A poltroon’s task.
A fool’s errand as unpalatable as guzzling an infusion of devil’s dung.
An indignity made bearable solely by Lady Rhona’s bonnie presence.
Her generously proffered agreement to spend the night at his side, not in his bed where he’d like to have her, but patrolling the tall windows with him, watching the Highlanders and old Father Tomas trudge back and forth across the precarious land-bridge, bringing stuffs and weaponry to the villagers, then returning for more.
Wasted hours spent perusing mist and darkness.
Peering through wind-borne sleet.
Drinking stale wine.
“Master of Dunlaidir,” he scoffed, throwing Rhona a dark glance. “Useful for naught but the far-reaching view out my bluidy windows.”
“Pah!” Rhona grabbed his arm, halting his endless pacing, tempering his ire with an arched brow. “You will own they need your keen eyesight as well?”
“I admit that is what they claimed.” James yanked his arm from her grasp. “Trying to console me is closer to the truth.”
“Nae, that is not so.” She stepped closer, trailed a finger down his arm. “The truth is that no one within these walls has eyes as good as yours.”
“Or a better view.”
“I think the view is rather fine,” she gave back, her tone annoyingly pleasant, her steady gaze making clear she meant anything but the broad sweep of sea and headlands they’d been watching since the wee hours. “Truth tell, it makes me rather fluttery.”
“Blast a bluidy barnacle,” James swore, the corners of mouth turning upward despite himself. “I vow you could make a rock smile.”
“I’d rather see a stone cry,” she said, her own smile fading for a moment.
“Aye, and seeing is what we’re supposed to be doing,” James reminded her, the rueful note in her voice spurring him to stand straighter, to at least appear more lairdly.
“We’ve been doing that quite well, I’d say. The stone-”
“Forget the stone.” He placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her closer to the tall windows. “Come, lassie, let us continue to make use of this eyrie of mine,” he added, sliding his arm around her, drawing her to him.
He was glad enough to window-watch the remainder of the night if only she would keep pressing her soft, sweet self against him as she did this moment.
“There, do you see them?” He pointed to the cliff-side path leading out of the village. “They are almost at the gatehouse.”
He’d scarce said the words before the Highland knights emerged onto the narrow land-bridge. Hulking shapes, they moved through the darkness, their great brands slung over their shoulders, their mailed shirts gleaming softly in the gray light, an arsenal of dirks and other wicked-looking paraphernalia of war thrust beneath their belts and in their boots.
Several burdenless packhorses plodded behind them toward the stronghold, their slow pace and hanging heads telling evidence of the long night’s toil.
“So they are done.” James glanced at Rhona, then turned back to the windows. He braced his hands on the cold, damp stone of the nearest sill, and then strained his eyes to peer even deeper into the gloom. He needed to see if they were followed, or spied upon by a hidden foe.
But no one skulked through the eerie night save the Sassunach’s own men. And now, with the merest hint of a lighter gray edging the horizon, they’d no doubt made their last haul and were eager to reach the hall’s warmth and seek the comfort of their pallets.
Until the next night when they’d make the trek anew.
As he would stand vigil once more.
Partaking of his nightlylaird’s due.
And, if Rhona graced him with her company again, striving to feel more lairdly than the day before.
* * *
About the same time,Sir Marmaduke stood at one of the two narrow window slits in Lady Caterine’s ante-room and stared out across a pewter-colored sea of glass and wished the hours of the strange, magical night hadn’t passed so quickly.
