Mairead coughed. Domhnall stared at her. He knew that the nursemaid was discreetly trying to hurry him up. He guessed that she was looking forward to her own jug of ale after she had put her young charge to bed.
“Sleep well, Cormac,” he said. “I shall come and see ye before I leave in the mornin’, I promise.”
The boy scowled, but he didn’t protest. Domhnall ruffled his hair again and pushed him gently towards the door.
He walked to the window, again, staring out over the familiar hills and valleys of his home. Tomorrow was another day, as his good lady mother used to say. Tomorrow he would see to it that he finally secured a tutor for Cormac. He had been searching for well over a month now, in England as well as Scotland, but it had proved fruitless.
There was another knock on the door, and Brighde, one of the serving wenches, entered swiftly.
“Another jug of ale, Laird?” she asked in her soft voice.
Domhnall gazed at the young woman, noticing for the first time how pretty she was. Brighde’s hair was long and fair and as straight as a curtain. She was also long-limbed and wide-eyed. He felt a sudden stirring in his loins. It had been a long time since he had bedded a woman; he was usually so exhausted these days, that sleep was the only thing on his mind.
Brighde’s smile widened slightly as if she suddenly sensed where her Laird’s mind had headed. “Or anything else ye might like?” she asked, her blue eyes glowing.
Domhnall considered the possibility. It would be easy – too easy – to take her and be damned with the consequences. But she was a household servant, and he didn’t want her getting too attached to him. He had been burned that way, a few times, in his foolish youth. And he had no desire to sire a tribe of bastard bairns, the way some Lairds did.
Much safer, then, to ignore it, and go to bed alone.
“That is all for the night, Brighde,” he said. “Thank ye.”
The maid curtseyed, leaving. Restlessly, he turned back to the window. He suddenly felt lonelier than ever.
He could send for his men and drink until they were in their cups. That would stave it off for a little while. He had done that many times in his foolish youth, as well.
He took a deep breath. No, he was the Laird, now. Time to put away childish things. His father had warned him that it was lonely at the top. He had never realized just how lonely it would be…
Suddenly, he gasped, his eyes narrowing. Was that a band of travelers coming up over the hill towards Coirecrag? Who on earth was approaching the castle at almost nightfall? He wasn’t expecting anyone.
Quickly, he strode to the door. The guards needed to be alerted to the travelers if they hadn’t already discerned them. It paid to be cautious in these troubled times.
Domhnall watched keenly as the party straggled into the great hall. He had told the guards to take them here, straight away, even before food and drink were offered. He needed to find out who they were and if they were a threat to Coirecrag, immediately.
Abruptly, he broke into a wide grin, standing up. He recognized the leader of the group, a large man with wild brown hair and beard. He also could see clearly now what pattern they wore.
“By the saints! Fearghas Grannda!” He walked quickly to the man who had stopped walking and was staring at him. “I havenae set eyes on yer ugly gob in a good long while!”
The man grinned, too. “My Laird. It’s good to see yer too, laddie.” His eyes swept over the room. “Even better to be under cover, at long last. We’ve been sleepin’ out for nigh on a month now and are missing a few home comforts…”
Domhnall nodded, his eyes automatically scanning the rest of the party. He recognized most of the men who were all from villages on his lands and had served at Coirecrag from time to time. They were a motley bunch, and they stank to high heaven. It was obvious they had been sleeping rough for a long time.
His eyes trailed to the back of the men. He frowned. Two people were loitering behind the main group, looking uncertain and frightened. They were in shadow, but he saw that they were a youth and a young woman. Their hands were bound tightly with coarse rope in front of them.
Domhnall’s eyes narrowed, and he turned to Fearghas.
“Ye have prisoners?” he asked quietly. “Who are they?”
Fearghas lowered his voice. “I dinnae ken, Laird. I found them crossing the border. They were being…harassed by a bad bunch of English soldiers…”
Domhnall’s eyebrows raised. “There aren’t any good bunches of English soldiers, in my opinion.”
Fearghas nodded. “Ye ken well, Laird.” He paused. “The lassie claims that she was headin’ here. That ye ken her, and why she was travelin’ to ye.”
Domhnall turned his head quickly, staring at the bedraggled pair at the rear of the group.
“Bring them forward,” he called. “Bring the prisoners to me.”
Two men did his bidding, grabbing the pair and pushing them forward. They stumbled, and the woman turned angry eyes to the man behind her, hissing something that he couldn’t hear.
A spitfire, he thought. She didn’t like being manhandled, that was certain.
Suddenly, they were out of the shadows and before him. The light from the low hanging ceiling candelabra illuminated their faces clearly.
His eyes widened as he stared at the woman.
She was bonnie. So beautiful, that even her dirty and torn gown and the smears of mud on her face couldn’t hope to diminish it.
His eyes trailed over her, taking in every inch, from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. She had long, curly dark hair, which was wringing wet; the rain had almost turned it into ringlets.
