True Highland Spirit

by Amanda Forester

  “Dinna follow her,” said one flame-haired wench, grabbing his arm. “All she has is a bed; she’ll no’ give ye what I can offer.” She squeezed her breasts and licked her lips.

  “Thank you for that kindly offer but…”

  “Nay, he dinna want yer ill-used arse,” squawked a black-haired wench who had long since lost her head covering. “Come wi’ me, sugar. I ken what a knight like ye wants.”

  “Thank you, but no. All I want is to sleep.” Dragonet disengaged himself from the clutches of the amorous drunk and hustled after Morrigan, worried he had lost her. He need not have been concerned, since the sounds of cursing led him to her directly.

  “Damn, stupid thing. How do people walk in this fool gown?” Morrigan was doubled over on the castle stairs, trying to disentangle the hem of her gown from her feet.

  “I believe you must lift your skirts when walking up stairs to avoid treading on the hem of your gown,” said Dragonet, leaning against the stone wall behind her.

  Morrigan straightened and whirled around to face him. “Ye wear gowns much do ye? Perhaps tomorrow ye can wear one to supper and show me how it’s done.”

  Dragonet merely smiled. He had learned from wearing his monk’s robes, but that was not a topic open for conversation. Morrigan glared at him, but her cheeks were rosy.

  “Well ye offered yer advice, now what do ye want?” demanded Morrigan.

  “You mentioned a room?”

  “So ye dinna wish to bed one o’ those wenches?”

  “I am greatly tired. All I want is to sleep.”

  “Have them come for ye in the morn. They can service ye after ye’re rested.”

  “I do not wish to be… serviced.”

  Morrigan shrugged and continued up the stairs, skirts in hand. “’Tis no concern o’ mine. I dinna ken why ye should tell me about it.”

  Dragonet followed her up four flights of the winding staircase to the floor where the family lived. Torches flickered in their iron holders, leaving long, black trails of smoke on the walls. They passed an open door to a solar, and a few doors farther, Morrigan stopped at another open door.

  “Here is yer room.” She stopped at the threshold as if wary to enter, even for a moment.

  Dragonet walked past her into the room. It was in deep shadow, the only light coming from the flickering torches in the hall. “The room is very nice. I thank you.”

  “Thank Alys.”

  “I will do as you suggest. She is a new addition to your family?”

  “Aye, Archie wed her several months ago. One o’ the few things he got right.”

  “She seems a kind woman.”

  Morrigan nodded but remained in the doorway, leaning her shoulder against the door frame. Dragonet waited for her to speak.

  “I want to thank ye for bringing Andrew home. It is a kindness I…” Morrigan’s voice trailed off and she looked down, wiping the palms of her hands on her silk gown. “But why?” Her gaze reached him again, her eyes large and black in the dimly lit room. “Why would ye leave yer fellow knights to bring him all the way back to the Highlands?”

  Dragonet had anticipated that question and gave a ready answer. “The town of Berwick, it was taken, but not the castle. We planned a siege, but they were well equipped and could have lasted through the winter. We learned King Edward had amassed an army to march against us, eighty thousand men, experienced soldiers all. To stand against them, it would be folly.”

  “So ye left?”

  “I fear they all did. The Duke of Argitaine decided to withdraw once the hope of success had waned. After that the clans, they slipped away one by one.”

  “Like rats leaving a sinking ship.” Morrigan crossed her arms over her chest, temporarily blocking his view from the one thing he should not be looking at. “Did I no’ warn that would happen? But would anyone listen to me?”

  “Your judgments have been proven correct, my lady.”

  “Lot o’ good that does anyone now. But why are ye here? Why no’ return to France wi’ yer fellow knights?”

  “I promised to you I would look after Andrew.”

  “Ye certainly took yer promise seriously.”

  “He is a good lad. It was not difficult to want to help.” His promise to Morrigan was not the only reason he was there, but he was accustomed to revealing only half-truths, though it never made him as uncomfortable as it did then. Dragonet looked down, avoiding her eye. “I felt it wrong to leave, after I had encouraged the clans to go to war.”

