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“Haste ye back!” Gavin called, lifting a gnarled hand in farewell as Collin, Quinn, Moireach, and I turned our horses away and left the yard.
I fell into line between Quinn, out front, and Moireach, lagging behind, with Collin riding beside. Because of the late hour, Collin had asked them to stick closer to us on the ride home. The sun was no longer visible, but neither had dark come upon us yet. As I’d learned during our travels from England to the Highlands, summer here was different, the daylight some two hours longer, due to our northern location. It wasn’t just my imagination that made each day feel like it lasted forever.
But today had gone too fast, and I felt reluctant to take leave of our delightful and amusing hosts to return to the confining walls of the castle, and possibly Brann. Earlier I had suggested to Collin, in private, that we might stay the night.
Collin had not deemed it wise to linger. Our escorts for the day were long overdue to return to their families and other responsibilities. And now that we had confronted Brann, he felt we needed to pursue that course of action— before Brann formulated some other plan to be rid of us. I think we both had no doubt he had been away doing just that. But while I would have been content, for the night at least, to ignore and avoid that threat, Collin wanted to meet it head on.
Taking the lead now, he increased our speed from a canter to a gallop, glancing back at me as he began. “Can you ride faster? Dark will eventually come, and I’d just as soon be in our room when it does.”
“I can,” I assured him, kicking my heels into the side of the mare. This morning I had relished our brisk ride, but now I felt exhausted. Soap-making required significant labor.
Eithne had assigned me the task of taking a paddle to the large kettle, stirring and scraping continually so that the fat would not boil over. Initially I’d believed this the more agreeable of the duties, as I’d watched her unload the meat scraps and lard Gavin had collected and cut and mash them before adding them to the pot.
If I’d believed the smell bad before, it was nothing to what she had to face, working with animal fat that was who knows how old. The steam rising from the kettle into my face wasn’t exactly pleasant either, and I began to understand my stepmother’s reasoning for putting soap on the “to be purchased” list of household goods.
Around four o’clock Eithne had finally declared the concoction done, at which point I’d felt done in as well. My arms— both of them, for I had traded off stirring with each— had never felt so sore. I would be fortunate to be able to lift them enough to put on a clean shift tonight.
But I had treasure in my basket to show for my efforts. The batch I had stirred still had to sit overnight, but Eithne had let me help her finish what she had begun the day before. I’d used the last of my arm strength to grind dried lavender with mortar and pestle, and this we had mixed in before pouring the soap into molds. The two bars she’d given me to take had still to cool completely. I’d never felt so proud of anything I had made.
A sense of accomplishment and even exhilaration always accompanied a completed painting, but there was something different and satisfying about having created something useful. I only hoped I’d have the energy to draw a bath and make use of the soap tonight.
“You look a mite more puckled than poor Gavin.” Collin slowed Ian’s horse to keep pace with mine. Apparently I wasn’t moving as fast as I’d believed. I felt a bit guilty at this. Collin, Quinn, and Moireach had to be tired too, having labored in Eithne’s garden all day, catching up on all that she and Gavin could not possibly manage themselves.
“Don’t you mean plucked?” I asked. When Gavin had used the term this morning, I thought I’d either heard him wrong or perhaps it was a joke between he and Eithne.
Collin shook his head. “That would be a chicken. Do you feel like one who’s been caught and had your feathers pulled?”
“Caught and plucked clean.” I giggled, for some reason finding this amusing. I squawked like a chicken and urged the mare to go faster.
“Maybe I shouldn’t let you ride on your own.” Collin steered Ian’s horse closer as sporadic bursts of laughter continued to spurt from my mouth.
“Maybe tomorrow I shall learn to make quills with all those feathers.” I laughed harder.
Collin cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. “How much did you drink today?”
“A lot. Of water. It was terribly hot out there at the fire.”
“You’re certain that was all?” Collin didn’t sound convinced.
“Of course.” I sat up straighter and twisted in my seat to better look at him. “We agreed to only water while we are here. I keep my promises.”
“I know that. I’m sorry, Katie.” He sounded sincere.
