"I knew ye would come," he said.
Cocky. She liked a man who was sure of himself. "I came because I wanted to, nae because ye bid me."
He extended his arm, and the next time the waves rolled out, she took a running leap, caught his hand, and landed beside him.
He moved over on the rock, leaving her a flat surface to perch on. She drew up her legs beneath her mantle and sat beside him. It was bitterly cold, yet invigorating.
"I want ye to marry me, Elen," he said. He looked at the sea, not at her.
She stared at the same rolling, white-capped waves. He certainly was not a man to mince words. She liked that, too. "I nae wish to marry ye. 'Tis nae ye in particular," she amended.
"I thank ye."
"It's just that I willnae marry any mon. I told ye that ere I enjoyed your hospitality."
He gave a wry smile and continued to stare out over the sea. "And I told ye I've enough land and coin for two men. I want naught of Dunblane. It could be written into the contract." His arm brushed hers, and though he made no attempt to touch her, the warmth of him so near set her nerves on edge.
She was as wanton as her sister. Probably worse.
Elen studied Munro's profile. It was as handsome as the full view, with his long, shapely nose and carved cheekbones. "Contracts can be easily broken."
"Elen, ye are being difficult." He turned to look at her. "I am in love with ye..."
Her heart skipped a beat when she heard the word "love." Just a word, she knew. Anyone could say it and not mean it. She did not even know if she believed him, but she wanted to. Sweet God in heaven, she wanted to be loved by this man.
"And ye with me if ye would dare take the time to realize it," he continued.
Unsure of what to say, what to do, she laughed and turned to look away toward the sea. Was it true? Was she in love with him? Was love this desperate feeling in the middle of her stomach that would not go away? This ache she felt that only eased when she laid eyes upon his face? Was being in love wanting to think, eat, drink, and sleep a man?
"I want my land back," she told him. "The North Woods. Dunblane land."
"Ye would trade me land for your hand in marriage? Ye surprise me."
"Of course I wouldnae give ye my hand in exchange for the land. What kind of a woman do ye take me for? But if ye gave me back the land, I might consider the proposal," she said slyly.
He groaned. "Elen, ye must understand the predicament I am in. 'Twas nae my doing. I have men who fought for that land, women whose fathers and grandfathers died fighting for that land. 'Tis theirs more than mine." He slid his hand across the cold, damp rock to cover her gloved one. "I cannae merely give it to ye for the sake of those who went ere me. But if I could, I would."
She let him rest his hand upon hers, but did not lace her fingers through his. "Thank ye for the wolf pelt."
He lifted one side of his mouth in a smile of amusement. "I see ye dinnae return that gift. I should have realized I should appeal to your practicality."
"Practical? Is that what I am?" She met his gaze and watched how the light of the sun and the froth of the sea reflected in them. "Aye, I suppose I am practical. Is it practical, then, that while I willnae marry ye, I would nae be opposed to... receiving ye into my bedchamber on occasion?" She couldn't believe she had said it, but she wanted him so badly... maybe even loved him. Only she could not marry him. Didn't he understand that? Didn't he understand that her duty to Dunblane, to her father and all the Burnards before her, prevented her from wedding him?
He shook his head. "Nae, I willnae just have ye for my lover. I want more."
She lifted his hand into her lap and turned it to study his palm. Her throat tightened until she feared she could not speak. He was turning her down. "Ye are too greedy, Munro."
"And ye are nae? Ye have as much land as I. More coin—so blabs your sister."
She gave a little laugh. "Rosalyn has no idea what Dunblane possesses."
"I thought nae, but still, she talks. I dinnae mean to carry tales, but I suspected ye would wish to be warned."
"How is my dear sister, the newlywed? I should have thought she would have come to pay a visit by now, ere the snow grows too deep. 'Struth, she doesnae like the cold Highland winters. She was forever badgering my father to allow her to go south to stay with relatives."
"Oh, we willnae stray from the conversation so quickly." He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. "Why will ye offer me your body, but nae your heart? Most women, 'tis the other way around, even after they are wed." He massaged her fingertips thoughtfully. "I have made up my mind, Elen. Though I burn for ye, ache for ye, I willnae come to your bed again. I took advantage of ye once without wedlock. I willnae do it again. Nae until a priest stands between us."
