The Protector

by Allison Butler

  Dark shadows lightened and became distinct shapes, recognisable objects. Timber shelves warped beneath the weight of cloths, saddles, leather reins, empty pails and spare lanterns. Scythes, pitchforks, hoes and other tools stood huddled in one corner as if trading secrets.

  Mairi wished they’d whisper louder to drown out the annoying, yet alluring, sounds coming from the bailey.

  A generous pile of straw lay to the left of the opening. The abandoned pitchfork lying nearby and the scattered stalks of golden grass gave testimony that the chore was only half done.

  Someone had left in a hurry. Mairi knew why and what had drawn them.

  She wanted to leave, too.

  A low snort from deeper inside the long, narrow structure rescued her from the treacherous thought. A hoof pawing the earthen floor and a muffled whinny soon smothered the distracting noise drifting in from outside.

  The timber barriers forming each individual stall stood as high as Mairi’s chin. Black as night, her horse was barely visible standing at the rear of her stall, which was located close to this particular stable entrance. The pretty, dark head, boasting a patch of white the size of Mairi’s smallest fingernail, lifted as if in greeting and dropped back down as her mistress passed by.

  The cool fingers of air tickling the exposed skin of Mairi’s face and neck grew colder as she reached the centre stalls where Balfour’s mount was kept. All intriguing sounds of temptation coming from the courtyard faded with each step she took. She quickened her pace.

  Three stalls down she stopped and peered over the wooden barricade to find the horse she was looking for. Of a light brown hue, Guardian, aptly named by her personal guard, was of a similar size to Mairi’s horse and appeared content nibbling away at the oats one of the stable lads had given him. Precisely what she would tell Balfour when she returned to the Tower House.

  To get there, she needed to walk toward the practice grounds. So it was no fault of hers that she might see what had lured everyone to the same place.

  The urge to run back to the stable entrance was great. Knowing there wasn’t a soul about to witness her haste made her measured steps more difficult. But she would know. And it was she who needed to control these silly urges that had been plaguing her since dark-haired Duff had ridden into her life and plucked her from her horse.

  No man had ever had such an effect on her and she was struggling to ignore such new and powerful sensations. Even now as she fought to hold her footsteps to a steady pace, her heart ran about in her chest. The newly discovered insensible portion of her mind had stored and now conjured recent images. Full lips kicked up in a half smile, as he conversed with her father. His granite-hard, shadowed jaw looked as if it held no softness at all, yet it enticed her fingers to trace the firm line. His shiver-inspiring eyes. She desperately wanted the freedom to explore them with her own gaze.

  Mairi drew even with her horse’s stall and stopped. It didn’t matter what she wanted. Duty was all that mattered.

  A spike of uncertainty pricked inside her chest. She turned and stared at her mount. Her mount stared back, but couldn’t utter words to tell her all would be well. She turned and looked toward the stable opening she’d entered through. Sunlight spilled into the gloom, washing over strewn straw and the discarded pitchfork.

  Unlike the stablehand who’d neglected to complete his duty before quenching his curiosity, Mairi could never abandon hers. Too many people were relying on her. Including her ailing father who’d already organised the next part of her life and the men he deemed worthy to share it.

  Silence greeted her sombre realisation. Silence within the stable and without. She cocked her head, straining to hear the clashing of swords. Nothing. Her quashed, infernal curiosity flared back to life.

  Was something amiss? She crept to the doorway and keeping to one side, peeked out into the open. Rumbling voices reached her ears as she looked in the direction of the practice area. A large crowd was dispersing. She ducked her head back inside.

  The rumbled conversations grew louder. Children called to one another. A woman’s laughter mingled with the squawk of a chicken. The sound of life suddenly returned to the bailey.

  Edging her face around the timber frame, she peered outside once more. Her gaze fell on Duff. She sucked in a shocked little breath and her fingers tightened about the wooden doorway. He was walking alongside her father, in the direction of the Great Tower.

  Mairi studied his tall, powerful frame and his long, even stride. She’d never truly taken notice of how a man walked before, but Duff from the Borders seemed to move so effortlessly it was as if he flowed rather than walked.

