Beloved Stranger (20 page)

“I would,” he said. “Bloody leg. I cannot even ride.”

“I also brought Robert Howard’s jack. He was not given the chance to take it when your men came for him.”

“I will see that he gets it.”

“I would like to check his wounds.”

“He is well. Ye are a good healer.”

“I am not a healer.”

“I never thought the Howard would live. We need yer skills, Kimbra.”

She shook her head. “I could not save Will. I should have given him to the care of your physician.”

“Nay. Nothing could save him once his blood was poisoned.”

She did not say anything. Guilt was still a living pain in her. Why had she not been able to save her husband but could save an enemy?

“This Howard,” the Charlton said, “he does not say much.”

“He had a head wound. I think he forgot some things.”

“He remembers enough to defeat me at chess.”

She must have shown some surprise because he gave her a sly smile. “Not many around here can do that. I wanted to take measure of him. He apparently has little loyalty to the Howards. I can use a man like that. Since Will died . . .”

She was stunned. Of every possible outcome she’d imagined, this was not one of them.

“What about Cedric? His brothers?”

“They do not have the loyalty or trust of my men.”

“You know nothing about Robert Howard.”

“I am a good judge of men. He fought near to his death for King Henry. He meets my eyes when he talks to me.” He grinned. “He can also play chess.”

She did not reply, but her heart dropped. The last thing either she or the Scot needed was the trust and friendship of a man who did not like being fooled. On the other hand, it might make it easier for him to escape.

And worsen the sense of disloyalty roiling about inside her. She did not want the Charlton to trust him.

“Audra would like to see him,” she said.

“I will take ye there.”

“But your leg?”

He shrugged, lifted his bulk to his feet and reached for the cane. “I will send Jock for your daughter,” he said. He led the way down the corridor to a door.

Jock, a particular friend of Will’s, was standing outside.

“Jock,” she said with real affection.

“Mistress Kimbra,” he replied with a smile. “Where is your young miss?”

“She’s in the kitchen,” Kimbra replied.

“Is the Howard awake?” the Charlton asked Jock.

“Aye. Last time he was carving a trail on the floor. Back and forth.”

“Go fetch Mistress Audra,” the Charlton said.

As Jock disappeared down the hall, the Charlton opened the door and limped into the room.

Her Scot was in the midst of turning around, as if startled. He bent his head in acknowledgment of the Charlton, but his face was carefully neutral when he turned to her. Still, she thought she saw the faintest throb of a muscle in his throat. “Mistress Kimbra,” he said.

“I wanted to see how your wounds were,” she said, “and you left your jack in my cottage.” She handed it to him.

“My thanks once again,” he said, his eyes meeting hers but revealing little, while her heart was beating far too rapidly.

She stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say and, in truth, afraid to say anything with the Charlton present.

The Scot took several steps. He limped, but the steps were solidly made and without a cane. “You did well,” he said, this time with a smile playing around his lips.

“Nay, I but gave you what God provided.”

She felt the warmth of his gaze for a fleeting second before he turned to the door as Audra stood there, a broad grin on her face. She ran over to him. He dropped the jack he was holding and lifted her up.

“Have you been practicing the lute?” he asked, ignoring the sudden pain in his chest.

“Aye. Bear crawls under the table.”

“All the better to hear,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes.

Kimbra feared he was too familiar for a man at death’s door just a few days earlier. But there was no preventing Audra from staring at him with rapt adoration.

“Lute?” the Charlton asked.

“Mr. Howard is teaching me,” Audra said proudly.

The Charlton glanced at the Scot.

“Ye did not tell me that.”

The Scot shrugged. “I do not play that well.”

“Like chess?” the Charlton said wryly. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“Nay.”

“I shall leave ye then for a while. Kimbra, you will sup with us tonight. Edith can take care of Audra, and Jock will accompany you home.”

No Cedric.
It was sufficient incentive to say aye.

“I have no gown with me,” she protested.

“Claire will show you my wife’s gowns, and you may choose one,” he said.

Startled, she could only nod. The Charlton had lost his second wife three years earlier, and he had mourned her, much as she had mourned Will. The first wife, she had heard, died in childbirth. The second wife, Mary, had produced a son, who had died of a fever, and a daughter, who had committed the unforgivable sin of marrying a Scot. He had not taken a third wife.

“Thank you,” she said.

He left them abruptly then. She and her daughter and the Scot.

He put Audra down and reached out and touched her cheek. “I worried about you.”

Heat coursed through her, and she feared her voice was shaky when she answered, “I can take care of myself.”

“I fear that you may be in danger because of me.”

She glanced down at Audra, and he clamped his lips closed. He knelt in front of Audra. “Have you been practicing the lute and your letters?”

“Aye,” Audra said, and sang his letter song.

“Very nicely done,” he said. “I have never had such a good pupil.”

Audra’s grin could not have been wider. Nor his.

Holy Mother, but she was beguiled by that smile.

She wanted to reach out and do what he had done: run her fingers down his face. And she wanted much more than that.

But she had to remember why she had come. “Audra,” she said, “can you run down and see whether the cook has some sweets?”

Audra looked rebellious.

“I would like a sweet,” he said, and Audra needed no more encouragement.

When she left, Kimbra said urgently, “The English army is leaving. Some Scots are coming over the border to claim their dead.”

“I am watched every moment,” he said.

She hesitated, then asked, “Have you remembered anything?”

“A man’s face, that is all. I do not know if it is a memory or a nightmare.”

“The Charlton said you played chess.”

“Aye, though I do not remember who taught me.” He pounded a fist in his hand. “It is so bloody frustrating. I can remember skills. I cannot remember people.”

“But no one suspects you?”

“I think the Charlton has some doubts.”

