He could think of only one. If her father refused to change matters, that was that. He would have to leave.
He imagined taking vows and living in Constantinople with the knights, taking a life of silence, contemplation and travel. That only would be the compensation for losing her. He sighed. He must have her, or see the world. Those were the only options that were even vaguely equal. Even then they were far from true interchangeability.
Without her, the world would be an emptiness he sought to fill with distraction.
He sighed and rolled over, knowing that he would never sleep now. He heard someone start to stoke the fire in the kitchen and realized that it was probably an hour before dawn – the servants in the kitchen would be stirring, getting ready to make the breakfast before anyone else – even the people who worked in the yard or the stable – were awake.
He rolled to the end of the bed and stood up, stretching, his head weary with the lack of sleep. He stretched again and yawned. He noticed the blankets by the heart were neatly folded and realized that the youth, who was a stable hand by profession – was probably accustomed to rising at this time. He shook his head and reached for a tunic. His hand found the one he had loaned her yesterday and, as he shrugged it on, a gentle smile crossed his lips.
The tunic had touched her skin. He sighed, thinking of it. He wondered, fleetingly, how it would feel to touch her skin, to explore the satin softness of her body from her gently rounded shoulders to her belly, from the inside skin of her wrist to her thigh and even lower still.
Shivering with pleasure at the merest thought of it, he drew the tunic down over his head and, drawing it down over the thickly-muscled back, he reached for fresh trews. Dressed, he splashed his face in water from the pitcher on the nightstand, hissing at the ice coldness of it.
“Now,” he said to himself, working a comb over his hair slowly, “I wonder where the boy's gone to?”
He reached for the door and put his head out.
“Sir?”
“Oh!” He smiled to see the youth in the hallway. He had managed to obtain a pair of breeches from somewhere, and a new coat. He looked quite well-kept in the new clothes, Rufus had to admit.
“There you are,” he said, smiling. “I wondered where you'd got to.”
“I was out and about, sir,” the youth said. He didn't look at Rufus and he wondered to himself how legally he'd actually obtained that clothing. Then he recalled the silver piece and thought there was an argument he'd paid for it.
He sighed. “Well, you're up before me, clearly. Now, where's breakfast happening?”
The youth chuckled. “The cook's just starting it,” he asserted. “I smelled the loaves on the way...reckon they're done. Coming down?”
“Probably,” Rufus yawned. “Might as well break my fast at cock-crow, eh? Not much else wants my attention. My stomach on the other hand, has its plans.”
The boy laughed. In daylight, Rufus thought, he looked older than he had when he found him in the woodlands. “My stomach has a mind of its own, sir.”
They both chuckled.
“You look better,” Rufus observed.
“I slept, sir,” he said simply.
They both laughed.
“And it's warm.”
“Yes,” Rufus nodded. He shuddered. He didn't even want to think about how cold it had been out there. It was something he never wanted to experience again in all his days. “And it's warm.”
He let the youth lead the way and they headed downstairs toward the kitchens.
“Whist!” the cook said, giggling as they came in. “Haud yer patience, kind sir!” She blushed at Rufus, giving him an appreciative look that made him feel warm inside. “Now, go on with you, the pair of ye! Go! Sit yer bodies down in the dining room where it's warm. I'll be a minute or two longer with the loaves afore breakfast can be set out.”
They left and heard her chuckling about men and their appetites.
In the dining room, Rufus leaned back pragmatically on the seat and watched the fire flicker in the hearth. He watched the youth twist his head around to make commentary into the hallway, himself more at peace than he had been for days.
“Hey, lads!”
“Hey yersel',” a man shouted.
He felt his stomach rumble appreciatively and was grateful when, a minute or two later, the innkeeper's wife appeared with the loaves. She brought a jug of fresh milk too, warm and thick, and the leftovers of whatever cheese had been on the sideboard the previous evening.
