The Enchantress Page 4

  Tying the horse, Laura picked up a half-eaten apple from the ground, and after feeding the fruit to the mount, she started back for the hut.

  Of the three daughters, Laura had always been the closest one, in every way, to their mother. While Catherine, the eldest, had always been the dreamer of the three, and Adrianne, the youngest, the most reckless and courageous, Laura had somehow ended up as the voice of reason among them.

  And it was because of her likeness to her mother that a warning bell sounded in Laura’s head. If she was to be contacted, sending a group of men--who could easily be followed--would not have been Nichola’s way.

  A chill running up her spine, Laura ran the last few steps and ducked inside the stiff leather door covering. Once inside, her eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness of the single room, and she made out the form of Guff leaning over the Highlander in the farthest corner.

  “He is coming around a wee bit, mistress. But I have to say, he is mighty--”

  The head and broad shoulders of the Lowland warrior pushing into the hut behind Laura silenced the farmhand’s complaint. She whirled in surprise as the man, long sword in hand, stepped to the side, making room for a wiry little monk who entered behind him.

  “Mistress Laura!” the monk growled menacingly in English. “Somewhat ungracious of you to keep us waiting so long.”

  Clutching her cloak tightly about her, Laura jumped back a step as the cleric lurched across the hut toward her.

  CHAPTER 4

  The bitter wind raced across the loch, whipping up the black waters into a boiling, heaving mass. Across the moor, over rock-studded braes, shrieking it came, slamming finally against the gray stone walls of Hoddom Castle, seeking entry.

  In the recess of the stone wall, a guttering candle, flickering wildly, wept its dying wax tear. Shadows loomed over the bed, climbing the walls, clutching at her. Quivering like a leaf, Miriam Ross tugged the heavy bedclothes, hiding herself beneath them. The wind outside, howling and wailing, hammered a fastened shutter. With a deafening crash the wooden latch gave way, and the winter gale exploded into the chamber.

  Throwing the bedclothes aside, the little girl leaped from the bed and scurried across the floor. Tugging open the ponderous oak door, she ran barefoot down the corridor to the winding blackness of the stone staircase. At the sound of a cry somewhere behind her, she lost her footing, tumbling down the last few steps to the stone landing.

  Never pausing to nurse the scrape on her knee, Miriam raced through the narrow passages into the amber light of the castle’s kitchens.

  Scurrying between the sleeping bodies of the kitchen workers, she gradually made her way to the hearth and nestled into an empty space.

  Pulling a bit of coarse sacking around her, she glanced about at the soft shadows. Breathing in the kitchen smells, she listened for a few moments to the familiar sounds of snoring and then closed her eyes for what remained of the night.

  ****

  The leather skin covering the doorway jerked to the side again, drawing Laura’s gaze over the monk’s shoulder. She could see the dark shapes of his Lowland escort peering in from outside, but the men parted as an aging nun, grumbling loudly, pushed her way through them. In an instant she was in the hut.

  “There is no reason to create trouble, Mistress Percy.” The monk stopped in the middle of the hut, his eyes glittering even in the darkness. “The horses are ready, and we’ll be taking you--”

  “Makyn!” the mother superior cried out, brushing past the monk and rushing toward the slowly retreating Laura. “Guff has been ill with worry that you wouldn’t arrive by nightfall. With the cold settling in, we were all worried about you catching your death in the darkness.”

  Laura lost only an instant before realizing what her mentor was doing, and quickly fell in with the ruse. Dropping to her knees, she took the nun’s gnarled hand and kissed her ring. From the corner of her eye she saw the monk hesitate, looking on with suspicion.

  “Oh, my dear, you are shaking!” The nun turned and cast an angry glare at the monk. “You’ve scared the poor child witless. And who could blame her? The young thing is mute, and here you are frightening her!”

  Mute? Laura threw a quick look at the monk. A shadow of confusion flickered across his features.

