The Memory of Her Kiss

by Rebecca Ruger

  ANICE SAT ONCE MORE in the back of the cart, munching upon the chunk of bread that Kinnon had procured for her. The army had just begun to move only a few moments ago, with Gregor having climbed into the cart at the last minute. His eyes had found hers as soon as he’d settled, but she was able to glean nothing from his expression, save a new harshness that she’d not seen in him before.

  She sat with her hands in her lap, her bottom upon the folded furs and saw nothing of the landscape as the cart rolled along. She saw nothing but the memory of that moment when he’d pulled her close and bent his head to her. His eyes then, whose glorious color she’d only just fully realized, had come closer as he’d lowered his head, impaling her then with some strange heat and promise. She resisted now putting her fingers to her own lips again, but rolled them in, testing the fullness of them, trying to discern the difference in them now, that surely must be seen or felt, having been involved as they had in something so remarkable as that kiss.

  Anice had so many questions, so many emotions now after that encounter.

  What did it mean? What had changed? Would he kiss her again?

  She knew only this: Gregor Kincaid’s kiss had delighted her as nothing else, not one single thing, in her entire life ever had. True, it had come with a roiling in her belly and a breathlessness that she’d feared might be fatal and lips that tingled still, but she knew that if she perished today from the breath he had stolen, or if he merely dumped her along the side of the grassy road, she would forever relish the memory of that first kiss.

  She stole glances at Gregor, caught him watching her a time or two, but mostly the morning passed with barely any words spoken, the silence punctuated only occasionally by Kinnon trying to make conversation from the driver’s seat. By early afternoon, however, Sir Gregor had begun to point out landmarks and give names to the hills and lochs and glens and Anice knew they must be nearing his Stonehaven. This enlivened her quite a bit, imagining the long day confined in only the small space allowed them—which seemed to shrink with each passing hour—nearing an end. She sat now upon her knees, to give her bottom some relief from the hard boards, with her chin propped on her hands on the side rails, listening to the Kincaid’s comments and descriptions. She was pleased he was talking again, as it took her mind off what had transpired this morning. While she had been quite happy to dwell quietly and contemplatively upon that kiss, it seemed to come with some consequence of awkwardness between them that had not been present prior to him kissing her.

  The army marched now quietly along a high ridge, overlooking a low valley and a greater mountain range rising up across the other side.

  “That’ll be Carron Valley and Muirlands Castle,” Gregor said now. “See the castle up there, just the shadow of it, on the far hill.” He pointed beyond the glen and up the next crest, where indeed Anice could see the lines of a fortressed keep sitting low against the backdrop of a blue sky. “The Carrons are kin to my mother. My uncle Douglas is chief of Muirlands now.”

  “Is your uncle as miserable as your mother?”

  Gregor’s lips twitched. “No one is so wretched as my mother.”

  “How long have you been gone from your home?”

  “Too long. Many months this time.”

  “Where is Dunbar from your Stonehaven?”

  “Dunbar? The seaside town?” She nodded and he told her, “That’s east of Jardine, and will be even further from Stonehaven than the abbey.” He watched her shoulders slump a bit and she turned back, looking out from the side of the cart once again. “Is that where your family is?”

  She nodded. “But I cannot go back there.”

  No, she could not. Not now. A tinge of guilt assailed her. I don’t want to go back. She focused her gaze on Gregor once again while he seemed to stare at something beyond her, over her head. He appeared completely at ease, his arms slung over the side boards once again, his short dark hair ruffled here and there by the day’s slight breeze. I want to stay with him. Anice’s gaze fell onto his fisted hands and upon closer inspection, she noted also that upon his neck, veins bulged in ropey lines under his square jaw, and she questioned his façade of detachment while he was so clearly occupied with some stress.

  And just then, he turned and regarded her. And while Anice would be the first to admit that she was undeniably naïve and so much more unworldly than likely any other person, she knew as soon as their eyes met now that he was not undisturbed by their kiss either and that he suffered the same plaguing questions as she.

  He continued to watch her with his sharp amber eyes while his jaw and hands remained tightly fixed and then he called for Kinnon to stop. The boy sent a questioning eye back to his chief but did as commanded, which in turn halted the entire army. His captain, Torren, appeared at the cart just as the Kincaid jumped down.

  “A mount,” he called, and took some time to straighten his plaid while he waited, adjusting the folds so that it now appeared neat and tidy, as it hadn’t over the last few days. Torren returned, leading a massive pitch black destrier, with hair feathered down its legs, almost covering its hooves completely.

  Even the Kincaid, tall as he was, had to lift his leg quite high to notch his foot into the stirrup and gain the saddle. He shifted his sword so that it swung not over his leg, but further back upon the horse, and pulled on the reins to turn the animal around and move him nearer to the cart, where Gregor found Anice watching him. “I’ll no be riding home on a sickbed, lass,” he said, by way of explanation, and then he and Torren exchanged a few words about riding through the village.

  Anice merely sat there, still in the bed of the cart, taking in the image of the chief of Stonehaven upon the great beast. It was striking, as they seemed to stand so much larger than any other mounted man, and she imagined that one could not look upon this band of soldiers and not have any idea which man the chief was.

