Lord of Legend

by Charlene Cross

  “Thank you, lass,” Aleck said, observing her reaction. “By seeing to all my needs, you could service me well.”

  The words were fraught with insinuation. Or so Chandra thought. The arrogant ass! she fumed. Why, she’d sooner die than play the mare as he acted the part of the rutting stallion. Were he not careful, he’d soon find himself gelded. Masking her anger, Chandra offered him a captivating smile of her own, then noticed that the Englishman’s eyes had turned a deeper blue. “My pleasure, milord,” she whispered throatily, the words nearly choking her.

  Unknowingly, Chandra rested her hand on the small knife lashed at her waist, but the movement was not lost on Aleck. No sooner had his own words left his mouth than their dual meaning had hit him. Intuitively, he knew what she was thinking. “You can release your weapon, lass. I did not mean what you imagined.” Liar! The word shot through his head, for in truth he would not object to bedding her at all. “I apologize for my choice of words. I beg your forgiveness.”

  “All is forgiven,” she fibbed, another smile crossing her lips. Then she turned on her heel and headed toward the curtain. As Chandra strode the length of the hall, she felt the Englishman’s gaze on her. Strangely, her heart skipped a little, and she commanded it to behave. Rounding the corner, she motioned to Devin. “I need your help. The Sassenach wants a hot bath. I believe we shall oblige him.”

  In a half hour’s time, a large wooden tub, steam rising above its rim, stood in the middle of a sparsely furnished room situated on Castle Lochlaigh’s upper level.

  Viewing his cousin as she slipped the stopper from a large bottle, Devin grinned. “Chandra, you are truly wicked,” he said, a chuckle rumbling from inside his slim chest.

  “Tsk, tsk, Devin. The Sassenach said he desired to be surrounded by the color that most reminded him of his beloved England. I’m simply trying to fulfill part of his wish.”

  Chandra tipped the bottle; green dye, used to color the wool thread for the Morgan plaid, flowed generously into the depths of the tub. Then, their merry laughter rising into the air, the two cousins quit the room.

  Chapter

  3

  Aleck stretched out fully in the steaming tub of water; a contented sigh escaped his lips as the chill slowly left his bones. Having bade Sir John to see to the comfort of the men before rejoining Aleck for a much-needed discussion about the impasse in which they’d found themselves, he’d been shown to his quarters by the squat little man who’d earlier escorted him into the castle. As the door to his austere-looking room had opened, he was greeted by the sight of his bath. Delight rippled through him, and he’d silently thanked the flame-haired lass for having interceded with her chieftain on his behalf. Perhaps the clan Morgan was not as uncivilized as he’d initially deemed them.

  Grabbing a crude bar of soap placed atop a length of toweling, the whole resting next to the doffed medallion on a low stool beside the tub, Aleck lathered himself from head to toe. He sank beneath the water, rinsing the suds from his hair. Coming up from the tub’s depths, he caught hold of a pitcher of warm, clear water and dumped it over his head, rinsing himself anew. Then he leaned back and relaxed. When the water had grown tepid, he stepped from his bath and began drying himself off. A firm knock sounded on the door, then he heard Sir John’s voice. Retrieving the medallion, Aleck draped the chain around his neck. “Enter,” he said, wrapping the long sheet of wool around his lean hips.

  Sir John stepped into the room and closed the door. Viewing Aleck in the dim candlelight, the knight frowned. “Are you feeling well?” he asked.

  Aleck stared at the man. “I feel fine, Why do you ask?”

  “You look a bit green. I thought those cakes might have turned your stomach.”

  Frowning, Aleck stepped to the candle that sat on a low table beside the bed. He turned his arms and hands beneath the light; then, stripping the toweling aside, he lifted his leg. There was a distinct green tinge to his skin. A curse rolled off his tongue as he strode to the tub. The pitcher dipped into the water, then Aleck poured its contents back into the tub: green. “’Tis the color of grass,” he said.

  “More like an English green,’ wouldn’t you say?” Sir John remarked.

  The two men stared at each other, then Aleck cursed again. “Why, the little vixen ... I should have caught on that she seemed a bit too eager to grant my wishes. Instead, like a doltish adolescent, I found myself bewitched by her beauty. The minx shall pay a heavy price for this. No woman makes a mockery of me.”

