The Enchantress (11 page)

Worry of the whereabouts of William brought Laura’s head around with a snap. She couldn’t tell if these were Sinclair men or not, but seeing their drawn weapons sent a cold shaft of fear straight through her. What if they had already injured or even killed him? He might be out there even now, his blood staining the snow as his life ebbed away.

Her mind whirled, and anger boiled in her veins. The thought of these men hurting the unsuspecting laird was made even more terrible by the guilt of knowing that he’d rushed from the hut because of her.

She had no time to think beyond the present. She would escape and save him--or she would avenge his death. One way or the other, she would have to fight her way past these men.

As the group started toward the hut, Laura quickly ran her eye around, searching for a weapon. She had few options. Picking up one of the larger pieces of driftwood, she clutched it tightly and moved into the shadows. The leather door of the hut lifted, and with a gust of cold air, one of the men stepped in.

“‘His horse is here,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Just as I thought, he didna go south.”

Laura watched as the man’s two companions followed him in. Stepping in behind them, she smashed the heavy stick over the last entering man’s head. The man fell forward a step into the Highlander before him, knocking him down. Swinging the rude cudgel again, she struck the surprised leader in the ear and then scrambled to pick up a sword that had fallen to the ground.

“This will teach you,” she shrieked, struggling to swing the heavy blade, “to kill unsuspecting and innocent men.”

Before she could deliver the blow, however, strong hands grabbed her from behind, yanking the sword from her hands and lifting her by the waist off the ground. As she thrashed, the wide-eyed group of men struggled to their feet. Kicking out with one foot at the closest one, she sent him sprawling and drove her--and her captor--crashing into the doorjamb.

“By the devil...” he cursed, stopping her cold.

“You!” she gasped, twisting around to look at him.

William Ross put her down abruptly and then grasped the shoulder that had hit the doorway. He was glaring at her with a murderous look in his eye.

“They did not kill you,” she cried.

“Nay, but
you
almost did.”

She turned abruptly toward the three men crowding the hut. One of them was still sitting on the ground, holding his head in his hands. The leader was standing and nursing an ear that was already beginning to look like a mutton chop. The third, a wiry older man, was grinning toothlessly at her and at the laird behind her.

Laura turned again to William. “Where were you?”

“On the beach trying to cool off, so I wouldn’t have to murder you.”

“So you just let them walk right in here?” She cast a look meaningfully at her dress. “Knowing how you had left me, you just let them march right in unannounced?”

“I did not see them until they were stepping through the door.”

“Then I am correct to assume
now
that these are your people?”

The chuckle from behind turned to a cough when William shifted his angry glare from her face to the men. When he shifted his attention back to her, the violence of his anger was like a blast of Highland wind.

“For someone who pretends to require a logical plan for every step she takes in life, your actions are more impulsive and more foolhardy than any bairn’s.”

“Foolhardy?” she snapped. “You thankless villain! And to think that I had every intention of spilling their blood simply because they’d taken your good-for-nothing life.”

“Is that so? And how were you
planning
to do that? By hitting them over the head with a worm-eaten stick of wood? Jocky’s head is a wee bit thicker than that. Get up, Jocky, you fool! Damn, woman, do you think any of these dunderheads will die of a splinter or two in their hair?”

Laura threw a defiant glance at Jocky, still sitting and rubbing his head. “I’d say I gave him a wee bit more than a splinter.”

He angrily waved at the other two man watching the exchange curiously. “And what were you going to do with those two, if they had come to cut you into--?”

“I had a plan,” she lied. “I’m quite capable of thinking on my feet. I
had
a plan!”

“Plan, my arse!” William gave a loud snort as he took a threatening step toward her. It took all of her courage not to back up. He pointed a finger accusingly. “If you had any sense in that stubborn head of yours, as soon as these three started toward the hut, you would have climbed on Dread and run the three of them down as they reached the doorway. Why, you’d have trampled two of them, at least, and been away down the beach before they knew what hit them. Plan, humph!”

