Highland Hero (30 page)

“She is a bonnie wee lass,” murmured Leith.

Startled, for he had not realized that his cousin had followed them inside, David turned to look at Leith. “I was just thinking that, and yet, at first glance, I would ne’er have said so.”

“Aye, she takes looking at, but ’tis often those lasses who wear weel. At least she isnae a wedded lass.”

“Nay, and yet I think she may be trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“I dinnae ken, Leith. I just dinnae ken. ’Tis nay more than a feeling in my innards. If naught else, one must wonder what such a bonnie wee lass is doing riding o’er the countryside all alone, and I dinnae think the answer to that question is one that will please us.”

Tatha watched the door shut behind the little maid, then flopped down on the huge bed with a heavy sigh of relief. She was inside the walls of Cnocanduin and, by what the laird had said, she could be staying until she chose to leave. Sir David had, in many ways, offered her sanctuary. The deathbed oath to his mother was a vow he would be loath to break.

She felt a twinge of guilt. He had asked her if she was married and she had been able to reply with a truthful no. But it was not the whole truth, and she knew it. Her father had sold her into a betrothal, promised her hand in marriage to Sir Ranald, and most people would consider that as binding as a marriage. Tatha doubted she would have an easy time finding someone to agree with her opinion that her consent was needed, or even that she should at least have been consulted.

Suddenly aware of how dusty she was and the strong smell of horse on her clothes, Tatha scrambled off the bed and began to undress. Even as she stood in her shift and started to unpack her bags, Jennet arrived with fresh, heated water and a tub, other maids quickly following with enough water to fill it. Tatha was barely able to wait until they had all left the room before she flung off her shift and climbed into the tub. With a sigh of pure enjoyment she sank down into the warm water, took a deep breath of the lavender-scented soap, and began to scrub away the scent of travel.

It was as she slipped on her clean shift and began to brush her hair dry that her guilt returned. She was accepting all of this grand hospitality under false pretenses. Tatha tried to soothe her unease by promising to tell Sir David the whole truth if he asked, but that helped only a little. Finally, she vowed that, if there was any sign of trouble due to her fleeing a marriage to Sir Ranald, she would leave Cnocanduin immediately. That restored her confidence, and she began to dress for the meal in the great hall in a much improved mood.

Her newly restored confidence wavered a little when she stepped through the heavy doors leading to the great hall. It struck her quite forcibly that she did not know any of the people now looking at her. She knew only the name of the laird.

To her relief, Sir David stood up and waved her to a seat on his left. As she smiled her gratitude and sat down on the bench, she promised herself she would spend the next day getting to know some of the people of Cnocanduin. For that reason, she smiled brightly when he introduced her to his cousin Leith, who sat on his right, and hoped that the dark young man’s very brief smile in return did not mean her welcome was already wearing thin. She needed to find a few companions aside from the laird. Sir David undoubtedly had better things to do than to become her sole source of entertainment and conversation.

Although, she mused, as he placed some tender roast beef on her trencher, he was welcome to spend as much time with her as he pleased. Tatha surprised herself a little with that thought, for, until now, she had found little about men to interest her. His beauty of face and form was unquestionable, but she did not know the man at all. Thus far, he had offered her little to really hold her interest, yet she felt herself wishing that he would try, and even worrying that she would never be able to hold his.

“I find it curious that ye are riding o’er such dangerous country all alone, m’lady,” David murmured, glancing at her and deciding that Leith was right, that Tatha Preston was a lass who wore very well on the eyes.

“Do ye? Why?” Tatha decided there was nothing to gain in questioning his form of address. Although her father was a laird, she was not sure titles of any sort should be used for the seventh of fifteen children.

“Ye are weelborn, are ye not?”

“Weel enough.”

“And yet your kinsmen allow ye to trot about Scotland unguarded?” David frowned, the flicker of unease he had felt upon her arrival returning and growing stronger. “Ye have run away from something, havenae ye?”

Tatha sighed and took a deep drink of wine from her wooden goblet to steady herself. “I am neither a murderer nor a thief, so what does it matter?”

“It matters because whatever or whomever ye have run from could weel come pounding upon my gates.”

