“What are you going to do with the gifts?” Leila asked quietly when they were on the stairs. Several boys had already scampered ahead of them with small trunks of purchases intended for Isobel and there were many more following them. “It would be a shame to waste such fine goods.”

“True. You should choose what you like from them,” Fergus suggested. “I would like to send one item to Isobel as a wedding gift, but not any one item in particular.” He glanced down at her. “There must be a length of cloth that will not suit your coloring.”

She slanted a glance at him but said nothing. He found her mysterious when she was silent, for it was difficult to guess her thoughts. That intrigued him.

“Tell me,” he urged.

“In private, perhaps,” she agreed softly, then entered the busy solar. “You will have to send word that your marriage is not to be celebrated, after all,” she continued mildly. “I think Lord Gaston will be relieved to remain at home with Lady Ysmaine so close to her time. Though, of course, they will be disappointed to hear your news.”

Fergus wondered whether they would be so disappointed as that. He knew they both liked Leila.

“I will send a missive to Bartholomew,” he said, glad that Leila thought so sensibly. “I believe he intended to write to Gaston with some regularity.” He halted to admire the chamber, trying to see it through Leila’s eyes.

The solar filled the top floor of the tower of Killairic, and the windows offered views in all directions. The solar was of goodly size, with a large pillared bed in its very midst. Thick curtains hung around the bed and the mattress was plump with goose down. There were wolf pelts cast across the bed as well as woven wool blankets and a large brazier on the south side of the bed. On the eastern wall was a small altar with a beeswax candle upon it, and there was a crucifix hung on the wall above it. Leila’s gaze lingered on it for only a moment, but she did not seem to be troubled by it, to his relief. Fergus was not ardent at his prayers but he had fond memories of his mother praying there. The shutters on the north and west windows were closed against the wind, but Fergus opened them to show Leila the view.

“Beautiful,” she said, coming to stand beside him and taking a deep breath. “And such a crisp wind.”

“You will not find it so admirable in winter,” he noted and Leila laughed.

She slanted a glance at him. “I shall have you to keep me warm, will I not?”

Their gazes locked for a heady moment and Fergus could not summon a word to his lips. He thought of Leila’s kisses and could not wait to hold her against him, to explore her delicate figure, to couple with her. She held his gaze unflinchingly, her lips curved in a welcoming smile that made him anticipate the night ahead.

“Hold this safe for me, if you please, Lady Leila,” Duncan said from beside them, startling them both. He offered Leila his saddlebag and she put the strap over her shoulder.

“Of course,” she agreed easily, then touched a fingertip to the braid of Radegunde’s hair tied around his wrist. “How long will you stay?” she asked.

“I will ride north in the morning, lass, now that you are cared for.”

“Then you will not ride with me?” Fergus asked in surprise.

Duncan spared him a glance. “You have my opinion already on that scheme.”

Leila turned a questioning glance on Fergus and he felt his neck heat. Duncan granted her a gruff smile, then turned to direct the boys. Even when they were alone again, Fergus could not bring himself to explain his desire to see Isobel to Leila. He thought it obvious and felt awkward to even consider expressing his intent to visit his former betrothed to the woman he would wed this night.

“The floor is cold even in this season,” Leila noted after a long silence.

“I brought some rugs,” Fergus said, seizing upon the change of topic. “Perhaps we should put them on either side of the bed, so that floor is not a shock in the morning.”

Leila laughed so easily that he was relieved. “That is a good notion.” She surveyed the chamber with a critical eye. “I am put in mind of Radegunde’s scouring of the chamber at Châmont-sur-Maine.”

“It is a bit dusty,” Fergus agreed, seeing the cobwebs in the corners. “I wonder if it has had a thorough cleaning since my mother’s death.”

Leila arched a brow.

“Eight years ago,” Fergus supplied.

A gleam of purpose lit in her dark eyes. “If that is the case, it shall have one this day. Is there a maid or two who might assist me?”

“You do not have to do the labor yourself!”

“I do,” Leila insisted. “They must know that I do not put myself above them and that I am prepared to do my share.” When he might have protested, she placed her fingertips on his arm. “I am from afar, Fergus, and they know it well. They must learn that we have more commonalities than differences, and I must begin immediately to build alliances in your home.”

Fergus could scarce argue with such good sense.

