by Ruth Langan
“You are a woman who loved a man deeply. You, more than anyone, ought to understand that anything that causes pain to Grant, pains me as well.”
“You dare to pretend to care about my nephew the way I cared about my beloved Ranald?”
“There is no pretense, Lady Hazlet. I love your nephew.”
“You dare to confuse lust with love? Everyone knows that witches aren’t capable of love. Except perhaps with their own kind.”
As Hazlet started to sweep past, Kylia got to her feet and stood in her way. “There is something I must tell you.”
“I have no interest in anything you might want to say.”
Kylia’s voice lowered with feeling. “When first I arrived here, I was visited with a dream. In it I saw your brother and his friend on the field of battle. I watched them die, and heard their dying words.” She saw the veiled head come up, and though she couldn’t see Hazlet’s eyes, she heard her suck in a breath.
Gathering her courage, she spoke quickly, before the woman could run. “Stirling and Ranald fought with great courage, but they were badly outnumbered.”
“You could have learned that from anyone here at the castle. It was well known that my brother was headstrong. Even though he knew the Highlanders’ strength was no match for the invaders, he used his charm to persuade his army to meet them on the field of battle. It was my brother’s pride that caused the death of all those fine men, and the man I loved.”
“Though you cast blame, Ranald never did. As he lay in Stirling’s arms, breathing his last, he spoke only of you.”
Hazlet went very still.
“Ranald begged your brother to watch out for you. He expressed fear that you would withdraw from the world. ‘In fear and shame,’ he said. And then his last words were that he loved you more than life itself.”
If Kylia had expected her words to comfort the older woman, she was astounded when, instead of gratitude, Hazlet flew into a black, blinding rage.
“Witchcraft.” The insult was torn from her lips while she lifted her hands to her ears, to block any further words Kylia might try to speak. “All of this is evil witchcraft, descended upon me by the devil himself.”
“I thought…”
“You thought to trick me. To win my confidence, and then to betray me to the others. But I know your kind. Evil, evil witch.” Hazlet pointed a finger at the wolf pup that, having heard her shouts, chewed nervously at the hem of Kylia’s gown. “You belong together. Both creatures of the wild.”
Lifting her skirts, Hazlet turned and began to run toward the castle, leaving Kylia to stare after her in amazement.
What had just happened here? What had caused this blazing anger?
As she went over in her mind what she’d said and done, Kylia could think of no reason for Hazlet’s fury. She had simply affirmed that the man Hazlet loved above all others had returned that love, and had asked his best friend to watch out for her.
Lest she withdraw in shame and fear.
What did Hazlet have to fear after the death of her lover, except loneliness?
What would shame her, except her brother’s headstrong actions that had taken him and his men into a battle they couldn’t win? Yet Grant and Dougal felt nothing but pride at their father’s courage.
How could the love of a good man, who returned that love, bring a woman shame and fear?
Kylia sank down onto the stone bench, hearing in her mind her grandmother’s wise words. Sometimes the answers to our questions are right before our eyes. All we need do is see things in a different light.
As she lifted Wee Lad onto her lap and began to soothe him, she pondered. What was she missing? Who held the key to Hazlet’s grief and anger? And was this somehow connected to the reason she had accompanied Grant to his world?
Chapter Sixteen
The evening meal in the great hall was once again attended by dozens of men, this time without their ladies. In what Kylia considered an ominous gesture, they wore the garb of warriors, their plaids tossed over one shoulder, swords in their scabbards, the hilts of dirks glinting at their waists.
As she moved among them, Kylia felt dwarfed by these tall, brawny Highlanders, so fierce, so solemn. She knew that the Council had been meeting behind closed doors for most of the day, and the sight of these intense faces had her heart beating overtime.
Grant looked equally intense as he escorted her to the table. She was relieved to see Hazlet already there, seated between Culver and Lord Giles. But was this a good thing, or did it signify that the older woman knew something the others didn’t? With her veil in place, it was impossible to tell if she was grim or jubilant.
