“L’autunno,” Allegro, Adagio molto, Allegro: Would she ever see her family again? What of her dreams, her plans for the future? Profoundly deaf since birth, what would Gran do now that her eyesight was failing? More than anything, she wanted to be there for her grandmother the same way Gran had been there for her when she’d lost her parents.
“L’inverno,” Allegro non molto, Largo, Allegro: Her memories became part of the music as she wove them into each note. She’d been correct about the acoustics. Never had her violin’s sweet tones been so profoundly accentuated. Her head remained bowed long past the last note.
Someone coughed, and Alethia looked up. She’d been alone and completely absorbed in the music when she began playing. Now the eyes of at least thirty people stared at her.
Malcolm had never heard such music before, and he was a well-traveled man. When Alethia began to play, the sound drew everyone near enough to hear it. Malcolm’s father, his mother and sister were there, along with his cousins, uncle and aunt, and a number of their clan who had been caught up by the magic. They had come on silent feet so as not to break the spell.
Little did she know she’d just secured a place for herself in clan MacKintosh. His people loved a good story, good music, and a great mystery to chew on during the long winter months. Here were all three of those elements embodied in one bonnie lass.
Malcolm located Beth, the servant he’d chosen to care for their guest, and went to give her further instructions. “Has the chamber been made ready?”
“Aye, and a bath has been prepared, just like ye asked.” Beth curtsied as she answered.
“See Lady Alethia to her chamber. You are to look after her every need.”
“Aye, milord. I’m pleased to serve the lady.” She smiled and curtsied again before hurrying off to carry out his instructions.
Even though theirs was a modern keep with a bathing room, he’d arranged for a bath to be brought to Alethia’s chamber. She must be weary from traveling. Surely she would appreciate the thoughtfulness of his gesture.
All Malcolm wanted now was a bath and a shave before supping with family and clan. Anticipation filled him. What did his family make of their mysterious visitor? He guessed her to be around the same age as his younger sister. Would they become confidants the way young women often did? Mayhap their guest would reveal more to Elaine than she would to him or his father. Time would tell.
He caught up to his father and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Father, she’s the lass we found on our way home.”
“She was alone, did you say?” His father frowned.
“Aye. There are questions begging answers. I had hoped you would find time to speak with her this eve.”
“Unless she was being followed, it can wait. Did you find evidence of brigands?”
“Nay, but—”
“We have more important things to attend to, aye? This night we’ll feast with our clan and share the good news of our king’s return.” William slapped Malcolm on the back. “Let the lass settle in. Then we’ll have our talk. She’s hardly a threat, lad.”
Torn, Malcolm watched his father stride off toward his mother. Waiting had never been one of his strengths.
Left alone for the time being, Alethia surveyed the chamber she’d been given. Though small, she knew she was being treated as an honored guest rather than a nobody lucky to secure floor space in the great hall. She needed to tread carefully if she was to hold on to that status.
Laying a hand flat on the cold stone wall, she tried to absorb the reality she’d been thrust into. A real castle complete with lords and their ladies! She’d always studied everything she could about the Renaissance period. That’s why she worked at Renaissance fairs all over New York and neighboring states. Now she found herself in the past, maybe even in the Renaissance period. How was this possible?
A copper tub full of steaming water sat before a small hearth. Pegs were mounted right into the stone on one wall, and a wooden trunk had been placed underneath. The bed took up most of the small space. She went to check it out, thrilled to find it held a feather mattress covered in linen and thick woolen blankets. One tall, narrow window graced the outside wall. The shutter had been left open, letting in the daylight and fresh air.
She emptied her duffel onto the bed and took inventory. She had one other gown besides the one she wore, plus another chemise. Assessing her supply of soap, toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo and conditioner, she mentally calculated how long they’d last. A small bag of Ocean Spray Craisins and an apple she’d forgotten about were stuffed into the bottom. She snatched up the full box of tampons and hugged it to her chest. “Score!”
