Lords of the Kingdom

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  She bobbed a curtsy to them. “And I am Jossalyn W-Williams.”

  Garrick didn’t miss her little hitch—the second one in mere minutes. Now he was suspicious. Good thing his mission was to ask questions around the village and gather information. He would have to keep a special eye on this lass—not that such a task would be hard.

  After she had collected her basket full of herbs, the three of them walked over to the wagon. Before Burke could prove himself a gentleman and make Garrick look like a bumbling arse again, though, Garrick wrapped his hands around the lass’s slim waist and lifted her onto the bench at the front of the wagon. Then he swung himself into the driver’s seat, leaving Burke to take up a perch in the back of the wagon, which was mostly empty except for some supplies to give the appearance that they had traveled from a nearby village.

  As Garrick took the reins in his hands, he was acutely aware of the lass’s presence next to him, in no small part because she smelled incredible—like sunshine and wildflowers. He gripped the reins hard, trying to get his hands to stop tingling from the memory of the feel of her trim waist and that perfect spot where it flared gently toward her hips.

  Aye, he would be staying close to Jossalyn Williams—for the mission, he told himself firmly.

  Chapter Five

  Jossalyn tried to still her racing heart, but it hadn’t stopped pounding wildly since she had laid eyes on the two Scotsmen—well, only one of them had her chest hammering, actually.

  Even now, as the one named Garrick turned the wagon down the cart road that ran through the middle of Dunbraes village, she couldn’t quite seem to catch her breath or think straight.

  It was because she had nearly been run over, she told herself for the umpteenth time.

  It was because he had wrapped his large, strong hands around her waist and lifted her like a feather. Men simply didn’t touch her like that; she was Raef Warren’s sister after all, and a lady.

  It was because she had nearly let her name slip, then lied badly to cover up a mistake that would have likely ended her forbidden foray into the village to see to the ailing.

  But a little voice inside whispered that the uncontrollable fluttering in her chest was actually because the man sitting mere inches from her in the wagon was the most stunningly, strikingly, dangerously handsome man she had ever seen.

  His eyes—which had appeared nearly black at first, but had revealed themselves to be a steely gray—cut into her like a knife. He seemed to be able to see directly into her, knowing her lies and understanding her girlish blushes. And his body—he was built like stone but moved like silk. She had seen muscular men before—after all, Dunbraes was one of the central gathering points for English troops before they advanced into Scotland. But something about his build sent shivers through her like no other. It made sense that he was a blacksmith, for nothing but warfare or smithing could hone such a physique.

  Something tickled her mind about such a thought, though. Why hadn’t these two brawny, able-bodied men in their prime been drafted into either the English army or the Scottish resistance?

  Perhaps it was because they were Borderlanders. These unfortunate people in whose midst she lived had suffered the worst of the conflict. They often got hammered by both sides, and had to maintain fluid alliances just to survive. Jossalyn could understand not wanting to join the fight and risk everything if—or rather, when—the tide turned to one side and then the other. She had seen enough of the cruel treatment by the English against the peaceful farmers and villagers in the Borderlands to know just how dangerous it was to be Scottish, let alone a supporter of the Scottish cause for independence, in these times.

  These two men were likely just trying to survive, even if it meant working in an English-held region. Plenty of other Lowlanders had done the same, so why did she keep feeling that tickle in the back of her mind? Something about these two—and particularly Garrick—made her curious. She had a hard time picturing him as a simple blacksmith from a small village. He seemed too—dangerous.

  So lost in her thoughts was she that she nearly forgot to instruct Garrick to stop as they approached John’s smithy. Without thinking she gripped his forearm as she pointed to the smithy and told him where to guide the wagon so that it would be out of the way. His hard muscles flexed under her touch, and his skin was warm and smooth where her fingers brushed past his rolled up sleeve. She jerked back as if burned, but he didn’t seem to notice—or at least he pretended not to for her benefit.