"A mon with conscience," she mused aloud, releasing his hand to rise to her feet. "What a curiosity."
He scowled.
"I told ye, I cannae marry any mon. I have a duty to my father, to the Burnards to hold what is Dunblane's." She cut her eyes at him. "To take back what is rightfully ours."
"Ye are making a mistake, sacrificing your heart for land. That north wood will never make ye as happy as I can. It will never give ye sons and daughters to fill your keep from the cellars to the battlements."
His words tugged strangely at her heart. She had never thought she would marry, and therefore had never considered children. She had never thought she was like other women in that respect. But suddenly she felt emptiness for what would never be, and it made her sad.
He rose to stand beside her, seeming to sense the conversation was over. "What will ye do with the pelt, Elen? Make it into a mantle?"
She stood on the rock, letting the wind and salt spray hit her full in the face. It tore so heartily at her woolen mantle that it threatened to send her tumbling into the water, but she held steady, supported by his strong arm at her back.
"Nay." She looked him in the eye mischievously. "I thought I would place it in my bed and lie naked upon it to sleep." Then she leaped off the rock into the sand, laughing. "A pity ye willnae see it."
"Dinnae be so sure of yourself, Dunblane! 'Tis nae the end of the matter. I vow ye will be my wife."
She raced across the wet sand toward her waiting pony, feeling light-headed, almost giddy. He had said he loved her. Munro Forrest was in love with her. He meant what he said when he had told her he wanted to marry her. She would not allow the fact that she could not wed him dampen her spirits. He loved her!
"Good-bye, Rancoff," she hollered, leaping onto her mount's back.
Munro stood on the rock, the great ocean behind him like a painted canvas, and waved. "Until we meet again, Dunblane."
And then she rode off down the beach, full of a strange sense of wonder, and, even stranger, hope.
* * *
"Who is he to tell ye what to do?" Rosalyn demanded irritably. She rested on her back in the bed she and Cerdic shared, still in her sleeping gown though it was well past midday.
"Who is he?" Cerdic reached for his boots. He was already late and knew Munro would be angry with him. "He is my brother and laird of the castle, laird of Clan Forrest. I must serve him."
"Ye must be his servant, you mean. Counting cows! What a disgusting duty. It's cold outside. Snowing. Can't someone else count cows?"
"Those cattle we will eat this winter, my love. No one else can be trusted to see to this task."
"So he tells ye! God's rotting bones, Cerdic." She sat up in the bed. "Do ye nae see what he does to you? He dangles a sweetmeat in front of ye and leads you about by your nose." She flopped back onto her pillows. "I knew I shouldnae have wed a second son."
"Oh, lovely, nae get yourself so perturbed." He reached out to take her hand, but she slapped it away.
"Perturbed? Ye want to see me perturbed?" she eyed him angrily. "Ye come again to my bed late as you did last night. I waited up half the night for ye. I was lonely," she whined.
He sighed. "I ken,
my love. I am sorry. My brother and I—"
"My brother this, my brother that," she snapped. "One would think ye cared more for him than me."
"Rosalyn, ye ken that's nae true." He pushed his other foot into his boot and rose. If he didn't hurry, there would be hell to pay. Hell here, hell there. It seemed he was always in hot water these days, trying to keep Munro and Rosalyn happy. "I'll come to bed early tonight, I swear it."
She threw a pillow at him. "Ye'd better."
"I will come in early and rub your back for ye, sweet, just the way you like it."
"And what am I to do in the meantime?"
He picked up his mantle from the floor and threw it over his shoulders. The chamber was a mess. There was clothing everywhere, plates of half-eaten food, and empty cups. If it was not cleaned soon, the rats would be in bed with them.
"Ye could call upon your sister or... or pick up a wee bit if ye dinnae wish to leave the keep in this weather," he said quietly.
"Pick up! Pick up!" she screeched, leaping out of bed. "Isn't that what we have servants for? My father certainly didnae expect me to clean up after myself."