Pushing roughly past her, William moved to the remains of the fire and kicked a pile of stony, sandy dirt over it.

The one named Jocky pushed himself to his feet and grinned sheepishly at Laura. “Mistress, I’m glad ye decided to follow yer own plan. I’ll take a ding in my skull anytime over being stepped on by that beast.”

“Hold your flapping tongue, Jocky. You do not want to be encouraging her in such pastimes.”

“I hope I didn’t--”

“You gather your things,” William snapped at her, stepping between them as she started toward the injured man. His eyes were like daggers. “I’m taking you back to St. Duthac today if ‘tis the death of me.”

Laura felt an ache claw into her chest as the Highlander summarily dismissed her, turning his broad back on her. Clearly, he couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Ignoring her completely, he began to question the men regarding how they’d found their hiding place.

As Laura listened to what they had to say, she picked up her cloak and tied it around her neck. From the sound of things, these men were apparently quite familiar with their laird’s impulsiveness. After learning that he’d never arrived at the waiting boat by the firth, the three men had begun trekking northward in search of him. After the storm forced them to spend the night in the ruined castle by Loch Fleet, they pushed northward again to the huts that Jocky knew William had occasionally used in his youthful raiding. The guess had been confirmed by the sight of smoke issuing from the hut.

Laura’s spirited defense of the hut, however, had completely surprised them. She forced down a self-satisfied smile as William snorted scornfully.

It was amazing to her that as laird of the Ross clan, he didn’t travel with an entourage of warriors. In fact, listening to the men’s talk, she realized that the three who had followed them were chiefly employed as farm help on the clan lands. It also was very clear that the three men were happy-go-lucky mischief makers who had shared--with William--a number of violent clashes with the Sinclairs in the past. But if there was one thing that Laura had no doubt about--listening to them--these men would lay down their lives for their master.

Shaking her head, Laura moved quietly to the giant horse and ran one hand over his neck and chest. His skin was warm, and the animal’s smell suddenly made her homesick, triggering thoughts of her family’s stables in Yorkshire. As Dread nuzzled her with his great head, Laura forced herself to think of the present.

The past was gone.

With Catherine already married, the sisters’ plans needed to change as well. And it was up to Laura to design a new one.

The two monks, silent and grim, stood back as a pushing, laughing swarm of young children tumbled out of the small chapel’s door, pursued by a number of scolding women. In a moment the laird and his wife followed, smiling as their little ones pelted one another with snowballs as they ran ahead through the snow. Their childish voices rang out happily beneath the arched passageway leading to the courtyard of Ironcross Castle.

When the small group of servants had passed by as well, the taller of the monks--a man with a battered face and a slight limp--cursed under his breath as a heavyset priest, spotting them by the doorway, waddled toward them. The two clerics stepped into the chapel.

“Jacob!” the priest called jovially, addressing the smaller monk. “‘Tis a delightful surprise, seeing you back so quickly. The weather didn’t hinder you on your travels?”

The wiry, squint-eyed monk gave a quick nod, growling, “No hindrance.”

“I’m certainly glad about that. And were you successful in your charitable work to the north?”

The old monk’s eyes darted questioningly toward the scarred face of the taller cleric, who spoke up immediately.

“I told our friend about your desire to go and look after our ailing brother at Inverness.” The tall monk looked meaningfully into the face of the wiry monk and then back at the fat priest. “Jacob’s journey was indeed futile. You see, our brother in Inverness had already died.”

The priest shook his head with a look of sympathy. “Sad news, indeed. A loss to your Order...and to Holy Mother Church, I’m sure. But there is something to be learned by this, my friends. You English monks need to put some meat on your bones if you hope to last through a Highland winter. If you go and see Gibby in the kitchen, I have no doubt that the good woman will help you do just that. Why, when I arrived here, I was only a twig of a man, and now...”

“Father.” The tall monk held up his hand, silencing the priest. “I’m afraid we’re going to need your assistance there. The cook has taken an unfounded dislike to us for some reason. She refuses to allow either of us into her kitchen. She instructs the serving folk to give us the smallest portions. Whether it is because we are Englishman who have come here to escape persecution in our own country, I know not. But if...if you would kindly intercede for us? We believe a good word from you, Father, would make all the difference.”

