A Spy at the Highland Court

by Barclay, Celeste

  Ric was unprepared to catch a glimpse of his wife’s perfectly shaped bottom as she flung her skirts out of her way. He was also unprepared for her wading into the freezing water. He followed her until the water lapped at the toes of his boots.

  “Isa, come out,” he hissed. “You’ll catch your death. That water has barely thawed.”

  “And it feels marvelous. I won’t be long. Even I know it’s cold.” Isa could feel the pinpricks beginning as most of her skin rejected the ice water. She allowed herself a few more moments before she stood and walked out of the water.

  “Stay there. Stay right there and don’t move. Keep your skirts away from your legs but lower.” Ric ran back to the camp, leaving Isa bewildered. He was back before she could figure out why he had run off. She could see a surcoat in his hands, but she did not understand why. When he was before her again, he lifted her skirts before lowering to his knee. He used his surcoat to dry Isa’s legs and backside but kept the rougher material away from where she had put an end to the pain. He picked her up and carried her to a nearby rock before fetching her stockings and boots. He dried her feet and put her stockings and boots back on her.

  “I wish you’d warned me that was what you were about.”

  “So you could refuse me?”

  “No. I would have joined you. I could have held your skirts out of the way.”

  Isa grinned. “I rather doubt that. I think you would have stopped me.”

  “Do you feel better?” Ric’s voice softened, and Isa heard the concern and guilt.

  She pulled at the front of his surcoat, and when he leaned forward, she cupped her hand around his ear.

  “There’s only one thing that would make me feel better, but I don’t think we’ll have a chance for that until we arrive at our destination.”

  Ric groaned. He had stepped between her legs so she could reach his ear, and now his rod pressed against her sheath even with layers of clothing in the way.

  “You were just in that freezing loch because of your discomfort. Now, you’re thinking of the very thing that drove you into it.”

  “Yes, and now that the skin is a bit numb, I rather wish we could.”

  “Numb? You wouldn’t feel anything.”

  “I most certainly would.”

  It was Isa’s turn for a wolfish grin. She still had a hand fisted in Ric’s surcoat as she leaned back on her elbows. Ric followed her, and his body stretched over the top of her. He had taken his surcoat and hauberk off before they ate and now only had his leggings, a tunic, and his gambeson on. Isa savored the feel of his larger body pressed against hers. Ric could tell Isa was mulling something over, but he could not imagine what she was thinking.

  “Is it true?” Her eyes flashed up to his before looking at the center of his chest.

  “Is what true?”

  “What you said earlier, after we saw the king, about a difference.”

  Ric scooped Isa off the rock and shifted so she was in his lap as he perched on it.

  “In ways I never imagined possible.”

  “I can’t imagine. I mean I can see how people would enjoy coupling, regardless of whether they cared about their partner, but I can’t imagine how it would feel different.”

  Ric was not sure he liked the idea of Isa picturing coupling with a man she did not care about, a man other than him.

  “I didn’t mean me.” She tapped his chest, and Ric kissed her cheek.

  “It’s completely different. It’s—it’s, well, it’s more complex. It’s not just about finding a physical release anymore. The pleasure during and after is unlike anything I’ve ever known or imagined, Isa. And I know it’s because it’s you. I could never go back after what I’ve shared with you.”

  “Is that your way of telling me you’ll be faithful?”

  “One of them. I’ve told you before, but I want you to understand why.”

  “Because of how it feels.”

  Ric flinched and prayed Isa could not see in the dark. He wanted to tell her it was more than just the physical feeling, but he was not ready to confess his deeper emotions in case she did not return them. He knew she cared for him, and he could tell from her voice that she wished he would say more, but he also knew that did not mean she felt more, too. He had been down that path before.

  Even though Isa was nothing like Bella, the latter had tried to manipulate him into confessing sentiments he now understood were only infatuation. He was certain his feelings for Isa went far deeper than that, but he lacked the courage to admit it. So instead, he poured his heart into the kiss he offered. It was slow and tender. Now he simply wanted her to know they were more than just two people who enjoyed coupling with one another.

