The Memory of Her Kiss

by Rebecca Ruger

  This intrigued her. “Really? I can just get on a horse and ride...anywhere?”

  Torren bent his head to the side, where her head reached only his shoulder. “Aye, you canna just take a horse though. You ask Finn or Gavin in the stables if you might, and they’ll suit up a horse for you if they have one to spare.”

  Anice nodded at him, very much liking the idea of one day being able to ride about the beautiful land of Stonehaven atop a grand steed.

  “And what will you be doing today?” She asked the Kincaid. “Laird-y things?”

  He grinned. “A great many laird-y things, lass. Things not fit for mere mortals.”

  Anice smiled at this.

  Tamsin interrupted, “But what does incorrigible actually mean, sister?”

  “Irredeemable,” the Kincaid answered, then added, with a smirk aimed at Anice, “hopeless, stubborn, unable to be reformed—shall I go on?”

  Tamsin laughed. “I ken plenty of people that might be, but sister ain’t one of them.”

  “Thank you, Tamsin,” Anice said with a satisfied smile sent toward the Kincaid.

  When the Kincaid had finished his bread and ale, everyone rose from the table and set off about their day. Anice followed Torren across the bailey and into the dim interior of the castle’s stables. They found an older man, lanky and long but having only one eye, the other shrunken and puckered in such a way as to suggest nothing sat behind the permanently closed lid. Anice nodded and smiled at the man when Torren introduced her to Gavin as only ‘sister’.

  “Sister’ll help bring up the mounts that’ll need shoeing,” Torren explained to Gavin’s skeptical expression. “I aim to teach her to ride and told her you would set her up when she chose, providing you had time and a spare mare or smaller palfrey.”

  “In that, you’ll teach her?” Gavin said, looking over Anice’s yellow gown. “Git her some breeches, Torren.”

  “The chief’ll have my hide if I put her in breeches.”

  Gavin spit out a cackle. “Better sight than that goat piss kirtle. You’re hurtin’ me only good eye, sister.” And he cackled a bit more.

  Anice rolled her eyes but thought no worse of Gavin. The yellow really was awful, she knew.

  “I need a petite saddle, Gavin,” Torren said and the older man once more sized up Anice before moving off down the aisle between many stalls, returning half a minute later with a saddle that apparently met Torren’s approval. He hoisted the thing up over his shoulder and Anice followed him over to the smithy, Robert, where Torren informed him they’d be back shortly with the first group of horses, then they walked out of the bailey, through the tunnel and down the hill away from the castle. At the bottom of the hill, Torren turned left upon a matted grass trail that walked them through dozens of silver birch trees set in golden grass until it opened up to a spacious and rolling meadow where dozens of horses roamed.

  Two young boys, no more than ten years of age, were each holding the side of a large bucket, working together, hefting it up and over a long wooden trough. They filled the trough and dropped the bucket just as they noticed Torren and Anice. They stood silent then, watching in awe as the behemoth Torren walked past them with only a vague nod as greeting. Their jaws remained agape as Anice smiled at them, neither looking at her face though, as one boy had his eye on Anice’s hair, and the other on her gown.

  Torren gave a precise and even whistle and several horses at the far side of the meadow lifted their heads and pranced his way. He took Anice’s hand and led her to stand away from the boys and the trough and to await the horses. “Take the bridle of that smallest one, sister. First thing you do is you let the animal know you’re no afraid, and that you are the boss. Walk right up to him and tell him.”

  The smallest one still looked too big for Anice. Cautiously, she approached the animal and reached down around his neck for the bridle. When he seemed to accept this, she stared into those magnificent dark eyes and placed her hands on either side of his big head. When he only lowered his face toward her, she laid her cheek against his and whispered, “Please let me sit on your back and don’t toss me off. I promise to love you forever if you do.”

  Torren, having heard the plea, shook his head and glanced down at the boys. One scratched his head and stared at Anice, then up at Torren with a question in his curious gaze. The other’s face was scrunched up, showing his teeth, while he watched her.

