The Memory of Her Kiss

by Rebecca Ruger

  After a moment, Gregor gave up his close scrutiny of her so that she was able to breathe normally again. He filled her plate as she had done for Angus, with pheasant and salmon, and fruit and sweet breads.

  Having never attended a wedding feast before, Anice was quite enthralled by the merriment. Wine, a rarity, flowed freely beside the ale, courtesy of Fynn and his trade, raising spirits and voices and bringing people to their feet to dance and frolic. Anice stole glances at the wedded couple, more than once catching the MacGregor staring so adoringly at his wife. Bethany was twirled around between the trestle tables by John Cardmore, howling with delight, while Torren had tucked himself into a corner with a pretty brunette who Anice recognized from the kitchen.

  When they’d eaten their fill, Conall and Tess left the head table, moving through the crowd, accepting all the well-wishes and felicitations from their guests. Conall kept his hand on the small of Tess’s back and Tess often looked up at him while he spoke, her love plain for all to see.

  She was happy to sit and watch, taking it all in, her smile fixed. She and Gregor had exchanged barely any words. This would have been more awkward in a less lively, less happy atmosphere. But here and now, with so much to see and hear and enjoy, conversation was not needed. After a while, when much of the meal had been removed from the tables, and the ale and wine jugs had been refilled again and again, Gregor did excuse himself and make his way toward a group of soldiers and serfs at the back of the room, taking his cup with him.

  Anice stared after him and sighed.

  “Used to be,” Angus said beside her. “I’d know when the chief was within sight of the lass. Aye, you could just feel it, all that intensity he focused on her—possessive, desirous, happy, all those young couple things. But now,” he said, shaking his head, drawing out the thought, “I dinna ken if it’s the chief and he’s near the lass or—” he paused and seemed to look directly at Anice, “—if the Kincaid has come and he’s got his eyes on you. But I tell you, the air does crackle with it.” Anice startled at these words, so much so that Angus said, “Aye, lass, it’s true.”

  As everyone seemed to know that something, some fantastic current of desire, coursed between her and Gregor, she thought to remind Angus, “He is to marry another.” And then, rather put out by so much interference, which only served to remind her that Gregor was in fact, not choosing her, she said, “I would have thought his friends, more than others, would not be so keen to see him behave dishonorably.”

  Angus tipped his head. “No, we dinna want that. But then, if you dinna either, you need to accept what is, and be done with the waiting for something to change or happen. He senses it, you ken, and it feeds him.”

  “I know,” she said, in answer to his first statement; she didn’t know about the last. In a soft voice, she laid out the truths she did know to the old man. “Truly, I’ve been rather living in some unclear state, feeling as if I cannot move on.... But I know once he’s gone, it will improve...after a while.”

  “Aye, lass. Inesfree’ll do you just fine. You keep up with the lass and mind the laird and John, and you make friends as you do, and you’ll find your happiness.”

  “Thank you, Angus.”

  MUCH LATER THAT EVENING, when many of the tapers had flickered away to darkness that the hall was dim and hazy, when wine and ale tempted no more, when the musicians had abandoned their tasks to find warm beds or welcome arms, Gregor approached Conall and Tess. He would bid them farewell now and ride away at first light.

  “I’d thought you’d have found your chambers by now,” he said to Conall.

  “Soon. Tess disliked the idea of the guests of honor abandoning their own feast too early.”

  The newly wedded couple sat again at the table, Conall’s arm around Tess while her head leaned against his shoulder. John and Angus remained in attendance, and only a few dozen people still in the hall. Gregor stood before the table, one foot on the raised platform.

  “Many years of bliss to you both,” he said and raised then drained his cup.

  “Thank you, Gregor,” said Tess. “And to you, as well. Have you decided upon a date for your own wedding?”

  He shook his head but gave no thoughts on this. “And I’ll be wanting to ken, before I go, what have you done to her?”

  Green eyes widened, until brows lowered. “Gregor Kincaid, of whom do you speak?”

