those women are up to, and whether the baby has been born. If it’s a girl, then the castle’s mine again.’
‘How many men are there to defend the castle?’ Lachlan asked. In the shadows, his eyes were a deep, iridescent blue.
‘Christ, the woman has a whole army up there. She must pay them well to keep them so loyal. Far too many men to keep three women safe.’
‘Three?’
‘Aye, my brother’s widow, Cecily, her mother and her younger sister, Isabella. They all came to live here when Lady Cecily’s father died.’
‘Have you tried to fight your way in?’
Simon shook his head. ‘I don’t want any violence. Especially against women. If the King should hear about it...’ He trailed off, shrugging his shoulders. He glanced at Lachlan. ‘This way is better.’
‘The sneaky approach,’ Lachlan finished for him. ‘In that case, look after my sword and belt for me. It would be better if they think of me as a humble traveller, not a man nosing about for information.’ He handed them up to Simon, moving around to his horse’s rump to extract a large hooded cloak from one of his saddlebags. He swept the coarse patched fabric around the wide heft of his shoulders.
‘What do you think?’ he asked, tugging the voluminous hood low over his bright hair.
‘I think, Lachlan, that you are a true friend, to help me like this. If only there was something I could do to...’ Simon cleared his throat, pale cheeks reddening ‘...after what happened to you.’ He searched the terse angles of Lachlan’s face. ‘I wish there was something I could do for you,’ he said finally, limply.
‘It was a long time ago, Simon.’ Lachlan’s jaw hardened imperceptibly. ‘And there’s nothing you can do or could have done. I scarce think of it now, anyway.’ But as he turned away and strode off through the birch trunks gleaming in the darkness he realised he was lying. Simon’s words scoured him, whips of memory flaying his skin. The ground before him shimmered, a blur as the past rushed through him. Horrific, vivid images lifted to his mind’s eye, the familiar monsters that plagued him, day and night. The acrid smoke on his tongue as if it were yesterday. He heard his family’s screams.
Lachlan shook his head roughly, dispelling the unwanted images. Despite his awkward gait, his long legs, honed from years in the saddle, powered up the steep slope to the castle gatehouse. It was so early; before dawn. Stars twinkled above him in the blue-black sky. The chilly air stung the inside of his throat, catching his breath. Now was not the time to dwell on what had happened; now was the time to fight back, to return to Scotland and make sure that justice was done. Two more days, he thought. Two more days and he would be fit enough to ride north.
It had been a mistake to let the maid from the river walk away from him. He should have hung on to that slender arm and marched her straight to Simon. It would have been a lot easier than all this skulking around in the dark. He smiled, imagining her reaction if he had done such a thing. Spitting at him like a cat, no doubt. That fiery beauty, half-drowned, sopping clothes clinging to her slim frame, raging at him. Her fine skin, like the inner curve of a pearl, glistening with raindrops. So beautiful and yet so hostile.
His breath hitched. Awareness rippled through him, a heightened sense of feeling. The beat of his blood, slowly gaining pace. He frowned, drawing heavy, etched brows together, realising that his hand was poised before the large, double-height door, yet he had failed to knock. Thoughts of the maid had snared him, tangling his usual, rapier-sharp logic. Lifting his great fist, he hammered on the chunky wooden planks.
Nothing. Not a sound. The door remained shut. He thumped again, harder this time. Surely they wouldn’t leave the gate unguarded during the night? Taking a step back, he tilted his head, h
is luminous blue gaze sweeping up the towering granite wall, his eye moving from window to window. Candlelight flickered high up in the east tower; he could see a shadow moving on the interior wall of the chamber.
Raising his fist once more, he almost staggered forward in surprise when the door opened abruptly and a young lad peered out, holding a rush torch in his small fist. The light flared and crackled. The lad wore chainmail that was far too big for him and a helmet that tilted alarmingly. Where were the many house knights that Simon talked about? Were they all still abed?
‘Yes...?’ the lad asked. His voice quavered with doubt.
‘Good day to you,’ Lachlan said, bowing his head. ‘I have come for food, if possible. I have been travelling all night and my body is weary.’
‘The mistress doesn’t...’ The boy began to close the door.
