Chapter 5
The lass was so breathtaking, so knee-weakening, so heart-melting, Hew actually let the axe slide off his shoulder. It almost hit the man standing beside him.
“Hey, mind your blade,” the man growled.
“Sorry,” Hew mumbled, fixated on the impossibly lovely woman.
Then the man saw where he was looking. “Och. Lady Carenza. She’s a head-turner, for certain.”
Carenza.
In the village, her name had been on everyone’s lips. The alewife’s lad’s. The parchment-maker’s. The butcher’s son’s. In The Bell, the cooherd had been talking about her.
What had he said? That the Boyle lads wanted to court her, but her father had his sights set much higher.
No doubt. An angel that magnificent deserved nothing short of a king. Maybe a saint.
Traffic moved around him as he stood in stunned admiration.
Her father had her in a close grip. Hew couldn’t blame him. If he owned such a treasure, he’d hold onto her tightly too.
She looked as pale and delicate as an apple blossom. Her forest green gown clung to her gentle curves. She walked with such grace, she seemed to glide through the hall. Her dark waist-length braid was draped coyly over one shoulder.
But what caught at his heart and stopped his breath was her brilliant smile. Welcoming, warm, and full of delight, it made everyone around her smile in return. Like a candle moving through the shadows, she lit up everything she touched.
Hew could feel his heart stirring, waking, coming to life.
A rush of emotion surged through his veins, warming his blood.
The familiar gush of pleasure filled his body, melting his bones.
His eyes softened as he gazed at her with the sudden certainty that he was sincerely, deeply, helplessly in love.
Again.
This time, however, she was The One. He was sure of it.
She continued on while he stood there, dumbfounded. Perhaps it was best that her father steered her up the stairs, for if Hew had crossed paths with her at that moment, he might have done something foolish. Like fallen to his knees and begged for her hand on the spot.
He gave his head a sobering shake.
What the hell was wrong with him? Had he no bloody self-control?
He’d vowed he was not going to fall in love. Not again. And he meant it. He had no intention of subjecting his heart to damage again just because he’d seen a lass with a bonnie face.
He took a deep breath. Gathered his wits.
When the laird emerged from the stairwell again, he was alone. Thank God.
But before they could engage him, a pair of merchants called Dunlop aside.
As they drew near, the laird’s eyes widened at the sight of Hew’s axe. Hew lowered his weapon, planting it harmlessly between his feet. The laird resumed his conversation with the merchants, finally dismissing them to greet the prior.
“Prior,” the laird said, “I hear ye had a rough night at Kildunan.”
“Aye, we lost another man o’ faith,” the prior said, making the sign of the Cross, “God rest his soul.”
The laird glanced at Hew. “And who is this?”
“M’laird,” the prior intoned with a bow, “may I present Sir Hew o’ Rivenloch. He’s stayin’ at the—”
“Rivenloch,” the laird interrupted. “Ye’re a Rivenloch warrior?”
“Aye, m’laird,” Hew replied.
The laird reached out to clasp Hew’s hand in both of his. “’Tis an honor, sir.” Hew couldn’t help but remember those hands had just touched the sleeve of that beautiful angel. “Your reputation precedes ye.”
Hew belatedly realized that the prior probably shouldn’t have revealed his clan name. His presence at the monastery was supposed to be a secret.
Nonetheless, he gave the laird a polite nod. “The honor is mine, my laird.”
“Your pardon, m’laird,” the prior interjected, “can ye tell me where I might find the physician?”
“Peris? Ye’ll likely find him near the kitchens, tendin’ to John’s burns.” He shook his head. “I suppose all kitchen lads get a baptism o’ fire, aye?” He gave the prior a wink.
The prior didn’t see the humor. “Ah.” He held up the jar of honey he’d brought and said, “Shall I leave this with the cook then?”
“Is that Kildunan’s famous honey?” the laird said. “Pray do so.”
Then the prior turned to Hew. “I’ll fetch the physician for ye.”
“Ye need the physician?” the laird asked when the prior had gone.
“I just have a few questions.”
“About last night?”
Hew gave him the easy answer. “Aye.” Then he changed the subject. “’Tis a fine castle ye have, m’laird.”
“Not nearly as fine as Rivenloch, I’m certain,” the laird argued. “Is it true the armory is the size of a tournament field?”
Hew chuckled at that. “Not quite, though ’tis nearly as big as your great hall.”
The laird whistled in amazement. “How are ye kin to the laird?”
“Laird Deirdre? She’s my…” He faltered as, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the vision in green emerging again from the stairwell. But he dared not let his gaze drift to her. “My aunt.”
“So your mother is…”
Hew couldn’t think. Not while the green blur behind the laird was smiling and carrying on with the maidservants. “My mother is…” he repeated. Fierce? Hot-tempered? Deadly with a sword? What did the laird want to know? Ah, her name. “Helena.”
