Chapter 2

T he minx had let him walk nearly a quarter mile from where he had left his horse before speaking up, but Giff decided he could not blame her. Moreover, if he were to suggest that she had done so on purpose, she would doubtless point out that he had been the one to urge departure and insist that she had only obeyed him.

And, too, of course, the horse was his responsibility. The kinsman from whom he had borrowed it would certainly think so, and as that man was a powerful Borderer more likely to react to its neglect with temper than with understanding, it behooved him to collect the animal without further ado.

He glanced at the lass, who regarded him with what he believed was her usual calm, making him wonder what else it would take to stir temper or passion in her. She still carried the fish, which looked none the worse for having clouted him. But for all the heed she paid it, it might have been a worthless trinket.

“I cannot leave you here,” he said. “You’ll have to walk back with me to fetch the beast.”

“Doesn’t your horse have a name?”

“Likely it does,” Giff admitted. “But I haven’t a notion what it may be.”

“Faith, did you steal it?”

He grinned. “If I had, it would not be the first time. Nay, then, don’t frown at me like that. You’re too beautiful to spoil your looks with such a grimace.”

Her eyes lit as if no one had complimented her beauty until that moment, but before he could wonder at such a nonsensical thought, she looked away, flushing delicately as she said, “You should not say such things to me.”

“I imagine you hear such things all the time,” he said. “But you are right to remind me of my manners. Hugo will certainly do so.”

“How do you know him?” she asked.

“You mean, how does Hugo come to know a horse thief?” he asked dryly.

“Do you really steal horses?”

“Sometimes.” He was looking around, hoping he had not misplaced the wretched beast. It was almost unheard of for him to become disoriented, but from the moment he’d laid eyes on the lass, he’d seen nothing but her. It occurred to him that it was a good thing she had not been bait in a trap set by an enemy.

“Stealing is a black sin,” she said primly.

“Aye, well, a man does what he has to do. Moreover, I’ve just come from the Borders, where men don’t believe that taking other men’s animals is stealing. They call it ‘reiving,’ and it is just a way of life. If a man needs a horse or a few kine to feed his family, he goes a-reiving. Ah, there he is,” he added.

“You sound relieved,” she said. “Did you fear you’d lost him?”

“Don’t be absurd. A man does not lose his horse.”

“But if it isn’t your horse . . . If you stole it . . .”

“Look here,” he said. “I did not steal this horse. I borrowed it.”

She nodded sagely. “I have heard others say the same thing when they were caught stealing. Moreover, when one borrows something, one returns it.”

“And so I shall,” he said, grinning now. “The kinsman I borrowed it from is the sort who would behave unpleasantly if I neglected to do so.”

“Are you afraid of him?”

“Sakes, how you do twist a man’s words! Here, I’ll put you up on him, so you need not walk all the way back. I hope you aren’t afraid of horses.”

“Of course not. I have ridden all my life.”

“Have you?” He was surprised. “Highland women rarely ride, and the few I’ve seen who do are not much good at it.”

“I am,” she said. “However, I have no wish to ride one you have stolen.”

“I wish you would stop assuming that I stole this beast,” he said curtly as he untied the bay and stroked its neck and nose to steady it.

“You said you did steal him.”

“I did not. I said quite clearly, not two minutes ago, that I did not steal him.”

“Aye, sure, but before that you said—”

“I said only that if I had, it would not have been the first time.”

“So you do steal.”

He turned to face her, ready to reply in no uncertain terms, but when he saw that she was regarding him in much the same speculative way that a robin might regard a tasty worm, her light blue eyes sparkling with anticipation, he hesitated. Then, trying to keep his tone as mild as her own, he said instead, “Do you exert yourself to stir coals like this with every man you meet?”

To his surprise, she did not deny that was what she was doing. Instead, she smiled wistfully and said, “I don’t meet many men. I have never met one whilst I was out walking like this, or anyone at all like you.”

“A thief, you mean?”

She nodded, still watching him with that speculative look, leaving him in no doubt now that she was somehow testing him, even baiting him.

