“Torren’ll be your teacher, lass.”
Anice’s shoulders straightened. “Oh, very good. I am bound to win, then.”
“And you’ll spar with me now,” said the Kincaid, standing where Sim had, his own grin devilish.
Anice’s mouth gaped. “Shouldn’t I practice more first with—sorry Sim—lesser combatants?”
Gregor’s brow danced and he grinned at her. “No every man will give away his direction with his eyes.”
“Great.”
“Come on, then, lass,” Torren said, standing beside her. He leaned down and whispered, “He’ll switch the blade from right hand to left at the last minute. Parry that.”
Anice nodded, and set her feet and knees properly, watching Gregor’s eyes. Unlike Sim, Gregor kept his eyes on hers and his grin disappeared rather suddenly so that he only seemed to be staring at her with great intent. She felt her breath sticking in her throat so that even as he did as Torren had said he would and tossed his dagger into his left hand and struck, Anice was unable to move quick enough to thwart his fake thrust.
She heard the sound of collective of breaths being drawn in behind her as his blade came very near to her neck.
“Aye, you’re dead for sure now, sister.”
Chapter 12
Torren stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the Kincaid, turning his head over his shoulder to make sure Gregor had stepped back far enough, before saying very softly, “When he’s giving you the eye like that, give him the softest, sweetest smile you can manage and then lunge for his midsection.
“That sounds like trickery,” Anice said, her whisper even lower than Torren’s.
“Ain’t no trickery in saving your life, lass.”
She caught just the hint of a smile in the big man’s eyes. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”
He nodded, his merry eyes telling her this was a distinct possibility.
Torren stepped aside and Anice faced off against the Kincaid. He grinned still, for having bested her. She bent her knees and spent some time placing her feet as she’d been taught. Slowly, she lifted her head, her eyes finding Gregor’s. She didn’t blink, just stared steadily as he stepped closer, considering his move. As Torren had suggested, she let a slow and soft smile come, tilting her head ever so slightly, and watched as some emotion entered his gaze. His lips parted while he stared at hers now and Anice lunged forward quickly, driving her small blade within only inches of his middle before he’d reacted. He side-stepped her thrust at the last minute, lifting his blade, but Anice caught this movement and his wrist, pushing his arm out away from her, which put them so close their breaths joined between them. With her hand at his wrist above her head and her other hand and the knife just near his hip, she stared up at him, her smile gone. Just now, she was only aware of his proximity and his eyes still raking hers so closely and her hand still squeezing his thick wrist. Everything about him was detailed in heat; his eyes glinted with intensity, once again stealing her breath; warmth radiated from him, though they barely touched; and under her fingers, the pulsing heat nearly singed her.
Around them, great hollers and shouts were heard after a long moment of absolute silence. Gregor blinked and Anice straightened, but their gazes remained connected.
Anice swallowed. So much noise surrounded her just then, but she could only hear Gregor even though he’d said not a word.
“Sister just out-maneuvered the Kincaid!”
“Chief, you best give heed to the lass’s teaching.”
“Aye, and we’ve got company.”
This last comment, from Torren, finally dragged Gregor’s gaze from Anice, and she breathed again.
The short man, the Duncan chief, rode out onto the practice field, with his black-garbed minions and equally petite soldiers in tow. They should look spectacular, the Duncan’s garments so splendid and fine, the soldiers’ silver so shiny and their tabards and breastplates bright and unsoiled, the horses so well-groomed with nary a speck of dirt or dust upon them. And yet, they seemed only a caricature of sorts, some little boys playing at dress-up.
Gregor and Torren exchanged glances, with Gregor inclining his head tersely at Anice. Both men then stepped in front of her, being so large as to completely conceal her presence, their movement so casual as to draw no undue attention.
The small party reined in sharply enough to throw dirt up at Gregor’s feet.
“Kincaid, you’ve got all of about five minutes to release my son from your dungeon or so help me God, you will—”
“He’ll no be released.” Anice heard Gregor say, with quiet firmness.