“So your father is…Colin?”
“Mmm.”
It took all Hew’s willpower to keep his gaze trained on the laird when he heard a trickle of gentle laughter that had to belong to the delicate lass. Laughter like a bubbling burn. The soft sprinkle of spring rain. The melodious plucking of a harp.
“…are ye not? the laird said.
Hew flushed. He hadn’t heard a word. And the swelling in his trews was proving a powerful distraction. “I’m sorry. What was that?”
The laird grinned. “I think we need a larger hall. The Dunlops are a noisy bunch. I said, then ye’re cousin to the great tournament champion, Gellir, are ye not?”
“Aye.” Hew stiffened. He hoped the laird wouldn’t ask him where Gellir was. He’d already said too much.
“He’s got quite the reputation with a sword.” The laird pointedly lowered his gaze. “Though ye seem impressively endowed yourself.”
Hew’s eyes widened with horror. Was his arousal so obvious? Then he realized the laird was looking at the axe he’d planted betwixt his feet.
Expelling a relieved breath, Hew hefted the axe up, holding it so the laird could inspect the handle. “She’s served me well in battle.”
The laird ran his fingers over the carvings. “Vikin’ runes, aye? What does it say?”
“’Tis the Rivenloch motto. Love conquers all.” Hew furrowed his brows. At the moment, he didn’t exactly believe that.
“Curious inscription for a weapon o’ war.”
It wasn’t the first time someone had told Hew that. Nor the first time he’d quipped in reply, “No one forgets the kiss of my axe.”
“No doubt,” the laird agreed, eyeing the sharpened deadly blade.
A few yards away, the lass giggled again. Hew clenched his jaw as he focused on the laird, trying not to look at her. But in his peripheral vision, he saw the green gown weave in and out and finally disappear into the crowd. Now perhaps he could think.
“Supper?” the laird suggested.
Hew silently cursed. His eyes might have been trained on the laird, but his mind had wandered again. What had he missed? “Supper?”
“Aye.” The laird drew close to confide, “I hear they don’t feed a man enough to fill a flea at Kildunan. My cook can make ye a proper meal.”
“’Tis a tempting offer,” Hew said. “But the prior needs to return for the burial on the morrow.”
“Send him back to Kildunan. Ye can stay for supper and return on the morrow if ye like. ’Tisn’t every day we get a renowned warrior at Dunlop. Ye could regale the clan with tales o’ Rivenloch.”
The last thing Hew needed was to be the center of attention. No one was supposed to know he was here.
“I’m grateful for the offer. But I promised the abbot I’d return this eve.”
“Perhaps another time then?”
“Perhaps.”
“Well, ye should at least meet my daughter, Carenza.” He began to scour the hall. “Where’s she gone?”
Hew was saved from that unthinkable ordeal when the prior returned with the physician.
As the prior had warned, Peris was as skittish as a dove loosed among hawks. He licked his lips. Darted his shifty eyes. Clasped and unclasped his hands before him.
“Peris,” the prior said, “this is Sir Hew. He wishes to ask ye a few questions.”
“Peris,” Hew said by way of greeting.
The physician’s eyes flitted to Hew’s weapon. He visibly gulped. Hew wondered, if the man was so bothered by the sight of an axe, how he managed to do surgery.
“Sir Hew wants to ask ye about your visits to Kildunan,” the prior said.
The laird was still casting about for his daughter. “I’ll leave ye to your questions then. I’ve got to find out where Carenza’s gone.” With that, he left.
“’Tis loud in here,” Hew told the physician. “Is there someplace we can be alone? Perhaps the wall walk?”
Peris gave the prior a panicked glance, as if he thought Hew intended to push him from the battlements.
The prior assured him, “I’ll come with ye.”
They climbed the steps to the top level of the keep, where a single guard patrolled the wall. There, the only sounds were the rippling of the banners and the distant chatter of the bustling courtyard below.
“I did all I could, sir,” Peris volunteered out of nowhere. “I swear. It must have been God’s will.”
“O’ course ye did,” the prior said. “No one is blamin’ ye for his death.”
“Right,” Hew agreed. “I want to ask you about the others.”
“The others? What others?”
The prior placed a calming hand on the man’s shoulder. “Like I said, he wants to know about your visits to the monastery, that’s all.”
“I’m not blaming you for any deaths,” Hew clarified.
The physician rubbed his chin. “All right. What do ye want to know?”
“How often do you come to Kildunan?”
“Not often. Just every time there’s a…” He paused to glance at the prior.
The prior finished for him. “Every time there’s a serious illness.”
“Right.”
“Do you come alone?” Hew asked.
“Aye.”
“And where do you go?”
“Where do I go?” Peris said. “To…to the infirmary, o’ course.”
“O’ course,” the prior echoed.