“I have none,” she confirmed.
“Your mount?”
She stared blankly at him.
No escort. No mount.
“Dunbar.” He sighed. “The border is no place for a lady.”
“The Wild Boar is no place for a lady. Though I am but a simple serving maid.”
Unlikely.
“The Wild Boar has been fortunate to avoid the turmoil happening all around, yet I cannot stay here.”
After what he’d witnessed, Neill could not blame her. But neither, under the circumstances, could he take her with him.
“I plan to attend a council in Brockburg and will be heading straight there, staying on the open road.”
“I’ve traveled as such many times before.”
“The pace will be brutal.”
“I will not slow you down.”
“You have no mount.”
“Perhaps I can share yours?”
She asked much of him. Too much.
“I’m sorry.” And he truly was. Something about the maid pulled at him. Nevertheless, the council was too important for him to risk that she could not travel as well as she claimed. “Good day, my lady.” Using the title he knew to be hers, Neill nodded in parting, wishing he could be of service.
He should not have looked back. Had he not done so, he would have missed her crestfallen expression, her appearance of defeat. That one look sealed his fate. And perhaps hers too.
Neill held out his hand, cursing himself for a fool.
The lady intrigued him and was much too beautiful for the close proximity they would be sharing. He was all but promised to another lady. And yet, he could not deny that he’d spent the night thinking of this woman, who did indeed mount behind him as if she’d done it many times before.
Kathryn Baird had at least been honest about her ability to ride. Only someone who had been raised around horses could maneuver one so well.
So many mysteries surrounding this woman, but it was not his place to learn them. She’d asked for an escort to Dunbar, and he would take her there, but he would not involve himself in any further intrigue.
He had a job to do and could not be distracted.
Chapter 5
“Lord?”
Neill watched as Kathryn bent down to the river, the hem of her gown no doubt wet by now. He’d warned her not to get too close.
“Lord.”
He spun about, not having heard Aylmer approach.
“I’ve been shouting for you.”
“And I’ve asked you to use my given name.”
Although he and Aylmer had been fostered together, his friend had resorted to using his honorary title from the moment they’d left Langford. His brother, now Earl of Kenshire, was a lord in truth. Bryce had inherited Bristol Manor and the feudal title that came with it. But as a third son, Neill was no lord. He had no property of his own, no title to speak of save the one Aylmer insisted on using.
“You are more lord than most.”
“Use Neill, if it pleases you.” He watched Kathryn out of the corner of his eye.
“In public spaces, it does not.”
Neill rolled his eyes, grateful for his friend’s loyalty and the service he’d pledged, even if he considered it misplaced.
“The men are ready to leave.”
“I know we planned to stay on the road, but with Lady Kathryn”—he ignored Aylmer’s grimace—“I wonder if it would be possible to make it to the Anvil Inn instead?”
“That will take at least a full day from our travels.”
He knew as much, and it had pained him to make the suggestion, but she would need a proper rest. They could afford a one-day delay.
“If I might ask.” Aylmer looked toward the vision that was Kathryn. He hadn’t offered the men an explanation for her presence and had merely told them that she would be coming with them. But after nearly a full day of riding, he expected the respite had come to an end. They deserved to know what he’d agreed to.
“She needed an escort.”
Neill looked down to meet his friend’s eyes. Aylmer was a short man, although any fool who’d underestimate him would soon learn that what he lacked in height, he made up for in ferocity.
“I have a favor to ask,” he said as Kathryn walked toward them, reminding him of the uncomfortable journey so far. The maid was much too lovely for him to ignore the proximity of her supple body when they rode together. The contact was unintentional, of course, and every time she found herself too close, the lady moved away from him. As far as possible given the circumstances.
Which was not far at all.
Her arms had also been permanently wrapped around his waist. A difficult fact to ignore.
“Once we arrive at Brockburg, I’ll ask for you to continue to Dunbar with the maid. ’Tis her final destination.”
“Dunbar?”
“Aye, sir,” Kathryn said, joining them. “I’ve heard the market in the small town has escaped the border troubles.”
“None have escaped them completely,” Aylmer replied, looking at Kathryn as if she might lunge at him with a knife at any moment.
Neill laughed at his friend’s expression. He was normally quite affable with women.
In turn, Aylmer shot him an odd look.
“If we plan to stop at the Anvil Inn,” Neill said, “we should leave now.”
Aylmer looked anything but pleased about the prospect, a fact poor Kathryn seemed to notice.
“Please do not do so for my sake. As I said, I am accustomed to being on the road.”
She seemed to mean it, but why would a lady such as herself be accustomed to such a journey?
He would not ask. But Neill could tell Aylmer was just as curious. Instead, he nodded to his friend to ready the others.
“We considered it before you chose to join us,” he lied, knowing she would not relent otherwise. Neill did not want her to feel badly about the decision. “And we have some time before the council,” he said, holding out his hand. That, at least, was true.
She took it and allowed him to help her mount the jet-black destrier that had been a gift from Adam to celebrate his elevation to knighthood.
