The Knight and the Seer (12 page)

She wasn’t so much eager to be near him, she told herself, as merely curious. That would explain why she’d run the entire distance. And it wasn’t the nearness of him that had her heart thundering; it was the exertion of that run.

Despite the serious nature of this training, Andrew found himself distracted by the sight of yellow curls dancing around a pixie face. A face that never failed to stir his heart.

He lowered his sword and walked toward her. “You shouldn’t be here. I’m teaching the villagers how to be warriors.”

She looked around and realized that most of the men from the village, both young and old, were here, and all of them carrying an assortment of weapons. Some held rusted swords and dull knives. Others had hoes, scythes, sickles and any number of farm implements.

She lowered her voice so the others wouldn’t hear. “You would ignore your father’s wishes?”

“You’ve told me what’s in his heart. Unfortunately, since I can’t know what is in Fergus Logan’s heart, I think it best to prepare the villagers for an attack. Since I’ve heard no word from my warriors in Edinburgh, I have no choice but to arm the villagers, and hope to teach them in mere days what it’s taken me a lifetime to learn. If they can’t be warriors, at least they can defend themselves against an assault.” He gave her a measured look. “You need not be afraid. I’ll see you’re kept safe, my lady.”

She lifted her head. “I’m not afraid, my lord. I merely wonder why you seem so…eager for battle.”

“Is that what you think? That I enjoy killing?” His easy smile faded.

“I mean no disapproval.” She hated the fact that his smile was gone. And that she was the one who’d erased it. “But once you have an army, it would be tempting to confront your enemy with a display of strength.”

“Tempting, perhaps. But I’m no fool. I may be laird, but I’m also a warrior, trained for any eventuality. Only a fool would wait complacently for his enemy to return, without making plans for the safety of his people.”

That made sense.

She brightened. “Perhaps I could help.”

“You think to teach the lads how to wield a sword?” He held the weapon alongside her, measuring her against it. “My sword is bigger than you.” At her little pout he added, “And then there are all those rusted knife blades. Perhaps you could conjure a spell that would sharpen them?”

“I believe you’re having fun with me, my lord.”

He leaned close. “How can I not?” He saw the way her cheeks colored and allowed himself to touch a finger there before taking a step back. “Go and join the women. If you really wish to be helpful, perhaps you could persuade Mistress MacLean to serve our supper in someplace other than that drafty great hall.”

“Would you prefer the library in the old section of the abbey?”

That had him thinking about the kiss they’d shared. He kept his features deliberately bland. But there was a hint of danger in his eyes before he turned away. “Since the servants are afraid to go in there, I doubt even your considerable charm could persuade Mistress MacLean of that.”

“Perhaps I’ll try a spell to persuade your housekeeper, my lord.”

He paused. Turned. “I’d say it’s your duty as a witch. But only as a last resort. Remember the consequences.”

As she danced away, she could feel him watching her. The thought had her laughing in delight.

Oh, it was so grand to feel this way. And she thought she might not be alone in her feelings. He had to care for her, at least a little. Hadn’t he kissed her?

But had he spent the entire night thinking about the kisses they’d shared? Had he tossed and turned and remembered every touch, every word, as she had?

When she arrived back at the abbey she went in search of the housekeeper, hoping to persuade her that the laird would be greatly pleased to sup in the library. And hoping she wouldn’t have to resort to a spell, since there was no telling where that might land them both.

“Mistress MacLean.” Gwenellen found the housekeeper overseeing a staff of young women from the village who were cleaning and polishing the scarred wooden tables in the great hall. “In the event of an attack by enemies, what are the women and children expected to do?”

The older woman shrugged. “Without the protection of the laird’s warriors, there’s not much we can do, except hope our men are able to defend us.”

“But surely there are things we can do to help ourselves.” Gwenellen began to pace. “Does everyone take shelter in the abbey?”

“Aye, my lady.”

“Is there room for the entire village?”

“There is. It will be crowded, but tolerable.”