“You gentlemen will feast well,” she commented with a grin. “That's just the first batch out and you've plenty of time for another afore the rest gets here. I do like men who enjoy their meals.” She grinned at Rufus with a twinkling eye and he chuckled.
“Should we stay here for the rest of our days?” Rufus asked the youth, who nodded.
“Could do with a few more cooks like that, sir.” He broke a small loaf the size of a man's hand in half and chewed a big chunk off, closing his eyes with pleasure.
Rufus grinned. He took some bread himself, and poured a pitcher of the milk to go with it. Light and yeast-flavored, the bread was just what he needed. He swallowed appreciatively and felt the warmth and strength return to his blood after the trials of yesterday.
“So,” he asked the boy, interested. “You lived in Edinburgh always?”
“Not so, sir,” he countered. “Grew up in a village like this one, only smaller – Elmsley it was called – and then when me dad went to work in the stable there, he's a farrier, me dad is, I joined. Not a bad life,” he shrugged.
“You want to be a farrier when you grow up?” he asked.
“I dunno, sir,” the boy said. “I trained with da – he'd want that, of course – but me? I dunno what I wants.”
Rufus considered him. He was loyal, honor bound, worthy of inspiring trust in others. He would be a good knight. “I could do with a fellow like you,” he said.
“You could?” the boy stared at him, wide eyed.
“Yes,” Rufus said pleasantly. “Need a fellow to carry my standard, polish my plate, and tend my horse...”
“Sir!” the youth's eyes were shining. “Sir! You mean it! I could be a squire! Me!”
Rufus had to hide his smile as the youth was almost jumping from the seat with excitement. He shook his head affectionately.
“I mean it, son,” he said warmly. “A fellow like you, with a sense of trustworthiness...” he shook his head. “You're the sort we want.”
The youth looked at him shiny eyed. “Hey fellows!” he yelled into the hallway where the men were coming in from the yard, the thunk of their boots as they changed them, hitting the floor, making Rufus grin with its familiarity.
“Hey, yourself! Young whippersnapper.”
“I'm going to be a squire!”
Rufus chuckled. The enthusiasm made him feel old, just seeing it. He leaned back, hands clasped under his chin, watching him emote.
He was sitting back, starting his second slice of bread, watching the cook who had appeared with fresh loaves, when he saw a movement in the hallway. A scrap of blue, swooping down the stairs.
He felt himself stand without having realized he'd made his legs do his bidding.
“My lady?”
He stared. Dressed in a white wool gown that she must have been wearing yesterday, though he hadn't seen it then, with some sort of shawl or cloak she had contrived from some retrieved fabric in slate blue, she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.
Her high breasts, long torso and shapely hips were shown off to perfection by the dress and she was pale and unbalanced on her feet from lack of sleep, but she was magnificent. Those red lips and blue eyes, with that long, curling hair were so, so striking.
He felt the need to bow, and then lead her to the table. She looked up at him uncertainly.
“Good morning, sir,” she whispered.
He smiled. It seemed that they both, at the same time, retrieved a memory of the previ
ous night's exchange, as they both blushed as their gaze held.
“Sir,” she said teasingly. He felt her words run down his body and ignite his blood. He smiled. Her face was close to his and he could see those sweet red lips so close, their damp surface begging for kissing.
“Sir!” somebody said and he recognized the voice of the cook. He looked round and realized he had taken root in the kitchen doorway, staring at the lady. He jumped out of the way of the cook, a laden tray of fresh loaves in her hand.
“So sorry, madam.”
“Oh! Well, a man with manners. And an appetite. Mark my words; you're a man in ten thousand, so you are.”
He felt himself flush and looked at Amabel who was standing with a firm, taut face trying very hard, he realized as he saw her eyes dance, not to smile.
“My lady,” he said to Amabel. “Will you come and sit with us – we would be so grateful for your company, milady.”
He grinned at her and she grinned back.
