And yet, Laura could not keep her mind directly upon either the food or the merry discourse going on all around her.
Standing at the far corner of the room, guarding the main doors, was Bruce Duncan. He loomed like a shadowy giant, blocking passage to any who might do his lord and master harm. However, he didn’t hold himself with the same aggressive assurance that she had seen him show on previous occasions. Then, he had seemed to be more of a stern guardian figure, moving with an effortless power that was truly terrifying. Now, he was rigid, full of tension, and inflexible when he moved to allow servants or maids into the room. If he was a big black eagle before, it was now as if his wings had been broken.
“Laura?”
Blinking, Laura looked at her brother. He was watching her oddly, clearly confused.
“Begging yer pardon, Brither?” she asked.
“I was tellin’ his lairdship that ye enjoy riding. That perhaps ye would show him about the castle estate tomorrow?” Henry frowned, a sure sign of disapproval.
For how long had she been distractedly staring at the towering black-haired guard?
“Oh aye!” she agreed with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. “Me sincere apologies, I was lost in me own thoughts for a wee bit. Laird Halkerston, I would very much enjoy showing ye around. There are fine examples of rich greenery that never fail to put me in a good mood.”
“Then a good mood ye shall have!” Laird Halkerston decided. “Let us arrange it for say…noon tomorrow? And after that, we might sit and discuss future plans after that over a mug of ale or mead?”
“I might want to be there to sit in on that too, if it’s all the same to ye,” Henry said before glancing sideways at his sister. “Laura?”
“What? Oh, aye! Perfect, indeed.”
The rest of the meal went smoother, but it was impossible to stop looking at Duncan out of the corner of her eye. Every shift of his weight, every breath that seemed out of rhythm, she noticed it all.
By the time the nuts and fruit were brought to the dais, Laura had attempted to rationalize her little obsession. Sure, the man had ridden into the village with her, and they had made merry together at her brother’s wedding some years back, but the strange compulsion she felt to seek out his figure with her eyes all the time did not warrant the way she felt inside.
She could not afford to have such a fixation affect her future relationship with Laird Halkerston, not after Henry had gone to all this trouble to arrange the match. Laura vowed to pay closer attention to the conversation happening on the dais.
When it was suggested that Laird Halkerston be shown to his chambers and relieved of his social duties, Laura could not help but notice the way Bruce disappeared out the doorway and three new guards suddenly poured into the room. They accompanied their laird, guided by Henry, to the west wing of the castle where chambers had been prepared for the guest of honor.
Fortunately for Laura, Duncan had chosen to take the back stairs that the servants used, and it was easy to catch up with him before he followed the little group around a corner.
“Mister Duncan?” She grabbed hold of his shirt sleeve and tugged him around.
“M’Lady,” was all he said, saying the one word with the same degree of affection and interest of a rock. He did, however, sketch a shallow bow. Laura was frustrated. Why was he treating her as if they were strangers again?
“I have to ask ye, sir…” She did not know where to begin. “Have ye been injured? Every time I keek at ye, I see ye’re pale and lack agility.”
She so badly wanted to reach up and stroke his short dark hair.
For what seemed like a long moment, he looked down at her. Laura tried to read the expression on his face, but the green eyes were as impenetrable as ever.
“I took a spill off Maegli, me horse, on the way over here.” The beast’s hoof plunged into a burrow hole hidden in the snow.
Instinctively, Laura took hold of his arm. “Are ye sore? Hurt?”
He shook his head and gave a deep laugh. “It’s been many a long year since I used those words to describe a couple o’ bruises, lass.”
“Show me,” she demanded.
To her surprise, the man obliged her. Standing on the back stairs landing with the flickering light of one torch in the sconce, Bruce casually shrugged the wolf pelt cloak off his shoulders, pulled his arms out of his plaid wool coat, and tugged the shirt off one side after casually untying the thin cotton string fastenings. Laura had attended the Highland Games, so she knew what a man’s torso looked like, but this one surpassed them all. To her astonishment and delight, she got to run her hands over the smooth skin of his chest, her fingers stopping when she reached the ribs on the right side. There was a deep gash and a dark purple contusion. She gasped.
“Ye must visit the village healer at once!” she cried.
He was pulling the shirt back over his arms already. “Nay, lass, I’ll no’ waste me coin on such a scratch.”
The only way she could reach him was to appeal to the one part of him that cared not for himself but for others. “What will I tell yer sister if thatscratchturns green and ye cannae work no more, sir? The healer in the village does nae charge, ye ken. Me brither keeps him on a retainer for all our lads.”
“In that case,” Bruce Duncan replied, “I will be sure to ride down there again just as soon as Laird Halkerston gives me leave of duty. But only on one condition…”
