The Memory of Her Kiss

by Rebecca Ruger

  Anice was only vaguely aware that he carried her up a set of stairs and down a corridor, having closed her eyes again. She was laid onto a bed and covered with soft blankets and her hands were folded at her breasts. The bed shifted under her. Her eyes flickered but exhaustion made the lids heavy and it was easier to let them close again. Something grazed along her cheek and along her jaw. Gregor was still with her, she knew, but she was unlikely to remember this once he was gone. He pressed his lips softly to hers and her sleepy mind allowed a soft purr.

  Sometime during the night, Anice shifted onto her side, bumping against a hard wall. She pushed away from it, pressing both hands against it, but established that it was not the wall but Gregor, her hands recognizing his familiar breastplate. Sleepily, she burrowed against him as she had done the last few nights, wakeful only enough that she guessed he had simply collapsed here. Or, maybe he’d thought as Anice sometimes did, that he would lie down for just a few minutes only to wake up hours later. Her knee banged into the hard metal sheath of his sword.

  “Ow,” she mumbled.

  “Aye,” he said, as if startled awake. Gregor groggily fussed at his belt, removing the sword. He lifted it over his chest and dropped it to the floor at the side of the bed. It clanged loudly, bringing Anice upright. Gregor rolled onto his side then, pulling Anice down beside him.

  Still shrouded by sleep, she asked, “Am I in your bed?”

  Gregor answered through a yawn. “Nae, lass. I am in your bed.”

  “Is this acceptable?” Even as she asked, she scooched her back against his front, until his arm wrapped around her middle. She set her hand over his, their fingers entwining.

  “Nae, but just for tonight.”

  Anice smiled and slept again.

  Chapter 8

  Anice was next woken when the morning came, by noises in her borrowed chamber. She opened her eyes and saw only the stone ceiling overhead until she turned and spied bright light streaming through the narrow openings in the wall, arrow-slits that served as windows. Gregor was gone. She ran her hand over the soft coverlet, where his body had been. Turning her head in the opposite direction showed a very tall and thin woman within the room, setting down an ewer and basin upon a small table and dropping several linen cloths beside it.

  “Good morning.” Anice sat up and faced the woman, who pivoted at the sound of her voice. The woman did not meet her eyes, but put her gaze onto Anice’s hair, giving her assessment of this by way of a significant frown. “Are you Lady Kincaid?” Anice wondered, noting the thin-lipped displeasure about the woman’s pinched face.

  The frown deepened. “Of course not! Think you that fine lady would be waiting on you?” She then pulled some garments from over her arm and laid them on the end of the bed. “These are from the chief.” And with one last curl of her lip, she left the room, without actually telling Anice who she was.

  Anice dismissed the woman from her mind. Today was her first day at Stonehaven, She wanted to explore everything and know everything and meet everyone. She jumped off the borrowed bed, hoping she hadn’t put someone out of it, and stripped herself of her habit. She held it up in front of her, taking a last look at it, but felt no remorse, no nostalgia toward the garment and tossed it back on the bed. Carefully, she unwrapped the linen bandage around her wrist and removed that and the two pieces of hard leather the Kincaid had fastened there, experimentally moving the wrist about. It still pained her, though not nearly so much as it had, and she was able to wash her face and arms and chest without difficulty. She knew she would require assistance to return the splint if she chose to use it one or two more days. As she used one end of the cloth to scrub her teeth as best she could, Anice took a moment to glance around the room. Aside from the bed and table, there was only a chest at the end of the bed and a chair near the fireplace, which had not been lighted last night, she knew, spying several fresh logs stacked within. Upon the chair, there sat a tapestry cushion, the needlework showing some faded flower detail. Reaching the cloth into the back of her mouth to clean those teeth, Anice lifted up the chest and found only a large fur blanket and another coverlet for the bed. She decided then she hadn’t put anyone out of their chamber, as there were no personal items within this room to announce that it belonged to anyone.

