Chapter Eight
The evening after the hunt, her father, unusually silent, called her to his chamber.
‘You and Fitzjohn were alone for some time today. Have you a wandering eye?’
‘No! I merely gave chase to the falcon and Fitzjohn thought I needed help, then Wee One flew out of sight and we had to find her.’ When they returned, she had seen more than one questioning glance. And Alain’s jealousy had turned from flattering attention to sullen fury.
Her father raised his eyebrows, as if waiting for her to say more.
She didn’t. The jumble of temptation, fear and distrust the man raised in her wouldn’t fit into words, particularly now, when it was glossed with empathy as dangerous as his kiss.
‘And Alain hasn’t spoken,’ he said.
It was no longer a question, but she shook her head. ‘He is not a man to be forced.’ She had been reminded of that today to her sorrow.
‘I’m not sure he’s a man at all, but if he’s the one you want, I’ll dance at your wedding. But if he’s not willing, it will be the other one.’
‘What other one?’
‘That red-blooded breeding bull Fitzjohn!’
‘You can’t mean that!’ Had her father gone daft? Or had her misguided attempt to raise Alain’s jealousy put the wrong idea in his head?
‘Can’t I? He’s full of energy and brawny blood.’
‘But he’s half-Inglis!’
‘So are most of the families on these Borders. Keeps the stock strong. Now I’ve no love for the Inglis. Been a Bruce man all my life, and my father before me and his.’ He paused for a breath. ‘But we’ve fought over this land longer than anyone remembers. Some day, it must end. I don’t know how, nor whether I’ll live to see it. But until that time, you’ll need a strong man, with quick wits, to keep you safe. One who can sniff out the wind and ride the currents, like those birds you’re so fond of. This man is one of those.’
‘You would disgrace me to protect the land?’ Her voice shook so that she could scarcely say the words.
‘It’s you I’m trying to protect!’
‘Without caring who I am or how I feel?’
‘Oh, you’ll feel all right once it’s done.’
‘Never. Not with him. Not with a man who burned those people!’ He had sworn it was not true, but she no longer wanted to believe him. Safer that he stay a monster.
‘Whether he did or he didn’t, do you think we didn’t do the same or worse on the other side of the border? War is hell, daughter, and only men so alike can hate each other so much.’
Clare shuddered. He sounded too much like Gavin. ‘But we are in the right, Da, not men like him.’
A sigh shook his chest. ‘Ah, daughter. God’s not made the world so simple for most of us. Things we thought we’d never do, we will. To survive.’ He patted her arm with a clumsy palm. ‘To protect the ones we love.’
She shook off his hand. ‘I won’t.’ She sent up a prayer for her blasphemous father, left without Godly guidance when the plague took the Tower’s priest. ‘You gave me until Beltane.’ The day was rushing towards her. ‘Keep your word. Alain will speak by then.’
He must, or the life that loomed before her would be more terrible than she had ever feared.
Gavin went to the armoury that evening, escaping to the world he knew. War. Weapons. Killing. Keep them sharp, the baron had said. Keep them ready. Peace was only temporary, especially for a man like him. It would last no longer than Lord Douglas’s patience or King Edward’s temper.
Or Clare’s tolerance.
But for now, the weapons rested quietly. He picked up a sword and ran his fingers along the blade, feeling for pits too small to see by the dim light of the torch.
Blood rusted a sword faster than water.
Light steps climbing the stairs, pausing at the door.
Clare.
Her eyes met his. Did she smile? A trick of her wavering candle. Nothing more.
The few hours of honesty they had shared in the hills had ended abruptly. Today, he had never touched her, yet still she had shut the door, locked him out, thrust him back into the role he knew so well.
Bad son of a worse father.
There, she could safely berate him and secretly be tempted by him, wondering what such badness would taste like and whether she would enjoy it.
That was a question he would be pleased to answer.
‘What brings you out so late, Mistress Clare?’