She was of goodly height, neither petite nor overly tall. The rain had soaked her kirtle, too, making it cling to her figure so that he could clearly see her curves. An ample bosom, small waist, and womanly hips. With difficulty, he tore his eyes away from her form, concentrating on her face.
Beautiful, he thought, in wonder. She had a pale, unblemished complexion, wide-sweeping cheekbones, and large amber eyes, which she turned upwards towards him, now, fixing them on him so that they flashed like rare gems in the candlelight.
“You are the Laird?” she said in a cut-glass English accent.
He suppressed the surprise that reared up in his chest at hearing her speak. What was an English woman – no, an English lady – doing here, bedraggled, soaking wet, and looking like she was so tired she might keel over at any given moment?
He bowed slightly. “I am, good lady. Domhnall MacBeathag, the Laird of Greum Dubh. Ye have come to Coirecrag castle…”
Her large amber eyes widened dramatically at his words. “You are the Laird of Greum Dubh? I am at Coirecrag castle? But that is…. wonderful!” Her face was suddenly illuminated with joy, chasing away her weariness. “You are expecting me! I am Roseann Gibson, the tutor…”
“What?” His voice was sharp. “I am sorry to say, lady, that I have never heard yer name before. How do ye even ken that I am seeking a tutor for my brother?”
The joy faded on her face, replaced with uncertainty. “The bards did not inform you that I was coming to take up the position?”
Slowly, he shook his head, mystified. “Are ye speakin’ about Iain and Ailis, the wanderin’ bards, that journey up and down the isle?”
She nodded slowly, biting her lip. “Iain told me about the position, and that they were coming here. He told me that he would tell you that he had found you the tutor at long last, and to expect me within a month. He said that you were having great difficulty with it…”
He sighed deeply. “Iain and Ailis have not been seen on my lands in that time, lady. Perhaps they were waylaid somewhere – it can happen to travelers who are always on the road.”
“Well.” She took a deep breath. “This is rather awkward then! I am so confused that I simply do not know how to proceed.” Her amber eyes suddenly flashed dangerously. “And I am not impressed at all with how your men have treated me and my traveling
companion! They bound our wrists, forced us to journey on foot, and even when I told them who I was and where I was going, did not inform me who they were!”
She glared at Fearghas, who was standing impassively, legs apart, his hands behind his back. His dark eyes flickered slightly at her words, but he didn’t respond.
Domhnall stiffened. “My men were only doing what is expected of them. They have no idea who ye are, lady, nor what yer intentions are, ye ken.” He paused. “I only have yer word for who ye are. It is a strange thing indeed, for an English lady to be travelin’ with only a raw lad for companion in the borderlands…”
“Are you accusing me of lying?” she gasped. “Why would I lie? There could be no other reason for me coming here! I thought that you were expecting me!”
“I’ve never heard of ye,” he growled. “Ye could be anyone! I have put the word out that I am searching for a tutor, and for all I know, ye are an English spy who is using it as a cover to get under my roof!”
She flinched, as if he had struck her. He suppressed the urge to comfort her. She looked so vulnerable and so offended. He took a deep breath, fighting it down. He didn’t know this woman from Eve. She was English, traveling with only a youth as a guard in a very well-known dangerous area. It made no sense why a well brought up English lady would be so reckless as to journey in such a manner, especially when she had no guarantee that she had even secured her position at Coirecrag.
His eyes narrowed. No, her story was flimsy, to say the least. There were many holes in it. He couldn’t verify anything she said; the bards that she spoke of had not been seen for quite a while.
He took a deep breath. “Ye shall be my guest at Coirecrag, for the meantime, while I look into what ye say…”
Her amber eyes shone with sudden tears. “Guest? You mean prisoner?”
He sighed deeply. “I shall not throw ye in a dungeon, lady. Ye shall be offered the hospitality of the castle… under guard, of course.”
The tears that had been threatening suddenly spilled down her face, turning her amber eyes almost orange, but she raised her chin, staring at him defiantly.
“I demand that you release me,” she said, her voice high and thready. “I want to go home! I do not want to stay another day in this godforsaken country!”
His face darkened. “Be careful what ye say, lady. This is our country, and we dinnae take insults to it lightly.” He took a deep breath, trying to quell his anger. “I shall send for the servants to clean ye up and see ye settled for the night.” He turned away dismissively. “Take her and her companion into the kitchen and see they are fed, to start with.”
“Aye, Laird,” said Fearghas, grabbing her. “The men could do with some victuals, as well.” He turned to the others. “Now, lads, let’s get us some grub and ale!”
Domhnall watched the men turn to leave. Fearghas pushed the woman forward. A sudden stab of anger tore through him. For some strange reason, he didn’t want to see her manhandled. It was all he could do not to rush forward and punch the man for daring to lay a hand on her.
She is English. She may be an English spy. What does it matter how she is treated?
