Highland Protector (11 page)

Suddenly his hand was at the back of her head holding her in place. A soft groan escaped him and she captured the sound of frustration and desire in her mouth. Ilsabeth was just slipping her arms around his neck to fully savor the deep, hungry kiss he was giving her when she felt him tense again. This time she pulled back, not wanting to suffer another of his abrupt retreats.

“Nay,” she said, and started toward the door. “I will be the one to run away–this time. Good sleep, Simon.”

Simon stared at the door for long moments after it had closed behind Ilsabeth. She saw him too clearly. That, he decided, was not a good thing. He doubted any man wanted a woman who could see him clearly.

She had it right, however. He did run away. He pulled her close, gave himself a taste of the passion they could share, and then ran for the hills. The fact that Ilsabeth knew he did actually brought the heated sting of a blush to his cheeks and he had not blushed since he had been a beardless boy.

“She isnae Mary, ye great fool,” he muttered as he filled his goblet with wine.

A nudge at his leg drew his gaze down to Bonegnasher and he slipped the dog a piece of roasted venison. “There are many reasons I should stay far away from her, my old friend. Many, many reasons.”

Bonegnasher rested its head on his thigh.

“But, when I sort through it all, the biggest is that, if I grab what I want, I fear I will never want to let go. Mary’s lies cut me to the bone but it wasnae just her; it was all the other lies and betrayals that happened at that time. I fear that Ilsabeth could do so much worse with naught but a simple smile of regret as she walked away from me and left me all alone.”

After kissing the children good night, Ilsabeth started to leave only to have Reid pull her back to his side with a soft whisper of her name. “What is it, laddie?”

“It was verra good of Sir Simon to do what he did for me and Elen, aye?” said Reid.

She sat down on the edge of his little bed and gently brushed the hair from his forehead. “It was verra good of him. He is a verra fine mon.”

“If he is so fine then mayhap ye and him would get married and Elen and I can stay with both of ye. And the cat and Bonegnasher.”

And that was something she wanted so badly she could taste it, but she would not raise the child’s hope. It was difficult enough to keep her own hopes under control. “I wouldnae set my heart on that happening, loving.”

“Ye dinnae like him? I mean as a lass likes a laddie?”

“Oh, I like him, but when one is grown, liking isnae enough. Let it be, Reid. What happens will happen nay matter how much any of us want it or dinnae want it. Dinnae forget that I am in hiding and Sir Simon is trying to find proof that I am innocent of what I have been accused of. ‘Tisnae a time to be thinking of anything save getting that proof and getting my family free to go back to Aigballa.”

“I ken it. ‘Tis a nice thought, though.”

She laughed softly, kissed him on the cheek, and left to go to her own bedchamber. Ilsabeth moved to the window and stared out at the small moonlit garden at the back of Simon’s home. A large part of her wanted to confront the man right in his bedchamber and try to take what her body ached for. That would be bold indeed. Yet, another part of her feared that even then he would flee and her heart would break.

Reid’s wish was now embedded in her heart, strengthening the one that was already growing there. Ilsabeth could see it all so clearly, her and Simon wed, Reid, Elen, and their own children by their side. It was a dream that filled her heart with joy but her mind, that part of her that could see beyond the haze of desire in her eyes, was not so certain such a dream could ever come true. Simon Innes was the man her heart wanted but she was beginning to fear that his heart was way beyond her reach.

Her heart pounding so fast it hurt, Ilsabeth crept through the shadowed alley running between the cooper’s shop and the butcher’s. She had donned her nun’s attire thinking that it would keep her safe, as it had during her journey to Simon, while she went in search of some healing herbs. Poor Elen’s throat was sore and Ilsabeth needed something to ease the child’s pain, if only to get the child to go to sleep. Such a simple little chore. Ilsabeth did not understand how it could have gone so wrong. At least she had the herbs, she thought, and hastily swallowed the insane urge to laugh. The very last thing she needed to do at the moment was crumble beneath the weight of her fear.

It was all the fault of that foolish mongrel, she thought as she reached the end of the alley. If the animal had not been trying so hard to tear her skirts to shreds, she would not have turned around to find herself staring right into the shocked face of one of Walter’s friends. Worse than that, it had been one of the very few who had seen her more than once. The man had even called her by name. Ilsabeth had babbled something she could not recall in French, yanked her skirts out of the dog’s mouth, and hurried away. She was not surprised that the man had begun to follow her for she had acted in a way that would rouse anyone’s suspicions.

