‘I already asked Will, but he denies being a hero, too.’
‘Wait.’
The command halted her steps and she stared at the closed door, wishing she could melt into the thick timber. The air about her came to life as William neared. She inhaled sandalwood and him, felt his heat when he halted beside her.
‘I will escort you to your chamber.’
‘Please do not...trouble yourself’. She hated the tremor in her voice. ‘I can find my way.’ There, much better.
‘I’m certain you can.’ He opened the door. ‘But I will rest easier knowing you arrived directly.’
She’d kept the soft woollen blanket Mary had wrapped about her shoulders in place for modesty’s sake. She discovered it proved a useless barrier against William’s nearness as he followed her into the corridor.
‘I trust you have recovered from your noon...ordeal?’ he said.
A delicious shiver rushed down her nape and rippled across her shoulders. ‘Yes.’ She swallowed. ‘And you?’
‘Aye.’
She didn’t dare look behind to see how close he stood. But it felt as if not a whisper of air could pass between them. Why did he not open her door?
‘Davy’s parents send you their good wishes.’ She blinked at the wooden panel in surprise. ‘I too am grateful for all you have done this day.’ His voice deepened to a quiet rumble. ‘For Davy and for Edan.’
Stunned, she watched the door swing inward, revealing her cosy chamber. Resisting the ridiculous urge to sink back against him, she forced her feet to move forward into the room.
‘Despite all that has happened,’ he said, ‘You are not excused for stealing away from my keep.’
She turned around, just as the door closed softly in her face.
Chapter 15
AFTER a night filled with dreams of torture, imprisonment and masculine heat, Lynelle returned to her chamber after giving Edan his morning tonic. The fog of weariness cloaking her every movement, her every thought, had helped lessen her reaction to seeing William. Thankfully, he hadn’t spoken a single word. No doubt he was too busy contemplating ways to punish her for escaping from his castle.
Now, slumped across the table in her room, her palms supporting her head, she stared into the last glowing embers in the grate, relieved by her confinement.
Well, it was better than being manacled to a slimy wall in the bowels of the keep, or tied to a post in the courtyard. Worse still, she could be tethered to William, forced to breathe the same air, smell his manly scent, view his dark visage and, in their bound state, accidentally brush her body against his.
Saints above. Her dreams tormented her, even when awake. Or had she fallen asleep where she sat?
A heavy fist rapped on the door. Jumping to her feet, she clutched her hands to her middle as the thick oak panel opened. She felt her stomach drop to her toes as William’s steely gaze perused the chamber.
She’d seen him dressed in plaid and shirt and leather vest, but the thick, menacing sword now dangling at his hip had been absent since they’d arrived at Closeburn. He looked every inch the warrior.
‘Don your cloak.’
Her eyes snapped up from the gleaming blade to his flint-coloured stare. Surely if he meant to sever her head he wouldn’t care if she were cold or not.
On stiff legs, she crossed to the hook and reached for the garment. She would need it, if she were to be thrown into the castle’s dungeon. Her fingers fumbled with the ties at her throat.
‘Fetch your sack of healing herbs.’
Locking gazes with him, she wondered if he was giving her the means to tend her ills while wasting away in the damp confines of his keep.
God above. In her dazed and weary state, her imagination was rampant. She could ask his intentions, but her stubborn streak, the trait she so often kept buried, had her sinking her teeth into her tongue and holding her silence.
Retrieving her worn herb sack, resolve stiffened her shoulders. She would show no signs of fear.
‘Come.’
Lynelle refused to cower, answering his summons with a toss of her braid and an up-thrust of her chin, before marching into the dim corridor.
Holding her sack tightly against her belly, she descended the stairs. Thank God she’d eaten every morsel on her tray this morning. It could be a long while before she received further sustenance.
The sound of voices grew louder as she neared the level to the great hall. Keeping her eyes averted, she avoided searching the faces of those she knew were appraising her. They were Scots, William’s people, and she didn’t want to witness their expressions of smugness.
