A Highlander’s Terror_A Medieval Scottish Romance Story Page 4

“You could,” Amabel said with a grin. “Of course you could, Glenna. My clothes don't bite, you know. I have that lovely deep blue gown that I never wear anymore – it'll suit you, I think, better than the ocher one, which doesn't suit me either, now I think of it,” she added with a smile. “I only took that fabric because Mama said it was nice.”

  Glenna giggled. “My lady. If you're sure...”

  “Indeed I am!” Amabel said with a characteristic impatience. “Why ever would I say it were I not sure? You'll come with me and that will make it so much more diverting than if I had to face all that tedium of suitors and unmasking and courtly protocol alone.”

  “Oh, my lady!” Glenna was laughing now, her thin, pale face alight with her smile, though tears streaked down her pale cheeks unchecked. “You can't know how wonderful this is for me...how exciting...Oh, milady,” she said again, sighing. “Thank you, milady.”

  Amabel sighed. She had never thought about the fact that a ball could mean so much to someone. She herself was quite weary of them, with their implications and pressures and the constant determination of her parents to find her a suitor.

  Having Glenna there will make it so much more exciting.

  She went impulsively to her clothes chest and reached in, rummaging around to find the old gowns she had mentioned. She pulled out a soft grayed blue wool under-dress and then a cornflower velvet.

  “Here,” she said, handing the two pieces to her maid. “You can try this one. There's this, of course,” she added, reaching for a yellow ocher velvet. She wrinkled her nose. “If you'd like it, too?”

  Glenna laughed. She was laughing with abandon and, abruptly, she stood and embraced Amabel. Amabel felt her heart melt. She had no siblings, and Glenna was like a sister to her. She kissed her cheek fondly.

  “Well, now,” she said, looking at the chest and biting her lip, trying to compose herself. She would not cry. She would not! “How are we going to dress up?”

  Glenna stared. “You mean, the disguises?”

  “Yes!” Amabel chuckled. “We can't go without a mask – it's against the rules. It's carnival, remember! It's supposed to be a night when people can take liberties they wouldn't take when in their own identity.”

  She felt a little queasy as she said it. The thought of Arthur taking liberties he wouldn't otherwise do was not one that filled her with excitement.

  Now if it was that gentleman on the stairs, with that broadly-muscled body, then... she felt her heart thump and a strange warmth flow through her. She sighed.

  What was she doing? She didn't know the man. They hadn't exchanged names...she didn't even know who he was, much less anything else about him! That is ridiculous. She made herself an inner resolution to forget him. Immediately. He would evaporate from her thoughts. Now.

  “Milady?” Glenna asked. Amabel realized she must have said something and she hadn't heard it.

  “Sorry, Glenna?” she asked, frowning.

  “I was just thinking...could we make something with that Brussels lace you purchased from here? For the masque, I was thinking...” she added, voice trailing off as Amabel was struck with an idea.

  “Oh, you clever thing!” she smiled. “The market! Why make a mask when we can likely purchase one? Come on! Let's go tomorrow. We can get such nice ones. I want a silvered one...it will match my skirt.”

  “Milady!” Glenna clapped her hands with excitement. Her oval face looked enraptured. “Let's do that! What excitement.”

  “Yes,” Amabel nodded slowly. “It will be fun, for certain.”

  She packed the other gown into the trunk and then sat down on it, brooding. It was almost time for dinner and she should ask Glenna to help her do her hair. However, she was too preoccupied with thoughts of tomorrow. Thoughts of that strange gentleman and the way he'd made her feel as well.

  Even now, she felt all overwrought inside.

  “Will you wear the purple tonight, milady?” Glenna asked.

  “Sorry?” Amabel frowned, turning to face her where she searched about in the chest containing her clothes. “Oh. I think the red, Glenna.”

  “Oh. Good, milady.”

  She shook out a dress of a red so dark it could almost be black, a deep grape red color, somewhere between purple and the color of spilled ink. “Here we are, milady.”

