by Barbara Bard
Tall, his shoulders seemed to fill the doorway, tapering down his tunic to his sword belt where his sword lay in its sheath. A double bladed dagger had its own housing, and his long legs were clad in tight fitting leather trousers, his boots strapped to his legs ended just above his knee.
Myra suddenly remembered she had been taught manners. She bent into a quick curtsey. “Laird.”
Greer MacEilish stepped forward into the room, his hand extended as though to stop her. “Nay, I be nae the Laird. I be simply Greer. Myra.”
Rising, Myra drank him in as Fiona stepped to the side of the room, where she could give them a semblance of privacy. Greer walked toward her, his sweet smile blooming as he approached. “I just wish tae see fer myself how ye fared.”
Before she realized what she was doing, Myra’s own grin matched his. “And I want to thank you, Greer, for saving my life. Will you sit down at talk with me awhile?”
Shocked to the core at her own behavior, Myra suddenly thought she acted above her station, as though she were a noble lady granting audience to an emissary. Blushing furiously, she floundered, stammering, trying to apologize as Greer stepped forward and took her hand. “I would like tae sit and talk wi’ ye, Myra.”
Unable to believe she spoke like that, Myra’s blush cooled a fraction as she sat in a chair while Greer took the other. Then it heated up again when she discovered he hadn’t let go of her hand, and that she had no desire to pull it from his grasp.
“How dae ye fare?” he asked, gazing earnestly into her eyes.
“Well, I still have headaches, and some dizziness,” she replied, unable to halt her silly smile, “but I am improving. Fiona is taking such good care of me.”
“Aye, she be good that way.”
Without anything else to talk about, Myra stared in his face, unable to look away, as though he had ensnared her in a hunter’s trap. Yet, he seemed frozen in time, his mouth half open, a smile still on his lips. “Uh, you found me?” she finally ventured. “You saved my life. Thank you.”
“Ach,” Greer said, his smile widening. “We were watchin’ the Earl o’ Primshire’s castle, and me cousin, Gavin, saw a man carrying a body. He dumped it and ran off, but you were still alive.”
At the mention of the Earl of Primshire, Myra’s blood ran cold. Her mind flashed back to what he was doing with the Duchess, his evil eyes boring into hers, his raised fist with something shiny in it. Myra pulled away from Greer, her smile fading, her arms crossing her bosom as she tried to still her shakes. “Yes,” she said, staring at the floor. “Thank you. If you hadn’t been there at that moment, I’d be dead now.”
“Myra.”
Greer’s soft voice intruded upon her terror, wriggled its way into her very heart, spreading its fingers through her soul. “Look at me.”
Unwilling, Myra tried to resist, shook her head in negation. No matter how hard she stared at the floor, she felt helpless, felt his will upon her, urging her to look at him. At long last, she lifted her face and met Geer’s eyes. He took her hand again, clasping her fingers with both of his own, his expression earnest, and kind.
“I willnae pressure ye tae tell me what happened, Myra,” he said, his voice gentle, sweet. “But should ye be ready, I be here. Understand? Give yerself time tae heal, in yer head and in yer spirit. I be here when ye are.”
Myra nodded. “All right.”
“And ken this, me wee Myra.” His tone turned slightly harder, yet filled with a restrained passion that awed her. “He will ne’er harm ye again.”
Chapter 6
After that first visit, his maw permitted Greer to visit Myra anytime he wished, provided she was there to chaperone. Struck afresh by her beauty and simple innocence every time he came, Greer discovered a few things about Myra he had never suspected of her when she first lay in his arms. Firstly, he discovered she had a very keen intelligence behind those huge blue eyes, and a wit sharper than the blade of his dagger. When he brought in a chessboard and pieces to pass a few hours with her, he discovered she not only knew how to play, but beat him four times running.
Stunned, his chin on his fist, he stared down at the board, fingering his bishop, wondering just how the hell she had done it. “Where’d ye learn tae play?” he asked finally.
Myra plucked the bishop from his fingers and reset the board. As she worked, she said, “A passing troubadour took a fancy to me when I was about seven years old. He taught me to play as well as the strategies and mathematics behind it.”
Greer’s mouth hung open. “At seven?”
Myra nodded. “He, too, was amazed at how fast I learned. Called me a prodigy.”
“A prodigy, indeed.”
The fact that she had worked as a lowly servant in the Primshire Castle bothered him not at all. He enjoyed his time spent with her, her natural sweet innocence acting like a balm to his soul. As she grew more comfortable with him and his title, he discovered her shyness that aided her as a servant soon fell away. She tended to hold his hand when they sat together, laughing at his tales of life in Scotland while she regaled him with stories of the servants in Primshire.
“Do you miss this Lilibet?” he asked her as they stood hand in hand at the window, gazing out at the lake.
“Yes, I do. She’s the only mother I remember.” Myra’s face fell. “I wonder if she thinks I’m dead.”
“She may. One day ye may prove her wrong.”
