More deaths laid at Ramos’s feet.
No, he wouldn’t allow himself to fall back into that depression. This was his opportunity to rectify some of his past mistakes. Perhaps to prevent many future ones.
As servants cleared one course and brought the next, Ramos leaned back in his chair and made an effort to relax his mind. Opening his inner sight, he concentrated on the faces around the table. The majority of them bore the mark of Faerie blood, though it was filtered, as though many centuries had passed and their line diluted.
Of the men, it would be almost impossible to miss the three who were brothers. While Blane bore similarities to Rosalyn and Mairi in his blond good looks, Rosalyn’s sons presumably took after their father. They were young, the oldest no more than twenty, but they were all large red-haired boys, though each head bore a slightly different shade of red. Unlike her brothers, the daughter was tiny in stature, with flaming red hair. Ramos had to look intently to find the incandescence in her at all. She hardly shone more than the young woman sitting next to her, a quiet girl with her brown hair severely pulled back into a tight braid. She wore a gown of plain gray, making him think of a large timid mouse, her eyes round and frightened when she did look up. The gold cross hanging around her neck was the only color about the girl. The mouse was betrothed to Caden, and she was clearly all Mortal.
Rosalyn, sitting near the head of the table, emitted a stronger glow than the others, yet nothing like the iridescent light shining from Mairi.
If Ramos didn’t know better, he’d think her a full Fae. There was no difference between her glow and those of the full-blooded Faeries he’d grown up around. Something to think on later.
All had auras tinged with determination, varying degrees of integrity, pride and bravery. No aura looked particularly evil or dangerous.
With his inner sight still open, he filtered the conversations from around the table, hoping to learn more.
Caden discussed sheep with Blane, both men intent on a feeding pattern the younger man had been developing. Nothing of interest there.
The younger sons, Andrew and Colin, whispered between them, casting occasional furtive glances at their mother and Blane. No doubt they were up to something. Whether it was something serious or merely young men’s pranks, they bore watching, though nothing he could see in their auras indicated anything more dangerous than youthful pride.
Emotion swept the room in a wave, causing Ramos to sharpen his observation. Whoever it came from, it was strong, for he rarely felt others’ emotions. A quick scan of the table told him it came from Marsali Rose, and it required no inner sight to discern her irritation. She glared at her brothers over the rim of her goblet. It would appear the girl had some knowledge of what the young men were up to.
Ramos lifted his own drink to his lips and lost the flow of his second sight as he gagged with surprise when the liquid hit his mouth. A bitter, heavily spiced wine coated his tongue.
He was no teetotaler by any means. He owned a winery, for God’s sake. But this early in the day? And a nasty version of the stuff at that. He sat the goblet back on the table, pushing it away.
Next to him, though she quickly turned her head, Mairi’s shoulders shook with repressed laughter. That explained the earlier grin. She’d been waiting for his reaction.
No napkins to be found. What was he thinking? This was the thirteenth century, after all. He wiped the back of his hand across his lips, removing the wine residue before leaning close to Mairi’s ear.
“Was that as good as you’d hoped for? You could have warned me, you know.”
She jumped, as if he’d surprised her by commenting. When she turned to look up at him, the blue of her eyes gleamed with mischievousness. Another attractive surprise from the learned Ms. MacKiernan.
If he ever got home again, he’d need to remember to look up the researcher who put together his information packet on Mairi. The man might work for her family’s company, might be a specialist in information gathering, but he certainly had omitted an awful lot about this woman.
On the other hand, filling in the gaps could prove to be quite interesting.
For someone else, he reminded himself. Not for him. His interest in Mairi MacKiernan was strictly professional.
His thoughts along that line were interrupted when all chatter at the table was silenced by Marsali’s slamming her goblet to the table, sloshing wine across the surface.
