Unless his father knew something he didn’t.
He stalked to the balcony of his room and stared down at the land below, bathed in darkness. He loved this place as he loved no other. Even the queen’s luxurious appointments at Holyroodhouse in Edinburgh hadn’t been enough to tempt him to stay away. There were some who found life at the palace heady stuff indeed. Many of his warriors had been delighted at the assignment to remain in Edinburgh and guard the queen. As for him, he much preferred the slower pace of life in his beloved Highlands. He loved every glen and fall and craggy hilltop. Loved the rushing water in springtime, and the dusting of snow in winter. Best of all he loved the summer sunshine, and meadows abloom with heather.
The woman, Gwenellen, reminded him of summer. There was a brightness, a shiny newness about her unlike any other woman he’d ever known. That mane of golden hair looked like liquid sunshine. And that bright smile that found its way even into her eyes, was dazzling, like sunlight reflecting off the clear surface of a loch.
Was she truly a witch? Or had she been sent by his enemies to play with his mind?
If a witch, she was a poor enough one. That little scene with the fire was proof enough that she needed a great deal more time before she could claim supernatural powers. Just thinking about it had him grinning. Soot and ash all the way to her eyebrows. And the look on her face when she realized her spell had gone awry. By heaven she was a delight to watch.
Still, for all her confusion, she’d accurately described his father and some of the servants who had perished with him.
Perhaps on the morrow he would ask her to seek out his father for answers to the questions that were burning holes in his mind.
What would it hurt to keep her around for another day? Aye, and then he would send her back to her Mystical Kingdom, if indeed such a place existed.
He dropped down onto his pallet and pressed a hand to his eyes, wishing he could still the thoughts that flitted through his mind. Thoughts of the heated exchange between him and his father before he’d left, vowing never to return. Thoughts of barbarians storming the gates of Ross Abbey, cutting down all in their path. Of his father, without the aid and comfort of his only son as he lay dying.
It was a scene that burned like a fire deep in his brain, denying him the peace he sought.
Gwenellen awoke and lay a moment, struggling to recall where she was. There had been so many changes in her young life in the past few days. And all of them confusing.
She opened her eyes to see sunlight spilling across the balcony and into her chambers. Stretching, she sat up and listened to the chatter of birds as she washed. Finding her gown dry she slipped it on and carefully hung her borrowed nightdress and robe on a peg before straightening her pallet.
When she stepped from her chambers she inhaled the wonderful perfume of meat roasting. Following the scent, she made her way below stairs to the refectory where she found Andrew turning several birds on a spit over a blazing fire.
“Good morrow.” He’d vowed upon awakening to bury his anger and make an attempt to be civil. He looked over and felt a jolt at the sight of her. The gown was simple enough, as were the kid boots, though he much preferred seeing her bare feet.
“Good morrow. You have no one to cook for you?”
“I’m a warrior. I learned long ago to care for my own needs while away from home. Between battles I can cook enough to keep body and soul together. And I can even mend my tunic, if necessary.”
“You can ply a needle?” She picked up a knife and began slicing a loaf of bread left over from their evening feast.
“I can.” He removed a bird and placed it on a platter before cutting it neatly in two. “And how about you, my lady? Have you been schooled in the womanly arts?”
He saw the way she wrinkled her nose. Such a cute, turned-up little nose. If he looked closely, he could spot a sprinkling of freckles parading across the bridge of it, and spilling over onto her cheeks.
“My sisters and I are the despair of our mother, who can weave and sew anything, and old Bessie, who cooks like an angel.”
“What can you and your sisters do?” He placed half of the bird in front of her before taking a seat across the scarred wooden table.
She nibbled the bread. “Allegra is a healer. There is no wound she cannot heal. Kylia can look into a man’s eyes and see what is in his heart. And I…” She looked away.
“You can speak to the dead.”
Her head came up sharply. “Do you believe that, or are you now having fun with me?”
He studied the challenge in her eyes and gave a slight nod of his head. “I’ve had time to think about the things you told me. I’d like you to ask my father some questions.”
“Gladly.” Her food was forgotten as her mood suddenly brightened. “What questions?”
“I need to know why he wishes me to remain here instead of storming the castle of Fergus Logan to rescue the lady Sabrina.”
Gwenellen nodded. “Would you like me to ask him now?”
He glanced at her food. “I think you’d be wise to eat first, my lady. If you summon those from the other world the way you cast your spells, it could be some time before you eat again.”
He saw the flush on her cheeks as she ducked her head. At once he felt remorse for having reminded her of her failures.
“While we eat, you can tell me more about your Mystical Kingdom. What do you do for pleasure, besides hunt berries?”
She picked at the fowl. “I have my horse, Starlight.”
“An odd name. Do you ride it a great distance?”
“We fly among the stars.”
“You…fly?”
She dimpled. “Starlight is a winged horse. There are two others. Sunlight belongs to Allegra, and Moonlight is Kylia’s steed.”
“And the three of you…fly?”
“Sometimes the fairies accompany us, but they prefer not to get lost in the clouds, so they often stay in the treetops.”
“Fairies. Winged horses. And of course, your troll.”
