Wallace nodded and suggested to Gregor, “Mayhap a letter to the bishop, to have the contract with Duncan voided without repercussion? Seems a kidnapping is worthy justification.”
“Aye.” Gregor nodded, turning back to watch Anice again, dreading the warring to come with Duncan. But she was here. And he would not—could not!—marry Nathara. Anice lifted her eyes to him as she and Torren walked up the beach to join them, her arm still strung through his. Gregor read happiness in her gaze now.
“We’ll keep on down here for now,” Wallace said after Torren had greeted him and Jamie.
“Aye,” Torren said with a disgruntled laugh, “you’ll be safer here, without the Lady Kincaid knowing of your proximity.”
Wallace said, “So the lass has advised me. Should the need arise, I will personally take on the matter of the Lady Kincaid.”
“God preserve you, sir, if that be the case,” Anice offered.
ANICE DID NOT SEE GREGOR again until the beach was awash in darkness, the moon throwing off only bare light, though the golden wavy line of the moon’s reflection upon the water did cast some illumination onto the beach. Tamsin had stayed with her after he’d brought down bread and cheese and ale for Anice and the five men camped on the beach. After they’d eaten, Wallace, Jamie and the other three had snuck about through the woods, on some unknown mission about which Anice did not presume to inquire.
She and Tamsin had spent the last hour together, finding seats in the sand near the small fire they struggled to keep ablaze in the dying wind.
When a shadow and body had shown itself over the rocks, Tamsin had jumped up and pulled Anice behind him, drawing his sword in one smooth motion.
“Aye, lad, well done,” they heard Gregor’s voice before they discerned his identity by sight. In the next instant he was standing before them and said to Tamsin, “Go on then, lad. I’ll take care of the lass.”
Anice could not read or see if Tamsin was eager to be off or would have preferred to stay but he did trudge through the sand and disappear from the light of the moon.
“You have your room up in the keep, Anice. You’ll be safe—”
“I’m fine but thank you. Will Torren take me back to Inesfree soon?”
Gregor sat where Tamsin had. She could hear a frown in his words, pictured his brows drawing down over his amber eyes. “Is that what you want, lass?”
She’d felt as if she’d come home when she’d ridden up to Stonehaven yesterday. When she saw Gregor today, she’d wanted nothing more than to run to him, to throw herself into her arms, and let the warmth and haven of his embrace surround her. She would forever wonder what had prevented her from doing so, what had made her stop him from kissing her. Just some niggling smallness, some voice in her head that said nothing had changed, but that was all, just a vague caution that she’d heeded despite the ache inside her to feel his lips upon hers.
She wasn’t even entirely sure what made her say, now, “I think so.”
He was quiet for many minutes, tossing small beach stones at the fire.
“You’ll have to stay on a while, until things settle, and Stonehaven can afford to send Torren off with you.”
“I am sorry for the trouble I’ve brought to your door,” she said as quietly as the low surf would allow. “With... Hugh and Duncan.”
She felt his eyes shift away from the fire and rest on her. “Anice, ‘tis no your fault at all.”
“But maybe you should release Hugh and then—”
“I will no release him!” His breathing had increased. Anice could very well hear him seething.
“How long will Sir William and Jamie stay?”
“I’m no sure.” He rather barked this out, his annoyance still evident. Several more minutes passed before he said, his tone calmer, “C’mon. Up to the keep and I’ll no hear no argument.” He stood up, adjusted his sword, and waited for her to move. “You want to stay here, freezing all the time, and still in the same gown you wore to the wedding?”
Reluctantly, Anice stood and followed him away from the beach. He reached for and grabbed her hand, guiding her over the tall jumble of rocks in the dark. She tugged her hand away when they’d come down the other side, onto Stonehaven’s beach. She feared her anger matched his own but could name no explicit reason for it. By the time they’d reached the keep, and he’d walked her inside and up the stairs to her previous borrowed chamber, she felt the tension hanging between them heavier than the sadness that had engulfed her upon being sent off to Inesfree a month ago.