Lachlan stuck his booted foot in the gap, before the door was slammed shut on him. ‘I’ll be no bother,’ he said. ‘I can eat in the kitchen. Your mistress will never know I’m here.’
A dubious look crossed the young guard’s face, his pale eyes staring down miserably at Lachlan’s large foot planted imperiously on the threshold. ‘All right,’ he said finally. ‘But you had better be quiet. The mistress has been labouring all night and has just been delivered of a child.’
‘Girl or boy?’ Lachlan asked as he stepped inside. Up ahead was another archway that led into the cobbled bailey.
‘A boy,’ said the lad, pushing the iron bolts back across the door to secure it. ‘A blessed day for us all. At least Lady Cecily will not lose the castle now.’ His timid eyes assessed Lachlan’s rugged face. ‘She is a widow and her brother-in-law is determined to have this castle back.’
‘Your mistress is good to you?’ Lachlan asked conversationally.
The boy nodded, a smile breaking across his thin face. ‘Aye, she’s a fine woman. A hard worker, too. We celebrated the day when our lord, God rest his soul, married her. She managed this whole estate while he was away fighting in France.’
Lachlan raised his eyebrows. This wasn’t the story that Simon had been telling him. He had given the impression that his brother’s widow had let the place go to rack and ruin, but even in this shadowy light he could see how neat and tidy the place looked. Firewood was stacked in an orderly fashion against the castle walls, protected by a thatched roof; the cobbles of the bailey, slick now with a coating of ice, were swept clean. A smell of fresh straw rose from the stables over to his right.
Lachlan hesitated. There was no real need for him to go into the castle. In the eyes of the law, Simon had lost and the castle would pass to his new-born nephew.
And yet... A pair of emerald eyes, sparkling with hostility, danced through his mind. She was here, somewhere. The girl from the river. It would be worth staying a little longer, just to catch another glimpse of her, before he headed north.
‘Point me in the direction of the kitchens,’ he said to the lad, lifting his cloth bag more securely on to his shoulder.
Chapter Four
With a quick, light step, Cecily walked along the corridor, breathing in the damp, chill air, a blessed relief after Isabella’s overheated chamber. The ladies’ solar was at the far end, in the south-west turret of the castle, accessed down one level on another spiral staircase. A bright, light-filled room reserved only for her mother, Isabella and herself. No one else was allowed access; it was their private sanctuary.
Opening the door, Cecily headed for the wide low window, sinking down on the wooden windowsill. Her mind jumped all over the place, fatigue slowing her thoughts, making them sluggish. If only she could sleep. Reaching up, she twisted the iron latch, pushing open the wooden shutter. Outside, it was barely light, only the faintest lightening of the darkness to the east indicated that dawn was about to break. A single star twinkled above the horizon.
The early morning air bathed her heated face, softening the creeping sadness that coiled around her heart. Her breath emerged in puffs of white mist. She closed her eyes, allowing her mind to drift, to catch at the sadness that always lingered on the fringes of her thoughts. The loss of Raymond would always be with her. She would do anything to go back in time, to forcibly stop her brother from going out on to that frozen pond. Why had she not put up with his spoiled protests, the incessant whining, and stopped him doing what he wanted to do, instead of giving in to him?
Sighing, she leaned her forehead against the smooth wood of window frame. Now was not the time for regrets. Now was the time for healing wounds. For making things right between her and her mother. This rift between them had gone on too long; for Isabella’s sake, for this new baby’s sake, she had to pay her debt and make her mother happy again. And Marion was right, she wasn’t taking the baby away from Isabella; the three of them would raise the boy, together, as a family.
Cecily rose slowly, smoothing down her ruffled skirts, wrapping her linen scarf back into place around her head. She would go back into that chamber now and swap places with Isabella in the bed, so that Lord Simon could visit. The next few hours would be tense, but as long as she held her nerve, they might succeed with their plan. Chewing her bottom lip, deep in thought, she wrenched open the door.
A man stood in the corridor, his back turned towards her.
Christ in Heaven! Cecily shut the door hurriedly, but he had heard her. Heart pounding, she listened to his strides advance decisively towards the solar.
‘Mistress?’ His voice was muffled as he tapped on the door. ‘Can you help me a moment?’
