Authors: Patricia Potter
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Historical, #Scottish
Beloved Stranger (24 page)
Richie’s Will had not caught up with the raiders of three nights earlier, but he had retrieved some of the cattle, which apparently had slowed the raiders.
Robert had been given a sword, and a bow and arrows. He had a dagger at his belt.
When he was ready, he started down the hallway, went to the steps, then stopped. He turned and went in the direction of Kimbra’s room.
She had been here the past three days; days filled with temptation. He saw her in the corridors and in the hall where they all ate. They always seemed to have people with them, and their conversations had been short and polite. Each night he had to restrain himself from going to her room.
But Audra would be there, as well, and there were so many ears and eyes in the tower that he was sure word would spread within minutes. And all that time the image of the fallen man remained in his mind. Along with the stabbing guilt that he had done something terribly wrong. How could he go to her without knowing what demons lurked in his past?
Most of the men were gathered down near the stable, and by God’s grace he was going to say good-bye.
He went to her room, knocked on the door. It opened immediately.
She stood there in her blue dress, the one that gave her gray eyes a blue lumination.
He stepped inside. “Where is Audra?”
“Down with the cook.”
He opened his arms and drew her to him. “The last three days have been hell,” he said.
“Aye.”
“I hear the man you cared for is doing well.”
She did not reply, just moved even nearer to him.
“God’s tooth, but I have missed you,” he muttered.
She didn’t need words to answer. Her eyes told him that he hadn’t been the only one in agony.
His lips smashed down on hers. No tenderness now, just raw, painful need. The emptiness in him was so vast, so agonizing, he tried to dull it with a passion that would fill all the cavities in his heart.
She responded as hungrily as he had, her hand going to his neck and drawing him even closer. Their kiss was explosive, as if emotions had been imprisoned so long they simply burst. Her body trembled in his arms, and he held her tightly.
He wanted to seize her and bury himself in her, but instead his fingers went to her cheek, running a thumb over the soft skin.
She stepped back, and her gray eyes glistened as they searched his face. “Be careful,” she said in a broken voice, and he knew she was thinking about someone else who had left on a raid.
“I will.”
“Leave if you have a chance,” she said. “Go back to Scotland. Live and . . . be happy.”
“I do not think I was ever happy,” he said slowly.
“You remember something?”
He was silent. How could he tell her what he did remember, or about the hopeless guilt he’d felt when he’d had the vision?
“Nothing that told me who I was.”
“What was it?” she persisted.
He shook his head.
She touched his cheek with such tenderness he almost told her what he had seen, what he had experienced. What would she think of him then?
“I must go,” he said. “Stay here until you have some protection.”
“Do you promise?” she said. “Do you promise to go back home?”
“Right now this is home,” he said.
“But it cannot be. Someone will learn the truth. And someone is waiting for you.”
“I am not wed,” he said. “I
would
know.”
would
know.”
“Why that and little else?” she asked practically. “You must find out for yourself. Someone will know you. You were with the Scottish king. You are obviously a noble. Someone in Edinburgh will tell you what you need to know.”
“I will not have the chance. Thomas Charlton likes me well enough, but he also has men watching me. And I will not do anything to make them doubt you.”
“The sooner you leave, the safer I will be,” she said.
He leaned down and kissed her again. Tenderly this time. Lingering there with his lips on hers and his fingers wrapped in her dark hair.
Then abruptly he left before he made promises he could not keep.
R
ORY and Jamie rode during the day and night to reach the Armstrong hold. The Armstrongs who’d gone with them remained behind to search for a lad with a black horse, first on the English side, then the Scottish.
Rory knew he and Jamie would be of more hindrance than help. The Armstrongs explained that few could tell the difference between the Scot and English borderers, but Rory’s and Jamie’s Highland speech would instantly be suspect.
When they arrived, the hold was full of riders, far more than when he’d left. His host approached him. “Our Armstrongs have been gathering. The Charltons plan to raid us. We will ambush them.”
