Dear Nicholas, Josephine thought. My only friend in the inner circle. “Of course,” she said.
Madelaine escorted her from her chamber and led her down a long, stone corridor, past exquisite tapestries, and up a small flight of stairs before reaching Nicholas’ room. The servant knocked softly, gaining admittance for her mistress.
Nicholas was standing on the opposite end of the room, his beautiful young face smiling when Josephine entered the chamber. It looked as if he’d been waiting rather impatiently. On the table next to him were a variety of foods, and Josephine realized she was very hungry.
As she approached him, his eyes gazed at her in appreciation. “No woman in all of Scotland or England can hold a candle to yer beauty, Lady Josephine,” he said sincerely. “Ye belong in a castle.”
Josephine accepted the chair he held out for her. “But you left out the women in France and Spain,” she teased. “Are those women so beautiful that they make the rest of us look like dogs?”
He rolled with her humor. “Those women are as hairy as bears, and just as filthy,” he said. “I have been to Paris. Believe me when I tell ye that most of those women are pigs.”
She looked at him in surprise. “Nicholas!” she scolded softly. “Such harsh words from the tongue of an insufferable romantic. Remember that each woman is beautiful in her own way.”
He offered her a large basket filled with different types of bread. “Each man has a different concept of beauty,” he shrugged. “I would believe it safe to say that ye are every man’s idea of a true Scottish beauty.”
Josephine broke her bread and spread a thick slathering of butter on it. “My father used to say that about my mother.”
“Lady Afton?” Nicholas looked up from his plate.
She nodded and took a small bite. “He said that I resembled her greatly.”
Nicholas nodded. “Ye do.”
Josephine looked at him in astonishment. “How would you know this?”
He smiled as if he had a great secret. “Because her portrait hangs in the Family Hall.”
Josephine was stunned. Suddenly tears sprang to her eyes and her hand flew to her mouth. “My mother?”
“Aye.”
She blinked, and tears glistened on her eyelashes. “I was only two years old when she died,” she said. “My memories of her are wispy and vague, as if they were only a dream. Might I see the portrait, Nicholas?”
He hadn’t meant to make her weep. He was unprepared for her deeply emotional reaction, for he had only expected great excitement.
“Of course, my lady,” he said eagerly. “Whenever ye wish.”
She dabbed at her tears and smiled hugely. “I would like to see it now, please.
“Now?” he stammered.
“Now,” she said, standing.
Never argue with a woman, Nicholas thought, as he stood up and led her from the chamber. He took her back down the corridor, heading in the direction of the royal apartments and the common areas. Besides, he felt so bad for upsetting her that he was eager to make amends. If seeing the portrait of her mother was her greatest desire, then he would personally fulfill it.
The Family Hall was two flights down. It was, by far, the biggest room she had ever seen, more of a corridor, really, but it was full of portraits on wood and finely woven tapestries. The longest walls, running parallel to one another, were loaded from the high ceiling to the floor with artwork. A gallery ran along both walls so the viewer could get a better view of the portraits towards the top of the chamber.
Josephine had never seen anything like it. Some paintings were quite large, while still others were much smaller, and everything in between. The hall was so large that the faint sunlight streaming in through small windows was rather insignificant in its space, and it was difficult to make out most facial features.
Nicholas led her over to one far corner. Their footfalls were sharp in the dim light. Even though Nicholas held her hand, she felt distinctively lonely and isolated as centuries of her relatives gazed down upon her. It was as if she were in a roomful of people she didn’t know, with each looking at her and whispering secret observations.
Suddenly, Nicholas stopped. “Here it is,” he said quietly.
Josephine’s gaze fell across a face that brought hundreds of memories tumbling into her mind, from things her father had told her of her mother. The surge of emotion was strong as she stared at her mother’s beautiful, familiar face.
Afton was a mirror image of her daughter with her huge green eyes and distinctive features. Her hair was darker than her daughter’s, perhaps a bit browner, and it was stylishly coiffed in an elaborate veil. Her expression was serene and peaceful, radiating her kindness and gentle nature.
Josephine reached out a timid hand and drew a finger across the bottom of the painting, as if she were truly touching her mother. The more she looked, the more she realized that even more than herself, her mother resembled Justine. The two could have been twins.
A sudden peace swept over her; a peace that formed as if a missing part of her life had been found. By simply seeing her mother’s face, a part of her soul had been filled. This was the woman she had never really known but loved, and greatly missed. She turned to Nicholas with a smile.
“It is like looking at my sister,” she said.
Nicholas was relieved at her lightening mood. He glanced up to Lady Afton.
“It is easy to see where ye and Lady Justine inherited yer beauty,” he said.
Josephine stood at the portrait a few more moments. “I must have this portrait,” she said firmly. “I will ask the king. Do you think he will give it to me?”
Nicholas shrugged. “Possibly,” he said. “’Twould not hurt to ask.”
Josephine was smiling warmly at her mother’s portrait, as if remembering the private memories only shared between her and her father about her mother. No, it would not hurt to ask the king if she could have the portrait. All the more reason to behave herself, at least for the time being.