“It’s all right.” The giggles had fled as quickly as they had come. “No wine, no touching.” No joy. Today had been a brief and welcome interlude from the heaviness of our lives. “I’m tired is all, and I’ve the tendency to become giddy when that happens. Anna and I used to see how late we could stay up. We believed we needed to practice, so that when we were old enough to have a season and attend balls, we would be used to staying up all night.”
“Did that work? Were you used to it?” Collin’s tone was mildly curious, and I wondered if he had somehow forgotten that there had been no season for me. No balls or late-night parties of any sort. I’d attended a few events with Anna prior to her wedding, but by then my role was that of the older sister, and it was not required that I flit about and socialize at all hours of the night.
“It worked for Anna, perhaps, but not for me. I never made it much past midnight without getting a fit of giggles. We would both be laughing so hard, we’d be crying, all tangled up in the curtains of the bed, bouncing around like a couple of children.” I could almost feel the bed beneath me now, instead of the plodding horse.
“I can see that in my mind,” Collin said. “Can imagine that along with laughter, you are given to bouncing and other boisterous activities when in a bed.”
I snapped my head around in time to catch his grin.
He is teasing again. Teasing Collin was the Collin I adored most. If only he would appear more frequently. Being privy to the sparring match between Gavin and Eithne today might have inspired him.
I continued my story. “I would laugh until I simply couldn’t anymore, and then the next thing I knew it would be morning.” I smiled to myself, lost for a moment in the pleasant memory. “It’s probably a very good thing I never had a season. I can just imagine it now— I’d start giggling during a dance and would either offend my partner or have him thinking that I was raving mad.” I closed my eyes, imagining for just a moment, and a second later felt the jerk of my head as it bobbed in sleep.
“That’s it. You’ll ride with me.” Collin leaned closer, pulling back on the mare’s reins as he ordered Ian’s horse to a stop. “Quinn,” he called. “Will you come take this beast and lead it with you back to the paddock? Katherine isn’t fit for riding at present.”
“I am too,” I argued only half-heartedly as Collin transferred me in front of him and wrapped his arms securely around me.
Quinn circled back to us, then led the mare away.
“There now,” Collin said when Quinn had moved away from us once more. “You can lay your head back against me and sleep if you’d like. I’ll not let any harm come to your basket of soap cakes.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, grateful for this new arrangement. “Isn’t this considered touching? I don’t want to break my promise and make it difficult for you.”
Collin snorted. “I think I can keep my desires in control while seated upon a horse.”
“You desire me?” I’d never heard him put what was between us in those terms before.
“You know I do,” Collin said, a bit of a growl in his response.
I accepted his invitation to rest and leaned back against him, snuggling into the warmth of his chest. “I desire you too,” I said sleepily.
“It would be easier if you didn’t.” A definite growl this time.
“Why?” I turned to look at him.
“I would never force my intentions upon a woman,” Collin said. “But you’re so... willing.”
Yes, I was. And becoming more so by the minute, as it seemed, was Collin, given the way his hand lingered over my stomach, his fingers splayed, caressing in a manner that threatened to make me go mad.
“Shouldn’t a wife feel that way about her husband?” I asked. “It would seem most unfortunate if desire did not run both ways.”
“I have no idea how it should be between a husband and wife,” Collin said. “My mother lived perhaps minutes after our birth— not long enough for me to ever know her or to observe her relationship with my father.”
“Did he ever speak of her?” I asked.
“Aye.” Collin’s chin rubbed against the back of my head as he nodded. “Only in terms of the greatest reverence. He never remarried, never considered it, that I was aware of. It was plain he loved her very much, even to his dying day.”
I’ll love you until my dying day. “That is terribly romantic.” I sighed dreamily, lulled to a state of utter contentment and bliss in Collin’s arms.
“It’s tragic,” he returned sharply, startling me fully awake. “For a woman to die young, without even knowing her children, for a man to spend his life alone. There is nothing of romance or fantasy in that.”
“No. You are right.” I sat up straight and leaned away from him. “I’m sorry. I only meant that your father’s enduring love was—”
“I know what you meant.” Collin wrapped an arm around my middle once more and pulled me back against him. “Sleep, if you can,” he said gruffly. “It will be another long day tomorrow, and I need you to have your wits about you if we’re to enjoy a longer life together than did my parents— or yours.”