  “Eh? You say this one’s not Laura Percy?” He took a step closer. His squinting eyes never leaving the faces of the two women. “But I say, let the torches be brought in. I want to see for myself.”

  At that moment, from the corner of the hut, William Ross of Blackfearn groaned loudly, silencing the clergyman. The ancient nun whirled, hiding her look of surprise as she turned her gaze on Guff, and on the Highlander trying to sit up beside him.

  Laura, coming quickly to her feet, turned her back on the two and rushed to the side of the Ross laird.

  “Makyn, here. Well, ye can see she brought...” Guff began haltingly, quickly stepping around Laura and shielding her from the rest. “She brought...her husband, Mum. And he’s god-awful sick, from the looks of ‘im.”

  “Sick?” the nun asked with genuine alarm.

  Laura’s mind was racing. Now it wasn’t only her own life in danger but the Highlander’s as well. Using all her might, she pushed the laird down on his back and then started to tuck the blanket around his body. But in his half-conscious state, he pushed the covering away and let out an obscene oath as he tried again to sit up.

  Lord have mercy on her soul, she thought, she could still handle him. Using the heel of her hand as a weapon, Laura directed a solid hit to the lump on his head.

  The Ross laird responded better than she’d anticipated. Jerking his hands to his head, he fell backward on the straw and groaned in pain.

  “Ye do not want to be close to him. My--my daughter’s husband is out of his head with the fever.” Guff shuffled closer to the group, lowering his voice to a confidential tone. “If ye ask me, mum, I think ‘tis the same fever that killed off the crofter and his little ‘uns up on the Skibo Brae at Michaelmas.”

  The Lowland warrior edged toward the door, but the monk held his ground. “I don’t care a whit about the man. But bring the lass around.” He shouted over his shoulder at the men gathered outside. “Bring a torch in!” He then turned again to the nun. “I want to see her face for myself.”

  With her hands planted on the Highlander’s chest to hold him down, Laura was fairly certain that she had never seen this monk before. Still, though, her mother’s face had been well-known in both the Scottish and English courts before Edmund Percy’s beheading. And considering the fact that she resembled her mother so much, Laura knew she was in grave danger of being identified.

  The fate that awaited her if she was to be abducted by these people would be worse than death. It was riches that they were after, and she knew they would stop at nothing until they found it. Her only chance lay in devising some plan. Behind her, the mother superior and the monk were continuing to argue. Putting her hand quickly into the lining of her cloak, Laura searched frantically for the Highlander’s dagger. She would do what her younger sister, Adrianne, would do in this situation. She would fight her way out.

  But what were her own chances of surviving past the door? Not very good, she decided, considering she couldn’t find the weapon. The dagger must have slipped through the slit she’d made....

  “A torch,” the little monk shouted, shoving the warrior towering over him. “I want light.”

  The crumbling walls of the hut lit up as the torch was finally handed through the door. Beads of cold sweat began to run down Laura's back. But then, suddenly, she found herself staring into the blue eyes of William Ross of Blackfearn. Her heart leaped in her chest. He was fully conscious, though his face was still pale and strained.

  “Bring her to me.”

  One of Laura’s hands was still on his chest, and she felt the Highlander’s muscles tense beneath her fingers. In the space of a heartbeat she realized he was about to put up a fight on her behalf. But she couldn�
��t allow another innocent life be lost over her family’s ordeal. Considering their sheer numbers, Laura was certain they would kill him, and she had seen enough of that in the past.

  Pushing his chest, she tried to stand. But William Ross’s solid grip on her wrist took her by surprise, and she fell forward against him. His breath caressed her cheek, and she fought back the shocking thrill of her body pressing against his.

  “Are you deaf?” the monk shouted. “I said, bring her to me.”

  Guff continued to block them from the monk’s view. Laura glanced over her shoulder, only to see the mother superior taking up a position beside Guff. Not that it would make any difference if the hulking Lowlander behind the monk decided to act.