  “You have no proof the lass did this to you,” Sir John said in the girl’s defense.

  “Who else heard my words? Naught except us three. It could be no one but her.”

  “She was going to speak with the Lady Lochlaigh, was she not? If she revealed your unflattering comments about the clan Morgan, along with your stated aversion to this clime, the Lady Lochlaigh may have ordered the dye put into your bath. Someone else might have done the deed.” Aleck cast the knight a disagreeing look, and Sir John shook his head. “Remember, Montbourne, you are here on the king’s business. ’Twould not do to embarrass James. Nor would it be wise to get yourself killed. Let your temper cool. The dye will soon wear off. Death, however, is everlasting.”

  “You are right,” Aleck said after a bit, thinking that when he met the girl again, she would soon wish she’d bitten her tongue. Appraising himself, he decided that he resembled a brine-soaked cucumber. Green flesh, however, was far better than rotted flesh, an undeniable result of the grave. “After I’ve had a good night’s rest, I’m certain I’ll see the humor of it.”

  Seeing the humor of it now, Sir John guffawed. “Even if it was the lass who did this to you,” he said when he had quieted, “you must admit you deserved it. You were not very polite to her. You caused much offense by defaming her birthplace, maligning her clan, and then, of all things, using the word service. What had you expected? Rose petals in your bath?”

  “I did not mean it as it was construed,” Aleck insisted. “The term slipped from my lips before I realized how it had sounded. I apologized, did I not?”

  “Yes, but the expression in your eyes said something else entirely. A word of advice, Montbourne—until you’ve learned to exhibit more favorable manners yourself, you’d best be highly attentive. Otherwise, I imagine you will be made to look the fool again.”

  “Perhaps once, Sir John, but never twice,” Aleck promised, arrogantly certain he’d not be tricked again. “I will be on my guard at all times.” He again wrapped the length of wool snugly around his hips, tucking in the loose end at his slim waist. “Before we retire for the night, we need to discuss this situation. I plan to draft a letter to James, telling him we have arrived but that the Lady Lochlaigh has refused to see us. I am also requesting that more men be sent north. I feel very uncomfortable with the meager force we have at present.”

  “I agree, but if James dispatches more soldiers into Morgan territory, it might create further animosity. Do you think it wise to risk doing so?”

  “I think it would be unwise to risk not having them here. I have an ill feeling about this place. The clan’s hatred of the English seems to flow from the very walls that surround us. I have no idea what the Lady Lochlaigh thinks of us, but I do know her father had sworn fealty to James prior to his death. She might favor us, but I do not trust the others, especially the one who stood at the battlement. Had those arrows flown, I shudder to think of the casualties. In truth, I am surprised we are not already resting in our graves. Something or someone must have stopped him, for he was bent on killing us all. No, Sir John, it would be far safer if James sent us another contingent of men. As for creating further animosity, they can remain away from the castle and stay hidden in the wood.”

  “Do you think no one will see them and report that they are there?”

  “I’m sure they will not go unnoticed, but by the same token, with the Morgans being alerted that another troop of James’s men sits just beyond the hillside, the more antagonistic part
ies of the clan might think twice before harming any of us. Knowing such security exists will allow me to rest easier.”

  “Undoubtedly you are right,” the knight said. “I will dispatch a courier, along with several guards, to London on the morrow. Within a fortnight, our reinforcements should be camped only a short distance away.”

  A fist rapped against the door; both men looked toward the panel. “Enter,” Aleck called; Sir John’s hand settled on the hilt of his sword. When the door swung open, Aleck recognized the young man standing in the archway as the same he’d met on the path leading to the castle. Two other men were close behind him.

  “Has milord finished bathing?” Devin asked, trying to keep a straight face, his eyes dancing with merriment. “If so, we have come to empty the water and store the tub.”

  Aleck didn’t miss the mirthful twinkle in the younger man’s brown eyes. It confirmed what he had already known: The flame-haired lass was the trickster who’d tainted his bath. “Yes, I am finished,” he said, waving the three men through the door. He watched as the trio, their shoulders shaking with repressed laughter, carted bucket after bucket to the open window, dumping the green water over its sill. Their task finished, they tipped the tub on its side and rolled it through the doorway. “Incidentally,” Aleck said, catching the young man’s attention, “please tell the comely lass with the red hair—Morgan Morgan, I believe she called herself—that I am grateful to her for having seen to my needs. Someday I hope to repay her in kind.”

