My True Love (29 page)

Anne’s gaze was intent on Juliana’s face. Stephen saw a curious resemblance in the moonlight. Both women of strength. Perhaps Anne was less biddable and certainly more fierce, but there was a connection between them. Or perhaps he wished only to see it.

They left the chapel finally. In the moonlit bailey, Anne let loose his hand, staring as she twirled in a slow circle as if she wished to imprint everything about the castle in her mind.

He had never told her how much Langlinais meant to him. She’d somehow known. What he felt for the ancient fortress was in his blood, was in his very breath. He was the direct descendant of men who had died to protect it.

It did not take much imagination to envision a day in the past, a moment of its glorious heritage. The bailey was awash in sunlight. A horse, as black as the crows that perched in the nearby trees, pranced in anticipation. His bridle and harness were adorned with shining silver, his saddle dotted with the same metal insets. His rider effortlessly controlled the large horse, even as he smiled with the same exuberance. His grin flashed as bright as the armor he wore, silvered chain mail that stretched from neck to wrist and ankle, topped with a sleeveless crimson tunic. His sword belt was heavily embroidered in red and silver, and the weapon it held bore a ruby embedded in the center of its hilt.

A knight as great as any of Stephen’s childish wishes.

He turned and stared at the fire that consumed his home. They had expected of him a perverse elegance in his surrender. Instead, he had delivered to them his birthright in the only way he could.

He wondered what Sebastian of Langlinais would have said to his idea of surrender. He could not help but think he would have approved. Templar or Parliamentarian, four hundred years ago or today, mailed armor or Puritan garb, they were still invaders.

Anne walked toward the bridge as he turned and glanced up at the east tower. Perhaps it would last another four hundred years. But he would not be here to steward it.

One day, perhaps, a child might well stand here and look about him at a weed-choked ruin. He might wonder at the people who’d lived here before, the men and women who’d inhabited this place. He would never know of Sebastian and Juliana and a host of men and women culminating in him.

He was the last of his line, the last Langlinais man, and he stood and paid homage to not only the past, but the future that must surely come.

The dawn sky promised it.

They followed the bend of the river for about a quarter mile to where it was shallow enough to cross on foot. There Richard and the others waited for them.

There were thirty of his regiment who had chosen to come with him.

“What happens now?” Anne asked.

“Now we take you home to Scotland,” he said.

At her look of surprise, he only smiled.

“I’ll go with you, then,” Richard said.

“Wouldn’t your abilities be better used here?” Stephen asked, frowning. “The army would be grateful for your healing talents.”

“I am serving the army quite well, my boy, if I but shield Penroth’s troops from Hannah. I should garner a pension for my efforts,” he said. “Besides, I’ve grown fond of the woman. I’ll let her whittle her teeth on me instead of your young bones.”

“Someone should have clubbed you over the head long ago.” The voice that threatened such bodily harm belonged to a tall woman who stepped out of the shadows. Her blond hair shimmered in the moonlight, her face was attractive. But it was her frown that captured his attention. It was equally bestowed on Richard and him.

Hannah. Strange that he’d never met her in all this time.

The older woman continued to study him. Almost as if to reassure herself he was real.

“I would not choose to be clubbed by any one but you, dearest Hannah,” Richard said, bowing over her hand. Stephen raised an eyebrow at the courtliness of his friend’s gesture. An intriguing woman, he thought, as they exchanged looks. But her enmity to him was difficult to understand.

She did, however, allow Richard to assist her in mounting her horse. As she did so, he looked over at Anne.

“I think your friend dislikes me.”

“She doesn’t dislike you, Stephen,” she said calmly. “She simply does not trust you.”

“Why?”

“First because you’re male,” she said with a smile. “Secondly, because your name is Stephen.”

“Would I be more favorably received if I were named Harold, then?”

“Yes,” she said surprisingly, and laughed.

It was all the answer he was going to get from her. He knew that. Even if it made no sense.

His hand reached out and cupped her chin, feeling the sharp line of jaw, the softness of her skin. His fingers spread out and touched her throat. Her hands gripped his wrist.

