Emerald

by Lauren Royal

  "Half-witted fools," he said and ate another onion.

  A frown appeared on her forehead. "You don't believe in fairies, either?"

  "Hell, no."

  "Well, then, that makes two of us," she said with a grin.

  He laughed. "So were they happy together?"

  "Oh, aye, for a spell. They lived in peace for seven years and had two bairns, a lad and a lassie. The Maid-of-the-Wave loved them dearly. Then came a time the farmer went to town to trade. It was a long journey, and he was gone several days. The mermaid was lonely without him, so she wandered the seashore with her little ones. As she sang to her wee lass, she remembered her people who lived in the Land-under-Waves."

  "Very sad. Are you going to finish that?"

  With a roll of her eyes, she handed him the rest of her bread. "One evening her son came to her and said, 'I found a key. It opens Father's box, and I looked inside. There's a tail in there, a big, shiny, beautiful tail that looks like a salmon's.' She gasped with shock and excitement and asked for the key."

  "And he gave it to her?"

  "Of course. She was his mother. After supper she put her children to bed and sang them to sleep. Then she opened the box and took out her tail. She sat by the fire for a long, long time, for she wanted so badly to go home to her people, but she didn't want to leave her bairns." She paused for a heavy sigh. "But then she heard the sound of singing coming from the sea. Her sister mermaids were calling to her. She kissed her two children and wept—"

  "Greeted."

  She smiled, though her eyes looked sad. "—greeted over them until their precious faces were wet with her tears. And still she heard the songs from the sea. With a heavy heart, she took her tail and hurried to the Land-under-Waves."

  "Abandoning her children," Jason put in with no small measure of disgust.

  "Aye," she said and nodded. "When the farmer returned the next morning, the sounds of joy and laughter floated to him from the sea. In his cottage, his children were fast asleep. But the box was open and empty. He sat down and wept, because he knew that the Maid-of-the-Wave had gone."

  She released a shaky breath, tearing at Jason's heart. Without thinking, he leaned to cover her hand with his. "You must miss your own children."

  A puzzled look came over her face. "What do you mean?"

  "Your children. Your…bairns. A lad and a lassie, like the mermaid's, yes?"

  "You think I have children?" She tugged back her hand. "Me? I've never even—"

  "Never mind."

  He hated the feelings of doubt that had been niggling at him ever since he'd overheard the men at breakfast. But his gaze strayed to her amulet. A ray of sunshine through the window made the old stone glint green. Emerald green.

  Of course she was Emerald. Emerald would deny this, like everything else.

  He damned the aggravating niggle and drained the rest of his ale. "Did the mermaid ever come back?"

  One finger traced her crisscrossing laces while she studied him a moment. He shifted uneasily. He didn't want to be studied.

  "Nay," she said at last. "But it's told that she often returned in the night to peek through the cottage windows at her bairns as they slept. She left trout and salmon outside the door. The farmer told his children that their mother was far away but would never forget them. When her son grew up, he sailed the seas, and no harm ever came to him, even in the fiercest storms, for the Maid-of-the-Wave followed his ship and protected him."

  "That's not quite so sad, then."

  A wan smile emerged. "Nay, I suppose it isn't. She had to go back to her place, didn't she? Her home, where she belonged." A muddy green now, her eyes met his. "Even though they'd never see her again."

  Like Emerald would go back to Scotland. Her home, where she belonged. "Yes, she had to go," he agreed, though damned if the thought of never seeing her again didn't seem somehow incomprehensible.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The road from Grantham was hilly with lots of trees and sheep, a welcome change after traveling through flat land all the day.

  At Stoke Rochford they took a wee bridge over a wee river—Jason didn't even hesitate—and rode up to the Church of St. Mary, which was perched on high land with a spectacular view. The village had no inns or taverns, though—no excuse for Cait to get off the horse and ease her aching legs and bottom. Her teeth were aching as well, from gritting them against the pain. But she wouldn't admit that to Jason.

