True Love Brides 02 - The Highlander’s Curse (24 page)

“It looks to be a religious house,” Annelise said, worrying about the import of that. “I hope they will allow a woman to take refuge here.”

Garrett did not reply. He leaned his brow upon her shoulder and Annelise felt the perspiration at his temples. “There must be forty of them,” he whispered.

“I will see it all resolved.” She entwined her fingers with his, knowing he would be irked by what she would claim, but determined to say it all the same. She would not be separated from him, not when he was unwell and they were being pursued. “In fact, it might be easier if you are ill.”

“I am not ill, Annelise.”

“You certainly look to be,” she whispered. “You might contrive to look even worse so that I am not forbidden to tend you.” Before he could argue, she raised a hand to wave to the man. “Good brother, can you be of aid to us?”

The stocky older man strode to meet them at her call. His garb showed him to be a monk, as did the crucifix he wore around his neck. He reminded Annelise of Father Malachy, who was the priest at Kinfairlie, for there was a gleam in his eye that made him seem uncommonly perceptive. The monk took the mare’s reins, showing a comfort with horses that convinced Annelise of his trustworthiness. Yseult nuzzled him, as she oft did with those who cared greatly for horses.

The man smiled at the mare’s affection. “You ride a fine steed, my lady,” he said and Yseult arched her neck before his admiration. “I have seen its ilk only once before.” Annelise felt a moment of alarm that he might guess her identity, but the monk only admired the mare.

“In my fighting days, I rode a destrier as black as you,” he murmured to Yseult. “And what a fine creature he was.” He ran a hand over Yseult’s flanks, soothing her with his touch, and Annelise did not doubt that he saw much that others might miss. When he looked up at Garrett, the monk frowned. “Your companion is taken ill.”

“Most suddenly, brother, and I fear to continue with him in this state. I saw the smoke from your kitchens and hoped you might give us shelter for a few hours.”

The monk glanced over Annelise’s kirtle, his perusal lingering for a moment on the narrow band of embroidery at the hem and her fine leather gloves. Then he considered Garrett, who was dressed more simply, and Annelise saw his conclusion made.

“It is not our way to turn away any who seek our aid, and you are welcome here. I apologize, my lady, but it is not allowed that a woman pass within the walls of our simple abode. You can, however, seek haven in our chapel, while your servant is tended in our dormitory.”

“It cannot be so,” Annelise said, her voice firm with an authority she had not known she possessed. “I will stay with my lord husband and aid in his care. Might we both remain in the stables, if I do not speak to your fellows?”

The monk looked to be startled, but he nodded and bowed. “Of course, my lady.”

Garrett stirred behind her, as if rousing himself with great effort. He took her hand and put it upon his purse. “Not beggars,” he murmured and she understood his meaning.

She smiled at the monk. “Even in illness, he is most practical.” She opened Garrett’s purse, hoping there was some coin within it, and was delighted to find two silver pennies. It was more than sufficient compensation for a day and night of lodging and food.

Annelise offered it to the monk, who bowed again as he accepted it and blessed her. He raised his voice slightly then, beckoning to a younger boy who must be in training to take his religious vows. “William, take our guests to the stable, and see this fine creature—” he patted the mare’s flank “—brushed down and fed. You will have to aid his lordship here, while I send for Fraser to aid him.”

“Aye, Father.”

Annelise looked to the older man in surprise, for she had not realized that he was the priest, but he smiled at her. “Father Thomas,” he said with a slight bow. “Welcome, my lady.”

“I thank you for your hospitality, Father.”

“The fare will not be of the quality you know, but there is plenty of it. Again, I must apologize for not inviting you to the board, but I will send a meal to you in the stables.”

“Thank you, Father. You are most kind.”

“If you will excuse me, my lady, it is time for prayers.”

Annelise smiled at the priest, more than content with their situation. William led Yseult to the stables and the mare was mightily spoiled by the attention and good care of the monks. Fraser bodily carried Garrett into the loft, and Annelise saw only the barest glimpse of blue between Garrett’s lids. To her relief, he continued to feign illness, though his malady puzzled Fraser.

In the end, Fraser simply declared that Garrett should be allowed to sleep and left the loft. A meal was brought for them both, the monks went about their business. In the silence of the loft, Annelise knew that the time for her seduction had come.

She desperately hoped that Garrett did not decline all she offered.

She feared there was more at stake than even he realized.

*

Stewart seldom found himself surprised, but he was shocked when another knight appeared in the road ahead of them, riding toward them. Stewart recognized the insignia on his caparisons as Andrew’s. The approaching knight did not wear his helmet and his hair was of the same remarkable dark hue as Orson’s companion.

But how had Andrew contrived to be in this place, riding toward them?

They had ridden most of the morning and as the rain halted, even Orson had become convinced that Stewart’s choice had been correct. The indentations of four large shod hooves were clear in the drying mud, and Stewart knew that only a horse the size of Yseult could have made them. She was galloping, too, galloping for so far that it was clear her rider wished to reach some destination quickly.

The road had climbed all the morning and they were nearing a crest when the other knight came into view. Like them, he rode with vigor and speed.

The other knight must have ridden out immediately after their own departure, but ridden west instead of east. Evidently he had doubled back, as well.

Even then, it made little sense. Perhaps it was not Andrew.

Stewart had no sooner thought as much than Orson gave a shout of welcome. “Andrew! Well met!”

Andrew’s expression darkened slightly, as if he were not so pleased so see his comrade. But then he smiled and that impression was dismissed. As he drew near, Stewart noted that the destrier was slick with perspiration, a sign that it had been ridden hard. Stewart wondered if there was a more direct route than the one they had taken. It would not have surprised him to learn it was so.

