by Diane Darcy
His anger mounted. “I say again, a man came through here but minutes ago. Did anyone see him?”
After a brief moment a girl standing before the fireplace pointed toward the back entrance. “Someone went that way.”
“Who was it?”
She shook her head. “A man, I could not say who. He had a blanket around his head as if he was cold.” The young girl glanced at the cook who gave a quick nod before continuing. “I thought it strange because ’tis so warm in here, and not so cold outside. I wondered why he was covered in such a fashion.”
“Did anyone else see him? Recognize him?”
There were respectful murmurs of nay, my lord, and, sorry, my lord.
Frustration rising, Wallace went out the back entrance and looked around.
It was deserted, as everyone was inside eating supper.
He saw something a few feet away, and hurried forward to find a blanket cast aside in the weeds.
He leaned over and picked it up, but it didn’t tell him anything. It was just a blanket like any other in the manor.
Wallace did a quick sweep, looking for any movement in the darkness, and then walked toward the stables. A couple of boys inside tended to their chores and after a quick bout of questioning, he was on his way again.
He rounded the manor, but didn’t see anyone suspicious.
He finally went in the front doors, and up the stairs again.
He went into Cara’s room and she was sitting on a chair, his sisters on either side of her, his mother busy nearby. They glanced up when he came inside.
“Did you find anyone?” Cara asked.
He hated to tell her he had not, the failure of it weighing on his chest as he gave a curt shake of his head. “Nay, lass. I did not find aught but a blanket the man no doubt covered his face with.”
She nodded as if she hadn’t expected anything else and he felt a spike of irritation.
Unreasonable, to be sure, as he’d not caught her attacker.
“Come, girls, help me finish packing.” His mother was practical as ever. “We’ve much to do before morning, and if we do not leave after breakfast, ’twill be dark when we arrive at our destination.”
Wallace was left standing with Cara as his mother and sisters went down the hall, their voices fading.
He looked into the fire, lips tightening at his failure to play the hero for Cara, and when he finally met her gaze, was surprised to see she smiled, rather than condemned him.
“Lass?”
Cara chuckled, rose, and walked to the door, astonishing him further by shutting it. His earlier feelings of frustration and doubt fell away as surprise, and not a little lust, crowded them out.
He swallowed and glanced around the room, unsure where to let his gaze settle, irrevocably drawn back to her, as if she was a candle in a darkened room.
“I’ll need your help with something, if that’s all right?”
He would help her with whatever she wished.
He glanced at the bed, and then away, not wishing to confuse her meaning, but a lass shutting them inside a bedroom? ’Twas difficult to mistake.
And Cara already belonged to him. He’d lain awake the night before reliving the time she’d spent in his arms.
She gathered her gleaming hair and presented her back to him.
Did she wish help disrobing? He’d be glad to be of assistance.
He lifted his hands even as her words sank in, and they trembled. He quickly clenched his fists, open and shut.
“After what happened, I don’t want to chance it again. If you could just get this off me somehow, I’d really appreciate it. Now, just so you know, I’m not giving this to you, it’s still mine, I just think that perhaps you’d be better at guarding it than I am.”
His hands froze, hovering over either side of her waist, and he tried to clear his mind.
She wished her necklace removed, not her gown.
He swallowed hard, and reined himself in, as intense disappointment washed through him.
After a deep breath, he reached for the clasp.
About ten minutes later he was ready to concede.
He couldn’t get the necklace off.
Her neck was reddened from where the knave tried to yank it from her throat, and every time he focused on that he got angry all over again.
Still, the fact she was willing to turn it over to him was promising.
Now, if he could simply figure out the clasp. The way the necklace was put together he wasn’t even sure it was the clasp he was looking at.
And standing so close to her? To put it simply, it was distracting.
Every time she moved, he froze, and with her neck bent the way it was, he had a difficult time focusing on the clasp as what he wished to do was press his lips against the tender skin.
In fact, he wanted to forget all about the necklace and pull her close, his thoughts, once again, returning to how soft her lips felt under the caress of his thumb.
The only thing that saved him was that she continued to talk. He tried to focus on her words. Something about ordering bracelets, rubber ones that easily slid on and off.
“If I were to do a medieval one, I would imprint the words, I will see you anon, or, call me on the morrow, or, where’s the privy?”
She laughed, and he did too, though he didn’t necessarily understand her jest. She did say the strangest things, but still, she amused.
“Any luck?”
He didn’t wish to admit defeat, yet again.
He found he was sweating, and wiped his brow with his sleeve. The blasted thing was not coming off!
When she lowered her hand and her hair dropped over the necklace, she turned in his arms.
His entire body tensed, his breath caught in his throat, and against his better judgment, in fact, against any judgment whatsoever, he leaned forward and kissed her.
It was a quick one, and he should not have done it, and he knew it, but instead of shoving him away, she gave him a long look, stood taller, and kissed him back!