“I should have ken you both would be too much the coward to ask, but I’m no afraid.” She turned her glare from her brothers to her mother and Blane. “You promised you’d make up yer minds. You’ve kept us waiting for a fortnight now. Will you host the feast or no? Will you invite the man or no? We’ve only days till Saint Crispin’s.” Her entire body was rigid with anger.
“Saint Crispin’s Day?” The words seemed to slip out of Mairi, drawing her young cousin’s ire.
“Aye, Cousin. Saint Crispin’s Day. Surely even where yer from it comes every year?”
“Or do Longshanks’s people no observe the civilized holidays now?” The youngest boy, Colin, seemed bent on having his voice heard as well, his glare moving from Mairi to Ramos.
Ah, the political naïveté of youth.
“I wouldn’t know, boy. Edward isn’t my king.” Ramos decided this little pup needed to be put in his place.
“She’s from England.” The other half of the whispering duo, Andrew, pointed accusingly at Mairi.
“But not for long. As I said, she’ll be returning home with me. To Spain.” Ramos arched an eyebrow, giving the boys his haughtiest smile, and reached for his cup, remembering only at the last minute what the offensive vessel held.
Oh well, what we sacrifice for appearances’ sake.
He took a small sip and schooled his face not to reflect the distaste he felt. “Besides, she’s your kin. It’s your blood running through her veins. Or does that mean nothing to a Scotsman?”
Mairi’s hand came to rest on his forearm, her fingers tightening ever so slightly, as if to restrain him from pursuing this particular line of conversation. Perhaps she knew best.
“He’s right. They’re family. And what’s more, they’re our guests,” Caden growled at his brothers. “We’ll have no more from either of you, unless you want to settle it with me. In the lists.”
“My apologies, s-sir….” Andrew’s face was quitered as he stuttered to a stop.
“As your brother says, we’re all family here, or very close to it since I’m your cousin’s Guardian. Please call me Ramos.”
“My apologies, Ramos.” Though obviously embarrassed, Andrew did not waver his gaze.
“Mine as well,” the younger Colin muttered.
“If it helps at all, my king isn’t exactly fond of Edward, either.” From what little Ramos remembered of his Middle Ages history, Spain had been fragmented enough to make it a safe place to be from. And it would be quite some time before there were treaties between any of the Spanish rulers and King Edward I of England.
Both boys looked up, surprised interest in their eyes.
“All this blether will no distract me this time.” The angry little redhead stood, pushing her chair over in the process. “Tell me now. Give me yer decision.”
The mouse, sitting next to her, quickly bowed her head, crossing herself as if to ward off the demon of fury that possessed Marsali.
“Sit down, Sallie Rose,” her mother said wearily. “You can cease making a spectacle of yerself. We’ve already sent riders to announce the feast.”
“Oh.” The wind momentarily taken from her sails, she turned to right her chair and seat herself. “And when was I to be informed?”
Ramos studied the girl closely. She was…what had he read in Mairi’s research notes? Sixteen, the youngest of the cousins, all the siblings spaced one or two years apart. What he hadn’t found anywhere in those notes was that this girl, the very one Mairi had traveled seven centuries through time to save, was one spoiled little bitch.
It would appear that Mairi hadn’t known that tidbit of information, either, he realized as he watched her eyes widen with comprehension.
“There was no reason to inform you earlier, Sallie.” Blane smiled indulgently at the girl. “And dinna glare at yer mother so. It was my decision as laird.” He nodded as if that were the end of that.
The girl pressed her lips together tightly for a moment before she continued. “Did you invite him? Did you even respond to his request?” Her emphasis on the word was unmistakable.
A look passed between Blane and Rosalyn before he replied. “I sent a messenger bearing our invitation.”
“Is he coming?”
“An invitation has been sent in response to his request for an audience. We’ll have to wait and see, lass, whether or no the man chooses to come to the feast. Now let that be the last of it.”
Marsali looked down at her food for a moment before knocking it off the table in a sweeping gesture of her arm. She jumped up from her seat and ran to the doorway, turning at the last moment with tear-filled eyes.
