Chapter 3
“Where is she?” muttered Sir David as he finished his morning meal and realized his new guest had yet to appear in the great hall.
“I dinnae ken,” replied Leith before having a deep swallow of sweet cider. “Mayhap she went on her way.”
“We have ne’er been so lucky,” Sir David grumbled, annoyed when he realized he did not wholly mean his cross words. He spotted the maid he had assigned to their guest over by the buttery. “Jennet, have ye seen the lady Tatha this morning?”
“Nay,” Jennet replied, blushing upon being noticed by her laird. “She was already up and away when I rapped on her door to tell her ’twas near time to break her fast.”
“Do ye think she has left Cnocanduin, continued on her journey?”
“Nay. All of her things are still within the bedchamber.”
“I saw her by the well o’er an hour ago,” called out one of the serving maids.
“She was fetching her own water?” David was certain the woman had been telling the truth when she had said that her father was a laird, yet tending to herself was an odd thing for a wellborn woman to do.
“Nay, though she was drawing water,” said the plump serving maid. “It looked as if she had been clearing away the rubble when I saw her.”
David frowned and sipped at his cider. He suddenly recalled his guest’s intense interest in the well. She had tried to make him stop by it, then plagued him with questions until she realized he would not answer them. His mother and his grandmother had both cherished that well, had felt that it was a place of magic. The spring that fed it was the reason Cnocanduin had been built. Although he kept it in enough repair to continue to supply the tower house with water, he had otherwise let it sink into ruin. He was sure that it was his mother’s talk of the well’s magic, her deep belief in its powers, that had led to her violent death. David began to feel uneasy, suddenly certain he had seen that same gleam in Tatha’s rich blue eyes.
“I believe I will go and see what mischief our guest has gotten herself into,” he mumbled as he rose and strode out of the great hall. If Tatha was another who spoke of magic and the old ways, he would soon put a stop to it.
Tatha felt a rising excitement as she pulled the last of the rubble and overgrowth away from the side of the well. She dampened a rag in the water and rubbed away at an area that appeared to have some carving on it. Once she had the whole area cleaned off, she sat back on her heels and studied the inscription. It was in the old script, and, although her aunt had taught her the words, she had not been the best of students.
Again and again she struggled with the words. Slowly, word by word, she sorted out its meaning. Leaning forward, she traced each letter with an unsteady finger. Her voice softened with awe, she read aloud: “ ‘Any woman of pure heart who drinks from the well of Cnocanduin will find protection, strength, and happiness as long as it holds water.’ ”
Although she thought it might be vain to think of herself as a woman with a pure heart, Tatha stood up. She drew some fresh water from the well, took the battered dipper from the hook on the side, and drank deeply. Frowning slightly, she stared into the dipper, then peered into the well. Tatha was sure she would not experience any sudden overwhelming change in herself, yet she thought she ought to feel more than a simple easing of her thirst.
“Ye have been neglected for a long time, havenae ye?” she murmured and patted the cool stone, its whiteness dimmed by years of dirt.
She turned to the small bag she had brought with her. Pulling out a thick cord, she visualized a shield and, softly repeating the promise carved into the side of the well, tied nine knots in it. Tatha then attached this protective binding to the bottom of the bucket. She repeated the simple spell and hung the second cord from the rowan tree that grew next to the well.
Next she took out one of her holed stones, painstakingly gathered from the sea. She rubbed it between her hands as she murmured, “Stone, evil ye will deny. Send it to the earth and sky. Send it to the flame and sea. Stone of power protect Cnocanduin and all who dwell within its walls.”
Then, with a pinch of regret over giving up one of her precious stones, she dropped it into the well. It was a worthy sacrifice, for not only would it enhance the protection the well promised, but it would strengthen the healing power of the water. Aunt Mairi would approve, she mused, as she lowered the bucket and drew up some more water to take another drink.
“What are ye doing?”