‘Go away!’ Cecily shouted. ‘I am indisposed!’ She leaned back against the solid oak door. There was no key; she had no defence against him. Without warning, the door was pushed inwards, a hefty shove. With a cry of disbelief, Cecily sprang away, into the middle of the room.
‘How dare you!’ she yelled out at the man. ‘I did not...’ Her voice faltered as he raised his head and stared straight at her. The air punched from her lungs, leaving her staggered, gasping. The man from the river stood in the doorway. The man with piercing diamond eyes and flaming hair. Fear cut through her like a blade. His vast shoulders filled the doorway, a knowing gaze moving over her. His square-cut jaw hardened in recognition. What in hell’s name was he doing here?
‘So we meet again.’ Lachlan smiled slowly, his gaze raking the plain cloth of her gown. ‘I wondered if I would see you.’
‘Get out!’ Cecily yelled at him, flapping him away with outstretched arms. ‘I did not give you permission to enter.’
He ignored her. ‘You were at the river this morning.’ He moved with the easy athleticism of an animal, a supple flex of power carrying his body forward, despite a slight limp.
‘I have never met you before!’ she spluttered.
He frowned heavily. ‘Why are you lying?’ He cut off her speech, hard, with a voice of steel as he stood before her. Towered over her. His gleaming eyes roamed over her slim figure. ‘I pulled you out of the river. I carried you to the bank. Beneath your scarf is a cut on your forehead.’ Unbelievably, he tapped the spot on her head. ‘Shall we have a look?’
Cecily reared back, wincing. The raw, musky scent of his skin swept around her, softly tantalising. His boots budged beneath the hemline of her skirts, an intimate intrusion. His body loomed over her, overbearing, intimidating, a snug surcoat encasing the heft of his shoulders, embracing the bulky muscles beneath. She wanted to scream at him to leave her alone, to push at those heavy muscular arms, to shove him away. But her mouth was too dry, devoid of liquid. Instead, she took a hurried step back, her hip banging painfully against the wooden arm of a chair.
Lachlan read the fear in her eyes. His gaze narrowed upon her. What was going on here? Why was the maid pretending that she had never met him? He traced the finely sewn seam around the neckline of her gown, the elegant fit of her sleeves around her slender arms. ‘You remember me.’ His voice was deep. Blunt.
; Christ, how could she forget? The humiliation of that broad frame nudging hers, the sensual press of his limbs. The tangy smell of him. Her heart lurched dangerously, a staggered, rising flutter. Who in Christ’s name was he, to keep barging into her life like this? He could reveal her identity and jeopardise her mother’s whole plot, for he had seen her twice now, without her disguise. Disconcerted, she raised her hand, touching the tender spot beneath her linen veil.
Lachlan noted the movement with satisfaction. Oh, she remembered him all right. ‘It is you, isn’t it? Who are you? Tell me your name.’
Beads of sweat flecked her palms. ‘It’s none of your business!’ she responded shakily. She smoothed her hands down the front of her gown. ‘The guard should not have let you in.’
‘The guard who is a boy of ten winters. A mouse could gain access to this castle.’
Cecily moved behind the chair, using the polished elm as a makeshift barrier. ‘What do you want?’
‘I understand that Lady Cecily has had her baby?’
Her mouth slackened, dropping open at his question. How did he know? How, in heaven’s name, did he know the name? Her name? She had thought he was a passing traveller, but... Oh, my God, he must be with Simon of Doccombe! Christ, was he one of his knights? Terror blocked her throat. She backed away, shaking her head, not wanting to reply. Not knowing how to reply. She had to get away from him. Now.
‘Yes, yes, she has.’ Cecily’s voice was a hesitant mumble as she slowly circled the chair. If she could lead him into the centre of the room then maybe, just maybe she could run to the door and be out of the room before he saw too much of her. ‘You need to leave, now.’
Cecily strode over to the door, her head held high, acting as if she were about to show him out. Pulled open the door slowly, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. The corridor stretched out before her; if she ran along that then he would surely catch her. But if she sprinted down the stairs, she might have a chance of losing him. Blood roared in her veins with the effort of keeping her features set, expressionless. He could not know that she was planning to run.
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