Authors: Felicia Rogers
By God's Grace (13 page)
****
Lyall returned to her room and kicked the sleeping guard. He did nothing more than make a loud snoring sound. Good for nothing Sinclair! Admittedly, the sleeping herb added to his ale was the cause of his inanimate form, but Lyall still blamed him for resting on post.
“Lazy Sinclair dog,” she mumbled, going in the room and closing the door.
Sori waited for her. Sori had been named for a group of spores that grew on the underside of a fern frond. If ingested at the wrong time, these spores could make a person extremely ill. Sori loved to believe enough of her company would sicken even those with the strongest of constitutions. Thus her name.
“Well, what did he say to yer request?” asked Sori.
“It was granted,” Lyall whispered.
“Excellent.”
Lyall sat on the stool, facing the looking glass. Her head was cradled in her hand. A wistful sigh escaped. “How can this be good? He is fine with me leaving. Canna ye see he is trying to get rid of me so he can have more time with the Kincade lass?”
“It is of little importance.”
“How can ye be so flippant? I need a husband for â for the babe.”
“If ye had used the husband ye had in the correct manner, then ye wouldn't be wailing about a husband now. Cainneach was an infinitely more attractive man than Duncan.”
“Sori, I don't care for yer opinion on their looks, or their personalities, or any other opinion ye have on them. In fact, I don't care about any opinion ye have on anything at the moment. Just go away.”
“As ye wish.”
As soon as she left, Lyall regretted Sori's absence. It left her lonelier than ever. The babe kicked. Her stomach growled. She'd yet to eat dinner.
After dinner, packing for the long trip would ensue. Too bad she no longer had an accomplice to leave behind. Fantasy after fantasy about the damage she could have executed, even while not in attendance, floated across her mind, her lips twitching in excitement.
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The evening was finished in the company of Sinclair family. After much conversation with the returning cousins, Boyd and Filib, he retired alone to his room. There was a temptation to seek Arbella's company, but he decided to forego the enticement her presence was sure to present.
The night lasted forever. Tossing and turning was no way to rest. When day broke, Duncan was more exhausted than before. Covers cast out of the way, he threw his legs over the side of the bed and placed his feet on the floor. Sunlight filtered through a tiny crack in the wooden shutters. Soon Lyall would leave the keep. Once she was gone, the wedding planning would begin in earnest.
Dressed, Duncan sauntered downstairs. Lyall's belongings were packed and loaded. Per his instructions, an armed escort surrounded the former mistress. Fortuitous for him, the lady didn't balk.
High on her horse, she sat with a stiff spine and averted her eyes. “Good-bye, Duncan.”
“Good-bye, Lyall. Godspeed,” he replied.
The horse's flank was kicked, and it shot forward. While riding away, Lyall yelled, “I will send yer men home when I arrive at my father's.”
The men followed the sudden bolt. There had been no time to tell them to wait until Lyall's return before coming home. Why Lyall would wish to remain at her father's keep for an undetermined amount of time, without having an escort to bring her back? The question plagued him. Lyall detested her father.
Had the loss of Cainneach made her want to foster a new relationship with her own family?
Before any more time could be spent reflecting on Lyall's motivations, Arbella appeared, snuggled to the side of one of the twins. Had she tricked Tavis again? It must be Tavish this time. The Kincade twin moved the crooked door aside, allowing Arbella to pass. A delicate hand was placed on his forearm as they bounded down the stairs together. When the lass's feet hit the ground, she was face-to-chest with Duncan.
Between gritted teeth, he asked, “And where do ye think ye are going?”
“I noticed Mistress Lyall was allowed to leave the keep walls, so I thought surely I could go for a walk within the walls â with an escort, of course,” she said, eyes twinkling with amusement.
Duncan spread his legs wide, folded his arms across his broad chest, and answered, “Lyall has twenty men with her. And she is headed for her father's keep.”
“Oh, what a pity. I had yet to meet her.” Arbella gnawed on her plump bottom lip. Then the corners of her full mouth lifted, she arched a brow, and tapped a finger to her forehead. It was if enlightenment had occurred.
Relieving herself of the escort, she paced back and forth. The finger against her forehead was now in perfect rhythm, thoughts and words coming in tandem. “'Tis true the mistress left with twenty men, but I'm only going to walk around your keep. And besides, Tavis may be only one man, but he is twice the size of most of the men here.”
