But could he learn more of who opposed him?
And could he find the way to win Annelise for his own? No deity could be so cruel as to show him a glimpse of his salvation, then snatch it away.
Which meant that Garrett simply had to find the solution to the puzzle, before Orson Douglas claimed Annelise’s hand for his own.
*
“Of course, the key to ensuring quality of service from one’s minions is to bolster their loyalty,” Orson said. He leaned close to Annelise as he confided his brilliance in all such matters and she wished heartily that he would simply cease to speak. “Small gifts are of great value in managing this feat. Even the trinkets we hold in little regard can be put to tremendous use in building a servant’s bond.”
“Indeed.” Annelise found her gaze trailing to Garrett, who did sit at the very foot of the table. She was relieved in one way that Stewart sat across from Garrett—the presence of that trusted man-at-arms at the foot of the table lessened the sting of Garrett being seated there. On the other hand, Annelise did not doubt that Stewart was there to watch Garrett closely. She saw the older man try to draw Garrett into conversation, without success.
In Seton Manor’s hall, the high table was actually at the same level as the main one. It was set across the back wall, and the low table was set at right angles to it, extending toward the door. The salt dish was positioned at the junction of the two tables. There were far fewer souls abiding at Seton Manor than at Kinfairlie, and most ate in the laird’s hall for the main daily meal. That meal was served in the evening, for there was much labor to be done during the day. It was a different routine than Annelise had known at Kinfairlie, and one that promoted greater intimacy. Within a week of her arrival, she could have named every soul who labored beneath Murdoch’s hand, whereas there were still some in Kinfairlie’s village of whom she knew little.
Garrett appeared to be composed but discomfited. Even from this distance, Annelise could see that he was not entirely at ease, although he strove to hide it. Was it simply that he was unaccustomed to the company of men? Or was there some other issue at work? Either way and even in his condition, he was easily the most alluring man in the hall—the tallest, the broadest, the strongest and Annelise was certain, the most noble.
Murdoch sat above the salt at the high table, Isabella to his left and Annelise to his right. She did not doubt that he was listening to her conversation with Orson. Orson sat to Annelise’s right, and the other visiting knight to Isabella’s left. The priest sat on the far side of the second knight. Candles burned high, on the table and in the torches mounted on the wall. In cooler weather, a fire was lit on the hearth to the right of those sitting at the high table, but on this night, the ambient heat from the kitchens behind was sufficient. The hounds were sprawled on every side, watching with interest as the meal was served.
Garrett reached down to pat a hound, and the beast’s tail thumped against the floor. Annelise smiled, liking how he could be both gentle and strong. He glanced up in that moment and their gazes met, Annelise feeling that strange heat rise within her even at such a distance.
It was as if he had awakened something with his kiss, a fire that burned hotter in his presence and with his encouragement. Annelise wanted very much to learn how hot that fire could burn.
Orson cleared his throat and Annelise started, realizing she had been too obvious in watching Garrett. He snapped his fingers at his squire. “Tell the lady, Percy. What did I give to you last? I have quite forgotten.”
The boy froze in place and stared at his knight. Either he was terrified of his master, or the last gift was one that would not suit to recall.
“Come along, Percy,” Orson said with impatience. “If you are to be silent in the presence of a beautiful woman, you will never win a lady’s hand for yourself.” He chuckled at his own wisdom, even as Annelise wondered whether he was chiding her for her own comparative lack of conversation. “What was it?”
“Um, a small knife, sir.” Percy fumbled at his belt and produced an eating knife. “This one, sir.”
Orson squinted at it. “Truly?” He shrugged, then turned another smile on Annelise. “Such a rough trinket that I cannot even recall ever possessing it,” he murmured, then winked at her as if they conspired together.
Annelise fixed her gaze upon her hands and said nothing.
Then she risked a glance at Garrett, only to find him staring at Orson’s squire. He looked shocked and was pale again. She might have risen to her feet, but Murdoch stayed her with a gesture.