  Stretton had enormous trees and a lovely field of yellow wildflowers, but nothing else of note. They plodded on. A sleepy stone village called Casterton boasted a pretty Norman kirk, but Jason didn't suggest they stop and have a look.

  After hours in the saddle, Caithren thought she would scream if she didn't get some relief. The sun was on its downward slide when she spotted a jumble of stone and patted Jason's knee.

  "Do you think I might stretch my legs?"

  "Why?" he asked, sounding amused. "Is something wrong with them?"

  "Nay." She set her jaw. "It's only that I've a mind to explore that ruin over there."

  "Oh. I see." By his tone, she guessed he saw all too much. "I suppose we could do that," he said, steering Chiron off the road and up the grassy rise that led to the crumbling castle. "We've made excellent time today. And I could do with a bite."

  "I thought I heard your stomach rumbling," she said as he dismounted. "Are you always hungry, then?"

  He spanned her waist with his big hands to swing her down. "Seems so," he said with a grin.

  While he tethered Chiron to a tree, she flexed her knees and looked around. The remnants of the castle's walls meandered up and down gentle, grassy slopes, loosely connected by steps that seemed to lead nowhere. It struck her as both sad and terribly romantic.

  From a corner of the site rose the keep, a square tower that was tall but open to the sky.

  Rather than sharing her enchantment, Jason was digging in the portmanteau for the chicken, bread, and cheese he'd bought before leaving Grantham.

  "Come up the keep," she said. "I'd wager there's a lovely view."

  "Go ahead." He pulled a flask from one leather bag. "I'll arrange our supper."

  With a shrug, she started up the winding stone steps. Though in better shape than the rest of the castle, the keep was far from habitable. The floors were half gone, and big chunks of the walls were missing. The narrow stairs bore deep depressions from centuries of feet, and there was no rail, but the steps themselves felt solid and safe.

  She trudged up painfully, wondering if this were really a good idea after so many hours in the saddle. When she finally reached the top, puffing from exertion, she leaned on the crenelated wall and gazed out over the countryside.

  "Oh, it's glorious!" The land rolled away in all directions, dotted with trees and houses, divided by glistening ribbons of rivers and streams. "You can see from here like a bird in the sky. You must come up!"

  "Take your time," he called to her. "I'll wait for you here."

  "Nay, come join me!" She rushed to the other side, saw the endless, brown swath of the road, steeples of churches, a working mill. "You can see a mill from up here, Jase! It's running. The top of a mill—wouldn't that be interesting?"

  He was a miller, after all.

  But his chuckle floated up the ancient stone walls. "I've no need to see a mill. I have one of my own."

  "I knew that. But there's a big river too, and"—she worked her way around the perimeter—"a town, Jase! A bonnie large town!"

  "Stamford," he told her. "We're nearly there." From her high perch, he looked small as he walked around to her side. The sun glinted off his hair. "I can see the town from here," he called up. "The keep is built on a hill. They usually are, you know. A motte, the hill is called."

  "You cannot see it as well as I can," she argued. "It's a lovely town. With wee toy carriages going all over it."

  Laughing, he seated himself on what was left of a crumbling stone wall. "Enjoy. Come down when you've seen enough."
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  "Please come up," she begged. She wanted to share this with someone. The beauty, the wonder. "Please."

  He stared up at her for a minute. She wished she could see his expression better, especially when he released a long-suffering sigh. Finally he said, "Has anyone ever told you you're stubborn?"

  Without waiting for an answer, he stood and brushed off his breeches, then disappeared around the other side of the keep.

  A few footsteps echoed up the stairwell, slow and measured. Then…faltering? There was silence for a minute before the footfalls resumed, then stopped again. More silence, followed by the padding sound of walking on grass.

  Then the sun was glinting off his hair again. He was standing below her, outside the keep.

  "I changed my mind," he called up.

  Awareness slowly dawned.

  How very wrong she'd been. Ashamed, she slowly made her way down the tower. He met her at the bottom of the steps with a shrug and a self-deprecating grin.

