“Aye, a bit of rest is all ye need,” Jamison said, patting the old soldier on the shoulder. “I think a bit o’ rest is something we all need. It was a fearsome day and ye served admirably. I’ve come tae tell ye so.”
Watcyn’s face softened with gratitude, with pride. “We chased the Welsh off, did we not, my lord?”
Jamison nodded confidently. “We did, indeed,” he said. “And we shall again should they come back lookin’ for a fight. I will expect ye tae be at my side if that happens.”
Watcyn nodded his head but he looked rather uncomfortable, uncertain about his condition, embarrassed even. “I will be happy to be at your side when this little trouble with my legs goes away,” he said. “I… I am sure I can feel them coming back.”
Jamison wasn’t sure what to say to that. He happened to glance at Havilland as if she might have some answers but her head was lowered, looking away from him. His gaze lingered on her raven-dark hair for a moment before returning his attention to the soldier.
“I am sure they will,” he said quietly.
He couldn’t help but eye Havilland again as if his attention was being drawn towards her, unable to look away. He kept hearing Becket’s voice in his head; It is my earnest suggestion that you have a meeting with those three and settle whatever differences you may have. He’d told Becket that such a meeting would be better coming from him, as the commander, but here was the source of his troubles, right here by his right arm. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up.
Jamison had always been able to negotiate his way out of anything. He had that gift. He was coming to feel foolish that he was hiding behind Becket for something he could do better.
“My lady,” he said, his deep voice quiet. “Might I have a word wich’ ye?”
Havilland’s head shot up, shocked to realize he was looking right at her. She was instantly wary of him. “Aye,” she said hesitantly. “You may speak.”
Jamison could see the suspicion in her eyes. “Away from Watcyn, if ye will,” he said, glancing at the soldier. “I am sure he doesna need tae hear our business.”
Havilland was looking at him with increasing apprehension. “I… I cannot leave,” she said, feeling like an idiot because she sounded frightened. “The physic does not have enough help. I must stay and help him.”
Jamison’s gaze lingered on her dark head. From the way she was acting, nervously, she probably thought he wanted to take her outside and beat her again, a far cry from the confident woman he’d met yesterday. Well, perhaps he had wanted to take her outside and beat her at one point, but as he gazed at the woman, he noticed again just how beautiful her eyes were. She had a little nose, tinged red from the cold, and her lips were shapely and pale beneath it.
He’d noticed from the beginning how astonishingly beautiful she was and, inevitably, he could feel himself relenting towards her somewhat. He was twice her size and many times more powerful. She was just a woman, after all, and he’d come on very strong yesterday at the gatehouse. She had reacted in kind. Perhaps he had, indeed, caused this situation.
Perhaps all of this had been his fault.
“I understand,” he said after a moment. “But I must speak with ye. Will ye grant me that privilege?”
Havilland didn’t want to. She wanted to tell him to go away and leave her be. But she couldn’t quite speak the words. Something about his nearness made her body tremble. Fear, she thought with confidence. Anger.
… what else could it be?
“Aye,” she said, clearly reluctant. “What… what did you have to say?”
Jamison stood up and crooked a finger at her, indicating for her to follow him to the corner of the room, which was just a few feet away. It was in darkness, mostly, and the wounded were crowded all around them, probably too ill or weary to hear what was being said, but he didn’t want to have a conversation over Watcyn, especially not for what he needed to say.
Jamison moved, hoping she would follow and, after a moment, she did, although it was with hesitation. He thought she looked as if she waited for him to lash out at her, ever on guard. He didn’t really blame her and all the while, he was thinking what he might say to her. He suspected there was only one thing he, in fact, could say. He didn’t want to spend his time at Four Crosses looking over his shoulder every moment for an attack. For no other reason than that, he wanted to settle their differences.
Make peace.
He was going to have to make the first move.
