Laura sighed with relief. “Oh aye, sir. Ask anything of me ye like.”
“Call me Bruce, lass. The auld laird is right—I’m nae a gentleman.”
And with those words, he bent his head in a quick nod and strode upstairs, three steps at a time.
5
Who would believe the sad young girl from the wedding reeling would turn out to be such a beauty? I’m happy for the lass that she has found a way to cheer herself up, even if it is by marrying a cocksure weasel-like Halkerston.
Bruce often thought of Laura as he went about his duties. The wee slip of a girl was determined to stay as his friend, and he was honest enough with himself to know she had been right about his injury, but he wanted to warn her. Old Roy was not the sort of man who would accept his future bride being too friendly to his soldiers. Still, Bruce was far more comfortable now that the village healer had covered his wound with fragrant unguents and wrapped it tightly with wadding.
He would lace a hard leather cuirass around his torso in the mornings, which made the McKay brothers laugh and say he looked like one of those ancient Roman warriors Lady Boudica had driven off her lands. Bruce ignored them: the cuirass supported two of his ribs that the healer had assured him were cracked.
Looking around the hall, Bruce had planted himself at the best vantage point. Close to one corner and beside the kitchen doors, he was able to assess both the food and drink brought into the hall and the people that mingled about it. The rest of Laird Halkerston’s guards had spread out to the door the same, given the large number of guests.
Apparently, even in the short time Laird and Lady Henderson had been masters of the land, they had made quite a name for themselves. Built connections, attained friendships, and generally drawn themselves into the politics of the land. Either that or Laird Halkerston’s friends were less travel-shy than he and had made the journey far faster.
If Bruce Duncan had been asked his opinion, he would have said that all this talk about betrothals and weddings came too fast. He had a feeling that Laura would not be one of those women who would go meekly into the halter. Rumors were flying that Henry and Roy had struggled to bring the young lady to heel. She was digging in her will over a couple of the settlements, wanting to retain a certain degree of her freedom after the wedding as far as money went. True to form, Halkerston was outraged at the suggestion that any wife would want to set aside a portion of her own gold for herself.
His role as a guard meant that he would often catch a glimpse of the lady as she went about the castle, but whenever she caught his eye, she would blush, give him a tremulous little smile, and then scurry away like a frightened kitten. What could Bruce do but sigh; he scared off so many females with his huge muscles and fearsome height. He remembered the way she had stared up at him as he walked up the stairs a few days back. Lady Laura’s big gray-green eyes had haunted him since then. Sometimes, he was not even sure if he was awake or asleep when he saw those eyes flicker into his consciousness like twin pools too deep to penetrate.
He wanted to thank Lady Laura for her kindness and consideration. He was comfortable enough at nights for sleep, and his days were so busy he hardly had any time to register the pain.
Bruce caught up with her early one morning. Unlike most others in the castle, Laird Roy Halkerston included, the tall man knew the young woman’s fondness for riding out alone before chapel mass or breakfast.
“Good morrow, Lady Laura.” He was standing in the darkness in the stables, but it was not to take her by surprise. He had been waiting by her mare’s stall since coming off night watch at midnight, leaning with his back against the wooden panel, dozing lightly until he heard the soft padding of her riding boots come closer. Once again, her little hand reached out for him in the dark. When she felt the leather cuirass under her fingers, she knew it was him.
“I should have kent ye would travel with such a practical piece of armory with ye,” she remarked, pointing to his cuirass, and he could tell from her tone that she was happy to speak to him again. “How many cows had to die for it?”
“I should guess no more than around a dozen, lass,” he answered, a deep laugh rumbling in his chest. “How can ye crack a joke so early in the morning?”
It was as if they were destined to be friends. No matter how much time passed, they would fall back into the easy way they had of conversing with one another. “Truth be told, Bruce,” Laura said as she helped him saddle up her mare, “I was pleased to see ye wearin’ a cuirass. It will hold yer ribs firm an’ protect ye from further injury, heaven forbid.”
So, she had gone to the village healer after his visit to inquire about his injuries.
“Did ye ask the apothecary about me out of curiosity or to make sure I obeyed ye?” he wanted to know.
He felt her give his arm a little poke. “A wee bit o’ both if I’m to be honest.”
They led their horses out into the courtyard together, where they could see in the light provided by the torches affixed to the castle walls. She turned to him but put her hand on his arm to delay him from helping her into the saddle. “Seriously, Bruce, please take care o’ yerself. I was nae playing when I reminded ye about yer sister.”
Her words had a strange effect on him. She was the only person outside of his village who worried about who would care for Alice if anything happened to him. The plague had taken their parents from them so quickly, Bruce sometimes felt as if childhood had been torn from him and replaced with the concerns of someone three times his age. He lifted Laura into the saddle as if she were a porcelain doll, saying in a gruff voice, “I think about me sister every day, lass. I thank ye for yer kindness.” He wanted to tell her so badly that it wasn’t a matter of caring for Alice—every villager would step forward to do that—but it was the costly ingredients for her elixirs. They came by ship from the lands of sand to the south and cost a fortune, but they were the only things that could keep her out of pain and relatively comfortable.
He sprung into the destrier’s saddle so she wouldn’t see the way his eyes glittered in the torch flame. They trotted out of the main gates and onto the lane in silence. Without warning, she guided her mount off the road and through the fields. The rough ground was hard, but he could feel the thaw had started by the way Maegli’s hooves sank in.
Only when they had cantered a good way from the castle did she rein in her horse so they could speak. “Will ye do me a kindness, Bruce? Can we do this together every day?”
He wanted to repay her in any way she wanted but raised one eyebrow at her request. “Sure, lass, why no’. Although I must warn ye that me duties sometimes span the night and morning. Is there no other sprightly fellow willing to accompany ye?”
She shook her head. “Laird Roy is nae very sprightly, is he?”
He was not sure if it was another of her jokes, so they rode on in silence once more.
When they returned to the stables, the early morning light was gray. She gripped his wrist before he could go back to the barracks. “Remember yer promise, Bruce. That ye will ride with me?” Her small hand was damp with dew, and her eyelashes and cheeks had a slick of dreich on the surface. She smelled like wet flowers after a summer rain.
He could not say no to her and knew this was not just because she requested it. Bruce Duncan took great comfort from being close to this unique young woman, something he was not yet ready to admit to himself.
“Aye, lass, I’ll always be there for ye. Just as ye were for me.”
