A Noble Deception (The Douglas Clan) (15 page)

Alex watched him
finger the payment in his beefy palm, counting the coins with him. He had too much; Alex was certain he would put some back. Instead, the man shook out another two pieces before handing the lot over to Moira.

“With Lady Leslie’s sincere thank
s.”

“
Please tell her the pleasure were all mine, and send her my well wishes.”

“Aye, I will.” Sir Colm Mac
Kenzie bowed to Moira, nodded amiably to Alex and Lachlan, and led his horse away, into the seething market crowd.

“I didna ken ye stood to make so much from a commissioned piece,” Lachlan said
when he’d gone, his eyes fixed on Moira’s hand as she deftly pocketed her earnings. “He said that were the final instalment? How many instalments must one make? Two?”

“Three.
Granted, the first two are mere pittances in comparison wi’ the final payment, but they’re nothing to sniff at.”

“So I see
.”

“Well then,” Alex
declared, “since ye’re wealthier than the two of us at the moment, how about ye treat us to a draught?”

“Oh, d
inna beat about the bush, sir, if there’s something ye want,” she laughed. Then she leaned towards the vendor woman beside her. “Will ye be a dear, Agnes, and mind my wares for me? I willna be long.”

The woman, one of the many Douglas villagers
that flooded the market with a sea of blue and green plaid, winked. With her assurances, the trio threaded their way through the crowd to its very centre, where Master MacCormack’s permanent stall was erected.

Alex
followed behind Lachlan, amused by the way his friend loomed over his lady. His head swept left and right. Alex could easily imagine the warning on it: any man that so much as looked at her wrong would be pummelled black and blue.

When had
Lachlan become so sentimental?

MacCormack’s
stall swelled with happy villagers, cups dangling loosely from ale-warmed fingers. Interspersed among them were a few notable knights and lesser nobles from the castle. All stood cheek by jowl, the rules of class forgotten with the mild morning air and the best spirits in the Highlands. Behind the wooden counter scurried Master MacCormack and Niall, sloshing cups of ale towards their customers and catching coins flipped their way in payment. They moved with such precision that they might have been performing a well-rehearsed dance.

Spotting Moira and her companions, Dougall
MacFadyen raised his arm and waved them over.

“Lady Moira,”
he called jovially.

“Dougall, I’m sur
prised to see ye here, so idle. Have ye no training this morning?”

“
Ah, ye mock me. Ye forget, lass: if I do, then yer lord husband and his companion will be in as much trouble as I.”

“Oh, alright. I willna tell, then.”

“She is the measure of generosity, is she no’?” Lachlan declared with unintentional affection.

“
Ne’er was there a more generous lass. And now let me buy the three of ye a draught. What will ye have?”

“Och, ‘tis no’ necessary,” Moira informed him. “I’ve just sold my Leslie commission. The drinks are on me, and whatever ye’ll have too, Dougall.”

“No charge on this round,” Master MacCormack interrupted from behind the counter. When this roused a round of protest from his paying customers, he shouted, “She is like a daughter to me. She doesna need to pay... for the first round, anyway. So what’ll it be, gentlemen?”

“Three ales and a mead?” Alex suggested.

“Mead?” Niall snorted. “For Moira MacInnes? That there’s no lady, Sir Alex. Our Moira can drink wi’ the best of them, make no mistake.”

“Four ales, then
.”

Niall poured the d
raughts from a large, oak cask at the back of the tent and handed them off. Receiving his cup, Alex took a long sip of the rich, dark ale within, savouring the unique flavour that he’d come to associate with Glendalough. He let it roll around his tongue, appreciating the subtle blend of heather and pine that had been infused into it. It made for a robust ale with a sweet finish.

“My compliments, Master MacCormack,” he
stated, raising his cup. “A fine batch, this. Have ye added something to it? I taste another flavour in there that I canna identify.”

“Gooseberry,”
the brewer answered. “And as much as I’d like to take yer compliments, they belong to Niall. This be his batch. He were the one thought of the gooseberries. I’d say it turned out well, eh lad?”

