Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] (11 page)

She knew enough to take note of a pair of boulders in direct line with the narrow body of water. Beyond it, a single tall tree completed the line.

Certain she could find the opening again, she continued into the clearing.

Minutes later, she stood by a long, oval pond doubtless fed by the burn she heard chuckling nearby. The pond was mirror still, reflecting the bright full moon in silvery patches wherever its beams touched the surface.

Trees and shrubbery remained dense around the clearing. Despite the flickers of distant torchlight, she was sure no one at the castle could see her. Likewise, no one would look for her at that hour or in such a place.

Smiling mischievously, she pulled off her shoes and dipped a bare toe into the water. It felt warm, but she knew that was because the air was colder.

Nevertheless, grinning in anticipation of ridding herself of the last vestiges of the muddy Tweed, she stripped off her clothes.

Chapter 6

S
imon, riding back to Elishaw after taking supper with a man near Hobkirk, was enjoying the stillness of the spring night and the glory of the full moon. Seeing torches ahead on the castle ramparts, he realized he was eager to get home.

His horse was eager, too, and would have broken into a lope had he let it. Both he and the animal knew the way, but bright moonbeams piercing the forest canopy interfered with a man’s night vision and could make shadows ahead look like gaping holes in the track. So he curbed the animal’s impatience and his own.

Drinking in the night air, he listened for night birds and other common sounds of the forest, as any wary lone rider should.

The night was unnaturally silent.

Feeling safe in his own territory, he had ridden to Hob-kirk without his usual tail of men. Continuing silence suggested that he might have made a mistake. Then moonlight through shrubbery ahead on his left revealed unusual movement.

A narrow track just yards away, little more than a deer trail, led to a clearing that had been one of his favorite childhood haunts. However, poachers also favored the rill-fed pond there as an excellent source of trout and an inviting place for deer to drink, keeping them still long enough for a steady bowshot.

Reining in his horse, Simon quietly dismounted and led it on to the narrower track. Looping its reins over a shrub, knowing the well-trained animal would stand patiently until he returned for it, he moved silently but swiftly along the narrow path until he saw that the intruder was no poacher.

Seeing Sibylla stirred anger even sharper than poachers would have stirred.

As he strode nearer, he was stunned to see that she stood barefoot on a granite slab at the edge of the pond, dipping one foot into the water.

Wondering why she had not simply put in a hand to learn how cold it was, he watched in amazement approaching alarm as she straightened and untied the front lacing of the blue-green kirtle that hugged her shapely body so well.

Numerous thoughts sped through his mind as he stood fascinated, watching her. How had she got past his guards? What had possessed her to leave the castle?

Had the clout to her head affected her senses? Certainly she must be mad to strip off her kirtle as she was doing and endure the cold night air in only her shift?

She caught hold of the shift and pulled it off over her head, dropping it atop the discarded kirtle at her feet.

He could hardly breathe. The moon overhead painted her slender, curvaceous body alabaster white. The smooth surface of the pond reflected her figure as if it were a moving statue. Doubtless, she would catch her death from such insanity.

He ought to order her to put her clothes back on, scold her, and take her back to the castle. But he could not move. Nor, in truth, did he want to break the silence.

He had seen when she was just fourteen that she was a beautiful woman. But he had never guessed how beautiful. Her profile was magnificent, her breasts high and perfectly sized to fit a man’s hands. Her waist looked small enough for his hands to encircle. But her hips swelled wide below it, womanly and enticing. His hands flexed, yearning to test the softness of her breasts and bottom cheeks.

With his blood racing, his cock stirred, teasing him with the knowledge that she might have been his for three years and more by now to use as he pleased.

His memory promptly presented him with the image from the altar in Selkirk and his determination never to forgive her. A voice in his head murmured that he could punish her as severely as he liked for the wantonness her actions displayed now, and no one would blame him. As his guest, she was his responsibility.

Sakes, it was practically his duty to teach her the error of her ways!