  “Lass, I’m saying she’s different. Anice. Since I’d met her, she could no hide a smile or control any emotion from coming to her face. She’s here with you but only a month and I canna tell what she’s thinking now. And she used to talk so much, so easily, words just spilled out, even things she should no have said. I’ve had no a dozen words from her at any given meeting.”

  Tess glanced briefly at Conall before answering. “Gregor, Anice has come into her own here, that is all. She’s learning to rely on herself and not you or even Torren, although that is still a work in progress. You need to do the same. What has you so upset? You should be happy that she has adjusted so well here.”

  Gregor frowned. “Of course, I’m no upset she’s taken to Inesfree. I ken it would be good for her. She’s just...different. I dinna ken what she’s thinking.” This last, more to himself than those around him.

  “Jesu, here’s another one,” John muttered, shaking his head.

  “Another what?” Gregor asked of John, spreading his arms. “What, old man?”

  John dropped the front legs of his chair to the ground and leaned forward toward Gregor with a ferocious scowl. “Another goddamn mutt thinking a lass’ll just wait around while you’re busy trying to pull your head from your arse.”

  Gregor’s jaw dropped. “What the—?”

  Angus spoke up, his tone softer than John’s, though his frown was just as heavy. “Dinna fash, lad. You’ll be gone on the morrow. You’ll probably no see the lass again. What do you care if she dinna wear her heart on her sleeve no more?”

  The air in the room thickened with tension. Tess and Conall exchanged a glance, with Conall shaking his head at Tess, who was forced to bite her lip to keep her thoughts to herself.

  “Well?” Angus persisted. “You ken I think you’re a decent fellow, Kincaid, but I’ll be asking you: what in the hell are you doing to that sweet child?”

  Gregor blew out a long breath and tipped his head back to the ceiling. “I’m not doing anything to her.”

  “Then you’ll be leaving her alone and get yerself gone now that the wedding is done.”

  Gregor lifted his hands, looking defensive, seeking aid from Conall or Tess. Conall only shrugged and made a face that said he’d rather not be involved before turning to his bride with a pointed look to insist she do the same. Tess opened her mouth to speak.

  Serena and Fynn burst into the hall then, Serena’s hand covering her mouth while her pretty eyes shone with unchecked fear. Conall standing so abruptly alerted Gregor of their presence. He turned and found Fynn’s eyes, filled with so much dread, fixed upon him. Fynn held Serena’s hand in his, the other was lifted in front of him, waving a piece of vellum.

  Gregor froze as Fynn’s eyes stayed on him. Dread crashed upon him. Conall and Tess came out from behind the table. John stood from his chair, hand at his sword.

  “They’ve taken Anice,” Serena cried, before Fynn could hand the message to Gregor.

  Gregor shook his head, looking to Fynn to deny this gruesome news. The man’s colorless visage caused an icy fear to twist around Gregor’s heart. “A child gave me this,” Fynn said, his voice halting in disbelief, “and said they had ‘the girl with no hair’.”

  Tess cried out and reached for Conall.

  Gregor snatched the vellum from Fynn’s hand.

  “Hugh for her,” he read aloud. His mind went blank. Just completely blank. Hugh? His chest tightened and his breath stopped. The scratchy words swam on the vellum under his gaze.

  Conall placed his hand on Gregor’s shoulder. “John, find Torren. I want fifty men ready at the ga
te in five minutes.” As John dashed from the room, Conall turned to Tess. “I’ll leave Ezra in charge with the remaining army. Everyone on guard, the castle locked down.” Tess nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks.

  “Anice was here but one hour ago,” Angus said, concern etched upon his weathered face.

  “She left the hall thirty minutes ago,” Gregor clarified, having debated then following her.

  “I saw her in the yard,” Serena said through choking sobs. “S-she was talking to a man. I-I thought he was from the village. But Torren saw her. I heard him call her name.”

