The Enchantress

by May McGoldrick

  “We’ll keep an eye on Lady Nichola Percy. We will not let her slip away from us. But beyond that, we’ve entrusted our brother, the Blade of Barra, to secure Tiberius.” The leader turned to a young warrior to his right. “Brother, take word of our discovery to the Blade. And tell him that we shall not act until he tells us ‘tis time.”

  ******

  It was madness to go up to her bedchamber at this late hour. But sanity had never been one of William’s virtues.

  Going up the circular stairwell from the Great Hall to the east wing, he forced himself to give no thought to what he might say or do if she did answer her door when he knocked. Impulsiveness was his nature, and he knew when faced with her, his spontaneity could always be counted on to keep the woman off balance.

  He was just at the top of the stairs when the creak of a door opening down the corridor stopped him in his tracks. He waited a moment, not knowing exactly what to expect.

  To his great surprise Miriam tripped into the darkened passage, dressed in a white nightshirt and looking like some wee spirit. As he watched, the child stepped away from her own chamber door and ran to Laura's door at the far end of the corridor. The lassie paused, and the laird watched as she rubbed one bare foot against the other and ran wee hands up and down her arms to ward off the chilly air of the passageway.

  He looked up at the stars twinkling through the wrecked ceiling and cursed himself for not doing anything about it before.

  The child stood poised to knock on the door but then paused. Obviously deciding against it, Miriam then ran back to her own chamber, disappearing for only an instant before reappearing with a blanket thrown around her slender shoulders.

  She was moving too quickly to notice him as she took the first bend in the hallway, heading for the narrow steps that led down to the kitchen.

  William followed her to the top of the stairs, where he heard the sound of little feet hurrying down. He frowned into the darkness, confused by the child’s actions.

  Retracing his steps, he went to Miriam’s room and glanced inside. A small fire was still burning in the hearth. The bed, situated against one wall beneath a cheerful wall-hanging of Ross plaid, looked comfortable enough. The bedclothes had been thrown aside in the wake of the lassie’s hasty departure. There was a very attractive tapestry hanging on the far wall. Closed shutters effectively stopped the cold.

  The chamber was a great deal more comfortable and more nicely arranged than when he and his brothers had inhabited it. He couldn’t imagine why Miriam would not be happy sleeping in that room.

  William stepped out of the bedchamber and cast a longing look at Laura's door before taking the back stairway to the kitchen himself. At least the damned step had been repaired, he thought as he passed it. It was somewhat comforting to know that something he had done might have served to keep Miriam from getting injured in her nocturnal wandering.

  Ducking his head and stepping onto the landing overlooking the kitchen, the Ross laird peered into the half-darkness. There were a number of servants sleeping here and there. Several of the tables were laid out with trays containing neat rows of rising dough loaves. Chonny himself was lying on a table close to the door leading to the Great Hall, but sat up as William started down the steps.

  The laird crouched beside his cook.

  “Missing a wee one, Will?” the man whispered.

  William nodded and looked about him again in search of the child.

  “Check the sacks of oats near the hearth.” Chonny nodded in the direction of the far fireplace. “The lass ran down here only moments ago. Shaking like a leaf, she was. Thinking everyone was asleep, she crept down that a way and pulled some old sacking over her. I didna want to frighten the wee thing any worse than she already was.”

  Giving the cook a grateful pat on the arm, William rose to his feet and quietly walked to the hearth.

  All he could see at first glance was a small bundle of rags piled atop bulging sacks. Then a small hand and tangled locks of dark curls. He crouched before the child and gently pulled the coarse sacking from her face. She was already sound asleep.

  There was a sudden tightness in William’s chest that came unexpectedly. He stared down into Miriam’s face, at the long lashes that rested against her pale cheeks, at the mass of dark curls that seemed to have a will of their own.

  He remembered how the mother had looked when he first went to Hoddom Castle. So completely different from the dark-haired sprite before him. Mildred had been much older than Miriam when he first saw her. But still, William remembered so clearly. The straight blond hair that hung in a thick rope down her slender back to her waist. The pale hazel eyes that could bewitch a man. The smug self-assuredness that dared him to neglect noticing her beauty.

  He’d been young. He’d been a fool. And he had noticed.

  The tiny lass shivered and let out a small, sad, murmuring sound in her sleep, bringing William’s attention back to the present. He thought of another young woman, sleeping upstairs right now, who made similar sounds in her sleep.

  He gently reached under the child and lifted her up. Immediately, she took hold of his tartan and tucked her face snugly against his neck.

  She weighed almost nothing, he thought, rising to his feet. So small and so vulnerable. And his to care for.

  *****

  Laura sat bolt upright in the bed, thinking the roof was about to come down on her head.

  The sounds of hammering and a few shouts, then more banging, and then amidst all of the noise, a soft knocking at her door.

  She scrambled to her feet and threw a blanket around her shoulders before scurrying to answer. Pulling open the door, she found Miriam, all cleaned and dressed, standing on the other side.

  “May I come in?”

  Laura smiled at the child and opened the door wide to let her in. Peering down the hallway, she saw two men working by the windows. From the sounds of things, an entire crew of men were working on the roof.

