The Knight and the Seer (13 page)

“Nay, Mistress MacLean.” He lifted a hand and idly waved her aside. “You and the servants may leave now.”

“Leave? I don’t understand.”

“I have no further need of you, Mistress MacLean. You and the servants may retire to the refectory. And you may as well take these trays with you and eat while the food is still warm.”

“Aye, my laird.” Struck speechless, the poor woman managed to sputter a few words of command, as she ushered the servants from the room.

When he was alone Andrew shoved aside his plate and lifted his goblet, drinking deeply.

For a lifetime he’d known exactly who he was and what he was about. But in the past few months his life had taken so many strange turns. Sabrina. His father. And now this…witch.

He deeply resented her intrusion into his life. He didn’t want to believe the things she claimed to do, because that would only complicate things further.

Still…

There was just something about her that he couldn’t entirely dismiss. Since dropping out of the sky and into his life, everything had begun to change. The villagers had drawn together to help him in his sorrow. The men and lads were working diligently to become warriors. And now, to learn that she’d even convinced the women to band together for the common good, had him feeling like a thoughtless, arrogant fool.

And try as he might, he found himself spending entirely too much time thinking about her. Trying not to vent his anger whenever she questioned his authority. Trying not to laugh at her clumsy attempts at spells. He clenched a hand at his side. And especially trying not to give in to the desperate desire to carry her off to his chambers and make wild, passionate love to her until his hunger was sated.

Chapter Eleven

I
nstead of going to her chambers, Gwenellen fled to the garden, to walk among the graves. At least here she could be assured of hearing the truth. Those who had crossed to the other side had no need to lie, or to cloak their words in half truths.

Not so the laird of Ross Abbey, it seemed. One minute he claimed to believe her when she told him about his father’s words, the next he was making plans to do exactly what he’d been warned against.

He was the most infuriating man. With but a single word, he could make her heart flutter. With one kiss she could forget every promise she’d ever made to herself about mortals. And then, in the blink of an eye, his smile would turn to a scowl, his manner become cold and distant, and her poor heart splintered.

She tossed her head. It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. She didn’t need the laird’s approval. Nor had she come here seeking his smiles. His kisses.

A figure shimmered before her. The woman named Melvina hovered above her gravesite.

“I thank ye, my lady, for setting things right with my cousin and the serving wench who was blamed for my sin.”

Gwenellen paused. “You’re most welcome. It wasn’t an easy thing to resolve. I’m not certain your cousin believed me at first.”

“But ye’ve a way about ye. She may not have wanted to listen, but I know she took it to heart, for I’m at peace.”
The figure began to waver and blur.
“Bless ye, my lady. I can go to my rest now, assured that my debt is paid and my time in eternity blissful.”

While Gwenellen watched, the figure disappeared.

Shaken, she strolled on, glancing up at the sliver of moon in the darkened sky until she heard the now-familiar voice.

“Good even, lass. I see ye were able to set the record straight with Duncan’s wife and the young servant who had been unfairly blamed for Melvina’s crime.”

“Aye, my lord.” Gwenellen paused beside the older man’s grave. It was always a jolt to see him looking so like the angry man who was now laird of Ross Abbey. “It does my heart good knowing Melvina is finally at peace and can at last enjoy her eternal rest.”

“There’ve been others as well, eh lass?”

She nodded. “So far I’ve managed to persuade three people of their messages from the grave.” Her voice lowered. “But I fear I’m failing you, my lord. Your son’s heart seems to be hardening against me.”

“There, now. Don’t you think that. Andrew believes, lass. At least in his heart. But he’s fighting it. It goes against everything he’s ever learned as a warrior.”

“Then why do you ask it of him? Why are you so insistent that he not lead an army against his enemy?”

“Because it’s exactly what Fergus Logan wants, lass. He’d hoped that Andrew and his warriors would return from Edinburgh and immediately ride to the Logan fortress in search of the hostage. They would have been met with an army bent on massacre. What Fergus Logan couldn’t have known was that Andrew would leave his warriors to guard the queen, and return home alone, thus needing time to train a new army.”