  “Yes,” Amabel said, squinting at it in the flame light. “I think that will do very well.”

  She had planned to wear the green, perhaps, which was more restrained and demure. After seeing the man on the stairs however, she had decided she would rather stand out.

  She let Glenna brush out her hair and then turned in front of the mirror, letting the dress fall to her side as she held it up against her neck.

  “Yes,” she said again. “That will do it.”

  “Very good, milady.”

  When she was done, her dress fastened, hair brushed, delicate indoor shoes on her feet and a plain kirtle of the same almost-black color fastened at her waist and hanging to just below her hip, she turned and stared at the reflection in the mirror.

  The reflection that studied her out of the mirror showed her a girl of slight stature, with a compact figure, neat and curvaceous, small breasts just rounding the neckline of her dress. Her long black hair was a curling torrent down her shoulders, her eyes bright.

  “All done,” she said, satisfied, turning from the mirror. “Thank you, Glenna.”

  Glenna curtsied and stood back for her.

  “Have a good evening, my lady.”

  Amabel nodded. “I will.”

  She walked quickly and quietly down the silent corridor to the feasting hall. As she did so, she felt her heart thump in her chest. Her thoughts were unquiet and kept on returning to the man in the hallway. I wonder if he will be there tonight?

  A warm glow of tapers and fire announced the feasting hall before she entered it. She stopped at the doorway, feeling a little breathless as she always did when she entered here. The high, arched ceiling soared above her, almost lost in the darkness above. Below, the tables stretched out, a long oak table surrounded by elaborate high-backed chairs opposite the door, flanked by others like it. The dais, where the royal table would be set, was empty tonight.

  Amabel walked into the hall, running a hand down her velvet skirts to smooth them. A serving man appeared and showed her to her seat, an empty one at the top end of the third table, beside the duke of Anderglen. She sat down shyly and looked at the plate.

  She was about three places from the foot of the royal dais, a place of high honor. She was a little self-conscious, as this was the first time she was here alone. She felt the lords and some ladies looking at her, and the sense of their gaze on her was like a physical touch.

  I wish I was here with someone I knew.

  She couldn't help that her mind strayed, more and more, to the man from the hallway.

  I wish I even knew what he was called.

  She smiled to herself. Here she was with her thoughts lingering on the face of the man whose name she didn't know! It was so silly.

  “You had a pleasant day, milady?” the duke asked politely. A man of perhaps a little older than her father, with a soft, concerned face, she smiled up at him.

  “Yes, thank you, my lord,” she said. A serving man came round with a dish of grilled fish, and placed it somewhere in the center of the table. The duke reached out to carve it. He passed her a portion first, and then helped himself.

  “Thank you,” she said politely. “This looks most interesting.”

  The duke chuckled, a smile crinkling his eyes. “I hope it's not too interesting, my lady. I reserve my interest for scrolls and manuscripts. My dinner I prefer quite ordinary.”

  Amabel chuckled. “You read, sir?” she asked, surprised. With the exception of the clergy, very few people did. Her mother's aunt did, and her father could read a little, but no one else she knew.

  “I do sometimes,” he said. “Though mostly I get my steward to read them out to me. All sorts of
scrolls, I've got. Fascinating ones...fine copies from the libraries of Constantinople. All third- or fourth-hand, you understand...couldn't afford the direct copy.” He smiled.

  Amabel smiled back. He was good company, interesting at least. “What do these scrolls discuss?” she asked.

  “Oh! All manner of things. The means of navigation by the stars, medical treatises – I hesitate to read those, gives me cold shivers – and all sorts of bizarre philosophical matters.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Oh, yes. Do you know, there were some works published that assert that man can turn base metals into gold. What a notion, eh! A fine thing that would be...”

  As he went on about the contents of his fine scrolls, Amabel found her attention straying back again to thoughts of the dark-haired man. She couldn't help but wonder what he was interested in. Would he have wanted to know about philosophies from the east? Alternatively, would he have responded the way Arthur likely would have, with some comment that reading was for priests and not a topic suitable for ladies.

