Using every drop of willpower she had, Annys stopped herself from blushing. She had not realized how late in the day, or night, it was. She narrowed her eyes when she saw the hint of a smile curve Joan’s mouth. Joan clearly could not wait to start her crowing.
“Ye are verra certain that no one saw her leaving here or e’en running away from here?” Annys asked, attempting to distract Joan from what she was seeing.
“I think the men on the walls are looking for someone trying to get in. Might nay be looking for someone using the shadows and all to get away from Glencullaich. And when ye think of how often she slipped in and out of the keep with none kenning what she was doing, weel, she obviously had one skill.”
“We shall have to make a verra thorough search for the place she used to slip out of the keep this time when the light allows for it.”
“Ye ken she willingly ran to her death, dinnae ye?” Harcourt asked the two women in a quiet voice.
Annys lowered her head and sighed, but Joan nodded and said, “I ken it. She courted it the first time she fed our David that poison. S’truth, I heard ye warned her about exactly that. Aye, e’en that other prisoner warned her. She was facing a hanging and none of us wanted a part in it e’en though we kenned it was weel deserved.”
“So ye came to tell Sir Harcourt that he must go to his men?” asked Annys.
“Aye, and that the evening meal is being served. Didnae think ye wanted to miss that.” Joan nudged Harcourt toward the door. “Go on with ye. I need to tidy m’lady’s hair so she doesnae look like she just crawled out of bed.”
Harcourt heard Annys’s outraged protest as Joan closed the door behind him.
“Joan, ye presume too much,” said Annys, trying to sound as haughty as possible even as she allowed the woman to push her into a seat and begin to fix her hair.
“Are ye going to try to tell me that I am wrong?” When Annys said nothing, Joan nodded. “Didnae think so. Ye ne’er did like to lie.”
“It wasnae right,” Annys mumbled, guilt sneaking back into her heart to replace the lingering warmth of passion. It was clear that her moment of making a firm decision had not been the epiphany she had thought it to be, but merely a momentary change of mind.
“Huh. I would have thought that one weel skilled in the loving of a lass.”
Annys laughed but the burst of good humor faded quickly. “Och, nay doubt. I suspicion he didnae spend many nights alone whilst we were apart. Truth tell, he said as much.”
“Weel, ye were still another mon’s wife.”
“I ken it. I leap from pleased to guilty, from wishing he would stay to wanting him to leave, and from thinking of how he spent those years we were apart and hating every woman he has e’er bedded. ’Tis a madness. I dinnae like it.”
Finishing with her hair, Joan moved to stand in front of Annys. “Ye are just a lass in love. ’Tis a madness of a kind. Always has been. Always will be. I suffered the like for my mon, Nial, whilst I had him, God rest his sweet soul. It eases.”
“Mayhap, but what happens if that love isnae returned?”
“Ye think he doesnae care for you?”
“He cares, but does he love? And if he loves, does he plan to stay? The mon has his own keep to run, the people there depending upon him. I have to stay here to care for Benet’s inheritance. ’Tis nay a simple matter of sharing a love. It ne’er was.”
“Ah, nay.” Joan frowned for a moment and then shrugged. “Then take what ye can, savor it, and revel in what ye can have now. Ye have certainly earned it.”
“’Tis what I told myself. But, the people . . .”
“Willnae care. I have told ye that but ’tis clear ye didnae heed me. Wisdom wasted. Ye are a widow, lass, and ye ken weel that foolish men believe we cannae abide being without one of them sharing our bed. ’Tis a witless belief we widows have long used to our advantage. All the world expects is for one to be discreet. Dinnae flaunt it and no one will care.”
Annys was not sure she believed that, but would consider it. She doubted she could step away from Harcourt now anyway. Not only would he not allow it, she had now had a memory replaced by fact and her body already craved more. She also knew enough widows to know that Joan spoke the truth. There was the hint of freedom in widowhood as long as a woman was discreet. The fact that everyone knew who fathered Benet actually aided her. Harcourt was an experienced lover, one she had known before through her own husband’s prodding. And she would not be surprised to discover that, since David had approved of the man, they did, too.
“I had thought I had decided but then I began to be not so decisive again but, I promise, I will try to clear away all this confusion in my head,” she told Joan.
“Fair enough,” Joan said as she joined Annys in walking down to the hall.