He was enchanted. There had been many things he liked about Kimbra Charlton, but he’d not seen her humor before, nor the smile that lit her face, mayhap because she’d been so determined to save him. But he should have guessed it. Any woman who rode with reivers was a most unusual lass.
His gaze met hers, and she stilled. The air filled with expectancy, with a need that boiled between them. It was so powerful that he had to force himself to move, to push back the chair.
He breathed again, unaware until that second that his breath had caught in his throat. She stood, turned away, but her step was unsteady, almost as unsteady as his had been walking into the room. He did not take his gaze from her as she returned with a pitcher of ale and refilled his cup.
He sensed that, like his movement, it was an attempt to break the intense awareness between them, but instead her hand brushed his. He felt as if a streak of lightning struck and ran through his body.
Her hand was unsteady as she poured, as was his as he lifted his cup to his lips and sipped the bitter ale. The air was still dense, like that before a storm. God’s tooth, it was a storm he ached for.
“Mater?”
The word shattered the cocoon they had unconsciously built around them. He looked toward Audra. She glanced between her mother and him, a puzzled look on her face.
He suddenly realized that she must have felt an outsider. He knew that feeling. He just did not remember when. Or why.
He forced himself to turn all his attention to her. “I hear you rode today.”
Audra’s face lit, the momentary uncertainty obviously chased away by a happy thought. “Aye. Mater said I am very good.”
“I would expect so.”
“Why?”
“Because you are very much like your mother, and I understand she is a very good rider.”
“She rode with my father.”
“I heard about that. It was very brave.”
“I am going to ride with the reivers when I am old enough.”
He looked up at Kimbra. A flicker of fear was there. She did not want her daughter to be what she was, what she had been.
He’d heard apprehension, even fear, in her voice when she talked of Cedric Charlton, but now he understood it was fear for her daughter, not for herself. She seemed to have none for herself.
He took another sip of the ale. He was endangering both of them. Every moment he stayed. And it was more than physical danger. He and Kimbra were like tinder and sparks together.
He took another bite of bread, then pushed back from the table. “I would like to go outside.” Then he looked at her. “Mayhap it is time for our first reading lesson.”
Unwise. He needed to put distance between them before he did something ungentlemanly. But he had promised.
“How?”
“We can use the ground to make letters.”
She still hesitated.
“Someone might see you.”
“Bear will warn us.”
She hesitated, then that eagerness came into her eyes. “Aye.”
He stood, ignored all the ripples of discomfort. He took the crutch and moved toward the door and opened it.
The sun was bright, the breeze cool, and he relished both. How long since he’d seen an autumn day bathed in sunlight? He could not remember. He only remembered darkness and pain and the rain.
He took several more steps despite the worry on Kimbra’s face. She stayed at his side, and Bear bounded out in front.
“Keep watch,” she told the dog. Bear barked, then sped out of sight.
The land was rolling and dotted with trees. A field to his left had been cleared. His gaze had been instantly drawn to it, and as he looked at it he immediately mentally compiled a list of what should be done.
Was he a farmer? A landowner?
Neither sounded right.
He found a stump and sat on it.
“Can you find me three twigs?” he asked Audra, who immediately ran off in search of them.
His eyes were drawn to a garden plot. Rows and rows of green plants of varying size and description overfilled the space. Did Kimbra Charlton ever stop working? His gaze moved on to a stone fence, which held a milk cow that eyed them malevolently.
“That is Bess,” Kimbra said. “She feels neglected.”
Audra returned with a number of twigs and piled them at his feet. Upon hearing her mother’s words, she said, “Mater lets me milk her.”
In another day, mayhap he could milk the cow.
But now he wanted to give Kimbra the one thing she’d asked of him.
“There are twenty-six letters,” he said, “and when you learn them all, reading becomes easy.” He sketched an a in the dirt, then a b and c. He asked each of them to do the same while reciting the letters. Then he used the twig to erase the letters, and asked them to draw them. When they finished, he moved to three more letters, and three after that.
He did not know how long they stayed in the sun as he finished the twenty-six letters. Then he asked them to repeat as many as they could, first Kimbra, then Audra.
He was stunned when Kimbra went through every one correctly. Audra hesitated on several. It was Kimbra who corrected her daughter, and he felt immense satisfaction. Tomorrow he would use the letters to form simple words.
He wished he had a book with him, or paper. Both of his students were astonishingly quick.
“I was good,” Audra said.
“Aye, you were very quick. As was your mother.”
He saw the pleasure in their eyes, the awakening joy of learning. He gloried in that moment, wanting to prolong it. He’d discovered he loved teaching.
“We should go back inside,” Kimbra said regretfully. “I fear we have overtired you.”
He tried to stand but was unsteady from sitting in one position for so long. Her hand went to his arm and steadied him while he got the crutch under his arm.
But God’s tooth, he was tired. He was at the end of his strength. His chest hurt abominably. He made it back to the cottage without help, but once inside he nearly fell on the bed. Still, there had been progress. He had walked a small distance. He knew he could reach the stable, even the woods behind the cottage if necessary.
