Giric’s heart pounded a hectic warning as his fingers trembled. The vision of the woman in the field had shaken loose a brick in the foundation of his plans. His quest to avenge his father’s death had been only a dream in the back of his head these last few years, but now that he had a chance at finding justice, it consumed him, and he was reading into things that weren’t there.
That girl from the inn had perished with his father. He had seen her remains as remnants of the burned inn smoldered behind him. Perhaps smoke from the campfires had filtered into the part of his brain that couldn’t let the past go. She was not here. This lass in the field couldn’t be the girl from that fateful day.
Taking a deep breath, he turned toward the camp and vowed to focus on something else before anger consumed him. It was time to check on his squire, who had set a tent among the legion of others in attendance.
He wanted to make sense of what he’d glimpsed. Why had it affected him? Obviously, seeing his enemy’s son had triggered an avalanche of despair and rage, along with images long buried. Feelings he’d managed to push away after his aunt, Ermengarde de Beaumont, the queen consort, had brought him into her home to live.
Since then, he’d become a trusted knight and guard of King William of Scotland. That confidence was what found him here in England now. Not to participate in the tournament, but to see what he could learn of their host.
The English evening fell sooner than that of a Scottish one in June. It had grown dark by the time he marched back into the great hall, intent on his royal mission. He was to determine if Lord Yves’s loyalties lay with King Richard, who was off fighting for the crusades instead of leading his country, or John, who was rumored to be attempting a rebellion against his brother’s administrators in the king’s absence. His host’s lands were at a strategic point in the north of England, and the baron’s loyalties would disclose for King William what kind of neighbor he had.
The feast was nearing an end, and it appeared the tables were being pushed aside to make room for dancing. After circling the hall a few times with no sightings of his mysterious host, Giric determined the man had retired or was taking care of other business. Music began, and he turned to make his way up the stairs to his room. Exhaustion from the journey and the enormity of his tasks beat at him.
He froze as familiar blue skirts swished into his vision. He followed them upward to see a fair face with a headdress similar to the one from the form in the field. Her bow was gone, but he was fairly certain she was the archer. The woman swiveled to enter the space where the dancers gathered. He lost sight of her for a moment. Propelled by curiosity, he stepped onto the dance floor. A strange pull drew him toward her.
Guests circled for several moments before the music brought them together. He positioned himself so that she would be forced to partner with him. Their eyes met first, but she gave no sign of recognition, only a bonny smile in polite greeting. He had been a good distance away on the field.
When their hands touched, energy sizzled through him. Her eyes flared as if she’d been shocked by it too. He was mesmerized by her eyes, brown irises that surrounded large, dark pupils. No, that really didn’t describe the color—the deep earthen shade was like a late night’s embrace that promised sinful pleasures.
Her breath hitched as they slowly twirled, hands connected. Somehow, this common dance felt elicit and charged. Then they parted, but from the side of his vision, he saw her neck crane to follow his movements. Had she sensed something as well, or had he stared at her too intently?
Being in King William’s court, he’d learned to dance well. His aunt had summoned him on many occasions to help her teach proper movements to some of the younger lasses at court. He could perform most of the courtly dances in his sleep, but no partner had ever caused his nerves to ignite in recognition.
The dance brought them back together. “Do ye always sneak off during a feast to practice with yer bow?”
Her eyes widened, and he knew he’d guessed correctly. It took her a moment, but when she recovered, she smiled. “Only when the guest list leads me to believe men who would spy on an innocent woman would be present.”
He laughed, and they parted again.
When the music aligned them again, their hands met once more, and he noticed how dainty and soft hers were. “What if that knight was only trying to see to yer safety?” Not all men of his station were as chivalrous as they ought to be, but he hoped in offering her that bit of information, she’d give him some clue as to who she was.
“I think my skill speaks for itself. If you had come closer, you might have seen just how accurate I can be.” Her eyes twinkled.
“Ye would no’ welcome an emissary from King William more warmly?”
Before she could answer, a slender woman with long brown hair stumbled into them, then righted herself and apologized. Giric recognized the Scotsman who had flung the lass their way as a member of clan Ross. Nearby, one of the Sutherland twins seemed to resist the urge to reach out and pull the bonny lady into his arms.
Why would they be here? The rivals were most likely up to mischief, a distraction Giric could not afford. He steered his partner away from the feuding pair and the lass who had captured their attentions.
