by Amy Jarecki
“Sir?” a man dressed like a pauper tugged his sleeve.
“Yes?”
“Lady Christina wishes for ye to sit at her table.”
He glanced to the hounds corralled at the far end of the chamber, looking half-starved and anxious to be served their portions. “At least I won’t have to keep company with the dogs.”
“She said ye were funny. Even I dunna have to eat with those mangy mutts.”
“What is it you do, ah…”
“Glen,” The man said over his shoulder as he led Lachlan toward the dais. “I’m one of her ladyship’s servants. Came down with the de Moray army from Ormond Castle, I did,” he said as if being a part of Christina’s entourage had boosted his importance considerably.
“There ye are,” Christina called, waving. She sat at a table close to the dais and patted the bench beside her.
Lachlan grinned. “I’m impressed. You’re seated at one of the highest tables in the hall.”
“Of course I am. I’m the widow of Sir Andrew de Moray, and lady of one of the greatest baronies in all Scotland.”
And Lachlan thought she’d be impressed because he recognized she was sitting at a high table. He climbed over the bench and looked down. Things had certainly come a long way from the wooden trencher in front of him to the royal place setting complete with seafood fork he’d experienced when he was knighted by the queen. In fact, there were no eating utensils whatsoever. No serviettes, either.
However, there was a tankard and a big ewer of ale. It hadn’t taken Lachlan long to acquire a taste for medieval ale. He lifted the ewer and offered it to the lady. “Can I pour for you?”
“My thanks.” Christina gestured to the couple across the table. “Allow me to introduce Sir Semple and his wife, Lady Semple.”
Lachlan bowed his head politely. “Pleased to meet you.”
The knight didn’t look amused. “’Tisna often ye see a man go from being locked in the gaol to sitting one table down from the king.”
“He’s my guest. And he saved my life. If ye ask me, my champion should never have been locked in the guardhouse,” Christina said before Lachlan had a chance to tell the man exactly what he thought of Semple’s high-and-mighty hogwash. She patted Lachlan’s thigh and gave him a smile that indicated she was pleased with herself.
Except she left her had there a few seconds longer than necessary. The gesture made Lachlan’s heart thrum and his blood run hot. Just when he moved to cover her hand with his, she drew hers away.
Glancing aside, he picked up his tankard and took a long drink.
Shit.
Beginning to feel like a high schooler in the lunchroom sitting beside a girl he liked, Lachlan breathed a sigh of relief when the servants placed enormous wooden trenchers filled with meat and bread on the table. Then everyone pulled knives from their sleeves—about the size of steak knives but sharp on both sides. With no other choice, Lachlan pulled out his dirk, near twelve inches longer.
“What? Where?” Christina looked baffled. “Is that the dirk from the pile of rust I saw earlier this day?”
“Yep.” Lachlan held it up and turned his wrist to display both sides. “Shined up pretty well, didn’t it?”
“Verra well, I’d say, but ye canna eat with a dirk.” Christina hailed Glen over. “Let Sir Lachlan borrow your eating knife.”
He shoved the dirk back into his belt. “Oh no, I can use my fingers.”
Christina gave the back of his hand a thwack. “Not at the king’s feast ye canna. It would be barbaric.”
Marveling at the irony, Lachlan watched Sir Semple spear a piece of meat and rip off a bite with his teeth. He then accepted the eating knife from the servant. “I guess I’ll have to add that to the list of things I’ll be needing.”
The rest of the meal progressed without incident until the musicians came out onto the gallery. Suddenly, everyone had to get up and push the tables and benches against the walls to make room for dancing.
Christina clapped, her eyes filled with excitement. “King Robert has brought minstrels from Edinburgh Castle and he aims to keep them at Roxburgh for the entire Yuletide season. And he’s asked me to oversee the greening of the castle in a fortnight.”
Lachlan blinked and remembered the Christmas tree in Uncle Walter’s drawing room. At the time, he’d thought the holidays were a long way off, but now he wondered if he’d be back home in time to share Christmas dinner with his family.
