Highlander Betrayed (Guardians of the Targe) (9 page)

“I am not as hungry as I thought. Since Auntie cannot act as hostess I think I shall make sure our visitor is finding his stay with us satisfactory.”

“But that is my responsibility, cousin,” Jeanette said, that gleam once more alight in her eyes.

“True, it is, but I shall take that responsibility this night.” She made an exaggerated sigh and let her hand flutter to her chest. “It is the least I can do when you have so much work running the castle.”

Rowan and Jeanette laughed while Scotia sat back in her chair, her arms crossed in front of her, shaking her head. Rowan found herself grateful to Jeanette for easing the tension that had hummed through her bones with her gentle teasing. She kissed her cousin’s cheek and went to learn what she could about Nicholas.

N
ICHOLAS WATCHED
R
OWAN
at the head table, noting well that she kept glancing at him. He’d been unable to take the seat he would have preferred, with his back to the wall and a good view of the entire space but at least he’d sat so the dais with its long table was easily in his line of sight even if the entire hall lay between him and it. The three women sitting up there were all pretty in their own way, but Rowan was the one who drew his eye. The distraction she posed was a welcome rest from his increasing frustration.

All day Nicholas had been trying to find out something, anything, about the Highland Targe but no one was talking about anything but the fallen wall and their ailing Lady.

Nicholas had looked about for any clues to the Targe’s existence as best he could today but he always had Duncan or Uilliam on his
heels so he hadn’t gotten further than what could be seen from the bailey or the pile of rubble.

At least Uilliam had stopped following him at the door, though the man had positioned himself at the far table behind Nicholas. He wasn’t subtle, but then he probably didn’t intend to be. But Nicholas could be subtle, more subtle even than he had been. Perhaps he should be so subtle in what he actually wanted that they would think he was after something completely different. Scotia did not seem as likely a mark as he had thought. Perhaps the bonny Rowan would prove more receptive.

If he could learn nothing of the Highland Targe from Duncan at least he could tease some information about Rowan from the man.

“I see Mistress Rowan is better,” Nicholas said as casually as he could.

Duncan glanced at the dais and bobbed his head.

“How is it that such a striking lass is not married?”

“She does not seem much interested in the lads.”

“Scotia seems to be interested enough for herself and Mistress Rowan.”

“Aye, that one is too interested as you have discovered.” Duncan chuckled. “You handled her quite well this afternoon.”

Handling Scotia’s flirtatious advances had been nothing compared to his experiences with the courtesans in Edward’s court. He had managed to flirt with her without promising anything more as she’d walked beside him and his cart to the meadow and back several times. His subtle questions and not-so-subtle charm that normally had women telling him whatever he asked should have opened the door to the Targe but they were deftly turned back on him until he had, at last, given up, realizing that despite the girl’s behavior she was smarter than he’d thought. Surprisingly so. Duncan, bless the man, had finally suggested she was needed by her mother and freed Nicholas from the girl’s grip.

“I think ’twas you who handled her well,” Nicholas said, his eyes still on Rowan. “I was caught fast in her web.”

Duncan looked up at him and nodded slowly. “It is rather like a sticky web, is it not?”

Nicholas took a teasing tone with Duncan as he watched Rowan rise and give Jeanette a kiss on the cheek. “Sticky for most of us lads, but you slipped clear of it without effort.”

“Years of practice. That one was born flirting.”

“But not Rowan?”

Duncan looked at him, all seriousness now. “Rowan is cheerful, takes care of anyone and everyone. She clearly loves her cousin, but she worries over Scotia’s obsession with the lads. We all do.” His eyes narrowed for a moment, as if he concentrated. “I cannot say I’ve ever seen her attempt to gain a lad’s attentions for herself, though she’s good enough at gaining it when there is work to be done.”

They fell silent while they turned their attention back to the excellent meal.

