by Carol Arens
He dressed quickly and made his way down to say his farewells. Jocelyn and Margriet stood ready near the back of the hall, but Isobel was nowhere in sight. Worried over Margriet’s reaction to what she’d undoubtedly witnessed, he was instead greeted with a warm smile from both women.
‘Are you ready to leave?’ he asked. It was an indirect way of asking about her without drawing attention to his desire to know.
‘We waited to see you. The horses and cart are packed to leave.’
‘You are dressed warmly?’ He hugged his sister and kissed her cheek. ‘To be this cold this soon is not a good sign.’
‘Aye. Heavier cloaks and stockings. Boots—’ she held up her foot to show him ‘—and we have some extra woollen blankets for our legs.’ Jocelyn stepped back, allowing Margriet to say farewell.
‘If you hit bad weather, come back. I do not want to risk your safety in an unpredictable storm,’ he said. Finally, he gave in to the temptation. ‘Is Isobel not ready?’
‘She has already gone ahead with the outriders. She was up early and decided not to wait for us. We will meet them at the pass,’ Margriet said.
‘If the weather holds, we should make it through before nightfall,’ Jocelyn said.
‘Give her my regards,’ he said. ‘Let me walk with you,’ he added, trying to understand the disappointment and not let it show. Surely this was the easier way, instead of facing her this morn after last evening’s kiss? What could he say when he did not know what it meant?
They walked outside to where the rest of the group was assembled and he helped Jocelyn mount. Checking the straps on her saddle and reins, he touched her leg and then her hand.
‘Be well, Jocelyn.’
‘Be...well, Dar.’
He nodded to Margriet and waved to the man leading the group. Following them to the gates, he watched as they rode into the forest along the road west. When he could no longer see them or hear them, he returned to the keep to break his fast.
The keep was once more his own.
He went into the kitchen to eat as was his usual custom when no guests were there. The servants knew it and a bowl of oat porridge was waiting for him.
Now his life would settle back to what it usually was and winter would come.
* * *
The day passed slowly for him; all his duties were the same. Meals were accomplished without much talking. He met with Padruig, trained in the yard with his men, made arrangements with Broc to send people to the mill to help Lyall finish up the season’s grinding before the water began to freeze upstream. Though the stone could be turned by men, travel between the keep and village and the mill would become difficult and nigh impossible once the storms of winter struck.
Since some of the more distant villagers would be stranded when the snows of winter came, they needed to be moved. And other tasks needed accomplishing.
Somehow, though, it all felt empty this day.
* * *
He had drifted through the rest of it and joined those who lived in the keep at supper, though he was not interested in the food. The exhaustion of having not slept the night before caught up with him as the food was being cleared away and he’d decided to seek his bed when a flicker of light caught his eye.
Glancing to the back of the hall and then up to where the walkway along the top floor met the wall, he saw it again. There was no one staying in the chambers there so there should be no lamps, lanterns or candles up there. Yet clearly someone was.
Athdar walked to the stairway and climbed to the second floor where his chambers were. Then he followed the corridor to the second stairway that led up to the battlements and roof. He’d almost reached the alcove where Jocelyn liked to hide as a child when he saw it. There, in the recess on the wall, was a small candle, its flame flickering as the air moved around it.
Had someone, one of the servants, left it here?
As he moved closer he heard a noise. Stopping and listening, he recognised the unmistakable sound of snoring coming from the alcove.
Who needed to hide here and sleep? All of those serving in the hall had a place below stairs. He had no guests. No one was unaccounted for. So who...? A runaway? A spy? Who...?
‘Bloody hell!’ he muttered under his breath and he peeked around the edge of the alcove and found...
Isobel asleep, wrapped in her cloak and blankets and tucked into the small corner space. Her head tilted back, she licked her lips several times as she snored softly. Then she shifted and leaned her head down against the wall to her side.
How?
When?
Why?
Questions flooded his mind as he watched her there. Well, unless and until he woke her, he would not find out, so he reached down and touched her shoulder. He shook her gently, whispering her name as he did.
‘Isobel.’ Then, louder, ‘Isobel.’
She stirred then, her eyes fluttering and then opening slightly. Her back arched and she turned her head back and forth as though working out a cramp in her neck. It would be no surprise if she was quite uncomfortable after being in this cramped place for however long she’d hidden there.
‘Here, let me help you,’ he said, holding out his hand to her.
At first—still asleep, he thought—she frowned at him. Then she rubbed her eyes and whispered his name. ‘Athdar.’
She accepted his hand and he guided her to her feet and out of the alcove. Near to the steps that led to the roof it was always cold. Even with the heavy travel cloak and blankets, she must be chilled to the bones. Without delaying, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her down to the main floor and took her to the hearth.
‘Ailean! Some hot cider! Broc, send someone to get her things in Jocelyn’s hidey hole. Bring the chair closer.’
He continued to call out orders until he had her wrapped in several more blankets, close to the now-blasting fire and with hot cider to sip. Athdar read the shock and surprise in everyone’s gazes—hell, he was surprised to find her here—but did not slow until he could see some colour in her fair cheeks and the shivers disappearing.