The Kincaid stood with one hand on the top of his sword and the other bent onto his hip, which allowed Anice to peer through the gap made by his arm just in time to see the Duncan’s face turn a blotchy shade of red.
“And for what supposed crime do you detain him?”
Fibh moved forward, standing behind Torren, next to Anice, his eyes on Duncan. She felt someone come near her left side as well and turned to see Arik park himself there, though he also kept his gaze on the interlopers.
“He assaulted a woman,” said the Kincaid.
Anice went completely still.
Duncan raised his thin brows, his disdain evident. “And? Kincaid, you need a stronger answer than that. You cannot hold my boy for so flimsy a reason.”
“We dinna take to men who abuse women. He stays where he is.”
“You’d start a war over a woman?”
“You’ll no want a war with me, Duncan. I’ll be wedding with your daughter and you’ll get the access to the sea you’ve been after and I’ll get the peace I’ve sought. But Hugh will stay below.” His voice never wavered. “That is no negotiable.”
Anice’s lips formed a small O, taking in what happened around her, what trouble she had now brought to the Kincaid. She felt shaken. One hand covered her mouth while the other reached just to steady herself, rather blindly flattening against the Kincaid’s lower back.
“How long do you intend to hold my son prisoner?”
The words were clipped. Anice could no longer see as the Kincaid had moved his arm when she’d touched him, but she could hear in the little Duncan’s voice his seething anger.
“He was given the choice: one year below,” the Kincaid answered in a level tone, “or take his chances with the sheriff’s court when it comes ‘round in a few months. He chose the latter, but he’ll remain locked up until then. As the offense took place upon Kincaid land, it is my prerogative to hold him.”
“Who is he said to have assaulted?”
Anice stiffened, biting her lip, her fingers unconsciously curling around Gregor’s leather belt just above his hips. She felt bodies press closer around her, felt someone immediately at her back. She was very well protected, she knew, and only now embarrassed for this difficulty she had passed onto the Kincaid.
“That’ll be no concern of yours. It’ll be said when the sheriff comes.”
“I warn you, Kincaid,” the little man said, “I will—”
“You’ll no do anything, Duncan,” the Kincaid interrupted sharply. “Our contract is binding, much to my regret, but if you make war on me or mine, you break the contract. And your fancy clothes and paid lackeys do no come cheap. You’ll be wanting access to the sea for your trade. Dinna threaten me. Crimes committed come with debts to be paid.”
The air nearly crackled with the silent impasse. Anice felt the tight anger in the Kincaid’s posture and she held as still as he before hearing the sounds of horses moving away. Around her, stiff shoulders dropped, and mumbled curses followed Duncan’s leavetaking. Gregor turned around and Torren, Arik, and Fibh gave her space.
Anice looked into Gregor’s eyes. “This is my fault.”
He raised a dark brow. “Did you attack Hugh Duncan, lass?”
“Well, no. But I don’t want to cause trouble for you.”
“Hugh Duncan brings his own trouble, lass,” said Torren. “Not the first tim
e—and until someone puts a sword through his gullet, won’t be the last.”
Anice peered around Kincaid’s arm. Chief Duncan had stopped and faced Gregor and his men again. His eyes were set specifically upon Anice now, visible as the circle around her had broken. He peered through skinny eyes at her and Anice wondered if she only imagined, from the distance of perhaps a hundred feet or so, the calculating gleam in his narrow gaze.
“Dinna move,” Torren said when Gregor had started to do just that. “If you shield her now, when he’s seen her already, he’ll ken her worth and she will become a target.”
Gregor did move, but only to stride away from Anice, toward the other soldiers, as if he hadn’t anything to hide, as if there had been no attempt to conceal Anice.
“Come on then, lass,” said Torren. “There’s more practice for you.”
GREGOR TOOK THE STEPS up to the battlements, making his last rounds before finding his own chambers. He made his presence known to the evening detail as he passed, receiving only a trifling report of a fishing boat come up to the beach; soldiers had been sent down to ascertain that a pair of men had veered off course, and they were subsequently given direction and sent back out into the calm sea. That had been several hours ago.