‘Visiting the mews.’
‘Did you wake the birds?’ The words, foolish, only a way to keep her near.
She had the grace to smile, but she didn’t come closer. ‘The tercel came back. I chased him out.’
He slid the sword back into its scabbard. ‘He won’t stay away.’
Neither could he.
He had ridden beside her all day, alone, and acted as nobly as she could have asked. But now, her sweet-sharp scent coaxed him across the room. Faster than she could step away, he grabbed her arm and blew out the candle.
In the fading torchlight, it was harder to see the aversion in her eyes.
‘Now,’ he whispered. ‘It’s dark. Your Frenchman’s gone to bed. There’s no one to see. I’m going to kiss you.’ He slipped his arms around her waist, cupped her skirt and pressed her to him. ‘And then you’ll see how small and frail those little lines are when you step across them.’
He took her lips and the line was swept away.
Something low in her belly responded, and then all she’d tried to hide rose up to meet him.
She clung to his shoulders, telling herself it was only because she was too unbalanced to stand alone, but it was because she was hungry for something his kiss unleashed. Something that enabled her to soar, no longer bound to earth. Lines, borders, rules grew smaller and smaller and then she couldn’t see them at all.
She bumped against the wall and fell to earth with a thud.
And slapped him.
Fumbling with a lock of fallen hair, she pushed him away with her other hand. He didn’t resist.
‘Well, you proved it.’ Breathless, heart pounding, slack-jawed. She must look ripe for plucking. ‘Your pretence of knighthood could last for no more than an afternoon.’
He rubbed his cheek, but his sideways smile didn’t budge. ‘Oh, I know what’s bothering you. You hear those calls for Euphemia and you see your da and his woman laughing and all the time, you’re waiting and waiting for that Frenchman.’
‘I am behaving as a virtuous woman should.’ Yet when he touched her, she forgot everything a virtuous woman should know and wanted only to mate like a beast.
Worse, he knew it.
He shook his head. ‘The years are passing, Mistress Clare. Time’s flying faster than a falcon.’
He didn’t take a step, but she wanted him to. No man had ever looked at her like that, as if she were a woman he wanted as desperately as life itself. If she did not stop him, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself.
She drew in a breath and uttered the foulest slur she could think of. ‘Fire-starter.’
That shook the smile.
‘Well, I can see my knightly airs and graces haven’t fooled you at all. You asked me on my knight’s honour whether I did those things and I told you no. But that wasn’t enough, was it?’
She shook her head. I don’t want to believe you. ‘You made a vow to serve Edward and broke it. Why should I believe anything you say to me?’
He nodded, as if it was what he had expected. ‘That’s why I never worry much about my reputation. People will believe what they like. It’s much easier than discovering the truth.’
He leaned closer, but not with the teasing seduction he had shown before. ‘Believe what you will, Mistress Clare. Believe that I’m a menace to the countryside. Believe that any Scots man, woman or child who looks askance at me can expect to go up in flames.’
She crossed her hands across her chest, as if that might hold him at bay. His face, carved in anger, was the face of
a man who could have done those things. And could do them again.
‘Oh, yes. Back away, Mistress Claire. Because we’re sleeping under the same roof. That ought to keep you awake at night.’
He stopped, as if catching himself. The anger in his eyes ebbed and the seductive smile returned. He reached for her, stroked her ear, and let his fingers trail the edge of her throat until a moan started again. ‘Or is it something else about me that keeps you awake?’
She pushed his hand away. ‘Nothing about you keeps me awake, Fitzjohn, except praying that you will leave us soon.’
But as she fled up the stairs, she knew that wasn’t true. He was keeping her awake night after night. And with that kiss, she was just beginning to realise why.
He slammed his palm against the unyielding wooden table when she left.
Something beneath her cold exterior called to him in a way no other woman ever had. And this was the wrong time to be tempted. And the wrong woman to be tempted by.