Iain came into the solar then, doubtless checking on all activities in what he saw as his domain.

“Ask him to recommend a maid for me,” Leila advised. “It would be fitting to seek his counsel in such a matter. Ensure that he is not insulted by my desire to clean the chamber, if you please.”

Fergus nodded agreement. “Iain, Lady Leila will have need of a maid. Is there a young woman in the hall or village you would recommend for such service?”

Iain considered the matter for only a moment. “We have a young girl assisting in the kitchens, my lord, but she has a fine eye for women’s garb. Her skills might be better put to use in the service of Lady Leila.”

Fergus smiled, for Leila had been right. He was amused that she already gave him good advice in his own home. “I knew you would have a recommendation. There is no one who understands the nature of each soul at Killairic better, Iain.”

The steward bowed. “I thank you, my lord, though truly, this is simply my responsibility.”

Fergus grimaced and lowered his voice, flicking a glance at Leila where she stood at the window, seemingly oblivious to their conversation. “My intended is most fastidious, Iain, as many Saracens are known to be.”

“Indeed, sir.” The steward cast a disapproving eye over the solar. “Then perhaps she might be more inclined to see the chamber cleaned than your father has been. It is past due for a scrub, but I have not wanted to disturb your father’s comfort.” The steward sniffed. “He insists that he likes older rushes.”

Fergus guessed that his father had been trying to save the steward from extra labor. “I assure you that Lady Leila does not share that view.”

“Excellent, my lord.” Iain bowed to Leila, his approval clear. “I shall send Agnes to her immediately, although she is the only one who can be spared from the kitchens on this day. Perhaps some of the cleaning could wait until tomorrow.”

“Perhaps. I will suggest as much.” Fergus cleared his throat. “She may insist upon helping with the task herself to see it done more promptly.”

“I would not wish to give offense...”

“Nay, Iain,” Fergus protested. “It is my lady who does not wish to give offense. She told me already that you must be nigh overwhelmed with duties this day, and that she seeks to contribute.”

Iain considered Leila who smiled at him warmly.

He blushed and bowed, so clearly pleased by her attention that Fergus found his own smile. “Of course, sir. Please give the lady my regrets that we have so few staff to serve her will.”

“Of course.”

“Tell her that I look forward to a woman’s administering hand. And please tell her, sir, that I, like your father, will be glad of the opportunity to improve my French.”

“Then let us do as much now,” Fergus said, recalling Leila’s desire to make alliances. The steward would be a good place to begin. He beckoned to her and introduced the pair, standing back to watch as Iain made his greetings in careful French. Leila was patient and listened to him completely before replying, giving no sign that she noticed two errors.

She was diplomatic and gracious, as a laird’s wife should be, and he watched with pride as she put the older man quickly at ease. They agreed that one maid’s services would be sufficient on this day and disagreed politely upon Leila’s determination to help in the cleaning. Leila laughed at Iain’s protests and teased him just a little, just enough to charm the steward completely.

“You have made a quick conquest,” Fergus commented when Iain left the solar, his step filled with purpose.

“I expect he misses having a lady to consult about the administration of the household,” Leila said. A smile played over her lips. “I like him very much. He reminds me of a man who spent most of his life in my uncle’s service. Karayan might have been one of the family after such long association.”

Fergus glanced around, noting that they were alone in the solar. “And what were you thinking earlier, that you said you would only confide in private?”

Leila sobered. “It is not for me to grant you advice...”

“But it is, for you are to be my wife.”

“So, the role is perceived to be the same?”

Fergus nodded. “In these lands, yes.”

“Then, you must think about the appearance of all you do, Fergus. There will be those who assume you wed your whore as a matter of simplicity because your betrothed has chosen another. Those people will think me a second choice, and not unfairly so. But if you would have me treated as wife and not as courtesan, then your regard for me must be clear. Even if I am not first in your esteem, you should make it appear so.”

“This seems reasonable.”

“Your sole gifts to me cannot be what was intended first for Isobel,” Leila said with quiet heat. “This is not greed on my part or any criticism of what you have brought, but to grant your new bride the leavings from your betrothed is...”

“A poor choice,” Fergus concluded. He spread his hands and raised his voice, just as Duncan and the boys returned. “Tell me, Leila, what nuptial gift would make your heart sing?”

