Amanda Forester (5 page)

Tavish rushed to the top of the tower, relishing in the cold rain that hit him like a restorative. He had almost kissed her.
Kissed
her! What could he be thinking? He needed to get himself together.

He had always lived in Grigor’s shadow, at least by the reckoning of some in the clan. They were of the same age, but Grigor could run faster, shoot farther, lift more weight, and best him with a sword. He was also fluent in Latin, and could play the lyre and recite poetry if he had the mind. But never,
never
had Tavish envied the man until this moment.

Grigor had been raised by a she-wolf with exacting standards. He had been given the best tutors, the best equipment, and from him, the best was expected. Many young lads would crumble under such pressure, but Grigor had excelled. The constant criticism drove him to push harder.

Tavish, on the other hand, had been raised by loving parents who enjoyed a good laugh more than swordplay. They provided him the basics of an education, and beyond that, let him build forts in the trees and dams on the river, until the crofters complained and he had to let the river flow again. They let him explore different interests, even if, in the eyes of many in his clan, it was beneath the nephew of the laird to be following about the village blacksmith and the brewer.

Elyne was a sweet lass with a kind heart, perhaps too kind for the likes of Grigor Grant. Tavish could not picture her as mistress of the castle. Lady Grant would eat her for breakfast. He reconsidered for a moment, remembering how she had stood up to Grigor on their first meeting. Tavish smiled at the recollection, even as the rain pelted him harder.

Elyne was a Campbell. She was capable and strong. She would stand her ground and she would do well. Or well enough. But would she be happy? He shook his head. Her happiness was not his concern. He had told her how it was. She could decide for herself.

There were some things he could never do, and interfering in Grigor’s wedding plans was one of them. Marrying a Campbell was a good alliance for the Grants. Everything else was irrelevant.

Maybe if he told it to himself enough times, he would believe it.

He scanned the surrounding area, looking for any signs of approaching English. If they had any sense, they would be happily sleeping in their tents, not wandering through the forest, getting soaked to the bone. Besides, what could he do if they came to the door besides grab Elyne and run out the cistern gate? The front gate hardly bolted.

Tavish rubbed his wet hands together against the cold. Some things he was powerless to prevent, but some things he could fix.

***

Elyne woke with the sun. Despite romantic notions that she would toss and turn all night, she had slept surprisingly well. Her cloak had kept her warm, the lavender in the ticking had relaxed her, and the bed was surprisingly comfortable. Tavish had done well. She stood, shook out her skirts, and went to find him.

Tavish was not to be found in any of the tower rooms nor in the main hall, so she exited to the courtyard. A large metal brace on the gate was the first thing she noticed. Second was a pinging sound, metal on metal, coming from one of the outbuildings. Rounding the corner, she noted smoke was rising from the chimney.

“Tavish!” She rushed in and stopped short, her jaw dropping. Tavish Grant stood shirtless before a blacksmith anvil, hammering a red-hot piece of iron. His smooth chest was covered in black soot, which only served to accentuate the rippling muscles beneath his skin. Everywhere she looked (she got herself a very good look) was hard and strong, his muscles rolling like hills of granite. He was quite frankly the most beautiful, most dirty man she had ever seen.

She gasped for breath in the hot smithy. He gave the hammer one more swing and glanced up at her with a smile. “Good morn to ye, Lady Elyne.”

“Tavish? What are ye doing? What o’ the smoke? They can see it for miles.”

“Aye, I reckon they can, but I thought up a plan in the night, and somewhere between freezing off my fingers or my balls, pardon me for saying, starting up the forge sounded like a good idea. Come see.”

Elyne followed the shirtless man out of the smithy and into the courtyard. Truth be told, she would have followed him off a cliff if he asked it.

“I fashioned brackets for the gate and plated one of the beams I found lying about to form a brace. It should keep them out long enough for us to head out the back if it comes to it.”

“But winna the smoke bring them here?”

“Aye, most likely, but the brace is only part of the plan. I also found an old black skirt, mildewed and molded, but still functional for our purposes.”

“And what use could that be?”

“We’ve come down wi’ the pox!” Tavish grinned, clearly proud of his plan.

“Is this a jest?”

“Aye, on the English. I draped the gate wi’ black cloth. When the English arrive, we’ll tell them we have quarantined the castle because of the pox. Or maybe we’ll say the Great Plague.”

“Ah, I see.” Elyne returned his smile. “They shall run for the hills away from us.”

“Aye, that’s the plan.”

“’Tis a goodly plan.”