She focused on the rough stone wall making up part of the entrance alcove, as a sudden hush greeted their descent into the hall. Drawing a huge breath, she compelled her feet to make the turn to the left toward the dungeons, as the air in her lungs shuddered out.
A large warm hand grasped her shoulder, halting her as her foot hovered in the empty space above the first step down. Strong fingers urged her away from the shadowed stairwell, coaxing her around until her eyes rested on the centre of William’s wide chest.
It seemed she wasn’t to escape the clan’s sneering gazes. He must want the meting out of her punishment to be made public, her humiliation complete.
She lifted her chin, focusing on the muscled cords in his neck. He didn’t know she’d endured scorn her entire life. Though the people might be different, condemnation was always the same.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ William asked quietly.
His hand left her shoulder and she drew a slow breath. So he wanted her to admit her fate to all.
‘To the dungeon,’ she said loud and clear.
‘Ah. You do think me an ogre.’ He spoke softly and his devil lips that had haunted her sleep for the past two nights thinned.
Lynelle held her tongue.
‘Well, before I consign you to whatever brutal punishment you believe I have in store, there is someone who wishes to meet you.’
He stepped to the side, revealing a horde of people crowded in a half circle. She skimmed their silent faces and found two she recognized, Mary and Malcolm. The older couple smiled at her, as did the rest of the throng. Where were the narrowed eyes and condemning expressions she expected?
A man and woman stepped free from the others and stopped a slight distance from where she remained, frozen. With a small movement of her hand, the woman drew Lynelle’s attention to a little boy of two, perhaps three years of age, who tottered toward her on tiny leather-clad feet.
Beneath her furrowed brow, she watched his approach, desperately trying to make sense of what was happening. The boy stopped before her and looked up, his brown lashes surrounded deeper brown eyes that matched the mop of dark hair on his head. Drawing his hand from behind his back, he thrust something toward her.
Lynelle peeled her gaze from his earnest young face and looked at his offering. Tears suddenly welled, blurring the untidy cluster of wilting flowers he strangled in his fist. He tilted his head to one side and said, ‘I, Davy.’
Awareness took hold. This was the little boy who’d fallen into the loch. Furiously blinking the moisture from her eyes, she drank in Davy’s features in wonder. He seemed to be studying her just as closely, when suddenly his fine brows lowered over his dark eyes. She eased back a fraction and glimpsed the flowers still clutched in his tiny hand.
Adjusting her hold on the herb sack, she reached forward and accepted the offering from his stubby fingers. ‘Thank you, Davy,’ she said softly and was doubly rewarded by the return of his impish smile.
Davy’s parents edged closer. ‘Bless you for saving our boy,’ Davy’s father said quietly.
Lynelle swallowed, trying to find words to explain their praise was misplaced.
Strong fingers gently curled about her upper arms, coating each limb with prickling heat. Only one person’s touch had such an effect on her. William stood almost flush against her back, far too close.
> ‘I believe the healer appreciates Davy’s gift and your blessings.’ Warm breath tickled her ear and washed over her cheek. Lynelle could only nod in agreement.
‘Come.’ His hold steered her to the keep’s entrance, where he plucked the flowers from her hand. ‘Mary, kindly see to these.’
Lynelle let him lead her outside into the courtyard, relieved by the touch of his guiding hand. Her encounter with Davy had drained the strength she’d mustered to face her punishment and she couldn’t seem to form a rational thought.
‘It seems my clansmen have grown lax.’ A huge sigh escaped William as he paused and searched the inner courtyard. ‘Can you see any sign of the gallows I ordered to be erected?’
‘What?’ Her gaze flew to his. Barely noticing the sun’s warmth on her face, she scoured the bailey for a hitching post.
‘Never fear,’ he said, taking her elbow and ushering her forward. ‘I’ll have the curs whipped later for their tardiness.’
As they passed through the curtain wall’s massive gates, Lynelle struggled to keep up with his purposeful stride.
