Tristan didn't seem to like the idea of Graeme's marriage proposal, especially when it was an open secret where the warrior spent his late evenings. It didn't take a genius to figure out what they were doing.
"Are you inclined to accept Graeme's offer?"
"I don't know. He's attentive, kind, considerate."
"Then you do intend to accept.” It came out more a flat statement of fact than a question. “Meryl, lass, Beltane is only a few days away. Handfast with me.” Tristan surprised himself with the proposal. He had only intended to warn her about Graeme. The blond warrior may be a good friend, but for some reason, he couldn't put his finger on, Tristan didn't trust the man around Meryl. He refused to believe that jealousy played any part in his warning. His offer to her was out of line, yet somehow it felt right. Did he love her? No, but that didn't matter either. Marriage to the Legend was the best way he could think of to protect her, because from the looks of things, she was going to be his responsibility indefinitely.
Meryl couldn't hide the look of surprise on her face. “I would think you prefer your freedom. What of Rose and Ena? Rose may be young, but Ena is worldly wise, more so than I."
"You're right about Rose; she is too young for my taste. As to Ena ... perhaps she is too worldly wise to suit. I've done my best to keep distance between us, Meryl. I didn't want to influence your choices. I find I can't stay away from you any longer.” It wasn't a lie, exactly. She intrigued and amused him in a way no other woman had. For all her naivete she had a determination to do everything she could for a group of people she hardly knew. He admired her for that.
Meryl studied the green eyes and searched for the truth of his words. Someone once said eyes were the windows to the soul. She sensed secrets within him, but the words he spoke rang true. It was what he wouldn't say that had her concerned. How could she tell this man no, when she longed to be with him? She couldn't. Meryl raised her hand, then dropped it to her lap again. “I accept ... on one condition."
"What might that be?” Tristan studied her features as a hint of a smile flirted with the corners of her full lips.
"We tell no one until the day we do it."
"I can accept that,” he agreed. “But what about Graeme and the others who court you? What will you do about them?"
"They won't be problem. Between planning the Beltane festivities, assigning tasks and settling arguments, I'm going to be too busy to have time to spare for them. And your men are going to be busy building a few more huts.” Meryl's response was on the verge of being flippant, instead, she became serious and laid a hand against his cheek. She looked as if she wanted to say something more, maybe change her mind about the single request, but refrained. Her pale eyes hid nothing from him.
"It will be as you ask, my lady.” He carefully removed her hand from his face and placed a gentle kiss in her palm. “I should go before anyone begins to ask questions."
Meryl laughed at the ridiculous statement. “How long did you share your home with me? What would make them think nothing went on then or is going on now?"
Tristan flinched and an odd expression flickered over his features, as if he'd been insulted. “I'm sworn not to touch you. It was a condition set before I went in search of you.” He stood quickly before she could say anything more. “I must go."
Meryl watched after him, stunned. To whom had he made such a promise? Why would he want to handfast with her now, unless Maisri put him up to it for some reason? Her disappointment threatened to overwhelm her. She realized feelings meant little in this age, that convenience counted for more. Was this a change in his duty, to be able to keep a closer watch on her? If that was how he looked at it, then she could do the same. Going through with the handfasting would definitely put an end to the constant male attention. A union of convenience would be better than continuing alone. Eventually she intended to find her way back to her own time. Meryl would just have to keep her feelings to herself and hope her time here would be short. If she hoped to accomplish anything here it would have to be soon. While this seemed to be a step in the right direction she wondered where she could find a pair of ruby slippers.
Something moved near the castle and Meryl searched the shadows, but saw nothing more. Dinks appeared, jumped up on the stone seat and stood at her side, growling low in his throat. His green eyes glowed eerily in the shadow. Meryl reached an arm over his back and drew him closer.