‘I gave you my hospitality, but don’t go breaking the furnishings.’
He turned, startled, to see the old man leaning against the door.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Enjoying a spring evening.’
‘You asked me to get the armoury in order. I’m doing it. I don’t need your supervision.’
‘You had some words with my daughter.’
He wondered how many of those words the man had heard. ‘A few.’
‘She doesn’t fancy you.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘Well, the feeling’s mutual.’
‘Really?’ A smile carved deep into his face. ‘Well, you fooled me, then.’
He hoped it was too dark for the man to see the heat on his cheeks. ‘We don’t mix well. We’re very different.’
‘That’s not what I see. I see you as a contender.’
Gavin snorted. ‘For what?’
‘I took you in and I let you stay, even after I knew who you were. Do I look like I’m daft?’
A genuine laugh broke free. The baron was as sharp as they came. ‘No, sir.’
‘Do I strike you as a soft-hearted idiot?’
He was tempted to say yes, just to bait the man. ‘No, sir, you do not.’
The baron strolled into the room and settled on to a bench, with his back against the table. ‘Yet I opened my door and brought you into my house when most folks would have slain you on sight. Now why do you think that is, Fitzjohn?’
‘Why don’t you tell me?’
‘I have something I’d like you to do.’
He should have expected a hidden motive. No one would accept him for himself alone. ‘More cattle to steal?’
The man laughed. ‘Not this time.’
‘Then why don’t you tell me what it is and I’ll tell you whether I’d like to do it.’
‘Get married! Have sons!’
A chill like chainmail in the rain prickled the back of his neck. He watched the old man smile and, suddenly, a vision flashed before him.
His chin dropped in shock. ‘Well, I’ll be damned.’
‘Probably. But first, you’ll make a bride of my Clare!’
No words escaped, but shock settled on his face.
The man chuckled again. ‘Surprised, are you?’
Married to a woman who hated his guts. Was the man mad?
‘Well? What do you think?’ The baron leaned forwards, smile gone, expression earnest, as if he really cared whether Gavin gave a fig about his scheme.
He didn’t want to disappoint the old man, but it was impossible. Clare would have nothing to do with it.
And he?
Well, he could offer a woman little and expect less. When he had left Edward, he had walked away from everything except what his sword arm would earn him.
‘You’ve devised a very interesting plan.’
‘Plan?’ he exploded. ‘I’m talking about carrying on the Carr name. Having grandchildren so my blood doesn’t die out and my land be lost to the next pick-thank who curries Lord Douglas’s chestnut horse!’
The man was serious as death. ‘And to do that, you’re willing to mix your blood with the torch holder of Burnt Candlemas?’
Clare didn’t believe the truth. Did her father?
The man squinted at him. ‘Move up to the family floor. See how you like fresh straw. Study that woman. And then we’ll decide.’
Gavin’s pulse beat faster, and it was Clare, not clean sheets, that caused it. ‘And Clare agrees to this?’
The man looked away. ‘She will. She will.’
‘She certainly doesn’t now.’ His kiss had frightened, not tempted, her. ‘So what do I get out of this besides a bride who can’t stand to be in the same room with me?’
‘The tower. The land. What money I have when I die.’
But none of that stirred his longing. It was the promise of a home. A side truly his. A haven, not temporary, but always there.
Something he had never been able to imagine.
He flattened the flutter of hope, afraid to let it grow too large. ‘You’re promising things that aren’t yours to give. I’ve never heard of a Scots who could just hand over his property.’
There was a sly grin. ‘Well, when my son died after the Battle of Neville’s Cross, Lord Douglas, in a moment of sentiment he’s never shown since, told me that if Clare took a mate before David the Bruce came home from captivity, he would approve any man I chose to hold Carr’s Tower.’
Clare had never mentioned a brother. ‘David’s been in England ten years.’
‘I don’t think Lord Douglas expected him to be away so long.’
