Page 4 of A Promise of Love

“ T ynan ."

It was a benediction of sound uttered from an otherwise silent Scot. He extended one finger and pointed, as if Judith could not see their destination .

It was twilight and the sea and sky darkened together, a perfect backdrop for the giant black behemoth which huddled at the end of the narrow promontory, its back to the sea.

The closer they came, the more Judith could discern the outline of the castle from the ebony shadows of the surrounding moor.

The Devil's own lair could not have been more intimidating.

It stood like a silent sentinel, guarding the cove and the entrance to the sea, one of its twin towers reduced to rubble, the other scraping the sky with crenellated teeth.

An arched doorway, like the maw of some ancient beast, stood open.

If not welcoming, it at least beckoned .

Judith shivered .

Her companion said nothing more, but the quick jerk of his head was command enough.

Judith sat erect, controlling her fears and her mount with the same dogged determination, eased the mare into a trot and followed Malcolm MacLeod single file down the narrow track, around the curve of the inlet and past the gentle waves lapping at the rocky beach .

The sheep grazed in the field behind them, under the watchful guardianship of the twins, David and Daniel.

Glancing back, Judith thought the flock looked more like a fog with legs, white clouded shapes in the encroaching darkness, their incessant bleating more annoying than their odor.

Truth to tell, Judith did not like sheep much.

They were stupid creatures, with a stubborn will, not at all like the sweet faced and fluffy pets people would make them out to be.

This long journey had neither changed her opinion nor accustomed her to their eternal stench .

Malcolm watched her out of the corner of his eye.

She held herself proud, shoulders straight, hands clutching the reins with a little more force than necessary.

She seemed alert to any sound or movement, as if she were a forest creature and scented danger at every tree or corner.

She did not speak much, but he was used to, and grateful for, her silence.

Instead of whining and whimpering, her stoicism had garnered his reluctant admiration during the long trip north .

It had not been an easy journey following the sheep, sleeping on the chilled ground, rising before the sun tipped the trees, riding until it was too dark to prod the sheep further.

It had been difficult traversing the distance between England and the Highlands, the drizzling rain drenching them most days, the oozing mud hampering their steps.

Even the sheep had become stolidly accepting of the mire after days of trudging through it .

Not once had Judith complained. She did not fit his idea of an English woman.

Even now, when most women would have been swooning or filling their handkerchiefs with tears, she simply looked at him with an impassive stare.

It was, Malcolm thought, a Scot’s trait that sat oddly on an English Squire's daughter.

As they neared the open courtyard of Tynan Castle, Malcolm marveled at the more than equitable trade he had made.

Not only had he managed to acquire a hundred Leicester sheep for his laird, but he had done something much, much more important .

He had gotten them for free .

Judith’s presence did not disturb him much. He had plans for her , too .

He turned back to watch the track behind him.

Even though they were only steps away from Tynan, it would not do to forget the threat of mounted English patrols.

They crisscrossed the Highlands constantly, seeking violators of the Disarming Act.

Malcolm touched the dirk hidden in his boot, well aware he was breaking the law.

Yet, only an idiot would have made the journey he'd just finished without being armed.

Nor would it be the first time he had broken that lunatic decree.

Inside his shirt, pinned next to his heart, was a shred of plaid he had torn from his kilt before he had buried it in the secret place .

They entered the narrow opening of the keep-gatehouse and into a large courtyard shadowed by approaching night.

The stone of the castle had mellowed to a deep rose and not the black Judith had originally assumed.

The lofty curtain walls, with their flanking towers of massive masonry, rose high above her head.

Only one tower was intact, the other pitted and scarred, rubble mounded around its base.

At the entrance, stone steps rose four deep to a bronze portal marred by smoke stains that licked around it in memory of hungry flames .

There was an air of decay here, and ruin .

A figure shuffled from the shadows, her passage marked by the imperious click, click of her cane. She was tiny, her stooped frame clad in black, her shining white hair wound into a regal crown on top of her head .

She reached Judith's companion first, tapping his knee with the tip of her cane. He remained mounted, looking down at her; his craggy face might have been wreathed in a smile. Except that Judith was certain her companion of the past weeks never smiled .

"Malcolm MacLeod," the old woman said, her voice sounding rusty and unused, like a gate not often opened, "have you no sense than to come riding in at gloaming? How would we know that you're not the Devil's henchman, or the English come to pay another call ?"

"Sophie," he said gruffly, but not unkindly, "All you have to do is look out yon gate and see those damn bleatin' sons of Satan ."

Despite her fatigue and her anxiety, Judith almost smiled .

At that moment, the old woman noticed the stranger. She peered through the gloom and then turned to Malcolm with a questioning look. He chuckled and dismounted, bent down and kissed her swiftly on the cheek .

"Peace, Sophie," he said, pulling her tiny, bent frame into a hug. "Ye're still me only love ."

"Malcolm, be still," she said brusquely, but Judith could see that she was pleased by the gesture. "Well," she said, addressing her question to Judith, "who are you ?"

"In a moment, Sophie, ye'll find out soon enough.

" When Judith made a motion to dismount, he waved her back into position.

She stifled a groan. If she were to travel any further tonight, she didn't think that she could manage it.

As it was, she felt permanently welded to the saddle.

Riding astride might have been safer during their journey, but weeks of it would no doubt have lasting consequences upon some portions of her anatomy better left unmentioned .

The bronze door opened with a bang, and a white shirted figure bounded down the steps. He hugged Malcolm with pleasure, gripped his arms and pulled away as if inspecting for damage .

"You did well, Malcolm. I saw them from the battlements. Well done!" He noticed the direction of the other man's gaze and followed it .

The twilight shadows had deepened in the courtyard; the only way Judith knew he turned in her direction was that the shirt moved as if it belonged to a disembodied ghost .

Judith tensed as the white shape moved closer .

Malcolm quickly strode between them. With one hand, he gripped his laird’s well filled sleeve.

With another, he grasped the hem of Judith’s riding habit.

He grinned, which should have given Judith some indication that all was not well.

Unfortunately, either she was too bemused by the sight of those teeth gleaming in the darkness or too exhausted from the long trip to feel much anxiety .

However, Malcolm managed to shock her from fatigue with his next words .

"Judith, meet the Lord o' Tynan, Alisdair MacLeod, yer husband. An'," he quickly amended, before either of them could say a word, "Alisdair, meet Judith, yer wife ."

"Wife?" Alisdair roared .

"Husband?" Judith’s grip upon Molly’s reins was so tight her hands felt burned by the leather .

"Did ye hear that, Sophie?" Malcolm asked calmly of the old woman .

"Yes, Malcolm, I did at that." Her thin lips were pursed in a smile .

"Well, I did, too. Congratulations, ye are now wedded according to the laws o' Scotland ."