The Enchantress (26 page)

William glared threateningly at MacLean over the head of the young woman. Out. Gone. Finished.

“I’m so happy to see you, m’lord. I’ve been waiting to meet with you for most of the morning.”

The man was grinning at William, and the Highlander considered knocking those teeth so far down his throat, he’d need a--

“M’lord, if you could spare me a few moments, I’d be grateful if you grant me the time right now.”

William looked down and found Laura's hand resting gently on his arm. Her touch was soft and warm.

“I have business to finish here first.”

Wyntoun MacLean was no longer grinning, though the change in attitude had nothing to do--William was quite certain--with his threatening words. His gaze was fixed on Laura's hand, and he suddenly looked a bit troubled.

“But what I have to say is of the utmost importance. It cannot wait.”

The flicker of envy in Wyntoun’s green eyes, as they darted from Laura to William and back to Laura, made the laird snort with satisfaction. With a smirk he took the young woman’s hand in his own and started for the laird’s chambers.

She practically ran alongside him, trying to keep up with his long strides. “You know, William, talking with you was
my
idea.”

“Think what you like.”

As Gilbert reentered the Great Hall, William marched by--towing Laura behind him--and ignored his brother’s evident astonishment.

“What I am trying to say,” Laura cried out, “is that you can let go of my hand. I promise not to run away.”

He did not stop at the door to his chambers but dragged her in behind him.

“I am in no mood to consider promises.”

Without another word, William turned and glared out menacingly before slamming the door in the faces of a dozen astounded onlookers.

*****

Laura bit her lip, shocked by the unexpected and heavy-handed possessiveness demonstrated by the Highlander. If this wasn’t jealousy riling his temper, she didn’t know what was.

He was still holding onto her hand as she stared up at him. They were in his chamber, and his huge bed stood ominously in the corner. She blushed as he turned his blue eyes on her face.

“I--I don’t believe this is where--where we should talk.”

He looked about the room, almost surprised at their surroundings and growled, “I see your point.”

In a moment he had dragged her through a small door and into his work room. Once inside, he slammed that door shut and then, letting go of her hand, moved to the door leading to the Great Hall. Laura peered out from behind him. Nobody in the hall appeared to have moved at all. They were all still gawking, open-mouthed and curious.

William slammed that door harder than the first.

Laura backed against the hearth, trying to put as much distance as she could between herself and his temper. A moment later, when he turned around and looked at her, Laura’s pulse skittered wildly, and she felt the skin on her neck start to burn.

If Sir Wyntoun MacLean had been the picture of polish and repose this morning, William Ross was the very opposite. His long hair, tied back with a leather thong, was still wet from washing. His tartan had been draped haphazardly across the white shirt covering his broad chest, and his sword belt hung low on one kilted hip.

The man was far too handsome for a woman’s comfort, Laura thought, forcing herself to control her breathing. Why, she had just yesterday heard a couple of the scullery maids giggling about finding chores in the stables after the men were done in the training yard. From what she had gathered, the laird always washed up there afterward, and Laura decided that perhaps it was time to find a chore for herself out there one of these days.

She quickly moved from the hearth to the window. Suddenly, she needed some air.

“And what tales has that oversized magpie been charming you with this morning?”

“Tales?” she repeated vaguely, watching him lean one hip against his worktable. Why men didn’t wear kilts in the Lowlands or in England was suddenly incomprehensible. She turned abruptly to the window and pulled open the shutter. “‘Tis warm in here. Don’t you think so?”

“What was that baboon whispering so confidentially in your pretty ear, Mistress Laura?”

The draught of cold air had some effect but not enough, she thought, turning to face him. “I thought we were here to discuss
my
concerns.”

“We will,” he growled impatiently. “But first tell me about the affable Sir Wyntoun.”

“I should have thought you knew all about him. My understanding was that you two spent a great deal of time together in your youth. Certainly, since you are such good friends--”

“We were good friends.”

“Is that so?” Laura asked with surprise. “He still speaks quite highly of you.”

