Chapter Twelve
THE NEXT DAY, I WAS assigned a bodyguard.
He was a massive, unruly-looking warrior named Fergus, and he seemed less than pleased by his new assignment.
He was called into Wilkie’s chambers and introduced to me. He nodded once to me, where I sat in a chair by the fire. Then he hastily returned to his post, closing the door behind him.
Wilkie had woken early and had disappeared for a time, and I had set about tidying his chambers, getting dressed and brushing my hair until it was smooth and gleaming. I awaited Wilkie’s instructions obediently and did not consider leaving his chambers, as yet.
And so I still sat with my brush in my hand, my dress on but my feet bare, warmed by the fire.
“Fergus will remain outside this door, Roses. He’s one of Knox’s most trusted men.
The walls and gates have been fortified with soldiers, both inside and outside the walls.
There will be no more surprise raids. We were surprised by Ogilvie’s determination, but we are not intimidated by, nor tolerant of Ogilvie’s tactics.
Messengers have been sent to deliver an invitation to negotiate.
So it will be business as usual.” Except for the one enormous warrior who was now relegated to ensuring my safety.
“Fergus will guard you until I can return to you.”
I thought this unnecessary, but I didn’t argue with him. The storm of Wilkie’s fury over my near-abduction lurked in his eyes once again. And I was wary, as well, after yesterday’s events. I would be more careful.
“When will I see you again?” I asked quietly, my heart already heavy at the thought of his departure.
“I’ll see you tonight.”
Many, many hours. My expression must have shown the despair I felt at being separated from him for so long.
“If I can, I’ll come to you sooner,” he said.
“Once you finish preparing yourself, Fergus will escort you to Effie’s healing quarters, where you may spend the day with her.
” I knew this arrangement was difficult for him to concede to, much less to offer; it was meant to appease me, so I wouldn’t argue with him or subtly accuse him of keeping me captive.
“If you want to,” he added. “Or you may prefer to rest.”
I rose and walked over to him. I reached up and touched my fingers to the braided hair at his temple, drawn to his fierceness and wishing at the same time to calm it.
The warrior in him was in full force this morning, as he prepared himself for his day of training, hunting, planning battle tactics and leading men—manly duties befitting his station as the brother of the laird.
“You are very accommodating, warrior. What I want to do is come with you, wherever it is that you go. But I will do whatever pleases you and keeps you from worrying.” I stood on my toes, but even then I couldn’t reach his lips to kiss him.
“I feel very small, barefoot in front of you, with you in your boots and your belt with your sword and your knives.” He looked down at me, but he didn’t lean closer.
I gently wound his hair around my finger, pulling his face to me until I could brush my open lips against his.
He kissed me, almost reverentially, but then he pulled back. “Where did you come from?” he whispered, smoothing my hair back from my face.
“I—”
“Nay. I mean, how did I find you? You are more than anything I could have dreamed up. I’m ruined forever, you realize.”
“Why—”
“You know what I’m going to do, lass?” he asked, his dazzling face lit with his idea.
“I’m going to bring you with me. Many of the men are away today, on a hunt.
Guards are manning the keep in numbers. I’m meeting Kade to take stock of what we might need, if Campbell’s rebellion is imminent.
And I want you armed, too, lass. I’m going to give you back your sword. ”
I was overcome with his offer and my own excitement. That he wanted me with him, even as he worked, felt heavily significant.
“Will you teach me?”
“Teach you what?”
“How to fight, with a sword.”
“You already know how to fight with a sword,” he said. “Do you not? If you get any more proficient with your small sword,” he mused, “I could be in grave danger.”
I frowned at the reminder that I had hurt him.
He lifted me into his arms, holding me against him, so my bare feet were suspended off the floor.
He was happy, I could read it in his eyes.
“Nay, lass. I don’t want my Roses frowning at me.
Smile at me. You defended yourself well, as you have had the need to do.
Now we fight on the same side. And you have me to protect you.
I’ll teach you technique, if that’s what you want. And tonight, we’ll read.”
I couldn’t help smiling back at him then, wrapping my arms around his neck, kissing him and kissing him again. The strong stripes of his eyebrows, his closed eyes, his face, his lips. “I have long wished I could read, and write.”
