True Love Brides 02 - The Highlander’s Curse (14 page)

A bruise, my lord.

The squire’s thoughts thrust into Garrett’s mind, filled with mingled terror and awe. He glanced up, noting how the boy stared at his knight.

A bruise?

Garrett had been clinging to the stillness of Annelise’s mind, using her as an anchor for himself in the hall. Even though the hall was comparatively small and the number of people within it quite few, the merciless tumult of their thoughts was unnerving. Garrett tried to look composed, knowing full well that Murdoch’s eye was upon him and that this was a test he could not fail.

Not if he was to have any hope of winning Annelise.

He could not eat. He could not converse with his neighbors. He barely replied to the inquiries made by the old warrior opposite him. It took all within him to remain in his place, to keep himself from shuddering, and to appear to be sane. He was well aware of the questions in the minds of his companions, their curiosity and their doubts about him.

The sole advantage of his earlier attack was that they were not persistent in engaging him in conversation. When he did not reply, but gave the hound his attention, they turned to their fellows. He heard their conclusions easily. Several decided he was shy, even more shy than the lady Annelise. Others decided he had a lofty view of himself, though not as high as that held by the knight Orson of his own magnificence.

He had been convinced he could endure the test, until this.
A bruise.
And that was not the least of it. The squire’s thoughts were so filled with fear that they fairly stabbed into Garrett’s mind. He heard as the boy flicked through his memories of Orson’s beatings, filling Garrett with fear for his lady.

This was the man who would court Annelise?

Whether she chose Garrett or not, he could not let Orson win her hand.

The boy’s dilemma was that the bruise was clearly an inappropriate answer to deliver before the entire hall. Garrett felt the boy’s panic that the truth would not suffice. All the same, the boy had no gift for deceit and Garrett sensed his awareness of that, his fear that he would never fulfill this knight’s expectations. He heard the boy’s growing conviction that he would be left for dead or killed in some remote corner of Christendom for his failure to share his knight’s dark nature.

As the squire panicked, his thoughts followed the course of the day. His memories flew so quickly that Garrett’s mind was flooded with them. He saw the boy dispatched and his discovery of the pelt. He felt the subsequent administration of the bruise in question, felt the boy’s heart pound and heard the knight’s low command.

Find her. I must know all.

Through the boy’s eyes, Garrett saw Murdoch at the enclosure for the goats. He heard his own name upon the laird’s tongue as he was warned away from the lady, then saw the boy flee back to his knight with tidings of Annelise.

Why did Orson desire Annelise for his bride so much? Garrett considered the merit of listening to that knight’s thoughts apurpose, but before he could do so, that malice grew like a dark shadow. He did not dare to seek its source, for it was wicked to its marrow.

As would be the one who thought it. He bent to pat the hound again, his bile rising and the trembling beginning deep within him. He listened to the still thoughts of the dog, its interest in the remaining meat, its concern about an itch in its ear. All the same, he flinched when Orson raised his voice at the end of the meal.

“A tale!” Orson declared. “We must have a tale! I understand my lady Annelise is greatly fond of a tale, and no one recounts one so well as you, Andrew. Have you heard a tale of merit that you might share, to favor my lady’s ears?”

That tide of malice swelled with sudden vigor, doubling and redoubling, filling the room with its taint before Garrett could guess its source. He feared the hall would burst with its power, or that his own mind might become unhinged.

Or poisoned.

He scanned the hall covertly for the source, even as the younger knight stood up.

There was something familiar about him. Garrett was certain they had never met. Perhaps something in his features reminded Garrett of another person he had met, but such was the tumult in his mind that he could not make the connection.

The truth hovered, just beyond his grasp, tantalizing him with a ready solution he could not discern.

Meanwhile Andrew bowed deeply. “I did indeed, sir, and would be delighted to entertain the ladies with its telling.” The knight glanced to Isabella, who nodded encouragement. He folded his hands behind his back and raised his voice, even as the hatred pounded upon Garrett’s mind, as merciless as the waves crashing on a rocky shore. “A tale it is of the wilds of Scotland, a tale of a man who escaped the trap of a Fae temptress and claimed true happiness for his own.”

The tide of hatred redoubled in the same moment, assaulting him like a dozen mercenaries in the night, as if it were determined to take him to his knees. Garrett could feel the strength Annelise had given him ebbing away, eroded before the onslaught of this malice. He was determined, though, not to humiliate her in her sister’s home.

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Though it cost him every vestige of strength that remained within him, Garrett stood and bowed to his host, then turned and walked steadily out of Seton Manor’s hall.

He was shaking and sweating as his heart pounded wildly. Who so despised him in that hall and why? Did Orson believe a hunter so much of a threat to his scheme to win Annelise? How far would Orson go to see his end achieved?

Garrett feared that truth, but he had to defend his lady.

He retrieved his crossbow, quiver and knife from the sentries at the gates and made every appearance of leaving Seton Manor forever. He walked down the road, knowing full well that they watched him, hearing their speculation about him—whether they gave it voice or not. That strange malice faded with distance, making it easier for him to continue.

After the bend in the road, when he was out of view, Garrett ducked into the forest. He took a deep breath, then made his way back toward Seton Manor. The forest was still, clouds already gathering overhead. There would be a storm on this night and the creatures of the woods were already seeking cover. He saw a glimmer of white in the forest to one side, but by the time he turned his head, it was gone.

Garrett did not trust his senses in this moment, for he had nearly been overwhelmed. He could trust only his strange ability, his curse, which might on this night prove to be a blessing. For the first time in all of his days, he deliberately listened to the thoughts of others, heading directly toward the malice that targeted him. He heeded all that emanated from Seton Manor’s hall.

And he did it for Annelise.

