The Enchantress Read online

  “And this will be the last time you see me here.”

  “Pardon, Father?”

  “If I simply allow you to wander about and accomplish all of the tasks that our young men should be doing, the provost will be sending me off to tend sheep in the glen beneath Carn Chunneag when he returns.” The priest pulled on an ear and shook his head resignedly. “But an educated lass like you must be doing something, I suppose. Come along, then.”

  With another shake of his hoary head, he turned down the corridor, and Laura fell in happily beside him.

  “Of course,” he grumbled. “He might still send me there if he learns that I gave you work to do, yesterday as well as today.”

  “Meaning no disrespect, Father, but I don’t consider copying text from a manuscript hard work.” Upon seeing the priest’s sharp scowl, Laura smiled sweetly. “But I’m thankful to you for allowing me to do it, all the same.”

  “Hmmph.”

  She followed along as Father Francis made his way through the chapter house. And she held her tongue, practicing restraint, as she observed workmen and their helpers laboring away at changes the new provost had in progress. Carpenters were at work in the chapel, repairing a great carved screen of oak. Stonemasons were replacing ancient bosses in the ceiling arches. She listened quietly as Father Francis paused to discuss future plans with one master mason for chimneys and modest fireplaces that were to be built in a variety of different chambers when the weather improved.

  Reaching Gilbert Ross’s work room, Laura sat down at Father Francis’s gesture, positioning herself at one end of the large trestle table. Soon she was busy copying ledger lines and columns onto the blank pages for the coming year’s figures. The task of copying was simple and tedious, but the thought of complaining never entered her head. She was grateful for the opportunity to work.

  Finishing in much less time than Father Francis had anticipated, Laura found the old priest engrossed in his ledgers, so she quietly rearranged the books in an orderly manner and resharpened her quill. Letting her eyes survey the work room, she again fixed her gaze on the portrait of the young child sitting above the mantel. The large bright eyes, the innocent smile, lifted Laura’s spirits.

  “From what I hear, she is not such a wee thing anymore. The lass is three years older than she was when that sketch was drawn.”

  Laura glanced over her shoulder and studied Father Francis’s thoughtful expression.

  “Her name is Miriam. Miriam Ross.”

  “The provost told me that her parents are dead.” Laura rose to her feet and moved closer to the fireplace to get a better look. Even though she had never seen the mother, Laura was certain that the little girl took after the Ross side of the family. The resemblance to William was exceptional.

  “Thomas and Mildred died fording a river by Ben Wyvis, not a half day’s ride from here. Mildred’s horse stumbled, throwing her. Thomas went after her, but the icy river just washed the two of them away. Over two years now the lass has been orphaned.”

  “She is all alone.” Laura wrapped her arms around her middle as a cold draft suddenly chilled her. She glanced over at the priest. “Who is looking after her?”

  “Her grandsire, Lord Herries. That started as a temporary arrangement, and ‘twill soon come to an end.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Lord Herries is an old man, and ill, and he wishes to send Mariam away while he can.”

  “Where is he sending her?”

  “I would imagine to some priory, to be raised by some ill-tempered, though godly nuns who’ll have hardly any appetite for the antics of a young and spirited lass like Miriam.” The old priest dropped his gaze to the ledger. “Of course, this will only happen if her rightful guardian fails to stand up and accept his responsibility.”

  Laura returned to the table and sat across from the priest. “And I assume William Ross is that guardian.”

  Father Francis pushed aside the ledger book. “You’re very observant, mistress. Other than her grandsire, Miriam’s only kin are her two uncles, Gilbert and William. I suppose Gilbert could keep the lassie here, but ‘twas her father’s expressed wishes that if anything should happen to him and his wife, Miriam was to be raised at Blackfearn Castle, under William’s protection.”

  “Then why is the laird not honoring the wishes of his brother?” Laura’s voice quavered. “What does he have against the child?”

