True Highland Spirit

by Amanda Forester

  Dragonet stopped what he was doing “You would deny to me the gingerbread?”

  “You would deny me the truth?”

  “Cruel woman. The inquisition, they could take lessons from you. No man could withstand such torture.”

  Morrigan took a bite of the warm gingerbread, letting it melt in her mouth. “Mmmmmm…”

  “My mother named me Jacques,” Dragonet began to speak in a rush, all the things he wanted to tell her bubbling to the surface. “Dragonet was the name given me when I was elevated to the knighthood. I was given to the care of the Hospitaller Knights after my mother died.” Dragonet paused and took a gulp of mead to swallow down the emotion that always came when he thought of how his beautiful mother died. “It was the plague. Everyone in the household perished. I was given to the Hospitallers afterwards. Their order also had been much afflicted. I was trained to fight, to play chess, to play the lyre by masters in their fields. I think they wanted to pass on their skill before the death struck again.”

  “Did they die?”

  “Many did.” He rearranged the pieces on the board, making minute adjustments to their already perfect position.

  “Ye dinna care to speak of it.”

  “No.”

  “I am sorry I teased ye.”

  Dragonet shrugged. It was more than he had revealed to anyone in a long time.

  “The plague struck this region many years ago, but we were spared in part due to our remoteness,” said Morrigan. “It was the one time being ostracized was a blessing. It struck some of the towns, but no one in the castle fell ill.”

  “You were very lucky to be spared. I was living in a town when it struck. My family fell ill. There was nothing I could do.” Dragonet stared at the chess pieces with unseeing eyes. “So many sick and dying. So much fear. Even the priests would not come in the end. My mother… there was no one left to bury her… so I had to…”

  Morrigan reached out and took Dragonet’s hand. He struggled against the tears that sprung to his eyes.

  “Forgive me for asking, I did no’ wish to cause ye pain,” said Morrigan gently.

  “Even after all these years, to speak of that time is difficult.” He wrapped his fingers around her hand, warm and comforting.

  “I am sorry for yer loss.”

  “And I for yours.” Dragonet remembered Morrigan had also lost her mother at a young age.

  “How old were you when she died?” Morrigan asked.

  “I was ten years.”

  “I was also ten when my mother passed away.” Her voice was soft.

  “It is a hard age for such a loss.”

  Morrigan turned toward the window and nodded. He took her other hand in his, and they sat together in the fading light of dusk, holding hands. They were silent, but it was comfortable, as if he was finally where he belonged. He belonged with her.

  “I miss her,” whispered Morrigan.

  “Me too. I often wish…”

  “Me too.”

  They lapsed again into companionable silence until Morrigan took a deep breath. “Such maudlin topics of conversation, I am sure Alys would not approve.”

  “I should say prayers before the evening meal.” Dragonet squeezed her hands and stood. “Good evening, my lady.”

  “Ye always say yer prayers, sir knight?” asked Morrigan as Dragonet walked to the door. “Must be the monk in ye.”

  Dragonet stopped short and turned to face her, his stomach dropping to his feet. Had she discovered the truth? “I beg your pardon?”

  “Being raised by monks, I warrant they instructed ye to pray.”

  “Ah, yes.” Dragonet exhaled a held breath. “They were most insistent I do so. Shall I see you later in the great hall?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Would you give me the honor of escorting you to the meal?”

  A slow smile spread across her face that sent tingles up his spine. She cleared her throat and almost managed to chase the smile from her face. “’Tis no need, but I will accept yer company if ye so wish.”

  Dragonet bowed and was unable to suppress a true smile in return.

  ***

  “How are ye feeling?” Morrigan asked Andrew. It was late in the day and he was just waking. He lay on his bed, Morrigan sat on a chair at his side. In truth she did not like the way he looked. He was pale and thin. The wound was still swollen and red.

  Andrew smiled. “Good to be home.”

  “Ye should have stayed at the convent; ye were in no condition to travel.”

  “I am only tired, and I can rest better here.”

  “Dragonet should ne’er have brought ye.”

