A Highlander’s Terror_A Medieval Scottish Romance Story Page 26

  “Yes,” Glenna nodded. “Very different.”

  “Well, then,” Amabel said, popping a grape between her lips and grinning as she swallowed. “You've got an answer.”

  Glenna frowned.

  “He's interested in you.”

  Glenna laughed. “You think so?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, my lady.” Glenna shook her head wearily. “I'm sorry to ask you such things, truly I am.”

  “Well, don't be,” Amabel said with mock severity.

  “You are younger than me, and...” She fidgeted uncomfortably, reaching for a piece of bannock.

  “And I'm forthright and honest and I say what I see. And I see that whoever this fellow is loves you. Truly and sincerely. I mean it.”

  Glenna felt her heart sing. “You do? Oh, my lady. On my word...” She sighed, feeling her cheeks lift in happy smile. “That does reassure me.”

  “It's true, too,” Amabel countered and took a sip of the drink. “Now. I think we have about three hours before the men start getting here. At least. So I shall go, dress, and perhaps practice on the lute, if I can borrow one from someone. No harm in keeping it with me.”

  Glenna smiled, shaking her head. “You're remarkable, milady.”

  “You too. You just rode ten miles and worked in an infirmary all night. You ever thought you'd spend a day like that?”

  “No,” Glenna admitted.

  “Well, exactly,” Amabel said. She stood and pushed in her chair. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some music to play.”

  Glenna chuckled and stood, watching her mistress leave. When she had gone, she walked slowly down the row between the tables, lost in thought.

  Would she really consider running away, as her lady proffered? On the other hand, would she not take such a crazy risk? How did she really feel about Conn? She had only just met him, after all.

  And in that time I have come to feel for him as for no other.

  She sighed. Crossing the hall and heading into the warren of hallways beyond, thinking as she walked, she knew she was in love with Conn. What he felt for her, she had no idea. She felt so happy believing Amabel about that.

  She spent the afternoon mending clothes. Both she and Amabel had damaged their cloaks and dresses more than she had noticed. The hours slipped by unnoticed as she plied her needle, fixing rents, or dabbed stains from the linen or the velvet cloth.

  “It's dark,” she murmured. The light in the bedroom had faded to the ruddy glow of the fire in the grate. She sat up quickly. That meant that Conn would be here. And the other men. She put her sewing aside and, smoothing her gown, stared at the reflection in the mirror.

  In the wan light, all she could see was a pale face, big gray eyes with wide lids and full lips pursed in an expression of concern. She ran a hand down her long, straight, dark hair, checking that it was in place. Then she hurried from the room.

  Keep calm, she told herself. He might not be back yet. You might not see him this evening.

  In the hallway, she could hear the shouts and the rumble of carts as the men occupied the courtyard. She headed down the stairs and into the space beyond.

  Men. A sea of people, walking about across the smooth flagstones. She tried to avoid bumping into anyone as she negotiated her way through the press of men-at-arms, servants and squires, heading to the wounded carts.

  As she reached them, she felt a pair of eyes on her. She tensed. When she looked up, she found she was staring into the blunt, gray-eyed face of Sir Alexander. She recognized the long hair, the broad, muscled shoulders, instantly.

  “Hah,” he said, grinning lasciviously. “You're here again, eh?”

  Glenna didn't say anything. She turned away, bending over a cart where a man lay, seemingly unconscious, his body covered with a red wool blanket.

  “What?” Alexander said. He sauntered over and put out a hand, touching her shoulder. “You don't talk much, eh?” He chuckled. Jerked his hand so that she was forced to look up into his face. “What's wrong with you? Too proud to chat with a man-at-arms, eh?”

  Glenna stared at him. Her heart was thudding in her chest. This close, she could smell the brandy that steeped the bandaged wound on his forearm, and see his crooked teeth.

  “I...” she murmured.

  “Take your hand from her.”

  Glenna tensed. Conn was standing behind her. She felt her heart soften with relief as she saw him there. “Conn!” she whispered.