  “You might ask, what does he have against any semblance of order? Or discipline? Or responsibility? Why, after two years, is he still unwilling to take control of what is his by right?” The priest laid both his hands flat on the table and stared at them for a long moment. “‘Tis a mystery, lass, why William is so pigheaded. But he has his virtues--”

  “He is quite brave...but he seems to be quite set in his own ways. But then, I thought ‘twas only I who brought out the worst in him.” She stopped, letting the thought hang in the air. The old cleric was eyeing her carefully.

  “Nay, Mistress Laura. You might as well know that there is not a more undisciplined, obstinate ne’er-do-well than William Ross in the entire Highlands.”

  Laura stared at the man for a moment and then shook her head. “But from what I’ve seen, the people truly respect him as their laird.”

  “Aye, that is true enough. Every Ross man and woman looks fondly on him. And that’s because the rogue is a born leader with a heart of pure gold. William is a fierce fighter but kind-hearted to those in trouble. The lad is forceful but humble. He has dangerous temper and yet has compassion as well. And he has greatness in him, make no mistake.”

  “Well, I’ve seen samples of his courage...and his temper.” She wasn’t going to add to the list of his qualities, even though thoughts of William Ross’s passionate nature had been keeping her awake for the past two weeks. “I’m certain there is greatness in him...if one were to search.”

  The hint of a smile softened the man’s furrowed brow. “I won’t argue against you, mistress, since I believe that for all his faults, William Ross is a fine man. But I also believe that he needs the right person to rein him in. Only then will he become a great one.”

  CHAPTER 11

  The stable was warmer than the courtyard, and the smell of horses and cattle mingled with the smell of sweating men. Gilbert Ross lifted the hem of his cloak and stepped over a pile of fresh manure and followed his brother into the semi-darkness.

  Two stable men went by, nodding cheerfully at their laird and the cleric, while a young boy rushed forward with William’s shirt in hand.

  “Sorry, master. Didn’t know you’d be finishing in the yard so soon.”

  The Highlander gave the boy’s scrawny shoulder a gentle pat and took the shirt. “We were interrupted by the provost.”

  The young boy took a step back and eyed Gilbert Ross’s black robe cautiously. Gilbert raised a hand to bless him, but the lad quickly crossed himself and took off as if the devil were on his tail.

  “What’s the matter with the lad?”

  William snorted and turned away.

  “Wait a moment, brother. What have you been saying about me?”

  “Only that you are forever on the lookout for likely lads to steal away to St. Duthac’s dungeons.”

  “Dungeons? We don’t have...Now, listen to me, Willie.”

  The laird scowled and gestured toward the huge dog lazily scratching an ear by the stable door. “Willie is that foul beast over there, in case you’ve forgotten. I’m William.”

  Gilbert followed as his brother started off again through the stables. “I do not believe poisoning a wee one’s mind, Willie, is in the best interest of anyone. Especially when you’re filling the lad with wrong-headed notions of the church and its servants.”

  By an open stall the Ross laird abruptly turned, and Gilbert nearly barreled into him. The two eyed each other pugnaciously.

  “Is that the reason for your trip out here, provost? To lecture me on the Church’s concerns?”

  �
��Nay, but that is as good a place to start as anywhere.”

  Though they were nearly the same height, the difference in appearance between them was telling. Gilbert, blond and tonsured, was lean and well appointed in his fine robes and cloak. In contrast, William, his thick chestnut hair tied back, was shirtless, muscled, unshaven, and glistening with sweat from the recent exercise in the yard with the men.

  He gave his brother a murderous glare before picking up an empty bucket from the floor of the stall and shoving it into Gilbert’s chest. “Right behind you. Get me some water. I’ll wash in this stall.”

  With a curt nod Gilbert turned toward the cistern, only to have his boot sink deep in another pile of manure. William’s throaty laugh was far louder than the cleric’s grunt of displeasure.

