“Oh alright, if ye insist,” Janet sighed when she was able to catch her breath. “Call for me at my father’s home on the morrow.”
Bidding farewell to the others, she made her way back into the crowd.
Lachlan looked at Niall, amazed. “I have never seen anything quite like that,” he exclaimed reverently. “Either ye’re a great, awkward lout as ye seem—or that were a stroke of brilliance!”
The rest agreed, and a slow, sheepish grin softened the stunned look on Niall’s flushed face.
The spectacle had lightened Alex’s mood even more than it already was. Pleased for the young lad, he scanned the market casually.
His heart skipped a beat at something in the distance. He thought he saw... wait, yes, it was. A pair of dark, sensual eyes stared back at him across the grounds.
Eyes just like Lady Glinis’s.
Before he could determine that it was, indeed, she, the crowd shifted, and in a breath, the eyes were gone.
Had he imagined what he’d seen? He must have, for what would Lady Kildrummond be doing at a common place like market?
Just to be sure, he searched the crowd. She was nowhere to be found. Dismissing the notion, he resumed the conversation with his companions, determined to believe it had only been a coincidence. But his thumping heart could not be convinced otherwise.
She’d been there. And she’d looked right at him.
Thirteen
THE DOOR TO Glendalough’s rear garden swung open, its well-oiled hinges making no sound to disturb the still, morning air. A thick fog rolled across the threshold and into the stone corridor that connected the keep to the servants’ quarters and kitchens. The pallid sky had not been light for long, but the twittering birdsong which rode the gentle breeze confirmed that night had passed.
Glancing left and right to ensure that no eyes had seen her, Lady Glinis pulled the wide hood of her woollen cloak over her head to conceal her face. Then she stepped onto the dewy grass and closed the door silently behind her.
She strode with haste across the rear grounds of Glendalough to the small gate on the north side of the curtain wall. It was the castle’s only other exit point besides the main south gate. She prayed the guardsman there stationed had fallen asleep at his post, for she did not wish to be observed in this manner: sneaking out of her own castle—imagine what the servants would think.
Approaching the gate, Glinis muttered a foul word under her breath. Very much awake, and surveying the land over the parapet of the outer wall walk, was a lone figure. By his proud posture alone, she knew it was none other than Dougall MacFadyen.
Curse his loyal hide!
Though upon consideration, perhaps it was rather fortuitous that Glinis should find Dougall guarding the gate this morning. If anyone would hold their tongue and not tell John that she’d sneaked off it would be Kildrummond’s captain of the guard. Lord Kildrummond’s public betrayal of his wife had never sat well with Dougall, and though the lad was not in a position to voice his objection, neither was he inclined to inform on Glinis (and her occasional, minor indiscretions) to his Lordship.
Hearing the swishing of wet grass underfoot, Dougall turned and leaned his elbows on the edge of a merlon. He said nothing as she approached, simply regarded her .
“Lady Kildrummond.” His greeting was louder than she would have wished. “Up this early and by yerself?”
“I beg ye, Dougall, keep yer voice down.”
“Are ye well?”
“Of course I’m well, dinna be daft.”
“Then what are ye doing wi’out an escort? Wi’out yer mare? Shall I fetch them for ye?”
“Nay, dinna do that.”
He frowned. “Where are ye going, might I ask, wi’out a horse? Ye’re no’ off to some illicit tryst now, are ye?”
She raised one eyebrow in reprimand. He was not chastened by it; but of course, she’d not expected him to be.
“I wish to walk,” she told him. “That is all. By myself—no mount, no escort.”
Dougall shook his head. “I dinna like the sound of that, my Lady. ‘Tis dangerous out there. Ye could run into poachers, thieves, vagrants—”
“Ye ken better than anyone these lands are well patrolled. I’ve more chance of running into poachers and thieves in my own chamber than I do in Kildrummond’s hills. Now let me out—and dinna say a word to anyone!”
Dougall hesitated. Unwilling, he raised the portcullis, taking care not to jangle the heavy chains unnecessarily.
