The Spellbinder: Highland Eyes

by Marissa St. James

  A sudden splash in the lake startled him from his thoughts and he ducked when a dark blur flew past him, showering him with a cold spray of water. The blur stood in the grass behind him, shook itself vigorously, then settled down to groom its fur.

  "A bloody cat!” The Englishman resented the intrusion on his already miserable day. He whirled back to the lake when he heard another splash.

  A dark head popped above the surface and a voice screeched, “Houdini, you miserable excuse for a cat. That's the last time I listen to you!” The drenched figure wiped away strands of hair plastered to her face. Anger colored her features.

  Matthew wanted to laugh at the sight, but wisely held his tongue and tried to keep a straight face. “I've been searching the highlands for you, woman.” He crooked a finger, indicating she should join him on the bank.

  Meryl looked up and recognized the man. “Uh oh...” Having no means of escape other than misguided time travel, she had no choice but to obey him. Meryl untwisted her skirts from her legs, and made her slow, difficult way to the shore. She reluctantly reached up for the hand Matthew offered her, grateful for his help. “We meet again, sir knight. I appreciate your assistance, but I can't say I'm pleased to see you.” Meryl tugged at her sodden shirts again and nearly lost her balance in an effort to maintain her dignity.

  Matthew studied her a moment. Her dark hair hung in dripping tangles and her silver eyes flashed with challenge, giving her an impish appearance. Her wet clothes clung to her slim figure making her shiver in the cool evening air. He took up his stallion's reins, then turned away from the river. “Come with me. You'll have to get out of those clothes quickly."

  Meryl raised an eyebrow in question then shrugged.

  "You can stay here and catch your death, or you can come with me and get dry and something to eat."

  "Am I to be your prisoner?” She hesitated a moment to catch her breath, wanting to know where things stood with the Englishman.

  "I would prefer not, but if you think it's necessary..."

  "No, at least not this time,” she honestly admitted, then followed him and walked past the cat. Dinks stared up at her as if this had been an ordinary walk to a lake. “Traitorous little beastie,” she hissed and continued after the Englishman.

  Matthew entered the camp and all eyes turned to stare at the bedraggled woman behind him. He handed his mount's reins over to one of his men, then went to his tent. He unpacked a set of clothes, shirt and breeches, and tossed them on the pallet.

  "You'll get out of those wet clothes quickly, then join me for supper.” He abruptly left her alone.

  Meryl shivered and quickly shed her gown. Goosebumps raised on her damp skin. The shirt and breeches were too big but would do until her own clothes dried. She rubbed the shirt sleeves against her skin, trying to restore some warmth. She didn't particularly want to dine with the man, but a growling stomach overrode her good sense. Besides, she had to find her wayward pet. Then again, maybe she should ignore the animal. After all, the unexpected dunking had been his fault.

  The soldiers glanced at their leader's guest when Meryl spread her gown and chemise over some bushes to dry. Some stared at her dressed in the oversized garments. Their thoughts were plain enough in their expressive features. Meryl shuddered.

  The captain watched his men and took note of a few lecherous stares. They knew better than to try anything. The young woman looked to be able to take care of herself in most situations; here, she was alone with no one to rely on. Well, not exactly alone ... but it wouldn't do to show too much concern for her welfare.

  Meryl sat on a log not far from the fire. She needed the warmth but didn't trust any of the Englishmen as far as she could throw them. She accepted the bowl with bread and meat and a drink to wash it down. Dinks sat next to her, waiting for part of her meal. Meryl said nothing while she and her pet shared the hot food. When they'd finished eating, she turned her attention to her captor.

  "You keep staring. Just what is it you want from me?” Meryl's fingertips grazed the top of her cat's head and Dinks jumped onto her lap, sure all was forgiven.

  Matthew's eyes followed the slow, mesmerizing movements of her slender fingers and envied the cat. While her attention seemed to be focused on the animal, he had a strong suspicion her thoughts were elsewhere—perhaps trying to figure a way of escaping the camp. She seemed quite calm for a woman surrounded by two dozen English soldiers. Was she that sure of herself or did she play a game?"

