Page 43 of A Constant Blaze

“What did you imagineIwas?”

“The Lord of Kingowan,” she admitted. “What other gentleman would have reason to be lurking in the forest at this hour?”

“Did your companion insult him, too?” he asked wryly.

“Not directly. I couldn’t quite understand why he would concern himself with such a minor annoyance.”

Malcolm cast his gaze around the woodland, listening intently. “His men shouldn’t have either,” he murmured. “Come, let me escort you to safety.”

“You are very good, but I shan’t trouble you. I mean to rejoin my friends.” At least she began to walk with him toward the edge of the woods, which was where he’d left his horse if his sense of direction hadn’t failed him.

“I would advise against it,” he said, and when she didn’t respond, he added, “I would advise against the disguise as well. It only works in the distance, in the dark, and as long as you don’t speak.”

“That was the plan,” she said ruefully.

“You intrigue me. What plan?”

“With respect, that is not your concern,” she said hastily.

“Then you won’t consider me one of your men?”

She peered up at him, and he wondered if she would, finally recognize him. He realized that part of him was piqued that she had not. “I do not know you, sir. And I would not trouble you further.”

“Please trouble me,” he said, only half in humor. “If I explained to you the extent of my insufferable boredom, you would indeed take pity on me.”

“I would be doing you no favors, sir, to involve you in my foolish affairs of the heart.”

She could have said nothing more guaranteed to silence him. She might have meant she loved her harpist. She might have been trying to mislead him or to say anything to make him leave her. Whatever, he couldn’t recall ever being so churned up with such painful jealousy.

He could think of nothing to say until, finally, they broke from the edges of the wood, when he said abruptly, “At least let me offer you my horse.”

“No, sir,” she said firmly, although she did turn toward him and offer him her hand, an oddly graceful gesture in her overlarge men’s clothes. “But I do give you my heartfelt thanks. You have restored my faith in the goodness of strangers. Give me your word you will not follow me.”

There were ways around such a promise. “I give you my word,” he said gravely. He took her hand, small and soft and slender. It was the first time he’d touched her in over twenty years, and yet he remembered. His whole body remembered.

He bowed over her hand, then raised it to his lips. Her breath hitched, and he wondered if, at last, she, too, was remembering. But there was no recognition in her veiled eyes. Or none that he could make out in the darkness.

Now was the moment to reveal himself, to own his right and his need to look after her, to lead the rescue of Mairead. And yet…and yet this story was not yet played out. He’d lost the true moment for directness when he’d failed to go home with their sons.

“Farewell, lady,” he murmured, releasing her hand with reluctance.

“Farewell, sir.”

He walked away toward his horse, which still stood tethered to a pine tree. At least he didn’t have to watch her walk away from him, although his ears strained to catch the direction of her footsteps. She was walking in the direction of the monastery.

He untied the horse, mounted, and walked the animal after her. He could no longer see her. But as he reached the road, he glimpsed her once more, only half-hidden in the nearest trees, with two soldier-shaped men and a woman.

She was safe with others who were used to protecting her. He tugged the horse to the left, away from her, and rode on to the old priory of Restenneth. Or at least, where it had been.

He was glad to find it still there and still occupied. In fact, as he drew nearer, he saw that it had grown somewhat larger. It was, he remembered hearing, an Augustinian house now, under the authority of Jedburgh Abbey and endowed by the king himself, although the sleepy young monk who opened to his peremptory knock was not best pleased to be disturbed in the middle of the night. He admitted Malcolm grudgingly and conducted him through the hall to the cloisters. It was as they were crossing the courtyard to the guesthouse that they encountered the prior himself.

He was an elderly, gentle-looking monk with unexpectedly sharp blue eyes.

“Another one,” the young monk said gloomily.

“Go to bed, Brother Andrew,” the prior advised. “I shall take our guest to his quarters.”

Although the prior’s words clearly made the young monk ashamed, he obeyed the instruction without question.

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