Tempted by a Warrior

by Amanda Scott

  “I don’t know about that,” Jenny said. “Nan seems far too interested in drawing his attention to have no interest in him.”

  “I think she just enjoys tormenting him,” Fiona said.

  “How are you faring, Fee?” Mairi asked then. “I can tell you that Sir Hugh has great regard for Kirkhill. He told us that Kirkhill is a man of action and one who thinks gey quickly in battle. Even more to his credit, from what I saw of him at Spedlins, he seems to be one who does not easily tolerate fools or foolishness, so I doubt that he believes any of the rumors about you. Do you get on well with him?”

  Fiona felt heat creeping into her cheeks, so she said quickly, “In troth, I did not like him at first, because I saw no reason for him to act as my trustee. But he never did believe the rumors. You are right about that, Mairi, but I should tell you both that Will is dead. Kirkhill found his body.”

  “Faith, do you mean to say that he did die that night, and you have waited until now to tell us!” Jenny exclaimed. “You should have told us straightaway.”

  Uncertain that Dickon would approve of her telling them at all, Fiona said, “We have told no one else yet, so prithee do not spread the news about until he says that we may. Sithee, whoever killed Will hid his body most cleverly.”

  “Where?” Jenny demanded.

  “I… I don’t know,” Fiona said, wishing she had never mentioned the subject and knowing that if she said that she must not tell them, Mairi and Jenny would insist that she must. “Kirkhill kept that to himself,” she added, hoping to reinforce her denial. Then, remembering that Flory might already know about the grave and be telling others at the Hall, she wondered if she might be making matters worse.

  Mairi’s quizzical expression reminded her that her sister had once been able to tell when she was lying. She hoped that after two years of living with the Jardines, she was better at concealing her lies, but she had a sinking feeling that the guilt she felt for lying to Mairi and Jenny, two people she loved dearly, was obvious to both.

  Accordingly, she excused herself soon afterward, saying that she, too, would get ready for bed. But she went outside instead to find Joshua, with Cerberus.

  “Prithee, tell his lordship that I must speak to him before I retire,” she said.

  “Aye, sure, me lady,” he said as he curried the horse Dickon had ridden. “Yon lad running toward us now be one I set to watch and tell me when the laird went upstairs, so chance be, he’s in his chamber now. Shall I send him to yours?”

  “Nay, he’ll not want that. But tell him I may have done something he won’t quite like and must discuss it with him. He will say how and where we can meet.”

  Joshua’s eyes twinkled. “I’ll tell him. I’ll tell ye, too, me lady, that if he won’t like it, it be gey better an ye tell him yourself afore someone else does.”

  Fiona, already wishing that she had kept her mouth shut, nodded and hurried away to her own old bedchamber, where she hoped to discover that Flory had been too busy putting away her clothing to have gossiped with anyone.

  Instead, she walked in to find Flory and a chambermaid helping Nan dress.

  Nan whirled about as Fiona entered, saying, “Just look at this wonderful dress, Fee. How Tony will stare when I wear it to supper tomorrow evening!”

  “I should think that every man in the great hall will stare at you with so much of your bosom laid bare as it is,” Fiona said. “What Sir Antony will think is surely less important to your well-being than what Kirkhill will think of it, however.”

  “Pish tush, I don’t mean to let Dickon see it until I’m on the dais,” Nan said. “He would never be so mean as to send me away in front of everyone. You’ll see.”

  Fiona wondered about that, especially as she would likely stir Dickon’s temper herself soon. She could scarcely admit that to Nan, however.

  Kirkhill received Fiona’s message from Joshua with a slight frown but said only, “If you can waylay that Flory lass, tell her I would speak with her mistress if she will agree to meet me straightaway on the landing just below her own.”

  He dressed again quickly, thinking furiously as he did. He had said nothing to Rob, Hugh, or Sir James about finding Will Jardine, because he had yet to work out for himself just how he wanted to handle that. At present, he thought that the fewer people who knew of the discovery the better.