“You make it sound as though your son’s enemy knew everything about him.”

“And so he did. Or at least he thought he did. Never underestimate the enemy, lass. Fergus Logan had a spy in our fortress.”

Gwenellen sank down into the grass beside the grave. “Of course. Andrew wondered how his enemy knew when to attack. Is the spy here in the village?”

Morgan Ross shook his head.
“Evil prefers to remain with evil. The spy is now in the fortress of our enemy. But that is why Andrew must not go there. He needs to—”

“I thought I’d find you here.” Andrew’s voice cut through the darkness.

Gwenellen looked up to see him looming over her. When she turned back, the figure of his father had faded from sight.

“Chatting with the spirits, are you?”

“With your father, as you well know.” She got to her feet, smoothing down her skirts as she did. “You were right about the timing of the attack, my lord. Fergus Logan had a spy in your midst. He knew when your father would be most vulnerable.”

“A spy.” He studied her through narrowed eyes. “Did my father give you a name?”

“Nay. I believe he was about to, but you came along and…” She drew in a breath. “I know you don’t want to hear this, my lord, but your father warns again that you mustn’t go to the fortress of Fergus Logan, for that is what Logan wants. Your enemy expected you to ride there immediately, not knowing that you returned without your warriors. For every day you hesitate, he will grow more uneasy. And that is to your advantage.”

“Do you pretend to know battle strategy now, witch?”

Witch. What had happened to the endearment he’d whispered earlier? She felt a quick, sharp pain around her heart and wondered that this cold, distant man could have such an effect on her.

“I know nothing of war. I know only what your father has told me.”

“So you say.” He continued to study her. “I wish I could believe. But it isn’t easy to turn my back on everything I’ve always known. I was taught that once the dead were gone, all that remained were the memories.”

“Memories are fine, for they remain with us and warm us all through our lives. But what of the soul, my lord? The spirit that burns so brightly in each of us, and sets us apart from every other creature? Can that spirit be so easily extinguished? Or is it like those stars up there, shining upon us even in the light of day, when they’re no longer visible to the eye?”

“What a strange one you are.” He glanced beyond her to his father’s grave, then took her arm. “Walk with me.”

As they moved along the grassy path she could feel the warmth of his touch through her sleeve and wondered that, even now, knowing he doubted her, she could be so moved by the mere touch of him.

Andrew found himself looking up at the heavens, and noting the winking of millions of stars. “I’ve spent all day with the villagers.” His voice was hushed. Perhaps it was the darkness. Or perhaps it was that glint of silvery light overhead. Whatever the reason, he wanted to prolong their time here, away from the watchful eyes of those inside the abbey. “I hope you don’t object to walking here with me.”

Gwenellen’s smile was back. “I’ve seen more people in the few days I’ve been here at Ross Abbey than in my entire life, my lord. There are times when I find my head spinning from all the people talking at once. Not just the living, but those who have passed over as well. They speak to me in a chorus of voices. At times I crave the silence of this place.”

That brought a chuckle. “We’re alike, you and I, Imp. There are times when I want nothing more than to ride my steed up into the hills, so that the only thing I’ll hear is the babbling of a Highland brook or the cry of a falcon.” He looked around at the peaceful setting. “After hearing your tales of your kingdom, I find myself wondering what it would be like to climb aboard a winged horse and lose myself among the clouds.”

Her smile bloomed. Was it his easy use of that name? Or was it the mere fact that he had sought her out for company?

“Oh, it’s like no other feeling. To soar on a current of air, and then to find yourself hurtling toward the ground, only to pull up short and land ever-so-gently in a field of heather.”

He loved the way her eyes went all dreamy whenever she spoke about her home.

He paused and covered her hand with his. “You make it sound so…normal.”

“It is, in the Mystical Kingdom.” She felt the warmth of his touch all the way to her toes, and wondered that they didn’t curl inside her boots. “I suppose normal is whatever we’ve grown accustomed to.”