She smiled, so well pleased that his heart thundered. “Two mating pairs of pigeons,” she said, to his surprise, but speaking with such resolve that he could not doubt the honesty of her reply.

Perhaps they were a delicacy often eaten in the east. Fergus remembered seeing them for sale in the souks, but not ever having tasted one. Of course, if they were an indulgence, they would not have been served at the Temple, where austerity was the rule.

“And a means of keeping them,” she added.

“A cage?” Fergus suggested.

Her smile turned mischievous. “They will breed, and quickly, Fergus. A cage will not contain their numbers for long.”

He thought about the garden and nodded. “Perhaps it is time we added a dovecote to the garden.”

Leila’s features lit with delight. “That would be a most welcome gift, indeed.”

“Then it shall be done.” Fergus turned to the others and switched to Gaelic, discovering quickly that there were often pigeons for sale in Carlisle, and that a man who knew best how to build a dovecote could be found in Dumfries. He made sure it was understood that this was to be Leila’s wedding gift, then divided his father’s keys. The key to the solar, he put in his purse, but the smaller one he kept in his hand, the lace hanging from it.

“Before I depart for Dunnisbrae, let us see the valuables secured,” he said to Leila. “When I return, I will have the silversmith copy the keys so that both you and I shall have a set.”

“No more copies than that, though,” Leila said darkly.

Fergus nodded agreement, knowing that she was thinking of Châmont-sur-Maine and the plentitude of keys to the solar there. He unlocked the treasury and glanced inside it, noting the small chest where his father had always kept his coin and the second larger one that contained deeds and legal documents. He fetched his trunk that had gems within it and placed it in the small chamber. Leila was placing the saddlebag in the treasury when someone rapped on the door to the solar. It proved to be Iain.

Fergus locked the door once the treasure was secured, then gave the key to Leila, still on its cord. She put it around her neck and dropped the key into her chemise, just as his father had done, but this time, Fergus watched the path with greater interest.

When Leila smiled, he realized what he had done and cleared his throat. “I will ask Iain how soon we can arrange for your gift,” he said, then turned to find a young girl waiting on the threshold. She was young and would be considered pretty, but he had no interest himself in her charms.

She curtsied. “I am Agnes, my lord, sent to be maid to your lady.”

Fergus introduced the pair and left Leila to manage Agnes.

As he left the solar, he was thinking of golden skin and dark eyes, of a mysterious smile and woman both finely built and strong. He was thinking of good sense and loyalty, and the merit of having a partner whose word could be relied upon.

And Fergus was thinking, with far more anticipation than he might have expected an hour before, of his wedding night ahead.

---

Agnes was no fool.

Every soul she knew commented upon her ability to see the truth of a situation—and her gift for calculating how best to use that information to her own advantage. She had been likened to a cat in many places, given her talent for landing upon her feet. Agnes knew it was less about the landing than in assessing when to jump.

She made good choices. Going to Stewart MacEwan had been a good choice, for her brother had found labor there. Accepting Laird Stewart’s request that she go to Killairic and await the return of Fergus had been a good one, too. Laird Stewart wanted to know when the son of Killairic returned home, which was only reasonable, in Agnes’ view, given that his wife had been betrothed to Laird Fergus first.

The old Laird of Killairic liked her, which meant she gained special favors. Those in the village were foolish in their trust, a trait that Agnes hoped to use to advantage when necessary. Stephen, the ostler, was a competent lover but more importantly, a collector of gossip and rumor. People confided in him, which gave Agnes fodder to gather in anticipation of a generous reward—from the right laird at the right time.

It served Stephen as well as Agnes to have no one know what they did together in the stables at night, which was another advantage. His unhappy marriage, in truth, was why Agnes had chosen him. She had learned young that men wedded to shrews were the most discreet lovers and often the best trained ones.

On the day of Laird Fergus’ return, though, Agnes was stymied by her choices.

Of course, she owed a report to Laird Stewart of the return of the son of Killairic. Old debts should be paid first.

But then, there was the question of how to proceed to see her own advantage best served.

At first, Agnes thought it might be beneficial to charm one of the Templar knights. To be sure, both were tall and handsome, with dark hair and dark eyes. Their manner was stern, but Agnes had been certain she could tempt at least one of them to smile—if not more. Perhaps her destiny was in London or even Paris, larger cities with greater opportunities for the ambitious—and even access to royal courts. Her first effort, though, earned her a stare from one that was cold enough to freeze her marrow and disdainful, too.