  “I wanted to come home. ’Twas my choice. Dragonet offered to see me safely home. I think he was concerned for my well-being.”

  “Why, er…” Morrigan flicked imaginary crumbs from her gown. “Why did Dragonet help ye?”

  Andrew shrugged. “I dinna ken. But I can tell ye it was a good thing he did. I was not as strong as I thought.” Andrew gave a sheepish grin.

  “But why Dragonet? Why did he no’ return wi’ the French soldiers?”

  “I thought…” Andrew shrugged. “He had been so helpful, so attentive to ye, I thought maybe ye had an understanding.”

  Morrigan shook her head. “The one thing we dinna have is an understanding. I am at a loss to explain his presence here.”

  “He’s a good man, Morrigan. If ye fancy him for a husband, I would wish ye verra well.”

  “First Alys, now ye. I wish ye woud’na make me a match. I have no word from Dragonet that his interest leans in that direction.” Morrigan took a deep breath and changed the subject. “How do ye like marriage?”

  “Cait.” Andrew’s eyes turned wistful and he gave a lopsided smile. “She is wonderful.”

  “That’s no’ how I remember her.” Morrigan muttered.

  “Ye never got to know her. She is beautiful.”

  “I am glad ye are happy. ’Tis a goodly marriage. I will admit she has been kind to us.”

  “I knew she would be. If the Campbells were no’ so far away I would have gone there first. I hope to rest here a few weeks and then continue on to her.” Andrew shifted a bit in his bed and looked away in a shy manner. “When I left, I believe she was increasing.”

  “Ye got her breeding? Well, Andrew. Good for ye, lad. Though I think ye are a mite young to be having children.”

  “Old enough, it seems,” he said with a wide grin. “Cait and I were talking, and we agreed that what ye need is… err…” Andrew stuttered and cleared his throat. “What ye need is a good husband. Might do ye good.”

  “That is quite enough o’ that, Andrew my lad.” Morrigan stood up and tucked him tightly beneath the covers the way she did after their mother died and she had taken care of him. “Ye sleep now.”

  “I love ye, Morrigan. I know ye tried to protect me, ye and Archie both, and I thank ye for it. If I dinna get another chance, I wanted to let ye know.”

  Her younger brother had lost weight, lying wan and weak in the bed. A lump formed in her throat. “Ye will be fine. Get some rest now; I’ll check in on ye later.” She walked to the door and turned back to him. “I… I love ye too.”

  ***

  Etiquette books were of no use whatsoever. Morrigan rummaged through her mother’s things trying to find something useful. She had spent the past two hours struggling to read a book that purported to be a guide for ladies but it was no help.

  For several days Morrigan had spent most of her waking hours with Dragonet and most of her sleeping hours thinking about him. He was a favorite of the castle, singing and playing his lyre at mealtimes. He taught Morrigan to play a new song. They chatted long hours by the fire and played countless games of chess. But while her skin burned for his touch, he remained distant, careful not to touch her, or to kiss her, or to hold her, or to do any of the things Morrigan wanted. Yet he remained at the castle and spent all his time with her, so what did he want?

  “Morrigan? Are
ye… reading?” asked Alys. Morrigan realized her mother’s room was where Alys slept, awaiting Archie’s return.

  “I think I might show my earlobes.”

  “Pardon?”

  “This book is no’ verra helpful, but it did warn showing the earlobe may send a man into an uncontrolled, lustful frenzy.”

  “Ye canna show yer earlobes. ’Tis no’ proper.”

  “Hang proper. I’m looking for uncontrolled, lustful frenzy.”

  “Dragonet?”

  Morrigan sat on a bench with a sigh. “I dinna understand what he is about. We talk and talk and he seems to want to spend all his time wi’ me, but then he shows no interest in me. And even when I think he is attracted to me, he ne’er acts on it. I dinna ken what to do. I must make a verra poor lass.”

  “Nay, ye are a fine lady.” Alys sat next to her on the bench. “What do ye talk about with him?”

  Morrigan shrugged. “Nothing. Anything. We talk of my family; he doesna like to speak of his. He asks about the castle, the grounds, our clan and our land, people who visited, nothing of importance.”