“I dinnae believe anyone will come looking for me. Howbeit, if someone does, I shall leave. Is that nay fair?”

“Aye, fair enough, but why dinnae ye just tell me what it is ye are running from?”

Her reprieve had been a very short one, she mused, and sighed. “My father, Sir Malcolm, laird of Prestonmoor, has fifteen children,” she began, her reluctance to explain clear in her voice.

“The mon is blessed. Your mother?”

“Dead. She was the second of his wives. He has just wed his fourth wife who, thank God, appears to be barren.” She winced. “Nay, that was most unkind. She may weel wish for a bairn of her own. ’Tis nay her fault that her kin wed her to a mon who needs no more.”

“Why so many?” asked Leith. “Does the mon plan to breed his own army?”

“If so, he had best work harder, for, much to his oft-announced dismay, thirteen of those fifteen children are females.” She smiled faintly at the brief looks of horror the men could not hide. “My two eldest sisters were easily settled, betrothed at cradleside, if nay whilst they were still in the womb. Howbeit, that took all the dower money and dower land. There are nay so many men who are eager to bind their family with ours when there is no dowry to be had with the bride. So, depleted of dowries and unable to gain any more, my father realized that he was still burdened with eleven daughters. He has thought up what he believes to be the perfect solution—he is selling us.”

“Selling ye?” David was relieved that she had not lied about being unwed, but it was beginning to look as if she was not exactly free either.

“Aye. If there is a mon who feels in need of a wife, he can buy one from my father. I was being sold to a Sir Ranald MacLean.” She was pleased to see the grimace of distaste on David’s and Leith’s faces, although disappointed when they quickly recovered their composure. Their swift attempt to hide their sympathy indicated that they did not want to give in to it. “I warned my sisters, but the two who are older than me are verra worried about becoming spinsters. They didnae care how a husband for them was found. They also held sway o’er the others, although only Elspeth, who is eighteen, and Jean, who is sixteen, are in any immediate peril.”

“And, so, because ye didnae approve of your father’s choice, ye left,” David said, trying to sound disgusted even though he fully understood why a woman would flee Sir Ranald.

“I did and, unless my father changes his mind on this matter, I willnae return to Prestonmoor.”

Tatha could tell he was displeased, but he said nothing more. It was courtesy alone that made him offer to walk her around his keep and the inner bailey. She knew it but she accepted anyway. Perhaps, if he came to know her better, Sir David would cease trying to smother the sympathy she knew he felt for her. Tatha also admitted, with a mixture of sadness and alarm, that she was strongly tempted to spend some time with him. That attraction was most unwise. Even if she were not toting a lot of trouble along with her, Sir David Ruthven was not a man who would look favorably upon a skinny, left-handed redhead.

An instant later all thoughts of Sir David were pushed from her mind as he pointed out the well where his people drew their water. It was in a sad condition, tempting complete ruin if it was not seen to soon, but Tatha saw its beauty through the dirt, rubble, and tangled undergrowth that nearly obstructed all paths to it. She tried to go to it, but Sir David impatiently pulled her along as if he was anxious to leave the place. She allowed him to lead her away, but swore that she would return at first light. Suddenly she knew exactly why she had been drawn to Cnocanduin. It was not the promise of refuge. It was not a tall, dark-eyed man who made her blood flow warm. It was a neglected well that called to her, and Tatha was determined to find out why.

Chapter 3

“Where is she?” muttered Sir David as he finished his morning meal and realized his new guest had yet to appear in the great hall.

“I dinnae ken,” replied Leith before having a deep swallow of sweet cider. “Mayhap she went on her way.”

“We have ne’er been so lucky,” Sir David grumbled, annoyed when he realized he did not wholly mean his cross words. He spotted the maid he had assigned to their guest over by the buttery. “Jennet, have ye seen the lady Tatha this morning?”

“Nay,” Jennet replied, blushing upon being noticed by her laird. “She was already up and away when I rapped on her door to tell her ’twas near time to break her fast.”

“Do ye think she has left Cnocanduin, continued on her journey?”

“Nay. All of her things are still within the bedchamber.”