As if she was a mere whore.

She would not sully herself with a man who did not appreciate her.

The village priest then told her that the Templars were sworn to poverty, chastity, and obedience, like other monks. Agnes had not realized that detail, since Fergus had joined their ranks. Apparently, there were distinctions between those who joined for a specific term of service and those who joined for life, as well as between lay brothers and knights, but Agnes was quickly bored with the details.

She had more interest in her own fate.

Agnes did not know any of the returning party, for she had not been at Killairic before their departure. She recognized this Duncan by his friendship with Murdoch. They were of a kind, to be sure. Duncan would be honorable and feel compelled to report any misdeed he witnessed, just like Murdoch. It was best for Agnes to avoid them both.

The laird’s son, Fergus, was as handsome and charming as Agnes had heard over the years. It was to his credit that she could find naught about him that disappointed, and she wondered if he could truly see the future. Although he might provide an excellent opportunity for her ambitions, she was leery of his rumored talents. It might be wise to avoid him until she knew the extent of his abilities better.

They brought a whore with them, an infidel so shameless that she rode openly in the party, as if she were a lady. Her skin was so dark that it looked to be filthy, and Agnes thought that all the indication of her nature that was needed.

She peeled onions in the kitchen, weighing the merit of the boy Hamish, the squire of Laird Fergus who had journeyed all the way to Outremer and back. He was slightly younger than her fifteen years but so much more innocent in the ways of the world—and this, despite his travels! Agnes thought that there might be amusement in introducing him to the pleasures of the flesh. He might have secrets of his lord’s to share, as well. In fact, she was certain she could coax any tale from him, given his sidelong glances of interest, but that would cut both ways.

Hamish was likely incapable of keeping any secret, and Agnes could not afford such a liability.

What of the squires of the Templars? They looked as grim as their knights.

She was curious about the trunks of gifts brought for Lady Isobel and wondered if she might be able to assess their contents at some point. Perhaps theft would be the sum of the opportunities available to her. Laird Stewart would be curious about Laird Fergus’ generosity, she was certain. The hall was too busy for her to have a look as yet, and Agnes did not want to steal some trinket that would be missed too soon. Impatient with the prospects offered by the arriving company, Agnes watched them closely, intent upon gathering tidings for Laird Stewart. Her sole reward might lie there.

And that was when she noticed how the Templars watched Duncan.

Why?

Perhaps they distrusted him, but their expressions were not judgmental. The more she watched, the more Agnes wondered. Why were there two Templars in the party in the first place? If they always accompanied those who left their service for home, why had she never seen one before? Or heard of one venturing this far north and west before? Agnes was certain that at least one of the sons of the Campbell clan had taken the cross and returned from Outremer. Even the old laird himself had seemed to be surprised by their presence.

Could there be another reason for them to accompany the laird’s son?

Why did Duncan hold so fast to that one saddlebag? He did not look to be a man who had many worldly possessions, let alone those he would fear to see stolen in his companion’s home.

The Templars, too, kept an eye upon that saddlebag, as did the infidel whore.

Agnes wanted very much to see what was in that bag.

It was not long before Fergus announced to all that he would make a handfast with his whore. Agnes was not surprised. If he wanted to continue to savor the infidel’s charms, he would need a tale for his father. The old man had a firm moral code, and Agnes had been careful to let him believe that she shared his views.

She had thought all along that it might prove advantageous to do so, and on this day, it did. The steward came directly to her after visiting the solar with the couple.

“Do you know much of the tasks of a lady’s maid?” Iain asked, his intention clear to any who looked.

Agnes smiled. “I know how a woman dresses and how she washes,” she said, adopting a modest manner. “And I believe I know how to follow commands, sir.”

“Indeed, you do,” Iain acknowledged. “Lady Leila has need of a maid, and I think you will suit well.”

Lady Leila. Agnes hid her sneer with a docile smile. “Are you certain I can be spared in the kitchens, Iain?” she asked, feigning concern. “Perhaps I should begin on the morrow, after the feast.”

Xavier snorted and bent his attention upon his sauce when Iain glared at him.

“That is thoughtful of you, Agnes, but I am certain Xavier can manage without you.”

The cook harrumphed. “Take her,” he invited. “She does not contribute that much to the effort. Perhaps we will do better without her in the way.”

