The deep, masculine voice startled her, and a jolt went through her. She dropped her hands and squinted upward, pushing back the sopping brim of her hat. A man towered over her, his plaid pulled over his head, shielding him from the rain and her scrutiny. His face was but a dark shadow, the features indistinct, leaving her only with the impression of great height and breadth.
“Just drowning,” she said, then bit back a foolish smile.
He said nothing for a long moment, staring down at her. Though the dark and the plaid hid his expression, she sensed he frowned at her. Probably thought she was mad. Perhaps she was.
“Come,” he said, his deep voice kind but impersonal. “You must get out of the rain.”
His sudden presence and concern sparked hope. “Inside the castle?”
“No, I know someone in the village who will give you a place before their fire.”
Rose sighed. “My thanks, but I’m not moving.” She frowned up at him thoughtfully. “Are you from the castle? I didn’t see anyone cross the bridge.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Aye, I work in the stables.”
“Tell your master he can throw my bloated corpse in the moat when I drown. I’m not moving.”
“I doubt he’ll want your body floating in his moat, making the place smell, but make no mistake, you will die out here before he’ll see you.”
Rose’s heart sank, and she found herself perilously close to tears for the first time in weeks. She’d held out such hope that Strathwick was the answer to her prayers, had traveled so far, for it to come to this. There was nothing more to do. Her father’s cause was lost.
She held out her hand, resigned that she’d lost another battle. He stared at it for a moment, then grasped it. He was solid and warm, and again she felt a wave of despair, along with the urge to sob her story on this nice groom’s shoulder. He pulled her to her feet and abruptly dropped her hand.
She turned and gazed up at the tall walls, at the black clouds boiling above.
“Can you tell me why he won’t answer my letters? Why he won’t even speak to me?”
The man had taken her horse’s reins and had alreadyturned Moireach around, ready to lead her across the bridge to the village.
“I know not, miss. I just work in the stables.”
Rose turned to get a good look at her new friend. He was very tall, a head taller than her at least. His hair was dark, but that was all she could discern with his plaid covering it. He was a fine-looking man, clean-shaven, with a strong, unsmiling mouth. He had the broad, thick shoulders of someone used to hard work. His trews and boots were faded, though well made.
“What is your name, sir, so I might thank you for your kindness?” She slanted a poisonous glance at the castle. “You are far kinder than your master.”
“Dumhnull.”
“Well met, Dumhnull. My name is Rose, and you can tell your master that I will be back on the morrow.” She looked upward and grimaced. “But for tonight, I think you’re right. He cannot speak to a dead woman, can he?”
Dumhnull had yet to smile at her, and though he didn’t now she thought perhaps there was a softening to his stern mouth. His lips parted as if he meant to speak, then shut on an exhalation. Finally he raised his dark brows and said, “No, miss, I suppose he cannot.” There was a curious note of forbearance in his voice, but before she could question it, he inclined his head for her to follow him.
She trudged after him, keeping her head down. The brim of her floppy hat bobbed with each step. It had long ceased protecting her from the deluge. Her hair was thoroughly soaked beneath the hat, plastered to her head and streaming in rivulets down the sides of her face andneck. She shivered convulsively, eagerly anticipating dry clothes and a warm fire.
They crossed the bridge and passed several cottages before he stopped near one. Fresh thatching repelled the rain so it flowed down to shower on the ground. Bags of sand pressed up against the base of the dark stones, preventing the rain from seeping underneath.
He nodded at it. “The blacksmith and his wife live there. They’ll feed you and give you a place to sleep.”
“My thanks, friend.” Rose reached for the reins, but when her fingers closed over the leather, he didn’t release them. She stood rather close to him. She tilted her head back to meet his eyes. Blue, brilliant as a sapphire and just as startling. She stared for a long moment, and he stared back. His gaze moved over her face in a manner overbold for a mere groom. Rose felt a moment of panic, her sisters’ warnings echoing through her mind. He knew she was alone and unprotected. She held his gaze without wavering and tugged on the reins.
He released them and averted his eyes to scan the sky. “You really should be on your way in the morn, if the rain clears.”
“I thank you for your warnings, but I cannot.” She gave him a speculative look from beneath her lashes. “Would you be willing to help me, Dumhnull?”
“How?”
“Sneak me in?”
He appeared scandalized at the suggestion. “Nay—you’d not want to do that, miss. Have you not heard the tales? He’s a wizard, he’s evil.”
