by Amy Jarecki
Wesley grinned. “That it will.”
“Good morrow,” a deep voice came from the corridor.
Gyllis’s heart leapt. “Sir Sean, what a pleasant surprise.”
The good-looking laird strode inside, barely acknowledging Brother Wesley. “I have a surprise for you, m’lady.” He grinned, his teeth flashing white, framed by the shadow of his beard. The chieftain’s dark features and crystal blue eyes could stop her heart.
Her cheeks grew hot. She loved it when he referred to her as m’lady, though as a baron’s daughter, her proper title was miss. Perhaps one day she would be able to again hope to marry into nobility. Gyllis’s insides fluttered with anticipation. “Do tell me what it is.”
Sean held out a lady’s riding crop. “I’ll wager you are well enough to sit a horse.”
Gyllis clapped her hands. “Oh my, I’d love to ride again.”
Brother Wesley stood. “You cannot possibly be serious.”
“Why ever not?” Gyllis asked.
Spreading his palms to his sides, the monk looked incredulous. “Do you realize how dangerous it is? What if the horse rears and you were to fall? Besides, it takes strength of arm to ride.”
Sean’s fists snapped to his hips. “I assure you, we will exercise the utmost care.”
“My arms have nearly made a full recovery.” Gyllis grasped the crop. “Besides, it isn’t as if I’ve never ridden before.”
“But ’tis raining,” Wesley persisted. “You could catch your death.”
“Hardly a drop fell from the sky during my ride from Dunollie.” Sean collected the crutches from where they were propped against the wall. “Come, Miss Gyllis. Your gelding awaits.”
With a huff, Brother Wesley strode toward the door. “Do not complain to me if riding a horse sets you back sennights and ruins all my work.”
Gyllis watched the monk walk away, mumbling something akin to “ungrateful lass”. But his uncharacteristic chagrin didn’t dissuade her. She smiled up at Sean. “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen him irritated. I’m afraid he’s none too happy about your idea.”
Sean offered his hand. “If it were up to that pasty monk, you’d still be abed so he could run his fingers along your thighs through eternity.”
Gyllis placed her palm in his and allowed Sean to pull her up. “Oh please, Brother Wesley wants to see me well just as you do. He just doesn’t have an adventurous spirit like yours.”
Sean kissed her hand before giving her a crutch. “I doubt that.”
“You are insufferable.” She grasped it.
“How so?”
“You think that poor monk ogles me at his every chance.”
“I don’t think it.” Sean slid the second crutch under her arm. “I ken he does.”
Gyllis giggled. “Take me to this horse before I’m forced to wallop you with one of these crutches.”
He bent down and nuzzled into her ear. Goodness, he smelled fresher than a pine forest. “A fine lady like you wouldn’t do a thing like that.”
Tickles flitted all the way up her neck. If only her confidence would return, she might steal a wee kiss. “I cannot wait for you to spirit me away.”
Performing an exaggerated bow, he gestured toward the passageway and pulled her cloak from the peg on the wall. “Very well, m’lady.”
When they reached the stables, Sean’s man, Angus, led an old gelding up to them. Holding her hand to his nose, Gyllis let the horse smell her and then ran her fingers through his sorrel mane. “You’re a kind fella, are you not?”
Sean placed his warm palm on her waist. “If you’ll pass Angus your crutches, I’ll give you a lift.”
Her insides jumped like a swarm of butterflies had taken to flight. Leaning into him, Gyllis relinquished her crutches and held up her arms.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
She swallowed down her excitement. “Aye.” Sean’s large hands squeezed ever so gently as he lifted her into the sidesaddle. The tang of pine and rugged male curled through her nostrils, making her head swoon. The horse sidestepped, bringing her back to earth. Once situated, Gyllis tried to raise her knee over the upper pommel, but she couldn’t raise the miserable appendage high enough. She cringed.
Sean closed his fingers around her thigh. “Allow me to help.”
Even through her skirts, his simple gesture made her shudder. A jolt of pleasure and need spread through her entire body. His touch was so different than Brother Wesley’s, so much more rugged, yet reassuring…and exciting.