“Aye, D
a.”

“Our Niall’s well on his way to becoming a master brewer himself. Has a talent for it, he does. Runs in the family.”

“This is fine, Niall, truly,” Lachlan agreed, draining his cup.

“
Careful now, men, ye’re making the lad blush like a wee lassie” Moira teased.

“Shut yer gob,” Niall muttered
, but he flicked a wink in her direction. His eyes swept the crowd behind her, his face suddenly flushed red. He lowered his head and became intensely interested in his work.

What on earth had co
me over him, Alex wondered. He glanced in the direction Niall had been looking.

His question was immediately answered. Making her way through the crowd was a
ripe, young maid Alex recognized from the castle. A lovely lass she was, with honey-coloured hair and a fresh, bright face. No two ways about it, young Niall MacCormack was sweet on this lass—what was her name again?

“Good morning, Dougall,”
she greeted, approaching the gathering at MacCormack’s stall.

“And to ye, Jan
et. How be ye this fine morning?”

“I am well, thank ye. This fine
spring air does me good. And good morning my Lord,” she added, addressing Lachlan, “and Lady Moira, and Sir Alex.” Her bright eyes took on a hint of amusement when she turned them on Niall’s bent head. “Niall, good morning.”

“
Janet,” he mumbled, barely audible, and continued with his scurrying.

The
small party of friends stared at the awkward young brewer, waiting for him to say more. He did not.

“Janet,” Moira said tentatively, “
this here is Niall’s brew. We were all just saying how good it were.”

“Is that so,” Janet played along. “
D’ye think he might let me have a taste?”

“Oh, I’m sure he would.” Moira reached into her pocket and pulled out a coin. Slapping it onto the
scarred counter, she said, “Niall, love, a draught for the lovely Janet, aye?”

Alex
bit his cheeks, trying not to laugh as Niall poured the ale and handed it to Moira. He could feel Lachlan vibrating with silent laughter beside him.

“So, er, Niall,” he ventured, “
wi’ this weather so fine, d’ye no’ think this lovely young lass might like to walk sometime?”

Niall stared at Alex
blankly. His eyes shifted to Janet, then swiftly darted away.

“Aye,” Moira
chimed in, “I think that’d be a fine idea. What say ye, Janet?”

Janet laughed lightly. “I am fond of walking, Lady Moira, ‘tis true. But so often I find myself wi’out a companion. Will
ye
walk wi’ me Sir Alex?”

“Alas, I am bound for
Arkinholm in the morning,” he answered with mock gravity. “What about Sir Dougall?”

“Oh, not me,” Dougall
said similarly. “Nothing would make me prouder, Janet, to walk wi’ ye, but I... I have—”

“We both have too busy a training schedule to spare the time,” Lachlan
helped.

“That’s right,” Dougall
agreed.

“
’Tis a shame, that,” Janet lamented, shaking her head theatrically.

Five pairs of eyes fixed expectantly on Niall. Long seconds passed with not a word spoken before Moira threw a coin at him in frustration.

“Ye daft lout, ask her to walk wi’ ye.”

Star
tled out of his wits, Niall blurted, “WILLYEWALKWI’MEJANET?”

He shouted
so loud that the villagers in the immediate vicinity turned and stared. Poor Niall—his mouth hung open like a dead fish as he tried ineffectually to correct his error. The whole thing was so comical that Alex, who had taken an ill-timed sip of his draught, spit it out. Amber liquid sprayed from his mouth onto his companions.

“Oy, ye
lummox,” Moira accused, wiping her face.

Then she began to laugh. And Lachlan began to laugh. And then Dougall and Janet and everyone around who had witnessed the transaction—began to laugh.

“Oh alright, if ye insist,” Janet sighed when she was able to catch her breath. “Call for me at my father’s home on the morrow.”

Bidding
farewell to the others, she made her way back into the crowd.

Lachlan
looked at Niall, amazed. “I have never seen anything quite like that,” he exclaimed reverently. “Either ye’re a great, awkward lout as ye seem—or that were a stroke of brilliance!”

