By Fire and by Sword (16 page)

They watched the
Ingeborg
make ready to set sail once more, and recognized the figure of Captain de Frese shouting out orders on deck. It was the first sighting they had had of the captain since they’d gone on board.

“Accommodating man, wasn’t he?” Josette said. “I shall add Swedes to the list of nationalities I would not want to marry.”

“Is it a long list?”

“I can fit all of them on one piece of paper if that is what you mean.”

“That isn’t so long…considering,” Kenna said.

“I write small.”

Kenna laughed again, and studied Josette’s face for a moment. She was thinking how far they had come since the day of their first meeting, when she would have sworn this woman could not befriend anyone, and yet, here she was, as dear to Kenna as a sister.

They took one last glance and watched until the
Ingeborg
was nothing more than a tiny dot on the horizon, before they turned away and walked along Broad Street, toward the center of town. Kenna was reminded that neither she, nor Josette, had mentioned the death of the
comte
since the onset of their journey. She supposed that for them both, it was too fresh and raw to talk about, as each of them grappled with the loss in her own way. Even now, thinking about it caused her nerves to prick and left her heartsick.

The wind was starting to pick up. Kenna tilted back
her head to glance at the sky, which was beginning to turn darker as the clouds sped by. Earlier she had seen a few gulls and a cormorant or two, but now all she glimpsed were a few ragged auks that looked as if they had been battered by the wind.

“We need to find somewhere to stay,” she said, and picked up her traveling bag. “Those clouds are promising something we don’t want any part of.”

They hurried into the small town, mindful of the black and turbulent sky overhead, as it began to churn and boil, driving the clouds before it.

From peat fires came the aromatic tang of herring being smoked, as they passed stone houses along the narrow streets of Kirkwall, with their thatched roofs and spiraling curls of smoke rising from their chimneys and seeming to flatten on the horizon. Every so often, a shop was wedged in among the stone houses that lined the street.

The wind was becoming more blustery, so they picked up the pace and entered the first inn they came to. It was called St. Magnus Inn, for it was near a twelfth-century cathedral of the same name, or so the proprietor told them.

“St. Magnus is really a cathedral in miniature, for it is only fifty feet long, and twenty feet wide,” said Grímr Scartaine who, like most of the Orkney Island residents, had a name of Norse origin.

In spite of his grim-sounding name, Grímr was quite a friendly, congenial person, with a long, drooping mustache and a wrinkled brow that made him appear rather walruslike. By far the most impressive thing
about him was the speed with which he provided them with a clean room, and he managed to have something to eat sent to their room.

The room was quite plain and simple in its barrenness, and rustically furnished. There was naught hanging on the walls—not so much as a picture or a peg—but it was spotlessly clean.

Kenna inquired about acquiring passage on a ship to the north coast of Sutherland, where her grandfather’s home, Durness Castle, stood on a cliff overlooking the sea.

“A ship, you say? Well, now, ships come in and out of here all the time, but none of them operate on a schedule, you see. Don’t mean to sound discouraging, you understand. You might be able to gain passage to the mainland in a week or so.”

“There’s no other way?” Kenna asked.

“Herring boats, but no fisherman would allow a woman on his boat for any reason…nor would ladies like yourselves want to be. Come out smelling like herring, you would.”

By the end of the third day of sightseeing and playing cards, Josette was so sick of the island and the game, she was no longer inspired to cheat.

Kenna was beginning to wonder if they would be forced to winter here. Then finally, toward the end of their second week, Grímr knocked on their door and said there was a gentleman below to see Kenna.

She opened the door. “A gentleman? Did he give you his name?”

“No, he said it was a surprise,” Grímr said seriously,
but there was a mischievous gleam in his eye that made Kenna suspicious. Was Grímr playing some kind of trick on two unsuspecting newcomers—one that was an old Orkney tradition, perhaps? Or, was there truly someone down there who knew her? No, she thought, that sounded preposterous. “Thank you, Grímr. I will be down in a few minutes,” she said, and closed the door.