Orson’s squire stepped back as the stew was brought from the kitchens, making way for the dish to be carried to the laird. Murdoch and Isabella were served, then the dish offered to Annelise and Orson. The squire reached to ladle a serving onto the trencher. To Annelise’s dismay, she had been compelled not just to sit beside the visiting knight but to share a trencher with him. The half loaf of bread used as a platter was deemed to be of sufficient size to be shared, and she knew well enough that some seized such opportunity as a means of courtship.
She was not truly surprised when Orson did as much.
“That is a fine piece of venison, Percy,” Orson said, his tone unctuous. “It is fitting fare for a lady’s lips.” He picked up the choice chunk of venison with his fingers and offered it to Annelise. His eyes glinted with anticipation and he smiled at her.
He looked like naught more than a hungry wolf. Annelise wondered why this man was so determined to woo her when most other men in Christendom could so readily overlook her charms.
She took a breath, seeking a measure of her boldness. “There is no need to feed me like an infant, sir. I am quite capable of seeing to my own meal.”
“But what rapture it would give me to feel the barest touch of your lips on my fingers,” Orson said in a whisper that any soul in the hall could hear.
Annelise found herself blushing at his unwelcome attention and well aware that many were watching her.
“How unfortunate then that I have no appetite on this evening.”
Orson moved the piece of venison even closer. “Surely I can tempt you, my lady.” He smiled, evidently thinking that his appeal could not be denied.
“Surely not,” Annelise said.
Orson’s eyes narrowed briefly, then he ate the meat himself. “No more than that, Percy,” he snapped at the boy. “There is no need to waste our host’s generosity, if the lady has no desire to eat.”
He had rather less to say about Murdoch’s hospitality when he held out his cup for more wine and Percy shook his head. “It has all been consumed, sir,” the boy whispered.
Orson’s shock was so complete that Annelise was tempted to laugh but she dared not do so. “They brew a fine ale here at Seton Manor,” she said. “And our host is equally generous with it.”
“Ale?”
“Aye. I think it better than the wine, to tell the truth.”
“That would not be such a feat,” Orson muttered, wincing as his cup was filled with ale. He sipped, grimaced, then drained the cup. By the time the meal was completed, he had had three more sups of ale and his face was growing ruddy.
Annelise hoped the indulgence ensured that he slept badly.
Indeed, she could not recall disliking a man more, and certainly not on so little acquaintance. She stole yet another glance at Garrett to find him sipping of his ale and giving his attention to the hound at his feet. He did not look to be comfortable, but at least he was not in torment.
She glanced down the table to find Murdoch watching Garrett, his expression inscrutable, then caught a quick glance being exchanged between Orson and Andrew.
“Andrew!” Orson shouted, as if he had forgotten that his companion was at the same table. “After such a fine repast, we can only thank our host and hostess for their generosity.”
Annelise doubted that Orson wished to thank Murdoch for either the wine or the ale. She looked between the two knights with suspicion.
“Indeed!” replied his
fellow knight with such cheer that Annelise knew something was afoot. “But what gift could we bring to this hall that would suit?”
“A tale!” Orson declared.
*
‘Tell the lady, Percy. What did I give to you last?’
A bruise, my lord.
The squire’s thoughts thrust into Garrett’s mind, filled with mingled terror and awe. He glanced up, noting how the boy stared at his knight.
A bruise?
Garrett had been clinging to the stillness of Annelise’s mind, using her as an anchor for himself in the hall. Even though the hall was comparatively small and the number of people within it quite few, the merciless tumult of their thoughts was unnerving. Garrett tried to look composed, knowing full well that Murdoch’s eye was upon him and that this was a test he could not fail.
Not if he was to have any hope of winning Annelise.
