Chapter Four
MacLeod castle was arranged in a square. There were fifteen foot walls surrounding the courtyard with a guard tower at each of the four corners. The walls were high but they shrank into obscurity next to the huge four storey keep that dominated the space, looming above the surrounding countryside. Crows circled the roof, occasionally divebombing any pigeons that dared to emerge from their loft. Callum knew the castle like the back of his hand. He had watched his father build it when he was nothing more than a wee bairn.
He looked across to the keep. At ground level the stores were nowhere near as full as the previous year but hopefully contained enough to last the winter. Above that the reception rooms were accessible from an external stone staircase. Guests of the castle went no further unless called up to the great hall to see the laird or one of his stewards. Above the great hall was the laird and lady’s bedchamber with further space for their servants. On the top floor were the stairs to the tower rooms, his room, the water tank, and the pigeon lofts.
Callum looked up at the top floor. She was there. Why had she come? He turned away, passing through the garden. Clothes were draped over the bushes to dry in the last of the autumn sun. Was that her dress? It looked like it. Was she naked up there while it dried?
His thoughts went back to the first time he saw her. He had marched into the keep ready to persuade her she was better off not marrying him. Then he saw her.
It was as if he’d never seen a woman before in his life. He walked into the room at the top of the east tower and there she was, asleep in the bed they’d provided. He had been told Nessa was not the most attractive of women, not surprising given she was a MacKay. But what lay before him in the bed, her eyes tightly closed, was a vision of beauty the like of which he’d never seen. The blanket had slumped off her body and her leg stuck out, a slender pale limb that drew his eye upward to what lay hidden behind the tartan.
He’d heard tales of fairies and sirens who lived out at sea, bewitching and beguiling men into mortal danger with their beauty. She was just like the stories. She was stunning even in repose and therein lay the risk. She wanted to trap him in marriage, force him to spend half his time dealing with MacKays. The thought was enough to make him shudder.
He had no intention of being tied down just to please his father. She might be beautiful but she was still a MacKay and an arch rival. He remembered seeing the head of his cousin on a spike outside MacKay castle. His father may have forgiven them for Lachlan’s death but he did not have such a short memory.
He had an entire speech worked out but it left his head the moment he saw her. She was laid on her back and other than a small dark patch on her neck, there was no sign of injury from her fall. She did indeed look angelic in repose. Such beauty. The blanket low enough to expose a hint of her bosom.
He had talked to Sheena before going in to see her. “Found naked on the earthworks outside the tower, “Sheena said. “As if she’d been dumped there or maybe fallen out of the sky. Like an angel sent by God Himself.”
Callum had laughed at the idea but looking at her sleeping so soundly, he began to have second thoughts. Then she opened her eyes and he was immediately lost in them. It was only his training that stopped him kissing her in that moment. He was just about able to keep his head despite the desire that coursed through him at the sight of those sparkling blue eyes. It was a close run thing though and when he opened his mouth he was still uncertain whether it was to speak or to embrace her.
At least she agreed with him that there was to be no marriage. Perhaps she was being forced into it by her parents same as him. He left her certain the marriage would not happen but as the days passed, he could not stop thinking about her.
He marched over to the archery targets, trying to wipe her out of his mind. She’d been recovering from her head injury for a week and in that time he’d only seen her twice, once in her room and once more in the garden where she’d been helping Nessa pick herbs. The sunlight had been on her face that day and she was lit as if by a glow from heaven itself. He had stood watching her laughing and talking and he ached to go over and join in.
He swore silently. Why couldn’t he get her out of his thoughts?
Rory and Ivar were lined up with their bows and he stood watching for a spell before moving over to the corner of the courtyard. In the shadow of the keep, the wooden practice swords were kept ready. Pulling one from the pile, he waved to Hamish who was leaning against the pentise, his arms folded. “Shall we get started?”
“I thought you’d got lost somewhere,” Hamish replied, crossing the space to the swords and choosing one for himself. “Or were you picking out your wedding attire.”
Callum jabbed at him with the sword, almost catching him before he had time to react.
At the last second Hamish swiped downward, jumping back at the same time. The blow missed him but only just. “Touchy subject I see,” Hamish said, adjusting his stance.
“I’m not getting married to a MacKay so the jests can stop,” Callum snapped, shifting right and swinging again.
Hamish blocked again. “Is that why you keep looking up at her tower? To remind yourself you dinnae want her fine legs wrapping around you?”
Callum cringed. Had it been that noticeable? He hadn’t deliberately been looking up there. He just glanced whenever he was passing by. If he thought about it though, he did pass by an awful lot.
The fight moved gradually into the main courtyard, the archery practice stopping while everyone turned to watch. There was a lot to learn from observing Callum in action. He moved much faster than a man his height and weight should be able to and yet at times he barely seemed to shift at all to avoid the blows. Sweat was soon pouring down Hamish’s chest but it was a long time before Callum began to tire.
At last Hamish let his impatience get the better of him, lunging too far and allowing Callum to spin and catch him on the back of the leg, sending him sprawling in the mud.
A cheer went up as Callum held out a hand, helping him to his feet. “Well met,” he said. “Watch that lunge next time we’re out on patrol. Could get you killed.”
A squire passed them both a cloth and as Callum wiped the sweat from his eyes, he looked up again at the tower. For a brief moment he could have sworn he saw a face at the window but then there was nothing.
All week it had been the same. He’d catch glimpses of her but nothing more. Why did he even care? He had enough to deal with in his father’s absence. Each day began in the great hall, him on the dais, listening with the stewards to the petitions of the people, adjudicating over their disputes and trying to be fair to everyone as best he could.
He was no steward though. He was a warrior better suited to patrolling than signing contracts. He enjoyed the afternoon better, training with his men, making sure none of them were getting sloppy. One mistake out on patrol and it wouldn’t be a wooden sword to the back of the leg, it would be remorseless metal biting deep into flesh.
The evening of the seventh day since her arrival was different to the routine. The horns blew out at the guard post and Callum was glad to hear them. The twin blast that echoed around the valley meant only one thing. The laird was returning.
Let his father come back and take over the running of the place. Let him get back out on patrol where he belonged, away from the bewitching spell of Nessa up in her tower.
Dinner was not served at the usual hour. It was put back until the laird and his lady arrived so the meal was not brought out until long after dark.
