The Enchantress (12 page)

Laura shed her clothing but stopped when only William’s shirt remained. She stared at the rolled cuffs of the baggy sleeves and the gaping holes in the body of the shirt, and a sudden thrill ran through her body as she thought of the intimacy she’d shared with the Ross laird. Taking a deep breath, she quickly peeled that off as well and cast it aside.

As she cleaned up at the washbasin and pulled a comb through her tangled hair, she couldn’t help but think back over all she’d been through in so short a time. She cringed at the memory of her blunders.

“Well, that journey is over,” she muttered. “Count your blessings. No more of his arrogance, silence, or--or his nearness!”

Laura pulled the shift over her head as her thoughts returned to the ride from the fishermen’s hut. Leaving his three men to follow on foot, William had driven his horse south as if the devil himself were on their trail. The Highlander had not once spoken a word to her that might indicate that his mood was improving. Laura stepped into the oversized dress and pulled the laces tight in the front.

But what had she done, she thought, to bring on such anger?

Laura doubted somehow that it was her failure to use Dread in escaping from the cottage that left him silent and sulking. But if it was because she’d put a stop to their passionate encounter in the hut, then he should be...well, thankful.

But whatever his reason--if he had any reason--he was still angry enough that he’d practically dumped her in the yard at St. Duthac’s Shrine. Why, he’d never even looked at her again. After storming into the chapter house, he’d simply climbed back on his weary horse and ridden away.

Not that she had been watching for him out the small window, but how could she miss his loud cursing when they opened the gates too slowly for him?

A rather gruff old priest by the name of Father Francis had welcomed her, bringing her to this room in a building connected to the chapter house, and the dry clothing had arrived almost immediately. Hastily, she neatened the thick braid of hair that fell like a rope down her back and headed for the door.

Her urgency in seeing the provost actually had two reasons. True, she wanted to express her regret for any inconvenience and get into the good graces of Gilbert Ross if possible. But she also knew that the provost held a letter for her from her sister. Laura ached to read the news of Catherine and learn whatever she could after these months of separation.

The serving man was still waiting in the corridor in anticipation of taking her to the provost’s work room. Passing through the quiet passages of the place, following in the footsteps of the silent young man, Laura studied every aspect of the place. The long, empty halls, the serene orderliness, the warmth and cleanliness of what she’d seen already of the place, all spoke volumes of Gilbert Ross and his administrative abilities.

Her guide’s knock on the provost’s door was answered from within, and the young novitiate opened the door for her. As she strode in purposefully, her entrance was thwarted when she stumbled over some huge sack stretched the entire width of the door. Sprawling flat on her face, she immediately felt the provost’s strong grip on her arm, helping her to her feet and apologizing profusely.

“I am so sorry, mistress! Willie has a knack for always being in the way. I hope you’re not hurt.”

The giant dog never even lifted his head as he looked at her with raised eyebrows. Stretching a paw at her direction, though, he yawned, displaying the largest set of teeth Laura had ever seen on a dog.

“Willie,” Laura repeated incredulously, red in the face with embarrassment. “Willie is a big dog, provost. But I hope I didn’t hurt
him
.”

“I don’t believe you did, or the beast would be yelping like a bairn right now. An oversize and oafish cur he might be, Mistress Laura, but he is really very dainty when it comes to being stepped on.”

Recognizing the amused tone of the priest’s voice, Laura turned to Gilbert Ross and smiled in surprise. Other than his great height, the provost of the Shrine of St. Duthac didn’t look at all like his brother. He had a lighter complexion and more refined features, but the major difference lay in the provost’s bright and open smile. Laura was quite certain William Ross’s face would crack if he ever dared to smile this broadly.

“I am grateful to you for granting me an audience at this late hour.”

“‘Tis a pleasure for me to meet you finally. I hope your chamber is comfortable.”

“Aye. Thank you for everything, provost.” She paused before continuing. “But before I say anything else, I sincerely hope you will accept my heartfelt apologies for not arriving here when I was expected and for failing to secure a better messenger to carry my letter to...”

