“Fortunately, my brother was born with the ability to cultivate many friends in...well, in every class of society. So it was a matter of just a few days before he learned of your frequent visits to the market square in Fearnoch.” The provost moved to the far end of the table and then hesitated, looking up at her with a spark of genuine interest in his blue eyes. “I forgot to ask if you had a pleasant and uneventful journey from Fearnoch.”
Uneventful? She repeated the word in her mind and fought down the color she felt creeping into her cheeks. William had spoken with his brother, and Laura wondered just how much the priest already knew.
“Everything was just...fine. Except that I’ve--I’ve never traveled in weather as severe as we encountered during this journey. Except, of course, for the storm at sea that blew our ship far to the north of Fearnoch Firth.”
“Och, weather!” The priest nodded thoughtfully and moved to a cabinet in the corner. As he opened a door, Laura could see rows of shelves neatly filled with bound books, papers secured with ribbon, bulging leather packets, and scrolls. She lifted her gaze and found the man studying her seriously. Suddenly, the foul possibility of how William Ross might have described their journey sprang into her mind, tormenting her.
“Did Wi...the laird...your brother...have the same complaint?”
A sparkle suddenly lit Gilbert’s eyes, dispelling the look of seriousness. “If you are asking whether ‘twas weather that William complained of--the answer is nay, mistress.”
Trust the rogue not to keep silent about her errors in judgment.
“Very well, then. There was more than just the weather that went awry,” Laura blurted out wearily. “I did not know your brother when he approached me in the market square at Fearnoch. And aye, I created a bit of a ruckus. In fact, a great ruckus, and that was just the start of it....”
Letting out a frustrated breath, she told the attentive priest everything that had happened in the past two days. With the exception, of course, of those moments of lunacy when she had found herself kissing William Ross.
“So I know he loathes me. He must be quite angry with me for turning his simple mission into a painful journey. But despite what he has surely told you about my rude disposition and my selfishness, I am very grateful to him for his rescue...as I am thankful to you for the shelter you are offering me now.”
A lengthy silence descended upon the room. When Laura looked up nervously, the provost--who had seated himself across from her as she told the tale--was studying her with interest.
“Was there anything else, provost, that your brother told you that I failed to mention?”
“The saddle?” the young priest suggested, his face brightening with a smile. “William marched in here, announced your presence, and then proceeded to complain for a rather extended period about the saddle that I had made for him when he became laird. I couldn’t get a word in at all. He said the thing was too narrow, then too broad, then too ornate, then too plain. The stitching was shoddy and the leather too stiff. But to be honest, mistress, he complained about nothing else. In fact, I had no idea your journey was so, eventful.”
“And was the saddle a recent gift?” Laura asked, not knowing what to say.
The provost gazed at her a moment speculatively and then shook his head as a smile continued to tug at his lips. “Nay, ‘tis more than two years old. And prior to your journey, I had heard nothing but praise for the thing.”
Laura felt her face beginning to burn with embarrassment. An unspoken suggestion hung in the air. Looking around the room in an effort to compose herself, she noticed above the mantel the simple sketch of a young girl. The large, bright eyes smiling down at her immediately looked familiar.
“‘Tis a sketch of my niece, Miriam. Just a wee lass, she is.”
Laura took in the dimpled cheeks of the child. “Does she live nearby?”
“She should, considering both her parents are dead, and the man who should be caring for her lives here. But to answer your question--nay, she does not.”
“Why is she not here, then? Who is responsible for her?”
“Aye, fair questions, mistress.” Father Gilbert gave an approving nod before getting up and taking a letter out of the open cabinet. “That is a long story, though, which I’ll be more than happy to share with you once you are rested and settled into your new quarters. But for now, I believe you must be anxious to read this letter from your sister. It accompanied the earl’s letter, which is here as well.”
Laura’s heart rose into her throat as she took the packet from him.
“And I believe that since you are now safe and sound here at St. Duthac’s, I’ll answer the earl of Athol’s letter.” The young priest came around the table. “‘Tis so much more pleasant to correspond with a powerful nobleman when you don’t have to tell him you’ve lost his new sister.”
“Provost, I am deeply sorry for any trouble I might have brought you.”
Gilbert Ross shook his head good-naturedly as he escorted her to the door. “Please, don’t give it another thought. Tonight, you read your letter and then have a good rest. Tomorrow, I’ll escort you to our convent and introduce you to the prioress and some of our fine people there. I have to warn you, though, life at the convent of St. Duthac shall not be nearly as exciting as the life you’ve been living.”
“I assure you, provost,” Laura said nodding gratefully. “Excitement is not what I need right now.”
****
A dog rose, stretched lazily, and moved closer to the hearth. A serving woman carrying a stack of wooden bowls walked past the little girl toward the kitchen. The sound of men arguing behind the closed doors of the laird’s chamber drifted into the Great Hall. Miriam lifted her face from her work and stared timidly at the closed door.
“Is my grandsire still angry with me, Nanna Jean?”
“I shouldn’t blame Lord Herries if he was.” The heavyset woman shifted her weight on the bench and peered more closely at the pattern of needlework spread before them. “You are seven, Miriam. Seven! And do you know what most lassies your age are already capable of?”
