Another Man's Bride Page 9

  She had made, despite the odds, an excellent match and one she could not afford to lose. She did not think she could bear to set foot in France again. Return to the English court was madness. Her own uncle, Cardinal Beaufort, would see her dead before letting the king’s infatuation endanger a match with Margret of Anjou.

  She had to marry Douglas.

  “It does not matter,” she repeated, shifting on the saddle. “I am ward of my uncle still, under my grandmother’s keeping, and have not the means to make my own marriage. Kat, widowed as she is, might choose for herself but she will not leave me yet. Be grateful you can choose who you wed.”

  Without meaning to, Isabella glanced back at the village. She turned back to see him looking at her and she cast around in her mind for a subject.

  “How long were you in France?” she asked as they entered the woods.

  “Went at seventeen, stayed long enough to win the goodwill of King Charles. An’ could tell ye of things nae man this side of hell should see.”

  “Did you—”

  “Ye’re best to nae ask me of things I’ve done,” he interrupted darkly. He must have noticed that her eyes went wide because he added, “But I never took a woman who dinna want me.” He shrugged. “But I was ten years younger then, and many a lass turned her eyes my way.”

  “As I am sure they do now,” Isabella said, and then blushed at her own words.

  “Well, I dinna have a crowned head pantin’ after me, like ye.”

  “Henry was hardly panting after me,” she said crossly. “He is young, and inexperienced.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Are ye?”

  “Am I what?” she asked, puzzled.

  “Experienced.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I was no man’s mistress.”

  “Ach, there had to be one or two at court who managed to win a kiss from ye.”

  She raised her chin and turned resolutely forward. “I do not wish to discuss this.”

  “Oh, aye?” he cried. “Did they steal ye away to kiss while Mistress Katherine was lookin’ the other way?”

  She did not answer.

  “One or two took liberties with ye,” he concluded, nodding. “And ye were nae so unwillin’ either.”

  “I did not say so!”

  “Ye dinna have to. Ye turn away, yer mouth all set and stubborn and I ken the truth of it.”

  “Is that so?” she challenged, a little unnerved. She did not realize she was so transparent to him.

  “Just kisses? Did they nae try to sneak ye away and get beneath yer gown?”

  “You are one to talk!” she flared. “How many of the babes hereabouts are your by-blows?”

  He shrugged. “I canna be thought a monk by any, but there’s nae child o’ mine yet. Though Malcolm’s right, I should apply myself more to the task.” He looked at her sidelong. “I’ll wager you were curious enough to let one or two gentlemen lead ye into a dark place.”

  “It is none of your concern,” she said primly.

  “Did he write ye poetry, lass? Or show himself a wit to get yer attention? Mayhap he sang sweetly to lure ye to him?”

  She reined Cobweb in, the horse’s breath visible in the chill air.

  “If you insist on this line of conversation, then I think it best if I return to the castle. Now,” she said coldly. “If you please.”

  “Have it yer way. Dinna tell me, then.”

  He did not turn his horse or stop and she sat there, becoming angrier as he continued on, leaving her alone on the path.

  His experience far outstripped hers, as well he must know. Ducking into a dark alcove to have her breasts groped by an awkward young courtier while he rubbed himself against her was not an encounter she wished to regale to the MacKimzie. The young lord’s self-absorbed fumbling to lift her skirts made it easy for her to push him away and happy to escape his uninspiring attempt at seduction.

  The woods were quiet. The sound of the MacKimzie’s horse’s hooves crunching the snow grew more distant.

  Had her response to his kisses shouted her lack of skill? That clumsy adolescent had not been much of a teacher.

  Was that why he preferred Alisoun?

  Cobweb was agitated at being left behind by the charger. The horse’s breath was visible in the cold as she pawed at the snowy ground with her fine hooves.

  With a sharp kick Isabella urged the palfrey after him.

  “There is nothing to tell,” she insisted when she caught up.

  Colyne glanced at her. “Do ye long for him?”