He could not eat. He could not converse with his neighbors. He barely replied to the inquiries made by the old warrior opposite him. It took all within him to remain in his place, to keep himself from shuddering, and to appear to be sane. He was well aware of the questions in the minds of his companions, their curiosity and their doubts about him.
The sole advantage of his earlier attack was that they were not persistent in engaging him in conversation. When he did not reply, but gave the hound his attention, they turned to their fellows. He heard their conclusions easily. Several decided he was shy, even more shy than the lady Annelise. Others decided he had a lofty view of himself, though not as high as that held by the knight Orson of his own magnificence.
He had been convinced he could endure the test, until this. A bruise. And that was not the least of it. The squire’s thoughts were so filled with fear that they fairly stabbed into Garrett’s mind. He heard as the boy flicked through his memories of Orson’s beatings, filling Garrett with fear for his lady.
This was the man who would court Annelise?
Whether she chose Garrett or not, he could not let Orson win her hand.
The boy’s dilemma was that the bruise was clearly an inappropriate answer to deliver before the entire hall. Garrett felt the boy’s panic that the truth would not suffice. All the same, the boy had no gift for deceit and Garrett sensed his awareness of that, his fear that he would never fulfill this knight’s expectations. He heard the boy’s growing conviction that he would be left for dead or killed in some remote corner of Christendom for his failure to share his knight’s dark nature.
As the squire panicked, his thoughts followed the course of the day. His memories flew so quickly that Garrett’s mind was flooded with them. He saw the boy dispatched and his discovery of the pelt. He felt the subsequent administration of the bruise in question, felt the boy’s heart pound and heard the knight’s low command.
Find her. I must know all.
Through the boy’s eyes, Garrett saw Murdoch at the enclosure for the goats. He heard his own name upon the laird’s tongue as he was warned away from the lady, then saw the boy flee back to his knight with tidings of Annelise.
Why did Orson desire Annelise for his bride so much? Garrett considered the merit of listening to that knight’s thoughts apurpose, but before he could do so, that malice grew like a dark shadow. He did not dare to seek its source, for it was wicked to its marrow.
As would be the one who thought it. He bent to pat the hound again, his bile rising and the trembling beginning deep within him. He listened to the still thoughts of the dog, its interest in the remaining meat, its concern about an itch in its ear. All the same, he flinched when Orson raised his voice at the end of the meal.
“A tale!” Orson declared. “We must have a tale! I understand my lady Annelise is greatly fond of a tale, and no one recounts one so well as you, Andrew. Have you heard a tale of merit that you might share, to favor my lady’s ears?”
That tide of malice swelled with sudden vigor, doubling and redoubling, filling the room with its taint before Garrett could guess its source. He feared the hall would burst with its power, or that his own mind might become unhinged.
Or poisoned.
He scanned the hall covertly for the source, even as the younger knight stood up.
There was something familiar about him. Garrett was certain they had never met. Perhaps something in his features reminded Garrett of another person he had met, but such was the tumult in his mind that he could not make the connection.
The truth hovered, just beyond his grasp, tantalizing him with a ready solution he could not discern.
Meanwhile Andrew bowed deeply. “I did indeed, sir, and would be delighted to entertain the ladies with its telling.” The knight glanced to Isabella, who nodded encouragement. He folded his hands behind his back and raised his voice, even as the hatred pounded upon Garrett’s mind, as merciless as the waves crashing on a rocky shore. “A tale it is of the wilds of Scotland, a tale of a man who escaped the trap of a Fae temptress and claimed true happiness for his own.”
The tide of hatred redoubled in the same moment, assaulting him like a dozen mercenaries in the night, as if it were determined to take him to his knees. Garrett could feel the strength Annelise had given him ebbing away, eroded before the onslaught of this malice. He was determined, though, not to humiliate her in her sister’s home.
He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Though it cost him every vestige of strength that remained within him, Garrett stood and bowed to his host, then turned and walked steadily out of Seton Manor’s hall.
