The Thistle and the Rose Page 9

  Working his way to the sheltered harbor at the foot of the thoroughfare, Colin was repeatedly stopped by the townsfolk that he encountered. All knew him, and none felt any hesitation in approaching him and sharing their personal news, though some kept one eye warily on the huge black dog at his side.

  At the bottom of the long hill, the main street intersected a front street forming a Marketcross by the water. To the left, docks jutted out into the harbor. To the right, a church stood, and beyond it, a sandy beach stretched out along the other side of the harbor. This protected strand bordered the rocky point of land that rose up to bluffs on the firth side.

  Inquiring after Celia and her uncle, Colin directed his steps toward the docks. Approaching the area deserted by the fleet of small fishing boats that were also taking advantage of the good weather, Colin spotted Edmund in conversation with the captain of one of the three larger, heavily armed trading vessels that were moored in the harbor.

  Colin’s eyes traveled the dock as he realized that Lady Caithness was not with her uncle. That’s curious, he thought with some disappointment.

  But she had not returned to the castle...

  Before he could address the knight, Colin noticed that Bear had left his side. Turning his head with alarm, he saw the great beast galloping down the beach toward a group of children huddled in the sand at the water's edge. He was a ferocious hunter, but this was not normal behavior. Fearing the worst, Colin sprinted after the hound.

  As the animal reached the children, Colin saw the group scatter. Bear pounced, knocking down one who had been crouching in the middle. Colin shouted as he ran, watching in horror as the dog swarmed over its prey.

  The children were shrieking, and the growls of the hunting dog pierced Colin's heart. This would be a killing, for sure. The dog was too strong, too vicious. It looked like a young girl under the dog's massive body. The shock of the attack would wound the entire village. Why had he brought the dog along? But Bear had never attacked a child before. He was a hunting dog, and he only attacked on command.

  Colin was nearly to them. But he knew he would be too late to save the child. Too late.

  Suddenly something was wrong. No, what was this going on in front of him? Penetrating his brain was the sound of laughter, children's shrieks of laughter. As he reached the group, Colin slowly began to comprehend the scene before him.

  As he stumbled to a halt, the dumbfounded rescuer watched the victim grab Bear by the ears and roll him on to his back in the sand.

  Colin stopped dead in his tracks as Lady Caithness bounced up, laughing and holding the dog's muzzle in her two hands. Colin knew it was time to get a new dog. His fierce hound had become a lady’s pet.

  Colin stood and watched, his heart pounding in his chest. His first reaction was an overwhelming desire to wring someone's neck, and Bear was not his first choice. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to regain his composure, but he could still feel the heat in his face.

  Then, gradually, as he looked at her, his anger was replaced with something else.

  The sight before him took his newly recovered breath away. Even though she now saw the fiercely frowning warrior, the lady could not stop her unabashed laughter. She was not a product of some court. She was a product of nature. Of the wind. The sand. The sea.

  Truly, she was a mess.

  And a devastating natural beauty. Not some primped and practiced court mannequin. Colin thought that he'd never seen a more desirable woman in his life. He wanted her.

  “I think your dog likes me,” Celia said, looking innocently in Colin's direction, trying to quiet the still playful animal. Colin stood directly in front of her with the dog between them.

  He actually looks worried, she thought. Angry, but worried, too. And definitely surprised.

  Celia liked that. Colin didn't even seem winded from his long sprint down the beach. His beautiful, thick black hair had fallen across his forehead from the run. She had a wild impulse to reach over, to touch it, to push it gently back in place.

  He looked absolutely magnificent. She realized that this was the first time she'd seen him in the clear light of day. Hardly disappointing. Quite to the contrary. He was by far the most handsome creature she had ever seen. The features of his face had the same clean, chiseled look as the wind-carved bluffs that distinguished this rugged coastline. His gray eyes were the most beautiful shade. The lashes long and black.

