The Enchantress (24 page)

The open circle lay before her now, giving her a clear view of the two men, dressed only in their kilts, poised dangerously in the center. Laura's eyes found William Ross first. Unarmed and bleeding slightly from a cut across his chest, the Ross laird was staring fiercely at his foe.

Summoning all of her strength not to run to him, she instead turned her eyes on the opponent. It was a man she’d never seen. A dark-haired giant of the man with blood running from his nose. The fighter looked even more dangerous than William at the moment, standing with his long sword pointing directly at the Ross laird.

Neither man noticed her presence as the stranger shoved the point of the weapon toward William’s chest. Laura gasped as the Ross laird spun away from the attack. But before William could recover, the stranger pressed forward. In an instant William was on his back, the swarthy giant’s sword rising above him for the death blow.

With a quickness that would have made her sister Adrianne proud, Laura charged the stranger, long sword lifted as high as she could manage, the point pressing into the top of the man’s buttocks.

“Stop or I’ll kill you!”

A long moment of silence hung in the air. Then a burst of laughter rang out in the yard.

“So, Will,” the man growled, laughing loudly but not taking his eyes from the fallen laird, “you now have women to come to your rescue.”

Laura didn’t know where the blow came from. One moment the stranger was dismissing her threat, and the next he was doubled over, clutching something below his belt in pain and gasping for breath.

The point of the heavy sword in her hand hit the ground, and in an instant William was standing and facing her.

With a curt shout from him, the gathered men started to disperse, still laughing at the scene they’d witnessed. Edward and some strangers were helping the other man to his feet, but Laura kept her eyes on William’s glowering face. Turning the hilt of the sword toward him, she winced as he snatched it none too gently from her. He glanced over his shoulder at his slowly rising opponent.

“I am so sorry,” she murmured. “My--my intention was not to embarrass you. I’m certain that it must have looked as if I...well, I thought I...” Her words trailed off.

He opened his mouth to say something and then snapped it shut. When he spoke, she could hear the steely control in his voice. “What exactly were you thinking of when you raised this weapon?”

Laura avoided his glare and glanced instead down at the thin cut on his imposing chest. It was still bleeding. She then looked at a scratch on his powerful biceps. She could feel the heat emanating from his flesh. How could she possibly think, never mind talk, so close to a body this beautiful?

Her voice was barely a squeak. “I--I tried to save you.”

“By pointing a sword at the man’s arse?”

“I would have done better if I could. But the bloody thing was too heavy.” Realizing that something had changed in his tone, she hesitantly looked up into his blue eyes. He’d been barking as if he was angry, but in those eyes she saw other things. Surprising things. Amusement. Affection even.

“Don’t you think that if I were in real danger, that circle of Ross men would have had a better chance of coming to my defense?”

A weak smile broke on her lips as she shook her head. “I guess I acted on--on impulse.”

His eyes narrowed. She felt herself openly blushing as his intense gaze caressed her face--his eyes resting on her lips. “You? Laura Percy? Acting on impulse?”

“A weakness, I know.” She shrugged slightly, returning some of his close scrutiny by letting her eyes study the chiseled planes of his face, dropping lower to his neck, to his chest. She wanted to touch that wound, but she forced herself to look back into his face. “You’ve been a very bad influence.”

She saw his hands tighten around the hilt of the sword. The point was planted in the ground between his feet. Desire, potent and unmistakable, had crept into his gaze. She felt heat spreading through her body.

She had been flirting with him. How was it that her morals had become totally ruined?

“I--if...the reason...” She touched an impatient hand to her brow to clear her mind. He continued to watch with amusement as she struggled. “I need a private audience with you.”

“I agree completely.” He raised one of his brows with a devilish look, and Laura sensed that the man was purposely misconstruing her words. “Indeed, lass. I believe we should see to it right away.”

Feeling herself become completely flustered, she shook her head. “I mean, about your niece and--”

“William! By the Cross, man, how long do I have to wait before you remember your manners and introduce me properly to this warlike lass?”