  "Well?” Meryl studied the Englishman.

  Matthew cleared his throat, embarrassed at the direction of his thoughts. He didn't like being distracted by Meryl's presence. He didn't like her knowing grin. Neither did he like the way Mark grinned at him, as if the man were enjoying his discomfort. Matthew chose to ignore his second in command. “In the village that day, how did you hide those warriors?"

  "There were no warriors. You saw all there was to see there.” Meryl looked up at him. Her features were unreadable.

  "Don't think to play the innocent with me."

  Meryl shrugged and continued to stroke Dinks’ fur. She ignored the hint of anger in Matthew's voice.

  The cat purred contentedly and Matthew found himself distracted again. “That's of no consequence now,” he waved a hand, dismissing the thought. “It's been brought to my attention you could help us with a problem."

  "I have never given thought to aiding the enemy, and never will, but go on, I would like to hear this problem of yours. I may find it amusing."

  Matthew's expression grew dark. He got up from his seat and stomped about the fire. How could one careless young woman confuse him this way? He stood before his guest, forcing her to look up at him. It frustrated him that she could remain so calm when she should be frightened to death of him and what he could do to her. He could snuff out her life and think nothing of it, nor would anyone be the wiser. For some reason, the thought repulsed him. “Edward has spent far too much time trying to bring Scotland to her knees, and shows little concern for England."

  "What are his concerns to me?” Meryl didn't like the direction the conversation began to take.

  "Lady, are you playing games with me or are you as naive as you seem?"

  "If your only intention is to insult me, then I'll thank you to be done with this conversation and show me where I'm expected to bed down for the night."

  Matthew threw his hands up in frustration. “You are the legend. You can rule Scotland. We need you to control Edward. Do that and Scotland is yours."

  Meryl was stunned. “Whoa! Back up here, a minute. What legend are you talking about?"

  "You don't know.” Matthew stared at her sitting next to the fire. She didn't know. How could she not know what people were saying about her?

  "No, I don't know what you're talking about. Scotland is full of legends. Look. I was asked to help a group of people struggling for survival. Now I've got these villagers looking up to me for goddess knows what. I can't give them what they expect. This foolishness of a legend and ruling Scotland—it's—it's absurd! Where did you hear such a crazy story?"

  Dinks jumped off her lap and stared up at her, his green eyes glowing from reflected firelight. Your problem, the feline declared with his infuriating grin, then sauntered off into the darkness.

  "Thanks, a lot, ‘pal'.” Meryl watched the cat disappear, then looked up Matthew again, giving him her undivided attention. She'd overheard the villagers talking about a legend, but never dreamed they were discussing her.

  Matthew took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You're friend, Graeme."

  Meryl stared back at him, incredulous. “My friend, Graeme. Do you mean Graeme Sinclair?"

  "His true name is Graeme Comyn,” Matthew interjected.

  She closed her eyes when understanding hit her. “Comyn. How could I have been so dumb?

  "He's after the crown as well, isn't he? I can assure you, sir knight, no Comyn will succeed in that quest. They can battle from now till Doomsday but the
crown belongs to Robert Bruce."

  Matthew chuckled. “You sound quite sure of yourself. How do you come by this information?"

  Meryl raised an eyebrow and remained quiet.

  "Ah. Then I won't ask again.” How did she do that? His job was to interrogate prisoners. Granted she wasn't exactly a prisoner, but she did have information he needed, and yet he felt it better not to pursue it. “I would advise you to be wary of Graeme. He isn't what he seems."

  Meryl mulled over this small bit of information. Red Comyn wanted the crown and went so far as to try to turn over information to the English about the Bruce. Robert confronted Comyn with this treachery and Red died as a result. History called Robert a murderer because the death took place on holy ground. If the result had been different, if Robert had died instead, would the church have felt the same? No one would ever know for sure. Since when did Graeme think he was qualified to take up where Red left off? And why did she get the feeling that her part in this 'play’ was far from over?