  Unexpectedly, Celia felt a giddy lightness in her head as she looked into his eyes. She felt...no, she wished she could just stand there and stare into them, be lost in them for an eon.

  This giant with the gorgeous gray eyes made her feel like a silly, adolescent girl.

  “Well, there's no accounting for taste,” Colin responded, teasingly and obviously inspecting her up and down. “Although, I have to admit, this latest court fashion is...most becoming.”

  Oh, God. I must look like hell, she thought. And I've probably been gawking like an idiot.

  Celia began to brush off her clothes, frowning as darkly as she could.

  “We're not at court, m'lord,” Celia retorted, not raising her head to address him.

  Colin reached over and gently lifted her chin, gazing into her eyes.

  “Lady Caithness, isn't it time you called me by name?” Colin allowed a moment to pass before removing his hand from her soft, warm skin.

  “Very well, Lord Campbell,” Celia said, reaching a hand into her tangled curls to shake the sand out. Retaining her composure was becoming more difficult by the minute.

  “Then, as lord, I command you to stand still,” he said, turning her around and gently working his fingers through her auburn ringlets.

  Colin could see the goose bumps rising on the skin of her slender neck, and he felt himself responding physically to the silky feel of her hair.

  “And, as lord, I could command that you accompany me on a tour of the village.” Colin knew that he needed to sound facetious, or she would become angry. Already, he knew that this was not a woman who would take orders well. And this was not the moment to drive her away.

  There was hardly any sand in her shiny locks, but Colin was in no hurry to stop. He wanted to bury his face in the tangled mass and run his lips along the skin beneath her ear.

  “Command, Lord Campbell?” Celia whispered, amazed at the freezing fire that was coursing through her veins.

  Colin brushed his fingers lightly across the skin of her neck, gently sweeping the hair back from where it fell to her shoulders. He felt her shudder at the touch. He wanted to do more.

  “Would a request be better...Celia?” he asked gently, turning her by the shoulders until she faced him.

  “Right now, Colin, it's all the same.”

  The two stood looking into each other's eyes as time stood still.

  Then, abruptly, Celia stepped back, putting both hands to her flushed cheeks. Colin saw panic replace the passion that had welded their gaze for the eternity of a moment.

  Colin feared that she would run.

  Frantically she searched in the sand around her for her shoes. Finding one, she jammed it on her foot. Unable to locate the other, Celia suddenly felt a wave of helpless vulnerability wash over her. How could this man have this effect on her? She wanted to cry, and fighting the tears added to the confusion. Where did the damned shoe go?

  “Is this what you're looking for, Celia?” Colin asked gently, taking the shoe out of the dog's soft mouth.

  Celia looked at the shoe in Colin's hand. Glancing around, she saw that the children's attention had already returned to their playing. Colin handed her the shoe and followed Bear as the dog joined in the children's play.

  Something had just happened. What? Celia thought. How could she want to run and need to stay, all at once?

  Looking at his broad back as he bent over a little girl, examining a shell the tot held up to him in her tiny hand, Celia felt once again an exhilarating rush begin in her face and race through her chest and middle, finis
hing in her back with a sensation that made her shiver. What was happening to her?

  Colin straightened up and called to Bear. As the dog loped over to him, the warrior turned and walked back along the beach, shielding his eyes against the sun as he gazed toward the docks and Edmund.

  Celia watched Colin pass without a word. His look was so passive, so expressionless. It was as if nothing had happened. Nothing.

  My imagination, Celia thought. Wishful thinking is more like it. To think that this handsome man, this hero, this laird as wealthy as the king himself, could possibly be interested in me. Wishful thinking is right.

  And what am I? I'm a fugitive. A woman with no home. No money. No land. No real title to offer. A woman with a child. A lost soul on the run.

  I'm not even what I seem to be. I'm a woman with no identity. Lady Caithness, she thought bitterly, I cannot even be that.

  I'm an impostor.

