by Lily Baldwin
Rory shrugged. “I’ve been comfortable enough.” Then he gestured to the painting of the woman above the mantle. “She caught my eye straightaway. ‘Tis a powerful portrait.”
“’Tis of my mother, painted by my father.”
Rory stared hard at the woman in the painting. Tangled white-blond hair whipped around her sharp features. There was so much passion within her painted eyes, he almost believed she could see straight into his soul. “Ye take after her. I see ye in her coloring and her manner.”
“Ye’re half right. I do have my mother’s coloring, but that is where the commonalities end, at least in terms of appearance. She was quiet and very refined, every bit the proper lady, but a fire blazed deep within her. It was the fire my father hoped to capture. He said he had painted her inside-out.”
Rory continued to study the portrait, trying to keep his thoughts from returning to the abbot’s letter.
“I’ve given a great deal of thought to our latest mission,” Alex said.
He released a slow, even breath, happy to be distracted by the mission at hand, which did at least appear to be the true reason the abbot had sent him north. He would have time to make sense of the rest of the letter later.
“It will take a full day to gather the weapons. There are some axes and targs but mostly swords, hundreds actually.”
Rory’s brows lifted. “Ye’ve managed to amass an armory’s worth of weapons on yer own?”
A sad smile curved her lips. “I did not do this on my own.”
“Nay?” he said, sitting straighter. “I did not realize there were others privy to our cause here.”
“There are none here at Luthmore. It is important for the sake of my people that no one ever connects me to the cause.” She stared off into the fire. “What would become of them?” Then she turned her head and once more they locked eyes. “’Tis my greatest fear, Rory. That somehow I will be implicated and my people made to suffer for my actions.”
Rory leaned forward and covered her hand with his. He couldn’t help it. Seeing her wrinkle her brow with worry instantly made him want to reach out to her, hold her, protect her, especially since her fears were warranted. If her identity were ever revealed, her entire clan would feel King Edward’s wrath.
She turned her hand over so that her palm now pressed into his. He felt the pulse in her wrist quicken and forgot all about her worry. She leaned closer to him, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. His eyes dropped to her full, glistening mouth. He leaned toward her, hungry for those parted lips. “God’s blood,” he cursed aloud the same instant she jerked her hand away as though his touch had burned her. Both breathless, they stared at each other.
“Ye stay over there,” she said, motioning to his chair. Then she waved her hands in a panic near her chair. “This is my space.” Then she waved her hands to encompass his chair. “That is yer space.”
Rory gripped the arms of his chair. “Got it.”
After the pounding of his heart began to subside, he cleared his throat. “Now then, back to the mission.”
“Aye,” she nodded, she too gripping the arms of the chair. “The mission.”
“Who, may I ask, helped ye gather the weapons?”
The tension fled her body, and the impassioned composition of her face was replaced by sadness. “Lord Robin Campbell.”
“Lord Robin?” Rory said, surprised.
She looked at him curiously. “Ye knew him?”
“Aye, I did. I worked with him on several occasions. He was a hero among the agents. Everyone grieved when we learned he fell at Dunbar.” He paused, taking in her obvious hurt. “He was important to ye?” Rory asked softly.
She nodded, her eyes welling with tears the instant before she turned away to look into the flames. “He was my father’s closest friend,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And my betrothed.”
Rory’s mouth filled with the bitter taste of loss. He was acutely aware of the pain she suffered.
“I dream about him still,” she said. “Always in my dreams he dies slowly, painfully.” She swiped at the tears trailing down her cheeks. “Ye can’t imagine how often I’ve thought of his last moments.”
He released a slow breath to hold his own emotions in check. “I do ken,” he said. “Every day I wonder about what sort of end my parents and sister faced. Every day I pray they did not suffer.”
She wiped her eyes and showed him her tear-streaked palms. “This is the reason I risk so much for the cause. What else am I to do with all this pain?”
He nodded his accord. “’Tis the same for all of Scotland’s agents. We risk our freedom, our lives to save others from the same pain.”
They sat in silence for several moments. Then at length she said, “I admired Robin with all my heart. He was a compassionate leader.”