  "You've a fear of heights," she said softly. "That's why you won't ride at the edge of a high bridge, isn't it?"

  Warm color flooded his cheeks. "Well, I did tell you I'm not superstitious."

  It was just like a man not to come out and say it. "You should have told me the truth. I wouldn't have teased you so."

  "You'd pass up that opportunity?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "It's hardly a manly admission."

  "But I understand. Though it's not exactly the same, my mother feared small spaces."

  "Did she, now?" He raised a brow. "And I imagine she quoted you wisdom for this sort of thing?"

  Caithren smiled. "A common blot is nae stain."

  "Come again?" He started toward where he'd left Chiron and their food.

  She trailed after him. "Don't fret about small faults that are common to everyone."

  "I see." Handing her a round of bread, he took the chicken and cheese and seated himself on a broken stone wall. "Well, I thank you for not laughing. I've never admitted this particular fault to anyone."

  An unexpected warmth spread out from her heart, that he would choose her in which to confide. Never mind that it was so obvious he'd have looked the fool for denying it—it was a rare man who would own up to such an affliction.

  She dropped to sit cross-legged on the grass, arranging her skirt to preserve her modesty.

  "Miss your breeches, do you?" he asked, ripping a healthy portion from a chicken leg.

  Composing herself, she tore off a hunk of the bread. "When I'm riding, aye. Maybe you should buy me a pair."

  He only grinned, but the brilliant slash of white made her breath catch. Up here on this hill, she felt close to this man. Closer than she'd ever felt to any man before.

  It made no sense. He'd kept her off the coach. He refused to believe a word she said. He was an Englishman.

  She ate in silence for a while, watching the comings and goings of people passing under the medieval gateway at the bottom of the hill.

  "It's a pretty town, all stone," she remarked.

  "A rich town. The wool trade has made their fortune." He took a swig from his flask of water, then passed it to her. "They've a fine marketplace. There, see? And it looks as though they've a fair in full swing this eve."

  She squinted into the distance. "Oh, just look how busy. So many booths!"

  "Would you like to go?"

  "Oh, aye!" But London was beckoning. Gothard was on the loose. She needed to find Adam. "We haven't the time," she sighed.

  "We couldn't possibly make it to another sizable town by nightfall." He gestured toward the sun, low in the western sky. "We'll be staying the night in Stamford regardless."

  She considered. "There will be things to buy at a fair, aye?"

  One eyebrow arched. "What, have I not bought you enough?"

  "One gown! One half a gown, truth be told." Her hand fluttered up to cover the top of her chest, although she was wearing her own laced bodice and modest shift.

  Jason's laugh boomed over the hillside. "I was fooling, sweet." Her heart turned over at the careless endearment, even though she knew it meant nothing. "I'll buy you a comb. And some clothes, if they've any ready made," he added before she could ask. "And we can eat."

  "Are you not eating already?" She aimed a pointed glance at the bare drumstick in his hand.

  "Fairgoing victuals," he explained, grinning as he chose another. "One cannot attend a fair without eating. Fair food doesn't count as real food."

  It sounded too good to be true, an evening of frivolous entertainment in the midst of their urgent journey. But they had covered quite a distance today, and it would serve a purpose as well. Jason did owe her replacements for her belongings.

  And she still hadn't recovered from him calling her a pet name, never mind that he hadn't seemed to notice.

  Confused, Cait stood and walked over to a pile of rubble, then climbed over it into an enclosure. "When was this built, do you think?" She gestured at the remnants of walls that marked what used to be chambers, now carpeted with soft grass instead of fragrant rushes. "It looks to be very old."

  "Norman, I believe," he said with a nod that drew her attention to his arresting features.

  My, but he was a beautiful man. Sweet, he'd called her, and it had sounded entirely different from when Cameron called her sweet.

  Awareness flooding her being, she deliberately looked away from him. "Can you picture this castle all solid, with banners and tapestries on the walls? And knights battling. Over there, maybe." Feeling giddy, she whirled in a wide-armed circle. "Oh, I expect it was glorious!"