Her hands were on his chest, and her kiss was not so innocent as his had been. Her lips pressed against his, softer than he’d imagined, her body leaning in, and he about lost his mind.
He pulled her close and claimed her mouth, kissing her with intensity, her eagerness spurring him to haul her closer still, sudden fire and desperation arcing between them as his self-control crumbled.
Her kiss, enthusiasm, her heat against him let him know he was not the only one affected by their proximity and soon he could not think at all, could only feel, and wonder at her response.
Her arms curled around his neck, her hands sank into his hair, and he barely registered the door opening, but did hear the instant clapping. “Cara! Wallace! Cease this at once!”
He was somehow able to pull away from her and even take a step back.
His mother and sisters came into the room and he sucked in a breath, shook his head to clear it, and at the same time took a step forward to hide Cara from view as she lowered her arms.
His sisters giggled, and Cara, apparently, didn’t need the privacy he offered and stepped away from him to smile at his family. She even chuckled. “Oh, hello.”
The girls giggled all the more, and Amelia pressed a hand to her mouth, hiding a smile.
His mother crossed her arms and looked disapprovingly at her daughters, and then at Cara.
“We were just …” he stopped. It was obvious to all what they were doing.
Cara laughed. “Wallace was just helping me to …”
“I saw very well what Wallace was helping you to do.” His mother came further into the room and studied them as they both fell silent.
She raised a brow and changed the subject. “We are here to help Cara pack.”
His mother seemed less upset about catching them out then he would have thought.
Her gaze slid to his, and he could see that she was, in fact, quite pleased with the situation.
“What do I need to
pack?”
“We brought you some gowns, and of course, the dress you wore here will be the one you wear to the wedding.”
Wallace was pushed out into the hallway and the door was shut in his face.
He left, overall feeling very pleased with himself, though, he never did get that necklace.
He went to the chapel just as Father Hazleton came outside. “My son?”
“Father, will you post the banns for myself and the Lady Cara, so we will not have to wait so long to marry upon our return?”
Father Hazleton hesitated a long moment before nodding “She is from Wales, I understand?”
Wallace fidgeted. He did not wish to lie to a man of God, but he’d no better explanation of where she came from. “Aye. California,” he said, hoping that addition would legitimize it with God.
“Hmm. Then ’twill not be possible to contact her parish church. She has never married?”
“Nay.”
“She is no relation of yours?”
“Nay.”
“She will consent?”
“Aye.” He’d make sure of it.
Father Hazleton nodded. “I will ask for the first time on the upcoming Holy Days of Obligation. But I will expect you both to be present by the third asking.”
“We will be returned by then.”
Father Hazleton nodded. “See that you are.”
That gave plenty of time for her to adjust.
The next day everyone was running around at a frantic pace, and Wallace was missing at breakfast.
Even the girls were nowhere to be found.
Her trunk, provided by Wallace’s mother had been packed and taken outside.
She ate her breakfast of eggs and porridge by herself and gazed into the big fireplace nearby, wondering if she could scoop ashes out without anyone noticing?
She glanced around at the men and women, hurrying to and fro, and decided probably not. But in this world, she could get ashes when she was ready to use them, no need to store them and carry them around.
She’d fallen asleep the night before thinking about how to make up the girl’s faces. She’d specialized, so she knew a thing or two, after all. In one of the classes she’d taken, they’d made each other up with primitive makeup.
Clay mixed with water to stain the lips, was surprisingly effective.
Oil on eyelashes sprinkled with crushed coal put some mascaras to shame.
Ash and burnt almonds crushed together made for an excellent eyeliner. Maybe even some pressed minerals if she could find some so she could fashionably lighten their complexions.
The other ladies at court would no doubt be using the lead and vinegar base popular during the medieval period, but she wasn’t poisoning her girls, that was for sure.
She knew she’d have to be subtle. In this day and age, they could be mistaken for lower-class women, or even prostitutes if they were perceived to be painting their faces.
Still, she could do subtle.
In fact, she was a master at subtle, and anything else to do with makeup at all for that matter.
When she was done with the girls, they’d be the epitome of fresh-faced beauty.
Amelia came into the room, saw her, and slid onto the bench across from her. “Good morrow.”
“Good morning,” Cara took another bite.
“What was it like? It appeared …”
She swallowed. “What was what like?”
“When Wallace kissed you!”
Cara huffed out a laugh. What was she supposed to say, that his kiss had bowled her over? It was her brother, for heaven’s sake. She shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”
“Worse! Who have you been kissing besides Wallace?”
Cara shot her a grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Amelia, wide-eyed, nodded. “I truly would.”
Cara smiled again. “Well, to be perfectly honest, I would rank Wallace pretty high. Extra points for intensity.” And for the softness of his lips, the passion he drew from her, his enthusiasm, the masculine way he’d tasted.