“I would tell, my Lady, if I werena so foggy-headed this morning. I should tell.”
“Are ye foggy-headed this morning, Dougall?”
“Aye. I were enjoying myself a bit too much at MacCormack’s market stall yesterday,” he admitted. “I didna think I’d be on guard this morning, but one of my men fell ill.”
“Nothing serious, I hope?”
“Och, nay. He’ll be right as rain in a day or two. Now ye be careful out there. And I must insist, my Lady, if ye’re no’ back by the time the morning meal is served, I’ll send a search out for ye, and tell his Lordship where ye’ve gone.”
“He’ll tan yer hide himself if he discovers ye let me out alone.”
“Nevermind my hide. ‘Tis yer safety I care about.”
“That’s why we love ye so.”
Waving, Glinis crossed the rutted dirt beneath the arched wall and emerged onto the open ground beyond. The clinking of the portcullis being lowered again met her back as she walked away.
She was not at all surprised that Dougall was foggy-headed this morning. She’d seen him at market herself, enjoying the fruits of MacCormack’s labours in the company of Moira and Lachlan and Sir Alex.
Alex. His name made her heart skip a beat.
He’d seen her—she hadn’t meant for him to, but he’d seen her. What a foolish woman she’d been, going to market just to catch a glimpse of him. But she had no choice; he made it so hard for her now that he was spending all his time with Moira and Lachlan in that wretched hut on Kildrummond’s border.
She didn’t know how or when it had happened, but suddenly, seeing him at meals only was not enough. At meals, he was across the room; at meals, people were watching. She was not free to gaze as long and as directly as she pleased—
Hellfire, when had she become such a lovestruck, empty-headed lass? Shameful!
After the meal he was gone for the day, out training with the men, or on patrol, or spending time with Lachlan and Moira.
It left Glinis feeling oddly abandoned. Deflated.
It was in this frame of mind (which could not be called any frame of mind, really, since she’d apparently gone and lost hers) she’d sneaked away to market with one of her handmaids as an escort. Her pretence was that she wished to purchase thread for her needlework, and did not know which colours she wanted.
When she glimpsed his face through the throngs of people, so carelessly enjoying the warmth and the ale and the general gaiety, she couldn’t help but admire him. His golden hair had been tied in a queue, revealing the strong lines of his jaw and neck. It brightened the green of his eyes and made his skin shimmer like polished bronze.
Even from a distance his magic affected her, turned her knees to jelly and her stomach to a haven for butterflies.
When he turned those luminous eyes on her, the world ground to a halt. It was less than a second before she darted away, but it felt like a century. An eternity of falling into a void which she never wanted to find her way out of.
He was leaving this day. Leaving for Arkinholm and war. It was agonizing to know that he’d be so close to the fighting. Though Lachlan had forbidden him from joining, it didn’t put Glinis’s mind at ease, for she did not know Sir Alex well enough to say whether or not he would obey. She knew the minds of potent young men, knew the bloodlust that afflicted them when battle was near at hand.
Sir Alex was without doubt a potent young man. Would he be as helpless to the bloodlust when the fighting at Arkinholm began?
She knew this way, had travelled it many times. Beyond the next hill there was a small pool, not quite as deep as a man, and perhaps as wide as her bed was long. A mountain stream collected here briefly before continuing on its merry way down the other side. Who knew how many thousands of years it had been here, the water hollowing out this bowl for itself on its course into the rivers below.
It had been a long time since she’d been here last. She used to come as a girl, when she was first married and in need of solace. When the pain of her new husband’s rejection, and his eventual betrayal of their marriage vows, cut too deeply to overcome in the presence of the castle’s ever-watchful eyes.
She always came alone. At first, she’d brought her handmaid with her, but the stupid woman had run and told John, and John had forbidden her from going again for fear that she might drown or be swept down the mountainside. (He’d never come himself, else he would know that such a thing was improbable.) Young Glinis had agreed solemnly, and promised she would come no more.
