His Lady of Castlemora

‘There you are, my lady. Wherever have you been?’

‘I went out riding.’

‘Alone again I’ll warrant.’

Nell gathered up the discarded gown. Plump and grey-haired, she was in her early fifties. Having known Isabelle since she was a baby, the older woman claimed the privileges of a trusted retainer. One of these was considerable freedom of speech. Nevertheless, she had a kindly nature and, despite an occasionally critical tongue, was also genuinely concerned. Seeing the younger woman’s guilty look now she shook her head.

‘You shouldn’t do it, my lady. In these lawless times it’s not safe. All manner of desperate rogues ride the border country and a woman alone would be easy prey.’

Recalling the events of the afternoon Isabelle shuddered inwardly. More than ever she was resolved not to ride out so far again. Only a fool would risk that twice. The desire for solitude must be balanced against the need for much greater caution.

‘I’m sorry, Nell. I promise to be more careful in future.’

The tone was genuinely contrite. Surprised that she did not even try to argue the point, Nell regarded her keenly for a moment. However, Isabelle was apparently absorbed in removing a tangle from her hair and thus avoided the knowing eye.

‘It were as well you did,’ the nurse went on. ‘Who knows what you might suffer at the hands of outlaws or marauders?’

Isabelle’s colour became a shade more pronounced and she concentrated harder on her task. Nell crossed the room towards her.

‘Here, best let me do it.’

She surrendered the comb and sat still while Nell took over, braiding the wilful mass into a thick plait and interweaving a ribbon to match the gown.

‘If Murdo finds out he’ll compel you to take an escort next time,’ Nell went on, ‘and you know fine well who it’ll be.’

‘I will not let him force his company on me in that way.’

‘Do you really think you’d be able to avoid it?’ The nurse paused. ‘His power is second only to your father’s now. No one dares to challenge his orders or his actions for fear of retribution. His thugs swagger about as though they own the place.’

‘I know, but things will change when Hugh is Laird of Castlemora.’

‘Your brother is full young. It remains to be seen whether he can be his own man. In the meantime it’s Murdo who will control Castlemora, make no mistake about that. His ambitions don’t stop there either.’ Nell paused. ‘His interest in you has not abated.’

‘I have none in him. He knows that.’

‘He has spoken on the matter?’

‘He has.’

Nell pursed her lips. ‘The brute grows bolder.’

‘I told him plainly that he could have no hope of me.’

‘He’s not a man who takes no for an answer.

The words were an uncanny echo of a former conversation, and Isabelle inwardly acknowledged their truth.

‘You must marry again and soon,’ Nell continued.

‘By that you mean Lord Ban.’

‘Who else?’

For a moment Isabelle saw the face of a stranger with tawny hair and blue eyes. Resolutely she tried to banish it, but it was not so easy when the memory of his kiss lingered on her lips. He had held her in his arms. He had seen her naked. Again she grew hot with shame. It was a mercy she would never see him again.

‘If you do not,’ Nell went on, ‘you may be compelled to wed Murdo later.’

It was the plain truth and Isabelle inwardly acknowledged it. The thought filled her with dread. ‘I’d rather take holy orders.’

‘That’s the other choice.’

‘I might as well be a bale of goods for all my opinion matters.’

‘A woman’s opinion never matters when it comes to marriage. You know that perfectly well.’

‘At one time my father would never have countenanced such a husband for me, even to please Glengarron.’

Her father received several offers for her hand before settling on Alistair Neil. Nor had she been averse to such a glittering match. Her bridegroom appeared to be all that a maiden could desire: handsome, brave, rich, courtly. Being young and naïve it never occurred to her to look deeper, until it was too late.

‘That was then,’ replied Nell. ‘Things are different now.’

‘If the Neils had returned my dowry this wouldn’t have happened.’

‘It was wrong of them to act so.’

‘Hugh wanted to go and get it back. I almost wish he had.’

‘It would have meant bloodshed and death. Is that what you really want?’

Isabelle sighed and shook her head. ‘I loathe the Neils for a pack of cold-hearted, rapacious thieves, but Castlemora doesn’t need a blood feud. Nor would I have my dowry returned with blood on it.’

‘Neither should you. No good could come of it.’ Nell tied off the heavy braid. ‘And if you’re wise you’ll not reject Lord Ban out of hand. He’s all that stands between you and Murdo.’