  The impish light quickly faded from Devin’s eyes. “To be certain, I will, sir.” Intent on warning Chandra, he shut the door behind him.

  “You’re right, Montbourne,” Sir John said, having also recognized Devin. “It is undoubtedly the lass who colored your skin. When you finally encounter the Lady Lochlaigh, your deliberations should go well, then, for there won’t be any ill feelings to spoil your first meeting.”

  “I doubt it, Sir John,” Aleck returned. “The initial meeting might go very well indeed, but once she learns why I am here, I’m certain she will fast scorn me.”

  “Why would she scorn you?”

  Apparently Sir John knew nothing of the contents of James’s missive to Aleck. “Because I have been appointed the Lady Lochlaigh’s guardian. I am to find her a husband quickly—one who has sworn fealty to James. I cannot imagine that a young woman who is chieftain to an entire clan, answering to no one but herself, will be very receptive to discovering she has an overlord whose commands she must now obey. Make ready for a rebellion, Sir John, for when the Lady Lochlaigh and I do meet, that is precisely what will happen—a full-scale revolt!”

  A heavy frown settled on the knight’s brow. “I wish you good fortune, Montbourne. The task you have at hand is not an easy one. Be assured that my men and I will stand behind you. With luck, the revolt will be naught but a small one.” Sir John strode to the door; Aleck followed. “The hour grows late. I will see you on the morrow.”

  The knight closed the panel, and Aleck secured its bolt, then he sauntered over to the rope-strung bed, a lumpy mattress resting atop it. He jerked back the covers, his eyes searching carefully for any crawly things that might have found their way beneath them. Spotting nothing out of the ordinary, he cast the toweling aside and sat naked on the bed. His unsheathed sword was placed on the floor beside him, an arm’s reach away. Snuffing out the candle, he lay back, hands cupped beneath his head, and stared through the murkiness at the rough stone ceiling.

  So, he thought, the spitfire felt he needed to be chastened for his rudeness. He had not been chivalrous, true. But then, the clan Morgan had not shown him any generosity either. The minx, he decided, would soon receive her due. Her punishment wouldn’t be severe, for he refused to be harsh with her. She intrigued him, excited him, tempted him. Confident he could gain his reparation, stealing a kiss or two along the way, Aleck grinned into the darkness. The little vixen was in for a huge surprise. The despised Sassenach was going to make her life miserable. Exquisitely so.

  Far down the hall, in a nicely appointed room, Chandra lay on her own bed, rolling with laughter. The crystal sound filled Devin’s ears, but her cousin stood stern-faced. “Chandra, I tell you he knows who did the deed. He plans to repay you in kind.”

  “Oh, pooh, Devin!” she said, sitting up. “You worry too much.” She hopped from the huge canopied bed. “What could the Sassenach possibly do to me? Before he got within two strides of me, his head would roll across the floor.”

  “You are not always in Cedric’s or my sight. There may be a time when he finds you alone. Then what will you do?”

  “I’ll scream. That should chase him off.”

  “One of these days, Chandra, you will not be so confident. Mark my words. You’d best carry a dirk with you.”

  “I do not want the Sassenach harmed, Devin. James would not let such a thing go unanswered. Besides, Montbourne has paid for his transgressions. Green as he is, he will look the fool in front of his men. Tomorrow the Lady Lochlaigh will serve her visitors a fine feast. They will be treated as though they were royalty. Now, if only I could discover why he has come.” The women servers had previously reported to Chandra that Montbourne’s men were untalkative. No help there. “Did Angus have the opportunity to search through his things before they were taken to his room?”

  “He had no opportunity at all. The earl carried his possessions with him.” Devin watched while Chandra stamped her small foot in frustration. “Why don’t you just present yourself? The charade over, you’ll learn why he’s here.”

  Turning away, Chandra slowly walked across the room. “I have a strange feeling that when I do, I’ll lose my freedom of choice.”

