by Connie Mason
“I . . . what?”
Reaching down, he hauled her from the tub. “You heard me. I was useless to Glenda. That has never happened to me before.”
Blair laughed in the face of Graeme’s anger. “You give me too much credit, Laird Graeme. I couldna do that even if I wanted to.”
She knew that goading him was a mistake, but she couldn’t help looking down his body. What she saw, however, made her mouth drop open. He was fully aroused, his sex jutting boldly from the folds of his robe.
Graeme must have noted the shocked look on her face, for his eyes followed the direction of her gaze. Nearly as astonished as Blair, he dropped his hands from her and backed away.
“Damn you! Just touching you arouses me. I’m cursed!” Whirling, he stormed from the chamber.
Chapter Four
Graeme had already eaten and left the hall when Blair broke her fast the following morning. A fetching red-headed serving maid sidled up to her and asked if she’d like a bowl of oats or eggs and ham. The girl’s manner was blatantly disrespectful. Hand on one hip, she inspected Blair from head to toe, then quickly dismissed her with a toss of her head.
“Is something out of place?” Blair asked. “Have I forgotten to fasten my dress?”
Checking first to see if anyone was looking, the girl said, “I never saw a witch before.”
Blair sighed. Would it never end? Would people never tire of thinking ill of her? “I am not a witch,” she replied.
“Ye must be to have bewitched our laird.”
“Who are you?”
“Glenda. I serve Laird Graeme.” She grinned. “If ye catch my drift.”
Blair did indeed catch Glenda’s drift, and she recognized the woman’s name. Glenda was the one Graeme had intended to bed after Blair had refused him. The thought of Glenda intimately entwined with Graeme sent an immediate surge of anger through Blair.
“Henceforth you will confine your duties to the kitchen,” Blair said, stressing the word duties.
“I will continue to do as I please until Laird Graeme commands otherwise,” Glenda returned. “It’s not your decision to make. Have ye decided between porridge and eggs?”
“Porridge,” Blair said, vowing to deal with Glenda later.
She watched Glenda stroll off, all too aware of what Graeme saw in the flamboyant flirt. Aside from being voluptuous, she boasted a blatant sexuality that all but screamed for a man’s attention.
From the corner of her eye Blair spied Alyce hurrying toward her, her face flushed from exertion. Alyce’s aura had turned from the usual placid blue to a more volatile violet, and Blair knew immediately that she was upset.
“Blair, lass, ye must come quickly,” Alyce panted.
Blair rose from her chair. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“ ’Tis yer husband, lass. He’s in the stillroom, rummaging through yer box of herbs,” she said meaningfully, “and his mood is nae good. What happened last night?”
Blair paled. “Show me the way. I will tell you about it later.”
The stillroom was situated beyond the kitchen. They reached it by way of a vine-covered arched walkway. Blair burst through the door just as Graeme was removing four candles from a box and holding them aloft to inspect them.
“What are you doing? Why are you searching my belongings? Be careful. Those herbs are precious to me.”
Graeme whirled at the sound of her voice. “After what I saw last night, I canna trust you, Blair. I am making sure there is naught in here to cause mischief.”
“As you can see, I brought naught but herbs, salves and simples with me to Stonehaven.”
He shoved the candles beneath her nose. “What are these used for?”
Blair shrugged. “They are just candles. Sometimes I work late and need the light. Are you satisfied?”
Graeme returned the candles to the box. “For the time being.” He turned to leave.
“I met your leman this morn,” Blair ventured. “I suspect you’ll soon hear about it from Glenda. I’ve confined her duties to the kitchen.”
Graeme’s elegant eyebrows shot upward. “You what?”
“I’d best go unpack your trunks,” Alyce said, scooting out the door. “I’m not needed here.”
“Coward,” Blair hissed as her friend left her alone to face Graeme’s wrath.
“ ’Tis just as well she left,” Graeme said. “Alyce is a wise woman. Now, Blair, please explain yourself. Glenda’s duties are none of your concern.”
“I beg to disagree, my lord,” Blair said sweetly. “Am I not your wife?”
