The Knight and the Seer (8 page)

He got to his feet and hurried out of the room, eager to catch up with her. He wouldn’t miss this for the world.

“Good morrow, my lord Morgan.” Gwenellen was pleased to see Andrew’s father sitting on the boulder atop his grave.

“Good morrow, lass. I’m proud of ye. It isn’t easy getting past my son’s anger. But ye’re getting to him, just as ye’r father promised.”
Blue eyes twinkled with pleasure.
“He’s beginning to believe.”

“He’s willing to try. But you must give me something more, my lord Morgan. Something that will chase away any lingering doubts.”

“Something more, eh, lass?”
The older man stretched out his long legs and leaned back on the boulder, deep in thought. A slow smile spread across his face, and Gwenellen was reminded of Andrew. There were times when he looked at her, that she felt as though he were trying not to laugh.

“Sit here, lass.”
He indicated the grass beside his grave.

As Gwenellen settled herself, he crossed his ankles.
“I’ll tell you a tale from Andrew’s childhood, that nobody else knows.”
He took his time, going back in his mind.
“Andrew’s mother had a fondness for roses. All summer, she carefully tended her garden, nurturing each tiny plant. But though she did everything possible, they never produced flowers. Occasionally there would be a few buds, but alas they never lasted long enough to bloom. They would simply wither and die on the vine. The year Andrew was four, my wife Laurel persuaded one of the royal gardeners to visit our keep. He spent several weeks here, instructing Laurel and our gardeners on the proper way to grow roses. By the time he left, the plants had produced dozens of promising buds. Laurel was in a state of high excitement, for it would be the first time her beloved roses would bloom.”

Gwenellen watched his eyes sparkle with humor. He was thoroughly enjoying himself as he recalled the event.

“Now, ye should know that Andrew adored his mother, and her excitement conveyed itself to him. Each morning, when Laurel walked the garden, the lad would skip along beside her, his excitement equal to hers. The day the first of the roses finally bloomed, she bent to inhale the wonderful perfume of each one, and spent the rest of the afternoon telling all who would listen about the beauty of her flowers. The next morning she could hardly wait to hurry to the garden to admire her treasure. Imagine her horror when she found every single bloom gone. All that remained were bare stems.”

Gwenellen was so caught up in the story, she looked as horrified as Laurel must have looked on that day. “Who would do such a cruel thing, my lord Morgan?”

“Who indeed?”
He sat forward, hands on his knees.
“Poor Laurel paced the floor of her chambers, imagining a score of ways to punish the rogue who had robbed her of her greatest pleasure. Just then young Andrew came rushing into her room, his little arms filled with rose petals. He’d awakened early just to go to the garden so that he could surprise his mother with the fragrance she loved. Of course, at that tender age, he had no idea what he’d done. His tender fingers were bloody from the prick of thorns, but his smile was so radiant, how could his mother resist his offering?”

“What did she do with the rose petals?”

“What any mother would, I suppose. She lifted the petals to her face and breathed in their perfume, then she tossed them across the bed and invited Andrew to roll in them with her.”
He gave a roar of laughter.
“That’s how I found them. Giggling together and rolling in rose petals.”
His smile faded.
“Years later, when Laurel lay dying, she told me it was one of her fondest memories.”

Gwenellen felt tears burn the back of her lids and had to blink quickly. “Thank you for sharing that tale, my lord Morgan. I believe it will convince Andrew of the truth of what I say. Now I must ask you the question he has given me. Why must he remain here, instead of rescuing your bride from the clutches of your enemy?”

He was already shaking his head.
“To do so would be to invite disaster, for Fergus Logan is expecting Andrew to do just that. Instead, he must confound his enemy by doing that which he wouldn’t expect.”

“And the Lady Sabrina?”

His smile faded.
“Ye may tell Andrew that he was right and I was wrong.”

“That’s all?”

“Aye. ‘Tis all I have to say at this time.”

“But why? Doesn’t your son deserve to know all that you do, my lord?”