  “No,” she said honestly. “Do you long for any of your French whores?”

  His shocked laugh echoed through the forest.

  “Ye think I pay lasses to dally with me? Do ye nae think I can sing sweet enough to tempt a lady into a dark place?”

  Isabella glanced at his mouth before she could catch herself. “I am sure I could not say.”

  “Ach, well, if yer thinkin’ I can—” He grinned. “Ye’d be right.”

  With that, he hurried his horse forward and she nudged the palfrey to keep up.

  Isabella’s mind switched from their conversation to the growing denseness of the forest as the path became more challenging.

  In a small clearing, Colyne stopped his horse and dismounted. He handed the reins to Isabella to hold, and went to look over the line of traps.

  He returned empty-handed.

  “It looks like you do not have much to trade south,” she commented as he mounted his horse again.

  “Save yer bonny self.”

  “When should I expect to be ransomed?”

  “Are ye sae unhappy here, that ye’re in a hurry to be off to marry with one ye’ve never seen?” he asked. “He could be a beast of a man.”

  And even dressed in a peasant’s smock, your Alisoun could rouse an abbot to forget his vows.

  She lifted her chin. “The queen writes me that Douglas is fine looking indeed. In any case, I am concerned for Katherine and William’s well-being.”

  “I shouldnae be in such a hurry to take them from Caitrina, then, if I were ye.”

  “Have you had word from His Majesty? Or my Lord Douglas?”

  “Soon enough,” he replied shortly, then after a time, “Are ye unhappy here in the country? Do ye miss the excitement of the court?”

  “I suppose it is what I am accustomed to, although I do not expect I shall remain at the court once I am married.”

  “Why?” he asked as if surprised. “Do ye nae wish to serve the queen?”

  “I should think my Lord Douglas would set me to managing his estates and would send me to his country house.” The air smelled of snow and Isabella drew her cloak tighter against the chill. “He will want an heir and I should think he would want me far from the court.”

  Colyne frowned. “But would he nae be at the court?”

  “I expect that is why he would want me in the country. There are a number of distractions a man can better pursue without the presence of his wife.”

  She saw a muscle twitch in his cheek.

  “And ye have nae objection to yer man takin’ another woman?”

  She snorted. “Will you tell me now you do not approve of a man keeping a mistress, MacKimzie?”

  “I would keep a vow,” he replied, his posture suddenly rigid. “If I made one.”

  “Even if that vow were not one of your choosing?”

  “Will ye keep yer vows? Would ye, if ye had the choice of who to make it to?”

  She sighed. The castle was in sight now. “I expect it would be more—amiable to me if I did have the making of my own marriage.”

  “Why do ye nae then?”

  “You should be cast down and sorrowful if I did, MacKimzie! I would have no marriage portion, and you no ransom! Would you let Caitrina choose her husband?”

  “Aye, if she chose a suitable one.”

  Isabella blinked. “What if she did not choose a suitable one? What if she chose a villager without a meck to his name? Or a ‘c
oo,’ for that matter?”

  “It’s for me to see her properly settled, but I wouldna’ go against her heart.”

  “Have you chosen a husband for her?”

  He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle.

  “She is nae sae eager to wed. I did offer Angus, ‘fore he was married, and there’s others as well. Good lads, all, and she’ll have none of ’em.”

  Isabella thought back to Caitrina’s sweet, sad face as she tied the cloth to the tree.

  “I do not think your sister could marry for other than love,” Isabella said quietly. “Let her be.”

  “But ye could? Marry for title and fortune?”

  “I have not a brother who loves me too well to force me to it.”

  He made no answer and they rode through the village in silence. In the castle courtyard Colyne helped her from her mount, nodding to Dougal when he came to take the horses.

  “I dinna offend ye with all me oafish talk, I hope?” he asked. “I would ye nae have ye hidin’ yerself away because I have more breath than sense.”