“That’s debatable,” Graeme groused.
Blair chose to ignore his comment. “As your wife, I have complete authority over the servants, do I not?”
“Under normal circumstances,” Graeme allowed. “But our marriage is . . . unusual, to say the least. You are not truly my wife, are you?”
“Father Lachlan would disagree.”
“You’re avoiding the subject, Blair. As for Glenda, she is answerable to no one but me.”
Blair’s eyes narrowed. “As you wish, laird.”
A smile stretched the corners of Graeme’s lips. “Och, lass, you’re jealous.”
“Jealous!” Blair huffed. “I barely know you. How can I be jealous?”
His smile widened as he extended his hand and stroked her satiny cheek. “I can remedy that, lass. I know a way we can become better acquainted verra quick.”
Blair was sorely tempted. Graeme must have noted her indecision. Before she knew how it happened, she was in his arms, his lips plundering hers. Then she felt the blunt force of his tongue exploring her mouth. His hand tangled in her hair, his mouth a bruising pressure as his kiss turned fierce.
The Prophecy, an inner voice warned. Heed the Prophecy. Dinna lose your heart.
Of course Blair knew why she couldn’t lose her heart but she was in no mood to listen to reason. Graeme’s kisses were making her wild to experience the pleasure she had known in her dreams. Her dreams had never shown her the glory of completion with Graeme; they had stopped just short of that wondrous knowledge.
Lust shot through Graeme as swiftly as a sword. He broke off the kiss and lifted his head to stare at Blair. Her eyes were closed, her lips cherry red and wet, her expression dazed.
She’s mine, he thought exultantly. Once he bedded her, this mad desire for her would cease. Sweeping her into his arms, he took possession of her lips in a long, slow kiss that was deliberately seductive. With Blair secure in his arms, eagerly returning his kisses, he walked toward the door, wild to be inside her.
Blair must have been aware of his movement, for she shrugged free of his kiss, her eyes wide with alarm. “Where are you taking me?”
“To bed. It’s what we both want.”
“Nay! Put me down.”
“Why are you fighting this? We’re wed. The church expects us to have children. And there is only one way for that to happen. Dinna you want children, lass?”
Her face assumed a wistful expression. “Aye, I do . . . but . . .”
She would love to have children. But first she wanted to know why Graeme was so set on having her in his bed. They scarcely knew one another, and he had been a reluctant bridegroom.
“Why do you want me, Graeme? I am not beautiful. You yourself said I am . . . strange, and I am not experienced in bed play.” She counted his hesitation in heartbeats.
“You think you’re not beautiful?”
“People see no beauty in me, only evil.”
He set her on her feet. “I see only beauty. I must admit you’re not what I was led to believe.”
She smiled sadly. “Did you think I had a wart on my nose and stringy black hair, and flew about on a broomstick?”
His silence answered her question. She turned away.
“If you’re convinced I’ve brought evil to Stonehaven, go away and leave me to my unpacking,” Blair said, pushing away from him. “My herbs should be hung from the rafters and my ungu
ents and ointments put away in cupboards.”
“So you’re denying us again, are you, lass? Verra well, I willna press you. ’Tis your loss, after all. I will have no trouble finding a willing lass to warm my bed.”
He turned to leave, then spun around, his expression dark and riveting. “Mind what you do in here. I dinna know what magic you wove last night, but it mustna happen again. ’Tis my final warning.”
The aura surrounding him turned dark blue and forbidding. Blair shuddered. Why could she not be like other women? Because God made you what you are and you canna change it, responded a small voice inside her. Her mission in life was to heal, and nothing could change the course of her destiny.
After Graeme left, Alyce returned and helped Blair hang bunches of herbs from the ceiling and place everything else on shelves and in cupboards. Then Blair returned to the keep, more than ready to finally break her fast. Graeme sat with his kinsmen, laughing and talking without as much as a glance in her direction. Blair tried to console herself with the knowledge that being ignored by Graeme was best for both of them.