Duncan shook his head. “Nay, get inside.”
Arbella's arms folded upon her chest in defiance. “Nay, I will not.”
Duncan dropped his jaw. The twin stepped back to avoid the crossfire. Before Duncan could speak, Arbella put a question to him. “Did not the murders occur within the keep?”
Not expecting the question, Duncan didn't have a ready argument and answered, “Aye.”
With her right arm lying across her chest, her left hand went to work tapping her chin in thoughtful repose. He could see the cogs turning in her mind as the case was building in her mind. The evidence was apparent on the studious face.
“Since it is the case that the murders occurred inside the keep, and I am currently not inside the keep, then it can be concluded I must be safer on my walk outside than I would be if I was on my way to the garderobe, which is inside, correct?”
Duncan stuttered and stammered, not sure if nay or aye was what needed to be said after such a confusing argument.
Before he could form a coherent thought, Arbella continued, “Therefore I conclude a walk outside is just what was ordered. Now if you will excuse me, Tavis and I are on our way to visit with Jamus.”
Arbella took off without her escort, leaving the giant moving at a clipped pace to catch up. As he ran, Duncan asked, “Did ye understand one word that woman just said?”
Tavis yelled, “Nay, sorry.”
Duncan didn't know what to do. Should Arbella be allowed to continue to saunter around the village with only one escort? Or should he catch up with her, tie her up, fling her into her room, lock her in, throw the key into a dark pit and bury it?
In retrospect, the lass was right about two things â all the murders had been inside the keep, and either one of the twins was definitely larger than most of the men around. Surely the Kincade could handle the protection of one little woman.
The issue resolved, Duncan thought this was a good time to see if the priest had arrived. Maybe if they were married, Arbella would feel more compelled to listen to him. Somehow he doubted it.
****
Unlike the Scottish men and women in the village, Arbella was cold. The Highland weather was cooler than the temperatures she was used to on the farm, and she'd had to don a heavy cloak for the walk. Within minutes, Tavis and Arbella arrived at the village hut where Jamus was staying. Although most of the tournament participants left to journey home, Jamus had stayed behind to attend the wedding.
Arbella entered the small but well kept home. The fire in the hearth warmed the main room to an uncomfortable level. She removed the thick cloak, found a seat across from Jamus, and sat down.
“How are you, Uncle?”
His aged eyes gazed at her. “I believe I should be asking ye that question.”
Slim hands rested in her lap. She made an intense study of her nails. “I'm all right.”
Voice barely above a whisper, he asked, “How is Duncan treating ye?”
Arbella sighed. “He isn't treating me at all.”
Jamus leaned forward; a frown graced his withered face. “What do ye mean?”
“Well, he hasn't talked to me much since the day I was locked in the cellar. At dinner â which I had to sneak into, I might add â he announced our wedding to take place in a sennight!”
“Do ye not wish to be married sooner rather than later?”
Arbella stood and paced. Agitated her hands moved in a flurry. “Of course I want to be married to Duncan as soon as possible. But it bothers me he didn't see fit to consult me on the matter.”
Jamus chortled. “A laird is rarely used to discussing matters over before making such a small decision.”
Arbella turned her full gaze on Jamus. “Small decision! Our wedding day is hardly such.”
His hands rose in a defensive posture. “Of course gettin' married is no small decision. The council made that choice for Duncan. But the day the ceremony takes place, my child, is not that important.”
Arbella conceited defeat. “Very well. Perhaps you are correct. The day of the wedding is a small matter, but I would very much like to have speech with Duncan before we wed.”
“Then ye should tell him so.”
“Jamus, are you not listening? I rarely speak to the man because he is so busy protecting me. I guess I could just open my door and bellow down the hall that I would like to speak with my future husband. Maybe I could pretend to be in danger. Then he would make time for me for sure.”
Jamus laughed. “Aye, sounds like a plan.”
Arbella replied in kind.
Jamus asked, “What else has happened at the keep?”
She sat down and arranged her skirts. “Mistress Lyall left to visit her family today. Do you know I have yet to meet her?”
“Well, ye haven't missed anything.”
“Uncle Jamus!” said Arbella, in a disappointed tone.
“Well, truths the truth, lass. The gel has been nothing but trouble from the time she entered the keep.”
“Sounds like what you say is the consensus. I have heard nothing redeeming about the lady.”