Then they separated again.
Moments later as they glided back toward one another, the scent of the summer breeze and fresh air came with her despite the close confines and crowd in the hall.
“I would not give my trust to anyone from Scotland before learning who they were.”
What did she have against his home? He’d bet she’d never seen its beauty if she was so mistrustful of Scotsmen.
Her cheeks were red from exertion, or possibly it was this English heat. Even though they were near the border, the air here was not as temperate as that of the Highlands. And he now felt obliged to defend his homeland in her eyes.
“Then might I suggest a walk in the gardens? With yer aim, gaining yer confidence may be the only thing that saves my life.”
She giggled, but then her brow furrowed just the slightest bit as she appeared to think over his proposal.
“I promise ye would be safe in my company and with so many about. I would no’ do anything to dishonor you, my name, my king, or my country.”
She remained silent. He thought she might refuse him. Perhaps she had a jealous suitor who would not take kindly to him wishing to spend time with her. Now that he’d seen her fair face, he wouldn’t blame a man for holding tightly to such a lovely lass. He was presumptuous, but he had to know more about her. She was quiet for so long that he was about to make his excuses and turn to go when she nodded.
“I agree. But only for a short amount of time. You must rest for the jousting tomorrow. Have ye come to compete for the top honor?”
“Nae. But if ’twould win yer favor, I might change my mind.”
Her cheeks reddened.
“You would be a lucky man. This is my first time attending a tourney, and I have never given anyone that honor.”
The music paused, and they bowed.
The lass met his regard, and she began, “Shall I lead the way? I inspected the gardens upon my arrival.”
“I have no’ seen them yet, so I would be pleased to follow.” An unfamiliar thrill blossomed in his chest as she led the way.
Jennet paused at a table to pick up a goblet of wine. The glass was almost as much to keep her hands busy as it was to quench her thirst. She found herself wanting to take the Highlander’s strong palm and inspect the warm calluses she’d felt as they’d danced. He was a comely man with blond hair and eyes a shade darker than the blue of forget-me-nots that bloomed in the fields near her family’s home.
There was something comforting about the Scottish knight, but she couldn’t figure out why. In her short years of living in the Highlands, she’d never met a knight. Thinking about that time sent a shiver down her spine, so she took a large sip of the wine to banish the unwanted memories. Lord Yves had exquisite taste. The drink was bold yet smooth and left warm berry flavors lingering on her tongue.
“This way,” she said as she ducked around another guest and toward the door.
The knight followed. “When did ye arrive? Ye seem to ken yer way around.”
His words were warm, like a blanket wrapping her in his soothing, lilting tone. She’d taken the chance on escorting him to the gardens because she honestly just wanted to listen to his deep voice.
“We arrived two days ago, so I’ve had time to explore.”
“Who’s we?” His head tilted.
“My brother and I.” Their traveling group was larger than just the two of them, but that didn’t seem important.
“Och, I dinnae ken yer name.”
“You haven’t given me yours either, sir knight.” She let her regard travel to the side to meet his as she gave him an amused smile.
“’Tis Giric de Beaumont MacDonald. And I’m pleased to make yer acquaintance, fair lass.”
“De Beaumont? That sounds familiar.” She rolled the name over in her mind.
“’Tis the queen consort’s birth name. She is my aunt.”
Jennet heard the pride in his tone.
“That explains why you are trusted by King William. He is known as William the Rough, but he bears a lion on his banner. Which is it? Is he brave or ruthless?” She teased, but she was genuinely interested because she’d learned a lot about politics to help her father and Edward manage their lands.
“He can be a bit of both. A just and compassionate leader,” he answered.
She knew King Richard’s father, Henry II, had taken the Scottish king prisoner at one point. But that was old history, and Scotland currently had a treaty in place with King Richard, even helping to fund the crusades. It would make sense that with Lord Yves’s connections, Sir Giric would come to learn if the king’s brother might be as cooperative with Scotland if the talk of rebellion was true.
They stepped out into the night air. It was refreshing, almost crisp, and if they weren’t sheltered within the walls of the castle, she imagined there would be a strong breeze. It was late and the evening had grown dark, but torches lit the open space, mingling patches of light with their surroundings. The sight made her think of a childhood game where she would hop out of the shadows in an attempt to scare her father. But that was so long ago, before he became frail. Still, a lingering nostalgia inspired the magic and innocence of youth.