Anything futuristic, like her laptop and cell phone, she wrapped in her street clothes and stuffed back into the canvas duffel. No one discovering the items would have any idea what they’d stumbled onto, but she didn’t want to have to explain. If she told her hosts she’d been sent back in time…A shudder wracked her at the thought of where such a revelation might lead. For now, she’d hide her electronic gadgets at the bottom of the trunk. Her beads and sewing supplies would be fine on top. She wrapped them in the yard of tanned deer hide she carried with her for beading projects. Everything else, sheet music, her purse and a few books, would go into the middle.
Alethia undressed and sank into the hot water, sending thoughts of gratitude to the kind soul who’d arranged for the bath. Once she was done washing, she stood up and reached for the large piece of cloth draped over the one chair in the room, dried off and dressed in the cleanest of her two gowns.
Alethia smoothed the wrinkles from the garnet-hued fabric. She’d beaded the bodice with black onyx around the squared neckline and along the tops of the removable sleeves. She loved creating her costumes for the Renaissance fairs. Next to music, sewing and beading were her favorite pastimes. Her grandmother and aunties had taught her everything they knew. Running her fingers lovingly over the intricate beadwork, she felt connected to all the generations of Goodsky women preceding her.
She’d just sat down before the hearth to begin working a comb through her wet tangles when someone knocked on the door. She crossed the chamber and opened it a crack, keeping her foot firm against the base.
Beth, the young woman who had led her to the room, smiled and curtsied. “There’s to be a feast this eve, milady, and I’m to help ye make yerself ready.”
“Oh, thanks.” The tension she’d been holding eased, and Alethia stepped back. “I can manage.”
“Och, for certes ye can, but the young lord gave his orders, and I’ll no’ be slacking on me duties.” Beth hustled her over to the chair and gently pushed her down by the shoulders. “Since ye’ve already dressed, I’ll tend to yer hair.” She snatched up the linen and began a vigorous squeezing and rubbing of Alethia’s scalp. “’Tis an honor to be chosen to look after ye. All the other maids are pea-green with envy. I’ll no’ be lettin’ the lord down, or it’s back to the kitchen with me.”
“You don’t like working in the kitchen?”
“Nay, milady. Cook is as prickly as a thistle stalk.”
“Oh.” Alethia couldn’t help but smile as Beth chattered on. She had to hold her hand up by her nose more than once as her hair was arranged in an elaborate braided coronet around her head. Judging by her body odor, Beth rarely bathed.
“Ye’ve the loveliest hair, milady.”
“I use a special soap. I’d be happy to share it with you.” She turned to gauge the younger woman’s reaction, catching the doubtful look in her eyes.
“We’d best be on our way. They’ll be waitin’ to serve until ye take yer place upon the dais.”
She’d be sitting with the laird and his family? Her gown had marked her as nobility. Still, they had no idea what her rank was, and nobility didn’t guarantee a place on the dais. Because of the family’s assumptions, she would be treated well, at least until the truth came out.
That thought sent her heart fluttering. What would she say when someone final
ly got around to asking questions? Oh, and by the way, I come to you live from the twenty-first century. Ta-da! Nope, that little tidbit she’d keep to herself. No way did she want to be associated with sorcery or witchcraft.
Beth hustled her down the narrow stairs to the great hall. It seemed to Alethia the entire clan had gathered, or at least all those who lived on the island. Besides the long table she’d noticed earlier, another had been created by placing planks on top of barrels. She squelched the urge to run for the hills and squared her shoulders. Her eyes were drawn to the dais, where she found Malcolm’s intense gaze fixed on her. He’d bathed, shaved and changed into a clean linen shirt with billowing sleeves and a kilt in brilliant crimson, dark green and white. He wore his hair tied back at the nape of his neck. Lord, he cleaned up real nice. She lost her breath and the ability to move. Beth nudged her forward. One side of Alpha-Jerk’s mouth quirked up.