What rankled, however, was the way Glenda fawned over Graeme and how he seemed to bask in her attention. At that moment Blair would have given anything to be like other women.
After Blair finished eating, Jamie arrived to acquaint her with the keep. They started with the storeroom on the first floor and proceeded floor by floor to the parapet. The keep was small compared to Gairloch, but it had many endearing qualities, such as tapestries on the walls to keep the wind and cold at bay and numerous fireplaces. It was well maintained and had glass windows. The hall was spotless, as were the bedchambers and kitchen, due no doubt to Maeve’s vigilance and Jamie’s excellent stewardship. Even the garrison was surprisingly neat and clean.
“How many people live within the keep?” Blair asked, impressed by all she had seen.
“It varies,” Jamie explained, “depending on the number of guardsmen serving Laird Graeme at any given time. The laird’s cousins, Heath and Aiden, live here, as does Stuart, his uncle. And those who serve the laird occupy the third floor. Maeve and I have rooms in the rear of the keep.”
Jamie unhooked a ring of keys from his belt and handed them to Blair. “These are yers now.”
Blair hesitated. She didn’t deserve them. She was a fraud. Though she might be Graeme’s chafelaine, she was not his wife in the true sense of the word. But when Jamie pressed the keys into her hand, she accepted them readily enough.
“I’m not trained to run a keep,” she admitted. “I’m a healer, and my duties have always been confined to the sick and wounded. I would appreciate it if you continue on as you have before I arrived. The keep is running so smoothly in your capable hands, I see little need to change things.”
Jamie grinned. “I shall be happy to continue in my former capacity. But I will still consult with ye when yer opinion is needed. Maeve mentioned that she would like to talk with ye about changes in the menu. She wants to learn what ye like so she can prepare it for ye.”
Blair was touched. It seemed that Maeve was willing to accept her, after all, and even wanted to please her.
Later that day Blair met Heath, a somewhat cynical but polite man about Graeme’s age, who made no bones about his reservations concerning her marriage to his cousin.
“Graeme is a special mon,” Heath told her. “His faith in God was severely tested in France. He was wounded but came back to us. His kinsmen dinna want to see him hurt.”
“Graeme fought in France?” Blair gasped. She knew so little about her husband.
“Aye. Ye’ve heard of Joan the Maid, have ye not?”
“Of course, who hasn’t?”
“Graeme went to France to join her fight against England. He was one of the Scotsmen who made up her personal guard.”
Puzzled, Blair asked, “Why did Graeme leave his home to fight on foreign soil?”
“He felt strongly that defeating the English in France would diffuse the King’s threat to Scotland. Unfortunately, things didna turn out the way he hoped.”
Blair shuddered. She felt as if someone had walked over her grave. “Joan was burned at the stake, accused of witchcraft by her own church. I canna imagine a worse death.”
“Nor can I,” Heath agreed. “Graeme came home a changed mon. Joan meant everything to him.”
Blair went still. “He loved her?”
Heath cleared his throat and looked away, as if realizing he had spoken too freely. “I dinna know, lass. Ye’ll have to ask my cousin about that.” Suddenly his expression turned hard, his gaze probing. “What I’m trying to tell ye is that Graeme needs no more witchcraft in his life. He wed ye to repay a debt to yer father, he is that honorable. But I will do all in my power to protect him against ye.”
Stunned by the vehemence of Heath’s warning, Blair said, “I wouldna harm Graeme even if I could. Excuse me, I must attend to my duties.”
Blair hurried off, only to bump into Alyce.
“Blair, what ails ye, lass? Ye look pale.”
“Naught is wrong, Alyce.”
“Dinna lie, lass. I know ye better than anyone. Did Laird Graeme upset ye?”
“Did you know that Graeme fought in France? He was one of Joan the Maid’s guards. She was accused of witchcraft and burned at the stake, if you recall. ’Tis no wonder Graeme holds witchcraft in such contempt.”
“Worry not, lass. Ye are a Faery Woman, not a witch.”
“They are one and the same to Graeme.”
“But we know better, dinna we?”