  She stilled and turned to see him shrug. "I expect it was cold and rather crude."

  "You see the world in black and white, don't you?"

  Compelled by some pull beyond her control, she moved toward him. His hair shone blue-black in the deepening shadows, and his chiseled features looked sculpted in stark relief.

  A curious quiver of wanting ran through her. "Do you not like castles?" she asked softly.

  "I like them well enough." He made himself busy gathering the remains of their supper.

  She stepped over the rubble and knelt to help him. "I live in a castle."

  He looked up sharply, assessingly. "Do you?"

  "Aye, but it's not quite a real one, you see. I mean, it's not ancient." Once again her nerves had her blethering, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. "Da built it for my mother on the land that she brought to their union. He always called her his queen. It's fortified, but just a house for all that…fifteen rooms."

  "The castle at home—Cainewood—has stood five hundred years. It has maybe a hundred rooms."

  "A hundred rooms? Are you sure?" Looking up at him, she reached blindly, encountering his hand instead of the napkin she was aiming for.

  His fingers gripped hers. "I said maybe," he said with a grin. "I don't know if anyone has ever bothered to count." He swiped up the napkin and stood, pulling her to her feet with him.

  "How can they not have counted?" Marveling, Caithren followed him back to Chiron. "Is that castle in ruins, then, like this one?"

  "Oh, no. Though Cromwell did his best to flatten it, it still stands. I—people live in it."

  "Is it very grand?"

  He shrugged. "It's home. A home, I mean."

  "Have you been inside?"

  An enigmatic look crossed his face. "As a child, I used to play in the keep. That part is in ruins, though not as far gone as this. Of course, I never went up to the top," he added with a wry smile.

  "As a child," she mused. "I cannot picture you as a child. What was your childhood like?"

  "Happy. Until the war." He opened the portmanteau and started stuffing everything inside. "My parents were staunch Royalists. Father deposited us with friends and went off to defend the king, taking my mother with him. They both died in the Battle of Worcester. I was the eldest, at sixteen."

  He was making a mess of packing the two bags, but she was afraid to interrupt to help. She sensed this
was part of the puzzle. "You did what you thought your father would have wanted. Kept the family together."

  He closed the first latch. "I was a man by then—"

  "You were sixteen."

  "He was a war hero." The second latch snapped into place. "Honorable, brave, self-sacrificing. I've never been able to live up to him."

  She moved closer. "You make him sound like a god. He couldn't have been."

  "You didn't know him."

  Her stomach felt odd. She moved closer still.

  His eyes darkened, and he cleared his throat. "How is your shoulder?"

  "My shoulder?"

  "Where it was nicked by my sword. Would you mind if I looked?"

  She blinked, feeling heat stain her cheeks. "All right." Slowly she loosened the laces of her bodice and pulled it and her shift off the shoulder, feeling terribly naked beneath his gaze.

  Nothing marked the skin but a tiny dark scab.

  He bent close, nodding. "Looks good." His voice sounded husky by her ear, and her skin tingled at his nearness. Beneath the sleeves of her shift, the little hairs stood up on her arms.

  "I-I thank you for taking care of me." Her fingers fumbling, she shrugged back into her clothes and tightened her laces. Tying the bow, she swayed forward involuntarily, peering up at him. "For caring."

  His gaze locked on hers. Her heart skipped a beat. His knuckles came up and brushed her cheek.

  She looked from his compelling green eyes to the lips that had touched hers last night…

  He sucked in a breath. "The fair will close at nightfall," he said, pulling back. "We'd best be moving."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Caithren dodged a couple of dogs that were chasing each other near the entrance to the fair. "It's delightful!"

  "It stinks," Jason countered.

  "Aye, but it's exciting, don't you think?" She wrinkled her nose against the ripe smells of cattle and fish. But the odors didn't dim her enthusiasm. "We've nothing like this near Leslie."