RETURN TO THE FORT
Dunkeld. The moment they were near it, Henry saw a change in Amice. He noticed her becoming more alert, her posture upright, face flushed. He frowned, and then realized what it was. They were almost at her home.
“Not far now,” she called over her shoulder to him. Henry nodded.
“Good. That's good.” He was swathed in his thick wool cloak, sheepskin coverings on his legs and hands, but he was still cold. The wound on his chest had opened a little two days ago though it was only a minor tear. His joy in seeing Amice smile wiped all his own concerns away.
“I can see the tower. Up there, look!” she pointed up above the green clad trees. The forest here was coniferous, thick, dense, and dark green, the trees already paler with new growth here and there. It was spring. He looked up to where she stared.
“Yes. I see it,” he nodded, giving her a smile. “It looks a mighty fortress.”
Amice flushed. “I hope you like it.”
Henry chuckled. “I like everything about you.”
Amice blushed. “Henry. You do flatter so.”
“Not a bit of it.” He grinned. She stuck out her tongue and he chuckled.
The forest grew on the slope here, so that they went more slowly, following a path that wound to the right, heading to the gate.
“Here it is!” Amice sung out. “We're home.”
Henry stared. They faced an iron gate between two turrets, the turrets themselves made of gray stone, seeming to grow out of the hillside like two firm natural pillars. As he watched, a sentry stared down.
“Lady Amice!” he shouted. His face lit with a broad smile. “My lady! Open the gates!”
Amice shouted to him. “Fergall! It's me! Let us in!” she waved.
The gates opened and they rode in.
Henry looked around. They were in a stone-paved courtyard, the whole place surrounded by a thick wall. The building that rose up before them was a stern place of gray stone, a colonnade looking down over the practice ground, a flight of seven or eight gray stone steps leading up to the door. As they stood there, the door opened and a woman appeared. She was dressed in black velvet, a black kirtle at her waist. Her hair was the same coal darkness, her face pale with haughty cheekbones. Her eyes, when they looked at Amice, were round and bright.
“Amice!” she gasped.
“Auntie Alina!” Amice greeted the woman. She cannoned up the steps and embraced her. When they drew apart, the older woman was smiling, Amice crying.
They spoke to each other, rapidly, and Henry, who had picked up a word or two of Gaelic on his travels, listened in.
The older woman said something, and Amice smiled. Then she gestured at him. He blinked. Amice said something else. He recognized his name, and the word “friend”. He smiled.
The older woman raised a brow, looking at him inquiringly. When her black eyes met his own, he had the most peculiar sensation, almost as if she was looking into his mind, reading his thoughts. It passed when she looked away. She smiled at him.
“Welcome,” she said. It was only after she had said it that he realized she said it in Italian. Salve.
“Thank you,” he said in French.
Amice looked from one to the other and laughed. Then, arm linked with the older woman's, she followed her inside.
Henry followed them both.
In the hallway, they were met by a group of people. Henry didn't count them, but he guessed there were six or seven. They too were dressed in black. It occurred to him that they were all in mourning. He held his breath, thinking Amice might have bad news to receive. He went to stand by her.
Everyone was laughing. A tall woman with long red hair ran to Amice and Amice embraced her, tears pouring down her cheeks. A man around his own age with thick chestnut hair and a big smile ruffled her hair, and then enveloped her in a bear hug. Amice coughed and rested a hand on his arm, laughing. Then she saw another woman, a little older than her, he guessed. She had the high cheekbones and heavy-lidded eyes of Alina, but the flame-red locks of Amice and who he guessed to be their mother. Amice ran to her.
“Joanna!”
The two embraced. Joanna regarded him over her sister's shoulder, and he had that same scratching sensation in his mind, as if she was seeing right inside him. She nodded to him and said something to Amice.
Amice blushed and turned to face him.
“Sister,” she said in French. “Meet Lord Henry. He's my good friend.”
“It's good to have a friend,” Joanna said. “And any friend of yours is welcome here. Welcome, Lord Henry.”
Henry raised a brow. The woman spoke French as well as he did. He took her hand. “Honored, my lady.”
Amice was busy greeting a man Henry assumed to be her father – a tall man with a long bony face and dark hair – and then a pretty woman with blond curls. Then she came back to him.
