by L. L. Muir
It was best this way. Truly.
If she were honest, Nimmo had been a brute. She’d had to trick him into turning his back in order to get away from him. Then she’d had to hover in the heather until he’d gone for fear of him chasing her down the hill a second time.
Why would she care to see him again?
The fact he’d gone back to the tree for the past two nights and waited for her should engender no particular emotion on her part. And yet, there she sat, silent at her own father’s table, on the brink of tears.
Ridiculous!
She realized Bronwyn was similarly contemplative and wondered if perhaps her sister was reconsidering her harsh judgment of the Scottish knight. He’d been rather charming, and he’d brought smiles to both her family and her household—not an easy feat. But perhaps with so many handsome faces about, Bronwyn might be wishing her future was not promised to the abbess after all.
However, had her sister not been brooding in her own thoughts, Astrid would not confide in her now. It was true she would have done so without pause only a sennight ago, but things were different now. One of the problems arose from the fact she no longer could predict what her sister might say. What if Bronwyn insisted on searching out the man who would so brazenly kiss her sister? Or ferret him out only to kiss him herself?
Astrid shook her head. Either event was unthinkable.
No. Nimmo was a secret she would take to her grave.
Astrid and her family were emerging from the chapel when suddenly her sister and mother turned toward the keep and hurried away. Others also retreated swiftly, leaving Astrid puzzled and companionless. She turned to see what might have frightened them all, only to find her father looking down upon her with purpose on his face.
She considered running away as well, but he shook his head, and she could not pretend she’d not seen it.
“Astrid.”
“Father?”
“Who is this man you love?”
It was not the tone of his question but the wrinkles near his eyes that betrayed him. He was teasing her. He knew full well the man she loved was only an imagined creature for the sake of the Scotsman’s argument. Her father need not know there was a man of flesh and blood that came to mind—a man she did not care for in the least.
“Sir Tamhas is amusing,” she admitted as she took her father’s arm and began walking with him.
“Then there is no man to whom you’ve given your heart?”
“No, Father. You would have been the first to know.”
He cleared his throat, then took a deep breath and smiled. Apparently, he had more to say, but she rather suspected she did not wish to hear what it was. And as if he sensed her urge to run, he placed a hand atop her own, on his sleeve.
“Astrid, the Scotsman has a sound argument. He would be a good choice for Hellingsby. Already he has given me suggestions for the blacksmith that would, in time, turn our healthy town into a thriving city.”
She could only imagine what other talents the Scotsman might employ to charm all of Hellingsby.
“I suppose he suggested a better blacksmith? Perhaps someone with whom he’d replace Marsden, and bedamn his wife and family?”
Instead of chiding her for her language, her father smirked. “He suggested we expand the smithy and allow Marsden to choose two others to help him. I’d never thought of it, but the smith truly does determine the pace of the rest of the tradesmen. The men respect Sir Tamhas after only two days in the lists. And your mother believes he would be kind to you. I must say, none of your other suitors have impressed me as much, and I fear none will after him. My advice to you, Daughter, is to think carefully before you decide. If, in a year’s time, you have not found a man you could love, Sir Tamhas will not be waiting under some tree biding his time.”
Her steps faltered. “Under some tree, Father?”
“A figure of speech. Under some tree, twiddling his thumbs, what have you. I only mean to say this man will not sit about. He will find another keep to give the benefit of his strong arm and cunning mind. And another maiden to take to wife…”
Chapter Eleven
Astrid excused herself from the nooning meal, but after attending Vespers, her mind had calmed. By the time supper was served, she felt more like herself, and when her suitor took his seat beside her, she offered him a pleasant smile.
“Lady Astrid, you look charming this eve.”
His brogue rumbled around her ears. The way he rolled the r in her name gave her chills. She was certain no one else could make her name sound the way he had.
“I hope whatever kept you from joining us earlier is no longer a concern.”
She inclined her head in answer, reluctant to say aloud that learning Nimmo’s real identity was no longer a concern, even though it was true. Setting the man from her thoughts was easier said than done, however, especially if every conversation reminded her of him.
“I heard of the passing of a friend and thought the least I could do was spend a quiet hour praying for…her.”
Sir Tamhas frowned briefly; then the frown was gone. But his smile did not return.
“Ach, well, I am sorry for your heartbreak and hope your mourning will be short-lived.”
They passed the rest of the meal pleasantly enough. When it ended, she pushed back her chair and intended to rise, but Sir Tamhas’s hand upon her arm stayed her.
“A moment, my lady, if ye wouldna mind.”
She shook her head and waited, all too aware of the warmth of his hand on her thin sleeve, all too aware of her family and others lingering in order to overhear their exchange.
“I thought myself a patient sort,” the knight said. “But it seems I was mistaken. I wish to settle things between us without playing pat-a-cake for the next fortnight. Ye have seen what kind of man I am. Verra little will ever change. I’ve already given my opinion, that I am the best choice for Hellingsby. I believe, too, that we’d make a fine match. My father loved my mother, so I have always assumed I would come to love my wife in the same manner. I would like to think I am much like my father, and if ye are much like yer mother—”
“I am not.”
