Harlequin Historical November 2013 - Bundle 2 of 2

by Carol Arens

  And that was also when a comely young woman stepped out from behind Broc’s shadow and made her way out of the chamber and past Athdar. Damn, but Broc moved quickly with the lasses. From the smile on her mouth and the blush in her cheeks, he knew Broc had another conquest.

  ‘Laird,’ she said quietly with a nod as she passed him.

  ‘Ailean.’

  Broc waited as she sauntered down the corridor before coming to meet him at the door of the chamber.

  ‘Another minute and you would have had her naked,’ Athdar said. ‘My God, man, you move quickly. You left the yard only minutes ago.’

  His steward had always been so—a man with more women than other men could handle. It had been like that through their younger years and showed no sign of diminishing now that they’d reached manhood and more. Broc shrugged and smiled, accepting his words as a compliment...which they were.

  ‘My sister is coming?’

  Broc pulled the door closed and walked with him back to the kitchens. ‘Aye. Her messenger said they are about a day’s ride from here and should be here by midday on the morrow.’

  ‘Is aught wrong? Did she say the reason for the visit?’

  ‘Nay, no word about why. Just that she travels with a small group and will stay about a week. I was just on my way to ready the large chamber for her and her women.’

  His keep was nothing like Connor’s with its many storeys and bedchambers and towers. There was one large chamber on the lower floor, off the main hall, that was used for guests along with four chambers on a second floor. And one small tower for the guards. The great hall and kitchens took up most of the lower floor, with a stable and chapel set apart from the rest. But it was clean and comfortable and it was his.

  A chill raced along his spine and he wondered if it was the weather or the visit that worried him more. ’Twas unlike his sister to visit without an invitation or arrangements being made in advance. With her many duties as Lady MacLerie and the Countess of Douran, she simply did not rush off across Scotland to visit him. He hoped the ill-at-ease feelings he had were not portents of something bad.

  He nodded as Broc went off to see to arrangements and then he went to the small chamber he used to keep his records and rolls. As they were not significant enough to warrant the use of a priest as clerk, Athdar kept his own records and was proud of that. Reviewing them now, he was confident his kith and kin would weather the coming winter well.

  The chill of foreboding built within him, even as he saw to his duties throughout the day.

  * * *

  By the next day, he’d convinced himself that he was getting up in years and would soon be complaining of the aches and pains of the elders in his clan. He laughed at himself as the call came from the gates announcing his sister’s arrival.

  But when he saw who accompanied Jocelyn into his yard, he knew the feelings had been a warning of things to come, for following his sister on her horse was the woman who confounded him the most—Isobel Ruriksdottir.

  * * *

  Excitement hummed inside her as the gate and the stone keep beyond it came into view. Isobel could not believe her plan was succeeding so well. Oh, there were no guarantees that her mother would support her in this or that Lady Jocelyn agreed that she was the perfect choice for a new wife for her brother. There were so many things that could yet go wrong.

  As they rode on through the gate, Isobel sat up a little straighter on her mount and glanced around the yard, hoping he was here waiting. Lady Jocelyn had sent him scant warning of their arrival and nothing of her reasons for visiting her brother.

  The lady did have a reason—a flimsy one, true—but it would make sense. The herbs that Athdar’s healer needed to replenish her own stores had not been included in the last supplies sent here. Those herbs and plant cuttings lay wrapped carefully in moist cloths in her own bag, just as Margriet had prepared and instructed. These would be needed before winter fell, so there was a need...other than hers.

  Their party drew to a stop and Isobel waited as she heard Athdar call out greetings to his sister. From her position behind and to the side of her mother’s horse, she could not see him or be seen, so she listened as he greeted the lady and helped her down. Several young men approached to help with the horses and one lifted her down to the ground. With his help, she also untied the bag from her saddle and took it with her. Her mother held out her hand and Isobel took it, walking with her to greet the laird appropriately.

