Chieftain Read Online Free PDF Page B

favorite subject “Then was it one of your friends there? Meridene or the other lass. What was her name? Juliana?”
    Seemingly uncertain of their destination, she scanned the row of dwellings against the wall. In a quiet voice, she said, “’Twas Johanna.”
    He sensed a change in her mood, a return to the wariness he’d seen before. “Aye, I remember her now. You always swore that Johanna could outfit and manage an army on crusade.”
    In answer, she whispered “she could,” and headed for the butcher’s shop. “The archers will return soon. I’m certain you’d like to meet with the huntsman. He’ll come here first—if they were successful.”
    Idle chatter had once been her favorite pastime. Now she seemed worried. Determined to learn the source of her distress, he caught up with her. “Now why would I enjoy the company of those fellows?” She glanced up, and he saw tears in her eyes. “Why are you crying?”
    “I’m not crying.” She made a lie of the statement by brushing tears from her cheeks. “’Tis only the harsh light from the sun.”
    “And I’m a Venetian moneylender. Tell me why the mention of your friend at the abbey upsets you?”
    “Leave off, Drummond. I simply miss the people there.”
    “Then invite them to visit.” Unable to resist taunting a reaction out of her, he added, “You have my permission.”
    Her eyes blazed indignation and her complexion flushed the same color as her faded red surcoat. “Perhaps I shall.”
    If he were clever and careful, he could find out from the townsfolk if any man visited her regularly. “Then we are in accord. And after we see the butcher, you can introduce me to everyone else in the village.”
    “Introduce you? You told none but Amauri that you are my … husband?”
    He resisted the urge to touch her and vanquish her hesitance. “I saved the pleasure for you.”
    She opened her mouth to snap out a retort but changed her mind. Her momentary control disappointed Drummond, for he liked this new, fiery Clare.
    “Of course,” she said, as if complying with a mundane request. Then she ducked beneath the flycatcher and disappeared into the butcher’s shop.
    Drummond fumed. She should make a production of his homecoming. She should present him to the people with all of the respect due the lord of the keep. She should be grateful that her husband had taken her back.
    “Are you coming, my lord?”
    The cheeriness of her tone set his feet in motion. Once inside the structure he found her standing beside a bearded man whose upper arms were as big as the hams that hung from the ceiling beams. His thick brown hair was closely cropped with a striking patch of white at his left temple. He wore a soiled apron slung low over a rounded belly, and when he smiled, Drummond thought it genuine.
    Motioning him forward, Clare said, “My lord, meet John Handle, a solid Christian and our right goodly butcher.”
    The man fairly beamed. “Welcome home, Lord Drummond, and praise God. What happened? We thought you dead.”
    Drummond hadn’t expected mercy from Edward I. Edward II, however, probably sought some perverse glee in returning Drummond to the wife who’d made him a cuckold. Even if it were common knowledge, he’d not address it with a butcher.
    “I escaped the old king’s justice.”
    Handle nodded vigorously. “An’ hid out in the Highlands waiting for him to die. Bless his son for favoring you. The new king does, doesn’t he?”
    “Aye. He’ll not lay siege to Fairhope Tower.” Unless he came for his mistress, thought Drummond.
    “Her ladyship has told us all about you,” the butcher went on. “My favorite tale is the one about you slaying a wild boar with only a dirk for weapon. ’Tis Alasdair’s favorite, too. She made you a saint for the lad.”
    Shocked, Drummond stared at the woman beside him. Her head bowed, she toyed with the pink ribbons that adorned her basket. Why had she concocted such a story? It was pure fantasy, for no