“I could grow accustomed to this.” He allowed his hand to linger a moment longer, before turning to walk beside her once more.

She could feel the return of his restlessness. The sense that there were things he needed to do, other than a quiet walk in the garden.

“What troubles you, my lord?”

He shrugged. “A better question might be, what doesn’t trouble me? As if my enemy is not enough, there is the safety of the villagers if he should attack. And then there is my father’s wife.” He looked over. “Did he…speak of her?”

Again she heard the hint of something in his tone. Something that caused a little tremor of disquiet, though she knew not why.

“He did not.” She shook her head and saw the way his frown returned. “But if you’d like, I could seek him out on the morrow and ask.”

“Nay.” He seemed distinctly uneasy, and just as quickly changed the subject. “Mistress MacLean tells me you are helping the village women prepare for a possible attack.”

“I hope you don’t mind, my lord.”

“Now how could I mind? Your suggestions were excellent. Especially about stocking the larder.” He arched a brow. “You’d best beware or I’ll start to believe there’s a clever mind hidden behind that pixie smile.”

“I wish I were clever.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “It seems to be what mortals admire.”

He thought about that a moment. “I suppose we do. But I’m beginning to think there are other things to admire as well.”

“What things, my lord?”

He turned to stare at her. In the moonlight she caught a glint of something dark and dangerous in his eyes.

“Sweetness. Honesty. Purity of heart.” He touched a hand to her cheek. Just a touch, but he felt the rush of heat and wondered that he wasn’t burned by it. “You fascinate me, Gwenellen Drummond.” He framed her face with his hands and stared down into her eyes, feeling a tug of such desire, he could no longer deny it. “You’re unlike any woman I’ve ever known.” He drew her close and marveled at the way her softness melted against him. “And though I know I haven’t the right, I must kiss you.” He lowered his face and covered her mouth with his.

Though he struggled to keep it light, the kiss was hot, hungry, hinting of a passion smoldering just beneath the surface, waiting to erupt.

Gwenellen could feel him in every part of her body. Her thighs were pressed to his; her breasts crushed against the wall of his chest.

Heat poured between them as he took the kiss deeper and she experienced another emotion. A strange sense of fear. Fear that this man had a power over her that no man ever had before. With but a single touch he had the power to set her on fire. To wipe her mind clear of every thought save one. She wanted more of this. More of him. More of everything he could give her.

He gripped her shoulders almost painfully as he dragged her closer and savaged her mouth. She could feel his heartbeat in her own chest. Could feel his breath mingle with hers.

She opened to him, inviting him to take. And he did. The hands that moved over her were almost bruising in their strength. The mouth moving on hers seemed to feed from her even while it drained her, until she was struggling for breath.

At her little gasp he seemed to realize his strength. His touch, his kiss gentled. That was her undoing. She leaned into him, loving the feel of his arms as they held her as tenderly as though she were a fragile doll. Her fingers clutched the front of his tunic, as she gave herself up to the pleasure. Such incredible pleasure. How had she lived so long without this potent male taste filling her lungs, her mind? Without this hard body fitting itself so easily against her softness?

Andrew was drowning in the taste of her. So sweet, so exotic, he could imagine himself in another world, floating on a cloud while making love to her. It was all he wanted. This woman. In his arms. In his bed. Now. Here.

Catching her by the shoulders he lifted his head and held her a little away. His breathing was as ragged as hers.

“I’d best get you back inside, before I do something we’ll both regret.”

She couldn’t speak over the tightening in her throat. She held herself very straight, very still, struggling to gather the thoughts that had scattered the moment he’d first touched her.

Wordlessly he took her arm, guiding her along the now darkened path.

Where had the moon and stars gone? Without his lips on hers, it felt as if the whole world had gone dark.

Inside the abbey they nodded at passing servants, and continued up the stairs until they reached the door of her chambers.

Andrew bowed over her hand, but was careful not to touch his lips to her flesh. The need would be back, making their parting impossible.

“Good night, my lady. Sleep well.”