  Morrigan snorted and began to pace out into the hall and back to the doorway, still never crossing the threshold. “What do those arrogant Frenchies care if they cause pain and suffering for us? Why be concerned about people they feel are infinitely below their notice? Damn nobility, they care naught for the lives they destroy.”

  “I cannot defend the duke’s decision, but I will offer my apologies most sincere.”

  Morrigan stopped, her eyes locked on his. “Why are ye here Dragonet? Why care for my brother and travel all this way?”

  Again Dragonet was uncomfortable but not unprepared in his answer. “I found Chaumont and Gavin taking Andrew to see the Mother Enid. Naturally, I accompanied them to lend my assistance to his care.”

  “I still canna believe Chaumont and Gavin would help us. The MacLarens have always hated the McNabs.”

  “It does not appear Gavin realizes he is a MacLaren, nor Andrew a McNab.”

  “They did forge an ill-conceived friendship,” Morrigan conceded.

  “Ill-conceived or no, Gavin helped take Andrew to the Mother Enid for the medicine that could save him. I think also Chaumont was desirous to take Gavin away from the war going poorly. He discharged the Graham soldiers and helped Gavin take Andrew away from danger.”

  “I ne’er thought I would be beholden to a MacLaren.” Morrigan scowled at the prospect. “But that still does not explain why ye brought Andrew here from the convent.”

  Dragonet again avoided her eye. “Andrew wished to be home, and I thought it right to oblige him. I did not wish for him to travel alone. I gave you my word I would look out for him, so of course I provided my aid. Or do you think it is only the Scots who know how to keep their word?”

  “N-no, I ne’er meant to say that,” said Morrigan.

  “You have a low opinion of Frenchmen, I understand, but there are a poor few who have some regard for their honor.”

  “I ne’er meant to question yer word,” said Morrigan, flustered.

  His calculated attack had worked to throw her off the offensive, though he did not gain much satisfaction from the ruse. In one glorious, dreadful moment he had the impulse to tell her everything and beg for her assistance in finding the cave and the treasure he sought. The difficulties such a confession would bring crashed down on him, silencing his rash impulse.

  Morrigan averted her gaze and fiddled with the laces on the sleeves of her gown. “I am in yer debt. If ever there is anything I can do for ye…” Morrigan stepped closer and looked up at him, her brown eyes large in the gloom. Dragonet’s heart skipped a beat. What was she offering?

  Morrigan cleared her throat and stepped back, changing the subject. “Ye dinna recognize me tonight, I warrant.”

  “No, I confess at first I did not.”

  “’Twas Alys’s fault. She pestered me until I conceded. What… um… what do ye think o’ her work?”

  “Beautiful.” Dragonet answered her question with the truth.

  Morrigan glanced down and smoothed away invisible wrinkles. “The gown is verra fine.”

  “The gown, it is beautiful too.”

  Color sprung to Morrigan’s cheeks, even the dim light could not hide her blush. It was quite charming. She could fight like a warrior, but still blushed like a maiden at a compliment. Dragonet was flooded with the desire to take her in his arms, to kiss her once more and not let her go.

  “Was there any other reason ye came here?” Morrigan’s voice was uncharacteristically soft.

 
; “Yes.” Dragonet’s heart beat fast. It was the truth, more than the truth. The other truth was he had come to see her. Morrigan. His lady. He took a step toward her, but could not reach her. The unspoken truth of who he was and why he had come posed an insurmountable barrier, separating them forever.

  “My chamber is next door.” Morrigan inclined her head to the right. “If ye need anything…” Morrigan gave him a small smile, honest and trusting.

  He wished to be worthy of that trust, but how could he tell her the truth? The monks who had searched for the treasure before him had been killed. If Morrigan realized something of value was in that cave, her life could be in danger too. It would be best to get the information without arousing her suspicion. Trouble was, she was already arousing something in him.

  “I… I would like…” Dragonet was generally not at a loss for words, but then usually his heart was not beating so hard he feared it would crack a rib. “If you please to come in?”

  “If ye wish.” Morrigan slowly stepped over the threshold into the sparse room. She began to bite a fingernail, glanced up at him with sudden consciousness of what she was doing, and whipped her hands behind her back.