“He isn’t my troll. Jeremy is just…” She searched for a word. “He’s just Jeremy.”
“How did your family come to be in the Mystical Kingdom?”
“We fled our home in the Highlands when we were warned that we might be put into Tolbooth Prison for plying our craft.”
“Witchcraft.”
She ducked her head. “It happened because my sister Allegra healed a lad who had drowned.”
“Healed him? You mean she brought him back from the dead?”
Gwenellen smiled. “He wasn’t truly dead. She could hear him calling out, though his voice was heard only by Allegra. Her tender heart was touched by the grief of his poor mother. So Allegra laid her hands upon him and brought him back. But there were many in the crowd who were complaining about what they thought to be the devil’s work. So that night, we fled to the home of our ancestors, and we’ve remained there since.”
“How did your father feel about marrying a witch?”
Gwenellen’s smile deepened. “Theirs was a love match. Though he didn’t understand my mother’s gifts, he loved her enough to accept her as she is. My grandmother says such love is pre-ordained. It is written in the stars, and can neither be denied nor extinguished. Even after death, it survives through all ages.”
She sat back, her food forgotten. “I miss them. And my home.”
Andrew heard the wistfulness in her tone and understood. Hadn’t it been the same for him in Edinburgh? Despite the luxury of court, he’d been eager to return to his rugged Highlands.
Gwenellen pushed away from the table. “If you don’t mind, I believe I’ll go out to the garden now and ask your father the questions you’ve posed.”
Andrew watched her walk away, then pushed aside his own food, his appetite suddenly gone.
Fairies. Winged horses. Trolls. What sort of fool did she take him for? Still, there was no denying the look that came into her eyes when she spoke about her home. What a tre
at it would be to see such a place, if it truly existed.
He got to his feet and hurried out of the room, eager to catch up with her. He wouldn’t miss this for the world.
“Good morrow, my lord Morgan.” Gwenellen was pleased to see Andrew’s father sitting on the boulder atop his grave.
“Good morrow, lass. I’m proud of ye. It isn’t easy getting past my son’s anger. But ye’re getting to him, just as ye’r father promised.” Blue eyes twinkled with pleasure. “He’s beginning to believe.”
“He’s willing to try. But you must give me something more, my lord Morgan. Something that will chase away any lingering doubts.”
“Something more, eh, lass?” The older man stretched out his long legs and leaned back on the boulder, deep in thought. A slow smile spread across his face, and Gwenellen was reminded of Andrew. There were times when he looked at her, that she felt as though he were trying not to laugh.
“Sit here, lass.” He indicated the grass beside his grave.
As Gwenellen settled herself, he crossed his ankles. “I’ll tell you a tale from Andrew’s childhood, that nobody else knows.” He took his time, going back in his mind. “Andrew’s mother had a fondness for roses. All summer, she carefully tended her garden, nurturing each tiny plant. But though she did everything possible, they never produced flowers. Occasionally there would be a few buds, but alas they never lasted long enough to bloom. They would simply wither and die on the vine. The year Andrew was four, my wife Laurel persuaded one of the royal gardeners to visit our keep. He spent several weeks here, instructing Laurel and our gardeners on the proper way to grow roses. By the time he left, the plants had produced dozens of promising buds. Laurel was in a state of high excitement, for it would be the first time her beloved roses would bloom.”
Gwenellen watched his eyes sparkle with humor. He was thoroughly enjoying himself as he recalled the event.
“Now, ye should know that Andrew adored his mother, and her excitement conveyed itself to him. Each morning, when Laurel walked the garden, the lad would skip along beside her, his excitement equal to hers. The day the first of the roses finally bloomed, she bent to inhale the wonderful perfume of each one, and spent the rest of the afternoon telling all who would listen about the beauty of her flowers. The next morning she could hardly wait to hurry to the garden to admire her treasure. Imagine her horror when she found every single bloom gone. All that remained were bare stems.”
Gwenellen was so caught up in the story, she looked as horrified as Laurel must have looked on that day. “Who would do such a cruel thing, my lord Morgan?”
“Who indeed?” He sat forward, hands on his knees. “Poor Laurel paced the floor of her chambers, imagining a score of ways to punish the rogue who had robbed her of her greatest pleasure. Just then young Andrew came rushing into her room, his little arms filled with rose petals. He’d awakened early just to go to the garden so that he could surprise his mother with the fragrance she loved. Of course, at that tender age, he had no idea what he’d done. His tender fingers were bloody from the prick of thorns, but his smile was so radiant, how could his mother resist his offering?”
“What did she do with the rose petals?”
“What any mother would, I suppose. She lifted the petals to her face and breathed in their perfume, then she tossed them across the bed and invited Andrew to roll in them with her.” He gave a roar of laughter. “That’s how I found them. Giggling together and rolling in rose petals.” His smile faded. “Years later, when Laurel lay dying, she told me it was one of her fondest memories.”
Gwenellen felt tears burn the back of her lids and had to blink quickly. “Thank you for sharing that tale, my lord Morgan. I believe it will convince Andrew of the truth of what I say. Now I must ask you the question he has given me. Why must he remain here, instead of rescuing your bride from the clutches of your enemy?”
