Chapter Nineteen
Though one may be filled with fear and dread, unseen whispers draw you,
pull you onward, until too late realized you should have stayed instead.
—Adrian Macgillivray
“Why must you go?” Skena wanted to stomp her foot to emphasize her frustration, but knew it a wasted effort. “Men! None of you ever listen! Worse, you always assume you ken best. Though you be prettier than most, de Servian, you remain just as pigheaded.”
He cocked his head and flashed a wicked grin. “De Servian? What happened to Noel?”
“Nodcock.” She did stomp her foot. It felt good, if naught else. “You have been ill for days, and with what you went through in opening the old wound, ’tis unwise for you to venture out into the cold so soon. Sir Guillaume bears the blame for this. He should have more sense than to encourage you to ride with the Challon men to hunt game.”
Leaning close he whispered, “Prettier than most, eh?”
Skena refused to yield to his charming ways. A pretty man was dangerous to a woman’s peace of mind. Her head whipped around looking for something to brain him with. Short of the poker, she could not spot anything suitable to fill her need.
“The day wanes. Night comes early to these Northlands, so we shan’t be out long.” Noel looped the wide strap of the baldric over his shoulder, buckled it crosswise on his chest before securing it about his hips. “I am lord here, now. Thus, I must do lordly things. Besides, I have a yen for something―anything― besides wolf meat stew for my sup.”
“Do no’ dare laugh at me, de Servian.” Skena heaved a disgusted sigh, and then set to straightening the mail grommet about his neck. She knew he would not be able to reach it with his side still tender.
“If I give you another kissing lesson when I return, may I be Noel again?” He brushed his lips against her cheek.
“Save your wiles. You have me playing squire because it pains you to lift your right arm. You were sick for days with fever.” Her mouth pressed into a frown. “And you are old—remember?”
Noel laughed loudly, then leaned over and caught her mouth in a bruising kiss, but then ruined it by pulling back too soon. Oh, she wanted to keep kissing him! Clearly, her yearning was upon her face for his eyes flashed arrogantly. Reaching out, he ran his thumb over her lower lip.
“If I stay, my love, I will end up giving you that kissing lesson, and if I do that, I shan’t stop with the kissing.” As if he could not resist, he brushed his lips briefly against her stunned mouth. For once, she did not return his kiss. Leaning back, he frowned. “Already you tire of kisses from an old man?”
Skena put her quivering hand to his lips to stop him talking. “You are no’ old. You be the most beautiful man I have ever seen. More importantly, you have a beauty inside, Noel de Servian. You make children believe wishes come true. You make me believe.”
He kissed her fingertips, then took her wrists and pulled her to him. “If I am so beautiful, then why did you not want me to kiss you?”
“I want your kisses…and more.” She blushed at her boldness, almost looking away, fearful she would spot reproof in his eyes.
“Then why―”
Skena rose up on her tiptoes and kissed his mouth softly. “You called me my love.” Her heart stopped and only beat again when she finally drew a small, ragged breath. Like Annis, she was snatching that treat he offered. She was in love with him, the feeling only strengthened with every passing hour, but dare she hope he was coming to care for her?
Noel’s grin faded and seriousness formed his handsome face. “I do―love you, you know. I have never spoken the word to anyone before.” When she opened her mouth to talk, he did as she had—put his fingers to her lips to silence her. “Trust me. You say I use the word beautiful too often, and thus, it has lost value. You are beautiful, no matter how many times I say it―outside and within, Skena. You give me such hope. ’Tis true we are but strangers yet, still, I feel Fate brought me to you. My life was empty e’re coming here. I need you. You are that piece of my heart, which has been missing my whole sad life. I am just sorry the journey to finding you has taken so long. I think I fell in love with you when I looked up to see you standing over me with a sword, ready to fight a wolf pack to save me.”
“Oh...” was all she could manage to say. Noel spoke the very words that had long ago formed in her heart―the sense that a piece of her had always been missing. Mayhap Fate had brought them together, for it would be too cruel for them to both live their lives needing the other and never having that spot filled.