‘All is not lost. There are many fine oak trees near the village. Finding a sturdy limb should prove an easy task.’ He stopped, glanced at her from head to toe, before tugging her along once more. ‘A twig would hardly bend beneath your scant weight.’
She tore her arm from his grasp and stumbled to a halt. ‘You mean to hang me?’ She stared wide-eyed, as he turned to face her. It was one thing for her to entertain thoughts of her punishment. It was quite another to hear William speak of them aloud. Her knees threatened to buckle and she had to fight to remain upright.
‘I know,’ he said, his voice resigned, though his expression appeared disappointed. ‘There’s little enjoyment to be had from a simple hanging.’ He slowly shook his head. ‘It’s over far too quickly.’
She gaped at him, the blood draining from her head to pool in the soles of her feet.
‘Have you any suggestions?’ he asked.
Her jaw dropped impossibly wider.
‘Aye, how could I forget?’ His features hardened to match his tone. ‘You believed I intended to toss you into Closeburn’s dungeon, most likely to wither and die.’
Lynelle tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. She clutched her sack so tightly her fingers ached. William stepped toward her, so close she had to tilt her head back to view his angry face. She wanted to look away, but the fury swirling in his turbulent gaze held hers.
‘I prefer not to be deemed a monster until my actions prove me such.’ Each word he forced out strained through his gritted teeth.
The truth of what he said set her cheeks aflame.
Shame for having judged another, as she’d been judged all her life, swamped her. Her heart constricted and heat prickled behind her eyes. Desperately needing to offer the solace she’d never been granted, she reached up and skimmed his cheek with the tips of her fingers. ‘Forgive me,’ she whispered.
He jerked away. His sooty brows lifted, showing his surprise, but he was no more surprised than she. Her hand fell stiffly to her side, fingers curling inward, the feel of his roughened jaw safely trapped within her palm.
Splinters of silver flashed in his slate coloured eyes, enchanting her. Something unknown passed between them. Something ...
The sound of someone clearing their throat broke the spell. ‘Are you ready, laird?’ An older man stood at a slight distance, his eyes downcast.
‘Aye, Geordie. ‘Tis past time we left.’ His voice sounded rough, gravelly. ‘Come.’ Turning, he gestured to the pier, where Geordie held the rowboat steady.
Ignoring his command, Lynelle stood firm and lifted her chin. ‘Lest my imagination take flight again, I’d prefer to know your plans for me.’
He slowly faced her, setting his fists on his lean hips. After giving her a meaningful look, he nodded and said, ‘You have unfinished business in the village. I am here to see you complete what you began.’
Her brow knotted, and her puzzlement must have shown.
‘Elspeth is expecting you.’
‘She is?’
‘Aye, if we hurry, perhaps we will make her cottage by nightfall.’
He was punishing her by giving her permission to continue tending Elspeth. She stared at him and realised he hid a softer side beneath his fierce visage – and perhaps a sense of mirth. Hope welled in her chest.
‘We’d best make haste then.’
Consumed by a weightless sensation, she seemed to float to the dock, and with William’s aid she climbed into the small boat. Unfurling her fisted hand, she peered at her fingertips. They looked unchanged, but they still tingled.
A gentle nudge signalled they’d reached the loch’s outer pier and she quickly tucked her fingers back into the centre of her hand. Silly, but she was certain she’d captured something special and she didn’t want to lose it.
Aided by the boatman, she clambered to shore. Half way to the village she suddenly stopped. ‘Wait. Where is Ian?’
William halted and faced her. ‘Ian is none of your concern.’ He turned and resumed walking. Lynelle trotted after him.
‘Please do not punish Ian. I alone am to blame for leaving the keep.’
Skidding to a stop, she shrank away from William’s wintry grey gaze.
‘I am laird here and will deal with those who compromise my clan’s safety as I see fit.’
He set a brisk pace and as she struggled to keep up, guilt churned in her belly. If Ian suffered punishment because of her, she’d never forgive herself. The blade of William’s sword glinted with each long stride he took, escalating her heartbeat and her fears for the young boatman. Where had his softer side gone?
Likely buried back in the pit of his soul.
