The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)(47)

She had given him a chance, she reminded herself. When she’d asked him about his betrothal, he’d made his views on fidelity in marriage perfectly clear: What does that have to do with us?

If she’d hoped running away would make her forget, however, she’d erred.

But it was too late now. Her life was here in England, and she had even more reason than the rational or irrational fear of another unwise emotional entanglement for never wanting to set eyes on Sir Kenneth Sutherland again. Still, she would thank him for what he’d given her for the rest of her life. She closed her eyes for a moment as the bubble of joy rose inside her, impossible to tamp down.

As the serving girl stepped back, Mary took one last look in the glass and nodded her approval. There was very little that remained of the pale, gaunt woman in plain clothing who’d gone to Scotland to negotiate on her son’s behalf and had been awakened like a butterfly shedding its cocoon. Her face was fuller, her eyes brighter, her lips redder, and her skin a more healthy pink. Her gown, although not like the extravagant, height-of-fashion concoctions she’d been partial to in her youth, was pretty and befitting a lady of her stature—a far cry from the shapeless black, gray, and brown gowns she’d hidden behind for three years.

The old merchant would be ecstatic, she thought with a smile. She might not be in the first flower of her youth, but the bloom was not completely off the rose. And more important, she was happy. Happier than she’d been in a long time. And it showed.

With a word of thanks to the serving girl, Mary made her way down to the Great Hall of Alnwick Castle with her attendants, Lady Eleanor and Lady Katherine, the same two women who’d accompanied her to Scotland. She found pleasure in their company now. Once she relaxed her guard, she realized how much she’d missed female companionship. Perhaps it had been Margaret who’d made her remember.

The trip to Scotland had brought back many memories, and though she knew it was best not to dwell on them, she missed her old friends and her former home. Maybe someday …

She stopped the thought before it could form. Her life was here now; she would make do with what she had.

The Hall was already crowded and boisterous when Mary and her ladies entered. The Great Hall of Alnwick Castle was something to behold, even without the colorfully dressed noblemen and women gathered for the midday meal. The castle itself was one of the largest and most imposing she’d ever seen, with its seven semicircular towers, square keep, and massive curtain wall. The Great Hall was its jewel. The massive, vaulted room looked like a small cathedral, except that the crown of rafters was of wood and not of stone. The plaster walls were painted a bright yellow and lined with wooden panels and decorated with tapestries. Colorful silk cloths with embroidery every bit as fine as hers covered the long tables and fine silver platters, candelabra, and pitchers sparkled from every corner of the room. Huge circular iron chandeliers hung from the rafters, and despite the midday hour were set ablaze with scores of candles.

Lord Henry Percy had become one of Edward’s most important magnates, and his new castle certainly showed it. He had plans, he’d confided in her, to make it even more formidable, with more towers and improvements to the curtain wall and barbican. Those Scot barbarians (he immediately apologized—excluding her, of course) wouldn’t dare attempt an attack.

Sir Adam was already seated at the dais, but he rose and came forward to greet her as she approached. She returned his smile, grateful as always for the presence of her old friend.

“You look beautiful, my dear,” he said, leading her to her seat.

She blushed, still not used to compliments.

Another man rose and gave her a gallant bow. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said. The way his gaze slid over her brought another rush of heat to her cheeks.

Sir John Felton was Percy’s best knight, and much to Mary’s surprise, since her arrival a few weeks ago he’d shown a marked interest toward her. As the mother of a young earl—who was presumably subject to influence—she was as much a marriage prize to the English as she was to the Scots. But his interest seemed to go beyond that, and she had to admit, she was flattered by it.

At thirty years of age, Sir John was in the prime of his manhood. He was close to six feet tall (not as tall as Sir Kenneth, she thought, before she could push away the comparison), with a thick, muscular build that gave credence to his reputed invincibility on the battlefield. He was also reputed to be the most handsome of all Percy’s knights, and nothing Mary could see disproved that. With his thick, golden-blond hair, deep green eyes, and finely wrought features, he could give Gregor MacGregor a challenge—or Sir Kenneth, she thought again, this time unable to prevent the pang.

Why was she doing this? What hold did this man have on her? For goodness’ sake, it had only been one night.

But oh, what a night! Even as the memories flooded her, she pushed them away. She had to stop this pointless fixation on a man who could never be hers. Her future was here. But maybe some day, if she let herself, she might find a man with whom to share it.

The idea of marriage, of giving up her independence, which had once been anathema to her, no longer felt out of the realm of possibility. With the right man, under the right circumstances, perhaps she could be persuaded. The peace and solitude she’d once craved were now tinged with loneliness. She’d caught a glimpse of a life she’d been missing and had opened her eyes to the possibility.