If My Heart Could See You, Page 6

  Taking her satchel of herbs and ointments from the serf who was left to attend Hugh, she bent down one last time and felt the man’s forehead. ’Twas only slightly warm, so for the moment no fever yet raged within his body.

  “Watch over him closely and fetch me if you notice he begins to have a fever or take a chill,” she ordered the servant, and confirmed his consent before leaving the knights’ hall.

  Kenna wrapped her cloak about her head to keep off the rain as best she could. ’Twas a difficult task as the water seemingly came down in great sheets. Despite the downpour, she heard undeterred men already about their training. Change was in the air for those who dwelled here, she reflected to herself. Only time would tell how all would cope with its coming.

  Under the cover of her garment, she watched Lord Dristan and Ian emerge from the keep and noticed their ease in conversation as they made their way to join the other men in the lists. She smiled to herself with the knowledge that after much turmoil these two would someday become close friends. They would have a rough road ahead of them, however, to get to that point, if they but survived the journey.

  Kenna was so deeply into her thoughts, she was inattentive to where she put her feet as she tried to make her way to her hut, residing inside the inner bailey. She stumbled and fell into mud, watched in dismay as her satchel spilled about her, and some of her precious herbs landed in murky puddles of water. She tried to rise to her feet only to find that her cloak had become entangled in her legs, causing her to once more fall to the ground with a mighty splash.

  Distracted by the wetness beginning to chill her to the bone, she did not hear the distinct sound of armor as it clanked in time to someone rushing to her side. ’Twas not ’til a hand appeared through the tresses of her drenched black hair, offering assistance, that she knew her life was about to take a different direction than the one she had planned.

  “Let me help you, Mistress Kenna,” the voice reached her ears in a soothing caress.

  She took the proffered limb and felt a shiver go through her entire body as she rose. She swayed unknowingly into the knights arms as her eyes closed and a vision flashed afore her. She had not even as yet glimpsed the man’s face and yet she could plainly see the two of them together like a memory playing in her mind as they were laughing, walking along the strand, and sharing an intimate moment she had never dared afore with another. Just as quickly as this vision came to her, another darker one followed closely, and her eyes opened quickly, searching the man’s face. She smiled at him and although he had not offered it to her, she knew his name.

  “My thanks, Sir Geoffrey,” she whispered in awe, whilst staring into his dark green eyes.

  He looked at her in puzzlement but also delight, whilst he held her in his arms. “Are you hurt, mistress?” Geoffrey inquired courteously.

  “I am much better than it appears my herbs are, to be sure,” she answered, with a light laugh.

  “I fear they cannot be salvaged, but I am more concerned with your welfare,” he said kindly, picking up her sack and handing it to her. “May I escort you somewhere to see you safe?”

  Kenna dared much, as she patted his arm with familiarity. “I have traveled this path many a time, Sir Knight, and done so without fear for my person. ’Tis sure I am that you have more important things to do than to see the keep’s healer to her humble hut.”

  “Nothing would give me more pleasure than to see you safely home.”

  Kenna smiled at his simple request, as the ending of her vision but moments ago briefly flashed afore her eyes yet again. She grabbed his arm and spoke more sternly than she intended. “You must guard your master well, Sir Geoffrey, for ’tis his safety that I stand in fear of.”

  “Have you not heard, the Devil’s Dragon of Blackmore is invincible,” he jested, “and, of course, so are his men?”

  She let go of his arm, not amused by his cavalier jest of her beliefs and hurt that he made fun of her.

  “Do not make light of my words, Sir Geoffrey, as you know not of what I have seen.”

  “I do not mean to cause you sorrow, my lady.”

  Kenna gave an embarrassed smile at his words. “I fear, Sir Knight, that I am no lady of a Great Hall, but just a lowly born woman trying to heal the hurts of her clan.”

  “I fear you must humor me . . . my lady,” Geoffrey said honestly. “I can be most persuasive when I must needs be.”