  “No, I am not offended.” The wind picked up, gently blowing her hair about and her hand went to tame it. “Thank you for the ride. I am not accustomed to doing so little.”

  “Ye did well for one nae born here. I think in time ye could accustom yerself to our clime.”

  “Yes, well, I think the winter may have the better of me just now, I am eager to seek the warmth of a fire.”

  Colyne brushed a tendril of hair away from her face, his touch lingering for a moment on her cheek. “I would have ye come and sup with me in the great hall tonight, lass.”

  “I should like that, my lord.”

  He smiled and she no longer felt the cold.

  Colyne’s eyes lit up when he saw her come into the outer hall.

  “Well?” she asked, delighted.

  Colyne’s eyes ran admiringly over her. “What’s this now?”

  “I believe you said I could not last a whole day.”

  He walked around her, taking in the saffron gown, the brightly colored cloak she wore pinned at her shoulder with a brass brooch, and her unbound hair.

  Isabella felt her cheeks warm under his inspection. What those at the court—or Lord Douglas for that matter—would say to see her dressed this way did not bear thinking about.

  “Yer as bonny a lass as I’ve ever seen. None would think ye other than a Scot.”

  She ducked her head. “Mary found the clothing for me.”

  “We should have some made just for ye, it suits ye sae well. As does havin’ yer hair free.” He touched her hair, letting a lock slide between his fingers. “I would ye always wear it so.”

  “Kat would never stand for it,” Isabella replied, her laugh breathless. “It is only that she is ill that I can go about so.”

  “How does yer Katherine?”

  “Resting again. She took a bit of broth and some bread earlier. She is weak, but fares better.”

  His strong fingers wrapped around hers just as the horn sounded for supper. It felt so plainly right, as if Colyne taking her by the hand to lead her to the hall were the most natural of things.

  The familiar company assembled and regarded her clothes and appearance with surprise and curiosity.

  As the servant washed her hands with scented water, Isabella glanced around for Alisoun. She had not seen the woman since their ride to the clootie tree and she felt a new wave of self-consciousness as she sat beside Colyne.

  I am doing nothing wrong! Since the well, he has not touched me—true to his word.

  Well, hardly touched me.

  Not kissed me in any case.

  Besides, it was expected she join the castle folk for supper. To do otherwise would be rude, even ungrateful, considering all they had done for Kat. And it was not as if she would be here for long. Once her ransom was paid, she might never see Colyne again.

  “Ye look verra fine,” Malcolm said kindly to her, when she took her seat. “When the English come for their lady, I dinna think we’ll know which lass to send back with them.”

  “Mayhap we will just keep her then, Uncle,” Colyne returned, offering Isabella a cup of mead.

  Isabella laughed. “What of the ‘coos’ you were set on buying, MacKimzie?”

  He shrugged. “Mayhap I’ll just lift more of the MacLaulach coos instead.”

  “Do we dine on MacLaulach beef tonight?” Isabella asked, partaking of the warm, delicious mead.

  “We do.”

  “So, I will eat another clan’s ‘coo’ and I am wearing plaid. What else do I need to do today?”

  She caught the puzzled look that Malcolm sent Colyne.

  “I understand your laird does not think I could survive a single winter here,” Isabella said to Malcolm. “Do you think so as well?”

  Malcolm glanced at Colyne, still perplexed. “I should think ye could, my lady. If ye had a mind to it.”

  Isabella threw a satisfied look at Colyne. “I should think so.”

  “Aye, ye look bonny but ye havena danced yet,” Colyne warned. “That’ll be the proof.”

  “I do not know any of your dances.”

  “When the pipers play, I’ll try an’ teach ye.”

  “I am a good dancer,” she returned, affronted.

  “Aye, I’m sure ye can do the English dancin’ well enough, but this is nae the mincin’ steps of the court.”

  He sliced a bit of beef and offered it to her.

  He was right—it was delicious, succulent and tender. Her reaction must have shown on her face because he grinned at her.

