Adrienne Basso (16 page)

Gavin took a healthy sip of his ale and waited for McKenna to continue.

“The lovely lass that is seated in yer hall is my younger sister, Grace, who is the very picture of womanly virtue and obedience. She was promised to the church, but since Caitlyn has disgraced our clan by refusing to do her duty and make a strong marriage alliance, Grace must now take her place. I fetched her from the Convent of the Sacred Heart three days ago. Thankfully, she hadn’t yet taken her final vows, which leaves her free to become a bride of a Scottish lord, instead of a bride of Christ.”

Gavin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. McKenna sounded desperate. It was no small act of defiance going against the church. Men had been excommunicated for such treachery, their souls damned for eternity.

Then again, the young laird did not seem the type to be overly concerned about his soul.

Gavin glanced at the young woman in question. His assumption about her cloistered upbringing was correct. She was not the hellcat, but rather the saint. Yet still not for him.

McKenna was studying him, obviously watching for a reaction. Gavin deliberately gave him none, though tossed the man a bone. “Grace is lovely.”

McKenna turned to him sharply. “But?”

“Pardon?”

McKenna made a low growl of displeasure. “There’s clearly more ye want to say. So say it. I’m a man who appreciates a direct and honest approach. I haven’t got the time or patience fer diplomacy.”

“Neither do I.” Gavin drew in a stiff breath, his face giving nothing away of his inner turmoil. McKenna was a man filled with Highland pride that could turn into rage at even the hint of an insult. “Grace is very young.”

“She’ll turn fifteen this winter.”

Gavin barely held back an exclamation of surprise. “She’s young enough to be my daughter.” He tried, yet failed to completely contain a shudder. “While I’ll make no judgments upon a man who chooses a child bride, I personally have no stomach for such a union.”

“Aye, I see yer point.” McKenna leaned close, his expression hardening, his eyes narrowing. “However, let me remind ye, they are far more pliable at this age. It takes less effort to mold them into what ye want, to teach them to serve and please ye exactly as ye desire.”

This time Gavin did shudder. If McKenna thought to entice him with this revelation, he was sorely mistaken. Nay, a child bride was the very last thing Gavin wanted. Give him a woman with intelligence and opinions and the courage to express them. Anything else was unacceptable.

“By chance, have ye any unwed sisters older than the fair Grace?” Gavin asked.

’Twas a calculated risk, for if there was another sister of marriageable age, Gavin knew he’d have to quickly find a reason that woman was unacceptable as a bride.

McKenna gave him a tight grin. “There’s one more McKenna female, but she is my youngest sister. I’ve promised Beatrice to the church, since Grace has left the nunnery. The abbey was counting on a dowry as well as the protection of the McKennas, should the need arise. They were so reasonable in releasing Grace, I cannae go back on my word to them.”

Gavin forced his expression into something he hoped was disappointment. Silently he wondered precisely how reasonable the young laird had been, but it didn’t matter. Both Grace and her young sister, Beatrice, were too young to become his bride. And the fiery Caitlyn, bless her heart, was off on an adventure with her French knight.

Relieved the visit was going to end without insult, Gavin sat back in his chair. He was trying to think of an easy way to reopen the discussion about supporting the king, when McKenna pushed back his chair and abruptly stood.

“We thank ye for yer hospitality, but ’tis best that we depart while there’s still daylight.”

McKenna glanced at the laird’s men. They hastily shoved the rest of their food into their mouths, and then quickly drained their tankards. Grace stared at her brother with watery eyes, but she rose to her feet, the determination in her spine strong. Gavin watched her closely, wondering if he had mistaken her character. She appeared to have more of the McKenna spirit inside her than first impressions revealed.

It was chaotic in the bailey as the large group made ready to leave. Grace gave Gavin a regal nod before mounting her horse, then waited as a group of soldiers protectively surrounded her.

