But one thing he knew with certainty: Tor owed Lachlan MacRuairi his life.
With the days beings so short—the sun (such as it was) not rising until almost nine, only to set a scant seven hours later—time should have gone by fast. But the hours passed by like a dirge: slow, monotonous, and droning.
Not even a week had passed, and yet it seemed like a month since Tor had left. Though he’d spent time away before, this was the longest Christina had gone without seeing him, and patience was proving an elusive virtue.
What a fool she’d been. Life married to a knight wasn’t about days filled with thrilling tournaments, watching him joust with her veil on his sleeve and long nights spent cuddled before the hearth while he composed verse about his love for her. It was about months, maybe even years, of war and loneliness.
There was nothing romantic about being left alone to fret and worry.
Was he in danger? Because he’d refused to tell her where he was going, she didn’t know. But because he’d left his entire personal guard at the castle, she suspected he’d not gone off to fight and had instead gone somewhere with the men she’d seen him training.
Who were those men?
She pushed the curiosity from her mind, recalling only too well his admonition. Not her concern. Not her business. Not her place.
So she attended to her duties as the lady of the castle and helped Brother John when Rhuairi was not around, having care not to read any of what passed before her. But even with the preparations for the Yule celebration, there was surprisingly little for her to do behind the dungeon like walls of the castle. Thebarmkinshe walked around in the morning had started to feel like a cage.
And now she didn’t even have the ledgers to keep her busy. She’d been so certain that it would work, that organizing his accounts would be the way to show him that she could be an important part of his life. Perhaps it was that certainty that made the disappointment so much more acute.
Admiration … respect … pride? Hardly. Her attempt to impress him with her skills had failed as resoundingly as it had with her father.
She was furious with the way that he’d reacted—at first patronizing and then lashing out in anger. Perhaps she’d overstepped by reading the missives, but what else was she to do? How else could she possibly break through to him? She’d shown him everything she had to offer and it still wasn’t enough.
She had no place here. Not in his life, not in his heart. If this was the rest of her life, she couldn’t bear it.
For a moment she’d thought about leaving. But she still had hope. She’d pinned her happiness on a kiss, holding on by that one glimpse of tenderness, the first crack in his stony façade.
Was she a fool to ascribe so much meaning to a kiss?
Fastening her cloak around her neck, Christina closed the door behind her and started down the corridor, nearly bumping into Brother John as he was coming out of the solar.
She’d startled him, and it took him a moment to compose himself. Noticing her cloak, he asked, “Where are you off to this morning, my lady?”
“I thought I would go to the village. The tanner’s youngest bairn has fallen ill and the cook has prepared some poulet broth for me to take to him.” Seeing that he was dressed for the cold weather as well, she asked, “And what about you?”
“To the village as well.” He frowned. “Are you sure it is wise to leave the castle, my lady? The fever seems to be spreading. Perhaps it would be best if you waited for the chief to return; he’s due back any day.”
Her foolish heart jumped. “Have you heard from him then?”
He shook his head. “Nay, but given that he was supposed to be gone for only a few days—”
“Not a few days,” she said morosely, “two weeks.”
His eyes widened. “Oh, I see. Perhaps I misunderstood the seneschal.” Christina was not surprised; Rhuairi had seemed less than forthcoming of late. He’d been watching her with an odd look in his eye. When he did not forbid her from helping Brother John, she realized Tor had not spoken to him, but she wondered if he knew what she had done. Brother John was watching her intently. “I do not think the chief would wish for you to put yourself in danger.”
Christina pressed her lips together. Let “the chief” try to object. Attending to the villagers was herdutyas Lady of the Castle. He’d reminded her of her place enough. “I appreciate your concern, but the risk is small. The fever seems to be mild.” She gave him a conspiratorial grin. “Besides, if I have to stay another day locked behind these walls, I believe I shall go mad.”
He returned her smile. “I understand completely. Perhaps you would not mind company? If you will wait a moment, there is something I forgot in the solar.”
“I would love the company. Why don’t I meet you by the gate; I have to fetch the pot of broth from the cook.”
Shewasglad for the company. If Brother John seemed oddly anxious at first, by the time he returned from his errand the anxiety was gone. He spent the rest of the day with her visiting not just the tanner’s son, but a few of the other stricken children as well. The cook had given her enough broth to feed an army, and it did not go to waste. She also slid the children the last of her cherished figs for when they were better.
A handful of her husband’s guardsmen insisted on accompanying her as well. At first she did not think it necessary, but later she was grateful for their protection. The moment she walked outside the castle gates, she felt her husband’s absence sharply. She hadn’t realized how safe he made her feel. Without the shield of his presence, the world suddenly seemed more ominous. Silly, she knew. She did not fear an attack—not during the day at least—but the memory of MacDougall’s visit was fresh in her mind.
Tor had taken precautions, however, and a permanent guard was positioned in the village.
In any event, the satisfaction of doing something useful more than made up for any apprehension she might feel. As she sat on thebirlinnbeside Brother John to return to the castle, she was glad she’d gone and vowed to do so again in the coming days.
