Page 19 of An Outlaw’s Desire

Faint murmurs carried from the battlements behind her. The guards on the night watch had seen her. But, they’d been forewarned of her excursions. She’d made sure they’d known, just to be safe, so they wouldn’t sound the alarm and put the whole fortress on alert.

Snow, coated by a glistening sheen of ice, crunched under her boots. Excitement tingled through her, for she loved being outside in the dark; loved the scent of the night air tinged with the earthiness of cold dirt, time-worn stone, and secrets. Aye, the secrets enticed her most. From all she’d read in the book she’d borrowed from Lord Montgomery, there were many discoveries to be made in the surrounding lands that had been home to folk centuries ago.

According to local legend, a vast hoard from the Kingdom of Mercia lay hidden somewhere in the area. Folk had searched for the gold before and hadn’t found it. The thought of a treasure nearby, though, perhaps even buried under the very ground she was walking upon now, sent a thrill rippling down Blythe’s spine. She could only imagine what ’twould be like to stumble upon the riches. The sense of wonder, of accomplishment.….

The breeze buffeted her cloak. The torch flame sputtered, and smoke wafted into her face. She blinked to clear her vision and saw the standing stones looming to her left. Outlined by shadow and moonglow, the ancient stone circle was even more awe-inspiring than when she’d visited it in daylight.

“Beautiful,” she whispered.

How glad she was that Lord Montgomery strove to preserve the monument. He’d even assigned guards to protect it. When she’d asked why, for surely folk honored the places created by people who’d lived before them, he’d revealed his men had caught miscreants conducting strange ceremonies at the site and drunkards carving their names into the stones.

A shame people did such things. She should feel guilty about the piece of stone Pitt had chipped off monolith for her years ago, but in truth, she treasured it. She always would.

At least the ancient site was safe now. From humans, anyway. She couldn’t say the same for ghosts. There had to be a few of those—

“Who goes there?”

She recognized the voice of Harlow, one of Lord Montgomery’s knights, who was also a widower. Rosetta had introduced Blythe to Harlow that morning, and after a pleasant chat, he’d reserved a dance with her on Christmas Eve. Snow crunched as he emerged from the darkness.

“’Tis Blythe,” she said. “I am taking a walk.”

“Milady? Why are you out on this freezing night?”

Another guard, closer to the standing stones, walked into view. “If I were you, I would be sitting by the fire with my feet up, enjoying some mulled wine.”

She laughed. “I will not be out for long.”

“Shall I accompany you?” Harlow was already crossing the distance between them.

“Thank you, but nay.” She really wanted to be alone.

His strides slowed. “Very well.” The poor fellow sounded disappointed. “Hail us when you start back to the castle, so Galven and I know you are not still out in the dark. All right?”

“I will.” She’d rather not, but ’twas a sensible request. While the widower might perceive her as a helpless damsel, she’d made sure to bring her dagger, given to her by her mother years ago. ’Twas unlikely she’d run into trouble, but she was prepared nonetheless.

Blythe continued on, toward the creek gleaming like polished silver ahead.

Exhaling a long breath, she crouched by the water, its level higher than usual because of last month’s snowfalls. Judging by the muddy slush along the bank, both animals and people frequented this spot. They’d have done so for centuries. Even the ancient folk who’d built the stone circle would have come here.

She shoved the torch between two stones, pulled off her gloves, and dipped her hand into the creek. As she trailed her fingers through the freezing water and studied the moonlit landscape, calmness, underscored by loneliness, settled within her. How she’d love to have a life like Rosetta’s; a soulmate with whom to share life’s joys, challenges, and the wonder of raising children.

“My Christmas wish is to have a life as happy and fulfilling as Rosetta’s,” Blythe murmured into the wind. “I wish—oh, how I wish—I could see Pitt again and once more share our incredible love.”

How foolish of her to say such things, but no one was around to hear.

After drying her hand, she donned her gloves again and rose. Clarine usually woke early and had said she’d come to Blythe’s chamber to wake her, so she’d best get back to the fortress and to bed. Blythe picked up the torch, turned, and as she stepped forward, her boot skated on a stone covered by slush. She squawked, wobbled, and the reed slipped from her grasp to land in the snow.

With a watery fizzle, the torch went out. Blythe groaned. She’d have to rely on moonglow to get her back to the castle.

She trudged in the direction of the fortress. At least the stone circle provided a landmark to help guide her.

A short distance from the monument, she remembered her promise to the widower.

Neither of the two guards were in sight.

“Harlow?” she called.

The wind hissed, the only answer in the still, quiet night.