Tristan returned and pulled sharply on Laoch's reins. His green eyes sparkled and he grinned. “My lady, tonight we dine with Robert the Bruce."
Meryl caught her breath. “Did I hear you correctly?” she asked in surprise, but his grin didn't waver. “You are joking,” she paused again. “You're not joking."
"No joke, Meryl. The Bruce and his men are out on the moor fighting a mock battle. He's invited us to share supper with him and his men."
Meryl returned the Scot's grin. “Then by all means, let's join him. I have never been one to turn down a dinner invitation.” The thought of spending time with one of Scotland's heroes buoyed her spirits. Tonight, the villagers could relax and get some needed rest.
By the time the sun had set, several campfires were well established and meals were being prepared. Everyone seemed to be in better spirits when Bruce's men joined the groups and offered their assistance. The warriors were just as pleased to have the villagers for company.
Meryl saw a surge of energy revitalize the travelers. “Be sure to refill your water casks,” she reminded them and made her way to the stream. She knelt by the bank and splashed cold water on her face, then sat back on her heels and closed her eyes. This journey seemed so much longer than she'd expected; she'd be relieved when they finally arrived at their destination. Meryl was startled by a hand on her shoulder and looked up.
"Are you all right?” Graeme's expression of concern surprised her.
"I'm fine, just a bit tired."
Graeme took her hands in his and helped her to her feet. “You've taken on a great, my lady. You don't have to do this alone, you know. I'd be at your side to help you. Just say the word and I can relieve you of all this. No woman should have to hold such responsibility."
Meryl bristled at his last comment. “I appreciate your concern...” Her words stopped short as Graeme pulled her close. She hadn't seen it coming. His hard kiss was demanding, controlling. Meryl struggled to push her arms up, trying to put distance between them. She finally caught her breath when Graeme ended the kiss.
Meryl didn't know what he expected, and spoke as if nothing had happened. “I appreciate your concern and if I need help, I'll be sure to let you know.” She kept her voice and features under control as she took a step back. “Please, excuse me. There's much to be done.” She briskly moved away from the stream, but stopped long enough to help one of the village women with her work.
Graeme watched Meryl's retreating back, not pleased with her response to his advance. Never before had any woman shown him cold indifference. She had to be shown she wasn't strong enough to remain in charge indefinitely. True, so far she was handling everything well, but he needed to find a way to discredit her, to force her to turn to him alone for help, and not Tristan. Perhaps if he spoke with Ena; she could be of help in solving this sticky problem.
Ena. His thoughts turned to the redhead for a moment and her ability to satisfy his needs in many ways. He'd never lacked a pretty girl in his bed, and Ena continued to prove herself most useful, but a tavern wench couldn't secure the Scottish throne. Meryl could. She had the power and he had every intention of getting that power for himself. Once Meryl belonged to him, he could actively go after the crown. A matter of time and careful planning would guarantee succes, and then, who would dare stand against him?
Graeme followed Meryl at a short distance, and took a bowl of stew from Rose's hand, meant for one of the children. Rose glanced up, surprised and watched the warrior stride away. She handed out more small bowls of stew to the younger children. Meryl shook her head in disgust and took over the large spoon and ladled out servings. The two young women worked silently side by side until all the children had been served.
"Graeme seems taken with you.” Rose's comment seemed to be casual, but Meryl knew the girl was fishing.
"I suppose it seems that way."
Rose pressed a bit harder. “What do you intend to do?"
Meryl turned to the younger girl and handed her a filled bowl. “I intend to see everyone arrives safely at our destination. But for the moment, I intend to sit down somewhere with a bit of supper and enjoy the evening. I hope you'll do the same.” Meryl nodded to the girl, then walked away, stopping now and again to answer questions or offer a helping hand where needed.
Rose fumed over Meryl's ability to sidestep questions when it suited her. “Why does this outsider refuse to answer? Does the woman think herself so important, she doesn't have to respond to anyone's questions?"