  Ric eased Isa from his lap and took her hand before leading her back into camp, where they had placed their bedrolls next to one another. When they laid down, Ric pulled Isa’s back against his chest. They both fell asleep quickly, but each had thoughts that weighed heavily on their mind.

  The remainder of their journey was uneventful. They sneaked off when they could, and Ric even arranged for them to spend a night at an inn, but both avoided any conversations that brought up feelings. They did discuss the situation near the border, or rather, Ric took several opportunities to warn Isa about the danger and to insist that she never ride out of the keep’s wall without him or at least ten men. Isa had to wonder if he simply forgot that they were moving to live on her clan’s land where she grew up, or if he did not remember enough of his own childhood and assumed she did not either. She had suspected he would be gone much of the time just as her father had been, but they were less than a day away before he admitted that the king expected Ric to ride on patrol more than remain at the keep. She had taken a deep breath and plastered her courtly serene smile on her face. She worried about his safety, too, but she feared sounding like a nag if she told him too often.

  Chapter Nineteen

  They paused at the top of the rise as they looked down at Barsalloch Point, their new home. Isa had not seen the keep since she was a child. She had traveled with her parents when they left Druchtag Motte to travel to the Stewarts. Both castles dated to before the Normans, but the Dunbars of Morchum had inhabited them for several generations.

  Isa was once more atop Bridei, having reverted to riding her own horse five days into the journey when she felt well enough and she and Ric silently agreed that riding together was too much torment for them both. She leaned forward as she saw something flap against the castle tower’s wall. She shielded her eyes and was sure she saw a pennant.

  “My parents,” she murmured. “Mama.”

  Ric looked to her and frowned.

  “My father is in residence, and I pray that my mother is too.”

  Isa spurred her horse forward, and Ric was unprepared for her to lean low over her horse’s withers as she galloped over the landscape, taking jumps that made his heart lurch into his throat. MacLellan easily kept up with Isa and Bridei. When Isa whistled loudly, Ric saw the portcullis open and several men on the battlement waved. Ric’s men followed them as they clattered into the bailey. Ric noticed an older man and woman at the top of the steps to the tower. The woman had a look similar to Isa’s, but the man wore a deep scowl and looked unhappy to see them riding into the castle. Ric reined in beside Isa, but she was already throwing her leg over the saddle and slipping to the ground. She lifted her skirts to her ankles and ran toward the steps. The woman raced down the steps, meeting Isa in an embrace that nearly knocked them both over.

  “Mama,” Isa cried.

  “Oh, Bella,” the older woman sighed. “I am so happy to see you, lass.”

  “Me too. But Mama, I want to introduce you to my husband.”

  Isa pulled away and found Ric standing not far from her. He offered her space to reunite with her family, but she could tell he was on edge as his eyes scanned everywhere within range. She reached out her hand and stepped toward Ric. He did not hesitate to take it, and this time it was Isa who pulled Ri
c to her side. Isa looked up at her father and sobered. Ric saw the smile slip from Isa’s face, and he realized he desperately wanted to find a way to make it return. She had been so excited to see her mother, but her father appeared distant and disinterested in Isa and more concerned with Ric.

  “Mama, Father, I would like to present my husband, Sir Dedric Hage.” Isa dipped into a curtsy as Ric bowed.

  “Welcome to Barsalloch Point, Sir Dedric. We welcome you as the new lord of this keep and chieftain of this sept of our clan.” Laird Dunbar seemed anything but welcoming.

  “Thank you, Laird Dunbar.”

  Laird Dunbar flinched at Ric’s accent. Isa knew it was an uncomfortable irony for her father, who once sided with the English to protect his land, to hand over one of his holdings to an English knight who represented his former enemy, the Scottish king.

  “Please do come inside. I’m sure you are in need of refreshment,” Lady Dunbar intervened.