  Here I am, using these good people. Taking the refuge they freely offer, and giving nothing in return, not even the truth. Edmund had been right. They had opened their home to us, taking us in with not even a question asked. Relying on our honor. Our honor.

  But I cannot tell them. They have a right to know, but I cannot tell them. I cannot.

  Celia waved good-bye to the children and stalked deliberately down the beach. As she breathed in the crisp salt air, Celia felt the guilt wash into a stronger emotion. Anger grew more insistent with every step she took. She was angry with him for his show of affection. Angry with herself for her vulnerability to his attention. Who was he interested in, her or Lady Caithness? Who was he running from?

  Her eyes followed him as they made their way down the beach. At one point she thought Bear was going to run back to her, but Colin must have given a clear command, because the dog returned quickly to his side.

  I'm not even good enough company for his dog, she thought angrily.

  By the time she reached the place where Colin and Edmund stood in conversation, Celia had worked herself up to a full fury.

  She was angry at the world, angry at Colin, angry at herself.

  “Celia,” Edmund said cheerfully. “We will be privileged to take part in one of the grand spectacles of the Western Isles next week.”

  “I pass,” she responded quickly, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly.

  “What do you mean, pass?“ Colin blurted out, surprised. “You do not even know what it is yet.”

  “All right, what is it?” Celia asked in a resigned tone.

  “The annual Easter hunt,” Edmund announced importantly.

  “An Easter egg hunt?” Celia responded wryly, turning to Colin. “I thought that was only a French tradition. What kind of eggs will you hunt, m'lord?”

  “We're hunting red deer,” Colin said in a disgusted tone, “and any bird we can find.”

  “I do not think deer lay eggs, m'lord,” she responded innocently.

  “We're not hunting eggs!” Colin exploded. “And the French be damned!”

  “I really do not think you should be cursing the only allies we have in Europe, m'lord, just because red deer do not lay eggs.”

  Speechless, Colin just stared at Celia, certain the woman had either lost her senses or was trying to make him crazy.

  As Edmund laughed behind him, Colin realized that he was being had again.

  “I know you're only jesting with me, Lady Caithness,” Colin said through clenched teeth, trying to recover. “But I'm sure you will enjoy the hunt. Our game forests are far superior to those you've been hunting with your court friends.”

  “I'm certain they are, Lord Colin. I still pass.”

  “Why?” Colin asked, totally perplexed. “Edmund has told me that you are an accomplished archer, and I've seen you with a sword.”

  “Aye, but I find it stupid for grown men and women to race around forests and fields, in all types of weather, riding down and inflicting mortal wounds on defenseless little animals.”

  No wonder Agnes likes her, Colin thought. He'd been hearing Agnes argue this every year from the moment he picked up his first bow.

  “Then how in God's name did you become so proficient with hunting weapons?” Colin asked, becoming exasperated.

  “It's very simple, Lord Colin,” Celia answered, with a smile at Edmund. “By riding down and inflicting mortal wounds on defenseless Highland lairds.”

  With that, Celia turned her back on Colin and looked at the village.

  “Are you going to show us the village, m'lord?” she asked sweetly.

  Totally baffled by this woman, Colin led the two visitors into the village.

  Soon, however, Colin's composure returned as he turned his attention to the growing town. Telling them of the changes that had been occurring, Colin swelled with pride at the recent efforts.

  Two years earlier Colin had begun a revitalization of the town, convinced that if Scotland was to thrive in Europe in these changing times, they must develop new ways of doing things, develop new industries to employ its growing numbers of people.

  Moving past the low stone warehouses that would soon be filled with wool, Colin excitedly led them to another long, low building.

  “This is something they do not have as yet anywhere else in Scotland,” Colin said proudly, ushering them through the stout oak door.

  Before her, Celia saw an amazing sight. The shuttles of ten looms were busily click-clacking away, and rolls of wool cloth were stacked nearby, ready for storage and shipment. Workers bustled back and forth carrying spools of spun wool and the rolls of finished cloth.

