The Enchantress

by May McGoldrick

  He went around a table and found Chonny sitting on a low three legged stool. The man was working intently, writing with a charcoal stick on a wooden board set on his lap.

  Watching for a moment in silence, William frowned, cursing himself inwardly. If he had been doing the task he’d been entrusted with from the beginning, he would have found some way of making Chonny useful long before now.

  “What are you devising, you ugly son of a hedgehog? Working up a witch’s brew, no doubt.”

  The crippled man looked up and scowled fiercely. William brightened, knowing immediately that Chonny was not going to change with the new position. The laird overturned a nearby bucket and sat down close to the new cook.

  “And what kind of spell have you cast on these people?” William gestured to the workers. “Not a complaint, not a squabble, not even any threat of blood being shed.”

  “If there is any blood to be shed, ‘twill only be me doing it.” Chonny looked across the tables at the kitchen and lowered his voice. “To be honest, you’re the charm, Will. When I told them they would not all be coming in here to work for you every day, the cursed creatures turned into a flock of lambs.”

  William looked around him as well. “And with no help, you miserable wretch, how did you plan to feed us then?”

  Chonny grunted again, but William could hear the hint of excitement in the man’s voice as he started with his explanation.

  “Once we get things going smoothly, I’ll only keep a few of the best helpers, the ones who want to be here. As to the rest of them, I’ll have one group work in the morning and another come in for the evening meal. If we need others on occasion, we’ll bring them in from the village.”

  “A good plan, Chonny.”

  The man reddened in the face and cursed, but a look of pride was evident when he glanced again over his new kingdom. “A lot of this was Mistress Laura’s doing. But a lot of it came from my head, too!”

  William slapped him hard on the shoulder and nodded. “You’re doing wonders here. Just let me know if you need anything and I’ll--”

  “She told me what you wanted.” The man looked down at the writing on the board. “That’s what I’m doing now. Instead of yelling and complaining, I’m making a list for you of everything that we need, or that needs to be done here.”

  “A list.”

  “Aye. Mistress Laura said I can give it to her or to you. ‘Tis almost finished.”

  “Mistress Laura told you that.” William rose to his feet. “When you’re ready, we’ll talk about what you need. One thing, though, that the woman probably did not tell you...”

  “Aye?”

  “If you poison me, hedgehog, I’ll haunt you into the next world.”

  Chonny snorted in reply as the laird turned toward the steps.

  William frowned as he crossed the kitchen toward the east wing. It was time to take this woman in hand. She’d hired the blasted steward. Granted, that looked as if it should work out. And he didn’t have a problem with what she’d done regarding Chonny, either. But the rest of it--the laird’s chamber, the cursed worktable, and God knows what else--well, he had a few things to say about that. Laura Percy was meddling in his business, and he had to make her understand that he would draw the lines.

  William started up the steps two at the time. Rounding the corner at the landing, though, he tripped, catching himself before going face down on the stone stairs again. Turning, he eyed the missing step and made a mental note of having the blasted thing fixed today.

  In the upper level, the corridor and the roof were in the same condition as William had seen yesterday morning. Oddly, he was almost relieved to find that his entire company of warriors was not on the roof-- under Laura’s direction--trying to patch the thing.

  Remembering what she’d said earlier about placing Miriam in a chamber adjacent to hers, William decided to look at the room he’d once shared with his brothers.

  He knew the place looked very different now. It had been dramatically altered in the last ten years, for Mildred had chosen to stay in this wing while the laird’s chambers were being renovated for her and Thomas. Hearing this after coming back to Blackfearn Castle as laird, William had consciously chosen to let the wing rot. The damage from the storm the previous summer had done nothing to change his feelings.

  But now, even though he wanted nothing to do with the child, he knew he couldn’t leave her in a wing so badly in need of repairs.

  The muffled voices of women came from the chamber. William stopped at the threshold and peered in.

  A pile of old bedding straw lay in a heap on the floor. Accumulated dirt had been swept into the doorway, and a cloud of dust hung in the air. What furniture had been left in the chamber had all been pulled into the middle. A bucket of water was by one wall, and another sat by the small fireplace jutting out from the far wall.

  William looked at the two occupants in the room. Maire was hanging out the window, shaking a bedding sack, while the other woman knelt in the small hearth, her head up the chimney as she energetically scrubbed away with a rag she kept dipping into the bucket.

  “And where might Mistress Laura be?”

  Maire turned in surprise at the laird’s voice, but the woman on all fours in the chimney, after freezing momentarily, appeared to crawl in farther.

  “She--she--”

  William followed Maire’s nervous gaze as it flitted uncomfortably toward the hearth before quickly returning to him.

  “I--I’ll tell her ye’re looking for her, master.”

  “No need. I believe I’ll just keep looking until I find her.” He motioned for Maire to leave the room, and with a quick curtsy the older woman dropped the sack and scurried out.

  William waited for a few moments in the doorway, glancing with distaste at the meager furnishings of the room, waiting for the stubborn woman to give up and come out of the chimney. But Laura appeared content to stay there, keeping up her pretense of being someone else.