  Anice turned around, her cheek still touching the horse’s, with her hand wrapped under its neck and patting his other cheek. “He understands now, I think.”

  Torren laughed, but only because the horse did seem to give a shake of his head, as if to nod in agreement.

  “What’s his name?” She asked.

  “His name? Sister, there be no names. ‘Tis the gray, or the black, or the big brown, or the smaller palfrey.”

  She turned around and put her forehead to the horse. “I will give you a name. You shall be Fearchar, which means dear one.”

  Now Torren rolled his eyes. “Aye, sister, if you’re about done mooning over the beast, can we get you up on it?” He stepped nearer and made to lift her up.

  “You cannot lift me up on the horse, Torren. You have to show me how to get up there myself.”

  “Aye, you’re right. But you’re too small to even reach the stirrups so you’ll always be needing to find something to stand on. Up in the stables, there’ll be stools near, but elsewhere, easiest thing is tip over a bucket.”

  He turned and sent one of the watching boys to fetch the bucket they’d used earlier.

  Anice spent the next ten minutes on many unsuccessful attempts, and several inglorious missteps, which sent those boys into fits of giggles. But she did manage, with constant instruction from Torren, to finally gain her seat atop the horse.

  “That was a lot easier when the Kincaid just swung me up into the saddle.”

  “You ken his name is Gregor, aye?”

  “And mine is Anice, but no one seems to use that, either. Now I’m here, what do I do?” She asked, struggling to cover her legs as the skirts of her gown had ridden up almost to her knees.

  Torren came to her side, his head at about waist height to her now. He stilled the horse with a hand on its neck and settled Anice with the other hand covering hers in the folds of her skirts.

  “Aye, sister, I ken it’s no what you’re used to, but here, we just don’t bother so much with all that,” he said, indicating her visible calves and ankles. “You’ll have no other occasion to show your limbs, and I’ll be tanning your hide if you do—but I want you to ken it’s no fussed upon here. Women ‘round here are busy and working and they just dinna worry about these things.”

  Anice nodded. It seemed awkward to her, to have so much skin showing.

  “I do want to fit in.”

  Torren looked at her curiously and said, “You just be yourself, sister.”

  Chapter 9

  Anice followed Torren up the hill to the castle’s bailey. Torren walked, leading three horses in need of shoeing while Anice followed, astride Fearchar as she had been for the last few hours, and leading two more spare horses. She didn’t yet feel supremely comfortable and was glad to have Torren so close, but she was quite proud that she had learned enough to be walking Fearchar up and down the hill with so little unease.

  She spied Gregor walking across the bailey and waved giddily at him, hoping he was impressed with the results of her instruction thus far. But waving with the hand that held Fearchar’s reins had the horse confused, and he danced a bit to the side for a moment until Anice recalled what she was about and guided the horse correctly.

  Gregor smiled and approached her just as she stopped all the horses between the smithy and the stables. She remained seated as Torren took the leading reins from her and moved the spare horses away.

  “That’s the third time I’ve brought them up,” she told him with a bit of pride, her eyes bright with her accomplishment.

  “Well done, lass,” he praise
d, petting the neck of her mount, glancing up at her. “Is that the last of them?”

  “Yes, they’ve all been shod and brought back down to the meadow.”

  “That’s the horse pasture, lass.”

  She nodded. “Could this be my occupation?”

  “What’s that?” Gregor’s brow crinkled with the question.

  “Well, I imagine that Torren is too busy for so menial a task. I could manage it.” She looked hopefully down at him.

  “Lass, the horses dinna need shoeing so often when we’re home at Stonehaven.”

  This was sad news indeed, as she’d been so excited to have found some purpose. She noticed that Gregor’s gaze lingered over her legs. Exasperated, she fidgeted, trying to pull her skirts down further. Her tone was quite put out when she insisted, “Torren said it wouldn’t matter here at Stonehaven. He said women didn’t worry about things like that.”

