from it.
‘Perhaps Graham will have her matched with a Norman lord,’ said Ewan.
Once again Ban was jolted out of his reverie. ‘A Norman?’
‘The Treaty of Abernethy has effectively made Malcolm a vassal of King William.’ Jock spat into the dirt. ‘What better way to create strong political alliances than to wed Scot to Norman?’
They digested this in silence, recognising the unwelcome truth of it. King Malcolm’s raids into northern England in 1070 had been all too successful and called forth an uncompromising response from William, who raised an army and marched north to confront the Scots. Though brave and eager their army was routed by the Norman host. As a result Malcolm was forced to pay homage to William and sign the treaty at Abernethy two years later.
Ewan was scandalised. ‘The lassie deserves better than that surely?’
‘That she does, lad. Under all their pomp and titles the Normans are just treacherous bastards.’
‘Aye, and led by a bigger bastard.’
It drew a laugh for King William’s lowly birth was well known. It was also known to be a sore point with him.
‘Dinna let him hear ye say that. He’d cut out your tongue.’
‘He isna here though, is he?’ Ewan reasoned.
‘No, but he’s left his mark has he not?’
‘Aye, he has. Northumbria’s naught but a wasteland.’
Silence followed this for they knew something of their lord’s past and none cared to dredge up a subject they knew to be painful. Aware of their discomfiture, Ban adopted a lighter tone.
‘So tell me, Ewan, is there no lass you’ve set your heart on?’
‘Not yet.’
‘There’s no lassie in her right mind would have ye,’ said Jock.
‘Why not? You managed.’
‘Aye, for my sins.’
Ban and Ewan grinned. Jock’s wife, Maggie, was known for her acid tongue. She and Jock argued often and loud, but none doubted for a minute that they were devoted. They’d had a brood of eight children, of whom five survived infancy. Three were fine strong boys already showing the promise of their sire in their skill with weapons. Jock was rightly proud of them.
However, the subject of marriage came too near the knuckle and presently Ban excused himself on the pretext of wanting to stretch his legs, wandering away from his companions to follow the burn. He found the tenor of the conversation strangely unsettling and he wanted some time alone with his thoughts.
For the first couple of years after his arrival at Glengarron all he owned were the clothes on his back and his sword. He had been in no case to support a wife. Gradually he’d carved out a reputation and amassed wealth by the strength of his arm and the use of his wits. However, a name, even backed by gold, wasn’t enough. Land was what mattered. Land was what gave a man position and power. Without it he was effectively little more than a hired blade. Women of noble blood might indulge him with a brief dalliance, but it was beneath them to marry such a man. It was a lesson he’d learned the hard way.
There had been female companions, of course, in the past six years, women of a certain class who filled a need. They were transient and soon forgotten, unlike Beatrice. Her image was still vivid, although he’d long since understood what she was.
Deep in thought Ban had been wandering along the edge of the burn, winding among the trees, paying little heed to his surroundings. He had left his men some way behind, being happy enough with his own company. Now he paused in the dappled shade beneath a mountain ash and looked about him. It was a pleasant scene with hills and trees and burn. The summer had been unusually warm and dry and the flow was slightly less now, but still the stream sparkled and leapt over the stones in its bed, the water a clear peaty brown. Presently, it fell over a rocky shelf and tumbled into a wide pool below. It looked cool and inviting and a swim would be most welcome. Ban sat down and pulled off his boots. As he did so a movement caught his eye and he saw that he was not the first to think of the idea. Someone was swimming on the far side.
Instinctively he ducked behind a boulder, watching. He could see a horse tethered to a bush and a pile of clothing at the water’s edge. Then his eyes widened and a smile dawned. The figure in the water was unmistakably female. He had an impression of a slender waist and long shapely legs. Long brown hair trailed after her like some exotic weed. Who was she? Where had she come from? There were no dwellings near. She was no commoner; one look at her mount established that. She was clearly no blushing maiden either. Such girls were carefully chaperoned and certainly not permitted to ride out alone, or to swim naked in lonely woodland pools. Only one kind of woman would display her charms in such a way. Ban grinned. Doubtless she had not expected to find a client in so remote a spot, but this was a ready-made opportunity and no red-blooded man would pass it up. If she was amenable they could spend an enjoyable half-hour together on the river bank, time for which she would be amply recompensed afterwards.
Stripping to his breeches Ban waded into the pool. The water was cold enough to make him gasp but he plunged in, all sound concealed by the fall above. Then, duck diving, he swam under water towards the far side of the pool. By the time he surfaced near the other bank the girl was out and drying herself with a linen cloth. She was younger than he’d first thought, eighteen perhaps or a little more, but her body revealed the rounded curves of early womanhood. Having removed much of the water she wrapped the cloth around her and sat down on a rock to let the sun do the rest. Its heat was already drying her hair and he saw now that he had been mistaken: it was not dark brown but deepest auburn and it framed a lovely face. Ban’s smile widened. This really was too good to miss.
Chapter Two
It was the horse that alerted Isabelle to his presence for the animal threw up its head and whinnied as it scented him. She looked round following the direction of the horse’s gaze, and then drew in a sharp breath. Hazel eyes widened as they registered the figure moving towards her and she jumped up and backed a pace, ready to flee. Though the stranger was apparently unarmed he was fully six feet tall and possessed of the broad shoulders and hard-muscled arms that bespoke the fighting man. His waist had not a hint of fat about it, nor the long powerful legs currently accentuated by the clinging breeks. He stopped a few feet away. She had an impression of tawny hair and blue eyes and a clean-shaven face with strong lines and a square jaw. Then he smiled, revealing even white teeth.
‘Good afternoon.’
Her heartbeat quickened. The courteous greeting was at distinct variance with the boldness of his manner and his present state of undress. Darting a swift look around her, she became more acutely aware of her present isolation and the remoteness of the place. If she screamed no one would hear. Besides, it was a mistake to show fear. He had clearly formed the wrong impression about her, but if she kept calm she might be able to talk her way out of this.
Ban saw the dainty chin tilt. Far from appearing embarrassed or afraid the look in her eyes was bold, challenging even. It satisfied him. He hadn’t been mistaken. Unusually though, she lacked the hardness he associated with harlots. Perhaps that came with time. As yet she was unmarked by her experiences and, at closer quarters, even more desirable. The strength of his reaction surprised him. His gaze travelled downwards, mentally removing the cloth again. Seeing this, the colour rose in her face.
‘How long have you been watching me?’
‘Long enough.’
The blush deepened and the hazel eyes sparkled with anger. ‘How dare you spy on me?’
‘Unforgivable I know,’ he admitted, ‘but impossible to look away. Figures like yours are all too rare.’
She drew in a sharp breath at the sheer effrontery of it. Undismayed he waited, surveying her with keen enjoyment.
‘You spy on me and then you insult me,’ she said.