He sighed. “Lass, I don’t know what to make of you, but ’tis clear that the sooner I return you to your kinsmen, the better it will be for both of us, so I’ll just put you on the horse now,” he added, reaching for her.

She stepped back, saying calmly, “No, thank you. I’ll walk.”

“Don’t be foolish,” he said more sternly. “I need to let the mud on my breeks dry anyway, and you’ll get your boots even muddier than they are now if you walk on through this bog-ridden forest. Moreover, you’ll be more comfortable riding.”

“I don’t think so, but thank you all the same.”

“I’m not offering to let you ride to earn your gratitude,” he growled.

“But I prefer to walk.”

“And I say you will ride.” He put his hands on his hips and gave her his sternest look, the look that sent grown men scurrying to obey his orders.

The horse nudged his shoulder just then hard enough to make him take an involuntary step toward her.

Her lips twitched, and the beguiling twinkle in her eyes deepened.

“By heaven, do you dare to laugh at me?” He reached for her again, and although she began to step back, he was too quick for her, catching her arm.

She made a sound in her throat like a gasp, but she did not look away, and when he looked into her eyes again, he saw that the twinkle had vanished. A look of serene expectation had replaced it.

Her tongue darted out to lick her soft pink lips—a blatant invitation.

His hand was tight around her arm, and Sidony stood still, uncertain if she had angered him. He was certainly frowning, and she knew from experience with her brothers-in-law that men did not like women to laugh at them, but she had not been able to help letting her amusement show when the horse pushed him.

He was still looking at her in that odd, measuring way, as if he were trying to understand her or to decide just how to scold her. Doubtless, the latter was the correct interpretation. The men she knew did not react well to defiance, either.

She did not feel defiant. She just did not want to ride his horse, carrying her fish, while he walked alongside or ahead, leading the animal. To do so would feel awkward and put her under even greater obligation to him. Just letting him escort her would prove to Hugo and Rob that her walk in the woods had been foolish, even dangerous. Then, doubtless, one or the other would forbid her to do it again.

These thoughts flitted through her head as her gaze met his, but a moment later, she saw the look in his eyes alter. And when her mouth went dry and she wet her lips, his look deepened to unmistakable hunger. His grip on her arm tightened.

She swallowed but did not look away. He was going to kiss her again, and reckless or not, she wanted him to. But before she realized his expression had changed again, he caught her round the waist and lifted her onto his saddle.

Quick as thought, careful not to drop her fish, she swung both legs to the other side of the horse and slid to the ground, stepping quickly back, lest it take exception to such treatment and kick or rear. It did toss its head, snort, and take a few restless steps, but he grabbed the bridle and quickly steadied it.

Grimly, he said, “You begin to irk me, lass.”

“I am sorry, for you have shown kindness to me,” she said. “But I do not want to ride your horse whilst you lead it, or to ride pillion with you. Just think what people would say if we were to proceed up the Canongate so. Everyone would look and gape, imagining all manner of things about us.”

“Do you think it will be any different if we both walk?”

“Aye, sure, it will. There can be naught amiss in our having met in the woods and walked out of them together. Faith, if there is, that just underscores how prudent my earlier suggestion was, that I should go back the way I came whilst you ride on to wherever you meant to go.”

“So I should not bother to see Hugo at all. Is that your plan?”

“Well, I would not have put it just that way, but it is a better plan.”

“I warrant you think so, at all events.” He shook his head. “Do you imagine that when we meet again, as we doubtless shall, since I will certainly see Hugo, I should just pretend never to have met you before?”

She had not thought about that possibility. “Must you see Hugo?”

“I must, for that is why I came to Edinburgh.”

“Oh. But if you rode here from the Borders, why did you not enter the city the usual way, straight up the Cowgate to the High Street?”

“I don’t think that concerns you,” he said. “What does concern you is that, regardless of what you think of me, I do not take advantage of innocent wenches, particularly noble ones. Nor do I approve of such wenches’ wandering about without protection. Most especially,” he added, stern again, “I don’t approve of women who are kin to my friends doing such things. My father would take a stout switch to any sister of mine who behaved so.”

“Have you even got a sister?”

“Aye, two of them.”

