Page 28 of Highlanders for the Holidays
Instead, he escorted her politely through the gate, walking hand-in-hand with her.
The courtyard was bristling with Yuletide preparations. Cooks roasted haunches of mutton on a great spit. Maidservants tied together clumps of evergreen with red ribbon. Kitchen lads carted baskets of bread into the keep. And in one corner of the yard where the snow had been shoveled away, his men were sparring, providing lively entertainment for the laird and for the wee lads gathered round.
When No?l lifted his gaze, he saw someone else was watching. At the highest window of the tower, intently studying the knights, was Caimbeul.
“They’re very good,” his bride exclaimed as she saw his men crossing blades.
He smiled. “Aye.” The Knights of de Ware were the best swordsmen in France.
He peered up again at the window. Caimbeul had spotted him. The young man was staring back at him with a venomous glare.
No?l frowned. Was that jealousy? He had to find out. He might not be able to mend the lad’s broken heart. But he could at least try to make peace with him and make the truth—that Cathalin was his wife now—easier to bear.
“Would ye like to watch them for a bit?” he asked her.
“Aye, if ye don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” Kissing her knuckles and releasing her hand, he glanced up again at the scowling Caimbeul. “I’ll be back. I’ve somethin’ to attend to.”
* * *
Ysenda admired good swordsmen. It was a trait she’d doubtless inherited from her mother. And the Knights of de Ware were far superior to any fighters she’d seen in Scotland.
But that wasn’t the real reason she wanted to watch them.
She mostly wanted to avoid going to Cathalin’s bedchamber.
Ysenda’s will was weaker than ever now. Not only did she desire this Norman knight with the handsome face, unruly black hair, and dazzling blue eyes. But now she also adored him.
He made her laugh. He made her feel beautiful. He made her feel loved.
She glanced down at the Wolf of de Ware ring on her finger. Giving him up was going to be painful. And the more intimate they became, the harder it would be.
Cathalin was watching the knights battle as well. Maybe if Ysenda could get her sister alone, talk to her, she could make her see reason.
After No?l left, she approached.
“Cathalin,” she whispered, tugging on her sleeve.
Cathalin whipped her head around. “Don’t call me that,” she hissed. “They might hear ye.”
“We need to talk.”
“There’s nothin’ to talk about.”
“‘Twill take but a moment. We likely won’t see each other again for years. Can we not at least say farewell?”
Cathalin rolled her eyes. “Ach, very well. I’ve grown weary o’ watchin’ these French bairns playin’ with their wee blades anyway.”
Wee blades? Their broadswords might not be as big as a Scots claymore, but Ysenda was sure an agile Norman with a light blade had a definite advantage over a Highlander with a heavy sword.
They retreated to a spot along the back wall of the keep.
Cathalin crossed her arms over her bosom. “What did ye wish to say?”
“I need ye to think about what ye’re doin’.”
“I know exactly what I’m doin’. I’m marryin’ a Highlander. And he and I will inherit the castle and rule the clan when Da is gone.”