Isabelle repressed a shudder, yet the unspoken fear persisted that she might be jumping from the cooking pot into the fire. Would history repeat itself and Glengarron prove to be the mirror of Dunkeld; her prospective husband a brute like Alistair Neil? Even if he was not, there was still the matter of producing heirs. What if the fault had not been wholly with her late husband? What if she really was barren? A man could put his wife aside for such a reason. Perhaps the cloister might be her lot after all.

These gloomy thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the chamber door. Then a servant entered.

‘My lady, your father bade me tell you that the riders from Glengarron have arrived, and that your presence is required below.’

She took a deep breath and composed herself. ‘I will come directly.’

The servant bowed and withdrew. Isabelle rose from her seat, wondering if Lord Iain would be among the visitors. It had been many years since she had set eyes on him, not since she was a little girl, but she remembered the powerful charismatic figure very well. Now there was a man. Would Lord Ban be such another? Would he find her attractive? What if he did not? She had been so preoccupied with her own misgivings that she hadn’t given any thought to possible doubts on the part of her intended groom. What if he rejected the match? Murdo’s image returned with force. Her stomach knotted.

‘Do I look all right?’

Nell smiled. ‘You look beautiful.’

Isabelle smoothed the front of her gown and then quit the chamber, heading for the hall where her father would be entertaining their visitors. Already she could hear the sound of men’s voices. No doubt they would be refreshing themselves with a mug of ale and delivering messages from their lord. On reaching the doorway she paused a moment to take in the scene. With her father was Hugh and beside him another man, several inches taller than both, who had his back to her.

Isabelle took a deep breath and then, summoning her courage, moved towards them. Her father saw her approach and, after a swift appraising look, he nodded.

‘Ah, there you are, lass. Come and greet our guest.’

As he spoke the stranger turned and Isabelle’s heart lurched. In a flash all the adventure of the afternoon returned with awful clarity as she found herself staring into a pair of very blue eyes—eyes that conveyed both recognition and amused surprise. And then her father was introducing them.

‘Lord Ban, may I present my daughter, Isabelle?’

Chapter Three

For a moment she could neither move nor speak and her heart thumped so hard it seemed they must all hear it. Worse, she could feel a crimson tide rising from her neck to her cheeks as the blue gaze swept over her. Then she saw him smile, a mischievous smile that lit his face and spoke more clearly than words of huge enjoyment. For a moment she wished the ground would open up and swallow her; then indignation came to her rescue. Gathering her wits she dropped a proper curtsy and gave him her hand which he took with every sign of pleasure. He brushed it with his lips. The touch seemed to scorch her flesh.

‘Lady Isabelle.’

The tone was courteous but she could not miss the amusement beneath. Isabelle felt perspiration start on her forehead. Would her father notice aught amiss? Would her brother? Thank heaven Murdo wasn’t present for very little escaped him. Striving for self-control she summoned a smile.

‘Welcome to Castlemora, my lord.’

‘I thank you.’

‘Your men too are most welcome.’ Isabelle looked towards the door where stood a small group of retainers who immediately made their duty to her. Nothing in their expressions revealed that they knew anything about the incident at the pool. Why should they? Even if he had told them they could not know her identity.

If her father noticed aught amiss it was not apparent. ‘Lord Ban has brought some fine horses, Isabelle.’

‘I look forward to seeing them, Father.’

‘Presently.’ He turned back to their guest. ‘My daughter is a keen rider. She has a way with horses.’

Ban smiled. ‘I hope the animals will meet with the lady’s approval.’

‘I’m sure they will,’ she replied. ‘My father has often said that the Laird of Glengarron has a good eye for a mount.’

‘Quite right. Not just for a mount either; breeding stock too.’

Isabelle’s stomach churned. The subject was uncomfortably close to home and she hastened to redirect it. ‘His reputation goes before him.’

‘So it does, my lady.’ Ban hadn’t missed that fleeting expression of unease and was surprised. Experience suggested that she was no prude.

Her father nodded. ‘He has made Glengarron strong.’

‘As Castlemora is strong,’ replied Ban.

‘There’s even greater strength in unity, eh?’

The allusion was impossible to miss and Isabelle’s discomfort increased. Lord Ban didn’t bat an eyelid.