Pulling himself up in front of her, Neill settled in and tried his best to ignore his body’s reaction to Kathryn’s arms around him. Just like he had ignored the feel of her soft hand in his as she mounted.
They’d spoken little, Neill afraid to care about her situation more than he did already, but his curiosity was too great to be ignored. As they traversed the open moorland that was northern England, the hot summer’s day giving way to a typically cooler evening, he allowed himself one question.
“How did you come to work at The Wild Boar?”
He hadn’t expected her to be truthful, or to say anything at all, but as his horse moved to his accustomed position at the front of the men, she answered him.
“My mother died in childbirth. My father . . . died suddenly. With no other family, I had no choice but to find my way there.”
“So far from your home?”
Most people Neill had met on his travels did not venture far from where they were born. He and his brothers and sisters were an exception, although they hadn’t left Bristol Manor willingly. They’d been driven out by a family of Scots—the Kerrs. It felt like one of life’s greatest ironies that the Kerrs were now tied to them by marriage, the greatest of alliances. “And you said you were accustomed to the open road?”
Another question. Damn if he hadn’t promised himself just one.
“Aye. Magge was very accommodating.”
Despite himself, Neill turned in the saddle just enough to see her profile. Kathryn raised her chin ever so slightly, and he could not help but smile.
She was not easily intimidated, his lady.
He turned back toward the road. They’d be forced to stop before long, and Neill wished to make good time.
Another question was on his lips, damn his curious soul, when he heard the distinct sound of riders appro
aching from around the bend in front of them. When they did finally appear, the strangers were immediately flanked by his own men, who knew without being told that Kathryn should be protected.
The men with him were knights, like himself, sworn to a conduct of honor Adam had insisted was more than a string of words. For him, and for Neill and the other men, gallantry was a way of life.
“Reivers,” he muttered.
“Take the reins,” he said to Kathryn as he dismounted. He’d not have done so if he’d been alone.
But he was not, and so a change of strategy was needed.
Looking back at her to offer a reassuring smile, Neill was surprised at her expression.
The lady had no fear.
Kathryn realized her mistake too late.
She supposed it would have been appropriate to show fear, but she and her father had met plenty of reivers on their travels. Three mounted men had come upon them, aye, and from the small hobblers they rode and their distinctive style of armor, she knew them for reivers. But she traveled with four seasoned knights—odds that seemed much better than the ones she and her father had faced, even if her father had worn the seal of the king. Sometimes a knight or two had accompanied them in their travels, but more often than not they had traveled alone, as was customary for a royal messenger.
Too late. Sir Neill was already walking away from her. The reivers’ leader had also dismounted, apparently not at ease with Neill making his way toward them so brazenly. As if he could not be run down at will.
Brave? Or foolish?
Her father had often told her the two were indistinguishable. Although she hadn’t known Neill long, she did know him and his brothers by reputation. The Waryns were brave—brazenly so—and the youngest brother was the most daring of all.
When one of the reivers skirted forward, so did the man Neill had called Aylmer.
They were preparing to fight.
She’d known this trip would be dangerous—journeys along the border were notoriously difficult. But since the Day of Truce had fallen apart, tales of increasingly violent acts had reached the inn. Even Magge had begun to worry. “An’ I’ve lived through the worst of these parts, mind you,” she had said many times.
Kathryn kept careful watch on Neill’s hands, as well as those of the reivers’ leader. None seemed inclined to raise a sword. Yet. That was good. Her father, who’d trained with the king’s own men, had always told her to run if he reached for the sword at his side. She’d only needed to follow that precaution twice. The first time she’d returned to see the slain body of her father’s adversary—her first time witnessing death. The second time was the only occasion upon which Kathryn had truly feared for her life, with the exception of their final, fateful visit to the Scottish court.
Two men had come upon them that day, not reivers but warriors both, and so she’d obeyed her father’s caution to run. The dagger skills she possessed would do her little good against a sword. After a time, the sound of swordplay faded and Kathryn returned to the road. Thankfully, her father’s injuries had not been fatal, though the other two men had not fared so well. Her papa’s leg had been broken, however, though with her help he’d made it to the closest inn.
The incident had shaken her father enough that he’d sat her down and explained what she should do if he were killed. She’d hated to entertain the possibility, but he had insisted. Kathryn knew where to go at each new place they traveled. But she’d not listened. Instead, she made her way to The Wild Boar, waiting for an opportunity to get back to Scotland. To learn the truth.
After that fateful day . . .
It appeared there would be no quarrel today, however. Neill’s show of strength had been enough to intimidate the men, and he was making his way back to her even now. He mounted in front of her once again, and they watched as the reivers passed. She let out a breath the moment the rough men disappeared from sight.
Once again, they were on their way, as if nothing had happened.
Holding on to Neill’s tunic, his armor hung at the sides of a packhorse nearby, she swallowed hard. He was exactly as his reputation suggested. “The greatest knight” some called him. And though she’d not seen him fight, Kathryn suspected the reivers would not have fared well in a quarrel with Neill Waryn.