“What is yer name?”
“I still can’t be sure it’s wise to share such information with a man from Scotland.”
She laughed, but it was only partly in humor. In addition to the scars she bore from her youth, she liked the idea of anonymity and being able to converse with another freely. After learning who she was, most men would progress the conversation to a topic she wasn’t willing to discuss. Other barons and earls had started to question her father’s absence from events. Fears of what would happen to her family should the truth get out had plagued her for years.
“If the king can trust me, I think ye can.” Though his tone was playful, she thought she detected a bit of hurt pride.
“Ah, but he’s your king, not mine.”
She guided him to the formal garden, where the music of a minstrel floated through the air. It appeared several people had sought the beauty of the flowers and a view of the stars. Under one of the torches, a group of people gathered, listening to the strains of music. She found herself not wanting to share her knight’s company with others.
“Do ye trust Lord Yves’s judgment? He believed me safe enough to invite me into his home.”
“I’m not sure his assessment is sound. After all, it appears half of England is present.”
“So ’tis no’ only my country ye disparage?” He laughed. The hearty sound was pleasing, and she found herself wanting to hear it again.
“I spread my distrust fairly. This way.” She motioned to a secluded spot where, although it was darker, she knew there was a bench. She’d sat on it yesterday and studied the design of the garden.
She eased onto the solid wood, and he followed. “Ye have made it a challenge for me to earn yer favor.”
“Then perhaps you might wish to rethink your participation in the jousts.”
“Nae. I’m here for the melee.” His regard seemed to drift then as if he were trying to decide what flower was on the rose bush.
“Then how are you to know you have earned my trust if I can’t bestow a gift upon you?” What if he had interest in a different lass? “Unless there is another lady you wish to woo?” She held her breath, waiting for a reply.
His attention returned. “My thoughts have been on other concerns. I’ve never sought the favor of a lass, but ye are convincing me that perhaps ’tis time I change my ways.”
She took a sip of wine and was thankful the dimness of the evening had wrapped the castle grounds in its embrace. Surely her cheeks had pinkened with the heat that crept up her neck. It wasn’t so much his words or the thought of the flirtation she’d started, but because it was not typical of her to be so bold.
He was easy to talk to, and she found their conversation flowed as readily as the wine at the feast. Words were leaving her mouth before she could collect her typical reserve. Perhaps it was that he didn’t know her family or that he’d seen her with her bow and not judged her. The anonymity afforded her freedom she’d never had.
“Giric.” She liked the sound of his name. “What do you think of a woman who sneaks away from the crowd to practice archery? Most men frown upon it.”
“I find it intriguing. Ye had great form, and ye seem to have an ability with it. ’Tis a skill many men even struggle with and something ye should be proud of.”
She thought she heard true admiration in his words.
“You are trying very hard to earn that favor.”
“Is it working?” His smile was genuine; his straight white teeth almost gleaming through the shadows.
“Ye may have to take up a lance to find out,” she challenged.
A burst of laughter from the assembled crowd broke through the air. Her gaze moved that way, finding Eddie and Ada had joined the revelry. He would put a guard on her if he found her alone like this on a secluded bench with a man. She needed to escape before he saw her. Despite connecting for the first time ever with a man in a way that made her want to linger, Jennet stood to leave.
“I must retire for the evening.”
He rose. “Can I escort ye back to yer… Are ye here in the caste or lodging elsewhere?”
She left the question unanswered as she caught the movement of the crowd starting to disperse. “I must go. I know my way. Thank you for the conversation, Sir Giric.”
His regard turned to the crowd, then to her. “At least honor me with yer name.”
“You have made progress, sir knight, and though I have enjoyed your company, I still don’t trust so easily.”
She thought he would protest, but something stole his attention. When he stiffened, she took the opportunity to move farther into the shadows and toward the interior of the castle. “Have a good evening, Sir Giric.”
“Where will I find ye?” he asked, only giving her half of his attention.
“I’ll be touring the village tomorrow, and then ye will find me watching the jousts.”
His face darkened toward whatever he was studying, but he nodded. She turned and rushed through the yard before her brother could see her. Anticipation shot through her at the thought that the comely knight might seek her out tomorrow.