  Kenna was halted from replying by the shout of their liege across the yard.

  “Geoffrey!” Dristan called, through the pelting rain. “Do you dare to dally this day at a woman’s side?”

  “Nay, my lord!” he replied over his shoulder, and gave her a sheepish smile.

  Kenna continued to stare at him most strangely, as her heart did a tiny flip when his eyes began to twinkle. As he lingered at her side, she quickly came to realize ’twas not an unpleasant feeling when it appeared he showed an interest in her.

  “I must leave,” he said simply, although ’twas clear he did not wish to depart. He took her cool hand and kissed her fingertips.

  A soft sigh escaped her lips.

  “Duty to your liege calls,” Kenna replied warmly. “I beg thee please heed my words I have spoken this day, regarding our Lord Dristan.”

  “I shall always guard my lord’s back Mistress Kenna─”

  “Call me Kenna,” she all but whispered to him, offering him leave to use her given name.

  “Kenna . . . ’tis a lovely name. I but wish . . . ”

  “Geoffrey!” Dristan bellowed with more urgency, for apparently, he would tolerate no further dalliance with the fairer sex this day.

  Kenna gave Geoffrey a small understanding smile, which he returned then bowed over her hand and reluctantly released her, before he hurried to join the men in their training. She turned and quickly made her way through the rain to her home. As she reached the doorway, she turned just once more to stare through the barbican gate, knowing her knight had but moments afore passed under its portcullis. For the second time that day, she pondered the thought about change in the air, and mayhap for her, ’twould be most welcoming. She opened the door to her dwelling and entered its warmth with a most endearing smile.

  Nine

  The se’nnight’s that followed became routine for those under the care of Dristan of Blackmore. Day in and day out, the Devil’s Dragon drilled his men in the lists with a ruthlessness and expertise that had been learned from being in mortal danger and battle. There was no mercy given and no man asked for it in fear of retaliation for their laziness. From sun up to sun down, the ring of steel resounding against steel echoed throughout the castle walls as all trained to impress their liege lord. Some excelled at the tasks they were given; others would require a bit more time with a broad sword in their hands to meet Dristan’s high standards of defense. By the time the evening meal was finished, the men retired exhausted to the garrison hall to rest their weary bodies ’til the ordeal began all over again the next day. Even a willing wench to ease their comfort was far from their minds.

  For one, the training was the most tiring task that had ever been undertaken in her young life. Amiria’s entire body ached as she longed to put aside her armor and sword and return to being a lady. That, of course, was also the most pressing reason of the stress placed upon her weary shoulders. ’Twas only a matter of time afore the runner returned from Edinburgh and, with his return, her ruse would fall down upon her most likely in the harshest manner. She gave a shudder, for she did not relish spending time in the castle’s ghastly pit.

  “Aiden!” Dristan bellowed quickly, drawing her attention back to the present.

  She watched in horror as Dristan checked the swing of his blade, having nearly taken off her arm. Her foolish negligence for the task at hand had almost cost her dearly.

  “What ails you, boy?” he yelled, continuing his tirade. “Do you perchance not wish to keep your limbs upon your body? Or mayhap you would like to lose your head instead? Stop your daydrea
ming, lad, and be about your training.”

  “I am sorry, my lord,” Amiria apologized, lowering her voice to hopefully sound as a lad. She was finding playing the boy was becoming more difficult with each passing hour, especially being under the close scrutiny of her liege lord.

  “I care not to hear your pitiful apologies, you fool! I demand the best, hence you shall give me your best, if I have to keep you here all night,” Dristan snarled loudly. “Now proceed again and show me what I have been trying to instill in your thick skull for the past hour!”

  Amiria lifted her sword and tried to not over think her movements. Each time her sword met Dristan’s, she felt as if the force of their meeting vibrated throughout her whole body with jar wrenching results. She did not know how much more she could take.