“Soon you’ll be able to. I think you’ll be a quick learner.
Nay, lass. No more kisses. I’m late, and ’tis the least of my crimes, all because I can’t get enough of my sweet, blonde, sunny lass.
God, you’re sweet. Nay, stop. I can no longer plead dire injury nor fevered delirium.
Only lust and obsession, which my brothers are somewhat less tolerant of.
Come, now. One more kiss. But only one.”
I could feel the lust and taste the obsession he spoke of as he returned the kiss, like milk and honey on my tongue.
I wanted to wrap my legs around him or, oddly, to lie down in front of him.
But I pulled away from him, not wanting to be the further cause of disruption to his schedule and his duties.
“Are you certain you want me to stay with you?”
“Aye. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
* * *
FERGUS APPEARED ALMOST comically relieved to be freed from his new assignment so soon. And Wilkie led me, his hand tightly around mine, through the manor and out-of-doors. The day was bright and clear, with only a few high wispy clouds to soften the light.
Some distance from the rear of the manor was a series of rectangular stone buildings and a large open area where use had cleared the grassy field to a dry and somewhat dusty training area.
In the far distance a small group of boys listened as a trainer instructed them, and a few soldiers sparred farther afield.
There was an archery stand with six targets set up but no one currently using them.
As Wilkie had mentioned, most of the men were otherwise engaged today, and the training yards were sparsely populated.
We approached the nearest outbuilding to find Kade sitting on a cut log, under the roof of a lean-to constructed against the side of a stone building. He was sharpening a sword with a large circular fine-textured stone that spun when a foot pedal was used. Little sparks flew as he worked.
Next to him, there was a rack where ten or more swords of various sizes hung. It was clear by the bright shine of several of the swords which ones Kade had already sharpened.
Kade looked up when he saw us, and his eyebrows rose at the unexpected sight of me walking alongside his brother, my hand firmly in Wilkie’s grip.
“Wilkie,” Kade said in a casual greeting. “Roses.” He removed his foot from the pedal and turned to face us.
“Roses and I are going to spar,” Wilkie said. “She’s asked me to give her some pointers.”
Kade appeared entertained by the thought. He stood and leaned against the stone wall, folding his bare, muscled arms to watch us.
Wilkie grabbed the smallest sword—still much larger than any sword I had ever trained with—from the rack and handed it to me.
“Maybe the lass should be the one to give you some pointers,” Kade commented. “Would you like me to fetch you some armor, brother? Some chainmail? At least use a shield. We don’t want you confined to your chambers again. Or is that your sly intention?”
“I’ll confine you to your chambers if you don’t clapper your face.”
“I’d like to see you try. I’ll let Roses have the first go at you, and if she can’t finish you, I’ll step in.”
“Go and sharpen some swords,” grumbled Wilkie, but from the easy tone of their companionable bickering, it was clear that they in fact were enjoying each other’s company.
Wilkie raised his sword to me, taking his stance, smiling smugly at me and narrowing his eyes as though in a mock threat.
“Terrifying,” commented Kade.
The scene brought an uneasy memory to mind of our fight, of Wilkie’s spilled blood and my own.
I did not raise my heavy sword to him, feeling now that practicing with Wilkie wasn’t something I really wanted to do after all.
The memory of his near-death was too close to the surface.
And I was distracted, too, by the intense beauty of him.
The sun shone in gold-lit shards on his black-on-black hair.
His white teeth flashed. His face was sun-bronzed and jeweled by the tiny shimmery glint of his day-old stubble and his laughing blue eyes.
“Hold it steady,” Wilkie instructed me.
Warily, I lifted my sword an inch higher. Even holding the handle with both hands, it was heavy enough to feel and to act unwieldy, as though it had a mind of its own. I didn’t feel confident enough to use it. Not like this. Not against Wilkie.
I lowered the sword. “Let’s not, warrior. I’ll watch you instead.”
“Come on, lass,” he urged me. “Hit me. Move your hands higher up the handle. All the way to the hilt. You’ll have a steadier grip. Give it a good swing.”