“Truly? I am pleased it meets yer approval.” His eyes shone bright and his smile softened. A moment later he turned away. “Must get back to work. Much to do. Left some bread on the table if ye feel so inclined.”

Tavish turned and disappeared back into the blacksmith shop where soon a flurry of banging could be heard across the courtyard. Elyne walked slowly back to the tower room. On the bench she noted the bread, ripped off a small piece, and washed it down with ale. They must conserve their food since they did not know how long they would be staying at the castle.

Tavish had a good plan for keeping the English out, but it did not put food on the table. That would be her job.

Back outside, Elyne could hear banging and grunting. She was not sure if Tavish was working or fighting with the piece of iron. Having seven brothers, she wisely decided to give him space.

She decided instead to explore the castle grounds and walked in the opposite direction, around the back side of the castle. There she found her object, the remnants of a castle garden. It was overgrown and wild, but she hacked through some of the more virulent bushes with her knife to search for food. It took some time, pulling up weeds and cutting branches, but in the end her efforts were rewarded with blackberries, elderberries, hazelnuts, and wild kale. She put these aside and climbed a large cherry tree in full bloom, trying to find any fruit that had ripened early.

When she was done, she gathered all the food in her skirts and went to find Tavish to show him the fruit of her labors. The banging had stopped, and when she passed the blacksmith shop, he was not there.

She spied a piece of red cloth at the end of the line of outbuildings, but when she turned the corner, all she found was the large plaid laid out across a hitching post. It was Tavish’s plaid. His clothes… on the post. She heard another splash and stepped cautiously to the end of the building. The sound was coming from around the corner, behind the building.

Glancing back, Tavish’s plaid was still on the post. Last time she saw him, it had been the only clothing he was wearing. Given the amount of soot that covered him, she guessed he must be giving himself a good wash. Good thing to do, washing. She approved. She edged closer.

Wait, what was she doing? He had found an out-of-the-way place to wash and should be left alone to do it in peace. She could not possibly invade his privacy. She edged closer. No, she was going to turn around. Her foot took another step closer. Now—now she was going to turn around. Her other foot, completely of its own accord, took one more step, and she peeked around the corner.

She was treated to the wondrous sight of Tavish Grant, in all his naked glory, scrubbing off the dirt with water from a bucket. Fortunately for her, his back was toward her, allowing her the ability to gawk openly. Water flowed in rivulets down his muscular back to his trim waist and below. Oh yes, below. She marveled at his beautiful, tight… “Oh my stars,” she whispered. And she saw them, stars.

He took the bucket and dumped it over his head—water rushing, caressing down his naked body. He shook his head, water flinging in every direction, one drop actually hitting her in the face.

“Oh!” she exclaimed.

He turned, but she ducked back behind the building before he could see her and took off running, her shaking hands barely able to hold up her skirts, which held the fruit. She ran back around the buildings, past the plaid, past the smithy, into the great hall, and she didn’t stop until she arrived breathless in the tower room, with much less fruit to show for her excursion than when she started.

Several agonizing minutes later, she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. She grabbed a hazelnut and focused on cracking it with the flat of the knife. Her back was to the door and nothing could persuade her to turn around.

“Good day to ye,” said Tavish.

“Good day to ye,” answered Elyne without looking up.

He stepped closer, but still she would not look at him. She had looked enough, more the shame to her.

“I see ye’ve been busy,” commented Tavish.

“Aye. I’ve found food for us. It is simple fare but we winna starve.” She appreciated keeping the conversation on foraging for food. Nothing inappropriate ever arose from a conversation of kale.

“I hope ye enjoyed yerself today.” His voice was silky.

Heat rushed down her neck. Had he seen her? “Aye, I have been in the garden. I have found quite a bit of food for us.” Focus on the kale.

“I see that.” He laid an armful of berries, nuts, and kale on the bench beside her. “I followed the trail ye so kindly left me.”

So she had peeked at him washing. It could have been an accident. Though how she missed the big red plaid he laid out so she would know not to come farther or why she was walking all the way around to the back of the building, he could not fathom. Still, she had been foraging for food, so perhaps it had been an honest mistake.

There was just one thing he wanted to know. Did she like what she saw?

Tavish shook his head and went back to work forming a sentry. If their ruse was to make a castle look inhabited but ill, they needed sentries. He pulled some rough cloth he found over a stuffing of grasses and propped a helmet on top and a spear by his side. The fake sentry would stand guard on the battlements high above anyone coming to visit, and hopefully fool them into leaving him and Elyne alone.

Alone together.

He shook his head and went back to work. He needed a clear mind, something that was challenging since he had been awake all night. He needed to finish his work but he craved sweet sleep.