The young girl bobbed her head of dark curls as she kept one eye on her grandfather’s door. “They stitch and they weave. They sing and entertain. They take care of their younger siblings, if they have any, and are polite to their older ones, if they are still living.”
The woman’s eyebrows arched. “And...?”
The young girl’s shoulders slumped. The soft voice dropped to a whisper. The blue eyes reflected a sadness far too deep for one so young. “And they are not afraid of the dark.”
“Afraid of the dark.” the woman repeated with ridicule. “Escaping one’s own comfortable bed and sneaking into the kitchens at night like some petty thief. Spoiled! That’s what you are, Miriam Ross, since I know of no other orphaned seven-year-old who has been as coddled as you.”
Miriam tried to focus on the work, but her needle slipped past the white linen and stabbed her finger. She stared at the crimson drop of blood forming on the pale skin at the end of her finger.
“Now look what you have done!” The heavyset woman pulled the linen off the little girl’s lap. “Away with you and don’t get that blood on your clean apron! Come back when you’ve stopped your bleeding.”
The child rose slowly to her feet and stared anxiously at the closed door at the end of the Great Hall. “Could I go and show grandsire my finger?”
The woman shook her head adamantly. “Lord Herries told you before that he does not want to see you. He is a very busy man, Miriam, and has no time for you. Now, be on your way.”
CHAPTER 10
Everything in the laird’s chambers seemed to stab at him. All an ugly reminder of the past. All a reminder of Mildred. Her presence was everywhere in the room.
In William’s mind, this remained Thomas’s quarters. This was his brother’s bedchamber. Next door, Thomas’s work room, where he had attended to the business of the Ross clan. Out of respect for his memory
, William had left the chambers virtually untouched. But whenever he was forced to step inside those walls, his inability to breathe, to be able to clear his mind of the memories and the guilt, made him want to lash out in anger. Everything--from the exquisite tapestries covering the walls to Thomas’s ornate desk with its matching cabinets, brought at Mildred’s direction from Paris--bespoke the shallow elegance that she had demanded.
It all filled him with disgust. For her. For himself. For everything.
“I told the messenger from Hoddom, m’lord, that we did not know how long you were planning to be away. But the man has been very content to stay and sit by the fire in the Great Hall since Lord Herries ordered him to await your answer.”
William turned his back on Edward, the seasoned leader of the Ross clan warriors, and walked hastily to the closest window. Throwing open the wooden shutter to a bitter rush of morning air, he filled his lungs and looked out at the snow-covered courtyard and the countryside beyond. It was all so clean, he thought, out there.
But beneath the cloudless sky, a piercing wind raced out of the mountains to the northwest, scoured the crystalline landscape in search of victims.
Edward’s tap on the worktable got William’s attention. “I left Lord Herries’s letter here, m’lord, with the other correspondence you might care to look at.”
William didn’t have to turn to know where the folded parchment lay. He didn’t have to break the seal to know what the old man wanted.
“When you are finished with your work in here, Will, I was hoping you might meet with a few of us.” There was a slight pause in Edward’s voice which made the laird glance over his shoulder at him. The warrior, obviously uncomfortable, avoided meeting the Highlander’s direct gaze.
“Is there a problem?”
Edward shook his head. “Nothing too important. But...odds’blood, Will! When the men learned of your going to Fearnoch and not taking any of them--us--well, a few were a wee bit disappointed. Some were thinking you do not think us worthy to face a few miserable Sinclairs.”
“Edward, tell your men that I consider all of them--all of you--a match for any clan.”
“They need to hear that from you, m’lord.” The warrior met William’s gaze with the quiet strength of a seasoned fighter. “They miss you training with them in the yard.”
William turned fully and faced his man. “I grew up with most of you. In fact, you, Edward, were the man who first put a sword in my hand. Thomas said that the Ross fighters have always been--and still are--the best group of men a laird could have behind him. My brother...”
“Nay, m’lord. Speak not of Thomas.” His gray eyes were hard and direct. “You are our laird. Will, you are our master now. The Ross clan needs you, m’lord, to lead us.”
“By the devil,” William exploded. “Is there no...?”
The Highlander stopped, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he forcibly regained his composure.
Edward’s words were said simply and without malice, and William knew that. These were plain facts that he could not change. No matter how hard he cared to fight it, he was still laird--by blood and by the choice of his clan. It appeared to matter naught how unworthy he was of the position. They wanted a laird, and would take the empty shell of one if that was all they could get.
Well, William thought, I can give them that, at least.
“Aye. Tell the men to prepare to take a beating from their laird tomorrow morning.”
Edward gave a satisfied nod and started for the door, but then hesitated.
“There is more?”
“I know, m’lord, you’ve been back here only a day. But there are two crofters from out by the fork of the Strathrory who’ve been awaiting your return. They’re ready to kill each other over a cow and a bucket of oats. And old Raulf from Kinloch sent word that the Munros have been raiding his family’s lands again.”
“Aye, Duncan Munro hasn’t much to do once the winter sets in. Very well, send a half-dozen men to Kinloch. I’ll see the crofters today.”