  He was sure that finding Will’s body would do nowt to put the rumors to rest and much to fuel them. Who else at Spedlins other than Will’s wife might have wanted Will dead? Moreover, if Sheriff Maxwell was coming to Annandale—although he might be coming only as his brother and good-sister’s guest for Lammas—if the rumors had reached his ears, he might feel obliged to investigate.

  Doubtless, Kirkhill told himself, Fiona had been thinking along similar lines.

  To his amusement, she was pacing on the small landing just below her chamber when he went downstairs from his.

  “I know I should not have come down so soon,” she said as he approached her. “But I—”

  “Whisst now, lass,” he said, nodding toward a gillie bounding up the stairs from the great hall. “I want you to take a turn about the yard with me. It is still light enough, the air off the river is cool, and we can talk a little.”

  “Thank you, sir, I would like that,” Fiona said.

  The gillie, hearing them, pressed hastily against the wall out of their way.

  Once outside and a few steps away from the entrance, Fiona said quietly but with visible reluctance, “I told Mairi and Jenny that Will is dead and that you had not told me where you’d found him. I know that you said I should not, but—”

  “I should have told them all straightaway,” he admitted. “I did not, because Rob is, after all, Sheriff Maxwell’s brother, and I had not had time to reflect on what the consequences might be if we let that news reach the sheriff’s ears.”

  “He is coming here,” Fiona said. “Mairi told me that she had invited Rob’s brother, his good-sister, and his grandmother to come for the festivities. They will arrive Wednesday afternoon.”

  “Aye, I heard the same,” he said, urging her toward shadows that the stable cast near the high wall. “I’ll explain it all to Rob and Hugh tonight. They will agree that you could not have moved Will from the hillside above the river and over that ridge to the graveyard all by yourself. In troth, now that I have met Rob and seen how friendly Hugh is with him, I think we must tell the two of them, at least.”

  He could see that she was waiting for him to say that she ought to have held her tongue, so he said, “Fiona-lass, I should not have let you think that I meant for you to keep the news about Will from your sister or your cousin. You did well to keep the location of his body to yourself, though. If we can keep that quiet—”

  “I doubt we can,” she interjected. “I fear that Flory already knows that you found him. And if someone else told her so, surely that person also told her where.”

  “Sakes, have you asked her?”

  “Nay, for how could I without revealing more to her than I should? But she keeps looking at me as if she expects me to say something, and I cannot imagine what else it could be but that you have found Will.”

  “Well, if she does know, we can do nowt about it now,” he said. “I would still keep the location of his body secret from all but your family if we can. It may be that someone who ought not to know will let slip that he does. If Flory has not admitted her knowledge to you, I’d guess she’s not talking to others either.”

  The look on Fiona’s face told him that she was not so sure about that. But the sun had been down for some time and darkness was descending on the land.

  Glancing around, he saw no one else in the yard, and the lads on the wall would be looking outward, not into the courtyard. With a hand to her shoulder, he drew her deeper into the shadowy passage between the stable and the bakehouse.

  He told himself that he meant only to reassure her, perhaps to give her a hug, but when she backed up against the step into
the bakehouse, and stepped onto it, she was suddenly almost eye-to-eye with him. The temptation was irresistible.

  The hand on her shoulder slid around to the hollow between her shoulder blades, seemingly of its own accord, and pulled her closer until his lips touched hers. They tasted of cinnamon, and lust stirred within him. Plunging his tongue into her mouth, he felt himself stir. Another part of him yearned to do its own plunging.

  Although she responded as passionately as she had before to his kiss, she also felt the movement below and stiffened, breaking away with a little gasp.

  “Fiona-love, this will all sort itself out,” he said then. “It must, because I want you more than I have ever wanted anything.”

  “We must go in,” she muttered, turning away. “Someone will see us.”

  His last ten words had been nearly the same ones that Will had spoken the day he had persuaded Fiona to elope with him, reminding her yet again how little she could trust her instincts with men. She did not try to speak as they walked back across the courtyard. It was all she could do not to run away from him, but common sense told her that haste on her part would merely draw attention to them.