“Well,” Amabel said, smiling at him, “I suppose I may be persuaded to join you – with such manners and an appetite, I think I'd be a fool to pass you up!”
Rufus was laughing too, now, shoulders shaking. He grinned at her and she grinned back, her eyes shining with happiness. He felt his heart thumping in his chest and had to fight not to lean in and kiss her on the lips. Here, as it had been on the field, or in the chamber earlier, or at the castle, there was a space of ease between them.
The youth, Brogan, was looking from one to the other with a strong interest. Rufus saw the expression on his face and smiled.
“Well, Brogan. I think you need not have an introduction to my lady Amabel.”
“Lady Amabel, uh...no. No, sir.” He looked at Amabel with an expression that Rufus recognized – the sort that said he'd die just to make her smile. He bit back a grin.
“I am very pleased to see you, Brogan,” she said in a soft voice. “I think I owe my safety at least in part to you. I thank you.”
“Brogan insisted we come here,” Rufus said quickly. “If he'd not known the place, and ridden with us – he helped me help you, too – we'd have frozen.”
“Thank you, Brogan,” she said. “We owe you a truly immeasurable debt.”
Rufus saw him looking at the table, staring at his hands. His pale skin was red as a coal and he was all flushed up to the white of his soft hair.
“Well, I did nothing, madam...”
“Nonsense,” Rufus said amiably. “You did a lot. And you paid for our lodgings.”
“Brogan,” Amabel said, her voice soft. “You gave them the silver coin? For us? You dear...”
That was too much for Brogan. He was red and he stammered. “Milady, I...”
Rufus chuckled. “You did us all a favor, Brogan,” he said.
Amabel was digging in her purse, trying to find a coin, to replace the one he had paid for her. Rufus lifted a hand.
“He can earn it from me,” he said. “He's going to be my squire.”
Having repeated it to another person seemed to make it more concrete for Brogan, for he stared at Rufus and then Amabel, his eyes enormous.
“Yes!” he said, rejoicing again. “Yes.”
He jumped up from the chair and went cavorting across the dining room to the kitchen. Rufus saw him embrace the cook and the two of them danced round in a clumsy reel. He smiled at Amabel.
“You should have let me give him the coin,” she chided gently. “I wished to thank him myself.”
Rufus chuckled. “Trust me, one word from you is worth a million silver pieces.”
She flushed. “You silly man,” she protested. “Flattery will get you nowhere, you know.”
All the same, Rufus saw the smile cross her face and was glad he'd said it. He chuckled.
“Well, then,” he said after a long moment.
“Well, then.” Amabel met his gaze. Her hand moved closer and Rufus pressed it.
They sat together, eyes fastened on one another. Then Amabel sighed and reached for the bread.
“I am starving, Rufus,” she said insistently. “And we have to talk about what to do next.”
She took a slice of bread in her tapering fingers and Rufus watched with some surprise as she tore it in half and bit a large section from it. Chewing, she favored him with a stony look.
“What?”
He chuckled.
“Nothing, my lady.” He smiled.
She laughed as well and they both sat together chuckling to themselves.
Later, when she had eaten one of the small loaves and some cheese, she cleared her throat.
“We have to talk.”
“You go first,” he said.
“I have a question – then you can take over. Where are we?”
He chuckled. “I think we're in a town called Astmorland. We need to ask our young squire, I think. He knows these parts better than I do.”
“Your squire,” Amabel smiled. “It was a grand idea.”
“He's a good boy.”
“He is,” she agreed. “I couldn't have chosen better. For him or for your assistant.”
“Me, either.”
They sat for a while. Amabel drank milk and he watched her, feeling a shiver as he saw her wipe her mouth, red lips damp with saliva where she had licked them once.
She caught him watching and looked at him. He chuckled.
She blushed.
He saw her smile and lean back, reaching for the beaker. She stopped.
“Astmorland.”
“Yes,” he said, feeling worried, then. Why was she frowning?”
