“Do you think I might stretch my legs?”
“Why?” he asked, sounding amused. “Is something wrong with them?”
“Nay.” She set her jaw. “It’s only that I’ve a mind to explore that ruin over there.”
“Oh. I see.” By his tone, she guessed he saw all too much. “I suppose we could do that,” he said, steering Chiron off the road and up the grassy rise that led to the crumbling castle. “We’ve made excellent time today. And I could do with a bite.”
“I thought I heard your stomach rumbling,” she said as he dismounted. “Are you always hungry, then?”
He spanned her waist with his big hands to swing her down. “Seems so,” he said with a grin.
While he tethered Chiron to a tree, she flexed her knees and looked around. The remnants of the castle’s walls meandered up and down gentle, grassy slopes, loosely connected by steps that seemed to lead nowhere. It struck her as both sad and terribly romantic.
From a corner of the site rose the keep, a square tower that was tall but open to the sky.
Rather than sharing her enchantment, Jason was digging in the portmanteau for the chicken, bread, and cheese he’d bought before leaving Grantham.
“Come up the keep,” she said. “I’d wager there’s a lovely view.”
“Go ahead.” He pulled a flask from one leather bag. “I’ll arrange our supper.”
With a shrug, she started up the winding stone steps. Though in better shape than the rest of the castle, the keep was far from habitable. The floors were half gone, and big chunks of the walls were missing. The narrow stairs bore deep depressions from centuries of feet, and there was no rail, but the steps themselves felt solid and safe.
She trudged up painfully, wondering if this was really a good idea after so many hours in the saddle. When she finally reached the top, puffing from exertion, she leaned on the crenelated wall and gazed out over the countryside.
“Oh, it’s glorious!” The land rolled away in all directions, dotted with trees and houses, divided by glistening ribbons of rivers and streams. “You can see from here like a bird in the sky. You must come up!”
“Take your time,” he called to her. “I’ll wait for you here.”
“Nay, come join me!” She rushed to the other side, saw the endless, brown swath of the road, steeples of churches, a working mill. “You can see a mill from up here, Jase! It’s running. The top of a mill—wouldn’t that be interesting?”
He was a miller, after all.
But his chuckle floated up the ancient stone walls. “I’ve no need to see a mill. I have one of my own.”
“I knew that. But there’s a big river too, and”—she worked her way around the perimeter—“a town, Jase! A bonnie large town!”
“Stamford,” he told her. “We’re nearly there.” From her high perch, he looked small as he walked around to her side. The sun glinted off his hair. “I can see the town from here,” he called up. “The keep is built on a hill. They usually are, you know. A motte, the hill is called.”
“You cannot see it as well as I can,” she argued. “It’s a lovely town. With wee toy carriages going all over it.”
Laughing, he seated himself on what was left of a crumbling stone wall. “Enjoy. Come down when you’ve seen enough.”
“Please come up,” she begged. She wanted to share this with someone. The beauty, the wonder. “Please.”
He stared up at her for a minute. She wished she could see his expression better, especially when he released a long-suffering sigh. Finally he said, “Has anyone ever told you you’re stubborn?”
Without waiting for an answer, he stood and brushed off his breeches, then disappeared around the other side of the keep.
A few footsteps echoed up the stairwell, slow and measured. Then…faltering? There was silence for a minute before the footfalls resumed, then stopped again. More silence, followed by the padding sound of walking on grass.
Then the sun was glinting off his hair again. He was standing below her, outside the keep.
“I changed my mind,” he called up.
Realization slowly dawned.
How very wrong she’d been. Ashamed, she slowly made her way down the tower. He met her at the bottom of the steps with a shrug and a self-deprecating grin.
“You’ve a fear of heights,” she said softly. “That’s why you won’t ride at the edge of a high bridge, isn’t it?”
Warm color flooded his cheeks. “Well, I did tell you I’m not superstitious.”
It was just like a fellow not to come out and say it. “You should have told me the truth. I wouldn’t have teased you so.”
“You’d pass up that opportunity?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s hardly a manly admission.”
“But I understand. Though it’s not exactly the same, my mother feared small spaces.”
“Did she, now?” He raised a brow. “And I imagine she quoted you wisdom for this sort of thing?”
Caithren smiled. “A common blot is nae stain.”
“Come again?” He started toward where he’d left Chiron and their food.
She trailed after him. “Don’t fret about small faults that are common to everyone.”
“I see.” Handing her a round of bread, he took the chicken and cheese and seated himself on a broken stone wall. “Well, I thank you for not laughing. I’ve never admitted this particular fault to anyone.”
An unexpected warmth spread out from her heart, that he would choose her in which to confide. Never mind that it was so obvious he’d have looked the fool for denying it—it was a rare man who would own up to such an affliction.
She dropped to sit cross-legged on the grass, arranging her skirt to preserve her modesty.
“Miss your breeches, do you?” he asked, ripping a healthy portion from a chicken leg.
Composing herself, she tore off a hunk of the bread. “When I’m riding, aye. Maybe you should buy me a pair.”
He
