much admired your courage.”
“I have no courage, sir. I did only what I had to do. I tell you frankly that, even though I now believe I had little cause to fear Waldron of Edgelaw, I was terrified the whole while and for a good while afterward.”
“But, my lady, that is the very essence of courage, is it not?”
“What is?”
“To do what must be done despite one’s terrors. To act sensibly in a crisis is admirable. That you remain sensitive to others’ needs and motives argues that you are kind, as well. I would like to know you better, to become your friend.”
Adela stood very still, scarcely aware that her breathing had stopped until she felt the ache in her chest. She tried to remember if anyone had ever said such things to her before. She did not think anyone believed her to be unkind or to
lack
courage or sense, but she could not recall anyone ever defining her in such a way, certainly not as firmly as he had.
Nor could she recall anyone declaring that he would like to be her friend. She had friends at home, to be sure, but few from her own station in life and no one she could think of with whom she could share the thoughts in her head as she had with this man on this very strange night. She did not know what to say to him.
Then, and again without thought, the words came easily.
“I’d like that, but how can I be friends with a man whose name I don’t know?”
“’Tis a rare challenge, but I believe you are equal to it. For now, though, you had better use that good sense of yours and take yourself off to bed.”
“Aye, I should.” But her reluctance to leave only grew stronger.
“We will meet again, I promise,” he said. “Until then, know that whenever you need a friend, I am yours to command.”
“A strange thing to offer, sir, when I should not know how to summon you.”
“You need only let it be known that you need a friend, lass.”
His words were perhaps apocryphal but nonetheless soothing to ears that more frequently heard criticism, carping, and unwanted advice.
Quietly, wanting nothing to destroy the momentary sense of deep peace he had given her, she said, “Goodnight, sir.”
“Sleep well, my friend,” he murmured.
Feeling her way back to the door to the stairs, she opened it carefully, half expecting to come face to face with a demand to know what the devil she was doing there. What would follow depended, of course, upon who had found her. But the worst that could come of it was a scolding, and now that she was a married lady, she mused, only her husband truly had the right to scold her.
With another sigh, she realized that with Ardelve dead, any number of people would be willing to step into his position as her guardian. Therefore, it would be best if she could return to her bedchamber without meeting a soul.
As she went downstairs, she strained her ears not only for noise below but for any above her on the stairway. But she heard nothing.
Having never explored the wall walk, she did not know how many access points it had, but she was as sure as she could be that it had more than one. And doubtless the man on the ramparts knew all the others.
The voice in the back of her head continued to insist that she knew who he was, that he had to be the hand-some stranger who had shown such interest in her, the man Lady Clendenen claimed to be her distant kinsman, Etienne de Gredin.
As Adela approached her own chamber, she wondered why she had not taxed him with that suspicion. It had been so easy to talk with him about anything else, so easy to say whatever came into her head. Yet she had not given him the slightest hint that she suspected his identity.
She was reaching for the latch on her door, it struck her that Lady Clendenen had said that her cousin had come from France. But the man in the fog had spoken as an educated Scotsman. He was not a Highlander, though. Or, if he was, he’d spent more time in the Lowlands than at home. But then, Lady Clendenen had said
“I have no courage, sir. I did only what I had to do. I tell you frankly that, even though I now believe I had little cause to fear Waldron of Edgelaw, I was terrified the whole while and for a good while afterward.”
“But, my lady, that is the very essence of courage, is it not?”
“What is?”
“To do what must be done despite one’s terrors. To act sensibly in a crisis is admirable. That you remain sensitive to others’ needs and motives argues that you are kind, as well. I would like to know you better, to become your friend.”
Adela stood very still, scarcely aware that her breathing had stopped until she felt the ache in her chest. She tried to remember if anyone had ever said such things to her before. She did not think anyone believed her to be unkind or to
lack
courage or sense, but she could not recall anyone ever defining her in such a way, certainly not as firmly as he had.
Nor could she recall anyone declaring that he would like to be her friend. She had friends at home, to be sure, but few from her own station in life and no one she could think of with whom she could share the thoughts in her head as she had with this man on this very strange night. She did not know what to say to him.
Then, and again without thought, the words came easily.
“I’d like that, but how can I be friends with a man whose name I don’t know?”
“’Tis a rare challenge, but I believe you are equal to it. For now, though, you had better use that good sense of yours and take yourself off to bed.”
“Aye, I should.” But her reluctance to leave only grew stronger.
“We will meet again, I promise,” he said. “Until then, know that whenever you need a friend, I am yours to command.”
“A strange thing to offer, sir, when I should not know how to summon you.”
“You need only let it be known that you need a friend, lass.”
His words were perhaps apocryphal but nonetheless soothing to ears that more frequently heard criticism, carping, and unwanted advice.
Quietly, wanting nothing to destroy the momentary sense of deep peace he had given her, she said, “Goodnight, sir.”
“Sleep well, my friend,” he murmured.
Feeling her way back to the door to the stairs, she opened it carefully, half expecting to come face to face with a demand to know what the devil she was doing there. What would follow depended, of course, upon who had found her. But the worst that could come of it was a scolding, and now that she was a married lady, she mused, only her husband truly had the right to scold her.
With another sigh, she realized that with Ardelve dead, any number of people would be willing to step into his position as her guardian. Therefore, it would be best if she could return to her bedchamber without meeting a soul.
As she went downstairs, she strained her ears not only for noise below but for any above her on the stairway. But she heard nothing.
Having never explored the wall walk, she did not know how many access points it had, but she was as sure as she could be that it had more than one. And doubtless the man on the ramparts knew all the others.
The voice in the back of her head continued to insist that she knew who he was, that he had to be the hand-some stranger who had shown such interest in her, the man Lady Clendenen claimed to be her distant kinsman, Etienne de Gredin.
As Adela approached her own chamber, she wondered why she had not taxed him with that suspicion. It had been so easy to talk with him about anything else, so easy to say whatever came into her head. Yet she had not given him the slightest hint that she suspected his identity.
She was reaching for the latch on her door, it struck her that Lady Clendenen had said that her cousin had come from France. But the man in the fog had spoken as an educated Scotsman. He was not a Highlander, though. Or, if he was, he’d spent more time in the Lowlands than at home. But then, Lady Clendenen had said
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