Not trusting her voice to speak, she nodded.
He grasped her ankle and grinned. Oh how incredibly handsome he was when he smiled. His azure eyes narrowed slightly with a wee crinkle at the corners, and his teeth gleamed healthy and white. Sean’s gaze darkened as if he had a secret he wanted to share. Hot, raw energy passed between them while he took his time bending her knee and lifting it over the pommel. All the while, his fingers plied her thigh.
Gyllis caught her breath on a gasp and fanned her heated cheeks. “I think you rather enjoyed that.”
He patted her knee. “I did.” If his grin could grow more devilish, it did.
“You are bold.”
When he leaned within a hand’s breadth of her chin, his smile stretching his features, it was all she could do not to clasp his face between her palms and kiss him. But Sean’s retinue of guards surrounded them. Gyllis sat upright and adjusted her skirts while watching him from the corner of her eye. Aye, she’d enjoyed the few kisses they’d shared, but she wouldn’t lose her head. Things had grown so different. At one time she’d been awash with confidence, but her illness had stripped that away too. A lead ball suddenly sank in her stomach. She would never be able to bear it if Sean rejected her.
Of course ages ago, he’d said he loved her—words Gyllis would never forget. It wasn’t as if he’d said it again, though. Yes, he did kiss her rather passionately. His love couldn’t exactly be compared to brotherly love, but she was too clumsy for it to be real man and woman love. Is there such a thing as kissing friends love? She didn’t know, and right now she didn’t want to think beyond spending the afternoon with Sean.
He brushed her nose with the back of his knuckle. “Is boldness such a bad thing?”
A fire inflamed her cheeks and she fixated on the reins. “Nay,” she admitted in a whisper.
“Exactly what are you doing?” John marched into the stable.
Gyllis lifted her reins. “Sir Sean is taking me riding.”
John crossed his arms and glared at the chieftain. “Not through Fearnoch Forest, ’tis not safe.”
Sean faced him. “I assure you my men have cleansed the forest of all outlaws.”
“Are you certain? You suffered attack yourself. Have you caught the culprits since we last spoke?”
“Four men hanged.” Sean placed his palm on John’s shoulder. “Has it been so long since we rode together you have forgotten our oath of brotherhood? You may have become a priest, but our bond of kinship will endure for a lifetime.”
John stopped and stared, then his shoulders dropped. “You are right. I would trust you not only with my life, but the lives of every soul in Ardchattan Priory.”
The two men grasped each other at the elbows—a sign of Highland kinship. Sean held firm. “I’ll have her back before compline.”
“I’d expect no less.”
Once Sean had mounted his stallion, they rode straight out the gates. The rocking motion of the horse beneath her gave Gyllis an enormous sense of freedom. “’Tis wonderful to ride again.”
Sean walked his horse alongside hers. “I thought you’d enjoy a jaunt away from the cloistered halls of the priory.”
A breeze picked up the hood of her cloak. “I couldn’t have thought of anything more invigorating myself.”
Thunder clapped overhead. Sean arched his brow and gave her a sideways glance. “I’d hoped to picnic beside the babbly burn at Glen Nant.”
Gyllis peered at the sky, sw
irling with grey clouds. Please withhold the rain, if only for a little while. She grinned. “What a lovely idea.”
Thunder rolled and Sean cringed. “I’m not so certain. I wouldn’t want to see you end up with the sweat or worse.”
“Perhaps if we increase our speed to a fast trot, we shall arrive sooner.” She glanced back toward the priory. The grey stone walls were as foreboding as a prison. In no way did she have any intension of turning around.
He stared at her for a long moment and then clicked his tongue. The entire retinue sped the pace to a trot. Droplets started falling, but this was Scotland. It always rained, but rarely did they have a lasting downpour.
“Thank you,” Gyllis said.
“A faster pace is going against my better judgment.” He flashed a wicked smile that tickled her insides. “But from the excitement in your eyes, I’d wager it would be too much of a disappointment not to give it a go.”
She giggled and slapped her riding crop, demanding a canter.
“Gyllis.” Sean hastened after her. “You could fall.”