As cautiously as she could, Ilsabeth peered into the street. Simon’s house was almost visible but she could not reach it without crossing the street. From what she could see in the fading light, the man hunting her was not on the road, but that did not reassure her much. Taking a deep breath, she touched her wimple to make certain it was still straight, and then crossed the road. Ilsabeth did her best to walk as if she had no cares yet fast enough to get out of the road as swiftly as possible, praying every step of the way that she would not hear that man’s voice hail her again.

The moment her feet touched the ground on Simon’s side of the road, Ilsabeth gave up all pretense. She quickly looked around and then dashed into another alley. She was going to have to get to Simon’s house by the back way. For once, however, luck was with her, and she made it to the kitchen door without anyone else seeing her.

“Here now, lass, just what are ye about?” demanded Old Bega as Ilsabeth stumbled into the kitchen and hastily shut the door behind her. “Ye shouldnae be outside and weel ye ken it. Ye promised Sir that ye wouldnae leave the house.”

“Actually, I dinnae believe I e’er actually promised that.” Ilsabeth collapsed onto the bench by the old scarred table. “I needed to fetch something that will help to soothe Elen’s throat. Such things as a sore throat can easily turn deadly, ye ken.”

“Aye, I ken that weel. Lost two bairns to it.”

“Oh, I am so sorry.”

“T’was years and years ago. As for wee Elen, I think she has just been talking too much.”

Ilsabeth laughed as she removed her wimple. “That could be the truth of it. Talking
and
laughing.”

“And ‘tis a lovely sound to hear those two bairns laughing. That it is. But, himself is going to be verra angry if he kens that ye left the house. Did anyone see ye? I mean, see ye and ken who ye are?”

“Weel, one mon saw me. One brief look he got and I could see that he wasnae sure. He has only seen me a few times in the past.”

“That would be enough, lass. Ye cannae hide them eyes.”

Ilsabeth did not understand what the woman meant, but she did not argue. She may have known Old Bega for only a week but she had quickly learned that one did not argue with the woman. It was akin to banging one’s head against a very hard wall. She reminded Ilsabeth of some of the women at Aigballa.

The thought of her home made her heart ache. Her family was still scattered and hiding, the only good news being that the soldiers did very little hunting for Armstrongs. Ilsabeth knew what soldiers could do to a place they had captured, however. Even if they did not destroy it, they would strip it clean of all valuables, food, and drink. Aigballa could easily be no more than a desolate wasteland before her family could return to it. At the very least, the loss of supplies could mean they suffered badly come the winter. She shook aside thoughts of home and tried to fix her mind on her current problem.

“Aye,” Old Bega continued, and Ilsabeth realized the woman had not stopped talking while she had been lost in her thoughts, “if he discovers ye were out and that some fool may have recognized ye, weel,” Old Bega shook her head, “I wouldnae want to be ye when he gets home. Nay, I wouldnae.”

Ilsabeth prayed that her little foray remained a secret and then got up to make a soothing herbal drink for Elen.

Simon frowned as the usual whispering around the court suddenly increased. He looked toward the man who appeared to have started it all. A tall, thin man with wild red hair, his long arms waving about somewhat dangerously, stood talking to Hepbourn. Curious as to what the excitement was about, even though he knew it could all be just because some fool was seen crawling out the bedchamber window of some other fool’s wife, he moved a little closer to two women who were talking with their heads close together. Their postures implied that they had something they both considered important news.

“Sir John is absolutely certain it was her,” said the brunette who Simon thought was Ida Chisholm, Sir Donald’s maiden sister. “Sir Walter isnae certain he believes the mon, however. But can ye imagine if ‘tis true? A murderess! Here!”

A chill went through Simon but he forced himself to remain still and quiet. He needed to hear more. Ilsabeth could not possibly be so foolish as to go where she might be seen and recognized. Since her arrival at his home he had been so consumed with trying to prove her innocence and fighting her allure there could well have been a new crime committed that he was unaware of. The king certainly would not have interrupted his search for traitors just because someone was murdered.

