The Memory of Her Kiss Page 13

  She heard the Kincaid call out, before he’d reached them completely, “You lads get up top. You can join the training with Torren.” At this, she did stand, thinking she would be away with Kinnon and his friends, not inclined to spend time with the Kincaid.

  The lads darted off through the sand just as Gregor stopped before her. She made to move around him, her eyes on the escaping boys, but the Kincaid caught her hand. She didn’t move for a second, facing the cliff and the keep while Gregor faced the sea.

  Finally, she did turn, but only to put her gaze onto his hand where it held her wrist.

  “Stay with me a moment, Anice,” he requested. His voice was low, and almost lost to the roar of the waves.

  “Do I have to?” She could not keep herself from inquiring. She still hadn’t looked up at him but sensed him shaking his head.

  “But I’m asking,” he said. “Just sit a minute with me.”

  Anice turned and faced the sea as well, then sat in the sand and drew up her knees under her overlong skirts and wrapped her arms around her legs.

  Gregor sat next to her, his knees drawn up as well, his forearms hanging over them.

  Anice watched a gull swoop down and land at the shore, then skitter away from the incoming wave. “This is where God lives,” she said, because that thought had just come to her, and because she hoped to divert him, hoped to keep him from his probable intent to talk about his betrothal to the gorgeous Nathara, and what a foolish child she was to be so heartbroken over it.

  “Aye, like as no.”

  “I remember the sea near Dunbar,” she continued, “but we hadn’t beaches like this. You’re very lucky to have grown up here.”

  “Aye.”

  They sat in silence then, only the waves speaking now. She couldn’t think of anything to say, her mind being so committed to the truth that he was to wed another, and unable presently to process much else.

  “Nathara and I have been betrothed for so long, I sometimes forget...”

  His voice trailed off, as if he realized how awful this sounded, nothing more than a pitiful excuse. Anice felt her lip trembling and tried to concentrate on breathing evenly. When she could, she spoke, “It only seems so very awkward because...well, because I thought that kissing meant... something.” She scratched her fingers around a small rock in the sand, outlining its shape. “I mean, I’d thought—but what do I know?—that if a man...why did you bring me here?”

  “You saved my life,” he answered without hesitation, “and you seemed in need of a bit of saving, yourself.”

  “But why did you kiss me?” She turned to regard him now. The wind by the water lifted his short hair and waved it around, pushing it across his forehead while his eyes held now on her hand, unmoving now in the sand, against the rock.

  It was a long moment before he answered. “I couldn’t...no kiss you, it seemed.” He returned his gaze to the sea.

  “I don’t know what that means.” Anice sighed. “But can you arrange for me to return to Jardine?”

  Gregor shifted and regarded her, his brow furrowed. “You want to go back to Jardine?” There was much skepticism in his hard tone.

  “No, I do not, but I don’t want to stay here,” this, given with some exasperation.

  “I thought you wanted to be a woman of independent means.”

  “You told me that was impossible unless I was lucky enough to become a widow.”

  He laughed at this. “You ken you have to suffer the husband first before you become a widow, aye?”

  “I’m sure there’s not so much independence in that,” she groused, resting her chin upon her knees then, wrapping her arms more tightly about her legs, finding no humor in any of this.

  “I am sorry, Anice. I dinna intend to... hurt you. But you canna return to Jardine. Think of how bad it was, and then imagine it worse because I stole you away.”

  “I know.”

  After another long silence, he said, “Nathara is of the Duncan clan to the west of us. The Kincaids and the Duncans have been warring for decades, the reason lost to time, you ken. The betrothal brought some peace between us. The wedding will ensure it remains so.”

  Anice nodded against her knees, but she really didn’t want to know any more. She questioned whether she would have come to Stonehaven if she’d known about his betrothal. She was at least honest enough with herself to acknowledge that whatever it was that engulfed and enflamed her whenever he was near, or whenever he regarded her with that heated amber gaze, or when they touched, it was the reason she was here.