“How did you learn of it?”
“A traitor with the Charltons.”
“It could be a trap.”
“Nay, the man has his own reasons. Do ye want a bit of sport?”
Rory wanted only to discover the fate of his brother, but the Armstrongs had extended their hospitality and more, and he had a debt to pay. “Aye,” he agreed.
Jamie nodded his assent as well.
“We will be leaving in several hours. Ye can get some rest while we wait for the others.”
He and Jamie returned to the room they shared. But despite two days with little or no sleep, Rory couldn’t rest. Why was someone trying to discover the meaning of the words on the crest Lachlan had been wearing?
An ambush.
He did not like ambushes. If he was going to fight, he wanted to do it man to man in the open. But the borderers, he had found, had their own ideas of honor. And he was their guest. That made their honor his.
He did not like ambushes. If he was going to fight, he wanted to do it man to man in the open. But the borderers, he had found, had their own ideas of honor. And he was their guest. That made their honor his.
R
OBERT Howard had no problem keeping up with the Charltons, though the trails were treacherous. The horse he had been given was nimble-footed and responded to the slightest movement of his body.
The moon was past three-quarters, but light clouds were becoming more numerous, and he suspected they would darken the night before long. The breeze of earlier in the day had turned into a cold wind.
Despite his swollen legs, the Charlton rode at the front with Jock. Robert Howard was well aware that Cedric rode slightly behind him. Jock had told Robert the likelihood of violence during the raid was little. They would quietly approach the Armstrongs during the night and steal away with the cattle. With luck there would be no fighting.
But Robert suspected Cedric would take any opportunity to rid himself of a man he felt was a usurper who would take all he wanted. The man obviously feared he was taking Will’s place in the Charlton’s regard, along with Kimbra Charlton’s favor.
Hours went by. Robert’s leg began to ache, and he had to fight to remain in the saddle. Suddenly a shout broke the night silence.
Arrows struck a man in front of him, and he heard loud oaths from all around him. The Charltons milled about in confusion as swarms of horsemen charged them.
“Armstrongs!” someone shouted.
He took his sword from the scabbard and suddenly faced a man in clothing much like his own. The Armstrong wore a black feather in his helmet, apparently to identify himself.
The raider raised his sword, and for an instant Robert Howard raised his own sword in defense.
Another flash of memory.
Another sword raised in anger.
Another flash of memory.
Another sword raised in anger.
He forced the vision away and parried the first stroke. The Armstrong swung again. Again he was able to block the thrust. The raider was so close he could see his eyes. Steel gray.
Another blow he was able to deflect. But the eyes . . .
He saw an opening but shied away, just as another Charlton engaged the Armstrong.
Then he heard a shout. “The Charlton!”
He moved his horse forward just as instinct told him to look to his side. Cedric had raised his pike and was coming at him. Robert ducked to the side of his horse, and the pike went harmlessly inches over him.
Then the Armstrong with the gray eyes that seemed to burn in his mind took on Cedric.
He turned toward the Charlton who, with Jock, was surrounded by five men. He started to make his way to them when he saw an Armstrong with a pike make a run toward the Charlton.
He moved in front of it, his shoulder taking the brunt of the blow. He fell from the horse, agony ripping through him.
A cry rang out. The Armstrongs started to disappear into the night, a number of Charlton horses going with them, leaving the Charltons to tend to their wounded.
Numb with pain, he looked around for the tall Armstrong whose eyes had stopped him from striking. He was gone.
The Charlton knelt next to him. “Ye took a blow meant for me,” he said. He took off Robert’s jack, the movement causing him to stifle a groan. Blood poured from a jagged wound. Only the jack had kept it from going through him.
Jock was there as well and quickly tied a piece of cloth around it. “An ambush. They knew we were coming and which way,” he said with bitterness.
“Aye,” the Charlton said. “We have a traitor among us.” Those around fell silent.
“ ’Tis only one stranger here,” Cedric said.