At last came the day when Fiona announced Myra fit to leave the chamber, no longer an invalid, but now a full fledged guest. As though feeling her job accomplished as a chaperone, she left Greer and Myra to wander the castle without her. Greer gave her to tour, introducing her to Jared and Gavin, and discreetly grinning as they, tongue-tied, tried to feed her compliments.
“Gavin is your cousin?” she asked. “I can see the resemblance.”
“My da’s sister’s son.”
“He is rather cute,” she confided, glancing over her shoulder and waggling her fingers at him.
Instantly, Greer felt jealous anger course through him in a wave. “Cute, is he? I wi’ carve him up like a goose at feast time. I –”
He caught the amused glint in her eyes, and grinned sheepishly. “You got me, eh?”
“Oh, I got you. You rose to my bait faster than a starved trout.”
Greer slung his arm over her shoulder as they walked across the bailey. “Now why would ye incur such jealousy in me?”
“Didn’t you know? We Sassenach witches brew spells to ensnare young Scottish lads in our webs.”
He laughed aloud. “Now that I dae believe.”
Watching her with the horses in the barns, seeing her fascination for them, how she devoured them with her eyes and fondled their muzzles, he asked, “Perhaps I might teach ye tae ride.”
Myra spun on him. “Would you? Could you? Please, please, please?”
Greer rocked back on his heels, his hands behind his back, whistling. Myra set her hands on her hips, glaring at him until he grinned and said, “Ach, I must ask me Maw. She may object as ye just healed from a grievous injury. If ye fall off, ye may open yer wounds again. Me Maw be righteous in her anger.”
Myra sniffed. “I know when I am healed enough, and I say I am healed enough.”
Making the rounds of the castle, Greer finally spotted Kerr with some of the clan elders, talking in a corner of the bailey. “That be me da,” Greer said, gesturing. “Laird of the clan.”
Myra brushed her hands down over her skirt, ran her fingers through her hair as it hung loose down her back. “Am I presentable, Greer? Perhaps I should go change, put my hair up.”
Grinning, he seized hold of her hand. “Ye look as beautiful as a spring day, me lass. Ye nae changin’ anything.”
At length, the elders dispersed, and Kerr gestured for Greer and Myra to come close. “Da, this be Myra Travers, late from Primshire Castle,” Greer said by way of inrtoduction. “Myra, I wish tae present me da, Laird of Clan MacEilish.”
Though cons
tantly informed that the Scottish seldom showed their deference to their Lairds, Myra dropped low into a deep curtsey. “My honor, Laird.”
Kerr smiled slightly. Taking her by the arm, he lifted her, and nipped her chin with his finger. “What a lovely lass ye be, Myra. Be welcome here as me honored guest. I would hae ye reside in the formal guest chambers, and leave the room ye in behind.”
“No, Laird,” she stammered, “I couldn’t. The room I’m in is fine, it’s beautiful, and you might have someone more important you need those rooms for.”
Kerr chuckled. “If I need them fer one more important than ye, I’ll ask. Take the rooms as a favor tae me.”
“Well,” Myra replied slowly, “as long as you let me know if you need them.”
“I wi’. And I hope ye join us fer supper this eve. Me castle be most interested in meeting the fine Sassenach lady that recently joined us.”
“When she arrives, I’ll be the one carrying her bags.”
Kerr laughed. “Ye be a joy tae this house, Myra.”
To her utter horror, Kerr insisted she sit at the high table as an honored guest, seated next to Fiona. Gazing down at the assembled MacEilish clansmen, Myra watched the servants make their way around the tables, knowing that was her place, not here among the upper class. Why can’t they understand I don’t belong? She caught Greer’s small smile and wink tossed to her across his parents, but it failed to ease her misery.
“I wish tae teach Myra tae ride,” Greer said. “Dae ye hae objections, Maw?”
Fiona eyed Myra speculatively. “Nay. Just put her on that fat old mare o’ mine. She nae hae a wicked bone in her.”
Even the prospect of learning to ride a horse failed to raise Myra’s spirits. Fiona seemed to see this, as she pointed out delectable foods Myra should eat, tried to jolly her out of her morose mood with light bantering talk. When her attempts failed, Fiona rested her hand on Myra’s wrist.
“What is the matter, lass?”
Myra shook her head, staring down at the gravy covered meat on her plate. “I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered. “I’m a servant, not a noble woman.”
“Nonsense.” Fiona patted her wrist. “Me lad has taken a fancy tae ye. I willnae put his lady amid the servants.”
Shooting a swift glance in Greer’s direction, Myra found him chatting easily with Kerr, his handsome face lit by the tallow candles. “But he shouldn’t fancy me,” Myra protested, “he’s the heir and I’m –”
“A cleaning maid, aye, I heard ye the first dozen times ye told me.” Fiona drank from her wine cup, her expression serene. “I were born in a hovel oan the Isle of Skye. Me parents be dirt poor, scraping a living and barely managing it. Me da sent me tae live and work in the Clan MacArnold’s castle.”
Myra stared at her as she spoke, fascinated. “And you met the Laird of Clan MacEilish?”