“Come, Henry! You must meet everyone. This is my mother, Lady Amabel, and Lord Broderick, my father, and Brodgar, my brother, and Henriette, his wife, and here is Aunt Chrissie and Uncle Duncan and Uncle Blaine and...Oh!” she grinned, laughing. “Too many people.”
“I'm sure I'll meet them all in time,” he said with a wry smile. “But I should not intrude on your homecoming.”
“Henry!” she said crossly, “you are welcome. Now. I understand there's a meal laid out in the solar. And you must talk to Alina. She can fix your wound.”
“I would be grateful if she could examine it, yes,” Henry nodded.
“They thought I was dead,” Amice explained bluntly. Henry laughed.
“Oh! That explains the black.”
“It does.”
Alina was at his side, a solemn presence. “Let me see that wound. I can tell it's draining a lot of your strength. It needs a new dressing.”
Henry nodded, relieved. “You could have read my mind,” he said sincerely.
She raised an arched black brow. “Not this time,” she said enigmatically. Henry blinked and she smiled. For the first time since their arrival he felt on alert. He looked for Amice but she was in the center of the group of family members, laughing and smiling.
“Come on,” Alina said. “First something to eat, and then you need a new bandage.”
“I couldn't agree more.”
He followed the group upstairs to a beautifully appointed solar. There, the table was set for a meal and servants brought dishes almost as soon as they were seated. He sat beside Amice at the middle of the table, with her mother opposite, Alina on his left. The rest of the family surrounded them and questions came from all sides.
“Wait!” Lady Amabel laughed, making a tempering gesture with a hand. “Let Amice speak.”
Amice cleared her throat. “First, we should eat,” she said. That was met with roars of approval. Henry grinned. “But before we do, I must say that we – Lord Henry and I – are most grateful to be back with you.”
“Aye!” Brodgar yelled. “And we're glad to see you and all.” He spoke in broken French, and Henry smiled at him gratefully.
“Do all your family speak French?” he whispered to Amice, who sat beside him. That would make things considerably easier for him. He had imagined that there would be no way to talk.
“Most of them,” Amice said. “My father and Uncle Duncan speak much less. Uncle Blaine speaks none at all. Don't get him onto the subject of French war horses. You won't hear the end of it.”
“What about French war horses?” Henry asked. She rolled her eyes.
“Everything. Just don't.”
Henry laughed and she laughed with him. Then the serving man was doling out vast helpings of stew and everyone was eating and laughing. Henry felt his strength slowly returning and the fire at his back ate into his bones, warming him from the inside out. He felt better than he had in days.
Later, Lady Alina took him upstairs to a turret room where she looked at his wound. She removed the bandage with a sniff.
“It's festering again,” she said. Henry winced.
“I thought it might.”
“We need to wash it with a tincture of balsam.”
Henry blinked. “I am in your hands, my lady.”
Alina pulled a wry face. “In mine you may be,” she said, as she unwound the bandage. “But I believe that you are also in the care of my niece. And she in yours.”
Henry stared at her. He was not going to ask how she knew that. However, what could he say? “Yes,” he said simply.
Unexpectedly, she smiled. “Good. Now,” she turned to the fire and tossed in the old bandage, which flared dramatically and then burned. “We'll just swab this dry...” she reached for a linen cloth and patted it dry. Henry winced as she worked. She applied a strong-smelling fluid to the wound, and then stood back, nodding in satisfaction.
It started stinging like fire was in it and Henry gasped. Alina smiled.
“Right. The tissue isn't decayed away then. That is good. Now, we need to get it bandaged. You'll need this changed three times a day. And don't argue with me.”
“Yes, my lady.”
She smiled at him and looked up as they both heard footsteps in the hallway.
“Auntie?”
“Just finishing, dear,” Alina called, deftly tying off the bandage around his chest. It was tight and made him gasp, but she seemed oblivious to any noise of pain out of him. Amice came in.
“Henry! There you are! I wanted to talk with you.”
“Almost done,” Alina said. She stepped back. “There. Now I recommend you use a new tunic – this one smells horrid,” she added, passing him his old linen tunic. He blushed.
Amice giggled. “Oh, auntie.”