After showing Kylia to her seat, Grant rounded the table and caught Hazlet’s hand, lifting it to his lips. “I bid you welcome, Aunt.”
“I need not be welcomed in my own home.” Hazlet neither smiled nor looked directly at him, keeping her gaze lowered behind her veil.
“True enough. But I’m grateful for the comfort of your presence at my table.”
At a signal from Grant, the housekeeper ordered the wenches to begin serving. Dougal settled himself beside Kylia and, as always, began his joyful ritual of eating everything offered to him.
Seeing Kylia’s smile, he paused to lick his fingers. “What do you eat in your kingdom, my lady?”
“We eat much the same as you. Fish. Fowl. Meat. And the many fruits and vegetables which we grow in our garden.”
“You have a garden? Who tends it?”
“My sister Allegra loved it the most. But when she left to wed her Highland lord, the task fell to me, though occasionally my sister Gwenellen lends a hand.”
“Can’t you merely order the plants to grow?”
Kylia laughed. “Will you be greatly disappointed to learn that we must work, the same as you?”
He considered that a moment, before helping himself to a portion of salmon. “Aye, I confess to disappointment. I’d hoped your Mystical Kingdom was filled with all sorts of unbelievable things, like—” he paused to let his imagination soar “—fish that leap into your kettle, and birds that can talk.”
Grant winked at Kylia before saying to his brother, “I suppose next you’ll be wanting horses that fly, and tiny winged fairies that play among the trees?”
Those seated around the table burst into laughter, and Dougal looked sheepish for a moment before joining in. “I suppose I was being foolish. But what is the purpose of the Mystical Kingdom if it’s just…ordinary?”
“Aye. What purpose indeed?” Grant shared a knowing smile with Kylia before sipping his ale.
“My laird.” Seeing that the others had finished their meal, Giles got to his feet and took his sword from its scabbard, lifting it high in the air to signal silence.
Around the great hall, the crowd of warriors went silent, and the servants paused to watch and listen, for they sensed that this was a moment of great importance.
“This day the Council met to report on the condition of its citizens, and to discuss he who will lead us in the days to come.” Giles turned to Culver, seated beside Hazlet. “Our esteemed cousin will announce the Council’s decision.”
Culver got to his feet and stepped away from the table so that his voice would carry over the length of the hall. “During the absence of our laird, Grant MacCallum, there were several sheep stolen from Kenneth MacCallum’s flock. After the theft of the sheep, it was suggested that a new laird should be chosen, so that such a crime wouldn’t be allowed to happen again.” At a roar of voices raised in protest, Culver flushed. “It matters not who made this suggestion, but the name offered as laird was Dougal MacCallum, younger brother of our laird.”
Grant turned to study his brother, who was flushed with discomfort.
“Dougal rejected the offer and asked that the Council delay a decision until the return of his brother. When it was pointed out that the laird might never return from his dangerous journey, his brother became insistent that the Council bide its time.”
Culver waited until the hum of voices faded. “It was later learned that the sheep were taken by a passing barbarian acting alone, who bartered them to James MacCallum for a blanket and a knife. When James learned of the theft, he returned the sheep to his cousin Kenneth.”
Culver cleared his throat. “There was thought to be another crime while the laird was absent. The wee son of Russell MacCallum was missing for a day and feared kidnapped. Again it was suggested that our people were lacking a strong laird, but before action could be taken on the matter, it was discovered that the wee lad had been saved from drowning by the quick thinking of John MacCallum, who took the lad to his own home and fed and warmed him before returning him to his grateful parents.”
Culver looked around, pleased at the smiles creasing the faces of his kinsmen. Satisfied with his report, Culver turned to Giles, who walked over to stand beside him.
In a loud, clear voice Giles announced, “Last evening we learned of the noble gesture by our laird that resulted in a pledge of loyalty from the leader of the clan Kerr. That only confirmed our faith in the man we chose to be laird. After a vote of all its members, this day the Council has once again affirmed its pledge of love and loyalty to our laird, Grant MacCallum.”