"No one there, Dinks,” she whispered and hugged him. Her hand glided easily across the top of his head, and she scratched behind his ears. He tipped his head to one side, and closed his eyes. “Do you think maybe I've made the wrong choice?” she asked again, barely whispering. Dinks rubbed his head against his mistress's face, content to have her undivided attention for a few moments.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Only two huts nestled against the outer wall surrounding the bailey were in good shape for immediate use. A thorough cleaning made them habitable. Ena wasted no time claiming one for herself, knowing her valued privacy wouldn't exist within the keep. What were a couple of drafts compared to the company she kept? There was more than enough heat generated from that quarter to keep her warm through the night.
She stirred the contents of a small pot hanging on a hook where it simmered near the fire. The hearth provided the only light in the one room shelter. More than that, she didn't need. The light reflected in her hair, making the fiery color come alive. Ena's smile was barely obvious when the hut door eased open, just enough to allow someone to slip inside. The door latch slid quietly into place, locking out the rest of the keep.
A strong arm slipped about her waist as the other hand deftly removed the spoon from her fingers and tasted the contents of the pot.
"Do you think it needs more spice?” she asked, the question masking her rising pulse.
Her visitor dropped the wooden spoon back into the pot and brushed the thick red hair from her slender neck. “Perhaps it could use a bit more spice, but we have time to work on that."
Ena turned within the warrior's arms and gazed into his smoky gray eyes. She saw his need in their glowing depth and reveled in the fact she, alone, could satisfy him. He not only satisfied her endless cravings, but he was easily manipulated, the means to an end.
She tilted her head slightly and kissed the corners of his mouth, teasing. Her hands slid upward, along his muscled arms to his broad shoulders. Her slender fingers slipped under the shoulder length blond hair at the back of his neck. Her fingertips seductively kneaded his nape while his kisses grew hot and needy, demanding her compliance.
Graeme felt her response when she drew closer to his body and leaned against him suggestively. He broke the kiss, long enough to catch his breath. How was it this woman could send the blood boiling in his veins? Every time she lit a spark in him, it quickly burned out of control, making his need for her grow stronger every time she touched him. He loved Meryl, but he doubted she would ever be able to quench this fiery need he felt for Ena.
He let Ena take his hands and lead him back toward the cot in the darkened corner of the room. He remained silent, despite her knowing smile acknowledging his need. Tonight, he would allow her to take charge and have her way.
Hours later, Graeme lay awake, staring into the darkness. He listened to the wind, moaning across the top of the bailey wall, easing its cold tendrils through cracks in the wall of the hut. The fire in the hearth was dying and cast the barest light into the single room. Bright embers tossed into the air above the ashes, danced merrily for a brief moment before winking out. The room was cold and he debated getting up from the warm cot to stoke the fire back to life. He barely heard Ena's even breathing as she lay sleeping. His thoughts weren't with the woman by his side, but wandered, instead, to a black haired, silver-eyed girl whose spell was irresistible.
He could imagine making love to her, stroking her velvety soft skin, caressing the gentle curves of her body. She would be a passionate lover; every time he was near her, he could feel the heat of
her passion, waiting to be set free by the right man. He was determined he would be that man.
Meryl was everything he could ever want in a woman; beautiful, intelligent, powerful—most important was the power. For a brief moment, he wondered if he was drawn to her because of the power she held. There was no doubt about it in his mind. She could secure the throne of Scotland for him. She would also make a Scottish queen any monarch would envy. The thought of her by his side set his pulse racing. He would have to lay claim to her very soon. He closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep while his imagination soared.
Ena's nails lightly scored a path across Graeme's chest; the smooth skin twitched in response. His larger hand stilled hers. “Haven't you had enough, yet?” His eyes remained closed and there was a hint of amusement in his voice. He was tempted to turn away from her and go back to sleep.
"I never have enough of you,” she drew her hand free of his, then continued her teasing.
"It's late, Ena, you know I can't stay the night. We're too close to the keep. The less anyone knows, the better. I haven't won Meryl yet."