  Inside, as they passed the hall, she saw that many of the servants were still eating their supper, while men-at-arms who would spell those on the walls were laying pallets for sleeping wherever they could find space.

  Dickon said nothing to her, clearly at a loss, and she could not blame him. What must he think of her, to have responded to him so easily each time he had hugged or kissed her, and now, to have stopped him and tried to hurry away as she had? He would think her demented, or worse.

  He escorted her to her bedchamber door, and they both knew that Nan would likely be inside by now. He looked at her, his expression unreadable.

  “I’m sorry,” Fiona murmured with her hand on the latch handle.

  “Nay, sweetheart, don’t apologize,” he said. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Whisking inside, she found that Nan was asleep, or pretending to be asleep. It did not matter which, because she was grateful for the silence.

  Flory had David with her and would take him to Eliza when he wakened, so Fiona got herself quietly undressed and into bed. Her dreams were fitful and full of Dickon, so she awoke the next morning with an ache in her heart.

  She did not see him when she and Nan went down to break their fast, and afterward, Mairi, Jenny, and Phaeline kept them busy all morning. At noon, they learned that Kirkhill, Tony, Rob, Hugh, and Sir James had ridden out to visit the camps to the east, to see that their men were alert and to invite half of them to come enjoy the minstrels that evening, while the others would wait until Tuesday night.

  The men did not reappear until the family gathered on the dais for supper.

  Fiona had left Nan in their chamber, scheming but certain that Tony would not miss seeing the minstrels perform. In truth, Fiona expected to enjoy Nan’s antics and Tony’s pretended oblivion even more than the promised entertainment.

  The musicians were already playing when she entered the hall. She watched for Nan, but the moment she saw her, Fiona shifted her attention to Dickon.

  Nan had waited until nearly everyone who was to sit at the high table had taken his or her place before making her entrance.

  Standing at Rob’s right with Hugh and Sir James next and Tony beyond James, Dickon clearly noted his sister’s flamboyant attire, for his eyebrows shot up and his lips pressed tightly together. But he made no comment.

  Fiona returned her attention to Nan. She saw disappointment on the younger woman’s face but was unsure whether it stemmed from Tony’s lack of attention or Dickon’s. She could not help admiring Nan’s demeanor as she walked boldly through the area cleared for the minstrels’ performance and onto the dais. Nan was fully aware of her many admirers, because her eyes sparkled defiantly.

  So admiring were some men that their comments were audible, but Nan held her head high, pretending to ignore them as she took her place beside Fiona.

  Phaeline leaned across Jenny, her eyes wide as she said, “Nan, my dearest, such a dress! So low-cut!”

  “Thank you, madam,” Nan said with aplomb. “I am gey fond of it.”

  Phaeline blinked but said no more.

  “It is magnificent, Nan, horrifyingly so,” Fiona murmured. “If my wee David saw you now, he would think he was about to take supper. I wonder, have you any particular requirements for your burial ceremony? Lilies, roses, wildflowers?”

  Nan grinned at her. “I do think that Tony noticed me, don’t you? For all that he pretended not to look?”

  “Every man here has noticed you. But are you sure that you wanted to invite the consequences that will surely come to you later?”

  “Pooh, whatever Dickon might have done at home, he can hardly do here. I warrant he will have some things to say to me, and he may drone on longer than I’ll want to listen. But that is all he’ll do in another man’s—that is, in Mairi’s—house.”

  “But why do you do such things?” Fiona asked.

  Nan shrugged. “In faith, I don’t know. Some demon possesses me, I expect. Dickon wants me to marry Tony, and Tony says he wants to marry me. But he does not care about me, Fee, other than to tell me I ought not to wear what I like to wear, or should not do what I want to do. Sakes, even when I defy him, he does nowt!”

  “But what could he do?” Fiona asked reasonably. “He is not your brother, father, or husband, Nan. He has no right to take you to task as one of them might.”