  He stepped into the room and moved over to close the open window. Walking around the chamber, he looked closer at the furniture. As young lads he and Gilbert and Thomas all had slept very comfortably in this room. Guests of importance visiting Blackfearn Castle had been placed next door, in the room closest to the stairs leading down to the Great Hall.

  Shaking off the memories of the past and trying to focus instead on the problem at hand, William’s eyes rested on Laura Percy’s firm behind sticking out of the open hearth. Erotic images flashed through his mind. By the devil, he didn’t know, but she brought out the worst in him.

  “‘Tis a good thing you’re cleaning up this room, lass. I was thinking of bringing Molly up here from the Three Cups Tavern, and this should please the wench very well.”

  He watched the woman’s back stiffen. Moving across the chamber to the fireplace, William leaned one shoulder against the stone mantel. His boot rested close to the shapely calf protruding from the dress.

  “Last time she was here, she had the cheek to complain about the laird’s chamber. Too close to the Great Hall. Said between my grunting and her own moaning--going at it all night as we do--she’d feel better not stirring up the folk in the Hall.”

  William could almost feel her brain busily reeling, planning, devising a way to do him harm. No doubt she would concoct something painful. He took a step back cautiously as she began to back herself out of the hearth.

  “You’re not finished in there, are you, lass? I can still see a speck of--”

  The filthy, wet, soot-blackened rag caught him full in the face and chest, silencing William Ross in a hurry. He looked down in disgust as the rag dropped onto his foot. He was now covered with grime.

  Laura slowly rose to her feet and glanced at the man with fire in her eyes. “Molly?”

  “Mistress Percy?” he replied, eyeing her blackened face, the filthy dress, the violet eyes that flashed with temper through the soot covering her ivory skin. He fought back a smile. Even as she was, the woman
was absolutely stunning.

  She pointed an accusing finger at his chest. “If you think for one moment that I’m going through all this work so you can place your mistress in this chamber...”

  “Molly is not really my mistress, lass, just a wench from the Three Cups. A man likes to have a woman now and again, you know.”

  As she stared at him, his words sank in, and a look of panic suddenly flickered across her face. He took a step toward her, and she retreated, holding a hand up to him.

  “Wench or mistress, call her what you like. But she’ll not...” Laura backed around the furniture in the center of the room as he continued to stalk her. “This chamber is being prepared for your niece, and you are a rake and a villain and a knave if you think--” She gasped as he caught her wrist in his viselike grip. There was no getting away from him, but she jutted her chin out pugnaciously. “You may be laird of this castle, but I won’t let you ruin--”

  He tugged hard on her wrist, and she tumbled against his chest. His mouth was on hers in an instant. Her one hand clutched his tartan as he kissed her, and with a soft moan she opened her lips beneath his. His tongue plundered the soft recesses of her mouth, tasting her, pleasuring in the sweetness, daring her, challenging her to a recklessness that he was certain she had never known.

  And it took only a moment before she rose to that challenge.

  Laura arched against him, her tongue rubbing seductively against his own. Her hand came up, clutching his neck, forcing him to increase the pressure of his mouth. He took one of her breasts in his hand, kneading it, and she leaned into him, a moan again emanating from deep within her. He pressed his leg intimately between her legs, and her thighs locked on his own. As he moved against her, Laura’s breaths shortened to soft whimpers.

  He wanted her. He ached to have her. Sliding his hands over the firm curve of her buttocks, he lifted her higher on his thigh. Her mouth went lax for a moment, her head rolling to one side. Her breathing was now a series of mere gasps, and he pressed his mouth to her neck.

  Her body was beginning to move, as if in response to some inner rhythm. William slid one hand between their bodies, feeling the soft mound, stroking her, increasing the tempo. The layers of fabric were a hindrance, but he pressed on. Nipping her, leaning down and mouthing her breast through the thickness of the cloth, he encouraged her. And then, suddenly, she exploded with a frenzied cry of release.

  Immediately covering her mouth with his own, he drew her tight against his chest. Kissing her deeply, he rocked her in his arms, relishing the incredible pleasure of having her come apart with such sweet passion.

  She kissed him back, and her still burning fire was nearly enough to undo him. The bed was only a step away, her fevered body willing, his for the taking.

  But then he realized he could not have her. Laura Percy did not deserve to lose her maidenhead to a wild, unmarriageable scoundrel like himself. Nay, she deserved nothing less than marriage.

  He couldn’t do it. Not to this woman. Not now.

  Drawing back, he broke the kiss, smiling at the way she came dreamily after him, wanting more. But he couldn’t give her what she was after. She deserved far more.

  He cupped her chin in his hand and held her in place. “Your face is quite a sight.”

  Her eyes opened slowly, and even beneath all the soot, her cheeks were inflamed with heat. “I--I’m...”

  “Aye. You, lass.”

  As he looked into her face, she gathered herself together.

  “I’m at a loss...” She grew even more crimson. “The way I behaved! I don’t understand!”