Feeling the need to establish some camaraderie, Gavin clapped McKenna on the shoulder as he bid the man farewell. “The time for choosing a side in this conflict is fast approaching. I implore ye to search yer heart and support Robert’s just and righteous cause.”

“I promise ye that I shall think more seriously upon it.”

“Good.” Not precisely the answer Gavin hoped to receive, but it was better than an outright rejection.

“I confess it bodes well for the Bruce if he has men of yer ilk supporting him.” McKenna swung up on his horse. “Be sure to tell him I said that the next time ye see him.”

 

 

Gavin planned to return to his chamber the moment the McKenna clan departed, but castle business kept him busy until late in the evening. Taking the task of calling Fiona to the evening meal upon himself, Gavin took the stairs two at a time, only slowing his pace when he reached the chamber door.

He entered, surprised to discover the room was cloaked in darkness. He almost turned to leave, but the sound of a soft sigh from his bed let him know exactly where to find Fiona. Gavin went to her, feeling a quiver of anticipation roll through his entire body. After a tense afternoon with Laird McKenna and several hours of coping with various clan matters, time alone with her was all that he craved.

He sat gingerly on the side of the mattress and Fiona immediately stirred. She turned her head and opened her eyes, blinking several times before a smile lit her face.

“Have your unexpected guests gone?” Fiona asked, her voice groggy with sleep.

“Aye. They left a few hours ago.” Gavin leaned over and wrapped his arms around her waist, marveling at how natural and right it always felt to hold her in his arms.

“I heard no sounds of swords clashing below stairs. Does that mean all went well between you and the Highland laird?”

“Mostly.”

She reached up, gliding her fingers through his hair, a gesture he found equally comforting and arousing. What was it about her that drew him so strongly? That made him want to forsake his duty and instead fulfill his passion.

“You seem troubled, Gavin. Was there a problem?”

Gavin pulled in a stiff breath. “Laird McKenna wants me to marry his sister.”

Fiona went rigid. Her hand stilled, her breath ceased. “Will you?”

“Nay.”

An ache tore at him as she released her breath.
Tell her the rest.
Gavin knew this was the perfect opportunity. He was going to have to choose a bride, and soon, most likely taking Aileen Sinclair because an alliance with the Sinclairs was best for his people.

It was what the king wanted and Gavin knew it was his duty to obey. A part of him also knew that Fiona would understand that, yet try as he might, the words did not come.

Coward!
His frustration nearly got the better of his temper. Fiona laid her head against his chest. Right or wrong, suddenly none of it seemed to matter. Gavin sighed and rested his chin on the top of her head. The comforting position had an unexpectedly calming effect, spreading warmth through him like a long sip of the finest whiskey.

“Is there some way I can help?” she asked.

Oh, Fiona! Yer breaking my heart.
“Ye just did, lass,” he whispered, before turning her in his arms and pressing her back gently against the mattress.

She welcomed him as she always did, freely, openly, the sensual look in her vivid green eyes letting him know how much she wanted him. She invited closeness naturally, weaving a web around him that enthralled and delighted.

For a long moment he held her, the feelings twisting and seething inside him. Then, unable to resist, Gavin slowly, thoroughly made love to Fiona with an honesty and reverence that pierced his heart.

The familiar sounds of clashing swords mixed with men’s laughter drew Fiona’s attention as she walked from the chapel across the bailey. Her heart quickened. Was Gavin on the practice field with his men? She craned her head and tried to get a good look, but her view was blocked by a wall of soldiers awaiting their turn to train.

She’d hoped to have at least a few private minutes with him this morning, but Gavin had risen from their bed while she slept. Nothing but cold linens and a faint, intoxicating male scent had greeted her. Though she tried to tell herself she was overreacting, Fiona was worried.

The concern in his eyes when he came to her last night was troubling. She believed it had something to do with the visit from Laird McKenna, even though Gavin claimed all was well in that quarter. But she wanted to know more.