“Aye, so ye have heard some of her history.”
“Well, I discounted most of it as rumors and hearsay. I mean, if Cainneach favors Duncan any little bit, then how could any woman deny his affections?”
Jamus laughed. “Of that opinion, are ye?”
Arbella blushed, finding herself glad the room's light was dim. She was not willing to back down. “Aye, I am of that opinion.”
“Well, lass, I am happy ye are satisfied with Duncan and his physical being, but ye are wrong about Lyall.”
“How so?”
“I don't know if I should tell ye, butâ”
“Tamara hinted that Lyall was in love with Duncan and refused the affections of Cainneach.”
“To a degree, Tamara is correct. Lyall's father, Rab or Laird Burns, arranged a marriage between Cainneach and Lyall, against Lyall's wishes, I might add. The gel claimed she loved another and would never allow Cainneach to bed her. No one knows to this day who the man was that she loved. I believe Duncan was only a ruse, a ploy used to get at Cainneach and thereby hurt her father.”
“Does Duncan know this?”
“When he left five years ago, I don't think he did. That was why he left.”
“Where did he go?”
“From what I heard, Duncan went a little bit of everywhere. For the last two years, he's been at a place called Greenbriar, living with Cedric MacNeil and his wife Sarra. I believe they named their first child after him. It appears he helped them with a problem a couple of years past.”
“They sound like interesting people, if they took Duncan in and named a child after him.”
“Aye, I believe that is the case.”
“Jamus, I would like to spend time with Duncan doing normal, everyday things.”
“I understand. Ye just need to tell Duncan how ye feel. Contrary to his reputation, the lad will listen to ye and maybe even do something about yer desires.”
“Aye, I agree. He has been most generous since I arrived at the keep. He could have thrown me out on my ear when I won the tournament, but instead he accepted my win and my proposal.”
Arbella and Jamus spent the rest of the afternoon talking with one another and enjoying each other's company. They talked about her father when he was young, about the adventures of the Kincade three, and then of course of their departures. They shared memories of love and loss. The lack of light in the room and the lowering of the sun alerted Arbella she'd stayed too long. With thanks to the hut's owner for his hospitality, she gave Jamus a hug and kiss and exited to the outside. The heavy cloak wrapped around her trembling frame sheltered her against the ensuing rain.
****
After inquiring about the priest, Duncan returned to the keep and spent time repairing the crooked front door. Cainneach had left it unchanged because it reminded him of different times. Times that were hard, but ones he didn't want to forget. Duncan thought time changed things, and no matter how much you wished them to stay the same, progress always occurred.
Few people knew of Cainneach's first marriage. He'd gone away and come back a married man with a babe on the way. Unfortunately his wife didn't survive the child's birth, leaving Cainneach as a widower with a child.
The babe lived to around two years old, when an accident took his life. He'd been in the keep sleeping, and his nurse had gone out for air, closing the door behind her. No sooner had the door closed than the sound of the babe's cry was heard through the open window. The maid started back inside, but the door jammed. She screamed for help, and Cainneach, being close by, came running. Panic set in. The door was pushed open with such force the pins holding it in place were permanently warped. But it was too late.
No one knew why the babe cried or what happened to the child. But when Cainneach and the wet nurse arrived at his bedside, the babe was deceased.
The door had remained offset since that time. Duncan thought the door was more likely to get stuck in this crooked position, but Cainneach refused to fix it. His son could never be fixed, so neither would the door.
After repairing the door, Duncan began to worry. Darkness had descended, and Arbella had yet to return. Where could the lass be? All matter of possibilities circled through his mind. From ghosties to being attacked by the murderer, Duncan's imagination roamed.
Tavis and the lass better have a good explanation for their lateness. What could be taking her so long? Didn't the lass say she was just going for a walk? Why had he agreed to let her go in the first place?
He sat at the table, drinking cup after cup of ale. They had much to discuss, and he intended to do so as soon as he saw her. One thing they were going to discuss was how inconsiderate she was for leaving him in a state of worry all day. Of course, this would come after he wrung her neck.
Just when Duncan could take it no more and rose from his seated position to go in search, the door creaked open. On quivering legs, he entered the foyer. Arbella's face was flushed, her hair wet and dripping. He resisted the urge to stomp his foot and demand to know her whereabouts. Just then the couple looked up and caught sight of his disapproving stare.