  Isa held onto Ric’s hand as they entered the Great Hall. They only released one another when Ric pulled back Isa’s chair then seated himself beside her.

  “Thank you,” she smiled at Ric.

  “What would you like, Isa? Something to eat or something to drink? Both?” Ric asked.

  “Who’s Isa? Do you not know your own wife’s name? It’s Bella,” Laird Dunbar barked, and it was Isa’s turn to flinch.

  “Father, I prefer Isa. There were other Isabellas, Arabellas and Bellas at court. Ric, I mean Sir Dedric, suggested Isa, and I find I’d rather be called that.”

  “Very well, Isabella.”

  Isa plastered her courtly serene smile as she cringed at her father’s inhospitable attitude. No one spoke until after they had filled the chalices and brought a platter of cheeses and cold chicken with a heel of bread out for the couple.

  They kept the conversation neutral and revolved around benign pleasantries. Isa grew tired, and the wine made her head feel heavy.

  “Isa, would you like to retire until the evening meal? You look exhausted, my sweet.” Ric spoke softly.

  “I think I would, but I don’t want to leave you with my parents.”

  “I must speak with your father in private sooner rather than later. I’ll see you to our chamber, then return to seek an audience with your father.”

  Isa nodded and looked to her mother.

  “Mama, I think I would like to rest for a while. I find I’m rather tired.”

  “Of course, Isa.” Her mother looked as though she was trying a new food, one she was not sure she liked, as she tested Isa’s preferred diminutive. “Your chambers are on the second floor. The laird’s and lady’s chambers will be available once we depart.”

  Isa looked at Ric before blushing and looking back at her mother.

  “Chamber,” she said softly. Her mother nodded, but her father’s florid face flushed so brightly, Isa feared he would be ill.

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “My lady wife requested a single chamber. We share.” Ric’s tone made it clear their decision was made.

  “Absolutely not,” Laird Dunbar bellowed, disregarding both Isa and Ric.

  Isa stood and placed a hand on Ric’s shoulder before he could stand, too.

  “Father, you may occupy the laird’s chamber in my home, but you can no longer dictate where I sleep. That is for my husband to decide, and I have made my wishes clear. He agreed and decided to grant them. We are only in need of a single chamber.”

  Isa held her head high and glared at her father, tempting him to argue with her in front of the clan, who silently watched the battle between father and daughter despite not being able to hear.

  “You have been at court too long, lass. You are not who I raised,” her father grumbled.

  “Before Christmas, I might have agreed with you about being at court too long, but now I find I was there exactly the right amount of time.” Isa turned to her mother. “Is it the chamber I used as a child?”

  Her mother shook her head before finding her tongue.

  “I’d planned for you to use that chamber, but it will not suit your husband. You shall use the one just before it.”

  “Thank you, Mama.”

  Ric eased her chair back, so she could walk past the table and offered her his arm as they moved off the dais. When they reached the stairs, Isa leaned into Ric, making it difficult to keep his arm between them. Instinctively, he wrapped his arm around her waist. She sighed, and Ric knew it was both in contentment and relief.

  Once Ric had helped Isa out of her gown and then helped her into bed with only a minimum of delays and distractions, he made his way below stairs and sought his father-by-marriage. The man was where they had left him, and Lady Dunbar sat near the fire sewing.

  “My laird, may I have a word?” Ric swallowed the distaste in his mouth as he attempted to keep his face neutral as Laird Dunbar glared at him.

  “I suppose. Agnes,” he called to his wife. “You may as well come too since you will pester me until I tell you everything that is said.”

  They entered the laird’s solar, and Ric could tell it had been some time since it had been in use. The room was clean, but it looked as though nothing had been touched or moved in years. He slipped past the older couple and made his way directly to the desk that sat before a window. He brushed his hand over it, ensuring Laird Dunbar saw him claim the space. He looked to see if there was a decanter of whisky, and he found a full one that looked like the only new thing in the chamber.