  His flowing gait came to a sudden stop. They exchanged a few more words before her father continued on toward the tower steps. Duff turned and headed straight for the stable.

  Mairi froze and her next breath lodged somewhere deep in her throat.

  Did he know she was here?

  It didn’t matter. She didn’t want to be caught alone with him. She had to move. And fast. His flowing stride meant he was approaching at a swift pace.

  She ducked her head inside and straightened. She’d flee to the other entrance, wait until Duff entered through this one and escape outside.

  Pleased with her clever plan, she sought the shadows by taking a few quick steps backward. Something solid connected with her right heel. Her weight shifted. Her balance teetered.

  Arms wheeling, she tried to correct her footing. But it was no use. The top of her body was falling too fast for the bottom half to catch up.

  She was falling.

  Mairi braced herself for a painful jolt. Instead, she suffered an uncomfortable thud as she sprawled on the half-mound of straw, the impact hard enough to drive every trace of air from her lungs and a prolonged groan from her lips.

  Chapter Six

  A drawn-out moan sounded from within the stable. Whether derived from pain or pleasure, Duff wasn’t certain. He paused at the entrance, blood still pumping swiftly from the swordplay and the challenge thrown by Iain. His sweat-dampened shirt clung to his back like a lost lover. A rustling noise sounded close by.

  He peered inside, but with the sun behind him, the shadows proved too deep. He left his sword in its sheath at his back but drew the dirk from his waistband and entered.

  Cool air chilled his heated skin. The usual smells associated with a stable assailed him. While his eyes adjusted to the change in light, he scanned the interior, giving the impression to anyone who watched him that he could see clearly. He also ensured they could see his drawn weapon.

  All appeared as it should be. The tools and necessary items usually found in a stable were there. The beasts were still and quiet, resting in the comfort of their clean stalls. After his initial inspection it seemed he was the only person within the long, dim structure. But the awareness creeping across his rigid shoulders told him otherwise.

  Someone occupied the shadows to the left of the entrance.

  Breathing deeply, preparing, loosening the tension claiming his muscles, Duff slowly turned.

  Golden straw, much the same hue as the laird’s daughter’s hair, lay strewn near the opening. Though he’d never used Castle Elliot’s stable as a place for pleasure, he’d heard his share of stories from those who had. Had he interrupted a tryst?

  He eyed the carelessly placed pitchfork. The implement could be used as a weapon by whoever continued to hide in the darkened corner.

  Dagger in hand, he lowered the weapon to his side. ‘It would be wise to reveal yourself now.’ His voice was low and calm. A deep stillness greeted his suggestion, as if even the horses held their bated breath. Despite the lack of response or proof that someone did indeed lurk in the shadows, Duff’s senses were more reliable than the prospect of seeing the sun on a summer’s day.

  ‘I give you fair warning, if you choose not to come out once I’m done speaking, I will come and drag you out into the light.’

  ‘You will do nae such thing.’ The commanding, femin
ine voice matched the stern-looking woman who stepped out of the shadows. Except … the stalks of golden straw sticking up in her hair and stubbornly clinging to one sleeve of her gown gave her outraged appearance a humorous quality.

  But not for long. Thoughts and images began flying fast a furious through Duff’s head. The convenient pile of straw. The knowledge Mairi wasn’t wed. The fact she’d stayed hidden in the shadows. His humour vanished, but his mind ticked on, the memory of being a young lad and finding one of the guards’ wives betraying him with another in the Elliot stables as disheartening now as it was back then. The groan he’d heard. Mairi lying on the scattered bed of hay, strands of her silken hair mingled and lost among the sun-coloured grass. Duff’s fists tightened, strangling the hilt of his dirk. As he wanted to strangle the man who’d known Mairi in ways he never would.

  ‘Why didn’t you reveal yourself?’ The abrasive note in his voice surprised him and, by Mairi’s flustered response, it must have caught her off guard, too.

  ‘I needed to catch my breath.’

