The provost walked quietly into the chamber and went to the hearth. Standing there, he stared down into the bucket of filthy water on the floor.
“Years back, mistress, when we were young lads and Thomas came of age, William was sent first to the university at St. Andrew’s and then to Lord Herries for his entry into the world. As the second son and dead set against a life in the church--a life I was planning on for myself--William’s options were few. But his best chance lay in seeking a position in the king’s service, in becoming a courtier or a politician--though neither of those things seemed to me to fit William’s nature.” The provost stopped, his blue eyes thoughtful as they rested on Laura. “William and Mildred were the same age. They were both at Hoddom Castle before ‘twas arranged for Mildred to marry Thomas. Anything beyond that, mistress, should probably come from William himself.”
She nodded in understanding, though she knew the Ross laird would never provide her with any more information than what she’d just been told. Perhaps, though, she had no need to know anything more.
“I believe he wishes for me to leave.”
Gilbert made his way around the room, studying the furnishings. “You are making a difference, Laura. He needs you.”
She shook her head adamantly. “I’ve overstepped my position. ‘Twould be best if I were to return to St. Duthac’s.”
“And forsake the cause?”
Laura looked away from the provost’s probing gaze. She searched for something to do with her hands. They were covered with soot, William’s imprint on her wrist the only mark of white.
“I thought you were determined to stay and see that wee Miriam gets settled.”
“She already has a good start. With the new steward installed here, and you here now as well--the laird has very little need for me at Blackfearn.”
Deep inside, she wished it was different. She wanted to be allowed to stay. The usefulness she felt in doing things to improve castle life filled her up somehow. And if she wanted to be truly honest, the energy she felt race through her whenever she and William argued, the lightning bolts that set her ablaze whenever he touched her--the way he touched her--these things were everything she’d dreamed of and yet missed all of her life.
But now he wanted her gone, and that was reason enough to go.
She watched the provost’s wide shoulders as he moved to the window and looked out for a long moment. He turned then and faced her.
“Laura, though my predecessor was the one who corresponded with your mother, I will still honor Nichola Percy’s request and your request, and keep you at St. Duthac’s for as long as you desire.” He clasped his strong hands before him, a look of concern clouding his blue eyes. “But having received an additional letter from the earl of Athol and finding that there are...well, dangerous men following you and your sisters--”
“I don’t have to go to St. Duthac.” She blurted out immediately, remembering how helpless the nuns at Little Ferry had been. She could understand the provost’s concern for his people. “I can go away, disappear to some forgotten convent in the mountains to the north.”
Gilbert shook his head. “Nay, lass. That would not be the answer. Whoever these people are that are after your family, they will have no difficulty locating you wherever you go.”
She felt the burning sensation again creeping into her middle. In the letter she had received from her sister, Catherine had suggested that Laura come and join her new family at Balvenie Castle. With the opening of the new school, Catherine had been adamant about needing the younger sister’s help. But her sister was a dreamer, and though nothing would make Laura happier than being reunited with Catherine, their mother’s orders needed to be obeyed as closely as possible. The main thing was that three sisters were not to be together--not until such time as the Treasure of Tiberius was ready to be secured.
She turned helplessly to the provost. “Where do you suggest I go?”
Gilbert stared at his hands for a moment before looking up at Laura again. “I suggest that you marry. As things stand, with a husband and the protection he can offer...”
“Marry!” she repeated in confusion.
“Aye. Your eldest sister chose that path, and she is safely situated at Balvenie Castle.”
Laura wrung her hands. “But she--she met the earl of Athol...and there must have been some time that passed. I’m certain that my mother would not have simply arranged a marriage for my sister.”
Gilbert cocked an eyebrow. “Mistress, from what I’ve learned of their union, they were married the first night she arrived in the Highlands. In fact, the earl’s men dragged a priest out of his bed in the middle of the night to bless the marriage at the earl’s hunting lodge.”
Laura’s eyes rounded in surprise. Catherine had mentioned nothing about the hurried ceremony. She shook her head, though, and faced the provost. “Though such an action might have worked for my sister, it cannot work for me.”
“And why is that, mistress?”
She started pacing the room. “Because we are different people.” She stopped abruptly and met the man’s questioning gaze. “Catherine’s one wish was to open a school of her own. And she has already told me in her letter that the school is opening with her new husband’s support. ‘Twas easy for her to find her way.”
“And you, Laura?”
She turned and paced the room again. “I need constant challenges. Things to plan and do. Certainly no husband would understand that in a wife. And there is surely no man out there who could possibly...” Her words trailed off.
“Would you allow me to act in your interest, mistress?”
“But I don’t know anyone in the Highlands. I am half English! I--”
“Leave it to me, lass. Since I now know that you will at least consider marriage as an option, leave it to me to gather the names of some possible matches. No one will force you to accept someone unsuitable.”
Gnawing her lip, Laura nodded resignedly and stared down again at the band of white around her dirty wrists. Perhaps finding a husband was the answer. Perhaps marrying a stranger would give her the chance to free herself from this maddening spell William Ross had cast on her.