The Ross’s face immediately clouded over. He did not take his eyes from Laura’s face, though, as he responded roughly. “How long are you planning to live, blackguard?”

Laura started with surprise at William’s comment, but then turned to the approaching stranger. With a linen shirt pulled over his bare chest and a wry smile brightening the man’s handsome face, the newcomer--seemingly recovered--looked far less menacing than he had a few moments before.

“Sir Wyntoun MacLean, mistress, at your service.” Turning his back on the Ross laird, the newcomer put himself directly between them. “And is it safe to assume that you are Mistress Percy, the young woman about whom I have heard so much already?”

Laura found her hand already in the man’s grasp. A bright and intelligent pair of green eyes looked down at her.

“You are correct regarding who I am, sir, but I cannot bring myself to say that ‘tis entirely safe. In fact, I must beg you to forgive me for what just occurred. I’m afraid I misjudged the situation completely.”

Wyntoun flashed a set of even white teeth. “Done! Forgotten. It takes considerable courage to try and rescue such a defenseless man.”

Ignoring the obscene utterance behind him, the grinning knight took Laura's arm, directing her toward the Great Hall. The man continued to talk, and as Laura was led away, she glanced several times over her shoulder for William Ross.

He remained standing and watching them, the point of the sword still buried in the half-frozen earth, his expression openly displaying his displeasure.

*****

William sat back and rubbed his eyes. All that was left was a number of letters that needed to be answered. He sorted them once again and added them to the work that was ready for Symon to complete.

“Never mind your eyes. You are ruining your reputation, brother, staying up so late and working so diligently.”

William could manage only a half-hearted snarl at the priest standing in the open doorway. Gilbert wandered into the chamber, his giant dog Willie trailing in behind his master.

“Charming host that you are,” the provost said, his voice heavy with irony, “when you left the Great Hall so early, Wyntoun and I became concerned.”

“The hell with Wyntoun. When is the son of a bitch leaving anyway?”

“Leaving? Why, he’s only just arrived.” The priest sat in a chair by the hearth, the dog curling up at his feet. “And when I asked him if he could stay here at Blackfearn Castle at least through Christmastide--”

“What the devil for? He has his own kin in the Western Isles. I think he should get back on the road tomorrow.”

“William, I cannot believe you are being so stubborn, considering how well things are progressing.”

“What things?” the laird snapped.

“Things.” Gilbert lowered his voice, glancing in the direction of the open door. “Between Laura and Wyntoun.”

William stood up abruptly, nearly knocking his heavy chair over behind him. “She left the hall with Miriam long before I did. How could
things
progress when she wasn’t there?”

Gilbert folded his hands in his lap and smiled contentedly. “She is charming company for dinner. Enchanting, you might say.”

“I wouldn’t know. Ever since the woman has been here at Blackfearn Castle, she has not once taken a meal in the Great Hall...until tonight.” And to punish him for not inviting her sooner, William thought sullenly, the blasted woman even had to take the seat between Gilbert and MacLean.

Aye, punishing him. Close enough to torment him with a glimpse now and then of her lovely face, of her violet eyes occasionally seeking him out. Far enough away, though, that he could not make out the exchange of conversation, other than a laugh or two, between her and that dog Wyntoun. The supper had been a disaster for the laird.

Thankfully, the child sitting quietly at William’s side had early on shown signs of drowsiness, and Laura had excused herself and Miriam, and the two had withdrawn for the night.

It had not been long after that William had retired as well, his mood too foul to enjoy the entertainment of the players who had stopped for the night on their way to Inverness. He left the Hall, disappearing into his work room.

He had to admit, taking refuge in work was indeed a first for him.

“Wyntoun is escorting Laura to the chapel tomorrow for the morning service.”

Focusing his attention back on his brother, William moved from behind the table. “What other arrangements have been made?”

“You don’t expect that I would eavesdrop, now, do you, brother?”

