BACK AT THE CASTLE
Conn helped Glenna up onto his horse with a sense of utter unreality. “Shall we go?”
She smiled down at him. Her sweet, lovely face seemed to have a new peace in it. The livid bruise was still there, but the oval softness of her face held a new tranquility, a new light. He stroked her hand as she spoke.
“Yes. Yes indeed.”
He mounted up and, arms around her, set them on their course back to the castle.
He could feel her round buttocks pressed against him as he rode and he had to grit his teeth as, combined with the sweet scent of her hair and skin, the feeling tore through him, igniting his desire and need for her.
This is sweet torment.
He cradled her close, riding as carefully as he could across the pathway. He had thought sleeping at the foot of her bed was torture enough. This was something entirely different. Every jolt drove her against him and he heard her gasp and almost cried out with desire.
When they reached the castle, it was to a strangely subdued atmosphere. Conn frowned, looking at the guardsmen. He helped Glenna down and kissed her sweetly, and then escorted her upstairs to her bedchamber. Leaving her at the door, he walked to the courtyard, head lost in wonder.
He was wedding Glenna soon.
“Conn!” Blanchard, one of the guards, hailed him.
“Blanchard?” Conn frowned. His companion looked harassed. “What's bothering you?”
“It's Sir Rufus,” Blanchard said. Conn frowned. He distantly recalled a tall, solid-looking man with a fine-boned, if stern, countenance, a senior knight among the Guardsmen.
“What's the matter with him?” he asked.
“He's been missing four days.” Blanchard ran a weary hand down his face. “And Lady Amabel too.”
Conn froze. “What is going on?” he asked.
“Beats me,” Blanchard said. “But I want them back. I told Sir Ivan we should set out immediately. Should have done so ages ago, of course, but no telling that stone-face what to do.” He shook his head, exhaling wearily.
“We should go at once!” he said, making a gesture toward the gate. A few men-at-arms looked at him, but they looked down again almost-desultorily, turning to their practice and repairing armaments.
“What is happening?” Conn asked. “What's wrong? Adair?”
The older knight sighed wearily. “It's Alexander,” he said. “He's gone missing. When you went, too, the fellows thought that...” He shrugged. “Thought you'd finished him.”
“They thought I murdered a guardsman?” Conn was horrified. “I swear I didn't.”
Just then the gate opened. “Sir!”
Blair ran up, saluting Adair, who had clearly assumed Alexander's role in his absence.
“Yes?” the older man said wearily.
“We found him.”
Conn breathed out raggedly. Adair looked at him, blue eyes wide with new-found good opinion. Conn swallowed hard, indescribable relief flowing through his veins.
“What's his state now?” Adair asked.
“He's...alive,” Blair said carefully. “Well. Almost unharmed. But he's leaving, sir.”
Adair's eyes stretched wide and Conn also stared. What?
“What?”
“He said he's leaving us. Going north. Got his advance pay from the command office. Leaving us,” he repeated, dazed. He couldn't seemingly believe it.
Nor could Conn. He felt as if the last dart had been cleansed from his flesh. He was whole again. Free to love.
“Lady Amabel?” he asked, thinking quickly. “What news of her?”
Blair shrugged. “No idea, Conn.” He looked drawn and concerned. If a Guardsman had abducted a duke's daughter, they could all expect a swift, bloody reprieve. Conn felt as if a cold breeze entered the courtyard and shivered. It was as if a cloud passed across the wan sunshine.
* * *
Later, in the armory, he heard the news.
“She's back!”
It was Greer. He ran in, long, slim face flushed with amazement and out-of-breath.
“She is?” Conn jumped to his feet. “The Lady Amabel?”
“Yes!” Greer was clearly also relieved.
“And Sir Rufus?”
Greer grinned. As if in answer, a voice boomed through behind him. “Where's dinner? I'm damned if I'm going to starve out here in this blessed freezing cold.”
Conn chuckled. That sounded about right. All was well in their world again.
He sneaked away at the first opportunity to see Glenna. He had to see her. If Lady Amabel had to leave, what would happen for their plans?
He went to the colonnade and waited. Then, unable to wait any longer, he slipped into the hall where the noble guests had their bedchambers.
“Glenna?” He lifted his fist, about to knock, and then he saw her already in the hallway, a cloth over her arm, apparently a towel. “Milady!”
Glenna blushed and laughed. “Whist, you. Wait here.”
She delivered the towel and Conn waited for an agonizing minute, hearing giggles and whispered commentary – muffled words – before she appeared again.
“Conn!” She whispered his name, those gray eyes lively with mischief. “Now we can talk.”
Conn gathered her into his arms for a moment. They headed to a room, deserted now, with a spinet, where he presumed that young ladies practiced their musical skills. They sat together on the settee. Conn slid off and knelt before her, his body aflame with longing.
Glenna stroked his hair. “Conn,” she murmured. “You wished to say something?” Her soft, lovely voice teased him, making him shiver with want.
“I had to ask,” he said, clearing his throat, voice husky with feeling. “When will you leave us? I mean...your lady is back...” He felt his brow crease with sadness. She stroked his hair.
“Oh, Conn,” she murmured. “We will leave the day after the morrow. But first...” She bent forward and kissed him and he gasped, and then moved back, heart thudding with longing.
“First?”
“First, you must discuss matters with your captain.”
“My captain?”
“You're coming with us.”
Conn stared at her. He laughed. Disbelief burned through him. “What? How...who?”
She giggled. “My lady is the daughter of a duke,” she reminded him softly. “She does have special means of making arrangements here. She said we could talk with the leader of the Guard and explain that you were needed in the north-lands...she has a mind to set you to task at Lochlann Castle, our home in the north. Apparently, we can do with an extra pair of hands governing the defenses there...”
Conn stared at her. A commission. Leaving Edinburgh. Governing his own troops. It was all too much to take in.
“Glenna!” he laughed. “You amazing...wild...brilliant...” He was kissing her with each word and she shrieked and giggled as his lips tickled her skin.
“Stop it, Conn,” she protested. He grinned.
“Truly?”
“Yes!” she huffed as he kissed her fingers. “You torment me enough!”
Conn chuckled, kissed her again and then sat back, looking into her eyes. “I do love you, Glenna. So very, very much.”
She smiled down into his eyes, her own soft with tenderness. “And I love you too, Conn McGowan. I love you.”
They kissed.