Highland Hero (29 page)

Elspeth entered their chamber just as Tatha finished packing. “Where are ye going?”

“To collect herbs,” Tatha replied, hating to lie to her sister but feeling that it was best if no one knew of her plans.

“And ye need all ye own to do that, do ye?”

“Dinnae press me, Elspeth. ’Tis best if ye dinnae ken anything about this.”

“Aye, probably. I am a verra poor liar, and eventually ye will be missed. Did ye happen to hear who may have bought me?”

“Nay. I panicked when I heard who I had been sold off to. No one may have bid on ye yet.”

“Ye should be more understanding of the others, Tatha,” Elspeth said quietly. “We are nay all as brave as ye. And how is this so verra different from what was done with our eldest sisters?”

“Nay so much, I suppose. I had accepted that, without a dower, I would have no match arranged for me. Aye, in truth, I liked it that way. It meant that I might actually have some choice in the matter, might e’en have been able to marry a mon I loved. That has all been stolen away from me now.”

“No lass has such a thing. Ye simply fooled yourself into thinking that ye did.”

“Mayhap. And, aye, now that I think on it, this is different from what our sisters had arranged for them. This is nay the custom. At least when there is a dowry some care is taken in the choice of a husband, even if ’tis only an eye to alliances made and the land involved. There is no care at all taken in this. Our father may as weel stand us in the market square and let all and anyone toss out a bid on us.”

“ ’Tis nay that horrible. I am sure Father is choosing carefully.”

“Aye? Ye think that drooling old lecher Sir Ranald shows careful choosing, do ye?” She nodded and picked up her saddle packs when Elspeth flushed and made no reply. “The mon has set three wives in the ground. I dinnae intend to be the fourth.”

“Our father has made a bargain.”

“I didnae agree to it, didnae put my mark on anything.”

“Where will ye go?”

Remembering that she could not tell Elspeth the whole truth, Tatha murmured, “To the forests, as I always do.”

Elspeth gave Tatha a brief hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Take care. The forest holds many a danger a wee sheltered lass doesnae ken much about and cannae defend herself against.”

Tatha touched the cord with nine knots that was loosely tied around her waist. “I have protection.”

A grimace briefly touched Elspeth’s pretty face when she glanced at the rope. “Some of Aunt Mairi’s witchery.”

“She wasnae a witch. Aunt Mairi simply kenned a lot about the old ways. I dinnae believe they go against God and all His teachings, so I can see no harm in them.”

“Then let us hope such charms work.”

No one could hope that any more than Tatha herself as she went to the stables and saddled her stout Highland pony. As she rode away from her father’s keep, no one tried to stop her. She often wandered away on her own, either to tend to someone’s illness or injury, or to gather some herbs and wild plants.

What had Tatha’s heart beating so fiercely it hurt was the knowledge that this time she could not return, might never be able to come home, at least not as long as the marriage to Sir Ranald was planned for her. Her family was not a very close or loving one, but it was all she had ever known, and it hurt to turn her back on them all.

And what lay ahead? she mused as she rode through the forest, impulsively stopping now and again to collect some herb or other useful plant. She could probably survive by practicing her healing art, she decided. If nothing else, that skill would probably gain her a meal and a bed as she needed them. She would have to be careful about whom she met or spoke to, or she could quickly find herself returned to her father and Sir Ranald. Although some people might share her disgust for what her father was doing, she was her father’s chattel, and now probably Sir Ranald’s as well. If she met with anyone who knew of either man and had heard of her escape, that person could well feel it was his duty to take her back home.

By the time Tatha stopped to make camp for the night, she was exhausted and afraid. The only thing that stopped her from racing back to the safety and comfort of her home was the knowledge that Sir Ranald would be waiting for her. The fear gnawing at her while she sat alone before a small fire was a tiny one compared to that which was stirred by the thought of becoming Sir Ranald’s wife. She prayed that her father would soon see the error of his ways when he realized that she had run away, but she did not really hold much hope of that happening. Sir Malcolm was a very stubborn man. He was about to discover, however, that his seventh-born child could be just as stubborn.

The dawn mists woke her with their chill. Tatha winced as she stood up and discovered that sleeping on the cold, damp ground made a person very stiff. It was not until she had seen to her personal needs, washed up, and dined on cold oatcakes that her stiffness had eased enough for her to saddle and mount her pony. She hoped she did not have to spend too many nights outside, especially not with summer rapidly coming to an end.