  He ignored her. He was looking directly at Alexander. “Step back,” he said, very quietly. “And if you touch her again, I swear I'll...”

  He trailed off as Alexander laughed. “You're lost for her, aren't you?” he said. “Completely, stupidly lost. Hah,” he muttered, still grinning. However, he limped away into the dark, shouting for a squire to lift the sacks of mail. “You're daft, boy.”

  Glenna turned to Conn where he stood beside her. His face was white, eyes huge. His mouth quivered with unspoken emotions.

  “I...” she started speaking, but he cut her off abruptly.

  “How could you do something so foolish?” he hissed.

  She stared at him. “Conn, I...”

  “No,” he said firmly. “How could you come down here, mingling with the men? It's wildly dangerous. You know that.”

  Glenna swallowed, feeling her eyes full of tears. “I was in the healer's tent...they know me. I...”

  “You were in the healer's tent, yes. With Father Matthias and Lady Amabel there, both ready to defend you if something happened. It's foolish to wonder about unprotected. I had thought better of you.”

  Glenna cleared her throat. She was tired. She was worried. She was drained. Now, suddenly, here was the one source of comfort in her world, and he was turning on her.

  “Glenna?” he called, but she was pulling from his grasp and running away across the courtyard.

  She heard his footsteps on the stone behind her, but she would not turn back.

  She stormed inside and headed up the stairs, walking quickly and quietly to her chamber. There, she opened the door and walked quickly to the screen, ducking behind it.

  Then she lay down in a small huddle on her bed. And wept. Now she had no chance with him, did she? Perhaps before he might have thought more seriously about her. Now, she wasn't simply a maid. She was a foolish, unreliable one.

  How could she believe he loved her, would flout all their world's rules for her, after that?

  She sobbed and curled up tighter and then slept.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  REACHING OUT

  REACHING OUT

  The fire crackled in the grate. Conn sat beside it, hunched and serious. His elbow still ached, though he could move his wrist a little now, and it pained him less.

  It isn't pain that worries me. Not physical pain, anyhow.

  What had he done to make Glenna run away from him? He sighed and shook his head. “Camden?”

  “Mm?” His squire looked up at him, fair hair flopping into one eye. He was patching Conn's mail as they sat in his room together.

  “I have a problem on my hands.”

  “Your wrist, sir?” Camden asked. As squires went, he was steadfast, brave and helpful. He wasn't overly quick.

  “No,” Conn sighed. “A girl.”

  “Oh?” Camden's mouth made an “o” of surprise. “You have a girl, sir?”

  Conn chuckled. “You're a cheeky devil, aren't you? You needn't seem so amazed.”

  Camden shut his mouth. “Not amazed, sir,” he countered, bending back over his work again, tongue protruding as he bent the mail with a pair of pliers. “Just didn't know, like.”

  “No,” Conn let out a long breath. “I didn't either, until recently. Just found her, really. Now,” he sighed. “I think I've lost her.”

  “Lost her?”

  “I've made her angry with me,” Conn explained.

  “Oh.”

  Camden was silent for so long after that Conn wondered if that was his only contributio
n to the conversation. He sighed.

  “Well, sir,” Camden continued, surprising him. “When me da was worried that he'd vexed me ma, what he used to do was buy her sommat. It allus helped.”

  “Oh?” Conn leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Thanks, Camden. What sort of, er, something?” he asked.

  His squire shrugged. A solid, thickset boy with a round, sweet face, he looked puzzled for a moment. Then his expression cleared. “Like ribands, or lace. Or a handkerchief. You know, girl stuff.”

  “Girl stuff.” Conn nodded slowly. He had no sister and his mother had died when he was a lad. He had little experience with girls.

  “Yeah!” Camden enthused. “Pretty stuff. Trinkets the peddlers sell. You know? You could go into the market and look now, if you wanted. The market police'll be out, but there's nothin' tae stop you looking at some booths. Won't close until the next watch, sir.”

  “Well, then,” Conn nodded slowly. “I think I might just do that.”

  “I'll come with ye, sir?” he asked hopefully. Conn laughed.