That's obvious, Cerdic thought, but he did not dare say it. The last time he had made a wee criticism, she had hit him in the head with a trencher and he had bled all over the floor.
She followed him to the door. "If this wasn't such a tiny, pathetic room, perhaps everything wouldn't be such a mess. I must have somewhere to put my things. I don't understand why Munro must have the larger chamber when ye are the brother wed."
Cerdic opened the door and a rush of cold air from the stairwell blew through the door.
"Close it! Close it!" Rosalyn cried. "Ye feather-witted imbecile! Ye'll give me my death."
"Have a pleasant day, love," Cerdic called, blowing her a kiss. He could still hear her ranting and raving from behind the closed door as he descended the stone steps.
At the bottom passageway, he found Munro waiting for him. His brother glanced upward. "I see your wife is in a comely mood this morning."
He had always been the witty one. Cerdic glanced up wearily, relieved that for once he wasnae in trouble with Munro. "There is more to being a good husband than I had thought, I fear."
Munro laughed and clapped Cerdic on the shoulder. "Come, let's go. The cold air will do ye good."
Cerdic grinned at Munro, thankful to be in his good graces again. He understood that what he had done had been impulsive and wrong. He was just grateful his brother could forgive him. Munro was like that. He could forgive anyone for anything. That was one of the reasons why Cerdic loved him most.
"Do ye think we'll be out late?" Cerdic asked, pulling his woolen bonnet down over his head as they passed through the yett.
"Perhaps." Munro eyed him good-humoredly. "Have ye a need to stay out, brother?"
Cerdic grinned. "Mayhap. Mayhap, I do."
Chapter 16
"If ye've not the time for me, sister, I'll go home," Rosalyn whined, following Elen down the dark corridor.
"I told ye, I am genuinely glad to see you, Rose, but this must be done." Elen lifted the torch she carried to allow her sister to pass into the small storage chamber, then stepped in behind her.
Here in the bowels of Dunblane Castle, in the catacomb of passageways and rooms, was where foodstuffs for the household were stored. In the winter, the barrels of smoked fish and shellfish, the tubers and grain would not freeze. In the summer, it kept the supplies dry and fairly insect-free. Best of all, the food stored below the great hall was safe from wandering marauders, English or Scottish. Once the first snows began to fall, there were always bands of desperate men riding about, stealing cattle and taking what grain and meats they could find.
"I'm nae an addlepate," Rosalyn snipped. "I understand the need to take inventory. Heaven knows what the servants would steal if ye did not, but cannot this be done by someone else?" She wrapped her hare mantle tighter around her thin shoulders and shrank against the wall as Elen pushed the torch into an iron ring that hung on the wall.
"These men and women are my responsibility," Elen explained, trying to be patient. After all, this was her sister's first visit since the entire Cerdic incident; obviously, Rosalyn was trying to make amends. Elen owed it to her to at least be cordial. She began to count the barrels that lined the rear wall and held wheat that had already been ground into flour. "Besides, my men have other duties. The stable needs repairing, there's hunting to be done, fishing. I must do my share, just as they do."
Rosalyn turned up her pretty nose. "Ye sound like Munro now."
"Do I?" Elen turned her back to Rosalyn for fear her sister might read the curiosity on her face. She kept her tone politely conversational. "How so?"
"He drags my husband about dawn 'til dusk counting cows, repairing corn sheds, and only sweet Jesus knows what else. Poor Cerdic is so tired when he comes to my bed that he can barely perform his husbandly duties."
Elen could not resist a smile of amusement, thinking that was more information from her newly married sister than she needed to hear.
"And speaking of Munro," Rosalyn rattled on. It had always been easy to converse with Rosalyn. She talked enough for both of them. "Just what is this I hear about ye and my brother-in-law?" She giggled. "Your brother-in-law now, too, I suppose."
"I've no idea what you're talking about, Rosalyn. Ye know better than to listen to idle kitchen gossip."
"Oh, no, this was more than idle gossip." Rosalyn came up behind her. "He sent ye that golden cloth. Ye were a fool not to take it. It would have made a fetching gown."