That deep voice sounding so close behind her made Tatha start and gasp in surprise. Since she was taking a deep drink of water at the time, she began to choke, some of the water going the wrong way down her throat. The rest, what was in her mouth and in the dipper, soaked the front of her gown. Sir David began to slap her on the back with such force that she stumbled against the well and had to grip the edge to steady herself. As soon as she got herself under control, she wiped the tears from her cheeks, and turned to glare at the man.
David glared right back. He had watched her for several minutes before speaking and did not like what he had seen. She was doing the same sort of things that had led to his mother being feared, then murdered. That alone was enough to infuriate him, lashing him with dark, painful memories. What troubled him was the fear he felt. It was not a fear of what she did, but of what such beliefs could cost her. He did not even know this tiny, flame-haired woman, yet his blood ran cold at the thought that she could soon suffer as his mother had. His fear was for her, and that made no sense. Unless it directly affected his people, what happened to a stranger should not matter much to him, but it did, and that only made him angrier.
“Ye scared several years out of me,” Tatha complained as she tried to dab the water from the front of her deep blue gown with a scrap of clean linen. “Do ye always creep up behind people?”
“Only when they are behaving in a strange manner,” he snapped.
“Strange? I wasnae doing anything strange.”
“Nay?” He stepped closer to the rowan tree and reached up toward the knotted cord she had draped in the branches. “And what is this then?”
Tatha quickly moved to his side and slapped his hand away. “ ’Tis naught to concern ye.”
“Ye dinnae think people will wonder why there is a knotted cord in this tree?”
“Nay. I doubt anyone will e’en see the thing. Ye wouldnae have seen it put there if ye hadnae been tiptoeing about.”
“I ken what that is. ’Tis some spell of protection.”
Her eyes widening, Tatha looked at Sir David in surprise and a deepening interest. “The old ways are practiced here?”
“Nay, that nonsense isnae done here. I willnae allow it.”
“Nonsense? Nay here?” Tatha stepped back to the well and smoothed her hand over the stone. “Aye, that nonsense is here. I suspect that nonsense has been here since long before this keep was built. And ye ken what it is, for all ye call it nonsense, or ye wouldnae ken the meaning of that knotted cord. Someone has taught ye a thing or two.”
“Aye,” he said in a cold, flat voice, “my mother, who learned such foolishness from her mother, and ’tis just such blasphemous games that got the woman beaten to death five years ago.”
Although she felt a surge of sympathy for the man, Tatha smothered the emotion, knowing that he neither wanted it, nor would he appreciate it. He was trying to frighten her. He succeeded to some extent, but fear of the dangers of superstition was an old one to her. Tatha had been taught at a very young age how to face it, accept it, and then push it aside.
“I am sorry. Ignorance and fear can be dangerous, deadly things,” she said quietly. “My aunt Mairi was oftimes threatened and was the subject of many an evil whisper. ’Tis odd, for she did no one any harm. In truth, she was a great healer. She taught me all of her skills. I oft wonder if the skill to fix that which so afright-ens people, sickness and injury, is what marks healers. We touch, study, and sometimes cure what others consider evil, terrifying. Mayhap, because they b
elieve God inflicts diseases and such, they think that we go against His will when we try to cure such things. Odd, though, that they dinnae turn against physicians, isnae it? But mayhap that is because physicians, or leeches if ye prefer, are men.”
David blinked, opened his mouth to reply, then clamped it shut. He needed to regain his calm and put some order into his thoughts. Her words stunned him with their truth. His mother had done little more than try to help people, to heal their ills and soothe their pains. Some people had come from far away to seek her aid, her fame as a healer having become quite widespread before she was killed. David had always assumed, though, that the danger had come from her talk of such things as the power of the water, the magic of the stones, and the occasional little charm, but he realized that he had never fully believed that. His mother had understood, though scorned, people’s fears, and, on most occasions, had tried to be circumspect about her beliefs. He shook his head. He did not want to think that simply helping people had cost her her life.
