The Enchantress (22 page)

To Gilbert’s surprise, the pigeonholes in the cabinet behind his brother’s work table had been recently dusted. It took only a moment to find the scroll he was searching for.

Drawing it out, he untied the black ribbon and unrolled the old thick vellum on the work table. He remembered quite vividly when he and William had drawn this map. Father Francis had provided maps of the coastline for them, and they had gleaned every scrap of information they could from every priest, merchant, warrior, and sailor that they could find. From York to the Orkneys and from the Western Isles to Aberdeen, the map was as complete as they had been able to make it. It had every castle, burgh, abbey, and town they had ever heard of. Every river, loch, mountain, and glen had been included, as well as every clan.

It had taken them months to complete, and Gilbert smiled at how hard the two of them had worked at it. Father Francis had grudgingly called it a treasure.

Placing his candlestick carefully in the center, the provost leaned over the map, his eyes perusing every line on the large sheet of vellum. There was a battle brewing in the castle, and he was not about to be left out of it.

Laura, confining herself to that drafty chamber in the east wing, wanted out. She’d spoken to him again tonight. After considering all of her options, she’d said, she had decided to marry whomever Gilbert thought fit, as long as it could be arranged expeditiously.

William had stormed into the castle earlier in the afternoon with his own demands. The woman had to go, he’d demanded. Gilbert could send her away, take her away, or sell her to the Turks if he wanted to. Whatever had to be done, William wanted never to have to face the Englishwoman again.

Though Gilbert was no expert, it certainly sounded like love to him.

Why, the two had been acting like two well-matched armies poised and ready to fight. And now they wanted to withdraw? Well, Gilbert had already spent too many hours praying and planning to allow that. Engage they would, if he had anything to do with it.

Before Laura and William had been aware of his presence, he’d witnessed the heat between them. By St. Duthac, he had seen sparks flying about that room as they argued.

He might be a priest, but he was also a man. And he recognized the signs of two people desperately attracted to one another. It was so obvious. They couldn’t hide it. The curious smudges of soot on each of their faces. Laura’s swollen lips. Her flushed face. William’s stormy frustration.

There was no other choice in the matter. His task was simply to keep them together. Let them butt heads. Let them shed blood if need be--if that was what it took to make each see the value in the other. They were a perfect match, and it was up to Gilbert to use every divine...and earthly...means to make them realize the truth.

Symon, the new steward, entered the laird’s work room, and Gilbert lifted his eyes from the map.

Ah, the provost thought, eyeing the balding head and bowed legs of the man, the first warrior recruit for his own earthly company.

“The bedchamber in the east wing is prepared for your niece’s arrival.”

Gilbert nodded in approval. “Did you find my brother?”

The man stepped closer. “The laird said he will be joining you here, as you requested, but I saw him heading for the kitchen.”

Upon seeing Gilbert’s raised eyebrows, the elder man continued. “I cannot say for sure, but I believe the master went to congratulate Chonny on the meal. ‘Twas the best I’ve had since arriving.”

A change indeed, Gilbert thought pleasantly. “And Mistress Laura?”

“She approved of your niece’s chamber after the women were done with it, and then she returned to her own room to take her supper there.”

Gilbert glanced at the doorway, making certain William was not within earshot. “Did you convey my wishes to her?”

Symon nodded. “I am to go after her when the time comes.”

“Well done.” Gilbert nodded, leaning again over the map at the sound of his brother’s steps approaching the laird’s chamber.

The steward stepped back respectfully as William strode in. The Ross cast a curious glance at his brother intently studying the map.

“Excuse me, laird,” said Symon. “If you would like, I can complete that letter to the bishop tonight.”

William moved to the desk and picked up a neatly folded parchment and handed it to the steward. After his man left the room, the Highlander turned to Gilbert.

“What are you planning, my saintly brother? A raid?”

Without looking up, Gilbert moved the candle to another place on the map. “Nay, just refreshing my memory regarding some of the neighboring lairds.”

Puzzled and yet interested, William stared down at the vellum as well.

Gilbert’s long, slender finger pointed at the mark of a castle on the map. “What do you think of the MacKays?”