Oh, and the fact that she wanted to kiss him again as soon as possible.
“You are blushing! You liked it!”
She chuckled. So she was, and so she did.
When they went outside, Cara found Wallace loading supplies into a wagon. “Hi.”
He stopped what he was doing to look at her. “How fare thee this fine morn?”
It seemed he was in a good mood and she grinned. She’d miss his way of speaking when she went home. “I’m doing well. Ready to travel. Any chance we are going to Stirling after Newcastle?” She was proud of herself for remembering the name.
He gave her a shrug, and she thought about pursuing the matter, but decided that letting him know her expectations was enough for now.
They both glanced toward the sound of hooves walking toward them.
She moved out of the way as horses were brought forward. “Are we riding the black one again?” she asked.
Wallace looked at her for a prolonged moment, nodded, and then instructed one of the horses be taken back to the stables.
She realized she was to have her own horse, but was glad he was willing to let her ride with him again. She’d have no idea what she was doing, and anyway, she enjoyed riding with him.
Soon they were on their way, a long procession with her and Wallace somewhere in the middle.
She had no idea where they were going, not really. How did these people find anything with dirt roads and infrequent road signs?
During the last few days, she’d felt herself getting further and further from home, and now, traveling to yet another location, emptiness hollowed her gut once more. She missed her parents.
“Are you well, lass?”
She chuckled. “Sorry, I spaced out for a moment.”
“How does your neck feel?”
She raised her hand to rub the back of her abused neck. “I have to admit, it’s a bit sore today.”
Wallace lifted her blonde locks away from her neck and she felt him tense.
“What is it?”
“When I find the knave responsible for treating you thus, I will be exacting a high price for the man’s daring and abuse. I vow it.”
She was still for a long moment, left a little breathless by the vow. Slowly, she leaned back against him in thanks.
His arm tightened around her waist, and she felt safe, protected, his warmth at her back giving her all the shivery feels she could ever have wished for.
Her neck didn’t hurt that badly, but his words had her warming all over. This, from the man who had seemed so scary and intimidating the first time she’d met him?
Now he was the one she wanted to turn to and trust and rely upon.
The switch was so complete, she had trouble reconciling the two men in her mind.
They chatted on and off throughout the day, and after a long bout of silence, he suddenly informed her, “I hope that the king allows me to joust with Sir Rupert Dinsdale once again.”
Even the way he said the other man’s name was harsh.
And, she felt bad all over again about the way she had interrupted his first joust.
She understood the situation now. All of these people depending upon him. All of that weight on his shoulders to take care of everyone. To reclaim what was lost.
“If I find a way to help you, I will.”
“’Tis fine, lass.”
It was obvious he didn’t believe she could help, and she didn’t really either, but she’d look for a way to make things right.
Maybe that was why she was here?
Except, if she wasn’t here, she would never have interrupted in the first place. And then there would have been nothing to make up for.
The whole thing gave her a headache.
Why she had traveled here at all was a complete and utter mystery to her.
She’d just messed things up for Wallace. And speaking of him, why did he have to be so darned attractive?
/> That kiss last night. Whew. Seriously, he’d left her lightheaded afterward, and her heartbeat picked up just thinking about it.
This, being with him, was starting to feel like her new normal. One she enjoyed? Of course, she did, and that was because of Wallace.
He brainwashed her with the way he looked at her, his gruff tone, his competence, leadership, the way he always seemed to know exactly what to do.
The press of her body against his wasn’t helping.
She needed to find a way back home before it was too late and this was her new life.
Maybe she should have ridden her own horse after all.
Chapter 18
As they continued to travel, there wasn’t much to see. Trees, bushes, hills, long grasses, and an occasional stream.
They’d seen a few people in the distance, smaller groups, that seemed to go out of their way to avoid them. She’d asked Wallace about them, and he’d informed her they were likely brigands, thieves, and murderers.
“Really? You can tell that from this distance, can you?”
Her response drew an amused chuckle from him. “Who else would they be? Out and about without the protection of a lord?”
She rolled her eyes, but he didn’t see her. “Maybe they just don’t want anyone bossing them around? Perhaps they’re good people just living off the land, trying to stay away from people who would otherwise tell them what to do.”
He snorted at that. “In my experience, most people much prefer to be told what to do rather than have to think, plan, and assume the responsibility of doing for themselves.”
She shook her head. “Tsk, tsk. Aren’t you young to be so cynical?”
When he didn’t respond, she asked, “Just how old are you, anyway?”
“A score and eight.”
“Really?” So, he was barely older than she was. She should have guessed they were close in age, but hadn’t given the matter any thought until that moment. Still, with all of the responsibility that he took upon himself, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d have told her a decade older.
He waited a long moment, then finally asked, “And you? What is your age?”
But she was ready for him. “Don’t you know it’s never polite to ask a lady her age?”