He took a step forward and saw that she was doing the same. To his shock, she waded into the water up to her hips before she stopped. He had expected a shriek or some other sign that the water was as icy cold as he knew it must be.

Other than the water’s whispering as she moved, she had not made a sound.

Recalling that the granite slab dropped off just ahead of her and that the water was much deeper there, he moved more quickly to the clearing.

At its edge, he stopped with a gasp when she drew a deep breath, put her hands up, and plunged headfirst into the pond.

In his experience, women did not put their heads under water by choice, even women who could swim. He half expected to have to rescue her again, but knowing that she could swim gave him pause.

Although her defiance of his orders had stirred the impulse to punish her, he realized that the ideas racing through his head, of shaking her or worse, were images of childish retribution. They were precisely the “angry lad’s” reaction she had once deemed his original threats to be.

As if that were not enough to stop him, his body’s immediate, sensual reaction to those images reminded him sharply that just touching her was dangerous for him.

She had attracted him from the moment he’d seen her at the altar. To be sure, half of that attraction had been his belief that Fife wanted him to marry her so Fife could draw Sir Malcolm Cavers into his growing circle of allies.

Fife had offered Simon her generous marriage portion and possibly larger inheritance as a reward for his cooperation. Simon had thought it a sign of favor, an excellent way to increase his holdings, and a way to please his liege lord.

Her beauty had struck him so hard that he realized now, with glaring hindsight, it was one reason he had reacted so furiously to her rejection.

But that was in the past. Her foolhardiness now had gone beyond what any man responsible for any female should tolerate. She deserved censure not only for defying him but also for risking her safety at night in surroundings that must be wholly unknown to her. Moreover, if she
was
trying to drown herself—

Her head broke the surface, stirring sharp relief in place of what had been dawning fear. She seemed oblivious to her vulnerability as she sat with her back to him on what he knew was a flat boulder near the center of the pond. Her upper half was out of the water, doubtless freezing as she tried to wring out her long hair.

Although she must have combed or brushed the bits of dried mud from her hair and scrubbed the worst of it from her body, she had clearly not been satisfied.

Doubtless, too, she had wanted to defy him again as she had by leaving her bedchamber before he had given her leave. He could understand her dislike of confinement, but to have left the safety of the castle alone was folly.

It would serve her right if she caught her death of cold.

If nothing else, she deserved a good fright.

Sibylla knew she could not stay long where she was. The chilly air was raising goose bumps on her flesh, and experience told her that by the time she got her kirtle back on, she would feel chilled to the bone. She would be cold then until she could get back through the tunnel and warm herself by the bakehouse fire.

She had been gone too long already. Unless Jack was still in the hall or had fallen deeply asleep, he’d surely see her. The thought stirred a resigned smile.

A lad who doubtless faced sound whipping if he shirked his duty would not sleep heavily enough to let the baker find his fire out in the morning. Moreover, although she had brought four candles, she had put out the lighted one on seeing the moon and had brought no tinder box. The tunnel was nearly straight, and she did not fear its darkness, but it would take her longer to return than it had to come out.

Still, the night wooed her with its magical, peaceful beauty. The moon’s reflection on water still gently rippling from her swim fascinated her.

“What the
devil
do you think you’re doing out there?” The voice thundering out of the silence startled her so that she plunged back into the water without turning to be sure it was Simon. She hoped she was wrong but knew it was he the minute she surfaced, because she heard him scolding.

He stood at the edge of the pond, arms akimbo, so even before the water had drained from her eyes she knew he was furious and heard as much in his voice.

It was not as loud as when he had startled her. But the spate of his words resembled the sort of muttering thunder that warned of a storm to come.

She had looked forward with interest to their next confrontation, but she had not expected to endure a second one without clothing. Nevertheless, as she collected her wits, she noted again that he was a particularly fine figure of a man.