“Not too many, I think. He is thinking about bringing you into the family.”

He stared at her.

“He believes he is a good judge of character.”

The Scot’s eyebrows furrowed together. “He insisted I join the clan for supper last night.”

“Clan?”

He looked startled. “I should no’ say that?”

“No.”

“Was Cedric there?”

“Nay, but there were hostile looks from others.”

“I still feel you should leave as soon as you find a chance.”

“And where would I go?”

“Anywhere in Scotland.” She hesitated, then asked, “Does ‘Virtue Mine Honour,’ mean anything to you?”

He repeated the words, then shook his head in denial. “Should it?”

Disappointed, she shook her head. “I just heard someone says it was a motto in Scotland. I thought it might make you think of something.”

He repeated the words, tasted them, then shook his head.

The door opened, and they both turned. Audra held a platter of sweets. Beside her was the Charlton’s housekeeper.

Kimbra knew Claire well. She was Will’s spinster cousin and had been housekeeper for Thomas Charlton since before Kimbra had married and come to the Charlton stronghold. She was a handsome woman of middle years, and often Kimbra had heard people wonder why Claire had not wed. ’Twas said there had been many suitors. She’d never been a friend, though Kimbra had never thought of her as an enemy, either.

Claire’s sharp gaze had turned from her to the Scot, then back again. “The Charlton asked me to find ye a gown.”

Kimbra desperately wanted a few more moments with the Scot, but she knew how dangerous that could be. His position here was full of risk, even more so now that the Charlton was taking an interest in him. She knew the in-fighting among the Charltons, especially since the head of the family had no living heir.

If the Scot was viewed as a danger to ambitions, there would be no limit to attempts to discredit him.

It made even more urgent his escape.

If only the motto—the words—had brought back a memory.

She left Audra and the Scot to eat from the plate of sweets and followed Claire down the hall to another room. Inside, Claire opened a chest and took out an armful of gowns, all of which were far finer than anything Kimbra had ever owned.

Kimbra eyed one of dark blue silk. It was of a modest cut and simple lines.

Claire helped her with the lacings. It was tight in some places, loose in others. Claire called for another woman, a seamstress, and within an hour, the gown fit far better.

Except for instructions, Claire was silent during the process. When the gown was altered, she looked at Kimbra’s hair and shook her head in dismay. Minutes later, a young girl was twisting Kimbra’s dark hair into an intricate knot.

When finished, the girl disappeared silently.

Kimbra turned to Claire. “Why is he doing this?”

“The Charlton?”

“Aye.”

“He is lonely, I think.”

The reply surprised Kimbra, not as much for the content as for the sadness in Claire’s voice.

“The Charlton?”

“He was considering making Will his heir when he was killed.”

Kimbra remembered the Charlton’s visit when Will was ill, then the last one as Will lay dead. She’d always thought it was his natural concern for one of his soldiers.

“He always liked you,” Claire added.

There was something in her voice that startled Kimbra, almost jealousy. She reached back in her memory. Claire was a cousin to Will, separated several times, but she was the Charlton’s first cousin. Could she love . . . ?

The thought was impossible. It was forbidden by the church. But Claire was obviously privy to the Charlton’s private thoughts.

“I thought he opposed our marriage.”

“He did, at first. You brought nothing to the family, nothing to Will, but when you were found to have been riding with the family, he roared with laughter. He said you were worth two of most of his soldiers.”

She was stunned. So that was why he’d allowed her to keep the cottage. Cedric had obviously been lying about Thomas Charlton favoring his suit, believing that if he convinced her to marry he’d find himself in favor.

She wondered now whether that was why the Charlton wished her to stay this evening, that he was making it clear she was under his protection.

She also remembered the fate of one of his favorites four years ago when he found himself betrayed.

A chill ran through her.

The Charlton was not a man to forgive betrayal. Nor one who tolerated lies.

Now that both the Scot, and she, had drawn his attention, both of them were in more danger than ever.

R
OBERT Howard felt he was walking a dagger’s edge as he sat among his country’s enemies and tried not to look at Kimbra Charlton. She sat on the other side of the Charlton, a place of honor.

He was several seats down, among the reivers. Jock was on one side of him. A man called Davey’s Son on the other. Cedric was on the other side of the table, his face set with resentment. A man looking very much like him was at his side. Garrick, he remembered.

Robert Howard, like nearly every other man in attendance, could barely take his eyes from Kimbra Charlton. The color of her gown turned her gray eyes blue, and her dark hair was pulled back, with several curls arranged around her face. She looked enchanting, and when she’d entered the room at the Charlton’s side, he’d felt an odd jerk in his heart.

She was as bonny as the sun touching a Scottish loch and as challenging as a storm at sea.

Where had those images come from? Suddenly he was sitting on a cliff overlooking the sea, waves crashing beneath him. A rock jutted out of the sea. A feeling of malevolence jolted through him, settled in the pit of his stomach.

Then it was gone.

“Howard?”

He suddenly realized Jock had addressed him.

“Aye?”

“Ye do not look well.”

“’Tis nothing. A momentary weakness.”

“Eat well.”

He tried to eat well. Platters and platters of food came. Mutton. Beef. Pheasant. As he ate, he tried to concentrate, to focus again on that rock. He saw it in his mind’s eye, but the feelings were gone, the sense of evil he’d felt. The rock had once been important in his life. Of that he was certain.

He glanced up at Kimbra. She was smiling at something the Charlton was saying, and jealousy coursed through him. The man was nearly three times Kimbra’s age, and he should have no such feelings. But the intensity of them were painful.

“No one has claimed ye yet,” Cedric said on the other side of the table. “Appears strange that none know of ye.”

He shrugged and did not reply.

“Mayhap ye are not a Howard at all,” Cedric continued.