“Well, you have no right to take a switch to me,” she said. “And although Hugo can be very fierce, I do not think he would, either.” Another thought, even less welcome, struck her. “You would not suggest such a course to him, would you?”

His demeanor softened reassuringly. “Nay, lass, I would not. But come now. We have dawdled here long enough.”

“You won’t try to put me on that horse again?”

“Nay, it shall be as you wish,” he said. “This time.”

The way he said the last two words sent a shiver up her spine, but she rallied quickly. The chance that she would see much of him after today was slim.

Giff watched as she moved ahead to pick a path through the boggy woods, wondering what it was about her that had made him give in so easily. She deserved a good smack on the backside, if only for her stubbornness, but when she had asked if he would suggest such punishment to Hugo, something deep inside had recoiled at the thought of anyone striking her.

“Do you mean to stride ahead of me all the way?” he asked.

She hesitated, looking back. “Promise you won’t try again to make me ride.”

“I have already said I will not,” he reminded her. “My word is good.”

She nodded. “Very well, then; I’ll walk beside you if you prefer.”

They walked so in silence, but after she had looked up at him for the third time as if she meant to speak, then looked away again, he said, “What is it, lass? Have you more that you want to say to me?”

She nibbled her lower lip, then looked up again and said, “Not to say, exactly, just to ask you a question. But I should not, I know.”

“Ask me anything you like. I shan’t mind.”

“It is only that the question is most improper. Sithee, I was wondering if you meant it when you said it.”

“You will have to remind me of just what I said before I can answer that.”

She looked away again. “It is silly, and one should not care about such things, I know, but when one’s thoughts simply fix on something . . .”

“Then one ought to ask the question,” he said. His curiosity was increasing by leaps, and her equivocation made him want to shake her. But he sensed that if he grew forceful with her again, he would never learn what had disturbed her, and he wanted very much to know.

She still looked hesitant, so he held his tongue, hoping she was one who could not bear silence without needing to fill it. Nothing in her reaction encouraged that hope, however. She seemed to be thinking, trying to decide what to do, and even his brief experience warned him against showing his impatience.

Reining himself in was a rare experience, but he managed it.

At last, she said, “Do you often say things to women that you do not mean?”

“I usually mean what I say to anyone. But you must still tell me what I said.”

Color crept into her cheeks, and she hesitated again. Since she had shown no lack of courage before, he suspected it was something he had said about her. But he could recall saying only that she was foolish to have come into the woods alone, and he doubted she could possibly be wondering if he had meant that.

In a tone so gentle he scarcely recognized it as his own, he said, “You can ask, lassie. I’ll answer truthfully if I can, and I’ll not judge you for the asking.”

The look she gave him then was pure gratitude. Then, hastily, blurting the words, she said, “You said I was beautiful. Do you really think so?”

He nearly asked if she was demented, but the intense, too-anxious look on her face stopped the words in his throat.

Matter-of-factly, he said, “You must know that you are beautiful. Surely, everyone who knows you has told you so.”

She shook her head. “No one.”

“But that is impossible. You need only a glass to see it for yourself.”

“You don’t understand,” she said. “I have six sisters. People talk about the beautiful Macleod sisters, but most people know only the ones who have gone before me. Cristina, the eldest, is an extraordinary beauty. My hair is pale beside hers, my figure less buxom, and my demeanor far more retiring. When she enters a room, everyone notices her. And people who knew my sister Mariota say that Cristina is but a pale shadow compared to her. I am a shadow to them all.”

“Mariota is the one who died,” he said, remembering.

“Aye, and Isobel says that whatever they may say about Mariota’s looks, her nature was not beautiful, but others recall only her astonishing beauty.”

“You didn’t know her yourself?”

“Nay, I was but a babe when she died. So you see, no one ever thinks of me as beautiful, because my looks are as nothing compared to all the others’.”

“But surely, you have been to the King’s court. Someone there must have commented on your beauty.”

“Nay, for I do not enjoy large gatherings. I went with Sorcha and Isobel to Edinburgh Castle once because my father wanted Lady Clendenen to present me to his grace, but his grace was ill, so we did not stay above half an hour. I’d never heard such a din, though. I don’t know how anyone can converse in such a place.”