  Gregor touched her hand to stop her fretting. “He’s right,” he was quick to assure her, and then he added, “I was just making sure the sun dinna burn you. Your skin is fair and unused to the sun’s attention. Now are you coming down yet, lass?”

  She grinned at him. “I haven’t learned yet how to dismount,” and when Gregor moved to lift her off the horse, she objected with a shake of her head, “No, Torren said I could ride for leisure for a while.”

  “You ready for that, lass?” Gregor raised a brow at her.

  “Oh yes, Fearchar and I are very much looking forward to a good...well, maybe only a slow trot for today until I am more comfortable.”

  “Fearchar?”

  “That’s his name.”

  “Horses dinna have names, lass.”

  “This one does, and likely whichever I ride tomorrow and the next day will have names as well. That’s what I told Henry and Gary.”

  “Henry and Gary? More named horses?”

  Anice looked down at him with a funny grin. “Henry and Gary are the boys in the pasture, feeding and watering the horses.”

  Gregor chuckled. “Of course.”

  “You could ride with me,” she said, thinking about how much more fun a ride might be with the Kincaid at her side. Anice was quite sure that a war took place within him, for his brow lifted as if inclined to accept her proposal but then he frowned as if he would not. His gaze rested on her face again, and as he was staring at her lips, she wondered if he were thinking about kissing her again. She felt a blush rise and was hard-pressed to keep a bubbling smile from coming.

  “I canna, lass,” he said. “I’m still about my laird-y things,” he teased, “but you get on with Torren and then come down to the hall for supper later.”

  Her face fell but she nodded, and he gave one last pat to Fearchar’s neck before pivoting on his heel and walking into the keep.

  Anice watched him walk away. He unnerved her so. She didn’t know any other way to characterize his effect on her. Of course, he did not scare her, but neither did he put her exactly at ease. She felt something stirred when he was near and something was misplaced when he was not. When he smiled at her, something twisted inside, and when he pondered her intently, something breathed within her.

  She wanted him to kiss her again.

  That was all she knew.

  IN THE AFTERNOON, ANICE found Fibh in the courtyard and had asked if she could see the battlements, to which he happily obliged by taking her up there himself, using stairs that were found through a door just to the right of the tunnel. Atop the castle, she found Arik and Sim as part of the wall detail and then felt comfortable enough to hang out there for quite some time. She could see so much of the valley of Stonehaven, and even parts of the army far off from the bottom of the hill.

  “What are they doing?” She asked, seeing that the group of twenty or more soldiers were split into two lines, facing each other.

  “Training, sister,” came Arik’s response. “You don’t win battles if you canna handle a sword or dagger or lance.”

  Torren was among the group out there, she could see, using one lad to demonstrate some move with his long dagger. He seemed to be talking to the whole group, moving his eyes from one soldier to the next, pointing the knife this way and that, his hand on the lad’s shoulder. Suddenly, he whirled the boy around swiftly and wrapped his thick forearm around the lad’s neck. The boy was so stunned that he only pounded on Torren’s arm, begging mercy of the captain’s chokehold. Torren ignored his slapping and spoke to the watching soldiers, until finally the lad lifted his own blade and gave a mock stabbing motion into Torren’s arm with his dagger, which gained his release.

  The entire view, aside from what interest the training held for her, near took her breath away. There was a high tower at Jardine, which she’d often climbed to hide from the rest of the cloister, but those spare windows had only shown trees and not anything beyond. But this, now, this was spectacular, showing green rolling hills stretched into fields of purple heather and gray rock brightened by the sun.

  She enjoyed all this so much that she stayed too long at the battlements and found herself rather rushing into the hall when she finally noticed the bailey clearing as people ambled within. But she needn’t have worried—people only congregated in the room, the meal not yet served. She sidled up to Torren, who chatted with Fibh and Kinnon about the success of their trip into Cowie. Torren seemed well pleased with their report on the horse trading.

  Their circle grew as Arik and Tamsin and others joined them.