The priest rubbed his jowly chin doubtfully for a moment and then nodded in agreement. “I can do that, my friends. I will just see to my--”

“No need,” the tall monk cut in. “The good Jacob and I would be happy to put up your vestments. You be on your way and--through your kindness, Father--secure us a decent meal, would you?”

The portly priest nodded and, talking softly to himself, left the chapel and hurried toward the Great Hall of Ironcross Castle and the kitchens beyond.

The two men watched until the priest, puffs of breath hanging in the cold air behind him, finally disappeared from view.

The wiry monk cringed involuntarily as the taller man slammed the door of the chapel shut and whirled on him.

“‘Twas so simple,” the man hissed, his battered face livid with anger. “Everything had been arranged for you. All you had to do was escort her back here.”

“Aye, but I tell you she wasn’t there when we arrived. Then that cursed mother superior deliberately misled us, pretending that Laura was some crofter’s lass. We were distracted long enough for her to escape with--”

“Fool!” The scarred monk raised himself to his full height, silencing the other. “You know very well the punishment for failure.”

“But I did not fail. I just--”

“You lost her!”

“I didn’t lose her. I didn’t!” the wiry man stammered. “In fact, I know exactly where she is hiding now.”

“You should have gone after her, then. You had the men to help you. You had information. Instead, you scurry back here with your tail between your legs.”

“But we couldn’t foresee the Ross laird kidnapping her at the same moment we were waiting at the convent!”

“Kidnapping her? You just said she escaped.”

“Aye, with the help of the Ross himself! I think she may have even arranged for him to kidnap her. Aye, that’s it. Why, the man took her from the market square and then helped her escape the convent. Then they disappeared in the storm.” Jacob peered at his superior and quickly continued. “But the rogue took her to St. Duthac’s at Tain, I’m certain.”

“Damn these Highlanders.” The tall monk turned sharply and limped to the altar, the other at his heels. “The fools at St. Duthac’s didn’t even know she was missing.”

“They must have just realized their mistake.” The wiry monk took a hesitant step forward. “I chased after them until we were well into Ross lands. I didn’t think you would want us fighting the entire Ross clan for her.”

“So close!” The man banged his fist on the altar. The candles flickered madly. “But you say she is at St. Duthac’s?”

“Aye! The shrine at Tain. The Ross laird’s brother is provost there. They
had
to be going there.”

“And that was where she was originally destined to go.” The lame monk turned again sharply. “Were the Sinclairs any help?”

“Nay.” The monk shook his head. “Because of that nun. The woman in charge of the little convent. She convinced the Sinclair warriors that Laura went willingly with the laird. She is a shrewd woman, that nun. It gave them an excuse for losing her. And if I wanted to go after Laura, she said, all I had to do was go and ask the Ross laird.” The monk wrung his hands together angrily. “I tried to catch them. I did.”

The taller man glanced down at his misshapen hands. The knuckles were swollen and white, pushing out the skin as if they had been badly broken at one time. He stared at them for a long time before speaking.

“We missed our best chance of capturing her on our own,” he said, his voice low and assured. “But Fate still smiles on us. The Knights of the Veil, fools that they are, have chosen the Blade to assist me!”

****

Gratefully accepting the dry clothing from the hands of the novitiate, Laura closed the door of the small chamber. She had agreed to meet with the provost in his work room as soon as she had changed out of her wet clothing. Though it was late, she was anxious to meet Gilbert Ross.

Her three-month delay in arriving at St. Duthac’s and the failure of her message to reach the new provost combined to make her feel quite uncomfortable. She wanted to apologize as soon as she could and try to establish an appropriate relationship with the man--one marked by a little less hostility than the relationship she had succeeded in forging with his older brother.

“Well, this younger brother is definitely more thoughtful,” she murmured, eyeing the pile of clothes. They had been sent over from the convent at the provost’s request.