Elen reached behind her and moved her sister aside. "Rose, you're standing in the light."
"Everyone at Rancoff is talking about their laird marrying the Dunblane witch." Rosalyn took a step, blocking the light again. "You're not going to marry that arrogant knave, are ye?"
Elen turned to her sister, giving her a look that hopefully conveyed what a ridiculous question that was. Witch? They called her a witch? "If you're going to stand there, you'll have to bring the torch."
Rosalyn reluctantly went to the wall and brought back the torch, holding it as far from her as possible to avoid the stench and black smoke that curled from the pitch. "I told Cerdic the thought was outlandish. You, a wife." She laughed again, her voice high and shrill.
Elen had never paid much attention to what Rosalyn said or thought. She and her sister were so different that Elen had never been particularly concerned with Rosalyn's opinion on anything, but her words stung. Did she not think a man would want her? Did she think Elen could not be a wife if she wished to be one?
If being a wife meant catering to her husband's every need, waiting on him hand and foot whenever he was around, lying around ordering servants about when he was not, Rosalyn was probably right. She would not make a good wife.
"I told Cerdic the notion was absurd," Rosalyn went on. "Now another matter. I'm simply going to have to have more coin."
"Coin?" Elen turned, lifting an eyebrow.
"And woolens, wine, casks of ale, and I must have my own pony. Could ye possibly spare one of the wenches from the kitchen? One that knows how I like my poached haddock, because—"
"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Elen interrupted, lifting her hand to cease her sister's prattle. "Rose, ye've already received the dowry Father left ye. A very generous dowry. What have ye done with that money?"
She scowled, the yellow light of the torch doing nothing for the sour look on her face. "It is simply nae enough."
"Well, ye will have to make it enough."
"It's not fair." She stomped her slippered foot. "Cerdic and I wish to travel south, to Edinburgh for the winter. We must have more coin. We must have transportation, servants."
"And what of your husband's money?"
"Spent it, the foolish bugger," she flared angrily. "Spent all of his inheritance on dice and whores, no doubt. And his cheapflint brother will not hand over another coin, not even so we might travel and have some time t
ogether alone, we being newly wed and without our own home."
"I thought ye told me the day of the wedding that Cerdic had land and a small keep in the lowlands."
Rosalyn blinked. "Had. Lost that gambling, too, apparently. The rogue led me astray; he made me believe he was far wealthier than that cousin of mine I was supposed to wed." She stuck out her lip, altering her tone so as to appeal to Elen's sympathies. "He lied to me, sister. He lured me into his bed and lied to me."
So, that was why Rosalyn had run off with Cerdic—because she thought she could make a better marriage. Elen still guessed the whole forbidden adventure was part of the appeal, but she understood her sister better now. She was sorry if she had been led to believe Cerdic Forrest was wealthier than he was, but surely she realized a man might say anything to get her into bed.
"Rosalyn," she said calmly, taking the torch from her hand. "I'm terribly sorry if ye were misled by Cerdic, but he is your husband now and ye must live by his means."
"By his brother's means," Rosalyn spit. "What scraps he will toss us."
"Rose, I seriously doubt—" The hollow sound of footsteps caught Elen's attention.
"Elen?"
It was Finley.
"Here. With the flour," she called, wondering what was about. He sounded anxious to find her.
Light glowed in the passageway as he drew nearer. "A royal messenger just arrived," he said excitedly. He entered the small chamber, carrying a torch in one hand, a piece of folded and sealed parchment in the other. "'Tis from the Bruce. I knew ye would want it right away."
Elen's hand trembled as she reached for the letter and passed her torch to Finley. The missive could be one thing and one thing only, short of a call to war, which was highly unlikely right now. The letter was an answer to the request she had made almost two months ago for the return of the North Woods to Dunblane.
"Ye've fed the royal messenger and seen to his mount?"
"Of course."
"What does it say?" Rosalyn asked curiously. "Mayhap he will invite us to a banquet. Munro said only last night that he had heard our king was in Aberdeen. Wouldn't that be exciting, to hold audience with the king?"
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