  “I begin to suspect you of ulterior motives,” he chuckled.

  “What?”

  Conn sighed. “Nothing, Camden. Truly. Thank you for the help – I appreciate it.”

  Camden chuckled. “Not at all, sir. And mayhap a bag of chestnuts'll find its way into me hands, sir. Allus had a weakness for chestnuts.”

  “That's enough,” Conn countered, though he was laughing. “You cheeky blighter. We'll to market. And if you want chestnuts, I'll stop them out of your pay.”

  “Oh. Thank you, sir.”

  Conn cuffed him playfully on the ear and Camden laughed.

  The evening was cold, and Conn wrapped up warmly. The squire with him, he headed out between the booths. Most of them were closed now – the merchants and tailors, the armorers and leather-sellers and knife-seller were all long gone – the risk of thieving was too great for them, market police present or not. A few stalls were still open. The baker, selling the last of the day's bread, the flower-seller, a man with handkerchiefs pinned to his stall. And a fellow baking chestnuts over coals.

  “Right,” he said as he handed Camden a penny. “Off you go. Get two lots, mind – I've a mind for some too.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  With Camden gleeful, hurrying off, Conn inspected the stalls. He hoped Camden had some idea of what he was talking about. He squinted at the different trinkets idly, wondering how on earth to choose a gift for Glenna. What would she like?

  “A brooch, for milady's shoulder?” the stall-holder asked hopefully. He held out a brooch. Wrought of dark metal, crudely cast, it was too big and bulky for slim Glenna.

  “No,” he murmured. “What are these?”

  “Kirtles, sir.”

  “Oh.” He put down the long embroidered band hastily, thinking he was stupid for not recognizing them for what they were – waist-belts to go over a long gown.

  He looked over the stall, still undecided. Just then, a sliver of blue caught his eye.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “This?” the man smiled. “A jewel, sir. For the forehead. Goes on a fillet, see? Like the fine ladies wear, only this one's glass, sir.”

  Conn nodded. Glenna was a fine lady, if not apparently so by circumstance. He would take it. “That's it,” he nodded. “I'll have it.”

  The man grinned and Conn paid him for it, and then he hurried off to find Camden.

  “Camden?”

  “Sir!” Munching chestnuts, Camden appeared at his elbow. “They're hot, sir.”

  His face was red, eyes watering. Conn couldn't help smiling.

  “Yes. I know.”

  “Want one?”

  “Thank you.”

  Conn chewed one and coughed. The chestnuts were hot the way iron was hot in a forge, or at least it felt that way as it slid down his throat.

  They were both helpless with laughter by the time they re-entered the castle.

  Conn walked briskly to the second floor, feeling better than he had all day. He had the present. Hopefully, it would be enough. As he walked down the upper colonnade, he saw a woman in the shadows. She was tall and slender, and he couldn't look away.

  “Glenna?” he called.

  She turned. Moved slowly across the flagstones, heading toward him. He breathed in deeply.

  “There you are,” he whispered. Her smooth-cheeked face was damp with tears. He hastily put the parcel in his pocket and held out his hands to her.

  “I am so sorry,” he murmured.

  She looked up at him. Those sweet red lips made a little motion that lanced through his veins with a surge of warmth, a little bewildered “o” that made him want her so badly.

  “Conn,” she whispered. “I...”

  At that moment, the sentry came past. “Good evenin',” a voice called cheerily. “Well. Would you look at that? What's our handsome boy up to now?”

  Conn stiffened. Instinctively he took a step back. Glenna looked up at him with worried, frightened eyes.

  “Alexander,” he said flatly.

  “Indeed, it is,” Alexander beamed. It was too dark to see him clearly, though Conn could hear the warmth of the smile in his voice. “And you're here with your strumpet again.”

  Conn tensed. He saw Glenna's eyes cloud with horror. “Shut your mouth,” he hissed. “Glenna...”

  However, Glenna was looking from one of them to the other. Her face was filled with horror. She turned and, before Conn could say anything, ran away across the colonnade, heading for the western wing of rooms.

  “Glenna?”