“Now that we have a plan ahead of us,” Gilbert stated, drawing Laura out of her silent brooding and leading her out the door. “there is no reason to waste time sending you back to the convent at St. Duthac’s. You are safer here under William’s protection, for the time being, and in no time at all we will find you just the right husband. You’ll see, we’ll find just the right match.”
A doomed match at best, she thought silently. But one that at least would release her from the unhappiness she was causing at Blackfearn Castle.
*****
William knew he had to get outside of the confining walls of Blackfearn Castle. He knew he had to get away so he could breathe. So that he could think.
Taking Dread and leaving everything and everyone behind, he took to the snow-covered hills, riding south for hours. Pushing his steed up the rugged slopes of Meall Mor, William finally dismounted and walked through snow-encrusted bracken to the edge of a precipice. Below him, ice had formed on a narrow loch. Steep, craggy hills hemmed the frozen waters on two sides, and a mist rose over the frothy stream leading into the loch. Far to the south, the violet-gray peak of Ben Wyvis disappeared into a cloud.
He was in trouble. For so long he had struggled to drive the past from his mind. And yet there was no escape from it. And now this woman, this Laura Percy. His actions in that chamber in the east wing were more than troubling. What was the matter with him? She was a desirable woman; he wanted her. The old Will Ross would have just taken her. This new William couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted her. He couldn’t ruin her chances for something better, and God knew he did not deserve to keep her.
In the distance, clouds swept over the braes, blanketing them one moment, releasing them in the next.
All his life he had tried to turn his back on those things that plagued him,
tormented him. But now, as he stood looking out where Ross and Munro land joined, running away no longer seemed like the right thing to do.
As he Walked back to where Dread stood patiently watching him, thoughts of Laura continued to crowd his brain. She knew what was important. With her violet eyes flashing, her words had battered down the thick wall of indifference he’d constructed so many years ago around his heart. For the first time in years he had made himself see the truth--and his own cowardice.
Mounting Dread, William spurred his horse over the frozen and uneven ground. By St. Andrew, there were changes that needed to be made. Not so much for himself, but for his people, his clan.
His people. His clan. He silently repeated those words to himself. He had responsibilities. Thomas was dead! Dead. Dead. Dead. Gilbert was a priest who had his own responsibilities. Everything had been left to him. His people. His clan. And as Laura had said so pointedly, he’d been neglecting them.
He would make a change, he vowed. He would work on improving the castle and the clan’s holdings. He would do his best for his people.
But he would do it in his way. Laura’s methodical way of organizing--of putting in order everything and everyone around her--was not his way. He would not suffocate himself trying to be something he was not.
He turned Dread’s head back toward Blackfearn Castle.
If he were to have any peace of mind, she would have to leave. Having her this close was more than a distraction, it was gunpowder by a lit torch. Whether it be their desires or their tempers, her nearness made them both dangerous, explosively so.
William thought of his brother staying at Blackfearn Castle. He would speak to him when he got back. Gilbert had sent her here to start with; he could take her away. The wee, fiery planner had to go away. It was as simple as that. It was their only sure salvation.
But as he rode back to the keep, William had a nagging feeling that he’d just concocted a plan.
*****
He had chosen a crusader’s life. He no longer carried a weapon. But when it came to fighting the battle of right and wrong, of pursuing the enemies of justice, Gilbert Ross was the fiercest of warriors.
To Gilbert’s surprise, the pigeonholes in the cabinet behind his brother’s work table had been recently dusted. It took only a moment to find the scroll he was searching for.
Drawing it out, he untied the black ribbon and unrolled the old thick vellum on the work table. He remembered quite vividly when he and William had drawn this map. Father Francis had provided maps of the coastline for them, and they had gleaned every scrap of information they could from every priest, merchant, warrior, and sailor that they could find. From York to the Orkneys and from the Western Isles to Aberdeen, the map was as complete as they had been able to make it. It had every castle, burgh, abbey, and town they had ever heard of. Every river, loch, mountain, and glen had been included, as well as every clan.
It had taken them months to complete, and Gilbert smiled at how hard the two of them had worked at it. Father Francis had grudgingly called it a treasure.
Placing his candlestick carefully in the center, the provost leaned over the map, his eyes perusing every line on the large sheet of vellum. There was a battle brewing in the castle, and he was not about to be left out of it.
Laura, confining herself to that drafty chamber in the east wing, wanted out. She’d spoken to him again tonight. After considering all of her options, she’d said, she had decided to marry whomever Gilbert thought fit, as long as it could be arranged expeditiously.
William had stormed into the castle earlier in the afternoon with his own demands. The woman had to go, he’d demanded. Gilbert could send her away, take her away, or sell her to the Turks if he wanted to. Whatever had to be done, William wanted never to have to face the Englishwoman again.
Though Gilbert was no expert, it certainly sounded like love to him.