William frowned at his brother. “The MacKays are north of the Sutherlands. What do you want to know?”

“Their laird, wasn’t he widowed a year back?”

William’s blue eyes narrowed as they met his brother’s. “I do not recall hearing anything of that.”

Gilbert shook his head and turned his attention back to the map. “MacKenzie! Now, they have a fine stretch of land to your west and a brace of goodly sons, if I recall. What was the name of the firstborn?”

“Neil.”

“Aye, Neil MacKenzie. He is from good blood and family and fortune. He must certainly be ready for a wife.”

William planted both hands on the table and growled at his brother. “Neil MacKenzie may be fifteen years old, if that. What are you about, Gilbert?”

The provost shook his head with disappointment and stared again at the map. “Fifteen might be a wee young for the lass.”

“What lass?”

“Laura, of course.” Gilbert didn’t lift his eyes off the vellum. “She and I talked, and we both agreed that rather than sending her back to St. Duthac’s Shrine--where she would be more exposed to the dangers of those pursuing her--we should just find her a husband.”

“A husband!” William gave a bitter laugh, straightening from the table and stalking to the fireplace. “The poor soul. I say, ‘twould be best if you just send her back to her own people. Let
them
find a match for her.”

“Send her south?” Gilbert replied, disbelief evident in his voice. “So she can lose her head to the English king, as her father lost his?”

The laird’s face creased into a frown. “Och, you know I--I don’t wish any harm to befall her.”

“Good. Then you can help me find her a suitable husband, since the lass is eager to be out of Blackfearn Castle.” Gilbert turned his attention once again to the map. “Once we decide on a suitable list of candidates, then I will send each one a letter, explaining what I can of her condition. She has no dowry as it stands now, half English, and she comes from a family rife with daughters. But she’s young, at least, from noble blood, and between her name and education and looks...” Gilbert turned and found William by the hearth, staring into the fire. “Do you think she has good looks?”

“You have eyes. What do you think?”

The provost shook his head. “I think most would consider her too thin. She is a wee thing, after all, and that will also be an obstacle, considering the size of our bairns. And then there are her eyes. Too large, don’t you think so, William?”

“There is nothing wrong with her eyes,” the laird snapped, walking to the table.

“A strange color.”

William snorted angrily. “They are not strange. The blasted things are the shade of heather before it opens, if you must know.”

Gilbert cocked an eyebrow and focused again on the map.

“Frasers!” he said after a moment. “Dounie Castle would be, what, three days' ride to her sister?”

“He is already betrothed.”

“Pardon me?”

“Jamie Fraser is marrying in the spring. And unless you want to start bloodshed again between the MacKintosh and the Fraser, I say it would be safer if you did nothing to interfere with that match.”

Gilbert glanced again at William, who appeared to be looking over the castle’s ledger book by the light of the fire. A light tap at the door attracted both men’s gazes, and as Symon entered carrying a pitcher of ale and two cups, the provost gestured toward the worktable. Without a word the steward turned and left the chamber, leaving the door ajar.

Gilbert was silent for a few moments before he spoke again.

“How about the MacLeans?”

William closed the ledger book and placed it in the cabinet. “What about them?”

“You and Wyntoun spent a great deal of time together at Lord Herries's holding.”

“Aye, so what of it?” William stood still, a deep frown on his face.

Gilbert waited, watching his brother’s frozen stance. “His father is getting on in years. Duart Castle is a fine holding, by all accounts. From everything I hear of him--from all that you yourself have told me, Wyntoun MacLean is a good man.”

“Aye, as far as rogues go. But he’s no marrying man, to my thinking. He certainly wouldn’t stand for an arranged match.”

“He is escorting little Miriam here. Since he is coming, it does not have to be arranged. Or at least, we won’t present it to him as such.”

William turned an accusing eye on Gilbert. “What are you going to do? Trick him into marrying the woman?”

“There will be no tricks necessary. None but Laura Percy’s natural charms.”

“You mean her biting tongue?”