He chuckled, remembering his own brief experience at Stirling. “Half the court is daft and the other half drunk, but most folks find it amusing. And, too, any man who wants to amount to much in Scotland knows he must make his bow there.”

“Have you done so?”

Nodding, he said, “I did not like it any more than you did, but I have found my own way to make my mark until I take over my family seat in the Highlands, which I suppose I’ll have to do after I’ve had my fill of adventuring. No one in the west cares much about the doings of the royal court except the Lord of the Isles and those of his ilk who want to acquire as much power as they can. Even they avoid Stirling and Edinburgh and do most of their business at the Isles court instead.”

“Is that what you do?”

“Nay, I’ve not been next or nigh any such doings for years.”

“I meant, do you go adventuring?”

“Och, aye, I enjoy that right enough, and presently there are many such opportunities available for a man like me.”

“Tell me about them.”

“Perhaps another day,” he said with a smile. “The abbey lies just yonder, so I expect we’ll find Clendenen House nearby, shall we not?”

“Aye,” she said, frowning. “Very near.”

Too soon, they approached the main entrance of Clendenen House, the home of Ealga, Lady Clendenen, on the south side of the avenue known as the Canongate because it extended from St. Giles Church to Holyrood Abbey. The stone-and-timber houses flanking the wide road stood close to one another, although nearly all boasted narrow drives leading to stables and deep gardens behind.

On the north side, nearer St. Giles, lay Sinclair House, where Sidony was presently living with her sister Isobel and Isobel’s husband, Sir Michael Sinclair. To the northwest, Edinburgh Castle on its craggy hilltop overlooked the whole city.

With four hundred houses and two thousand people, the royal burgh was the largest town Sidony had ever seen, but she had grown accustomed to its bustle and noise. Thankfully, the Canongate remained quieter than the area nearer the Castle, although a cart piled high with wool rattled past on its way to a ship in Leith Harbor.

Sidony’s companion tossed a coin to an urchin on the narrow flagway and asked the grinning recipient to hold his horse for him. Then he offered an arm to Sidony, but she paid no more heed to it than before. She wanted no one to suspect that he could be anything more than a casual acquaintance.

The front door of Clendenen House opened before they reached it, and to her relief, Rob appeared in the doorway, rather than Hugo.

“We worried about you, lass,” he said, his voice softly husky, his speech slow and measured. However, when his gaze fixed on her companion, Rob’s hazel eyes, usually hooded, opened wide.

Before he could say more, a large hand gripped his shoulder from behind, and Sir Hugo Robison appeared beside him, taller, darker, and broader, his displeasure fairly crackling through the air.

Her sisters’ husbands all tended to be big men, but Sidony knew only one man larger than Hugo, and that was Cristina’s husband, Hector the Ferocious.

She hesitated, eyeing Hugo warily and resisting the urge to look at her companion, to gauge his reaction to Hugo’s so-obvious displeasure.

To her shock, the man beside her laughed and said, “Sakes, Hugo, you look ready to eat the poor lass. If you must vent your spleen, man, vent it on me. At least, I can defend myself.”

Hugo’s attention shifted, but he did not share her companion’s amusement. “Wouldst try your skills against mine again, you misbegotten scruff?”

“Aye, and gladly. The last time, you caught me off my guard. That won’t happen again.”

“The last time, I set you on your backside and put an end to dispute before it had begun,” Hugo said. “I’d hoped you’d not require further instruction.”

“Just try me, my lad, and we’ll see who teaches whom.”

He spoke the words softly, but Hugo heard them, for he grimaced and shook his head. Then, to Sidony’s profound relief, he said without rancor, “I trust you can tell me the lass suffered no harm at your hands, Giff.”

“You know she did not. Do you mean to keep us standing on your doorstep? Sakes, it is not even yours, as I understand it, but Lady Clendenen’s. You might also shout for a servant to take the lady Sidony’s salmon and clean it to cook for her supper. ’Tis a fine big one, as you can see.”