Why, the two had been acting like two well-matched armies poised and ready to fight. And now they wanted to withdraw? Well, Gilbert had already spent too many hours praying and planning to allow that. Engage they would, if he had anything to do with it.
Before Laura and William had been aware of his presence, he’d witnessed the heat between them. By St. Duthac, he had seen sparks flying about that room as they argued.
He might be a priest, but he was also a man. And he recognized the signs of two people desperately attracted to one another. It was so obvious. They couldn’t hide it. The curious smudges of soot on each of their faces. Laura’s swollen lips. Her flushed face. William’s stormy frustration.
There was no other choice in the matter. His task was simply to keep them together. Let them butt heads. Let them shed blood if need be--if that was what it took to make each see the value in the other. They were a perfect match, and it was up to Gilbert to use every divine...and earthly...means to make them realize the truth.
Symon, the new steward, entered the laird’s work room, and Gilbert lifted his eyes from the map.
Ah, the provost thought, eyeing the balding head and bowed legs of the man, the first warrior recruit for his own earthly company.
“The bedchamber in the east wing is prepared for your niece’s arrival.”
Gilbert nodded in approval. “Did you find my brother?”
The man stepped closer. “The laird said he will be joining you here, as you requested, but I saw him heading for the kitchen.”
Upon seeing Gilbert’s raised eyebrows, the elder man continued. “I cannot say for sure, but I believe the master went to congratulate Chonny on the meal. ‘Twas the best I’ve had since arriving.”
A change indeed, Gilbert thought pleasantly. “And Mistress Laura?”
“She approved of your niece’s chamber after the women were done with it, and then she returned to her own room to take her supper there.”
Gilbert glanced at the doorway, making certain William was not within earshot. “Did you convey my wishes to her?”
Symon nodded. “I am to go after her when the time comes.”
“Well done.” Gilbert nodded, leaning again over the map at the sound of his brother’s steps approaching the laird’s chamber.
The steward stepped back respectfully as William strode in. The Ross cast a curious glance at his brother intently studying the map.
“Excuse me, laird,” said Symon. “If you would like, I can complete that letter to the bishop tonight.”
William moved to the desk and picked up a neatly folded parchment and handed it to the steward. After his man left the room, the Highlander turned to Gilbert.
“What are you planning, my saintly brother? A raid?”
Without looking up, Gilbert moved the candle to another place on the map. “Nay, just refreshing my memory regarding some of the neighboring lairds.”
Puzzled and yet interested, William stared down at the vellum as well.
Gilbert’s long, slender finger pointed at the mark of a castle on the map. “What do you think of the MacKays?”
William frowned at his brother. “The MacKays are north of the Sutherlands. What do you want to know?”
“Their laird, wasn’t he widowed a year back?”
William’s blue eyes narrowed as they met his brother’s. “I do not recall hearing anything of that.”
Gilbert shook his head and turned his attention back to the map. “MacKenzie! Now, they have a fine stretch of land to your west and a brace of goodly sons, if I recall. What was the name of the firstborn?”
“Neil.”
“Aye, Neil MacKenzie. He is from good blood and family and fortune. He must certainly be ready for a wife.”
William planted both hands on the table and growled at his brother. “Neil MacKenzie may be fifteen years old, if that. What are you about, Gilbert?”
The provost shook his head with disappointment and stared again at the map. “Fifteen might be a wee young for the lass.”
“What lass?”
“Laura, of course.” Gilbert
didn’t lift his eyes off the vellum. “She and I talked, and we both agreed that rather than sending her back to St. Duthac’s Shrine--where she would be more exposed to the dangers of those pursuing her--we should just find her a husband.”
“A husband!” William gave a bitter laugh, straightening from the table and stalking to the fireplace. “The poor soul. I say, ‘twould be best if you just send her back to her own people. Let them find a match for her.”
“Send her south?” Gilbert replied, disbelief evident in his voice. “So she can lose her head to the English king, as her father lost his?”
The laird’s face creased into a frown. “Och, you know I--I don’t wish any harm to befall her.”
“Good. Then you can help me find her a suitable husband, since the lass is eager to be out of Blackfearn Castle.” Gilbert turned his attention once again to the map. “Once we decide on a suitable list of candidates, then I will send each one a letter, explaining what I can of her condition. She has no dowry as it stands now, half English, and she comes from a family rife with daughters. But she’s young, at least, from noble blood, and between her name and education and looks...” Gilbert turned and found William by the hearth, staring into the fire. “Do you think she has good looks?”
“You have eyes. What do you think?”
The provost shook his head. “I think most would consider her too thin. She is a wee thing, after all, and that will also be an obstacle, considering the size of our bairns. And then there are her eyes. Too large, don’t you think so, William?”
“There is nothing wrong with her eyes,” the laird snapped, walking to the table.
“A strange color.”
William snorted angrily. “They are not strange. The blasted things are the shade of heather before it opens, if you must know.”
Gilbert cocked an eyebrow and focused again on the map.
“Frasers!” he said after a moment. “Dounie Castle would be, what, three days' ride to her sister?”
The Enchantress Page 17