  She didn't look back. Conn closed his eyes. The gift rested in his pocket, un-given. Now Glenna likely hated him. He turned and glared at Alexander.

  Alexander shrugged. “Don't look at me like that,” he said genially. “It's true, isn't it? At least, that's what everyone will say. Conn McGowan's got himself a strumpet. How else'd you explain what I'm seeing?”

  Conn felt the blood drain from his face. He was stiff and his throat worked, not able yet to utter a single sound. He wasn't sure when he'd felt so angry in his life.

  “Glenna MacIndow is a good woman,” he said harshly. “If you ever say anything different to any audience, I'll...” He shook his head.

  “You'll what? Fight me as badly as you did last time? Come on, boy. You can't threaten me.”

  Conn let out a ragged breath. He turned and walked away. At that precise moment, Alexander was right. He wasn't up to fighting anyone.

  “This isn't over,” he shouted as he walked across the flagstones, heading east, to the wing where his own room was.

  “No,” Alexander shouted back. “It's not.”

  Conn whipped around to face him, but the man was chuckling to himself, already walking along to the next sentry-post along the wall. While he stood there, Conn heard him humming to himself.

  I hate him, he thought angrily.

  He had made him make Glenna afraid. In addition, he'd insulted her. How much harder did he have to make it for Conn to pursue the one woman who had captured his heart?

  “What can I do?”

  He sighed. Whatever he did to reach out to Glenna, it seemed the man managed to stand in his way. He couldn't risk showing affection to her in public, for who knew how it would be framed behind his back. He didn't want to sully Glenna's reputation.

  However, how would he convince her that he wasn't indifferent?

  “Conn McGowan,” he told himself, walking slowly and dejectedly across the space. “You're going to have to think.”

  Perhaps between them, he and Camden would think of something, before it was too late: who knew when Glenna would be leaving the castle?

  He shook his head, feeling wretched, and headed to his room.

  In the darkness, he reached into his pocket, where the parcel from the merchant's stall still resided. He drew it out and looked at it. Wrapped in a scrap of linen, tied with riband of pale yellow, it was a token of how deeply he admired her. He
didn't care if she was a maidservant! She had his heart in her keeping. He was absolutely, indescribably and completely, in love with her.

  Now, when he needed most to show it to her, his plan had been thwarted. By Alexander!

  “Damn that man,” he sighed. He ran a hand through his hair and, angry and resigned, sank down on the chair beside the bed.

  What would he do? He was going to have to think of something.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A TENSE CONFRONTATION

  A TENSE CONFRONTATION

  The morning sun filtered through the window and onto Glenna's eyelids. She was awake already, dressed and seated on the edge of her bed. On the other side of the linen screen, she heard Lady Amabel stir.

  “Glenna?” she called.

  “Yes, milady?” Glenna jumped to her feet, rushing instantly to the other side of the partition.

  In the vast bed, Amabel stretched expansively and leaned back against the pillow. She smiled. “It's good to be back in a proper bed, isn't it?”

  Glenna nodded. She managed a small smile. There was a coldness inside her, an ache that she didn't think would go away. What was she going to do about Alexander? And why was Conn being so odd?

  “I should open the curtains,” she said quietly, turning away.

  “Mm.” Amabel nodded. “Let's have some sunshine.” She slipped out of bed and reached for a soft silk robe, shrugging it on over her lacy nightdress. “Glenna? Is something wrong?”

  “Why?” Glenna asked, surprised that it showed so plainly on her face.

  “Well,” Amabel paused. “You just seem quiet. I hope aught hasn't upset you?”

  Glenna sighed. “I suppose I'm a bit distracted, milady. I think because, well...” she paused. “My lady? There's no way a knight would choose to love me, is there?”

  She couldn't believe she'd said it so bluntly. What would Amabel think? To her surprise, her lady looked shocked. She rested her palms on her cheeks, face a picture of distress.

  “Glenna! Of course they would!” She shook her head. “How can you even ask such a thing? If someone didn't love you, I would think there was something most odd about them. You're a lovely person.”