The Knight and the Seer (7 page)

Andrew filled two goblets with ale and handed one to her before tilting his head back and taking a long drink. Then he strode to the fireplace and rested his arm along the mantel, trying not to stare.

He’d had quite a jolt when he’d first seen Gwenellen in Sabrina’s regal clothing. This woman, however, was too much of an imp to look like anything that even faintly resembled royalty. Still, something about this simple female stirred him in a way he resented. Even her bare toes, peeking out from beneath the hem of her nightdress, held his gaze longer than he would have preferred.

“Now, my lady, tell me everything my father said to you.”

She sipped the ale and settled herself on the chaise. “There is little enough to tell. Your father first called out to me when you found him in the rubble, though at first I wasn’t certain what I was hearing.”

“Because you’d never before spoken to the dead?”

“I’ve spoken to my father for all my life.” Seeing the arch of his brow she explained. “My father died before I was born. But throughout my lifetime I’ve often seen him and spoken with him. Gram said it was one of my greatest gifts, but I never understood. You see, there were no others in the Mystical Kingdom who had passed to that other side.”

She’d managed to scrub away all the soot and ash and now looked, to his eye, as fresh and colorful as a rainbow. It was difficult to concentrate on her word when he was so affected by her looks, but he was determined. “So you heard my father calling to you.”

She nodded. “And the others.”

“Others?” His lips curved in a smile. He’d give her this much. She was a grand weaver of tales. “What others?”

“There was a woman named Melvina, who told me she was a niece to Mistress MacIntosh. She was sorry about helping herself to a kettle of stew, and then blaming it on one of the serving wenches, who lost her employment. And a man named Roland, who claims his brother Shepard is not taking care of a grandchild left behind. And a young scullery wench, Charity, who—”

“Hold.” Andrew lifted his hand to stop her, then took a moment to drain his tankard. Refilling it, he walked closer, his eyes narrowed on her. “Are these more tales you heard while working with the villagers?”

“It’s as I told you. I heard it from those who have passed to the other side. Before they can find peace, they must settle any debts they left behind.”

“Debts.” He blinked. “And they hope you will help them clear their debts?”

“Aye.” She seemed so honest. So direct. And, in truth, he’d heard of the servant who’d been dismissed from Duncan’s tavern for stealing a kettle of stew, though she’d protested her innocence. As for the others, they had all worked here in the castle. Could it be…?

“And my father?” He dropped to his knees before her, his eyes intent upon hers. “Tell me again everything my father said.”

She repeated everything she could recall from their conversation. When she finished, she found herself wondering if he believed her. It was impossible to tell from the look in those icy eyes, but at least he had listened in respectful silence.

“Oh.” She smiled, remembering. “Your father told me one other thing. He said he’d been named for his grandfather, who was said to come from the sea.”

Andrew scrambled to his feet, his hand fisted tightly around the tankard. “It was something my father was most proud of.” He seemed to be talking to himself. “He’d thought to name me after his grandfather, as well, but had been convinced by my mother to honor her father instead.”

Abruptly he looked over at her. “Go to sleep now, my lady.” He drained his ale and set the tankard on the side table, keeping his gaze averted. “I’ll think on all you’ve told me.”

It wasn’t what she’d hoped for, but at least the sarcasm was gone from his tone.

As he started from the room, he had a quick impression of the soot and ash littering the chambers down the hall. He turned, the merest hint of a smile in his eyes. “Before retiring I would ask a favor, my lady.”

“Aye.” She turned to him with a hopeful look.

“If you would, promise me you’ll attempt no spells until this night is over.”

Before she could respond he was gone, leaving her feeling oddly deflated. Not only did he not believe her, but he also didn’t trust her.

And why should he? she thought with a wave of revulsion. She couldn’t even trust herself to complete the simplest spell.

She stormed off to bed, eager to have this night behind her. She had done as his father had requested. She had conveyed his words from that other place.

On the morrow she would return to the Mystical Kingdom. And there she would remain, so that the rest of the world would never know of her shameful failure.