She did not move, but leaned back against the door thinking about how strangely Grímr was acting. Who could possibly know she was here? Surely not Lord Walter.

Her gaze fell upon Josette, who was looking at her with an interesting sort of curiosity, before she asked, “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Kenna said, shaking her head. “I find this all a bit odd, that’s all. I cannot imagine anyone knowing our whereabouts.”

“Not even Lord Walter?”

“I thought about that, but there would be no reason for him to connect me, even remotely, with the Orkney Islands.”

“Who could it be, then?”

“I thought for a moment that Grímr might be playing some kind of local joke on us, but that seems too far-fetched. Still, something isn’t right about all of this.” She paused. “What do you think?”

“I think you either go down and see who it is, or you stay here and wonder. As I see it, there are those two simple choices—go or stay. You are clever enough to figure that out, so why are you trying to make it complicated?”

Josette always managed to reduce everything to its simplest form, Kenna thought as she replied, “I suppose I make it complicated because cleverness and stupidity get on so well together,” Kenna said. “Is that reason enough?”

Josette was smiling now. “Go down if you want, or don’t go down if you are wary or uneasy about it. What is it to be?”

“I fear my curiosity overpowers my bewilderment.”

“Is that a yes?”

Kenna smiled. “Yes.”

Josette rose to her feet. “Very well, I shall accompany you,” she said as she caught up her cloak. “Take your cloak and we can take a walk down those boringly familiar streets before we come back upstairs.”

The public room was filled with pipe smoke from several men puffing away as they sat around tables playing backgammon. The dense tobacco vapors caused Josette to have a fit of coughing.

Grímr hurried over to them, stroking his walrus-tusk mustache. “A thousand pardons, my ladies. These old men insist upon frequenting my public room each Thursday afternoon. I have done everything short of drowning them, and still they come back here every week. What is a man to do in that situation?”

“Let them stay here and smoke,” Kenna said, thinking that sounded a lot like something Josette would have said. “Where is the gentleman you said asked for me?”

Grímr smacked himself on the forehead. “Forgive me, my lady, I completely forgot. He stepped outside to get away from the smoke.”

“At least he has some semblance of intelligence,” Josette said, “and enough sense to get away from this wretched fug.”

Grímr opened the inn door for them and they passed through before coming to an immediate, and abrupt, halt on the other side. Both were too stunned and overwhelmed at the shock and surprise of what they saw, that neither could find the words or her voice to speak.

He was here, and so achingly familiar from that impossible-to-blot-out image she carried of him in her mind. It was a picture she would never forget; a memory he created the first time she innocently walked into his life that day in Edinburgh, aboard a ship called
Dancing Water.

And impossible though it was, he was here now, in Kirkwall. She would never forget the way he looked, with his black cape swirling around his feet, placed wide apart, the wind tugging it back just enough to expose the merest whisper of a white, tucked shirt, in a manner wickedly pleasing. It intrigued her and made her wonder just what else lay hidden beneath that cape.

He was eloquent, shrewd, handsome, annoyingly desirable and a thief of hearts: hers.

She noticed from the corner of her eye that Josette apparently had recovered from her shock, for she and Alejandro were talking quietly as they started to walk up Broad Street.

Josette and Alejandro? Two hot bloods…a Gypsy and a Spaniard? Her logical side said no. Yet, there was another part of her that said it could be: only time would tell.

Her thoughts were drawn back to Colin, who walked toward her, a welcome sight indeed. He could not have been more desirable or more attractive if he had been dipped in chocolate.

“It has been a long time,” he said.

Too long
, she wanted to say. “Yes, it has been a long time. Why are you here now?”

“I told you I would come back to see you, the last time I was at the château, or have you forgotten?”

I remembered everything you said and every day you did not return.
“How did you know where we were?”

He grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “Curious, are you?”

“You knew I would be, just as you know you would be curious in my place.”

“A man does not like to give away all of his secrets, but the truth is, I went to the château to see you…I was very sorry to hear about the
comte.
He was an outstanding man, and I know how much he meant to both you and Josette.”

