The Enchantress (16 page)

“I agree.” There were many ways of accomplishing a task, she said to herself, smiling innocently at him.

“And remember.” William’s blue eyes bore into her. “You will stay out of my way.”

*****

Laura had never in her life been one to place much value in creature comforts--which was a good thing, because she wasn’t going to get them at Blackfearn Castle.

The bedchamber assigned to her by the Ross laird was located in an upper level of the castle’s east wing. The original keep of Blackfearn Castle, the upper levels of the building had been divided into bedchambers long ago, when the larger edifice housing the present Great Hall and laird’s chambers had been built.

Following Robbie, the young lad who had held his laird’s shirt in the Great Hall, Laura climbed a dark circular stairwell and moved along a passageway lit only by narrow slit windows looking out on the courtyard. Passing open doors of two fairly large chambers--both of them with small drifts of snow on the wood floors--they made their way eventually to a door at the end of the corridor. Oak beams slanted upward just above her head, and looking up she could see patches of blue sky through missing sections of roof. It was cold, and Laura knew it was going to be wet.

“What happened to the roof?” she asked the boy casually.

“The storm last summer, mistress. A fiercer wind I ne’er saw. Why, the roof came off in whole pieces. Flattened much of the crops, too. Did ye see it?”

“As a matter of fact, Robbie, I was in a ship at the time. ‘Twas a frightening thing.”

“I wasn’t frightened,” the lad boasted, pushing open the heavy door. “Though ‘tis true that the wind howled like a hound bitch looking for some supper.”

“I’m sure it did,” Laura said.

Left alone, she looked around the small chamber. The wind was whistling down a huge open hearth that must have provided heat to the entire floor before the renovations. The room itself was sparsely furnished with a narrow bed and a small chest. It was damp and cold but certainly bearable, she thought to herself. Going to fasten the shutter that covered the single window, Laura looked down on a training yard below. The snow had been trampled down by many feet, and the covering glistened in the bright sunshine.

She made a small fire in the hearth from a small stack of kindling and peat that had been left, and smiled wryly as much of the smoke backed into the room, drifting up into the roof rafters instead of going out the chimney. When she picked up a pile of straw from one corner of the room, two brown mice darted along the wall. Fifteen minutes of careful searching with a broom she found in the corner, though, turned up no more occupying vermin.

Blackfearn was an old castle, Laura reminded herself, and there were probably still grain and foodstuffs stored in the level beneath. Besides, she was here not for her own comfort, but to prepare for a certain little girl’s arrival. The thought of her purpose for being here cheered her greatly.

Putting the room in order took very little time, as did the arrangement of her meager possessions. Looking around with satisfaction, Laura was thinking that perhaps it was time to return to the Great Hall when her supper arrived.

Maire, a rather shy old woman who apparently worked in the kitchens, conveyed the message that the laird was certain Mistress Laura would prefer to take her meals in her chamber.

Fuming as she closed the door behind the woman, Laura decided that merely murdering a blackguard like William Ross was too kind a fate.

Taking a few deep breaths, though, she sat on the chest by the fire and calmed herself.

“You are a survivor,” Laura said quietly, trying some of the food and then setting it aside. Whatever they had planned to do with that poor sheep, the scorched mutton had been rendered nearly inedible. The crusty trencher of bread looked no more appetizing than the meat. “Well, so far.”

Morning arrived--not as soon as she would have hoped--but it arrived all the same. And Laura was ready for battle.

She ran into the same older woman who had brought her meal up the night before just outside the door.

“Maire, how kind of you to bring this to me.”

The white-haired servant looked up with surprise and met Laura’s kindly gaze. “Ye remembered my name, mistress?”

“Of course.” Laura smiled and took the wooden tray from her hands. “Wait a moment, will you?”

Bringing the food--singed bannock cakes and some unidentifiable watery mush in a wooden bowl--into the room, she placed it by the foot of the bed. Quickly returning to the serving woman, Laura closed the door behind her and placed a gentle hand on the servant’s shoulder.

“Shall we walk down together?”

“But yer meal, mistress.”

“I thought I would eat it later and instead join you in the kitchen for a while.”

