The woman’s wise dark gaze moved to him. “Nor can I mend yer troubles, my lord. Ye will find that prize which ye seek and all that goes with it…that which foolish men believe they want, what drives them to do what they will. But understand and trust me when I say to ye both… there are far too many lies inside this room.” And she left them alone.
The room grew heavy with their silence and the strange and unsettling truth in the old woman’s words.
After another tense moment Glenna turned around and laughed bitterly. “Foolish woman and her predictions. Druid? Bah! Lies? Aye, there are too many lies. After yesterday, I’ve had my fill of lies.” She marched toward the doorway. “I’m going to the stables. I need to check on the animals.” And she closed the doors without looking back.
He did not try to stop her, but what Gladdys had said cut to the quick…not about lies, but about truths, and soon he, too, got up and left.
6
‘Twas late when Lyall returned to the tavern, the closest thing to an inn in the small coastal village on the southeastern side of the island. Their preplanned traveling route had been in place, secure before he ever ventured out on this secret deed, one which could turn out to be his biggest folly. Though their destination was to the south, he had chosen Steering for a reason, not knowing then the truth about the Gordons’ thieving trade over the past years, something that put a chink in all those well-made, well-mulled over plans.
While the southern side of the isle had a port and shorter crossing, they would land on the northeastern edges of Skye, part of Leod lands, and Leod had strong ties to the King of Mann. The more who knew what was afoot, the higher the risk for failure, so the decision was made to take Glenna over the longer route. The most trouble would come from the unpredictable. Who knew how many victims of the Gordons’antics he had yet to face…and buy off?
Lyall sought out the tavern master and made arrangements for hot food and sleeping pallets. Early the next morn, they would take the first ship to ferry them across the Minch and back to the mainland. He’d paid a handsome sum for the speediestship of the two available, one with a large sail, a sleek bow, and the strongest oarsmen. But what had cost him most dearly was the ransom he’d paid to the sellers of the merchant fair, where his marks bought recompense and promised peace for all goods Glenna and the thieving Gordons had stolen…and probably some for goods never stolen, considering the final sum he’d paid for their vows of silence.
From all the yammering and many tales that filled his aching ears, the threesome had been robbing them blind for a long time. His wealth--which was hard won through tourneys and the hiring out of his sword arm--could not buy back his family’s lands, he thought bitterly, but it bought silence in Steering.
The back room of the alehouse was empty when he returned, but the shutters were tightly closed and a tended fire cast amber light as it burned in the rock pit in the center of the room, where a smoke hole in the roof pulled the firesmoke up and out. He grabbed a lantern and went in search of Glenna in the stables. His intention was to care for his horse and then drag her back to the tavern.
The air was overly warm, heat from the livestock, which made the odor of horse sweat, manure, and hay even more pungent. In the closest stall, her bay mare had been curried down and fed, while his own horse, also curried, was eating comfortably from a feed trough half-filled with fresh oats.
Glenna was nowhere to be seen. He turned to leave, wondering where the hell she had gone, when he heard a thumping against the wooden boards, coming from a back stall.
Inside was her lop-eared hound, looking at him like a simpleton, adoring and more beggar than dog. The hound’s mouth hung open, tongue lolling as if he were grinning and his tail drummed excitedly against the stall.
Curled next to him on a bed of straw lay his owner. She was sound asleep, her head resting on a silken piece of crimson velvet trimmed in gold braid, the tail of black rook showing under her cheek. Her ragged-tailed gown had drawn up to reveal a shapelyleg, calf, knee, and thigh, as milk white as the unblemished skin of her face. The image of her naked, that pale skin like fresh snow, came racing into his mind’s eye.
Hand resting on the post of the stall, Lyall couldn’t move for a moment and took in the beauty before him. Her long black hair was as dark as midnight against her skin and spread about her shoulders, curling like thick Shetland wool. Standing and looking at her like that, there was no denying her lineage; she was the daughter of the king, a treasure hidden from the world, and his own salvation.
Oh, that he could pull this off. He looked away from her and rubbed the back of his neck, then found himself drawn to her again. At first glance, one would think she looked like a waif from the streets of Edinburgh with her jagged-hemmed gown that hung wrong, lying there asleep in a bed a straw, her head resting on what was clearly an expensive piece of embroidery. One of the overly large red leather shoes was half off her foot revealing a fine-boned ankle.