  “Merde!” Dristan roared in complete frustration, as he once more dropped his sword at his side and took off his helmet in anger. “You are about as useless as an old woman, Aiden. Riorden! Ian! Come show this insolent pup how ’tis supposed to be done!”

  Dristan shoved the back of her armor. Stumbling from his force, she made her way with him to the side of the lists. When they reached their destination, Amiria made as if to sit on the lone stone bench located against the wall. ’Twas a most welcoming site, if she ever saw one. Hearing the clearing of Dristan’s throat, she raised her eyes and through the slits of her helmet, she noticed his brow rise as if daring her to finish her movements. Realizing she had no choice in the matter, she came to stand next to her liege.

  “Now watch closely and let us see if you can learn anything this day!” Dristan instructed, apparently satisfied with her decision to remain standing.

  At his request, Amiria turned her attention to the two men, who began to fight sword to sword. She had to admit ’twas an impressive sight, and she was most thankful Ian held his own against such a seasoned warrior as the Devil’s Dragon’s captain appeared to be. She watched in fascination whilst Ian swung his claymore time and again, performing the exact move Dristan had tried to encourage in her, whilst Riorden countered with the same precision. The two men’s expertise far outweighed Amiria’s own feeble attempts at such a skill, and she knew she in no way would ever be half their equal.

  The sun chose that precise moment to make an appearance from above the cloudy skies and its rays reflected off Dristan’s armor, causing Amiria to squint through the visor of the face plate of her helmet. As she watched him and how the sun reflected off his shiny crop of dark black hair, her breath caught and she could understand Sabina’s infatuation with the man’s good looks. Amiria observed his chiseled features; the square jaw hidden beneath a well-trimmed beard and mustache, the steel grey of his eyes rivaling the color of his blade, and a nose with the slightest crook, giving the hint it had been broken at some time in his life. Somehow it just made him look more attractive in a rugged sort of way.

  He was a warrior in every sense of the word, standing tall and proud as he watched his men perform to his satisfaction with a gleam in his eye. His lips were well formed and although they usually showed a grimace, they now gave way to a smile, showing the white of his teeth when his grin increased in pleasure at the men’s performance. His whole continence changed afore her eyes, making him appear as though several years younger than the age of a score and eight she guessed him to be.

  His armor was molded to his skin and showed the ripples of his stomach muscles like a Roman gladiator’s, and she had the notion that beneath the metal frame his form would be just as true. His body was all powerful, exuding pure vigorous physical strength from years of training and fighting to stay alive. Amiria could only admire his dedication to exercising himself, his guards, and the male members of the MacLaren clan.

  As she continued reflecting on the man who stood beside her, she came to the shocking realization she had watched him most intently for these past many fortnights. When the hatred and loathing she had first felt for Lord Dristan, relating to the death of her father and clansmen, had subsided, she could not say. He trained relentlessly; there could be no doubt of that, she mused. However, she had also been privy to times when he listened to the village people who came afore their lord to pass judgment on matters of dispute amongst themselves. She saw his anger rise many a time, but she also concluded he was fair in dealing with all under his protection. There could be no question in anyone’s mind he guarded well all within his care.

  Amiria, had begun to perform duties of squire, although Dristan seemed, for the most part, more concerned with furthering her training with a sword than teaching her other knightly responsibilities. She had given a sigh of relief more times than she could count and was thankful she had not been ordered to perform more menial tasks, bringing her into closer contact to Dristan within his chamber. She had been asked to join him, in what was now his solar, whilst he taught Patrick his letters several times. She had wisely declined, stating she had other matters to attend to. ’Twas better to keep herself, at a distance or in the shadows, than to have her true gender be found out when not in her armor.

  Perchance, ’twas just such a night, whilst Dristan sat afore the hearth in the Great Hall, that had begun her heart’s downfall. She had been hovering in the shadows of the stairway and watched as the flames of the fire brought out the richness of his hair. He had been idly strumming the strings on his lute when he had begun to sing an all too familiar tune. The deep rich vibrato of his voice called to her soul and had sent her heart beating rapidly in a sorrowful reminder that she was indeed a woman dressed as a boy. As she still pondered that evening, her cheeks flamed beneath her helmet and where her thoughts had taken her.