Noel leaned to kiss her, but the door pushed open and Andrew came in, followed by Annis, who was pulling Sir Guillaume along by his first finger. Skena had to smile. Already Noel’s gentle attention toward her daughter saw Annis accepting another Englishman into her world as well. Her darling child never before had been so trusting, so bold, as to lead such an imposing warrior around by his finger.
“We caught a dragon, mama!” Andrew announced, patting Lord Challon’s thigh.
Sir Guillaume rolled his eyes at the antics of the children. “I hate to interrupt, but we dragons needs must ride. Winter daylight lasts but a wink, Noel, you shall find.”
Skena glared at them both, then threw up her hands in exasperation. “Run along! When de Servian sickens because he goes out chasing game, instead of resting in bed―where he should be―then you may nurse him, Lord Dragon!”
Noel’s foster brother smiled at her flair of temper. “I warned you, Noel—these Ogilvie women are no end of trouble. Lady Skena, I promise to return him to the keep first sign he is unfit to be out.”
Noel tried to kiss her, but she turned her cheek, furious he was ignoring her concerns. The side of his mouth crooked up. “The woman is in need of kissing lessons, Guillaume. Methinks I shall have my work cut out for me.” He quickly pressed his lips to her forehead, and then patted both children on the heads before leaving the chamber with Lord Challon.
“Noel, I love you,” she called after him, but the words were drowned out by the men’s laughter echoing in the hall.
♦◊♦
With a lightness of heart, Skena threw herself into the preparations for the Yuletide celebration while the men were off hunting. Her time had been tied up tending Noel since they had found him. Daily chores had been left to wait. The tally of things needing attention seemed endless. Distracting her from mundane tasks, the sight of holly and evergreen boughs tied with red yarn around the posts and hung on the doors lent color and cheer to the gloomy Hall. Everything seemed so festive and happy. For the first time in months, Craigendan thrummed with hope instead of fear and grief.
Elspeth rushed up, lacing her fingers together before her to contain her excitement. For a change, the color had returned to the girl’s cheeks. Not since the news of Dunbar and David’s death reached them had Skena witnessed the shine of life in her cousin’s eyes. “Skena, might I be troubling you for sprigs of juniper for the fire? It wouldst be a promise of new beginnings if we burnt some in the fireplace to cleanse Craigendan of evil shades.”
A shiver rippled up Skena’s spine at Elspeth speaking of lingering ghosts. Instantly, that sinister image standing at the top of the stairs filled her mind. No matter how hard she told herself that it had not been Angus, deep down she could not shake that conviction. The last shred of doubt refused to be banished.
She squeezed Elspeth’s upper arm. “Grand idea, lass. You appear well. Might the twinkle in your eyes have something to do with that handsome squire of Baron Glenshane?”
Elspeth lowered her eyes and blushed. “’Tis no’ wrong...Skena? I loved David, but...he will no’ be comin’ back. For so long, I wanted to crawl off and die.” Her voice choked on the words. “Now, my heart beats again.”
“What be this handsome squire’s name? He has no’ been made known to me.”
“Emory Maynet. He be old enough to be knighted, but does not have coin to maintain that station. I overheard the baron suggest that he might wish to stay here and become Lord de Servian’s man, since he will need to import soldiery to protect us.” Again, she lowered her lashes as if afraid to hope. “If things come to pass...”
“Wishes again.” Skena muttered to herself. “I see the path your mind trods—the old broch?”
Elspeth’s head bobbed in answer. “It comes to me through my Ogilvie blood when I wed. David and I had hoped to refit it with the Earl Challon’s blessing. ’Tis only...” Her cousin shrugged, confused by the ties to the past pushing against the hunger for the future.
Skena understood those emotions only too well. “Times change, Elspeth. Sometimes, life allows us nary a choice. On the rare occasion the Lady must smile upon us. So, when a prize does come, seize what you yearn for with both hands. Such wishes ring true, dear heart. ’Tis life going on.”