Then, with a nod of his head and a meaningful glare, the servants and others left...quickly, though he would be surprised not to find them listening at any and every crack. He pulled a chair up next to her and waited.
Minutes passed. The logs in the fire crackled, sending off sparks and bits of burning wood into the air above it. He could be a patient man when need be, but he was not now. Especially not when so much—her reputation, his life—was at stake.
‘When did you return?’ he asked.
She squinted and pursed her lips. Then she grazed the edges of her teeth over her lower lip, all the while looking as though she could not find the words to say. But it was the guilty glance that gave him the answer.
‘You never left?’ He stood up and looked down on her. ‘Bloody hell! Does your mother know?’
‘By now, aye.’ Her gaze darted to his and then away.
‘And Jocelyn?’ Again, her guilt shone on her face. Added to his own misgivings and suspicions about Jocelyn’s behaviour about and through this visit, there could be only one answer. ‘Jocelyn put you up to this?’
‘Nay,’ she said, standing and letting the blankets fall around her feet. ‘I did this. Jocelyn only...’
‘She told you about that?’ He nodded up to the alcove.
‘Aye,’ she said. ‘She and my mother thought I’d ridden ahead. I stayed behind.’
He walked closer and studied her face, trying to discern the truth as he asked his next question. ‘Why, Isobel? Why did you do this and stay behind?’
She thought about how best to answer him. Honesty was crucial, yet how much did she dare reveal to him when she had no idea of his own feelings? Saying too much would make her appear a foolish, infatuated gi
rl. Not enough and he would never realise how serious she was that he should consider a future with her.
So she decided on the real reason, unadorned and true.
‘I did not wish to leave.’
He seemed to begin to argue with her several times before stopping and just watching her. Then he dragged his hands through his hair and shook his head.
‘Jocelyn knows you are here and safe? You are certain?’
‘Aye.’
‘Isobel, you cannot remain here without your mother or my sister. On the morrow, when my men return, we will make arrangements to return you to Lairig Dubh.’
She would not argue—it was futile at this point. But if all the signs were correct, there was a storm moving towards the pass and only those already through would make it the rest of the way. That was why Lady Jocelyn left when she did.
‘Very well,’ she said, backing away a bit.
He smiled then and picked the blankets up off the floor. ‘Did you hide food with you, as well?’
At that exact moment, her stomach made its emptiness known with a loud, grumbling growl and she smiled.
‘Not as much as I would have liked.’
‘Come then,’ he said, motioning in the direction of the kitchen. ‘It is not so far past supper that we cannot find you something to eat.’
She followed him into the warmth of the kitchen where a fire was tended at every hour of the day. Servants and watchers scattered as Athdar walked with her to a table set off to one side of the large room. The cook’s wife approached them.
‘Jean, Lady Isobel missed supper. Can you find something for her?’ Athdar asked.
‘I do not need much,’ she said, knowing how inconvenient it was to expect to be fed now that the kitchen’s work was done for the day.
‘No matter, lady,’ Jean said, with a smile nearly as large as the woman was herself. ‘We always keep a pot warm since many of the laird’s men come back late after their duties. Finding enough for ye—’ the woman paused and examined her shape for a moment as though she found her wanting ‘—’twill be no bother at all.’
‘My thanks,’ she called out as Jean walked to one of the cooking hearths, pulled a large pot to her and began ladling some of it into a bowl.
Soon, the large bowl, a crust of bread, a piece of cheese and some ale sat before her and her stomach answered with its own reminder of how hungry she truly was. He said nothing as she ate, standing a few paces away, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, watching everything she did. Her hunger assured that his observation of her did nothing to stop her or slow her down as she ate and drank all but a few crumbs of the food.
‘My thanks, Jean,’ she said once more as she finished, wiping her mouth and hands on the piece of cloth left for her use. ‘It was quite good.’
Jean strode over and collected the bowls and plates, smiling at her. ‘Did ye eat yer fill?’ The woman squinted, looking at the bowl and then at her.
‘Aye.’ Isobel made a great show of sighing deeply and patting her mouth once more. ‘I could not eat another bite.’ She thought Athdar laughed then, but when she glanced over at him, he was staring off in another direction.
‘Verra weel, lady.’ Jean carried everything away, leaving the two of them alone now.
Silence settled over the room and she waited for his next reaction or question. Before he did anything, Broc walked in and greeted her before speaking to Athdar.
‘I have made one of the chambers above ready for the lady,’ he said to Athdar. ‘And her belongings are there, awaiting her arrival.’ Then the man had the audacity to wink at her. Did he know he was too attractive for his own good? If he was not careful, a wise woman would see through his games and claim him for real.
‘Which chamber?’ Athdar asked, speaking for the first time since they arrived in the kitchen.
‘The far one,’ Broc answered with a laugh, as though sharing a private joke with his laird. ‘Shall I escort her there?’