  Next, she lifted up the gown that had been provided for her, almost giddy at the idea of wearing some color other than gray, though saffron yellow would not have been her first choice. But first, she donned the clean linen chemise, marveling at the close fitting long sleeves and the scoop neckline. To this, she added the sleeveless saffron gown and let it fall down her hips and legs. There was no waist and no belt, and it was, overall, too large and too long for her, but she didn’t care. She fussed with the neckline of both pieces, hoping to cover more of her chest than it presently did, but to no avail. The chemise rose above the neckline of the kirtle, and being gathered, did offer quite a bit of modesty, which Anice convinced herself was acceptable. No hose had been included with the endowment, and still she didn’t mind, pushing her feet into her own black leather shoes. She stood straight then and looked down at herself, smiling as she gave a little twirl, watching the skirts dance around her legs.

  Snatching up the linen and leather pieces for her wrist, she turned and left the chamber. She found the stairs easily enough and then the hall soon after, one hand holding her skirts away from her feet as she walked. She did not see the Kincaid, or again any woman who might be his mother that she might make her introduction, but quickly spied Torren and Fibh and several other soldiers sitting at one table, breaking their fast. She glided over to them. Fibh and Sim noticed her first and Anice noticed that Fibh’s eyes widened as he smiled at her. She stopped at the end of the table and all heads turned toward her, each man taking note of her changed appearance that she spun around for them, with a smile lighting her face. “Isn’t is lovely?”

  “Aye, lass, but it’s the color of sheep’s piss,” said Sim.

  “I know. I thought the same thing, and I don’t care. I haven’t worn anything but that gray habit for the last seven years.”

  They laughed at this and watched Anice as she continued to admire her own new gown.

  “Here, sister,” Torren said then, drawing her gaze to him, as he tore off a chunk of his bread and put it on the table next to him.

  “Thank you, Sir Torren.” And she squeezed between him and Tamsin and asked of Torren, “Would you be able to wrap my wrist, sir?” She showed him the leather pieces and the linen and held up her still slightly swollen hand.

  The big man nodded and plopped a piece of bread into his mouth. Sitting so close to him, Anice noticed that there were many strands of gray strewn throughout his shoulder length black hair and in his short wiry beard. She laid her wrist on the table for him and used her other hand to feed herself the bread. She glanced around the room as Torren set to work, half listening to Tamsin and Fibh talking about riding over to some place called Cowie.

  And that’s when she saw the Kincaid. He stepped into the hall from outside, and headed straight for this table, his eyes settling on Anice, bringing about that little flutter in her belly to which she was quickly growing accustomed.

  Anice had previously thought the Kincaid very handsome but now, returned to his home and all the amenities it offered, she determined he was truly beautiful.

  The first thing she noticed was the lack of all that dark stubble, which had grown thicker with each day spent with him. With it gone now, his square jaw was visible and pronounced and the shape of his full lips quite distinctive. She thought he might have trimmed his hair as well, as now it was cropped close, though still not as short as her own, she was sure. His tunic and plaid were fresh and clean, the pleats and folds of the latter precisely set over his broad chest, while his breeches today were darker than the ones she’d seen over the past many days. Taken as a whole, he was quite pleasing to look upon. She would be able to look upon him every day now, mayhap for the rest of her life. This brou
ght a delighted smile to her face, which she did not even think to hide.

  Anice found his eyes again, her happy perusal of his person complete. She caught some new emotion in his gaze. He stopped just at the end of the table and his eyes flicked to Torren’s ministrations of her hand. When his gaze returned to hers, his was filled now with some dark sentiment which Anice struggled to name. It was gone as quickly as it had come and he acknowledged her only with a brief nod before saying to Torren, “Robert is looking for you in the smithy.”

  “Aye,” said Torren, tying the linen ends into a knot at the top of Anice’s wrist. “He’s got some shoeing to get done. I told him I’d bring the horses in, few at a time.”

  “After that, I’ll be wanting to get some training in,” Gregor said. “I want a half day at least in the field. I don’t want to take another sword for some whelp who can’t handle a single rider.”

  Torren nodded and drained his cup of ale just as a woman appeared from the end of the hall, from what Anice assumed was a corridor which might lead to the kitchens.