  Garrick pulled the draft horse to a halt where she had indicated, then swung out from his seat. Before she could begin her own descent, though, he moved like lightning to her side of the wagon, extending those large hands toward her to help her down. She placed her hands on top of his shoulders, feeling the ripple of his muscles as he tensed under her touch. Then those hands were on her waist again, sending waves of heat from where they firmly gripped her. She could feel another blush creeping up her neck and willed it away, but to no avail.

  As if she weighed next to nothing, he lifted her first up so that her feet would clear the wagon’s bench, then down until her feet gently touched ground. For some reason, though, she felt like she was still floating in the air. His hands lingered for a moment, and his steel-gray eyes collided with hers. His look was unreadable, but there was something fierce in it, though she didn’t know why.

  A quiet cough from Burke, who had already started walking toward the smithy, snapped both of their eyes away. Garrick’s hands instantly left her waist. She could still feel where they had been, though, as if she had two large handprints branded into her now.

  Garrick gestured for her to lead the way, and she grabbed her basket and moved past him, trying to keep her chin level and her cheeks from flaming again. Crossing the wagon road, she tapped on the smithy door lightly. When she heard John’s bellow to come in, she pushed the door open.

  Despite the brightness and warmth of the summer day outside, the interior of the smithy was dim and roasting hot. A large fireplace with several tools sticking out of it dominated the back wall, and except for a few tables strewn with more tools, the only other feature of the room was the huge anvil in the middle, where John was currently working.

  John squinted into the light of the open door, his bald head dripping sweat. When he recognized Jossalyn, he tossed his tools down immediately. “My lady! What brings you here today?” He gave a quick bow, then straightened, moving around the anvil toward her. She took note of the slight limp and the way he was favoring his right hip.

  “I’ve come to make an introduction. John Elliot, these two men are here to inquire about work. This is Burke and Garrick Ferguson, from a village to the north.” She stepped aside to let each of the large Scotsmen enter the smithy. John removed one of his gloves and extended his hand to each man, then grunted in satisfaction.

  “Well, you’ve got enough hand strength to work for me, and that’s a start,” he said with a nod.

  As Burke explained their circumstances and their desire for work, Jossalyn began digging in her basket. Though most of her attention was taken trying to find the comfrey root that would ease John’s hip pain, she could feel Garrick’s eyes on her, following her movements. Her fingers fumbled slightly, but she took in a steadying breath. It must be the heat from the fireplace that was making her cheeks feel so warm.

  Burke concluded and the smithy fell silent as John considered them, one hand rubbing his square chin. Finally, he spoke. “I’ve had a few jobs piling up ever since this old hip of mine has kept me from working like I used to. It won’t be permanent, mind you, but I suppose you lads could help me get caught up.”

  “That sounds fair enough. We’d be much obliged, even if it’s only for a few days or a week,” Burke replied.

  “Now that that’s settled, I have one more matter of business with you, John,” Jossalyn said firmly, putting on her most serious face. She handed him the comfrey root. “Boil this in water until it turns into a thick paste. Then soak a clot
h in it and wrap the cloth around your hip. That should ease the pain, especially when the fogs start to roll in.”

  She turned and nearly ran into Garrick’s broad chest. She hadn’t realized it, but he had taken a step closer toward her as she had been speaking.

  “I—I have to go,” she managed to get out as she quickly skirted around his towering frame and toward the door. “I have other patients to see. Good luck with your work.” She didn’t know who these last words were directed at, but she felt so flustered in such close proximity to Garrick that she rushed toward the door, longing for the fresh air outside.

  “How would you lads like to get started right now?” She could hear John’s deep voice behind her as she passed through the doorway. She felt Garrick’s eyes following her, the sensation burning into her back even as she hustled down the road.

  Hours later, when she was on the other side of the village in Laura’s small but cozy hut to administer a fennel tea to Laura’s colicky baby, she could still feel those hard gray eyes boring into her, searching her, flickering with—something like heat.

