by L. L. Muir
Other Titles by L.L. Muir
Going Back for Romeo
Not Without Juliet
Wicked
Christmas Kiss
Blood for Ink
Bones for Bread
Lord Fool to the Rescue
Where to Pee on a Pirate Ship
Somewhere Over the Freaking Rainbow
Under the Kissing Tree
L.L. Muir
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2013 L.L. Muir
All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by StoryFront, Seattle
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Amazon, the Amazon logo, and StoryFront are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
eISBN: 9781477869901
Cover design by Inkd
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
About the Author
Chapter One
Hellingsby, England
1157
Astrid and her twin sister, Bronwyn, stood on the battlements overlooking the rest of their father’s castle, facing the Scottish border in the distance. As the summer wind blew their hair dry, Astrid lifted her hand so Bronwyn could take a close look at the red stone winking on her finger.
“How much coin do you suppose Grandmother’s ring is worth?” she asked.
Bronwyn gave the intricate piece of jewelry little more than a glance. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about it. Why does it matter?”
Astrid regarded the stone one last time before dropping her hand to her side. “I’m going to bribe the old nanny,” she announced.
Bronwyn laughed. “What could you require of her that she would not do gladly for the asking?”
“I wish her to step forward and tell Mother and Father that she’d been mistaken.” Astrid waited until she had her sister’s complete attention. “That she now remembers clearly their red-haired babe was born first, the black-haired one, second.”
Bronwyn closed her eyes. “You envy me going to the abbey, Sister. And envy is a sin.”
Astrid pulled her sister close and placed her chin on Bronwyn’s shoulder. She could feel the wind twisting and tangling the hair at their backs and wished for some miracle that would switch their hair completely. And their faces. And their bodies. In truth, they looked so completely opposite from one another it was a wonder they shared the same parents, let alone a birth date.
“I beg you, Bronwyn. Marry the Scottish barbarian in my stead.”
“He’s not a barbarian. He is a knight,” her sister said gently. “And you’d best prepare yourself. He is due to arrive in Hellingsby in but two days’ time.”
Astrid groaned and moved away to stretch out across the battlements. It was their favorite place when the weather was fine. The merlons ran uniformly around the top of the wall, but at that particular point, the crenel between those merlons was unusually wide. Grandfather had claimed a mason had measured poorly and ended with too much wall. But Father insisted that he’d looked into the future one day and saw his unborn daughters fighting over the perfect spot in which to dry their hair. He said he’d sprinkled fairy dust over a merlon and made it disappear, so when his twins were born, they would need never fight.
Astrid offered her own theory: that the castle itself fell in love with Bronwyn the moment she was born and adjusted its stones regularly to accommodate her. The proof lay not only in the missing merlon, but in the fact that Bronwyn had never stubbed a toe or stumbled on a step in all her days. It was also true that Bronwyn was blessed with unmarred pale skin that sometimes glowed in the right light. When she was delivered to the convent the following year, it was likely the nuns would fall to their knees and assume Bronwyn was an angel, her red hair notwithstanding.
Astrid sighed. “Just how do I go about preparing for a bridegroom? How does one prepare to be kissed, for instance? Who will teach me such a thing?”
“You can ask Lars. He taught me.”
Astrid pulled herself off the wall and spun around to discover what stranger had taken the place of her sister. For surely it could not have been Bronwyn who just confessed to having kissed a male. And yet, the only person on the wall that day, besides herself, was Bronwyn.
“You?”
“I’m afraid it is true. My lips are not chaste. I shall have to have them removed before I enter those hallowed halls. How do you suppose I shall ever swallow correctly without lips?”
Astrid stood there gaping while her sister spouted inanities into the wind with her eyes closed, completely oblivious to the chaos she’d unleashed in the world with her casual confession. Astrid’s immediate question was, what else did she not know about her sister?
Bronwyn opened one eye, noted Astrid’s stricken features, and shrugged. “If you react this way to talk of kissing, I worry for your marriage.” She put a hand to her hair and tested for damp spots. “Go speak with Lars. He’s a fine teacher, and he knows better than to touch you.”
Astrid choked. Touch her? Good heavens!
She was tempted to go searching for their old nanny in earnest, but for another reason altogether—she was seriously considering returning to the nursery.
Chapter Two
Sir Tamhas Monroe raised his hand to signal the serving maid for another ale. He’d arrived in Hellingsby a full two days before expected and far ahead of the caravan that contained half his household. Had he ambled on foot alongside it the whole way, the slow pace would have had him tipping to one side and landing on his arse.
