Highland Wolf (2 page)

“I believe this will please my cousin weel,” she said. “Your work is beautiful, Master Lavengeance. The stag on this goblet looks so real one almost expects to see him toss his proud head.”

James just nodded and named his price. The woman named Annora did not even blink, but paid it and hurried Meggie out of the shop. Moving quickly to look out the door, James watched her lead his child back to the keep, two of Donnell’s men in step a few yards behind them. He felt a hand rub his arm and looked to find Ida standing at his side, her blue eyes full of sympathy.

“Annora loves the wee lass,” Ida said.

“Does she? Or is she but a good nursemaid?” James asked.

“Oh, aye, she loves the lass. ’Tis Lady Margaret who holds Mistress Annora at Dunncraig and naught else. The child has been loved and weel cared for whilst ye have been gone, Laird.”

James nodded but he was not sure he fully believed that. Meggie had looked healthy and happy but she had said nothing. There was also a solemnity to the child that had not been there before. Meggie had been as sweet and innocent as her mother but had had a liveliness that Mary had never possessed. There had been no sign of that liveliness and he wondered what had smothered it. He would not lay the blame for that change at the feet of Mistress Annora yet, but he would watch the woman closely.

He inwardly grimaced, knowing he would find it no hardship to watch the woman. Mistress Annora was beautiful. Slender yet full-curved, her body caught and held a man’s gaze. Her thick raven hair made her fair skin looked an even purer shade of cream, and her wide midnight-blue eyes drew a man in like a moth to a flame. After three years alone he knew he had to be careful not to let his starved senses lead him astray, but he was
definitely eager to further his acquaintance with Mistress Annora.

Suddenly he wondered if Mistress Annora was Donnell’s lover and wondered why that thought enraged him. James told himself it was because he did not want such a woman caring for his child. It might be unfair to think her anything more than she seemed, but her beauty made it all too easy to think that Donnell would not be able to leave her alone. Mistress Annora’s true place in Dunncraig Keep was just another question he needed to answer.

Stepping more fully into the open doorway of Edmund’s shop, he stared up at the keep that had once been his home. He would be back there soon. He would enter the keep as a worker, but he meant to stay as the laird. For all her beauty, if Mistress Annora had any part in Donnell’s schemes she would find that her beauty did not buy her any mercy from him.

Rage swept over Annora so quickly she had no chance to shield herself from it. It clouded her mind and churned her stomach. She placed one shaking hand on her stomach and the other hand flat upon the cold stonewall of the upper hall to steady herself. It took several minutes of concentration and slow, deep breathing to push the feeling away until she simply recognized it and was no longer consumed by it. It was proving to be very slow work to rid herself of it all, however. It was times like these that she truly hated the strange ability she had to sense the feelings of others, for it did seem as though the most distasteful ones were the strongest and hit her the hardest.

Frowning, she looked around and realized she was only a few steps away from Donnell’s bedchamber. Her first thought was that someone had sparked Donnell’s considerable temper again, but then she inwardly shook her head. She had been slapped by the harsh, bitter taste of her cousin’s rage before, more times than she cared to count. This did not have the same feel to it or the same taste. Yet, aside from Donnell and Egan, Annora did not know anyone else at Dunncraig who had ever revealed such a fierce anger.

Finally feeling steady again, Annora crept toward Donnell’s bedchamber. The door was open yet she heard no raised voices, no sounds of fists hitting flesh, not even the softest of pained whimpers. That made no sense. Where was the consequence of such rage? If it came from Donnell or Egan, there should not be such calm, such quiet, inside the room. In truth she should be hearing, and probably feeling, some poor man’s or woman’s pain as a harsh punishment was meted out.

Suddenly she was afraid that Donnell had seriously injured someone, perhaps even killed the object of his anger. She silently hurried closer and cautiously peered into the room. Even as she did so a small voice in her head scolded her for doing something so foolish, for she knew that she could do little to help anyone who had stirred up the rage of either her cousin or his fist, but she did not heed that warning voice and looked anyway. Annora barely stopped herself from gasping aloud in surprise and giving herself away.

There was no broken, bleeding body on the floor. There was no sign of any confrontation at all. Not even a tipped-over stool. Donnell and the handsome wood-carver from the village stood before the massive fireplace studying the mantel and talking quietly. Annora warily allowed herself to reach out to find the source of the rage that had so affected her and abruptly stood up straight in the doorway. It was coming from the wood-carver.

“What are ye doing here?” demanded Donnell.

Annora blinked, feeling as if she had just been rudely awakened from a deep sleep. In a way she supposed she had been. Shock over the fact that the soft-spoken man standing so diffidently in front of Donnell was actually seething with fury had thoroughly stunned her. Her abrupt movement must have given away her presence in the doorway. Unfortunately she was now the object of Donnell’s attention and irritation, something she usually did her utmost to avoid. Rousing irritation in Donnell tended to leave one with a lot of bruises.