  Other images associated with Mairi losing her breath quickly formed. Needing to do something, Duff stepped forward and retrieved the fallen pitchfork. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘If I’d had the sense to pick that up when I’d first entered, I wouldn’t have fallen over it.’ Duff heard the self-derision in her mumbled voice, as if she were talking to herself. He stared at her. She noticed his attention and stiffened. ‘Where is who?’ She brushed the stubborn straw from her sleeve and met Duff’s gaze.

  Her words slowly registered. Had he mistaken her innocent fall for something more? On closer inspection, he noticed her gown was barely rumpled. ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked, clenching the pitchfork’s wooden handle.

  ‘Nae.’ She stared directly into his eyes. ‘The straw cushioned my fall.’ She spoke as if she’d planned it all to happen precisely as it had.

  His grip about the timber handle relaxed. The weight pressing down upon his shoulders lifted. Duff drank in her loveliness. Saw her innocence. Spied her naivety. The last thing on her mind would be tumbling a man in a pile of hay to find her pleasure. She wasn’t like the sentry’s wife. She was too busy doing her duty and fighting to appear in control. Too busy pretending to be unaffected and not to care.

  While he seemed to care about her too much.

  ‘Duncan,’ he suddenly said.

  ‘Duncan?’ She queried. ‘Who is Duncan?’

  ‘My horse. I want to ensure he is well.’ Duff speared the pitchfork into the straw and wedged the handle against the timber wall. ‘Perhaps you can help me find him.’

  Silence stretched as he waited for Mairi’s reply. He knew she’d be searching for an excuse not to accompany him. He also knew her sense of duty wouldn’t allow her to refuse.

  ‘I am certain your horse has been well cared for, but I will accompany you to find him so you can see for yourself. Then I must go about my other duties.’ With a swish of her skirts, she marched along the stable’s aisle as if said skirts were on fire.

  Duff followed close at her heels, his curiosity about the woman before him ever growing.

  ‘Do men not trust the stablehands to do their duty and properly care for their mounts?’ A splash of sunlight bathed her form as they passed by a second stable entrance and she halted at the last stall.

  ‘They do,’ Duff said. ‘But our mounts are as important to us as our swords.’ Peering inside the stall he continued, ‘Without either, we’d travel slowly and protect nothing. I did not see to Duncan when I arrived. Who better to see to our horses than the men who rely on them most?’ He turned and looked at Mairi. ‘Are you not here to check on your mount?’

  ‘My horse is fine. I came to check on Balfour’s mount for him.’ She slowly shook her head. ‘The stubborn man was determined to leave his sickbed to ensure Guardian had been watered and fed. My promise to see it done for him was enough to convince him to rest and heal.’

  ‘You care for Balfour?’

  She stiffened and met his gaze. ‘Balfour is my personal guard. The sooner he returns to his duty, the better.’

  He stared at Mairi, knowing there was more to her concern for her guard than duty alone.

  ‘You named your horse Duncan?’

  The question was meant as a distraction, he knew. He turned to fully face her. ‘Aye. What did you name yours?’

  ‘Mine?’ She looked away.

  Duff stepped forward and plucked the two sticks of straw stubbornly clinging to her hair. She flinched and turned to face him. He opened his palm to show his prize. ‘Aye, yours.’

  It wasn’t a trick question, nor a difficult one to answer, but still she seemed to hesitate. Gaze darting from his hand to meet his eyes, she straightened to her full height and gathered her skirts. ‘You’ve found your horse. I have tasks to see to.’

  Duff’s fingers curled into a fist as he watched Mairi march out of the stable without giving him an answer. Why hadn’t she named her horse?

  ***

  Mairi crouched in the dark and ran the fingertips of one hand over the roughened surface before her. She counted three sandstone blocks across and slowly rose as she counted another seven high. With the dank coldness now swirling about her ankles, she pressed her palm against the chilled wall to mark the spot. Despite the season, no sun came close to shining upon the stones this deep within the Tower House. There was little use for the sun here, and the only reason for the tiny fire burning in the deepest darkness now was to light her way.

