Chapter Seventeen

I nstead of going to the keep, Sencha had been taken home by her uncle, who insisted she should discuss things with her mother before proceeding.

Sencha had no such plans and kept insisting she wanted to go visit Nala.

For the past several days that she’d been home, it had been different. Despite the fact her mother was practically floating on air, which made Sencha happy, she felt as if she were at someone else’s home.

Strange how Gordon had lived there for as long as Sencha could remember, sleeping in a small room on the first floor, and yet it felt so very different now.

In deference to her deceased father, her mother informed Sencha she was not comfortable for Gordon and her to use that same room. So they’d exchanged bedchambers with Sencha, and she now slept in what used to be her mother’s room.

Although the rooms were almost the same size, the view out of the window faced the road and she wasn’t used to the sun rising into the room in the morning. She wondered if perhaps the change in the way she felt about her home had more to do with her feelings toward Knox. The insistent constant reminder that she’d rebuffed his proposal.

There were so many other options she could have chosen. She could have asked that they court and see how he felt over time. Now she wasn’t sure how to feel, what to think.

The practical thing to do was to go to the keep and speak to him.

Her mother looked to Gordon. “Can ye take her?”

“I can ask another farmhand to take me. No need to put yerself out,” Sencha replied, not wishing to have to travel with Gordon and make small talk.

He gave her a knowing smile. “I think it would be a good idea for me to take ye. I want to visit with the stable master and see how the horses they purchased are faring.”

“Horses?” Sencha asked, not aware the laird’s stable had bought horses.

“Aye,” Gordon said. “One of the archers lost his horse and he sent the stable master to purchase one of ours.” The man puffed out his chest with pride. “I suppose he must have seen them and admired them when we went to the keep last.”

“They are of good stock,” her mother added. “Athol did well in choosing them.”

Since there was no putting off Gordon, Sencha pushed back from the table. “Very well. I will pack an overnight satchel and remain a day or two. I will ask that someone from there bring me back.”

Admittedly, the ride to the keep was pleasant enough. Sencha and Gordon had always had an easy rapport, and their conversations were the same as before. Sencha wasn’t sure why she’d thought things would be different. In a way, it was simpler now that she didn’t have to pretend to nae know how he felt about her mother whenever they were alone.

Upon arriving at the keep, she was helped from the wagon by a guard who insisted on carrying her overnight satchel.

Learning that Nala was in the sitting room, Sencha hurried past the great room, her skirts brushing the stone floors as she went. The murmur of voices and the distant clatter of the servants at work faded as she turned down the quieter corridor. She found her friend seated by a tall window, the late afternoon light casting soft shadows across the room. Nala’s expression was distant, her gaze fixed on something far beyond the glass.

As soon as she noticed Sencha, Nala rose swiftly, her lips curving into a small but warm smile. “I am so happy ye’re here,” she said, crossing the room to embrace her. Her voice carried a weariness that her smile couldn’t quite conceal. “It has been a trying pair of days.”

“What has happened?” Sencha asked, her brows knitting with concern.

Before Nala could reply, a servant entered the room carrying a tray. Nala turned to her with a nod of gratitude. “Perfect timing, Milly. This is much needed.”

She took the tray herself, dismissing the servant, and gestured for Sencha to sit. “Come,” Nala urged, motioning to a cushioned chair near the low table where the tray was placed. “Sit, please, so we can talk. Alexander’s mother and Ainslie have gone to visit Munro and Lila for a pair of days, and I find myself without company.”

Sencha’s lips twitched in amusement. “I doubt that’s entirely true,” she said, settling into the chair. “There are plenty of women in the keep who would be glad to spend time with ye.”

Nala sighed, lifting the small kettle from the tray. “Perhaps, but it’s nae the same. Being the laird’s wife comes with its own set of restrictions. It can feel isolating at times.” She poured steaming water over the herbs she’d already prepared in the cups, and a fragrant, earthy aroma filled the room.

“This is a tea Belhar brought me during his last visit,” Nala said, a flicker of fondness lighting her face. “He brought enough to last me until they return again.”

Sencha accepted the cup with a nod of thanks, inhaling the exotic scent. It reminded her of late autumn evenings, when the hearth fires burned low, and warmth was found in small comforts. “I’d forgotten Athol and Belhar usually return in the winter,” she said thoughtfully. “Hopefully they will remain through the cold season until the sea calms in the spring.”

Nala gave a small nod, her smile fading slightly. “Athol will be surprised to learn yer mother has married.”

“I imagine so,” Sencha agreed, watching her friend closely. Something in Nala’s manner—the restless way her fingers smoothed over her gown, the slight crease in her brow suggested there was more troubling her than she let on. Sencha had known Nala all her life and could read her easily.

“There has been trouble.” Sencha ventured gently, her tone inviting honesty.

Nala hesitated, her gaze drifting to the window again. For a moment it seemed she might deny it, but then she sighed deeply. “Aye,” she admitted. “There were intruders on the western shore two nights past. Our warriors dealt with them.”

Her words were calm, but her fingers tightened around her cup. Sencha’s eyes narrowed. “There’s more to it than that.”

Nala’s hesitation was answer enough. She set her cup down and leaned forward slightly, as though bracing herself. “One of them got away,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “He may not be a threat, but there is no way of knowing. He took a horse.”

Sencha took a slow sip of the tea. Its warmth soothing her throat, even as unease prickled at her. She considered her friend’s words, weighing their implications. “It seems that other than the man who escaped, the situation is under control,” she said carefully. “But ye seem bothered.”