“It was devastating. Even now, I have difficulty not blaming myself for what happened.”

“I knew you would shoulder the burden the moment the
duc
told me what happened, but you know you are wrong to consider it your fault. I have a feeling the
comte
would tell you the same thing, were he standing here right now.”

She was careful to keep her features expressionless and her emotions hidden, for she had still to learn the reason why he was here. “I am certain he would, and
I understand everything you say, but the simple fact is, I was the reason Lord Walter was in France, and even now, just to think of that night fills me with chaotic emotions. To lose the
comte
leaves a gaping hole of emptiness in the lives of too many people. He was greatly loved and admired, you know, and his worth extended far beyond his being the greatest fencing master in all of Europe. I miss him terribly, and I must stop speaking of it. I never knew there were so many strings that could be plucked in the human heart.”

She paused to study Colin’s face, drinking in the sight of his intense blue eyes. He was a beguiling presence who seemed to dwarf everything else in her life, the epitome of tall, dark and handsome, with his graceful stride and easy manner. She was thinking he was a beautiful piece of God’s perfect workmanship, but how he had arrived here was still so puzzling. “Who told you I was in Kirkwall?”

“Gaston thought I might find out more about where you went if I spoke to your friend, the
duc.
So, I did.”

She had not had time before to study his strong profile. It was one of the powerfully desirable things she felt drawing her to him. “The
duc
was obviously helpful.”

“In more ways than you know, for he suggested we find a way for me to bring your clothes to you, as well as Josette’s.”

Her expression brightened. “And did you bring them?”

“Right down to the last corset.”

Feeling a slight touch of awkwardness, she glanced
quickly away and heard him chuckle. She asked him another question, before he had time to comment. “How were you able to remove our belongings, without Lord Walter becoming suspicious, if he had men watching the château?”

“I believe Josette gave Gaston instructions before she left, that he was to give all the
comte’
s clothes to the church, to be distributed to the poor. We simply made it look like the
comte
had a lot more clothes going to the church than actually were. Once it was delivered to him, Father René had your baggage sent to a church in Amiens, mixed in with a load of supplies that were going there. We stopped by the church on our way through Amiens and brought it with us to Calais. It is on board the ship now.”

“I am relieved to know it, for the other night, Josette dreamed we were shipwrecked and had nothing to wear but leaves.”

“You shouldn’t tell me that, for now I am tempted to toss everything overboard.”

“This is a near treeless island, in case you have not noticed.”

“Even better,” he said.

This time it was her turn to laugh. “Do all Americans talk as you do, with such levity and charm?”

“No, I’m the only one…at least I would like you to think so.”

“Very well, I will humor you in that regard.”

His smile was seductive and so wickedly dangerous, she felt her knees go weak. “I understand you have been waiting here for passage to Sutherland.”

“We are in most desperate need of a ship. Do you know where we might find one?”

“I know where you can find a lot of things that you need,” he said, looking her over seductively, “including a ship.”

She laughed. “You are incorrigible. You never miss anything, and certainly not an opportunity to be a bit wicked, do you?”

His eyes gleamed with merriment. “No, but only because I know you like it.”

“Bah! My fancy is not captured by such.”

He moved closer to her. “Let us test the validity of those words, shall we?”

Before she could answer, he drew her around the corner of the building so they were hidden from the view of anyone on the street. The next thing she knew, he had captured her face in his hands and drawn it upward so he was gazing deeply into her eyes, which sent a corresponding shiver rippling down her spine. His arms went around her and he drew her close, and held her tightly against him. Of their own volition, her arms encircled him as well, and the moment they did, she felt the hard press of him against her.

Instead of being shocked, she found it terribly arousing, and she saw no reason to pretend she was insulted or that she was not attracted to him. He was still watching her, and without realizing, at first, that she did so, she lifted her hand and stroked the curve of skin beneath his high cheekbone, before continuing on to let her fingertips trace the fullness of his lips.