At the housekeeper’s words, Gwenellen came to a decision. “Then we must see to their comfort. There are many unused rooms in the abbey that can be put to good use as sleeping chambers. Perhaps the women of the village should begin weaving cloth for pallets and blankets.” She could see that Mistress MacLean was digesting that. She turned and began to pace as she mulled. “Some of the women and older lasses could be assigned to see to the comfort of the children, freeing the rest to concentrate on their safety.”

“Their safety? That is the job of the men, my lady.”

“The men would be busy fighting off the invaders. I believe it wise to look to our own safety, Mistress.” She turned. Paced some more. “There are steps we could take. For one, the villagers could move their flocks closer to the castle, so that they can be herded within the walls if invaders are spotted in the hills.”

The housekeeper thought a moment. “Do you think that wise, my lady?”

“Aye. Don’t you see? That assures us of an unlimited supply of meat. Also, those harvesting crops in the fields could store some here in the abbey, to insure that the larder is well stocked. If we see to the food, warmth and shelter, our men can concentrate all their energies on holding back the enemy without fear of a long siege.”

The housekeeper looked at Gwenellen with new respect. “I’ll send Olnore to the village to speak with the women this very day.”

“A fine idea.” Gwenellen thought about the messages she had yet to carry to the survivors of the siege. This would afford her the perfect opportunity. “I would like to accompany her to the village.”

“Aye, my lady.” The housekeeper paused. “Can you think of anything else we might change?”

“There is one thing, though it has nothing to do with invaders.” Gwenellen thought about Andrew’s parting words. “I’d like to talk to you about the great hall.”

“What’s this?” Andrew stepped into the great hall and looked around in surprise. No fire burned on the hearth. There wasn’t a single servant in sight.

Gwenellen paused in the doorway before hurrying over to join him. “I persuaded Mistress MacLean that this room was too big and too drafty to suit the laird.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re amazing. We’re dining in the library?”

“Nay, my lord. Your housekeeper wouldn’t hear of it. She said there wasn’t a servant in your employ who would set foot in that place. But she did agree to serve a meal in the withdrawing room.” She met his eyes. “Are you disappointed?”

“Not a bit. I still think you’re amazing. And you didn’t even have to resort to a spell.” He studied her closely, sending heat flaring up her throat. “Or did you?”

“I had no need. Mistress MacLean was only too happy to please the laird of the abbey.”

“Ah, well. You can always try a spell next time.” He led the way from the great hall, then moved along beside her as they made their way to the withdrawing room.

She felt the warmth of his body as they walked. Felt the press of his hand on the small of her back as he guided her through the doorway. Why had she never been aware of such things before? How was it that a simple kiss between them should change so many things?

When they stepped into the smaller room, they were greeted by a cozy fire burning on the hearth, and a table set with snowy linens and fine crystal.

The housekeeper looked up from a sideboard groaning under the weight of heavy silver trays. “I hope this meets with your approval, my laird.”

“It does indeed, Mistress MacLean. I must commend you. This is much more comfortable than the great hall.”

Pleased, the older woman filled two goblets and offered them to the lord and his lady before going off to fetch the servants.

Andrew touched his goblet to Gwenellen’s. “To you, my lady, for getting us out of that drafty hall and into this cozy room.”

“You might not thank me when you realize how far the servants must carry the food, my lord. It could well be cold by the time it gets here.”

“As long as I have you to look at, I’ll not mind the passage of time.” Now where had that come from? He’d vowed not to say or do anything that might lead to anything even remotely intimate. And here he was, in the first few moments with this woman, forgetting all his carefully-made plans.

There was just something about her that made it easy to forget the pain of the past, the uncertainty of the future.

He decided to keep their conversation businesslike. “The lads had their first lessons with a sword today.”

“How did they do?”

“Well enough. What they lacked in skill they more than made up in enthusiasm.”

“Enthusiasm?” She wrinkled her nose in that funny way she had, and he couldn’t seem to look away. In fact, he found himself enthralled by the tiny line of freckles that seemed to march across the bridge of her nose whenever she did that. “I can’t imagine looking forward to doing battle.”