Gregor pushed open the door. “There’s gowns and garments there,” he said. “A bath will be brought up.”
She nodded and stepped into the room. One last glance and she closed the door on him.
ONCE AGAIN RETURNED to the chamber she’d occupied when last at Stonehaven, Anice did as she had previously, and avoided the hall and the company of most persons much as she could. Daily, she slipped out of the keep and down to the beach where she often found at least one of her friends, Fibh or Tamsin or Arik, sometimes Torren or Kinnon. She wore one of the new gowns, a plain brown scratchy wool thing that she appreciated only because it was clean and untorn and did provide more warmth in the cooler autumn air. She’d removed the Kincaid strip of cloth from the destroyed blue velvet, had debated tucking it away someplace, to keep it safe. She’d run her fingers over the piece and gave some thought to the fact that this strip of tartan had saved her when Jamie MacKenna had discovered it upon her belt. With little more debate, she’d tied it once again upon her person, now from a plain rope belt that had been supplied with this brown kirtle.
Gregor spent much of his time in Wallace’s company as well. Sometimes they left the beach, usually only at nightfall, with Jamie MacKenna at their side, scouring the countryside for rebels to join them, Torren had explained to her.
She’d had some conversation with William Wallace, in which he’d clarified to her, “You say rebel, lass, but that’s no what we are. A rebel rises against their own, government or ruler. This, what we’re doing here, is different. I aim to defend the freedom of Scotland, so long as I breathe. No man, outside of Scotland, has any right to claim it.”
No one seemed to question her presence here at the beach. She sat unobtrusively, had taken to weaving the tall reeds she plucked from the edge of the trees. She sat in the sand, with stacks of the reeds around her, weaving them as Angus had done with his leather pieces.
“But what do you make of it?” Asked Hamish, striking his sword into the sand beside himself before he sat. Hamish was a good deal older than Anice, with droopy eyes and bright red ears.
“I’m not sure, but it occupies me. My hands and mind are busy, and thus unfettered.” She’d thus far woven such a large piece of the flat reeds, she thought it might serve as a good mat upon which to sleep, something between a person and the cool sand in their tent.
As polite as Wallace and Jamie MacKenna were, she had learned very little about them. They were quiet men most of the time. Anice several times came upon Wallace away from the beach, while she gathered reeds, with his psalter in hand, his eyes closed, his lips moving silently, as if he knew the psalms by heart. Jamie MacKenna spoke easily and readily when the subject was war, or Scotland’s freedom, or even how Gregor prepared to deal with the Duncan’s transgression, but beyond that, he shared not much with Anice.
“Aye, he’s always been a quiet one, MacKenna,” Torren informed her when she’d mentioned her thoughts to him as they sat near the water one day, still out of view of the castle.
“He is very sad, I think.”
“He’s lost more than most, mayhap. Fiercest man I ever saw in battle.”
“Because he cares not if he lives or dies?”
“Aye, like as no.”
“Gregor’s not like that, is he?”
Torren shook his head. “He is fearless. But it’s more cocksure than reckless.”
“And you are methodical and calculating?” she guessed.
Torren nar
rowed his eyes. “You think you got us all figured out, lass?”
She smiled at him. “I think I do. But Torren, I know nothing of your life. You weren’t born a soldier. Do you fight for Scotland because you are a soldier? Or, are you a soldier because Scotland must be free?”
“I’ll give you, that’s a fair question. Aye, I was born the third son. You go to the church or you go to the war. But Scotland, lass, still needs to be free.”
“Where is your family?”
His eyes dipped. “All gone, lass. To fever, to birthing, some to war.”
Her lips formed a soft mew. “All?”
“Aye.”
She stared at her friend, saw just a hint of aged sadness in his dark eyes. He sipped at his ale, uncomfortable with her scrutiny.
“Maybe you are my purpose, Torren.”
Torren set down the cup. He grinned at her. “Aye, I was afraid you’d say that.” He winked at her and Anice smiled.