  ‘Margriet!’ he called out as he saw her mother. ‘Isobel,’ he said as he met her gaze. ‘Welcome to my home.’

  Although her mother had visited before, this was her first time in his home. She followed as they walked into the keep, looking at everyone and everything. Jocelyn had grown up here until her marriage to Connor MacLerie—something caused by Athdar’s youthful antics, if she understood it correctly. She’d only heard bits of the story, but the results had turned out more happily than anyone at the time had dared hope.

  The keep was stone—not as large as the MacLeries’, having only two storeys and one guard-tower. Athdar had made changes since becoming laird and since marrying that made the keep more comfortable, according to Jocelyn. More importantly, the MacCallums had become close allies with the powerful MacLerie clan.

  Soon they reached the other end of the large hall and Athdar led them to a table set with platters of food and pitchers of ale.

  ‘Broc thought you might need something since you have been on the road,’ he said. The lady and her mother both acknowledged the man who must be Athdar’s steward.

  Broc seemed of an age with Athdar, but where Athdar always wore a serious expression that furrowed his brow, Broc wore one that spoke of mirth...and something more that she could not decipher. He wore his long black hair pulled back and his eyes were the colour of the stone that lay in the walls around them. His smile caught her eye and she could feel the heat of a blush moving into her own cheeks. Athdar brought him closer just then so he could greet her and her mother.

  ‘Margriet, welcome,’ he said, bowing to her mother. ‘It has been several years since you last graced us with a visit.’

  His deep voice affected even her mother and a blush that matched Isobel’s filled her cheeks. Then she giggled! She’d watched untold numbers of women react this way to her father, but had never expected to see her mother fall under this kind of spell.

  ‘Isobel, welcome,’ Broc said, taking her hand and smiling. ‘We met a few years ago at Lairig Dubh, but you were only a wee lass then. Now...’ Athdar cleared his throat loudly and Broc continued, ‘I hope you enjoy your stay here.’

  She thought herself immune to such clear and blatant flirting, but she was not. And since neither her mother nor Jocelyn was resisting it, she smiled back, too.

  ‘My thanks for such a warm welcome,’ she said. ‘I am certain I will enjoy my visit here.’ Broc guided her to a seat.

  ‘Can I have your bag placed in your chamber?’ he asked while waving to the waiting servants to begin.

  ‘That is for Laria,’ Lady Jocelyn said before she could. The healer for Athdar’s village would be in need of what they’d brought.

  ‘Should I have it taken to her or would you rather have her come here?’ Athdar asked.

  ‘Mayhap Isobel could take them after we finish here?’

  ‘Certainly, lady,’ she replied. It would give her a chance to look about the village. And stretch her legs after long days of riding.

  Taking the seat that Broc indicated, she watched as Athdar spoke to his sister in hushed tones. An expression of relief crossed his face—he must have been expecting bad news with this sudden visit. Then the tension between brother and sister eased and his face took on a boyish look and it took Isobel’s breath away.

  She allowed herself but a moment of appreciation before turning to speak to her mother abou
t the plants they’d brought. Marian, Duncan’s wife, had a talent with herbs and plants and oversaw the keep’s gardens. Isobel herself had worked with Marian at times, learning from her store of knowledge for use when she married and supervised her husband’s household. The plants they brought would add to the ones needed to treat fevers and pain, important for the winter and in time to have them dried and ready for use.

  Athdar and Jocelyn joined their conversation and brought him news of the comings and goings at Lairig Dubh. Soon they had finished eating and the steward directed them to the chamber where their bags had been taken. Isobel excused herself from her mother and the lady and approached Athdar.

  ‘Can you tell me how to find Laria’s cottage?’ she asked, smoothing her hair back from her face.

  ‘Come, I will take you there,’ he said, guiding her down the steps.

  ‘You must have more important things to do,’ she said. Though it worked into her plans well, she did not want to take him from his duties as laird.... At least not yet.

