Chapter Eleven
Kyle was not in the brightest of spirits when he awoke on his floor. His head rang with pain, both from the hangover and the beating he had taken, though he was pretty sure he had gotten the better of the fight. He felt terribly foolish for his actions the night before and groaned as he rolled over on the sheepskin rug. Then, his eyes fell on the filthy tunic Laila had draped over the table, and he felt another rush of embarrassment.
“Ye ruddy fool,” he said to himself, grabbing ahold of the foot of the bed and pulling himself to his feet. He limped to the washbasin and submerged his head, pulling it out with a large splash and letting the water run down his hair onto his back. It was cold, but it brought him round.
He thought of Laila, and the embarrassment came flooding forth even more than before. He was such a fool to start a fight over her, to kiss her like he had, and what was even more embarrassing was the fact that he had liked it so. Kyle was no stranger to a kiss, but he never felt such fire and passion in an embrace. He glanced down at his manhood beneath his britches, all still covered in dried mud. At least he had drunk enough, so he hadn’t just pressed up against her with a rod of steel down below. That would have been even worse.
“Ahhh!” Kyle groaned, feeling a wave of the hangover washing over his temples. “Christ.”
It was not often he felt so out of sorts. He was hungover plenty, that wasn’t new, but it was the accompanying embarrassment that truly bothered him. The combination was truly humbling, and he grudgingly peeled off his britches.
It took him several minutes to get dressed, the hangover punishing quick movements, and he winced as he finally did up a clean tunic. He washed his face once more in the basin and attached his long dagger to his waist. As he picked it up, he heard poor Robert MacLean’s cry,Mercy, and he shuddered as he tied the belt off.
There was someone he had to see. Whenever he felt out of sorts, though he wasn’t sure if he had ever been as rugged as he was that morning, he went to old Sophia for advice, or at least for comfort. She was one of the few constants in his life, and she always seemed to know the best way forward. Besides, it had been far too long since he paid her a visit.
Kyle went down from the keep, passing a few servants as he went who seemed to blush and giggle behind his back.Had she told everyone?No, she wouldn’t, he decided. It was enough to laugh at the man who had gotten into a drunken brawl in the mud.
His highland cloak blew out behind him with his red mane as the wind blasted him in the yard. It was a foul day in the wake of the storm, and Kyle frowned as he walked past the common house toward the orchards. He was such a drunken fool at times.
He passed through the orchards, nodding to the peasants tending the trees, and made his way up to a small house built against the castle wall on the far side of the green stretch. He struggled up the short flight of wooden steps to the door and rapped his knuckles against it.
“Sophia,” he called out. “Sophia are ye in?”
The door swung open so quickly that Kyle nearly leaped backward, and an elderly woman stood waiting on the other side. “Well Kyle McGowan,” she said in her sweet, comforting voice. Her gray eyes sat nicely atop several layers of delicate wrinkles, and there was that familiar spark of friendly comfort in the corner of her smirk. “Have ye been fighting?”
“Hmph,” Kyle returned the smirk. His lower lip was still split, and he had no doubt the bruise on his left cheek shone like the scales of a fresh-caught fish. “It is good tae see ye too.”
“Come in, child,” she said, giving him a quick hug. “Get out o’ that wicked wind.”
“Gladly,” he said, wiping his feet upon the top stair and entering the small house. It was not much compared to the keep, just a small room with a hearth and a cooking pot, a long table, some shelves with various herbs and jars, and a separate room in the back with a bed, but it was far nicer than the other domiciles that peasants inside the castle found themselves living in.
“Ye need water,” Sophia said, ladling a large cup of water from a barrel beneath some herbs that hung from one of the rafters. She handed him the cup, and he drank deeply.
“And ye need tae see the sun,” Kyle laughed back. “How long has it been since I’ve seen ye in the markets? Or in the hall?”
“Me home suits me fine,” she said back, patting to a stool by the central table. She took the seat across as Kyle sank into the seat. “What can I do for ye?”
“Oh, I dinnae,” Kyle sighed. “I just thought tae pay ye a visit.”
“Ah,” she said, that famous smirk creeping back. “Is that so?”
“Oh, come now,” Kyle scoffed, unable to resist her smile. “Dinnae make fun o’ me.”
“I am not,” she said, crossing her arms. “Only I know ye too well. Ye wouldn’t be here if ye weren’t lost on something.”
“Perhaps I am,” Kyle said softly, glancing up at all the herbs hanging from the ceiling.
“Well, out with it!” Sophia said, slapping the tabletop. “Are ye hungry?”
“Please,” Kyle said.
She went to the hearth and spooned forth a large helping of stew into a wooden bowl and set it down in front of him.
“Food helps the mind speak,” she said, propping up her chin with her palm. Kyle let the smell of the stew float up and saturate his brain as he thought for a moment, reflecting on the night before.
“I have known ye since ye were a lad,” Sophia said, breaking the silence. Ever since yer mother died.”
“I know,” Kyle said softly, taking a small sip of stew.