  Dragonet took a quick breath. “Have you been well? Has your shoulder healed?”

  “Aye. See for yerself.” Morrigan slid down her gown to reveal her wounded shoulder, graced with a red scar.

  Dragonet stepped to her on shaky legs and traced the scar with a fingertip. “It has healed well.” It was sweet torture to touch her. He wanted more.

  “Thanks to ye. I shudder to think o’ what Willy would have done to me.”

  Dragonet smiled. “Comparing my work to Willy, I could hardly fail to impress.”

  “You did have the benefit o’ being sober.”

  “And conscious.”

  The corners of Morrigan’s mouth twitched. “Yes, I decided it helps. From now on I will demand any who put stitches in me be at least able to stand unaided.”

  “A wise decision, my lady.”

  Morrigan treated him to a rare smile and sat down on the bed. “And ye? What did ye learn from the campaign?”

  Dragonet ignored his internal warnings and sat beside her. “War is a poor way to settle a disagreement.”

  “But ye knew that already.”

  “I learned that snow is cold. And rain here is cold. And I learned my fingers and toes, they do not care for it overmuch.”

  “Yer blood is too thin, my poor French friend.” Morrigan took his hands in hers, sending ripples of excitement through him. “Ye need to stay a few more winters, and ye will toughen up.”

  “Toughen me or mark my end?”

  Morrigan cocked her head and leveled an appraising glance. “I do not ken what to make o’ ye, Dragon. I do know ye have no’ shared wi’ me much o’ yer life or yer reasons for being here.”

  “My reasons…”

  Morrigan squeezed his hand to stop him. “Yer reasons are yer own… for now,” she added with a sly glance. “I am happy to have my brother returned to me, and I am pleased to see ye.”

  “I am well pleased to see you, my lady. I must say, I do appreciate your new look.”

  “Ye look nice too,” she said without looking at him. Once again she fussed with the ties on her sleeves. “I dinna ken what to say now.” Her eyes flashed with accusation.

  Taken aback, Dragonet scrambled to ascertain how he had offended her. “You need not say anything. You are a most lovely hostess.”

  “I’m no’ yer hostess, Alys is,” grumbled Morrigan. “I’m yer… yer… what am I to ye?”

  A shock of warning pulsed through Dragonet. He must tread carefully. “I find you a most pleasing companion.”

  “Ye’d be the only one.”

  “I am pleased to hear it.”

  “Look now, are ye going to kiss me or no’? We kiss every time we meet, and now ye’re here, but I dinna ken how to get to the kissing part.”

  Dragonet could not help but smile. She frowned at him and he succumbed to laughter, her forthright manner breaking through the tension.

  “Are ye laughing at me?”

  “Never have I met anyone like you, so completely without falsehood or pretense.”

  “Or shame.”

  Dragonet smiled at her in the dim light of the torchlight flickering from the hall. She was utterly unique and was surprisingly becoming in a gown. His attention had been captured earlier by her cleavage, but it was her eyes that held him in her power.

  Before he arrived that night, he had every intention of avoiding physical contact. He should not toy with the affections of a lady, especially since it was not in his power to marry. Yet one look at her in the new gown, and the battle was lost. Besides, he doubted her emotions were engaged, as his were. She was a tough one, Morrigan McNab. Her heart was not likely to be easily touched.

  The torchlight danced in her black eyes. She was his one desire, more than the silver box, more than proving himself to his father. She was all he could see. He leaned closer to her as she leaned in to him. They met with a kiss, sweet and tasting of wassail. He moved slowly, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer even as she deepened the kiss. She was indeed willing, sliding onto his lap with ease. She fit nicely in his arms, like she belonged there.

  “Close the door and let us go to bed,” she murmured. “And ye can tell me all yer secrets.”

  “And will you tell me yours?” he whispered.

  “Aye, I will tell ye anything.”

  This was everything he wanted. Everything he needed. He could get the information while taking the woman who set him ablaze to bed. It was perfect. His rational mind screamed in warning, but he was no longer thinking with his brain. He stood to shut the door.