Eight people sat at the high table, and Malcolm bore a striking resemblance to the middle-aged man in the seat of highest honor. Must be the lord of the castle, and his lady was seated to his right. Another middle-aged couple flanked the lord’s left, followed by a lovely young woman who might be around her age. Liam and Robley were next to Malcolm. There were two empty chairs. One between Malcolm and his cousins and another at the very end near the young woman. She set out for the open spot next to the very safe-looking woman.
Malcolm stood. “Father, Mother, this is Lady Alethia Goodsky. My lady, this is my father, the earl of Fife, and my mother, Lady Lydia. You already know Liam and Robley, and these are their parents, my Uncle Robert and his lady wife, Rosemary. My younger sister Elaine is seated to Rosemary’s left.” He gestured to the empty seat next to his. “Come. You must be hungry, aye?”
Drat. So much for her plan to sit next to Elaine. Alethia executed a perfect curtsy, courtesy of many months of practice at all the fake courts in every fair she’d ever worked. “I thank you for your kind hospitality.”
“We all enjoyed your music earlier today, lass.” The earl’s eyes twinkled with warmth. “’Tis my wish that we might hear you play again this eve, if that is agreeable to you.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
“We’ll have someone fetch your instrument.” The earl gestured to the seat next to Malcolm. “Come, sit. ’Tis high time we ate.”
Alethia exchanged a shy smile with Malcolm’s sister and made her way to the chair Malcolm had pulled out for her. Her knee brushed against his thigh as she settled herself, and a current of electricity raced through her body.
“Let us bow our heads and give thanks for the food we are about to receive.” The earl’s voice reverberated throughout the hall. “Join hands.”
Oh great. Just what she needed. Everyone made the sign of the cross, and Alethia imitated their movements. Malcolm took one hand, and Liam clasped the other. Odd, the hand Malcolm held was the only one she felt. All the while the earl droned on in Latin, the feel of Malcolm’s strong, callused warmth sent all kinds of sensations pulsing through her. Whoa. Not good. Finally grace ended, and she tugged her hand back.
Malcolm glanced her way, his eyes twinkling. He reached for her hand again and held on tight. “I’m no’ yet done giving thanks.”
“You don’t need my hand to continue,” she whispered, heat rising to her cheeks.
“Ah, but I do. Your gentle nature, my lady,” Malcolm said, rubbing the bruise on his lower lip with their clasped hands, “fills me with the reverence.” He brought their twined fingers to rest on his thigh.
Gulp. Her face turned to flame, and she tried her best to free herself. “For a moment there, while you made the introductions,” she said, managing to pull her hand free, “I almost gave you credit for being well mannered.”
He threw his head back and laughed, Robley and Liam joining in.
She seethed.
“Would you share my trencher, Lady Alethia?” Robley asked, gesturing toward the flattened slab of day-old bread they would use to hold their meal.
She graced him with her sweetest smile. “Gladly.”
Servants came with platters of food, and everyone began to serve themselves. Robley offered her pieces of lamb, root vegetables, and dark bread. How clean could their kitchen be? For that matter, how clean was the cook? If Beth was any indication, not very. Which was the greater risk: eating questionable food, or insulting her hosts? She took a tentative bite, surprised to find the meat tender and tasty. She hadn’t eaten a decent meal in two days, and she decided this meal was definitely worth the risk. Conversations buzzed all around her. She let her attention drift to the people sitting below the dais.
A disturbance toward the end of the long trestle table caught her attention. Something caused a ripple of movement among the diners farthest from the dais, where the villagers and crofters sat. People turned in their places, handing bits of bread, meat or vegetable to something small behind them. A dog?
No, not a hound. A small boy tugged on shirtsleeves until given a bite to eat, moving on to the next person once he’d taken the offered morsel. Dressed in rags with his hair a matted tangle, he seemed to be equal parts dirt and child. A quarrel broke out between two rough-looking men sitting directly behind the little beggar. One of them shouted and pounded his pewter mug on the table. The boy didn’t react in any way. He’s deaf.