  The woman’s appearance immediately put Anice in mind of Sister Eugenia, her bearing and the angle at which she held her chin evincing a regal mien. The hall seemed to still as the woman walked through, dressed finely in a surcote of dark gray with pinned on sleeves embroidered with roses and leaves in several different colored threads. A sumptuous wimple of fine opaque linen covered her head and circled her neck in such heavy folds, Anice thought this must be what held her head so high. She walked proudly and stood almost as tall as the Kincaid. Anice saw as she came directly to him that neither her dark eyes nor her thin lips lightened with joy at seeing her son—assuming this was, as Anice expected, the Kincaid’s mother. Upon her hands, folded prudently at her waist, several gold rings adorned her long fingers, the head of an eagle easily recognized on the largest of these.

  Everyone at the table rose as she came, bumping out the bench so Anice was forced to jump to her feet as well, standing tucked between Torren and Tamsin. The woman ignored them and said to the Kincaid, who’d only briefly tipped his head at her, “I have it on good authority that you might have been returned to us some time ago, but took it upon yourself to parade around the border for several weeks, while we wasted here with so few to actually keep us safe from harm.”

  Anice’s eyes widened at the rancor in the woman’s tone and words but noticed that the Kincaid took no exception to it, but only asked evenly, “And did you come to harm, Mother? Nae, you did not. However, the south of Scotland did, often and brutally.”

  The woman harrumphed. “But you’re returned now, and having put off the unavoidable long enough, must get to it.”

  Anice moved her eyes to the pair of women standing just in the severe woman’s shadow, one young, one old, attendants to the lady, who likely traveled in her wake all of their days. They reminded Anice of the sub-prioresses who had dogged Lady Eugenia’s steps, being silent and agreeable as to keep their fine clothes and warm beds.

  “I am returned only last eve and will first see to the business of the castle and village before my own personal matters are minded—”

  “Personal matters?” The woman interrupted with some disdain. “My son, as chief of all the Kincaids and Stonehaven, your personal matters affect the entirety of the land and must be addressed anon.”

  “As chief,” he said pointedly, “I will decide upon the order of business.”

  With a chilling smile, she intoned, “But as I’ve sent word to Duncan that you’ve returned, I’m sure that business will take precedence as soon as he and his daughter arrive.”

  Anice saw that the Kincaid reacted to this by biting his tongue—this, she noted by the tightening of his jaw and the spasmodic motion of his cheekbones—and any reply was kept in check.

  With that, the Kincaid’s mother turned without so much as bowing her head and began to walk away, her attendants stepping aside so she might stride between them. Anice had the impression that the soldiers standing at attention ‘round the table would normally not have drawn her notice and wondered if it were only her bright gown that gained the woman’s eye. Lady Kincaid stopped and turned back and her dark gray eyes, under a furrowed brow, found and set harshly upon Anice, who swallowed and met her stare with some wariness.

  “Who are you?” The woman asked sharply, her frown deepening as she took in the whole of Anice’s appearance.

  Anice bobbed a curtsy first. “I am Anice Lindsay, my lady.”

  The woman rolled her eyes. “But what are you?”

  Anice blinked and looked to the Kincaid, who seemed eager to step forward and intercede, but she found her voice before he could. “I am nothing, my lady. Just a girl without hair in a dreadful yellow gown.” She heard Tamsin bite back a chuckle. “I’ve no family nor fortune nor future, so you needn’t stir yourself to my presence.”

  The frown was erased as her brows rose nearly to the edge of her wimple. “An impertinent child, I see.”

  “Incorrigible, I am told.” Quite often, when she’d lived at Jardine.

  “How came you to be here?”

  “By way of a horse and cart, my lady.”

  The woman peered now through sharp gray eyes at her. “Do not push me, girl,” she warned. “How came you to be here?”

