When she hesitated, he let out a frustrated huff. “Well, you may stand while I work,” he said, then swung the caldron out from under the flames and peered inside. “I just assumed you’d be more comfortable sitting.”
Ethan ignored her as he reached into a satchel he carried and withdrew many items that were familiar to her. He set them all on the cook’s workstation by the hearth.
After he gazed up from his work to look at her, Ursula’s mouth moved, but she said nothing.
“I’m making an antidote for poison,” Ethan explained.
“Aye, you are,” Ursula concurred, finally finding her voice. “But what is that?” she asked, pointing to the bunch of dried flowers he held. Fragile blooms that once must have been a soft yellow.
“Petals of the yellow flag iris, from the Isle of Skye.”
“Really?” She paused, dumbfounded. “When were you last on the isle?”
“Just after Christmastide. I needed to sulk.” Then his eyes clouded, and he stopped.
“I know you lost your mother. She was from the Highlands?”
“Killed her, you mean.”
“You once said it was an accident? Was it?”
“Not according to my brother, Lachlan. He blames me. And yes, I was responsible, but . . .”
He stood and paced in the restrictive space. “Once I found out how rowen berries become poisonous when heated, I vowed I’d develop an antidote. I buried my pain by studying how to make poisons and how to reverse the outcome.” He stopped and gave her an odd look. “The skill has come in handy,” he admitted, “but I realize I have a condition beyond my control. I am trying to correct it.”
Ursula detected the pain in his voice. It was palpable. He gazed at her with a haunting woundedness. Looking into his eyes was like staring into a dangerous, dark potion mixed with arrogance, lust, and angst. It was intoxicating and frightening.
She swooned a little and then righted herself as if she’d had a whiff of smelling salts. Even if she was attracted to him at times, Ethan displayed signs of unpredictable madness. The brutish behavior, groping and taking unwelcomed liberties when they were alone at Christmastide, still haunted her. She was never sure which Ethan would greet her each time they met.
But she needed to confide in him. Perhaps even convince him to confirm what she believed true. “Do you know of the guelder rose? To my knowledge, it only grows on the isle.”
His eyes narrowed as if he was calculating what helping her would be worth to him and how he’d barter for it. Or perhaps, how he’d take his payment.
But before he had a chance to respond, Lachlan called from the doorway to the great hall.
“Ethan. Your presence is required.”
Instead of answering his twin, Ethan mocked him, mouthing words without sound, his back to the opening that connected the two rooms.
“Ethan!”
Ursula couldn’t help but laugh when Ethan’s expression reflected his annoyance as the tall, dark, and dangerous Luttrell twin raced out of the room.
~ ~ ~
James paced in front of the blazing fire in the great hall’s hearth, arms crossed and brows knotted, preparing for a battle of wills.
Even though this urgent family meeting interrupted his time with Ursula in the kitchen, Ethan would not let it undermine his pleasure. As he quickened his steps to join Lachlan and James, he was still grinning from ear to ear, pleased he’d found a way to manipulate her affections. He refused to let his twin intimidate him.
“Come, James, delay your return to Windsor. Do it for my heirs,” Lachlan blurted out. “Ursula brought your son into the world. You owe her a noble deed in return.”
The Garter knight stopped pacing and swung a huge arm at Lachlan. But when James’s massive hand came to rest on Lachlan’s shoulder instead of jabbing him in the face, Lachlan burst out laughing. Apparently undaunted, Lachlan continued his plea, “Less than a sennight, James. And Ursula is well traveled. She’s as cooperative as a well-trained palfrey.”
“You’re comparing a woman to a horse? Be careful, Lachlan,” Ethan said. “That could get back to the witch.”
“Mind what you call her, Ethan,” Lachlan said.
“I’m certain Ursula would prefer to be called a witch over a horse,” Ethan bit back.
James took his hand off Lachlan’s shoulder and moved toward a group of formal chairs near the kitchen entrance where Ethan had entered the room. “’Tis time for a family meeting,” James said, changing the tone of the conversation.
Lachlan glared at Ethan, and he returned the sentiment as they joined James at the table. The more he thought on it, the more Ethan was grateful for his half-brother’s refereeing. He’d been in residence for a mere two months and was certain if it were not for James, Ethan would be locked in Fyvie’s dungeon by now.
“’Twas not long ago,” James began, “shortly after Nicholas Luttrell died, our lands were divided.”
“You still cannot call him Father?” Ethan asked James.
“He provided a seed, nothing more,” James replied stoically.
Lachlan had no love for their deceased father either, but Ethan had idolized him.
As they took up their seats, James positioned himself in the middle and continued with the mediation, “With the wager won at the gaming table, Ethan becomes the new landholder of Eilean Donan Castle. But it has come to my attention that this ownership must be explored further.”
After a few moments of silence, Lachlan spoke. “’Twas mine to give.”
“A MacKenzie was laird when last I visited,” Ethan said.
“If there is no Luttrell in residence, then any Highlander with enough fighting men behind him can claim lairdship,” James explained. “Consider yourself fortunate that you both have a Scottish home here at Fyvie and an English one in Dunster.”