  "I suppose it's better I don't know where you come by this information.” Matthew stretched, then hooked a thumb in his wide belt. “The hour is late. A camp such as this offers few comforts. Please accept the use of my tent."

  "Thank you."

  The Englishman escorted Meryl to his tent, deftly guiding her around bodies, snoring in the darkness. Weapons lay carelessly on the ground near their owners.

  Meryl stood before the tent and turned to her host. “Thank you again, for your hospitality. I'm sorry I couldn't be of help to you."

  Matthew gallantly raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Perhaps when this unpleasantness is over, I may see you again?"

  "Ah ... don't think so. I am handfasted with a Scottish warrior."

  "I thought you said there were no warriors in that village?'

  "Who said he was in that village? He could be from anywhere in the highlands."

  "I stand corrected.” An amused grin crossed his features and quickly disappeared. His tone gentled. “Do you love him?"

  Meryl's sweet smile was enough to answer his question.

  "Why isn't he with you? You travel alone."

  "Oh, I haven't been alone. Dinks has been with me always. Circumstances forced a separation between my husband and me. I was on my way back to him when I was rudely dumped into the lake. Don't ask. There are some things you're better off not knowing. You would never believe me, anyway, even if I did give you an answer."

  "Your husband is indeed a fortunate man, to have such a wife."

  A shadow crossed Meryl's features and vanished. “Thank you."

  Moonlight gave an odd glow to the twinkle in Meryl's silver eyes. “Sleep well, Lady Meryl."

  * * * *

  Meryl lay on the pallet within the tent trying to sort out her thoughts while sleep eluded her. She felt a chill and wasn't sure if it was the night air, or the final reprieve from his questions. She rolled onto her side and pulled the blanket up and over her shoulders. Being bumped from one time to another definitely had its disadvantages, but she was almost home. Another day's journey would bring her home to Dun Ceathach.

  She could feel Tristan so close now. He was a time traveler himself—that fact still annoyed her a bit—so why hadn't they been able to connect? Several times she had barely been able to see him. He'd appeared to her like a transparent ghost. Someone didn't want them together. Could Graeme be involved? No, she didn't think so, or she would have felt some kind of power emanating from him, even if, at the time, she wasn't able to recognize it for what it was.

  As she slowly became attuned to what was going on, she realized the coven members had power on a very limited scale; not all of them could work spells and charms. Maisri's skills were equal to Meryl's—which didn't say much for the coven as a whole. There wasn't enough between the members to create trouble for her. Who had the means to keep her bouncing from one place to another? Who didn't want her to return home? Someone in the village wasn't what they seemed.

  * * * *

  Matthew stood beside Meryl and studied the thick curtain of mist, cutting off the rest of the road. Mark reined in his commander's restless stallion. “Are you sure you won't change your mind, Lady Meryl? I would rather see you safely to your home than leave you here unprotected."

  Meryl laughed, amused by his concern. “If you knew what I had been through lately, you wouldn't fear for my safety. You are kind, Matthew, but no, I must continue on alone."

  "As you wish.” He lowered his voice to keep his words from being overheard. “If ever you should have need of me, you can send a message with Malcolm McLeod. He will know where I can be found."

  Meryl stared at him, stunned. If he managed to place one of his men in her valley, then her security wasn't as tight as she thought.

  He seemed to read her thoughts and smiled. “Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. Not all English want to see the Highlands defeated. I've come to see things differently in the last few months. You people have a pride, unlike any I have seen anywhere else. It would only take the uniting of your clans to make you a powerful force. I would like us to be allies. Perhaps together, we can find a way to lessen the damage done between our two countries."

  "Perhaps we can. I'll keep it in mind. Goddess knows there's more than enough turmoil within our borders as it is."

  Matthew remounted his horse and gave a command to his men. They turned to leave the entrance to the valley Meryl called home.