  “It’s nae a good thing, to taste what’s nae yours,” he murmured to her, his eyes twinkling. “It only leads ye to wantin’ more.”

  He sliced another piece and, with deliberate movements, offered it to her.

  She took it. “I can see why you raid so often.”

  He looked at her with mock outrage. “Half the time, I’m only gettin’ back what’s mine!”

  “So, we’re eating MacKimzie beef tonight, not MacLaulach?”

  “MacKimzie coos are better,” he allowed. “But there’s somethin’ aboot knowin’ we lifted it from right under their noses…”

  Malcolm laughed and slapped his palm on the table. “And Colyne has the right of it! They never saw us and we were gone again in a blink!”

  Servants brought the next course and Colyne continued to offer her the choicest pieces.

  “Do these raids ever escalate?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Once or twice we took one of their lads, and they one of ours. The man’s always traded back soon enough. It will nae get bloody as long as none of our lads is kilt, nor none of theirs, and they dinna lift mor’n a few coos.”

  Musicians assembled as the meal wore down. The company, many of whom garnered their warmth from the contents of their cups, pushed the tables aside to make space to dance.

  Colyne looked at her meaningfully.

  “Let me watch, please,” she said. “Just for a bit.”

  He looked amused, and invited her to watch with a wave of his hand.

  She tried to puzzle out the steps as the company twisted and turned, dancing almost faster than she could follow. Colyne stood and offered his hand to her. His palm against hers made her breath catch as he led her to the edge of the dance.

  “Are ye ready?”

  Isabella was nervous but she watched the steps, the woman’s part as well as the man’s, and thought she could manage. He was right. It was not like any dancing she had done before. The steps were larger, more exuberant and faster.

  “I believe so,” she said doubtfully.

  He plunged them into the whirling, stomping dance. She knew she made mistakes, but he was there to move and direct her, and considering the complexity, she thought she had managed quite well.

  He nodded to her as that dance ended. “Nae sae bad as ye thought?”

  “Do they always dance so fast?”

  “Only way to keep from crashin’ into ea
ch other,” he jested. “Ready to try again?”

  “So soon?”

  The words were barely out of her mouth before he had her back into the circle.

  She was laughing at herself before the end of that dance, but she was getting better. After four she was out of breath and waved her hand to show she would not join him again. He led her to the table and signaled for drink. She took a long breathless draft of the mead, her face hot.

  “Well?” she asked, expectantly.

  “Ye dance enough like a Highlander,” he said. “As long as most watching are in their cups.”

  “Well, thank ye,” she replied, and her approximation of his accent made him laugh.

  “I think ye may make a decent enough clanswoman—given a year or two.”

  She laughed and shook her head.

  “I always wondered what made Katherine so hard-headed, now I see she is all Scot. I wonder how you would fare at court ways.”

  He lifted a russet eyebrow. “Singin’ and poetry and games and such?”

  “I do not think it would suit you.”

  “I dinna think it will either, but ye were willin’ to learn our ways, sae I would be willin’ to ken yers.”

  Isabella was startled, but the thought of spending another whole day with him was too tempting.

  “All right, then,” she said, starting to smile at the thought of it. “I expect we should start early.”

  “Tha’s the morrow. Put down the cup. I dinna think ye’ve danced yer last tonight.”

  She dressed the next morning in one of her finest gowns—a dark green wool embroidered with gold thread. She added jewels to complete her ensemble but, as Mary was hopeless at arranging her hair in the English fashion, she simply left it loose again.

  She broke her fast in her room but could manage only a few bites. A quick visit to Katherine and William revealed them to be resting easy. Both tired easily but were growing stronger. Isabella felt a flash of guilt, knowing it was Katherine’s illness that allowed her the freedom to spend the day with Colyne.

  When she found Colyne waiting for her in the great hall, the remorse evaporated. His gray-green eyes shone when he saw her and she returned his smile.

  “Ach, but yer English again,” he said teasingly, taking her hands and holding them wide to look her over.