He had accomplished something else far more important, though, and that filled him with the first satisfaction he’d felt since being found.
Now if only he could remember his home. His family.
His life.
England
Jamie Campbell lost track of days. In his dungeon cell, he could not tell day from night. He could only count days by the number of meals and those were few and certainly lacking in every way.
He was racked by images of the battle, the last sight of Lachlan Maclean going down, just before he himself was taken. He should have died with the other Campbells and Macleans. He should not have survived his king to whom he had pledged his life.
He thought about his wife. The golden hair that invited him to touch, to caress. The dusky blue eyes that invited him to her bed. He loved her, and yet he’d been eager to join his king, to participate in a great victory over the English.
How foolish he’d been. How lightly he’d valued her love.
He would change when he returned. He vowed it. But that vow would have to wait until he learned Lachlan’s fate.
He heard a noise outside his cell, the scraping of a heavy door being opened. Another meal of beetle-infested bread.
“Campbell.”
He recognized the voice of the baron in whose castle he was a guest. He stood, blinked as a torch filled the cell with light.
“The Campbells have paid your ransom.”
He stumbled out, the light blinding him.
“How long have I been here?”
“Near three weeks.”
“Milord!” The voice came from behind the baron, but Jamie readily recognized it. It belonged to a Maclean. Archibald. The Maclean’s captain of the guard.
Jamie’s eyes slowly adjusted to the lig
ht. Then he saw Archibald and went to him. “Any news of Lachlan?” he asked urgently.
“No, milord. We prayed ye might know something.”
“I saw the king go down, then Lachlan. I was unseated by a pike and taken.” The words sounded weak. He should have fought to the death, even if he had lost his weapons.
“Ye did not see him killed?”
“Nay. His horse went down. That was all I saw.”
Archibald turned to the baron. “Do ye know of any other prisoners held for ransom?”
“I know of no others,” the man said. “The king said no prisoners. Campbell is lucky to be alive.”
“And you are far richer.”
The baron shrugged. “I have some advice for you, young Campbell. Leave England as quickly as you can. There is a reward for Scots, particularly those of rank.”
“Do not even think of trying to gain more,” Jamie said. “My family knows where I have been.”
The baron looked outraged. “I do have honor.”
Jamie raised an eyebrow, then turned to Archibald. “Let us leave this place.” He turned to the baron. “I thank you for your hospitality,” Jamie said wryly. “I will remember it.”
In minutes, he mounted a horse Archibald had brought with him. He had come with three men—two Campbells and a Maclean.
“I have clothes for you, milord.”
“I want to see the last of this pigsty first,” Jamie said. He used the heels of his boots to speed his mount on. The five of them cantered out of the gates, then galloped across a meadow, scattering sheep. When the keep was no longer in sight, Jamie pulled up.
“Tell me all you know.”
“’Tis little. Rory wanted to come, but he was called to Edinburgh. The clans are quarreling over the young king, and Queen Margaret called for his help. He will meet us at the Armstrong tower.”
“The Armstrongs?” He had heard of Armstrongs on the border but knew little of them other than the fact they were—had been—considered a thorn in the side of King James.
“Scottish reivers. Thieves,” Archibald said with disdain. “But Rory said they owe him a debt. And they pay their debts. If anyone can find out anything about Lachlan, they can.”
Jamie nodded, his heart pounding. God’s tooth, but he was going to find Lachlan if it took a decade to do it.
They turned toward the border.
Chapter 10
KIMBRA tried to keep away from the Scot once he’d returned to his room. She washed her mourning gown and changed into her blue one, the only other gown she possessed.
She would change again as soon as the other one dried. She felt uncomfortable wearing the blue gown in front of the Scot. She still thought of herself as a recent widow, and she’d heard him call a woman’s name. She’d prayed to God that the attraction that flashed so strongly between them would fade. ’Twas only because she was lonely.
Yet she couldn’t remember responding to Will like that. She’d cared deeply for him, both for rescuing her and for his humor and good nature. But she had never felt the kind of electricity she felt with this man who had such deep blue eyes and a slow smile and inherent kindness. The latter did not match anything she knew about nobles.
To distract herself from such uncomfortable thoughts, she took Audra berry hunting for the promised pie.
“Is Cedric coming back?” Audra asked as they collected berries.
“I hope not,” she replied.
“He did not like Mr. Howard.”
“He does not like anyone.”
“He likes you.”
“He wants me, so he can have the cottage and Magnus. There is a difference.”
“I do not want another father.”
“I do not want another husband.”
“But I like Mr. Howard. Do you like Mr. Howard?”
“Aye, but he will leave us soon.”
“He will come back,” Audra said with certainty.
“I do not think so.”
“He said he would. I do not think he lies.”
“He may not mean to, but when he remembers . . .” Her words faded away. She hadn’t meant to say that.
“I believe him,” Audra said, her lips pouting.
