She shrugged as Donald ripped the grass out of her hand and tossed it away. “I have had little time to enjoy anything since my father was murdered,” she said. “But I used to like to paint and draw.”
Donald looked up at her. “I remember a skinny, serious young girl who loved to paint scenery,” he said. “And as I recall, ye were very good.”
She lifted her shoulders modestly. “Mayhap once, I was,” she said. “But that was before I assumed the responsibilities of Torridon. I have not painted since that time.”
“I would like to see yer paintings,” Nicholas said. “Do ye still have them?”
Josephine nodded. “Justine moved them all into the North Tower, into one of the rooms,” she said. “Every so often, she’ll go visit them, but I never do. They remind me too much of my carefree childhood. Somehow it hurts to remember.”
“Because ye can never return,” Donald said softly, as if he, too, had experienced the same.
Nicholas watched her as she resumed poking Donald. “Nonetheless,” he said. “Someday I should like to see yer work.”
She thought a moment. “Then I shall show it to you before you leave.”
“Show me now. What else do ye have to do?”
He had a good point. Even though Josephine was supposed to be delivering butter to the cook, she assumed the cook had already sent someone else for it when she realized her mistress was not returning. Besides, she was enjoying the company of Nicholas and Donald.
“As I said, I have not visited them in a long time,” she said. “But if you wish to see them…”
“I do,” Nicholas said resolutely.
Since Nicholas had revealed some of his poetry, Josephine knew it was only right that she reveal her works of art to him. She was a little apprehensive to view them, but with Donald and Nicholas as company, it wasn’t as if she would be viewing her paintings alone, free to relive the carefree days that she missed so much. She would have some support in her two friends. With a nod, she clambered to her feet.
A breeze was picking up from the west as the three of them returned to Torridon just as the kitchen servants were bolting the postern gate, finished with their duties for the night. But they let her in and the three of them headed across the yard and in through the kitchen entry where the cook was still harassing the servants around her.
The bedlam had only grown worse. Children were crying and the cook was raging. Justine had vanished and the cook didn’t even notice when Josephine and Donald and Nicholas passed through. She should have noticed when Donald stole a serpent-shaped oat cake, but she didn’t notice that, either. Donald broke it in half and gave the other half to Nicholas as they scooted out of the kitchen before they were caught.
Josephine shook her head reproachfully at men acting like naughty boys as they wolfed down the cake. They passed through the smoky hall and into the foyer but, instead of taking the stone steps to the living levels in the west wing, she took them over to a smaller stone staircase on the east side of the foyer, a spiral staircase that led them up into a single-level series of chambers that smelled very old and damp.
This was the east wing, one used only by the servants and for storage. Josephine sneezed as they ventured further into the chambers.
“I have not been up here in years,” she said, sneezing again. “I am not sure where Justine put my paintings, but she said she put them up here somewhere.”
The chambers were all adjoining on this level, linked together, filled with servant’s beds, trunks, and other things, old and uncared for and stashed away. Passing through a pair of chambers, they came to a corner room and, suddenly, a gala of color and images confronted them.
There were many colorful pictures lined up against the floor, painted on vellum that had been stretched onto wooden frames. They were mostly of landscapes or flowers, and red roses and fields of white heather danced from the frame. Nicholas took a knee besides a group of paintings depicting water lilies, among other things. Carefully, he picked up a picture to look at it.
“These are exquisite, Josephine,” he said with some awe in his voice. “Such beautiful colors. Wherever did ye learn to paint like this?”
Josephine looked at her collected works; so many hours, so many years had gone into the paintings. In truth, it wasn’t as hard to look at them as she thought it might have been. In fact, it made her long to return to the hobby she loved so well. Carefully, she sat down next to Nicholas as he inspected her paintings.
“My nurse was English,” she said. “The same woman who taught me to speak as the English do. She also taught me how to paint.”
Nicholas was studying a particular painting that had a red flower amidst a surreal background. “Ye have a genuine talent,” he said. “It is a tragedy that ye do not continue with yer painting.”
Josephine looked at the artwork in Nicholas’ hand. “It was just something to become proficient at, and I did,” she said. “I never saw it as my life’s work. But… but I do admit that I miss it. Now that I see my paintings, I long for the feel of a brush in my hand again. There is something satisfying in creating an image from my mind’s eye.”
Nicholas set the painting down, carefully, and went to look at another. It was a tree against a stormy sky. “I understand,” he said. “That is how I feel about my poetry. It is as if my soul is speaking. But it is something I do not tell many people of.”
Josephine glanced at him, seeing some distress on his features. “Your uncle clearly disapproves,” she said. “He seemed very harsh with you about it on the night you arrived. Do you recall? We were speaking on it and he told you that you should be warring instead.”
Nicholas nodded. “I recall,” he said. “He has never been supportive of that or anything else I do. Ye see, I am the son of his bastard brother. My grandfather, William the Lion, had several bastards, but this bastard was a favorite. His name was William de Londres. My father sent me to court at a young age, hoping to work my way into the king’s favor, and it has worked for the most part. My uncle has been kind to me. But he also believes I should be a great warrior and poetry has no place in that world. Writing poetry is, mayhap, the only thing I have ever done to disappoint him.”
