With a finger held to his lips to caution her to be quiet a man slowly stood up.
She was not afraid of him, after all he wore a MacGreagor kilt, but when he pointed and she looked, two Haldane warriors were walking through the trees only a few yards away. They had not spotted her, so when the MacGreagor motioned for her to get down, she quickly obeyed.
Then she watched the MacGreagor return to his hiding place behind a tall bush and waited. The wait seemed endless, but after a time, the MacGreagor stood back up and came to her.
“It is safe, you can stand up now.” he said, offering his hand.
“You speak English?”
“If you can understand me, then I suppose I do.”
“Have you been watching me?”
Tristan raised an eyebrow. He possibly just saved her life and instead of being grateful, she was accusing him of something. “Nay, they have been watching you. I have been watching them. I suggest you go back with the others straight away, if not sooner.”
”I intend to.” She was quite annoyed. First, he unnerved her with that clicking noise, interrupted her solitude and now he had mocked her...twice.
“Good.”
“Good what?”
“It is good that you intend to go home.”
She started to walk away, paused and turned back. “Which way?”
Tristan pointed west and then watched her turn and begin to walk back through the thick foliage. When her skirt caught on a bush, he rolled his eyes. “I suppose you need my help.”
“I can manage.” Clare yanked and yanked on the cloth but it would not come free. “Tell me, have you learned any other English words save ‘suppose?”
He was not impressed with her tone of voice, covered the distance to her in short order, unhooked her skirt and put both hands on his hips. “I suppose not.”
She had no idea why this man irritated her so, but she was happy to be hurrying away. Moments before he interfered, she was about to cry and let her heart believe Alcott was dead. But now he ruined it.
Of course, it was not true he interrupted her solitude; the Haldanes were actually to blame for that. Suddenly, Clare was ashamed of herself and made a mental note to apologize the next time she saw him, whoever he was.
She abruptly stopped and turned around. Clare expected to see the MacGreagor right behind her, but he was not there and even after searching the woods with her eyes, she could not see him. “How long do you suppose the Haldanes have been watching me?”
“I thought you did not like the word suppose.”
He made her smile.
“Go home little lass. It is not safe here.”
Still he had not given up his hiding place and she did not know in which direction she should nod, so she just turned around and started walking again. “Forgive me for not thanking you earlier.”
There it was finally—a show of appreciation. The English woman might not be so ill mannered after all. She was as beautiful as he had heard, but Tristan paid little attention to the other men’s gossip, because he was not certain he should have a wife. He learned scouting from his father, loved calling the forest his real home and could not always abide the confines of a cottage which, if he was not mistaken, wives were quite fond of.
More importantly, the clan’s scout was on the first line of defense and was often killed by an enemy even before a war began. His father died at the age of twenty-seven and his mother lived another fifteen years, mourning the loss of her husband every day. Why then, would a good man do that to the woman he loved? Yet his parents loved each other very much and his mother always claimed the years she had with her husband were worth the pain of losing him.
Tristan stood up and continued to follow Clare through the forest, ready to crouch down should she stop again. Women were always unpredictable and usually unreasonable. His thoughts sparked a memory and brought a smile to his lips. When he complained that his mother was being unreasonable, his father confided, “You think lasses are unreasonable, and I think it—but lasses do not believe it.”
He quietly slipped from tree to tree, watching Clare and protecting her in case the Haldanes came back. But before she reached the edge of the forest, Clare stopped again. He meant to remain quiet and let her be, but she took a very deep breath and then wiped a tear off her cheek. “I am here,” he found himself saying.
She did not turn to look at him. “I know, I heard you.”
“You heard me?” He left his hiding place and walked to her. “This is very serious. I have spent years practicing to be quiet and now I am caught by a woman whom I was not even trying to sneak up on.”
She turned and tried to smile, “Unfortunately for you, I was raised in the Abbey where silence was required on most occasions. It sharpens ones hearing, you see. At times silence is so tedious, the sound of a mouse skittering across a floor is the height of excitement.”
His was a crooked smile, not at all unpleasant and Clare noticed. His hair was not dark like Alcott’s and his eyes were blue instead of brown, but his hair was clean and his eyes were brightened by his smile. At length Clare turned away. “I did not mean to stare. I have not been this close to a man in...Well there were always the clerics, but you are pleasing to look at and the clerics were not.”
He was flattered and surprised by her openness. “I am happy to please you. Why were you crying?”
“I am fine now, thank you. I must get back before Greer begins to fret.” With that, she walked into the glen and headed home.
Tristan did not take his eyes off her until one of the other men came to protect and walk her home. But before she accepted the other man’s assistance, she looked back and something in his heart began to stir.
CHAPTER V
WITH THEIR KING NEWLY dead, it was a time of mourning for all the English brides, and the Highlander men were more than willing to make themselves available in case any of them needed comfort. That is, until Clare walked by. Her presence caused the men to lose their concentration, and the expressions on the faces of the women turned from sorrow to irritation.