“That one stranger may have well saved the Charlton’s life,” Jock rebuked him.
“Convenient,” Cedric muttered.
“I doubt Robert Howard believes that to be true.” The Charlton looked around. “How many down?”
“Seven,” said one man who had just approached. “Another ten have lost their mounts.”
“How bad are the injuries?”
“One dead. One almost. He will not live through the day. The others will live if there are no infections.”
“We must go back,” the Charlton said.
“We should go after them,” Cedric said.
“Another day,” the Charlton said wearily. “We need all the remaining horses to get home.”
He leaned down and took Robert Howard’s good hand and helped him up. “Ye will ride with me,” he said.
K
IMBRA felt as if her entire life had been spent in the process of waiting.
She kept remembering how she’d waited for Will on that last raid. She’d had an odd feeling when he’d left, something she’d never had before. She had that same feeling now.
She wished with all her heart she could have gone with them. She’d even thought for the quickest instant of time of disguising herself and riding with them. But that thought fled as quickly as it had come. She had Audra now.
Still, she remembered the excitement of riding along new routes, never quite knowing what was around the next turn. The captains planned the routes with great care, varying the path on each raid.
She did not sleep during the night, wandering down to the empty hall after Audra went to sleep. She found Claire in the kitchen.
“I have some of Thomas’s best wine,” Claire said. “Would you join me?”
“Aye.”
“It gets lonely when they go,” Claire said. “I wish I had your courage when you rode off with them.”
“Courage is easier when you are young.”
“You are still young, Kimbra.”
“I do not feel young. I am tired of waiting for men who may not come back.”
“The Howard?”
“I am tired of death and violence,” she said, avoiding the question. “I want my daughter to be safe. I want the Charlton to be safe. And Robert Howard.”
“They will be back. It is just another raid.”
Then why was Claire in the kitchen in early morning hours? Did she, like Kimbra, have a sense that something was wrong?
“You care for the Charlton,” she stated as a fact rather than a question.
“Aye, we all do.”
“Do you love him?” Kimbra asked softly.
Claire didn’t answer immediately. “We are first cousins. We cannot love each other in any way but as cousins.”
The break in her voice gave her away.
“Is that why the Charlton doesn’t remarry?”
“Men do not feel the same as women. They can love many times, but a woman . . . she loves once.”
“I think she can love more than once,” Kimbra said softly.
Claire’s severe face softened. “Aye, but there is only one true love, and I do not think you have had that yet.” She held up her hand to stop Kimbra’s protest. “Will risked much in marrying you, and he enjoyed indulging you. You were an enchanting child, but I think you want more than that in a man.”
A rush of anger flashed through Kimbra. Claire was wrong. She had loved Will, and he had loved her. Then suddenly she realized Claire was right. She had admired and trusted Will because he’d protected her, but she’d never felt intimately connected to him as she did to the Scot. As if they belonged together.
She could not tell Claire, however, why it would not, could not, ever be. She could not say that Robert Howard was not the bastard son of a reiver’s family but certainly a Scot and probably one of high nobility.
“He will be all right,” Claire said, as if sensing her internal agony. “I think we both should be abed.” She paused, then added, “Grab whatever happiness you can find. God knows there is little of it on the border.”
R
ORY lagged behind the other Armstrongs who herded the stolen horses ahead of them.
Jamie rode up to him. “I see you unmarked this time. I lost you for a while.”
“I fought a Charlton. There was something hellishly familiar about him, but I could not see his face under the steel bonnet.”
Jamie frowned. “Familiar how?”
“Just . . . familiar. He seemed to recognize me and stopped when he had the advantage.”
“Advantage over you?” Jamie said with disbelief.
“Aye.”
“What are you saying?”
“If he hadn’t been with English reivers, I would swear it was Lachlan. The way he sat the horse. The way he held his sword . . .”
“You said he stopped when he had the advantage.”
“Aye. But if it were Lachlan he would have acknowledged me.”
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