  “Would you care for a dram, my laird, my lady?”

  “I believe I shall need it,” Lady Agnes muttered. “Patrick, I believe you’d benefit from one, too.”

  Ric poured whisky into three mugs and handed two to the couple before making his way to the head of the table. He tried not to rush, but he was determined to be seated there before his father-by-marriage claimed it. He made it in the nick of time, and he believed he heard the older man growl as Ric pulled out the chair.

  “I don’t see any need to dilly-dally with pleasantries. The king expects you to fight against your own people, and for that you received my land and my daughter.”

  “They are not my ‘own people’ as I never considered myself English. I was a Scot stolen from his home and raised in England.”

  “By Edward.”

  “In Edward’s court until I was sent to squire.”

  Patrick Dunbar assessed Ric as he would a piece of livestock he considered trading. Ric knew of the Dunbar’s past; the man had originally sided with Edward. Isa had said it was to protect their people, but the Dunbar had sought his own claim to the throne, and Lady Agnes was originally a Comyn, which he believed only strengthened his claim. Ric was old enough to remember when Patrick Dunbar was King Edward’s ally. He had not understood much as he was just coming into his knighthood, but he recalled the name.

  “You still have received my land and my daughter.”

  “I did not ask for the land, as you know from the betrothal documents, but I did request permission from King Robert to marry Isa.”

  “Lady Isabella,” Patrick corrected.

  Ric felt like snapping my wife, my name, but he knew that would only enrage the man further.

  “Lady Isa,” he could compromise, “is what is most important to me. The land could have been anywhere or not at all. I didn’t marry her for the land.”

  “Perhaps not now. No, you married her for the heirs you would sire on her which would guarantee the land later.” Patrick sipped from his mug. “I knew your father.”

  Ric was not prepared for the abrupt change in conversation and nearly choked on the sip he had just taken.

  “You did?”

  “Yes. I fought alongside him more than once. A fine man who chose a woman over his king. Sounds familiar.”

  “My parents were a love match. That is not a secret, and my father soon came around to the Scottish cause.”

  “And it got him and your mother killed. I would prefer that not happen to my daughter.”<
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  “Patrick,” Agnes hissed.

  “They aren’t a love match.” Patrick looked at Agnes, but jerked his mug so hard in Ric’s direction that some of the liquid sloshed onto his hand.

  “Neither are we a political match. I care a great deal for your daughter, and her safety and happiness are more important to me than anything, or anyone, else.” Ric’s gaze hardened as he dared his Isa’s father to contradict him.

  “The king sent you to spy for him.”

  Ric did not respond, knowing it was a test to see which man he admitted to. Instead, he took a long draw on his mug and let the heat from the whisky burn a path to his belly.

  “You would do well to remember who granted a landless knight a prize far above his station.”

  “I am aware Isa is precious, and I’ve told you, she means more to me than anything else.”

  Patrick’s laugh held no mirth.

  “I suppose we shall see.” Patrick raised his mug to his son by marriage. “I shall pray you meet a better end than your father.”

  Ric brought the mug to his mouth to keep the curses from his lips.

  “Sir Dedric,” Agnes spoke up. “I remember your mother very well. We met on a number of occasions, and I actually met you when you were not more than two or three years old.”

  Ric’s eyes widened at this piece of information. He only knew his aunt and cousin, along with the MacLellans that he had met, who were familiar with his mother.

  “Ric, please, my lady.”

  “You are the image of your father, but there is a look about your eyes that is your mother. She was a woman of great determination and an iron will. She endured a great deal for the love of your father. He never once took it for granted.”

  Ric nodded, aware that Agnes was making a point, though more subtly than her husband, but just as strong.

  “We ride out tomorrow,” Patrick announced.

  “But we’ve only just arrived. I would like to see Isa for longer,” Agnes countered, using her daughter’s preferred name. She and Patrick stared at one another for a long moment before Patrick relented.