The pieces fell into place slowly. Perhaps the cold toil of the journey had seen his mind freeze over into something clunky and fatigued. But the pieces eventually fell into some semblance of understanding.
The angel with the long light brown hair cascading down her back… Only a true maiden would be allowed out in public with her hair on show.
Angus excused himself to see to a clattering noise in the kitchens along the way.
The woman dressed all in green, who had ridden into the courtyard with such energy and grace, with the beauty of a fairy queen, was the young woman over whom Laird Halkerston was laying claim. It hardly seemed fair. The lady could not be more than twenty years old, at the most, while Laird Roy Halkerston would not see fifty again. It must be nice to be a laird and win such a prize.
Well, at least the reason for the long journey is now clear,Bruce thought as he dropped his coat over the back of the chair and tested out the cot. He ran his fingers through his thick black hair.
Forget riding so many leagues over the rough terrain. Men would cross oceans for a woman as bonny as that.
3
It was hard to sleep, knowing she would be meeting her future spouse the following day.
Laura tossed and turned beneath her sheets, frustrated whenever her nightgown twisted about her legs or one of her long braids got trapped beneath her shoulders. Every minor irritation seemed to have been specially designed to keep her awake and agitated.
Finally, she heard the rooster cry heralding the dawning of the new day even though it was still dark outside. She wrapped a warm woolen shawl around her and went to sit by the hearth in her dressing room after throwing a fresh log on the embers.
As the flames rose to light up the room, she was reminded of the tall man she had seen in the stable courtyard. The thought of him made her warmer than the stoked fire.
Why are most of the men in the world destined to fade into the background while other men—too few in my experience—seem to dominate the people and space around them?
Maybe it was nighttime musings, but Laura knew full well that the memory of the man with the furrowed brow and shoulders so wide he would be able to throw a small bullock over them and not stagger was what had stopped her from sleeping. Putting his height and girth aside, the warrior’s green eyes seemed to have the ability to look deep inside her. He was a grim man, not prone to smiling or even acknowledging a smile, and yet his presence had touched her to the core.
Laura did not like the thought of her mind being so easily distracted. She gave herself a stern shake and summoned her maid to come and dress her by giving the bell rope a hard pull. It was too early in the morning. A sleepy pageboy came to tell her that none of the female servants had yet woken.
Laura was forced to dress herself or languish in bed with her thoughts. The bustle of her riding habit was not difficult to put on, but lacing up the stays presented more of a challenge. Laura was enviably slim, small-waisted with pert breasts and narrow hips; the ribbons holding her stays tightened around her torso easily. After tying the garters above her knees and slipping on her riding boots, Laura walked downstairs.
Her destination was the stables, which meant the only people to see her would be the occasional servant or night guard. Why be so concerned with her appearance? Laura never bothered much about her long, thick tresses, usually throwing her hair back, allowing the wind to whisk the ringlets behind her as she galloped over the hills. The thought that she would have to cover her hair when she was married crossed her mind, but it seemed such a long way off it did not have the power to make her ponder about wifely restrictions.
Hurrying through the castle so that she might reach the outdoors before servants were roused from their slumber, Laura was momentarily surprised to see the main doors to the castle pulled shut. Throughout the day, they stood open and inviting, but of course, Laura mused, they would be kept closed in the twilight hours.
There was no need for the doors to be bolted. Their epic size and heavy hinges made them impossible to open by a single individual. Yet, having come this far, a sense of rebellion turned Laura irrational, and she pressed her palms to the wood. Bracing her feet, shoring her strength, and pushing hard against the door, Laura felt the door give a little under her strenuous effort, but the panels did not budge.
Taking a moment to breathe heavily, Laura let her arms fall and assessed her options. Recalling that there was a door to the outer courtyard in the servants’ wing of the castle, she abandoned the front doors and headed that way. This time, the external door she was confronted with was significantly smaller. And louder.
As she pushed the portal open, the hinges squealed with protest, and the wind answered the call. It shot in through the narrow gap, whipping Laura’s cloak about her and stealing the warmth from her cheeks.
Shivering, she pulled her cloak tight, readjusted her gloves, and hurried out into the paved stable courtyard. As her ears turned bitter cold and started to sting, Laura lifted her hood about her head. She didn’t need to see to work her way through the stable barn. She knew each stall and every horse that was kept within. She knew which horses were nervous and which ones were sweethearts, guaranteed to give her a gentle ride. There was no need for her to light a lantern or torch. The sun still rose late in March and would be a good many hours after the sixth bell after midnight rang before the sunlight would be strong enough to gild everything with an edging of silver.
By running her fingers over the wooden stall gates and counting, Laura knew when she had reached the stall of her favorite mare. Laura unbolted the stall gate, feeling for the halter. She smiled, liking the way the animal seemed able to communicate without words. After the chattering ways of people, it was peaceful to be around a creature that didn’t need to break the silence for no reason.
Patting the horse’s neck and moving to lead her out of the stall, Laura froze as a dark shadow loomed over her.
“Wh—”
“An’ what are ye doing here snooping around?” a deep voice inquired behind her.
Laura pivoted on her heel and put her hand out instinctively. She touched the flat hard surface of a muscular stomach. It was like running her fingers along one of the standing stones that dotted the surrounding hills encircling the castle. Half magic, half wonder.
How can one man be so tall and immovable?
She needed no light to tell her that the dark-haired warrior with the green eyes was standing in front of her. For one wild moment, Laura wished he was not wearing his shirt and short coat so that she might get to feel his muscles on a more intimate level. With every breath she took, the man’s presence seemed to intoxicate her. There was a faint fragrance of ash and lye soap wafting up from his skin, but the smell of hard riding, metal weapons, and a man dedicated to the industry of a soldier was what made Laura catch her breath with desire. Her fingers moved up to his chest to the wolf pelt cloak covering his shoulders, finally falling to her sides.
“I’m a lady of the castle,” she whispered, not wanting to wake the grooms who slept above the horse stalls in the hay.
As soon as she mentioned her identity, the man grew still. The prowling energy that he'd worn around him like a cloud when she had first seen him in the courtyard seemed to evaporate. His hand reached out to grip her wrist, and when his rough fingertips felt her soft skin, he relaxed, and the heavy breathing of a man about to launch himself into combat disappeared.
