****
Sarra picked up her skirts and headed for the garden. The afternoon air was cool and goose bumps soon dotted her flesh. Picking up her pace, she found shelter from the wind under a nearby tree. Sir Henry followed along more slowly, barely seeming to notice the cold.
“Sir Henry, have you noticed anything unusual in your patrols?”
“Nay, we have not. All is well.”
“It worries me.”
“Pardon, mistress?”
“Sir Henry, have you seen the Scotsman who arrived a few days hence. His name is Cedric MacNeil.”
“Aye, I have. He is staying at Megean’s place. He’s taken her spare room, I believe.”
“Do you know anything about him?”
“Nay. Nothing save he is a decent swordsman and has dealt fairly with all those in the village. Should I be concerned?”
“Nay,” she said. Perhaps she was worrying needlessly. If the head of her guard saw no call for concern, why should she?
“Very well. Thank you. That’s all.”
Sir Henry bowed at the dismissal and left her standing in the garden alone. Who was Cedric? What was he doing here? What did he want? Why did she feel like he was dancing around the real reason? Why did no one else share her concerns?
She paced under the hanging foliage, rubbing her arms to stave off the cold. At the sound of an unexpected voice from behind she leapt off the ground.
“Is that ye, Sarra?”
Swinging around in an arc, she came face to face with the object of her thoughts. He was lounging on a tree opposite her own. “Where did you come from?”
“Scotland.”
She huffed out an impatient breath at the man’s insolent answer. “No, I mean now. Have you been here the whole time?”
“I guess it depends. Where is here?”
His casual pose only irritated her more. “Please don’t patronize me. You know very well what I mean.”
“Oh, ye mean here in the garden. Well I was walking by and I saw ye shivering and I thought ye might need this.”
Cedric’s hand shot forward, extending her his jacket. Sarra’s jaw relaxed and she moved to take article of clothing from him, but he resisted. With one step he was in front of her. The material flared out over her head and the rough wool settling down over her shoulders.
“Would ye like to take a walk with me?”
Alarm rose within her and her heart beat increased. “Walk with you? Where?”
“Here in the garden, perhaps.”
“Very well,” she answered.
Cedric offered his arm and she hesitated. Lines of worry crinkled at the corners of his eyes as Sarra finally accepted, wrapping her arm around his.
They walked together, their steps matching each other, as she huddled deeper within the warm cloak. The coarse woolen fabric smelled of musk. It was the scent of the Scotsman. The thought of being so close to something that had once caressed his flesh caused her to blush.
An awkward silence pervaded as they followed the garden’s manicured path. Mist fell and coated the greenery with wetness. Sarra shivered and Cedric placed his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. She didn’t move or protest, enjoying the extra warmth he provided.
“I hope ye don’t mind me touch. My gentlemanly ways won’t allow a lovely young lass to freeze.”
Without warning, Cedric turned her to face him. Sarra was not a short woman—the top of her head reaching his chin. Tilting her head back her gaze met his. She couldn’t help but be drawn in by the blue depth of his eyes.
His hand rose unbidden toward her face. His thumb found her jaw and caressed the silken skin. Slowly his hand slipped to the back of her neck, his fingers becoming tangled in her hair. His mouth descended.
Before their lips met he stopped. When she didn’t move away he brushed her lips lightly with his, like the caress of butterfly wings. The touch was imperceptible and Sarra wondered if it had been imagined.
She didn’t know how to respond. The affection he showed was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Lowering her chin, she moistened her lips. Expecting something to be said, she was surprised when he crushed her to his side and resumed walking. Then his next words caused her mouth to fall open in a most undignified manner.
“In the moonlight ye are a vision of loveliness.”
Pulling back, she gave him an incredulous look. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doin’ what, lass?”
“Attempting to court me. Trying to gain my favor. What is your motive?”
“Just being friendly.”
“I think you should leave.”
“I don’t mind walking with ye.”