‘As you say, my lord.’

‘We’ll speak further on that in due course.’ Her father beamed. ‘In the meantime I’d like to see the new horses. Would not you, Isabelle?’

‘Yes, very much.’

He held out his arm for her and she took it gratefully, allowing him to lead her outdoors. Lord Ban stood aside to let them pass and as they did so she saw the mischievous smile on his lips once more, could feel his gaze burning into her back as he fell into step with Hugh and followed them out. The knave was enjoying himself. Isabelle’s chin tilted in militant fashion. The past could not be undone, but if he thought to discompose her again he was very much mistaken.

As they reached the courtyard they could see the horses standing by the trough; three lovely mares, strong and clean of limb. Hugh surveyed them approvingly.

‘You have brought fine horses, my lord,’ he observed.

Ban inclined his head. ‘My brother’s choices in this case.’

‘Fine choices they are too.’ Archibald Graham had paused some feet away, surveying them through narrowed eyes that missed nothing. ‘What say you, Isabelle?’

‘They’re beautiful,’ she replied and, relinquishing her father’s arm, moved forwards to the nearest, a glossy bay mare with a white star on her forehead. The horse turned towards her, testing her scent through flared nostrils. Detecting no threat she relaxed again and lowered a velvety muzzle into Isabelle’s hands.

‘Your father spoke true. You have a way with horses, my lady,’ said Ban, who had come to stand beside her. All too keenly aware of him she kept her attention focused on the mare.

‘My daughter could ride almost as soon as she could walk,’ said Graham, glancing her way. ‘There are few to rival her in the chase.’

‘I am sure the lady is unrivalled in many ways,’ replied Ban. The tone was decidedly ambiguous though as far as she could tell only the two of them knew it. She threw him a swift and reproachful glance which apparently left him quite undismayed.

Graham ran a practised hand over the mare’s shoulder, back and flank, letting his gaze move down the legs to the hocks.

‘Clean limbs. Plenty of bone,’ he observed.

Isabelle dutifully followed his gaze. ‘And stamina too, I’d say.’

‘Aye, likely.’ He turned to Ban. ‘They are all broken?’

‘All, my lord.’

Isabelle looked at her father. ‘May I try her tomorrow?’

‘Why not? Try them all.’

For the first time her spirits lifted a little. It would be fun. Indeed, if her assessment was correct, she was in for a treat.

Graham turned to his guest. ‘You’ll stay a while, my lord, and see the beasts settled in. Besides, I am sure Isabelle would be pleased if you would consent to ride out with her. I’m afraid my own health rarely permits it these days.’

Ban caught the expression in the girl’s hazel eyes before they were swiftly veiled, and knew that pleasure was not what he had seen registered there. With a nonchalant smile he turned to his host.

‘Delighted, my lord.’

Isabelle bit her lip. The knave was clearly amusing himself at her expense. She could guess what he thought of her. Was he already envisaging another tryst in some remote spot? The thought turned her hot all over but he should not have the satisfaction of seeing her discomfiture.

‘I should be glad to accompany you both,’ put in Hugh. ‘If you have no objections.’

With a feeling akin to gratitude Isabelle threw him a warm smile. ‘None at all. Come by all means.’

‘I shall, with pleasure.’

‘In the meantime I look forward to hearing news of my friends at Glengarron,’ said Graham. ‘You shall tell me as we dine, my lord.’

Ban bowed in acquiescence.

‘Excellent.’ Graham paused to look at his daughter. ‘It will be good to have company. We tend to live a quiet life here and with little excitement, eh, Isabelle?’

‘I have no complaint to make, my lord.’ The tone was even enough though a tinge of warm colour appeared in her face.

‘Excitement can be a double-edged sword, can it not?’ said Ban. ‘Fun, but dangerous at times.’

Her colour deepened but she turned and met his eye, now gleaming with sardonic humour. ‘It may be as you say, my lord. I have always found it to be transient and thus quite easily forgotten.’

A widening grin acknowledged the hit. ‘Now I have always been of the opposite opinion, my lady. Some forms of excitement leave an indelible impression on the mind.’

The hazel eyes widened in feigned surprise but he did not miss the flash of anger there. ‘With such an appetite for excitement you must have had many such experiences.’