“I have seen the way Lord de Servian looks at you. Methinks he will make a good lord here, Skena. More importantly, I sense he will make you happy. Some speak Angus was a good man, a good provider. He was, I suppose. But he never made you blush the way this Sasunnach does. Sometimes…Angus hurt you, not meaning to. Other times, he was careless with you and your pride.”
Skena sighed at the truth. “De Servian be so gentle with Annis. That touches my heart. For so long, she stood in the shadows, cringed when Angus bellowed at her.” Skena brushed her thumb over the small dip in her cousin’s chin. “So, open your heart to Emory Maynet—if it feels right. Bring him to meet me. Mayhap by spring’s coming you shall start work on the old broch.”
Impulsively, Elspeth grabbed Skena in a tight hug. “’Tis good to live again. Scary, but good.”
♦◊♦
As Skena headed down the dimly lit hallway, she spotted Ella coming in the opposite direction, and almost steeled herself for their passing. A strange woman, Ella was in charge of the geese and the pigs, and mostly kept to herself. Her pale hair was chopped short, unlike most women, not even touching her shoulders, and so coarse and straight that it held no natural softness. Her neck was thick and short, her facial features almost gnomish. Skena knew that everyone could not be pleasing to the eye. With Ella it wasn’t just her appearance that tended to be off-putting. A baleful air about her saw Skena never quite trusting her.
There was plenty of room for them to pass without touching, but as they did, the squat woman’s shoulder knocked hard against Skena’s, causing her to back up a step to brace herself from losing balance. Frowning, she glared at the strange woman, wondering why she had done that.
“Beg pardon, my lady. Me feets be so clumsy. Bad ankle, you see. Goes out on me sometimes, it does,” she offered in a way of explanation. “No harm meant I.”
Skena gave her a nod. Even so, she failed to accept her words. There was an odd glint in the woman’s hooded eyes that bespoke insolence, which in turn set off a frisson of alarm to crawl up the back of her neck. Skena had never liked Ella, but the woman generally kept out of the way.
“By your leave,” she gave an awkward bob, half-curtsey, half-bow, as if not sure which was proper, and then continued on down the hallway.
At the stillroom door, Skena paused to question what Ella was even doing in this part of the fortress. She only came into the Great Hall about once a fortnight, the remainder of her time spent in the small hut on the edge of the outer bailey. Disquiet rippled through Skena why the peculiar woman would be wandering in the back part of Craigendan. Ella had no business here.
Shrugging off the questions, she lifted her chatelaine and sorted through the keys, searching for the one to the stillroom. Just as she found the correct one, her movements froze. Though she could not say why, Skena suddenly felt she was no longer alone in the long dark hallway. Prickles crawled up her neck again, as though she were being watched. Ella? Slowly, she lifted her head and looked down the passage, back toward the kitchen, the way Ella had departed to see if the woman lingered for some reason and was spying on her. No one was in the long corridor. It was silent in the hall, save kitchen noises and Cook whistling while he went about preparing supper. She watched for a few heartbeats, but no one came or went. Telling herself it likely had been naught more than a servant going about their chores, she lifted the ring.
Just as she went to insert the key, she hesitated, the sense of being watched growing stronger.
Skena turned her head to the left and stared into the long shadows. Since the torchlight did naught to banish the darkness, she kept her eyes fixed there trying to adjust to the heavy gloom. Dizziness whirled through her mind pushing her to be lightheaded. The keys slipped from her hand. She blinked, fighting the unreal sense that crawled over her skin. The strange sensation did not lessen, but increased with every draw of air. The Kenning. That fey sense was alive now that Noel had opened her heart, and it was warning her with a force that compelled her to flee. She knew better than to ignore the presentiment.
Skena considered her next step. Should she go investigate, or give pretense she was unaware something was off and just return to the Great Hall? Telling herself she was being silly she retrieved the ring from the floor, and sought the right key. She quietly flipped through the hoop, but could barely concentrate enough to pay notice to the shape of each.
“Skena...”
The gooseflesh rippling up her spine redoubled as she lifted her head. Once again, she looked in both directions. No one was there. Her name had been naught but a ghostly whisper, one easily conjured in the mind when rattled. She held perfectly still and listened. Oddly, she felt like a doe scenting a man.