Chapter Six

A
ndrew paced in front of the fire in his chambers, playing back everything in his mind.

Was he a fool to even consider believing this woman? She spoke of the dead and their debts as though she were speaking of the logic of fish in the loch, birds in the sky. But he’d seen fish swim and birds fly. He’d never seen walking, talking dead, though he’d heard of such things, but always by wild-eyed crones speaking in whispers, as though afraid to be overheard by those who might call their bluff.

If his father had things to say, why did he speak to a stranger instead of to the son who loved him?

Perhaps because the son wouldn’t listen.

The thought startled him. But the more he chewed on it, the more he knew it to be true. Would he have listened to the whisperings of his heart? Or would he simply allow the pain of his grief to crowd out all other thoughts from his mind?

Wasn’t that what he’d been doing since returning home? Hadn’t his every thought been about avenging the death of his father? Not only because it was his duty, but because he felt responsible. If he hadn’t argued and left when he did, none of this would have happened. And now he could never take back the things he’d said in anger.

Still, what the woman claimed to have heard made no sense to him. He was a warrior. Why would his father want him to remain here, dwelling in comfort in a castle, while allowing his enemies to go unpunished? Especially since those same enemies were holding an innocent woman captive?

Unless his father knew something he didn’t.

He stalked to the balcony of his room and stared down at the land below, bathed in darkness. He loved this place as he loved no other. Even the queen’s luxurious appointments at Holyroodhouse in Edinburgh hadn’t been enough to tempt him to stay away. There were some who found life at the palace heady stuff indeed. Many of his warriors had been delighted at the assignment to remain in Edinburgh and guard the queen. As for him, he much preferred the slower pace of life in his beloved Highlands. He loved every glen and fall and craggy hilltop. Loved the rushing water in springtime, and the dusting of snow in winter. Best of all he loved the summer sunshine, and meadows abloom with heather.

The woman, Gwenellen, reminded him of summer. There was a brightness, a shiny newness about her unlike any other woman he’d ever known. That mane of golden hair looked like liquid sunshine. And that bright smile that found its way even into her eyes, was dazzling, like sunlight reflecting off the clear surface of a loch.

Was she truly a witch? Or had she been sent by his enemies to play with his mind?

If a witch, she was a poor enough one. That little scene with the fire was proof enough that she needed a great deal more time before she could claim supernatural powers. Just thinking about it had him grinning. Soot and ash all the way to her eyebrows. And the look on her face when she realized her spell had gone awry. By heaven she was a delight to watch.

Still, for all her confusion, she’d accurately described his father and some of the servants who had perished with him.

Perhaps on the morrow he would ask her to seek out his father for answers to the questions that were burning holes in his mind.

What would it hurt to keep her around for another day? Aye, and then he would send her back to her Mystical Kingdom, if indeed such a place existed.

He dropped down onto his pallet and pressed a hand to his eyes, wishing he could still the thoughts that flitted through his mind. Thoughts of the heated exchange between him and his father before he’d left, vowing never to return. Thoughts of barbarians storming the gates of Ross Abbey, cutting down all in their path. Of his father, without the aid and comfort of his only son as he lay dying.

It was a scene that burned like a fire deep in his brain, denying him the peace he sought.

Gwenellen awoke and lay a moment, struggling to recall where she was. There had been so many changes in her young life in the past few days. And all of them confusing.

She opened her eyes to see sunlight spilling across the balcony and into her chambers. Stretching, she sat up and listened to the chatter of birds as she washed. Finding her gown dry she slipped it on and carefully hung her borrowed nightdress and robe on a peg before straightening her pallet.

When she stepped from her chambers she inhaled the wonderful perfume of meat roasting. Following the scent, she made her way below stairs to the refectory where she found Andrew turning several birds on a spit over a blazing fire.

“Good morrow.” He’d vowed upon awakening to bury his anger and make an attempt to be civil. He looked over and felt a jolt at the sight of her. The gown was simple enough, as were the kid boots, though he much preferred seeing her bare feet.

“Good morrow. You have no one to cook for you?”