  “Give him some time. I think he is shy.”

  Morrigan shook her head. “Nay. Something is going on, but I canna make out what.”

  Later that afternoon Morrigan and Dragonet were alone in the solar together. It was most likely not proper, but unfortunately nothing untoward was occurring. Dragonet remained the height of politeness and respectability. Morrigan mentally cursed his propriety.

  What did a lass need to do to get a little ravishment? At Morrigan’s request Alys had squeezed her into a kirtle and laced the surcoat up tight, revealing more cleavage than ever before. On the matter of the earlobes Alys refused to budge, hiding them respectably behind a veil, but the veil itself was made of fine lace. Alys reluctantly agreed to allow her hair to flow freely down her back.

  Morrigan pushed back a strand of hair as she studied the chessboard. They were playing again, and she was tired of losing.

  “Check,” she said slowly, considering her options. It appeared Dragonet was in a bad position, but then it often seemed that way right before he won.

  He moved his king out of check. Morrigan considered her next move with increasing excitement. Could it be?

  Morrigan made one final move. “Checkmate.”

  Startled, Dragonet stared at the board like he was seeing it for the first time. He gave her a wry smile and knocked over his king. “Well played.”

  “I won!” Morrigan smiled. “I have ne’er seen ye play so poorly. I hope ye are no’ falling ill.”

  “No, not ill. Forgive me, but I was distracted by your new look today.”

  Heat ran up the back of her neck and flushed her cheeks. “I needed to do something to gain an advantage over ye.”

  “Well played indeed!” Dragonet laughed.

  “Do I win a boon?”

  “Yes, I am yours to command.”

  Ravish me!

  Morrigan blushed again at her own thoughts. Did she dare ask once again for a kiss? Across the small table, Dragonet’s blue eyes blazed. He brushed back his straight, black hair that fell across his left eye. His full lips drew her. She wanted his kiss more than she had ever wanted anything.

  “Teach me a new song?” asked Morrigan sweetly.

  “But of course!” Dragonet went to fetch his lyre, and Morrigan cursed her stupid self for being so craven.

  Dragonet sat on the stone bench carved into the wall by the window. The light was better there so Morrigan could find her fingering. He had taught her several songs, and she enjoyed playing the lyre again. His in particular was a fine instrument. And sitting next to him was a fine thing, too.

  Morrigan sat next to Dragonet, wondering how she might entice him to kiss her. A practiced flirt could no doubt achieve her object readily, but she was not practiced in such arts.

  “Which song would you like for me to play?” asked Dragonet, handing her the instrument.

  Kiss me, ye fool.

  “I dinna ken. Something romantic.”

  “Romantic.” Dragonet said the word slowly, causing more heat to crawl up her back. “There is the ballad of Tristan and Isolde.”

  “Did that not end poorly for the lovers? She was wed to King Mark, was she not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do ye ken any ballads o’ love where the lovers have a happy ending?”

  Dragonet thought a moment. “Well, there is King Arthur and… no that did not end well. How about…” Dragonet shook his head. “In truth I can think of none.”

  “There should be at least one ballad where the lovers were allowed to wed and live together in happiness.”

  “According to the French court, true love can only exist outside of marriage.”

  “That is stupid,” said Morrigan in her ever-so-tactful manner.

  “Indeed.”

  “Why can lovers no’ marry and be happy?”

  “I wish it could be so.” Dragonet turned to look out the window, but Morrigan had glimpsed the look of despair. Why was he so unhappy?

  “It is snowing again,” commented Dragonet. “Do you ever go out in it?”

  “Not if I dinna have to.”

  “When I was young we got very little snow. The few times it fell it was like a holiday. We all ran out to play in it and throw the snowballs. We would gather it up and eat it like a treat.”

  “’Tis wet, cold, and abundant in the Highlands. But when I was verra young, I do remember playing in the first snowfall. After a while it gets tiresome. And cold.”

  Dragonet turned back to her with a smile, cocking his head to one side. “I am trying to picture you as the young girl having fun.”