  “If he cared, he would do something,” Nan said. Then, with a heavy sigh, she turned away as Rob held up his hands to silence the hall for the grace before meat.

  After the carvers had carved and great platters of meat were on the tables, dancers and tumblers dashed into the open space, and the entertainment began.

  Fiona enjoyed the fools who followed next. There were two of them, one tall and thin, and the other no taller than a child might be. Both wore whiteface. The short one, on long stilts, strode into the cleared space, haughtily guiding the taller one on strings like a puppet. The audience laughed at the sight and laughed even harder at the tall one’s gangly antics as he unsuccessfully tried to free himself.

  Jugglers came next, followed by an extraordinarily tall man in a long red coat, who juggled swords and daggers as easily as the others had juggled colored balls and large rings. Fiona had seen the tall one once before, at Jenny’s betrothal feast. She expected him to fascinate Nan, too, but Nan was growing impatient.

  “Mairi said there would be dancing,” she muttered.

  “Aye, sure, there will be,” Jenny assured her across Fiona. “Watch his hands now, both of you, as he throws that sword high in the air. That’s the Joculator, and he is particularly deft. I have even seen him juggle lighted torches!”

  Fiona tried to keep a close watch but glanced away from his hands when the sword flew almost to touch the high ceiling. The next thing she knew, the man was bowing and holding out a bouquet of white flowers. Where the swords had gone, or from whence the flowers had come, she had not the smallest notion.

  The musicians began to play louder then as the acrobats and jugglers left the central area. Men moved to dismantle the trestles and shift benches to the sides of the hall. The dancers ran out then to begin a ring dance, inviting others to join them.

  “Come on, Fee,” Nan said, jumping to her feet. “Let us dance with them.”

  “Wait,” Fiona said, looking toward the other end of the table. Mairi and Rob stayed where they were, but Sir James got up and moved to speak with Phaeline.

  Kirkhill followed but passed them, stopping in front of Fiona.

  “Would you like to join the dancers, my lady?” he asked Fiona.

  “I would,” Nan told him. “Why is Tony just sitting there?”

  “He wants to finish his wine,” Kirkhill said. “Do stop hopping about, Nan. If you want to join the ring dancers, you may come with us.”

  “But I don’t want to go with you! I’d ha
ve some stranger at my other side. If Tony desires to marry me, I should think he would want to dance with me.”

  “And I should think that having done all you can to persuade him that you want none of him, you should be grateful that he is turning his thoughts elsewhere.”

  “Elsewhere! What can you mean by that?”

  “Only that he can now concentrate fully on defending Annandale. If we can keep the English from supplying Lochmaben, March will have no reason to inflict his army on us, and Northumberland will quickly lose his remaining allies here. Then, mayhap, they will all bide at home.”

  “I don’t care about any of that,” Nan said. “And Tony is the only unmarried man here who is suitable to dance with me.”

  “Then be patient and let the man enjoy his claret,” Kirkhill said. Extending a hand to Fiona, he said. “Come, lass, I can see that your toes are tapping.”

  Willingly, she went with him. But glancing back, she saw that Nan had not stayed in her place. She was walking behind Jenny, Mairi, Rob, and Hugh, and to Fiona’s surprise, Nan carried a jug of wine that she must have taken from the table.

  Tony had pushed his back-stool away from the table and was leaning back—wine goblet in hand, one leg crossed over the other—enjoying the entertainers.

  Nan bent from just behind him and murmured into his ear.

  “Dickon,” Fiona said quietly. When he looked at her, she nodded toward the dais. “Look.”

  He did so just in time to see his sister empty her jug of wine over Tony’s head and hurry on her way. She did not get two steps from him, however, before he reached out almost casually with his right hand and caught her by her left wrist.

  With no visible effort, he pulled her back to him and with a dexterous twist of hand, dumped her facedown over his lap. Holding her in place with his left hand, he smacked her four or five times on the backside with his right.