  “So, my lady,” the duke was saying, “If you have an opportunity, you should visit the market. You can purchase almost anything there. Not scrolls, unfortunately. Or if they have any there, I trust they are poor forgeries.”

  “Oh, yes,” Amabel nodded, dabbing her fingers in a bowl of scented water as a serving man cleared away the first course. “I find the market most exciting.”

  “As exciting as the dinner?”

  “Almost, sir. Almost.”

  They both laughed.

  When the dinner had ended, Amabel returned, feeling tired but content, to her chamber. She was walking to the door when she chanced to look up at the man coming down the stairs. It was him. The man from the hallway.

  He was staring at her.

  She cleared her throat. Should she say something? What should she do? It wasn't like he knew her, not exactly.

  He cleared his throat.

  “Milady?”

  It came out all throaty and hoarse. He cleared his throat. Tried again.

  “Milady? I was meaning to say...”

  “My lord,” Amabel said with an impressive aloofness – she was impressed, at any rate, her heart was thudding like a bellows and her nerves jangled, blood racing as she looked at that tall, compactly muscled figure, the clear brow and the deep-set, clear brown eyes. She walked across the floor and up the stairs, facing him.

  “My lady, I was meaning to say...Sir Rufus. Rufus Invermore. At your service, my lady.”

  “Sir,” Amabel said, dropping a curtsy. She looked at the floor and then raised her eyes to meet his. Her pulse thumped in her throat and her cheeks flushed. “Pleased to...make your acquaintance.”

  “Honored, milady.”

  She hesitated, and then decided that there was no harm in being truthful. “I am Lady Amabel, my lord. My father is the duke of Buccleigh. Pleased to meet you.”

  He bowed so low Amabel feared he might fall over. Then he stood.

  “Lady Amabel.”

  He looked into her eyes and she looked up at his. It felt as if a spark jumped between them, an almost tangible sensation as their eyes met. She shivered.

  “Goodnight, sir.”

  She curtsied again and headed quickly up the stairs, heart pounding in her throat.

  I will not turn around. I will not turn. I won't.

  She reached the top of the steps and turned around. She saw him heading hurriedly down.

  He stopped to wait to see if I'd stay. She shook her head, disbelieving.

  She had thought she'd be offended, affronted. She should be. However, when she walked back to her room, heart fluttering in her chest, spirits soaring, it was not a frown that traced her brow, but a smile that stretched her cheeks. She was absolutely and unaccountably happy. She saw him again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A BALL AND A PROMISE

  A BALL AND A PROMISE

  The next morning dawned surprisingly sunny, yet for all the sun, the air was achingly cold. Amabel sat up in bed and felt a tingle of anticipation in her stomach that she could not remember feeling for the longest time. She smiled, eyes still closed, remembering why. It was the day of the ball.

  A masked ball. How exciting.

  She slid her legs to the edge of the bed, enjoying the silk-soft linen of the sheets, and stood up. She padded over the soft mat and to the window where the bright sunshine shone crisply through. It would likely cloud over later, but for the moment, the weather was lovely. She slid on a robe and went to the screen in the corner.

  “Glenna?” she whispered.

  “Yes, milady?” Glenna had evidently been awake for a while before...she appeared in her gray gown with her hair neatly fastened back, alert and awake.

  “I suppose we should set out to the market after breakfast,” Amabel said, looking at the sky. “So mayhap I should wear the green linen gown? It looks as though it might rain later. No use to ruin velvet.”

  “Of course, milady. I should plait your hair...it's windy out.”

  “Yes. Do. Thanks, Glenna.”

  Amabel looked in the mirror as Glenna worked on her hairstyle. She was surprised that she seemed to be seeing her own reflection as if for the first time. It was a strange feeling. She looked at the wide eyes, the long nose, the red mouth. I suppose I am pretty, she thought, surprised.

  What was it that the man from the stairs – sir Rufus – was seeing? She put her head on one side as Glenna bound her hair back in a fillet of green satin-thread, wondering.