In a bed. A bed with…

Work! Must focus on his work.

“What are ye doing?” Elyne walked toward him on the battlements. Her green silk gown flowed and danced, caught by the wind. Sometimes the wind blew against her, revealing the form of her shapely legs. Sometimes it caught the embroidered hem and gave him a peek at her ankle.

“Making sentries.” He focused on his work. He must not wish for the wind to blow her skirts up farther. No, he would not think it. Not even once.

“Do ye think they will fool the English?” she asked doubtfully.

“I hope so. Remember they will only see the silhouette.”

“Did ye find all these weapons?” She fingered a pile of weapons, everything from swords to spears to bows.

“I found some things, mostly broken. I repaired what I could and made new ones from scrap metal I found in the smithy.”

“Ye are a verra useful sort of man.”

The compliment curled up warm and happy in his gut. “I thank ye.”

She turned away, toward the open valley and forest before her. “I want to apologize for invading yer privacy. I had no right, and if there is anything I can do to make right my wrong, please let me know.” She spoke in a rush, her cheeks flushing a charming pink.

“Mayhap ye can reciprocate and even the score.” The words escaped his lips before he could catch them and stuff them back.

She turned to him, her blue eyes widening. “Ye want me to do what?”

“Nothing! Nay, I was in jest. A verra bad jest. Looks like we’re in for some more rain.” He had the sudden compulsion to knock his head against the stone battlements.

She followed his line of view to dark storm clouds on the horizon. “Aye, we are in for some rough weather ahead.”

***

Thunder cracked above them and Elyne flinched unconsciously. She could accept rain as a necessary fact of life, but why the clouds had to argue so loudly, she could not fathom. She took another bite of the supper she had prepared, a cluster of berries and nuts served on a large, bright-green leaf of kale.

It was a good dinner for having found it in abandoned gardens. Tavish had worked all day until the sentries were posted and the rain began. Now the rain had turned to sheets, and the drips in the tower had turned into small streams. They had scrounged up buckets, pots, and anything else they could find to hold the water. The room was now filled with the musical accompaniment of dripping water falling into broken ceramic pots.

Tavish ate heartily then rested before the fire with droopy eyebrows.

“Did ye sleep at all last night?” asked Elyne.

He shook his head. “Nay, too much to do. Canna sleep when there’s work to be done.” He stifled a yawn.

“Come along then, ye need some sleep before ye fall over. I can take guard duty.”

“Nay, the weather’s not fit for anyone. If ye go out, ye risk death by drowning. I doubt we shall have any visitors tonight.”

“So we should both get some sleep.” Elyne’s pulse jumped up a notch.

“Sleep would be good,” admitted Tavish.

Elyne helped him up and toward the large bed. He shook his head. “Nay, I’ll sleep on the bench. Ye need sleep too.”

Elyne ignored him and continued to lead him to the bed.

“I can sleep on a bench. I can sleep almost anywhere.” His eyes were closed when he said it, and it took only the gentlest nudge to get him to sit on the bed. With some assistance, he removed his boots, and another nudge had him flat on his back. He breathed slow and rhythmic, sound asleep.

Elyne wrapped her cloak around her and walked back to the bench. He had stayed up all night working to protect her; the least she could do was sleep on the bench. She sat down.
Thump
. She lay on the bench and it shifted from one leg to another.
Thump
. She turned to her side.
Thump
. The movement jarred her and she flailed trying not to fall off the bench.
Thump
.
Thump
.
Thump
.

“Ouch!” She landed on her backside on the floor. This was not going to be easy. Unless she could manage to balance on two legs of the bench, it was going to be a very long night. Her gaze shifted to Tavish Grant sleeping happily on the bed. He was asleep. The bed was big. He would never know if…

Elyne walked over to the other side of the bed and laid down far from him—or at least she tried. With him on the bed, the mattress had developed a definite slant and she rolled right into him. She sighed and gave up. Tonight, there was no escaping his company. She curled up next to him, her back to his warm side. Thunder cracked overhead, shaking the tower. She jumped, wondering for a moment if the tower itself had been struck.

“Naught to worrit yerself,” mumbled Tavish, and he rolled toward her, putting his arm around her and holding her close. His slow breathing of sleep resumed.

She sank back into his warmth. She had never been this close to a man, and despite the novelty of the experience, it felt right. This was where she belonged. She was home.

And yet, this could never be where she belonged. She was surrounded by enemies, lying in bed with a man who was not to be her husband.

She snuggled closer to him. Despite everything, she knew she was safe.