“Orson!” Andrew declared. “Dare I guess that your maiden is not upon the road between here and Seton Manor?”

“Indeed not. The villain rides west, with her in captivity.” Orson frowned. “But how came you to be riding back to Seton Manor?”

“I thought to check the other direction for you,” Andrew said with a smile. “But there is no sign of her upon it.”

“No sign?” Stewart echoed. “What of these hoof prints?”

The younger knight was visibly astonished. “But they were not there when I rode out!” he declared. He looked around them, peering into the shadows of the forest. “If neither of us passed them, they must have left the road.”

“Are there other roads in this vicinity?” Orson demanded of Stewart.

“A thousand paths of no great size cross the Highlands,” Stewart admitted. “A horse could be led on any of them, but would not make great speed.”

“Then we are foiled,” Andrew said with a sigh. His defeated tone seemed premature to Stewart. “They could be anywhere. I fear your lady lost, Orson.”

Stewart regarded the knight with surprise. “I do not think the quest so clearly failed as that,” he said sternly. “I would follow the tracks to see what might be learned.”

“Indeed, Stewart could be a hunter himself,” Orson declared to his fellow knight. “He tracks his prey very well. We should have been close to Edinburgh by now, if not for his keen eye.”

“Truly?” Andrew echoed, as if in wonderment.

But Stewart heard a note in that knight’s tone that troubled him. He followed the tracks, leading the knights westward again. He walked the horse, not wanting to miss any sign and did not doubt his steed would appreciate the reprieve. All the while, the knights chatted. Actually, Stewart noted that Orson dominated the conversation, speaking endlessly about the advantage he would gain in wedding Annelise and giving Andrew advice as to how best promote his career.

“Have you no holding, then, Sir Andrew?” he dared to ask.

Orson laughed. “He has a legacy, Stewart, and will one day be a laird in his own right.”

“One cannot rely upon such things,” Andrew said quickly and with apparent modesty. “An inheritance is claimed only when the seal is placed in a man’s hand and the signet ring on his finger.”

Stewart nodded at the truth in that. “One should not count upon the future before it is the present,” he said, eyeing the ground all the while.

“Nonsense! You will win Killairig and you will rebuild it,” Orson said with confidence. Andrew shot a glare at the other knight, which Orson did not notice. “For you will have powerful friends to aid you.” Evidently Orson counted himself in that company.

“Killairig,” Stewart echoed and knew what story had evaded his grasp all the night long.

“You have heard of it?” Orson asked with delight.

“Aye, a little.”

“You see, Andrew, you shall be a man of repute throughout all of Scotland!”

“I have never seen it, though,” Stewart acknowledged. The younger knight feigned disinterest but Stewart was not fooled.

The tale Stewart had heard of Killairig was that the holding was cursed, for the laird had murdered his wife and cast out his young son at the behest of his lover, then wed the lover and named her son as his heir. The son in question might well have doubts about the security of his legacy in that case. Stewart slanted a glance at Andrew and wondered.

Killairig was not so far away.

Now that he considered the matter, Stewart realized that Killairig was located near the end of this road, the road the hunter had chosen to ride with Annelise. Could he be the lost son seeking his stolen legacy?

Or was that merely a romantic fable?

Stewart pondered all of this as he followed Yseult’s tracks. The horse had been slowed to a canter, undoubtedly because the rider believed he was not pursued. He wished he could have been certain that Annelise was safe, but there was no way to know for certain.

Until the horse’s tracks stopped abruptly. Stewart dismounted to study the prints, noting how the horse had pranced in place.

As if afraid.

Of what? Stewart returned to the road to study its surface. He spied the wolf prints in the mud. The creature had pursued the horse then fled into the forest. The horse had stood its ground, prancing, then had been ridden onward. There were two pairs of tracks, those of a man and of a woman. Stewart strode back to the spot where the horse had left the road and followed its tracks in the undergrowth.

He followed with care. The plants were downtrodden by the horse, the branches of the shrubs on either side bent from its passage. He guessed from the height that the horse had had a rider, then he crouched when he spied a print that gave him much satisfaction.

It was the mark of a lady’s boot.

Annelise!

She had turned the horse in this place. Stewart turned and looked back. She had watched the road, he guessed, then led the horse onward. He had not lied: there were a thousand paths in this forest and his chances of finding her were low. As the wet mud dried on the road, even Yseult would leave no signs of her passing.

Stewart looked down. Annelise had chosen to leave the road. And Andrew had galloped past this place, racing toward himself and Orson. Stewart did not believe that Garrett would injure Annelise, and he recalled her annoyance with Murdoch the night before. She had called Orson a liar about the wolf pelt and insisted that she would wed the man of her choice as Alexander had pledged she could. He had heard her determination and guessed he knew the truth.

Annelise had chosen the hunter. He must have been in the saddle, perhaps afflicted as he had been before, but Annelise had not abandoned him. She had not hailed Andrew or chosen to ride back toward Seton Manor. That choice told Stewart all he need to know. She was safe and he would assist her in any way he could.

Orson had lied again, in declaring that Garrett had assaulted Annelise. It seemed he would take credit for all of the hunter’s good deeds and blame the hunter for all the foul ones of his own.

Stewart was thinking of a legacy denied and could think of only one reason why the hunter would have chosen to ride this way. If the man’s intent was honorable, he would wish to have a legacy to ask for his lady’s hand and provide a future for her. Why, too, would Andrew have guessed to seek him in this direction, unless Stewart was right?

The answer to many questions would seem to lie at Killairig. If Stewart’s suspicions were right, wherever the hunter had gone, he would arrive at that holding in time. If he were wrong, he could still see his curiosity satisfied.

“Well?” Orson shouted from the road, his impatience clear. “Do not tell me that we must ride through this savage forest.”