  She closed the door behind the child. “I can’t believe I slept so late.” She poured some water into a basin and started washing her face with the cold liquid. The nightmares that had wrecked her sleep last night lingered in her memory. Last night had been among the worst, Laura thought. The frightening images, the cries of people. A map that seemed to float in the air just out of her reach. She splashed another handful of water on her face.

  Miriam walked to the window and, peering out, looked over the training yard. “‘Tis not late, mistress.”

  “Who helped you dress?”

  “No one. I did it myself. And I’ve already been down to the Great Hall and had a bite to eat.”

  “That’s excellent, Miriam.” Laura took off the laird’s old shirt that she still wore each night and pulled her gray wool dress over her head. Reaching behind her neck, she pulled the laces tight. “You must have been up before dawn. Oh, no! I was supposed to go to the chapel with Sir Wyntoun for Mass this morning.”

  “Sorry, I think you’re too late for that.” She continued to study the training yard. “When I was just sitting to eat in the Hall, Uncle provost and Sir Wyntoun were leaving for the chapel.”

  Laura stopped hurrying and sighed. “Oh well. So much for good intentions. And I think you might call the provost ‘Uncle Gilbert.’ I rather think he’d like that.”

  “Very well. I’d like that, too,” the little girl chirped cheerfully. “Do you like Sir Wyntoun, Laura?”

  “I...” Laura bit her lip and smiled at Miriam’s profile. She could see the wheels turning in the little matchmaker’s brain. “I find him...pleasant.”

  “Do you like my uncle? I mean, my uncle the laird.”

  Even at the mention of him, Laura found her cheeks warming. She folded his shirt and tucked it under the blankets. “I find him pleasant as well.” She bent over the narrow cot, smoothing the bedclothes.

  “Do you find him more pleasant than Sir Wyntoun?”

  Laura looked up and found the child’s attention had turne
d from the window and was focused on her face. Intense thought had knotted the little brow.

  “If this is all coming from your concern about everyone leaving and--”

  “‘Tisn’t.” She shook her head, the dark curls shaking prettily. “‘Tis just that I think the laird is--is more pleasant than Sir Wyntoun.”

  Laura's heart warmed. “I suppose I would have to agree with you, Miriam. Did you have your morning meal with your uncle?”

  The little girl turned her gaze back out the window. “Nay, he was directing the workers. He’s training in the yard with his men now.”

  Even though Miriam had spent almost no time with him, she was clearly partial toward her uncle. But there was something else, too. A subtle change in the child. A little more confidence.

  Laura moved behind her and peered down at the men in the yard. A smaller number than usual, she noted. On any day, though, with his height and the long waves of dark hair flowing over his muscled shoulders, William Ross was easily the most magnificent of the group.

  And the most...pleasant. Laura smiled inwardly, tearing her eyes away.

  “Will you keep me company while I go down to get something to eat?”

  Miriam gave one last glance at the yard and then nodded, placing a small hand in Laura’s. “I would like to make a present for him for Christmas.”

  She led the child out of the room. “I’m sure he’ll be very pleased.”

  “I’m fairly good at needlework. Do you think he’d like it if I made him something?”

  “I am certain he will,” Laura assured her. At least, she was certain to let him know that he was to be pleased. Miriam needed all the encouragement she could get in these first days.

  *****

  William climbed to the roof of the east wing and inspected the progress his men were making before heading down to the Great Hall.

  With Edward and Symon on his heels as they descended the spiral stairwell, the laird told his chief warrior that he wanted Dread saddled. Reminding his new steward of a few things that needed to be done, he also ordered Symon to send to Inverness for a glazier. As Edward and Symon exchanged surprised looks behind him, William said he wanted windows put into the upper level of the east wing as quickly as possible.

  Entering the Great Hall, the laird almost tripped over the body of Gilbert’s dog sprawled across the threshold.

  William glared down at the beast, but his face softened immediately at the sight of the little girl sitting cross-legged on the floor, petting the giant head of the dog in her lap.

  Her blue eyes looked up and met his trustingly. They had spoken so few words, and yet somehow William felt they had formed a bond already. Children are such strange creatures, he thought.

  “Good morning, lassie.”

  “Good morning, Uncle.”

  Last night when he had tucked her back into her own bed, Miriam had opened her eyes for a moment and stared at him in wonder. At first, he’d thought she was still asleep. But then her words had startled him.

  “I tried not to act spoiled.”

  He had seen the pooling of tears in her blue eyes. She seemed so sad. How could such a child so young be so sad?

  “You do not act spoiled,” he’d said simply.

  “You’re not angry with me for leaving my bedchamber?”

  “Nay, lass. This is your home. You go where you like.”

  She’d continued to look at him for a few moments longer before she’d drifted back to sleep. William had stayed there for a while longer, studying the room. Trying to see it through the eyes of a child. Too big. Too empty.

  Leaving her, he’d marched back down the Great Hall and dragged Willie, Gilbert’s huge dog, back to Miriam’s room. Settling the animal by the hearth, William had left the child to sleep.

  Chonny had reported this morning that he had not seen Miriam come back down to the kitchen during the night.