“Not if such knowledge will destroy him.”

“I don’t understand.”

He leaned forward and took her hands in his. As before, she felt the brush of something cool and damp against her flesh.
“It isn’t necessary that ye understand, lass. Only that ye tell Andrew what I’ve told ye.”

She heard the footfall behind her and looked over to see Andrew standing very still, watching her with an unfathomable look. The image of his father began to blur, then faded from sight.

She got to her feet and shook down her skirts. As she started toward him she couldn’t help smiling at the image of a wee lad beaming with pleasure as he offered up his surprise to the mother he adored. Though it was at odds with this angry warrior who now stood before her, it was an image she would not soon forget.

Chapter Seven

“Y
ou spoke with him?” Andrew had stood in the shadows, hearing her voice, soft and low, and the long silences that could only mean she was listening to someone, or something.

Voices in her head?

“Aye. Your father was here. And looking much as you look now.”

That fact caught him by surprise. Though it was true that many might still consider Morgan Ross a handsome, dashing warrior, Andrew could remember only the father with whom he’d bitterly argued in their last confrontation. It was impossible to imagine him young and virile, now that death had claimed him.

Or was this just her overactive imagination?

He glanced toward the fresh mound of earth where his father’s body now lay. Seeing the direction of his glance, she steered him toward the door of the castle, knowing it was best for him to leave this place that still caused him such pain. At her prodding, Andrew reluctantly moved along beside her.

Once inside he paused beside the great stairway. “Did my father answer my question? Did he tell you why I should remain here in the comfort of my own home instead of rescuing Sabrina?”

“Aye. He said that is what your enemy anticipates. And so you must do the unexpected and remain here.”

“And bide my time? He must know that goes against everything I believe in. I’m a warrior.” Andrew’s eyes narrowed. “Did he tell you anything else?”

“Only that you were right about Lady Sabrina and he was wrong.”

For a moment he looked thunderstruck. “You’re certain those were his words?”

“Aye.”

“What else did he say?”

“Nothing more. And when I asked why, he explained that to say more would destroy you.”

Andrew snagged her wrist. “And I say it is the not knowing that will destroy me. If you were who you claimed to be, you would have demanded more. Unless, of course, you were sent here by my enemies to further confound me.” He dragged her close, his eyes fixed on hers with a look that had her heart leaping to her throat. There was about him the same fierce look that she’d first encountered. He touched a hand to the jeweled hilt of a knife at his waist. “Tell me why I should not kill you, woman.”

“Because I am not your enemy.”

“Aye. You claim to be merely a poor, befuddled soul whose simplest spells go awry, yet you boast that you can speak with the dead. This time, woman, you will prove it to me beyond a doubt, or you’ll pay with your life.”

She tried to draw away but he held her fast.

Though her heart was pounding in her chest, she lifted her chin defiantly. “I knew this would be your reaction. I was certain you would be reluctant to believe me. I asked for something that would open your heart and mind. Your father told me about an incident when you were very small.”

“You’ll tell me of this…imaginary childhood incident, woman. And if it is something I can’t vividly recall, have no doubt that your blood will be on my hands.”

Her voice trembled as she relayed the tale that had been told to her. When she finished, she could tell, from the stunned look in his eyes, that he not only remembered, but had been deeply moved by the retelling of it.

He uncurled his fingers from around her wrist and took a step back, all the while staring into her eyes without a word.

The silence stretched between them for so long, she finally touched a hand to his, only to have him jerk back.

His voice was low with feeling. “You could not have learned this from anyone except my father.”

Relief flooded through her. She stood very still, giving him the time he needed to absorb this knowledge and accept the implications of it.

He took in a long, deep breath. His tone softened. “Forgive me for doubting you, my lady. I’ve never before known anyone who could talk to those on the other side.”

“Nor have I ever had the privilege, except with my father, until now.”

His voice nearly trembled with emotion. “Now that I know you can do what you claim, I would beg a favor of you.”

Startled, she could do nothing more than nod. “Name it.”