At that, Dougal removed his sword from his scabbard and presented it to his brother before kneeling at his feet to proclaim, “To you, my brother and laird, I pledge my heart and my sword.”
Grant looked both astonished and pleased before touching the sword to Dougal’s shoulder.
“Arise, my brother. Your devotion to me has touched me deeply.”
His words brought a mist of tears to Kylia’s eyes, for she knew that, throughout Culver’s long narrative, her worst fears had surfaced. How much greater it must have been for Grant.
Dougal was followed by Finlay, then by Giles, and finally by Culver, who knelt and swore their loyalty before being touched by their laird.
Afterward, every man in the room followed suit, walking to the laird’s table, kneeling and swearing an oath of loyalty before stepping aside, until Grant was completely surrounded by his loyal warriors.
Kylia stared into the eyes of each man, hoping to spot one among them who might prove to be lying. But when all had gathered around their laird, she was no closer to the truth than before. Not a single man revealed himself to be the traitor.
She glanced at Hazlet, who had been quiet throughout the meal. The older woman seemed distracted, as though completely disinterested in this display of loyalty to her nephew. When she became aware that Kylia was watching, her agitation grew and she pushed away from the table before slipping away.
Her departure left Kylia deeply troubled.
“You’re sure you saw no traitor among my men, my love?” Grant and Kylia lay in her pallet, watching as dark clouds scudded across the moon outside her balcony window.
“I searched their eyes. I saw nothing that spoke of betrayal.”
“Could they hide such a thing from you?”
Kylia smiled and touched a finger to his mouth. Such a warm, firm mouth. It brought her so much pleasure. “Were you able to hide your feelings of love from me, my lord?”
That had him chuckling. “And I foolishly believed my thoughts were secret.”
“So they are. Though you can’t hide them from me—” she laughed “—I share them with no one else.”
“Vixen.” He drew her close and kissed her.
She leaned up, her hand on his chest. “Your heart should feel much lighter now that your men have pledged their love and loyalty to you.”
“Aye.” He leaned back, loving the feel of her fingers moving over him. “But I can’t forget that someone close to me betrayed me before our last battle. I didn’t imagine that, Kylia.”
Her hand stilled, for the same thought haunted her. “I know.”
He spoke as though to himself. “The MacCallum land is vast. Our people are scattered over hills and valleys. Many of my most trusted warriors have already returned to their homes to see to their flocks and crops. If I must, I’ll have you accompany me as I visit every cottage and farm, until you’ve looked into the eyes of every last one.”
“If that is what you wish, my love.” Though in truth, she knew of one right here in the castle whose eyes she had never seen. She hated to harbor such doubts about the very woman Grant considered a mother. But Hazlet’s veil was the perfect foil for barring anyone seeing into her soul. Still Kylia was reluctant to make mention of her suspicions until she could confirm or deny them.
Grant nodded. “Let me think on it.” He drew her down. “But for now, let me love you, my lady.”
Her humorous words were muffled against his mouth. “If that is what you wish, my…”
The rest was swallowed by his kiss. And then there was no need for words as they lost themselves in their love.
Kylia stood on her balcony and watched as Grant and Dougal, accompanied by the ever-present Finlay, rode toward the village of Duncrune, where they had agreed to meet with Culver and Lord Giles.
Feeling restless, she drew a shawl around her shoulders before taking leave of her chambers, with Wee Lad at her feet. She would search the gardens for Hazlet, and try to find a way to see past the veil into the woman’s soul. For, though it pained her greatly, she was becoming convinced that Grant’s aunt was the key to his betrayal.
As Kylia started toward the garden she was stopped by Grant’s housekeeper—tiny, birdlike Mistress Gunn.
“Are ye in need of something, my lady?”