  “Can’t you see?” the old nun responded harshly. “The husband is dying. In the name of Heaven, you should be able to respect a moment of peace between them...before he goes to meet his Maker. ‘Tis certain that your order can not...”

  The older woman carried on loudly, but Laura's full attention turned to the Highlander’s dark expression. Their faces were so close, and she was so aware of the warmth of his body, of his earthy, masculine scent. At the further tightening of his grip on her wrist, her eyes dropped to his lips. They were so tantalizing.

  She watched him mouth the words, my sword.

  Laura placed a hand shakily on his forehead. Leaning closer, with the pretense of placing a kiss on his cheek, she whispered her answer in his ear.

  Thankfully, his gruff curse was muffled by the rising pitch of the nun’s continuing harangue. Twasn’t her fault, Laura thought, that she’d left the Highlander’s sword strapped to the back of the horse.

  She leaned down again and brushed her face against his. The tremor that coursed through her at the feel of his unshaven face against her skin was unexpected, startling her. “I--I slid your dirk into the lining of my cloak...but I can’t find it.”

  Laura felt her face flush hot as he held her with one hand while the other delved into her cloak, touching her intimately as he searched for the weapon. She held her breath, trying not to be affected by the feel of his strong fingers moving across her back and her buttocks. Confusion was quickly added to the tumult of sensations, though, when she raised her face and met his gaze. The Highlander’s blue eyes were glinting mischievously.

  She pressed an elbow into his rib to curtail the roaming of his hand over the front of her dress, and continued looking for the weapon herself. She found it pressed between their bodies. Raising her weight off him slightly, she reached into the slit in the cloak, feeling for the dagger. But the rounding of the rogue’s eyes, followed by the suggestive gleam from the dark depths, caused her to hesitate, burning with discomfiture.

  “Get these two out of here and bring the lass to me.”

  At the sound of the monk’s sharp command, Laura quickly withdrew the Highlander’s dirk. The laird closed his huge hand over hers, taking the weapon from her.

  “But the fever...” the Lowland warrior complained.

  “‘By ‘sblood, it hasn’t killed the girl. ‘Twill surely not kill you.”

  William Ross pressed Laura’s head tightly into the crook of his neck. She had no idea what he was planning to do, but whatever it was, she couldn’t imagine they had much chance of surviving. Still though, she went along with it, finding assurance in his protective grip.

  “Stay away, you great baboon.” The mother superior’s voice rose to a screech. “I tell you Makyn is this man’s daughter. Take your hands off of me!”

  Laura froze at the sound of the old nun being manhandled and then pushed the man’s chest, but William Ross’s firm hand held her in place.

  “Let me go.”

  “Wait!”

  “They are hurting her. Let me--”

  A woman’s shout cut through the din, silencing everyone inside. “They’ve returned!”

  No one moved in the hut, and the tension hung in the air, sharp and palpable. Laura was afraid to breathe.

  There was a slight commotion outside, and the Highlander eased his grip on her. Laura’s head turned in time to see Sister Beatrice appear in the doorway.

  “They are here, Mother.”

  Every eye in the room was fixed on the tiny nun.

  “Sir Walter’s men are back,” the arriving nun said breathlessly. “And they are waiting to see you at the chapter house.”

  “What of Laura Percy?” the monk rasped, turning sharply on the diminutive woman. “Is she with them?”

  Beatrice’s eyes fleetingly searched the hut and barely paused on Laura before returning to the monk’s face. She frowned darkly.

  “Come and see for yourself,” she snapped, and then turned to her leader. “The Sinclair men are impatient, though, to speak with you, mother superior. With the darkness and with snow in the air, they are anxious to go on to Rumster Castle.”

  This appeared to be all the encouragement the mother superior needed. Immediately taking charge, she shook off the grip of the Lowland warrior and began to fire instructions at everyone.

  “You, monk, come with me, so you can at last meet our precious Laura. But I am warning you now, I won’t allow you to be dragging that child out into a cold and stormy night.”

  “Now, just a moment--”

  “Nay, not another word on it. The morning will come soon enough for you to take her from us. Out with you!”