“The Highlands were once home to us both, but Eilean Donan Castle requires a respected Luttrell to reestablish the name,” Ethan said, looking at James.
The Garter knight sat with arms folded over his massive chest and his eyes closed.
“This one time, Brother Lachlan, I will allow you to make my assignment,” James said, opening his steely blue eyes, their piercing focus aimed at Ethan. “Although I miss my wife and son at court, King Henry has yet to order my return to Windsor Castle, and clearly there is much at stake.”
“’Tis much at stake,” chimed in a feminine voice from just inside the kitchen entrance.
Lachlan stood abruptly, almost knocking his chair back. “Show yourself,” he demanded.
“I be neither witch nor horse. Perhaps I’m both,” Ursula said while striding into the room. “’Tis my fate you discuss.” She took a chair in the group across from James without invitation.
Ethan looked at her and asked, “Which do you prefer?”
Ursula embraced the taunt. “A magical unicorn if you please. Fittingly, ’tis the symbol of Scotland,” she said smugly.
Ethan had no counter, and Ursula smiled. A rare occurrence that.
When silence ensued, James stood and paced again, this time behind his chair.
“Let me make sure I understand the assignment. I shall be taking a wary laird and a unicorn with me to Skye Isle,” James said. “My charge is to oust the current Highland leader and place my half-brother on the throne as rightful owner of Eilean Donan Castle.” He turned his focus to Ursula.
“At the same time, I’m to make sure Ursula is safely transported to the pools of the faerie glen, where no mortals may walk, to steal a rare and most likely heavily guarded flower, and bring her back without incident,” James said.
They all looked at James and nodded.
“I’ve already offered to go alone,” Ursula said softly. “I do nae need an escort.” She stood, clearly agitat
ed. “Mortal men do nae know how to move through the faerielands, and I do nae want to have your deaths on my conscious.”
James chuckled at Ursula’s warning and settled himself back at the table, but Ethan stood to defend her. “She speaks the truth. We should not travel anywhere near the faerie glen.”
James was about to object, but Ethan cut him off. “We can escort her to the border, but from there she should travel alone.” He paused, then added, “Unicorns and faeries get along.”
Ursula perked up at Ethan’s words and appeared content with this resolution, but Lachlan’s face was grim and clouded with doubt.
It was Lachlan’s turn to stand. “James, your presence here is invaluable, and Ursula”—he turned to face her—“I can barely fathom your absence when Rosalyn needs you most.”
Ethan’s twin began to pace in front of the hearth with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. “You know the clans had been peaceful until a sennight ago,” Lachlan volunteered. “A number of suspicious fires destroyed homes and fields impacting clans Hays, Keith, and Innes. So far no loss of life, but the loss of income has been nearly as devastating for them. Now they challenge my new lairdship. I cannot fathom losing the home my wife loves so dearly, and I can’t risk losing my wife if Ursula lingers too long.”
Then Lachlan turned to James. “I could have a full-fledged war underway when you return.”
They were all standing except James. He glanced from face to face, then he rose slowly as if he carried a burden on his shoulders. “A Garter knight does not take his oath lightly. When we are called, by king or queen, laird or lady, we must answer. I’m at your service until my sovereign requires my return,” he pledged.
Lachlan took his two hands to grasp James’s right, “My future rests with you.” Then he pulled the knight aside and began to talk in hushed tones, while Ursula disappeared through the servant’s entrance without any further remarks.
The sentiments of Lachlan were not lost on Ethan, and it was clear his twin found him of little value. As the journey was about to get under way, Ethan crafted his own plot, one that would cast Ursula in a new role. Although she was not from noble lineage, he was certain she’d make a splendid Lady of Eilean Donan.
Chapter 5
Alasdair was the eighth laird of Clan MacLeod, son of William Long Sword. The western edge of Skye Isle was where his Castle Dunvegan stood, the last of the Scottish outposts of protection for King James III.
It had been at least three years since he’d ventured this far from his Highland stronghold, but it was at the invitation of his sovereign to meet in Aberdeenshire at Ravenscraig Castle, the fortress of the Sinclair clan, for a leadership summit.
A summons from was a king was a rare occasion, and Alasdair was honored when he’d received the written request by royal messenger. The missive had explained, in the king’s words, how he considered Alasdair an important ally and critical to Scotland’s independence.
Shortly after Alasdair arrived at Ravenscraig, the castle steward led him through a series of grand gathering rooms until he finally ushered him in the king’s private chamber.
King James smiled at Alasdair graciously, then welcomed him to Aberdeen and invited him to sit at a grand table filled with deerskin maps, writing instruments, and a unique collection of weapons.
The king eased himself back into a gilded chair before he spoke. “Alasdair, I need not recount the tumultuous history of Scotland to you as a respected leader of the Highlands. I am pleased your clan’s loyalty never falters. While the MacDonalds have tried to usurp my power, you and your father have always supported my efforts.”
“Your Grace, it is an honor to serve you,” Alasdair said with reverence.
“What clan alliances or treaties have you formed? Please share with me what has been accomplished in the name of unity for Scotland.”