  Chapter Six

  Morning light crept in around the furs covering Jossalyn’s chamber window, but it was early still. In the summer months, the sun rose earlier here in the northern Borderlands than it had in her childhood home in lower England. She normally relished the longer days in the summer, but for some reason, she felt like lingering in bed today.

  It wasn’t just “some reason,” she chided herself and she rubbed her eyes. She knew very well why she was dragging her feet. She was a coward. She had gone two whole days without seeing Garrick, fear and shyness keeping her well away from the smithy even though she had been in the village both days to visit her patients. How could she simultaneously long to see him and be terrified at the power he seemed to have over her?

  Last night, she had resolved to straighten her spine and face him. Even the thought of being in his presence twisted her stomach into knots and made her feel foolish and clumsy, but he might not be here very much longer—perhaps only a few more days—and she knew she would regret not seeing him again.

  There was no point in denying, especially to herself, that she was drawn to him, attracted to him. She wanted to know more about him, to simply feel the intensity of his presence.

  And in order to do that, she had to stop being such a ninny. She had to get out of bed, go to the village, and stop avoiding the smithy like a skittish cat. Besides, from the look of the yellow light coming in behind the furs, it would likely shape up to be another beautiful summer day. She only had a few more days until Gordon was well enough to resume his watch over her, and even though sneaking around like a snake wasn’t ideal, at least she had freedom from her brother for a while yet.

  With that thought, she flung off the covers and scurried to the armoire, selecting a simple blue dress for the day’s work ahead. She quickly scrubbed her face in the cold water left in the pitcher from the night before, but took extra time to plait her hair, making two smaller braids going back from her temples and feeding them into a larger braid that swung down her back.

  She breezed through the kitchen on her way to the yard, tossing an apple and a few heels of bread into her herb basket. Then she was across the yard and past the large stone walls of the keep. The sun was already climbing in the bright blue sky, and the air, though cool and fresh now, promised another warm day ahead.

  Before going to the smithy, she would check on just one patient, Laura’s brother Thomas, who had been suffering a toothache. It was on the way anyway. She wasn’t stalling, she told herself stoutly.

  Thomas was already doing much better, so there wasn’t much for her to do besides give him some more lemon balm. Then it was time. She wound her way out of Thomas’s hut and through the back alleys toward the smithy. Perhaps if she approached from the alley rather than the main village road, she would be able to see if there was any activity going on in the workspace behind the building before having to knock on the door.

  Lost in her thoughts and trying to rein in her nerves, she nearly walked right by the backside of the smithy. She jerked to a halt and looked up, only to nearly gasp in shock.

  There in the small uncovered yard behind the smithy, Garrick was working in the morning sun. Shirtless.

  The rippling planes of his torso glistened and twisted in the light as he brought a hammer down with a steady rhythm onto the horseshoe he was shaping. Her eyes widened as she took in every honed muscle, every perfect, sweat-covered line. His broad shoulders and wide chest narrowed into a trim but muscular waist. His rhythm was hypnotic, and she probably would have kept staring open-mouthed at his unbelievably strong and honed body, but then suddenly, as if sensing her eyes on him, he looked up and locked his stare on her.

  She nearly bolted, overcome by her own longing to drink him in with her eyes, and the embarrassment of getting caught doing so. This wasn’t going according to plan. Taking a steadying breath, she forced herself to close her mouth and take a step toward him.

  He could feel eyes on him. He wished he had his bow, a knife, anything to reach for, since being seen usually meant being dead in his line of work. At least he had a giant hammer in his hands. Tensing slightly, he allowed himself to look up.

  He nearly dropped the hammer on his foot.