“Torren, will I return to Inesfree?”
His grin disappeared. “You’ll stay here for a while.”
“But what am I to do?”
Torren’s eyes squinted and his nose wrinkled. “You do as you have.”
Anice rolled her eyes at this, as it helped her not at all.
She caught Gregor’s gaze upon her a few times, once with some simmering heat about him. But he did not speak directly to her, and she hadn’t any cause to engage him in conversation—those days were gone—so they went several days without exchanging any words.
William Wallace and his party left after only one short week at Stonehaven. Anice was sad to see them go. She imagined she had no more reason to be at the beach. Torren stood with her as she watched Wallace and Jamie disappear into the trees. The tents had been disassembled and packed, foodstuffs and ale had been supplied and the party of five rode away after brief goodbyes. Anice looked about Left Beach. The tent flaps had even been removed from the boat, which had been dumped on its bottom. Sand had been scraped over the fire that had burned for seven days. Only Anice’s sloppy pile of cut reeds remained, weighted against the ever-present wind with a flat bottomed rock.
Gregor walked away from the beach in the opposite direction that Wallace had taken. Anice’s eyes followed him for a moment before turning back to see that Wallace and the other four were no longer visible through the trees.
“But where does he go now?” She asked her friend.
“Wallace? Further into the Highlands, like as no,” said Torren. “The resistance is only passive until he can command a greater army. Come spring, he’ll go south and begin again pushing England out.”
“Now will I be returned to Inesfree?”
Torren frowned at her. “No yet, lass. The sheriff’s court is coming soon.”
“What has that to do with me?” She asked as they followed at a distance the path that Gregor had taken.
Torren stopped and tugged her arm so that she did as well. “You have to make a statement, lass, against Hugh.”
Anice stared, nonplussed. “A statement?”
“Aye, the justiciar—the sheriff in Buchan—comes four times a year and the criminal cases are set before him. A jury is selected from locals and you make your claim and the jury says guilty or no, and the sheriff passes a sentence.”
Anice digested all of this. She’d had some inkling how the court worked but could not recall how she might have this spare knowledge. “Will it have any effect on Gregor?”
“What do you mean, lass?”
“Will he get in trouble because he has put Hugh in the below?”
“Nae, lass. He’s chief of Stonehaven. He has some authority to imprison criminals or hold them until the traveling court comes.”
“And all I have to do is say what Hugh has done?”
“Aye.”
Anice nodded.
Chapter 18
Gregor felt as if he only waited. For the sheriff’s court to come, for Duncan to practice some other scheme to free Hugh, or worse, some war upon Stonehaven for his inability to see Hugh freed. He’d heard naught from Duncan, and felt as if his hands were tied, unable to retaliate for his abduction of Tess while the wedding contract remained in place. He waited for that as well, or most of all, some word from Wallace that he’d had success presenting the case to his friend, Bishop Wishart, that the contract could be annulled due to the kidnapping. Daily, he considered voiding the contract himself and to hell with the consequences. He knew now there would be no wedding with Nathara, but still needed to go about it properly. Duncan would come, wedding or no, Gregor believed. But Gregor still needed to have right on his side. He wanted Hugh punished. He wanted Duncan punished. He wanted to tell Anice that he was free. He could not, though, not yet.
Lady Kincaid found him as he strode through the hall, headed for the training field outside. She’d barely spoken to him since his return from Inesfree, possibly had no idea of the abduction of Anice. He saw her but gave only a nod, intent on avoiding a confrontation. They didn’t have conversations, they didn’t talk, they had only confrontations. It had been like that his entire life.
“Are you to honor the contract or no?” She asked, standing regally, and for once without her two minions at her side. “Are you to bring more shame and likely more fighting by not wedding? Or are you too busy with that dissident Wallace?”
Gregor took a deep breath and turned to face her. “Do you have any idea how ridiculous and petty you sound? Do you ken at all that our little squabbles here are nothing compared to an entire nation’s freedom?”