“Those men dinnae speak of magic waters or babble blasphemous words over rocks,” he snapped.
“Ye shouldnae have seen that,” she muttered.
“Weel, I did.”
“Only because ye crept up on me like some thief.”
“One of the maids saw ye.”
“Nay, all she saw was me drawing water from the well and trying to clear away this mess. I was most careful, for my aunt taught me about the fears so many people hold.” She frowned at the well. “Your mother told people of the well’s powers?”
“She told some. Aye. She was verra proud of the power she mistakenly believed it held.”
Tatha decided she would gain little by trying to argue the truth of his mother’s beliefs. “ ’Tis odd then that the ones who killed her didnae attempt to destroy this well, too. When people cry such as we witches or worse, then try to kill us, they also try to destroy all they believe we gained our power from.”
“She wasnae killed here,” he said, pained by the memories yet intrigued by what she said. “She had been called to a village a half day’s ride from here, on Sir Ranald MacLean’s lands.” He noted the way her beautiful eyes widened and she paled, but did not remark upon it. “By the time we heard of the trouble it was too late to save her.”
“Sir Ranald had her killed?”
“I did wonder if he was part of it, but there was no proof of that. ’Twas his men, however, who stirred the people into a fury, and his men who beat her. They will beat no more women,” he added in a cold, flat voice.
“Why was she called to that particular village?”
“What can that matter?”
“It may matter a great deal to me. Sir Ranald kens what I am, yet paid a goodly sum to my father to take me as his wife. Aye, to take me to a place where one healing woman has already been murdered.”
David frowned, suddenly wondering if there was more behind his mother’s death than he had suspected. He had not been able to gain any proof that Sir Ranald had been involved in the murder in any way, and the man had allowed David to kill the men directly involved, had simply ignored the reckoning taken. Yet, despite the obvious temptation of Tatha’s youth and beauty to a man like Sir Ranald, it did seem strange that he would seek a wife he knew his clansmen would hate and fear. Despite the man’s age and unappealing nature, David was sure Sir Ranald could have looked elsewhere for a young wife if that was all he sought, one with a dowry.
“I will see what I can find out,” he finally said. “It may not be easy. It has been five years and I had thought that the matter was settled. I buried my mother, a reckoning was taken, and no feud ensued. I believed that was the end of it all. Howbeit, ye have stirred my curiosity anew, and ye are right to think it could be of importance to ye.”
Tatha studied Sir David even as she reconsidered all she knew about Sir Ranald. “Was your mother bonnie?”
“Aye,” David replied cautiously. “I think so. She was a small woman, much akin to ye in size, only . . . weel, fuller of figure. Her coloring was akin to mine save that she had green eyes. She was also only nine and thirty when she died, yet looked verra much younger.”
“I see.” Tatha began to think Lady Ruthven’s healing gift and belief in the old ways had had very little to do with her death. “Did ye seek me out for any particular reason?” she asked, deciding there was nothing to be gained in continuing to talk about Sir David’s mother, not until she had a few more facts.
Her abrupt change of subject confused David for a moment; then he recalled what he had seen as he had approached the well. “I had heard that ye were here and, after remembering your interest in this well last evening, decided I would come to see what game ye were playing.”
“ ’Tis no game.” She rubbed her hand along the stone, eager to return to the work of cleaning it. “I believe this is why I was drawn to this place.”
“The well called ye, did it?”
She ignored his sarcasm. “Aye, it did.”
David cursed and dragged his fingers through his hair. “Ye willnae practice this foolishness.”
“Are ye intending to forbid it?”
He opened his mouth to do just that, but the words would not come. This young woman believed in all the things his mother and grandmother had believed in. Somehow it seemed disloyal to their memory to keep her from practicing her healing. He cursed.