The rest agreed, and a slow, sheepish
grin softened the stunned look on Niall’s flushed face.

The
spectacle had lightened Alex’s mood even more than it already was. Pleased for the young lad, he scanned the market casually.

His heart skipped a beat at something in the distance. He thought he saw
... wait,
yes
, it was. A pair of dark, sensual eyes stared back at him across the grounds.

Eyes just like Lady Glinis’s.

Before he could determine that it was, indeed, she, the crowd shifted, and in a breath, the eyes were gone.

Had he imagined what he’d seen
? He must have, for what would Lady Kildrummond be doing at a common place like market?

Just to be sure, he searched the crowd. She was nowhere to be found. Dismissing the notion, he
resumed the conversation with his companions, determined to believe it had only been a coincidence. But his thumping heart could not be convinced otherwise.

She’d been there. And she’d
looked right at him.

Thirteen

THE DOOR TO Glendalough’s rear garden swung open, its well-oiled hinges making no sound to disturb the still, morning air. A thick fog rolled across the threshold and into the stone corridor that connected the keep to the servants’ quarters and kitchens. The pallid sky had not been light for long, but the twittering birdsong which rode the gentle breeze confirmed that night had passed.

Glancing left and right to
ensure that no eyes had seen her, Lady Glinis pulled the wide hood of her woollen cloak over her head to conceal her face. Then she stepped onto the dewy grass and closed the door silently behind her.

She strode with haste across
the rear grounds of Glendalough to the small gate on the north side of the curtain wall. It was the castle’s only other exit point besides the main south gate. She prayed the guardsman there stationed had fallen asleep at his post, for she did not wish to be observed in this manner: sneaking out of her own castle—imagine what the servants would think.

Approaching the gate,
Glinis muttered a foul word under her breath. Very much awake, and surveying the land over the parapet of the outer wall walk, was a lone figure. By his proud posture alone, she knew it was none other than Dougall MacFadyen.

Curse his loyal
hide!

Though upon consideration, perhaps it was rather fortuitous that Glinis should find Dougall guarding the gate this morning. If anyone would hold their tongue and not tell John that she’d sneaked off it would be Kildrummond’s captain of the guard. Lord Kildrummond’s public betrayal of his wife had never sat well with Dougall
, and though the lad was not in a position to voice his objection, neither was he inclined to inform on Glinis (and her occasional, minor indiscretions) to his Lordship.

H
earing the swishing of wet grass underfoot, Dougall turned and leaned his elbows on the edge of a merlon. He said nothing as she approached, simply regarded her .

“Lady Kildrummond
.” His greeting was louder than she would have wished. “Up this early and by yerself?”

“I beg ye, Dougall, keep yer voice down
.”

“Are ye well?”

“Of course I’m well, dinna be daft.”

“Then what are ye doing wi’out an escort? Wi’out yer mare? Shall I fetch them for ye?”

“Nay, dinna do that.”

He frowned.
“Where are ye going, might I ask, wi’out a horse? Ye’re no’ off to some illicit tryst now, are ye?”

She raised one eyebrow in reprimand
. He was not chastened by it; but of course, she’d not expected him to be.

“I wish to walk,” she told him. “
That is all. By myself—no mount, no escort.”

Dougall shook his head
. “I dinna like the sound of that, my Lady. ‘Tis dangerous out there. Ye could run into poachers, thieves, vagrants—”

“Ye ken better than anyone these lands are well patrolled
. I’ve more chance of running into poachers and thieves in my own chamber than I do in Kildrummond’s hills. Now let me out—and dinna say a word to anyone!”

Dougall hesitated
. Unwilling, he raised the portcullis, taking care not to jangle the heavy chains unnecessarily.

“
I
would
tell, my Lady, if I werena so foggy-headed this morning. I should tell.”

“Are ye foggy-headed this morning, Dougall?”