“I beg your pardon, Cousin,” she said, taking a step back in the start of what she hoped would not appear to be an ignominious retreat. “I heard voices and saw that your door was open. Since it isnae your habit to be in your bedchamber at this time of the day, I felt compelled to see what was going on in here.”

“The only thing ye should feel compelled to do is what ye were brought here to do—watch o’er Margaret. Naught else at Dunncraig is of concern to ye save for doing what ye are told.”

“Of course, Cousin.”

The humiliation Annora felt over being spoken to so dismissively in front of Rolf Lavengeance bit far deeper than she thought it should. After all, Donnell always spoke to her in such a manner. She had thought she had become accustomed to it. This time, however, it took every scrap of willpower she had to subdue the urge to blush in shame. If nothing else, she refused to give Donnell the satisfaction of seeing just how he had hurt her. Her pride might be badly battered after three years at Dunncraig, but it was not dead yet.

“Margaret isnae with ye, either, is she? Just why is that?”

“She went down to the great hall to wait for me. I but needed a moment to fetch her cloak from Mary, who had taken it away last eve to clean it.”

“A lot of time is wasted in cleaning that child and her clothing. If ye find it too difficult to care for her properly, mayhap ’tis time I found her a better, more capable nurse, aye?”

Donnell’s voice was dangerously soft and he watched her closely as he spoke. A chill snaked down Annora’s spine. He had never struck at this particular weakness before. She had thought she had kept her love for Meggie well hidden, but she suspected he had finally sniffed it out There was even a chance he had known about it all along, had just been waiting for the perfect moment to strike and use her feelings for Meggie just as he used his fists—as a way to keep her cowed. It was working. Meggie was her only joy, and even the thought of being separated from her terrified her.

“I shall strive to do better,” she said, praying that she sounded appropriately submissive yet revealed none of the fear gripping her heart.

“See that ye do.”

Annora curtsied and walked away. What she really wanted to do was race to the great hall, grab Meggie, and flee Dunncraig. So strong was that urge she trembled as she forced herself to walk away with a steady, even pace. All she could do was try even harder to stay out of sight, to be meek and quiet when in Donnell’s presence, and to hide how desperately she needed to stay with Meggie.

“I thought ye got lost.”

That sweet, high voice pulled Annora from her thoughts and she looked down at Meggie as the little girl tugged gently on the cloak Annora held. Crouching down she helped Meggie into her cloak and studied every soft curve of the child’s sweet face. It always astonished her that Donnell could have helped to make such a pretty, sweet child, which was one reason she questioned his claims.

Meggie had become her life, her joy. Somehow she had let her cousin see that. Considering how strong her feelings were for the child, Annora supposed she ought not be so surprised. One could never completely hide such deep feelings. Donnell could simply have realized how often she shielded Meggie from his anger and brutality and wanted it known that he had noticed it. She knew she could never stop doing that, but there might be some way to do it in a less obvious manner. If she had to become some spineless ghostie slipping in and out of the shadows of Dunncraig to stay with Meggie, she would.

“Where are we going to today, Annora?” Meggie asked.

Standing up, Annora bit back the urge to say they were going to run away to France. Dunncraig under Donnell’s rule was not a good place for such a sweet child as Meggie, but it was more than Annora could ever offer the child. It was a roof over Meggie’s head, a bed to sleep in, and food to eat. On her own and fleeing from Donnell, Annora doubted she would be able to meet even one of those meager needs. It galled Annora to admit it but they were trapped, forced to stay beneath Donnell’s brutal rule just to stay alive. She just had to try harder never to draw Donnell’s attention or stir his anger. Before this day, she had done so to avoid a beating, but this new threat terrified her even more than Donnell’s brutal rages. Donnell’s fists simply hurt her body. If he sent her away from Meggie, it would tear the heart right out of her.

“We are going to just walk about outside the walls and look round at the beauty spring always brings to the land,” Annora told Meggie as she took the child’s small hand into hers and started out of the great hall. She silently wished that, one day, she would find the means to just keep on walking with Meggie at her side, right past the walls of Dunncraig, past its boundaries, and far, far away from the fear that had become her constant companion.

James did his best to hide all expression as he listened to Donnell speak so coldly to Annora. Even though she revealed nothing in her expression when MacKay threatened to replace her as Meggie’s nurse, she was not completely successful at hiding her distress. James had seen it flash briefly in her eyes and watched some of the healthy glow abruptly fade from her beautiful skin. Although he did not dare guess at the reasons, it was obvious to him that Annora MacKay did not want to be separated from Meggie. The smug look on Donnell’s face as Annora walked away told James that the man knew that and was pleased with the success of his threat.