She shot him a challenging grin. “Sean MacDougall, I swear you are the most adventurous man I know. Do you honestly want to amble along when there’s a picnic to be had?”
His eyebrows waggled with his grin. “Since you put it that way…” His stallion lurched ahead.
Gyllis laughed. This was the wild lad she’d admired whilst she was growing up. She slapped her crop and loosened her reins, giving her horse his head. Together they rode at a moderate canter for miles, Gyllis unable to stop giggling. Though she knew Sean could ride much harder, she dared not try to push more. As it was, her legs bounced with the motion of the horse. One errant move and she might be flung from her saddle.
A sloppy raindrop splashed her face.
Lightning streaked and lit up the sky.
Sean slowed and Gyllis pulled up beside him, the sentries circling around. “A storm’s coming for certain.”
“Dunollie’s only a mile away. ’Tis the closest shelter,” said Angus.
Sean frowned as if he didn’t care for the idea, but then he nodded. “I hope you do not feel it improper, seeing you are unaccompanied.”
Gyllis scanned the staring faces. “You’ve an entire retinue of men.” She slapped her crop and headed west as the skies opened up and doused them with a torrent.
When at last they rode through Dunollie’s gates, Gyllis was soaked clean through and shaking like a sapling in the wind. Sean drove the horses past the stable, straight to the keep’s huge, oaken doors. After dismounting, he strode directly to Gyllis’s horse, his face awash with rainwater. Pushed away from his face, droplets splashed from his dark hair, soaking his cloak and linen shirt beneath. Her gaze dipped to the laces of his collar. Curls of hair peeked through the opening, the wet fabric plastered to his chest. God help her, she wanted to tug open the laces and gaze upon the treasure beneath. Raising his arms, his cloak opened, revealing more. The linen hugged every curve of his rigid chest—chiseled as if carved in stone. Dropping her gaze further, the cloth clung to undulating abdominal muscles akin to those hammered into the iron breastplate of a Roman god.
Before she could blink, he placed a hand upon her waist. “Come, we must see you warmed by the hearth.”
Teeth chattering, she braced her hands on his shoulder while he slipped an arm beneath her knees and carried her up the stairs. Once inside, Sean turned full circle. “Light the fire in my mother’s chamber,” he bellowed.
“Straight away,” said Angus. “But it will take some time to warm the chill from the air.”
Sean tightened his grip. “’Tis summer, blast it all.”
A matron pattered across the hall. “You’re soaked to the bone, m’laird.”
“Miss Gyllis needs a change of clothes. Can you arrange a kirtle and shift?”
The woman wrung her hands. “Perhaps I can find something suitable.”
“Good. Have them sent up to my chamber forthwith.”
She clapped a hand to her chest whilst her eyes bulged. “Your chamber, m’laird?”
“Aye, Jinny,” Sean barked. “’Tis presently the only room without a draft. Angus, follow us with the basket. I’ll not be returning the lady to Ardchattan with even a hint of fever.”
Gyllis sneezed.
“Quickly!” Sean hastened toward the stairwell.
“Apologies.” She tried not to shiver and snuggled into him. Dripping wet, he was still as warm as a brazier. “I’m feeling well, honestly.”
“I’ll take no chances.” Skipping two steps at a time, at the first landing Sean proceeded through the passageway and pushed through the door. He carried Gyllis to a chair beside the hearth and gently set her down. She shivered when he pulled away—the warmth of his body no longer soothing her. But the smell of the chamber washed over her in a delicious fragrance of pine and musky male. Sean’s scent.
“The coals are still smoldering. I’ll just toss on a few sticks of wood and you’ll be toasty warm in no time.”
“Th-thank you.” Her teeth again chattered as she glanced back at the enormous four-poster bed across the room. Festooned with a green satin comforter and canopy, she wondered if Sean’s favorite color was green. She hoped so.
Sean brushed her cheek with the back of his finger. “Your cheeks are rosy.”
She clapped her hands to them. “Are they?”
“Aye.” His voice grew deeper. “I like them with a bit of color.”