“Aye, we’ll go inside,” Hugo said, standing aside to let them pass and motioning a gillie forward to take Sidony’s fish and the pole. “You can give him that sword of yours, too, Giff,” he added.

“That belongs to the old gardener,” Sidony said to the gillie as he took the pole from her. “Pray, return it to him with my thanks.”

“Aye, my lady,” the lad said before turning to receive the heavy sword and scabbard from her companion.

Dismissing the gillie, Hugo said, “It is about time you arrived, Giff. We’d nearly given you up.”

“I was in Galloway, so your lads were a good time tracking me down.”

“How did you chance to meet the lady Sidony?” Hugo asked evenly.

Rob said, “Let us adjourn to Ealga’s wee parlor before we talk more.”

The man whom Hugo had called Giff shook Rob’s hand and said, “I did not realize you would be here. We are cousins, my lady,” he added. “I’ve a host of Logan cousins, because the earliest MacLennans were themselves Logans who, for one cause or other, removed to the Highlands. But, Rob, are you in this business, too, then?”

“We’ll go into the parlor before we talk more,” Hugo said firmly.

“Sidony! There you are!”

Recognizing the familiar voice and its note of profound relief, Sidony turned to greet Isobel, who stood atop the stairway on the west side of the small entryway.

Although pregnant with her second child, the fair-haired, gray-eyed Isobel showed no sign yet of her condition and was as beautiful as ever. Sidony saw that Giff was regarding her sister with the same besotted look that most men displayed upon first seeing her.

Oblivious, Isobel said, “But where have you been, dearling? You worried us dreadfully, for you were gone so long. Hugo was just going to go in search of you.”

“I did not mean to worry you,” Sidony said guiltily. “I just went for a walk.”

“But where?” Isobel asked. “And who is this man with you?”

Sidony bit her lip, at a loss for what to say, since she could hardly call him Giff, as Hugo had done. And to admit that she did not know his name was clearly ineligible, and would only make matters worse.

In the silence that followed Isobel’s question, the gentleman in question looked pointedly at Hugo, who said, “Forgive me, my lady. Allow me to present my friend Giffard MacLennan of Duncraig. Sithee, he took his training at Dunclathy with my father, and, I might add, delighted in being a great nuisance to the rest of us.”

Isobel smiled at the newcomer. “Nonetheless, if that is so, I suspect I should more properly call you Sir Giffard, should I not?”

Sidony regarded Sir Giffard with greater interest than ever. If he had trained at Dunclathy, he had learned the same knightly skills as Michael, Hugo, and Rob had. Dunclathy was Sir Hugo’s family home, and his father, Sir Edward Robison, was a famous swordsman and warrior with whom only the very best men studied.

Before Sir Giffard could answer, Hugo said, “Isobel is Michael’s lady wife, Giff, so take care that you behave yourself in her presence.”

“I should not dream of doing otherwise,” Sir Giffard said, bowing deeply. “’Tis a great honor to make your acquaintance, my lady.”

“How did you come to know my sister, sir?” Isobel asked bluntly.

“I’ll explain that to you myself,” Sidony said hastily, striving to speak with her usual calm. “I am sure that Sir Giffard, Rob, and Hugo have much to discuss, so we should leave them to it. I do hope you will forgive me for worrying you so, Isobel.”

“Of course I shall,” her sister said, giving her a warm hug. But she glanced at Hugo as she did, adding, “Does Sir Giffard stay to supper, sir?”

“Perhaps,” Hugo said. Then, as Sidony grasped Isobel’s arm and urged her toward the stairway, he added evenly, “I’ll talk with you before we sup, Sidony.”

“Aye, sir,” Sidony said, stifling a sigh. Then, recalling her manners, she turned to Sir Giffard with a downward look and a curtsy to say, “Thank you for your kindness, sir. I trust you have not offended anyone by escorting me home.”

Just as politely, he replied, “I am happy to have served you, your ladyship.”

She looked up, and as her gaze met his, an urge stirred to remind him that she had required no such service. Aware of Hugo’s narrow-eyed interest, she suppressed the urge, made a second curtsy to excuse herself, and followed Isobel upstairs.