His tongue raked fire across her lips and then, when he had moved back, he looked down at her.
“What..?” She stared at him, unable to understand what had just occurred. He had kissed her. He hadn't flinched. He was looking down into her face and he wasn't surprised, awkward, or even uncomfortable.
“What?” he smiled fondly.
“This, milord.”
Her fingers traced the scar that bisected her lips. The result of a fall, which could so easily have been so much worse, down the stairs at the castle where she worked.
He smiled. “Does a cloud at sunset ruin its beauty? No! It takes on all the hues of it and makes the sunset what it is – a masterpiece.”
Glenna stared. Tears soaked her eyes. “Sir,” she whispered. “That...”
That was the most beautiful thing anyone could ever have said.
He grinned and, bending forward, placed his lips on hers. All her protests ended in a sudden, soulful silence as they kissed.
CHAPTER ONE
ENCOUNTER IN A FIELD
ENCOUNTER IN A FIELD
Glenna walked out of the castle and into the green springtime grounds. She felt dazed and happy. Her heart soared in her chest, joining the swallows that flitted about the turrets high above.
I am so, so happy.
She had never imagined that she would meet someone like him before: cultured, elegant, gracious. And nice.
She had never imagined someone who would be that nice. His words about her scar sang in her heart, making her smile for seemingly no reason. They had lifted four years of shame from her shoulders.
“His name is Conn MacGowan,” she said to herself. “Sir Conn.”
She smiled, recalling it, savoring its feel on her lips. The man she had danced with that night had turned out to be a knight in service of the Guard! She still could not believe the wild circumstances of their meeting.
I, Glenna MacIndow, daughter of a miller, just danced with a knight at a masque.
She shook her head, laughing as she held her shawl on over her hair, drawing it tight against the lively gusty wind. No one she told would believe her.
As she walked, she remembered that exchange.
Does a cloud ruin a sunset? No! It takes on all the hues of it and makes the sunset what it is. A masterpiece.
She shivered with delight. She would never forget those words. Not ever.
Other things returned to her mind, too – the way his hands felt on hers, their fingers clutching warmly. The feel of his lips, exploring her mouth. His probing tongue.
She wondered what it would feel like to hold that body close to hers, only this time divested of its clothing.
Glenna! She blushed. She couldn't believe that she was thinking such deliciously wicked things. She turned at the end of the vast swathe of grass and headed back again. She was walking past a field when a voice hailed her.
“Glenna! Wait awhile?”
She turned. Stared. With the sun on his strawberry hair, she couldn't quite believe it was really him. She stood where he'd told her to, but all the same couldn't help admiring him openly as he came toward her.
He's so well-formed.
She let her eyes feast on the broad shoulders, narrow waist and lithe musculature. He was like one of the illustrations on a tapestry, the little paintings in the scrolls that held the stories.
Only he was better than a painting. He was warmly alive.
“Glenna,” he said. He smiled at her, that handsome, boyish way he had that seemed to be hesitant as well as playful. Her heart flipped.
“Sir,” she smiled. She felt her cheeks start hurting from the smile. “Good morning to ye.”
He grinned. “Good morning, miss.”
She felt her heart dance. His eyes were warm, his hand was near hers, and she felt as if he, too, was recalling the way they'd touched the night before, how they had kissed.
“Sir,” she said, reaching to find a topic of conversation. “It's a lovely morning, eh?”
“A beautiful morning,” he said. She felt her heart flip when she heard him say “beautiful.”
Glenna, don't be daft. She grinned to herself.
“It's nice to see you smile, miss,” he said warmly.
Glenna felt a blush flood her cheeks. He might ask her why she was smiling, and then how would she explain? She felt herself get even redder with the delicious awkwardness of that.
“It's a morning that makes a person happy, sir,” she said. Her voice was tight and she cleared her throat.
My goodness! What is the matter with me this morning?
“It is.” He nodded. “I feel quite happy too, Glenna,” he relayed.
He had stopped walking and his eyes were gazing into hers. Glenna coughed and shifted from one foot to the other, feeling awkward.
His hands rested on her shoulders again, just as they had the night before. Her stomach flipped.
“Glenna,” he whispered.
“Sir,” she said.
He drew her close, his breath brushing her mouth. “Conn,” he said. “Please, you must use my name.”
She nodded. “Conn,” she whispered his name.
They kissed.
Glenna let herself lean toward him and, when his arms wrapped around her and he drew her close to him, she felt her body rush with heat. She wrapped her arms tight and reveled in the feel of his hard chest, pressing down on her small, high breasts.
His warm hands stroked down her back, kneading down the muscles and pushing her closer still. Her breath was almost stopped now, both with the strange tension that filled her and with his lips, soft and tender on hers.
She was almost desperate for the kiss to end, as her body was filling with a sweet warmth that was making her feel things she had never imagined, making her body want things she would never have contemplated before...
“You taste so nice,” he whispered.
Glenna felt her body tingle. “So do you,” she whispered. He laughed.
She sighed and when his arms wrapped her close, she allowed herself to be drawn into his embrace.
He let her go with some reluctance.
“Oh, sir,” she murmured. “Conn,” she added with a sidelong look in his direction.
