“Well, I quite like the name Tiny. I’ll look forward to meeting him.”
“And do ye like—”
Their father put up a hand. “Ye’ll have plenty of time to ask Claire questions, but let’s get her settled in the keep first.”
“Aye,” agreed their mother. “It looks like the rain may start at any moment.”
Claire nodded and turned to the guardsmen with her. “Sir Gordon, Sir Conan, thank you for escorting me here.”
“’Twas our pleasure, my lady,” said Sir Gordon.
“I hope yer journey back to Lewis is pleasant. Please give my love to my brother.”
Mild shock registered on Sir Gordon’s face. “Aye, certainly, my lady.”
Then Sir Gordon and Sir Conan both bowed to her, before returning to the tender.
Tavish’s mother stepped forward and looped her arm through Claire’s. “Claire, dear, ye can either ride up to the keep on the wagon, or Boyd will give ye his mount and ride in the wagon.”
“Aye, I don’t mind,” said Boyd eagerly.
“That isn’t necessary, my lady. I certainly don’t mind riding in the wagon.”
Then for some utterly unimaginable reason, Tavish said, “No one needs to ride in the wagon. Claire can ride to the keep with me.”
Boyd looked disappointed and their mother arched a brow at Tavish but he ignored it and held his hand out to Claire. “Come and I’ll help ye up.” She blushed prettily, but took his hand and walked with him to his horse. He lifted her easily onto Raven’s back and mounted behind her.
The others mounted up and they all rode the short distance up the hill to the keep. Once he had Claire on his lap, he wasn’t quite sure what to say to her. Riding in silence, he considered the lovely lass. He hadn’t understood what had overtaken him the moment their eyes had locked and it irritated him slightly. Of course she was very beautiful. How could any man look at her without it stirring his desire? By all the saints, even his ten-year-old brother had been affected by her.
Most men would consider themselves very fortunate to be offered such a bonny bride. But Tavish reminded himself that he wasn’t most men and he wasn’t ready to be married. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.
Chapter 5
Cassie had been exceedingly nervous until Gordon had introduced her. She was worried that she might do or say something wrong. But she had been to her share of society parties and she figured she could fake it well enough. When the Ranalds welcomed them and the introductions were made, Cassie was surprised by the fact that her responses felt completely natural. Gertrude had said ingrained memories might break through occasionally and Cassie decided that good manners must have been well instilled in Claire and had come bubbling up at the right moment.
Cassie was pleasantly surprised by Tavish Ranald. He was tall—very tall. He had a strong build, not like so many men in her own time who worked for hours at a gym to build sculpted muscles. She’d never cared much for that anyway. No Tavish had the strength of a man who worked a physically active job—lean but as solid as steel. He was clean shaven and had light brown hair that fell to his shoulders.
But it was his eyes that held her in thrall. His beautiful storm gray eyes—she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was that spoke to her. They were warm…sensuous…soulful. When their gazes met, she was captivated.
Now she sat in front of him, on his huge horse, with his strong arms around her and she couldn’t think of a place that she would rather be.
However, when their eyes locked again as he lifted her off his horse’s back, whatever had been there before had changed. He seemed colder, shut off somehow, and she couldn’t help but wonder why. Had she done something wrong?
Before she could think about it, Lady Ranald was at her elbow. “Come inside, dear, and I’ll show ye the chamber we’ve prepared for ye.”
“Ann, my sweet, ’tis almost time for the midday meal,” said Laird Ranald to his wife.
“I know it is, Seoc. But I want her to see it.”
Laird Ranald took his wife’s hand and kissed it. “Whatever ye wish.”
She smiled broadly. “It won’t take long. I promise.” And with that she put an arm around Cassie’s shoulder and guided her towards a stairwell.
Lady Ranald took her up one flight of stairs. “The chamber Laird Ranald and I share is on this floor. The other chambers here are given to special guests. The lads have chambers on the next floor up.”
“How many floors are there?”