  ‘One of a laird’s duties is to show hospitality to a guest, so you take me away from nothing more important.’ From the tone of his voice and the serious look in his eyes, he did not seem to be joking. So, neither did she.

  ‘I am honoured, Athdar.’

  Isobel nodded at him and took his arm when he held it out to her. He matched his longer stride to hers as they crossed the hall and left the keep through the kitchens. He introduced her to relatives as they passed by, pointed out places along the path and kept up a steady flow of conversation along the way.

  The keep was not as large as that in Lairig Dubh and neither was the village, but everyone they met looked hearty and well. No one seemed to fear approaching the laird and speaking to him, whether they were old or young, man or woman. The completed harvest and the coming winter were the two most common subjects raised, but some of the younger boys challenged Athdar to battles and he accepted them in good cheer.

  Though he released her arms several times as they stopped to talk with others, he offered his once more as they began walking again. When she tripped over the exposed root of a tree, he held her steady and did not let her fall. The path meandered through a thick stand of forest before opening into a clearing. A small cottage lay within a still-lush garden, surrounded by a low wall. Curls of smoke drifted up from the chimney and wicked away into the air, leaving a hint of peat to scent the coolness. Athdar opened the low gate and let her pass him. Before they reached the door, it opened and a woman stepped out.

  ‘Laird,’ she said, nodding to Athdar. ‘Good day,’ she said, as she glanced at Isobel.

  ‘Good day, Laria,’ Athdar said, letting her arm slip down now. ‘This is Isobel Ruriksdottir, from Lairig Dubh. She has something for you from my sister.’

  ‘You are Margriet’s daughter, then?’ Isobel nodded as the woman continued to examine her face. ‘You do have her look.’ Laria stepped back and motioned for them to enter.

  ‘I must return to matters in the keep. I will send someone for you?’ Athdar remained on the narrow walk, waiting for her answer.

  ‘I can find my way back,’ she said as she followed Laria inside. ‘Again, I am grateful for you bringing me here.’

  The short, wonderful walk they had together over, Isobel watched as he strode away from the cottage and her. No matter that he had spared her this time, he was an important and busy man here among his clan with much to do besides seeing to one guest. Still, it had been a boon granted to her and it pleased her.

  ‘You brought the plants?’ Laria asked.

  Isobel realised the woman had moved across the cottage’s main room to a large worktable already crowded with jars and bowls and plants and leaves. She walked over and placed the bag she carried in a clear spot.

  ‘Marian sent along the ones you asked for and a few others she thought you might have need of,’ she said as she opened the bag, lifted out the wrapped bundle and handed it to Laria.

  Isobel watched in silence as the older woman handled the cuttings and plants with almost reverence, unwrapping and gently easing the stems and roots and leaves apart. Some she placed directly in bowls of water, others she pressed into bowls filled with soil. Isobel did not know enough about the various herbs to know which ones were which or which needed what. Laria worked on, without giving any attention or notice to Isobel, so she wandered around the cottage, examining some of the covered jars, sniffing some of the more aromatic plants. But when she reached out to touch one, Laria called out to her.

  ‘Do not!’ she said sharply.

  Her words and tone surprised Isobel and she jerked her hand back away from the dark, dense plant that had gained her attention. ‘I am sorry,’ she offered as she returned to the table where Laria yet tended to the newly arrived plants.

  ‘Some of these are more de...delicate than others and must not be touched,’ Laria explained and she held out the empty bag to Isobel. For a moment, Isobel thought the woman was going to say something else, something other than ‘delicate’.

  ‘Your pardon. I will be more careful, Laria.’

  Isobel felt a shift in the tension between them in that moment. Something had changed and she was at a loss to explain it. Mayhap the plants had been damaged before by a careless touch? Laria’s next words confirmed her feelings.