“Uh…” He frowned. “I beg yer pardon?”
“I am nothing like my mother and not much like my father. I speak my mind, Sir Tamhas,” she said. “I do everything in my power to have my way in most instances, when I believe my way is the wisest way. I hold a place of power here because of my dowry, sir, and I take whatever advantage necessary to ensure the people of Hellingsby—my people—are both safe and happy. As for needing a man to marry, to one day replace my father as the leader of our… clan, I would much prefer one who looked like a warrior but who deferred to my judgment in most things, not a man who would arrive on wings of thunder with his household in tow, assuming he could bully his way into my bridal chamber.”
And still she smiled pleasantly as she gave his ears a moment to stop bleeding. She waited for him to speak, if only to interrupt as soon as he did so. In truth, he looked too surprised for words, so she continued.
“However,”—she sighed—“since such wishes are seldom granted, I have decided to marry you instead. And I assure you, my fine Scottish knight, that there is verra little about me that will change.”
Sir Tamhas suddenly broke into a wide grin.
“So,” he said. “Ye think me fine, do ye?” Then he winked.
For a heartbeat, she suspected the man might not be right in the head. But there was no denying his wit, so she laughed. And he laughed with her. But others were watching a bit too closely, and the moment was gone.
“My lady.” He stood and offered his arm. When she placed her hand upon it and stood, he ducked and pulled her across his shoulders. Then he proceeded out of the hall with her screaming like a stuck pig, while being carried like one!
Chapter Twelve
Astrid quieted when she realized her father was following behind, certain the lord would put a stop to her being handled so. But her fathe
r remained at the top of the steps, laughing, as the knight started across the bailey.
“Father!” she screamed in outrage.
When she realized they were headed for the hay barn, she began to fight in earnest. If the pair of them ended in a muddy puddle on the ground, it would be preferable to having the entire keep believe they’d gone to roll about in the hay!
But in no time at all, her strength was spent, and she remained draped across the man’s shoulders like some wayward lamb to be carried home.
“Out!” the knight shouted, and three men left the barn.
She became dizzy when he turned back and forth to presumably check for others. From all she could tell, they were completely alone, but for the animals. He bent and set her on her feet, then grabbed her wrist when she would have scurried out the open door. When he pulled her to him, she was struggling to find words that would cut him to the quick, but his mouth stopped her from thinking of any, let alone speaking them.
His kiss was as forceful as the man himself, but it brought her no pain. Again and again, he broke one kiss and started another. And the response he drew from her was possibly her biggest surprise.
She took a step back. He took two steps forward; then the dance repeated until she was pressed up against the wall with his body keeping her there.
“Sir Tamhas,” she whispered. “Please.”
He removed his lips and looked into her eyes. His own blue orbs were nearly swallowed by the black centers, leaving a thin ring of sky around the shadow of his soul.
“No need to beg, my lady.” He stepped away from her. “I accept yer proposal.”
And then he was gone.
Tam took a wee respite in the family kirk to consider whether or not to proceed with the next step of his plan. Already he had Astrid Helling where he wanted her, swooning from his kisses, numb from the assault on her senses, and well prepared for the way he planned to rule Hellingsby. He couldna be more pleased she’d finally stood up to him, just as she had that night at the pine tree. If he’d still held out any suspicions that Bronwyn had been his mystery woman, they were easily dismissed.
He found it difficult to admit he’d been the one to stumble and fall that night, taking her to the ground with him. Not the most chivalrous act on his part, but what he had planned for her now was hardly on the list of honorable actions of a knight. Thus, he’d come to the chapel for a quiet space in which to think.
Should he leave well enough alone, count his blessings, and go to bed before he was tempted to mischief?
Suddenly he stood and offered the Lord Jesus an apology for disturbing His peace and headed for the door, realizing the mischief he had planned was far too sweet for him to resist.
Feeling far too light on her feet, Astrid headed for the kitchens, needing some sobering task to occupy her giddy mind and knowing her mother would be meeting with the cook to plan the meals for the following day. Unfortunately, there was no need for her contribution, so she decided to take herself off to bed before she began singing or some such nonsense. Heaven forfend Sir Tamhas might hear of the overly cheerful mood she’d been blessed with since the moment she’d emerged from the hay barn.
The man was far too impressed with himself. No need for him to know for certain that she was as well.
Her sister lay in wait for her at the head of the stairs. But instead of rolling her eyes, Astrid offered her sister a happy smile. It was Bronwyn who rolled her eyes.
“I cannot fathom why you would have chosen to marry the barbarian without speaking to me first,” she whispered as they walked to Astrid’s chambers. Once inside, Astrid barred the door and set about preparing for bed. She assumed, since Bronwyn hadn’t protested, that her sister was ready to retire as well.
“I thought you had changed your mind about him,” Astrid said.
Her sister snorted. “You were mistaken.”