  Colin towered alongside her as Celia returned the smiles of the master weavers who sat basking in the glow of Lord Colin's approval. She reached over and touched the wool; it was fine quality material, undyed, but clearly the product of skilled workmanship and the very good wool.

  “This wool has the feel of Spanish Segovian!” she said in a shocked tone, looking up into his smiling, gray eyes. Celia was extremely surprised to find what seemed to be the finest of the wools that Europe was producing here in the Western Isles. The finest wool available came from Spain and the top Spanish wool came from the hills surrounding Segovia, and she knew all about the various qualities of wool in Europe from her experience on her father's merchant ships. Scotland's wool was far inferior to this. “This cannot be Scottish! But how could you get it now?”

  “This is Scottish wool,” Colin replied, surprised but very impressed at Celia's knowledge of the commodity.

  “It cannot be. This has none of the tar one finds on Scottish wool,” Celia said in disbelief. Scottish wools were unpopular owing to the tar frequently smeared on the sheep as a protection against the weather.

  “But I'm telling you it is, Celia,” Colin said, taking hold of her hand for a moment. “This wool came from Campbell lands.”

  “You're telling us that you are producing quality wool on your lands and making quality cloth in your village? This is incredible!” Celia exclaimed excitedly, pressing his hand as she spoke.

  Colin grinned, pleased with the response. Without releasing her hand, he turned to go back out the door.

  “Can you show us the rest of the cloth works?” Celia asked, stopping him with a tug of her hand.

  Colin turned with surprise at her tone.

  “Of course, if you're interested.”

  “I am! I've never had a chance to see the inside of one of these places,” Celia's face was lit with anticipation.

  Edmund's, however, was not.

  “If you two will excuse me, I told Lord Hugh that I'd continue helping him with the new falcons. They're beautiful birds.” Hunting was a lot more interesting to this knight than commerce.

  Hiding her disappointment, Celia let go of Colin's hand, saying, “I'll walk with you, Edmund. It's time I got back to Kit and Ellen.”

  “Nay, Celia,” Edmund said with a gentle note in his voice. “I'll check in on Ellen and the bairn. It’s such a beautiful day; perhaps I’ll take them both down to watch the h
awking.”

  “I should go with you, Edmund,” Celia protested.

  “Enjoy the day,” the knight said coaxingly. Celia had never shown such interest in a young man before. This would be good for her. “Think, lass, you might not get an opportunity like this again. That is, if Colin does not mind seeing you back to the castle later.”

  “Of course! I do not get many opportunities to show off what we're doing here,” Colin responded, taking Celia once again by the hand.

  Once Edmund left, Colin introduced Celia to the lead weaver in the building. As they walked through, Colin showed her the various types of cloth they were producing. The ten draw-looms, with a weaver seated and a draw boy working beside each one, were a constant blur of motion. Celia was impressed that Colin knew each worker by name.

  Colin was ready to lead her out a door on the other side of the building, when he realized that Celia was no longer with him. Colin leaned with his broad back to the door, watching as Celia made her way back through the room, stopping at each loom and complimenting the websters on the weaves and their obvious mastery of the craft. She had a way with people, Colin thought.

  Their eyes met for a moment across the room, and her delight was evident.

  Entering the next building in front of Colin, Celia found a room full of spinners. The women were chatting and singing as they entered, but quieted somewhat when they saw Colin. Giggles and whispering could be heard instead, and Celia thought to herself that obviously she was not the only one affected by this man. She also noticed the appraising looks directed her way.

  In the center of the room, an imposing middle-aged woman was frowning at her from where she sat. There was more than a hint of possessiveness in her look, Celia thought. She glanced back at the handsome laird and could understand the feeling.

  But I do not need any more enemies, Celia thought. Not her, not any of these women. I have to make peace with these people. She walked toward the woman and stood beside her, watching as she skillfully, smoothly, spun the puffy shreds of wool into fine yarn.

  “Your work is beautiful,” Celia said sincerely.