  Anice sensed no more movement or intention from the Kincaid so assumed she had leave to answer still, and told the woman, “My lady, it all started when I fell asleep during matins and I was set into the stocks, and that’s where the Kincaid found me. But he was sore aggrieved by wounds suffered at the hands of the vile English, so he fainted away but not before he loosed me. I had to steal a horse and cart from Jardine’s stables to get him safely to the healer’s cottage until his army did retrieve him. Truth be known, they frightened me half to death with swords at my neck, 'til they were assured that I meant their chief no harm. So then we—”

  “Cease!”

  Anice jumped a bit, clamping her lips together.

  “Aye, but milady, she was just getting to the part where she fell over—” Fibh’s voice trailed off as Lady Kincaid turned a most venomous glare upon him. When his voice faded to complete silence, she turned back to Anice.

  Anice took her bottom lip between her teeth, waiting. It was much the same with Sister Eugenia—they asked a question and never wanted to hear the answer.

  The Kincaid’s mother seemed to be suffering from some fit, one eye showing a tic about the lid. “I do not care one whit for insolence or you, as you seem to be teeming with it.”

  Anice dipped her head and lifted innocent and untroubled eyes to the woman. “Yes, my lady,” she said softly, knowing that much like the esteemed Lady Eugenia, some people you might never please. The Lord Himself may well appear and tell the woman he had brought Anice to Stonehaven, and no doubt the woman would find fault with His words as well.

  The woman turned away again and sent one harsh glance to her son. His eyes were on Anice. His mother seemed to consider him momentarily, until he removed his gaze from Anice and returned her stare. What Lady Kincaid made of his eyes upon Anice for that moment, Anice could not see, as the woman’s back was to her now, and then she regally swept her short train aside and marched away, her ladies following demurely behind her.

  The woman was not gone far enough from the room before the men all around her burst out laughing, as if they’d been denying it for some time. Anice glanced around, looking from Fibh’s guffawing to Tamsin staring at her in wonder, to Torren shaking his head at her, though his big face was wreathed in a smile. Anice looked at Gregor, who was also shaking his head at her.

  “Incorrigible, indeed,” he said lightly, the corners of his mouth lifting.

  “Sister, did you no see your life flashing before your eyes just then?” Torren asked and Fibh let out another hearty chuckle.

  Anice shrugged, amused by all this merriment around her.

  “You didn’t even blink, sister,” Fibh said, “And here I nearly pissed m’self when she tur
ned on me.”

  Anice wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about, and asked of the Kincaid, “Did I do something wrong?”

  “Nae, lass,” he allowed, “but you watch. You’ll no want to make an enemy of her. Mayhap a little less literal next time.”

  “A lot less literal,” Torren suggested with a bark of laughter.

  They sat again, taking up their horns and cups and downing their ale. Torren refilled his from the jug and set the cup in front of Anice. She sipped gratefully and watched as the Kincaid sat on the end of the opposite bench, next to Fibh. He signaled a kitchen girl, cleaning a table across from them, and requested bread and another jug of ale. The girl’s head bobbed nervously, and she scampered away to see to her laird’s bidding.

  “What am I to do today?” She wondered.

  Gregor appeared to sigh a bit and drummed his long fingers on the table.

  “You could come into Cowie with us, sister,” Fibh said.

  “What’s in Cowie?”

  “Nothing but an old horse town,” answered Tamsin, “but we’ll see if they’ll trade some of our old war horses for some younger.”

  “Why would they want to trade down? Isn’t a younger horse more valuable than an older one?”

  “Only for warring, though, sister,” said Torren. “Our big destriers make great farm drays, when they’re too old for the running and turning needed for battle and slow is all they can do.”

  “Are you taking the cart? I cannot ride.”

  “No cart, sister.”

  “Then thank you, but no.”

  The kitchen girl returned then and set a new jug of ale at the table and stuck her hand out to the Kincaid, keeping herself as far away from the table as possible. Kincaid thanked her and accepted the loaf of bread, giving the girl a brief quizzical look before dismissing her and attending the bread.

  “You come on with me then, sister,” said Torren in his deep voice. “I’ll teach you to ride as I bring the palfreys up to the smithy. Then you can ride wherever you want.”