  Standing like a statue in the alley a few yards away was the impossibly enticing healer lass again. Jossalyn. Her green eyes were wide and those pert, berry-red lips were parted once more in surprise. A ray of morning light was hitting her from behind, illuminating her hair like polished gold, and highlighting her shape—rounded breasts, narrow waist, and slightly curving hips, all covered in a fitted blue gown. She looked like a goddess of the dawn, or like the morning sky itself.

  She seemed to give herself a little shake and began walking toward him. He lowered his hammer and drew the back of his forearm over his forehead, though both were sweaty.

  “Good morning. I came to check on John and to see—” she faltered but recovered, “to see how you and your cousin were getting on.”

  As if on cue, Burke pushed through the back door of the smithy, but halted abruptly at the sight of Jossalyn standing in the small open area.

  “We are fine, thank you,” Garrick said, more curtly than he had intended. He couldn’t seem to think straight whenever the lass was nearby.

  “How thoughtful of you, my lady,” Burke said smoothly, covering Garrick’s brusqueness. “We have settled right in and have helped John tackle these languishing jobs. You’ll also likely be pleased to know that John has been able to rest a bit more with us around to help. He said this morning that his hip is feeling better, and he has gone to deliver some of his work to his customers.”

  “That is indeed good news!” the lass said brightly, but then stood there moving her slippered toe in the dirt of the smithy yard for several more moments.

  The silence stretched. She clearly wanted to stay, but Garrick wasn’t sure why.

  “Perhaps your visit to check on John won’t be a complete waste,” Burke said, jumping into the silence. “Garrick, haven’t you been complaining of a sore shoulder lately?”

  Garrick started to object, but caught the sharp look Burke was shooting at him.

  They had already spoken to several villagers, casually chatting about the weather, this year’s harvest, and then slipping into questions about the activity of the English army, the visitors at Dunbraes, and speculations about just when war might break out. So far they had learned that Raef Warren was away visiting Longshanks, which didn’t bode well. Warren had grown increasingly powerful of late. If he had the King’s ear, he was poised to launch a major attack on Scotland, especially considering his ideal position in the Borderlands. Other villagers had mentioned that the castle’s men-at-arms had been training more that usual lately—another bad sign.

  Jossalyn seemed well-connected throughout the village, yet she had disappeared after that first day. Perhaps now was his chance to probe her for informa
tion. Besides, Garrick thought grudgingly, he could think of worse ways to pass the morning that spending it with a pretty lass.

  “Yes, my shoulder. It’s…sore,” he said, rolling his right shoulder a few times for emphasis.

  “Why don’t you two go into the smithy while I finish up this horseshoe,” Burke said as he moved to take the hammer from Garrick. As he released the hammer into Burke’s hand, he gave the other man a glare in return for his earlier sharp look. Burke was being rather heavy-handed in insisting that the two talk alone. Did he have other intentions besides creating an opportunity for Garrick to gather information? And why did he lift the corner of his mouth at Garrick like a damn sly cat?

  Not wanting to draw attention to their silent conflict, Garrick let it go and instead turned and pulled open the door to the smithy. As Jossalyn glided through the door ahead of him, he caught that smell again—wildflowers and sunshine. Damn, but why did the lass have to smell so good?

  The smithy was warm, as usual, but the shutters were pulled back from the windows, letting more of the morning light in.

  “Why don’t you sit here while I examine you,” Jossalyn said, gesturing toward a footstool near one of the windows.

  He obliged, sinking down on the low stool. As she approached, he realized that her breasts were on a level with his face. Damn. It was one thing to go a while without enjoying the company of a lass. It was quite another form of torture to have a strikingly beautiful lass’s perfectly rounded breasts shoved in his face while he was working a covert operation and couldn’t get involved.

  She bit her lower lip as she approached him nervously. Perhaps his still-naked torso made her maidenly sensibilities squirm. For some reason, he liked that thought.

  “Show me where it hurts,” she said, a little shakily.

  He rolled his right shoulder again. “It hurts when I…move it a lot,” he said lamely.