“And then there’s the question of repairs to the east wing. And the matter of choosing a new steward. I never knew how good a man Robert was until the old bastard died. I’m not the man to run things, Will, and Blackfearn Castle is just not a fit place without a steward. If anyone of quality should come, there’s no one to serve them. And then, the kitchens--”
“The kitchens?” William asked crossly.
“The new cook ran off a fortnight ago with one of the scullery lads.” Edward shrugged. “Not that she could bake worth a damn, anyway.”
“Why is it that Thomas has been dead for two years, but everything falls apart at just this moment?”
The warrior shook his head. “It has been coming for some time, m’lord. Even while Sir Thomas was laird. When he and Lady Mildred started spending less and less time at Blackfearn...”
Edward continued, but William already could taste the bitter recollection of those times in his mouth. Mildred never intended to be happy in what she called "the wilds" of the Highlands. She needed her comforts, her friends, the excitement and the extravagance and the recklessness of court life. It was because of her unreasonable nature that Thomas agreed to take her south in the middle of winter. They drowned because of her arrogance and her selfishness. It was only a miracle that the bairn...
William’s gaze fixed on the waiting letter on his desk. He stared at the seal of Mildred’s father, Lord Herries.
“And one thing more.” Edward’s voice cut into William’s thoughts. “There is the message from the provost.”
“You can send a word back that I’m through with rescuing damsels in distress.”
Edward’s face broke into a grin. “No wonder you did not want your men crowding about you. Was there a good reward that went along with the lass?”
“Reward?” William snorted dismissively, turning away. “Only if you consider a cracked skull a reward.”
Damn, he didn’t want to think about her now. It had been hard enough to have his sleep plagued with dreams of Laura Percy--her soft white skin beneath his fingers, her warm flesh pressed tightly to his own, her mouth so tender, willing...
Nay, the woman was poison. Strong-willed. Meddling. Far too orderly. Trouble, pure and simple. That should be simple enough to remember.
“What was it my brother wanted?”
“Just to speak with you. But he sent word that you should not worry yourself about making the trip to Tain. He is coming to Blackfearn himself once the weather eases up.” The tall warrior put a hand on the door, ready to depart. “His man mentioned ‘tis advice the provost seeks.”
“My advice?”
The warrior nodded. “Aye. That was the message.”
*****
There was no challenge in her life. No excitement. Nothing to urge along the cold winter days--or the seemingly endless nights.
For nearly a fortnight bitter winds had ripped through the walled-in clusters of buildings that formed the Shrine of St. Duthac and its adjacent convent. Snow had fallen several nights, and an icy rain had now coated everything.
Stepping through the gated wall separating the convent from the shrine, Laura pulled the wool cloak tightly about her and winced at the sight of the cleared and tamped down pathways leading to and from the chapter house.
Once again, everything was taken care of.
The orderly community at the convent at St. Duthac was an unexpected vexation to Laura. The methodical order of things at the shrine had quickly proved to be another torment.
What was she to do when everything was being done?
Relentless in her pursuit of usefulness--in finding some value for her existence in the peaceful and well-managed community--Laura had been reduced to begging for chores. The response, though, from the very first moment, had been the same.
Laura was a guest, and she was not to fret over mundane details.
The truth of it was, Laura thought, that Gilbert Ross was too much of a m
an in control, too much of an organizer with clear views of order, too much of a person like herself.
And the situation was about to make her daft.
Intentionally avoiding the path and digging her boots through the icy crust into the knee-deep snow, Laura buried her face deeper under the cloak and made her way toward the chapter house. There, at least, she knew she should be able to charm old Father Francis into giving her some task to do. Word had come to the convent that the provost had ridden out and would be absent for the day, so this was Laura’s chance to find something to alleviate the boredom of her enforced idleness.
With nothing to focus on, her thoughts had all too often drifted to William Ross. She’d even had fallen so low as to ask some casual questions of one of the younger nuns about the Ross laird. It appeared that he rarely visited St. Duthac’s, though Laura already knew that. Days had come and gone, and there had been no sign of any visitors from Blackfearn Castle.
Foolish, idle thoughts, she chided herself as she neared the chapter house. Kicking snow and ice with her foot, she pushed onto the cleared pathway.
The old priest was waiting for her on the steps before the door and watching her. Spying the curmudgeonly expression on his wrinkled face, Laura smiled innocently and stamped the snow off her feet onto the path. As he stepped aside, she quickly moved past him into the vestibule and stopped to unfasten her cloak..
He eyed the ice clinging to the hem of her dress and cloak. “You’ll need to go back, mistress.”
Laura glanced down at the snow that had fallen to the floor and shook her head.
“Oh my,” she exclaimed, feigning horror. “Well, before I go, Father Francis, I’ll just go to the kitchens and get a broom. I would be a very ungrateful wretch not to sweep these floors before going back to the convent. And then, while I’m at it, perhaps I’ll just ready the fires in the refectory for the afternoon meal, and see if Brother Hugo needs any help in the kitchen. I believe he is beginning to value my expertise with a paring knife. And I know that the candles in the chapel need tending, for I noticed yesterday as I watched the workmen--”
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