  “Ye can start wi’ the beginning,” said Morrigan. “Tell me about yer mother and father. Are they living? Is yer father a knight like ye?”

  His father. Jumping into a frozen lake naked could not have shocked him with such searing cold. His father would take advantage of her offer. It was everything he wanted, and yet even his passion-drenched mind he knew sleeping with her could cause her trouble. He would not leave Morrigan the way his father had left his mother. Dragonet opened the door and turned slowly to her.

  Morrigan’s smile faded in the emptiness of his silence. “Is something the matter?”

  “The journey, it has been long. I am greatly tired. I beg your forgiveness, for nothing would give me greater pleasure than spending more time with you, but I fear tonight I would be poor company.”

  Her jaw hardened and her eyes grew black and cold. She put her hand on the hilt of her sword and Dragonet instinctively took a step back.

  “Now that you mention it, I am also quite fatigued,” said Morrigan, her voice flat. “’Tis been a long night, and we all need sleep. I have no candle for ye, I fear. I do hope Alys changed the ticking, for last time I checked that mattress was filled wi’ bed bugs. Good night to ye then.”

  Morrigan swept past him and slammed the door closed, leaving him alone in his room of utter darkness. Dragonet collapsed on the pallet and hoped for the best. Instead of a lady for a bed partner he had chosen bedbugs.

  Fifteen

  “Alys, where did ye put my breeches?”

  “I tossed them in the wash.”

  “What?! What am I supposed to wear now?” Morrigan stood in her chemise, her hands on her hips. After her disastrous attempt at flirtation, she was not about to embarrass herself further. It was time to go back to a wardrobe that was comfortable, albeit wrong for a lady of her standing. She cared not. It was better than being rejected.

  “I thought this might suit ye.” Alys held out a wine-red gown. “Look, ’tis wool, verra practical.”

  “Dinna try to win me over wi’ practicality. No gown could ever be practical.”

  “I am sorry, but yer other clothes I gave to the washerwoman this morning; they will be soaked by now. ’Tis winter too, so they may take a few days to dry.”

  “Let m
e know when they are ready,” Morrigan sulked and pulled her chair closer to the smoldering fire. It was a cold morning.

  “Come now, dinna take on so. Try the gown, it will keep ye warmer than that chemise. Do I need to fetch more gingerbread?”

  “Some things gingerbread canna fix,” grumbled Morrigan, staring into the pitiful fire.

  “What happened?” asked Alys, sitting in a chair next to Morrigan. “Forgive me, but last night I heard voices and saw ye speaking with Sir Dragonet.” Alys’s eyes were wide and hopeful.

  “Ye were eavesdropping on us?”

  “Aye, but I coud’na hear much and remain hidden,” Alys confessed, a gleam of mischief in her eye.

  Morrigan glared at Alys, but she was hardly one to criticize another for lack of etiquette. “Nothing much happened, Alys. Nothing, ye ken? Dinna labor under a false assumption; Dragonet has no interest in me.”

  “I spoke a bit to Andrew last night before he fell asleep. He told me how many times Dragonet has helped ye.”

  Morrigan wrapped her arms around herself against the chill and said nothing.

  “Did Dragonet no’ save yer life in battle?”

  “Aye,” said Morrigan with reluctance.

  “And was he the one who stitched yer wound?”

  “Aye.”

  “Which, by the way, ye never mentioned, and I only found out about it through Andrew,” Alys chastised.

  Morrigan shrugged.

  “And did Dragonet no’ save ye from an angry mob?”

  “I could have handled it.”

  “And did he no’ help save Andrew’s life and bring yer brother all the way home?”

  “Is there a point to all these questions?” Morrigan scowled at her sister, who smiled deviously in return.

  “Simply making sure I have the truth. It all looks verra promising.” Alys rubbed her hands together.

  “Dinna try yer hand at matchmaking. He’s not interested.”

  “Nonsense. Ye must make some allowances for fatigue. Andrew may sleep all day; the poor lad is exhausted.”

  Morrigan sat up in her chair, a glimmer of hope rekindled in her heart. Dragonet did come a long way to keep his promise to her. He must have been extremely tired from the journey. His kiss certainly spoke of his interest.