“Aye. I were enjoying myself a bit too much at MacCormack’s market stall yesterday,” he admitted. “I didna think I’d be on guard this morning, but one of my men fell ill.”

“Nothing serious, I hope?”

“Och, nay. He’ll be right as rain in a day or two. Now ye be careful out there. And I must insist, my Lady, if ye’re no’ back by the time the morning meal is served, I’ll send a search out for ye, and tell his Lordship where ye’ve gone.”

“He’ll tan yer hide himself if
he discovers ye let me out alone.”

“
Nevermind my hide. ‘Tis yer safety I care about.”

“That’s why we love ye so.”

Waving, Glinis crossed the rutted dirt beneath the arched wall and emerged onto the open ground beyond. The clinking of the portcullis being lowered again met her back as she walked away.

She
was not at all surprised that Dougall was foggy-headed this morning. She’d seen him at market herself, enjoying the fruits of MacCormack’s labours in the company of Moira and Lachlan and Sir Alex.

Alex
. His name made her heart skip a beat.

He’d seen her—s
he hadn’t meant for him to, but he’d seen her. What a foolish woman she’d been, going to market just to catch a glimpse of him. But she had no choice; he made it so hard for her now that he was spending all his time with Moira and Lachlan in that wretched hut on Kildrummond’s border.

She didn’t know how or when it had happened, but s
uddenly, seeing him at meals only was not enough. At meals, he was across the room; at meals, people were watching. She was not free to gaze as long and as directly as she pleased—

Hellfire
,
when
had she become such a lovestruck, empty-headed lass?
Shameful
!

After the meal he was gone for the day, out training with the men, or on patrol, or spending time with Lachlan and Moira.

I
t left Glinis feeling oddly abandoned. Deflated.

It was in this frame of mind (which could not be called
any
frame of mind, really, since she’d apparently gone and lost hers) she’d sneaked away to market with one of her handmaids as an escort. Her pretence was that she wished to purchase thread for her needlework, and did not know which colours she wanted.

When she
glimpsed his face through the throngs of people, so carelessly enjoying the warmth and the ale and the general gaiety, she couldn’t help but admire him. His golden hair had been tied in a queue, revealing the strong lines of his jaw and neck. It brightened the green of his eyes and made his skin shimmer like polished bronze.

Even from a distance
his magic affected her, turned her knees to jelly and her stomach to a haven for butterflies.

When he
turned those luminous eyes on her, the world ground to a halt. It was less than a second before she darted away, but it felt like a century. An eternity of falling into a void which she never wanted to find her way out of.

He was leaving
this day. Leaving for Arkinholm and war. It was agonizing to know that he’d be so close to the fighting. Though Lachlan had forbidden him from joining, it didn’t put Glinis’s mind at ease, for she did not know Sir Alex well enough to say whether or not he would obey. She knew the minds of potent young men, knew the bloodlust that afflicted them when battle was near at hand.

Sir Alex was without
doubt a potent young man. Would he be as helpless to the bloodlust when the fighting at Arkinholm began?

Her tangled thoughts kept her company on her journey north through the hillier regions of Kildrummond
. Even in her one-and-forty years, she was as sure-footed as she’d been when she was a lass of twenty.

She knew this way, had travelled it many times. Beyond the next hill there was a small pool, not quite as deep as a man
, and perhaps as wide as her bed was long. A mountain stream collected here briefly before continuing on its merry way down the other side. Who knew how many thousands of years it had been here, the water hollowing out this bowl for itself on its course into the rivers below.

It had been a long time since she’d been here last. She used to come as a girl, when she was first married
and in need of solace. When the pain of her new husband’s rejection, and his eventual betrayal of their marriage vows, cut too deeply to overcome in the presence of the castle’s ever-watchful eyes.

She always came alone
. At first, she’d brought her handmaid with her, but the stupid woman had run and told John, and John had forbidden her from going again for fear that she might drown or be swept down the mountainside. (He’d never come himself, else he would know that such a thing was improbable.) Young Glinis had agreed solemnly, and promised she would come no more.

F
rom that day on she made this excursion alone, and in secret.