It had been a shock to hear the laird was trying to broker a marriage between his sister and Gavin, but even more distressing was the feeling of dread that had gripped Fiona’s heart.
I haven’t the right to care!
In desperation, Fiona had repeated those words to herself last night, and again this morning, yet the disappointment curdling in her chest remained.

A cheer went up from the practice field, followed by a smattering of applause. Unbidden, the image of Gavin wielding his sword surfaced in Fiona’s mind. Perhaps he was working right now, and the strain of his movements, coupled with the midday warmth, made it necessary for him to remove his shirt. Bare-chested, muscles rippling, torso glistening with sweat each time he lifted his sword and swung it down.
Oh, my.
Fiona’s face flushed with heat at the very idea.

Merciful heavens, if Alice had not been walking beside her, Fiona might have given in to the temptation and turned to see what was happening. Her thoughts scattered, devoid of concentration, Fiona stepped squarely in the middle of a rather large puddle, soaking the hem of her gown with muddy water.

“Oh, now that will take more than a bit of scrubbing to get out,” Alice complained when she saw the mess on Fiona’s gown. “Though I know it’s impossible to avoid so much mud in this gloomy place. Why, if it’s not raining, then there’s fog or mist, and when the sun does shine, ’tis only for a few hours. ’Tis no wonder the Scots are a wild, barbarous people.”

“There was no rain yesterday,” Fiona remarked, remembering the previous afternoon.

“I know. Yet the puddles from the previous five days remain large enough to sink up to your ankles if you fall into one,” Alice grumbled.

Fiona smiled for a brief moment. Was the weather truly that gloomy or was Alice being overly dramatic? Honestly, Fiona had not noticed so much gray around the castle. “I understand that you might be feeling homesick, Alice. Do you wish to return to England?”

“And abandon you, my lady!” Alice clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Never.”

Fiona’s lips twitched. Alice’s loyalty was appreciated, but she could not let the woman suffer. “It would not be a permanent separation if you went back to England. Some day we shall all return, when Spencer claims his rightful inheritance.”

“An event I pray for nightly, my lady. But until that joyful day arrives, my place is here with you.” Alice drew herself up. “You need me.”

“I do,” Fiona agreed.

“I cannot bear to think how ill served you would be by one of these Scottish wenches.” Alice puffed out her chest. “I shall stay, of course, though I will confess that I shall be very happy the day we depart.”

Depart? Fiona had difficulty imagining it. Though they had been here a few short weeks, she was most reluctant to leave. Despite being an oddity, and an outsider, she had a sense of security within these stone walls that gave her a feeling of peace and contentment.

Yet Alice had raised a legitimate point. How long could she stay here? Years? It might take that long for Spencer to be ready to assume control of his legacy.

Fiona sighed. The simple truth was that she would stay until Gavin tired of her. That brought on an even deeper sigh. And what if she tired of him first? Fiona grimaced. What a completely foolish notion. Tire of Gavin? As if that would ever happen!

Another loud cheer from the training area distracted Fiona. Unable to stop herself, she turned and peeked through the crowds. In addition to the soldiers, squires, and pages, several of the household servants and stable boys, as well as a number of villagers, were gathered in a wide circle, intently watching the events.

Moving closer, Fiona followed their gazes and saw that Gavin stood at one end inside the ring, his sword still sheathed in its scabbard, his arms casually crossed. Slightly disappointed, she noted he still wore his shirt, then silently laughed at her foolishness.

Turning her attention to the opposite side of the ring, she beheld his opponent. A much shorter, slighter man, shifting nervously on his feet—Spencer!

Fiona gasped her son’s name in horror, but only Alice was near enough to hear. And her maid was every bit as shocked. As for the rest of the crowd, well, they appeared transfixed by what they were about to see. Spencer squared his shoulders, pulled on his helmet and drew his sword. The other squires hooted and clapped.

“Are ye sure about this, lad?” Gavin pulled his sword, easily tossing it from hand to hand.

“I wish to learn from the best,” Spencer replied. “I am honored you accepted my plea to spar with you.”