He was shaking and sweating as his heart pounded wildly. Who so despised him in that hall and why? Did Orson believe a hunter so much of a threat to his scheme to win Annelise? How far would Orson go to see his end achieved?
Garrett feared that truth, but he had to defend his lady.
He retrieved his crossbow, quiver and knife from the sentries at the gates and made every appearance of leaving Seton Manor forever. He walked down the road, knowing full well that they watched him, hearing their speculation about him—whether they gave it voice or not. That strange malice faded with distance, making it easier for him to continue.
After the bend in the road, when he was out of view, Garrett ducked into the forest. He took a deep breath, then made his way back toward Seton Manor. The forest was still, clouds already gathering overhead. There would be a storm on this night and the creatures of the woods were already seeking cover. He saw a glimmer of white in the forest to one side, but by the time he turned his head, it was gone.
Garrett did not trust his senses in this moment, for he had nearly been overwhelmed. He could trust only his strange ability, his curse, which might on this night prove to be a blessing. For the first time in all of his days, he deliberately listened to the thoughts of others, heading directly toward the malice that targeted him. He heeded all that emanated from Seton Manor’s hall.
And he did it for Annelise.
*
Annelise had wondered what was truly afoot. There had been something odd about the way Orson had called for the tale. He had made it sound like a whim, but she had the sense that some scheme had been arranged in advance. Andrew had cast his fellow knight a little smile, one that appeared conspiratorial to Annelise, and she had tried to figure out what these two had planned.
Beside her, Orson had leaned back and sipped his ale, as contented as a cat waiting on a mouse to take the bait.
Annelise had turned to watch Andrew again, trying to hide her suspicions of the knights’ motives.
Andrew had begun, his voice flowing readily over the company. “A tale it is of the wilds of Scotland, a tale of a man who escaped the trap of a Fae temptress and claimed true happiness for his own.”
Annelise noted the glance exchanged between Murdoch and Isabella. Truly, their tale was of a similar triumph over the desires of a Fae queen—was that why Andrew chose his story? How could Andrew know Murdoch’s tale, though? Even she did not know the fullness of it, save that her sister had been key to his salvation.
>
She could not dismiss it as coincidence, not with Orson looking so smug.
In that moment, Garrett rose to his feet, looking like a man who had seen a ghost. His face was pale and his hands shook as he put his cup back on the board.
“Again, he shows himself to be less than vital,” Orson mused. “It would be a foolish woman indeed who bound her fate to such a sickly man.” Annelise clenched her fists in her lap lest she strike this irksome knight.
She might have followed Garrett, but Murdoch again stayed her. “Remain here,” he said, his tone authoritative. Annelise realized that others were watching her, including her sister. Isabella shook her head once in warning, very quickly, and Annelise settled back into her place.
Garrett meanwhile retreated toward the door. He bowed to Murdoch, as if to thank him for the meal, and she could see strain in the line of his lips. He did not so much as glance at her, and she was disappointed. His illness returned, whatever it was, and certainly it consumed his thoughts.
He pivoted and left quickly, nearly running in his haste to be gone.
“There is a man who cannot be relied upon by any lady,” Orson noted with a certain glee. “Look at his inconstancy. You should count yourself fortunate that he has left, my lady Annelise.”
Annelise did not. She was thinking of how Garrett had fallen ill upon entering Seton Manor and then again in the hall. What was his affliction? It was more than an awkwardness with the company of others. He seemed to be in pain.
She was certain that if she could figure it out, she could heal him.
Meanwhile, Stewart looked to Murdoch, who shook his head. Annelise was glad Murdoch had not sent the older warrior after Garrett. Stewart lifted his cup, apparently at ease. “I thought we were to hear a tale,” he called and the company applauded the notion with enthusiasm.
“Andrew, if you will resume,” Murdoch said and the knight nodded.
True Love Brides 02 - The Highlander’s Curse Page 10