Page 35 of Scot of Deception
Blaine tilted his head in acknowledgement, though he didn’t know if he agreed with the sentiment. There were plenty of good soldiers and plenty more who were average or below. Then there were plenty of men like him—men who were trained for years to kill good soldiers like the ones Laird Stewart boasted.
Blaine left the study with one final bow and then asked for the location of his and Kathleen’s chambers to one of the maids. Instead of heading there, though, he took another route, roaming around the castle and the grounds that surrounded it. His keen eyes searched for any weak spots, any points the enemy could exploit in order to slip inside undetected.
Like every other place, Castle Stalker had its fair share of weaknesses—a gate here, a crumbling wall there—but most of them seemed to be well-guarded, at least at that time of the day. He couldn’t say for certain those guards would do their job when it was time for the wedding festivities. Security always tended to be more lax when it came to celebrations, when those were actually the most important times for them to be on high alert, with many of the guards slacking off instead.
It wasn’t often that he found himself in a castle. Sometimes the job required it, but apart from those that, he had no reason to be in one. Still, there was one thing he knew about them: they were all more or less the same. The same high ceilings, the same portcullises, the same decorations of endless portraits and tapestries as displays of wealth.
The same people roamed the halls, literally and like copies of each other.
He had grown to nurture a distaste for them. The people who lived behind their walls were safe, but they also surrendered themselves to this feeling of safety, to the point where they neglected the necessity of fear. Sometimes, it paid off to be living on the edge, to remind oneself that danger could lurk around any corner. No matter how safe a place seemed, there were always ways to breach it.
Only once he was satisfied with his inspection did he visit the chambers he had been given for the duration of his visit. Themoment he entered the room, the large bed that stood at the far wall, with its plush bedding and the canopy that hung above it, called to him like a siren. It took every ounce of his willpower to resist the warm embrace of the covers and instead ask for a bath to be brought to him, but it was much needed. He and Kathleen had managed to clean themselves up after the ambush had left them soaked in blood, but he still felt the need to scrub the grime from the travels off his body.
As he sank into the warm water a short time later, he wondered if Kathleen was doing the same thing just past the wall that separated their chambers. He imagined her in a tub much like his, soaking in the water, her breasts just peeking over the surface. He imagined being there with her, kneeling next to the tub to dip his hand in its depths, his fingers seeking her entrance. With a sigh, he let his hand roam down his stomach until he could take himself in his hand, his length quickly hardening as he imagined everything he wanted to do to her.
He didn’t know when his eyes had fallen shut, but he suddenly opened them and released himself from his grip as if he had been burned. What was he thinking? He had already promised himself he would never get that close to Kathleen again. It was not only indecent to be daydreaming about her; it was also self-inflicted torture and he had to put a swift end to it before it even began.
And yet, in the back of his mind, his desire lingered like the last burning embers of a fire that refused to go out.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It had been a long while since Kathleen had stepped foot in Castle Stalker. The last time she had been there, the occasion had been a festive one—a ball for Fenella’s birthday two years prior, when neither of them was concerned about marriage. The notion had seemed so distant back then. Years were meant to pass before they would even have to consider it, but fate had had other plans for Fenella.
As the elder of the two, Kathleen had surrendered herself to the possibility—almost certainty—that she would marry first. There were only three years between them, but plenty could happen in three years. And yet it was Fenella who was thrust down that path before her, forced to wed for a good alliance.
In the two years since Kathleen had last been in Castle Stalker, not much had changed. The structure was just as she had left it, with its towering keep that seemed to reach theheavens, the imposing portraits of people who had once been important clan members, the verdant land beneath the water which only revealed itself when the tide was low. The first time Kathleen had seen it, she had been mesmerized by the sight.
The only difference in the castle was Fenella. Where once she had been a young girl bursting with joy, offering a smile to everyone who passed by, now Kathleen found her sitting by the window in the drawing room and staring at the world outside with a blank, lifeless gaze. Even as she entered the room, Fenella didn’t stir. She only sat there, still as a statue, with her head resting on the palm of her hand.
“Fenella?” Kathleen asked softly. It was only at the sound of her voice that Fenella reacted, as though it had snapped her out of a trance in which she didn’t even know she had fallen. For a moment, she only stared at Kathleen with wide eyes, her lips hanging open ever so slightly. Then, she sprung up to her feet and ran over to Kathleen, throwing her arms around her neck to pull her into a crushing embrace.
Kathleen returned it, holding onto Fenella with all her might, hoping that her presence could alleviate some of her sorrow, though nothing would be enough to save her from her fate.
“Kathleen, when did ye get here?” Fenella asked, pulling back suddenly to look at her. Kathleen couldn’t remember the last time she had seen her without her hair in elaborate braids, the cascading strands woven together and pinned around hercrown with glittering hairpins. Now it fell in unruly waves down her shoulders, as if she hardly bothered to brush it.
“Just now,” said Kathleen, taking a step back to properly look at her. She seemed thinner, too, and pale, like the sun hadn’t touched her skin in weeks. “Ach, Fenella, ye look?—”
Kathleen cut herself short. She didn’t know how to express her concern without risking it sounding like an insult. Before she could say more, though, Fenella only smiled—a big, bright grin that never reached her eyes.
“Did ye ken there is a feast tonight?” she asked. “Come, we must prepare! We cannae attend lookin’ like this.”
It’s just like her tae pretend everythin’ is fine.
Fenella had been the one to write to her in the first place, confessing just how frightened she was about the marriage and her future. And yet, now she was once again doing her best to appear invincible.
Kathleen desperately wanted to tell her she didn’t have to pretend, at least not with her. Fenella had a strength about her that not may people possessed and her fear didn’t make her any weaker. But by the time Kathleen found the words, Fenella was already tugging her along down the corridors to her chambers, never once stopping on the way.
Blaine leaned against the side of a towering column, its capital blooming into an arch and disappearing into the great heights of the ceiling. His gaze swept the room every few minutes, taking in the faces in the crowd. The great hall was a swirl of color, the nobles donning their best garments and gleaming jewels for the feast. Their smiles were just as bright, their dances dizzying, their appetites insatiable. The entire room was laid with tables upon which rested a variety of meats unlike anything Blaine had ever seen—venison and boar, rabbit and grouse, capercaillie and deer. The feasts he had the chance to attend as a hired sword hadn’t been half as grand. Laird Stewart had spared no expense for his daughter.
Perhaps he’s tryin’ tae make her feel better.
The girl looked out of place among the guests. Dressed like a doll in her soft pink gown, with her hair plaited and pinned around her head, she smiled and curtsied and politely declined dances in favor of her betrothed.
And yet, Blaine knew when someone was putting on a facade. He was doing the same, pretending to be someone he wasn’t. It was like looking into a mirror.
He couldn’t help but remember what Kathleen had told him when he had asked her if she wanted to marry—If I can have it me way, it’ll be a long, long time afore I wed.But how much time did she have? Sooner rather than later, she would be forced into a similar arrangement.
Blaine could imagine her in Moy Hall, in a room much like this, with people much like these. Would she be as good at hiding her grief, her wrath as her friend? Would she suffer in obedient silence like Fenella?