  Ducking as the bucket sailed past his head, William found himself lifted off his feet as Gilbert shot across the enclosure, sending them both sprawling in the straw and muck. Recovering quickly, William launched his brother across the stall and pounced on him, putting a knee in Gilbert’s back and shoving his face into the foul dirt.

  “By the saint, William, get off me, or I swear I’ll have you excommunicated.”

  With a grunt the older brother retreated to the other side of the stall, and plunked himself down on the fallen bucket. Gilbert turned over and sat up, picking dirt and straw out of his mouth.

  Two matching sets of blue eyes glared for a moment. The black dog lumbered into the stall and stretched out between the two brothers.

  “Good dog.” William chuckled. “A real protector.”

  As the two men laughed, a half-dozen men watched wide-eyed from the stall entrance.

  “Robbie!” William called out, standing and stretching a hand out toward his brother. Gilbert accepted it and rose to his feet as the lad peeked cautiously through the crowd. “Run to the laird’s chamber and fetch a clean tartan for the provost.”

  “Aye, m’lord.”

  As the boy disappeared from the stable, the workers, realizing there would be no more entertainment, drifted off to their various tasks. William picked up the bucket and scooped water from the cistern.

  “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, Your Holiness, but you look and smell far worse than your position dictates.”

  “I believe you’re correct...Willie.”

  As the Highlander undressed and washed, Gilbert shed his own soiled cloak and sat himself down on a pile of straw.

  “I should get to the reason for my visit, brother, before you manage to distract me again.”

  William’s snort was loud and clear.

  “I’ve received a letter from Lord Herries of Hoddom. Regarding Miriam’s keep.”

  “Why should he write to you?” The Highlander poured icy water from the bucket over his head. “I’ve already answered the man.”

  “Not to his liking.” Gilbert shook his head. “And I must say, not to my liking, either. The child is too young to be sent away to some convent in France--”

  “‘Tis a school as well as a convent,” William asserted, pushing the wet hair off his face and scooping another bucket of water from the cistern. “She can learn something there. Who knows, she might turn out better than...”

  “Than whom?”

  “Than--than those other wee court brats.”

  “She is a Ross, William.”

  “Aye, and Mildred’s daughter, too,” William asserted harshly. “‘Tis in her best interest that we give the lass a better upbringing than her mother got.”

  The stable boy ran into the stall and cautiously handed the folded tartan to the provost.

  “Thank you, lad.” Gilbert walked to the bucket as William dried himself. “Well, she doesn’t want to go.”

  “She’s only a bairn. She has no choice in the matter.”

  “Thomas’s wishes were for his daughter to be raised here, at Blackfearn Castle--not in France or some convent far from the only kin she has left in this world.” Gilbert fixed his gaze on his brother’s face. “Thomas wanted you to raise her.”

  Scowling, the laird angrily yanked his shirt over his head and wrapped his kilt about him.

  “Will, give the lassie a chance. Bring her here, even if ‘tis only for a wee time.”

  The Highlander’s glare was hard and cold. “Blackfearn is no place to raise a bairn.”

  “This castle is strong, and you could make it better. But you must take control of it. You’re laird now, William. Like it or not!”

  William pulled his sword belt tight, avoiding Gilbert’s accusing gaze.

  “I do not know what ‘tis you fear, brother, but I’ve decided I can no longer wait for you to act. I’ve taken the steps I should have taken two years ago.”

  “What the hell have you done, Gilbert?”

  “I wrote to Lord Herries and told him to send Miriam here.”

  William took an angry step forward. “What right have you to do such a thing? I tell you this is no place to raise a child like that.”

  The provost matched his brother’s angry stare. “You and I were raised here. There’s nothing wrong with the place, William.”

  “Those were different times. There were servants who knew what needed to be done. Hell, we had parents, Gilbert.”

  “Aye! Who, for most part, had no idea what you and I were up to. But still, all in all, I’d say the two of us grew up fairly well.”

  “Och, she’s a lass. What do I know of--of womanly things? By St. Andrew, Gilbert!”