Iain’s lips thinned. “Lady Leila has need of you now, for the handfast will be before the evening meal. Come along, Agnes, and I will present you to her.”

“Of course.” Agnes turned her smile upon Xavier. “I am sorry, but the onions are done.”

“Half of them at best,” the cook noted with disapproval. “Do not fear that I will be challenged to replace one so lazy as you. Go! And welcome to it!”

Steward and cook glared at each other, at odds in their view of Agnes as in so many other things, and Agnes considered that this change in her situation could only be an improvement.

Perhaps the whore might teach her some exotic skills, courtesy of her experience in the Orient. Perhaps she might talk in her sleep. Surely, there could only be advantage in gaining access to the solar, even if it was simply in the quality of information she could provide to Laird Stewart.

Agnes had time to feel pride in her situation before they reached the solar. Iain rapped once on the door, which was partially closed.

That was interesting. The old man had always left it wide open.

The warrior, Duncan, opened the door wider, his manner unwelcoming. He no longer had his saddlebag, a fact Agnes would not have noticed if she had not been so curious about its contents. Agnes glanced past Duncan in time to see the whore put it in the treasury, then Laird Fergus closed and locked that door. He gave the key to the infidel, who put its cord around her neck. He then passed Agnes on his way out of the solar, Duncan fast behind him.

Iain introduced her to the whore, and Agnes bowed low, as subservient and humble as ever she had pretended to be, even as her thoughts flew.

Duncan had been trusted with something of sufficient value for it to be placed in the treasury.

And the whore had the key.

Agnes was going to find out what was in that saddlebag, if it was the last thing she did.

---

Leila immediately disliked the girl.

The maid’s gaze was too quick, her manner too furtive, her smile too smug. There was a satisfaction about Agnes that reminded Leila of a cat, content with its situation, certain of its future. She was a pretty girl, to be sure, with a long braid as dark as ebony, eyes of clear blue, and skin as fair as milk. She was slender and had a tendency to open her eyes wide, as if innocent or awed, but Leila sensed that Agnes was cunning.

Hers was an instinctive and powerful reaction, which meant that Leila would trust it. It did not hurt that she had been unobserved when the girl arrived in the doorway. Fergus had taken Duncan’s saddlebag from Leila and she had turned slightly as she stepped back. She had noticed the girl after she had placed the saddlebag in the treasury, when she turned away as Fergus locked the treasury. Agnes’ sly expression was gone so quickly that it might never have been, but Leila had seen it and she took it as a warning.

Leila might have to be served by an untrustworthy person, but she did not have to let the girl guess at her suspicions.

She disliked that there was one alliance at Killairic that she would not be able to make, but there was naught for it. Leila recalled Radegunde’s custom of sleeping in the chamber with Lady Ysmaine, unless Gaston and Ysmaine intended to be intimate. Radegunde often joined them in the chamber once their coupling was complete, and she had herself joined Bartholomew and Anna in their chamber when they had posed as a married couple at Haynesdale. It was an advantage for a maid to sleep in the solar, which was often warmer and offered greater comfort than the kitchen or the hall. Leila did not wish to cause offense by challenging custom, but she was not going to sleep with this viper awake in the solar.

Which only meant that Agnes had to be so exhausted each night that she had no choice but to sleep, and to sleep deeply.

Leila doubted that the girl realized just how thoroughly they two were going to clean the solar—or how much of the labor she was going to be compelled to do.

---

Fergus sat in the hall with his father, listening to a summary of events since his departure. He was thinking, to his own surprise, about Leila.

He had been thinking about Isobel first, but it seemed that every consideration of Isobel led him to Leila. He supposed that was natural, for he had been betrothed to one and would marry the other.

What did he truly know about Isobel? She was beautiful, she smiled at his jests, she was obedient to her father’s will. They both were, he supposed, for they had agreed to wed at the suggestion of their parents. They had spent time together, but mostly in the company of others, at celebrations and when riding to hunt. They had been intimate once, but that had been so furtive that he scarce recalled the details.

He could not suppress the conviction that he knew more about any of his companions on this journey than about his betrothed.

Maybe even more of Leila.

It was an interesting notion. He did not know if Isobel lingered abed in the morning or rose early. He did not know what her mood would have been after a long day riding in the rain, much less how she would have responded to a need to sleep in a stable. Or in a field. It was true that travel and its hardships unveiled all secrets.