“I fear that when I came tae the gatehouse yesterday, me mood was foul,” he said, sounding as apologetic as he could manage. “I had been three days in the field fighting the Welsh and I fear that I took me exhaustion out on ye and yer men. I am sorry if I caused ye ill-humor. I am sorry ye felt the need tae attack me because of it.”
Havilland stared at him. Of all the things she imagined he would say to her at this moment, an apology wasn’t among them. In fact, she was shocked. Truly shocked. Her first instinct was to scold him, to agree with everything he’d said, but upon the heels of that thought came ideas far more subtle and endearing.
It was rare for a man to apologize and most especially apologize to a woman. She could hardly believe her ears but those quietly uttered words worked their desired effect – they also softened her stance. Like a fool, she was folding, whether or not she wanted to.
“I suppose you are not entirely to blame,” she said reluctantly. “You do not speak like any of the de Lohr knights and I suppose I was not entirely sure you that were not part of the Welsh, trying to coerce us into opening the gatehouse. I supposed I believed it all the more when you were so nasty to my men.”
“Nasty?”
“You threatened to throttle them.”
He remembered that, clearing his throat awkwardly as he averted his gaze. Then, he snorted, a smile creasing his lips. “I meant it,” he said. “But then ye came from the gatehouse tae do the throttling. I barely had time tae protect meself.”
Havilland could see that he was grinning. He even glanced at her, the dark blue eyes twinkling. At that moment, she had a most unexpected reaction; her cheeks flushed a dull red and her knees felt strangely weak. It was difficult to breathe for the way he was looking at her.
I am weary, she told herself. Simply weary. Why else would my knees feel so unsteady?
But it was more than that, although she had no idea what “more”. All she knew was that she couldn’t help herself from smiling in return, as if her lips had a mind of their own.
“I was not very successful,” she said. “You are a formidable warrior.”
Jamison was warming to the conversation in spite of himself. He’d apologized to soften the woman, because everyone knew women were idiots when it came to an apology from a man, but now he found himself genuinely interested in the conversation. She wasn’t an unreasonable female and seemingly very sensible, certainly nothing like the woman he had spanked the previous day. She had accepted his apology. Now she was, perhaps, admitting some fault of her own.
It was his turn to be astonished.
“Ye have excellent technique,” he said, using flattery to break her down further. “Have ye always fought… well, as a man?”
Havilland thought her face might catch on fire, so warm were her cheeks. She was thankful for the dim lighting in the corner of the hall. “My father had no sons,” she said. “I have wielded a sword as long as I can recall.”
He was gazing at her most openly, a gesture that was calculated. Jamison knew how to overwhelm a woman with his charm. He’d done it before and was quite good at it. More of that male pride the man had, full enough with it to fill an ocean.
“As I said, ye have excellent technique,” he said. Then, he eyed her. “I saw two more women about who also wear mail and bear weapons. Are they relations to ye?”
Havilland felt cornered by the question. She was actually enjoying their conversation until this moment. He’d asked about Madeline and Amaline and because he had apologized for h
is boorish behavior, she couldn’t very well lie to him. In fact, she felt the need to be truthful about the situation. It was rather disheartening because she knew he’d more than likely curse her and walk away once he knew the truth, but she wasn’t in the habit of lying to a direct question. Squaring her shoulders, she sighed heavily.
“Aye,” she said. “They are my sisters, Madeline and Amaline. I know that they tried to engage you earlier today. They saw you take your hand to me outside of the gatehouse yesterday and thought to seek vengeance against you. Know that I did not tell them to do it. But… but it was I who saved them from you.”
Jamison already knew that and he was surprised by the confession. He was also pleased by it. At least she’s honest, he thought. The seed of respect he had for the woman grew and he found he really wasn’t angry about it at all. No matter what he’d told Becket and no matter how much he’d steamed about it, gazing into her honest, somewhat apprehensive face, he found that he just couldn’t be angry about it. She had done what he would have, given the same circumstance. Nay, he couldn’t fault her at all.
