Spellbound (9 page)

18

The sky was an ice-blue shadow that threatened to spit rain as they galloped into the courtyard. Kade, lost in thought, did not acknowledge the greeting of the guards at the gate. He jumped down from the horse and lifted Maighdlin carefully from its back.

Servants
in the courtyard bustled about their daily activities, pausing to glare at her with unbridled hatred, curiosity, and fear. Women carted linens and clothing about; others plaited birch twigs for cordage. A few young men fitted new hemp strings to their bows, while older men honed dirks, broadswords, and claymores. Speckled hens, escorted by a rooster, pecked at the mud.

Kade
led her inside. Men and women were gathered in the great hall in preparation for a late afternoon meal. They sat on floors and benches along the walls, and slaked their thirst with ale, whisky, or wine. Dogs waited for scraps and bones.

Still
Kade did not speak to her. He didn’t even look at her. “Ian, take the MacKinnon to the north tower.”
So now she wasna e’en Christel to him? She was “the MacKinnon”?
He started to walk away.

“
Wait, please! We must speak ….” She could hardly keep her voice from shaking.

He
kept his broad back to her. “I dunna have the stomach for yer lies and trickery, Christel. The task of destroying Clan MacKinnon canna be accomplished in a day. I have much to do, and yer attempt to escape me cost me valuable time.”

“
But there is something I must tell ye, about yer brother Niall, he ….”

Kade
turned. Maighdlin winced at the rage in his eyes. He quickly made up the space between them, gripping her hard by her shoulders, his face dangerously close to hers. “Dunna speak of my brother again. Ye know naught of him!” He stared into her eyes, finally letting her go, and strode purposefully from the hall.

Ian
escorted her to the north tower, where a guard was once again posted outside her door. A small peat fire burned in the hearth. She was given food, but Maighdlin had no appetite. She nibbled on the bread anyway. She hoped Neilina would not be punished harshly for her actions.

A
short time later a servant came back. A plump, older woman with reddish, graying hair and a weathered face. A few unruly curls escaped from beneath her cap; her face was rosy from exertion. “I’m Addie. I’m to shadow ye tonight as ye serve food and drinks in the hall.”

Maighdlin
was surprised. “Why?”

Addie
pursed her lips, as if simply being near her was distasteful. “’Tis the laird’s orders I follow. After we finish servin’ the men, women, and children, there’ll be floors to sweep and basins and pots to wash.” Addie looked her over. “I brought ye a tunic and a cap. Get changed, and I’ll tend to yer fire afore we go down to the great hall.” Addie busied herself stirring the peat while Maighdlin changed into the simple garb. She was too happy to be escaping the north tower to be angry with Addie.

“
How long have ye been at the keep?” Maighdlin asked. Addie, bending over the hearth, didn’t answer right away, and Maighdlin thought she wasn’t going to speak. She stopped stirring the smoking peat but didn’t turn around. Maighdlin heard her sigh, and wondered if she’d lost anyone in the recent attack.

“
Been servin’ the MacAlisters since I were a lass of fifteen. A more fierce, fairer clan ye’ll no’ find in these parts, despite what ye may have heard ‘bout our ruthlessness.” She straightened, and turned to look at Maighdlin. “My husband was gravely wounded when auld Brodie’s clan attacked us like the cowards they are.” Her ample chin quivered. “My husband didna hesitate to pick up his sword and defend his clan. And my husband an auld man, yet.”

“
What happened?”

“
He was wounded, a deep gash in his thigh. He is feverish. He may die. And it will be on the MacKinnon’s head.”

“
I am sorry. I know of an herb that may heal his wound….”

The
woman turned her back again. “I’ve heard ye have the Sight. That ye are some kind of healer. Or witch. The less we speak to each other, the better. I dunna understand why the laird has brought ye here! A
MacKinnon
. Yer
no’ wanted
. We look at yer face and we’re reminded of that cruel, awful night! It’s best if ye follow me and do as yer told this eve. The laird willna be pleased if yer lazy. Yer to serve food and drink, and then when the laird appears, to serve him specifically. And dunna try to escape again. The guards will no’ look favorably upon it. Humph. Servin’ food and drink is a much more favorable punishment than bein’ thrown in the dungeons. That’s where
I’d
have put ye. Or I’d have ye emptying chamber pots.”

Yer
no’ wanted. The dungeons. That’s where I’d have put ye.
Maighdlin was already emotionally and physically drained from the day’s events. Her legs were sore from riding Rhona. Now she must find the strength to serve the evening meal. Her body ached and her heart sank. She felt empty inside. Because she occasionally saw a spirit, had the gift of Sight, she’d never been truly accepted by anyone. Except by the man who had raised her, for Haddon had a kind and gentle soul. And Erskina and Elliot. Her only friends. Now here she was, hated for the actions of a man who claimed her as daughter. A man she did not know and had never seen once in her life.