“There is no need to apologize, mistress, since I am the guilty one here.”

“Pardon me?”

“Aye, you see, until I received the letter from the good earl of Athol, I was not even aware that you should have been under our protection.” The provost gestured toward the bench at the long table, and Laura gratefully took a seat. “With the unexpected passing of the previous provost, the correspondence that had been exchanged between your mother and St. Duthac’s was unfortunately lost--along with other important papers.”

“Lost?” Laura eyed the far end of the table, where stacks of papers and a number of books were arranged in an orderly fashion, with a pot of ink and quills for writing nearby.

“Well, misplaced would perhaps be more accurate. However, we have since located your mother’s letters, and I understand better now the reason for the secrecy behind your arrival. No doubt to protect you, my predecessor decided not to announce your coming, not even to the nuns at the adjoining convent, until you were safely within our walls.”

Laura was uncertain how much her mother had revealed in the letters. “If you have no objection, I would very much like to read the letters my mother sent.”

“Of course. I will share them with you tomorrow, if that suits you.”

“Thank you.”

“After receiving the letter from your sister’s new husband,” the young priest continued, “my earlier negligence became quickly apparent. That was when I sought my brother’s assistance in seeking you out.”

Laura cringed inwardly, thinking of her response to William Ross’s "rescue" of her.

“Fortunately, my brother was born with the ability to cultivate many friends in...well, in every class of society. So it was a matter of just a few days before he learned of your frequent visits to the market square in Fearnoch.” The provost moved to the far end of the table and then hesitated, looking up at her with a spark of genuine interest in his blue eyes. “I forgot to ask if you had a pleasant and uneventful journey from Fearnoch.”

Uneventful? She repeated the word in her mind and fought down the color she felt creeping into her cheeks. William had spoken with his brother, and Laura wondered just how much the priest already knew.

“Everything was just...fine. Except that I’ve--I’ve never traveled in weather as severe as we encountered during this journey. Except, of course, for the storm at sea that blew our ship far to the north of Fearnoch Firth.”

“Och, weather!” The priest nodded thoughtfully and moved to a cabinet in the corner. As he opened a door, Laura could see rows of shelves neatly filled with bound books, papers secured with ribbon, bulging leather packets, and scrolls. She lifted her gaze and found the man studying her seriously. Suddenly, the foul possibility of how William Ross might have described their journey sprang into her mind, tormenting her.

“Did Wi...the laird...your brother...have the same complaint?”

A sparkle suddenly lit Gilbert’s eyes, dispelling the look of seriousness. “If you are asking whether ‘twas
weather
that William complained of--the answer is nay, mistress.”

Trust the rogue not to keep silent about her errors in judgment.

“Very well, then. There was more than just the weather that went awry,” Laura blurted out wearily. “I did not know your brother when he approached me in the market square at Fearnoch. And aye, I created a bit of a ruckus. In fact, a great ruckus, and that was just the start of it....”

Letting out a frustrated breath, she told the attentive priest everything that had happened in the past two days. With the exception, of course, of those moments of lunacy when she had found herself kissing William Ross.

“So I know he loathes me. He must be quite angry with me for turning his simple mission into a painful journey. But despite what he has surely told you about my rude disposition and my selfishness, I am very grateful to him for his rescue...as I am thankful to you for the shelter you are offering me now.”

A lengthy silence descended upon the room. When Laura looked up nervously, the provost--who had seated himself across from her as she told the tale--was studying her with interest.

“Was there anything else, provost, that your brother told you that I failed to mention?”

“The saddle?” the young priest suggested, his face brightening with a smile. “William marched in here, announced your presence, and then proceeded to complain for a rather extended period about the saddle that I had made for him when he became laird. I couldn’t get a word in at all. He said the thing was too narrow, then too broad, then too ornate, then too plain. The stitching was shoddy and the leather too stiff. But to be honest, mistress, he complained about nothing else. In fact, I had no idea your journey was so, eventful.”

“And was the saddle a recent gift?” Laura asked, not knowing what to say.