“Nay.” He glared at the knotted cord that was actually very well concealed in the branches of the tree and then at her. “Ye will nay flaunt it, though. I willnae have all that trouble stirred up again.”
“I will be verra careful. I have always been,” she assured him quietly, understanding the anger in his voice. “If I or my beliefs bring trouble to your gates, I will leave.”
When David realized he was about to vehemently argue that plan, he cursed again, and strode away. She had been at Cnocanduin only one night, yet she had him so beset by conflicting emotions he could not think straight. If the well had drawn Tatha Preston to his keep, it was certainly not working in his favor, he thought crossly.
Tatha sighed as she watched him leave. It saddened her that her beliefs should anger him and push him away. She decided it might be for the best not to study too closely why that should be. There was far too much else she had to worry about.
As she returned to the work of restoring the well to its former beauty, she found herself puzzling over the chilling coincidence that the same man who tried to buy her for his wife was connected to Sir David’s mother’s brutal murder. Suddenly she knew she was at Cnocanduin to do more than restore the well, that perhaps fate or even the restless spirit of Lady Ruthven had dragged her here. The more she considered the matter, the more she was certain she had been led to Cnocanduin for several purposes. Sir David needed to believe again, needed to yet again appreciate the heritage of the women in his family. The beauty and the power of the well needed to be renewed. And, most important, the truth behind Lady Ruthven’s death had to be revealed. If she was right, it was a heavy burden fate had thrust upon her. Tatha prayed Sir Ranald and her father would leave her be until she could accomplish it all.
Chapter 4
“Where is she?”
Leith groaned and would have banged his head on the heavy oak table if his trencher of food was not in the way. “Ye have fretted o’er where the lass is nearly every morning of the mere week she has been here.”
“I dinnae trust her,” David muttered and savagely ate a chunk of bread.
That was not really the truth, and he accepted Leith’s mildly disgusted look as well earned. He found that he did trust Tatha, trusted her in ways he had not trusted a woman for a very long time. Since he had known her only a week, he had to wonder why. What he was not sure of was whether she truly had the skill and the understanding to keep her beliefs hidden, to comprehend and guard against the danger such beliefs could plunge her into. David worried about her, a lot, and he did not want to.
“Weel, I think she is one of the best t
o yet arrive at our gates,” Leith said.
“Oh, aye? She doesnae act much like a guest. She has fair usurped all running of the keep.”
“She but tries to help. The lass is a skilled healer.” Leith flushed and glanced warily at David. “I think she may be as good as, or better than, your mother ever was.”
“High praise. What prompts it?”
“Ye ken that I have e’er suffered from rashes and the itch of them.”
“Aye. Mother gave ye many a salve for them.”
“And they truly helped ease my torment, but naught she did cured it.”
“And this lass has cured ye?” David frowned and studied his cousin, his eyes widening suddenly when he noticed that Leith’s neck was no longer covered with red blotches.
“Aye, and ’twas nay with any magic or strange potions. I dinnae have some skin ailment. ’Tis the wool.”
“The wool? What does wool have to do with your skin?”
“Weel, my skin cannae abide the touch of it. Aye, I thought it all madness too,” he said when David stared at him in disbelief. “How can ye nay wear wool? Weel, she told me to just try nay letting it touch my skin for just a wee while and gave me a willow-herb ointment to soothe my rashes. It couldnae hurt, I thought. So I still wore my plaid but I put a linen shirt on, and . . .” He blushed, looked around to make sure no one was watching them, and lifted the skirt of his plaid to reveal that he also wore linen leggings. “It took only a day or two for me to see the change. Beneath all of this wrapping there isnae one red spot. For the first time in my life I am nay itching myself. I have asked the lasses if they can weave me a plaid that isnae of wool, for e’en touching it causes me a few troubles still. Aye, and ’twill cost me dear to have warm clothes made that arenae of wool, but e’en after only a few days of ease, I feel the cost will be worth it. If only for the ease in my nether regions.”
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