  He placed both hands on her shoulders and met her misty violet eyes. “Do not regret what has happened, lass. We simply have this--this thing between us.” He let go of her and abruptly stepped back, putting some distance between them. He could not remain as close to her as he’d been. It would be all too easy to pick up where they’d left off.

  “What is this thing?”

  He went around to the far side of the bed. More distance. “They call it ‘lust.’” It sounded a little harsh, even to his own ears, but at this moment he would prefer temper over acquiescence.

  “Is this...?” Her face clouded over. “This is what you share with Molly, I take it.”

  Damn the woman for looking this wounded--this beautiful. He walked to the window and yanked open the shutter, letting in the frigid air. It had never been like this with Molly. It had never been like this with anyone. Never before had any semblance of thought come between desire and satisfaction.

  “You don’t answer, so I assume ‘tis.”

  He should have corrected her, but he didn’t. He couldn’t, since he was afraid as soon as he opened his mouth, he wouldn’t know when to shut it. There was a long silence before she spoke again.

  “M’lord, I--I object to you putting Molly in this chamber.”

  He turned to her. “You can object all you want. I will do as I wish.”

  “I won’t allow you to ruin it.”

  “Ruin what, Laura?”

  “My plans.”

  “Your plans!” he repeated shortly, his frustration spilling out all at once. “Let me tell you something about your plans. They are not my plans. In fact, I do not have any plans. In fact, I hate plans. And I’m quite tired of you going around and passing off your plans as mine.”

  “I have done no such thing, but you are an incorrigible knave to retract your promises so quickly.”

  “I have not retracted what I told you. But you, on the other hand, have been quick to embellish on what I agreed to.”

  “I have done no such thing.”

  He pointed an accusing finger in her direction. “You call meddling in my business no such thing? Pawing through my worktable, organizing my chamber, using my name to accomplish what you believe needs to be done.”

  Her violet eyes flashed. Her cheeks glowed as she defended herself. “You must be absolutely blind if you cannot see that the little I have done was not to fulfill my own desires but the needs of your people. And if you paid more attention to being the laird you should be, you would have long ago seen to these matters yourself. Then, there would be no need of my, as you so absurdly call it, meddling.”

  “So you admit that you are meddling.”

  “I do not!”

  “As a matter of fact, I would have taken care of all of this myself.”

  “When?” she asked him. “In another two years? And meanwhile, everyone is waiting. What about the immediate needs of your people? Or the needs of a child who is being sent here and put under your care?”

  “I did not ask anyone to have her brought here. She should have stayed where she was.”

  “But she is not staying there. She is coming, and she has needs.”

  “Needs? You don’t have to tell me. I know all about those needs.” He took an impatient step toward the door and lifted his finger again in accusation. “The needs of a privileged woman--a brat--born and raised with all comforts that wealth can offer. Just like her mother. Aye, she had needs, too.” He took another step toward the door. “Well, the wee chit can wither in this castle for all I care, for I will never aid another monster like Mildred. Never!”

  As the laird turned to leave, his brain on fire with bitter memories, he saw Gilbert standing silently in the corridor, watching, listening. William pushed past his brother without a word.

  Laura watched him go. Confused and hurt, she stared at the priest, a poker of hot iron buried deep in her belly.

  CHAPTER 15

  The gusts of wind howling through the kirk yard of Ironcross Castle tore at the tall monk’s cloak. Limping through the graves toward the vaults, he scowled darkly at his squinted-eyed companion.

  “‘Tis not your position to question me. Particularly regarding whom I choose to use in this quest.”

  “I meant no harm,” the wiry priest quickly replied. “But knowing--having heard so many bloody tales of this pirate. I mean--the Blade of Barra is a name feared by any
one who has ever traveled in the west. I just--”

  “He is a Knight of the Veil in addition to being a thief of the seas. He is as well known, to some, for his honor as for his cunning. He was chosen by those in his order because of that reputation, but he will yield to me because of his greed.”

  “So you trust him to get the treasure for you?”

  A croaking noise rose from the monk’s throat, a laugh devoid of mirth. The other man winced involuntarily at the sound.

  “I trust him to get the maps. When it comes time to go after the Treasure of Tiberius, though, I will not trust the Angel Gabriel himself."

  *****

  “Who was Mildred?”

  Gilbert Ross glanced over his shoulder down the empty corridor. There was no sign of William, who had disappeared only a moment earlier, carrying a lifetime of guilt on his shoulders. Before turning and meeting the young woman’s troubled eyes, he thought hard about how to answer her question.

  “She was Thomas’s wife. The only child of Lord Herries of Hoddom. She was Miriam’s mother.”

  Laura wrapped her hands tightly about her to contain the hurt she felt inside. She’d wanted to be of help. But she’d clearly touched a source pain inside him. There was torment buried there that she’d never imagined, hidden beneath an exterior of reckless indifference. She took a deep breath and pressed on.

  “What was she to William?”

  Even as she blurted out the question, she knew she had no right to ask. William had made it clear that he despised her and her ‘meddling.’ She had no right to know.