“You’re hungry?” he asked, already knowing the answer. They’d eaten little, but if they continued to push on, he and Marion could still get to Camburg that night. They’d passed the only other keep between the border and Camburg Castle, an abandoned pele tower that was once fortified by Clan MacAdder, a clan no longer. This close to the border, only those with strong alliances and plenty of men behind them could survive.
“Aye,” she said, walking back toward him from where she’d seen to her needs behind a thicket of bushes.
“If we stop now, I fear—”
“I can wait.”
She raised her chin. But Court finally recognized the gesture for what it was—not haughtiness but pride.
“You are a remarkable woman,” he said honestly, wondering if she knew it.
“My ability is—”
“Nay.” He walked toward her. “I don’t speak of your ability but of you. For someone who has been sheltered much of her life . . .” He shook his head, not trusting himself to finish.
“You are not bad either . . . for an Englishman.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “High praise from the Protector of the Stone.”
Damn. Why had he reminded them both of their situation?
She didn’t look angry. Instead, she crossed her arms in front of her. “So are you the Man of the Stone, then?”
He wished he knew.
“I am nothing. Just a simple knight following orders.”
When she continued to watch him, Court’s heart picked up its pace. It was as if she tried to look beyond his words. As if she could see him.
“Tell me something of Richard Caiser,” she said as she walked back toward the horse and mounted for the last time. He raised himself up behind her, prepared for another torturous ride with Marion so close he could feel her, smell her . . . Without the mail and surcoat he’d left behind that morning escaping the reivers, precious little separated them, which would make this day an even more difficult one than the last.
“He was the most honorable man I’d ever known.”
Court told her of how he came to squire for Richard Caiser. Of his childhood at Kenshire and of his desire to please the man who’d felt like another father.
“You speak little of the daughter.”
With good reason.
“Sara and I were . . . are . . . quite close.”
“What is she like?”
He conjured her in his mind, the girl who’d become a woman right before his eyes.
“She is like you in many ways,” he said, realizing the truth of his words. “Strong-willed and resilient. She’d have been a great warrior if she had been born a man.”
“You don’t believe a woman could be a great warrior?”
Court imagined Sara in the boys’ breeches she’d worn so often when they were growing up. In fact, the last time he’d visited Kenshire, the countess greeted him dressed that way.
“I don’t doubt one could,” he amended. “But few are trained for it.”
Then he remembered the dagger he’d taken from Marion yesterday. The one she wore on her hip even now.
“You know how to use that,” he said, patting her hip and wishing he had not.
“I do,” she said. “Though a dagger is of little enough help when a great oak is holding a sword to your throat.”
“A great oak?”
“Your arm,” she said as the sun began to fade away. “I’ve never seen an arm so thick and . . .”
Unfortunately, she stopped. Court would very much like to know what she would have said next.
“I am sorry for that,” he said finally. “I’m sorry for all of it. Marion, if I could give you the stone right now, I would. I do not want to cause you any further pain or distress.”
She didn’t answer, but her back, so stiff and straight yesterday, leaned casually against his chest. At least part of her trusted him, a boon he hardly deserved. He gently pulled her head toward his shoulder, and she accepted his invitation. Shifting a bit, she found a comfortable position and settled against him. Court resisted the impulse to lean down and kiss her head. Instead, he lifted his chin and stared ahead. Waiting and watching until it finally came into view ahead in the darkness.
Camburg Castle.
6
At first Marion didn’t know where she was. Waking abruptly, she sat up in a large, canopied bed and looked at the light streaming through the one lonely arrow slit above her. She jumped from the bed and made her way toward the door. Nearly stumbling on something, Marion looked down and almost squealed with delight. How had her belongings come to be here?
A knock at the door had her running back to the bed. Lucky thing since the maid who entered the room was followed by four young male servants carrying . . . a tub! Pulling the coverlet over her, Marion watched as they carried it to the center of the room.
“My lord thought you’d be wanting a bath, my lady.”
The maid, a girl of no more than ten and nine, stooped to open Marion’s bag. Pulling out the nicest of the two dresses Marion had brought along, the maid held it high in the air.
“’Tis lovely,” she said, and Marion silently agreed. She’d planned on wearing this dress for her first meeting with the priestess. Though it was sturdy enough for riding, its crimson coloring and gold inlays caught the eye. But when Marion had spied the mountain they were to climb to reach the pools, she’d decided against wearing it. It was, after all, not a banquet, and though more practical than most, the gown was still unsuitable for her purpose that day.
But judging from what she’d seen of Camburg Castle last eve, it would do well here. She had been given the impression Camburg was a modest estate, but the sprawling square fortress was anything but. Had she asked after her men? Everything was hazy after Court shook her awake on his mount, but the memories of last eve slowly came back to her. Her men had not yet been spotted.
“Your other gown is being washed, my lady,” the girl said.