Lynelle desperately tried to erase the grim images swirling through her mind. William’s hand clutched her shoulder, startling her to a halt. She stared at the plume of smoke rising from the cottage she’d visited the day before.
A calloused hand cupped her chin and tilted her face up, sending sparks of warmth down her neck and along her jaw. Flint-coloured eyes studied her and then darkened to resemble storm clouds. ‘Ah, I see your imagination has flown again.’
‘Lynelle. Lynelle,’ a little voice squealed in excitement.
Shaking free of his hold, she spun around at the sound of her name. Carney charged toward her with all the speed a three-year-old boy’s legs could muster. She braced herself a moment before he barrelled into her thighs.
‘You come back. You come back,’ he said clutching her legs and gifting her with an enormous smile.
Her chest constricted and warmth fused her cheeks at the little boy’s unfettered delight. ‘Yes, Carney. I’ve come to see your mother.’
His bright eyes found William, and Lynelle was quickly forgotten.
‘You come back, too.’
Carney knew William? Lynelle stared at William, wondering when he’d visited the village.
Surprising her further, William snatched Carney up from the ground and perched him on one of his broad shoulders, drawing a giggle from Carney.
First the softening and now this gentle play. If she hadn’t witnessed both acts herself, she’d never have believed him capable of either. It took her a moment to gather her wits and start after them.
Keita dashed out to meet her, as William disappeared around to the rear of the cottage with Carney, whose childish laughter filled the air.
‘I thought you worked at the keep till noon,’ Lynelle said.
‘The laird has given me leave of my chores until mother’s legs are better.’ Keita’s smile showed her relief.
Lynelle added kindness to William’s growing list of hidden traits.
‘How is your mother?’
‘Oh, much better, thanks to you.’ Keita grasped her hand and pulled her to the door. ‘Come in and see for yourself.’
Keita had been busy. The disarray she’d seen the day before had vanished. A large iron-pot bubbled quietly o
ver the fire and the smell of vegetable broth scented the dim interior.
Elspeth lay propped up on one of the heather-ticked mattresses positioned against the side wall; the other lay bare, save for the woollen blanket neatly folded at its foot. Kneeling beside her, Lynelle could see the purple shadows beneath the older woman’s eyes had faded. They exchanged greetings and smiles.
As she peeled away the bandages from Elspeth’s legs, joy flowed through her. The angry redness surrounding each sore had eased and the yellow pus weeping from the ulcers had lessened. Using the same methods as the day before, she quickly tended to Elspeth’s wounds.
‘Keep resting Elspeth, and you’ll be on your feet and dancing before you know it.’
Elspeth’s soft laughter made her smile as Keita walked her to the door.
Stepping outside, Lynelle leaned close. ‘Keita, I believe your mother is going to be fine, but I’m worried for Ian.’
‘Why?’ Keita said, with a puzzled expression.
Grasping the young woman’s sleeve, she said, ‘It wasn’t Ian who rowed us across the loch today, but another man. I fear the laird may be punishing Ian for aiding me.’
To Lynelle’s surprise, Keita smiled and blushed. ‘The laird has been very kind and I hope Ian doesn’t feel he is being punished.’
The sound of rumbling voices grew louder as William, Ian and Carney strolled into view. The two men appeared to be deep in conversation, while Carney seemed intrigued by the flashing sword hanging from William’s hip.
‘Ian arrived at first light this morn,’ Keita whispered. ‘He has already repaired the chicken enclosure, and chopped wood for cooking and heating.’
The young maid’s excitement was evident in her tone, and Ian didn’t look as if he’d been beaten or whipped, as Lynelle had imagined.
Her gaze crept to William and her heart tripped within her chest. She didn’t know what to think of the insufferably handsome man. Why did he act the tyrant with her, yet allowed her to see snippets of his caring side while dealing with others?
She murmured her farewells and she and William soon retraced their steps to Castle Loch. Lynelle failed to notice the luscious scenery or feel a sense of peace, as she had on yesterday’s journey.
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