Page 25

CHAPTER 25

“How are yer lands?” Gordon asked, relishing the caress of the cool wind against his warm face as he stepped out into the gardens of Castle Lyall.

Beathan walked at his side, stifling yawns. “I’m nae goin’ to talk about me lands and skirmishers when me nephew has found himself such a bonny lass, Gordon.” He laughed wearily. “Ye have to rearrange yer priorities, Nephew—wife first, everythin’ else after.”

“Says the man who doesnae speak to his wife, and has a menagerie of mistresses,” Gordon pointed out, his boots sinking into the grass, still dampened by the recent drizzle.

Beathan tapped the side of his nose. “That’s how I ken the importance of makin’ sure ye marry the right lass. Ye daenae want to end up with a sour, barren harpy like mine.” He shrugged. “I cannae deny that she runs Castle MacScott well, though. The steward barely has to do anythin’.”

“What of inheritance?” Gordon asked, reaching the stepping-stone path that led toward a low wall in the near distance.

Beathan shrugged. “What of it?”

“Will ye legitimize one of yer bastards, or let it pass to someone else?”

A snort shook Beathan’s shoulders. “The former. Heaven kens I’ve enough of ‘em.” He paused to knock some mud off his boot. “Anyway, stop tryin’ to get me to talk about meself. I’m here to talk to ye… and to get away from me wife. How are ye farin’ with the lass? Do ye think she’ll make a good Lady?”

“Aye,” Gordon replied without hesitation. “I daenae doubt there’ll be a weddin’.”

Beathan nodded. “Good. Glad to hear it.”

They walked up the winding path, coming to the low wall, where raised, flattened boulders offered lookout points over the sea. They’d been built for defense, for archers and cannoneers, but it had been a long time since anyone had attacked the castle by sea. As such, it had become a pleasant place to gaze out at the water and admire the brutal beauty of the view.

“Does she ken about the threat against ye?” Beathan asked, as Gordon clambered up one of the boulders and perched himself on the wall.

“There is nay threat.”

Beathan sighed, climbing up to sit near his nephew. “Be serious, Nephew. Those rats told ye themselves that ye’d missed their leader.”

“But I sent a message,” Gordon insisted. “Whoever the bastard is, they’ll think twice before attackin’ again.”

The older man turned his gaze out toward the foaming ocean. “They managed to kidnap the Devil of the Highlands. They struck because ye became too confident, too arrogant about yer position and yer reputation.” He looked back at Gordon. “If ye want to protect yer family, yer bride, then ye cannae make that mistake again. I’d start with yer m an-at-a rms.”

“Pardon?” Gordon narrowed his eye.

“Ye need better around ye. Me own m an-at-a rms would’ve had me back in me own castle by dinner, but yers did nothin’,” Beathan replied firmly. “And aye, I ken ye got rid of yer council, for the most part, but ye need to put somethin’ stronger in its place.”

Annoyed, Gordon scratched at a bit of moss that clung to the weathered walls. He was tired of people talking about his kidnapping and the wretches who had taken his eye, and would have taken his life if he wasn’t who he was. He was tired of being forced to remember the past, when all he wanted was to look forward.

Indeed, he was beginning to wish he had kept the details of his capture and captivity to himself.

“What happened wasnae any fault of anyone but meself,” he said curtly. “I willnae make the same mistake again, but the support I now have around me is plenty strong enough. I’m done discussin’ it.”

Beathan smiled sadly. “Ye mustnae blame an uncle for worryin’.”

“I daenae , but I can blame an uncle—both uncles—for pesterin’,” Gordon replied in a sharp voice. “Nothin’ is more important than the future, givin’ an heir to me people, protectin’ me bride. And ye’d best believe I willnae be lettin’ her out of me sight, so please, cease talkin’ about the past.”

The older man nodded slowly, reaching out to clap his nephew on the arm. “Fine, lad. I’ll cease.” He paused. “But I wouldnae forgive meself if I dinnae at least mention it. For yer maither, if nae for me. Och, ye ken she’d have been pesterin’ ye more than me and Matthew put together if she were here… but she’d have been happy too, seein’ this bride of yers, seein’ her wee laddie married at last.”

A lump formed in Gordon’s throat, the whip of the sea wind lashing at his eye, making it sting. His mother was another thing he didn’t wish to discuss, simply because he couldn’t. Twenty years later, the thought of her hurt as much as it had on the night he lost her.

There’d been nothing he could do for his brother and father, run through with blades, but his mother… Sometimes, he was more haunted by the way that she had been taken from him, wondering endlessly if he could have saved her, if he had just known how.

“If ye’ll excuse me,” he said gruffly, jumping down from the wall.

“I need to return to me own lands again, Nephew,” Beathan said solemnly, causing Gordon to halt, though he didn’t turn. “The attacks havenae yet ceased, but I dinnae want to wait to see yer betrothed, to ensure that ye had a lass worthy of ye. I’ll have to ride out tomorrow.”

So soon?

In the coming weeks, Gordon knew he would need as many of his “ council” around him as possible. And though he relied upon Matthew to aid with serious matters, grateful for the dependable nature of his father’s brother, he didn’t want to be without the emotional guidance and lighthearted influence of his mother’s brother. Especially considering how much Anna clearly liked Beathan.