He was already shaking his head. “To do so would be to invite disaster, for Fergus Logan is expecting Andrew to do just that. Instead, he must confound his enemy by doing that which he wouldn’t expect.”
“And the Lady Sabrina?”
His smile faded. “Ye may tell Andrew that he was right and I was wrong.”
“That’s all?”
“Aye. ‘Tis all I have to say at this time.”
“But why? Doesn’t your son deserve to know all that you do, my lord?”
“Not if such knowledge will destroy him.”
“I don’t understand.”
He leaned forward and took her hands in his. As before, she felt the brush of something cool and damp against her flesh. “It isn’t necessary that ye understand, lass. Only that ye tell Andrew what I’ve told ye.”
She heard the footfall behind her and looked over to see Andrew standing very still, watching her with an unfathomable look. The image of his father began to blur, then faded from sight.
She got to her feet and shook down her skirts. As she started toward him she couldn’t help smiling at the image of a wee lad beaming with pleasure as he offered up his surprise to the mother he adored. Though it was at odds with this angry warrior who now stood before her, it was an image she would not soon forget.
Chapter Seven
“You spoke with him?” Andrew had stood in the shadows, hearing her voice, soft and low, and the long silences that could only mean she was listening to someone, or something.
Voices in her head?
“Aye. Your father was here. And looking much as you look now.”
That fact caught him by surprise. Though it was true that many might still consider Morgan Ross a handsome, dashing warrior, Andrew could remember only the father with whom he’d bitterly argued in their last confrontation. It was impossible to imagine him young and virile, now that death had claimed him.
Or was this just her overactive imagination?
He glanced toward the fresh mound of earth where his father’s body now lay. Seeing the direction of his glance, she steered him toward the door of the castle, knowing it was best for him to leave this place that still caused him such pain. At her prodding, Andrew reluctantly moved along beside her.
Once inside he paused beside the great stairway. “Did my father answer my question? Did he tell you why I should remain here in the comfort of my own home instead of rescuing Sabrina?”
“Aye. He said that is what your enemy anticipates. And so you must do the unexpected and remain here.”
“And bide my time? He must know that goes against everything I believe in. I’m a warrior.” Andrew’s eyes narrowed. “Did he tell you anything else?”
“Only that you were right about Lady Sabrina and he was wrong.”
For a moment he looked thunderstruck. “You’re certain those were his words?”
“Aye.”
“What else did he say?”
“Nothing more. And when I asked why, he explained that to say more would destroy you.”
Andrew snagged her wrist. “And I say it is the not knowing that will destroy me. If you were who you claimed to be, you would have demanded more. Unless, of course, you were sent here by my enemies to further confound me.” He dragged her close, his eyes fixed on hers with a look that had her heart leaping to her throat. There was about him the same fierce look that she’d first encountered. He touched a hand to the jeweled hilt of a knife at his waist. “Tell me why I should not kill you, woman.”
“Because I am not your enemy.”
“Aye. You claim to be merely a poor, befuddled soul whose simplest spells go awry, yet you boast that you can speak with the dead. This time, woman, you will prove it to me beyond a doubt, or you’ll pay with your life.”
She tried to draw away but he held her fast.
Though her heart was pounding in her chest, she lifted her chin defiantly. “I knew this would be your reaction. I was certain you would be reluctant to believe me. I asked for something that would open your heart and mind. Your father told me about an incident when you were very small.”
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“You’ll tell me of this…imaginary childhood incident, woman. And if it is something I can’t vividly recall, have no doubt that your blood will be on my hands.”
Her voice trembled as she relayed the tale that had been told to her. When she finished, she could tell, from the stunned look in his eyes, that he not only remembered, but had been deeply moved by the retelling of it.
He uncurled his fingers from around her wrist and took a step back, all the while staring into her eyes without a word.
The silence stretched between them for so long, she finally touched a hand to his, only to have him jerk back.
His voice was low with feeling. “You could not have learned this from anyone except my father.”
Relief flooded through her. She stood very still, giving him the time he needed to absorb this knowledge and accept the implications of it.
He took in a long, deep breath. His tone softened. “Forgive me for doubting you, my lady. I’ve never before known anyone who could talk to those on the other side.”
“Nor have I ever had the privilege, except with my father, until now.”
His voice nearly trembled with emotion. “Now that I know you can do what you claim, I would beg a favor of you.”
Startled, she could do nothing more than nod. “Name it.”
“Will you remain at Ross Abbey, at least for a while longer? For there is much I wish to ask my father.”
She let out a quiet breath, too surprised to speak. It would seem that he was now ready to accept what he could not understand. If he was not fully convinced, at least he was willing to believe in her power, meager though it might be.
Mistaking her silence for disapproval he quickly added, “I realize that life here is far from what you’re accustomed to in your kingdom. From what you’ve described, it will never be the paradise you left behind. But if you’ll give me some time, I’ll inquire in the village for servants. Though Ross Abbey will never take the place of your home, I’ll do all in my power to make it as comfortable for you as possible, if you’ll agree to remain.”
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