“That I do not doubt,” Rory said. Then he remembered the abbot’s letter. “Lord Robin passed away three years ago, now. Should yer father not have found ye another husband?”
“Aye,” she said. “But he was ill, so very ill. We feared that if anyone knew just how infirm he truly was, that greed would turn our neighbors against us. So, we hid the extent of his suffering.” She swiped again at her eyes, whisking away the last evidence of her grief. “But my clan is without a chieftain, something I intend to remedy very soon.” Abruptly coming to her feet, she looked down at him. “Walk with me.”
He stood and followed her out of the room and up a winding stairwell that led to the battlements. Once outside, they both breathed the fresh night air.
Suddenly she turned and narrowed her eyes on him. “How long have ye known Adam?”
He shrugged. “Just since our journey north to yer home.” Then he grinned. “As a commoner and rebel, I do not encounter nobility unless I’m in the process of robbing them blind to give to the cause.”
Her face brightened. “Aye, ye’re one of the Saints. I’ve admired yer work. In fact, I’ve always longed to ride with ye. Mayhap, one day yer brothers will take on a sixth rider.”
Rory shook his head. “I fear the Saints are no more. My brother Jack is on the run from King Edward’s knights. Last I knew, he and my youngest brother, Ian, and my sister, Rose, were heading to the Isle of Colonsay.”
“What of yer other brothers?”
“Last I knew, Quinn was on a mission to save an English lady. And Alec…well…I really can’t say. I haven’t seen or heard from him in months. He is an agent like us. I can only assume he, too, is on a mission.” His eyes narrowed on her. “How did ye know about the Saints in the first place?”
“Abbot Matthew has told me about ye and yer brothers.”
Rory laughed and shook his head. “For a man sworn to keep secrets, the abbot’s tongue has the capacity to wag.”
“Nay, I believe he is the picture of discretion. I just think he could not help but brag about his Saints. He loves ye, ye know. And the rest of yer brothers.”
Rory thought about the less than flattering words Abbot Matthew had written in his letter and for a flash of an instant he doubted the abbot’s affection. But then he broadened his thinking and considered Alex. It was clear Abbot Matthew also held her dear to his heart. He could not blame the abbot for not considering Rory as a suitor. Not only was he without title, wealth, or connection, he had behaved as a man with a fickle heart.
She turned from him and stared out over the battlements. “On the road north, what sort of man did Adam strike ye as?” she asked, a forced casualness to her tone.
Rory resisted the urge to scowl. She was fishing for more information about her suitors. Well, he understood why he was not in the running to be her husband nor did he care to be. Not that he wouldn’t have wished to court Alex; he just wasn’t meant to be a laird. He paused then and looked at her lovely profile, the strength in her stance. He had offered her his hand earlier when they first stepped out onto the battlements. Her palms had been nearly as calloused as his—God’s blood, she was magnificent. He raked hi
s hand through his hair. Fine. He admired her and wanted her so badly it hurt. This he couldn’t deny. And although he could never be laird of the MacKenzie, he was not going to recommend another man to the job.
“He’s the kind of man who snores,” he bit out.
She raised a brow. “He snores? This is what ye have to say about Adam?”
“Aye, and loudly.” Then he decided to change the subject as far away from Adam as possible. “When do we gather the weapons?”
“Aye, back to the plan,” she said approvingly. “I don’t know how we got so far off the subject.”
He wanted to accuse her of being distracted by the pretty faces of her new suitors, but remembered that was unfair—Alex had to marry. She had no choice. Her clan depended on her acting wisely and quickly. The sooner they completed their mission and he returned south, the better for her. “Why wait?” he said. “Let’s go tomorrow.”
“All right. Tomorrow it is,” she agreed. “Leave the keep early in the morning and meet me in the village at Corc’s cottage. I will join ye there after Mass.”
“The old man I sat with at dinner?”
She nodded. “The same.”
He took her calloused hand in his, and pressed a kiss to her roughened skin. “Until tomorrow.” Then he turned on his heel and hurried away from her before he pledged to wed her himself and protect her people with his life if need be.
Chapter Ten
Alex collapsed on her bed, burying her face in her pillow. “I do not ken what to do,” she groaned, her voice muffled.