But somehow, in some strange way, it did matter. It mattered quite a bit.
3
Domhnall leaned forward in his chair, staring hard at the two people who were sitting opposite him. He had waylaid them as soon as he had seen them walking through the castle gates.
Iain and Ailis, the wandering bards. They appeared tired; he had sent for ale and bread so that they could sup, while he questioned them.
“A long journey, then?” he asked, filling their mugs himself. He didn’t want any of the servants in here, listening, so that the kitchen was filled with any more gossip.
Iain accepted the mug gratefully. “Aye, it was, Laird. We have come all the way from lands near Glasgow…”
“An unexpected opportunity,” piped up Ailis, smiling, as she sipped her ale. “We wouldnae have gone there, expect we heard that the Laird was needing storytellers for a large group he was entertainin’…”
Domhnall nodded. “Aye, ye cannot stare down opportunity!” He took a long sip of his own ale, carefully placing the mug down on the table. “Ye are always welcome back at Coirecrag, as ye well ken. But I must confess there is another reason I am waylaying ye both.”
The two bards gazed at him expectantly, nodding.
Domhnall took a deep breath. “I have a visitor,” he said carefully. “An unexpected visitor, who claims acquaintance with ye both. An English lady. Her name is Roseann Gibson, and she claims to be from an estate just over the English border, near Berwick.”
Iain and Ailis both looked astonished. The woman turned to Iain quickly, glaring at him.
“I told ye!” she hissed. “But ye wouldnae listen to me! I told ye that we should have come straight here, as ye told her we would!”
Iain looked a little shamefaced. “How was I to ken she would act on her rash plan? She is a lady! I thought she would forget all about it…”
Domhnall leaned forward, feeling his heartbeat quicken slightly.
“Ye ken the lady?” he asked quietly. “Ye ken why she has journeyed here?”
Iain slowly nodded, his face flushed. “We do, Laird. I dinnae ken her well, but we performed at her house, well on a month ago.” He took a deep breath. “We told the household where we hailed from, and how the Laird was searchin’ far and wide for a tutor for his brother…”
Domhnall nodded. “And she wanted to take up the position?”
“She did.” Iain shook his head. “It shocked me when she said so. A grand English lady! But when Ailis and I talked about it afterwards, we understood why she was so desperate.” He paused. “The house is going to rack and ruin, Laird. The servants told us the family are in trouble in some way. They have been selling off portions of their land and possessions. It was the lure of the great coin ye are offerin’ that made the lady think that she could help her family.”
Domhnall’s lips thinned. Roseann Gibson had not told him that when he had questioned her. Not the first time nor the second. All that she had said was where she was from and that she had journeyed in good faith to take up the position of tutor in his household.
He sighed. It was three days since she had so unexpectedly landed on his doorstep. Three days, in which he had avoided her as much as he could, except when he questioned her. Somehow, he instinctively knew that if he spent too much time in her company, he would start to soften towards her. He knew the power of a beautiful woman, and he felt hers surrounding her like an aura. Almost like a halo.
He couldn’t afford to soften towards her. He had his duty towards all his people. She might be a snake in the garden—a bonnie snake, but a snake, nonetheless.
“So, her family are in trouble?” he asked slowly. “Real trouble?”
Iain nodded. “Aye, it seems that way, Laird. They are in danger of losin’ their grand house and all their lands.”
“Why?” he asked. “Is her faither a dobber?”
Iain shook his head. “Lord Croilton is no fool, Laird. He is a pleasant man, and he obviously loves his family. He loves his daughter. He educated her above and beyond what any lady could expect.”
“She is learned, then?” Domhnall sounded dubious. “The English usually dinnae let their ladies do anything besides needlework and tapestry!”
“Aye, Laird,” said Ailis. “The servants told me she ken Latin, astrology, philosophy…and she is a skilled musician on the harp. Ye wouldnae ken it from looking at her, would ye?”
Domhnall shook his head, pondering this remarkable woman. An English lady who was learned, as well as beautiful. A woman who was so desperate to save her home that she had set out on a dangerous journey with only a callow youth as guard across the borderlands, to come to a place she had never seen, and take up a position she didn’t even know was hers.
He let out a silent breath. Roseann Gibson was no English spy. Roseann Gibson was exactly who she had
always claimed to be.
And he had treated her like a prisoner. A well-tended prisoner, who had the run of the castle, but a prisoner, nonetheless.
No wonder she always glared at him with a wounded look in those amazing amber eyes. But how was he to know? He reassured himself he had followed the proper procedure to protect his home and his people.
He felt his heart beat faster still. He still needed a tutor. In all the surprise of her arrival, he had never journeyed to see the old man on the coast, who he had been convinced would take the job. Cormac still needed someone to fill his mind with wisdom, so he could one day be a great Laird, if that was his destiny.
A Pledge of Passion to the Highlander Page 3