  Gregor and Conall strode from the hall, matching miens of fury etched upon their faces. The inner bailey bustled now, soldiers scrambling about, stable hands and master readying horses, John’s voice heard above the din and clang of an army readying for battle. “Goddamn it, get me the red! Get the big black for the chief! And where the hell is Kincaid’s captain?”

  The chiefs helped with the saddling of horses while Serena supervised the filling of flasks with water and Tess ran back to the kitchen and had nearly all the remnants of the wedding feast wrapped and tied in linens, not knowing how long they’d be gone.

  Conall turned to Fynn as his midnight destrier was walked over to him. “Tell Ezra, scour the yards and outside the walls. Find Torren.” He turned then to Tess, once again returned to the yard. Angus stood in the light of the doorway, behind her. Squeezing Tess’s hand, he kissed his new bride fiercely on her lips and then her forehead. They exchanged charged and worried glances.

  “Find her, Conall,” she demanded and watched him inspect the saddle and straps before he took his seat atop the horse.

  Gregor mounted up at the same time, his nostrils flared.

  “Who do you have for tracking?” He asked Conall, his hands white-knuckled on the reins.

  “Richard! Donald!” Conall shouted above the racket in the yard. Two calls of answer came to him, and Conall advised them to get to the front.

  Adjusting his sword, Gregor waited not at all but sped across the yard and through the gates, Conall and John close on his heels, fifty soldiers hurrying to catch up.

  Not far outside the gates of Inesfree, in the scrub alongside the lane, they found Torren, bloodied and beaten. He was trying to stand. Four bodies lie in the grass around him; they would move no more. Gregor and John jumped off their mounts to assist him. There was no need for questions, as Torren started right off with facts, knowing time was of the essence.

  “Saw a man leading her through the gates, just talking to her. I followed. Was jumped about here. Fifteen, maybe twenty. They knocked her out same time, one tossed her over his shoulder. No colors,” he said, indicating the dead men on the ground in their brown and drab tabards, no tartans or shields.

  “It’s Duncan,” Gregor said, grinding the words out between his teeth. “Wants Hugh released.”

  “I’ll kill him.”

  “Anice first. Can you ride?” Torren would not stand to be left behind.

  One of the several spare horses was brought to the front of the line. Torren turned his head this way and that, searching the ground. Finally, he found and retrieved his sword, lying on the ground next to one of the dead men even as Gregor was again mounted and moving on.

  Chapter 16

  Anice was roused sometime later, as the party split into two groups. She was to be sent off with twenty or so men, what little she’d overheard advising her that they expected to throw off any pursuers by showing two paths of departure from this point.

  She’d clearly heard the name Duncan, but initially could make no sense of that. Why would the little Duncan travel all the way to Inesfree to kidnap her?

  When she’d woken and had realized her position, memory flooded her. She tried not to move, having no intention of alerting her captor of her wakefulness, but nearly cried out when she recalled her circumstance and what had brought her here. A man had approached her in the bailey, quiet and frantic, begging her to help him find his small daughter, lost somewhere just outside the gate. She hadn’t thought, had simply acted, fretful over a child lost in the coming darkness. She’d followed him through the inner and then outer gate and along the lane while the man called the child’s name over and over in a whispered hiss. He pointed to the trees at the right, toward the village, and they’d walked that way, dusk fading and so, too, the light. She’d heard Torren’s voice then and had turned to see him coming from the castle. His brow was heavy, and his hand gripped the hilt of his sword, calling in a ferocious voice for Anice to come back.

  Anice had glanced at the man, who had considered Torren and then her. His face had so clearly shown someone caught in a lie and a quandary. He took a second too long to decide his move, so that Anice backed away from him. Instinctively, she’d reached for her knife, but even before her hand found her belt empty of the sheath, she had recalled that she’d left it in her chamber for the wedding. He’d lunged for her just as the trees they were nearly upon erupted with men and horses, all swarming past her and the man to focus on Torren.

  “Run!” Torren shouted. Anice tried but the man had grabbed her and tackled her to the ground. All the other men overran Torren just as Anice was hauled to her feet and smacked so hard, she’d passed out.