Clare could have cared less and paid them no attention. When she got back to the cottage, she was pleased to find Brendan and Greer sitting outside on a tree stump. “I hope you have not been waiting for me.”
“Have you learned to cook yet?” Greer teased.
Clare played along. “I will see what I can do, but it might take a few days. Are you hungry?”
“Never mind. You are in luck, I baked bread this morning just for you.” Greer lightly hugged Clare. “Sister, have I your permission to explain to Brendan why you do not wish to marry just now?”
There was a hint of hurt in Clare’s eyes when she nodded and went inside, Greer thought. My sister has learned to lie very well indeed, yet there was something ... Too soon, Greer dismissed the thought and went back into Brendan’s arms.
“What is her reason?” he asked.
“Clare’s heart belongs to a lad who died recently.”
“I see. Does she cry often? Because I know at least ten lads who would...”
Greer glared at her intended. “You will soon be her brother, do not forget. Brothers protect, not conspire against, their sisters.”
Brendan playfully swelled his chest. “I am honored to protect my dear sister, but surely you will not object if I accept a bribe or two when she is ready to seek a husband.”
Greer rolled her eyes.
CLARE’S ABILITY TO distract the men and the death of the king might have postponed the taking of husbands for a time, but it did not stop the rumors and there were plenty to be had. Both Walrick and Gelson returned with the same news - the English people hated the new king and they were trying to find a woman named, Charlet. Charlet was not a common name and Neil was more than a little worried.
Few knew Charlet’s real story and most in the MacGreagor Clan were too young to remember who she was or what happened. But Neil remembered exactly what his father told him and took a vow to keep Charle
t’s whereabouts a secret.
“It is a French name,” Glenna said. She sat in a chair in their bedchamber brushing her long lovely hair before bed, even though sleep would tangle it again.
Neil got into bed and waited for her to join him. “I do not know where she got the name. Perhaps the old king suggested it. Father said he was a good king who loved his niece very much. He went to great lengths to save Charlet’s life.”
“What age do you think she is now, providing she survived the plague?”
“Well, she was just a couple of years younger than my Aunt Rachel who was a good ten years older than me.”
“Then she is still young enough to take the crown...if she yet lives.”
“As I recall, my love, it was you who were charged with finding out what happened to her.”
Glenna finally laid the brush down on the table and went to peek in the box at their sleeping daughter. Satisfied, she walked to the other side of the bed. “True, but no one seems to know what’s become of her. Why do these rumors bother you so?”
He watched her lift the covers and climb into bed next to him. Then he opened his arms and drew her to him. “I worry it is some sort of trap. Suppose the new king only wants to entice her back so he can dispose of her.”
“What do these rumors say, exactly?”
“They say there is rebellion in the wind against the new king and they want to restore the throne to her.”
“Or her children?”
“I had not thought of that. Charlet took a new name hoping to avoid this very thing.”
Glenna snuggled against him and closed her tired eyes. “Are you thinking of trying to find her?”
“She is a MacGreagor. Who better to protect her than the rest of the MacGreagors?”
“Perhaps Charlet went to live with another clan once the new laird took over the Cameron Clan.”
“Perhaps so. At any rate, the English are looking for Charlet and must not know she changed her name. I have hardly thought of her in years. She was in my father’s care and she...” When Neil looked, Glenna was fast asleep.
ALCOTT RETURNED FROM seeing the king as quickly as he could and upon entering the great hall of his castle, he demanded to hear Stuart’s report.
“A large band of highlanders, together with many women passed through the land of the Swinton’s. They claim the MacGreagors have her,” Stuart said.
“MacGreagors? I have heard of this clan. Did the Swintons say where they were headed?”
“North, they rode due north. My lord, must I go with you? Give over the land you promised at your father’s death and be done with me.”
“Done with you? How can I be done with a man who knows all my secrets? The land will surely be yours, but I will never be done with you or you with me.”
After many years as steward to Alcott of Cumberland, Stuart suspected the best approach with this man was no approach at all—until an opportunity presented itself to take the upper hand. Perhaps going with him into Scotland was not such a bad idea after all. Perhaps he would go with him and come back without him. “As you wish, my lord.”
“Is everything ready?”
“Nearly everything. When do we leave?”
“At first light tomorrow.”
“Then you have a message from the King of England to give to the King of Scotland?”
“I do,” Alcott answered.
“I am pleased to hear it. Finally, your friendship with that wretched excuse for a man has provided some benefit.”
Alcott walked to the table near the canopy in the great hall and poured himself some of the sweeter wine the English preferred. “That wretched excuse for a man, you call him, is giving me the most beautiful woman in all of England.”
Stuart accepted the chalice of wine from his superior and downed half. “I pray you did not mention her beauty to him. You know how he desires pretty women and if you are not careful, George will take her from you and spoil her ... if the Highlanders have not already done it.”