‘Why me?’
He smiled. ‘Because I like you. And I think you’ll be good for her. And for the land.’
Tempted. He was so tempted and so afraid to believe. ‘I’ll think on it.’ The man could change his mind.
‘Dangerous men don’t need to think long.’
The very words he’d thrown at the baron all those nights ago.
Now the man was pushing him just as hard. ‘Now. Tonight. Decide.’
To have a home in the land of his birth—that was worth any hellion bride he’d have to face. ‘She could still choose the comte.’ He did not think the man would ask for her. But what if he were wrong?
Carr snorted. ‘Do you think that if you really wooed her, she would choose that lily-livered Frenchman?’
‘No, sir!’ He could offer her things the other man never could…if only she could recognise them.
‘Now I know I’ve picked the right man.’ Carr stuck out his hand, their eyes met, and they shook. ‘Now listen to me. You must treat her right. Once you’re joined, if you ever take another, I’ll kill you meself.’
And odd warning. He wondered when Murine had first come to the man’s bed.
And whether he was condemning himself to a life of celibacy.
‘She may seem delicate,’ the baron said, ‘but she’s made of better steel with stronger seams than most men.’ The man cleared a catch in his throat. ‘Like her mother before her.’
And, Gavin thought, she was as close to quality as he or the old rascal would ever get. ‘Who says marriages are made in heaven?’
This one, if it happened, might take him straight to hell.
Chapter Nine
The next evening, he moved into a room high in the tower with a view towards the south.
Angus carried his bag, though it wasn’t necessary. He owned no more than one man could hold.
‘Where do the rest sleep?’
‘Mistress Clare, on the other side. The comte—’ he pointed, wrinkling his nose ‘—over there.’
‘And the baron?’
He nodded towards the closed door on the west side. ‘At the end, but he doesn’t sleep there much, I’ve been told.’
Gavin nodded. Everyone knew he spent as many nights in Murine’s cottage as in his own bed.
‘Thank you, Angus. That will be all.’
Gavin crossed
to the window and gazed towards England.
It had to be there, somewhere. One of those hills, overlapping like waves, was Scotland and the next, covered with the same melting snow, was England.
But how would a man know when he crossed that line? No fence, no wall marked the boundary.
Dusk fell and the line he looked for was no longer visible, if it had ever been.
He turned abruptly from the window. If he was going to woo her, he’d better start.
Clare’s door was partially open, offering a tantalising peek at her private corner of the tower. The red-and-gold banker he had nearly destroyed now covered a chest at the end of her bed. On the hearth, a pan of bubbling water and lavender scented the air. It seemed too personal, this view, a glimpse of hopes and dreams more intimate than a kiss.
He pushed the door, quietly. She sat up in the bed, still awake, stitching a falcon’s hood.
The vision shocked him, for all the times he had imagined bedding her.
Her blonde hair, always pulled tight into a braid down her back, tumbled free across her shoulders and her breasts. It was fair, but not the sun-kissed gold of the Plantagenet kings. Instead, the strands glittered like icicles in moonlight.
The old man’s laugh, and that of his lady, echoed from behind the door at the end of the hall. She looked up at the sound, frowning.
Then her eyes met his.
Her lips parted in surprise. There was an inheld breath. Hers? His?
‘What a vision you are there, Mistress Clare,’ he said, surprised the words came so calmly when his heart was galloping.
She pulled up the covers, though her breasts were twice covered already, by a gown and her hair.
‘Go away.’
‘Oh, I sleep here now, didn’t you know? Your father asked me to move in, right up here next to you.’
She sighed. ‘He told me.’
‘But don’t worry. I won’t burn you in your bed.’
She stiffened and he regretted his words. But her eyes searched his for a long minute and her lips softened before she spoke.
‘No,’ she said, finally. ‘You won’t.’
The words shook him. For all the names she had called him, all the distrust, had she ultimately more faith in his goodness than he did?
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