  Just now, she felt a wave of sadness overtake her, coiling in her belly in the form of unease and heat, and to her shame, rolling away from her eye as a tear. She held herself completely still, hoping it went unnoticed. She hadn’t at all felt so adrift when she’d so very readily consented to come to Stonehaven with him, despite the fact that she would then leave behind everything she knew. She hadn’t worried overmuch about what the future might hold, had only some thought in the back of her mind that he was beautiful and kind and that she would be with him.

  The threat of greater tears forced her to her feet. “I should get back,” she said lamely, as they both knew she hadn’t anything to get back to. Without looking at him again, she turned and walked away.

  GREGOR REMAINED WHERE she’d left him. He hung his head for a moment, then raised his eyes again to the water, but saw only that tear that had trickled down her cheek.

  It was no more than he deserved, for what he’d done to her. He should’ve never kissed her. However, he had spoken truth to her. He hadn’t felt like he’d had a choice, it only seemed something he had to do.

  But send her back to Jardine? He didn’t want her to go, not at all, and certainly not there. Yet he’d put off the wedding with Nathara long enough, years it seemed, and Duncan grew suspicious and irritable. He had no right to insist that Anice stay and watch him marry another, while he’d be fighting the desire to kiss her yet more.

  Of a certain, there was a part of him that wanted to defend his actions by insisting it was only a kiss, for Chrissakes! But he knew, as she so obviously did, that it was more than merely a kiss. It was more than physical, he’d known that even before he’d kissed her.

  Good conscience dictated that he send her away, find someplace for her to live, to thrive, as he knew she would, with Jardine firmly in her past. He wouldn’t, though. He couldn’t. Calling himself all kinds of a fool, deriding himself for what his own selfishness would do to her, Gregor lifted himself from the sand and walked off the beach. He did not return to the keep but went instead in search of something to take his mind off Anice and exactly how adorable she’d looked in her borrowed and awful yellow gown.

  AFTER THAT DAY, ANICE spent barely any time at all in the keep, and certainly avoided the hall, using it only as a means to get from the bottom of the stairs to the door. This was indeed a conscious decision, made not so much out of fear of seeing the Kincaid or his beautiful betrothed, but arrived at with the intent not to be seen; she’d learned that the Duncan and his daughter would be staying at Stonehaven indefinitely.

  Anice made friends with Nellie and Wilbur in the bake house at the front corner of the bailey, helping them to thresh and winnow the grain, as she had some experience with this. Nellie was at least twice the age of Anice and stood nearly as tall as the Kincaid. She’d had many questions about Anice, and her hair, and how she’d come to be at Stonehaven. Anice had decided that going forward, brevity might well benefit her, and had given only sparse answers, withholding much of the detail. Nellie taught Anice how to use the stone quern to grind the barley and rye and even provided Anice with a long apron, made of the Kincaid tartan, which she set about her to catch the grain while she worked the quern in her lap. Wilbur, being nearly as round as he was tall, seemed to appreciate the coming of Anice so regularly, that once he’d taught her how to use the long-handled peel, which set in and removed the loaves from the ovens, he often disappeared for some time while Anice
was there. She normally helped out only for a few hours in the morning, but Nellie invariably sent her off with her own small loaf of bread, which Anice adored, so fresh and warm from the oven.

  She explored much of the beach, surprised that she so rarely saw other people down there, only occasionally Kinnon and the fishermen. If she walked to the right, she couldn’t proceed much further than that end of the castle above, as the cliff upon which it sat then jutted out into the water. Trying to skirt around the cliff proved impossible, and she’d stopped when the water had reached above her knees.

  But exploring to the left showed much more beach around only a small rocky formation that put her into the water only up to her shins before more beach and sand were found. She’d abandoned her shoes yesterday, having noted that so many people, inside the bailey and those coming and going, wore no shoes at all. She’d found that this secluded beach backed up to tall grass dunes and then a cool wooded area. Just at the edge of the wood, before the dunes, there grew a certain tree that was short and thick with low branches that afforded relief from the sun while allowing her to still be very near the sand and water, and whose base, covered in shorter grass, presented a perfect spot for enjoying her bread each day. From this vantage point, at the back of this crescent-shaped beach, she could not see beyond the rocky mounds extending out into the water on either side—and thus, no one could see her from the castle’s beach.