  Laura didn’t hear the monk’s mumbled answer as he stepped out into the night.

  “And Guff,” she said loudly, turning back at the door. “You see after your daughter and her husband. I’ll have Sister Beatrice bring back some broth for his fever.”

  But her look did not match her gruff words, and Laura did not miss either the affectionate nod or the subsequent wave of the old woman’s hand, telling her to get out while she had a chance. Both women knew that this was their moment of good-byes. Their moment of parting. The mother superior turned and stepped out into the darkness.

  No sooner had the thin leather door dropped back into place than Guff was there peering out. The Highlander was on his feet, too, and checking the crumbling walls of the hut for an alternate way of getting out.

  “They’ll be right back, laird,” Guff mumbled with an anxious look at Laura. “They’ve left a man standing by the apple shed. He’s watching the hut.”

  William Ross began to kick some straw near the spot where he’d been lying. “I could feel the wind pushing through this wall.”

  “There’s a goodly hole here.” Guff nodded, shuffling over to the corner. “And we’d best hurry. That monk’ll be back as soon as he sees Mistress Laura isn’t with the rest of ‘em.”

  The laborer was on his hands and knees, pulling a loose block of stone from the base of the wall and adding to an already good-sized hole.

  Laura picked up the blanket that had been thrown aside by the Highlander and rolled it under one arm. She turned uneasily to William Ross of Blackfearn.

  “So you will help me, then? You’ll help me escape these men?”

  Even in the semidarkness she could see anger blaze in his eyes.

  “By Duthac’s Shirt, lass! If it weren’t for your interfering...” He let his words trail off with a disgusted shake of his head.

  Heat rose to Laura’s face. “How was I to know that you weren’t one of them? I mean, the way you acted...abducting me...stealing me from the market square in broad daylight!”

  She jumped when he started toward her, but he simply brushed past, going to the doorway. She felt the cold wind push around the leather covering as he peered out.

  Guff stood up, brushing the dirt from his hands. “Mistress Laura tied yer horse out by the trees beyond the walls. Ye’ll not miss it if ye go out this way and straight over the wall. Ye’d best go now.”

  Laura moved quickly to the door when the laird crossed to Guff. She could see the single man the farm hand had pointed out earlier. But there could be even more that she could not see.

  She strode back to Guff, knowing he
r best chance of escape lay in taking charge. She hurriedly removed the jeweled cross that she always wore around her neck--a present from her mother--and pushed it into the laborer’s hand.

  “Bless you for everything. Now you must get away yourself. And later, when they’ve gone, tell the mother superior that I’ll send word as soon as I can.”

  That said, Laura threw a hopeful look at the tall Highlander, tucked the blanket under one arm, and crawled out into the wet and stinging cold of the Scottish night.

  *****

  Behind the dais in the ancient hall, a huge, jewel-studded cross hung from the wall, a blue veil fringed with gold draped around it. In the very center of the chamber, the flames of the freshly lit bonfire licked at the pyre of oak logs.

  Suddenly, as the blaze leaped upward, the jewels of the cross seemed to come alive, casting their glittering brilliance on every wall, on every face, silencing the jangling din of the gathered throng. Agitated knights who had been arguing for hours suddenly paused, awed by the spectacle of color and light. The complaints and the grumbling ceased in an instant. The voices all hushed. But for the crackling of the fire, the hall was suddenly silent.

  A tall, gray-haired knight standing by the dais stepped forward, addressing the group.

  “I know that we are restless. We all feel the urge to act.” His piercing gray eyes swept over the nodding warriors. “It has been five months now. And five months is a long time to wait.”

  Murmurs of agreement echoed through the hall.

  Another aging knight stepped forward. “But time means nothing to a Knight of the Veil. Whether it be five months, five years, or five hundred years, we would never be so unsettled if we were sure the treasure was in safe hands.”

  “Aye, but as far as we know, the treasure is safe,” a warrior called out.