Chapter 2 #2
The only place he could think of was his castle. He flicked the reins and urged the horse forward, a sharp breath escaping his lips.
The late afternoon light lay soft across the gardens, and the castle walls kept the wind to a murmur. Kristen stood by the path, with the hem of her skirt dusted in grass, her hands clasped so she would not fuss at every stumble.
“Careful, Finn,” she called lightly. “Watch yer steps, Anna. Daenae trip over Maggie.”
“Aye,” Finn shouted without looking back. He swerved around a box hedge and laughed when the big dog lumbered after him.
Anna ran forward with a proud little sway, both arms wide. “Mag-gie,” she sang. “Mag-gie, come.”
Maggie’s tongue lolled, patient and pleased. She kept to the children like a shadow with fur.
“Slow down a little,” Kristen said. “Ye can win without flying.”
Finn puffed up his chest. “Wolves fly.”
“Do they?” Kristen smiled. “I thought they ran and kept their feet.”
“They do both,” Finn said confidently.
He ran faster to prove it, but his toe caught on a root. Before Kristen could do anything, he pitched forward and hit the grass with a hard thump.
Kristen’s heart lurched. She crossed toward him once and knelt. “Finn, love, look at me,” she crooned, her hands quick. “Show me yer palms. Let me see yer knees.”
Finn blinked hard and bit his lip. “I didnae cry.”
“I see that,” she said. “Ye were brave. Hold still.”
A scrape shone raw on his knee. Blood beaded and tipped. Kristen pressed a clean cloth to it and counted to five in her head. Maggie bumped her wet nose against Finn’s shoulder and huffed.
“Easy, Maggie,” Kristen instructed. “Ye can sit.”
The dog sat, big and careful, her eyes fixed on the boy.
Kristen was still examining him for wounds when a prickle ran up the back of her neck. Her eyes flicked to the arches that opened onto the inner yard, then to the shadow at the far end of the gate.
There was nothing. The only thing that moved was the tree ahead.
Maggie seemed to feel the shift in the air as well, for she went still.
Kristen put a hand on her thick fur. “What is it, lassie?” she asked.
I feel it, too.
After spending almost five years leading the keep, she could recognize danger, especially if it was hiding. She looked once more across the garden, but nothing could be seen beyond the arches ahead.
“Inside,” she said to the children, her voice cheerful but firm. “Now.”
They crossed back and she drew the door wide, guiding the children across the threshold, the dog right at her shin, the fear following as quietly as a shadow that knew her step.
Once inside the castle, the air cooled.
Kristen bent to Anna and smoothed her hair. “Ye will go with Nurse Moira,” she said, her voice light and steady. “There is sweet milk, and oatcakes with honey if ye sit quietly.”
Anna nodded, solemn and brave.
Finn looked past Kristen down the dim corridor. “Are ye coming, too?”
“In a moment.” Kristen ran her hand over his hair and then his cheek, pressing warmth into him. “I must fetch a ribbon for Anna. I will meet ye in the kitchen. Mind Maggie.”
“Aye,” he said, squaring his shoulders.
Maggie hesitated. The dog looked from Kristen to the children and back again. Her tail did not lift.
“Go on,” Kristen urged gently. “They need ye more than I do.”
Moira gathered Anna and Finn and took them away. Maggie fell into step beside them like a soldier taking an order.
Silence settled over the corridor once they were gone. It was the ordinary quiet of the inner yard, yet it felt suspended, as if a breath had been drawn and not yet released.
Kristen stood still until their footsteps faded, then turned toward the Laird’s chambers, the room she had occupied for the past five years.
Torches flickered along the path, guiding her as she moved and illuminating anything that might seem strange. Her slippers found the smooth run in the middle of each stone step, and she took slow breaths.
Left, right, left, right.
She had walked down this corridor so often that her feet reflexively knew where to go and where to stop. Even so, the prickle at her neck did not ebb.
She told herself it was foolish. It was probably one of the children in the castle being mischievous. Perhaps Lachlan had brought someone he was trying to hide.
She wanted to believe anything but the glaring fact that they had an intruder.
She reached the door and put her hand on the iron handle.
It felt colder than it should. She entered the chamber to find the low fire she had left behind that morning.
Her brush lay where she had set it, the bristles clean and drying.
The bedsheets draped across the foot of the bed, which she herself had made this morning.
Normal things.
She breathed deeply, trying to slow her heartbeat.
She stepped in and pushed the door behind her with an easy hand. The wood swung on its old hinges, and the lock set in place with a sharp, deliberate click.
She swallowed and went very still. That couldn’t have possibly been just the wind.
“Who is there?” she asked, her voice too loud in the big room.
No answer.
The fire danced over red coals, and the candle flames held steady. She could feel her own pulse in her throat.
She moved slowly to the mantelpiece and took up the brass candelabra. It was heavy enough to break a wrist and, if she swung really hard, a head. She held it in both hands because her fingers wanted to tremble, and she would not have it.
“Who are ye?” she called. “Come out now and face me, ye coward.”
A shape moved from the shadows near the wardrobe and stepped into the low light. Kristen stared at it, swallowing hard.
He was very tall, and his long hair fell to his shoulders. His beard, shaggy from neglect, covered his chin, and a coat stiff with old and new blood draped over his shoulders. His skin was marred with burns and scars that caught the fire and darkened again.
Her hands tightened around the candelabra. She felt the weight but did not trust it.
The man looked at the candelabra and almost smiled. “That cannae stop me from findin’ out whose children ye were just parading outside, wife.”