“Well, I suppose I was,” she said. “And so you are aware, I did not tell you first because I did not know exactly what I was going to say until I said it. No doubt my prayers and my talk with Father had something to do with it. But I admit it was fun to see the man at a loss for words.”
Bronwyn sighed, threw her hands wide, and allowed herself to fall back on the bed. After a moment of silence, she bolted upright, her face alight with some secret knowledge.
Astrid went to the next room and hung her dress. When she returned, she reached for her brush, knowing her sister would burst in a matter of moments if she only allowed her to stew. It did not take long.
“Your betrothed is not in his room, you know.”
“You mean your room?”
“Yes, my room. And what is more, he is nowhere to be found.”
Astrid used her fingers to splash a bit of water on her brush, then began running the bristles through her hair, grateful there were no bits of hay stuck in it. After being kissed by Sir Tamhas, she no longer wondered why couples would choose to roll around on the floor together.
Apparently displeased with Astrid’s lack of concern for her pronouncement, Bronwyn took the brush and took up the task of brushing Astrid’s hair.
“Sir Tamhas,” Bronwyn sneered, dragging out his name, “is not in the keep. The gates have been locked for the night, so your Scotsman must be somewhere in the village. Perhaps he has found someone to take to the kissing tree. That is, unless that lovesick fool is out there again, spoiling the fun for the rest.”
Astrid frowned and took back the brush. First of all, she did not appreciate her sister urging her to distrust the man who had recently kissed her senseless. And secondly, she did not appreciate her Nimmo being called a fool. On the other hand, thinking of him as being lovesick held a certain appeal. But since she’d already resolved to put Nimmo from her mind, she would only respond to the comment about her betrothed.
“If he has taken someone else to the tree, perhaps he needs a bit of practice before we’re wed,” she said lightly, as if it would not matter to her one way or the other.
There had been no call for her sister to be mean, but when something bothered Bronwyn, she was more likely than not to strike out in her pain. So, although she dreaded the answer, Astrid decided to ask the question.
“Can you tell me, Sister, why you dislike Sir Tamhas so?”
Bronwyn shrugged. Then she sat on the bed and examined a fingernail. A moment later, she sniffed.
Astrid put the brush aside and hurried to her sister’s side. “What is it? Tell me.”
The red mass of hair shook. Then her sister gasped. Then she wailed. After five long minutes of heavy sighs and bouts of sobbing, Bronwyn calmed.
“He’s ruining everything,” she whined. “We have but one year left together, and he’s already stolen you from me.”
Astrid could have laughed she was that relieved. It had nothing to do with her Scotsman at all. After a long hour of assuring Bronwyn they would still have their year together—for they would both remain under their father’s roof—her sister fell asleep. But for some reason, Astrid was unable to do the same.
Then came the muffled chimes of her mother’s clock, and she realized it was midnight!
Out of pure curiosity, she told herself, she wandered to the window. The fact that she wandered quickly caused her worry. Her disappointment at seeing no flame, no movement near the giant tree, made her ill. And with a heavy heart, she returned to the bed, crawled in alongside her sister, and cried herself to sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
It seemed as though she’d not been asleep long when she suddenly woke and sat up, sensing some movement in the room. She reached behind her, to see if Bronwyn was still at her back.
She was.
Astrid listened. The drapes had been pulled over the window so the room had not even the light from a single star to cause a shadow. She had not pulled the drapes herself, but she assumed a servant might have. Then she remembered having lowered the bar. No servant could have entered. But that meant neither could anyone else.
; Unless they’d come through the window…
It was black as pitch. She took pity on her overwrought sister and decided not to alarm her, just in case she’d been imagining that movement. Or perhaps she was dreaming now.
Her heart leapt when hands reached out to touch her, but before she could release a scream, a hand fell over her mouth and held tight.
“’Tis me,” a man whispered. “Nimmo.”
Astrid went perfectly still. As disturbed as she was over the man coming through her window and into her bedchamber, it worried her more that her sister might wake to find him there. There would be nothing for it. She would be forced to tell her sister the whole of the tale. And in Bronwyn’s present state, she might insist Astrid marry Nimmo when neither of them knew the first thing about the man.
Astrid shook her head slightly, and his hands fell away.
“My sister,” she warned with a breath of a whisper. “Come.”
She rose silently and took the man’s hand in hers, then led him slowly around the bed as he’d once led her around the hollow. Along the wall, she found the door to the small room where she bathed and dressed. She urged him inside, closed the door, then led him to the bench against the far wall.
They sat and his hands came up immediately to cup her face. As good as his touch felt, she trembled for another reason. If they forgot to whisper, they’d be caught.
“Nimmo—”
He kissed her quiet, then his fingers discovered her tears. “Ah, love. Are these tears for me?”
Her face was soaked with them, but she was determined to keep her wits about her when there was such danger. And since he already knew the answer to his question, she said nothing.
He kissed her again and she savored the taste of him, remembered that taste from their first and second kisses. It wiped away the flavor of Sir Tamhas completely. She knew only this. Cared for only this. When his lips were pressed against hers, she had no thought for her other life beyond the need for silence. They might kiss all night so long as they were quiet.