Nala’s lips lifted into a faint, bittersweet smile. “Melancholy,” she murmured. “Why must there always be strife and danger? It feels as though one thing follows another in a never-ending cycle. Is peace truly so fleeting?”

Sencha reached out, her hand brushing Nala’s in a gesture of reassurance. “We endure, as we always do,” she said softly. Then, after a pause, she added, “What of Knox? Is he here?”

At the mention of Knox’s name, Nala’s gaze flickered to her, then back to the window. “I dinnae ken his duties,” she replied after a moment. “He is usually at the last meal of the day.”

“I will wait and speak to him then,” Sencha said decisively, setting her cup down.

Nala reached across the table, placing a hand firmly over Sencha’s. Her touch was gentle, but her words carried a quiet urgency. “Perhaps it is best that ye dinnae.”

Sencha blinked, startled by the unexpected suggestion. She searched her friend’s face, trying to decipher the meaning behind the words. “Why?” she asked, her voice laced with confusion.

But Nala only withdrew her hand, her expression unreadable. “Just trust me on this,” she said quietly, turning her gaze once more to the view outside.

Just then a pair of women entered, and Sencha recognized them. Both were married to guardsmen and often came to the keep for meals if their husbands were on gate duty.

In an instant, Nala transformed into the laird’s wife, a welcoming expression as she showed the women to other chairs in the room. She then turned to a servant who’d followed behind. “Bring more water and cups.”

Apparently the women were expected by the way they immediately delved into a discussion of upcoming preparations for winter. One of Nala’s duties was to take baskets of food and warm blankets to the elderly and infirm in the surrounding lands before winter set in. Before her, Alexander’s mother had done the duty. It was expected.

Along with the baskets of food and warm blankets, guardsmen would accompany the women and ensure there was enough chopped wood to keep the people warm through the winter.

As the discussion continued, Sencha’s mind kept returning to what Nala had stated. Curiosity getting the better of her, she excused herself and left the room.

There were only a few people meandering in the great room, more than likely those who hoped to speak to the laird.

Continuing on into the corridor leading to the kitchens, she saw only a pair of maids hurrying past with folded linens.

Sounds of pots clashing and voices came from the kitchen, and she continued down the corridor until arriving at the wide doorway. Inside the cook called out instructions as she walked about the room with a large spoon in her hand sniffing, sampling, and stirring.

The woman glanced over to Sencha, then turned away and continued her duties.

What exactly she would say to Knox, Sencha wasn’t sure. Despite the many scenarios in her head, she wouldn’t ken until facing him. Her mind awhirl, she absently walked outside and turned toward the practice field.

A few men spared, while others stood by watching. There were no archers in sight. One by one, she studied the men, but none were Knox. It would be best to wait until last meal, since according to Nala, he was usually present.

Just then she noticed a lone man standing near the stables. He faced away from her as he watched another man inside the corral with the horses. The man had what looked to be a sling across his wide back. It was then she realized who it was.

It was Knox.

Immediately her heart began to pound. He’d been injured, his left arm apparently as he lifted the right one and raked his hair back.

Making her way across the courtyard, Sencha couldn’t look away. Had he always been so tall and well-built? Of course he had. It was just that she saw him through different eyes now. Saw him as the man she was in love with.

As she neared, he turned and upon seeing her, his eyes widened for a second before returning his attention to the horse.

It was Gordon who was in the corral, the older man gave her a warm look. “This was our largest horse. He is of good stock and does nae scare easily,” Gordon told Knox, who looked on with lowered brows.

“Did ye forget something, lass?” Gordon asked her.

Sencha shook her head. “Dinnae tarry. Ye should get home before it becomes dark, else Mother will worry.”

Gordon looked up to the sky, as if for confirmation. “Right ye are. I should head back.” He looked at Knox. “Once ye are able ride the horse. We have others if ye wish for a different one.”

“I am sure this one will suit me just fine,” Knox replied.

“One does nae ken until ye mount,” Gordon remarked as he removed the rope from around the horse’s face and walked from the corral.

“Were ye injured by the men who came from ashore?” she asked Knox, who gave a single nod.

Before she could say anything else, Gordon exited the stables and talked to Knox once again about the horse. Then patting her shoulder and assuring her he’d be home before dark, he climbed onto the wagon’s bench and drove away.

From his stiff posture and the way he kept his eyes to the horse, Knox was not exactly welcoming conversation.

“I need to speak with ye,” Sencha began, her voice soft but insistent. “I need to explain.”

“Not now, Sencha.” His tone cut through the air, sharp with anger—or was it pain? Maybe both.

She faltered, uncertain. “I understand—”

“Do ye?” Knox turned to her, his eyes hard, his lips a grim line. “I doubt that.”

Her heart clenched. It struck her then that he was the warrior who’d lost his horse. He’d been injured, his pride battered, and now he was staring at her as if she was part of the wreckage. The realization stole her breath.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, daring to reach for him. But as her hand hovered near his arm, he leaned away, the rejection as sharp as a blade.

Sencha’s hand fell to her side, her chest tight with unspoken words. Every part of her wanted to stay, to comfort him, to tell him she’d stand by him no matter what. But his walls were unyielding. She could see it in his stance, hear it in the icy distance of his voice.

She turned and walked away, her heart fracturing with every step. She wanted so desperately to be his solace, to give him the reassurance he needed. But how could she when, in his eyes, she was part of a bad time? Injured, humiliated, and grieving his horse, he had no place for her. Not now.