  “Dinna strain yerself.”

  Dragonet laughed. “Forgive me, but you do not play much now.”

  “I play! Did I not play a hundred games of chess wi’ ye?”

  “And you enjoyed it so much you complained though every game.”

  “Ye are one to accuse me!” declared Morrigan, going on the offensive. “Name one thing ye do for your own amusement, no’ for the entertainment o’ others, no’ to be polite, but simply because ye enjoy it.”

  “I enjoy playing the lyre, even when there is no one but me to hear it. I enjoy speaking with you, even when you look like you want to hurt me.”

  “Verra predictable answers. Debatable and dull. I pray ye would say something to astonish me.”

  “Astonish you? Let me think. When I was a child, I would go into the hills behind my town in search of caves. I had been told the story of large, black bats that lived in the caves, and I wanted to see them. I searched and searched and finally found a cave, but alas, no bats. My cave, it was actually more of an indentation, hardly a cave at all, but I returned there many times, just in case a wayward bat decided to move in.” Dragonet brushed his hair from his eyes. “There now, have I astonished you?”

  “Mildly amused perhaps.”

  “Do you have any natural caves in these parts?”

  “Aye there is one, a large cave wi’ many tunnels. We were no’ allowed to go in it when we were children, lest we get lost.”

  “Sounds intriguing; maybe you could show it to me.” Dragonet leaned toward her, giving her his full attention. Her heart skipped along merrily.

  “Nay, too cold this time o’ year.”

  “Was it St. Jerome who translated the Bible while living in a cave?”

  “St. Jerome dinna live in the Highlands.”

  Dragonet laughed. “Dare I ask if there are bats in your cave?”

  “I dinna ken. I am no’ fond o’ caves overmuch. Or bats.”

  “Is this cave nearby?” Dragonet’s eyes were shining. This was the most excited she had seen him in a while. He must really like bats.

  “Nay. ’Tis near the village of Kimlet on the shores of Loch Pain, by where the river empties into the loch.”

  “I would like to see it.”

  “Nay. ’Tis a creepy old cave wi’ many tunnels. I’ve hea
rd o’ folk getting lost in that cave, some ne’er returned. Dinna go there, ye ken?”

  Dragonet gave her a broad smile. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For your concern. And now I believe I am to play a song for you.” Dragonet plucked out a jaunty tune on the lyre that had Morrigan smiling and tapping her toe.

  “Could ye teach me that one?” asked Morrigan when he was finished.

  “Certainly.” He handed the lyre to her and put his left arm around her to show her the fingering. She liked that part the best and was often a slow learner, so he had to show her several times.

  Dragonet showed her the fingering, and she purposely botched it. “Could ye show me again?” she asked, looking up at him through her lashes. He leaned closer and complied. Her heart was pounding so loud she could not hear anything he did. His arm was warm around her shoulders, his side pressed close to her. When she turned to him, their faces were dangerously close.

  The air crackled between them, and Morrigan leaned closer, unable to resist. His breathing was shallow and rapid. However distant he may act, he was not unaffected. He reached up and touched her hair, twisting a thick strand around one of his long fingers. Morrigan inhaled sharply at the intimacy of the gesture. In one bold move, Morrigan removed her veil.

  “Ma chérie. You are so beautiful.” For the first time in her life, Morrigan felt it was true. Dragonet threaded both his hands in her hair, massaging her head. She closed her eyes and arched her back, trying not to groan in delight. He pulled her closer, one hand moving to her back, the other still wrapped in her hair. She pulled him tight with one hand, the other still holding the lyre.

  When she opened her eyes again he was very close, his full lips begging to be kissed. She wanted him but paused, waiting for him. She did not wish to always be the one to initiate. Would he kiss her?

  He moved slowly forward until his cheek touched hers. Just as she was swallowing her disappointment, he turned and kissed her cheek, then her jaw, then her earlobe. He kissed her softly then drew her earlobe into his mouth and gently suckled, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her.

  “Oh!” she breathed.

  He pulled back, his eyes wide. “Bad?”