“Are ye all right?” Christina asked.
“Huh?”
“Ye look as if ye are miles away.” She grasped his hand. “Ye simply must dance with me.”
Not budging, he stood like a rock. “No. I’m sorry, but I don’t dance.”
“Dunna be absurd. All men dance.”
Not in my era. “No, sorry, I never learned.”
“Och, ye sound just like your mother.” The lady clapped a hand over her mouth and took a step back, her eyes popping wide. “Nay, nay, nay…I dunna believe it,” she said, shaking her head as if she were on the verge of growing hysterical.
“Me neither at the moment.” He held out his palm—the last thing he wanted was for Christina to freak out because of what he’d told her. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. “I’m game if you’re willing to see a grown man trip and fall on his face.”
She took in a deep breath and accepted his hand. “I think we both could do with a bit o’ merriment, picking our feet up. Ye have a difficult task ahead of ye and I’ve been beside myself for years pining for my son—and now, he’s so close it makes the worry all the more difficult to bear.”
“I’m sure it does, m’lady.” He bent down and moved his lips near her ear. “Now quickly, tell me what I have to do.”
A bit of mischief flashed in her silvery-blue eyes. “Most likely it will be a country dance and ye just do what I do, except the opposite.”
“Right.” He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “That’s clearer than mud.”
They stood in lines across from each other with the women on one side and the men on the other. Once the music started, it wasn’t until Lachlan plowed into the man beside him that he realized what Christina had meant by doing the opposite—he was supposed to mirror her. Though years of karate had made him lithe on his feet, he still figured he looked like the ogre Shrek trying to attempt ballet.
At least a drummer kept up a quick tempo while a fiddler scratched his bow jauntily beside a flamboyant lutenist. Lachlan wanted to examine their instruments for authenticity, but every time he took his eyes off Christina’s feet, which kept disappearing beneath her skirts, he stumbled. Then the direction of the dance changed and he nearly fell into the poor lady. Wrapping her in his arms to keep from plowing over the petite woman, he lifted Christina and twirled her in place.
“Oh, my goodness,” she squealed, clapping a hand to her veil to keep it on. “This isna part of the dance.”
He chuckled. “I should have been more adamant, it’s dangerous to dance with me.” He set her down.
Thankfully, the music stopped. “I though ye were catching on quite nicely until ye whisked me off my feet.”
“I thought it was a much better option than falling on top of you.”
She blushed like a fairy maiden. “Well, when ye put it like that…”
“Beg your pardon, Lady Christina, but would ye care for another turn?” Stepping beside them, Hamish shot Lachlan a smug glare. “With someone who isna likely to trample ye?”
“Och, the poor man didna hurt me.” She patted Lachlan’s shoulder. “But aye, since there are not enough women partners for the half of ye, I’ll take another turn—Though dunna forget I’ll be in mourning until Andrew is returned to me.”
Lachlan bowed and removed himself from the dance floor. No wonder Lady Christina always wore black and grey. She did so because she was a widow and because her son was still an English prisoner of war. Once he found himself a bench and another tankard of ale, he regarded the other women in the ha
ll. They dressed in all sorts of colors, mostly prime colors like red, green and blue. Once her son was returned to her, perhaps Christina would wear yellow. Lachlan imagined an ice-blue dress with a yellow veil—if she had to wear a veil at all, it would be sheer enough to see through. No one should ever cover up such gorgeous hair. Ever.
He leaned back against the table and watched the dancing from behind his tankard. Hamish sure could pick up his feet—the bastard didn’t miss a step. And yet he wheezed when running. The only problem was the man stuck out his ass like his hamstrings were too tight. They probably were. Lachlan hadn’t seen any of the guardsmen do any stretching since he’d been there. Working part-time as a kinesiology therapist to support his true love, the dojo, he’d seen his share of tight hamstring muscles. The thing was that everyone had their Achilles heel. Lachlan knew how to work with his patients and his students to make them stronger—to make them at one with their bodies. He called it finding their center. Everyone needed a self-tailored set of exercises to bring out their best.
