REACHING OUT
The fire crackled in the grate. Conn sat beside it, hunched and serious. His elbow still ached, though he could move his wrist a little now, and it pained him less.
It isn't pain that worries me. Not physical pain, anyhow.
What had he done to make Glenna run away from him? He sighed and shook his head. “Camden?”
“Mm?” His squire looked up at him, fair hair flopping into one eye. He was patching Conn's mail as they sat in his room together.
“I have a problem on my hands.”
“Your wrist, sir?” Camden asked. As squires went, he was steadfast, brave and helpful. He wasn't overly quick.
“No,” Conn sighed. “A girl.”
“Oh?” Camden's mouth made an “o” of surprise. “You have a girl, sir?”
Conn chuckled. “You're a cheeky devil, aren't you? You needn't seem so amazed.”
Camden shut his mouth. “Not amazed, sir,” he countered, bending back over his work again, tongue protruding as he bent the mail with a pair of pliers. “Just didn't know, like.”
“No,” Conn let out a long breath. “I didn't either, until recently. Just found her, really. Now,” he sighed. “I think I've lost her.”
“Lost her?”
“I've made her angry with me,” Conn explained.
“Oh.”
Camden was silent for so long after that Conn wondered if that was his only contribution to the conversation. He sighed.
“Well, sir,” Camden continued, surprising him. “When me da was worried that he'd vexed me ma, what he used to do was buy her sommat. It allus helped.”
“Oh?” Conn leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Thanks, Camden. What sort of, er, something?” he asked.
His squire shrugged. A solid, thickset boy with a round, sweet face, he looked puzzled for a moment. Then his expression cleared. “Like ribands, or lace. Or a handkerchief. You know, girl stuff.”
“Girl stuff.” Conn nodded slowly. He had no sister and his mother had died when he was a lad. He had little experience with girls.
“Yeah!” Camden enthused. “Pretty stuff. Trinkets the peddlers sell. You know? You could go into the market and look now, if you wanted. The market police'll be out, but there's nothin' tae stop you looking at some booths. Won't close until the next watch, sir.”
“Well, then,” Conn nodded slowly. “I think I might just do that.”
“I'll come with ye, sir?” he asked hopefully. Conn laughed.
“I begin to suspect you of ulterior motives,” he chuckled.
“What?”
Conn sighed. “Nothing, Camden. Truly. Thank you for the help – I appreciate it.”
Camden chuckled. “Not at all, sir. And mayhap a bag of chestnuts'll find its way into me hands, sir. Allus had a weakness for chestnuts.”
“That's enough,” Conn countered, though he was laughing. “You cheeky blighter. We'll to market. And if you want chestnuts, I'll stop them out of your pay.”
“Oh. Thank you, sir.”
Conn cuffed him playfully on the ear and Camden laughed.
The evening was cold, and Conn wrapped up warmly. The squire with him, he headed out between the booths. Most of them were closed now – the merchants and tailors, the armorers and leather-sellers and knife-seller were all long gone – the risk of thieving was too great for them, market police present or not. A few stalls were still open. The baker, selling the last of the day's bread, the flower-seller, a man with handkerchiefs pinned to his stall. And a fellow baking chestnuts over coals.
“Right,” he said as he handed Camden a penny. “Off you go. Get two lots, mind – I've a mind for some too.”
“Yes, sir!”
With Camden gleeful, hurrying off, Conn inspected the stalls. He hoped Camden had some idea of what he was talking about. He squinted at the different trinkets idly, wondering how on earth to choose a gift for Glenna. What would she like?
“A brooch, for milady's shoulder?” the stall-holder asked hopefully. He held out a brooch. Wrought of dark metal, crudely cast, it was too big and bulky for slim Glenna.
“No,” he murmured. “What are these?”
“Kirtles, sir.”
“Oh.” He put down the long embroidered band hastily, thinking he was stupid for not recognizing them for what they were – waist-belts to go over a long gown.
He looked over the stall, still undecided. Just then, a sliver of blue caught his eye.
“What is that?” he asked.
“This?” the man smiled. “A jewel, sir. For the forehead. Goes on a fillet, see? Like the fine ladies wear, only this one's glass, sir.”
Conn nodded. Glenna was a fine lady, if not apparently so by circumstance. He would take it. “That's it,” he nodded. “I'll have it.”