It was the first time she could recall the old woman speaking directly to her. Perhaps Ardis had convinced her that she wouldn’t be turned into a toad if she got too close to the witch. The thought of it had Kylia smiling, for she’d seen how most of the household staff kept their distance. “Nay, thank you. Since the lord is away, I thought I would walk in the garden. That is, if you have no objection, Mistress Gunn.”
“None, my lady.” The housekeeper eyed the wolf pup with suspicion. “But see ye keep your shawl tight around ye, for there’s a bit of chill in the breeze this day.” The old woman gave her a sideways glance. “Or do ye never feel the cold the way we do?”
“I feel all the things you feel, Mistress. Cold, hunger, fear.”
“Fear?” The old woman’s eyes widened. “Truly?”
“Truly. My sisters and I are ordinary women with some…extraordinary gifts which we are pledged to use only for good.”
“So, ye wouldn’t put a spell on someone in jest?”
“To do so would weaken our gifts. In time they could be lost to us, as they were lost to so many who came before us.”
The housekeeper let out a long, slow sigh. “That’s a comfort.”
“Mistress Gunn, have you known the lady Hazlet all her life?”
“Aye, for I was at her mother’s side for the birthing.”
Seeing the pup chewing on the housekeeper’s hem, Kylia picked him up and cuddled him in her arms. “As a lass, was she always so…stern?”
“Stern?” The old woman laughed. “Hazlet was a challenge to her parents. A wild one, that. Defied them at every turn. And defied her brother, Stirling, as well. She actually wanted to go with him and train to be a warrior.”
“A warrior? Hazlet?” Kylia couldn’t hide her surprise.
Mistress Gunn shook her head. “Everything changed after Ranald arrived. Young Hazlet found herself enjoying the womanly things she’d long denied. But when Ranald died, the lady took to her chambers, locking everyone out, and I fear she would have remained there until death claimed her, had it not been for Dougal’s untimely birth.”
“Did you attend that birthing as well?”
The old woman thought a moment. “It was a difficult time in the castle. The small army of men left here to protect the women and children fought off the barbarians, and then began returning the bodies of the dead—” she crossed herself “—including the laird’s body and that of Ranald. As I recall, Hazlet took charge of the birthing w
hile we tended to the burials. It wasn’t until later that we learned the lady Mary had died in childbirth.”
“And Hazlet never returned to her chambers?”
“How could she? There was the care of the bairn and his wee brother. And for a time, Hazlet seemed able to set aside her grief. But later, as the lads grew to manhood, the grief was back, and with it, a religious fervor the likes of which we’d never seen in the lady before.”
Seeing the cook waddling toward her, the housekeeper opened the door leading to the garden. “Enjoy your walk, my lady.”
“Thank you, Mistress Gunn.” Kylia slipped outside and set down the pup before starting along the garden path.
Because of the tall hedgerows, it was impossible to see from one pathway to another. Kylia drank in the beauty of her surroundings as she slowly made her way through the maze, pondering over all she’d been told.
At the sound of hoofbeats, she looked up to see Gresham, the stable master, leading one of the horses. At once Wee Lad raced to Kylia’s side and huddled beneath the hem of her gown.
In a courtly gesture Gresham whipped the hat from his head and bowed. “Good day to you, my lady. Have ye been enjoying the gardens?”
“Aye. They’re lovely.” She glanced around. “I was hoping to share my walk with the lady Hazlet, but I saw no sign of her.”
“If she’s not in the gardens, then perhaps she’s at the tombs. She visits daily, though it brings her no comfort.” His voice lowered respectfully. “I fear the lady will never find peace until she joins Ranald in that other world.”
“You think she desires death?”
The old man gave an expressive shrug of his shoulders. “I know not, my lady. But this much I know. She finds no pleasure in this life.” He seemed about to say more, but thought better of it and simply said, “Would you like one of the servants to take you to the tombs?”
Kylia shook her head. “I’m told they lie beneath the castle.”
“They do. If you go, take a candle, my lady, for it’s dark and infested with all manner of vermin.”