  She would have liked to ride to Stonehaven as well. Alas, while she had no fear of horses and had proven herself capable of hitching and driving a small cart herself, she had never ridden in a saddle, herself alone responsible for the animal beneath her.

  “Sister, you can ride with me.”

  Anice turned, finding Tamsin walking his horse toward her, as if he’d read her mind. She jumped up, pleased to put this cart behind her, and smiled at the man as she climbed down from the wagon.

  “Nae, Tamsin,” the Kincaid called from many feet away, which caused Anice’s smile to disappear, until he said, “the lass’ll ride with me.”

  Anice turned and found the huge destrier very close to her, and the Kincaid’s hand offered to her. “Thank you, Tamsin,” she called, smiling again, even as she put her hand into Gregor’s.

  He didn’t hoist her up immediately but instructed first, “When I lift you, put your left foot atop mine and swing around so your bottom sits just here.” He pointed to the space he’d made in the saddle before him. Anice nodded and he pulled her up and she found the top of his boot with the bottom of her slipper, and then shifted so her backside landed before him, her head bumping his chin. She thought for sure that might have taken several tries and smiled up at him when she found success on her first attempt. “Aye, lass,” he said, allowing a small grin of his own, “now swing your leg over. You’ll no wanna ride aside for too long.” This was actually more difficult a maneuver and she was forced to lean back into Gregor as she lifted her leg over the horse’s head. “And put your feet on mine again.”

  Anice did so then turned her head sideways, speaking mostly into his shoulder as she whispered, “My legs are bare now.” Her habit had ridden up over her knees to accommodate her straddling position. She could feel many eyes upon her legs, which were indeed bare and sat atop the length of Gregor’s thighs, knees and shins. She could feel the naked skin of his lower legs against her own, as his breeches dropped only past his knees and his hose had long ago been abandoned.

  Gregor whispered at her ear, “Trust me, lass, it’s my legs that have their eyes, I vow.”
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  Anice grinned at this, but still struggled to adjust her habit lower, to no avail. Gregor moved and shifted behind her and after a moment, his arms circled her, holding the reins at her belly, bringing with them the long ends of his plaid, which draped down now over her bare skin.

  “Thank you.” She liked the way her back felt pressed against his chest, warm and safe.

  The army then began to move again and eventually Gregor wrapped one arm securely around Anice’s middle, onto which she held while he used the other hand to control the reins and the horse. They rode a little faster, or maybe it only seemed so, being atop a horse, rather than confined to the cart. When they came upon an open field more than half an hour later, the horses were given their legs and the dozens and dozens of mounted men raced across the green meadow. Gregor, too, increased the big destrier’s speed, galloping alongside his men, who whooped and hollered their joy at coming home. At the far side of the meadow, they slowed, and Gregor directed the horse to the edge of a crag, which sat not too far above a sleepy little town, in a near treeless glen, surrounded by many hills on three sides and by farmland on one end.

  “’Tis Stonehyve, or Stoney as we say,” the Kincaid said at her ear.

  Anice looked with great interest upon the town, which really was not much more than a single lane, twisting and turning about, bearing walking paths to mayhap twenty or so cottages, and where at one end sat a squat, steepled church. She spied a mill, which likely processed the wheat from the far fields, and saw many sheep grazing behind the cottages at the bottom of a smaller hill.

  She saw only a few people down in the glen, several boys out with the sheep and a woman wrestling with some vine-like plant in her garden; in front of the church, two men were engaged in animated conversation.

  “It’s very quiet,” she commented.

  “It’s suppertime, lass. But look,” he said, and pointed up over the town and across the hills. Anice gasped. Over the tops of those hills she saw nothing but dark blue water, which surely flowed to forever, there being no end in sight. “The North Sea,” he named the immense body of water.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful,” she breathed, looking to where the blues of sea and sky met, one dark and one light. “But, where is Stonehaven?”

  He pointed again, to the hill directly across the town. “Just beyond there. We’ll get there.” He turned the horse away from the crag and followed his army, already making their way down to the town, while Anice kept her gaze on that expanse of blue water until it was no longer visible as they went down toward the glen.

  The army walked their horses gingerly down the rocky hill and then chewed up the ground to the town, the thundering of so many horses bringing many people out of their cottages. A cheer went up as the Kincaid colors were close enough to be seen, and people continued to pour out into the lane, which forced the army to slow and proceed almost single file. Men, women, and children congregated, shouting and smiling and patting the rumps of the horses as they passed. Anice’s smile was instinctive, being surrounded by so much joy and good will. They did not stop but continued along the road as it left Stoney behind and meandered between two hills, only risen slightly, and then emerged at the other side where the view was so much more incredible.

  She felt her jaw gape, eyes traveling east to west to take in so much green, broken only by the worn road and a few outcroppings of rock. Her gaze followed the road, as it wound up a low and flat-topped hill, atop which sat a castle, which seemed easily four times the size of Jardine.