“The important ones are in the Hebrides, Shetland, Orkney Isles,” Alasdair said. “I have made treaties with the clans MacLean, MacNeil, and the MacLeods of Lewis. Before that tour, I also secured allegiances with the more powerful clans of Douglas, Leslie, and Ferguson.”
The king steepled his fingers and nodded over them, apparently pleased with what Alasdair had said.
“Your family has suffered greatly defending our homeland, first from the marauding Vikings, and then from their heirs in the Orkney and Hebrides Isles.”
“It is our honor to serve you, King James, as my father William did afore.”
The king leaned an elbow on the table, as if to provide a special consult before he said, “There is new leadership in Aberdeenshire. A husband and wife share the title at Fyvie Castle. He is half-Scot, and she is from Clan MacPherson.
“Yet, they are dealing with revolts from nearby clans. The Hays, Keith, and Innes. Some homes have been destroyed by fire, and my worry is they may have to forfeit the lairdship of Fyvie.” The king waved a royal hand. “I cannot afford to have it under siege. You understand. Peace is my first priority.”
Alasdair nodded reverently, surprised to have such an intimate, strategic talk with the ruler of Scotland.
“After our meetings here, I entrust you to deliver this message from me to Lachlan MacPherson before you return to Dunvegan,” the king said, selecting a rolled scroll from the desk behind him. It was secured with a red wax stamp.
“’Twill be my honor, Your Majesty,” Alasdair said, accepting the missive.
“If you can prove your worthiness, I will bestow upon you the title Lord of the Isles.”
“You can trust my worthiness, Your Grace,” Alasdair promised as he bowed and left the king’s private chamber, anxious to be done with the perfunctory meetings and on his way to Fyvie Castle and his new title.
~ ~ ~
Ursula stood on the parapet that evening, facing the setting sun and watching the sky splinter into shades of russet-orange and burnished gold, like the flames of a well-stoked fire. She imagined the orb hissing like a burning log on the hearth as it began its descent.
She was enjoying some solitude as she made a mental list of what she’d need for the journey to Skye Isle.
First, she’d make a combined protection and cooperation potion for Ethan. Because he was a dangerous deviant, she had to find a way to shield herself when his intentions became erratic.
Thankfully, she’d been whipping up batches of protection potions since the age of ten and two, ever since her mother’s brother tried to get under her skirts. That was also the first time she realized kicking a man in the groin was effective.
Protection potions were also simple to administer. Because they were tasteless, the ingredients could be added to a stew or soup if necessary, but they were most potent when mixed with wine.
Wine was the mainstay of Ethan’s diet, and she expected it would be easy to keep him under her influence as she kept his goblet full. This gave her hope that the quest for the rare flower was achievable, even if Ethan was more determined than most men in pursuing her, for she took pride in her standoffishness to unwanted affection. His attempts, however, were aggressive, the most disastrous when they first met in Berwickshire over a year ago and he’d showed up naked in her bed uninvited.
Although Ursula still preferred to make the journey alone, at least with Ethan under her spell, he’d be less dangerous.
She rubbed her hands together in satisfaction, but the next moment she was thrusting them forward to catch herself from tumbling over the parapet.
An ugly laugh followed her shriek, and by the time she caught herself, unwelcomed hands were around her waist.
“Och! Nay! Off of me, you brute.” Ursula attempted to break free of the uninvited embrace. No man dared place a finger on her unless she gave him permission.
The laughter surfaced again.
“Ethan!” Struggling to free herself, Ursula finally
stomped hard on his foot with the heel of her boot.
A curse followed, and finally, freedom.
“Attacking your protector is not prudent.”
“Attacking your protectee is not prudent,” she huffed, smoothing down her bodice and taking a measured step away from him and the parapet.
Ursula pursed her lips, ready to persuade Ethan to stay at Fyvie, where harassing his twin would suit him far better than traipsing across Scotland with her. Perhaps she could sympathize with him, and a resolution would present itself.
She plastered on a smile she hoped would appear convincing. “Now, you can clearly see I’m nae in need of protection.”
A snicker started like a growl and moved into a haughty laugh. “Balderdash. Lady Rosalyn’s attack in Aberdeenshire should serve as a vivid reminder as to how much protection beautiful women like you require. Need I remind you?”
Ursula sucked in a shaky breath, quickly realizing he had set her off balance and was trying to keep her that way. One of his deviant tricks to maintain an upper hand.
Although Ursula hated to admit it, he was right. It had not been long ago, before Rosalyn’s marriage, her sister of the heart was attacked on the road to Fyvie after she’d left the safety of the camp, even with Garter knights and her future husband nearby.
Ursula had been silent too long, and when she focused again on Ethan, she found his gaze had wandered to her breasts. She cleared her throat, and his gaze shot up to meet hers.
“Sorry, contemplating your protection,” he said, coughing through the feeble apology.
He took one step forward.
She took one back.
“Careful, now, we shan’t have you taking a tumble over the wall.”
Ursula glanced back briefly, but before she met his gaze again, he was on her like a heavy cloak, hands in places that were too familiar for an acquaintance.
The Secret of Skye Isle Page 3