“Of course. The snake could not have had warmer hospitality than he has received at Blackfearn Castle.”

“Hospitality?” Laura repeated, biting her lip to hide her amusement.

“Aye.”

“Well, other than raving about your hospitality, he has been telling me a little about himself.”

“His favorite topic.”

William suddenly rose to his feet and took a step toward her. She held her breath. The fire in his eyes was there, and it was unmistakable. He hesitated, passion burning in his gaze.

She was no expert in the ways of lovemaking. But when it came down to how he acted whenever they were near--and how she felt for William right now--there was no doubt in her mind that he desired her as she desired him.

And then, abruptly, he retreated, turning toward the hearth. A sting of disappointment coursed through her.

The provost had convinced her that for her own safety, marriage was her best course of action. William appeared to have agreed. This, however, was where Laura’s confusion centered. Was she not worthy enough to be
his
wife?

“Sir Wyntoun appears quite open to the idea of taking a wife.” Before she even spoke the words, she knew they would rile him. And yet out they came.

His head turned sharply, his expression darkening. “Has he asked for your hand in marriage?”

She shook her head. “Not yet.”

“And yet you have broached the subject with him.” He seemed to be wrestling with his words. “Have you asked him?”

“I could never do such a thing.”

“And why not?”

Laura bit back the words that were ready to spill out. The truth was that, despite his looks, his charm, and position, she did not find Sir Wyntoun...thrilling. Pleasant, aye. Thrilling, nay.

He simply did not affect her the way the man standing before her did.

Perhaps if she had met Sir Wyntoun before she had ever seen William Ross. Before she knew the heat that could flood through a woman at the simple touch, at the mere look, of a certain man.

There was no comparison between them. She had none of those jumbled feelings of wishing and hoping and fearing and aching that came when she was with William. When she was with Sir Wyntoun, she never felt the way she did at this very moment.

She wanted this man.

She wanted him to hold her in his arms right now. She wanted to be kissed the way he’d kissed her before. She ached to feel her body come unraveled, to feel him move her the way he’d moved her before. He’d offered her a taste of the fruits of passion. She wanted to share all of it--with William Ross.

With William Ross.

Her chin dropped to her chest. She was indeed a woman doomed.

“So you feel ‘tis not proper for you to make the offer.”

She looked up and saw the troubled look continuing to darken his brow. She had difficulty regaining the strands of their conversation. Marriage. Sir Wyntoun.

“Your brother has offered to manage any negotiations on that topic. And I suppose, trusting in his assistance, it shall all be done properly.”

William turned his face away and Laura deeply regretted bringing up the subject. She knew that he wrongly assumed that she wished to be married to his friend.

She did not wish to let things stand as they were. But something within her--foolish pride perhaps--would not let her correct his misapprehension. William Ross was not making any offers for her hand.

When he turned back to her, his tone was cool. “You wanted to speak to me about some other matter.”

He sat down behind the worktable, seriousness etched in his face. The items on the table were all tidily arranged. Laura thought for a moment of paying him a compliment regarding the changes that were going on in the castle, but his frown discouraged any idle talk.

“I have a great deal scheduled today,” he said, motioning to a chair.

She nodded. She had requested this audience on Miriam’s behalf. Their own private situation would have to wait for another time. “About your niece.”

“Miriam.”

At least he was acknowledging that she had a name. “I know she has only just arrived, but I believe you might want to reconsider your plans for the child.”

Silence was his only answer.

“She is only seven,” Laura continued. “And despite having been orphaned for over two years and apparently having no kin of any consequence at Hoddom Castle--”

“The lass was there with her grandsire.”

“An elderly gentleman who, by all accounts, kept himself quite removed from the child.”

“Men like Lord Herries have the business of the world to attend to. What would he have to do with a bairn?” William stopped and frowned more deeply. “Is that Miriam’s complaint?”