  Bringing the dog up had merely been a notion. But right now, looking at the contented child, he decided he had guessed correctly.

  Willie stretched lazily and pressed a broad paw against the laird’s leg, but William’s attention had already turned to the huge fireplace across the Hall. That filthy, thieving son of a whore was leaning comfortably against the carved stone that bordered the open hearth and speaking to Laura.

  William searched the Hall for Gilbert, cursing under his breath. Instead of chaperoning the two, as a man of the cloth should be doing, his miserable brother was standing by the doorway leading to the kitchens and chattering away with old Maire.

  When Laura laughed at something Wyntoun said, Gilbert glanced over at the two and then stepped out of the Great Hall.

  “By the dev--” William stifled his curse, silently chiding himself fiercely. How, by Duthac’s Shirt, had he become so damned obsessed with the woman?

  Snarling over his shoulder, he stormed across the Hall.

  Laura's violet eyes rounded, her eyebrows arching, as he approached. The ship-plundering, seagull-buggering island rat, however, merely turned carelessly away from him and continued his infernal chattering.

  William felt the last of his patience slipping away as he sailed toward his former friend. Wyntoun was out. Gone. Tied to his horse and sent packing. And today was the day.

  Two steps away from them, however, William pulled up short as Laura, smiling brightly, stepped in front of him, placing her slender body between the two men.

  William glared threateningly at MacLean over the head of the young woman. Out. Gone. Finished.

  “I’m so happy to see you, m’lord. I’ve been waiting to meet with you for most of the morning.”

  The man was grinning at William, and the Highlander considered knocking those teeth so far down his throat, he’d need a--

  “M’lord, if you could spare me a few moments, I’d be grateful if you grant me the time right now.”

  William looked down and found Laura's hand resting gently on his arm. Her touch was soft and warm.

  “I have business to finish here first.”

  Wyntoun MacLean was no longer grinning, though the change in attitude had nothing to do--William was quite certain--with his threatening words. His gaze was fixed on Laura's hand, and he suddenly looked a bit troubled.

  “But what I have to say is of the utmost importance. It cannot wait.”

  The flicker of envy in Wyntoun’s green eyes, as they darted from Laura to William and back to Laura, made the laird snort with satisfaction. With a smirk he took the young woman’s hand in his own and started for the laird’s chambers.

  She practically ran alongside him, trying to keep up with his long strides. “You know, William, talking with you was my idea.”

  “Think what you like.”

  As Gilbert reentered the Great Hall, William marched by--towing Laura behind him--and ignored his brother’s evident astonishment.

  “What I am trying to say,” Laura cried out, “is that you can let go of my hand. I promise not to run away.”

  He did not stop at the door to his chambers but dragged her in behind him.

  “I am in no mood to consider promises.”

  Without another word, William turned and glared out menacingly before slamming the door in the faces of a dozen astounded onlookers.

  *****

  Laura bit her lip, shocked by the unexpected and heavy-handed possessiveness demonstrated by the Highlander. If this wasn’t jealousy riling his temper, she didn’t know what was.

  He was still holding onto her hand as she stared up at him. They were in his chamber, and his huge bed stood ominously in the corner. She blushed as he turned his blue eyes on her face.

  “I--I don’t believe this is where--where we should talk.”

  He looked about the room, almost surprised at their surroundings and growled, “I see your point.”

  In a moment he had dragged her through a small door and into his work room. Once inside, he slammed that door shut and then, letting go of her hand, moved to the door leading to t
he Great Hall. Laura peered out from behind him. Nobody in the hall appeared to have moved at all. They were all still gawking, open-mouthed and curious.

  William slammed that door harder than the first.

  Laura backed against the hearth, trying to put as much distance as she could between herself and his temper. A moment later, when he turned around and looked at her, Laura’s pulse skittered wildly, and she felt the skin on her neck start to burn.

  If Sir Wyntoun MacLean had been the picture of polish and repose this morning, William Ross was the very opposite. His long hair, tied back with a leather thong, was still wet from washing. His tartan had been draped haphazardly across the white shirt covering his broad chest, and his sword belt hung low on one kilted hip.

  The man was far too handsome for a woman’s comfort, Laura thought, forcing herself to control her breathing. Why, she had just yesterday heard a couple of the scullery maids giggling about finding chores in the stables after the men were done in the training yard. From what she had gathered, the laird always washed up there afterward, and Laura decided that perhaps it was time to find a chore for herself out there one of these days.

  She quickly moved from the hearth to the window. Suddenly, she needed some air.

  “And what tales has that oversized magpie been charming you with this morning?”

  “Tales?” she repeated vaguely, watching him lean one hip against his worktable. Why men didn’t wear kilts in the Lowlands or in England was suddenly incomprehensible. She turned abruptly to the window and pulled open the shutter. “‘Tis warm in here. Don’t you think so?”

  “What was that baboon whispering so confidentially in your pretty ear, Mistress Laura?”

  The draught of cold air had some effect but not enough, she thought, turning to face him. “I thought we were here to discuss my concerns.”

  “We will,” he growled impatiently. “But first tell me about the affable Sir Wyntoun.”