“Then he will be back,” Kimbra said, not wanting to prolong this particular conversation. Apparently the Scot had bewitched her daughter as well as herself. Well, she planned to unbewitch herself.
“When can I ride Magnus again?”
“Tomorrow,” Kimbra agreed. Anything to get her mind off the Scot.
They finished filling the bowl with berries and started back, Kimbra holding the bowl in one hand and Audra’s hand in the other. It was near dusk.
They reached the cottage and went inside. She put the bowl down on the table and went to check on the Scot.
He was gone. Again.
His clothes were gone as well.
A sense of panic seized her.
She returned to the main room, trying not to let Audra see her concern. “He’s not there,” she told Audra.
“Mayhap he went to see Magnus.”
The horse. What if he took Magnus?
She sped out the door toward the small stable with Audra behind her. As she approached, she heard singing. It came from the stable.
She slowed, her heart thumping normally again as she entered the stable. The Scot sat on the milking stool, his clothes soaked with milk.
He looked up and gave her a grin. “She does not like me,” he said. “She has already beat me with her tail and kicked over the bucket. I thought a song would help. It did not.”
“I could have told you she will not allow just anyone to milk her. If you had asked,” she added pointedly.
“I wanted to help. I have learned something about myself. I know little about milking cows.”
If not, he was learning fast. She watched as he finished and gracefully ducked another switch of Bess’s tail.
“You should be in bed.”
“Nay. I will get stronger if I am active.”
“Someone might see you.”
“I would have a sudden spell.”
That momentary panic turned into anger. “This may be a game to you, but it is my daughter’s life.”
The light left his eyes, as did a little half smile from his lips. “I am well aware it is no game and what you have risked for me. My only payment can be to leave as quickly as possible. I cannot get stronger if I stay abed.” His voice softened. “And I cannot lie in bed and watch you work so hard. The least I could do is milk a cow.”
The anger seeped slowly away.
“Can you help me up?” he said. “I got down but . . .”
She held out her hand, and he balanced on it as he reached for the crutch and lifted himself to his feet. He was better than he had been in the morning, and even at noon when he’d taught Audra and her the letters. Steadier. Not well enough to leave on his own, but . . . soon he would be.
The sooner the better.
Kimbra stayed by the Scot’s side as he limped toward the cottage. She had to stop thinking of him as the Scot. She had to convince herself, Audra, and him that he was a Howard. And yet . . .
They were almost to the door when he stumbled. She reached out to steady him and put her arm around him. He immediately righted again but his arm went around her shoulder.
The touch sent frissons of heat rushing through her. And something else.
It belonged there. The thought was so strong, and the emotion so clear that her breath locked in her throat.
She looked up at him. A muscle throbbed in his throat.
“I . . . thought I was steady enough,” he finally said, slowly withdrawing his arm, though his fingers lingered at the back of her neck as if reluctant to end the connection. “I am sorry,” he said. “I wanted—”
“To help. Aye, I know.” Then his touch was gone, but not the heat that had flooded her.
She stood aside as he went inside. He started for the chair.
“’Tis best
if you stay in bed,” she said. “If someone comes . . .”
But she was not as worried about someone approaching, as she was about being in the same enclosed space with him. Her heart pounded unsteadily, and her hand trembled.
What was wrong with her?
Audra didn’t seem to notice anything, though. She frowned. “I want Mr. Howard to stay with us.”
The Scot—Mr. Howard—glanced from Audra to her, then started for the other room. “Your mother is right. I need to rest this leg.”
“Can I come with you?”
“I think your mother would like your company.”
Audra’s eyes opened wide with hurt. “You would not?”
“Indeed, I would, Miss Audra,” he said, casting an apologetic look at Kimbra.
“Then you can teach me the song you sang to Bess?”
“I fear it did little for her mood,” he said, his eyes suddenly alive with amusement. “I do not think your mother wants a cranky Audra.”
“It was not you,” Audra replied with great earnestness. “She is cross to everyone. She even tried to whack me with her tail.”
“I hope you fared better than I.”
“I ducked.”
“I will have to learn to do that.”
Kimbra listened with both a smile and ache in her heart. She’d never seen Audra respond so readily to another person. She held her tongue as Audra followed him into the other room. ’Twas obvious the Scot and Audra enjoyed each other. Audra had no children with whom to play, and few adults in her life.
It would only be a day or two more.
Only.
She wished the realization didn’t hurt so. She would miss the masculine presence, the wry smile, the music in his voice. And he would go, not knowing where to go.
Mayhap the crest would help him find wherever he belonged.
You must wed.
The Charlton’s words were like a sword over her head. She could not bear the thought of wedding any of those who had shown an interest in her. Without means, she would have no choice but to wed or surrender her cottage.
She told herself the crest would probably make little difference to him. If he could not remember his own name, how could he remember a crest? But once he was in Scotland, others might recognize it.
She wished the thoughts away as she prepared the pie and oat cakes and placed them in the hearth. Despite the wall separating them, she heard the song the Scot had been singing to the cow, this time with a young sweet voice accompanying it.
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