It was the very thing that had plagued Alcott’s mind for days. If the Highlanders had already forced her, he might as well leave Clare with them and his trip would be for nothing. He loved her, he truly did, but her chastity was the only guarantee his bloodline would not become tainted...and that was far more important than love. For just a brief moment, Alcott considered how unpleasant being forced might have been for Clare. But women were forced all the time and it was not a death sentence.
“Second thoughts, my lord?”
“Not at all Stuart. When you see her, you will understand. The exquisite Clare will be my wife and I will be the envy of all men, even the king himself.”
SHE NEVER SAID A WORD when Tristan lifted her onto the horse and stayed by her side while Clare swung her leg over and got comfortable. Then she watched him mount his horse and together they waited for Greer and Brendan to bring their mares up beside them. Lost in their own little world, Greer and Brendan hardly paid any attention to where they were or who they were with. They were so in love, they might have ridden their horses off the edge of the world and never noticed
“What would you like to see?” Tristan asked Clare.
She did not really care, but because he asked, she looked around and then pointed to the highest hill. “May we go up there?” He didn’t even bother to nod, she noticed, but when he led the way, she followed. It felt good to be away from all the men who stared and all the women who glared. She tried not to concern herself with any of them, but each day became harder and harder. Even so, what was outside was nothing compared to the turmoil inside her.
It was as though she lived in a circle of confusion where complete thoughts and sentences were neither welcome nor expected. Every once in a while, his name—Alcott—would invade, but somehow it did not cause her to pause in her original thought. She was, she believed, quite mad.
“Clare?”
Tristan said her name three more times before it registered he was talking to her. They were at the crest of the hill and she could not recall how she got there. “Ah ... it is very beautiful.”
“I asked if you are cold.”
“Oh, I see.”
As soon as he heard about her loss, he felt bad for being so off-handed with her in the forest. And just now, her eyes were easily betraying the unbearable torture going on inside her heart and mind. She reminded him of a lost child, one he wanted to sweep up into his arms and save from all harm. “It is Tristan.”
“What?” Clare asked.
“You asked my name.”
“Did I?”
Greer and Brendan were taking their time climbing up the hillside and when he looked, Tristan noticed other men standing below watching him. That meant holding Clare even just to comfort her, was completely out of the question. He intentionally moved his horse a little farther away. “Clare, have you ever seen a waterfall?”
The mention of a waterfall seemed to bring her out of her mindless fog. “I have read of such things. Do you have one?”
Tristan smiled, “I do not have it. I mean, it is not mine, but I know where one is. Would you like to see it?”
“I would like that very much.”
“You said you read about them? You know how to read?”
“The priests were training me to become a scribe before...”
“Before what?”
She finally looked at him. She might as well look at him, she didn’t seem to be able to actually take in the beauty of the view. “Before I refused to do something. After that, I was relegated to the gardens.”
“I understand.” He truly did understand. His occasional venture into England afforded him the opportunity to sometimes hear scandals about pregnant, unmarried nuns. “Do you want to talk about him?”
Clare wrinkled her brow, “Who?”
“The lad who died.”
She quickly turned away. “I cannot.”
“Then you shall not.” Tristan let it go that easily and changed the subject. “We will l
ook at the scenery instead. I never get tired of looking at our beautiful green glen.” Greer and Brendan, he noticed, were stopped and intensely discussing something. Then Clare began to talk about Alcott and got his full attention.
“I only saw him up close once. The clerics would not let him come to see me, so we exchanged forbidden letters. Once he came to deliver a message from his father and I saw him from afar then, but...”
“But you loved him?”
“I loved him. They said he died of an injury that would not heal. The thought of his suffering is most difficult to bear and I wonder sometimes, if my name was the last on his lips.”
Tristan watched a single tear roll down her cheek. “Why did he not come and take you from the Abbey? Surely you were not a prisoner there.”
“Until I met him, I felt like a prisoner by virtue of not having anywhere else to go. Greer promised to come back for me someday, but I had given up on that. Alcott intended to come for me; it just was not yet time.”
CHAPTER VI
THAT WAS A CONCEPT Tristan was having difficulty understanding. In his world a man loves a woman and makes her his wife. What time could possibly be the wrong time? He wanted to ask her more questions, but Greer and Brendan finally managed to join them and all conversation about Alcott abruptly stopped.
It wasn’t until he led them down the hill, took the path beside the river, and found the waterfall, that the opportunity once more presented itself.
Clare stood on a large rock near the water’s edge with her arms folded. The air smelled sweet, the sky was a bright blue and Tristan stood right behind her in case she started to fall.
It was not an enormous waterfall, only about eight feet tall, but the crystal clear water cascading into the blue pond took her breath away. “It is magnificent.”
“I do not believe many others have found this place.” Tristan watched Brendan lead Greer on around the large pond until they found a rock to sit on. Then Tristan looked back to make sure the horses were content to drink and nibble on the long grass.
Marti Talbott's Highlander Series, Volume 5 Page 3