“There are four floors above the main level and two below—one for storage and the one below that is the dungeon. From the fourth floor, there are stairs to the battlements.”
The chamber to which Lady Ranald showed her was lovely. The bed had an intricately carved head- and footboard and was hung with beautiful velvet curtains. As she smoothed her hand over the counterpane, Cassie was pleased to discover that the mattress was a feather tick. There was a hearth on which glowed a small fire. Even though it was August, the day was cool and the fire banished the chill in the room. Two chairs were positioned near the hearth with a small table between them. A wardrobe stood against one wall with a screen nearby. Behind the screen was both a commode chair and a washstand with a basin and pitcher on it. Ah, well, these are the realities of the fourteenth century.
“It’s beautiful.”
Lady Ranald beamed. “I’m glad ye like it, dear.” She motioned towards the window. “On a gray day such as this, there isn’t much to see, but on a fine day, the view from here is stunning.”
Cassie crossed to the window to look out. “Oh my, it’s wonderful even in the rain.”
There was a knock at the open door. Cassie turned to see a girl, about her own age, standing there.
“Kenna, come in,” said Lady Ranald. “Claire, this is Kenna. She will be yer maid while ye’re here.”
Cassie was about to say she didn’t need a maid, but she stopped herself. Not only might it be rude, but she realized she probably did need a maid. “Thank ye, my lady. Kenna it’s very nice to meet ye.”
Kenna blushed and curtsied. “Thank ye, Lady Claire. I hope I won’t disappoint ye. I’ve never been a lady’s maid before, but Peg, Lady Ranald’s maid, has been teaching me.”
“I can’t imagine that ye’d disappoint me. And I’m very glad to have yer assistance. Since I’ve lived in an abbey for ten years, I may need a bit of help adjusting to life within a clan.”
Kenna blushed a brighter shade of red and smiled shyly. “It will be my pleasure, Lady Claire.”
Lady Ranald looked exceedingly pleased. “Excellent. Now, Claire, we’ll go down for the midday meal. By the time it’s over, yer belongings will have been brought up and Kenna and I can help ye unpack.”
“Thank ye, my lady.” Cassie’s voice sounded calm and collected, but her adventure as a medieval noblewoman was starting and she could barely contain her excitement.
The odd thing was, Lady Ranald seemed almost as excited. As they returned to the hall, she chatted happily, pointing out features of the castle as they went. Cassie suppressed a grin, thinking the kind woman sounded a bit like an enthusiastic real estate agent.
When they reached the great hall, Lady Ranald guided her to the laird’s table. “Ye’ll sit beside me. Tavish, ye take the seat next to Claire.”
Tavish opened his mouth, as if to object and Lady Ranald put up a hand. “Nay, Tavish, I know ye usually sit on the other side of yer da, but Claire is here so the two of ye can get to know one another. Ye’ll sit with her during meals.”
He didn’t look overly pleased by that prospect. Clearly, he wasn’t happy about her arrival. Claire wondered how hard it would be to maintain a conversation with a man who apparently didn’t want to dine next to her, but she needn’t have worried. Even though Tavish had dutifully taken the seat to Cassie’s left, his mother chatted with her throughout the meal, leaving very little opportunity for Cassie and Tavish to get to know one another. And as soon as the meal was finished, Lady Ranald lo
oped her arm through Cassie’s to take her back upstairs.
Cassie didn’t mind. She grew fonder of her hostess by the minute. She’d never had a close relationship with her own mother and she quite liked Lady Ranald’s warmth and enthusiasm.
She also liked Kenna, the sweet, shy, maid, who had been assigned to serve her. Cassie had grown up with a household staff, but a professional distance was always maintained. And while the nanny who had cared for Cassie and Sloan until they went away to school was warmer and more affectionate than the rest of the staff, even she maintained a certain degree of formality.
As they unpacked Claire’s things together, Cassie gained some insight into who the girl was and what her life had been like. Claire had a good few books, which surprised Lady Ranald.