Hamish seemed like a good enough soldier. Clearly he adored his boss—her ladyship. Christ, Lachlan adored her ladyship, too, and watching Hamish try to dazzle her while he danced in a circle with Christina on his arm was almost too much to bear. In fact, Lachlan didn’t like Hamish so much at the moment. As the dance progressed, the man-at-arms leaned in nearer, grasped her hand in his grubby mitts, smiling like a scar-faced simpleton. He probably had bad breath to boot.
By the time the music ended, Lachlan had drained his tankard. Thank heavens the musicians stopped for a break and the dancers dispersed. He hopped to his feet and met Christina before Hamish could offer his arm. “Are you thirsty, m’lady?”
She fanned her face. “A tad overwarm.”
“I could fetch ye a goblet of wine if it pleases m’lady,” offered Hamish, the wretch.
She shook her head. “I think I’ll step outside for a quick moment.”
“Aye, that’ll cool ye right down.” Hamish nodded like a bobbing woodpecker.
Lachlan quickly offered his elbow. “May I accompany you? I wouldn’t want you to go out alone with so many soldiers milling about.”
“Thank ye.” She wrapped her fingers around his arm and gave her man-at-arms a pointed look—one that clearly meant he was supposed to move along. “And thank ye for the lively dance, Hamish. It was most invigorating.”
Lachlan chuckled to himself. It appeared Christina’s assessment of Hamish as a dancing partner was much the same as his.
A blast of frigid air hit them hard as they pushed outside. “My ’tis chilly,” she said.
“Would you prefer to go back inside?”
She rubbed her outer arms. “Not just yet.”
He removed his cloak. “Perhaps you’ll be a bit more comfortable with this around your shoulders.”
“But ye need it.”
He wrapped it around her. “Me? Nah. I’m a walking furnace.”
She laughed and shook her head. He did, too. He probably said all kinds of things that didn’t make much sense to her. Maybe he should try to be a bit more careful? Especially if he stayed in the fourteenth century much longer. With luck, however, he’d find a way to pull Christina’s son out of Norham Castle, witness her happiness, and fly away home.
She started strolling along a quiet, cobbled path that led toward the south wall. “Ye ken, I glimpsed Andrew when we met the English at the border.”
“Really? You didn’t tell me you saw him.”
“I did. I even called out his name and he looked straight at me.”
“Does he look like you?”
“I reckon he looks more like his da, though he has a mop of dark locks, like me for certain. And though he was sitting a horse, he seemed lanky.”
“How old did you say he is?”
“Five and ten.”
“Ah, at fifteen, most lads are lanky. I certainly was.”
“Ye? ’Tis difficult to imagine ye as skin and bones.”
“Oh yes. It took a lot of work to build my strength. And it takes work on a daily basis to keep in shape.” But Lachlan had so many questions, he didn’t want the conversation to turn toward him. “What happened on the battlefield that day?” he asked while they strolled further away from the great hall.
“Ye were there.”
“I only arrived after the fighting started.” In truth, he’d awakened on the battlefield feeling like he’d been drugged.
“Well, ye ken it was supposed to be a peaceful exchange—my Andrew for one of theirs—’tis why King Robert allowed me to ride with them.”
“Was King Edward there?”
“Nay, at least I didna see him. ’Twas the Earl of Northumberland who conducted the exchange.”
“Do you think the earl planned for battle all along?”
“I’m no soldier, but I wouldna be surprised if he did—they made it look like a band of rebels flanked us, but King Robert doesna think that makes any sense. That combined with the fact they havena tried to set up another exchange makes him suspicious.”
“Didn’t they want their man returned—who is he? Someone important?”
“We thought he was—a land baron from Essex.” She reached for his hand. “Your fingers are cold.”
“A bit.” He closed his fingers around hers while his heart leapt like a teenager’s on his first date.
“Are ye nervous about the mission?” she asked, seemingly content to stroll along holding his hand.