Certainly Athdar would escort her himself? If she’d thought so, she would have been mistaken, for he nodded then at Broc.
‘Aye. If you will?’
‘Come, lady,’ Broc said, holding out his arm to give her something to hold on to. ‘Glenna is waiting there to attend you.’
He talked in a constant stream of words about nothing of consequence as they walked, tracing again the path she’d taken from Jocelyn’s alcove, but stopping in front of the third chamber. The door was open and Glenna worked at the hearth, starting a fire to warm the chamber.
‘Sleep well, lady.’
With those words, he left her and closed the door.
‘It will be warm in here verra soon, lady.’ Glenna took off her cloak, the one she had not even realised she yet wore, and hung it on a peg by the door. ‘Let me help ye get under the bedcovers.’
Isobel’s custom was to undress without the help of a maidservant, but she allowed this luxury because the fatigue of another sleepless night, along with a nervous day of hiding and expecting to be discovered before it was too late to send her away, assailed her at that moment. Now exhaustion flooded through her and the urge to do as Glenna suggested was irresistible. She stood while the girl loosened her braid and brushed the tangles free. Then she held up the covers and Isobel climbed in.
Within minutes, sleep rushed up to claim her. Though she should have been restless and spent the night tossing and turning and worrying about being forced to leave, Isobel had the feeling that she was in the place she was always meant to be.
Chapter Ten
Though all the signs of an early winter were there, the next morning dawned clear and bright with little indication of impending doom or bad weather. Athdar was not fooled.
As long as Isobel was under his roof, doom impended.
When she did not come down to break her fast, he knew she must be exhausted and did not pursue it. He had duties and as long as he remembered those, it was better for him and his peace of mind. Always with an eye to the gates and waiting for the return of those assigned to escort his sister to the pass, Athdar accomplished many things. And the one thing he did not do was to ask after Isobel.
Broc joined him in the yard, commenting on the miller’s progress and asking about other tasks and villagers yet unready. Athdar ignored the smirking expression that dared him to ask about Isobel and went about his tasks, deciding that he needed to take Broc over to where his men practiced their sword skills and let them beat some of the arrogance out of him.
One of his oldest friends, the son of his father’s steward, they’d grown up together as boys and it was always assumed that Broc would serve Athdar when the time came for him to be laird just as Broc’s father had served Tavish MacCallum for decades. For a time, for a long time, Broc had lived with kin in a distant village, returning here only when his father took ill and then died.
No longer the serious boy Athdar remembered from their youth, or the one he thought he remembered, Broc carried out his duties well. But somewhere along the way, he’d also become the inveterate womaniser and though he never forced himself on anyone, he also never committed to one woman and settled down. In a youth, it was to be expected, but now, these many years later...?
Athdar ended up taking up a sword and they spent about an hour in practice. He did not look cowed when they finished, but a few new bruises showed and he was out of breath, so Athdar felt some satisfaction. Steward or not, sword and fighting skills were critical, so he did not feel any guilt for putting the man through some intense training.
And yet, Broc yet wore the irritating smirk.
‘Fine!’ he yelled as they left the yard, the keep their destination. ‘How fares Isobel?’
Broc laughed. ‘I thought you would never ask. She rose just before I came out to speak to you. She seems well.’
‘Shouldn’t the riders be back soon?’ he asked, glancing up to see the position of the sun in the sky. ‘Without the women to slow them down, they should be back.’
‘Aye. And especially with a day as clear as this one.’
Athdar stopped before the door. ‘Is she in the hall?’
‘Nay. I forgot to tell you. She said she was going to visit with Laria until the riders returned. Said you could find her there.’
Was he stating it that way simply to annoy him? As though Isobel was giving orders now? Athdar rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead, staving off the need to kill his steward. Knowing Isobel was busy and out of his way...out of his sight and not able to constantly tempt him... Athdar went to the kitchen and took his midday meal there.
* * *
Called in many different directions, the rest of the day and daylight sped away and supper approached. With no sign of the riders, he considered sending more men out and would if the men did not return by late this night. Those he’d sent knew the roads and had the light of the full moon to allow them to travel at night.
They should have returned by now.
They had not.
* * *
By the time everyone gathered in the hall for supper, Athdar was worried. Had they encountered trouble along the way? He trusted those he’d sent as well as the MacLeries who travelled with his sister, so he would wait for word before believing anything else.
One thing Broc had done correctly was to assign Glenna to serve Isobel and see to her needs until she returned to Lairig Dubh and so when he saw the maid returning from the upper chambers, he called to her.
‘Has the lady returned from Laria’s?’ he asked when she approached him.
‘Aye. She asked for a tray to be brought to her for supper,’ Glenna said.
‘Is she well?’ he asked. Why else would she eat in her chambers? he wondered.
‘I think she seeks to avoid your temper, laird,’ the girl said as a hint of laughter trickled out with her words.
‘She thinks I am angry with her?’ he asked. Not waiting for an answer, he was walking towards the stairway before he realised he’d taken a step.