Josephine could see how sensitive the man was; Nicholas had a gentle soul, something even Donald had commented on. Josephine well understood what it was like to be misplaced, to be uncomfortable with the tasks expected.
“Your uncle wishes for you to fight and you do not want to,” she said. “With me… my brother died, and then my father, and there was no one else to take up command of Torridon but me.”
Nicholas looked at her, seeing a beautiful woman in a very bad situation. “Josephine,” he said, his voice low. “The man ye have been betrothed to… the Earl of Annan and Blackbank… I have met him before. He vies for my uncle’s favor even though he is an English lord. I know there is nothing ye can do about the betrothal, but I must say that I fear for ye. The earl is… he is not a good man.”
Josephine already knew that but she hadn’t met anyone else other than Andrew and Thane who knew of the earl. She glanced at Donald, who was watching her by this time, his bruised face full of concern. Although Josephine new Donald would never tell her secrets, she didn’t know Nicholas well enough to know if he wouldn’t go running back to tell his uncle were she to confess to him that she had no intention of marrying the earl. After a moment, she dropped her gaze.
“You are correct,” she said. “There is nothing I can do about it. Much like you, I must do as I am told.”
She said it because she wanted to throw him off the track if he thought she was going to rebel. Perhaps with time, she would come to know him better, and trust him, but until that time, he had to think that she was a good little soldier. Where the king was concerned, she could be nothing less.
But Nicholas’ worry was clear on his features. “It is true,” he said. “I… I have not known ye very long, but I feel as if I have made a friend in ye. I do not have many friends, Jo
sephine, and I would be deeply upset if anything happened to ye. I know ye must marry the earl, but if there was a way not to…”
He trailed off and Josephine looked up at him, curiously. “What do you mean?”
Nicholas didn’t want to outright tell her to run. But he couldn’t stand the thought of her at the mercy of such a beast. “What I mean to say is…”
Donald cut him off. “What he means to say is that ye should run,” he said. “He is right, Joey. Run with me; I will take ye away from here and the king will never know what happened to ye. Nicholas will not tell him; will ye, de Londres?”
Nicholas shook his head firmly. “Of course not,” he said. “I would take ye away if I could. Ye should run; run as far away as ye can.”
Josephine looked between the pair. “And what would happen to those I left behind?” she asked. “What of my sister and Sully? What of them?”
Donald was feeling rather passionate about the subject. “They would not be responsible for it,” he said. “Sully is the earl now. Ye gave over yer entire inheritance to him and to yer sister. He has the de Carron wealth now and the king needs that for his support against the barons who are rebelling against him. He would not punish Sully when he needs the man and his army.”
Josephine snorted, an ironic gesture. “What army?” she asked. “We barely have anyone left.”
“What about The Red Fury?” Nicholas asked. “Ye’re betrothed to the man; everyone knows that. Why can he not take ye away?”
He is going to! Josephine thought, but she kept it to herself. She simply couldn’t jeopardize herself or Andrew in such a fashion.
“I am not certain what Andrew intends to do,” she lied. “He told me he would think of something, but I do not know what he has decided upon. Please… mention none of this to the king. For now, his focus is not on Andrew and I wish it to remain that way.”
Nicholas nodded solemnly, as did Donald. Neither one of them liked the future they saw ahead for Josephine, a truly kind and accomplished woman. Nicholas, in particular, thought it was sickening.
“If he needs assistance,” he ventured. “If The Red Fury needs help to take ye from here, please tell me. I should like to help if I could.”
Josephine could sense that he was sincere. Impulsively, she put a hand on his arm. “I could not jeopardize you so, Nicholas,” she said. “Although you are most kind to offer, you must not involve yourself. It would only lead to your doom.”
Nicholas smiled sadly but he understood. He appreciated that she was trying to protect him, but he truly felt as if he wanted to help her.
“At least I would be doing something well and good,” he said. “My life is fairly useless as it is. I am subject to my uncle’s whims, his travels, his moods. I have nothing important that I accomplish. I would like to do something good for someone.”
Josephine believed him. She squeezed his arm one last time before letting go. “And I appreciate your offer, truly,” she said. She thought it best to change the subject considering there wasn’t much more to say on the existing one. “The evening meal will be served soon. I must go and dress, but I will meet you both in the hall. Nicholas, I would expect you to recite your poetry for me whilst I eat. Will you do that?”
Nicholas grinned. “As long as my uncle does not hear me. He says it ruins his appetite.”
Josephine smiled because he was, but she thought that was a rather cruel statement about his uncle. Nicholas then stood up quickly and between him and Donald, they pulled Josephine to her feet. They proceeded to follow her out of the labyrinth of rooms and back to the small, darkened stairwell that led back to the foyer of the keep. Once there, they headed out of the building while Josephine headed to the western wing and to her chamber.
But the truth was that she had no plans to attend the meal that evening.
In fact, she planned to lock herself in her chamber and only open the door to her sister or Andrew. She didn’t want to be around the king in any fashion or discuss the terrible plans he had for her. He was expecting gratitude; she would only give him displeasure. It was better that she not put herself in that situation. Gathering her skirts and taking the first step, she heard someone call her name and turned to see Andrew entering the keep. She came to a halt.
