MAKING CHOICES
Sean woke in his own bed in his own chamber. His shoulder hurt. His ribs ached. His wrist, when he flexed it, was raw fire. He groaned.
“Bollocks.” He stared up at the ceiling and tried to calculate how long, roughly, it would take for his wounds to heal. He guessed a month.
Bollocks and more bollocks.
He was just working up to a fizz of irritability when he heard a step in the hallway and looked out, seeing a white dress flicker in the darkness there. Marguerite? He tensed.
He recalled seeing her the day before. He could almost have sworn she was an angel and he had safely passed over to the realm of death. She had looked so beautiful! The touch of her hand on his skin was something that would stay with him in every waking moment. While his whole soul ached to see her, he knew he was being ridiculous. He couldn't let himself in like this. Irmengard had trodden on his heart's gentle places, crushing them dead.
Oh, aye? he mocked himself. What happened yesterday, then? When she held your shoulder and time stood still for you? He had been so close to kissing her, in that moment – so close to losing his heart. He didn't want to. Closing his eyes, he lay back on the bolster and pretended to be asleep. The white dress in the hallway slowed, and then stopped.
“Sean?”
Sean felt the sweet voice cut into his heart and he simply couldn't stay still and ignore that gentle summons. “Marguerite?” he said. He opened his eyes.
He found himself staring into her eyes. She had a little worried frown on her brow, and he felt his own lips lift in a smile.
“Sean!” she smiled softly back. “How are you?” she asked. Her voice was low and grave.
“Better,” he replied. He sat up, winced, and lay down again. Why in perdition did his poor ribs have to ache so?
“That sounded like it hurt,” she countered.
He felt his cheeks lift in a grin. “I guess I'm not very convincing, am I? It did hurt, a bit.”
“Oh! Poor Sean...”
At once, she was at his bedside. Sean tensed as she reached over, her hand feeling down his chest for the crack in his ribs. He felt his whole body respond urgently to her touch. When she leaned over him like this, he could see the pale, soft expanse of her cleavage. It aroused him.
He winced again, though this time in discomfort. If she saw the way his groin lurched the instant her small, pale hand contacted his chest, she would be horrified.
Just as well I'm in bed.
“I'm not in pain,” he managed to say. He grinned lopsidedly.
“Poor Sean,” Marguerite continued. “I don't believe you.”
When he didn't respond, she frowned. Standing, she took away her hand, seeming flustered. “Well, I think we can make it better,” she said in a small voice. “Lady Joanna promised to visit soon and bring some salve to ease your rib. She's sure it's broken.”
“I think so, too,” Sean nodded. He tried to keep his own voice carefully neutral.
“I suppose you could do with some fresh air,” she added, now turning away. Her demeanor had already changed – from the initial open sweetness she had shifted to a cool neutral tone. Sean felt his heart ache even as he felt glad that he'd managed to put her off. It's better to keep a distance between us.
He sat up on the bolsters. He watched her as she flitted over to the window, her long, golden hair loose and glowing in the firelight. How he would love to touch that soft hair, love to hold that narrow waist that was hugged so tight by the gown. However, to do so would mean putting his heart in her hands. He wasn't about to do that.
She moved the tapestry away from the window arch, letting in a flood of light and fresh, fragrant air. “There,” she said, turning round to face him. There was softness in those brown eyes, something that said to him, I care about you.
He winced and bit his lip. He didn't want to know that. “Thank you,” he said, breathing in deeply. “It's good to have clean air in here.”
“I think so,” she said. Then she grinned, a real grin that brightened her eyes. “There are two schools of thought about that. Some physicians say air should be purified by fire, so it's better just to breathe air from indoors. Others say fresh air is better.” She shrugged slim shoulders. “Myself, I am inclined to believe the second school; that is, that of Paracelsus. The Hermetics think fresh air has poisons in it.”
Sean stared at her. “You know a lot, my lady. I never even heard of Para...what you said. Or Hermetics and stuff.”
“Paracelsus.” She grinned. Then she colored and looked at her hands. “It's unseemly for a girl, I know. I just can't help hearing these things and recalling them. Silly, isn't it?” She followed that dismissal with a forced laugh.
“No. It's not silly. I like it. Imagine if all men just fought and all women just sewed! We'd have a world clogged with tapestries and casualties and nothing would get done.”
She laughed aloud. “Oh, Sean. I like the way you see things,” she giggled. “You're very refreshing.”
Sean smiled. For the first time, when he looked into her eyes, he had a sense that she was truly smiling at him, truly connecting. His heart soared. “Thank you,” he said.
They stood like that, with her looking into his eyes. He felt as if the whole world settled in that gaze. Like that moment in the still-room, when she’d touched him and a thousand feelings flowed through him, making his heart soar.
Then she coughed, looking at her hands. The moment broke. Sean felt bereft, as if a priceless glass from Venice had fallen, shattering into a thousand sparking shards. At that moment, he would do anything to have her look into his eyes like that again.
She kept looking down, though, her face colored as if she was ashamed of herself.
He cleared his throat. He had to say something. “Um, milady?”