Ban fought the temptation to laugh. If they’d been alone, he’d have taught her the folly of impertinence. For a moment or two he indulged that pleasurable notion. Unfortunately, they weren’t alone—yet.

‘They add a certain spice to life,’ he replied, ‘and thus my appetite remains undiminished.’

‘I can well believe it, my lord.’

His eyes gleamed. He had thought he’d known what to expect from his visit to Castlemora, but he’d been wrong on every count. It was far from being predictable or dull. Instead he found himself intrigued. Feistiness in a woman did not displease him: after all, his sister possessed the quality in abundance. It didn’t displease Iain either apparently. Furthermore, his brother-in-law handled it supremely well: while he had never attempted to break her spirit he knew exactly how to bend Ashlynn to his will and have her enjoy the mastery too. Knowing his sister’s fiery temper Ban could only marvel at how that had been achieved. His gaze rested speculatively on Isabelle. Could he bend her thus to his will? The thought was unexpectedly titillating.

The meal that evening provided Isabelle with new insights where their guest was concerned. Much to her relief he made no further reference to what had passed between them earlier and, because of her father’s desire for news, the conversation was mostly about Glengarron. Required to say little she listened with close attention. Like everyone else at Castlemora she had long known of Lord Iain’s marriage to the Lady Ashlynn, but the circumstances were intriguing. Rumour had it that he’d carried her off and married her by force which, knowing the man’s reputation, was not at all beyond the bounds of possibility. However, that didn’t tally with the stories of a mutually happy union. Moreover, Ban would surely not be on such friendly terms with a man who mistreated a beloved sister. Hearing him speak of his two young nephews she could detect real pride and affection in his expression. It was a side to him that she would not have suspected. Her curiosity increased.

‘Have you no family besides your sister, my lord?’ she asked.

There followed a fractional hesitation and his face was shadowed as though by some unwelcome memory, but when he spoke his tone was courteous. ‘No, my lady. She and I are the last surviving members. The rest were slain by King William’s mercenaries.’

‘I am truly sorry to hear it.’ The hazel eyes met and held his steady gaze. ‘And your home?’

‘Burned, my lady.’

‘A bad business,’ said Graham, shaking his head. ‘I think King William has much to answer for.’

‘But who will make him answer it?’ asked Isabelle. ‘Surely his grip on England is too strong to be challenged.’

‘You are in the right of it, my lady,’ replied Ban. ‘And Northumbria has paid for its defiance.’

For a moment there was silence and then the conversation turned to other topics, but Isabelle pondered what she had learned. Their guest had not gone into details but her imagination was good and she had heard many tales about the brutality of the king’s soldiers in Northumbria. They had cut a sixty-mile swathe through the land and reduced a once-great kingdom to ashes. No mercy had been shown to the population: men, women and children alike slaughtered in the wake of William’s wrath. It had been some years ago, when she was little more than a child, but hearing it mentioned now brought back the shadow of that fear. Those who could flee did, heading for the border, seeking safety with kin if they had any or selling themselves into slavery if they did not. Even that was preferable to facing William’s anger. How had Ban and his sister escaped? Had they been pursued or had they been lucky? How had they met Lord Iain? Suddenly she wanted to know. However, from his obvious reticence she guessed the subject was a painful one, and in any case it would have been discourteous to probe.

Now that he was engaged once more in conversation with her father she had leisure to observe. Even reclined at his ease there was something almost feline about the lithe power of the man. She knew his strength all too well. The recollection of that humiliating scene was sharp. She had been completely at his mercy and yet he had not taken advantage of it, or not as much as he might have anyway. It was plain though that he had believed her to be a whore, or as good as. His whole behaviour pronounced it. For that she was to blame and the knowledge aroused a feeling much akin to regret. That in turn led to other, more troubling thoughts: after what had passed between them he might not wish to offer for her hand. No man wanted a wife of suspect virtue. Double standards operated with regard to what constituted acceptable behaviour for men and women, and she was not naïve enough to think herself exempt. If only she had not been so reckless.

She darted a swift look at their guest. What must he now be thinking? The very fact that he had come here at all suggested a willingness to marry if what he found pleased him. Isabelle felt suddenly sick realising then that, had things been different, she would not have looked with aversion on Lord Ban. As it was she had likely destroyed her chances this day with one ill-judged act. She had been so intent on outwitting Murdo that she had effectively played straight into his hands.