“To own all these books, ye must quite like to read,” she observed. “After all, I expect the abbey had an extensive library.”
Certain that they must have, Cassie answered, “Oh, they did. These were just some of my favorites.” Then almost without thinking she added, “They were given to me as gifts over the years.” As soon as the words had left her mouth, Cassie knew they were true and that it had been one of Claire’s fond memories. There were books written in French, Latin, and what she assumed was Middle English. To her surprise, she could read all three languages. While Cassie herself could speak modern French and had a passing knowledge of Latin, she couldn’t possibly have read and understood Middle English. These skills must have been Claire’s memories at work.
Claire also had extensive art supplies—a large number of pigments, sticks of various shades of ochre, brushes, parchment, wood that had been prepared for painting and several completed works. And her paintings were good. Cassie herself loved to paint. She had once done a history project in prep school in which she prepared pigments into paint by mixing them with water and egg—a method used during the middle ages. Then she used those paints to create a small version of a three-sectioned altarpiece of the nativity—religious subjects being common in medieval art. Not surprisingly, Claire’s art reflected that. She had completed several beautiful renderings of angels and Cassie couldn’t help but think of Gertrude.
Lady Ranald looked at an unfinished work. “This is lovely Claire. What is it going to be?”
Cassie looked at it. There was a woman, with a blue veil, who was reaching towards a tree that seemed to be bending to meet her hand. “It’s the story of the Blessed Virgin and the cherry tree,” she said with certainty. Whether that was what Claire had intended or not, it was how Cassie would finish it.
“The Blessed Virgin and the cherry tree?” asked Kenna. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that.”
Cassie knew the apocryphal story dated back to the Middle Ages but perhaps it hadn’t reached Scotland yet. Oh well, it just did. “Aye. I’ve heard that while on their way to Bethlehem, the Blessed Mother and Saint Joseph passed a cherry tree. She asked Joseph to pick cherries for her because, being with child, she couldn’t. St. Joseph became angry and said the bairn’s father should pick cherries for her. Then Our Savior spoke from his mother’s womb, commanding the tree to bend down so his mother could pick the fruit.”
“Oh, I see,” said Lady Ranald, “the tree is reaching towards her. How beautiful. I can’t wait to see it finished. This room gets afternoon light, but on fine days morning light floods my solar. Perhaps ye’ll join me there to work on it?”
Cassie nodded. “I’d like that.”
The expression on Lady Ranald’s face radiated happiness. Cassie knew in that moment that she had to finish the painting before she left, as a gift for Lady Ranald.
That thought sobered her. She had to leave in less than fifty-nine days and when she did, Claire would die.
Her consternation must have shown on her face because Lady Ranald asked, “Claire, dear, is something amiss?”
“Uh…nay, of course not. I think I’m just a bit tired.”
“Of course ye are. We’re almost done here. Ye should have a wee rest before the evening meal.”
Cassie wasn’t tired and a rest wouldn’t help what was bothering her. But she did need some time alone to think. “Aye, I’m sure that will help.”
After they had finished putting away Claire’s belongings, Lady Ranald and Kenna left Cassie to rest. Kenna assuring her she’d return before the evening meal to help her get ready.
When they were gone, Cassie sat down with her head in her hands. When Gertrude had offered her the watch, she had been certain she wouldn’t want to stay in the past because she didn’t want Mike to have to find that she had passed away in the night. She hadn’t thought about facing the same problem here. She didn’t want Lady Ranald to have to deal with her death any more than she had wanted Mike to.
Now that she was here, she realized it might have been a cruel choice. After all, Coll’s reason for sending his sister here was for her to meet the man he wanted her to marry. Although that was probably a vain hope on his part, based on what she had seen so far. But what if that changed? What if Tavish grew fond of her? She knew all too well how it felt to lose someone you loved. She wouldn’t want anyone to suffer that pain if it could be avoided.
Maybe she should simply ask be taken to Castle Morrison. But to return to Claire’s home, to people who loved her, only to die within weeks seemed tragic as well.