“Some men find that charming, and I believe you yourself would--” Gilbert ceased, seeing the young woman standing in the doorway. She was staring at William but then looked away, and the provost smiled broadly as he extended a hand in welcome. “I’m so glad you’re here, mistress. William and I were just discussing the merits of--”

“I heard. I could not help overhearing...some of your conversation.” She stepped into the room and took the proffered chair by the worktable.

Gilbert noted with some amusement that William didn’t seem to be able to take his eyes off her face, though she never spared the laird another glance.

“As you may have heard us speaking of him, Wyntoun MacLean is the man that William and I agree would be a very suitable--”

“He is
not
my recommendation,” the Ross laird asserted sharply.

“You were saying, provost.” Laura moved in the chair, turning away from the laird.

“Sir Wyntoun MacLean. He will one day soon be laird of Duart Castle in the Western Isles. A young man of...well, at William’s age, he is a rather accomplished fellow, educated and wealthy. He is a fairly handsome man, too, wouldn’t you say, brother?” He ignored the snort from the far side of the chamber. “As I was saying, Sir Wyntoun could be quite suitable for a lady of your background.”

She simply nodded and stared down at the fingers entwined in her lap.

“Another advantage in recommending Wyntoun is that he is the one given the charge of bringing our niece here from Hoddom Castle. So, my suggestion is this, we wait until he arrives. Since William will naturally extend his old friend an invitation to stay through Christmastide--” there was another snort that Gilbert let go by, “you’ll have ample opportunity to study the man and decide for yourself if he would prove a good match.”

Laura's violet-blue eyes lifted and watched the laird as he started pacing the far end of the chamber.

“And if your opinion is favorable--which I am certain ‘twill be--then William and I will approach Wyntoun on your behalf.”

“I’ll not be doing any approaching. Trust me on that.”

“
I
will speak with him if the need arises, mistress,” Gilbert said calmly, pausing to glower at his brother. “And I can tell you this, after meeting you, Sir Wyntoun will be honored to take you as his wife.”

“Aye,” William grumbled. “To add to the three or four the blackguard already has.”

The provost fought back a smile. That marriage would happen only if his thick-headed brother continued to deny the value of this precious pearl.

And that was a loss, Gilbert thought, which would suit no one.

One look into the face of the child and William Ross knew.

He had known it before--in truth, he had known it all along--but he had never faced it. As he stood there, a nearly uncontrollable urge to leave his newly arrived guests took hold of him. All he wanted right now was to storm out of that Hall and find a place to brood in solitude. Instead, he stood his ground and scowled as Miriam studied him, her gaze doubtful and unsure.

“Uncle!” the young girl murmured softly, dropping a small curtsy to the laird.

William whirled impatiently on his approaching steward. “Where is that blasted brother of mine?”

“He is in the chapel saying Mass, m’lord. It will be some time, I fear.”

With a disgusted look he turned to Wyntoun MacLean, who was standing with a grin on his face behind the little girl. “And how was your journey?”

“It went very well, William, thank you. Except for having to leave your niece’s sick lady-in-waiting at a convent two days after we left, the journey was quite uneventful, in fact.”

“Glad to hear it. We’ll get you something to eat, and you can tell me about it in detail.” William caught a glimpse of weariness in Miriam’s face and the guilt crept back, flooding him with an icy chill. He turned to the steward. “Take her to the east wing, and tell Mistress Laura she is here. Then get the lass fed.”

Symon, nodding agreeably at the child, led her out of the Hall with young Robbie dragging a small traveling chest behind them.

“And who is this Mistress Laura?” Wyntoun asked with interest, following William to the dais before the great fireplace.

“A guest. More than that, you dog-faced scoundrel, you’d do better not knowing.”

“Will, my friend, you sound like a man who is hiding something. I’m suddenly looking forward to meeting this mystery maiden.”

******

It was impossible not to have heard the commotion surrounding the arriving company. Laura was already in the corridor by the little girl’s chamber when the steward brought Miriam up.

She was a wee thing, and young. But it was not her size or age that took Laura initially by surprise. It was the sadness that shone clearly in the beautiful blue eyes. Laura looked up and found Symon’s expression clouded with concern as well.