True Highland Spirit (17 page)

Someone knocked on the door three times. The raucous laughter of the McNab clan grew quiet as they strained to see who would be the first-foot.

“Did ye get a first-foot?” hissed Alys.

“Nay, did ye?” whispered Morrigan.

Alys shook her head. “So if neither of us arranged for a first-foot, who’s at the door?”

“Only one way to find out.” Morrigan put her hand to her sword hilt. “Open the door,” she commanded.

The large, wooden double doors were unbolted and swung open with a mournful creak. With a rush of frozen air, snowflakes swirled around the cloaked figure of a man. Into the hall stepped a tall man, dark and handsome. Morrigan gasped.

It was Dragonet.

“Ye knock on the door,” said Andrew, stepping back to let Dragonet go first. “’Tis Hogmanay and ye can be the first-foot.”

“I hope your fever has not returned, for I have no idea what you are saying.” Dragonet looked Andrew up and down. He was on his feet at least, though his arm was still in a sling, and Dragonet knew his wound was far from fully healed.

“’Tis the eve o’ the New Year. The first visitor is the first-foot. Go on wi’ ye, knock quick. I am mighty cold.” Andrew smiled through chattering teeth. He had lost a lot of weight during his convalescence.

Dragonet wondered if the cold had made Andrew delirious, but he obligingly knocked. He waited, a nervous buzz humming in his stomach. She would be there. Morrigan. The one person he should not see. Ever. She made him forget everything, his mission, his vows, his next breath. She was dangerous, and he would not have come, except that she was the last lead he had to find the silver chest.

Morrigan was the only person he knew who could tell him the location of the cave where the Templars had hidden their treasure so many years ago. He did not know if it was still there, but he had to find out. Dragonet had tried getting the information from Andrew, but other than to say he had heard of a cave he was not allowed to enter, Andrew knew nothing of it. Morrigan was Dragonet’s last chance.

After a pause, the door to the great hall was opened with a loud creak, and Dragonet stepped into the room filled with people. The hall was more festive than he remembered it, with fresh rushes on the floor and boughs of holly and ivy decorating the walls. The air was smoky but warm, a welcome relief from the bitter cold.

Two women stood to greet him. One had a shorter figure with a pleasant smile and rosy cheeks. The other was a tall, handsome woman who gaped at him like he was an apparition. He tried not to stare in return. She was dressed in a beautiful blue silk with gold embroidery. Dragonet was no expert in fashion, but even he could see the gown was a fine piece and no doubt quite dear. He decided the woman must be a stranger, because no McNab could afford such a fine piece.

The tall woman had large, dark eyes and long lashes. Her hair was dressed in lace and two long plaits that fell to her waist. Her gown clung nicely, revealing a small waist and shapely figure. He tore his gaze away from her to avoid gawking at her cleavage. She was striking and oddly familiar, but he was certain they had never met. A lady of her stature could not be forgotten.

Despite the number of people in the room, all conversations hushed and everyone focused on him. Was that what Andrew meant by being a first-foot?

“A happy New Year to you ladies,” said Dragonet with a graceful bow.
When in doubt, charm with politeness.

“Welcome to McNab Hall, sir,” said the shorter, cheerful woman. “Here, come by the fire and warm yerself. ’Tis not often we get visitors this time o’ year.”

“I come with a gift I believe belongs to you.” Dragonet motioned to Andrew, who emerged from the shadows.

“Andrew!” shrieked the tall woman and ran to hug the shivering lad. “Why are ye here? Och, Alys, he’s been hurt, bring him to the fire.”

“Morrigan, I am well. Alys need no’ fuss over me,” Andrew protested.

Morrigan?
Dragonet staggered back to catch his balance as if he had been physically struck.

“Wheesht!” Morrigan silenced all protests. “Sit in this chair by the fire and mind me proper. I’m no’ surprised ye got yerself hurt, going off wi’ those Campbells like a damn fool. I told ye naught would come o’ hanging after that Cait lass, but ye ne’er listen the way ye ought. I blame Archie for sending ye to university. Put daft notions in yer head.”