  Reaching out, while keeping her hand over the selected stone, she carefully slid the iron candleholder onto the shelf alongside the flint. The slight movement bent the flame sideways and sent the dim shadows dancing wildly. She stilled, not wanting to extinguish the candle just yet. She planned to use its light to guide her out once she’d satisfied her curiosity. A trait she’d always had but one that had never been annoying before a certain dark-eyed stranger had ridden into her life.

  An ordinary, well-planned life she’d found nothing but satisfaction in living, if you didn’t count the sadness, the loneliness, and the fear of disappointing her father again. But she was about to marry and although she expected to suffer more of the first, she was determined not to fail in the last.

  It was only a pity the reason for her heightened, somewhat maddening, curiosity was at present a guest in her father’s Great Hall. For just one night.

  A blessing, she told herself as she slid the candle the rest of the way. She then slipped the tips of her cool fingers about the edges of the selected stone. With a forceful shake, she dislodged it from its resting place and slowly jiggled it toward her.

  The soft, grinding sound seemed to go on forever without much of the sandstone block slipping free. She paused and drew in a gritty breath that reminded her of the last time she’d stood here. She hadn’t been tall enough to touch the specific stone without the aid of another to stand on. Neither had she been alone.

  Her fingertips bit into the stone block as she closed and squeezed her eyes shut tight. She didn’t want such memories, for although they lived in precious pockets in her mind, those pockets were lined with guilt. She loathed the guilt she carried, and quickly stitched up the pockets using the strength of will she’d woven over the last eleven years to seal the memories along with the lurking guilt inside.

  Done!

  Mairi released the constricting breath she’d been holding and opened her eyes to the dimly lit space she occupied. She renewed her grip on the stone and several determined moments later, the sound of sandstone sliding over the edge of sandstone hushed off the walls as the heavy block tilted and fell into her waiting hands.

  Lowering the weight to the ground beside her, she straightened and quietly skimmed her palms together to rid them of the worse of the coarse dust. She then turned to the opening left by the stone’s absence.

  The removed stone made up part of the tower’s inner western wall and was situated in the darkened recess below the main stairwell. Placing
both hands flat on the wall each side of the hole, she leaned forward and peered through the short, rectangular shaped tunnel. The view into the Great Hall began with a side-on angle of the laird’s table and ended at the entrance to the healing room. Only the very last section of the hall could not be seen. Not that it mattered, for Mairi believed the purpose of the secret spy-hole was to afford her father the perfect view of the guests he’d invited to dine at his table.

  Her father now occupied his seat and she wondered how he would react if he knew his daughter was watching him from the secret passageway she wasn’t supposed to know existed.

  Mairi’s gaze shifted to her father’s present guest of honour, who sat in the chair to the right of his host. At the mere sight of Duff, the fluttering low in Mairi’s belly resumed. It had stopped when she’d fled the stable earlier. Once he was out of sight. After she’d fled without answering his question.

  She couldn’t have remained any longer. There had been no real need for her to stay after Duff had arrived in the first place. He could have found his horse without her assistance. So why had he asked for her help?

  Could he simply want to spend time with her?

  People sought her out when they needed her opinion or permission to do something. No one approached her for the sake of wanting to share her company and Mairi had never encouraged them. It hurt too much when she lost them. It was for the best. Even her three suitors were coming at her father’s invitation. Could Duff from the Borders be different?

  The fluttering in her belly doubled.

  But why? Not once had she encouraged his attentions. Since they’d met, she’d done all she could to drive him away. Was it possible Duff felt the same curiosity that he stirred within her? Was he free to explore such possibilities?

  She was not.

  The fluttering stopped. A feeling of emptiness quickly filled its place.

  She had a duty to her father and to her clan and Duff was an honoured guest in her home for one night. She, who was determined to appear in control at all times, must have looked the fool, with straw sticking out of her hair, when he’d seen her after her fall. Her cheeks had shown the level of her shame by heating and no doubt glowing red. She wanted to avoid him as much as she could.