From that day on she made this excursion alone, and in secret.
Standing over the pool, peering into its rippling surface, she wondered why it had been so many years since her last visit. In warmer days, Glinis would strip off her fine garments and the constraints of being a countess, and bathe naked. The feel of the water undulating past her bare flesh beneath the surface was soothing. She used to love ducking her head completely under, and letting the current move her hair and her body as it would.
It was too early in the season to do so now, though.
Although... perhaps not too cold to dangle her legs. It was nearly May, after all, and the air was warm by day ...
She pondered briefly, before succumbing to the same, girlish abandon of decades past. Giggling aloud, she tossed her cloak from her shoulders and yanked her embroidered umber gown up over her head.
Hitching her sleeveless linen shift to her waist, she perched her bare bottom on the wet grass. A small gasp escaped her throat at the cool dew on her heated flesh. Slowly, she lowered her legs into the pool: toes first, then heels, then ankles and finally calves.
The water was crisp and fresh, not so cold that she couldn’t acclimatize to it for a short while. In fact, if she were more adventurous she might take a dip ...
Oh, what a coward she was. She flicked water into the air with her toes. Perhaps another day. Soon, though, for just as she’d needed distraction from the pain of her failed marriage as a lass, she needed distraction from the agony of Sir Alex’s departure now.
Yes, she would come again very soon.
Giddy with a spontaneity she thought she’d lost long ago, Glinis kicked her legs vigorously, sending up a spray of water that sloshed onto the grass and dampened her shift. If she had her wits about her, she’d care what the servants would think when they found her wet undergarment.
But she didn’t—neither care nor have her wits about her. The exhilaration was too great. She laughed, and raised her face to the sky.
A horse whinnied in the distance.
Glinis froze. Her heart thundered in her chest, and Dougall MacFadyen’s warning sharpened in her ears: thieves, poachers, vagrants.
She listened to the air. Was it a Kildrummond crofter, one of her husband’s tenants, going about his daily chores? No, it could not be that, for no land had been sectioned into farmsteads up here. Had she imagined the sound?
The slow thud of hooves on grass gave answer. Panic speared her breast. Someone was coming.
Scrambling away from the pool, Glinis snatched her cloak and gown, then scampered over the edge of a small dip in the land. She crouched behind the grassy knoll, barely concealed.
If she were lucky, whoever was coming would pass her by. The pool was not a visible landmark for travellers, so unless one knew it was here, it was unlikely to attract any notice.
She waited. The minutes were excruciating. Her limbs pulsed with the primal urge to flee, her trapped breath seared the tissue of her lungs.
God’s bones, the traveller knew about the pool! The animal’s footfalls came to a halt at the edge, and the sound of a man’s feet hitting the ground was like an exclamation point upon her inner frenzy. Who was this man that had stolen the sanctity of her oasis?
And what horrible things might he do if he found her?
There were a few quiet rustling and shuffling sounds, then a great splash. A deep, male grunt rose in proclamation, followed by more splashing.
Glinis had no way out. She was surrounded by hills. To flee she would have to rise from her hiding place. Whereupon she would be seen.
Unless... unless his back was to her.
If his back was to her, she might have a few precious seconds to creep away. She would have to creep, for any movement quicker than that might alert the horse. Could she manage it?
Emboldened by the glimmer of possibility, she raised her head just enough that her eyes cleared the edge of the grass bank. She saw for the first time her uninvited guest—a yelp lodged in her throat.
Immersed to the shoulders in her pool, with his golden hair slicked back and his bare chest glistening... was Sir Alexander MacByrne.
Sir Alexander MacByrne! Of all the men that could have happened upon this place, at this time, it had to be him. Glinis didn’t know whether to lament her misfortune or exalt her blessing.
She did neither, merely watched him duck and resurface, breathing sharply each time as his body grew accustomed to the cold water. His tunic, cloak, plaid and boots lay in a heap beside his gelding, which was peacefully grazing on the moist, fragrant grass.