“Nay, I mean, leave the keep.” With nimble fingers she held his jacket out to him. But Cedric wouldn’t take it.
Shaking his head, he said, “I don’t think so.”
“I’m afraid you must. Because I’m ordering you to do so.”
“And by what authority do ye have to order me out of the Greenbriar keep?”
Sarra hesitated. Cedric’s motivations for coming to Greenbriar weren’t yet clear. If he was given the identity of the true mistress of the keep, what would happen? Did she want to find out? With another moment’s hesitation, she bowed her head and answered, “None. I have no authority here.”
Focusing on the ground before her, Sarra felt a sudden lack of warmth. Cedric had left, taking his cloak with him.
Chapter Nine
Cedric was disappointed. Stalking angrily around the rented room in Megean’s small home, he raked a hand through his hair. What was wrong with him? He was here for one purpose. To find the mistress of the keep and marry her, with or without her consent. The land was all that mattered. What had come over him? How had he allowed this infatuation to begin?
Sarra. She was like no other woman he’d met. This young lass was weaseling her way into mind, his thoughts, his heart.
Upon seeing her in the garden with the knight, Cedric had snuck closer. He’d heard very little of the actual conversation. His thoughts and eyes were only for the vision before him. Part of him entertained the notion that perhaps Sarra could be his “mistress” even after he was married. But nay, the lady wasn’t the type for such a thing. In truth, the thought of her being such was disgusting to him.
Lying down upon the straw mattress and staring at the ceiling above, Cedric pulled a wrinkled parchment from his sporran. This piece of paper gave him the rights to Greenbriar. All of it. Everything. All he had to do was marry the lady of the keep.
He should ask Megean who the lady of the keep was. Cedric wasn’t sure if he had been in the village long enough to be trusted. Would she even answer his questions? But if he asked and was given the answer, then his little trysts with Sarra would be over. There would be no more getting to know the lass. No more dinners. No more walks in the garden. Perhaps revealing his true identity could wait, at least a few more days.
He balled his hand into a fist and shoved it under his head as he struggled to get comfortable. Aye, his mission could wait. He had nothing but time.
Cedric woke bright and early. Trading in his breeks for his kilt, he headed to the lists. Cedric found several of the knights practicing their sword play. One pointed at him and asked, “How do you move like that?”
Cedric raised an eyebrow. “I don’t understand yer question.”
“I meant, how do you work in a kilt? I’ve always wondered how the Scots are able to fight under such exposure. Your legs showing, no armor, and the like.”
“I always wondered how ye move in all the mail, meself. To move without it is quite simple. Ye just lift ye sword and sling it like ye do when yer wearing breeks.”
“Really?”
“Aye, really.”
The lad asked his friend, “Want to give it a try?”
“In a kilt?”
“Nay, let’s wear our breeks and take off our armor.”
“Gavin, Sir Henry won’t like it.”
“W
hat could it hurt?”
Cedric left the two men to their lessons. Removing his shirt, he found a willing sparring partner and went to work. Soon he was engrossed in his own fight and oblivious to the situation surrounding him. Before long his partner tired of him and he found himself paired with the two young lads from earlier. They were fighting in nothing but tunics and breeks and doing quite well when they asked to spar.
“Verra well. Show me what a couple of young Englishmen can do.”
****
Sarra was in the library poring over copious notes when she heard the urgent voice of the young stable lad, James. “Mistress, mistress, come quick. There has been an accident!”
Sarra grabbed up her skirts and flew to the door. Sarra’s mind raced. Was it Charism? Sir Henry? Gavin? Cook? What could have possibly sent James in with such a message?
Sarra ran out into the great hall and stopped short. Sir Gavin swayed in the middle of the room. His face held a pale gray color.
The silence was thick and the dripping of blood could be heard as it struck the cold, stone floor. Drip, drip, drip…
Sarra walked toward the small crowd which was gathering around the wounded knight. In a whisper, “Where is Charism?”
