“The laird’s son is returned!”
“All hail, the return of my lord Fergus!”
People spilled out of the cottages, the mill, and the keep itself, surrounding Fergus.Their happiness was as evident as his own.He leaped from the saddle and shook hands, accepted kisses, was hugged and clapped upon the back repeatedly.He might have been greeting family instead of those pledged to his father’s service.Leila approved of this warm relationship between laird and villein.Children ran through the delighted crowd, geese honked, dogs barked, and goats bleated.Leila heard Fergus laughing and smiled herself at such merriment.
The rest of the party were similarly surrounded once Fergus had been welcomed.The Templars were regarded with wonder.A bearded man with dark eyes and a leather apron stepped forward to run his hands over the flanks of the horses, and Leila guessed he was the village smith.Hamish was plucked from his saddle and hugged by a great bear of a man with an enthusiasm that made the boy blush crimson.
“Uncle Rodney,” the boy protested but without much vigor.
“And a kiss for your aunt Mhairi, if you please,” a buxom woman said, seizing Hamish to kiss his cheeks.Hamish was surrounded by this pair, who spoke to him quickly.Leila watched the woman tousle the boy’s hair and guessed that they were talking about how much he had grown.
“You are one less than before,” the blacksmith noted, his gaze flicking over the party.He had a low resonant voice that commanded attention and the villagers fell silent after his words.Leila saw several count the party, pointing fingers as they did so, and the word ‘Kerr’ rose like a whisper though their ranks.
Fergus nodded and bowed his head.“Alas, Kerr was killed on our return home.He is buried in the mountains west of Venice.”This Leila did not understand completely, but she heard ‘Kerr’ and ‘Venice’ and guessed what tidings Fergus had shared.
Murmurs slipped through the company at these sad tidings and most people crossed themselves.One who was clearly a priest—for he wore a crucifix on a cord around his neck and his hair was tonsured—said something and gestured to a small building downriver.There was a cross on the roof, indicating that it was a chapel.Leila guessed that he invited the others to attend a mass for Kerr.Fergus spoke to him and the priest nodded, then hastened to the chapel.
Leila doubted she would be welcome there.In some parts of Palestine, holy places were shared between faiths, but it seemed unlikely that there would be similar tolerance here.She was probably the first Saracen these people had ever seen.
Duncan was greeted warmly and embraced another tall warrior tightly.That man looked to be of an age with Duncan or even older, and his long hair was mingled silver and gold.He wore a patch over one eye, and he alone wore a chain mail hauberk in the company.His gaze flicked to her and he smiled.Leila dropped her gaze, her heart racing at his obvious appreciation.Was he a man whose attention she should cultivate?She had spent so long in the company of men yet disguised as a boy that she had forgotten any feminine arts and allures.
It might be timely to recall them.
She noticed that Duncan hefted his saddlebag to his shoulder when he dismounted, keeping the precious relic close by his side when his horse was led away.He came to help her from the saddle and she knew that the villagers—and that warrior—were watching her closely.
“And so we reach our destination,” Duncan murmured to her in French as he offered his hand.There was understanding in his eyes as he held her gaze.
“I must find a husband, Duncan,” Leila whispered.“Have you any advice?”
“That rogue will not suit,” Duncan said.“He has not adenierto his name, though I do not doubt that he will attempt to charm you.”
Leila smiled.“Thank you, Duncan.”
“You can do better.”Duncan winked and led her toward the open portal.“Come and meet Calum, Laird of Killairic.”
“And your patron,” Leila said, recalling Duncan’s pledge to serve the man who had once saved his life.
“Indeed.”
“I hope he will release you from his service, now that Fergus is safely returned.”
“We shall see.We shall see.”
“What of your friend?”
“Murdoch Olafson.”Duncan nodded with approval.“There is a warrior to have at one’s back, but not one to speak for the likes of you.I am glad he remained with Calum while we were gone and do not doubt he will demand a full accounting from me at earliest opportunity.”Duncan gave her a look.“I will tell him to leave you be, for you are lady not whore.”
Leila nodded, well aware that Murdoch watched her still.
An older man with white hair had come to the portal and stood there, leaning on a cane, his eyes alight as he regarded Fergus.He was dressed in the style of French nobles, in a long robe of heavy cloth but with a length of plaid cloth handing from his shoulder like a cape.The pin holding the cloth shone in the sun, for it was set with a purple stone.He embraced Fergus with such obvious affection and pleasure that tears rose to Leila’s eyes.Father and son spoke quickly, so quickly that Leila found their words incomprehensible.
Duncan squeezed Leila’s fingers, evidently noting her reaction.“You do well with Gaelic.Soon you will speak as quickly as they do.”
“I hope as much.”
Duncan sobered, his gaze assessing.“Do not wed against your instincts, Leila, simply to see the matter resolved.”
“You know I will not, Duncan.That is why I fled, after all.”