He was fascinating to observe, a man nothing short of magnificent: his contoured chest gleamed in the dull morning light; long, powerful limbs skimmed the pool’s surface with vitality and grace. As if he were water itself.
When he was finished bathing, Alex hoisted himself from the pool, unknowingly exposing his nakedness to Glinis. Emitting a strangled gasp, she ducked behind her knoll once more and prayed that he hadn’t heard her.
But Sir Alexander MacByrne was a warrior and knight. He was trained to detect small sounds that did not belong in a place. He had heard. The scrape of his blade against its scabbard confirmed it.
“I ken yer’re there. Show yerself.”
His voice was harsh. A chill ran down Glinis’s spine; A warrior’s voice had made the command. It was a side of him she’d not yet seen. It frightened her... and thrilled her at the same time.
Muttering a prayer, she crawled out from behind her hiding place, her cloak and gown forgotten. She looked defiantly at Alex, every bit the countess she was, but for her traitorous cheeks which burned crimson.
He’d hastily fastened his tartan around his waist, but other than that he was still naked. He brandished his sword, the steel gleaming against the steel grey sky. When he saw her, his fierce expression melted into one of bafflement.
“Lady Glinis?”
“Aye, Sir Alex. I... em... I do say, this is rather awkward.”
“What are ye doing here, and by yerself?”
She bristled at the question. “I am countess of Kildrummond, these are my lands. I should be asking ye what ye’re doing here.”
“I discovered this place soon after I arrived at Glendalough. I’ve been coming here most mornings since the weather’s grown milder.”
“Well I discovered this place nigh on twenty years ago. I’d say that makes the claim of it mine.”
“Then I concede.” He bowed low, but his eyes stayed on her.
Glinis shifted from one foot to the other. The way he was looking at her made her nervous. The fact that he made no move to dress himself made her even more nervous. She was keenly aware of her lightweight shift, which skimmed her skin with each wisp of breeze.
He knew the effect he was having
on her. “Why d’ye keep yer distance, my Lady?” he purred, his voice like velvet. “Are ye afraid of me?”
“Afraid? Nay, I am no’ afraid. I keep my distance because I dinna trust ye.” Nor do I trust myself. “Ye’d best dress yerself, ye’ll catch yer death of cold.”
“’Tis nothing. The water is cold, aye, but the air is warm enough once ye’re out of it. Besides, I’ve warm blood.” When she gave him a disapproving look, he lowered himself to the edge of the pool. Tossing his broadsword behind him into the grass, he dangled his bare legs in the water. His hand thumped the grass at his side in invitation.
Glinis’s conscience begged her not to entertain the idea. No good will come of this, woman. Dinna be a fool, ye ken what he wants.
Her heart hammered madly at her ribs. It made a different plea, in a language that had no words.
“Oh, very well,” she sighed. She stepped lightly, closing the gap between them. Raising her shift to her knees, she sat and slipped her own legs back into the pool. She tensed at the icy throb, then relaxed as the cold subsided.
Alex laughed. “Aye, ‘tis no’ summer yet, I suppose.”
“'Tis beautiful here in summer.” She smiled wistfully. “I have many regrets in my life, but becoming lady of these lands has never been one of them. ‘Tis a beautiful place.”
“And what regrets do ye have, if I may be so bold? D’ye regret marrying his Lordship?”
Glinis chewed her lip. “I used to—no’ that marrying John was ever my choice, mind. I were barely fifteen, and my father wasna one to dote on his daughter. He bartered my hand away in exchange for kinship wi’ the Douglases as easily has he would have bartered a horse for seed grain.”
“'Tis common of noblemen,” he offered.
“Aye, and I dinna wish for yer sympathy, Sir Alex. Many women of my status end up in situations worse than mine. I’m no’ fool enough to be ungrateful for the comfortable life I’ve led. But there was once a time when I did regret. It was long ago; I were a young, silly girl, and thought I’d stay young forever, as silly girls do.”
A Noble Deception (The Douglas Clan) Page 14