“I’m a warrior. I learned long ago to care for my own needs while away from home. Between battles I can cook enough to keep body and soul together. And I can even mend my tunic, if necessary.”

“You can ply a needle?” She picked up a knife and began slicing a loaf of bread left over from their evening feast.

“I can.” He removed a bird and placed it on a platter before cutting it neatly in two. “And how about you, my lady? Have you been schooled in the womanly arts?”

He saw the way she wrinkled her nose. Such a cute, turned-up little nose. If he looked closely, he could spot a sprinkling of freckles parading across the bridge of it, and spilling over onto her cheeks.

“My sisters and I are the despair of our mother, who can weave and sew anything, and old Bessie, who cooks like an angel.”

“What can you and your sisters do?” He placed half of the bird in front of her before taking a seat across the scarred wooden table.

She nibbled the bread. “Allegra is a healer. There is no wound she cannot heal. Kylia can look into a man’s eyes and see what is in his heart. And I…” She looked away.

“You can speak to the dead.”

Her head came up sharply. “Do you believe that, or are you now having fun with me?”

He studied the challenge in her eyes and gave a slight nod of his head. “I’ve had time to think about the things you told me. I’d like you to ask my father some questions.”

“Gladly.” Her food was forgotten as her mood suddenly brightened. “What questions?”

“I need to know why he wishes me to remain here instead of storming the castle of Fergus Logan to rescue the lady Sabrina.”

Gwenellen nodded. “Would you like me to ask him now?”

He glanced at her food. “I think you’d be wise to eat first, my lady. If you summon those from the other world the way you cast your spells, it could be some time before you eat again.”

He saw the flush on her cheeks as she ducked her head. At once he felt remorse for having reminded her of her failures.

“While we eat, you can tell me more about your Mystical Kingdom. What do you do for pleasure, besides hunt berries?”

She picked at the fowl. “I have my horse, Starlight.”

“An odd name. Do you ride it a great distance?”

“We fly among the stars.”

“You…fly?”

She dimpled. “Starlight is a winged horse. There are two others. Sunlight belongs to Allegra, and Moonlight is Kylia’s steed.”

“And the three of you…fly?”

“Sometimes the fairies accompany us, but they prefer not to get lost in the clouds, so they often stay in the treetops.”

“Fairies. Winged horses. And of course, your troll.”

“He isn’t my troll. Jeremy is just…” She searched for a word. “He’s just Jeremy.”

“How did your family come to be in the Mystical Kingdom?”

“We fled our home in the Highlands when we were warned that we might be put into Tolbooth Prison for plying our craft.”

“Witchcraft.”

She ducked her head. “It happened because my sister Allegra healed a lad who had drowned.”

“Healed him? You mean she brought him back from the dead?”

Gwenellen smiled. “He wasn’t truly dead. She could hear him calling out, though his voice was heard only by Allegra. Her tender heart was touched by the grief of his poor mother. So Allegra laid her hands upon him and brought him back. But there were many in the crowd who were complaining about what they thought to be the devil’s work. So that night, we fled to the home of our ancestors, and we’ve remained there since.”

“How did your father feel about marrying a witch?”

Gwenellen’s smile deepened. “Theirs was a love match. Though he didn’t understand my mother’s gifts, he loved her enough to accept her as she is. My grandmother says such love is pre-ordained. It is written in the stars, and can neither be denied nor extinguished. Even after death, it survives through all ages.”

She sat back, her food forgotten. “I miss them. And my home.”

Andrew heard the wistfulness in her tone and understood. Hadn’t it been the same for him in Edinburgh? Despite the luxury of court, he’d been eager to return to his rugged Highlands.

Gwenellen pushed away from the table. “If you don’t mind, I believe I’ll go out to the garden now and ask your father the questions you’ve posed.”

Andrew watched her walk away, then pushed aside his own food, his appetite suddenly gone.

Fairies. Winged horses. Trolls. What sort of fool did she take him for? Still, there was no denying the look that came into her eyes when she spoke about her home. What a treat it would be to see such a place, if it truly existed.