“What is your name?” she asked the maid as she watched the servants carry buckets of deliciously hot water into the chamber.
“Elaine,” the girl replied, nimbly preparing her gown. By the time the tub was filled and Elaine handed her a large piece of lavender soap, Marion forgot everything. Her quest for the stone, her longing for the man who should be her enemy. All of it fell away as she closed her eyes and reveled in the thought of clean skin. She had not had a true bath in more than a fortnight, and the pleasure of the prospect was akin to . . .
Nay! She’d not think of that kiss.
But of course she would. It had occupied her thoughts ever since. At first the passion and intensity had startled her, but her surprise had melted away. She’d not once thought to stop him, for her body ached for the very thing he offered. Though it was wrong for too many reasons to count, his lips had felt—
“My lady?”
She focused on the maid, who handed her a drying cloth.
Turning her attention to getting dressed, Marion rushed to dry her hair and get into the gown. The sooner she could get dressed, the sooner she could eat.
The only time Marion had been this hungry before was the night of the banquet her father had commissioned in her honor. Excited, she’d entered the hall at Ormonde only to realize he’d intended for the banquet to pressure her into choosing a suitor. When Marion saw all the young men seated in their hall, she’d decided not to eat that night, or the following day, out of protest. She’d been quite young, and foolish.
As she dressed, Marion learned that Elaine had joined her aunt and uncle at Camburg the year before, after both of her parents were killed in a raid. A familiar tale along the border, and one Marion was accustomed to hearing from her own people. But in their stories, it was the English who destroyed families and were to blame for their current troubles.
Belatedly, she realized Elaine did not seem bothered that she was Scottish. She would certainly not remind her of the fact now.
As soon as Marion was d
ressed, Elaine escorted her down a long corridor and down a winding stairwell. The great hall was bright and well decorated, filled with red and yellow striped banners and fine tapestries. Ten trestle tables were lined up, set for the morning meal. And as she entered the room, every single one of the men and women sitting at them turned to stare.
That was the reception she’d expected.
She paused and stared back, but she found her eyes drawn to the far end of the hall. How could she have missed him earlier?
Court stood and walked around the high table toward her. He looked nothing like he had the day before. The growth on his cheeks gone, his hair freshly washed. Clad in a fine surcoat of black and gold, Court looked every bit the lord.
By the time he reached her, all eyes were on them. Bowing, Court extended his hand. When she took it, the same feeling came over her as when she’d awoken in his arms the day before.
The mad notion that she never wanted him to let go.
“Well met, my lady.” He guided her toward the high table.
“Good morn to you, my lord,” she responded formally.
When they sat, it was just the two of them.
“Do you have no visiting nobles?” she asked. The high table at home was nearly always full. Her father had always been fond of entertaining despite the danger that lurked just outside their castle walls.
“Just one,” he said, pushing his trencher toward her with a wink.
Eventually, the others went back to their meal, though Marion caught a couple of men and women glancing at her covertly, eyes narrowed, as if she were the enemy.
Which, of course, she was.
“Camburg’s hall is . . .” She looked up at its wooden beams and around to the whitewashed walls. “. . . splendid.” And she meant it.
“Richard adored this castle,” he said. His tone was warm, as it always was when he spoke of his former mentor. “When he put me in charge of it, I was truly shocked. At the time, it was one of many properties he owned, but with the exception of Kenshire, I believe it was his favorite.”
“At the time?” She picked up a piece of bread and ate without reserve.
“Sara has since given many of the Caisers’ holdings back to the crown.”
She was about to ask why when he continued.
“To appease Lord Lyonsford”—he looked sideways at her—“the man to whom she was betrothed.”
“Betrothed?”
Court frowned. “When she fell in love with her husband, Geoffrey, she was betrothed to the Earl of Archbald.”
Marion’s hand froze halfway to her mouth. Something about how he said her name . . . her husband’s name . . . “You are in love with her.”
He did not appear pleased about her observation.
She was right!
“Was in love with her,” he finally corrected. “I care for her, of course, but she is married now.”
Marion thought back to what he’d said before. And while she filled her stomach, she pieced together that which he had not told her.
She had an idea of what may have happened. “Richard gave you Camburg to get you away from Kenshire. Away from his daughter.”
Court’s face twisted in a way that told her she was right.
“But why? You said he loved you like a son. That he—”
“He did.” Court scowled at the cheese on their trencher as if it had gone bad.
“So why did he—”
“Richard had plans for her. Bigger plans than a young knight with nothing but an ancient title and no land to go with it.”
The pain in her chest came without warning. And the strangest thing about it was that Marion could not tell if it was sympathy for a man who had been deemed an inferior match for the woman he loved, or the knowledge that he had loved that woman so deeply that it continued to affect him.
Either way, it did not concern her.
The stone. She had to remember her purpose here.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, finishing her meal.