He laughed.
They walked back toward the castle together.
His hand squeezed hers and then gently let it go. They passed the field where they had met up first, heading back toward the castle down a sunny path.
“I never asked what dance is your favorite?” he said conversationally as they walked back to the gate together.
Glenna frowned. “The quatrain, sir.”
He chuckled. “The quatrain's hard,” he said. “Over the head of a man-at-arms like meself.”
She smiled fondly. “Modesty has its limits, sir. And you happen to be a most accomplished dancer.”
He laughed. “Thank you, miss. I won't argue with ye.”
“No,” she smiled. “I wouldn't if I were you.”
He roared with mirth. “My dear lady! I do love your daring.”
She laughed. “I dare much, I assure you.”
He caught her meaning and blushed. She went red. “I mean, I...”
He put his hand below her chin and lifted her face to his. “No. Don't regret it. I hope I always deserve your forthrightness,” he murmured. “I would hate it were you to be less than daring with me.”
“I trust you, sir.”
His eyes met hers and there was a world of meaning in his gaze.
“Thank you,” he said simply.
Glenna let out a little laugh, though she was deeply moved. “Of course I do,” she added.
“Good. I'm glad of it.”
He smiled and they reached the gates of the castle. At the right, the other men he'd sparred with were still at practice.
Glenna stood beside Conn as they swung rods of wood that were their practice swords, the thud of their connection as they blocked a hit or parried a sharp crack in the silence. They st
ood at the edge of the field to watch.
“Nice one, McIntosh,” he whispered.
Glenna frowned, following the fight. She was enjoying watching them. Even more, she liked the warmth of Conn close by as he whispered information to her during the fight.
“He's got a strong down-strike...” he murmured. The man who fought McIntosh cut down sharply. “He should move back. The sun's before him...it can dazzle your eyesight.”
Glenna nodded, appreciating the low-voiced advice as Conn gave it. He was clearly very knowledgeable about what he did. Just then, he stiffened beside her. She looked up and frowned. His face was watchful, tense. What happened? Directing her glance to where he was focusing, she saw the change. A man had entered the field.
Tall and broad-shouldered, a strapping man with long hair and a blunt face, he watched the men sparring and then raised a glance to Conn.
Conn returned the hard glare mildly. Glenna frowned. Why is he so tense?
“Morrow, McGowan,” the man called.
“Good morning, Sir Alexander.”
The man rolled his shoulders and spat demonstratively. Glenna shivered.
“Fine morning, eh?” the objectionably-mannered man continued. He was handsome in a rugged, brawny way, Glenna supposed, but something about him scared her. She stayed where she was, sheltered beside Conn. She did not like him.
“It is, Sir Alexander,” Conn agreed. “A beautiful time.”
“Mm.” Alexander rolled his shoulders and continued to warm-up for the practice ground. He stretched up and flexed his thickly-muscled biceps, and then sauntered over to the men.
“Blair,” he shouted to one of the men. “Gi' me one.”
The man called Blair reluctantly handed him the staff. He took it and sent it through the air in an arc a few times, seeming to test its mass or balance. Then he was ready.
With lightning speed, he engaged the man whose skill they'd just admired. He sent blows raining down and the poor fellow was hard-put to defend himself against them.
Glenna heard Conn breathing tensely and she wondered why he was worried. Surely this was only sparring, right?
A crack from the field made her stare again.
The man, the one she and Conn had watched, was reeling back, blood welling on his brow. He staggered back and Glenna saw him touch his forehead hesitatingly.
Glenna heard Conn draw in an outraged gasp.
“Alexander!” he yelled. “You hit that man unlawfully.”
Glenna drew in a breath as the man looked at Conn. As they glared at one another, it seemed to her as if more than a simple stare was exchanged here. Alexander was sending him such a black gaze that it seemed to Glenna as if the air might catch fire. Even Conn looked slightly shocked by his own outburst. Nevertheless, he held his ground, standing where he was and staring down his opponent.
Alexander spat.
“Get awa' off, Sir Conn,” he hissed. “No need for yer high and mighty-ness here.”
Conn sighed. “I had no intention of being high and mighty, Sir Alexander,” he said quietly. “I just want rules of combat upheld.”
Even as he spoke, the injured man wandered off the field, dazed, helped off by his friend Blair.
Alexander raised a brow, watching them go. He laughed, showing a full set of broad teeth. “Rule, you say?” he chuckled. “On the battleground there's no such.”
Conn shook his head. “That's not true,” he said very quietly. “Honor still exists there.”
“Honor.” The response was mocking.
Conn had moved so that he was between Glenna and Alexander, shielding her largely from sight, but he had noticed her. “Yes, honor,” Conn repeated, very quietly.
“Indeed,” Alexander chuckled. “Is that what you say when you walk abroad with a lass, kissing and touching when you ain't even wedded yet? You talk of honor? To me? Eh?” He chuckled.
Conn went white. Glenna laid a hand on his arm. He tensed and she let go, sensing the restlessness inside him.
“Say that again,” he said quietly.