Laura shook her head. “I asked Sir Wyntoun about Miriam’s care at Hoddom Castle.” She saw concern darkening his expression. “I don’t wish to taint the good name of Lord Herries. Your friend assured me that there was plenty of comfort provided for your niece. But providing comfort and a bit of tutelage seems to be where Miriam’s care ended.”

“Many would consider that more than enough.”

“True. But many have hearts of stone.” She entwined her hands, softening her tone. “As a wee one who has not had the continuing affection of a parent, Miriam has needs that are not trivial. She has spent the last few years not even knowing the place that she should consider home.”

Laura looked down at her hands and tried to choose the right words. Having William understand Miriam’s needs was important. But she did not want to sound patronizing in her statements. She knew that William Ross was one of those few men who were unafraid of demonstrating tenderness. She had felt it herself firsthand.

“Miriam is eager to please. She strives for perfection. And ‘tis because I have seen how anxious she is to get your attention and seek your approval that I repeat my original plea that you reconsider your plans and your feelings for her.”

“I
have
reconsidered them.”

His simple statement took her breath away. “Do you mean, she’s staying?”

“Aye. Was there anything else?”

She looked for some warmth in his eyes. Some joy in this decision regarding something so important to his life. But there was none of it in his blue eyes, and something within her ached. “She...she is making you a present. ‘Tis not something you need, to be sure, but--”

“I’ll receive her gift graciously.” He rose to his feet. “If you’ll forgive me, I have to meet Edward in the yard.”

She had been dismissed.

“Well, you’re a popular man in that village this night, William Ross.”

“That so?” Sitting astride Dread, high on the brae overlooking the stone huts clustered in the glen, the laird frowned into the darkening gloom. Somehow, he couldn’t quite bring himself to share in Edward’s good feeling.

“Aye. Surely you saw it yourself. And after we split up, we went to the smith’s widow and her bairns. By the saint, you’d think that the angels had descended on them when we dropped the venison at her hut. She was thanking you and praying for you all at once. And auld Roger as well, was singing your praises to the sky for the bolt of woolen cloth. I thought his wife was never going to stop crying.”

“For a wee bit of cloth?”

“That wool might as well have been cloth of gold, m’lord.”

“What of the hermit?”

“We found him up the glen. And although he threatened to murder all of us, he still came down to take the ale and the oats.”

William turned his horse toward the far hill. “Where are the men?”

“Heading off in a half dozen directions, though a few were thinking to stop for a wee dram at The Three Cups.” Edward peered through the deepening darkness at his laird. “How was the steward’s widow?”

William shook his head. “Not so well, I’m afraid. Though she still has much of her old sense of humor, she doesn’t seem to be able to come to grips with Robert’s death. In fact, I’m not so sure she’s better off by herself in that tumble-down cottage.”

“Aye, but she was determined not to live in the castle after the old man died.”

“Maybe so. But that was only because she couldn’t see herself as being of any help to the rest. ‘Twas my fault not to see to it that she stayed.”

“‘Tis not too late to bring her back.”

“Perhaps not, Edward. We’ll just see if Symon can think of some worthy job for the woman to put her mind to.”

An icy drizzle had been falling off and on all day. William felt nothing, though, of the cold or the fact that he had been soaked to the bone for hours. He could not get out of his mind the warmth of the welcome of those people he’d visited today. His people. His responsibility.

The sound of the revelers at the Three Cups down the hill was echoing in the hills. Though the piper was either incompetent or completely drunk, the laughter and the singing was a satisfying sound to the Ross laird.

The rain was falling harder, and Edward wiped the water off his face. “Peter was wondering if your invitation to the village folk for the Christmas dinner and
celeidh
at the castle included the wenches from the tavern.”

“Considering the temperament of Peter’s Wife, the man had best not be asking such questions. He’ll be lucky to see Twelfth Night in one piece if his woman gets wind of it.”

William and Edward crossed the path of a man and his wife, who was berating her husband as they made their way home from the tavern. The husband raised a hand to the laird as the woman paused in her tirade and dropped a curtsy.