Gavin grinned. “Flattery willnae make this any easier fer ye, lad.”

Spencer advanced, then assumed a fighting stance. “I never expected that it would.”

Clutching the hilt with both hands, Spencer swung his sword in a high arc over his head and brought it down with far more strength than Fiona thought possible. Gavin blocked the blow easily and Fiona felt a moment of pride at her son’s prowess, until the piercing clatter reminded her that these were deadly weapons. It would only take a small slip for Spencer to be seriously injured.

With poetic rhythm, the two took turns striking and avoiding blows. Gavin shouted instructions that Spencer struggled to obey, yet Gavin steadily and easily continued to move Spencer back. It took but a few minutes for Spencer’s chest to start rising and falling rapidly, his puffing breath heard clearly throughout the practice field. After one more exchange, Spencer wisely retreated to the other side. He bent at the waist and started wheezing. Fiona’s concern mounted.

“Finish him off, milord, so we can eat our midday meal,” one of the men shouted.

“Aye, we’re hungry and need some humbled squires to serve us,” another yelled.

The comment brought a round of boos from the squires, who then started cheering even louder for Spencer. Their support seemed to give the boy a renewed sense of vigor and strengthen his determination. No longer looking defeated, he straightened and stood proudly.

“Do ye yield?” Gavin asked.

Spencer shook his head and charged. Gavin stood at the ready, but instead of swinging his sword, he stepped aside at the last moment, causing the boy to stumble and fall. He advanced and the moment Spencer rolled onto his back, Gavin placed the tip of his sword on Spencer’s chest.

Fiona smothered a terrified cry in her fist. At the sound, Gavin looked over at her. Fearing her horrified expression was showing, Fiona hastily backed away from view. It was then she heard a sharp cry of pain, followed by a hissing curse.

Fearing the worst, Fiona craned her head between the two burly men who stood in front of her. She saw Spencer cast his sword to the ground, toss off his helmet and rush toward Gavin. But a ring of soldiers had surrounded the earl, preventing the boy from getting close.

“Forgive me, my lord,” Spencer cried. “’Twas a careless mistake.”

Fiona could not hear Gavin’s reply. He shouted something to the rest of the men. The circle around him melted away. Pointedly ignoring everyone, Gavin stomped away from the practice field, his right hand clasped over his upper left arm.

No one else moved. Most of the men were staring at Gavin with a surprised look of disbelief. The crowd parted silently to allow their lord through, then hurried away.

Fiona hurried, too—to check on Spencer. Alice tried to keep pace with her, but in her haste stepped in a long, shallow puddle. Fiona pressed forward, leaving her blasphemous maid behind.

As she approached, Fiona heard the astonished whispers and expressions of disbelief from Gavin’s retainers. Had a squire truly landed a blow against the earl?

“I don’t know how it happened,” Spencer said, his face lined with worry. “I thought he would easily block the blow, just as he did with all the others. I never meant to strike so hard.”

“Ye drew blood,” one of the squires said, awe in his tone.

Spencer flinched, then took a few quick breaths. His face sparked with guilt when he caught Fiona’s gaze. “Is the earl very angry?” he whispered.

“I suspect his pride is hurt far more than his arm,” she replied, keeping the volume of her voice low. “What about you? Are you injured anywhere?”

Fiona sighed with relief when Spencer shook his head. Then the squires closed in, effectively pushing her away. They were giddy with excitement, patting Spencer on the back and congratulating him loudly enough for those still in the area to hear. For his part, Spencer refused to meet their gazes, hanging his head and looking utterly miserable.

After assuring herself that Spencer was physically unharmed, Fiona left. When she entered the great hall she met a scowling Gavin standing in front of one of the enormous fireplaces, a fretting Hamish at his side.

“Shall I summon the healer from the village, milord?” Hamish asked, his brow knit with worry.

“Nay. ’Tis only a scratch.”