“Aye,” Fiona replied, watching her face. “But nae after being caught up in a feud a’tween the MacArnold’s and the MacFierson’s. Beaten and raped I was, like tae die. I came sooth oan a farmer’s cart, finding work in the household of a merchant. Kerr MacEilish, the young heir to the clan, saw me.”
Fiona smiled at Myra. “Took a fancy tae me, he did. Married me a month later.”
“And here you are.”
“And here I be.”
Fiona’s remarkable story finally lifted Myra’s spirits and hopes. “So sometimes it doesn’t matter if you were born into noble blood,” she murmured, gazing down at the crowd below the high table, apparently as accepting of her being seated there as Fiona, Kerr and Greer were.
“Not always,” Fiona agreed.
“Thank you for telling me.”
“Now eat afore yer food gets cold.”
***
Though her head still ached with a dull throb, and she grew dizzy if she moved too fast, Myra couldn’t wait for her first riding lesson. The next day dawned with low misty clouds hanging overhead, yet was still warm and the threat of the annoying drizzle held off for a time. Greer led a stolid black mare from the one of the barns built against the bailey’s inner walls, saddled and bridled. The beast was short and chubby, but Myra thought she was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen.
Greer’s cousin Gavin and his close friend, Jared, joined them, but Myra refused to be intimidated by their standing by to watch her first lesson. The two men accompanied Greer, a long rope looped around his shoulder, and Myra out of the bailey toward the green meadows. In the manner she rapidly learned was the Scottish way in which they showed affection, they teased her unmercifully.
“I wager ye’ll fall straight off,” Jared said with a grin.
Myra stared him straight in the eye. “Wager what, laddie?” she demanded.
Under Greer’s chuckle and Gavin’s outright laughter, Jared rubbed the side of his long nose. “If I win, I get a kiss from ye.”
“And if I stay on?” Myra challenged. “What do I get?”
“A kiss?”
As Greer’s amusement changed to affronted jealousy, Myra shook her head. “If I stay on through the entire lesson, I get that dagger you have there.”
Jared glanced down at it, then grinned. Spitting into the palm of his hand, he held it out. “Done.”
As nasty as it was, Myra spat into her own and clasped hands with Jared. “Once I win that knife, someone will have to teach me how to use it.”
“Ach, lass,” Gavin declared, “ye’ll hurt yerself wi’ it.”
Her brow rose. “Must I make yet another wager?”
Taking her by the arm, Greer hustled her toward the meadow. “One wager at a time. Now. I wi’ tie this rope tae her bridle and keep her walkin’ as ye learn.”
Shaking the loops from the rope, Greer tied one end just above the mare’s bit, then showed Myra how to put her left foot in the stirrup and climb into the saddle. Once seated, she gazed down from what seemed like a very high spot, observing Gavin’s and Jared’s grins, and Greer’s nod of approval.
“Good,” he said. “Sit up straight and find yer balance. Feel how she moves under you.”
Under Greer’s instructions, Myra held the reins firmly and lightly, keeping her shoulders back and looking straight ahead. The black mare walked forward under Greer’s encouraging clucking, ambling in a wide circle around the three men. Her confidence rose as the mare did nothing to unseat her, and found she had a natural sense of balance that helped her move with the mare’s stride.
After a short while of simply walking, Greer upped the challenge by asking the horse to trot. This bounced Myra up and down until she once again found how to sit in the saddle and move with the jolting gait, the grins of both Gavin and Jared slowly fading.
“Ye be a natural,” Greer praised, and halted the horse to stride toward her. “Wi’ daily practice, ye be able to ride wi o’ot me and a rope.”
Pleased, Myra let him help her down from the saddle, and found Jared holding his dagger across his forearm to her. He bowed, grinning.
“Yer prize, me lady,” he said. “I be right honored tae lose it tae ye.”
Myra accepted it with a smile and a gracious nod. “Thank –” she began.
The sound of galloping hooves and shouts interrupted her. Greer, Jared and Gavin swung toward the newcomers, and Myra observed a pair of armed Scotsmen approaching at a fast pace, their horses lathered. She had no need to witness the expressions of her three companions to know the men brought bad news.
Reining their mounts in a slithering halt, the clansmen saluted Greer.
“We found another one,” the man on the left said to him. “A young lass, murdered, cut tae pieces.”
Chapter 7
Greer let loose a string of vile cursing, startling Myra with its vehemence. She bit her lower lip, glancing from him to the pair on horseback. He gazed up at the two. “Where?” he demanded.
Both of them pointed at the same time. “Nearly straight sooth, laird. Near a village called Coombs. Killed just like the others.”
; Greer swung toward Jared and Gavin. “Saddle the horses, I wi’ take Myra intae the castle and fetch me da. He should see this.”
They nodded and ran toward the bailey, their swords slapping at their legs. Greer took Myra’s hand and followed on their heels, the mare’s reins in his grip, the two clansmen behind. “What happened, Greer?” she asked.
“Innocent lasses slain by a mad fiend,” he gritted, his bitter anger and frustration growing.