"Perhaps,” Ena commented, standing beside the girl, “you ask the wrong questions, at the wrong time. If you want an answer you must ask at a time when it's impossible for her to refuse, as when she is with others. She cannot afford to hide anything because she wants them to trust her completely. If you ask properly and at the right time, you can create doubts in the minds of others. She will have no choice but to answer if she expects to lead. But you must also be careful you don't ask in such a way as to invite her to seek vengeance on you for making her uncomfortable.” Rose nodded and watched Meryl make her way across the moor; she wouldn't make that mistake again.
Meryl sat cross-legged on the ground and enjoyed her bowl of thick stew while she listened to the men talk. She failed to notice Graeme sitting at the opposite side of the campfire; failed to see his eyes narrow, or the way his mouth formed a thin, tight line when Tristan chose to sit on a log next to her and offer her a cup of ale. She accepted the drink and finished her meal, then set aside the empty bowl.
"Where are you bound?” Robert Bruce's deep voice penetrated her thoughts.
"We go north."
"North. Be careful. A day or two north of here is a strange place. There's a thick mist that never disappears and hides whatever is beyond it. They say anyone who tries to go through it, is never seen again."
"Do they? I would never take you for a superstitious man,” Meryl replied evenly.
"Not really superstitious; careful is more like it."
"If we should happen in that direction we shall be careful as well. I thank you for your concern.” Meryl smiled and nodded her head slightly. This man may be Scotland's future king, but the less he knew of her plans, the better. Even kings could accidently speak out of turn. What were those lines Bobby Burns would write in some four hundred years or so? The best laid schemes o’ mice and men gang aft agley. It was sound advice to keep her own counsel. These people didn't travel all this distance to have their new home jeopardized by someone's slip of the tongue. She was aware of the mist's existence and would deal with it in due time. She knew it was permanent and served a purpose, but he didn't need to know that either. There was no reason to worry about what lay before the travelers before they arrived.
The discussion turned to raids and battles and Meryl listened carefully while pretending boredom. The men argued over what could have been done differently and what should be done in the future. Idly, Meryl collected a handful of twigs, dropped them in her lap and began to peel the bark from one end of each of them. She used her dirk to carefully whittle the peeled end of the twig, then thrust the blunt end into the soil at an angle, away from her. The firm ground held them in place, and they could barely be seen above the grass. She made a short line then started a second row. These she placed slightly diagonal to the first row, to effectively fill any gaps between the twigs.
Tristan casually reached down and brushed back Meryl's hair, and watched what she was doing. He let the long strands of black silk slip through his fingers.
Meryl turned her head slowly to gaze up at the warrior. His green eyes were darker in the firelight. She saw something new; something she realized he meant for her alone. Her own features remained impassive. For that brief moment an understanding passed seemed to pass between them.
Graeme glared at the two people across from him and seethed inwardly. Neither Tristan nor any of the other warriors had a right to claim her because she belonged to him. Graeme had no intention of letting anyone interfere in his plans. H
e gulped down his ale and continued to stare at them, half listening to the Bruce and his men.
Meryl gave Tristan a tentative smile, then turned her attention back to the twigs, leaving him to wonder what she was up to.
While one of the soldiers spoke, Robert Bruce glanced at Meryl and what seemed to be nonsense play. The rows of sharpened, angled twigs caught his attention and he moved closer to examine her display. He tapped the pointed ends gingerly and looked up at her. A knowing grin showed in his features. “Even this woman knows what is needed, Donald. I am surprised you never thought of it."
The men gathered around. “Just a bunch of twigs stuck in the ground,” Donald grumbled sullenly.
"Take a closer look,” the Bruce told them. “What do you see?” The others shrugged. Bruce looked from one warrior to the next. Only Tristan realized what Meryl had done. “We have always had the means to repel mounted soldiers. We only needed a reminder what it was."