At the far side of the walkway, above the sea and the cliff, he noticed a torch stuck into the sand far below on the beach. Squinting into the darkness from this height revealed nothing to him but a dark shape sitting several feet away from the light. Gregor glanced up and saw that Arik watched the figure, his arms perched upon the stone embrasures, badly whistling a mellow tune. “Arik, who goes there?” he asked him, whose skill with the bow often put him on wall duty.
“Aye, chief, ‘tis the lass.” Arik ambled down toward Gregor. “She likes to watch the stars, she says. Asked us to keep an eye on her.” At his chief’s frown, he added, “She’s got her blade and her torch and checks in when she comes up.”
“How long has she been venturing out like this?”
Arik shrugged. “A week or more, maybe.”
Gregor nodded and walked away from the soldier. He left the wall and used the postern gate to find the steps that would take him to the beach.
He shouldn’t be anywhere near her, had avoided her for days now, the picture of her poised before Sim with the knife in her hand and a dimpled smile upon her face the picture he kept with him. But Duncan’s keen notice of her, so well protected among that training group, was not to his liking. And having returned to the keep, he’d been accosted by his betrothed, who had wasted not one second before demanding that ‘the whore without hair’ be removed from her presence and the keep, posthaste.
“You will no ever tell me how to go about my business, nor the business of Stonehaven,” he had replied, his voice icy. Nathara had shrunk away from him and he’d extended no effort to soften his stance but had only walked away from her.
He came upon Anice undetected now, his feet silent in the sand while the low and constant rumbling of the waves secreted the sound of his sword swaying at his hip. As he drew near, he saw that she was stretched out upon a fur, her arms tucked under her head, her eyes upon the night sky. Gregor looked up, saw the thousands of stars on this clear night, and wondered that he didn’t spend more time here, in this perfect spot.
Not wanting to startle her, he began to whistle himself to alert her of his presence. She turned on the fur when the sound drifted to her and relaxed when she realized who came. Gregor pivoted and looked up to Arik on the wall, giving a wave as he came into the light of the torch. Arik waved back and then disappeared from view.
Anice sat up as he stood just at the edge of the fur.
“What are you about, lass?”
She tipped her head up again, looking not at him, but beyond, to the sky. “Just watching the stars.”
Gregor sat beside her in the cool sand and lifted his eyes. “A good clear night. No moon until next week, though. Arik says you have him watching you.”
“I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t want to...” her words just stopped coming.
“You dinna what?”
“I didn’t want to bother Torren or Fibh to be out so late at night.”
A very telling statement, that. “But you ken they wouldn’t mind.”
“I know. They’re very good men, very good to me.”
They’re half in love with you, came to mind.
Gregor tapped the pelt. “You lug this thing up and down, lass? It weighs more than you.”
She nodded. “I wrap it around me, keeps me warm and shakes off the sand—or so I hope, but those chambers I’m borrowing seem to have accumulated quite a bit of it as well.”
“You’re spending a lot of time down here?”
“I haven’t much else to do.”
“Still practicing, lass?”
“Yes, and Torren says I’m ‘progressing fairly well’, which seems to me, coming from him, to be grand praise indeed.”
“Aye, and he’d no say it if it weren’t true.”
Gregor saw that she was barefoot again, her toes peeking out from the hem of her gown as her knees were drawn up to her chest now.
“Listen to that—I think it might just be my favorite sound, the surf and the breaking waves.”
“When I was verra young, lass, me da and I would camp out here some nights.” He laid himself on his back to more easily stare at the sky. “He made it work, though, always teaching me something,” he said, giving a small chuckle with his memories. “This is where I learned how to build a fire and pitch a tent and did my first crabbing.”
“What a marvelous way to grow up,” she mused, laying herself down as well, her hands folded across her belly.
“It was. But that was before wars and battles came to Scotland.”
“Was there ever a siege put to Stonehaven?”
