Choosing the Highlander (10 page)

She could listen to him talk for days. His brogue was thick but understandable, sexy in the extreme. Even sexier was the intentionality of his speech. He struck her as a man who thought before he spoke.
 

His father had gone to university. Did that mean Wilhelm had too? She had never given much thought to advanced education in medieval times, but here was an apparently well-educated warrior, a man as smart as he was strong.
 

“It’s a nice name,” she said.
 

His only response was a brief glance and maybe, unless it was a trick of the candle light, a flush of extra color across his cheekbones.
 

“Why Constance?” he asked after a while.
 

She smiled at the playful rise of his eyebrows as he mimicked her question. “My mother says it’s a family name, but I’m the only Constance I know in our family. Maybe it dates back to previous generations.”
 

He didn’t ask about her nationality. Instead, he finished washing her in silence. After wringing out the washrag the last time, he slipped into his shirt and left without a word.
 

Feeling suddenly very alone, she dressed by the light of the candelabra.
 

A few minutes later, a knock sounded at the door. Heart lifting, she rushed to open it, but found only Anselm with a tray.
 

“Your supper,” he said.
 

“Thank you.” She took the tray and watched him retreat down the hall. She had hoped it would be Wilhelm, come to kiss her again. Or perhaps to spend the night.
 

As she closed the door, that lonely feeling returned. It was longing, she realized. She longed to be with Wilhelm.
 

Eating her oatmeal, this time served with cooked carrots and some kind of leafy herb, it occurred to her he hadn’t interviewed her as he’d warned the day before. He had given her a reprieve.
 

She ought to prepare what she would tell him about herself when he finally did ask, but all she could think about was his hands on her and his fingers massaging away the smoky evidence of her near death experience. His shimmering eyes, his strong jaw, his undeniably masculine scent.
 

Heavens. She was in a world of trouble.
 

Chapter 8
 

Wilhelm spent a fitful night in the dorter attempting and failing to ignore the most painful arousal he had ever experienced. Bathing Constance had been his personal heaven. And his worst hell. Because no matter how he lusted to take her, he could not. Not until he knew he could give her the life she deserved.
 

That was why she must come with him and Terran to Inverness. Her testimony would help justify their slaying of Ruthven’s guards. Personal testimony was always given more weight than written, and he didn’t ken yet whether Constance could write. He suspected she could. The lass struck him as highly educated. He would not be surprised to learn she’d attended university.
 

There was just one thing that must be done before they set out, and that involved his cousin and Aifric. Wilhelm finished his morning grooming and wended his way to a part of the abbey that had become familiar to him. ’Twas an otherwise unoccupied wing where Anselm had set aside neighboring rooms for the women.
 

“Good morn,” he said, easing open the door to Aifric’s room. It was dark inside, as were all the rooms along this interior corridor, but his candles provided light to guide his steps.
 

It came as no surprise when the light fell on Terran, sound asleep in the bed. ’Twas improper for him to be here, but neither he nor Anselm had seen fit to chastise him. They both recognized the miracle of Terran finally finding a woman he wished to claim.
 

Terran had the bairn swaddled between his arm and side. Aifric lay on the other side of the wee bundle, her hand resting on her child. Terran’s head was bowed so that even in his sleep he pressed his forehead to his beloved’s. A bonny family they made.
 

Aifric stirred and opened her eyes. She started when she saw Wilhelm, as though embarrassed to be found in such a compromising position.
 

“Easy, lass. No one here judges you.”
 

At his words, her creased brow smoothed only to crease again when she strained to sit upright in the bed. Wilhelm moved swiftly to help her. “Allow me,” he said with a hand at her back. She weighed next to nothing.
 

He knew naught of Aifric save her parents were cottars on Ruthven’s land and she had been imprisoned at the baron’s order. Wilhelm’s father had never enacted his right to punish sins such as fornication so severely, but not all lairds were as merciful as his father. Fortunately, neither were all lairds as vile as Ruthven.
 

Kenning the black-hearted baron and what he was capable of, Wilhelm suspected he had been the one to get the bairn on the poor lass. And he doubted Aifric had done aught to encourage his attentions. Why else would Ruthven trouble himself with the affairs of his cottars if not to destroy all evidence of his indiscretion?
 

Likely, Terran suspected the same, but they had refrained from speaking of it. “How do you fare?” he asked as he rumpled a blanket to support her back.
 

“Not too poorly,” she said in her soft voice. “Anice is taking milk, and she slept the whole night.”
 

“Anice. Lovely name.”
 

Aifric smiled. “Terran helped me choose it.” Though purple shadows cradled her eyes, they shone with happiness.
 

Wilhelm glanced at his cousin. “Did he sleep the whole night?”
 

She breathed a laugh. “No. Every time I woke, ’twas to find him watching over us.” She bit her lip and cast a fond look at Terran. ’Twas clear the affection between them went both ways.
 

He hated to drag Terran to Inverness and away from his new charges. It occurred to him that he might make the journey with only Constance for company, but no. Terran would never hear of it. His duty was to protect the future laird of the Murray.
 

Heavy hearted, he said, “Would that I could give him more time to rest, but we must be off as soon as possible. I’ll return him to you safely, lass. I vow it.”
 

Aifric nodded. Her chin dimpled as she struggled not to show her sadness.
 

“The time will fly. You’ll see.” He grabbed Terran’s foot and shook it.
 

His cousin moaned. “Too early. Go away.”
 

“Have ye forgotten what today is?” Wilhelm said.
 

Terran’s brown pressed together. His eyes popped open. A grin spread across his face as he looked first to Wilhelm then to Aifric. “Nay,” he said simply, and he sat up to lay the tenderest of kisses upon Aifric’s lips. “Today we will be wed.”
 