“To me, the choice is clear,” Mary said.
Alex sat up and looked at her cousin, who was sitting on the end of the bed in a white, silk nightdress. “Sir Adam Lennox is the one.” Mary leaned closer, her brown eyes sparkling. “I had the fine pleasure of conversing with him during dinner, and he was everything a gentleman should be—intelligent, well-mannered, solicitous. He spoke well of his family. His elder sister sounds enchanting.” Mary clasped her hands together. “Not to mention, he is handsome, with the most beautiful green eyes I’ve ever seen.”
Alex pursed her lips together before pointing out, “Aye, but he was so clean, even after journeying a fair distance.”
Mary threw up her hands. “Is that really so awful?”
“I’m not filling my day with dressing for meals when I could be caring for my people,” Alex declared, crossing her arms over her chest.
“If ye want to know, I think Robert is the one,” Rosie said, chiming in from her perch on the other side of the bed. “He’s right handsome and cheerful.” Rosie stared off dreamily while she finished plaiting her waist-length black hair. Like Alex, she was still clad in the same tunic she’d worn that day. Nightclothes were a luxury beyond Rosie’s reach. As for Alex, she simply deemed them unnecessary.
Brows drawn, Alex considered Rosie’s judgment. “I suppose ye’re right, although I believe he is rather strange.”
“’Tis too soon to judge any of these men,” Mary cautioned. “Robert might be amiable when conditions are right, but what happens when he is provoked? He could be quick to temper.”
“The abbot did say that all three men had even temperaments,” Alex recalled.
“Robert’s a lamb,” Rosie gushed. “Ye can tell he’d be gentle in bed by the way he speaks of his horses.”
“Rosie,” Mary exclaimed, her cheeks turning red.
Alex wrinkled her nose. “Ye don’t think he was just a little too excited about his horses?”
“Perhaps his dinner conversation was odd, but do we not all possess a wee dash of strangeness?” Rosie gestured pointedly to Alex’s grubby feet.
“If we are going to look honestly at my own oddities, then mayhap Timothy is the best man after all. I believe he would be the most accepting of who I really am,” Alex said.
Mary and Rosie exchanged glances.
“What is it?” Alex demanded. “Why not Timothy?”
Both ladies held their silence until at last Rosie sighed. “Och, I’ll be the one to say it. Bless Timothy’s heart, but he’s too soft to be laird.”
Mary nodded. “I agree with Rosie.”
Alex couldn’t dismiss their concern. Timothy was certainly no warrior. She sighed. “Then Mary, ye’re right. Clearly, Rory is the one.”
Mary and Rosie’s brows shot up. “Rory?” they both exclaimed together.
Alex’s hand flew to cover her mouth. Then she pulled a blanket over her head.
“Alexandria MacKenzie, come out from under that blanket at once,” Mary demanded while yanking on Alex’s woolen defense.
“Nay,” Alex groaned. “Go away.”
“What is all this fuss for?” Alex heard Rosie say. “Rory’s devilish good looks are fine, to be sure, but ye read the abbot’s letter. He’s not one of yer options.”
“Alex, ye’re hiding something,” Mary said, tugging harder on the blanket.
Then Alex heard Mary suck in a sharp breath. “Black hair, the most beautiful sky-blue eyes ever to be seen, wickedly handsome, one of Scotland’s agents.” Mary gasped.
Alex cringed, burrowing deeper beneath her covers.
“Rory is the agent from the woods,” Mary blurted. “The one who undressed ye!”
It was Rosie’s turn to gasp. “Alex, is this true?”
Alex sighed and pushed the blanket down. “He is the same.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Mary announced, straightening her spine.
Rosie nodded in agreement. “She’s right, Alex. Ye must forget that night.”
Alex sat up. “Ye’re both right. I ken ye’re right.” She covered her face with her hands. “’Tis just easier said than done.”
At length, she felt a gentle tug on her fingers. Dropping her hands in her lap, she looked into Mary’s kind, brown eyes.
“Remember, Alex,” Mary said softly. “Remember yer mother’s wisdom. The wellbeing of the clan comes first.” Then she pressed a kiss to Alex’s cheek and scooted off the bed, pulling Rosie by the hand.