Then, the dimness shifted.
Her heart nearly stopped, and everything seemed to bend in on itself. Shadows distorted, twisted and reformed into the silhouette of a man standing at the turn in the corridor. How long had he been there watching her? The full impact slammed into her as she stared at a form that was only too familiar.
“Angus.” she gasped.
Emotions swam through her, too many to sort out. Fear. Pain. Her soul howling No! Never would she have wished him harm, but for the first time in her life she held hope that true happiness had come to her, of seeing Annis could have that same possibility, instead of growing up beaten down, unloved and unworthy because she was only the girl. To have that snatched away now would be too cruel.
Almost willing the figure to be naught more than her imaginings, she closed her eyelids and squeezed them tight. “He will be gone when I open them,” she whispered so low only she could hear, almost a prayer to make it so. When she opened them, the dark figure remained.
“Skena...” His hissed murmur sent a ripple of terror over her.
This could not be!
Noel assured her Angus was dead. Mayhap they were mistaken. Was there some way he escaped the madness at Dunbar? He was not dead, but merely wounded, and it had taken him until now to make it back to Craigendan. Had not Noel’s injury taken so long to heal? Angus was older than him by ten years, thus he might mend even slower. The Kenning swam through her, warning her, but she was determined to know the truth. She did not want this shadow hanging over her life, her future!
Her hand holding the chatelaine dropped, allowing the ring to rattle to her side as she started down the passageway with slow steps. She did not want to go, but was driven by the need to know if this was Angus, or if her mind conjured his shade out of guilt, simply because her life was moving on. As she neared, he suddenly vanished around the corner.
As she approached the bend, she pulled up. The long corridor wound to another turn, and then eventually reached a tunnel entrance, opening upon the bailey behind the stables. The torches were not lit in the sconces, no arrow loops to break the impenetrable darkness. She listened as the man’s footfalls carried him farther away. Skena knew every inch of Craigendan, could walk the winding passages blindfolded, yet she waivered on following him.
At the second bend, he spun on his heels and looked back. “Skena…hurry…come.”
“Angus?” Skena’s voice echoed hollowly against the stone walls.
“Hurry…”
Putting her hand on the wall, she glanced to the torch behind her, wondering if she should go back and fetch it. Ahead, there were only the garderobes, a communal bathing area for the soldiers, a hidden outer door to the fortress, and then another leading down into the bowels of Craigendan. Just as she decided to return to collect the torch, a faint light flared behind him, as if a candle had been lit.
Keeping her hand on the stone wall, she slowly made her way down the narrow corridor, the pale yellow glow behind her growing fainter as she turned the crook. Ahead, the candlelight flickered from inside the cleansing room. Once more, she hesitated. The sense that something was off about this whole situation increased with each heartbeat.
“Hurry, Skena.” The ghostly call came once more. This time it came from inside the large storage room, cut deep into the stone beneath the castle’s foundation.
No fool, she was not going down there. Steps behind her caused her to spin around. He had gone into the washing area for the barracks. Frowning, she crossed the threshold and looked about, yet failed to spot anyone. The candle and wooden holder was sitting on a table against the far wall. There were two large wooden tubs, standing empty, before the cold hearth, a long bench on either side. A large wooden privacy screen sat across the corner. If Angus had gone in here, there was only one place he could be―behind the screen. Moving to the table, she picked up the candle by the finger loop, lifting it high.
“Angus, are you here?” she called. “Cease this game of seek-and-hide.”
As she headed forward to check behind the heavy paneled screen, something dropped over her head―dusty burel―the dust so heavy she choked, gasping for air. The candle dropped from her fingers, as she struggled to get free of the heavy sack. Only, it was yanked down covering her arms to where she could not strike out. Suddenly, strong arms swung her hard, sending her crashing against the far wall. Her head made a sickening sound as it hit the stones.
As blackness swirled through her mind, her last thought was that she should have heeded the Kenning. “Too…late,” the words fell from her lips.