“Will you remain at Ross Abbey, at least for a while longer? For there is much I wish to ask my father.”

She let out a quiet breath, too surprised to speak. It would seem that he was now ready to accept what he could not understand. If he was not fully convinced, at least he was willing to believe in her power, meager though it might be.

Mistaking her silence for disapproval he quickly added, “I realize that life here is far from what you’re accustomed to in your kingdom. From what you’ve described, it will never be the paradise you left behind. But if you’ll give me some time, I’ll inquire in the village for servants. Though Ross Abbey will never take the place of your home, I’ll do all in my power to make it as comfortable for you as possible, if you’ll agree to remain.”

She nodded. “I will stay.”

He was already shaking his head. “Please don’t be quick to refuse for I know….” He stopped. Closed his mouth. Opened it again. “You’ll stay?”

“I will. For as long as you need me.”

He caught her hands in his and bowed over them. “Thank you, my lady.”

“There is one thing, though. I must send a missive to my family letting them know that I’m safe.”

He nodded. “If you but tell me how, I’ll see to it.”

She thought a moment. “Is there a falconer in the village?”

“There is.”

She smiled. “If you would have him send the falcon heavenward with my missive, it will reach the Mystical Kingdom.”

He nodded. “It will be done this very day. I am most humbly grateful, my lady, for I know this can’t be an easy decision for you.”

As he brushed his lips over the back of her hands he had a quick recollection of the last time he’d kissed her. Looking up he could see the color rising to her cheeks and knew that she was remembering it, too.

His first thought was to kiss her full on the mouth. He’d never forgotten her sweet taste. It had left him oddly hungry for more. Still, if he were to follow his instincts and kiss her, he might frighten her away. And though it galled him to admit it, he needed this odd little creature. She was, to him, a calm port in a sea swirling with storms of lies and deceit.

He lowered her hands, released them, and took a step back. “There is more to the tale my father told you.”

“More?”

“Aye. That same day my mother gave me this dirk.” Again he touched the jeweled hilt that winked in the sunlight. “It belonged to my mother’s father, and she told me that he had been a most kind and generous laird of his clan. She believed that, as the son of a laird, and the grandson of two, I would one day be a leader of my people.” His voice roughened. “This means much to me, because the one who gave it to me is always close in my heart. It has remained on my person since the day she gave it to me.” With his hand on the hilt he added, “I go now to the village, for I must tell the people that I accept the title they have thrust upon me.”

“That will make your father and mother most happy, my lord.”

He tried not to flinch at her use of that title. It would take a great deal of time to adjust his thinking of himself as laird of his clan instead of merely a warrior. “Is there anything I might bring you?”

She shook her head. “I require nothing.”

She could feel him studying her before he turned away. After opening the door he turned back. A hint of a smile touched his lips. “You won’t try any of your…spells while I’m gone?”

She’d just begun to relax. Now the awkwardness was back. “Have no fear, my lord. I wouldn’t want to risk destroying your castle after all the work the villagers put into restoring it.”

He was across the room in quick strides. He caught her hand between both of his. “You misunderstand. It isn’t my home I’m worried about, my lady. It’s you.”

The fact that he would be worried over her had her blushing furiously. She was so startled by his concern, she could only stare. “I’ll be fine.”

“Aye. You will. Very fine indeed.” He studied the high color, loving the way her lashes fluttered as she avoided his eyes.

For a moment she thought he might kiss her lips once more. Her heart actually fluttered at the thought. Instead, he lifted her hands to his lips and kissed first one, then the other, lingering over them as though she were a great lady.

A series of tremors sliced down her spine, leaving her feeling oddly disoriented.

“My lord…”

“My lady.” He lifted his head and captured her chin in his hand, brushing a butterfly kiss over her lips.

She felt the quick rush of heat, and the way a pulse fluttered in her throat. What amazing powers he had, that he could so affect her with the simple press of his mouth on hers.

When he lifted his head, he stared deeply into her eyes before releasing her and striding swiftly out the door.