The provost gazed at her a moment speculatively and then shook his head as a smile continued to tug at his lips. “Nay, ‘tis more than two years old. And prior to your journey, I had heard nothing but praise for the thing.”

Laura felt her face beginning to burn with embarrassment. An unspoken suggestion hung in the air. Looking around the room in an effort to compose herself, she noticed above the mantel the simple sketch of a young girl. The large, bright eyes smiling down at her immediately looked familiar.

“‘Tis a sketch of my niece, Miriam. Just a wee lass, she is.”

Laura took in the dimpled cheeks of the child. “Does she live nearby?”

“She should, considering both her parents are dead, and the man who should be caring for her lives here. But to answer your question--nay, she does not.”

“Why is she not here, then? Who is responsible for her?”

“Aye, fair questions, mistress.” Father Gilbert gave an approving nod before getting up and taking a letter out of the open cabinet. “That is a long story, though, which I’ll be more than happy to share with you once you are rested and settled into your new quarters. But for now, I believe you must be anxious to read this letter from your sister. It accompanied the earl’s letter, which is here as well.”

Laura’s heart rose into her throat as she took the packet from him.

“And I believe that since you are now safe and sound here at St. Duthac’s, I’ll answer the earl of Athol’s letter.” The young priest came around the table. “‘Tis so much more pleasant to correspond with a powerful nobleman when you don’t have to tell him you’ve lost his new sister.”

“Provost, I am deeply sorry for any trouble I might have brought you.”

Gilbert Ross shook his head good-naturedly as he escorted her to the door. “Please, don’t give it another thought. Tonight, you read your letter and then have a good rest. Tomorrow, I’ll escort you to our convent and introduce you to the prioress and some of our fine people there. I have to warn you, though, life at the convent of St. Duthac shall not be nearly as exciting as the life you’ve been living.”

“I assure you, provost,” Laura said nodding gratefully. “Excitement is
not
what I need right now.”

****

A dog rose, stretched lazily, and moved closer to the hearth. A serving woman carrying a stack of wooden bowls walked past the little girl toward the kitchen. The sound of men arguing behind the closed doors of the laird’s chamber drifted into the Great Hall. Miriam lifted her face from her work and stared timidly at the closed door.

“Is my grandsire still angry with me, Nanna Jean?”

“I shouldn’t blame Lord Herries if he was.” The heavyset woman shifted her weight on the bench and peered more closely at the pattern of needlework spread before them. “You are seven, Miriam. Seven! And do you know what most lassies your age are already capable of?”

The young girl bobbed her head of dark curls as she kept one eye on her grandfather’s door. “They stitch and they weave. They sing and entertain. They take care of their younger siblings, if they have any, and are polite to their older ones, if they are still living.”

The woman’s eyebrows arched. “And...?”

The young girl’s shoulders slumped. The soft voice dropped to a whisper. The blue eyes reflected a sadness far too deep for one so young. “And they are not afraid of the dark.”

“Afraid of the dark.” the woman repeated with ridicule. “Escaping one’s own comfortable bed and sneaking into the kitchens at night like some petty thief. Spoiled! That’s what you are, Miriam Ross, since I know of no other orphaned seven-year-old who has been as coddled as you.”

Miriam tried to focus on the work, but her needle slipped past the white linen and stabbed her finger. She stared at the crimson drop of blood forming on the pale skin at the end of her finger.

“Now look what you have done!” The heavyset woman pulled the linen off the little girl’s lap. “Away with you and don’t get that blood on your clean apron! Come back when you’ve stopped your bleeding.”

The child rose slowly to her feet and stared anxiously at the closed door at the end of the Great Hall. “Could I go and show grandsire my finger?”

The woman shook her head adamantly. “Lord Herries told you before that he does not want to see you. He is a very busy man, Miriam, and has no time for you. Now, be on your way.”

Everything in the laird’s chambers seemed to stab at him. All an ugly reminder of the past. All a reminder of Mildred. Her presence was everywhere in the room.