  “You can learn, William. And if I were you, I would learn quickly, since the lass should be here no later than a fortnight.”

  “Nay, I’ll not do it. You can keep her.”

  Gilbert stood for a moment. “I’ll tell you what. You keep her for a month, and I’ll send you help to see that she’s cared for.”

  “Och, by his Shirt! Now I’ve got bairns and pudding-faced nuns running about the place. What next?”

  Gilbert backed away and turned toward the door before William could find a reason to thwart the plan. “If you care to see me before I return to St. Duthac, I’ll be in the chapel, fulfilling the spiritual needs of some of your crofters.”

  “Where you ought to be, you meddlesome priest.”

  “And concerned brother. And uncle. Remember, William, the two of you are my last remaining family.” He threw a departing look at his brother. “Don’t let the past ruin the future blessings the Lord has in store for you. Go along with me for a change, Will. I know best.”

  Silent but hardly convinced, William stared sullenly at the retreating back of the provost.

  *****

  “The place is a shambles. Certainly, he’s got the folk and the gold to put things right, but the amount of work that needs to be done is nearly unfathomable. The organization...” Gilbert shook his head. “Though he does have the best of intentions, if you understand my meaning, Father Francis.”

  The older priest nodded solemnly. “I do. Indeed I do, provost.”

  As if having just remembered her presence, Gilbert Ross turned abruptly to the young woman who was sitting on the bench at the trestle table and listening quietly to their conversation. “Please forgive me, Mistress Laura, for boring you with our local concerns. I will refrain from any further talk of my visit to Blackfearn Castle, and--”

  “Nay, please don’t,” she blurted all too enthusiastically, quickly containing herself and running a calming hand down the front of her dress. “By all means, please continue, provost. ‘Tis most interesting to hear the account of your visit.”

  Gilbert paused for a long moment, while Laura looked down and held her breath. When she glanced up again, he was looking at the old cleric.

  “A talent for organization has never been William’s strong point.”

  “He’s always been willing to let others do their job,” the provost stated in defense of his brother. “But with the arrival of the wee Miriam so imminent--”

  “Will she arrive before Christmastide?”

  “Aye.” Gi
lbert nodded. “One would assume so. Though there are so few days left. I wonder if he’ll be ready to receive the lassie properly.”

  Laura hung on every word that was said. The provost had returned from Blackfearn Castle only the night before, and she was delighted to be included in these discussions.

  So William Ross was taking charge of his niece. The child would need so many things, though. A safe place for her and someone to watch over her. A tutor to keep her mind active.

  “He will not be ready and you know it, Gilbert. Perhaps ‘twould be better for her to come in the spring.”

  The provost adamantly shook his head. “Nay. If Lord Herries passes away this winter, there’ll be no one to look after the lass. Do we want her in the hands of strangers?”

  “Couldn’t she be brought here?” Laura blurted out the question. “I mean, until such time as your brother is ready to receive her.”

  Gilbert and Father Francis looked at each other for a moment. Then they both firmly shook their heads, and the provost spoke. “Nay, that will not do.”

  “And why not?” she asked, realizing as she spoke that it wasn’t her place to speak. “I apologize for my interference. But I just thought...that might be the best of solutions for...for all involved.”

  Gilbert walked to the hearth and stood there with his back to the other two. The older priest rubbed his chin before turning to Laura. “You see, mistress, as intelligent a solution as your recommendation might seem, the provost and I believe ‘twill be a grave mistake to give William a way out.”

  “A way out?”

  Gilbert turned and nodded. “It has taken two years for my brother to come to the point of even accepting the lass at Blackfearn Castle. If he gets any notion that there are other places--especially one as convenient as St. Duthac’s convent--to shelter her...Nay, we can’t allow it.”

  In an instant, it all became clear to her. William Ross wasn’t taking his niece willingly. They were forcing him to face up to his responsibilities, and using the poor health of Lord Herries to do it.