“Yes?” she asked in a gentle voice.
“I should thank you for looking in on me. And looking after me yesterday,” he added.
“It's nothing. Truly.”
“No,” he said. “It means a great deal to me.”
When she looked into his eyes again, the connection was deep and true. “Thank you, Sir Sean.”
Sean sighed. The ache in his heart was immediately followed by a stern reprimand from his head. Not too close. Not yet. Not now. Why do you trust her?
“Sorry, milady,” he said, coloring. “I should find the privy closet.” He didn't actually need it, but it seemed the best way to be rid of her.
“Oh!” Her hands flew to her cheeks in embarrassment. “Of course, sir! We should have thought of that. If you follow the hallway, it's on the left opposite the stairwell.”
“Thank you,” Sean said. “I'll hie off there then,” he added with a wry attempt at a smile.
“Of course,” Marguerite nodded. She swallowed and looked at the floor again, tension in every line of her. “I'll leave you now.”
“Thank you for your help,” he said.
“Not at all.”
She disappeared hastily through the door, leaving him alone.
Once she had gone, Sean struggled into an upright position. While he slid his legs to the edge of the bed and stood, he hissed as his ribs ached.
“Stupid me,” he told himself, standing and stumbling toward the window. “How could I be so open? Next thing I know, I'll have lost my heart all over again.”
Maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing. If he was honest, he'd loved Marguerite from afar since first he met her, two months ago at the ball. However, he was not ready to fall in love again. The moment he thought it, his mind sent him another message.
Marguerite is nothing like Irmengard.
It was true. He knew it was. Even the way Marguerite was being now was nothing like Irmengard had been. When he was injured in a bout, she'd been furious with him. She had simply walked past him, he recalled, and then not spoken to him for a week. At the time, his friends had tried to jolly him out of it, but he'd been ashamed. He'd let her down, humiliated her in front of her friends.
She couldn't boast anymore that her betrothed could bring down any foe, whoever he be. He had felt like an utter failure. In addition, she had compounded that impression. He sighed. Marguerite had at least shown him that she was not shallow. She cared more about him than she did about how publicly he wore her favors, how much she could boast about him, how much wealth his father had – or didn't have.
“I should sing praises to the lass,” he sighed. Marguerite was everything: kind, friendly and attentive. Irmengard, for all that she was stunningly lovely, was never that. Nevertheless, he didn't trust it. Irmengard had days when she seemed perfect, too.
Though even on those days, he recalled, he'd been tense and dry-lipped, waiting for the change. When she didn't rebuke him, get impatient or rage at him – he had felt such a giddy delight. It added to his fascinations. A bit like a snake that says it isn't going to bite you…not today. You end up so grateful to the creature that you forget it threatened you in the first place.
“Sean?”
“Whist, Camden!” he said, spinning around in shock. “Don't do that! Or, if you do, then retire as a duke and become a scout anytime. I never heard anyone walk so lightly in my life.”
Camden chuckled. “Well, if you could hear me walking lightly, it can't be that light, can it..?”
Sean frowned, and then made a face at him. “Stop trying to be clever. My head aches.”
Camden jostled him playfully, and then as he winced, apologized hastily. “Sorry, Sean. I should ask how you're feeling?”
“Well, better than I look,” Sean grimaced, catching sight of himself reflected in the basin. The wavering image showed him a chalk-white face, gaunt cheeked and sunken eyed. His hair stood out around his head, flattened by the pillow, and tiredness had printed dark rings round his eyes.
“That's a relief,” Camden grinned. “If you felt worse, I'd call the physician.”
Sean glared at him. “Thanks,” he said.
Camden laughed. “Don't mention it.” Without asking, he seated himself on Sean's clothes-chest. His tall, angular body looked at rest there. “You coming out for a walk?”
“Mm.” Sean nodded down at him, reaching again for his clean shirt. “You look remarkably unscathed,” he said dryly. “How'd the joust end?”
“Well, I went against Sir Angus. He did get unhorsed, mind you. Fellow called Sir Evan.”
“Oh?” Sean rinsed his face in the water, grunting.
“Yes. Happy fellow, he was. Won the purse of silver.” Camden leaned against the wall, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension.
“Oh.” Sean nodded. Camden had set aside a purse of fifteen silver coins as the prize. It was a huge prize – enough for a man to buy some land and settle down. “You lost a rare lot, then.”
Camden chuckled. “Well, thought I might try and win my own cash. Didn't work.”
They both laughed. Sean found that the easy company took his mind off his pain. “Lady Rubina must be pleased you're safe,” he ventured, hoping it would lead naturally to the subject of Marguerite. So far, that didn't seem to be working.
“Yes.”
Sean hesitated, not sure what to ask to bring the conversation logically round to Marguerite.
“My wife said Marguerite seems sad recently,” Camden said, guessing, it seemed, what was on his mind. “She's been walking in the hallways late, not sleeping properly. Know anything about it?”
Sean shot him a dark stare. “What're you saying, Camden?”
“Just suggesting she finds your aloofness difficult,” Camden said.