"Is this what worries you?” Her words held a mocking tone. She kissed him soundly, her thick red hair falling forward to hide their faces. She drew back slowly, letting the strands of her fiery tresses tickle his skin. She got up from the cot and padded across the room to a chest set on the floor against the far wall. Ena stopped a moment to poke at the dying fire in the hearth and added small pieces of wood to the hungry flames. The fire gave her skin a golden, ethereal glow. The chilled air didn't seem to bother her.
Graeme leaned on one elbow, watching her slow, seductive motions. She rummaged through the chest until she found what she was looking for. When she returned, she sat on the edge of the cot, a silver chain clutched in her hand. He held the pendant still against his palm and studied the pentagram, then lay back and looked up into her face. Her eyes were the color of warm brandy and held an eerie reddish glow.
"I always suspected what you were. Just how powerful are you?"
Ena shrugged slowly, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Enough to help you gain what you want. You do want the crown."
"Of course, I want the crown. That hasn't changed. But I need her, at least for a time, to create the alliance with England on my terms.” His hand slowly trailed down the soft skin of her arm. “I plan to ally with Edward until I have a secure hold on the Scottish throne. Once that is accomplished, Meryl will be the buffer against his wrath. By then, I should have full control of her and her power."
"Yes, ‘a man will hold the power.’ You will be that man.” Ena fastened the chain about his neck. “Never let her see this pendant,” she sternly warned him. “She will recognize the Celtic symbols. This will help protect you should she try using her power against you. Don't ever give her reason to feel threatened. If that should happen, I don't know if I can help you. My talents are somewhat ... limited."
Graeme's eyebrows raised at the subtle double meaning. Her talents weren't as limited as she'd have him believe. “What do you want in return?"
"When you have what you want, when your position is secure, I will rule by your side. You know she will never satisfy you this way. Only I can do that. It makes sense we should combine our power and need. We would be a formidable pair. If you are careful, she will never realize you only use her."
"What makes you think I would need you then?” Graeme's question held a teasing tone. He took her hands in his and made a pretense of studying her slender fingers. Part of his mind realized how soft her hands were, rather than work worn like the other women.
"You may be able to hold her power, but only a woman can wield it. That is what the tale says. Combined with the power I hold, we would be undefeatable. You could become king of the British Isles, not just Scotland, if you wished."
"You said you hold little power.” Graeme gently bit a fingertip and looked up at her.
"I have enough to do what I wish to do."
Graeme gave a slight nod and appeared to consider this option. King of the British Isles; what a seductive thought. “An interesting suggestion. First I must beat that damnable Bruce and gain the Scottish crown before I can consider anything else. Yes, you will share the power with me, once I've got hold of it. The legend doesn't say how it is accomplished,” he added thoughtfully.
He watched Ena shrug slowly and stretch out beside him. As her impatient hand slid down his chest, he felt her hunger renewed. From times before, Graeme was well acquainted with her determination to get what she wanted. He wouldn't be leaving tonight until she was satisfied.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Meryl laid a hand against her spine and bent backward to relieve the stiffness and breathed in the welcoming scents of spring. All morning, she, Maggie and Annie worked hard in the garden, establishing an herb patch for cooking and medicines. They had found a few plants in the nearby woods and dug them up, careful not to damage the roots. She laid aside small packets of seeds the women had saved from the previous harvest, then concentrated on turning over the earth and pulling out weeds.
The warm rich soil reminded her of home and working in the garden there. Meryl thought of Aunt Enchantra. Cara must have told Enchantra all she knew about Meryl's visitor. She wondered if her aunt had looked for her, or did Enchantra accept Meryl's disappearance as destiny or fate. Home. Meryl knew without a doubt, the mansion wasn't her home any longer. She sighed softly. Maybe life was harder, but here she felt a sense of peace and contentment, a sense of belonging. It was as if the mansion had been little more than a stopping point before arriving at her destiny—if Tristan was to be believed and this was her destiny.