Fiona’s eyes flew to Gavin’s blood-coated fingers. “It appears to be far more than a scratch,” she refuted, reaching up to touch Gavin’s arm.

He hissed in pain and jerked away. “I said it was merely a flesh wound.”

“Best allow me to take a look,” Fiona advised. “I’ve seen many a good knight suffer mightily from a small, festering wound.”

Reminding her far too much of Spencer when he was in a snit, Gavin reluctantly allowed Fiona to pry his fingers away from his arm. The moment they were removed, a well of fresh blood surfaced.

Fiona sucked in her breath when she saw Gavin’s arm. The wound was deep and jagged, tearing away a good portion of the flesh.

“It will need stitches,” she declared.

Gavin gave her a wary look. “Are ye certain? Or are ye just looking fer an excuse to stab me with a needle?”

Fiona leaned closer and whispered in his ear. “Well, my lord, you do take every opportunity you can to give me a poke. I think ’tis past time that I return the favor.”

He smiled wolfishly, as she had hoped, the wound momentarily forgotten. Taking advantage of the distraction, Fiona sat Gavin in a chair, then quickly dispatched Alice to fetch a needle and thread and Hamish to bring hot water, clean bandages, and medicinal herbs.

Gavin shut his eyes as she playfully removed his shirt, the tight, white line around his lips conveying the depth of his pain. When Alice and Hamish returned, the pair hovered over her curiously until a glare from Gavin had the steward bowing politely and both of the servants quickly leaving.

Fiona presented Gavin with a healthy portion of whiskey, which he downed in two gulps. Waiting a few moments for the strong spirits to take the edge off, Fiona began gently cleansing the wound. She sopped up the warm water as it trickled down Gavin’s arm, wrung the cloth out, then started again. The water in the bowl soon turned red, but she was pleased to see the bleeding had slowed.

Fiona’s brow furrowed as she threaded the needle. Pinching the jagged edges of Gavin’s flesh together between her thumb and forefinger, she made small, neat stitches. Gavin clenched his mouth and turned his head, but he never once flinched.

Fiona was grateful. Though she had learned, and was often called upon, to practice the healing arts, it was never easy piercing a man’s flesh, especially one who was squirming and screaming. Thankfully, Gavin had spared her that added difficulty.

When she finished, Fiona mixed a salve with the herbs and honey Hamish had brought. She spread it liberally over the wound, then wrapped it with a clean cloth. She placed her palm across his forehead, soothing him while at the same time checking for any sign of fever.

“I still cannot credit that Spencer was the one who did that to you,” she murmured.

“A streak of sunlight flashed off his blade and temporarily blinded me,” Gavin grumbled.

“Really? It must have been a very fleeting burst of sunshine,” Fiona commented in a lighthearted tone. “The skies have been gray and cloudy all day.”

“Cease gloating, please.” Gavin flexed his arm and rotated his shoulder, grimacing slightly at the movement. “I plead an English conspiracy. Ye deliberately distracted me as ye were standing in the crowd while yer son attacked me.”

“Oh, is that how it happened?” Fiona stepped back, resting her hands on her hips. “Lest I remind you, ’twas you who taught Spencer that fighting fair doesn’t always win.”

“Aye, but Spencer has no need of cheap tricks. The lad has real skill.”

Fiona’s heart gladdened at hearing the compliment. She had convinced herself that with the proper training Spencer would be able to overcome his physical limitations. ’Twas a tremendous relief to discover she was right.

“He’s had a good teacher,” she said.

Gavin shrugged. “I take little credit. Duncan trains the squires. He works them hard, but the results are promising.”

Fiona smiled. “I know you’ve been giving Spencer extra attention. Thank you.”

“No thanks are necessary. ’Tis part of our agreement, after all.”

Her heart squeezed. “Yes, of course.” She turned away and busied herself with clearing the medical supplies, trying not to react to his words. Words that struck at her heart, cutting her to the quick as they delivered a cold shock of reality.