“I saw her by the well o’er an hour ago,” called out one of the serving maids.

“She was fetching her own water?” David was certain the woman had been telling the truth when she had said that her father was a laird, yet tending to herself was an odd thing for a wellborn woman to do.

“Nay, though she was drawing water,” said the plump serving maid. “It looked as if she had been clearing away the rubble when I saw her.”

David frowned and sipped at his cider. He suddenly recalled his guest’s intense interest in the well. She had tried to make him stop by it, then plagued him with questions until she realized he would not answer them. His mother and his grandmother had both cherished that well, had felt that it was a place of magic. The spring that fed it was the reason Cnocanduin had been built. Although he kept it in enough repair to continue to supply the tower house with water, he had otherwise let it sink into ruin. He was sure that it was his mother’s talk of the well’s magic, her deep belief in its powers, that had led to her violent death. David began to feel uneasy, suddenly certain he had seen that same gleam in Tatha’s rich blue eyes.

“I believe I will go and see what mischief our guest has gotten herself into,” he mumbled as he rose and strode out of the great hall. If Tatha was another who spoke of magic and the old ways, he would soon put a stop to it.

Tatha felt a rising excitement as she pulled the last of the rubble and overgrowth away from the side of the well. She dampened a rag in the water and rubbed away at an area that appeared to have some carving on it. Once she had the whole area cleaned off, she sat back on her heels and studied the inscription. It was in the old script, and, although her aunt had taught her the words, she had not been the best of students.

Again and again she struggled with the words. Slowly, word by word, she sorted out its meaning. Leaning forward, she traced each letter with an unsteady finger. Her voice softened with awe, she read aloud: “ ‘Any woman of pure heart who drinks from the well of Cnocanduin will find protection, strength, and happiness as long as it holds water.’ ”

Although she thought it might be vain to think of herself as a woman with a pure heart, Tatha stood up. She drew some fresh water from the well, took the battered dipper from the hook on the side, and drank deeply. Frowning slightly, she stared into the dipper, then peered into the well. Tatha was sure she would not experience any sudden overwhelming change in herself, yet she thought she ought to feel more than a simple easing of her thirst.

“Ye have been neglected for a long time, havenae ye?” she murmured and patted the cool stone, its whiteness dimmed by years of dirt.

She turned to the small bag she had brought with her. Pulling out a thick cord, she visualized a shield and, softly repeating the promise carved into the side of the well, tied nine knots in it. Tatha then attached this protective binding to the bottom of the bucket. She repeated the simple spell and hung the second cord from the rowan tree that grew next to the well.

Next she took out one of her holed stones, painstakingly gathered from the sea. She rubbed it between her hands as she murmured, “Stone, evil ye will deny. Send it to the earth and sky. Send it to the flame and sea. Stone of power protect Cnocanduin and all who dwell within its walls.”

Then, with a pinch of regret over giving up one of her precious stones, she dropped it into the well. It was a worthy sacrifice, for not only would it enhance the protection the well promised, but it would strengthen the healing power of the water. Aunt Mairi would approve, she mused, as she lowered the bucket and drew up some more water to take another drink.

“What are ye doing?”

That deep voice sounding so close behind her made Tatha start and gasp in surprise. Since she was taking a deep drink of water at the time, she began to choke, some of the water going the wrong way down her throat. The rest, what was in her mouth and in the dipper, soaked the front of her gown. Sir David began to slap her on the back with such force that she stumbled against the well and had to grip the edge to steady herself. As soon as she got herself under control, she wiped the tears from her cheeks, and turned to glare at the man.

David glared right back. He had watched her for several minutes before speaking and did not like what he had seen. She was doing the same sort of things that had led to his mother being feared, then murdered. That alone was enough to infuriate him, lashing him with dark, painful memories. What troubled him was the fear he felt. It was not a fear of what she did, but of what such beliefs could cost her. He did not even know this tiny, flame-haired woman, yet his blood ran cold at the thought that she could soon suffer as his mother had. His fear was for her, and that made no sense. Unless it directly affected his people, what happened to a stranger should not matter much to him, but it did, and that only made him angrier.