By mid afternoon, they had turned over enough soil to establish a large herb garden near the kitchen. She set the young plants securely in the fresh, warm soil. When all the rows of seeds were neatly set and marked off, she stood at the edge and smiled at all the work they had accomplished. Meryl looked forward to a hot bath, to relax her aching muscles. Tomorrow was Beltane and she didn't want to be stiff and sore for the celebration and games. Tomorrow she'd be keeping a promise to Tristan, if he hadn't forgotten about it. He hadn't mentioned it again, since the day he proposed. Did he still want her or was he regretting a rash choice? Or was he, once again, doing his duty?
Everyone was in high spirits for the evening meal, in anticipation of the next day's activities. Tensions abated for the first time in months. Meryl could feel the difference and breathed a sigh of relief. She intended to enjoy every light-hearted moment for as long as they lasted. Too soon they'd be back to the business of survival.
She walked through the great hall, stopping often to exchange a few words with many of the cheerful folk. It was good to see them happy for a change, not worrying about anything. She laughed at a comment from one of the maids, then turned and pulled up short when she bumped into a young woman.
"Oh, Lady Meryl, I am so sorry.” Rose brushed at Meryl's gown and the spilled ale. The wetness spread down the front of her bodice and skirts.
"No harm done, Rose. I'll just go back and change.” She held the material away from her skin as best she could and hurried from the great hall, missing the younger woman's smug smile. The last thing Meryl needed was to go through the evening smelling like a brewery.
A short time later, Meryl returned to find Rose sitting with Tristan, concentrating on his every word. Meryl wasn't surprised to find that Rose had taken advantage of the situation. Not wanting to create a scene, she found a seat next to Graeme.
"Ah, Lady Meryl. Have you come to keep me company this fine evening?"
Meryl smiled. “It seems I've lost my place to another."
Graeme glanced up at the head table, not surprised to see Rose chattering with Tristan. “Perhaps,” he commented, then turned his attention back to Meryl, “but at this table, your company is more than welcome.” He offered her a cup of ale.
Meryl gratefully accepted the cup. “More enjoyable to drink, than to wear it,” she joke
d, and sipped the liquid.
Graeme reached over and took her free hand in his. He gently rubbed the red skin. “A lady shouldn't be working like a servant, scrubbing and cleaning."
"Everyone has chores here, Graeme. I'm no better than anyone else."
"Have you given thought to my proposal? As my wife, you would never again have to scrub anything like a scullery maid."
Meryl had been dreading the time when the subject would come up again—and she knew it would. How to answer and not hurt feelings ... She took another sip of ale. “I really haven't had time to give it much thought. There's been so much to do.” It wasn't a lie, exactly, but she felt a little guilty over not telling him the whole truth. How could she tell him of her plans when she'd asked Tristan not to say anything?
"Say you'll be my wife, Meryl. Nothing would please me more than to hear you say you'll accept.” Graeme's subtle pressure on Meryl made her squirm.
"You'll have an answer soon, Graeme, I promise."
* * * *
The next morning dawned bright and clear. Adults scurried about making final preparations for the May Day festivities, shooing excited children out from underfoot. Meryl wasn't quite sure what the events entailed, but she understood this was an important day to the highlanders. She had left Maisri in charge of most of the plans, and kept herself busy with work within the keep and garden. Her own private garden showed promise of being a miniature paradise.
Just after dawn, she had spotted Maisri and a few other women making their way down a hillside path. What was hidden up there, that only this handful of women knew about? Meryl became more aware of the pull she felt, a sense of power. It was the same, when she'd first approached the keep, but today it seemed stronger. A couple times, in the past, she'd tried to broach the subject with Maisri and every time the older woman managed to sidestep her questions with the simple reply, “It is not yet your time.” The cryptic answer did nothing to satisfy Meryl's curiosity. Come to think of it, if none of these people had ever been here before, so how did Maisri know about the power coming from the mountain? Meryl sensed a little mystery here and wished there were some way she could solve it. She sighed. Maybe someday, she'd be allowed to learn the secrets of this valley ... if the real owner didn't show up before then. There lay another sticky problem she didn't want to think about until the time came to deal with it.
The Spellbinder: Highland Eyes Page 15