“And I can’t imagine spending my days stirring stew in a kettle.”

That had Gwenellen laughing. “Nor I.”

“That’s right.” He met her smile with one of his own. “You’d rather practice your magic, wouldn’t you?”

“Aye. Speaking of magic, I went to the village today with Olnore.”

“Why? It isn’t market day.”

“I had messages to take to some of the villagers. I spoke with Shepard about his duty to his granddaughter. And to Roland the crofter who owes two lambs to Melvina’s son and his wife. And Charity’s niece…”

He held up his hand, halting her words. “You admitted to these villagers that you spoke with their dead relatives?”

“Aye.”

He bit back a smile. “How did they receive the news?”

“They were a bit…doubtful, at first. But when I relayed all that the dead had told me, especially personal things which only the dead could know, I believe they were convinced of my claim.”

“And now they know you to be a witch?”

She nodded. “I know this isn’t easy, my lord. For you or for them. But since this is my responsibility as well as my gift, I am bound to see it through.”

His tone softened. “That refreshing honesty is just one of the many things I find so appealing about you, Imp.”

The use of the unexpected nickname, spoken like an endearment in low, intimate tones, sent a shiver along her spine.

It took her a moment to find her voice. “Has the messenger returned yet from Edinburgh?”

His smile faded. “Nay. He’s long overdue. I fear he may have fallen victim to a barbarian’s sword.”

Sensing his tension, she lowered her voice. “What will you do if your warriors don’t return?”

“I’ll face Fergus Logan with an army of old men and lads.”

“Are you so certain your enemy will return?”

Andrew’s eyes narrowed. “He’ll return. If I don’t ride to his fortress first.”

“But your father…”

He held up a hand to silence her protest. “It is my father I am thinking of. As a warrior and his son, I owe it to his memory to demand justice. For now, I must bide my time and train the villagers to defend themselves. But know this. As soon as my warriors return, I intend to ride to the Logan fortress and face my enemy like a Highlander, instead of hiding behind the walls of an abbey like a coward.”

“And your father’s wishes mean nothing?”

“It’s time for me to accept the fact that my father is dead. I’m the laird of Ross Abbey now, however reluctant I may be. And the decision must be mine alone.”

“But there are things your father knows that are unknown to—”

At a commotion in the doorway they looked up as the housekeeper entered, following by a line of serving wenches.

Whatever Gwenellen had been about to say was swallowed back in disappointment. The opportunity to discuss this with any sense of calm or reason had vanished.

As Andrew began to lead her toward the table she shook her head. “Forgive me, my lord. But I am…feeling unwell. By your leave, I wish to be excused.”

His eyes narrowed as he stopped to look at her, seeing the disapproval she couldn’t hide. It was obvious that she had taken sides with his father against him in this matter. That only served to stiffen his resolve.

“By all means, my lady.” His voice was as cool, as casual as though he were addressing one of the servants. “I’m sure that Mistress MacLean will send a tray to your chambers.”

Gwenellen turned away, eager to escape.

When she was gone, he held out his goblet to a servant and drank, ignoring the little twinge of guilt. He’d be damned if he’d allow one annoying female to tell him what to do. Though she played a most convincing game, he was still only half persuaded that she was what she claimed to be. Only a fool would count on magic to decide the fate of an entire clan.

Now that he was laird of the Ross Clan, he had an obligation to see that his people not only survived, but also thrived. They could only do so by eliminating their enemy.

He drained his goblet and took his place at the table, watching in silence as the housekeeper filled his plate.

She looked up. “The villagers have taken the lady’s advice, my laird.”

“Advice?”

She nodded. “Already the women are busy weaving warm blankets, and sewing additional sleeping pallets. From now on the herds will be brought closer to the abbey, and the larder kept well-stocked.”

“What is this, Mistress? What is this about?” Andrew’s brows drew together in a frown.

“The lady Gwenellen suggested that there is much we can do to prepare for an attack by our enemies, my laird. In truth, it gives us all a feeling of satisfaction to be working as diligently as our men.” She stepped back. “Would you care for anything else, my laird?”