There
was nothing that was kind tonight, not even the weather. It was raining hard, and it was a cold, wind-driven rain. Outside the window, the stunted alders along the darkened ridges looked like hunched-over warriors. Maighdlin shivered. From somewhere far off in the castle came the skirl of a forlorn piper.

She
knew she wasn’t wanted here. She wished only to return to her village. She also knew it would do no good to tell Addie she wasna the daughter of Brodie MacKinnon. “I canna know yer pain or sorrow,” she said to the woman. “But I dunna condone violence or cowardice. ‘Tis too often the way of men. I am no’ lazy. I will work hard. ‘Tis the least I can do.”

Addie
looked surprised. She straightened her skirts and led Maighdlin to the kitchens.

19

The next two hours passed in a blur of activity but Maighdlin kept up with the stout-limbed Addie stride for stride, delivering platter for platter, whisky cup for whisky cup. The balls of her feet and the small of her back ached from her efforts.

She
was glared at, pinched, and nearly tripped. In addition to serving food and drink, she lifted heavy pots and helped the lads and lasses bring more wood for the fire. She glanced about for Kade and was relieved he was not yet present. She tried not to think about how soon she would be married to him in this hall—a clan war prize, an instrument of revenge, a sacrifice.

Her
stomach grumbled. The cook and other kitchen servants had prepared salt fish boiled with horse radish and parsley, egg sauce, beef stew with greens of different sorts, and chicken cut in small pieces and boiled with cinnamon, parsley, and eggs in strong beef soup. Melons, grapes, and pineapples were enjoyed along with butter, cheese, and bread. It was all washed down with whisky, ale, or Madeira, which both the men and women drank in great amounts. Later, Maighdlin was told, those who sat at the great table would also enjoy porcelain bowls of punch, made with rum, sugar, lemons, limes, and hot water.

As
Maighdlin made her way to a table near the hearth, she could not help but notice Amaris. She was stunning in a scarlet satin dress trimmed with satin ribbons. She wore a matching wimple on her head. Her skin shone, and her eyes were luminous. Her arms were adorned with bracelets, and a jeweled necklace circled her throat. A beautiful, dark-haired child in a deep blue satin dress with ribbons approached her. “Mama, I’m sleepy,” the girl said.

Amaris
pulled the girl onto her lap and stroked her long hair. The child bore a startling resemblance to Kade. Was it possible the child belonged to him?

Maighdlin
assumed the elderly gentleman hunched at Amaris’ side was Glendon, her new, rich husband from the Lowlands. He wore trews, gartered at the knee, and a light-brown coat and white waistcoat, which strained at his girth. He had a wig on his head, and atop that, a newer style of bonnet with a checkered edge. Fine stockings covered his legs and silver buckles adorned his shoes. His face was pinched with a sea of wrinkles, his eyes cruel and mocking. Rings glittered on his fat fingers. Despite his expensive taste, his clothing was weather-stained, speaking volumes about his carelessness with his possessions.

“
I want to go to bed!” Davina cried. “I’m tired and no’ ha’ing any fun!” As Maighdlin set wine before them, Glendon cut his eyes to the girl. “Can ye no’ keep the brat from whining for e’en one evening?” The girl hugged Amaris tighter. Amaris said nothing, but Maighdlin saw the muscles in her mouth clench. “Shhhh, Davina,” she said.

Maighdlin
turned to go, and Davina deliberately knocked over a cup of wine. It spilled on the fresh, clean linens and splashed their fine satin gowns.

Maighdlin
looked at Glendon and back at Amaris.

“
You stupid chit!” Amaris said to Maighdlin. “Look what ye’ve done! These gowns came from
Italy
!”

“
Clumsy bitch!” her white-haired husband bellowed. Davina watched Maighdlin with eyes half hidden beneath a fringe of dark, curly hair.

“
I’m sorry,” Maighdlin said, not wanting Davina to suffer the gruff man’s wrath. The girl clutched at Amaris again, turning her face into her chest.

Glendon
rose stiffly from his seat, a sturdy, gold-headed cane in his hand. “Do ye know how much those fine gowns cost me?” he bellowed. He made to strike Maighdlin with the cane.

“
Lower yer cane, auld man,” a voice growled from behind Maighdlin. She started. Where had he come from? Kade stood behind her, so close she could feel the heat from his big body.

“
We will go and change,” Amaris said, her eyes downcast. She rose from the table, taking Davina by the hand. Glendon finally lowered his arm.

Maighdlin
was confused. It seemed always that Kade was her rescuer, but at the same time he promised to mete out any punishment he felt was necessary. He moved even closer and she felt his muscles tense, felt his warm breath on her neck as he spoke. His hand gripped her shoulder possessively. “Glendon, if ye ever use that cane, or yer fists, or some other part of yer body to hurt any woman or child, ye shall regret it mightily.”