Fergus knew far more about Leila than about Isobel, to be sure. He knew that Leila would keep her word at any price, and fulfill any promise she made. He and she held the merit of a vow in the same high esteem. He knew that she was courageous, for she had left her home over a question of principle. He knew that she was clever and resourceful, and that she accepted the challenges of travel with a tolerance that echoed his own.

And he knew that she kissed with a sweet heat that haunted him truly.

Aye, and the second one had been more scorching than the first.

Leila. Even thinking of her in his father’s hall, knowing she was setting the solar to rights, knowing that they would pledge a handfast within hours, heated him to his toes. Was it simply the price of chastity?

Or would his desire for Leila linger beyond one night?

Fergus could not imagine as much. It was chastity at root, and some admiration of Leila was only natural. He doubted that his heart could be surrendered again so soon, certainly not if his beloved had been compelled to wed Stewart. His affection was more steady than that! The handfast was a compromise, an arrangement of good sense, and he would use the time to find Leila the husband she could love forevermore.

The one who would give her a son with blue eyes.

Fergus watched as the maid Agnes appeared at the base of the stairs with a bundle of linens. She strode into the bailey and returned moments later, evidently having assigned their washing to a woman in the village.

The curtains from the bed were carried out to the bailey next. Fergus could see the dust on the dark cloth even from the other side of the hall. Again, Agnes seemed to have found an ally in the village—or one more willing to ensure that the new lady’s will was done. She disappeared into the kitchens once she was rid of the curtains, where laughter was heard.

Leila herself appeared, clearly seeking the girl, and went into the kitchen in pursuit of her. No words were necessary to explain her stern expression, or her finger pointing up the stairs. Agnes trudged back to the solar, and Fergus fought a smile.

It seemed that Leila’s plan to win alliances at Killairic had some limitations.

Agnes descended next with the down mattresses from the great bed and carried them into the bailey. She returned quickly once more, and Fergus assumed she had again found someone to do the labor assigned to her. She climbed to the solar, looking proud of herself, then quickly reappeared, burdened with straw pallets and wearing a frown. She carried them outside, muttering under her breath with displeasure. Agnes must have been less successful in finding assistance with this task, for she was gone longer and was flushed when she entered the hall again. The pallets would have been left in the sun after being beaten, Fergus knew.

The girl then fetched a broom from the kitchens and carried it up the stairs to the solar. Fergus heard furniture being moved. No doubt, every corner of the room was being swept clean.

A disgruntled Agnes carried buckets of ash down from the braziers, and Calum cleared his throat.

“The Saracens had a fondness for cleanliness that far exceeded that of most in the west,” he commented. “I remember it well. Their homes were a marvel.”

“Indeed,” Duncan agreed.

“Killairic will benefit from Lady Leila’s inclinations,” Fergus’ father said with approval. “I see it now.”

When next Agnes appeared, the line of her lips was mutinous and her braid was becoming undone. She was breathing more heavily as she trudged up the stairs, with a bucket brimming with water and a brush.

His father glanced after the girl. “She has not worked so hard since her arrival here,” he said beneath his breath, then chuckled. “It will not harm her.”

“I wonder at Leila’s ability to communicate with her,” Fergus said. “She speaks little Gaelic and I doubt Agnes speaks French.”

“I suspect your intended is a resourceful woman,” Calum said. “She has that look about her.”

“As we saw, some commands can be given by gesture,” Duncan contributed.

“I should ensure that all is well, just the same,” Fergus said, excusing himself. “The girl looks to be vexed.”

His father was clearly amused by his departure. “Cannot bear for her to be out of sight?” that man asked Duncan as Fergus left them together. “I cannot blame him. She is a beauty, to be sure. I am quite delighted by the promise of more conversation with her. Did you know that her uncle was a smith?”

Fergus climbed the stairs, moving quickly and quietly, and peeked into the solar. He wanted to see what was happening before announcing his presence. Already he could see the difference in the solar. The dust and cobwebs were gone from the corners, and the rushes had been piled outside the door. It smelled cleaner, too.

Agnes was on her knees, scrubbing the floor and casting poisonous glances at Leila at regular intervals. Leila ignored her, but he doubted she was oblivious. The bed had been stripped to the ropes that held the mattress and the wooden frame itself. Leila was unpacking the trunks of gifts he had brought for Isobel, sorting the items on table beneath one window.