“If I'm not wrong, this is the holding of the duke of Astley.”
He shrugged. “Could be. Why...” he trailed off.
She was pushing in her chair, standing, a sudden haste possessing her. She looked worried.
“We can't stay here,” she said briskly. “He's looking for us now. We have to go.”
“He?” Rufus frowned. He stood too, feeling concerned. What was bothering Amabel?
“We need to leave,” Amabel said. “If he finds us here, I don't know what will happen. But I think it won't be good. Which makes me wonder...” she paused, lids flicking down over those magnificent sapphire eyes.
“Wonder?” Rufus was thoroughly bemused.
“Come,” she said with characteristic command. “I'll explain on the way. If someone could extract Brogan from the kitchens? We'll take a spare horse from the inn. We have to go.”
Rufus sighed and shrugged. He had no idea what this was about. However, when Amabel said something like that, he knew it was wise to listen. Taking a handful of two loaves for the journey, he headed into the kitchen to find Brogan and to settle his costs with the landlady.
They had a trip to make. A lord to evade. Somewhere, at some point, something to find out as well. A mystery to solve.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
RETURN TO AN ANCESTRAL HOME
RETURN TO AN ANCESTRAL HOME
Amabel walked briskly up the hallway of the small, cramped inn to her bedchamber. She had a lot to think about. Astmorland. As well as the duke of Astley – the man to whom her father had allegedly promised her – was involved in some subterfuge she didn't understand.
Why is he trying to stop people on the road to Buccleigh?
That was the most obvious explanation, it wasn't possible the men were placed there to detain simply her – nobody knew she was going to ride there today. It must be that he was trying to isolate Buccleigh from the capital somehow. In which case, why?
“I need to find my father.”
Amabel packed briskly as she thought about it. Not that there was much to pack – her luggage had all been stolen. All she had was the cash she had hidden in her belt, which was precious little.
She sat down on the bed, heart pounding. She had two mysteries to solve. The first was that surrounding the duke – what was he doing and why? – and the second was the sweeter one: what did she feel for Rufus?
She felt h
er chest tighten just thinking about it. The memories of the night before were so sweet that they made her heart ache with their tenderness. She had never felt like this about anyone before. She trusted him. She enjoyed his company. She felt as if he knew every part of her and she knew the same in him.
I cannot offer another explanation besides that I love him.
She was singing when she went downstairs.
It was cloudy outside, the day dark and promising mist. However, she was so, so happy. Spring was here and her heart was full of sunshine.
“My lady?”
She turned, cheeks pink with sweet embarrassment when she heard his voice behind her.
“Oh! My lord.” She blushed. “I was just getting ready to go.”
“You shouldn't be embarrassed,” he said softly. “I love your voice.”
She stared up at him. “Thank you, my lord.”
He smiled. His grin was so warm that it lit his eyes and she felt herself lean in, wanting his mouth on hers. He bent down and their lips brushed together.
“Well! Coming past, if you please..?” A cheery voice interrupted kissing.
Amabel and Rufus flew apart. She looked away, hot with embarrassment. Rufus was grinning
“Of course, Mistress Innkeeper,” he said. Amabel heard her giggle joyfully as Rufus stood aside for her with a demonstrative bow. She smiled.
I am so lucky to know someone so compelling.
She looked out of the door into the yard, where someone was leading horses out to the yard from the stable, ready and saddled. She frowned at Rufus, who nodded.
“We should go,” he said. “I organized a horse for each of us. Brogan will ride with me. Good practice,” he added.
Amabel smiled. She felt a little disappointed that she would not be riding with him, but she understood all too well what a scandal it would be if they rode into Buccleigh together.
I can't very well tell my father I have heard about his plans when I am already riding alongside a man I chose.
She smiled. In some sense, it would be easier. If the duke of Astley thought her tainted, he would probably walk away.
A Highlander’s Terror_A Medieval Scottish Romance Story Page 14