Unable to look away, she gripped the edge of the table. As if he could feel her stare, he lifted his eyes to hers with a solemn expression at odds with his age. Her heart went out to him, and she couldn’t help but sense his loneliness and isolation. She wanted to wrap him in her arms, care for him and teach him to talk with his hands. Like her, he found himself in a frightening world impossible to navigate.
Alethia paced the small confines of her room until she was certain everyone in the castle had gone to bed. The flame from a single candle burning on the mantel flickered with each pass she made. The deaf child hadn’t seemed to belong to anyone. None of the adults had paid him any attention other than to give him food. She couldn’t bear the thought of his being alone and frightened. Someone should look after him, and it might as well be me.
Taking a blanket from her bed, she folded it into thirds and laid it on the wood-planked floor near the hearth. It would have to do for the boy’s bed until she could come up with something better. She crossed the room, lifted the bar securing her door and peered into the corridor. The glow of firelight spilled up from the great hall. She made her way to the stairs and crept down.
The extra tables set up for the feast had been left standing. Dogs sniffed through the rushes for hidden morsels, and the snores and grunts from the sleeping revelers reverberated through the room. Burning logs in both hearths cast the cavernous chamber into golden light and dark shadow. Picking her way through the sleepers and the hounds, she searched for the little beggar boy.
Beginning with the places with the most light, she worked her way outward toward the darker corners. A hand shot out from the shadows to grab her, and a man’s arm snaked around her waist, dragging her back against his hard chest.
“Looking for me?” Hugh whispered into her ear, dragging her deeper into the darkness. “I’m glad you’ve sought me out, my lady. Shall I take this to mean you’ve decided to accept my offer of protection?”
“No.” Her heart pounded, and her mouth went dry. She removed his arm from around her waist and stepped out of his reach. His words were slightly slurred, and the sour scent of too much wine emanated from him. Great. “I’ve decided I don’t need or want your protection. Thank you just the same.”
His brow furrowed for a moment, before her words registered fully. His expression darkened to rage. He grabbed her wrist and dragged her against him. “Ungrateful bitch. I’m the son of an earl. D’ye know that? D’ye think yourself above me—you a foreigner to our land, without so much as one guard in attendance? I begin to suspect you’re naught but a whore after all, masquerading as a lady. There’s a penalty to pay for such a deception, and I intend to be
the one to collect.” He spun her around and pressed her against the wall, covering her mouth with his with brutal force.
Twisting and turning, she struggled to get free. Her movements only served to incite him even more. If she could only get free enough to shout, surely someone in the great hall would wake. Panic wouldn’t save her. Think! She gagged on the bile rising in her throat. He caught her wrists and held them above her head with one hand. With the other, he started to pull her skirt up her legs. No!
Letting her body go completely slack, she forced him to support her weight and sank down along the wall until he leaned over to follow. He cursed her as he broke contact to keep his balance. She shrieked, tucked her chin and sprang up as hard as she could. Her skull slammed into his nose with a satisfying crunch.
“Ah, you bitch!” Hugh staggered back, blood spurting down his face.
She lunged away from the wall and shoved him, hooking a heel behind his feet. He fell backward, and she ran—right into the arms of another man.
From one nightmare straight into another! Screaming and twisting she fought to free herself.
“Cease your caterwauling. Be still.”
Malcolm’s command penetrated her fear, and a rush of relief washed through her. Alethia sagged against him and sucked in huge gulps of air.
“What the devil goes on here?” he demanded.
Hugh rose from the floor, blood seeping through his fingers. “She came to the great hall seeking my attentions. I obliged, and the bitch turned on me.”
Alethia straightened, every muscle in her body tensed for another battle. “I never did any such thing, you lying sack of—”
True to the Highlander (The Novels of Loch Moigh) Page 4