Even though he’d come alone, with no dust kicked up in his face, he could still feel a layer of the road along his gullet. One more drink, some food to drag the rest of the dirt to his belly, and a hot bath was all he needed tonight. Tomorrow he’d wander about the village that would someday be his and do a bit of spying. Folks would be a bit more honest if they didn’t know he would soon rule over them.
They expected a Scottish knight, so he would force his tongue to uncurl itself and speak like an Englishman.
He groaned and closed his eyes at the reminder that his fate was, indeed, to live south of Hadrian’s Wall. He half expected to hear the rumbling of earth as his ancestors to the north rolled over in their heather-covered graves. But there was nothing for it. As a third son, he would never gain property the old-fashioned way, and his king had become stingy, granting lands only to those who agreed to marry where they were told.
What a sorry state knights had come to when the only plots of land remaining in the world had women staked to them.
The maid brought his drink and, with it, his food and a wee twinkle to her eyes. Tam was relieved to find that his form appealed to English lasses as well as Scottish. It had been a worry, for in Scotland he was considered a fine-looking man, truth be told. But he’d never encountered an Englishwoman, so he’d no idea whether they preferred small, thin men over such as he. But his greatest concern was for one English lass in particul
ar—Helling’s daughter, his bride-to-be.
He’d come where he was told to come. In two days he’d present himself at the castle proper as he was expected to do. But the other half of the marriage bargain was not certain. His bride-to-be had a choice in the matter. Her mother had won favor with the English queen, and her daughter was allowed to marry who she would, until her twenty-first birthday. If she hadn’t married by then, she would marry the first man her father chose. But until that day, knights like him would be invited to parade before her gates, one at a time, hoping to charm her.
Knights like me. He snorted. There were no knights like him.
He’d be damned if he’d let a spoiled girl decide his future, so the act of bringing his household along was a message for her. He was here to stay. There would be no more knights at her gate. He’d piss circles around her if need be, but Hellingsby was his.
The woman serving him was not much interested in discussing Lord Helling’s daughter, or daughters, as it turned out. Though she did admit that one of them was rather beautiful and the other well adored by one and all. She could not seem to recall which was which.
“Would a stranger care for a bit of late company?” the maid asked, drawing his attention back to her.
She was a comely lass. Rounded, pink, and clean. It was the cleanliness that appealed the most.
“He might at that,” he said, holding his brogue in check. “After he’s had his bath, of course.”
He expected her to offer to join him, but she wrinkled her nose instead. Perhaps she’d just noticed how badly he was in need of a cleaning. He leaned away from her, hoping to take his stench with him.
“When are ye…you finished here?” he asked.
“At midnight. And I know of a place we can meet…for keeping company.”
He gave her a wink. “Tell me.”
Tam paid particularly close attention to his bath that evening, careful to hold out two buckets of water for rinsing instead of his typical one. With little else to do but wait, he left orders with the innkeeper to be awakened at eleven, then took a wee nap.
He was roused by an insistent knocking on his chamber door, and after sending the innkeeper away, he considered missing his appointment with the maid and going back to sleep. His ride had proven more tiring than he’d expected. But when he realized he would most likely be supping at the maid’s table again the next day, his decision was simple. Meet the woman at the appointed time or risk something nasty in his food or drink on the morrow.
He began searching for his boots.
The night was cool and quiet. Though raised in a small village, he’d been living in Edinburgh since returning from the Crusades. Small and quiet suited him fine. Besides, the less conversation in the air, the less often he’d be reminded he was not in Scotland.
Between the village and the keep, a road struck out to the southwest. He found it easily enough in spite of there being no moon. After he turned onto that road, he was to watch, on the left, for the third break in the heather. It was a fine, wide break so he could not have missed it.
At this point in his journey, he realized he’d been a bit gullible. He was a stranger. The woman may well have arranged for thieves to meet Tam in her stead. She had been rather quick with her offer, although he often received such offers in Edinburgh.
In Scotland, he’d never heard it referred to as keeping company—a romp in the hay, a tussle, but never company.
Would he be enjoying the company of villains? Or did the word not imply what he supposed it did?
Heaven help him, he should never have come to Hellingsby alone! With another’s opinion, even a squire’s, he might be able to work out such a quandary. But the only people to ask were the English. And as he was posing as an Englishman, he could hardly ask what was the English meaning for the word company.
While brooding, he’d made his way to the hillside and around the bend. The grandfather pine awaited him as expected. He’d made no attempt to tread quietly, so if someone were going to jump out from the forest, it would be now.
He stood still and waited. He even went so far as to clear his throat. If he was about to receive a thrashing, he half felt he deserved it for not considering the danger before. He only hoped his bruises would fade before he met his bride.
No one jumped from the shadows. No one appeared from beneath the trees. No one had followed him down the path, not even the maid, but it was early yet.