  “This is Stonehaven?” She asked, her voice imbued with a dramatic reverence to convey properly her instant opinion that she’d never seen so mesmerizing a picture.

  “Aye, Stonehaven,” the Kincaid said, his own voice filled with pride. “Yah!” He called and kicked the destrier into a gallop.

  Anice studied the castle. It was four stories tall, and rectangular shaped, with turrets in each of the corners. The flattened peak of the knoll on which it sat was wide enough that much land encircled the castle before the hill sloped down. There was no wall to surround the castle, but the massive arched wooden gate seemed well able to keep at bay any possible invaders. As they neared, she spied several soldiers walking along the top of the castle, visible only from the waist up and only in between the crenellated merlons spaced five or six feet apart.

  “What are they standing on?” She asked when he’d slowed the horse to a trot.

  “There is a walkway up there on the parapet.” He tightened his hold around her middle. “Best swing your leg back around, lass.”

  Anice did so, thankful that he’d had this foresight. Once both her legs dangled off the same side, she fussed with her habit a bit, making sure everything was covered.

  The gate opened before them, well before they’d actually reached it, as the army now climbed the moderate rise of the hill. More cheers and exultations reached them, coming from within the castle, as all were no doubt alerted that their chief had returned home. At the top of the hill, the road led directly to those doors and soon they were within. Her first view inside Stonehaven showed only a wide, arched tunnel beyond the doors, maybe a dozen feet in length, with stone all around. Anice imagined soldiers’ quarters on the opposite sides of these walls. The dim tunnel opened up to a bright and wide bailey, bursting with so many people waving hands and kerchiefs at the coming riders. Gregor snaked the horse through the people, bringing them very near to another large door, directly across from the tunnel, and likely the entrance to the keep. “Down you go,” he said in her ear, and lowered Anice to the ground when he’d stopped the horse completely. He dismounted easily himself and was so swarmed by well-wishers and friends that Anice was all but thrust aside as these people scrambled to be near their laird. She was sure it was unintentional, but she was jostled from behind and nearly fell over with a hard shove but felt his hand upon her, gripping her upper arm and herding her through the throng and into the keep.

  Gregor did not close the door behind him, and many people squeezed through the opening after him. Anice saw first that supper had indeed been interrupted by their return, as the many trestle tables in the hall were strewn still with half-eaten meals. Her eyes turned around the room as Gregor led her forward, showing a long rectangular space with an immense hearth at each end and a vaulted ceiling of timber overhead. The door had opened into one end of the room and Gregor now marched her between the tables to the other end, where one long table sat before the hearth, with individual chairs rather than the bench seats at the other, shorter tables. At the abbey, the refectory, where they’d taken their meals, employed a similar arrangement, with the head table set also to one end. Only the office-holders were allowed to dine there, including the prioress, though Sister Eugenia rarely had deigned to dine in the refectory, the cellaress, the sacrist, and the almoner, among others.

  He sat her down at the main table, which made Anice glance around with a strange sensation of guilt, or unworthiness, and bade her to wait while he saw to some matters. But he did not get very far away from the table, stopped as he was every few seconds by another person, overjoyed to have their chief returned, and mostly in one piece.

  She was well-used to being overlooked and considered that most of her life might have been spent trying to avoid notice. Perhaps any who passed more than a glance over her now did so only when catching sight of her hair, which was still uncovered.

  Anice gave some frowning thought to the fact that she spied no woman here who might be his mother and wondered about that grand lady not showing herself to greet her son after so long an absence. Weary now, she set her elbow upon the table and dropped her chin into her palm, noting that the Kincaid still hadn’t progressed very far from where she sat, and that the people of Stonehaven dressed as poorly, as bleakly as had the nuns in the abbey, the only difference being brown was the predominant color here whereas gray was the principal hue inside the nunnery.

  The doors to the bailey remained open and shared some light from the descendi
ng sun, but mostly this long room was barely illuminated by one wide circular hanging fixture, made of metal, with holders for about a dozen thick pillar candles, which burned with low flames. Only a few other tallows burned around the room, including one set upon the chief’s table, a few feet from Anice.

  There was so much noise in this room, so different from the near silent suppers taken by the nuns, that Anice was rather lulled by the din, and felt her eyes growing heavy. She had not prayed but once today, so she did now offer a prayer of thanks to her God, for delivering her from the abbey and into this castle, where she now believed her future lie. She closed her prayer just now with an apology that she was not sad to no longer be pursuing the religious life, but she was quite sure that God understood that she wasn’t meant to be a nun. God doesn’t make mistakes, she had been advised many times over the years. It was no accident that the Kincaid had stumbled upon her in the stocks that night.

  She let out a long yawn and wondered if God had seen her quite enjoying the Kincaid’s kiss this morning. Her last thought, before she fell asleep with her chin in her hand, sitting alone at the head table, was to wonder when the Kincaid might kiss her again.

  She roused as she was lifted from the chair, and somehow knew, before she opened her eyes, that she was in Gregor’s arms.

  “We have to talk about that kiss, Sir Gregor,” she said very sleepily and crossed her arms and burrowed her head against his very hard chest.

  “Aye, lass.”