“Greetings, my lord,” she said softly, affectionately. Considering the serious nature of the last conversation they had, she was hoping for a better mood between them now. “I was going up to my chamber in an attempt to avoid joining the king for the evening meal.”
Andrew smiled as he reached out and took her hand, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “Wise, my lady,” he said. “May I join you?”
“I was hoping you would.”
He made a sweeping gesture up the stairs, inviting her to continue onward, as he followed. He held her hand as they mounted the steps, her soft fingers in his rough ones.
“I have not seen you all afternoon,” Josephine said as they reached the top. “What have you been doing?”
“Visiting my horses,” he said casually.
They reached her chamber door and Josephine opened it. “I see,” she said, stepping into the chamber where Ola was over by the hearth, stoking the flames for the evening. “I have been with Donald and Nicholas, the king’s nephew. He’s a very nice young man, if you’ve not formally met him yet. But I do feel sorry for him.”
Andrew wasn’t so sure he liked her keeping company with two young bachelors. “Why is that?” he asked, a hint of disapproval in his voice.
But Josephine didn’t catch the tone. She went about lighting a bank of tapers for more light in the room.
“Because he writes beautiful poetry, yet the king disapproves,” she said. “He read me one of his poems. It was lovely.”
Now, Andrew was increasingly certain he didn’t want her keeping company with a young man who read her poetry. “You will stay away from him,” he said frankly. “No man will speak sweet words to you other than me, so I will not hear of you and Nicholas de Londres being companionable.”
Josephine looked at him in surprise, unhappy with his directive until she realized he’d said it because he was jealous. She could just tell by the look on his face, and she fought off a grin.
“I am not interested in him, Andrew,” she assured him. “You need not worry.”
He frowned as he found a half-filled pitcher of watered wine near the window and poured himself a cup. He simply made a face, emitting a rude noise from his lips.
“If I hear you have been listening to more poetry, I will have words with young Nicholas and he will not like what I have to say,” he said. “Spare him my wrath. Stay away from him.”
Josephine was starting to giggle. “You are jealous.”
Andrew scowled. “Nonsense. I simply protect what is mine.”
“If that is not jealousy, what is?”
He was grossly unhappy with the fact that she was correct in her observations and he was too stubborn to admit it. “Quiet your lips, woman,” he said. “Come over here and sit down. Let us speak on something more pleasant than Nicholas de Londres.”
Trying desperately to stop chuckling at him, Josephine sent Ola for food before complying with his command. But she didn’t move very quickly, letting him know what she thought of his attempts to order her about.
“You should understand one thing, Andrew,” she said frankly. “At Torridon, I am the one who gives the orders. There is no one who gives me orders.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “That is about to change,” he said. “The mere fact that we are betrothed means that I am in command. You shall do what I say.”
She pursed her lips at him, irritated. “Or what?”
“Would you really care to find out?”
Josephine couldn’t tell if he was bluffing or not. She was certain he wouldn’t truly harm her, but a spanking might be in order. To be safe, she stayed out of arm’s length. “I have commanded an army quite ably for the past two years,” she said. “Do not thi
nk that you can sweep in and start ordering me about. We will be equal partners in our marriage and we will discuss all situations first. There will be no ordering about, from either of us.”
He looked at her as if she’d gone daft. “A partnership?” he said. “Where do you get these odd ideas? There is no partnership in a marriage. The man gives the orders and the woman complies.”
Josephine grew serious. “Then you do not respect my mind or my thoughts?”
Andrew had been teasing her for the most part – he did mean what he said but he didn’t want it to sound cruel or demanding about it, so he was trying to jest his way through the subject to see how she’d respond. Clearly, she didn’t think any of it was funny. But she had to understand that he wasn’t going to go through the rest of his life clearing every order with her.
“Of course I respect your mind and your thoughts,” he said. “You are very intelligent as far as women go. I have never seen brighter. But to deny my wishes and my commands shows a complete lack of respect to me. Did you not think of that?”
She sobered dramatically. “I would never show you disrespect.”
“By arguing with my orders, you are showing everyone that you do not respect me,” he said. “If my men see that my wife will not respect my wishes, it will give them second thoughts about obeying me as well. It could throw my entire command into question.”
Josephine hadn’t thought of it that way. “I would only let your men see my great respect and admiration for you, Andrew.”
“Then that means obeying me, at all times, without question.”
Josephine wasn’t so sure she liked any of that, but she saw his point. “Well,” she said reluctantly. “When we are in private, may I at least question you?”
He nodded, feeling some relief that he was gaining headway with her. “Of course you may,” he said. “And there may be times when I seek your counsel. But I must know I have your obedience, love. That is very important, in all things.”
She nodded, but it was with reservation. “You shall have it.”
Andrew smiled at her, reaching out to pull her near the fire. When he sat down in a big oak chair, he drew her onto his lap, feeling the warmth of her soft body against him. It was incredibly arousing, and his thoughts shifted from her obeying his orders to the situation at hand. Things were coming that she had to be aware of.