Little comfort that was, Blair reflected. “Are you headed to the kitchen? I am going to confer with Maeve about the menu.”
“Go along with ye, then, I am off to the stillroom to mix up a batch of burn salve to add to our dwindling supply.”
After Blair conferred with Maeve, she joined Alyce in the stillroom. She found the older woman grinding herbs with a pestle. The scent of yarrow root and mallow permeated the air, reminding Blair of home and her father. She’d not had time to mourn him, and she ached from her loss. Perhaps later she would go to the chapel and pray for his immortal soul. There did not seem to be a resident priest at Stonehaven, but she needed no one to assist her in her prayers.
Blair and Alyce worked together in companionable silence until the supper hour approached.
Alyce placed her hands behind her back and stretched. “The hour grows late. Ye’d best change yer soiled gown before ye join yer husband in the hall.”
“You’re tired, too, Alyce. Return to the keep. I will follow in a few minutes. I want to put these jars in the cupboard before I leave.”
Alyce nodded and left. Blair finished her work and was preparing to leave when a loud knock sounded on the door. Surprised, Blair hurried to answer the call, guessing that someone was in need of her healing powers.
A lass of about twelve years, with tears streaming down her cheeks, fell to her knees before Blair and grasped her hand. “Please, my lady, I heard ye were a healer. Can ye help my mother?”
Blair raised the child to her feet. “What’s wrong with your mother, lassie? I have to know what ails her before I can help her.”
“She is in childbed, but the bairn willna come. She’s in terrible pain. I dinna know where else to turn.”
Blair closed her eyes. The vision that formed behind her eyes showed a tiny girl child struggling for life inside her mother’s womb.
“Where is your father?”
“Papa went to Inverness. He said he’d return before the bairn arrived, but something must have delayed him. Will ye come, lady?”
“Of course,” Blair said without hesitation. “Where do you live?”
“In the village.”
“Give me a moment to gather what I need.”
Moving swiftly, Blair placed several pouches of dried herbs, various jars and bottles and clean linen cloths into a basket. Briefly she considered telling Graeme where she was going but decided against it. Her first duty was to the suffer
ing woman. Explanations could wait.
The girl, whose name was Carla, lived with her mother, Mab, and two younger brothers in a cottage in the village. Blair heard Mab’s pitiful moans before they reached the rowan tree planted at the front door to ward off evil spirits. Inside, Mab wasn’t alone. Several neighbor women and the local midwife were gathered around the bed, each trying to help Mab in her own way. Everyone fell silent when Blair entered the crowded bedchamber.
The air inside was fetid, nearly stifling, and the first thing Blair did was to fling open the shutters.
“Here now, what are ye doing?” a woman challenged. “I’m Gunna, the midwife, and I dinna need yer help.”
“Aye, she is needed!” Carla insisted. “I brought her. Mama’s suffering has been going on for two days.”
“Two days!” Blair gasped. “Please move aside. Mab needs my help.”
“ ’Tis the witch,” someone murmured. Others picked up the whisper, until the small chamber was abuzz with the word. The women backed away, their expressions wary, even fearful. But the midwife refused to budge.
“Who gave ye leave to interfere?”
Blair saw no help for it. In order to save Mab and her unborn child, she would be forced to exert her authority. “As your laird’s wife, I need no authority save my own. Leave, all of you, except you.” She pointed to an elderly woman who appeared less judgmental than the others. “What is your name?”
“Rona, mistress.”
“Have you ever helped birth a bairn, Rona?”
“Oh, aye, mistress, many times. I assist the midwife.”
“Good. Are you willing to help me?”
“Aye, mistress.”
“Now see here,” Gunna said pugnaciously. “I have birthed bairns in this village since long before ye were born.”
“I am not trying to usurp your position, but you’ve had your chance. As you can plainly see, Mab needs more help than you can provide.”
“Let the laird’s wife help me, Gunna,” Mab said weakly. “I dinna want to lose my bairn.”
Hissing her disapproval, Gunna stormed from the chamber, taking everyone but Rona with her.
“Can I stay?” Carla asked.