“I am not aloof!” Sean said angrily. When Camden raised a brow, he laughed. “Fine. Fine. Yes, I am.” He grinned. “You know why.”
“Sean, that was years ago...” Camden began, stretching languidly.
“Yes, it was,” Sean countered hotly. “And if you gave me a silver piece every time I heard you say it, I'd be living well from now till Candlemas.”
“Sorry, friend.”
“I know it was a long time ago, Camden,” Sean said tiredly. “And I know I should have grown away from it, but...when you've faced something like that, it makes you nervous.”
“Like when you're thrown off a destrier for the first time?”
Sean made a face. “I know what you're saying. When you fall off a horse, it's best to remount before you spend the rest of your life terrified of the creatures. But this isn't like that.”
“I suppose.”
“I know,” Sean continued. “Falling off my horse was probably my own fault. Horses don't throw you on purpose – or not usually. But women can be cruel.”
“You don't think women are bad, Sean,” Camden said gently. “You know Rubina's kind.”
Sean frowned. “I can see that other people find kindly, good ladies. But me?” He raised his shoulders in a shrug. “Never worked. I seem to find only horrid ones. Before her, I fell in love with Barra. And look how that worked out.”
His friend smiled. “You know Barra was pledged to the carpenter. If you had married her, it would have been a sin.”
Sean sighed in exasperation. “I was seventeen, brother. Of course I didn't think.”
Camden laughed. Though not actually his brother, the two had been friends since they were small boys, raised side-by-side at Invering Castle, Camden's home. The incident in question had happened five years ago, when they were seventeen. It seemed a lifetime ago.
“I know you were young then. And that's what I mean. It was a long time ago and now you have to trust.”
Sean closed his eyes. Trust. That was the one thing he was never planning to do again. He had trusted Irmengard. Look where that had gotten him!
“I don't know, brother,” he said sadly.
They were quiet a while as Sean tried to comb his hair left-handed. After a minute or two, he felt like he was managing the task. He smiled at himself in the mirror, feeling his mood improve along with his looks. With neater hair, he looked almost presentable.
“You know,” Camden said, turning to face him, seeming thoughtful.
“Mm?” Sean reached for his dagger, considered shaving left-handed, and, given how hard combing his hair had been, decided against it. “What're you thinking?” he asked, laying the dagger aside carefully, blade down.
“Well, I was thinking mayhap we could visit Irmengard. If you saw her...”
“No!” Sean was surprised by how vehement he felt against that idea.
“Very well then, let's not,” Camden said, leaning back peaceably. “And mayhap better not, since I don't reckon either of us should be traveling currently.”
“The war?” Sean asked.
“Mm.”
They both sat in silence a while. News from the south was not good. The English forces had marched on the town of Berwick, sacking it utterly. As he marched inland, fears for the country grew. The king – John Baliol – was openly defied by most of the nobles and his days, it was said, were numbered. War with England was no longer a rumor, but a fact.
“You're right,” Sean said.
“We're best-placed up here in the north,” Camden nodded. “Close enough to Dunkeld, and Father's land. Safe,” he added.
“Mm.” Sean nodded. Talk of the war brought another thought to his mind. It could be mere days before he and other men like him were called to the battlefield. While keeping his friend’s family safe was a noble aim, Sean knew that duty could take him elsewhere.
And if it did, and he was pledged to wed, what then?
I will not betray someone as Irmengard betrayed me.
He had to admit that dying while pledged wasn't an intentional act, but he still wasn't about to commit to someone and then renege on that.
I should just forget Marguerite. In addition, try and help her to forget me. It should be easy – I'm very forgettable, after all. “Camden?”
“Yes?”
“As soon as this wrist stops hurting, I will ride.”
“Ride?” Camden's brow went up. “My friend, are you quite well? If I didn't know better, I'd say you had such a fever you were raving! You're not riding anywhere with those ribs.”
Sean shook his head. “I have to leave.”
“Not until you're better.”
Sean grimaced. “Whist, Camden. Don't fight me now.”
Camden sighed. “You want to get yourself out of the way, don't you?”
The look in his eyes – resigned and understanding – touched Sean where nothing else had. “Yes.” It felt better to admit that to someone. “I have to.”
“Well, then,” he agreed. “I've a mind to take the carriage to Argyle. Want to come?”
“What?” Sean raised a brow. “Now? You mean it?”
“No,” Camden grinned. “I regularly make up things like that. Of course I do. We can leave tomorrow, if you have a mind to.”
“Camden, you do think that it's a good idea, yes?”
“You mean, do I think it's a good idea for you to leave now before you and Marguerite become too attached for you to leave her? Possibly.”
Sean sighed. “Thanks, Camden. I knew you'd understand.”
“Well, then,” Camden nodded.
“Well!” Sean said, trying to sound cheerful. “I'll go down to the courtyard for a brisk walk then. We leave tomorrow, so I may as well stretch my legs. Argyle's a good few hours away.”
As Camden stood and left, Sean felt his joviality evaporating. He hurried down the darkened hallway and wondered why the thought of leaving the castle and everyone in it made his heart ache. He thought his heart long sealed. The last thing he needed was the wretched thing waking up now.