His hair was tousled, and he had shoved his dark cloak back off his broad, powerful-looking shoulders and chest. He had his hands on his hips, and his snug-fitting trunk hose displayed his muscular legs well. His eyes flashed, his jaw looked rock hard, and his deep voice remained thunderous as he continued to scold.

She paid no heed to what he said. But his fierce expression warned her he might be capable of more than hurling words at her, reminding her of what Hugh had done when he’d caught her swimming alone. Sitting had been painful for days.

Simon had that same look on his face. Belatedly, it occurred to her that she ought to have suspected he might treat defiance of his orders as Hugh had.

“Come out of there at once,” he commanded. Tempted to suggest that he come and get her, Sibylla bit back the words. She was certain he would do it.

Instead, she said with amiable calm, “You are right in all that you have said to me, sir, but I am chilly now and need to put my clothes back on. If you will turn your back, I will get out. However, I will not display myself for your—”

“Don’t try me too far,” he warned. “It astonishes me to learn that you possess even a modicum of modesty. Just moments ago, you showed no concern about displaying yourself to anyone who might have been looking.”

Knowing it would be a waste of words to tell him she had not expected anyone to come upon her there, she kept silent. She also took care not to look into his eyes, lest he capture and hold her gaze as he had before.

As it was, he took a precious long time to turn his back but did so at last.

Scrambling out of the water, she snatched up the shift to dry as much of herself as she could and hoped that if he grew impatient enough to turn around, she could cover the important bits of herself with it.

Even with his back to her, she could feel the effects of knowing he had watched her. Despite the chill, her skin burned with awareness that he had seen her naked. How long, she wondered, had he watched before he had spoken to her?

“What brought you here?” she asked as she stepped into the ring of discarded kirtle and quickly yanked the garment up.

When he began to turn, she whirled to give him her back view as she laced it, blessing Lady Murray for choosing dresses she could do up herself.

She would
not
have wanted to ask Simon for help. Just the thought of him touching her made her skin flame hotter.

He said, “I was riding back from Hobkirk, and I know this pond. When I saw movement here through the shrubbery, I thought someone might be poaching.”

“I did not realize the pond was visible from the road,” she said.

“It is not, most of the time,” he said. “The woods are dense here. But a trick of light, or mayhap the night’s stillness, revealed your movement. It does not matter how
I
came here, though,” he added. “
You
should not be here.”

“I could not resist the chance to enjoy a half hour’s freedom,” she said.

“To have come by yourself was unwise. The reason I was away tonight is that reivers—mayhap the same men who tried to drown the children—lifted one of my men’s beasts. He sent to inform me of his loss and, I believe, to learn what I mean to do about it.”

Glancing over her shoulder at him, she said, “You believe?”

“Aye, well, he did not have the temerity to make the demand, but I’d wager he’d have liked to. It is as well he did not, for I knew not what to say to him,” he added. “Until recently, we’ve had few such problems hereabouts.”

She turned, tying off her laces as she said, “Because of your neutrality?”

He looked surprised but said, “I expect you heard that from Amalie.”

“One hears much from numerous sources, sir. Surely, you know that in times of strife many complain of Elishaw’s neutral position.”

“I do know that, aye,” he said. “But I do not mean to talk of Elishaw, my lady. I mean to talk about a young woman who defies her host in matters relating to her safety, and does so when she knows that raiders infest the area.”

“You have already made yourself plain on that subject, sir.” She shivered as she slipped on her thin shoes and bent to retie their ribbons.

Discerning nearby movement, she looked up to see that he had doffed his cloak and was striding toward her. As she straightened, he glanced at her shoes.

“Those shoes are hardly suitable for walking in these woods,” he said as he draped his cloak over her shoulders.

She did not reply other than to thank him for the cloak, still cinnamon-scented and warm from his body. She could hardly say the tunnel floor had not hurt her feet. Nor could she say she had noted no discomfort in walking the twenty or so yards from its entrance. At the time, she had thought only of concealing any sign of her passage.