“I expect far worse from you, you interfering toad. What other
things
were discussed?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, they made no other appointments that I could hear, but the beauty of the Western Isles was a subject of great interest, it seems. Wyntoun spoke a great deal of Duart Castle, mentioning even the advancing age of his father. ‘Twas quite promising, I thought.”

“And did he bring up his need for a wife and heirs?” William glared at his brother’s dog. “By St. Andrew, Gilbert, why don’t you just bring your damned horse in here? The blasted thing would take up less space than that lazy beast.”

Willie raised his broad head, gazed up at the laird, then yawned and rolled onto his side.

“Och,” the Highlander breathed disgustedly, shaking his head as he leaned back against the table. “What I’d really be interested in knowing is whether the charming Sir Wyntoun mentioned anything of his pastime of terrorizing the merchant trade with his ships on the west coast.”

“That would have been too much telling for the first day, I should think.”

William snorted in disgust and headed for the door. “Aye, far too much, I should think.”

“Retiring, brother?”

“Aye! ‘Tis wearying being so damned charming all the time.”

*****

She liked Mistress Laura. She was much nicer than Nanna Jean.

Thinking of her old lady-in-waiting that they had left behind, Miriam said a silent prayer for the sick woman, even though she had a strong feeling that Nanna Jean’s illness had gotten immediately worse the moment they got out of sight of home and her old sister.

Miriam opened one eye and looked sleepily at Mistress Laura. The gentle way that the English woman tucked her into bed had been a lovely change. The attention that she was receiving at Laura’s hands was far more than she ever remembered.

Tucked into the large bed, Miriam found herself getting gradually more comfortable, and sleep was creeping up on her. And yet the little girl did not want to lose sight of the young woman sitting on the small chair by the hearth, holding a book--rather than needlework or wool--in her lap.

The happiness that must exist in fairyland can surely not be better than this. I am safe here, Miriam thought, images of Laura and the laird floating in her sleepy head.

With the slow onset of her dreams, she almost felt her hand slipping into her uncle’s strong one. She saw him looking down and giving her an approving nod, a gentle smile softening the blue eyes that looked so much like her own.

Miriam nestled deeper in the covers and dreamed. Dreamed of family, a home where she was wanted, and happiness.

Laura looked over at the beautiful face of the young girl as she slept. Closing the book on her lap, she planted her elbows on her knees and propped her chin on her hands.

There were too many ghosts casting their shadows over the child’s life. There were too many uncertainties she had already grown accustomed to enduring.

Laura had intended to talk to William about this matter at noon, and she frowned, thinking of the lameness of the effort. She’d certainly ended up making a fool of herself in attempting to save his life.

During dinner she had watched William’s response to the little girl sitting at his side. It hurt her that he had shown so little interest. He had simply sat with that gold coin rolling eternally over his knuckles, the child watching him intently. With the exception of noticing Miriam when she had finally almost fallen asleep in her chair, there had not been many spoken words. No shared enjoyment of the meal. Only silence.

Well, Laura thought, she would try to speak to him again tomorrow. And this time she planned to succeed.

Laura rose to her feet and moved to the side of the bed, gently pushing a dark curl off the child’s brow. Miriam's face was relaxed in sleep, and she looked like an angel in peaceful repose.

She wished she could find that same peacefulness in her own sleep. More so than ever before, Laura’s sleep was haunted with ghosts of her own past. The face of her father. That day in Yorkshire when he’d been taken away. The news of his murder. The faces of her sisters. Her mother.

Laura fought back the sickening emotions that were pushing to overwhelm her even in this waking moment. She turned for the door. She would not allow herself to crumble. There were promises that needed to be kept. Responsibilities that she had to see to. A child that needed her help until an unwilling uncle could find a place in his heart.

The door closed quietly behind the departing woman, and with a start, Miriam’s eyes flew open. She looked about the bedchamber and shuddered. The shadows were already clawing their way toward the bed.

The blue veil around the great jeweled cross fluttered in the breeze as the doors opened and shut for the arriving knight. Those in the hall turned expectantly to the man, firing their questions at him.