Yes, it was the same Morrigan. His beautiful Morrigan. For a few beats of his heart, everything was silent. He watched people crowd around the injured lad and jump to obey Morrigan’s commands. All eyes were on Andrew. All Dragonet could see was Morrigan.

The last time Dragonet saw Morrigan, she wore so many layers against the bitter chill she was little more than an amorphous blob. She could have been a woman, a man, or a bear for all the bundles showed of her shape. Tonight, Morrigan was a lady. Her waist was small and shapely, her figure trim, her hips rounded nicely, and her bosom… Dragonet tried to avoid staring at her luscious curves. Could it truly be Morrigan?

“Bring Andrew some food and hot wassail, now! Dinna talk to him; can ye no’ see he’s tired? Now eat this, ye ken? Ye look like death, and I canna say ye dinna deserve it!” Morrigan stood with one hand on her hip and the other on her sword hilt. It was indeed Morrigan.

The transformation was remarkable. Her thick hair was plaited down to her waist. Her gown was of fine silk. All worthy things to catch his eye, and yet his gaze wandered once more to her décolletage. Despite the importance of his quest, Dragonet decided what he truly needed to know was where she had been hiding those breasts. Morrigan turned to him, her eyes narrowing. Had she caught him gawking?

“What are ye standing there for? Come sit. Drink. Ye must be froze to the bone. Dinna ye have enough sense no’ to be traipsing about in the snow after dark? Bring a chair for Sir Dragonet, now, dammit!”

Dragonet complied with her orders, as did everyone else. She fussed over Andrew and hid her good intentions with criticism and complaint. Andrew began to look harried, but Dragonet was bemused. It was not her words but the meaning behind them that mattered.

Alys pressed a mug of hot wassail into his hand. “Thank ye for bringing our lad Andrew back home. My good sister will thank ye too when she finishes wi’ her fit. ’Tis her way o’ showing she cares, ye ken.”

Dragonet nodded. “I did not know Lady Morrigan had a sister.”

“I am lately married to Laird McNab.”

Dragonet inclined his head toward her. “Lady McNab.” She smiled and proceeded to quietly organize the festivities. Dragonet sipped the warm, soothing wassail, the cup thawing his frozen hands. Feeling returned to his fingers with a dull ache. He took another swig against the pain.

Andrew’s greeting was warm and long. It was clear he was well liked in the castle, and soon he was called upon to tell his harrowing tales of war and how he was injured. Andrew’s tale was a modest, sanitized version of the reality of the siege to take Berwick. He was trying to protect his clan from the ugliness of war. The unfortunate truth was the invasion had ended in defeat, and the sleeping giant of England had been awakened.

Many in the hall recognized Dragonet as the minstrel and asked him to play, but Morrigan chastised her clansmen, commenting on how dreadfully fatigued he appeared to be. It was not a compliment, but Dragonet was relieved not to be called upon to perform. After an hour of greeting, followed by drinking, followed by stories, followed by more drinking, Dragonet was feeling warm and cozy and quite tired. Andrew’s eyes were half open, if they were open at all.

“Time for bed,” Morrigan said in her direct manner. “Alys, have ye prepared his room?”

“Aye, the rooms are prepared for both our surprise visitors. Come now, Andrew my lad, ye look mighty tired.” Alys gently helped Andrew from the chair and led him to his chamber.

Morrigan glanced at Dragonet, as if he was nothing but an afterthought. “Come, I’ll show ye the room if ye care to have it.” Morrigan stomped off and Dragonet jumped up to follow her.

Unfortunately, his presence had been marked by several lasses in the castle who had been flirting shamelessly and chose that moment for a drunken pounce.

“Dinna follow her,” said one flame-haired wench, grabbing his arm. “All she has is a bed; she’ll no’ give ye what I can offer.” She squeezed her breasts and licked her lips.

“Thank you for that kindly offer but…”

“Nay, he dinna want yer ill-used arse,” squawked a black-haired wench who had long since lost her head covering. “Come wi’ me, sugar. I ken what a knight like ye wants.”