Red shoes. He shook his head again and felt a smile touch his lips. He shoved away from the post and knelt down in the straw, his hand reaching out to her. But the hound trotted over to nudge against his palm, and so he scratched the dog’s floppy ears.
“Glenna…Wake up, sweetheart,” he said quietly, then realized what he called her and wanted to swallow his foolish words. He looked at the dog, who was staring at him expectantly. The hound was most likely starved. “Fortunate for me that she sleeps like a boulder,” he said to the dog and paused. “Two days with her and I’ve gone mad…I am having a conversation with her dog,” he said, aware more than ever that he had been knocked hard in the head that day.
He scooped her up into his arms and winced when a sharp pain shot through his ribs. He paused, then crossed the short distance to the stable doors. “Come, dog!” he said sharply, refusing to call it by some foolish name. The beast loped happilyafter him. He kicked the doors closed harder than was necessary and turned toward the tavern backdoor.
She moaned softly and wiggled closer, her cheek against his shoulder, the velvet cloth spilling over his arm, her mouth soft and the color of a ripe berry and her lips parted. Her long hair fell down like black silk and brushed against his thigh as he walked. His reaction did not please him.
Inside the tavern’s backroom, he lay her down on a straw pallet in the corner. Heat seemed to surround him, and he felt singed. He quickly put some distance between them and slumped miserably into a chair, his ribs sending biting pain through his upper body. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and drank copiously from a goblet of wine, ignoring her, glowering at everything, even the barmaid who brought them oatbread, butter, and some bean pottage.
Earlier the tavern lass had made it clear he was welcome to her bed in the loft above the ale room. He tossed her a coin and watched her sway out of the room. She paused at the door, faced him, apparently unaffected by his foul mood and ignoring Glenna’s existence, and she smiled fetchingly. “If you change yer mind, my lord, ye know where I be.”
He turned away to look at the sleeping form in the corner, rubbing his mouth with his hand, elbow resting on the chair arm. Here, when his body could use a good romp and swift tumbling, he could not bring himself to go to the wench whose soft, full body promised satisfaction and whose exotic, sloe-eyed stare told him she wanted him inside her. He closed his eyes, ignored his ribs and finished off the wine.
Hell’s teeth…half the village thought Glenna was his wife—a fact that would not stop many men of his ilk from seeking comfort wherever offered. No one in Steering knew the truth…except that old Welsh witch who knew all too much.
His gaze wandered back to Glenna; he did not need a woman so badly he would insult her, even if their marriage was a lie. He drove a hand through his hair, then rubbed his tight neck. Herpublic claim and his agreement would have amounted to a handfast, and a binding public betrothal. Luckily for him Glenna was not the Lady Montrose. Half the village thought Glenna was his wife. The real Lady Montrose was not dead, but alive and more than likely happily sitting before her embroidery stanchion in the tower room at Rossie.
Deception had its advantages.
Handfast marriage was supposed to be a convenience, and existed here in a land whose breadth and wild extremities made marriage ceremonies convenient only when there was a clergy nearby. Men of God were readily available to the wealthy nobility (the Church and a man’s coin were seldom far apart from each other). Silver and gold bought absolution and penance, bought ceremonies of baptism, funeral, and marriage.
But for the people of villages, of the manors and castles where their lords were often gone to war--to crusade, diplomacy, or forced by their oaths of honor and fealty into eight months service to their liege, the laws of handfasting made marriage possible without waiting for months and even years for a priest to happen by. A public declaration of husband and wife by a man and woman was a binding handfast betrothal, and if the handfast was consummated, the marriage was legal.
Consummation… He took a drink of wine. The lust he was feeling be damned to Hell—at least that was what he mentally chanted over and over when his gaze repeatedly wandered to the corner where she slept, her bare legs uncovered again and calling to him. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, refilled his goblet and drank deeply, telling himself he controlled his body, not the other way ‘round. But the truth was: he was living in his own hell, where the flames were licking at his feet…and between his legs.
He recognized the danger before him, but knew, too, that if he wanted her, he could have her. A young man on the tourney circuit learned more than the techniques of war. Seduction was as much a weapon as his finely- forged sword, and as a carelessyouth he had used that power merely because he could, or to fill time and satisfy his own curiosity--a desire to learn the extent of man’s power over a woman—how far could he go? He learned he could go as far as he wanted.