“Ah, me, Stoutheart,” she murmured to her little pony after several hours of riding. “Is this madness?”

Her little pony snorted, and she smiled faintly. As she glanced around she saw little save the occasional crofter’s hut and cattle. It appeared as if she had inadvertently picked a very isolated trail. It was going to be very hard to make a living if she never saw a village or a keep. Tatha decided that she would give it one more day, and then she would turn east. If she rode in a straight line she would eventually reach the coast, and there would be more than enough people there, from small fishing villages to larger port cities.

It was just as she was thinking that she should find someplace to camp for the night that Tatha saw the keep. For hours she had been feeling an increased reluctance to turn east as had been her plan, even though it was a good one. Despite the emptiness of the land, her heart urged her onward, north toward the Highlands. Now, suddenly, as she looked at the dark hilltop fortress ahead, that urge made sense, yet she would be hard-pressed to explain why.

As her pony cautiously picked its way through the bogs and the marshes that protected the approach to the keep, she noticed the river that bordered it on the north side. An admirable protection against raiders, she mused. In fact, everything about the keep promised one safety from the dangers of the world. And yet, she thought, frowning, that did not fully explain why she continued to ride toward its high, iron-studded gates.

Tatha suddenly smiled as she realized what pulled her ever forward. It was the call of the old ways, as Mairi had loved to refer to it. There was something or someone at that dark tower house, behind that high, dark curtain wall, that called to her knowledge, to her understanding of the old ways. Nudging her pony forward and keeping a close watch for the dangers all marshes held, Tatha prayed the holder of the tower house would allow her the chance to answer that call.

Chapter 2

Sir David Ruthven scowled down at the small figure riding toward his keep. He did not really have to see the long flame red hair swirling around the tiny rider to know that a female trotted toward his gates. In the five years since his mother’s death it had become a somewhat common sight. If he had known how many women would seek refuge at Cnocanduin, he would never have made the vow he had to his dying mother. The last thing he wished to do right now was give refuge to another troubled woman, but, he thought with a sigh as he moved down off his walls, he knew he would yet again accede to his mother’s wishes. He wondered crossly if some herald had been sent out to tell the world about the vow he had made.

“There is a—” began the tall, lanky young man who met David at the base of the curtain wall.

“I ken it, Leith. I saw the lass,” David replied as he strode toward the tall gates, his cousin Leith quickly falling into step behind him.

“Mayhap this one isnae fleeing a husband.”

Wincing as he recalled the trouble caused by the last woman to seek refuge at Cnocanduin, her evil-tempered husband hot on her heels, David nodded. “I cannae believe my mother intended Cnocanduin to become a refuge for wayward wives.”

“Weel, mayhap ye ought to just ask the lass if she has a husband first, ere she even asks for refuge and ye are forced by your vow to bid her welcome.”

“Aye, mayhap. ’Twould save us a lot of grief, but I would probably suffer a bellyful of guilt o’er it.”

Although he felt the first pinch of guilt even as he stood blocking the way through the gates with his body, David decided to try Leith’s suggestion. The last woman had nearly set him in the middle of a bloody clan war. He simply could not believe that had been his mother’s intention when she had wrested that vow from him. Then again, he would have sworn to almost anything she had asked as he had stood by her deathbed, watching her life’s blood slowly flow out of her broken and battered body.

The woman reined her pony in but a foot from him and, to his astonishment, frowned at him. There was no fear or sadness on her small heart-shaped face, no look of helplessness in her beautiful blue eyes. David wondered if she was simply a traveler who sought no more than food and shelter, or even was simply lost. If she was not running from something, it seemed odd that such a slight, delicately built lass would be riding over the dangerous countryside unescorted. What was puzzling at the moment, however, was the way she was looking at him as if he annoyed her. He had not even spoken to her yet.

Tatha started to order the man to get out of her way, but a flicker of good sense kept the words back. The closer she had drawn to the keep, the stronger the pull of the place had grown. Once past the danger of the bogs she had urged her little pony into a faster gait. If the man had not suddenly appeared directly in her path, she suspected she would have heedlessly galloped right through the huge, imposing gates. Tatha forced herself to calm down. She could move with a little more caution and still find out what was drawing her to this place.

