In Bed With A Stranger(61)

The clanging of the brass bells drove every bit of sleep from her mind. Whatever befell the castle, she would share it. In the eyes of Brodick’s enemies, she was his wife and a possible target to extract vengeance from. Crawling over the heavy coverlet, she stood up, trying to find their clothing in the dim light. His shirt was a soft hump on the floor. Picking it up, she shook it and turned it right side out. She turned and took it toward him, her heart moving faster as the bells continued to ring.

Brodick looked surprised. He was already pleating his kilt across the foot of the bed, his wide leather belt in place. Stretching up, she placed the shirt over his head. She didn’t worry about her own nudity; getting the men to the walls was the first priority. He lifted his arms and put them through the sleeves of the garment. Her fingers were already closing the button at the collar.

“Thank ye, lass.” He sounded surprised but pleasantly so. A soft ripple of emotion went through her as she witnessed the way he watched her maid him.

The bells droned on, instilling urgency in her. There was no time to dwell on the intimacy of the moment. He lay down across his pleated kilt to secure the buckle. When he rose, Anne offered him his sword. The weight of the weapon made her hands tremble. Too many wives performed their last duty to their spouses by handing them their swords. She might be sending him to his death. There was no way to know what set the bells to ringing.

It was a sure thing that it was not good news in the dead of the night.

But she held her worries inside. That, too, was a wife’s duty. Brodick clasped the sword in one large hand.

“Get dressed and join the women in the lower keep until ye’re told otherwise.”

“Aye.” She turned to begin looking for her clothing. An arm snaked around her waist, pulling her back against the body of her lover.

“But kiss me good-bye first.”

“Aye, my lord.”

That was a duty she performed most happily. Reaching up, she placed her hands against his shoulders, his mouth claiming hers in a hard kiss. There was no time to linger, only a mere moment to steal one last press of lips before he set her away from him.

“Hurry, lass.”

He left her and she was suddenly cold. The chill cut all the way to her heart. Moving around in the dark, she pulled her chemise from the floor. The bells stopped, leaving an eerie silence. In the dark, the lace that had secured her stays was nowhere to be found. Half dressed, Anne dropped to her knees to feel across the floor for it. She discovered it hidden on the pattern of one of the newly arrived carpets. Standing back up, she moved in front of the fireplace to use the meager light from the coals to thread the lace through the eyelets. It was slow work.

Many slept in their corsets because the garments were not quickly donned. Tonight, it felt like an eternity before she tugged the lace tight to secure her breasts. Struggling into her doublet, she worried that too much time had passed. She didn’t know her way around Sterling. Her hopes lay in following the other inhabitants to the keep that would be protected down to the last man. Scotland was more violent than England. Yet even Warwickshire feared encroaching raiders. Any castle near the coast kept its walls manned since the Spanish had launched its Grand Armada with the intention to reclaim England for the Catholic faith.

Brodick had left the door open. There was no sound on the steps and none rising from the floor below. The darkness was thick. Anne hesitated. Wandering the dark corridors alone might be more hazardous than remaining in her room. Yet cowering behind her door was certain to drive her insane before dawn. The double doors that led to the courtyard were open, the light from the wall fires coloring it faintly.

Any light was a beacon. Her chamber and the hallway that led to the next tower were nothing but black caverns. Walking toward the open doors, she peered out into the courtyard. It was full of men and horses. Younger boys, their arms laden with armor, wove through the mass. White clouds rose from the horses’ mouths and the men alike. Every man had a sword strapped to his back. In England, her father’s men held their weapons on their hips.

There was the sound of leather tightening and horses being bridled. The men on the walls held their bows ready, an arrow slotted. Brodick was already in the saddle, a thick breast plate secured around his body. Anne pressed back against the wall. The shadow hid her there. Defending his home was the blunt reality of their uncertain times. Brodick needed his wits about him, not the distraction of thinking about her.

“Mount!”

His voice filled the courtyard. There was a flurry of motion as the men gained their saddles, the fires from the walls dancing over them. The huge doors were opened with a loud groaning of chain. Men and horses surged through the opening in a force that held her spellbound. Each man wearing the same patterned kilt with Brodick leading them.