“Well, it does,” Alina said with a smile. “Now, I'm off to find some new bandages. You know where the clean tunics are, Amice.”
“Yes, aunt.”
The two of them were on their own together. Henry smiled up at Amice.
“You have a lovely family,” he said.
“Yes,” Amice nodded. She looked distracted and he frowned.
“What is it, dearest?” he felt a sudden panic. Had someone denounced him? What had happened? “Tell me what it is. It can't be that bad.”
She smiled and sat down beside him on the settee. “It's not. I was just talking with Mama and...” she looked into his blue eyes. “She says it's my choice. But I don't know...”
“Don't know what?” Henry asked gently. He thought he knew what she meant, though, and felt his heart grow sad. She meant she didn't know if she wished to settle down with him. “It's your choice,” he agreed. “And quite natural if...” he trailed off as she cleared her throat.
“If what?”
He shook his head. “Don't mind me, dear. You must decide. I will abide by it.” He swallowed, trying to prepare himself for what she would say. He didn't know if he could face hearing it from her, the words that would send him away from her. Still, he had to.
She sobbed. “Oh, Henry. It's so hard! But I cannot ask you...” she sniffed. “You would have to leave your home and everything, and...”
“What do you mean?” Henry asked, though hope was suddenly flaring in him and he felt his cheeks flush with the new joy of that.
“I cannot expect that you would truly, truly think...” she paused, “of asking me to wed you.”
Henry stared at her. The joy blossomed in his chest, sending warmth and sparkles like the bubbles in wine through his mind and heart. “Amice MacConnoway,” he said solemnly. He took her hand. “I have wanted to say this for weeks now. Will you marry me?”
Amice stared at him. “What? Henry..? I...” she wrapped her arms round him and kissed him. “Yes. Yes! I will marry you.”
He laughed, she laughed and then his arms were around her and hers around him and their lips were together, kissing passionately, intensely and joyously.
When they broke the kiss, Henry looked up into her face, his heart full of wonder.
“Oh, Amice,” he said softly, stroking that beautiful red hair back from her forehead. “I love you so much. You have made me so very happy.”
Later, Henry waited in the colonnade while Amice slipped into her mother's chamber to talk with her alone. He felt tense for her, as she had spent some time explaining her family's expectations and why she thought her request might be refused.
Henry breathed in deeply, watching the wind move over the forest. He heard footsteps behind him and found himself facing Brodgar.
“You're foreign,” Brodgar said forthrightly. Henry swallowed and nodded.
“That's right.” He felt tense, waiting to spring into action. This vastly muscled Scotsman, dressed in tunic, trews and plaid, would likely be the sort who had killed Englishmen before. He wasn't sure how his news would be received.
“You're not French, though, are you?” Brodgar said, narrowing his eyes at him.
“No,” Henry agreed.
“I thought not. I've traveled in those parts and none of them looks like you. You're English.”
Henry swallowed. “Yes.” He paused, heart thumping. He had no weaponry and would not have dreamed of carrying any into the home of Amice. However, he badly felt the need for a shield at least. With his big shoulders and slightly bent posture, this brother was a warrior.
“Ah.” Brodgar grinned, then. “Well, if you were French, we'd have a bit of trouble.”
“We would?” Henry frowned. “Why?”
“You see, half the family's French. If you turned out to be French too, we'd have too many Frenchies. You're a breath of fresh air. Welcome.”
Henry stared at him, knowing he gaped and not able to stop it. “You mean...Thank you,” he said, recovering quickly and holding his hand out to shake the big, meaty one of Brodgar. “I am honored to be welcomed to your abode.”
Brodgar laughed. “Well, we're pleased to have you and all,” he agreed. “Anyone who makes Amice happy is a friend of mine.”
“I do?” Henry asked, feeling pleased.
Brodgar rolled his eyes. Henry laughed.
They were standing talking together when he heard footsteps cross the colonnade. He looked up. Amice was there. Her eyes shone.
He gave her a questioning look.
“Oh, Henry!” she said, running to him. Then she was laughing as she told him what happened. “She said yes.”
“That's wonderful,” Brodgar said behind them. Henry hardly heard him. His arms were round Amice and he couldn't think of anyone or anything else; couldn't think of anything but the wondrous news. He was here, with Amice. They could finally wed.