There was a goodly pile of cloth of various weights and in many lengths, and Leila had arranged it by color. There were leather belts and purses, and embroidered silken shoes, and stockings so fine that they were like gossamer. Fergus was a little surprised to see it all assembled, for he had forgotten about some of the cloth.

Leila worked without expression, pausing only once in her task to glance back at Agnes, then point imperiously to a corner the girl had missed.

“It looks like a different chamber,” Fergus said in French, announcing himself. Agnes hastened to her feet, wiping her hands on her skirts and curtseying to him as she smiled. He nodded at the bucket, indicating that she should continue. Her lips tightened and she dropped to her knees once more, failing to hide her resentment.

“Must you do it all in one afternoon?” he asked Leila. “Agnes will despise you.”

The girl glanced up at the sound of her name, her expression revealing that she did not understand what was being said. She clearly thought she might have a reprieve. But Leila turned to her and pointed to the floor. Agnes picked up the brush once more, and Fergus saw her eyes flash before she lowered her gaze.

“I think there is little to be lost there,” Leila said calmly. “There will not be fondness between us, no matter what I do.”

“I thought you meant to win allies.”

“She will never be one such. I will not worry about what cannot be changed.”

“I could find another girl to be your maid.”

“I will not be the infidel who finds this one lacking. There is a proverb, after all, about keeping those you trust close to your side and those you do not trust even closer.” She cast an assessing glance at Agnes. “I will ensure that she sleeps well each night, though.”

“I do not understand,” Fergus said.

Leila avoided his gaze. “Surely you know that it is customary for a maid to sleep in the solar, as one of the benefits of her post. She must sleep or I will not.”

Fergus thought that Leila’s suspicion of Agnes was undeserved, for he did not imagine that his father would have any servant in his hall who could not be trusted. Still, he did not blame her for feeling alone in his home, and uncertain of her safety to some extent. Who would not feel vulnerable in a foreign land, not speaking the language well?

In time, she would come to trust the girl, he hoped, or they would find another maid.

In time, he knew she would learn Gaelic and her confidence would grow.

“She will sleep in the hall this night,” Fergus said. “I am not so interested in additional companionship on the night of our nuptials.” He savored Leila’s quick smile, but her words revealed that he had not changed her thinking.

“All the same, the solar should be cleaned, and I will have it done on this day.”

“On the morrow, more hands could help.”

Leila turned to confront him, her hands on her hips and a glint of resolve in her eyes. “On the night of my nuptials, I will meet my husband in a clean bed, in a clean chamber,” Leila said firmly. “There will be no dirt, no sweat, and no vermin.”

Fergus had to acknowledge that this was only reasonable.

“Also, I think it wiser to have fewer persons in the solar at any time, and that the door should be locked in our absence.” She met his gaze briefly and he knew that she was being protective of the reliquary entrusted to them.

All the same, this was wrong.

Fergus cleared his throat. “I appreciate that this is not the home you know and that you would be cautious, but if you wish to be trusted, Leila, you must trust first.”

She held his gaze, unflinching. “I will trust those who earn my trust.” When he frowned, she dropped her voice to a murmur. “I think it only reasonable to be cautious where such a prize is concerned. Let them blame it upon my being from afar. It will be safer that way.”

Fergus respected Leila’s thinking, though he knew there was only one key to the treasury and doubted the lock would be readily compromised. He also saw that her thinking would not be changed in this moment. It would take time for her to trust all at Killairic, perhaps after the reliquary had found a haven.

He did not want discord between them on the day they would take their vows, so he changed the subject.

“I did not realize I had purchased so much,” he said, surveying the piles of cloth.

Leila cast him a warm smile as she opened yet another trunk, revealing even more fine cloth. “You are a generous lover, to be sure.”

“Is that a criticism?”

“Of course not! It is a good trait to be generous. I simply wish the lady had returned your esteem.”

Fergus leaned against the wall, wanting to watch her expression. She seemed to very mysterious to him in this moment, and he wanted to know her thoughts. “But then we should not be making a handfast this day.”

Leila’s dark gaze flicked to his. “We would not.”

“Would you regret that?”