Glendon
stared at Kade with his bloodshot, milky eyes but said nothing. His lower lip trembled in anger; spittle dripped from his chin as he took a gulp of wine.

“
Maighdlin, bring two platters to the great table.”

Maighdlin
nodded, even more confused. She heard Kade say something else to Glendon, but she couldn’t make out the words as she hurried to the steamy kitchen. Servants bustled about, caps askew, faces doughy, trying not to run into each other. Maighdlin piled food on two platters and brought them to Kade. Addie followed with cups of whisky.

As
Maighdlin placed the platters in front of Kade and turned to go back toward the kitchens, he grabbed her wrist gently. “Sit. Eat.”

Addie’s
eyes rounded in her flushed face.

“
Ye need to eat, Christel,” Kade urged.

Addie
huffed. “There’s pots to be washed and rushes to be swept and….”

“
Addie, go and see to yer brave husband.”

Addie’s
mouth gaped. “Thank ye…thank ye, my laird.” She wobbled off. Maighdlin stared at Kade as if he’d lost his mind. His eyes were a warm hazel that seemed to drink her in. Gone was the rage and anger she’d seen in them earlier. There was a different sort of light in his eyes now.

“
Sit.” He patted the seat next to him.

“
Next to…ye?” she said.

“
Yea.”

Maighdlin
sat and stared at the food.

“
Ye could’ve been killed today,” he said. Maighdlin did not answer. It was all too much. A long silence passed. The muscles in his jaw tensed.

“
When was the last time ye ate something?” he asked.

“
I had…an apple,” she said, her stomach grumbling.

“
When?”

“
This morning…before….” She could not say more. She did not want to think of the deranged men in the woods.

“
Eat.”

Maighdlin
wasn’t sure what she wanted more…the food, which smelled delicious, or sleep. She was utterly exhausted.

“
Do I have to feed it to ye myself?”

“
Nay,” she said, quickly taking a bite of beef. She thought she heard him laugh softly. The food was good. She was hungry. Kade handed her a cup of whisky. She took a sip and sputtered, immediately feeling the liquid blaze along her insides. Maighdlin thought she saw a smile tug at the corners of his sensual mouth. She stared at his lips, trying not to remember how startling warm they’d been on her own, how his tongue had plunged inside and made her tremble and moan. It made no sense. He was her sworn enemy. Why should his lips be soft and tender when he’d promised to hate her so? It wasn’t like it was with Tomas, who had kissed her hard, bitten and pinched her; she’d barely been able to breathe.

“
I…my intention had been to escape ye,” she whispered. “But I changed my mind and I’d been coming back here when I was attacked. I had something important to tell ye.”

He
frowned. “Enough with the lies.”

“
I am no’ lying!”

“
Why did ye take the blame for what Davina did?”

“
Ye saw her knock over the wine?”

He
nodded. “Aye.”

“
I dinna like the look in Glendon’s eyes. I havena been here long, but I’ve heard…there’s been talk he is free with his cane and his fists. I dinna want either of them to suffer, especially the child.”

“
So ye took the blame and risked a beating.”

Maighdlin
shrugged, buttering a hunk of bread and taking a bite.

“
I wouldna have expected that of a MacKinnon.”

She
finished chewing. “I’m no’ a MacKinnon. And I wouldna have expected a MacAlister to protect a woman and her child from her own husband. I thought it was a husband’s decision to beat his wife, though I ne’er understood that. And beat a servant, regardless of who she serves.”

“
Ye know nothing of me or my clan, Christel.”

“
And ye know nothing of me! By the Saints, I am no’ Christel....”

He
cut her a look.

“
What will happen to them?” she asked.

Kade
sighed. He ran a hand through his midnight-black hair. Maighdlin had the strange urge to touch it again, to run her own fingers through it. If he were not her enemy…. She looked down at her plate.

“
I wasna aware of Glendon’s true nature until this evening,” Kade said. “I dunna abide the hitting of women and children. My father did. When I was a boy, I tried to stop him from hitting my mother once. He pushed me down, and I broke my arm. He was a hard, hard man. As hard as the ice of a frozen loch in deepest winter. Each time he hit her, she lost a piece of herself. She retreated more and more from life. And I watched helplessly as a lad. She died long ago and I think it was from a broken heart.” He raised his mug to his lips and then set it down. “Do ye think me a hard man, Christel?”

She
didn’t say anything. He took another swallow of whisky.

“
Glendon has been warned. He willna strike Amaris or Davina again. Unless he has a death wish.”

“
And what of…striking me? Ye said if anyone was to do it, ye would.”

“
I know ye’ve heard rumors about my clan, but I dunna strike women, Christel.”

“
My name isna….” Seeing the heat in his amber eyes, she didn’t finish correcting him. He drained his cup and was brought another. And another. He leaned close to her, traced a roughened fingertip along the delicate skin of her collarbone, drawing curious stares.

“
I have other plans for ye, Christel.”