“Thank you, but no. All I want is to sleep.” Dragonet disengaged himself from the clutches of the amorous drunk and hustled after Morrigan, worried he had lost her. He need not have been concerned, since the sounds of cursing led him to her directly.

“Damn, stupid thing. How do people walk in this fool gown?” Morrigan was doubled over on the castle stairs, trying to disentangle the hem of her gown from her feet.

“I believe you must lift your skirts when walking up stairs to avoid treading on the hem of your gown,” said Dragonet, leaning against the stone wall behind her.

Morrigan straightened and whirled around to face him. “Ye wear gowns much do ye? Perhaps tomorrow ye can wear one to supper and show me how it’s done.”

Dragonet merely smiled. He had learned from wearing his monk’s robes, but that was not a topic open for conversation. Morrigan glared at him, but her cheeks were rosy.

“Well ye offered yer advice, now what do ye want?” demanded Morrigan.

“You mentioned a room?”

“So ye dinna wish to bed one o’ those wenches?”

“I am greatly tired. All I want is to sleep.”

“Have them come for ye in the morn. They can service ye after ye’re rested.”

“I do not wish to be… serviced.”

Morrigan shrugged and continued up the stairs, skirts in hand. “’Tis no concern o’ mine. I dinna ken why ye should tell me about it.”

Dragonet followed her up four flights of the winding staircase to the floor where the family lived. Torches flickered in their iron holders, leaving long, black trails of smoke on the walls. They passed an open door to a solar, and a few doors farther, Morrigan stopped at another open door.

“Here is yer room.” She stopped at the threshold as if wary to enter, even for a moment.

Dragonet walked past her into the room. It was in deep shadow, the only light coming from the flickering torches in the hall. “The room is very nice. I thank you.”

“Thank Alys.”

“I will do as you suggest. She is a new addition to your family?”

“Aye, Archie wed her several months ago. One o’ the few things he got right.”

“She seems a kind woman.”

Morrigan nodded but remained in the doorway, leaning her shoulder against the door frame. Dragonet waited for her to speak.

“I want to thank ye for bringing Andrew home. It is a kindness I…” Morrigan’s voice trailed off and she looked down, wiping the palms of her hands on her silk gown. “But why?” Her gaze reached him again, her eyes large and black in the dimly lit room. “Why would ye leave yer fellow knights to bring him all the way back to the Highlands?”

Dragonet had anticipated that question and gave a ready answer. “The town of Berwick, it was taken, but not the castle. We planned a siege, but they were well equipped and could have lasted through the winter. We learned King Edward had amassed an army to march against us, eighty thousand men, experienced soldiers all. To stand against them, it would be folly.”

“So ye left?”

“I fear they all did. The Duke of Argitaine decided to withdraw once the hope of success had waned. After that the clans, they slipped away one by one.”

“Like rats leaving a sinking ship.” Morrigan crossed her arms over her chest, temporarily blocking his view from the one thing he should not be looking at. “Did I no’ warn that would happen? But would anyone listen to me?”

“Your judgments have been proven correct, my lady.”

“Lot o’ good that does anyone now. But why are ye here? Why no’ return to France wi’ yer fellow knights?”

“I promised to you I would look after Andrew.”

“Ye certainly took yer promise seriously.”

“He is a good lad. It was not difficult to want to help.” His promise to Morrigan was not the only reason he was there, but he was accustomed to revealing only half-truths, though it never made him as uncomfortable as it did then. Dragonet looked down, avoiding her eye. “I felt it wrong to leave, after I had encouraged the clans to go to war.”

Morrigan snorted and began to pace out into the hall and back to the doorway, still never crossing the threshold. “What do those arrogant Frenchies care if they cause pain and suffering for us? Why be concerned about people they feel are infinitely below their notice? Damn nobility, they care naught for the lives they destroy.”

“I cannot defend the duke’s decision, but I will offer my apologies most sincere.”

Morrigan stopped, her eyes locked on his. “Why are ye here Dragonet? Why care for my brother and travel all this way?”

Again Dragonet was uncomfortable but not unprepared in his answer. “I found Chaumont and Gavin taking Andrew to see the Mother Enid. Naturally, I accompanied them to lend my assistance to his care.”