Duncan’s insight shed light on Nicholas’s brief experience with Rowan. He had found her to be loyal to her cousin. Protective, even when it appeared her protection was not wanted. Brave. Stoic. And she had sent him to be sure Scotia’s trysting lad had not been harmed when Rowan could not go. She had trusted him with Scotia’s secret even though she had no idea who he was. He did not know whether that showed great insight on her part or great naiveté. Yet when he had taken her hand, she had seemed at a loss for what to do, and when he’d touched her, smoothing that errant lock of her amazing hair behind her ear, her breath had caught as if no man had ever done such a thing before.

Just as his own breath caught as he watched her move gracefully through the hall toward him. His gaze traced the long line of her back as she leaned down to speak to an older woman, the gentle curve of her breasts against the pale golden-yellow of her gown as she stood again, the subtle sway of her hips as she once more moved in his direction. She was beautiful, all the more so because she looked perfectly at ease, as if she belonged here and knew it deep in her bones. He’d never known that feeling, that sense of belonging, even after the king had taken him into his service.

But now that he knew what it looked like, almost without thinking he took note in case he ever needed to simulate such a thing. Mostly, he simply enjoyed watching her.

Nicholas didn’t even try to take his eyes off her as she arrived at the end of the trestle table. Conscious that all eyes in the hall were upon them, Nicholas smiled at her, trying to exude benign trustworthiness in his posture and countenance.

“Duncan. Nicholas.” She nodded at both of them, a hint of a smile softening her full lips.

“Will you join us?” Nicholas motioned to the place beside him on the bench. Rowan took the seat across from him, next to Duncan.

She leaned close to Duncan and said, just loud enough for Nicholas to hear, “I see he is not a god after all, but only a man. Scotia had me doubting my memory.”

Duncan glanced at Nicholas, mischief alive in his eyes. “Pray, what did she say?”

Nicholas leaned in, ready to be teased by this striking woman.

“Only that he had the strength of ten men,” Rowan said, sighing with great drama as Scotia must have done, “and the shoulders of a god. That his hair… well, she has a weakness for hair such as his.”

Duncan stifled a snort. “Aye, she certainly does.”

“Long?” Nicholas played along with the teasing by flagrantly twitching his almost shoulder-length hair out of his face.

Rowan grinned and it was as if the world were new and bright. “Just hair. She does not fancy bald men.”

Nicholas laughed and was delighted by a husky chuckle from Rowan.

Duncan shook his head and smiled as he looked from one of them to the other.

“My aunt regrets that she has not been well enough to do her duty as the chief’s lady and properly welcome you to Dunlairig, so I am here in her stead.” The formal words, so at odds with the teasing of a moment before, lent credence to Duncan’s description of this woman.

“I am sorry your aunt is ill. I wish her a quick recovery.”

“Thank you. Duncan has got you settled, then?” she asked, clearly determined to do her duty in this task.

“Aye.”

“If there is aught you need, you have but to ask.”

He needed to see her sunny smile again, to see the twinkle in her eyes as she teased him, to hear that husky chuckle that sent blood rushing where it should not.

“I have shelter, food, and work to earn my way.” He held her gaze with his, struck by the seriousness that had replaced the play in her pale green eyes. “There is nothing I need, mistress.” He needed naught, ’twas true, but what he wanted… that was something entirely different.

He took a bite of the boar, swallowed it half-chewed, and changed the subject. “Your injury is healing well?”

She startled, as if pulled out of her thoughts. “Oh, aye, well enough.”

She leaned in toward him, a soft smile on her face now that the formalities were done, so he leaned toward her, happy to be close enough to catch a whiff of her fresh scent. It was not lavender. It seemed all the ladies at court smelled of that at one time or another. Perhaps it was heather, or the clear mountain air clinging to her.

“It itches something fierce,” she whispered, and for a swift moment he had lost the momentum of their conversation, distracted by her nearness. “The cut,” she added when he had paused too long.