“Aye,” Aifric whispered. All traces of sadness vanished from her as she beheld her groom.
 

They pressed their foreheads together again, as they had been in slumber. Terran held the bairn secure in one arm, a natural father. The sight warmed Wilhelm’s heart and multiplied his longing for the woman in the next room. He lusted to lay eyes on her, but he must see to Terran
first. The man was hopeless in his grooming. ’Twould take at least an hour to make him presentable.
 

“Come, cousin. Let us prepare you for your bride.”
 

While Terran and Aifric said their temporary goodbyes, Anselm carried a laden breakfast tray into the room. “I thought the women could break their fast together. Wake Mistress Constance, would you?” He set the tray down and began pouring the tea.
 

It seemed he would have the pleasure of laying eyes on Constance after all. He went to her room and rapped on the door.
 

There was no response.
 

The lass must be sleeping soundly. Since there were no bars on the doors in the abbey, he pushed it open and stuck his head in.
 

“Constance,” he said. “Are you awake, lass?”
 

She didn’t answer.
 

He had left the candles in Aifric’s room and couldn’t see much in the dim light from the corridor. Remembering where the bed was, he went to it in the dark, thinking to touch her bonny hair and mayhap wake her with a kiss on her cheek.
 

He found the edge of the bed and felt for her warm form. All he found were cold blankets. She was gone.
 

His heart lunged into his throat. “Anselm!”
 

The abbot came running.
 

“She’s gone. Have ye seen her?”
 

Anselm shook his head. “Nay. I’ll ask the others.” He turned and hurried toward the dining hall.
 

Wilhelm ran in the other direction, toward the nearest door to the grounds.
Curse you, man, why did you nay sleep in front of her door to prevent her from fleeing!
 

What a fool he’d been. He had not even attempted to ask her again where she hailed from. Her origins had seemed less and less important the more he imagined her as a permanent fixture in his life. If she had run away in the night, he might never see her again. He hadn’t even the faintest notion where he ought to begin searching.
 

He burst through the door to the cloister and pushed his legs to carry him as fast as they could toward the stables. If a horse and saddle were missing, he would mount up and ride after
her. She was still healing from injuries and had no business taking to the wilderness alone. She had no business fleeing from him. Did she not ken by now she was safer by his side than any other place on God’s green Earth?
 

“Where’s the fire?” someone called from the direction of the garden.
 

He stopped his mad dash and turned to find the speaker. The small plot within the cloister was used mostly for herbs. It lay largely fallow for winter, but the monks had dedicated a few rows to winter vegetables. Yesterday, Wilhelm had helped them transfer young kale and radish plants from the glasshouse. There amidst the fresh green leaves knelt Constance. She’d wrapped herself in a blanket from her bed.
 

Relief sang through him.
 

“What are ye doing, lass?” His voice cracked unbecomingly. He cleared his throat and willed his racing heart to slow. “When I didna find you in your bed, I feared you’d gone.”
 

She stood from where she’d been kneeling. He glimpsed her lower legs and her bare feet as she let down the hem of her shift. He lusted to wash her again to free her creamy skin of the black specks of earth.
 

“I didn’t mean to worry you. I woke early and wanted to watch the sun rise.” She glanced toward the east with a pensive expression. Hugging herself, she stared out over the meadow where the monks let their sheep graze. Her breath fogged in front of her. “I noticed the garden and it seemed like a peaceful spot. I’ve always liked growing things.”
 

He didn’t ken what to make of her tone. Was it sadness he heard in her voice? Why should she be sad when she had been so near to death and had been saved?
 

She had a new beginning. She should be joyful.
 

Careful of the plants, he strode to her. He was about to tell her to go inside and get warm, but a heaviness to her manner stayed his tongue.
 

“Lass?”
 

He held out a hand to her, inviting her into his arms, but she didn’t heed the invitation. Instead, she hugged herself tighter.
 

After the trust she’d shown him yester eve, her rejection stung.
 

“My parents never kept a garden. All our food was prepared by our chef.” She scoffed a bitter laugh. “I had never even been to a grocery store before until I went to college.”
 

“Once I bought my condo, I was finally able to have my own garden. There was a grassy, fenced-in area, and I took a great deal of enjoyment in removing the sod from a sunny corner and planting some annuals.”
 

He didn’t ken what a condo was, but she didn’t give him time to ponder it. “I love salad, so I started about twenty tomato plants from seeds.” She smiled wistfully as she went on, leaving him perplexed as to what a
tow-may-tow
was. “I planted them in little cardboard cups with such care and wrapped them in cellophane to keep them moist. I set them on a sunny windowsill every morning and made sure they were warm every night. Seeing their tiny little delicate stems sprout up made me so happy. I would come home from work excited to see how much they’d grown. They would twist and lean toward the sun like little reaching hands.”
 

She sighed, a heavy sound.
 

His heart melted for her, though why she was so distraught he couldn’t guess.
 

“When they were about six inches tall, I moved them outside to the little patch I’d cultivated. I planted them one weekend and put a tent of plastic over them to protect them until the weather got warmer.
 

“That Monday, when I got home from work, I went out to check on them, and they were gone. All gone.”
 

He felt her despair, wondering at it. She was speaking about plants. And this story had the feel of an event long past. Why she told him these things, he couldn’t guess, but he sensed truth in her words, a truth that ran as deep as mineral veins in the earth.
 

“There were little footprints all around and ragged tears in the plastic. Mice, an exterminator told me. Apparently, they crave the water in the plants. I hadn’t known. I could have put netting around them to keep rodents out, but I’d never dreamed my plants would get eaten.”