Meryl managed to look innocent and confused and Tristan cut in. Taking Meryl's hands, he pulled her to her feet, and continued to stare into her eyes. The dark look he gave her was ominous. “If you will excuse us, I'll see the lady to her bed. Then it's time I look to my duties."
Meryl kept her indignation to herself and spoke quickly. “I've enjoyed your hospitality this evening, sir,” she directed her thanks to Bruce. “I bid you gentlemen a good night.” She followed her self-appointed protector away from the campfire.
Tristan steered her away from the warriors who studied her miniature blockade, taking her to a spot just out of hearing of any campers. “What do you think you're doing?” he half whispered as he held her arms.
Meryl looked up at him with an expression that belied her innocence. “No harm done."
Tristan wanted to laugh. “You know you can't change history."
"I haven't. If I recall correctly, Wallace used this same technique. I'm sure, sooner or later, Robert would have thought of it.” She paused a moment and her expression became guarded when she realized what he'd just said. “What do you know about changing history?"
Tristan shrugged. “You don't think I spent all my time in that cave when I wasn't with you, do you? I did some reading while I was searching for you. I was curious to know what happened here."
"And how would you have known where to look for that information?"
Tristan fumbled for a believable answer. “Well, I ... like you, I adapt and learn quickly. A few well placed questions and I found what I wanted."
"Hmm.” Meryl was sure he was holding something back, but she kept her opinion to herself and seemed to accept his answer for the moment. “If you had read up on it, you know in a few months, the Bruce and his men will fight an important battle, and that little ploy will save them.” She could see Tristan's doubt and added slyly, “Who's to say a woman didn't give him the idea."
She liked the sound of his deep laughter as he drew her close. It felt good to be in his arms, as if she'd always belonged there. He tilted her head upward and she gazed into his darkened eyes, wondering what he thought at that moment.
She was the hope of the Highlands, he had to remind himself again, but he couldn't think about that. Her destiny was the furthest thing from his mind when he was questioning his own motives now. He didn't want to admit to himself that she was getting under his skin. He refused to admit that his feelings for her were beginning to get in the way of his duty. He had no right to think of her except as his charge. It shouldn't be happening; it wasn't part of the quest. Tristan ignored the warnings shouting in his mind, and bent his head to kiss her.
Tristan's kiss differed from the one Graeme had forced on her. Meryl liked this one so much more, despite the fact it was at odds with his attitude toward her. She allowed him to deepen the kiss, reveling in the feelings surging through her, before he finally stepped back.
Three people stood in the darkness watching the couple, each with their own agenda.
* * * *
Meryl slept little, while her thoughts kept going back to Tristan's kiss, the way he held her. At dawn, she rose, reluctantly, aware everyone was in the process of breaking camp, packing up supplies and preparing to move on.
Robert Bruce approached Meryl as she finished a quick breakfast of bannocks and water, and was placing a small sack on a cart. “Thank you, my lady. You reminded me of the perfect solution to our problem."
"Did I?” Meryl wiggled the sack to be sure it was settled in place. “I'm pleased if you found my idle play useful."
The Bruce continued reluctantly, “Sometimes, I wonder if we shouldn't give up this battle. We lose more than we win. England is well organized and her soldiers better trained. They have better weapons. We've lost so many lives already. If only we hadn't lost Wallace."
Meryl untied her highland pony's reins from the cart and leaned her forehead against the mare's neck for a moment, while she fought back the anger welling up within her. “You could have saved him, but you let him die. I was there when Edward Longshanks’ so called justice prevailed. You were more concerned with the nobles’ support."
Her verbal attack took him by surprise. “I have much to regret,” he admitted. “You're right, of course, I could have saved him, had I tried. I was afraid if I did, I'd lose what little support I had. There's no way to undo what's been done."
Meryl glanced beyond her mare, then turned and gave the Scotsman her full attention. “You can never change the past, but never consider giving up. Nothing worth having comes easily and Scotland has a long uphill battle ahead of her. She'll lose many fights and win others. In the end, she will win her freedom."