The man just laughed. “You heard, sir,” he said. “And wouldn't be glarin' at me like I was the divil hisself if you didn't know my words held truth.”
“My conduct has been honorable.”
Glenna heard the rage in his voice. She stepped back. Looked up at him. That handsome face was white. His eyes were full of anger. He looked at her, but the anger did not shift. She shuddered and looked at the ground.
This is a different man. He has a side I'd never have guessed existed.
Shivering, Glenna walked away. She wasn't necessarily fearful of Conn or for him – she just wanted to be as far away from the fomenting violence as she could. From three or four paces away, she surveyed them.
Conn was still glaring at Alexander. She saw him say something that she couldn't hear from this distance away, and she was sure Alexander couldn't either. She saw him give a thin smile. He shook his head and walked away. The tension broke as he turned his back and strode inside.
Glenna backed away toward the field.
“Glenna?” Conn turned as Alexander disappeared. He was looking at her. His eyes were still wintry and she shivered.
“I should go,” she called back.
“As you wish,” he said softly.
Glenna frowned. What had happened? “Conn?” she called softly.
However, he wasn't looking at her. He was glaring at the retreating figure in the doorway.
She walked away, feeling a sudden pain inside as though winter chilled her heart.
What had happened? Why had her handsome, gentle Conn suddenly turned so cold, so furious? She shivered, recalling the anger in his eyes. She was not sure about this new side of him.
I have only just met him.
She walked briskly inside, feeling strangely bruised, as if someone had walked roughshod across her heart.
She had never met someone who made her feel as happy. Or as unsure.
CHAPTER TWO
A SURPRISE IN THE COURTYARD
A SURPRISE IN THE COURTYARD
Conn shook his head, walking down the colonnade. That encounter had scared him. He would have to try and keep Glenna out of sight of Alexander.
If he touches her to get even with me, I won't be responsible for my actions.
The thought of it made his hands clench into fists. He was focusing on his worries and didn't notice the person at the end of the hallway until they spoke.
“Conn!”
Whoever it was stood on the marked-out region just before the colonnade, on the steps of the great hall. Conn sighed.
“Yes, Sir Alexander?” he called back as his eyes made out the long wheaten hair, the tall, solid body.
“You called me out earlier. I don't take slurs.”
“No slur was intended,” Conn said thinly. In his heart, he added, My insult was mild. Compared to what I think of you, I said but half of it.
Alexander chuckled. “I don't care what you intended, boy.”
Conn sighed. “Sir Alexander, if you want to challenge me to a fight, by all means do so. I will not stop you from fighting me.”
A direct fight between them had been brewing for months. It would, in some ways, bring relief to get it over with finally. Conn had been hated by Alexander since shortly after he arrived, after an event similar to this one – when Conn had intervened on behalf of one of Alexander's targets. Since then, it had never died down.
Conn remembered that day, months ago. He had pushed aside a man Alexander was fighting, standing between them while he faced him down. He recalled what he had said. You can call yourself a knight, Alexander. You'll never convince me that you're not just a bully and a dressed-up felon. He had known the instant it was out of his mouth that he'd made a lethal enemy. Nevertheless, what could he have done? It would not have been like him to stand back and watch another man be harmed.
Now, Alexander laughed harshly. “You won't stop me fighting you, eh?” He smiled. “You won't s
top me from winning, either.”
“No,” Conn said wearily. “I probably won't.”
“Aye,” he said. “You're right. Well, then.” He drew off his cloak and dropped it carelessly onto a bench inside the colonnade. “Let's engage.”
Conn sighed. However, when Alexander handed him a staff, he didn't refuse it. He joined him in the ring.
Conn watched as Alexander went through the same motions of testing the staff as he had before, and he himself lifted it a little, checking its weight. It was light, the wood coarse and likely inclined to splinter. He tightened his fist to prevent any slipping. Then he took his stance.
Whack!
The staff came down against his, shuddering down his arms like a wave. He gritted his teeth and held the end, driving up against the blow that came down, aiming for his head.
He was groaning and struggling as he pushed the man backward. Alexander might have the personality of a nest of wasps, but he had the strength of a bear. In addition, he was taller than Conn by a hand's breadth.
Conn twisted the staff and struck sideways, then danced back. He would rely on speed in a fight where it was his main advantage.
Alexander huffed a laugh and lifted the staff again. He feinted down and then went left and Conn had to move desperately fast to block the strike that came in from the left. His heart was pounding now from the exertion and he moved back and feinted left, and then struck down.
He had the satisfaction of seeing that grave gray gaze widen and then narrow. Good. I surprised him.
He danced back and then watched as the staff rose and came down again in one of those cracking arcs that made him groan in desperation as he blocked it from his head, the impact cascading down through his elbows and making his wrists burn. Then he was twisting his practice-blade again and jumping back before driving forward, raining a blow left, then right, then left.
He felt his legs growing tired and saw Alexander's eyes narrow again. Then his opponent was rushing in.
He held his breath as the staff rose and came down, singing for his head in an arc that he was too slow to block, an arc that would cleave his skull if he didn't block it, or if he didn't move back, scrabbling out if its range...
A Highlander’s Terror_A Medieval Scottish Romance Story Page 22