“Nay, ye should stay until the weddin’ is done,” Gordon said coolly. “I’ll send David to protect yer lands in yer stead.”

“As ye wish,” Beathan replied, sadness in his voice. “Thank ye, Nephew.”

With her portfolio and charcoal in hand, Anna wandered the hallways of Castle Lyall, drawing a map so she wouldn’t get lost again. Having tried, and failed, to find the beautiful gallery again, she’d realized that her mind wasn’t as reliable as she thought.

“ That’s familiar,” she mumbled, pausing beside a statue of a weeping angel, missing half a wing. “I’m sure it is.”

She drew a little cross beside the spot on the map and turned to a fresh page, quickly sketching the statue so she wouldn’t forget it. Even broken, it was astonishingly beautiful, sculpted by talented hands.

Just then, the echo of footsteps made her heart fly into her throat, jumping in fright. The hour was late, and she hadn’t come across anyone for some time, the sound of shared existence making her realize that it likely wasn’t wise to wander alone in a castle she didn’t know, not without Gordon or one of his family escorting her.

She considered ducking into a nearby recess, or hiding herself behind one of the long, timeworn tapestries that covered the walls, but her indecision stole away her opportunity.

A figure rounded the corner, his face reflecting her surprise as he saw her standing there.

“Ye shouldnae be here,” Gordon growled, evidently not as pleased to see her as she was to see him.

“I… was makin’ a map,” she rushed to reply, turning the portfolio around to show him the drawing.

As she did, the loose papers decided to make a bid for freedom, slipping out of the leather covering, drifting every which way, the pages whispering across the floor of the antechamber she’d found herself in.

Panic struck her, her eyes widening as she caught sight of a… rather personal sketch that had poured from her mind onto the paper after her moment with Gordon in the study. She’d needed an outlet, and her paper and charcoal had obliged, but she certainly didn’t want him seeing it.

She lunged for that particular drawing, lamenting the crumple of the paper as she snatched it up. Her imagined study of his bare figure, kneeling before the desk, his head between her thighs, would undoubtedly be ruined.

Fumbling for a few others, she glanced back to find Gordon methodically collecting the fallen drawings, admiring each as he picked them up. She clutched the private sketch tighter to her chest, relieved she’d swiped it before he’d had the chance.

But why? Perhaps, it would inspire him… or inspire ye to discover what’s truly beneath that shirt.

She shook the thought off, scrabbling around for the last few drawings, stuffing them back into her portfolio.

“I’ll keep this one.” Gordon’s voice snatched her attention back to him.

The drawing in his hand was an old one, of a dream she’d forgotten about: her, bare shoulders emerging from a river, her decency concealed by the water. The sketch had no color, but she knew it was meant to be a scorching summer afternoon, the river cool and crisp, easing the heat of her skin. Indeed, the drawing was three years old, more or less, created on the night that Elinor was taken from Castle MacTorrach.

It was only then that she noticed a shadowy figure in the drawing, a shadow among the trees that bordered the river. To the unknowing eye, it resembled another tree trunk, but she knew differently.

“Aye, keep it,” she murmured, her voice shaking slightly. “I daenae want it.”

Gordon frowned, as if that wasn’t the response he’d expected. “I should take ye back to yer chambers. Ye shouldnae be down here.”

“I can find me way back,” she insisted, moving forward, taking the papers that he passed to her. Keeping the river drawing that she couldn’t bear to look at. “I have a map now.”

Gordon came to stand behind her, his closeness stealing her breath, her heart racing as he leaned over her. There was a broken piece of charcoal in his hand, and as his chest rested against the back of her shoulders, his other hand lightly touching the curve of her waist, he wrote something on her map.

When he moved his hand away, the two words cooled the rising desire in her: The Crypt.

“There’s nothin’ in this part of the castle for ye,” he said quietly. “Come, I’m takin’ ye back to yer chambers.”

“I can find me own way,” she tried to protest.

“Walk or I’ll carry ye,” he warned.

And if she hadn’t had an armful of precious drawings, she might have let him.

They didn’t say much as he helped her to retrace her steps through the castle, though he pointed out crossroads where she might become confused, having her add them to her map. Clearly, he was determined that she should never find herself near the crypt again.

As they came to her chamber door at last, and she opened it wide, revealing the impatient figure of her maid, Jane, Gordon bowed his head in understanding. He would receive no invitation to enter that night, though Anna wasn’t sure if she would have invited him in anyway, had her maid not been there.

It's too risky to be alone with him. Far too risky.

Her desire for Gordon couldn’t be trusted, for it kept robbing her of her judgment.

“Be in the courtyard at ten o’clock,” he instructed.

She frowned. “For what reason?”

“Our second rendezvous,” he replied.

“But… they are supposed to be weekly,” she said, her heart thudding a little faster.

He shrugged. “It’s yer choice. If ye’re nae there, I’ll go without ye.”

“To where, exactly?” she asked, her curiosity piqued, her mind racing with memories of the secret cove. What could he possibly do as part of their second engagement, if she wasn’t there?

The slightest hint of a smirk lifted his tempting lips, and as he turned to walk away without a word, his meaning was clear: There was only one way to find out.