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Niall had fascinated her from the moment she had first read his name. She had spent so much time concentrating on him, dreaming about him, it was no wonder all her senses had been so acutely focused on him. All those hours she had been so aware of his actual presence that it had been difficult for her to think of anything else, her skin hypersensitive, prickly. She should have recognized the sexual charge underlying her jitters, but she hadn’t. While she had accepted and rationalized the sexual aspect of her dreams, it hadn’t occurred to her the physical attraction would be as strong in reality.
It wasn’t. It was stronger.
She had been unfaithful to Ford in every way except the actual act, but she couldn’t find any solace in that detail. If circumstances had been different, if they had been alone in a safe place, she had no doubt Niall would have had her. But now that she recognized her weakness, she could safeguard against giving in to it. She must never let Niall so much as kiss her again.
But as she rode through the night, she was uncomfortably aware that if Niall wished to kiss her or do anything else to her, her defenses were very weak indeed.
Creag Dhu was a massive stone castle, the rock from which it was built as dark as a stormy sky. Unlike the Hay keep it was in excellent repair, with thick stone walls surrounding four huge towers. The big main entrance was guarded by two sets of gates twenty feet apart, and the men who guarded it looked healthy, well clothed and armed, and well trained. Everyone who entered was stopped and questioned, and no carts or bundles went through those gates without being thoroughly inspected.
Grace knew she should have expected as much, given Niall’s military background, but when she looked at Creag Dhu she felt overwhelmed by the task she had set herself. Just getting in looked impossible; how on earth would she manage searching it?
She had to stay hidden, because a stranger would be immediately noticed. The castle was busy, having attracted its own small village as people moved closer to safety, but everyone would know everyone else. She was hungry, and tired from having ridden for two days. She had wandered off course in the fog, and a journey that shouldn’t have taken an entire day had instead taken two.
At least the horse was content, because there was plenty of grass and water.
The animal was a gelding, blessed with a calm and forgiving nature. If it hadn’t been, Grace was certain she never would have survived. She ached from head to foot, and her bottom was so sore she didn’t think she would be able to climb back into the saddle even if Huwe of Hay suddenly appeared in front of her.
She had tethered the horse in a copse of forest, while she assessed the situation, which wasn’t promising. Perhaps she should just walk up to the gates and ask to see him. He might not be pleased, but she had freed him from the dungeon; if she told him she was hungry, could he turn her away?
Of course he could, she thought. He was the Guardian. He wouldn’t let anything as paltry as gratitude stand in the way of his duty.
She had to think of some way to get inside the castle.
She couldn’t smuggle herself inside by hiding in any of the carts she
saw going in; all the carts were searched, even when the guards obviously knew the owner and they chatted genially together while the goods or produce were inspected. She didn’t even speak the language, so when they asked questions she wouldn’t be able to answer. She could try speaking Old English, but that wouldn’t win her any friends here in Scotland; the two countries had been at war for years. She could understand most of the Scots dialect, but speaking it was useless because the parts of it she understood were English, so she wouldn’t gain anything.
Even if she did manage to get into Creag Dhu, what then? The castle inhabitants would certainly know one another far better than they knew the village folk, so there wouldn’t be any way she could escape notice by mingling with the crowd. Exploring the castle would take time; she needed to be able to come and go without being questioned. Grimly she arrived back at one inescapable conclusion: even if she got into the castle, she would need Niall’s permission to stay.
She decided to face one problem at a time, and found herself back at the beginning: how to get into Creag Dhu?
She began making her way back to the horse, stumbling over rocks and roots, catching her skirts on bushes and twigs and having to jerk them free. She was becoming more and more irritated with the nuisance of a long gown. To tell the truth, she was irritated with everything, but at least her ill humor had distracted her from the humiliation of what had happened with Niall.
By the time she reached the horse, she was sweating from the effort of fighting her way through brambles and bushes. The wool surcoat, which felt good on cold nights, now suffocated her. Irritably she stripped it off and tossed it over the saddle, sighing in relief as air seeped through the lighter cotton kirtle. She loosened the laces that held the neckline and sleeves tight, pulling the neckline completely open and then pushing up the sleeves as far as she could, which was only to the middle of her forearms. Under the scarf, her hair was wet with sweat. Off came the scarf, and she unwound the heavy knot of her hair, running her fingers through it and letting fresh air reach her scalp. She had expected Scotland to be uniformly chilly even in May, but that wasn’t the case today.
There was no way she was putting that heavy wool gown back on, and the velvet one would be just as hot. Grace looked down, checking the kirtle for modesty. She was dismayed to find it failed miserably, unless she didn’t mind any casual observer being able to see both her nipples and the darkness of her pubic hair. Inspiration struck, and she shook out the big scarf, then tied it around her waist so that it draped strategically over both front and back. Then she bloused the kirtle out from the waist so the fullness gave her a bit of modesty up top, too. Satisfied with her effort, she stuffed the dirty wool surcoat in the bag and remounted the horse. She hadn’t solved any of her problems, but at least now she was comfortable.
Five minutes later, as she watched a group of five women trudge along the rutted road, obviously heading to Creag Dhu, inspiration struck again.
The business of the women wasn’t in any doubt. Their skirts were hiked up farther than any Grace had seen since arriving, and their bodices were pulled low. They hadn’t bothered with long-sleeved, high-necked kirtles; their undergarments were short-sleeved and loose. No kerchiefs covered their heads, and though their hair was for the most part unkempt, as Grace watched they began finger-combing the tangles, pulling strands over their shoulders to curl flirtatiously around their breasts. They pinched their cheeks and bit their lips, and there was a good deal of laughter and obviously naughty observations.
Whores, or at least loose women, on their way to the castle for a night of recreation or commerce, or both. And Grace now looked remarkably like them, with her scanty clothing and loose hair. She kneed the horse into a walk, approaching the group from an angle.
“Good afternoon,” she said pleasantly when she neared, trying to alter her accent so the “good” sounded like “guid.” No help for it; she would have to speak Old English, which was at least close enough to Scots for her to be largely understood.
The whores watched her suspiciously, no hint of welcome in their faces.
“My man left me,” she said baldly. “I’ve no coins, no food for two days, and I have no place to sleep.”
An overblown redhead who had seen better days looked her up and down. “Aye?” she said in a tone that clearly meant, “So what?”
“If you are going to the castle, could I go with you? A night’s work would bring me a coin or two, and at least food for my belly.”
“Ye have yer beast,” the redhead pointed out, nodding at the horse. A horse was a valuable animal, worth more than all their possessions put together. They weren’t likely to have any sympathy for her so long as she possessed him.
Grace thought quickly. “You can have him,” she promised, “if you will take me with you.”
The five women put their heads together, and a swarm of Gaelic buzzed around her ears. Finally the redhead held up her hand and nodded to Grace. “’Tis a bargain.” She waited expectantly, and Grace climbed down from the horse, not without a great deal of relief. Her bottom was so sore after two days of riding that she was much happier walking. She untied her bag from the saddle, and presented the reins to the redhead, who looked triumphantly around at her friends.