Having been so intent on their guest she had temporarily forgotten about the master-at-arms. He had taken no part in the conversation this evening, apparently content just to listen. She glanced across the table. For a moment Murdo’s gaze met hers but his expression was unreadable. All the same it made her uneasy and she looked away again. If nothing else, this projected alliance with Glengarron would have removed her from his sphere. Her folly today was like to cost her dear.

After a decent interval she rose from the table and excused herself from the company, bidding them a courteous goodnight. Ban, who had risen with her, replied in kind. Then he smiled.

‘I hope our arrangement to ride tomorrow still stands, my lady.’

His gaze met and held hers. In it she read both speculation and challenge. He was playing with her. Isabelle bit back the refusal that sprang so readily to her lips. It would be impossible to get out of this without causing her father’s displeasure, for he would take it much amiss that she snubbed one who was both guest and prospective suitor.

‘Of course,’ she replied.

‘Then I suggest we leave early before the day grows hot,’ said Hugh.

Ban smiled. ‘A good suggestion.’

He bowed over her hand, brushing it with his lips, holding it for just a moment longer than was necessary. The warmth of his touch sent a tingle along her skin. Feigning calm she turned away and then took her leave of them all.

On returning to the bower Isabelle found herself in no mood for sleep and, dismissing Nell, went to the window. The evening was still and scented with warm earth and cut grass. Some light yet lingered in the western sky, the horizon soft with lemon haze beneath the deepening blue where the first stars shone clear. Bats flitted among the orchard trees and somewhere a dog barked. Then the silence dropped again. The sweet air that was usually so soothing now only added to her feeling of desolation.

She could well visualise the scene in the hall. On the surface all would be smiles and goodwill. Lord Ban would not offend her father intentionally; the friendship existing between Castlemora and Glengarron was too valuable to risk. He would handle the matter more tactfully: the horses would provide the means for all to save face. He had come to deliver them and, having fulfilled the obligation, he would depart without ever making an offer for her hand. Tears pricked her eyelids and for perhaps the tenth time that evening she silently cursed her own stupidity.

Chapter Four

If she had entertained any hopes that his lordship might oversleep next morning, Isabelle was disappointed for when she neared the stables he was already there, the horses saddled and ready. Hugh was with him and, she noted with disfavour, so was Murdo. Seeing her approach they turned towards her, causing Ban to look round. He greeted her with a smile. Somehow she managed to reply with the usual courtesies. Then her gaze went to the horses.

‘You are before me, my lord. I hope I have not kept you waiting.’

‘Not at all. You are prompt.’

To avoid the searching gaze she moved towards the bay mare, stroking the velvety muzzle and running a practised eye over bridle and saddle, satisfying herself that it was in good order.

‘Allow me.’

Lord Ban came to the mare’s near side and held the bridle while she mounted. Once she was safely ensconced a strong hand slid her foot into the stirrup, lingering briefly on her ankle. Only too conscious of his touch, she avoided his eye and occupied herself with the arrangement of her skirt.

He left her then and went to mount his own horse, a powerful and mettlesome chestnut which he reined in alongside her a few moments later. Murdo and Hugh fell in behind leaving Lord Ban’s men to follow at a respectful distance.

‘Quite an escort,’ she remarked. ‘Are you expecting trouble, my lord?’

‘A precaution only. It is unwise to ride alone in these troubled times.’

Isabelle reddened and threw him a sideways glance but his face gave nothing away. Even so the rebuke had been plain. He wasn’t going to let her forget about what had happened. The knowledge that she deserved it didn’t help. However, she would not rise to the bait and touching the horse with her heels cantered on ahead.

The mare had a smooth even gait and a soft mouth that responded to the lightest touch of the rein. A long open stretch of turf beckoned and she gave her mount its head. Immediately the spirited creature leapt forwards, flying hooves skimming the ground, mane and tail streaming. Revelling in the speed neither horse nor rider paid heed to the thudding hoofbeats behind. The chestnut drew level and catching a glimpse of its rider’s anxious expression, Isabelle raised an eyebrow. So he thought she was out of control, did he? His lordship made a good many assumptions about her. It was time to dent his self-assurance a little. Leaning forwards she urged the mare on.