James leaned in, “Gone to retrieve her herb box and her dagger, my lady.” Adding in a low tone, “She believes it would be better to cauterize the wound. They brought Gavin here to wait on her.”
“Cauterize?” Sarra repeated to no one but herself. The wound must be dire to make Charism think this measure was necessary.
As of now, Sarra’s main concern was that the incident was an accident and Sir Gavin’s injuries were the worst of the lot.
“My lady, he didn’t mean it,” Gavin blurted as Sarra approached.
Raising an eyebrow, Sarra didn’t ask him to explain. Yet.
Two knights flanked Gavin in case he fell and needed to be carried. Directing them with a flick of her wrist, she had them assist Gavin in taking a seat in front of the great fireplace in the middle of the room.
“Now let's get a look at you, shall we?” Sarra said with more courage than she felt.
Gavin’s armor had been removed. The blood covering his body appeared to be flowing from a gash about five inches long in the upper part of his arm. The depth of the wound was disturbing. How had it gone so deep through his armor?
“I shouldn’t have done it, my lady.”
“Gavin, please do stop babbling until I figure out a way to help Charism with this.”
“Oh, my lady. He is a good friend and a decent person. Don’t be upset with him.”
Placing her hands on her hips, Sarra stared at Gavin in the most authoritative manner she could muster and ordered, “Explain yourself.”
Trembling from either blood loss or fear, Gavin tried to respond but was interrupted by a fellow knight. “Well, my lady, the Scot was in the lists training with us. And we asked why he doesn’t wear armor when he fights. And the Scot said it was just as easy to fight without it. So Gavin and I decided to take off our mail and try to train in breeks and a tunic.”
Here Gavin injected, pain lacing his tone, “Patrick wanted to try a kilt but I refused to be so exposed, begging your pardon mistress.”
Sarra almost groaned aloud. True to form Gavin was taking the most circuitous route possible to reach the important details. “Of course, continue please.”
Patrick, placed a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder, and continued, “Well he, the Scot I mean, came back over to us to see if we wanted to train and we agreed. He was sparring with us both and I was about to block Gavin’s blow when my foot slipped. I didn’t mean—”
“Looks like Gavin been skewered rather than cut,” Sarra muttered. So “the Scot”, Cedric MacNeil, was behind this fiasco. Why had she not run him out of Greenbriar?
Patrick’s explanation had come to a stuttering halt as Charism entered the hall burdened down with her herb box.
Sarra rushed over to Charism’s bent form. “Are you certain cauterizing is necessary?”
“Aye, I am.” Charism gave a blowing sigh.
“What can I do?”
“Ye need to get a couple of strong men so they can hold Gavin down when the time comes.”
“Two knights are already in the hall. I will tell them they can retrieve some of the strong drink from the library and start plying it to Gavin.”
“A good idea; the poor lad is going to need it.”
“Now, where is the Scot?” Sarra mumbled to herself.
Charism focused on Sarra and her muttering, but didn’t comment.
Anger rose in Sarra as never before. Her knight could lose his arm because of this strange Scot and his carelessness. Where was he? If he was dallying in the lists, she would have his head. Imagine not even having the decency to come and check on the lad.
Sarra stalked with an angry gait toward Cedric’s last known location. So unfocused was her direction, she ran into a wall of solid muscle. As she pushed her hair from her eyes and tilted her head back, the first glimpse of the wall’s face came into focus.
“Excuse me, I was looking for Cedric Mac...” she said, choking on the last word.
“Well ye found me, maid Sarra.”
She stomped one well-heeled shoe on Cedric’s toe. He made only the slightest hint he’d received any discomfort, only serving to anger her further.
“Would you please refrain from calling me maid?”
“Aye. But ye will notice I also called ye Sarra.”
“Don’t try to distract me with your titillating Scottish burr. I know very well what you called me.”
“Trying to distract ye, am I? What am I distracting ye from?”