  I wonder if he thinks I am as pretty as I think he is handsome.

  She surprised herself with that thought and felt a hot blush fill her cheeks, though she was pleased to note it didn't show. She looked down at her hands, nervously reaching for a hairpin, putting it into its case on the dressing table.

  “Should we make our way to the fabric stalls first, milady?” Glenna asked, reaching the end of the plait slowly.

  “I think so,” she mused in reply. “Though mayhap we could try the foreign merchants?” she suggested. “I suppose they might have masks readymade?”

  “They might, milady,” her maid agreed. “Who knows what fashions they follow on the Continent?”

  Amabel chuckled. “Well, my mother has a cousin in France – Leona. You might have seen her at the castle once or twice?” When Glenna didn't comment yea or nay, she continued. “Well, it seems they have a fashion for masks too, especially for this time of year. That's why I thought of it.”

  “Well, then,” Glenna commented, finishing the hairstyle. “That is what we'll do.”

  “Yes.”

  Amabel donned the green dress, feeling oddly misplaced in the demure green design. She shifted it about, making it hang in a way that was more becoming.

  She smiled to herself. If she wasn't thinking about him, she wouldn't be feeling like that now, would she?

  After breakfast they headed to the market.

  “Come on, Glenna!” she called lightly as they walked through the rows of stalls. “Let's go! I think I can see something! Hurry.”

  “Whew, milady,” Glenna called, her hand holding her hairdo, which was in danger of coming undone. “I don't think they're going to move.”

  Amabel giggled. “No! Nor do I! But run! It's fun...”

  “Do be careful,” Glenna called out behind her as they ran across the market.

  Amabel was laughing as she ran ahead, running for the further booths with their brightly-colored fabrics. It was the silk banner that caught her eye – such fine silk was imported from Venice, she knew, where it was traded for from so far East no one she knew even spoke of the lands there. The stall must be owned by merchants who at least connected with Venice.

  In which case, they may have some masks.

  She had to hope. She ran to the stall and smiled at the man at the counter.

  “Have you masks? For a pageant?”

  A comfortable looking man with long white hair and kindly eyes that crinkled at the edge
s, he nodded. “I do, young mistress.”

  “May we see them?” Amabel demanded eagerly.

  “Of course, milady.” He smiled and rummaged in some boxes in the back. “Now I don't sell many of these, so I don't bring a lot with me, but for you to see, I have three sorts. Here we are...” he laid a box before her and Amabel stared in wonder.

  “That one's perfect,” she said immediately. She lifted it. It could have been made for her. Made of lace over which some sort of glue had been laid, and then layered with gold leaf, the mask was shaped like two long wing shapes, or leaf shapes – Amabel wasn't sure and wasn't really thinking about it, for the color and weave was what struck her hardest – colored shining bright gold.

  The man smiled. “That's three silver pieces, milady.”

  Amabel swallowed hard. Two silver pieces was a ridiculous sum of money, but she really did want it so badly. She looked at him. “And if I purchase two?” she asked boldly. “Will you take down the cost of each?”

  The man guffawed. “You strike a bargain, milady! Well, yes.” He nodded. “I shall give you two for half their price.”

  “Well, then,” Amabel said boldly. “You have an agreement. Glenna? Which one do you fancy?”

  Glenna stepped up to her shoulder. Amabel had the impression that she had never been offered something at a market stall before – she realized that probably she hadn't been. Certainly not something like this.

  “I'll take that one,” she said, pointing to a modest silver one of a similar design to Amabel's, only with less lace on the edges.

  “That's one silver piece,” the man commented.

  Amabel rummaged in her purse. “So, two silver pieces altogether?”

  The man grinned. “My lady, I would not dream of short-changing you. Indeed. Two silver pieces it is. Thank you!”

  Amabel handed the two coins over without comment, though it was half of all the money she had brought with her and an extravagance that it would be hard to justify later. She looked at her companion's face and knew that it was worth every cent of the purchase.

  Grinning with delight, they hurried home together.