  “What do you mean?” Devin asked, coming up behind her. “You are The Morgan and the Lady Lochlaigh. No one can strip you of your power, except our king.”

  “That’s what I am afraid of,” she said, facing him. “Montbourne was sent by James. Maybe our king thinks I’m incapable of overseeing the clan ... that I cannot control the factions who oppose the Crown.”

  “Besides Cedric, and the few who follow him, there is no faction. None of us is particularly enamored of James, but your clansmen revere you, Chandra, as they did your father. This feeling you have is naught but the effects of the dreary weather.”

  “You may be right, Devin, but I’m not certain it is the weather. Remember when we were up in the wood, watching the hawk?”

  “Aye, and you were reminded of the ancient Morgan legend, all that superstitious babble about it being a bad omen when the hawk circles above the castle. ’Tis naught but blether, Chandra.”

  “Nonsense it might be, but at nearly the same time, a strong foreboding overcame me. The hawk’s foretokening had to mean something, for moments later, when we ran down the hill, there was Montbourne.”

  “You think he is part of the legend—the ‘winged hunter’? And I suppose you are ‘the ladybird,’ the wee creature that he is to carry away in his sharp talons.”

  “No, I do not. But I fear he has the power to alter my existence as I now know it. The change will come once he discovers who I am. I’ll not reveal myself to him, not just yet. First, I hope to uncover why he is here.”

  “If that is what you desire, you know I will help you.” His hands settled on Chandra’s soft shoulders and his light kiss fell on her cheek. “The day has been long and I grow weary. A good night’s rest will renew us both. Mayhap things won’t seem so bleak for you on the morrow.”

  Caught up in her own worries, Chandra had forgotten about her cousin’s weakened condition. She gazed fully at Devin. Set in a chalky face, his doe brown eyes were ringed by dark circles. Short breaths rattled in his lungs. He wobbled on his feet, much like a newborn colt. “I have kept you far too long,” she said, trying to mask her concern, for he appeared close to collapsing from fatigue. Devin was still ill, but were she to point out that fact, she knew he’d try to persuade her otherwise. Undoubtedly he would perform another stunt, hoping to con
vince her he was stout and strong, which was certain to result in a strength-robbing fit of coughing. Devin could not afford such an attack on his already frail body. “I too am tired,” she said, feigning a yawn. She rose on tiptoes to place a kiss on his pale cheek, then smiled. “As you say, a good night’s rest will renew us both.”

  “Aye, I shall see you on the morrow,” Devin responded, moving toward the door. Chandra followed. “Secure it well,” he said, opening the panel. “Despite his cool outward manner, I’m certain the Englishman possesses a hot temper. While he lies abed thinking about the rude welcome we Morgans have given him—especially the aftereffects of his much-desired bath—his anger might erupt. I’d not put it past him to come searching for the trickster who turned him green.”

  “English green,” Chandra corrected, an impish twinkle shining in her eyes. She noted Devin’s raised eyebrow. “I’ll bolt the door and sleep with a sharp knife under my pillow. I promise.”

  “Better it were a claymore,” Devin said, waving his good night.

  Locked in her chamber, Chandra continued to pace the floor, the ancient Morgan legend spinning through her head: Ladybird, ladybird, flee, else the winged hunter transform your destiny. Ladybird, ladybird, fly, sweep to the heavens ever so high. Sharp talons aimed at a tender young breast; quick, quick, lest he carry you afar to an alien nest.

  Chandra’s feet came to a sudden halt. Silently she chided herself for having worked herself into such an agitated state. The legend was naught but a silly tale holding little truth, a story meant to entertain the children—blether, as Devin had said. Yet Chandra could not shake the strange feeling that had overcome her in the glade.

  Gazing at her wide bed, she concluded the troubling sensation had possessed her because she was worn and weary, both physically and mentally. So much had happened in such a very short time—her father’s sudden, unexplained death, Devin’s upsetting illness, her uncle’s constant interference in her overseeing the clan, the Sassenach’s unwelcome arrival. Especially the latter! She must discover the Englishman’s mission, and quickly. Given Cedric’s disposition, Chandra knew she could not chance a wrong decision, otherwise disaster would result. Yes, a good night’s sleep should restore her wits and stamina, thereby quelling the mysterious foreboding.