Bruce chuckled, took her hand and kissed it lightly. “Do you have the sight, my lady?"
Meryl shrugged indifferently.
"Nevertheless,” he added, “I shall remember your words."
Meryl watched him return to his men and prepare to leave the site. She didn't have the heart to tell him the fight for independence would last some seven hundred years.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"She has done surprisingly well,” the male admitted with pride. “She's learning to trust others."
"Yes, she has.” The female watched the scene. “But the true test is yet to come. She must learn to trust her instincts enough to stand up against the magic she'll face. She hasn't learned to reach within herself for the power she has now. Until she does, she will not be safe. Her enemies are gathering about her, plotting. One of them may be our old enemy."
"These two men who would claim her...” the male left the thought incomplete.
"Perhaps one will succeed. The pendant seems to have made a choice, but the final decision will be hers. It will be interesting to see if she will heed its advice. We can only remain as observers and, I feel I must remind you, my love, we must not interfere."
"As you wish, my sweet,” the male replied grudgingly. Despite her warnings, if any possibility presented itself to help the young woman without altering her future, he would make use of it. She was too important to lose and a little nudge now and again couldn't hurt. He returned his attention to the source of their conversation.
* * * *
One more day Meryl thought, with relief, and the hardest part of the journey would be over. The worst of the weather had held out. She studied the thick wall of mist which seemed to cut off the rest of the world. Some inner knowledge told her their new home lay beyond the curtain. She had the strangest feeling she'd been here before, at a time she shouldn't recall. She'd had the same sort of feelings when she'd discovered she could understand the villagers’ Gaelic. This knowledge and newfound confidence seemed to be stored up within her somewhere, but where was it really coming from? She figured it was an overactive imagination, and lectured herself on being nothing more than a quick study.
"Which way do we go now?” Tristan stood by her side, studying the mist. If all went well, this would be the end of the quest for him and he could be on his way to other places where his skills were of more use. He was
tired of this babysitting. It wasn't a fit assignment for a warrior. If he refocused his attention on the problem at hand, he'd be leaving that much sooner.
The barrier appeared impenetrable. Over the years, the mists he'd seen hide the moors of Scotland, were nothing compared to this curtain. He wasn't a superstitious man, but he suspected anyone who tried to go through this mist would end up permanently lost.
The villagers moved about restlessly, despite their exhaustion. They'd had enough of travel and were more than ready to settle down. Tristan expected the grumbling to quickly get out of hand, given the right incentive. He wanted to prevent it from happening.
"Meryl? Which way?"
Meryl turned away from the mist. “We go straight through it. Our destination is the other side."
"Are you sure? The others aren't going to be pleased about this. They heard what the Bruce had to say about this place."
"As sure as I can be about anything. Tell you what, Tristan. Dinks and I will go ahead. Give me an hour to take a quick look around."
"I don't like you going alone, lass. There have been too many ‘accidents’ since the day on the beach when you fell from that path."
"Don't remind me.” She shuddered with the memory. “Look. They still don't trust me. I have to do this alone.” She laid her hand on his arm, assuring him. “I'll be fine, Tristan, I promise."
Meryl looked around for her cat. “Let's go, Dinks ... Time to do some investigating.” Dinks stuck out his pink tongue as if to clean his mouth, but stared at Famhair. Meryl raised an eyebrow as the animals stared at one another.
Ha ha! I get to go and you have to stay here and wait, Dinks seemed to taunt the deerhound. His cat grin widened when Famhair growled deep in his throat.
Dinks spun around and ran past Meryl into the mist, anxious to explore new territory and flee from the dog. Meryl laughed. “We should all have so much energy—or is it fear?” She laughed again, then pulled the edges of her cloak together against the dampness and walked into the mist.
The Spellbinder: Highland Eyes Page 12