Josephine and Nicholas remained viewing the portrait for what seemed like ages. Josephine lost all track of time, because this was a reunion of sorts. A reunion between mother and daughter. But after several minutes had passed, Nicholas finally turned to her.
“Shall we return to my chamber and finish our meal?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I am not hungry any longer.”
“Then will ye allow me to show ye the castle?”
Josephine took his offered arm. “I was hoping you would.”
Josephine was soon to discover that castle life was much different from the life at Torridon. The structure itself was different from the stronghold of Torridon. The castle was tactically secure on the hill it sat upon, and what walls there were still afforded a view from every window. There were two gatehouses, the main gatehouse and then a second one behind it, and even the interior of the castle was compartmentalized to keep different areas safe in case there was a breach. The castle also covered twice the ground Torridon did, and it possessed several levels and dozens of rooms.
It was a massive place.
There were people everywhere. Josephine had no idea why all these people were here, or what possible business they could have. Groups of luxuriously dressed women and clusters of men seemed not to notice her or Nicholas as they crossed paths, but Josephine found herself unconsciously staring at people. Living a rather isolated life as she had at Torridon, especially after her father had died, she’d had limited contact with strangers and found it fascinating that there were so many different-looking people.
Sunlight of mid-morn streamed in like golden rivers through the windows on the east and south sides of the castle as she and Nicholas toured the various staterooms. She was utterly enthralled and was proud to be a distant part of this glory. She wished Justine were here to experience a part of her lineage.
Yet, even as she was overwhelmed by the spectacle that was Edinburgh Castle, she was wondering where Andrew was. Was he st
ill on the ground? Had they captured him? Or was he hiding in some house or barn, waiting until his brother arrived? She wished vehemently that she knew because she wanted desperately to see him. In fact, she was so distracted thinking about him that Nicholas stopped the tour.
“Are ye well, Josephine?” he asked, concerned.
She paused and looked at him. Could he be trusted? Andrew and Sully’s lives, as well as her own, were at stake. Nicholas, for all of his friendship and gentle nature, was still the king’s nephew. She liked him a great deal and knew she had his sympathy, but she wasn’t yet ready to trust him with a secret like that. Not yet, anyway. After a moment, she simply nodded.
“Aye,” she said. “I suppose I am simply overwhelmed.”
He smiled. “I understand completely.”
Josephine began to walk again, veering off the subject of her mental state. “Where do the soldiers practice, Nicholas?” she asked. “This is such a large place. Where do the soldiers drill?”
It was an odd question from a proper young lady, but not so odd coming from a young woman who had fought like a man for the past couple of years. Nicholas motioned behind him vaguely.
“Over to the north,” he said, then looked deliberately at her. “I shall take ye there if ye promise not to tell my uncle.”
She grinned. “I swear it.”
The training arena was far larger than anything Torridon possessed. It was a big, open area by the barracks, with views from the top of the crag that went on for miles. Nicholas led her to the safety of the lists as several pairs of soldiers squared off against each other. Still others were being instructed in groups. The day was growing warm, and the dust flew as feet scuffled and blows were dealt.
Josephine was excited by the commotion, inevitably comparing the training to her own knights’ training. She passed a critical eye over each man, pointing out to Nicholas what was wrong or outstanding about each. She sounded more like a general than a fine-bred young lady, but Nicholas could see she was quite thrilled with the action.
“Do you practice much, Nicholas?” she asked while her eyes were riveted to the scene before her.
“Not as much as I should,” he admitted.
She nodded intently. “I should like to practice with you some time.”
He was taken aback. “Me? I am not a very good swordsman.”
She grinned at him. “But I am,” she said. “I shall teach you a few tricks meant for those of us who are not as strong as those mountainous beasts out there.”
He shrugged, knowing he should agree because she wouldn’t take “no” for an answer, and turned his attention back to the fighting field. As they continued to gaze on the overall scene of men in training, they could see someone entering the area over to north.
Graceful and powerful, the massive figure strolled in, covered with armor attended by a pair of squires and several small pages. Josephine saw the figure and locked on to it, aware of who it was even from a distance.
“De Reyne,” she said curiously. “So he practices with the rank and file, does he?”
He was quite some distance away, but he looked over at her the exact moment Josephine said his name. Their eyes locked and he headed over in her direction.
“If it isn’t the polite maiden stealer,” she said as the man came near. “Steal any other young women lately, Ridge?”
Ridge fought off a grin at her ribbing, which probably wasn’t so much ribbing as it was some kind of dig at his sense of duty. “Not today, my lady,” he said evenly. “But you never know what tomorrow will bring. Did you have a pleasant eve?”
It was a normal question, but her paranoia had the better of her. Josephine caught something in his tone, or at least she thought she did. Even something in his eyes that unsettled her. Did he know what had taken place in her chamber last evening? Was it possible he’d seen Andrew enter? Her expression clouded with uncertainty for a split second, but was gone.
“Very pleasant, thank you,” she replied steadily. “And I have had an interesting morning; the most exciting I am sure is yet to come. Indulge my passion for swordplay and entertain me, de Reyne. I command it.”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “For you, my lady, anything.”
