“The lady will have it no other way,” one of the hands replied. “Lady Laura is so fond of riding, ye see. She never goes a day without ordering her horse to be saddled, and when she visits villagers and neighboring chieftains, the laird says—”
Whatever the lady’s pastimes and errands might have been was lost in the solid clattering of horseshoes on the cobbled courtyard.
There was a flash of brilliance, a swirl of color, and suddenly an angel seemed to have entered the stable environs. The female rider was even more beautiful than the horse she was riding. Her long light brown hair fell down her back in a river of ringlets, and her piercing gray-green eyes seemed to sweep over every man as if summing him up with one quick glance. When her gaze swept over Bruce, for one split moment, there was a connection, a recognition, but maybe it was his imagination because, after a beat, her eyes moved on to the next man. She seemed to be fearless and at ease, the demeanor of a confident young woman that could be seen from the upright straightening of her slim back and the regal tilt of her small chin.
“M’lady!” A groom, still too young to be able to hide his ardent admiration, jumped forward to grasp the reins for the young woman. The mare flung back its head and stamped one hoof. “Ye’re back sooner than ye said.”
The horse’s nervous energy showed the woman’s ride had been short. The lady kicked her foot out of the stirrup and accepted the hand the young boy was holding out to her for the dismount. When she touched the ground, the first thing she did was ignore all the men around her to check on her horse. “Good girl,” she cooed, stroking the mare’s nose. “I swear I will make it up to ye on the morrow when we will ride like the wind,” she said, and fed the horse an apple. Only after the groom had led her horse away did the woman pay any attention to the men.
“I saw we had visitors, so I returned,” she said, glancing at the muddlement of horses and men.
Several of the scouts in Bruce’s party were gaping at the beautiful young woman, but admiration for pretty females was not high on the scout leader’s list of priorities.
Instead of joining them, he beckoned forward a gentleman in kilted livery. Assuming the approaching figure to be Master Angus, Bruce decided it was safer to focus on food and a bed than it was to leer at the laird’s wife. He had heard Lady Arabella Munro was a beauty, but he had not expected someone so…ethereal. And for some unknown reason, his memory had stirred when they had locked eyes on one another.
A laugh, however, had Bruce looking back over his shoulder as he strode toward the castle.
The sound, like bells, was sweet and pretty. Like soft water rippling over stones, they had already blended into softness. The lady truly looked and sounded like an angel. She was smiling and laughing at the antics of one of the horses as it nodded its head, refusing to be led away by one of the grooms. Bruce ignored it. It was probably Roald’s horse; the animal was spirited and stubborn. He looked over his shoulder to check that Roald was helping the castle grooms to calm the animal but saw that the scout was gaping at the lady with ardent admiration. He should be helping his brother at the smithy, not passing the time of day with one of the ladies of the castle, but in this case, Bruce could not find it within himself to judge his friend. The girl was truly exceptional.
Bruce only glanced back for a moment, but as fate would have it, the angel with the long light brown hair was looking across at him at the exact same moment as she paid no heed to the slavish compliments the other men were uttering all around her. Their eyes met once more, their gazes locked. Bruce watched as the smile upon the woman’s face faltered, and a puzzled expression replaced it.
He looked away.
It wasn’t the first time a woman had been unsettled by his presence. Even with the expanse of the courtyard between them, Bruce’s size and barbaric appearance, while exceedingly pleasing to the fairer sex from far away, was often too intimidating in the flesh when he was close enough for them to imagine him in bed with them. Even bawds and strumpets would tremble when they contemplated his size and strength. Bruce Duncan was a force of nature, more giant than man.
“Ye are Laird Halkerston’s men, I understand?” Master Angus asked, finally within earshot of greeting. The soles of his boots clipped the stone with each hurried step as he approached, reaching out a hand in friendship. Bruce clasped the man’s forearm in the Highlander’s greeting.
“Aye. We go back to his lairdship’s encampment on the morrow to escort him back here.”
“Och aye, aye! We received the lairdship’s message a week ago to say the same. Come. We have quarters for ye. Please follow me. I trust one of the pageboys has already shown ye the washrooms?”
Bruce was canny enough to see that Angus was clearly a man of scholarship over weaponry. Angus wrinkled his nose at the musky aroma permeating the air around Bruce. The scent of horse, saddle leather, and hard riding hung about the huge warrior. He led him to the barracks on the southern face of the castle.
“I am sure Lady Munro will be most excited for Laird Halkerston’s arrival,” the man wittered excitedly as they moved inside and along a narrow corridor.
The hallway was lit by carefully placed windows, so there was no need for torches. On the left side were wooden doors, each leading to a bunk room that would house four men. Though made chilly from the evening breezes, each chamber was furnished with fresh linen waiting to be spread over a bolster, and bowls for washing.
“The kitchen has been told to lay out a large basket o’ bannocks and butter for ye,” Master Angus explained, as he offered Bruce the only room that was private. In lieu of three other cots, there was a small desk and chair with writing implements readily available. “Mistress Jenkins has kindling in the kitchen and more oil for the lamps to help ye see in the dark if ye should need to visit the privy during the night.”
“Me men ken no’ to drink to excess, Master,” Bruce said in his deep voice, “but I thank ye for the help.”
Bruce had slept on mountainsides and in snowdrifts. A little frost on his lashes when he woke in the morning was no concern.
“Please tell me if there is anything yer comfort desires.”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “Why has the lady commanded the scouts be treated so nobly?” he wanted to know.
“Ye’re connected to the laird and therefore seen as an extension of him. I’m treated well here, even though I’m only the laird’s second cousin removed on his mither’s side. I needed a duty of some description and work to fill me days and was tasked with guiding and providing for the guests.” Angus drew himself up properly and set his shoulders wide. He still stood as a piddly thing against Bruce’s bulk, but it was easy to see the man took pride in his work. “I wouldnae have been given such a nice post if I didnae hae the luck to be born blood of the Munros. Hence, I repay them as best I can by doing a good job.”
Bruce did not reply, but after glancing about the room, he could see the place showed every sign of a woman’s touch—and a lavish budget. Especially for soldiers’ quarters. “I have no doubt it took a pretty penny to spruce the place up so nice,” he remarked.
He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but the man heard him all the same.
“Oh aye, sir. Your laird will be lucky if Lady Munro favors him.”
“Lady Munro?” Bruce frowned, dropping his heavy traveling cloak next to the desk. “I thought Lady Munro were yer laird’swife?”
“Och!” Angus blinked. “Nay, sir. ’Tis Lady Henderson who holds the bloodline here. So they are Laird and LadyHenderson,with Lady Munro being the laird’ssister. It is she who is to marry Laird Halkerston, at least we hope, she being comfortably rich and not pressed into marryin’ unless the man is to her taste. That was Lady Laura Munro in the courtyard by the stables now.”