“You dinna want him here. It’s no even about his defiance of Edward. You dinna want me ever to meet anyone exciting. You’ll keep me locked away here until I’m like her.” She pointed Mairi’s direction. “Too old for anyone to ever want to wed.”
Next to him, Mairi seemed to choke on a drink of her wine, coughing as she put her cup back on the table.
Hands on her hips, Sallie stamped her delicate little foot, turned and ran to the stairs, weeping loudly.
Quiet reigned in her wake, broken only by Caden’s little mouse nervously clearing her throat, her eyes closed as her lips moved furiously.
Blane sighed. “My apologies, dear cousins, that you had to sit through that. Our Sallie is a bit”—he paused and looked at Rosalyn, who rolled her eyes—“high strung.”
Caden snorted, drawing a glare from Blane.
Only great self-control kept Ramos from shaking his head. That dramatic little exit had convinced him of the accuracy of his earlier opinion. Spoiled, selfish women were one of the things Ramos had learned early on to go out of his way to avoid, thanks to personal experience with his father’s courtesan, Adira. He’d had no choice but to deal with her in his childhood. He’d sworn never to do so willingly again. He had no patience for them.
Yet here he was, Guardian to a woman who thought to risk her own life to save one such as this. He had an overwhelming desire to spit the vile taste of truth from his mouth.
Instead he took another drink of the vinegar these people called wine and looked around the table, searching. There was something nagging at the outer edges of his Fae senses. Something he’d missed. Something important.
Again he studied the faces in the room, their emotions still extraordinarily intense as they quietly finished the meal.
Mairi muttered something to herself about Saint Crispin’s being a problem. He filed that away to check into later.
Servants bustled back and forth clearing the table. Caden and Blane rose, continuing their sheep discussion as if they’d never been interrupted as they left the room.
“Lady Rosalyn?”
She turned to him with an inquisitive smile when he addressed her.
“Who exactly is it that your daughter so desperately wants invited to this party you’re hosting?”
Rosalyn’s mouth tightened perceptibly and she glanced toward her two younger sons who remained at the table. Their conversation stopped immediately and they stared at their mother.
Ramos watched as she dropped an emotional curtain over her face, hiding whatever her real feelings might be. The more he saw of this woman, the more he found to admire in her.
“He’s the man who will be living at Sithean Fardach for a time. He and his people.”
“He’s no just any man,” Andrew interrupted. “He’s the patriot who’s come to unite us against that tyrant, Longshanks.”
“For pity’s sake, lad. He canna be a patriot. He’s no even a Scotsman,” Rosalyn snapped before catching herself. The tight, thin line of her lips told Ramos she and her sons had been over this ground before.
“And his name?” Ramos pursued, knowing he was on the right track now. The pieces were so close to slipping into place, he could feel it.
“Duke Servans of the Swiss House of Servans,” Andrew answered for his mother, his voice hushed with reverence, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
“Damnation.” It left Mairi’s lips on a whisper of breath, so quiet no one would have recognized it for more than a sigh.
Except Ramos. He heard and understood.
He couldn’t have said it better himself.
Nine
No, no, no. How can this be possible?
Mairi closed her eyes and shook her head in disgust. She of all people was questioning the impossible? Yet…
Saint Crispin’s Day.
This required a rethink of all her plans. Not that she’d actually had any specific plans beyond getting here and saving Marsali, or Sallie, as the family called her. Another glaring gap in her research.
And now that she’d met her cousin, she had even more to think about. The young woman was turning out to be quite different from Mairi’s expectations. And why shouldn’t she be? It was ridiculous to assume you would know someone simply because you’d found two tiny surviving written references about her. Simply because she was the daughter of the woman you’d always loved as your own mother.
Deep in thought, Mairi rose from her chair and was halfway to the door when a large hand wrapped around her upper arm, stopping her in her tracks.
“We need to talk.” Ramos scanned the room as he spoke.