She knew she would not fare well either, should he continue asking her questions. The intensity of the man demanded the truth. Thus far, she’d navigated his questions easily enough, remaining, as her father had instructed, as close to the truth as possible.
He turned to look at her, his profile accenting a strong jaw and high cheekbones that no doubt sent the ladies at court aflutter. Having spent time at the court herself, she could well imagine how he was received there. Especially as the champion of the great King’s Tournament, a title she knew he’d once claimed.
“Scottish reivers,” he said, although she’d not asked for an explanation. “On the move earlier than normal.”
Kathryn knew from her time at the inn that reivers typically traveled at night.
“Have you seen many of them, then?” she asked, curious.
He twisted toward her then, giving her a full view of his handsome face.
Aye, the ladies she knew would all have vied for this man, she was sure of it. She took some pleasure in the knowledge that, for the briefest of moments, he was hers.
“Aye. Though it’s been some years since I’ve been home, I grew up in the borderlands.”
She knew his story, in broad strokes. He’d lost his parents to violence too—a not uncommon story for those who lived along the border. His eldest brother later married Lady Sara of Kenshire. His other brother, Bryce, had reclaimed their ancestral home from Clan Kerr, although he’d gone on to marry the chief’s sister. But she’d not ask him to speak of that.
After holding her gaze for a moment longer, Neill finally turned back around. Kathryn loosened her grip around him, realizing belatedly she’d tightened it as he spoke.
“I’ve not met your brothers, but I did see them pass through the inn. Magge spoke highly of them.”
Even though she could only see the side of his face, Kathryn saw enough to know his smile transformed his face. It was hardly fair for a man to be so handsome.
“I’ve a sister too. Emma.”
Kathryn knew all about her. Everyone along the border did. She had married the Earl of Clave, a powerful man on both sides of the border.
“All along the border know your family’s story,” she acknowledged.
“I suppose they would. ’Tis quite a tale, enemies becoming family.”
Kathryn had never really thought of it that way before. There was a certain beauty to the statement.
“So you truly hold no grudge against Clan Kerr?” Then, realizing the question was rude, especially since she did not intend to share her history with him, she said, “I’m sorry. I did not mean to overstep.”
“And you did not.”
He stopped then, the men riding up behind them. “We will stop here?” he called back to the others.
The man called Aylmer, who was clearly wary of her, nodded. “Aye, my lord.”
Neill stiffened. She’d not have noticed if her arms were not still wrapped around his waist. She remedied that now that they were stopped.
“I will answer your question tonight.” He dismounted and held a hand up to her. “Provided you answer one of mine as well.”
Before she could refuse, he grinned, and Kathryn nearly fell from the massively large destrier. The smile he’d given before had moved her, but this smile . . . She was pretty sure no woman had ever refused him in the face of such a grin.
And Lord save her, she probably would not be the first.
Chapter 6
Kathryn slowed her breathing, something she’d learned to do whenever this familiar feeling assaulted her. The attacks of breathlessness had started not long after her father was murdered. One had assailed her the very day she’d arrived at The Wild Boar. Kathryn had stood i
n the hall of the inn, not moving, unable to answer Magge’s questions. When it happened, it was as if a pair of invisible hands held her pinned to the spot.
In those moments, she could not breathe. Or, more accurately, she could not catch her breath. Try as she might, she could not slow her heart to a normal pace either. But now, after so many months, she had learned to sense the attacks before they came.
Although she’d feared Neill would prevail upon her to talk the previous evening, he was not the one who had thrown her into a panic this eve. Indeed, she had not suffered an attack since meeting him. His presence calmed her, which seemed ridiculous given the way her pulse skipped whenever he was near.
His promise to question her last eve had fallen by the wayside. Just as they’d settled in around the fire for a meal of roasted rabbit, one of his men had called for him. She’d eaten quickly, watching as the two spoke from across their makeshift camp, and then retired to the bedroll he’d laid out for her.
It wasn’t difficult to fall asleep, despite the hard ground beneath her. Kathryn had not exaggerated about her experience with traveling, although it had been some months since she’d spent this much time on the back of a horse.
She’d awoken with the sunrise, surprised the others were nearly ready to leave. Kathryn had assumed she’d be riding with Neill again, but the packhorse had been saddled, the equipment disbursed to the other men, who did not seem well pleased by the prospect. Though Neill had been polite all day, he had not spoken to her beyond “Good day” and a few words when they stopped to rest the horses.
Nay, her panic was not for him. If anything, she’d been . . . disappointed. Part of her had looked forward to his questions.
They’d stopped for the night, this time at the Anvil Inn, which Kathryn had only visited once before. She and her father had stopped here a year earlier, the night after he’d delivered a message to James Douglas, Lord Warden of the Marches, one of the most feared men in all of Scotland.
Douglas!
How had she not considered him before? Of course he would be at this council meeting, and he knew her. Although she’d never actually met the other wardens, even at the Scottish royal court, she had dined with Douglas, who would most certainly recognize her.
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