Sighing Sarra closed her eyes and breathed deeply, counting to ten. How was she supposed to concentrate when all she could think about was how the sweat was glistening on his bare chest or how his hair had come loose to lay in a caress on his shoulders? Perhaps it was time to consider marriage.
Sarra opened her eyes and studied Cedric. He didn’t seem entirely uncomfortable with the situation and seemed to be doing some studying of his own. What was he thinking? Hopefully, it was how the dress she wore enhanced her natural colors, while exciting his imagination.
Where had those thoughts come from? This was no time to be thinking such things, especially about such a beast as Cedric!
Sarra reined in the embarrassing thoughts before they ran away from her. How could he sit and ogle her thus?
Irritation fueled a belligerent response. “Do you like what you see?”
Cedric smirked, all the proof needed that indeed he did.
Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Sarra said, “This is getting us nowhere.” A small crowd gathered behind them. Grabbing Cedric by the hand, she attempted to pull him to a more private place, but he wouldn’t budge.
Sarra let go of his hand and gave him a direct stare. “Would you come with me to a more private location?”
Cedric nodded. Walking away, he grabbed his tunic off a post and pulled it over his head, sheathed his sword, and angled back to face her. Then with a giant smile and an out stretched hand, “Lead the way.”
Sarra spun on her heel and walked toward a shaded spot in the garden. It was the same spot they had stood in just a few nights before. Currently it was free from villagers and onlookers.
She walked away without a glance over her shoulder to see if Cedric followed, because she knew he would. The opportunity for a private meeting had been given. She was giving him the opportunity to stand beneath the trees and stare at her as he was so apt to do. How could he resist? She was the mistress after all, even if he didn’t know it.
Sarra turned to face him, “What were you thinking?”
Cedric froze in his tracks, one eyebrow raised. “Pardon?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I am talking about. One of the knights is in the great hall about to be seared. And what are you doing? You are still fighting and carrying on, like you didn’t just
fillet him open like a fish!”
“A knight?”
“Yes, a knight. And answer me when I talk to you,” Sarra said.
Cedric started advancing, forcing her back to a tree. He leaned in dangerously close, allowing her to get a whiff of his woodsy scent. “Ye will not speak to me thusly.”
Sarra’s reply was breathless, from fear or his nearness, she wasn’t sure which. Taking a gulp, “I will speak to you however I wish.”
Cedric took his thumb and placed it against her bottom lip. “What makes ye think I would let a mere village lass express such insolence in my presence?”
Staring him directly in the eyes and trying to keep her wits about her as his thumb continued to worry her lip, Sarra hesitated. What should she tell him? Should she reveal her identity as the mistress?
No, not yet. There were still too many unanswered questions.
With a direct look she answered, “I do so out of Christian duty.” There. Hopefully he would accept her answer and leave her be.
“Aye. Insolence by Christian duty. That is one I have yet to hear.”
“Nay, not my insolence Scot. But my concern for the knight.”
“Aye. Of course. The knight. Ye believe I filleted him like a fish, ye say?”
“Perhaps I have accused you unjustly. But that doesn’t negate the fact there is a knight who needs to be held down so his wound can be tended. All else can be discussed at a later time.”
Cedric backed away from her so quickly, Sarra almost lost her balance and fell to the ground. His long-legged stride had him to the keep doors before Sarra could take her first step.
Sarra followed along after him. By the time she arrived in the great hall, Gavin was stretched out on the main table. Sir Henry, Cedric, and two other knights were ready to grasp him when Charism began. The dagger was laid in the hot coals in preparation for the procedure. Cedric was leaning over Gavin, whispering in Gaelic what Sarra believed must be words of reassurance.
Sarra stood still in the middle of the room watching Gavin’s glazed eyes. How much whiskey had they poured into the poor lad? Would Charism summon her? The heat in the room was stifling.
There Your Heart Will Be Also Page 5