She studied the man blocking her path and wondered if it was him. He was certainly handsome enough in a dark, somber way. Thick, black hair fell to just below his broad shoulders. He was tall and leanly muscular. Rough deer-hide boots were laced around a pair of well-shaped calves. The plaid he wore swirled gently in the breeze, giving her brief glimpses of smooth, muscular thighs. His white shirt was unlaced, revealing a broad, dark chest. His form was fine enough to cause her heart to beat a little faster, but it was his face that truly held her fascinated when she finally took a good look at it. It was a beautiful face. The lines sharp but not too sharp, lean but not too lean. High cheekbones, a long, straight nose, a firm jaw, and a nicely shaped mouth, the lips holding just a hint of fullness. His eyes, set beneath faintly arched brows, were dark, appearing almost black, and were thickly lashed. One of those dark brows was suddenly quirked upward, telling Tatha that she had been staring at the man for just a little too long.

“I am—” she began.

“Are ye wed?” he demanded.

Slowly, Tatha blinked, confused by his abrupt question and somewhat bemused by his deep, rich voice. She started to wonder why he should wish to know that, then quickly stopped herself. There were simply too many possibilities.

“Nay,” she replied cautiously. “Ye dinnae wish wedded lasses behind your walls?”

“I dinnae wish the trouble wedded lasses fleeing their lawful husbands bring along behind them.”

Tatha wondered if that would include lasses fleeing a betrothal. Although she felt a pinch of guilt, she decided that, since he had not asked, she did not need to tell him. She dismounted, marched up to him, and held out her hand, trying to ignore the fact that she reached only to his chest.

“I am Tatha Preston. I was wondering if I might seek refuge here for a wee while.”

David stared down at her small, long-fingered hand, sighed with resignation, and shook it. “Aye, come along.” As she grabbed hold of her pony’s reins and followed him through the gates, he said, “I am Sir David Ruthven, laird of Cnocanduin. As long as ye feel a need to, ye may shelter here.”

“That is verra kind of ye.”

“I promised my mother on her deathbed to always shelter troubled lasses.”

The tone of his voice told Tatha that it was a promise he was beginning to heartily regret. “I shall say a prayer for her.”

“That would be kind. Aye, and needed. There were some dark lies muttered about her ere she died.”

“I am sorry. I shall say several prayers.”

He waved a stable hand over to take her pony. “Your mount’s name?”

“Stoutheart.” She shrugged when he looked at the pony, then at her, amusement lightening his dark eyes. “He got me through the bogs,” she said as she took her bags off the pony’s back.

“True. Ye are from the north?” he asked as he took her by the arm and led her to the tower house.

“Nay, from south of here. The pony was a gift from an uncle when I was just a lass.” When Tatha caught him looking down at her, the hint of a smile on his lips, she briefly thought about trying to stand taller, then inwardly shrugged. The only way to do that would be to stand on tiptoe, and that would look silly. “Six years ago, when I was but three and ten.” She tried not to feel insulted when his beautiful eyes widened briefly with surprise, indicating that he found her not so great age of nineteen a shock.

“Jennet will show ye to a bedchamber,” he said as he stopped near the foot of a steep, narrow flight of stone steps and waved over a young, dark-haired maid. “She can get ye all ye may need. We will be gathering in the great hall for a meal in but two hours.”

David watched the woman follow Jennet up the stairs. Tatha Preston was a tiny, delicate woman. She was almost too slender, but, recalling how her small, high breasts shaped the front of her deep green gown, and watching the feminine sway of her slim hips as she climbed the stairs, he decided she had curves enough to tempt a man. With each step she took, her thick, flame red hair brushed against her hips, and David found himself wondering how it would feel in his hands or how it would look spread out beneath her body. That taste of lust struck him as odd, for she could not really be called beautiful. Her wide, bright blue eyes, heavily trimmed with long brown lashes and set beneath delicately arched brows, were her best feature, were in truth incomparable. Her nose was small and straight with a faint smattering of freckles, and it pointed to a slightly wide, full-lipped mouth that was very tempting indeed. There was a lot of stubbornness in her gently pointed chin. Her skin was a soft white with the blush of good health, and, David had to admit, it begged to be touched.