“I was in the chair,” she said, accepting it and sliding it back into the small leather hilt on her belt. With trembling hands she pushed her hair back from her face and over her shoulders. “What do you want here?”
A myriad of wants passed through his thoughts in that moment, but none were of a nature that he could speak of now. He retrieved his sword and his own deadly dagger, and opened the door, handing them to his squire.
“I but sought a few hours of sleep here. Now I must go.”
“You slept here?” The confusion in her expression was a sort of reward to him. “’Tis morning?” She’d been so deeply asleep that she had not realized he’d shared her bed. What liberties could he have taken before she woke? His body reacted to the possibilities even as he knew his honor would never permit it.
“Aye, lady.” Philippe stood at the door, so Sebastien bowed and turned to leave.
“Sir? Wait, I pray thee,” she said, walking a few steps closer to him. “I have a request of you.”
He stopped and waited for her words. She had not asked much of him yet and he was intrigued.
“May I visit the chapel?” She took another step toward him as she asked. “I would like to pray there.”
The chapel was a few hundred yards away, between the main camp of the Bruce’s forces and the castle itself. As it had been the site of their wedding, he was surprised she wished to return there at all.
“I could send Father Connaughty to you here if you require his counsel.” It was safer for her than leaving the tower right now. Too many soldiers being cared for in the yard had been injured by her family, and the sight of her might give rise to trouble.
“It is the place that gives me comfort, sir. My mother is buried there and I’ve spent hours praying there. But I understand, sir. I would do the same if I were the victor here.”
Sebastien was not certain at first if her understanding amused, comforted or bewildered him. Then the glint in her eyes gave away her actions. Most women he had met would be moaning and crying, crumpled into a heap after the last days that she’d faced. Yet here she stood, offering him a not-so-obvious challenge to his authority that she dressed up prettily as acquiescence to his rule.
“If my duties permit, mayhap I could take you there before the evening meal.”
“As you wish, sir.” She bowed her head this time, but not quickly enough to disguise the satisfied smile that lifted the corners of her mouth.
In spite of knowing she was manipulating him, and in spite of knowing that she did not return his desires, that small needful part of him hidden deep inside reveled at the chance of sparring with her. Of drawing her back from her fear and hurt into the person she must have been when her father still ruled here. Of such…possibilities.
Chapter Six
Despite the heavily armed guards and Sebastien’s second-in-command making the offer in his stead, Lara accepted the gesture and the opportunity it presented. It was the first time in nearly a week that she’d been allowed out of the north tower, or anywhere else in the keep but the two floors she was permitted. There had been a moment when she’d almost decided not to go, but she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders and followed the guard through the courtyard.
From the window in her bedchamber, she could see the yard, but at a distance. Walking among the Bruce’s men, some injured, some not, unnerved her. Disgusting insults were spoken just loud enough for her to hear. They called her names—despicable variations of the honorable one given her as the MacDougall’s eldest daughter, with none of the respect it carried among her own.
One curse threatening her and Catriona was so vulgar that Sebastien’s man, apparently one high in his esteem, kicked the fellow who said it hard enough to render him unconscious. She stumbled away at the sight, and only the knight’s hand under her elbow kept her from hitting the ground.
He was completely opposite in appearance from his commander, with short-cropped black hair and a dark complexion, but he had the tall, muscular physique of an accomplished warrior. His grim expression warned one and all that further interference would not be tolerated. With a nod, the man led Lara through the gate and down the path, which was lighted by the fires of many small groups huddled around them preparing for the coming night.
Now, the chapel stood a few yards away, and she tried to shake off hatred that was aimed at her. The knight stood silently at her side as his men searched it before they would allow her entrance, and then the commander moved to follow her in. Stopping just inside the door, she faced him.
“Am I permitted privacy at prayer, sir?” she asked the one called Hugh. She needed time alone to think.
“Aye, my lady, if you wish,” he said with a bow. She nodded in pleasure and waited for him to leave before walking toward the front of the chapel.
The place was dark, lit only by candles on the altar and a torch sitting high in a sconce on the wall near the door. She could walk from back to front in only twenty paces, the chapel was so small. Two windows cut into the stone walls opened on each side. Her mother was buried just off to the right of the entrance, and Lara paused to say a prayer for her soul. Then she knelt before the altar and took in a deep breath.
At first, she thought the shadows moved. Lara controlled her surprise and watched as a form soundlessly detached itself from the farthest corner and moved toward her. Wrapped as it was in a long, dark cloak, she could not see it clearly, but the voice was one she recognized.
“How be ye faring, dear cousin?” it asked in a whisper that made her skin itch. “My da has been fretting night and day about ye being held prisoner here.”
“I am well, Eachann. When did you arrive here?” She peered into the darkness and saw no place of entry. “And how did you get in without being seen?” She stayed on her knees so that, if one of the guards opened the door of the chapel, it would appear that she was praying.
“Never ye mind about the how of it, sweetling. I have been watching for ye for more than four days, Lara. ’Tis a pity to see ye kept so. Has he beaten ye?”
Lara shivered at the question. Her cousin’s constant fascination with pain terrified her. She shook her head in answer. His dark eyes took on a mean shine, but his voice softened to an ominous whisper. “’Tis a good thing then. I would not have ye mistreated.”
She sensed more to his answer, but resisted the urge to ask about it. Her time here was not unlimited, and she could almost hear the pacing of Sebastien’s man outside the door. “Why are you here?”