Tam took a deep breath of heather and pine and looked at the ceiling of stars overhead. He was a lucky man. Foolish, but hopefully wiser. When the woman arrived, he’d tread carefully until he understood just what she’d meant by keeping company.
She’d claimed there was a hollow beneath the giant tree where they’d find comfort, so he looked for some sort of opening, a darker shadow among shadows. As it happened, the path he trod upon led not past the pine boughs, but to a well-worn space between them. If the lack of vegetation was any indication, many a couple had frequented the grandfather pine for company. He only hoped the trail had not been created from only one serving wench and all her many customers.
Rounded, pink, and clean, he reminded himself, and forged on.
Once his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, the hollow turned out to be the size of a good room. Light from the stars, once it filtered through thousands of pine needles, allowed him to see next to nothing, so he felt around a wee bit with first his feet and then his hands. Between two enormous roots, he found an indentation filled with layers of soft pine needles—fresh pine needles, not dry and brittle ones that might poke a person in the back.
A quiet noise sent him hurrying to locate the way out, and he found a figure approaching along the path. A cloak? A woman’s skirts? It certainly moved like a woman.
Tam held very still, watching her nervously look about, as he had, no doubt searching for the opening to the hollow. Had she never been there before?
“You’ll find it here,” he whispered loudly, and stood to the side.
She yelped in surprise. He chuckled.
“You cannot possibly suppose I’d be late for our appointment,” he whispered again.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “But must we really go inside?”
“I thought that was your wish. I believe it would be more enjoyable if we are comfortable.”
“You believe? I was under the impression you would know.”
Tam froze with his arm holding back a heavy bough. What trouble had he stepped into this time? Was she new to keeping company? If so, he’d best be on his way. Once he was introduced to the inhabitants of Hellingsby, the last thing he needed was a young woman to come forward and demand something from him.
Then again, he might simply be misunderstanding the English way of speaking. Better to be clear.
“Perhaps you should tell me exactly what it is you need from me,” he said kindly.
She shook her head. “Asking you was difficult enough the first time, Lars. I won’t say it again. You can take your kisses and place them on your own backside.” She whipped around and started away. “Midnight,” she mumbled.
Caught by surprise, Tam laughed aloud.
She stopped and spun back to look at him. He was certain she was glaring at him.
“Lars! How could you be cruel?”
His laughter faded, but his smile did not. “I …am not Lars.”
She gasped and stepped back. She stared for another heartbeat, then she spun again and ran. Swiftly, in fact.
Tam wasn’t certain if it was the beast in him, but something made him chase her.
Chapter Three
Of its own accord, Astrid’s body flew down the hillside. If the path hadn’t been so well used, she might not have gotten away so easily, at least not without injury.
Of course he wasn’t Lars. Lars wouldn’t have whispered to disguise his voice.
The sound of boots sliding on dirt frightened her heart up into her throat. He was following!
She should sc
ream, but she needed all her concentration to run. Bronwyn was always complaining how she could never beat her in a footrace. If she was clever and quick, she could outdistance—
The path twisted. She had no choice but to slow her feet. He was suddenly on her heels. Fingers clutched at her shoulder. She shrugged them off. Then he got hold of her sleeve. She pulled hard. He let go, but not before stumbling.
Free again!
She heard his grunt as he hit the ground, but then her skirts pulled back against her legs and she went down as well. Her hands caught her fall, keeping her face from striking the path.
There was grumbling near her feet.
When she could catch her breath again, she tried to crawl away from him but couldn’t pull her skirts up beneath her. The gown was sewn too well; she could not rip it to free herself.
“Stop, damn you. I’ll not harm you. I wouldna have felled ye had I not stumbled.”
He’d said ye! At least she thought he’d said ye. Heaven help her, the Scots had crossed the Border again! She’d been a fool to leave the keep alone. Even worse for doing so at night. If she screamed and her parents were to discover her mistake, they’d likely give her to the barbarians as punishment.
Then she remembered—that was exactly what they were planning to do.
She turned her head to the side. “I have nothing of value,” she said clearly.
There was movement above her. His hands grabbed her beneath the arms, and he lifted her to her feet. She wasted no time trying to escape his grasp, but he pulled her back to face him, then bent and grabbed her around the knees.
He lifted her off her feet and she fell against his back. His shoulder butted up against her stomach. Then she was bouncing. The villain was carrying her back up the hill!
“I have nothing of value!” she insisted.
“Hush now. I told you you’ll not be harmed.”
You. He’d said you. Perhaps he wasn’t Scottish after all. But what Englishman would dare carry the eldest daughter of Lord Helling over his shoulder like so much grain?