  After a few more lessons atop Fearchar, Torren pronounced her ready to ride on her own, provided she stay very close to the castle. The first place she rode, without Torren at her side, was down to the beach. Fearchar showed no fear of the water, but rather pranced around in the incoming waves, eliciting pleased laughter from Anice. One of the few times she did see the Kincaid over the next few days was down at the beach. She wondered if he searched for her, as he seemed to have no purpose upon the sand, looking up and down the length of the shore. He stood upon the castle’s beach, his hands on his trim hips, while Anice spied on him from the Left Beach, as she’d begun to think of it, holding Fearchar’s reins. Digging her bare feet into the cool sand, she held her stance, hoping Fearchar remained quiet, and peered at the chief over the rocks that stretched out between the two beaches. He stood there for some time, at one point tipping his head back and closing his eyes, breathing in the salty air. Anice waited many minutes after he had gone before she mounted Fearchar again and rode off the beach herself.

  She eschewed dining in the hall now, though was sorry to miss this time with Torren and Fibh and the others, having enjoyed so much their good company.

  “We missed you at supper, lass,” Torren had commented late yesterday morning. “And you weren’t around this morn to break your fast.”

  Anice had avoided his eyes. “I was helping Wilbur and Nellie,” was all she’d offered as explanation. She lifted her eyes to the big man then. His lips, within his beard, pursed with annoyance, but Anice had only shrugged and left the yard.

  Today, Gavin had advised her that a hunting party would be making use of the horses, and that Fearchar was not available. In the bakehouse, she’d found that Nellie’s daughter and grandson occupied what little extra space there was for more persons in the small stone house. Nellie had given her a grimaced smile in apology and had sent her off with a small loaf of bread.

  Sitting again by her tree at the spot between the sand and the woods, Anice plopped a piece of bread into her mouth and wondered if she should walk into Stoney. There was not much to see or do there, she’d noticed as they’d ridden through the little town a week ago, and she didn’t know anyone whom she might visit. Then she remembered the church at the edge of the town. With her destination determined, Anice tucked her remaining bread up into the crook of a branch and brushed her hands and bottom off as she stepped out from her slight haven. She returned to the castle’s beach and then found the path alongside and followed that until she came to the front of the castle, at the bottom of the hill which met the road to town. She alternately skipped along or meandered about, drifting off here and there into the tall grass to pick what remained of summer’s wildflowers, so it took her nearly an hour to reach the main road of Stoney, and when she did, she had an entire bouquet in her grasp.

  The church was the first building she came upon, as it was closest to the castle, and she gingerly climbed the three steps to reach the door, wondering if bare feet were irreverent. The door opened easily and Anice stepped inside the cool gloom of the church, beset almost immediately by a stale and musty odor. She pressed the flowers to her face, inhaling of their fresh if pale scent and walked through the nave. She blessed herself and sat upon the first pew, laying the bouquet in her lap. She offered no formal prayer, just stared at the rough-hewn wooden cross hung on the wall behind the altar. She glanced around, finding only one stained glass window, knowing them to be impossibly expensive. This narrow and short one depicted the Madonna holding the child Jesus. It was only passable as an art expression, the Madonna’s face seeming less serene than tight-lipped.

  Anice was surprised to find that she was very content to just sit here, in this quiet place, and let her thoughts surround her. After a while, she wondered if she would have appreciated Jardine more if she’d been allowed this, just time to sit and reflect and feel and be surrounded by the Lord, and not have His presence drilled into her, not have her religion be so regimented and strict and so unwavering. Didn’t matter now, she knew, but was thankful that she enjoyed this, maybe even felt slightly less guilty for having left Jardine. And she wondered if she found the pastor, if she might talk to him about... well, how much trouble she actually might be in.