The longer she thought about it, the more she was convinced that staying here was the best option. Aside from Tavish’s initial reaction to her the moment they met, he had seemed cold and distant. If she didn’t attempt to win his affection, there would be no heartbreak.
Of course that still didn’t address the fact that she would die here, leaving the Ranalds to have to deal with it. She really didn’t want that to happen.
Maybe the best thing would be for her to return to the abbey before she said her return word. Yes, that was the answer. Claire would find her calling and request to be taken back to the abbey to take vows. That would work.
However, until the time grew near, Cassie planned to suck the marrow out of this adventure. She would embrace this opportunity and endeavor to enjoy every minute of it.
Chapter 6
Tavish felt as if his world had been turned upside down.
He’d always known he’d have to marry someone his father picked. Still, being faced with it so suddenly rankled. He’d been caught off guard, and given no time to prepare. He didn’t want to think about getting married. He certainly didn’t want to think about Claire Morrison.
How could his father have brought her here, as a potential bride for him, without any warning?
The answer to that was simple. Just as his father had said, Tavish had argued against each betrothal da had ever suggested.
But he did love someone else. Someone he could never have. The idea of marrying someone who never had the slightest chance to win his heart seemed cruel, and wholly unfair to the poor lass.
After hearing Claire’s story, he didn’t want to risk hurting her but neither did he want to marry her. She had been exiled from her family, essentially sentenced to living as a nun before she’d had a chance to be a wee lassie. And now her brother sent her here. It seemed no one cared much about her. It would be an absolute tragedy if she were forced to marry someone who also could never really love her.
Maybe she’d decide she didn’t want to marry him. His father might have reached the point where he would force the issue, but it sounded as if her brother might be open to considering her wishes. After all, he had given her a choice as to whether she came here or not.
Unfortunately, as soon as this thought occurred to him, he dismissed it. She was a sweet, biddable lass. She’d languished in an abbey for years because her laird sent her there. Tavish didn’t believe there was a single chance that she would cross her new laird over this.
Not unless Tavish himself did something to make her refuse the betrothal.
He could be a bastard. Ignore her. Be dismissive—even rude. That might be enough to convince a
gently raised lass to run the other direction. It wasn’t really his nature, but he figured he could fake it.
The fact that he found her attractive was a tiny wrinkle in his plan.
At the evening meal, he realized that he was dealing with a much bigger wrinkle than he’d initially thought. Once again, his mother had insisted he sit beside Claire and it was nothing short of excruciating. That may have been because at this meal, his mother didn’t occupy all of Claire’s attention.
He found himself staring into the lass’s beautiful eyes far too often, so lost in them that he couldn’t always remember what she had said. After he’d had to ask her to repeat herself several times, he decided it was simply better to ignore her.
Sadly that didn’t work either. His father, or Boyd, or one of the other guardsmen at the table would draw her attention and Tavish found himself not only straining to hear her gentle voice but irritated by the attention paid to her by others.
The lass herself seemed blissfully unaware of his disquiet. She also showed no signs of a woman seeking his affection. She didn’t lean in to hear him, touch his arm casually or do any of the other things lassies did when trying to gain a man’s attention. But neither did she employ these techniques on anyone else.
Still, that only confirmed his earlier assessment that she would accept whatever her brother pushed on her.
Damn it all. He didn’t want to think about getting married.
He didn’t want to think about Claire Morrison.
But hours later, he lay awake in bed, unable to think about anything but Claire Morrison.
She wasn’t the girl he wanted, he reminded himself. The fact that he could never have the girl he wanted didn’t change anything. He had never thought seriously about anyone else. Until this point in his life he looked on time spent with a lass as fun…entertaining…pleasurable. As long as the woman in question was under no other delusions, they could both enjoy each other. He needed nothing more.
He certainly didn’t need a beautiful, sweet, unpretentious lass occupying his thoughts. And he really didn’t need her believing he was interested in marrying her.
The Gift: The Pocket Watch Chronicles Page 5