Chieftain by Arnette Lamb

Author:Arnette Lamb [Lamb, Arnette]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FICTION/Romance/Historical
Publisher: Diversion Books
Published: 2014-09-12T16:00:00+00:00

Two hours later, Drummond threw open a window in the solar and searched the yard for his wife. He spied Alasdair demonstrating his sword technique for Sheriff Hay, Sween, and a group of huntsmen. In the lane, merchants folded up their stalls, and the departing crowds wended their way to the main gate. Spread-eagled on the sloping roof of Longfellow’s shelter, Morgan Fawr secured the last bundles of thatching.

Drummond again scoured the throng until he spied a familiar yellow surcoat and a white coif. Her movements were unmistakable: the confidence of her carriage, the swing of her arms, and the pleasure she derived from sharing a greeting or waving to a child.

A respectable widow, she called herself. He was beginning to believe it. Not the woman he’d married, she was wont to say. That statement concerned him, for she was as different from the Clare he remembered as the Thames Pool was from Loch Maree. Had he changed as much to her? She hadn’t said so, but she also hadn’t cared enough about their life together to commit it to memory.

Asking after his mother was proof of her disinterest. Once at table, she had asked Drummond’s father to describe Drummond’s mother. Gavin Macqueen had been so angry that she would pose the artless question in the presence of his second wife that he’d banished Clare from table for a fortnight.

She’d cried for days, begged Drummond to intercede on her behalf, and he had, to no avail. How could she have forgotten? Or was it that he’d had too many idle years to remember the past?

Looking for new memories, he followed her progress as she made her way to the steps at the base of the keep. She stopped to speak to a woman with two small daughters. After fussing over the girls, she touched the sleeve of the woman’s frock, obviously admiring the garment. They conversed for a moment more, then Clare continued on her way. She looked at ease, her stride purposeful. The people here adored her. Everyone except Elton Singer, who she’d banned from the alehouse until after Vespers.

At the memory of her clever method of administering justice, Drummond smiled. Had she learned authority from Ramsay Hay? When he’d approached her in the pantry, Drummond had intended to confirm her high opinion of the sheriff and admit he’d been wrong to accuse her of again breaking her marriage vows. An apology hadn’t been necessary, for she’d already forgiven him. Why else would she have been so responsive to his ardor? She harbored no ill will, and didn’t she have a delightful way of showing it.

In some respects he was courting her for the first time. Since she’d been delivered to him by the old king, Drummond had been spared playing the gallant to gain her favor. Her dowry had been a promise of peace from a warring English king. Her destiny had been a singular life on this patch of land.

Drummond rather enjoyed bandying words with her, for he did like her better now, she’d developed a stinging wit and a delightful sense of humor.

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