“Aye, that we do.” Did he have any idea of their new dilemma?
“Not here. Someplace quiet, private. A spot where we won’t be disturbed.”
“Come with me.”
She led him across the room and through a door onto a large balcony. They crossed to the far side of the terrace, away from the entry, before stopping.
The cool, damp air hit her the moment she stepped into the open. Now she understood why she’d been shivering ever since she arrived in this time.
“You need to take yourself home.” Ramos stepped back from her, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the stone railing. “Now.”
Of all the things she’d expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them.
“You dinna listen verra well, do you? I told you before, I’m no going anywhere yet.”
His breath huffed out, his lips a thin, resolute line. “It’s not safe for you to stay any longer. Not now that we know the Duke is on his way here.”
“Of course it’s no safe. But it’s even less safe for Marsali. Sallie,” she corrected herself. “Especially now that we have so little time.”
She drew herself up to her full height and consciously crossed her arms, mimicking his stance. She might not think of herself as a brave woman any longer, but she was determined.
“If you want to speed things up, perhaps you can help me figure out how it all got so off track. Help me talk to these people, to fill in the details I’ve missed.”
A small frown wrinkled his brow and she fought the urge to touch it with her finger, to smooth the furrow away.
“Off track? What are you talking about? I read your research notes and your conclusions were logical, even if your plan to come back here wasn’t. The stories of a foreign duke who was involved in the death of a daughter of the house of MacKiernan, the total lack of any further mention of Marsali Rose after that time—it all made sense. You were quite thorough and specific.”
“It’s what I do. I also chose the time to come back here verra specifically so I’d never have to deal with this Duke Servans. But for some reason, although I’d planned to arrive here in July, it’s late October.” Surely he’d understand the problem now.
The frown vanished as he seemed to consider her words. “So that explains the significance of Saint Crispin’s Day.”
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“Exactly. October twenty-fifth. We’re too close to when she…well, when whatever it is happens.”
“But from your notes I got the impression you didn’t know the exact date of Sallie’s death.”
He had read carefully.
“No the exact date, but based on the few pieces of evidence, I narrowed it down to a window. Sometime between Samhain and the twenty-first of December. The document I found specifically said the family mourned through the Yule.”
“Christmas?” The little forehead furrow between Ramos’s eyes had reappeared.
“No. Christmas in this time isna festive like it is now, like it will be…you know what I mean.” She shook her head in frustration. “Here it’s a solemn day. The festive part is the twelve days after Christmas. The Yule, according to old Celtic tradition, is the first full moon nearest the winter solstice. My family, because of our ancestry, continued to recognize many of the old ways.” When you know you descend from the Fae, you tend to believe in other, older traditions.
“All right,” he said thoughtfully. “So, no later than…what? The twenty-first of December? I can see that. But what led you to Samhain as the start of your time window?”
“Samhain is the celebration of summer’s end, occurring on the thirty-first of October. It’s like the Celtic version of New Year’s.”
“I know what Samhain is. Why did you choose it? I didn’t see anything in your notes about it.”
Reason told her he was only seeking information, not challenging her research. Still, she felt on the defensive now, as if she were justifying her research to her professor.
“The first mention I could find of this Duke Servans was his presence at a local celebration in October. I naturally concluded Samhain.”
“Any chance the celebration you found mention of could be this Saint Crispin’s Day feast your little cousin is carrying on about? The two are only a few days apart.”
“Of course it could be.” She huffed out her breath. Wasn’t he paying attention at all? “Why do you think I was so bothered by the whole Saint Crispin’s Day thing?”
“Listen, my sweet, I have no idea what’s going on in that pretty head of yours. But now that we’re both on the same page with this, I’m even more convinced. You need to leave.” He held up a hand to silence her protests and, leaning toward her, he continued. “This Duke Servans is nothing but bad news. I don’t want you here when he shows up.”
Soul of a Highlander Page 9