  ‘If you have nothing else for me, I must get to work with these,’ she said, motioning to the plants she’d unwrapped and separated. Though her face was emotionless, her eyes showed something more, for a dark, suspicious glare met Isobel’s gaze for a brief moment.

  Mayhap she was overtired? Or was it simply the woman’s disposition? Isobel brushed the few strands of loosened hair away from her face and nodded.

  ‘We are visiting for a sennight. If you have need of anything else from Lairig Dubh, just inform me or Lady MacLerie and we can arrange to have it brought to you before the winter sets in,’ she said.

  Isobel walked to the door, but stopped before leaving. She could not explain, even to herself, why she asked the question.

  ‘Athdar has spoken many times about your skills and talents in healing with them, Laria. If I promised to be careful and obey your instructions, would you teach me some of what you know? While I am here?’

  ‘Why?’ the woman asked, with no inflection to reveal if she was even thinking about her request.

  ‘My knowledge of plants and herbs is sorely lacking. With my parents considering offers of marriage, I realise that I may be overseeing such matters in my husband’s home much sooner that I thought. I would gain some knowledge before I marry.’ It was true, even though another, less identifiable reason lurked deeper in her mind.

  Laria stared at her as though evaluating her words in a silence that drew out past the simple few seconds Isobel thought she needed to refuse her. Then, surprising her, Laria agreed, though it was clear with some reluctance.

  ‘I can spare you some time each morn, if you want to come,’ she said.

  ‘Aye, I would like that. My thanks, Laria,’ Isobel said.

  ‘And you touch nothing without my saying so.’

  ‘Certainly.’ Isobel lifted the latch on the door. ‘I will come on the morrow then.’

  At once pleased and puzzled, Isobel gained her bearings and headed back through the forest towards the keep in the distance. Passing some, she offered greetings as she walked back. All were friendly, many having seen her pass this way earlier with Athdar and some whom she had met when they’d visited Lairig Dubh with their laird on previous occasions. She did not remember all the names, but a number of faces were familiar to her.

  She arrived at the gates and was waved through by the guards watching from their posts. Everything along the way was pleasant and welcoming and she saw her mother sitting with Lady Jocelyn and other women at the end of the hall.

  So, if all was well, why
did she feel the distinct chill coursing through her bones? Why did it feel as though someone had just walked on her grave?

  Chapter Four

  Jocelyn sat with Margriet and several of her own cousins in the hall, all of them working to repair a large tapestry. It had always been one of her favourites, a scene that included figures of all the animals that inhabited the forests and lakes in the surrounding area. As a child, she would look at this on the wall and make up stories about all the animals, giving them names and occupations. She’d noticed the damaged and fraying corners on her last visit and took advantage of this one to work on it.

  This was one disadvantage of Athdar being without a wife—there were simply some things that a woman needed to see to in the keep and village. One of their cousins had stepped in, and oversaw the keep and the duties of chatelaine, working along with Broc. And Laria served as healer and watched over the village concerns.

  But Athdar needed a wife. His clan, their clan, needed their laird to marry.

  More than that, her brother deserved a lasting happiness. Her heart ached for all he’d lost and all he lived without and the fact that he wanted it, but would not allow himself to hope for it, tore her soul in pieces. That was the reason she had decided it was time to meddle here. Winning or losing the matchmaking challenge between her friends and their husbands meant nothing to her in the face of Athdar’s continued pain and unhappiness.

  Everyone deserved the chance for a family. If her husband, the Beast of the Highlands, had found redemption, her brother should, too.

  ‘Do you think this is wise, then?’ Margriet asked her quietly as they passed threads around the circle of women embroidering. The other women spoke amongst themselves, carrying on conversations about their tasks and their families.

  ‘Should you even be asking me that question? You know our agreement,’ Jocelyn said, smiling at her friend.

  ‘You broke all the rules when you brought me along on this mission of yours,’ Margriet replied, resting her hands on her lap and pausing in their work. ‘You cannot expect me to sit back and observe when my daughter is part of your plot.’