“But the laird!” She halted. “He--he--”

Laura ran her hands up and down her arms and let out a breath. She watched the frosty cloud dissipate in the air. “Is it only me? This cold, I mean.”

Maire tightened her plaid shawl around her shoulders and shook her head. “With the broken places in the roof and no heat at all down this wing... ‘tis godawful cold. Ye might as well be sleeping in the yard, I’d say, mistress.”

Laura started the woman again down the corridor. “I do believe, though, ‘twas quite kind of the laird to put me here.” She looked about her, watching a few flakes of snow drifting in from somewhere above. “I love serenity. Restfulness. And to be honest, this cold...I understand ‘tis excellent for both body and soul.”

“If ye say so, mistress.” Maire gave her a toothless smile. “Though we were thinking that ye must’ve done something horrid...to the laird, I mean, to get him so riled.”

“Is he riled?”

“Aye. It does appear so.” This time Maire laughed out loud. “Though Father Francis has been bragging to Janet and me what a good soul ye are. And now, having met ye, I’d have to believe the priest was telling it right.”

The woman turned down another darkened corridor, away from the stairwell that Laura had been brought up the day before. Trailing after her companion, the young woman soon found herself turning down a narrow set of steps.

“And what has the priest been saying?”

“Do not ask, mistress, for I willna be telling.” Maire chuckled, running a hand along the wall as she descended the steps. “This takes us right down to the kitchens. Ye have no need to be going through the Great Hall, this way.”

“Ah, good. I can’t have you getting into trouble on my account for disobeying your laird.”

Maire shrugged. “This isn’t disobeying, exactly, mistress. But in truth, our master is very good to us. But then...” She cackled and turned to look back at Laura. “He has to treat us well, for we’re the last of the kitchen workers left at the castle.”

“Yesterday, I saw quite a few men in the Great Hall.”

“Aye, but they’re mostly the laird’s men, good only for fighting and farming--when they need to do one or the other. But around the castle they’re as useless as extra toes, as far as I can see. No help at all when it comes to doing honest work. In fact, mistress, since Robert’s passing--he was the steward--and the cook running off, Janet and I have been taking care of everything that needs doing.” The older woman paused and edged along one wall as she stepped over a missing stair. “And all this in addition to everything else we were supposed to be doing before. Mending, washing, cleaning--and all the while with Chonny underfoot!”

“Is Chonny a little one?”

“Och! He’s no lad, mistress. He’s a full grown man.” Maire slowed again and this time pointed at a low overhang as she ducked down the steps. “Chonny lost both of his legs when he was a lad. Later, with both of his parents dying of fever, Lord keep ‘em, he was moved into the keep to be part of the household.”

“It must be difficult for him to be all alone like that.”

“Alone?” The woman scoffed. “Not too bad a life. All he does is stay in the kitchen. He is fed, and he has straw to sleep on at night. And if ‘twere not for his sour temper, I’d say most of us wouldn’t even notice him. But he has a way of getting himself heard.”

The smell of burnt porridge assaulted her nostrils as Laura reached a landing just above the kitchen. Smoke hung in thick clouds above heavy wood tables, cluttered with a disordered array of produce, trays, bowls, meats, fowl in every stage of preparation, and a multitude of other things, much of it unrecognizable. Three dogs were growling and pulling a haunch of mutton between two of the tables, and a heavyset woman--older than Maire--was shrieking at them. Descending the last few steps behind Maire, Laura listened with surprise to the loud curses of the irate woman. This must be Janet, she assumed.

Too engrossed in the activity in the room beneath her, Laura tripped over the body of a person pulling himself rapidly up the stairs on his hands.

Trying to catch herself, she grabbed the shoulder and found herself staring down into a dark scowl.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”

Hostile eyes glared up at her from a swarthy, unshaven face. Beneath a man’s body two stubs of legs swaddled in woolen cloth supported him on the stairs. The man’s frown was unrelenting as she quickly looked back at his face.

“I’m Laura. Laura Percy,” she said quietly. “You must be Chonny.” Not waiting for an answer, she nodded at the smoke-filled chaos of the kitchen. “I know the laird threatened to do away with me if I was to leave my cell in the east wing. But how did he know I would be coming to the kitchens?”