  “Oh, but sister, you should have come with us,” said Kinnon with profound animation. “A fight broke out between two men, just near to where horses stood in the lane, waiting to be moved. Those men tussled around on the ground and spooked the horses, so that they bolted, but not before one crashed a big hoof onto one man’s leg. Sent his bone clear out of his skin, just cracked and sticking right out from his shin. It was awesome.”

  Anice gave him a dubious look. “Sounds terrifying, actually.”

  Gregor came into the hall then, Anice was quick to notice. He walked across the room toward the group of them, his eyes fixing on her just as hers had on him. She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling but felt herself react to merely his presence.

  “So you’ll no be going into Cowie next time, even though you can handle your own mount now?” Torren asked, drawing her attention away from the magnificent form of the Kincaid.

  Anice shook her head, making a face. “Doesn’t sound very safe there.” Gregor stood directly across from her, said something low to Arik, who nodded, then gave his attention to the conversation around him.

  “Aye, it’s no, sister.”

  Sister. She turned to face Torren as he stood directly at her side. She glanced up at him. “Torren, would you kindly do me a favor?”

  “Aye, sister.” The big man half turned to face her as well.

  “Very good.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Repeat after me: Anice.”

  Torren sent a glance to Gregor.

  “Eyes on me, if you please.” She lifted a hand to point her fingers at her chest. “Anice,” she instructed again. “Or lass, if you prefer.”

  Torren conceded with a sheepish grin. “Aye, I get it...”

  “Thank you.” She appeared completely satisfied and turned just as Torren finished his sentence.

  “...sister.”

  She faced the big man and narrowed her eyes at him. “Fine. I’m changing your name as well, then. Henceforth you are...” she waved a hand and looked upward, as if the ceiling might produce a suggestion—and it must have, because she faced Torren again as a sly grin stretched across her face, “you are Buttercup.”

  Gregor joined several others in barking out great shouts of laughter. Fibh slapped his knee while he chortled. Kinnon covered his startled laughter with his hand, pointing at Torren, who very clearly wanted to smile, it seemed, but tried very hard to give her a threatening look. Anice, with her arms akimbo again, struck a pose that clearly said, There! How do you like it?

 
And thus, assuming no great threat from the captain, she dared further, with much less success containing her own grin. “Now, Buttercup, will there be another riding lesson tomorrow or had you imparted the vast stores of your knowledge in that wee lesson today?”

  More shouts of laughter followed, and even Torren gave up the game, his rough smile overtaking him. His head moved up and down, granting the point to Anice. “Aye, lass, if I dinna turn you over my knee for being still so incorrigible, I’ll teach you more yet.”

  Anice smiled beautifully at his acquiescence and said, “Thank you, Torren.”

  Oh, but she enjoyed their supper so much. Surrounded by these men, every one of them at least twice the size of her, her shoulders squeezed between Torren and Fibh, enjoying their lighthearted banter and even their discussions of a more serious nature. They did not exclude her, or disdain of her remarks and neither did they treat her numerous questions as trifling or silly.

  “My lord, do you not take your dinner at the head table?” She asked of the Kincaid, though she was certainly happier to have him here at this table, with her.

  He shook his head, lifting it from over his plate, licking his fingers before he answered. “’Tis a family table and I’d be the only one there.” He shrugged. “Would make dinner very boring.”

  “And you’d look fairly foolish,” Fibh advised.

  “Does your mother never take supper in the hall?” Anice asked.

  “No if we’re lucky,” he quipped and several of the lads snickered at this.

  “There was a girl who came to Jardine, Gertrude was her name, of some great family. She would tell us tales of her home, crying every night to be returned there. But she said that at her home—Ormond Manor, or something like that—there was only her father left and he sat upon the dais with his captain and officers.”

  Arik, seeming to miss the point, set his blue eyes on Anice from across the table, and said, “If the man had no family, why did he send his daughter off to a nunnery?”

  Sadly, Anice informed him, “Gertrude was lame. She had one leg that drooped and dragged. Her gait was rather ungainly, and her father assumed she wouldn’t ever find a husband.”