She put down the cloth she held, granting him her complete attention. “Of course. I told you just days ago that you are the kind of man I should like to wed. That was not a lie and it has not changed. I also appreciate that your offer ensures my security in this land.”

“I would ensure that we have time for you to find a lasting match, to meet a man you can love fully,” Fergus said.

Leila’s gaze flicked away from his. “You are a good man, Fergus. And as a result, I regret that you had such affection for a woman who broke her vow to you and that your generosity appears to have been misplaced.” He watched her brows draw together as she ran an admiring hand over the cloth.

“Then let us put it to good purpose,” he said, liking that his words erased her frown. “First, choose for yourself. Which cloth will you make into a kirtle first?”

“The red, I think,” Leila said, touching a length of crimson wool blended with silk. “It is a joyous color.” She shook her head. “I will need assistance, though. I confess that I have little talent with a needle, and do not even know how to make the kirtles that women wear in this land.” She winced. “My uncle thought it a failure that I did not try harder to sew.”

“My mother despised sewing as well,” Fergus confessed. “She was much happier riding to hunt.”

“Truly?” Leila’s eyes lit.

“Truly.”

“I should have liked to have met her.”

There was naught that could be said to that. “We will ask Margaret in the village to sew for you. I do not doubt that she still has the most skillful needle hereabouts and my mother was always complimentary about her talent.” Fergus nodded at the array of fabric. “Choose a second. The lady of Killairic must have at least two garments of her own.” Leila touched the kirtle she was wearing, and he shook his head before she could speak. “In addition to the one given to you by Radegunde,” he said firmly. “It is a good serviceable garment, but not the attire of a lady.”

Leila smiled and stepped back. “Then you choose.”

Fergus selected two lengths of fine cotton for chemises and another length of wool in deep gold. He picked sheer fabrics to match for veils and added them to the pile. A golden circlet would replace the plain pewter one that Leila had worn since Haynesdale, and two finely crafted leather belts with detailed tooling would suit her as well. He added the stockings, a velvet purse, a heavy black wool for a cloak. “We shall find some fur to line it,” he said, then frowned at the shoes and slippers. “They will all be too large for you. Let us ask Margaret what can be done.”

“You are a generous lover,” Leila said.

“It is all yours, if you desire it.”

“What you have chosen is more than sufficient.” Leila indicated a length of finely woven deep green wool. “Your father might be glad of a new robe, and this will be warm for him.”

“An excellent suggestion. For that, you win a third kirtle, made of the wool in the hue of roses.”

“Fergus!”

He grinned at her, liking that she was pleased. “And now, the gift.” Fergus chose a length of blended wool and silk in a brilliant blue. He had bought it because it was the exact hue of Isobel’s eyes, and he wanted rid of it. The color would not suit Leila at all and it was too fine to give to anyone else.

There was a psalter rolled within it for the journey, a small volume with delicate images that he had bought for Isobel in Venice. It was a lady’s volume, but Isobel was not ardent in her prayers. Fergus had bought it because it was so beautiful, but was reluctant to give such a treasure to her now.

He would save it, for another woman might one day appreciate it. Perhaps Leila would convert, or he might be so fortunate as to love again in future.

Was that the dark cloud he had discerned? His own future without love?

Fergus refused to think about it. He set the psalter aside, recalling another trinket. There were fine needles of steel in the bottom of one trunk, the like of which he had never seen before glimpsing them in Outremer. He had bought them for Isobel, and some lengths of silk thread which would be welcome for her embroidery.

Again, the tokens had been costly, and Isobel was not diligent with her stitchery either, but Leila would never sit and embroider. She would hunt and hawk and ride with him, all of which were welcome prospects. He had seen her muck out the stalls of the horses and did not doubt she would undertake any labor she deemed practical and necessary. He doubted that embroidery would ever count. Fergus added half of the needles and thread to the blue cloth, thinking the gift was suitable. He put the remainder of the needles and thread aside for Margaret.

“Let us give these to Margaret,” he suggested. “They will make you an ally, to be sure, and she will have good use of them.”

“That is a fine idea.”

Content with his choices for Isobel, Fergus took one of the small trunks and packed them into it.

Leila granted him a challenging glance but said nothing.

Fergus understood that she had something to say but feared to speak her thoughts. He would teach her to do as much, and he would do that without delay.

Honesty, after all, was the foundation of every good match. He would have that, even if he could not have Isobel.