  Dinks sat on the end of a fallen log watching the soldiers ride away. Meryl sensed the fear in the English soldiers and felt it recede as they rode back toward England. She took a deep breath and released it. Somehow, she knew her adventures weren't quite over yet.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Meryl stopped to view the misty curtain hiding the path to the valley and Dun Ceathach. How much time had passed since she'd been dropped into the future? What seemed like an eternity was only a few weeks. In that short period, she'd bounced from one time to another. Someone was interfering with her ability to return to Scotland. She intended to find out who and why.

  Dinks growled, low and menacing. Meryl reached down and scratched behind his ears. To other people, he was a cat not to be trusted. To Meryl, he was her protector and she rarely ignored his warnings. No one dared get too close to her unless he allowed it.

  "We're almost home, Dinks. Just beyond the mist and we're finally home.” Meryl rubbed his nose and the cat nuzzled her hand affectionately. She glanced behind to be sure the soldiers hadn't stopped to spy on her, then drew the edges of her cloak together against the dampness and disappeared into the mist. Ahead of her, it thinned and swirled about, allowing her to pass, then thickened once again to hide the path behind her and the valley beyond.

  Moments later, with the barrier behind her, Meryl stopped to gaze at the valley. Unlike most of the highlands, this valley was green and fertile. It was paradise. The villagers had certainly been busy while she was away. She was relieved to know they had moved on without her. Rows of cottages with thatched roofs were centered in the valley, allowing quick access to the keep and loch. To the south, fields of tall golden grain were ready for first harvesting. As tall as the grain was, she estimated she'd been gone some three months. That seemed to be at odds with the timing of her adventures. Meryl frowned at the sight of one field. It appeared as if horses had been ridden through it, trampling the grain. She approached the field and knelt down by its edge. The destruction was fairly fresh and needed to be investigated, if Tristan hadn't done so already. She vaguely wondered if her herb garden thrived. She'd need them in the winter to ease the villagers’ ills.

  A small flock of sheep wandered about the northern pasture, nibbling contentedly at thick green grass. The flock seemed smaller then she remembered. What happened to the lambs? There should have been more lambs.

  Meryl approached the cottages with even stronger feelings things weren't right. No one was about, working at daily chores. She passed the small cottages where peo
ple stepped out of doorways, but kept their distance from her. Graeme appeared from the side of a cottage and stood at the end of the path leading to the keep. He was flanked by several warriors.

  Dinks moved closer to his mistress and laid back his ears in warning. The cat growled and the armed men kept their distance, but hands remained on sword hilts. Graeme eyed the cat warily while he moved closer to the keep's returning mistress.

  "Meryl, welcome home. It's good to see you've returned to us. You are safe and well?” The handsome warrior took Meryl's hands in his and looked into her eyes.

  Something in Graeme's smokey gray eyes made Meryl uncomfortable. Ever so casually, she slipped her hands out of his and hid them in the folds of her dress. “I am well.” The villagers remained silent, looking down, anywhere but at her. Where were the children? Meryl wondered what was going on. “Where is Tristan?” A flicker of something she didn't understand darted in Graeme's eyes at the mention of the warrior's name, then quickly vanished.

  "Malcolm, bring a cool drink for the lady.” Graeme ignored the question for the moment and the slight to him when she'd pulled away.

  Meryl thanked the warrior and drank deeply of the cool fresh water. She offered a bit of the cold liquid to her pet. Dinks sniffed at the dipper then sat down, refusing the drink. Meryl watched the large cat, then frowned. She felt ... she felt ... Her thoughts couldn't quite grasp what was going on. Her eyes narrowed in confusion and she sniffed the remaining water. There was barely a hint of something in the drink. The warriors swam in her vision, making her wish they would remain still. The movement made her dizzy.

  "Shouldn't drink,” she mumbled. “Gonna have a whopping headache.” The dipper slipped through her fingers and dropped to the ground with a dull thunk.

  "Forget Tristan. Wed with me, Meryl and together we can rule Scotland.” Graeme whispered huskily to the pliable woman, not wanting his plea heard by others.