They continued to sit in silence until the hall began to empty.
“I’ve been away,” he said finally, “and need to meet with my men. As soon as yours arrive, I will send for you.”
Her plan. She needed to get that stone before he attacked Scotland.
“And I may walk the grounds, speak to people here?”
He looked at her oddly. “You are not a prisoner here, Marion. You may leave at any time. When your men arrive—”
“Nay,” she said, much too quickly. “We have an agreement.”
“One I mean to honor.”
He stood, and she did the same. “Elaine can show you—”
“I will find my way,” she assured him.
“Very well,” he said with a slight bow. “Until we meet again.”
He walked so quickly from the hall, Marion wondered if perhaps she’d offended him. The thought pained her, but in the end, it hardly mattered. She needed to learn all she could about her Englishman. And either convince him to relent on the attack or get him to let his guard down enough for her to take what was hers.
She meant to have the stone. She meant to do her duty as its guardian.
While he should have been preparing for one of the most important battles of his life, Court found himself pacing the ramparts of the castle Richard had entrusted to him so many years ago. Even a brutal training session could not get visions of him and Marion together out of his mind.
So many strange things had happened to him over the last few weeks, from the appearance of the mark to the pull of the stone. But none had taken him more by surprise than his feelings for Marion.
It was more than desire. He’d known that from the moment she walked into the great hall that morning. The sight of her had nearly poleaxed him in the gut.
Forget Marion. Victory is within reach.
Almain had promised him Halbury Castle just to the east of Camburg. Moreover, he’d hinted that he would arrange an advantageous match for Court once he completed this mission.
Forcing his mind back to the upcoming battle, Court envisioned Moordon Castle, an ancient keep once held by the English. The castle had fallen into disrepair after a raid more than ten years ago, which had forced the English owners back south. He knew not who currently held it—it could be any number of Scottish nobles and clan chiefs, from MacAdder to Douglas as the new owners. It hardly mattered. His scouts had confirmed the king’s regent’s assessment of the situation. Moordon existed on a skeleton staff, and its strategic location was ideal for the raids that may be necessary if—or when—war broke out once again along the borders.
And yet . . . he found himself thinking of what Marion had said. Sara and Geoffrey certainly wouldn’t approve of his actions. And such a measure was as likely to cause a war as to stave one off. And while once appealing, the thought of a titled bride no longer appealed.
Do not be foolish.
Defying the king’s regent, losing a potential stronghold . . . he simply could not do it.
The sun had set long ago, but Court could not bring himself to attend the evening meal. He should not force Marion to eat among strangers, but seeing her again in that shape-hugging gown, the epitome of nobility and grace . . .
Skipping the meal was the right thing, for both their sakes.
Court descended the stone stairwell and strode through the square courtyard lit only by torches along each outside wall. He navigated the large well in the center of it all and made his way into the main keep.
Damn. The hall was still filled with retainers and servants alike. Avoiding the entranceway, he made his way along a long corridor and nodded to the guard at the top of a winding stairwell that led to the lord’s chambers. Was he a coward for evading her? Aye, but a coward who knew his own weaknesses, and Marion was one of them.
He pushed open the door of the chamber and was about to pull it closed behind him when a voice stopped him.
“Court?”
Oh God, no. Not here.
Marion looked confused. He didn’t blame her.
“My lady,” he said, trying not to look at the expanse of creamy skin her gown revealed.
“I thought to speak with you at dinner. I’m worried for my men.”
He was as well. They should have arrived before them, which was why Court had sent three of his own men north to see what they could discover. Oddly, he did not want her to know that. The thought of her knowing that he cared should not bother him. But it did.
“I’m sure they are well,” he said. “And will be along anytime.”
Her frown indicated she did not agree, but Marion inclined her head in parting and began to walk away.
Lord watch over him, he was about to make a bad decision. A very, very bad decision.
He reached out and pulled her back to him and inside the chamber. With one hand, he closed the heavy oak door, and with the other, he reached up to pull her face toward his own. Capturing her lips, Court branded her with a searing kiss.
She kissed him back with such wild abandon Court was left breathless when he pulled away to look at her.
“This cannot end well,” he said, warning himself as much as her.
“I agree,” she said, her arms wrapped around her shoulders.
“I will not stop the attack,” he said softly, knowing the words might push her away. Half of him wanted them to; the other half wanted this moment to last forever.
“I am a virgin,” she said, “and must remain such for my husband.”
It was as if she’d doused him with water from the River Esk, frigid even now during the summer. “Husband?”
Was she betrothed, then? To whom?
“The man I will marry,” she said, looking at him as if he’d gone daft.
Court backed away as if burned. “Who?”
She stared at him blankly.
“When?”
Understanding finally dawned, and Marion lifted her chin, a sure sign he was about to receive a tongue-lashing.
The Protector's Promise (Border Series Book 7) Page 5