  Occasionally, Anice heard sounds outside the door, within the town, but imagined it only to be people going about their lives while she sat contemplating hers. After a while, when the sun had shifted to shine through the stained glass window, Anice curled up in the pew and watched as beams of light poured through the colored glass and projected onto the floor of the nave, while dust motes dancing within appeared as multihued bits of fairy magic. She fell asleep watching this and when she woke the sun and the colors were gone and darkness surrounded her.

  She did not panic but she did dread walking back up to the castle in the dark—then she did panic a little, wondering if they locked the gate after a certain hour.

  She left the church and walked quickly along the road back to the keep. As she left the wide open space of the town’s road, she fretted a bit over the complete darkness where the trees flanked the lane so closely as to block out the sparse moonlight. She was not quite halfway returned to the castle when she heard a horse approaching behind her and felt some relief, hopeful it might be someone with whom she was familiar to have company for the remainder of her walk. Stepping off the road a bit, she waited as the horse drew near but when it did, she realized she did not recognize this man.

  He reined in sharply, as if only discovering her presence at the last minute. His horse reared a bit, though he settled the animal quickly enough, prancing the steed around Anice and leered down at her in such a way as to make her suddenly and extremely uncomfortable.

  “What do we have here?” He asked. Anice caught glimpses of him in the shadows as he circled her. Perhaps about thirty, he was lean and clean-shaven, his clothing and the quality of his horse suggesting a man of some means, though she couldn’t imagine who he might be.

  “I am Anice,” she said, her voice croaking a bit as she hadn’t used it for many hours. “I am returning to Stonehaven.”

  He dismounted quickly, coming very close to her, holding the reins and the horse behind him. “Ah, but there’s a toll, sweet Anice.” His face was so long and narrow that his eyes seemed to protrude outward, almost as if they were only a postscript, added sometime after the face had been formed. When he spoke, his top lip disappeared, revealing a large gap between his front teeth.

  “A toll?” She knew there was no such thing. She tried to walk around him, saying, “There is no toll, sir.” His hand stopped
her, first just sent out to impede her, and when she attempted then to step around it, onto the road, his hand latched onto her arm.

  Anice jerked at her arm but he did not loosen his hold. “Release me,” she insisted, her frown heavy and her panic very real now. He was not very tall, but his grip was strong, and his intent was clear.

  He drew her up against him instead, Anice aware immediately that he only looked the part of a man of certain means, as the unpleasant odor emanating from his body suggested some other and much lower, vermin-like existence. He spoke directly into her face and she believed his breath must have its own color, the stench so foul as to be nauseating. “You’ll pay the toll, lass, and I’ll make sure you like it.”

  She grabbed at the fingers that clutched her arm, digging her nails into his skin, but he only laughed and began dragging her with him, off the road again, and into the grass. She pulled and cried and slapped at him and still he kept walking. “Come along, lass,” he called in a cheery tone, releasing the reins that had insisted the horse follow just as he swung her around in front of him and pushed her down into the grass.

  Anice immediately tried to rise but was pushed back into the grass as he quickly came atop her. Her fists pounded into his face and chest and shoulders until he smacked her across the cheek, startling her enough that for one moment she stopped resisting while her head swam. The earthy scent of the slick nighttime grass suffused her just as his hands lifted her skirts to bunch about her waist. Anice resumed her struggle, bucking and pushing against him as she tried to scream. But for her fear and his weight, she could not draw proper breath and her scream faded as quickly as it had come. She was left with little defense and could only cry and twist beneath him while he rent the fabric of her gown and chemise in one stroke, down to her waist.

  His hand grabbed roughly at her breast and his knee wedged between her legs, compelling Anice to give one more attempt at a scream, and this emerged as pitifully as the last. She swiped her nails across his face, which made him cry out and pull back to strike her again. She winced and squeezed her eyes shut, cowering against the coming blow, but he disappeared before the blow struck. Anice opened her eyes and lay there, holding her violently trembling hands above her face, wondering what had happened.