Tavis bowed respectfully, excusing himself. Arbella frowned at his retreating form.
“Good afternoon, Duncan,” Arbella said in a polite voice.
“Aye. Ye think it is a good afternoon, do ye?”
Under her breath, she mumbled, “Well, I did.”
“What was that ye say?”
“I said it's raining,” she yelled, as if speaking to a deaf man.
“Well, any fool could see that, with all the water yer dripping on me floor.”
“I'm sorry to be messing up your clean flooring. I will get a rag and clean it up immediately, my laird,” Arbella said, with a low mocking bow.
Sarcasm oozed from the words. She started to walk past him, but he grabbed her. Pulling her close, he whispered, “Where have ye been?”
Arbella's body went rigid in his grasp. Barely able to comprehend the movement, she relaxed. With the tenseness gone, he dropped his arms to his side.
Her eyes lowered to the floor. Tears flowed down her face, expressing shame. The back of her hand swiped away the tears. Sniffing loudly, she answered, “Duncan, I owe you an apology.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to let Arbella know what he thought about letting him agonize over her whereabouts. Then she did something he never expected. She apologized. He stuttered out, “Wh-what?”
“You heard me. I apologize. I told you I would be all right, and you trusted me, and I abused that trust by staying out too long. As to the where, I've been with Jamus. He has been regaling me with stories. It became dark outside and I realized I'd lost track of time. Tavis wanted me to wait until the rain slacked before coming home. But I told him nay, we'd been gone long enough. And now I have wet the floor and made a mess, and I am sure I must look a fright.” Arbella continued to talk as wet, soppy hair was pushed out of her eyes and into position behind her ear.
She continued to ramble. The lass mimicked a drowned kitten, a vulnerable drowned kitten. They stood a few inches apart when Duncan closed the gap. He placed his finger over her trembling lips in a silencing motion. What happened next shocked both of them. Arbella kissed his finger.
Duncan was transfixed. Pulling his finger away, he put his lips in its place. The kiss was a caress of flesh upon flesh. Her lips parted as a sigh escaped. He pulled back, his chin rested upon her head in contentment as they held one another in an affectionate embrace.
She laid her head on his chest. “Tell me you talked to the priest.”
Chest rumbling with laughter, he answered, “Not exactly, but I did get some information.”
“When?” she asked.
“Verra, verra soon.”
Her hand strayed to his back and ran up and down. The reaction was a ripple of muscle beneath her hand. On tiptoe she stood and planted a brief kiss against the vein beating wildly in his neck. “When?” she repeated.
Duncan could scarcely breathe, much less answer her. Never had a woman affected him with so brief a touch. In a husky voice he answered, “The priest will be here in two days' time.”
She stepped out of his loose grasp. A groan laced with dissatisfaction escaped her throat, while a smile rested on her face. “I guess we will just have to spend those two days getting to know each other better.”
This was an excellent idea. Right now he was definitely in the mood to get to know one another better.
Reaching out to grab her, she sidestepped his hands and wagged a finger. “Nay, I didn't mean like that. I mean we should get to know each other's likes and dislikes.”
Duncan folded his arms. “Are ye saying no touching?”
Arbella tapped a finger to her lip. “We may touch, but I don't think we should do so with our lips.”
Duncan didn't argue. “If we do this, ye will be begging for it before the two days are finished.”
“Think so, do you?”
“Aye, I do.”
Arbella reached a hand forward. “Want to shake on it?”
Duncan grasped the hand, jerked her into an embrace, and placed his lips inches from her own. Moist, hot breath flowed between them as he replied, “Aye.”
Arbella's tongue darted out, licking her dry lips in response. Exiting the embrace as relaxed as possible and straightening the wet clothing, Arbella turned to the stairs.
Duncan leaned against the railing and watched the lass sashay away. He wasn't happy about their decision, but it might be for the best. Any more affection from her of the same merit as what he had just experienced, and he might not be responsible for his actions.
Before she reached the top stair, he yelled, “The cook saved ye some dinner.”
She twisted to face him. “Oh, thank you.” For a moment she hesitated, then added, “I actually ate with Jamus. Do you think the cook would have his feelings hurt if I declined?”
“Nay.”
“Very well. I'll see you tomorrow, Duncan Sinclair.”
“Good night, Arbella. Sweet dreams,” he whispered.