“I fear my cousin of times thinks she is more than she is,” said Donnell.

“More than she is?” murmured James, hoping that speaking only a little would keep everyone from noticing what an appalling French accent he had.

“Aye, more than some bastard get of one of my kinsmen. I have kindly opened my home to the wench and given her a coveted position as my child’s nursemaid, but Annora still tries to act as if she is my equal, a true lady born and bred.”

James clasped his hands tightly behind his back to quell the strong urge to strike out at Donnell MacKay. The way the man spoke so condemningly concerning Annora’s illegitimacy was enough to earn him a thrashing. From what little James had heard and seen thus far, Annora MacKay was all a lady should be. He was not sure he should trust her yet, but hearing someone fault anyone for the sins of their parents was something that had always angered him.

It was Donnell claiming Meggie as his child that truly enraged James, however. The urge to kill the man, here and now, alarmed James a little. He had never considered himself a bloodthirsty man and he had also thought he had learned to control his temper.

It was not that control that stopped him from lunging at MacKay and wrapping his hands around the man’s thick neck, however. James had to prove his innocence before he sought any retribution from this vain, officious man. He sternly reminded himself of that until his rage subsided to a more manageable level. Once he was no longer condemned as an outlaw, James would seek the justice he craved. Snapping MacKay’s neck right now
might make James feel good for a little while, but he knew that pleasure and satisfaction would be very fleeting indeed. It could well cost him all chance of removing the taint of outlaw from his name. Regaining Dunncraig, reclaiming his daughter, and living as a free man again were far more important things to reach for than MacKay’s throat.

“The child appears to like her,” was all James dared to say on the matter.

“Weel, aye, but what does a lass of five ken, eh? She is nay more than a wee bairn.”

James simply nodded, not trusting himself to say another word. He had been feeling very pleased over how quickly MacKay had demanded his presence at Dunncraig. It had taken only a week and James suspected most of that time MacKay had spent his time thinking of all the things he would have James do. It had taken James only minutes to know that dealing with MacKay was going to require every ounce of willpower he had.

Even if Donnell MacKay had not been the one to destroy his life, James knew he would never have liked the man anyway. The visits MacKay had made to Dunncraig while Mary had been alive had not revealed the true nature of the man until too late, only hinted at it. Donnell MacKay was brutal, vain, and venal. James was surprised that the man had lived so long, that no one had murdered him yet, and he suspected only a sharp, animal cunning had protected him.

“Come, I will show ye where ye are to sleep and work,” said MacKay as he started out of the room. “I have gathered some fine wood for ye to work with.”

As James followed MacKay, he kept a sharp eye out for the men who served as MacKay’s guards. Very few of the men James had used had remained at Dunncraig. That could make things very difficult, but James had anticipated it. A man like MacKay would naturally be very careful in choosing the ones who would guard him.

After seeing the workshop he had been allotted, as well as some of the wood chosen by MacKay, James settled into the small room he had been given in one of the towers. He had been hard-pressed to hide his surprise and delight when he had been given a room within the keep itself. It was a room that had been used for storage while he had been the laird, and James wondered where everything that had been stored there had been taken. A moment later, he cursed. The way MacKay used up supplies with no thought to the future, James suspected the bolts of cloth, threads, and other household supplies that had filled the room had already been used up and never restocked. It was going to take a lot of time and coin to replenish all that had been lost to MacKay’s gluttony.

There was only a tiny, narrow arrow-slot for a window in the room, a simple cot for a bed, and a small brazier to supply heat if it was needed. On a rough table set in a far corner of the room was a jug of water and a bowl for washing up. MacKay obviously considered Rolf Lavengeance to be somewhat better than a common man. If bitterness did not have such a tight grip on him, James suspected he would laugh.

Shaking free of his dark thoughts, James carefully put his meager possessions into the small battered chest beside the bed. Since it was still early in the day, he went to the workshop MacKay had prepared for him. It had once been the room where the women did the laundry and hot baths were prepared. Not only had it allowed the women easy access to heated water, they could stay out of the wind or the hot sun while they were scrubbing the clothes. It had also saved them having to run up and down the stairs time and again with buckets of water when someone wished a bath. James hoped the loss of this room did not stir too much resentment. To prove his innocence he could not afford to
make any of the servants his enemy, and it would help him immensely if they felt they could talk freely to him.

One good thing about the arrangement was that he would not be expected to bathe in this room now. Since he knew he would be bathing or washing up far more than any other common man would, James tried to think of some explanation for that oddity. There was a chance that many would just assume it was because he was French. Having to bathe in his room also meant he could maintain his privacy, something that might also seem very odd to people. Seeming odd was just something he would have to risk, however. The very last thing he needed was for anyone to see him naked.