“I know,” he said, putting a hand gingerly to the back of his head. “I suspected it was ye. One of yer sisters told me why they’d attacked me. It seems that ever since I’ve come to Four Crosses, women are intent tae attack me and not in pleasant ways. ’Tis a pity, truthfully.”
Havilland wasn’t sure what he meant but she was greatly relieved that he didn’t seem furious about it. “I do not understand, my lord,” she said. “What is a pity?”
He was back to grinning again. “I would have much rather made yer acquaintance over a pitcher of this terrible wine than have lifted me sword tae ye,” he said. “But it was me own fault. I shouldna let me fatigue and mood get the better of me. But I will be truthful, m’lady – I was hoping tae find ye today tae address the situation between us because it seems I am to stay on at Four Crosses for a time.”
She lifted her eyebrows in mild surprise, although she realized she wasn’t much displeased by that thought. “Is that so?”
He nodded. “’Tis,” he said. “De Lohr has asked me tae remain and train yer men against the Scots tactics the Welsh seem tae be using. In fact, it is something that de Lohr wished tae discuss wit’ yer father. I understand the man is ill.”
It was a good deal of information he was delivering and Havilland was trying to stay on an even keel with it. “He is,” she said, but she couldn’t quite drift on to the subject of her father. She deliberately kept the focus away from him. “You are staying here? With us?”
She sounded rather breathless with the question and Jamison couldn’t decide if he was pleased by it or insulted. Was it fear he heard in her voice or excitement? Was it possible this sleek, dark-haired lass found him as attractive as he found her? Suddenly, staying on at Four Crosses didn’t quite look so bad.
“Aye,” he said, the warmth fading from his eyes. “De Lohr believes ye need me help, especially if the Scots are involved in Madog’s rebellions.”
Havilland wasn’t quite sure what he meant by the Scots being involved. “There were Scots involved in the battle?”
He could see that she wasn’t following him. “Did ye spend the entire battle covering the gatehouse?”
“Aye.”
“Then ye didna see what was going on beyond the walls?”
She shook her head. “Not really,” she admitted. “From where I was, we could only see men fighting and not much more than that.”
He nodded thoughtfully, perhaps considering how much he should tell her. He opted for all of it because if he was going to remain here, training men against Scots tactics, he assumed she would be part of that training. The thought, although an odd one, didn’t displease him. Women simply weren’t trained for battle.
But this one evidently was.
“As I said, the Welsh were using Scots tactics in battle,” he said. “Ye say that ye fight as a man, m’lady, but did ye have formal training? Do ye understand the ways of yer enemy?”
Havilland knew she wasn’t highly trained; all of her training had come from her father and the knights at Four Crosses. She’d never fostered and she couldn’t read or write, so she hadn’t studied formally anywhere. It was an embarrassing admission, one she wasn’t yet ready to confess to, that she didn’t know as much as he did. She had her pride.
“My father and his men have trained me quite adequately,” she said, feeling slightly defensive. “I understand Roman and Teutonic tactics as explained to me by my father and even though I have not formally fostered to train as a knight, I can fight as one. You have seen it.”
Jamison could see that the question had upset her. Perhaps even embarrassed her. He nodded his head to her statement. “I have seen ye fight,” he said. “I told ye that ye have excellent technique. I was askin’ if ye knew yer enemy because if ye had seen the battle outside of the walls, ye would have seen the Welsh using Scots formations when approaching the castle. If ye dunna recognize the formations, I intend tae teach ye and yer men. Ye must know how tae counter them.”
Havilland couldn’t decide if he sounded high and mighty about teaching her or not. He sounded factual, which eased her defensiveness somewhat, but she was still embarrassed. She knew she didn’t know as much as he did. But perhaps he was bluffing; perhaps he didn’t know anything at all and was simply trying to act superior to her. Quite honestly, she wasn’t sure.
“And you are qualified to teach us?” she asked, putting him on the spot. “Please tell me what makes you so qualified to teach us such things?”