Then she startled him again by reaching out and kissing the back of his hand, bringing it to her lips in a gesture of supplicant or worshiper. His knuck les were warmed by tender lips. The shadow of her lashes on her cheeks completed the picture and stole his breath from him.

“Anne.”

“I despise being afraid,” she said. “A Sinclair is not supposed to be a coward.”

“I’ve soldiers who are not as intrepid as you.” His smile was sudden, amused, and real. “How are you a coward?”

Her look was direct, allowing for no guile or restraint. “I thought you were going to do something stupid and noble.”

“You are not the type to weep into your handkerchief are you, Anne?”

“Because you let the Parliamentarians have you? No,” she said, as if she considered the answer. “I’m afraid I would be more like Hannah and wish to club you.”

It was not the time for laughter, he thought, but he was grateful to her for it.

Chapter 25

“I
f you will just roll with the gait of the horse, Hannah,” Richard said, “it would be much easier for you. Just roll with it.” He made an exaggerated movement of hunching his shoulders, bringing them forward, then arching back. A demonstration of what he wished her to do.

“I do not roll, Richard,” she said, her tone one of ice.

She would have liked to think that the journey back to Dunniwerth was being made slower these past days because of the number of cavalry that accompanied them. But in truth she was not up to a canter. She had been quite brave in even mounting one of the beasts again. Even so, a slow walk made her ribs ache, a fact that she’d managed to hide from the others. Richard, however, had an uncanny ability to see through her determined cheer. Even now he was looking at her as if judging the extent of her discomfort. Silly man.

“Truly, Hannah, your look would singe my eyebrows off. Expend the same amount of ire on your horse, and you’d have him tamed in no time. As it is, you will probably bounce all the way to Scotland like that. You look like a mushroom bobbing up and down.”

“Dare I ask what part of the mushroom I resemble?”

“Why, the entirety of it, of course,” he said. “The way your hair shoots straight up in the sky and back again is the top, and your skinny legs are the stem.”

If she’d had a musket, she would have shot him.

“My legs are not skinny. Besides, you are not to look. My skirts are perfectly proper.”

“It is true your legs are not skinny, Hannah. But your gait is better. You’ve settled in quite nicely.” With that, he tipped his hat and made his way to the head of the troop.

“I hate that man. May God forgive me, I hate that man.”

“He, on the other hand, mistress, is exceptionally complimentary of you.”

She glanced out of the corner of her eye. The earl rode close to her. He was dressed as soberly as any Puritan. The twinkle in his eye, however, did not belong with the plain clothing.

She had spoken few words to him over the last three days, but she had watched him carefully. His men appeared to hold him in great respect. He commanded with ease and with fairness. Added to that the fact that Betty had a great fondness for him, Muriel an adoration, and even Richard praised him. A man of great charm.

To be fair, he had, for the last few days, been unfailingly polite to her. Before he had ever met her, he’d provided for her comfort, her care, opened up his home for strangers. A man of great nobility.

A man without a home, who no doubt had a price on his head at this moment. A man who, from the talk she’d overheard, had angered a king.

A dangerous man.

It was all too obvious that Anne adored him. They thought they had been so circumspect. A fool could have intercepted the looks between them. The problem, as she saw it, was that there was no clear resolution. He had never talked of the future. Nor had Anne.

Why had she herself fallen in love with a man she should not have? Why did she look now at a man with red cheeks and bright white hair and feel a warmth around her heart? Perhaps because it was meant to be.

“What does he say about me?” she asked. Her words were a capitulation, even if the man at her side was unaware of it. Her gaze was on Richard, who was riding far ahead of them. He was chatting quite amiably with one of the soldiers. That was the problem with Richard, however. He appeared quite friendly just before he let loose a verbal dart.

“He says you have lovely skin and the most delightful shade of hair. He put me in mind of a Cavalier poet, mistress. Despite his protestations to the contrary, Richard has a great deal of the courtier about him.”