The man didn’t smile. But his frown eased a little as he shrugged her hand off his shoulder. Moving to the wall, he pulled himself up to the landing and disappeared around the corner and up the steps.

“Of course ‘twas Chonny,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Turning in search of Maire, Laura peered through the darkness and smoke, and saw her companion already by the open hearth, stirring a huge iron pot and ignoring the commotion behind her. In a moment Janet gave up and moved back to the hearth as well.

Laura stood and watched the two. Janet mopped her brow with the back of one hand and stared vacantly into the hearth. A smoky fire was roaring in the huge stone opening, but no one was turning the spit, and a large chunk of meat was rapidly being reduced to cinder. From the smell of things, some kind of bread was burning in the stone oven.

Janet, who Laura assumed must be in charge of the kitchen, was still unaware of her presence. Maire, busily stirring the ruined porridge, reached down and threw another block of peat on the fire. It appeared she had totally forgotten the visitor.

Well, there was no purpose served in standing around, Laura decided. Moving quickly down the steps, she crossed the packed dirt floor. Deciding to save whatever she could of the breads in the oven, Laura reached for a tray. As she did, she slipped on some decaying object on the floor, nearly banging her head on the corner of a wood table. Catching herself at the last moment, she righted herself and moved toward the oven, only to trip over a pile of dirty pots and bowls stacked on the floor.

She picked herself up. Before she could take a step, however, one of the dogs--having successfully stolen the mutton from his rivals, barreled past her with the other two in pursuit, howling, barking, and snapping furiously at the leader.

Chaos. Pure, unadulterated chaos.

Pulling her sleeves down to cover her bare hands, Laura moved carefully to the oven and smiled as warmly as she could at Janet, who was staring at her in surprise. Without a word she reached for the first flat loaf of bread, only to have an arm with a grip of iron wrap around her waist and pull her backward into a wall of human muscle.

A loud gasp escaped her, and for one stunned moment she remained tightly nestled against the man’s body.

In front of her eyes, the room erupted. More dogs raced between the benches, barking and harrying two sheep that bleated loudly as they tried to clamber onto tables. A chicken flapped for its life toward the smoky rafters, showering the world below with feathers. A giant wearing Ross colors and a prodigious beard appeared from nowhere, suddenly appearing at the hearth with a huge pot of water which he proceeded to throw on the sizzling meat. Janet shrieked with disbelief, battering the warrior with a large wooden spoon.

Laura squirmed and twisted, pushing the arm holding her captive, but the man didn’t release her, allowing her only to turn in his arms.

Why was it that her heart had to stop every time she looked into William Ross’s face?

“And you call this staying out of my way?”

He was too close. She could feel his breath caressing her cheek. From the place where his hands were holding her waist, a warm pool was spreading rapidly inward to the very center of her being.

She forced out her words. “I was. Or at least, I’m trying.”

“And what have you done to my kitchens?”

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Nothing. Why would I change anything here?”

Even as he released her, she was intensely aware of his hands still lingering at her waist. He was still holding her far too close for her to breathe. She flattened one hand against his chest to put some distance between them, but he trapped her hand beneath his own. Her pulse jumped wildly.

“You find this amusing?”

She looked up and met his gaze. “Don’t you?”

His attempt at a scowl was unsuccessful, and he looked more pained at the sight of the mess. Janet was still scolding William’s cohort unmercifully. The man, standing with his arms folded over his chest, was waiting patiently for his laird and doing his best to ignore the verbal barrage. “I wonder which will come first--Blackfearn Castle burning to the ground, or those who live here starving to death?”

Following the direction of his gaze, she nodded somberly. “Why don’t you bring in a new cook?”

He let go of her hand and turned away slightly. “I’ve already asked Edward to see to it. But he seems to be having no luck.”

Although she already knew the answer, she asked it anyway. “Is Edward your steward?”

“Steward?” William snorted. He nodded toward the bearded giant. “Nay, that dwarf there is Edward. He is the clan’s chief warrior.”