“But, Ida, why would she be dressed as a nun? Isnae that blasphemy?” asked Morag Beaton, a pretty young woman with blond curls who Simon knew was sweet but somewhat witless. “Father Maclean will be outraged when he hears of this.”

“Morag, that doesnae matter. What matters is that the woman is a murderess, she killed that sweet boy Sir Ian Ogilvie, and she is running free in our town. Why, we could wake to find that she has cut our throats.”

“Ye cannae wake up if your throat is cut, Ida.”

If Simon had not become so knotted up with fear and anger, he knew he would have laughed, especially since the younger woman spoke with utter seriousness. “If ye will forgive the intrusion, m’ladies,” he said, stepping closer and bowing to them, “might I learn what news is this that near all here are so excited about?”

“Why, ‘tis news of that Armstrong lass, Sir Innes,” replied Ida Chisholm, giving Simon what she must have believed was a flirtatious smile. “Sir Ian Graham is claiming that he saw her right here, in town, right out upon the road. Aye, met her on the street, he did, and she was dressed as a nun.”

“Is that what the mon is saying? ‘Tis a verra strange tale.” Simon was a little surprised that he sounded so calm, even mildly amused, when inside he was raging with so many different emotions he doubted he could name them all even if he wanted to. “Why would the woman come here, right within the reach of those who hunt her for the crimes of murder and treason?” It was a question he was aching to ask Ilsabeth.

“ ‘Tis said that she plots to kill our king so wouldnae she have to come here so that she could get close enough to him to do it?” asked Morag.

“That is something to consider, Miss Beaton,” replied Simon. “Yet, with her plot already discovered, I cannae see what she would hope to gain by coming here. She has to ken that she would ne’er get within striking distance of our liege. That is, assuming that she is a killer and a traitor.”

“Why do ye think it is an assumption? Her dagger was found in that poor man’s heart. The lass isnae right in the head, is what it is,” said Ida. “None of those Armstrongs are.”

Simon found he was certainly questioning Ilsabeth’s sanity at the moment. “I have no proof save for the dagger and I didnae see her use it, nor does it make sense to me that someone who is clever enough to plot against our king would be foolish enough to leave her dagger in the heart of the mon she killed.” He was pleased to see both women frown in thought and decided it was past time to start working harder at sowing some doubt around the court. “I believe I shall go and speak to Sir Ian myself. If ye will be so kind as to excuse me, ladies?”

With every step he took toward Sir Ian and Hepbourn, Simon fought to get his emotions back under tight control. Telling himself that Ilsabeth would not try to flee without the children, and there had been no mention of them, did not help much. He wanted to go home immediately to make certain that she was still there. And, if she was, he was seriously considering chaining her to the wall.

“Ah, Sir Simon,” hailed Hepbourn. “Just the mon we need to speak to. My friend here”–Hepbourn hastily introduced Simon and Ian–“claims he saw Ilsabeth right here in the town and dressed as a nun.” He laughed and shook his head, but Simon could hear a false note in that laughter. “I cannae see why she would e’er come here, can ye? Nay right into the lion’s den.”

“I tell ye, it was her,” snapped Ian. “A mon doesnae forget eyes like that lass has, nay once he has looked into them.”

No he does not, Simon silently agreed. “There is naught here for her except the gallows. It makes no sense for her to come here and then go about the town as if none would see her, disguise or nay.”

“There, Ian, isnae that what I have been saying?” Hepbourn patted the other man on the shoulder.

“Then why did she run away from me?” asked Ian.

“Ye probably frightened the poor lass. Nuns are e’er afraid of men.”

Simon had the strongest feeling that Hepbourn did not believe a word he was saying. That could only mean that Hepbourn was not sure if Ian was right or not, but was determined to divert the man’s attention. All the reasons Simon could think of for the man to do that were bad ones. Nevertheless, he joined in the game. His objective, however, was to divert both men and as soon as he did he was headed home to either hunt down Ilsabeth or strangle her, or even both.

“I find it difficult to believe the woman would come into the very heart of the enemy,” Simon said. “Whether she is guilty as accused or nay, she would have to ken that she is being hunted and, if caught, might not be given any chance to prove her innocence.”