“Have you known him long?” A part of her, a more fair and equitable part, chided her for asking Richard about Stephen and Stephen about Richard. However, the first inquiry had been for Anne. These questions were strictly of a personal nature. For her benefit alone. It would aid her to know the character of the man who so bedeviled her day after day. And made her smile so often.

“Most of my life,” he said. “My mother named him my godfather, a role for which he was unprepared. Not because of his aptitude for it,” he said, smiling, “but my father’s antipathy to him. He thought that physicians and earls had nothing in common, let alone the rearing of his son.”

“Do you?” He glanced at her. “Think that physicians and earls have anything in common?” she explained.

He grinned at her. “More than my father would have imagined.” His gaze rested on Richard, and his grin faded to a fond smile. “He is a fine man,” he said.

“He says the same of you,” she said.

“Perhaps we should gather in a group and exchange such pleasantries,” Stephen said, smiling. “It might save a good deal of time.”

“I confess to not being the type for idle chatter,” she said.

His sidelong glance was filled with amusement.

“You sound like Richard when you say that,” he said. “I have noted that your temperament seems similar.”

She frowned at him. “He says I remind him of a she-goat.”

His laughter surprised her and made Richard turn from the head of the troop where he rode and send an inquiring smile in her direction. She simply turned her head and looked away. Silly man.

When they rested for the evening, Richard came to her.

“Will you walk with me, Hannah?”

She was weary enough not to grumble at him. She walked beside him in the faint light. The Scots called it the gloaming. A sweet word for a lonely time of day. They sat beside a stream. The air was warm with a hint of summer. New leaves were uncurling on the tips of branches. From somewhere came the cry of a bird, a melody joined in and repeated loudly. In front of them was the beginning of hills, but even those were touched with a mantle of green.

“My home is a comfortable place,” Richard said. He frowned down at the stream before him. “Even though there has not been a mistress present in seven years, it has had the touch of a housekeeper. I’ve found that women know better about the arrangement of furniture and things.”

She slanted a look up at Richard, who stood beside her, his hands clasped together behind his back. He had a habit, she’d noticed, of rocking on his heels. She wondered if it was because he’d been aboard ship all those years.

“Do you miss it?” she asked suddenly, interrupting his speech.

He blinked at her.

“Miss the sea,” she explained.

“I was sick for a good two weeks at the start of every voyage. Why would I miss it?” He tone was irritated, his look decidedly so. She shrugged and went back to her survey of the countryside.

“I’ve a good profession,” he continued, “even though I practice it less and less these days. I’m a wealthy man. Did I tell you that story?”

“Many times,” she said dryly. “I’ve no wish to hear it again. You are to be congratulated for your tenacity and the earl for indulging you in your dreams.”

“It was hardly that,” he said. “The silver added to his wealth, also.”

“What do you think he feels for her?”

“For who?” Once more, she had the decided feeling that she was goading his temper. Since Richard had done the same to her on more than one occasion, she didn’t feel dismayed by it in the least. “Sometimes he looks at her in a certain way,” she said, “and I wonder if he feels something for her. Then his face becomes blank, and he looks away.”

“He’s a very private man,” Richard said. “One can surmise all sorts of things from his silence. Pride,” he continued, with a sharp look at her, “is a very delicate thing in a man.”

“Too delicate,” she said. “More damage has been done to the world because of men’s pride than any single reason.”

“And women are not to blame?”

“We mop up the mess, Richard, and tend to the wounds and care for the sick and bear the children. We do not cause the problems.”

He raised his eyebrow at her. “Then we should not call you women,” he said, “but rather angels. And count ourselves lucky that you consort with us mortal men at all.”

“It
is
a sacrifice,” she said with a smile.

He frowned at her. “My needs are modest, but my income is more than enough to provide for extravagant tastes. I have invested some of the money from the ship and set aside some for my children in the event of my death. But there remains a goodly amount to fritter away if I’ve a mind to do such a thing. I’ve thought of adding on a room for flowers and plants to my house.” He looked over at her. “Women like such things, don’t they?”