She was of a far different mind the next morning, though, and wouldn’t have ridden at all had it been left to her discretion. She’d arrogantly thought she was in good condition, but riding a horse was quite different from rappelling or tumbling, and she quickly realized that her athletic skills had better trained her for falling off the horse properly than for staying on it with any degree of finesse.
The second thing that lingered in her mind was Circenn Brodie, who rode beside her the entire way, not speaking, but watching every move she made, every expression. She hid her discomfort well, determined not to reveal any weakness to the indefatigable warrior. Since leaving Dunnottar the man had scarcely uttered two words to her, had not so much as touched her to help her dismount; she could tell he was seething. He moved away from her side occasionally to talk with his men in low voices.
In every village they passed through, she noted the people heralded Circenn as befitted royalty, and he comported himself with regal reserve. If he appeared a bit detached, none of the villagers seemed to mind. Children gazed at him with awe; old men clapped him on the shoulder and smiled proudly; the gazes of young warriors followed him admiringly. It was clear that the man was a legend in his own time. With each admiring, flirtatious glance flashed by a woman beneath lowered lids, Lisa felt a surge of irritation. In more than one village, women found a reason to approach him and try to lure him off “to discuss a most private matter, milord.” She was relieved to see that none of them succeeded. However, she wasn’t certain if it was because he genuinely wasn’t interested or because they were riding so hard. They rarely slept more than a few hours each evening, but she was used to inadequate sleep from working two jobs.
The third thing that weighed upon her mind was the flask, which she now knew that Circenn had with him, because she’d caught a glimpse of it one night as he rummaged in his satchel. Unfortunately he was such a light sleeper that trying to get the flask while he was asleep would be a fool’s venture. Better to bide her time, waiting for the right moment.
It was the last night of their ride, however, that would live longest in her memory—the night they approached the perimeter of Castle Brodie. Throughout the physically punishing journey, Lisa had worried about Catherine, wondering who was taking care of her, weeping silently under cover of darkness. All the while Scotland was subtly invading her veins, and despite her fear and feelings of helplessness, she knew she was falling in love.
With a country.
It was too early for spring in the Highlands, but she could sense the dormant earth waiting to burst into bloom. Although she knew she must find a way home, part of her ached to remain in the past long enough to glimpse the valleys filled with heather, to watch the golden eagles fly above the mountains, to see the carpet of bracken and brush turn lush and bud with spring.
The final night of their journey, the weather warmed slightly. Due to exhaustion, her emotions bubbled dangerously near the surface, and in the past few hours she’d gone from euphoria over the beauty of the Highland night to utter terror at what her future might hold. Lisa wasn’t certain what she had expected of Castle Brodie but it wasn’t the elegant stone structure she’d caught glimpses of from the tops of distant hills, as she’d strained in her saddle to see as much as possible.
They descended into a valley, and the castle was again hidden from sight. The silence was broken only by the beat of hooves against the sod and the occasional sighs of men glad to be returning home. The sky was deep royal blue, minutes from becoming black—it was “gloaming,” their word for twilight. The path they were traveling climbed a ridge that stretched across the horizon, and beyond it lay Circenn’s home. As they topped the crest, her gaze swept up and she sighed at the sight that greeted her.
Castle Brodie was as magnificent as the man who owned the palatial structure. Brilliantly lit by torches, it seemed something from a dream. Beyond an arched gate that gleamed palely in the moonlight rose a structure of square towers and turrets, high spires, and low walkways connecting the various wings. A great wall encircled the estate, and with the gate shut, it would be an insurmountable fortress. Guards stalked the parapets and paced the perimeter. She could just imagine the dozens of servants and their families inside, scurrying to and fro, their children’s laughter filling the air. Safe. Warm and surrounded by clan, governed by a warlord who committed his life to protecting them.
Lisa felt a twinge of impossible longing. What a life this was. Someday he would wed in truth and carry his wife home to this magical place. This was his world—this magnificent castle shining pale gray in the moonlight, these men surrounding him who fought on his command and would lay down their lives for him. What an incredible world to be part of, she thought.