Page 32 of How to Be a Scottish Mistress

Spencer shifted his gaze, not meeting her eyes. “I have duties,” he replied.

Her heart tugged with longing for the young boy who had always been eager to be in her company. She knew things would change once they arrived at the castle, but she hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly. Nor for it to hurt so much.

“I shall only keep you a few moments,” Fiona said.

Spencer shrugged his shoulder. Hardly the response Fiona desired, but she seized her chance and gently guided him away from the other boys so they could have a moment of privacy.

“How are you faring? Do you have enough to eat? Is it warm enough where you sleep?”

The questions rolled off Fiona’s tongue faster than Spencer could nod his rather sullen answers. She could not help but notice how often, and anxiously, he turned toward the other boys. Not having his full attention for these few precious minutes was maddening. Spencer turned his head yet again and that’s when Fiona noticed the yellow and blue bruise on his cheek.

“You’ve been injured!”

Fiona reached up to touch the wound, but Spencer swatted her hand away. “Mother, please.”

Fiona’s hand fell to her side. Unused to such an awkward exchange, she tried a different approach. “Tell me about the other squires. Who is the young man in the red tunic?” Fiona asked, picking the boy she had seen earlier in church standing beside Spencer.

Spencer immediately perked up. “That’s Travis. He’s teaching me how to fight.”

“Is he?” Fiona struggled to keep her tone casual. “Is that how you got that fine bruise on your cheek?”

Spencer gave her a lopsided grin. “I was slow to duck. Angus says it’s good practice to have my wits scrambled every now and again. It will make me a more agile fighter when I’ve got a sword in my hand.”

“Oh?”

Spencer nodded. “And Travis showed me that sometimes it’s better to strike with the heel of your hand instead of a closed fist. Especially if you can swing upward and catch your opponent square in the nose.”

“I was unaware of that tactic,” Fiona said faintly.

As she listened to Spencer, the impact of what she had done fully hit her. She was training him for battle, for war, perhaps even his death. The realization shook her. Doubts crept into her head. Would it have been better to listen to the advice of her brother and send him to the priesthood, where he would be safe?

“Violence for violence sake alone is not a wise attitude,” Fiona lectured. “Just because you have the means to kill a man, doesn’t mean that you should.”

Spencer paused. “Even if he is your enemy?”

“It all depends. If he threatens your life, or the lives of those you are sworn to protect, then you must act. Swiftly. Decidedly. But there are other ways to resolve your differences. A good knight knows how to skillfully wield a sword. But a great knight knows how to use his brains as well as his weapons.”

It was a good speech and Fiona was proud of it. Unfortunately, Spencer paid her little notice. He was shifting his weight from one foot to the other and staring at the group of squires.

Fiona gazed at them, too. The infamous Travis was motioning for Spencer to join them, yet when he realized he had been caught by Fiona, Travis’s eyes widened in feigned innocence.

A shiver of alarm ran through Fiona. Was he Spencer’s friend or foe?

“I have to hurry or else I’ll be late,” Spencer announced suddenly. “Angus gets mad when we are late.”

“Best run along,” Fiona replied. Then not caring one wit who was watching, she leaned down and kissed Spencer on the forehead. “Stay safe, my dearest.”

Gulping back his groan, Spencer scurried off, his limp seeming even more pronounced. Heart heavy, she stood alone in the bailey, watching Spencer until he disappeared from view.

Unaware of how long she remained in that spot, Fiona suddenly sensed the presence of someone near her. Startled, she glanced down and found one of the castle hounds sitting at her feet. It was a large, unattractive-looking beast with an enormous head and fawn-colored fur that was long and mangy and none too clean.

His chest was wide, the muscles strong and defined. He would have been a terrifying beast, if not for his wide, brown, trusting eyes.

“I’ve no scraps or treats to give you,” Fiona said, expecting him to hurry away.

The animal seemed to consider her words for a moment, then nudged Fiona’s hand in an insistent manner, demanding to be petted. With a rueful smile, she stroked the beast’s ears, surprised at their softness. The hound’s tail thumped happily on the dirt, pleased at the attention.

After one final rub, Fiona turned to leave, and the dog trotted along beside her. He stayed by her side when she entered the great hall. Tensing at the sight of several unfriendly faces, Fiona halted.

---