  The dark green of his tunic had been slightly open at the neck, and she had glimpsed his furred chest whilst watching the muscles of his arms as they hugged the instrument to his chest. She could almost imagine the feel of his warm calloused hands touching her instead of the lute. Even from her hiding place, she wanted to go closer to him in order to see the blue specks, usually hidden in the grey of his eyes, sparkle from the candlelight of the room.

  Devilishly handsome could only be her description of him. For all his reputation of fierceness and usual gruff exterior, she observed a softer side to his disposition. He may not have shown this side often, but ’twas there all the same, if one cared to take notice.

  The sound of clanging steel ringing in her ears brought her out of her reminiscences with a jolt. Amiria shook her head, as if to clear the memories and the thought that madness must surely have overtaken her to have such imaginings coursing through her head. Better to concentrate on pleasing her lord with her sword arm than thinking on him in a womanly way. She had already witnessed Sabina’s growing infatuation of Dristan with her constant fawning over the man. ’Twas wiser to exceed acting the boy and be praised for her masculine deeds than to receive the rejection her lord was wont to give her feminine sister. At least in this way, her woman’s heart would be safe from the hurt and sorrow that surely plagued Sabina, for ’twas clear, Lord Dristan had no use for her sister other than the running of the keep.

  The knight of her recent musings clamped a strong hand down upon her armor, causing the metal to dig into her shoulder. ’Twas perchance in her favor Dristan could not see her grimace of pain else he sentence her to additional hours in the lists for her unmanly show of soreness. Feeling another slight nudge in the direction of the two captains, who now took their ease, she faltered briefly and was able to regain her feet afore she shamed herself by falling into the dirt.

  Her moment of rest at an end, she heard Dristan give out the call for Ian to take up sword against her. She hid her heavy sigh and took up her stance, praying she would not humiliate herself by falling on her exhausted sorry arse.

  Dristan made a motion with his hand and Riorden joined him against the wall to observe the pair, who now raised their swords to begin the lesson. To his mind, there was no improvement to the boy’s strokes than afore his brief rest.

  “I am not pleased with the l
ad’s progress,” Dristan remarked gruffly after they observed the two for a time. “What think you, Riorden?”

  Riorden clasped his hands behind his back whilst Dristan folded his arms upon his chest. “Look there . . . did you see it?” he questioned his lord. “Ian does the boy no favor by holding back. ’Tis not obviously done, but ’tis done all the same. In time of war, ’twill see the boy killed by a greater swordsman.”

  “Aye! I have noticed it, as well. Having just finished watching the two of you hack away at each other, ’tis plane to see Ian does not put in the same effort with the boy.”

  “You’d best stop them now, my lord, afore the lad is injured. He’s just about spent I think.”

  Dristan nodded in agreement, much to his disappointment in the young man’s showing. Although for the most part he did well with his sword, he did not feel that Aiden would ever become a master with his weapon.

  “Aiden,” he yelled across the lists, “’tis enough for the day! Come, men . . . let us sup!”

  A cheer arose from the guardsmen, who sheathed their swords and slapped one another upon their backs in comrade-ship. All were ready for a respite from the drilling required of them, and the men made quite a stir as they made their way off the list and headed towards the Great Hall. A good day’s training deserved a good evening’s meal with a draught or two of strong ale to quench their thirst. All were ready to indulge in a fine meal. ’Twas something to at last look forward to ’til their misery began again with the dawning of the new day.

  Ten

  The Great Hall was swarming to capacity with men and their overly loud conversations as the evening meal was brought into the room. Serfs scurried to bring heavily laden trenchers of steaming roasted boar, fowl, and venison to the tables. The platters were barely set down afore greedy hands began to tear at the meat as the knights filled their hungry bellies.