Ridge turned away from the stand and donned his helm, slapping down his visor. His pages and attendants scattered when his squire handed him his sword. From one side of the field his opponent approached, and the two men squared off.
Josephine watched, eyes glittering with excitement, as the swords came together with a mighty sound. Within the first few minutes, it was obvious that Ridge’s partner was no match for the king’s mighty bodyguard. Ridge moved like a lion on the prowl, and he was intelligent and quick. She had seen him fight before, of course, when the bandits attacked them on the road, but this was different. It was precisely structured and was carefully executed, like a well-choreographed dance. Ridge was the center of this exercise as he moved like he had been born with a sword in his hand.
But after several minutes, Josephine was feeling less and less satisfied with what she was seeing. Although Ridge was magnificent, it would have been more thrilling had he been fighting a tree. There was no energy to the bout, and Josephine finally jumped from the stands and onto the dirt before Nicholas could stop her.
“Cease!” she bellowed as the two men came to a grinding halt. She glared at Ridge’s partner. “You, sir, are a disgrace to the order of the knight. God help you if you ever wield a sword in battle, for you shall surely perish. You may as well throw yourself on your own sword when you see the enemy approach. Now give me that sword and let me show you how it’s done.”
She reached out and yanked the sword from the man’s hand as he stood there, dumbfounded, but Ridge suppressed a grin as she verbally battered the hapless man. Still, he did not actually believe she intended to fight him until she shoved the armored man away and turned to face him in her silk dress. She bound her skirts up, tucking it between her legs and pulling it up front to lodge in the belt around her waist so she wouldn’t trip on her skirts.
Now, it wasn’t so amusing. Ridge propped his helm up and looked at her with great disapproval.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
The sword came in front of her in an offensive stance. “Shut your lips and put up your sword.”
His brows came together in disbelief. “I will not fight you in that… that dress,” he argued. “Go back to the lists where you belong.”
She smiled thinly at him. “Dress or no, you shall fight me or you shall lose your manhood. Now, pick up your sword and prepare to fight.”
Without warning, she lunged forward in a sharp arc, and had he been any slower she would have cut off his right arm. He parried but did not retaliate. Instead, he stood several feet back, his expression full of disbelief and disapproval.
“I told you I would not fight you,” he said.
Josephine acted as if she didn’t hear him. She rushed at him again, watching him put his sword up defensively. Then she spun in the opposite direction, bringing her sword to bear right at the back of his neck.
It was over in a split second. One move and Josephine could easily cut the man’s neck. But Ridge didn’t move a muscle; he didn’t even turn his head to look at her.
“Well?” he said. “If you are going to cut my head off, then get on with it.”
So he wasn’t going to play with her. Josephine lowered the sword in frustration. “I am not going to cut your head off, you silly man,” she said. “I promised to show Nicholas some tactics that smaller warriors like us can use against beasts like you. Won’t you help me?”
Ridge looked at her, his eyes glimmering with humor. “Nay,” he said flatly. “If the king saw me, I would be in for a lashing. Go back to your room, my lady. Go back there and remain there.”
Josephine frowned, and she began to run circles around him, her sword defensively positioned. “I will go back if you defeat me,” she said. “Lift your sword, de Reyne. I will n
ot return to my room otherwise.”
Ridge sighed heavily. He wasn’t in the mood for the lady’s taunts but, on the other hand, he had to admire her bravery. She was tenacious. He could see his squires looking at the lady with a good deal of shock and he thought perhaps to give the lady a taste of what it would be like to go up against a real knight, a man who had trained for years to kill men of his size.
He knew she’d been fighting at Torridon since her father died, but he suspected her knights had kept her rather insulated from the real fighting. That made her falsely confident in her abilities. That’s what made her fight against him when he first took her from Torridon; she genuinely thought she could take him on.
She was about to learn otherwise.
Therefore, he stood there as Josephine walked around him, challenging him to a fight. He lowered his helm and his visor, and his sword remained lowered as well. He waited until she made two circles around him because he knew she was going to get careless and let her guard down when she saw that he wasn’t going to fight her. But he was about to use the element of surprise.
Quick as a flash, he lashed out his sword, tripping her as she walked around him. As she yelped and went down on the dirt, he was suddenly standing over her, the tip of his sword to her throat. He rather hated to toss her to the earth when she was so beautifully dressed, but it couldn’t be helped. Before he could demand her surrender, however, the lady brought up a foot and kicked him right in the groin. Literally, right in the balls. As Ridge grunted and stumbled back, she leapt to her feet and threw herself at him, grabbing him around the neck and using her body weight to throw him even further off balance.
Her intent was to cause him to fall to the ground, but Ridge wasn’t so easily defeated. He managed to keep his balance, grab the woman who was trying so desperately to defeat him, and sling her up over his shoulder. As she fought viciously against him, he brought a trencher-sized hand down on her buttocks and spanked her soundly. Josephine howled.
“Ridge!” she screamed. “You beast! Put me down!”
Ridge spanked her again. “That is for kicking me in the ballocks,” he told her. “If you ruin my chances of having a son, I will come for you, wherever you are. I will hunt you down and Andrew d’Vant will not be able to protect you.”