“Not really. I’m anxious to see this Norham Castle, find out where they’re holding Andrew and then come up with a plan to slip him out without causing World War Three.”
“World War?” she asked, her breath forming frigid puffs of air.
He looked to the sky. “Forgive me. I meant to say I’d like to take Andrew out of there without bloodshed.”
“Och, that is a lofty goal.”
“Well, I always say shoot for the stars.” He shivered involuntarily. Jeez, going without his daily workout routine was beginning to take its toll.
“Ye’re cold.” She released his hand and started to remove his cloak.
He stilled her fingers. “I’ll be all right.”
“Mayhap we can coax Master Tailor for a warm drink afore we head back. His workshop is ahead.” She led him to a door and opened it. “Hello? Is anyone here?”
Lachlan followed her inside, though there was no answer. Someone must have been there recently because it was warm and the remains of a fire crackled in the hearth.
“Master Tailor?” Christina called, peering through the dim light. She turned around and smacked into Lachlan’s chest. “Oh my goodness, forgive me.”
Instinctively, he gripped her shoulders. “It looks as if we’re alone.”
Nodding, her gaze slid up until it connected with his. Holy Christ, his mouth went completely dry. Crystal blue eyes sparkling with the amber hues from the firelight made her look like an angel.
“I’m glad,” he managed to utter while his head tilted downward as if being pulled by a magnetic force.
Her rosebud lips parted with her wee gasp. Lachlan tipped up her chin with the crook of his finger and with his next blink, his lips met an invitingly soft mouth. His skin smoldered with hot desire, crackling into goosebumps as he slid his hand beneath her veil and threaded his fingers through her hair. God he loved her hair. Soft, silken, thick and wild, he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her mane of curls.
On a sigh, she turned to butter in his arms. Her fingers slipped to his waist and pulled him flush to her body. Soft breasts molded into his chest. With a blast of desire, Lachlan slid a hand down her back and cupped her buttock, pulling her hips flush against his lengthening erection. Unable to think, he thrust his tongue into her mouth while he ground his cock against her abdomen. Christ, where was a bed when he needed one?
To hell with the bed, the wall would do.
With a guttural groan, he deepened his kiss, his hands grasping at those damned thick
, black skirts. Ever so gradually, he eased her to the wall, rubbing into her softness, imagining how soft she’d be once he slipped inside her core. His one hand slipped to her breast while his other continued to inch up her skirts.
Hot and hard, he wanted to be inside her with every fiber of his body. Christina’s wee gasps as she matched his kisses made him harder than a stick shift. The hand working her skirts met with soft, warm skin as he slid his palm to her tight little bum. God save him, he’d wanted to bed her since she’d thrust her fists to those sassy hips when they were looking out over the battlefield.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he growled while his cock throbbed with need.
“Ye keep telling me that and ye’ll have me believing it,” she said with the sexiest, most breathless voice he’d ever heard.
His fingers sank into her supple flesh. Her breasts were so full, so pliable, he craved to have his mouth on them, craved to suckle her nipples and listen to every soft moan. “You’d best believe me, because whenever you’re near, I feel like a caveman.”
“A wild beast?”
He nearly roared. “The wildest imaginable.”
His lips trailed down her neck as he cupped her breast and kneaded.
“Ahhhh,” she sighed like a goddess.
Something banged outside, as if a door shut across the close.
With a sharp gasp, Christina pulled away and slipped from Lachlan’s arms. “My heavens. What is this power ye have over me?”
He dropped the skirts bunched in his hand. “Uh, I think it’s the other way around. I can’t seem to form a rational thought when I’m in the same room with you.”
Her face flushed and flustered, she hastened for the door. “The last thing either of us needs is a scandal. And to be caught kissing in the tailor’s shop?” With another gasp, she clapped her hand against her chest. “Heaven forbid.”
Lachlan had a lot more on his mind than a mere kiss. Christ. He’d had the woman’s skirts up around her thighs. Worse, he’d need another dip in the icy Tweed just to cool the fire burning in his cock.