Standing over the pool
, peering into its rippling surface, she wondered why it had been so many years since her last visit. In warmer days, Glinis would strip off her fine garments and the constraints of being a countess, and bathe naked. The feel of the water undulating past her bare flesh beneath the surface was soothing. She used to love ducking her head completely under, and letting the current move her hair and her body as it would.

It was too early in the season to do so now
, though.

Although
... perhaps not too cold to dangle her legs. It was nearly May, after all, and the air was warm by day ...

She pondered
briefly, before succumbing to the same, girlish abandon of decades past. Giggling aloud, she tossed her cloak from her shoulders and yanked her embroidered umber gown up over her head.

Hitching her
sleeveless linen shift to her waist, she perched her bare bottom on the wet grass. A small gasp escaped her throat at the cool dew on her heated flesh. Slowly, she lowered her legs into the pool: toes first, then heels, then ankles and finally calves.

The water was crisp and fresh, not so cold that
she couldn’t acclimatize to it for a short while. In fact, if she were more adventurous she might take a dip ...

Oh, what a coward she was. She
flicked water into the air with her toes. Perhaps another day. Soon, though, for just as she’d needed distraction from the pain of her failed marriage as a lass, she needed distraction from the agony of Sir Alex’s departure now.

Yes, she would come again very soon.

Giddy with a spontaneity she thought she’d lost long ago, Glinis kicked her legs vigorously, sending up a spray of water that sloshed onto the grass and dampened her shift. If she had her wits about her, she’d care what the servants would think when they found her wet undergarment.

But she didn’t—neither care nor have her wits about her. The exhilaration was too great. She laughed,
and raised her face to the sky.

A horse whinnied in the
distance.

Glinis froze.
Her heart thundered in her chest, and Dougall MacFadyen’s warning sharpened in her ears:
thieves, poachers, vagrants
.

She listened
to the air. Was it a Kildrummond crofter, one of her husband’s tenants, going about his daily chores? No, it could not be that, for no land had been sectioned into farmsteads up here. Had she imagined the sound?

The
slow thud of hooves on grass gave answer. Panic speared her breast. Someone was coming.

Scrambling away
from the pool, Glinis snatched her cloak and gown, then scampered over the edge of a small dip in the land. She crouched behind the grassy knoll, barely concealed.

If she were luck
y, whoever was coming would pass her by. The pool was not a visible landmark for travellers, so unless one knew it was here, it was unlikely to attract any notice.

She waited. The
minutes were excruciating. Her limbs pulsed with the primal urge to flee, her trapped breath seared the tissue of her lungs.

God’s bones, the traveller knew about the pool!
The animal’s footfalls came to a halt at the edge, and the sound of a man’s feet hitting the ground was like an exclamation point upon her inner frenzy. Who was this man that had stolen the sanctity of her oasis?

And
what horrible things might he do if he found her?

There were a few quiet rustling and shuffling sounds
, then a great splash. A deep, male grunt rose in proclamation, followed by more splashing.

Glinis had no way out. She was surrounded by hills. To flee she would have to rise from her hiding place. Whereupon she would be seen.

Unless... unless his back was to her.

If his back was to her, she might have a few precious seconds to creep away. She would have to creep, for any movement
quicker than that might alert the horse. Could she manage it?

Emboldened by
the glimmer of possibility, she raised her head just enough that her eyes cleared the edge of the grass bank. She saw for the first time her uninvited guest—a yelp lodged in her throat.

I
mmersed to the shoulders in
her
pool, with his golden hair slicked back and his bare chest glistening... was Sir Alexander MacByrne.

Sir Alexander MacByrne!
Of all the men that could have happened upon this place, at this time, it had to be him. Glinis didn’t know whether to lament her misfortune or exalt her blessing.

She did neither
, merely watched him duck and resurface, breathing sharply each time as his body grew accustomed to the cold water. His tunic, cloak, plaid and boots lay in a heap beside his gelding, which was peacefully grazing on the moist, fragrant grass.