“We will leave ye now so that ye might consider the true weight of yer decision,” Mary said with Rosie in tow.
“Saints above, what am I to do?” Alex groaned, falling back onto her pillow and once more burying herself beneath her blankets.
*
Alex sat on a bench, gazing out the solar casement at the stretch of village and crops below. The sun hung just above the horizon, painting the world in soft gold.
“Good morrow, cousin.”
She turned to see Mary standing in the doorway. She wore a cream colored fitted wimple, which framed her heart-shaped face. Draped over her head cascaded layers of matching lace veils. Her deep green tunic complimented her lovely brown eyes. Alex stood and crossed the room. “Good morrow,” she said, pressing a kiss to Mary’s cheek. “Ye look beautiful, cousin.”
“As do ye,” Mary said, smiling with approval as she eyed Alex’s finely embroidered surcote.
Alex spun in a circle. “I thought ye might approve.”
“I do, indeed,” Mary said, reaching out to smooth the one veil Alex wore to cover her unbound, pale blond hair. “Ye can wear my new silk wimple. The blue would bring out the violet of yer—”
Alex put up her hand. “Ye can stop right there. Yer reminder last night informed my choice of surcote this morning.” Alex ran her hands down her waist, skimming the lavender fabric. “’Tis my best as ye well know. And Rosie spent an hour brushing out my hair. But ye’ll never get one of those prison cells around my head.”
Mary laughed. “I think ye exaggerate, dear cousin. But I’ll not push ye. I ken ye’re liable to retreat like cornered prey back into one of yer filthy, worn tunics.”
“Ye know me so well,” Alex said, smiling. “Shall we head down?”
Mary nodded, and together, they descended the stairs into the great hall. Stepping around the screen, they spotted Adam, Timothy, Robert, Michael, and William waiting near the courtyard entrance.
“Behold, yer three sui
tors,” Mary said, under her breath. “Just think how scandalized they would be if they knew we were, at this very moment, judging their stock.”
“Nay, they would be offended if they knew that,” Alex whispered. “They would be scandalized if they discovered it was Abbot Matthew who sent them to me as studs.”
Mary coughed demurely into her handkerchief to conceal her amusement. Then she squeezed Alex’s hand. “I still say the competition is over—Adam is the one. Look at how strong and handsome he is,” she whispered.
Alex scanned the men, her gaze slowly passing over Adam. “Aye, but what of his heart?” she said quietly. “To us, he has been kind, but we are his equals in station. What I must know is will he be compassionate to those he might view as beneath him.”
Mary leaned closer. “One month is hardly time to judge the true character of a man.”
“I agree, which is why I’ve arranged a test.”
“What sort of test?” Mary whispered hurriedly, but it was too late. They were almost upon the men.
“Wheest,” Alex breathed. “Ye’ll see.”
“Good morrow, ladies,” Michael said, his stare fixed on Alex. “Ye both look especially lovely today.”
Alex resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Dressed in her finest attire, she looked every part the proper lady Michael had always nagged her to be.
“Ye’re so clean,” Will said, eyeing her suspiciously. “I’m almost afraid to hug ye.”
She opened her arms wide. “My dear brother, I’m never too dirty or too clean to hug.”
He squeezed the breath from her, then wiped his freckled nose on his sleeve. “Do ye mind if I run ahead? I’m meeting wee Calum.”
“For Mass?”
“Aye.”
She smiled. “Then run along. Mind ye listen to the good father, and ye don’t stand there whispering the whole time.”
“I promise,” Will said before darting from the hall.
Adam stepped forward then, offering both Mary and Alex an arm. “Ye both do, indeed, look lovely.”
Alex smiled and placed her hand on Adam’s bicep. Hard, muscled contours flexed beneath her fingertips. Clearly, he was a man of action. She gazed up at his profile. His skin, smooth and tan, stretched tautly over high, wide cheekbones. His nose was straight, not misshapen like so many knights she had encountered, and his full lips begged to be kissed. In particular, she admired his chestnut brown hair that gleamed with flecks of gold and red. He turned and looked down at her and smiled, revealing even, white teeth.