She stepped closer, her hands folded at her waist. “So you will sacrifice Stonehaven’s right to live peacefully that you may—”
Through gritted teeth, he interjected, “I am upholding the vow made in that contract. ‘Tis Duncan who challenges and impairs the chances of its success.”
“Release his son and let us see this wedding done.” Intoned as an edict, as if it were she who ruled Stonehaven and not Gregor. She raised her chin above the folds of the cloth wrapped around her neck.
“That will no happen—”
“Because some little whore has caught your fancy? Is she worth more than your family and your name and your people?” Her voice became strident.
“Release him and see him repeat the same crime? ‘Tis no to be borne.”
“You are a weak man, as was your father.” This, given as a sneer, with that familiar pinched lip expression.
“I am my father’s son, and proudly so,” Gregor said, weary, wanting to be gone from her. “I am your son as well, so you have to wonder where I come by—”
“I’ve never born a son in my life,” Lady Kincaid said with some caustic smirk about her stately features.
Gregor sighed, his hands on his hips. “Mother, what is it you are saying?”
“You are a by-blow, some bastard your father foisted onto me when I could give him no son. But you are not my child. I raised you as my own, kept my mouth shut and my place here.” Not one ounce of remorse or sympathy played into her words or tone. “Yes, that’s why I said nothing. What would have kept you from having me removed from Stonehaven?’
Gregor stared at her for the longest time, as this settled over him. His immediate reaction was one of relief. Everything made sense then. While she stared back at him—Jesu, with as much glee as he was sure she would ever allow herself to exhibit—Gregor felt the weight of nearly thirty years of feeling unworthy pulled from him. With his own near smile, he said, “Nothing at all... now.”
“I thought as much. But you’ve brought shame to Stonehaven, and I’ll have no part in that. War will come, either from Duncan, because of your hairless whore, or because of your refusal to submit to England. And I am not of mind to die for your poor judgment or outright stupidity. Where shall you send me?”
“To Jardine. With a fine widow’s dowry. I hear the abbess is a reasonable woman.”
“Is that where you found her?”
“Do you really care?”
> “No.”
“No need to prolong this. I’ll make arrangements anon. Expect to leave first thing in the morning.”
“Your father was—”
“I’m sure I no longer need to suffer your opinions. Leave the rings, they belong to the Lady Kincaid, and I’m sure the church will no allow such worldly goods to be kept.”
He turned toward the door, intent now upon escape, and found Anice standing there, hovering, with her hand on the door frame as she stared, her lips parted, her eyes wide. He kept walking, grabbed Anice’s hand as he passed through the door, but she stopped him. “Who is his mother?” She asked of Lady Kincaid. “Does she live still?”
Gregor stopped and turned back, stared at Lady Kincaid, who seemed disinclined to answer. After a moment, she said, “She died in the birthing. Very considerate of her.”
Gregor did not deign to respond to this last affront but pivoted again and stalked from the keep, taking Anice with him, through the tunnel and outside the castle and down the slope. At the bottom of the hill, she tugged him toward the beach rather than in the direction of the training field, which had been his intent.
ANICE AND GREGOR SAT on Stonehaven’s beach. Rain was imminent, which is what had sent Anice back to the keep in the middle of the day. She said nothing, just sat with him, let him absorb all that he’d just learned. She waited, having no intention of forcing him to speak or even to hurry him along. He just sat, his arms upon his drawn up knees, as was his way, staring out at the churning sea.
“Her name was Nell,” he said after many long minutes.
Anice, with her legs crossed under her and her skirts tucked tightly around her, bent her head at him. “How do you know that?”
“My father fell at Falkirk,” he said. “I did no see him fall and he did no die straight away, but I met him back behind the line, in the forest at Torwood.” He paused, remembering, his jaw moving before he said, “I always felt he’d waited for me to come. He said only, ‘it was Nell, that’s who she was’.” With a shrug, he admitted, “I passed it off as delirium and he died right then.”
The Memory of Her Kiss Page 24