The man grinned and Conn paid him for it, and then he hurried off to find Camden.
“Camden?”
“Sir!” Munching chestnuts, Camden appeared at his elbow. “They're hot, sir.”
His face was red, eyes watering. Conn couldn't help smiling.
“Yes. I know.”
“Want one?”
“Thank you.”
Conn chewed one and coughed. The chestnuts were hot the way iron was hot in a forge, or at least it felt that way as it slid down his throat.
They were both helpless with laughter by the time they re-entered the castle.
Conn walked briskly to the second floor, feeling better than he had all day. He had the present. Hopefully, it would be enough. As he walked down the upper colonnade, he saw a woman in the shadows. She was tall and slender, and he couldn't look away.
“Glenna?” he called.
She turned. Moved slowly across the flagstones, heading toward him. He breathed in deeply.
“There you are,” he whispered. Her smooth-cheeked face was damp with tears. He hastily put the parcel in his pocket and held out his hands to her.
“I am so sorry,” he murmured.
She looked up at him. Those sweet red lips made a little motion that lanced through his veins with a surge of warmth, a little bewildered “o” that made him want her so badly.
“Conn,” she whispered. “I...”
At that moment, the sentry came past. “Good evenin',” a voice called cheerily. “Well. Would you look at that? What's our handsome boy up to now?”
Conn stiffened. Instinctively he took a step back. Glenna looked up at him with worried, frightened eyes.
“Alexander,” he said flatly.
“Indeed, it is,” Alexander beamed. It was too dark to see him clearly, though Conn could hear the warmth of the smile in his voice. “And you're here with your strumpet again.”
Conn tensed. He saw Glenna's eyes cloud with horror. “Shut your mouth,” he hissed. “Glenna...”
However, Glenna was looking from one of them to the other. Her face was filled with horror. She turned and, before Conn could say anything, ran away across the colonnade, heading for the western wing of rooms.
“Glenna?”
She didn't look back. Conn closed his eyes. The gift rested in his pocket, un-given. Now Glenna likely hated him. He turned and glared at Alexander.
Alexander shrugged. “Don't look at me like that,” he said genially. “It's true, isn't it? At least, that's what everyone will say. Conn McGowan's got himself a strumpet. How else'd you explain what I'm seeing?”
Conn felt the blood drain from his face. He was stiff and his throat worked, not able yet to utter a single sound. He wasn't sure when he'd felt so angry in his life.
“Glenna MacIndow is a good woman,” he said harshly. “If you ever say anything different to any audience, I'll...” He shook his head.
“You'll what? Fight me as badly as you did last time? Come on, boy. You can't threaten me.”
Conn let out a ragged breath. He turned and walked away. At that precise moment, Alexander was right. He wasn't up to fighting anyone.
“This isn't over,” he shouted as he walked across the flagstones, heading east, to the wing where his own room was.
“No,” Alexander shouted back. “It's not.”
Conn whipped around to face him, but the man was chuckling to himself, already walking along to the next sentry-post along the wall. While he stood there, Conn heard him humming to himself.
I hate him, he thought angrily.
He had made him make Glenna afraid. In addition, he'd insulted her. How much harder did he have to make it for Conn to pursue the one woman who had captured his heart?
“What can I do?”
He sighed. Whatever he did to reach out to Glenna, it seemed the man managed to stand in his way. He couldn't risk showing affection to her in public, for who knew how it would be framed behind his back. He didn't want to sully Glenna's reputation.
However, how would he convince her that he wasn't indifferent?
“Conn McGowan,” he told himself, walking slowly and dejectedly across the space. “You're going to have to think.”
Perhaps between them, he and Camden would think of something, before it was too late: who knew when Glenna would be leaving the castle?
He shook his head, feeling wretched, and headed to his room.
In the darkness, he reached into his pocket, where the parcel from the merchant's stall still resided. He drew it out and looked at it. Wrapped in a scrap of linen, tied with riband of pale yellow, it was a token of how deeply he admired her. He didn't care if she was a maidservant! She had his heart in her keeping. He was absolutely, indescribably and completely, in love with her.
Now, when he needed most to show it to her, his plan had been thwarted. By Alexander!
“Damn that man,” he sighed. He ran a hand through his hair and, angry and resigned, sank down on the chair beside the bed.
What would he do? He was going to have to think of something.