“Wounds often do. I’m told it means they are healing well. Perhaps you need something… or someone,” he smiled at her and didn’t even think about what he wanted to convey in the smile, “to distract you.”

Before she could reply, a small boy with white blond hair and bright blue eyes pushed between Rowan and Duncan, reaching for a wooden tray of honey cakes. Mischief sparkled over Rowan’s countenance once more as she scooped the tray up, holding it over her head.

“Give it!” the boy squealed. “Give it!”

“That is no way to ask for something, wee Ian,” she said with barely suppressed laughter.

“Give it to me!” The boy stood back, planting his fists on his tiny hips as if he were a fierce Highland warrior already.

Rowan turned away from him, lowering the tray enough to peer at its contents but not so low the boy could snag it with a quick lunge.

“Oh my,” she said, letting a smile light up her face, “there are only three here. One for me, one for Nicholas, and one for Duncan.”

“Nay! S’mine!”

The lad couldn’t have been more than five winters old, yet he mimicked a Highland warrior in his stance and attempted severe expression. Recognition slammed into Nicholas like a fist to the gut. Five winters. Was he himself this fiercely a Highlander at five? He certainly had been at ten and two when he’d reluctantly left the Highlands behind him.

“I might consider sharing one,” Rowan said. She winked at Nicholas and his momentary melancholy was wiped away. “Would that merit a proper request from you, wee Ian?”

The lad stood there glaring at Rowan for a long moment. She picked a cake off the tray and took a slow bite, closing her eyes as she let out a low “mmmmm.” The boy’s fierce look turned quickly to pleading, and Nicholas knew he would plead, too, if her teasing were aimed at him. He tried to suppress his grin.

“Please? Please, Rowan?”

“Oh, you are asking nicely now?” She slowly licked the sticky honey from her lips and heat began to build in Nicholas’s belly.

She was not an exceptional beauty, and yet there was something about her that he couldn’t quite name that drew the eye more strongly than even the most admired ladies attending the king’s court. He could not take his eyes off her mouth.

“Please, may I have a honey cake, Rowan?” wee Ian finally managed to get out, his hands folded and tucked under his chin as if in prayer.

Rowan seemed to consider the request for a long moment.

“Do not torture him for his ill manners too long, mistress,” Nicholas said quietly. “There is only so much we lads can take from a bonny lass.”

Pink tinged her cheeks even as she raised one auburn brow at him. Rowan lowered the tray so wee Ian could see the prize that awaited him.

“Only one,” she said. “Remember how your tummy hurt when you ate too many last time.”

The boy considered the remaining cakes carefully, grabbed the largest one and scampered away with a gleeful shout of triumph.

“But now we are one cake short,” Nicholas said to Rowan. “Whatever shall we do?”

She rose from the table, reached through the people sitting at the next table down and snagged a cake.

“There are always plenty of honey cakes,” she said, looking him in the eye. “One only needs to ask nicely.” And she dropped the cake on his trencher.

Nicholas laughed and she smiled back at him. He picked up the offered sweet and took a large bite. “Mmmm,” he said, his eyes on hers.

“Good, aye?”

“Very.” The easy banter disarmed and charmed him. There didn’t seem to be any ulterior motive on her part, no seduction in spite of the lust that flooded through him. But perhaps a small spark of interest? A spark that, if fanned, might aid his cause.

She took a bite of her own cake, a look of pure pleasure lighting up her face.

A horn sounded mournfully from the bailey. Once, twice, thrice. Silence fell around those still lingering over the evening meal and they all rose, the loud conversations and laughter of a moment ago replaced with a quiet murmur.

“What is that?” he asked.

“We are called for a blessing,” Rowan said, the fun and ease of a few moments ago gone, the formal tone once more in place. “She should not be out of her bed.”

“Who?” he asked, but Rowan was already heading for the stair that led to the bailey. He turned to Duncan. “Who should not be out of her bed?”