*

Annelise had wondered what was truly afoot. There had been something odd about the way Orson had called for the tale. He had made it sound like a whim, but she had the sense that some scheme had been arranged in advance. Andrew had cast his fellow knight a little smile, one that appeared conspiratorial to Annelise, and she had tried to figure out what these two had planned.

Beside her, Orson had leaned back and sipped his ale, as contented as a cat waiting on a mouse to take the bait.

Annelise had turned to watch Andrew again, trying to hide her suspicions of the knights’ motives.

Andrew had begun, his voice flowing readily over the company. “A tale it is of the wilds of Scotland, a tale of a man who escaped the trap of a Fae temptress and claimed true happiness for his own.”

Annelise noted the glance exchanged between Murdoch and Isabella. Truly, their tale was of a similar triumph over the desires of a Fae queen—was that why Andrew chose his story? How could Andrew know Murdoch’s tale, though? Even she did not know the fullness of it, save that her sister had been key to his salvation.

She could not dismiss it as coincidence, not with Orson looking so smug.

In that moment, Garrett rose to his feet, looking like a man who had seen a ghost. His face was pale and his hands shook as he put his cup back on the board.

“Again, he shows himself to be less than vital,” Orson mused. “It would be a foolish woman indeed who bound her fate to such a sickly man.” Annelise clenched her fists in her lap lest she strike this irksome knight.

She might have followed Garrett, but Murdoch again stayed her. “Remain here,” he said, his tone authoritative. Annelise realized that others were watching her, including her sister. Isabella shook her head once in warning, very quickly, and Annelise settled back into her place.

Garrett meanwhile retreated toward the door. He bowed to Murdoch, as if to thank him for the meal, and she could see strain in the line of his lips. He did not so much as glance at her, and she was disappointed. His illness returned, whatever it was, and certainly it consumed his thoughts.

He pivoted and left quickly, nearly running in his haste to be gone.

“There is a man who cannot be relied upon by any lady,” Orson noted with a certain glee. “Look at his inconstancy. You should count yourself fortunate that he has left, my lady Annelise.”

Annelise did not. She was thinking of how Garrett had fallen ill upon entering Seton Manor and then again in the hall. What was his affliction? It was more than an awkwardness with the company of others. He seemed to be in pain.

She was certain that if she could figure it out, she could heal him.

Meanwhile, Stewart looked to Murdoch, who shook his head. Annelise was glad Murdoch had not sent the older warrior after Garrett. Stewart lifted his cup, apparently at ease. “I thought we were to hear a tale,” he called and the company applauded the notion with enthusiasm.

“Andrew, if you will resume,” Murdoch said and the knight nodded.

“Once upon a time, a man came ashore on the coast of Scotland to make his mark and his future. He was a brave and powerful warrior, a handsome and a valiant man, and one who could swing a blade with force. He swore service to a king and fought at that man’s side, defending him from every blow with such valor that soon every man and maiden in the land knew of him. His name was Ruaraidh, a name that came to mean all that was good in a man.”

Andrew did have a fine way of telling a tale. He stood straight and tall, his hands folded behind himself, his voice carrying easily over the hall. Annelise had not paid much attention to him earlier, but noted that he was a finely wrought man, if one easily eclipsed by Orson.

Perhaps it was because he did not draw attention to himself. Perhaps he was shy, like she herself. If she had not met Garrett, she might have found Andrew attractive. That was not to be, but she felt a new kindness toward him, for she sensed they shared that tendency to draw back. Thrust forward, though, he managed the attention better than she would have done.

“Now, the king had long wished to secure a particular point of land, but had never managed to do so. It was a strategic point that would enable him to command a natural harbor much favored by his people, as well as to guard the western approach to that inlet by sea. The lands were wild, though, and the forests filled with ferocious wolves. People whispered that the Fae held sway in that wild territory. No man had ever survived an attempt to establish a holding there.

“The king offered his loyal warrior a challenge. He said that if Ruaraidh could build a home on the point and survive there for a year and a day, then he would wed the warrior to his own daughter. She was a beauty of great repute, and the king knew that with such a marriage, he would be able to rely upon the warrior’s power forever. There was no better way, to the king’s thinking, to ensure the loyalty of a man than to have him become kin.”

“There is clear thinking,” Murdoch said, raising his cup and all within the hall drank a toast to the wisdom of this king. Orson touched his cup to Annelise’s, sparing her a sly wink, and she wondered at his own alliances. Was that why he came so far to meet her?

Where had Garrett gone?

Had he truly left Seton Manor and her behind?

Annelise fairly itched to pursue him, but she dared not leave the board while Andrew recounted his tale. Surely it could not be very long?

“At midsummer, Ruaraidh went to the point, with no more than an axe, his sword, his cloak and one loaf of bread. The king’s company all bade him good luck and the king’s daughter even granted him a kiss on his cheek. He went at that time of year to ensure there would be time to build an abode before the winter. And the first night he was there, sleeping beneath the stars, a large wolf attacked him. Ruaraidh had anticipated this and had remained awake, waiting. He sprang up from his apparent slumber to cut down the wolf with one blow. When the wolf was dead, he made a fire. He removed the heart from the wolf, roasted it and ate it all. Ruaraidh’s mother had told a tale of a man gaining the strength and cunning of his enemy by eating that man’s heart, so he believed this deed would aid him in defeating the other wolves. While it roasted, he skinned the wolf and set its hide to cure. He left the meat for the wild creatures. When he had eaten all of the wolf’s heart, he kicked down the fire, rolled himself in his cloak and slept soundly until the morning.”

“A rest well deserved,” Orson murmured.

Annelise shuddered, recalling the wolf that had attacked her and Garrett’s defeat of it well enough. Though she had been terrified, she could not imagine eating the heart of the wolf. It seemed a barbaric deed.