“Not in the last hundred years, and before that, only by local armies. A few years ago, England sent eight ships up here, likely to investigate our defenses. We sent them off with a few volleys from that catapult atop the battlements, sunk one of them, and we’ve no seen them since. Had they attacked, and gained Stonehaven, they’d have gained a perfect forward resupply base that they could easily have stocked from the sea and the war might well be done by now, and not in our favor.”
“At one time, it seemed we received word regularly about these immense battles fought against Edward and the English, but no such news had reached Jardine in such a long time.”
“Most of the fighting has stopped now, lass, with so many of the nobles signing a treaty with Edward.”
“How could they do that?”
“They’re scared, lass. They’ve seen too much death, too much fighting, they’ve given up on the idea of freedom and have settled for peace instead.”
Quiet then, while they counted stars until Gregor felt his eyes drifting, lulled by the sound of the tide, sweeping in and then rolling out.
“Fibh wanted to take me to some place called Anstruther but Torren said I couldn’t go. I love Torren, but is he allowed to do that?”
Gregor was pulled from his hypnotized state and chuckled at her wording. “You’re free to go where you please, lass, but I ken you understand that Torren wouldn’t deny you without reason. Anstruther is no much more than a small fishing village further up the coast, and while it does have some fine markets, it also boasts more than its share of crime.”
“Do you, or Torren, not trust Fibh to keep me from harm?”
Gregor shrugged. “Fibh could well handle any situation that might rise ‘round here, but in a village like that, aye, he would no be my first choice.”
“Would Torren then be your first choice?”
“I would be my first choice, lass.”
He felt her turn her head toward him. She surprised him by saying in a level tone, “If I recall correctly, it was your company I kept when I tumbled over a cliff.”
Gregor laughed and turned onto his side, pushing his elbow into the sand. “Aye now, lass
, but you canna be holding me accountable for your poor sight or unsure foot.”
She looked at him again. He could just make out her widened eyes. In the bare golden light of the flickering torch, her eyes were as dark as the sea at dusk. “Sir, are you seriously saying it was my fault that I fell?”
“Are you saying it was mine?”
“Yes.” She smiled, he could see that as well, her lips closed but deliciously tempting as they widened, her smile soft still that only a hint of her dimples showed.
“But lass, why do you insist on calling me sir when you dinna do such for Torren or Fibh or Arik, or any of the others?”
“You are the chief,” she said simply.
“And they are knights,” he countered but she only shrugged. He thought of the game she’d played with Torren to finally get him to stop calling her sister. It seemed a lifetime ago already since he’d taken her from Jardine.
“Do you miss it, lass, the nunnery?”
“Not at all, I’m a little embarrassed to say. Honestly, if not for...well, a few things here, I think I could be....” And she stopped again. She looked up to the sky once more.
“You going to finish that sentence, lass?”
“I should think you might be able to finish it yourself.”
Aye, he could.
“I don’t want to leave here, really. And it’s not like I have anywhere to go...”
“But you dinna want to stay either,” he guessed.
“Perhaps I’ve only traded one life for another, but I am no further ahead, after all.”
She’d just compared her life at Jardine, where she’d been subjected to ridicule and disdain and frequent abuses, to this life now at Stonehaven. He might have scoffed at this and insisted there was no comparison at all. But he supposed that him kissing her while betrothed to another, coupled with Hugh’s attack, and added to his mother’s rude reception of her—and these offenses being more recent—quite easily put Stonehaven in the same light as the nunnery.
“I am not sorry to have come to Stonehaven, though. Not really.”
Gregor didn’t know if these words were truth, or if they were only spoken in an attempt to make him feel better. He continued to stare at her while a cool moist breeze wafted over him. He was close enough to her that he need only to put forth his hand to touch her. If he dared. He was afforded only a view of her profile, one choppy lock of hair blown against her forehead, while her eyes considered still the sky. She blinked then, her lids fluttering over her eyes several times. Her lips parted and he knew his continued perusal had not gone unnoticed.
The Memory of Her Kiss Page 16