Jamison had to hide a grin. He could see she was trying to turn the tables on him to see how much he really did know or if his words were all for show. She was competitive, this one, and she didn’t like to be made to feel inferior. He cleared his throat quietly, struggling not to smile.
“I would be happy tae tell ye,” he said. “My father is the Munro, chief of Clan Munro, and he himself a very educated and well-traveled man. When I was seven years of age, at the request of yer King Henry, my king, Alexander, sent me and several other lads, all sons of clan chiefs, south tae Lioncross Abbey for fostering. At least, that is what Henry called it, but the truth is that we were hostages. I spent a few years at Lioncross training, learning the ways o’ the Sassenach, until one of the de Lohr brothers, Arthur, took me as his squire. Arthur was a wanderer and took me all over England, France, and Saxony fighting other men’s wars. I spent many years learning the ways of other armies before going back home tae Scotland. I studied under Sir Arthur and the finest men of our time – de Bohun, Bigod, and de Wolfe. Great warriors, all of them. I even spent time at a monastery in Southern France, studying languages and ancient history with the monks because Sir Arthur had an interest in such things. Therefore, m’lady, I am, mayhap, better educated than most men. I believe I am qualified tae teach yer men about tactics.”
By the time he was finished, Havilland was looking at him in shock. So great was the tale that she might have thought he was making it up, but for the fact that he didn’t seem to be the type. He was quite factual about all of it and even humble about it. Nay, he wasn’t making any of it up. She was willing to believe it all.
“You have been to France?” she asked, trying not to sound too awed by it. “Have you been to Paris? I hear the streets are paved in precious stones and gold brick. Is it true?”
He grinned, shaking his head. “Nay, m’lady,” he said. “’Tis a dirty place, I think. Never have I met so many angry people than I have in France.”
“Mayhap because the English are all over their country.”
He laughed softly, revealing big, white teeth with prominent canines. He had quite the dazzling smile, enough to throw Havilland off a bit. All she knew were dirty men, hairy men, and unattractive men. She was surrounded by them. They were all dark and colorless. But here was a big Highlander with his red hair and brilliant smile; he was color in a world that had none, an enigma. Certainly, she was curious about him now and, perhap
s, even more than that.
He had her interest.
“I wouldna be surprised if that was the truth,” he said. Then, he sobered a bit. “Now that ye know about me, would it be possible tae have a few moments with yer father? I know that Becket needs tae speak with him and I should as well.”
Swiftly, they were back on her father again and Havilland was startled at the change of subject, so much so that she couldn’t honestly think of a smooth reply. Quickly, she averted her gaze and took a few steps away from him, as if to put safe distance between them. It was a foolish move but, somehow, she felt the need to protect herself from him, brilliant smile and all. She wasn’t used to showing interest in any man and had no idea how to appropriately deal with it. That uncertainty made her edgy.
“I… I will ask him,” she said. “He has been ill and does not take visitors. I cannot promise anything but I… I will ask.”
She continued to move away from him, back to Watcyn, who, by now, was dozing peacefully. Nervously, Havilland picked up the bowl of cool beef broth but by the time she stood up, Jamison was standing next to her again. He was so tall that she barely came up to his sternum and she had to step back, away from him. The man was far too close for comfort.
“I didna mean tae startle ye,” Jamison said, his voice quiet. “I only have one more thing tae ask of ye. I would hope there is peace between us now, enough so that I dunna have tae worry about ye leaping from the shadows tae attack me on a daily basis?”
He said it with some humor and, in spite of herself, Havilland gave him a lopsided grin. “You do not have to worry about such things,” she said, leaning away from him because he was so close to her. “But make no more threats to throttle my men.”
“I willna, I promise.”
“Then there should be no trouble.”
“And yer sisters? Must I seek peace with them as well?”
Havilland shook her head. “I will speak with them,” she said. “Amaline will not be a problem but Madeline….”
“Which one is she?”
“She has dark hair, like me.”