Page 68 of Beyond Dreams

Graeme glanced up at the sky now, crowded with puffy white clouds, judging the hour near to noon. They might be within thirty minutes of Newburn, was his guess. He slowed his mount, inclining his head so that two of his men, Baltair and Connor went on ahead, waiting until Roari’s red destrier caught up with him. Three more MacQuillan soldiers rode a score of lengths beyond Roari. The sallow-faced lad angled a wordless and long-suffering look at his captain. Graeme ignored this, focusing on Holly, bouncing mindlessly behind the big lad, her cheek laid against Roari’s back.

“Do you ken a lass named Cora?” He asked without preamble. “Wed to the Thain.”

The question, or merely him speaking to her, seemed to startle her. She straightened, pulling her cheek from Roari’s tunic. “I don’t know anyone in this cen—outside of Thallane.” Her voice was wooden now.

“I’d met her only last week,” Graeme said. “I dinna ken when I saw Lucas Thain in the spring that he’d wed. Nonetheless, we’ll stop a spell there, at Newburn. I have some sense that Cora might have an idea what—where—might best suit you.”

“Why would...? Never mind. I don’t even care.”

No, he could see that she did not. ’Twas as if all purpose and reason had been willfully drained from her, her posture and expression as wooden as her tone.

More than once, Graeme had been accused of being obtuse to matters outside of war and politics, but even he’d noticed the difference in the newlyweds upon his return from Newburn days ago. ’Twas not the same couple he’d left, wary and dancing around each other well out of arms’ reach. Brown eyes that had been frightened and dull had evolved into those expressive orbs, ever brightest when set upon Duncan. Graeme almost hadn’t recognized his cousin, suddenly and often wearing an agreeable grin, distracted but pleasantly so, Graeme had judged, seemingly unable to wrench his gaze from his wife whenever she was near, putting forth little effort to do so at any rate.

Newburn was an impressive stronghold, but Holly’s indifferent perusal of the castle did not alarm Graeme; little could compare with Thallane, the four-towered keep with the mighty North Sea as her backdrop. A horn sounded out at their approach. Connor raised the MacQuillan banner, which was answered by another blast from the horn blower atop the curtain wall, this one short and low. Graeme waved to the Thain’s captain, Airril, who peered down at the small party from his perch above the gatehouse. Predictably, Airril wore a puzzled expression, likely in reaction to Graeme’s unplanned return only three days since leaving Newburn.

Inside the curtain wall, the bailey was nearly vacant, naught to be seen but a lone washer women drawing water from the well and a young lad chasing a chicken round the yard. A quick glance inside the shadows of the stables showed the stalls teeming with destriers and coursers, leaving Graeme to assume the laird was in residence, and not gone afield for the day’s training.

Graeme slid easily from the saddle, handing off the reins to a lad come from the stables. Almost comically, Roari did not dismount, but stayed astride the saddle, casting sideways glances at the woman clinging to his waist. Perhaps he imagined if he made any sudden move she might bite.

Graeme reached for Holly, lifting her from the saddle. She passed one more impassive glance over the pale façade of the Thain keep. “Newburn?” Was all she asked.

“Newburn, aye,” said Graeme just as Lucas Thain pulled open the door.

Graeme led Holly forward toward the Thain, his hand at the small of her back. She truly didn’t care. About anything. Not even the steely-eyed gaze of Lucas Thain, or even the size and breadth of the man. She could have no idea that the scowl worn by the man was perpetual, that Graeme wasn’t even sure that he’d ever seen Lucas without it. Though Graeme had some impression that Lucas adored his wife, Cora, even when his gaze included her, there was always a dark intensity about him.

Meaning to forestall the most obvious questions, Graeme approached and led with, “Dinna be alarmed. Naught is amiss.”

Lucas nodded, sensing there was more, but not peppering him with questions straight away. He back up, ostensibly inviting Graeme and Holly inside. Almost immediately upon stepping foot inside the hall, Graeme noticed that the few couples sitting around one of the lower trestle tables were not merely peasants or even residents of Newburn. He recognized the chiefs, Michael MacClellan and Aedan Cameron, and assumed the ladies seated next to them must be their wives.

Shite. “You have visitors and mayhap this was ill-conceived,” he said, in regard to the very delicate and personal nature of his visit. He should have sent on one of the lads ahead to announce their coming. Shite, indeed. He’d not thought further than Newburn, seeking Cora’s assistance, hadn’t made any contingency plan for Holly. A nunnery, he guessed, would be his next stop.

“Dinna be foolish,” Lucas was quick to assure him. “Ye dinna encroach. Ye ken these men, the lairds MacClellan and Cameron. Come.”

Cora Thain strode forward, her smile quick and ready. Of good conscience or sound mind, one would never have pegged her as the mate of Lucas Thain. She was as petite as Lucas was large, her russet hair shorn unnaturally so that it barely grazed her slim shoulders. As hard to come by as were her husbands smiles, so easy were hers.

“Graeme MacQuillan, how nice to see you again and so soon,” she said, her speech reminding him again of why he’d come. “What brings you to Newburn?”

He turned, lifting his hand to indicate Holly, who, wearing a suddenly heavy frown, interrupted his introduction, staring hard at the Thain’s tiny wife.

“You’re wearing glasses,” Holly said, her tone inflected with a breathless wonder.

Cora gasped, her hand lifting to push the odd contraption that sat upon her nose and highlighted the wideness and the greenness of her eyes. Behind Cora, the two women seated with Michael and Aedan leapt from the bench as if in prearranged accord, exchanging wide-eyed glances.

“You know what glasses are,” Cora returned to Holly, a wee breathless, startled mayhap.

“Bluidy unbelievable,” Lucas seethed, seeming to know of what they spoke and why it might be significant.

Thoroughly perplexed, Graeme shot a frantic look at Lucas while the two women engaged in their own silent and shocked confrontation. “What goes on here?” Was all he could think to ask.

Lucas shook his head, herding Graeme and Holly further inside so that he could shut the door.

“Where are you—?” Cora Thain began.

“When did you –?” Holly started at the same time.

“Nae here,” Michael MacClellan advised, rising from the bench, his voice low and tight.

“Right,” Lucas agreed. “Come, love,” he said to Cora, taking her arm.

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