  Now, she was perched sideways before some brute upon a large steed, moving at a rate of speed too fast to consider flinging herself from the animal, with no hope of escape. ‘Twas not at all reminiscent of riding double with Gregor Kincaid, this man being soft and round, and smelling suspiciously of sheep and urine. Anice nearly gagged. She tried to lift her hand to her mouth but found her wrists tied to the pommel.

  Oh, Torren. She closed her eyes again and prayed he was all right.

  They rode for several hours, at a furious pace when upon the open meadows, and more carefully when upon rocky ground or within trees. The gray clouds that had prevented sun from shining on the wedding this afternoon still blanketed the sky, offering not even sparse moonlight. Anice had no idea even in which direction they traveled. And having no idea how long she’d been passed out, she had no clue about the total number of hours they’d been gone from Inesfree.

  But Gregor would save her. He would find her missing, maybe having sought her out as he had last evening. He would become a little frantic, finding her nowhere in the castle or yard. He would search, as he had before, the night that Hugh had attacked her. He would pursue this dastardly band of thieves and he would save her. She clung to that.

  She must have dozed again, fear being a great impetus to exhaustion. She was woken this time by being shoved off the horse. She gave a yelp as her bum left the saddle, and only her tied hands kept her from landing hard on the ground. Her feet scrambled, the horse tall enough and the pommel so high, that only her toes reached the ground.

  Her captor ignored her, as these twenty or so men moved quietly along the rocky land, dropping onto their bellies as they crawled to the top of a crag, spying on whatever was below. They whispered amongst themselves, discussing what lie beneath them.

  A full minute had passed before Anice’s eyes widened with an idea. She twisted a bit, stirring the horse with her frantic motions, but attempted to position herself to climb up into the saddle. She couldn’t lift her leg high enough to find the stirrups. Tears fell as she tried jumping and climbing and clawing her way up onto its back, to no avail. Her arms were not strong enough to pull herself up. Finally, she lay her head against the horse, hanging from the rope that secured her, dejected with this failure. She turned her head against the horse’s neck. Her captors still spied over that ledge. Another idea struck her.

  Anice screamed her head off. She screamed her throat raw. She screamed and screamed until the man who’d first tempted her from the castle, who had ridden this horse with her, dashed back to her amid all the unmounted horses, and clamped a dirty hand over her mouth, his other hand yanking at her hair.

  “Shut up!” He hissed at her, his foul breath watering her eyes. He was about her height an
d no doubt weighed double what she did. His expression, while dark, was nervous, too.

  She fought against him and his hands. She was released but quickly dissuaded from screaming again when a knife appeared at her cheek. “I’m no to kill you, but I can sure make you wish you were dead.”

  All the other men had crawled back from the ledge and now found their mounts.

  “Aye, they heard her!” someone said with disgust. “They’re coming up.”

  “Git her out of here!” Another called, drawing his sword.

  “Wait!” Someone else ordered.

  “There are only five of them. Just keep her out of sight until we dispatch them.”

  Anice’s captor nodded. He drew something from the pocket of his breeches and shoved it into her mouth. While Anice fought against this, trying to spit the nauseating wad of fabric from her mouth, he pulled more rope from his saddle bag and tied that around her head, lodging the piece firmly in her mouth. She had to calm herself just to breathe, and then only through her nose. He sliced his knife through the cords that bound her, and her hands dropped from the pommel, though still the rope was laced around her wrists. Quickly then, he separated her hands and pulled them behind her back, wrapping more rope around her wrists there, until it was uncomfortably tight, and without hesitating, began pushing her in front of him, away from the party.

  She was led far enough away and forced onto the cold ground where her hip connected painfully with a rock before she wound up on her side, so she could neither see nor hear what transpired, or even if those below the crag, who may have heard her call for help, had come to confront her captors. The other persons could not be Gregor; he could not have managed to be ahead of them.

  After a very long while, maybe thirty minutes or more, someone approached. Anice’s captor, hunkered down beside her, stiffened until he recognized one of his party.