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“Still nay sign of him?”Mary’s voice stirred Saoirse from her steadfast vigil at the chamber window.
Her old chamber had the best view of the two roads that led away from the Castle—the one that cut through the forest to the south and the one that meandered across the moors to the north, like a pale stream. There had been riders in the seemingly endless hours since Saoirse had been flitting between the windows, but none of them had been Noah.
“Nay sign,” Saoirse replied thickly. “How can it be that nay one kens where he is? Someone must have seen him leave. Someone must ken where he went. His horse is missin’, but even the stablemaster just shrugged when I asked. Scott hasnae a clue, and neither do ye or I. I cannae understand it.”
Mary put her thin arm around Saoirse, letting the younger woman rest her head on her shoulder. “He’ll come back, M’Lady. Ye saw the rain earlier, comin’ down like the heavens were havin’ a spittin’ match. He likely stopped somewhere to get out of it. Once it’s light, he’ll ride back to ye, and I’d wager there’ll be another obscene bunch of flowers to apologize.”
“What if he’s—” Saoirse couldn’t bring herself to say it, cursing that woman in the woods who had put such thoughts in her head in the first place.
Mary stroked Saoirse’s hair lightly. “What if he’s what, dear thing?”
“Do all husbands take lovers, Mary? Be honest with me.”
Mary sighed, as if she’d been expecting the question. “Many do. Many wives, too. Ye see everythin’ when ye’ve lived as long as I have, but I can tell ye one thing—His Lairdship isnae one of those men. He’d sooner poke out his eyes than hurt ye or lose ye, so let’s have nay more of that thinkin’, eh?”
“How can ye be sure?” Saoirse peered up at her friend.
“Because we’re as close as family, he and I, and that man holds onto the things that are dear to him. Too hard, sometimes.” Mary chuckled softly. “Nay one is dearer to him than ye, Saoirse. Look into yer heart and ask it if ye really believe he could betray ye.”
Saoirse covered her heart with her hand, and felt only concern for her beloved’s welfare. “Nay, I daenae believe it.”
“There ye are, then.” Mary gave her a tight squeeze. “Now, I’ve fetched us up a jar of that blackberry wine I’ve been makin’ while Leah’s back is turned. What do ye say we have a cup or two, to send us off to sleep, where we cannae worry and fret like two maither hens?”
Saoirse laughed. “I might need a third cup.”
She took one last look out of the window, listening to the drip of the rain had that only recently stopped, and breathed out a nervous sigh. He was out there, somewhere, and until he came home, she knew she wouldn’t sleep a wink. No matter how much wine she drank.
* * *
Stewing in a drunken stupor, Noah blinked his hazy eyes open. His mouth was dry and stale, tasting of things he didn’t even remember drinking. He fumbled across the coverlets, trying to reach the bedside table that he knew would have water on it. Instead, his hand dropped sharply off the edge of the bed—a much narrower bed than he’d expected.
“Nice of ye to join me again,” a soft voice purred from somewhere close by. “I thought I’d tired ye out enough so ye’d sleep until noon.”
Noah squinted to try and clear the fog from his eyes. “Pardon?”
The end of the bed sank down, but he couldn’t see more than the vague shape of a person. He willed himself to sober up, but the ale and wine and liquor bubbled in his veins, making his blood feel thick and sluggish.
“Daenae pretend ye’re drunk, Noah.” A sultry laugh sent a ripple of fear down his spine. “I ken ye. It takes more than what ye had to make ye drunk.”
Bracing his hands against the lumpy mattress, Noah forced himself to sit. A wash of dizziness chased the movement. His eyes squeezed shut, his breath slow and shaky as he tried to gulp down the prickling sensation of nausea that burned in his throat.
“Who are ye, and what are ye doin’ in me chamber?” He was in no mood for silly games.
The figure stood up and moved closer, sitting down at the top of the bed, where he had no choice but to see her. “Has it been so long that ye daenae remember me? I’m hurt, Noah. I thought ye’d remember us for the rest of yer days.”
Through the mist of inebriation, Noah couldn’t believe his eyes. He had to be dreaming, and not the good kind. But the long hair, the color of a chestnut, and the dark, doe eyes were unmistakable. As were the full lips that used to haunt him. Her face had barely aged, but she wasn’t the same. How could she be? The Caitlin he’d known and loved had died a long time ago. Not a real death, but he’d mourned the loss of her as if it were.
“Caitlin? What… how… why are ye in my chamber?” He licked his dry lips, not even a little bit pleased to see her. Instead, fear made his stomach churn. What had he done? Had something happened?
Caitlin chuckled. “Ye’re nay in yer chamber, Noah. Ye’re in a room at the Wheatsheaf Inn, and ye asked me to keep ye company. We’ve been talkin’ all night, rememberin’ the old days, among other things.”
“Where’s Saoirse?” Noah tried to get out of the bed. “I need to go to my wife.”
Caitlin’s smiled, but it was an eerie sort of smile. “Daenae mind her, Noah. She doesnae need to ken of any of this.” She reached for his hand, but he snatched it back. “It’s as I told her the other day—all men take mistresses. It seems fittin’ that I should be yers, after the love we used to share. When I saw ye tonight, I kenned we’d rekindle it. I’ve been prayin’ for it for a while, in truth, and the heavens rarely disappoint me.”
“What did ye say?” Sudden, furious clarity pierced Noah’s foggy mind, sobering him just enough to make sense of the situation.
Caitlin toyed with her hair. “Did yer wife nae tell ye we’d met? I suppose ye havenae mentioned me at all, so how would she ken who I was? She probably believed my name was Mrs. Foster.” She sighed. “The lass is pretty, daenae mistake me, but she’s clearly a dolt.”
