It was a night of magic for Mared—she’d never danced with such abandon. She felt as if she was free of the curse somehow, as if she had found a place where it had not followed her, and for the first time that she could remember, she could breathe.
But fate had never been kind to Mared, and that night proved to be a Judas kiss, for as she broke away from Alan to drink some ale and wipe her brow, she saw him. He was in the back of the dining hall, his back against the wall, a tankard of ale in his hand.
Jamie McGrudy was standing there, calmly watching Mared dance.
Payton had escaped the stiflingly formal dinner inside the castle and had walked out onto a flagstone terrace to enjoy the crisp night air and a cheroot. The sound of gay music and laughter drifted across the terrace on a breeze; he walked to the far edge and looked down at the old stable block below. The dancing had spilled into the paddock; the servants were clearly enjoying themselves.
Of course he wondered if she was down there. If she danced. If she graced the lads with her devastating smile and if they desired her as much as he…
But he’d not had the simple pleasure of her smile in days.
On the journey from Eilean Ros, he’d been too mindful of her position and reputation and had kept a respectable distance, lest he cause any indelicate talk among the others. And since they’d arrived at Castle Leven, he’d been engaged with his many cousins and the bridal couple. As a result, he had no idea where Mared was or what she did.
Aye, but he missed her and dreadfully so. He missed her laughter, her smile, the wicked light in her green eyes when she had no intention of doing what he bade her. He missed her disdain, her delight, her pensiveness, and her grit.
Why had he brought her here?
It was a question he’d asked himself a thousand times over since departing Eilean Ros. He’d had nothing but endless moments to ponder it—at the time, it had seemed the only way—he’d been fearful she would leave Eilean Ros if he left her there, and he’d selfishly wanted her with him. He couldn’t have her, but at least he might see her, feel her nearby.
His folly was in not thinking clearly. Of course she’d be separated from him, stowed away in some outbuilding with all the servants so that people like him would not be bothered with the sight or sound of her, or any other servant. The only opportunity he’d have to see her and speak with her at all would be in the morning, when she’d come to take his clothing and do God knew what with it.
He had no one to blame for his misery but himself—he’d created this perplexing situation when he’d demanded her servitude. Mared had not been born to a servant’s station, and she’d be blissfully unacquainted with it now had it not been for his anger at her rejection. He wished that he could change it—a thousand times he’d regretted his rash decision. And now, he felt as if he was stuck between a rock and a stone, unable to go back, and quite unable to see his way clear.
The only thing he knew with any certainty was that he was destined to feel a hole in the middle of his heart, for he likely would never have her, and she would, eventually, leave him.
With a weary sigh, Payton tossed his cheroot aside and ground it out with the heel of his boot. He forced himself to walk away from the sound of the laughter below and return to his host’s tedious supper party.
The next morning, however, Payton was dressed and waiting for her, anxious to have his single moment with her out of the thousands of moments that would pile up to form the day. He had guessed she would come at dawn when there would be no one afoot to see her enter and exit his chambers. And in fact, the sun had scarcely touched the morning sky when his door opened slowly and quietly, and her dark head slipped through the opening.
She did indeed seem surprised to see him sitting there, but quickly slipped inside and peered out into the corridor. Only when she was assured she had not been seen did she close the door and turn to face him, her hands behind her back, her smile bemused. “What are ye about so blessed early in the morning, then?” she asked him.
He gave her a wry smile, watched her walk into the room and pick up the coat he had left draped over a chair. She glanced around the tower room. “Ah, this is very grand, is it no’? The lad was right—it is befitting of a laird.”
He hadn’t given the room the slightest thought. It had a bed, a basin. “How are yer accommodations?” he asked, curious.
“A wee bit medieval,” she said. “And a single bed, which would do perfectly well, but then, I didna realize I would sleep with Una.”
“I should think Una would be no trouble.”
“Oh, aye, she’s no trouble,” Mared said, smiling a little. “But she snores.”
He smiled. “Loudly?”
“A banshee couldna be as loud.”
Payton chuckled, and Mared cocked her head to one side, looked at him closely. “’Tis no’ like ye to be so quiet, milord. I am accustomed to yer ordering or complaining.”