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Bernard sat down and gathered her onto his lap, wondering how he had gotten himself into this situation. He remembered his last experience with a maid in Belieth; that had ended badly, but it seemed he had learned nothing since then. All he had wanted was a warm woman in his arms, but once again, he had misjudged things. Chambermaids were not pampered ladies experienced in the ways of the world, and he was a fool.
Catriona leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed with satisfaction, but Bernard was anything but satisfied. He missed Janice with a passion of which he had not believed himself capable, and he was constantly having nightmares that her father had betrothed her to someone else. After all, she was a beautiful and eligible young woman and could likely have the pick of all the young men of her own class.
He had hoped to fill in the emptiness in his soul by pursuing a new love, but it was evident that sooner or later, he was going to have to break Catriona’s heart. She was a lovely girl, but she had only one flaw: she was not Janice. She did not make his heart beat faster, or his loins throb, or inspire the feelings of excitement and deep tenderness as Janice had done. He had no doubt that there would be many more kisses. However, he knew he would never even consider going beyond that first kiss that he had shared with her, and anything else would only involve lips.
Just then, William rounded the corner of the passage where they were sitting, making Catriona jump up and flee.
William grinned. “You should stop teasing that girl,” he advised. “She is too good for you. I thought you had learned after Catherine Boyle.”
Bernard sighed and put his face in his hands. “I know. I wish I had not started our relationship, but she was there and willing, and…” he trailed off.
“Have you bedded her?” William asked curiously.
“No!” Bernard looked at his friend in horror. “We have not even gone beyond kissing, and that was a disaster! She thinks because I put my tongue in her mouth that I am dirty.”
William frowned. “It sounds as though the poor wee girl is out of her depth,” he observed. “She has a lot to learn. Are you going to be the one to teach her? ” He studied his friend, his eyebrows raised questioningly.
“No, I would not want to,” he replied. “She is too pure.”
William gave him a disbelieving look. “Since when did that ever stop you before?” he asked.
* * *
Bernard heard of Laird Stewart’s death from William two days later when a message arrived for Laird Ballantine telling him the news.
“Laird Stewart has passed on,” he told William sadly. “The consumption got him at last.”
Bernard’s heart leaped. “Is your father going to the funeral?” he asked tensely.
“No, he is already committed to accompanying Laird Maxwell to the Oban Horse Fair next week, and there is no time to do both,” William answered.
“Are you going?” Bernard asked the question even though he knew the answer already.
William looked at his friend as though he was mad. “Mia is about to give birth any day now. Of course I am not going!” Then he studied his friend for a moment, suddenly realizing why he was asking. “Do you want to see Janice?”
Bernard nodded despairingly. “Your father will not be happy, but I am no longer content here, William.” He shrugged. “It was enough to be here with my friends before. I had a good life, and I know I could still have that, but it is no longer enough. I must go to see Janice if only to find out if she has forgiven me.”
“Why should you care so much?” William gaped at Bernard in astonishment. “You said you did not love her. Are you sure about that?”
“No. I just know I have to go and see her.” Bernard was resolute. “And now I must tell your father.”
He squared his soldiers and raised his chin, holding up an imaginary sword as if he was going into battle.
* * *
Laird Ballantine was incandescent with fury when he heard the news.
“We have sheltered you for years!” he yelled. “You have lived under my roof, enjoyed my food and shelter, and the security of my name. You practically grew up as a brother to my son, and this is how you repay me?” His face was crimson with rage.
“M’Laird, I have worked hard for everything you have given me.” His voice was firm, and he looked Malcolm Ballantine squarely in the eye as he spoke. “I have served as a guard for you since I was fifteen years old. I have even killed for you. I am not your son, and I did not swear fealty to you for the rest of my life, only a few years.”
Laird Ballantine suddenly had a revelation. He looked at Bernard keenly. “Janice Stewart is behind this, is she not?” he asked slyly.
Bernard said nothing, and the laird took it as assent. “I knew it! You are in a sad state, my boy, when you start thinking with that”—he pointed to Bernard’s groin—“instead of your head.”
With a great effort of will, Bernard stood his ground and said nothing, even though he would have dearly liked to punch Malcolm Ballantine in his aristocratic nose. The silence between them stretched on for minutes, with neither man wanting to admit defeat by breaking it. Eventually, the laird sat down and looked up at Bernard.
“Off you go, then, Taggart. But remember: as soon as you cross that drawbridge, you will never be able to come back into this castle again. Are you sure you want to do that?” He raised his eyebrows questioningly.