When he turned and reached for the wood, a rap sounded at the door. Angus walked in, a basket slung from his elbow while he held a bundle of clothing at arm’s length so not to get it wet. “Jinny sent these up for the lady, m’laird.”
Sean tossed another stick of wood with a thump and straightened. “Where the devil is your wife?”
Angus shifted his weight between his feet, with water squishing out his boots. “Called to Morag’s cottage. The bairn is coming.”
A clap of thunder sounded beyond the stone walls, so loud the castle shook. Gyllis shuddered.
Sean gestured toward the bed. “Of all the miserable times for a woman to birth a wee one. Please set the things on the bed and go dry yourself.”
“Aye, m’laird.” Angus did as told and gave Gyllis an apologetic look. “Will you be needing anything else?”
Sean brushed off his hands. “Nay. I reckon all the womenfolk are at Morag’s?”
Angus nodded. “I guess I’ll leave you be, then.” But the old henchman didn’t make a move until Sean showed him to the door.
“No need to worry. I’ve managed far more difficult tasks.”
The corner of Angus’s mouth turned up. “You reckon?”
Gyllis knew what the henchman meant. It wasn’t easy for a cripple to dress. She pulled the wet hood from her head.
Sean clapped his back. “Off with you. Put something warm in your belly to stave off the cold.”
“I’ve just the vintage of whisky—”
Sean closed the door behind Angus and turned. Gyllis rubbed the outside of her arms, her teeth chattering.
“We must warm you.”
“I am c-coming good. The fire is crackling.” If only the hearth were emitting a modicum of warmth.
Sean gestured to the bed. “I should leave you to change.”
Gyllis glanced toward the pile of clothes all the way over on the bed and then the door. “I d-don’t think I can.”
“Pardon?” His eyes trailed down to her shoes, then he hit his head with the heel of his hand. “Forgive me. I’ll fetch them for you.”
A slow exhale whistled past Gyllis’s lips. “My thanks.”
He set the bundle on the small table beside her. “I had hoped Jinny would’ve come up to help you dress.” He shifted his feet. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”
“I think not. I should be able to manage.”
“Very well. I shall be right outside the door if you should need me.”
Gyllis bobbed her head in time to her c
hattering teeth.
Sean sidestepped to the door. “You’re certain you’ll be all right?”
“A-a-aye.” She clapped a hand over her mouth and sneezed.
“Bloody hell, Gyllis, you best not be coming down with a fever.”
She flicked her hand through the air. “Would you be off? I’ll catch my death with your dawdling.”
He grasped the latch. “Apologies.”
She waited until the door clicked shut. Then the realization that she was alone sunk in. No one had brought her crutches above stairs. Gyllis studied the pile of clothes. Once the dexterity of her fingers had returned, she’d been able to do most everything herself—aside from anything that required her to stand. She wiggled her bottom and tested the chair. It was indeed sturdy.
After shrugging out of her cloak and loosening the laces of her kirtle and shift, she had an easy enough time gathering her skirts and pulling them up to her hips. She planted her feet firmly on the floor and bore down while using her hands to lift herself with the armrests. Once up, she released one hand and grasped her skirts. Her legs shuddered under the strain and cold. The damp cloth stuck to her skin and the harder she tugged the more it seemed to stick.
With a grunt, the muscles in her thighs gave out and she collapsed back into the chair with her kirtle up past her knees. Gyllis took a deep breath. I’ve been pulling myself to a stand and walking with crutches. Surely it will be easier if I stood. I’ve the chair to lean on if need be. Goodness, ’tis more difficult trying to brace myself in a crouch.
Again she grasped the armrests. With one deep inhale, she pushed herself up. Once certain her legs would support her weight, she released her hands and tugged the kirtle over her head. Knees wobbling a bit, she gathered up her damp shift. After she pulled it off, the warmth from the hearth radiated across her skin and her teeth ceased their chattering.
Enlivened by her ability to stand unassisted, Gyllis faced the table and reached for the dry linen shift. The kirtle tumbled to the floor, revealing a set of modern stays. She hadn’t worn stays since she’d come down with paralysis. There’d been no need. But she would look so much prettier with her bosoms supported with fashionable wooden slats.