Only to be mocked, ridiculed and cast from the gates in shame. Even his curse had been more vehement in that place than ever before, as if his own mind mocked what he wished to believe.
What if Mhairi’s tale were true?
Perhaps Garrett had abandoned the battle too soon. In truth, he had not intended to abandon it fully, but had returned home in search of more detail, only to find himself upon another, grimmer quest.
Annelise brought him clarity. Garrett knew what he wanted. He wanted to have Annelise by his side forever. He wanted to sip of her lips and feel that welcome tide of mingled desire and relief flood through his body. He wanted to feel invigorated and be strong, and he wanted to ensure that she was treated with the honor she deserved.
He knew that Mhairi and Seamus would have loved her, too.
Garrett wanted to leave Seton Manor with Annelise as his wife. This was the conundrum. On the one hand, he knew that her family history was what allowed her to consider an unconventional choice. She might even be able to make her peace with his curse, or figure out its symptoms without him telling her of it. She eased his malady greatly, whether she could heal it fully or not. The solace was enough for Garrett.
Yet she was nobly born and had at least one knight seeking her hand. No man of sense would choose a hunter over a knight as a spouse for a maiden in his care. He did not blame Murdoch for his doubts and indeed, he admired that the laird of Seton Manor took such responsibility for the welfare of his wife’s sister.
But if Garrett truly was heir to Killairig and could prove it with Annelise by his side, his dream had a fair chance of success. The notion grew in appeal the more he thought about it, leaving him too excited to rest.
How could he prove the identity of his father? It seemed one man’s word against Mhairi’s and the laird’s view would undoubtedly prevail in his own holding.
How could he go to Killairig with Annelise, if he had to go there to win the right to ask for her hand in the first place? He doubted mightily that Murdoch would willingly let her accompany him, no matter how noble the cause, and Garrett would not dishonor his maiden by stealing her away.
It was a riddle with no solution.
It was as the afternoon shadows were drawing long that Garrett realized he was not the only one troubled within these walls. He heard the thoughts of the creatures not far from his hut.
The goats had not been milked. Garrett turned his attention to their discomfort and impatience. He was accustomed to listening to the thoughts of goats, though that realization prompted an unwelcome memory.
It made sense that the milking had been delayed. There were guests arrived in the hall. Seton Manor was a small keep, and Garrett would guess that servants were few. Whoever milked the goats each evening must have other labors to perform on this day.
He could help.
He was not a man who liked to be idle, and it was possible that the laird might look upon him more favorably if he showed himself to be useful.
Garrett could only imagine that it would serve him well to have Murdoch Seton an ally rather than a foe.
Chapter Five
Elizabeth missed her siblings.
She never would have imagined it possible. As youngest of eight siblings, Elizabeth had spent most of her life yearning for a moment alone.
Now that she had solitude aplenty, she found it less desirable than she had always imagined.
She and her four sisters had shared a room all their lives, at least until her older sisters had married and left Kinfairlie. As the youngest girl as well as the youngest of all, Elizabeth had lost every battle and every claim for supremacy. Madeline was the best horsewoman, Vivienne was the most daring, Isabella was the most indulged when she insisted upon remaining abed on cold mornings and Annelise did the finest embroidery.
Alexander was the oldest and the heir, although one would never have guessed as much in their younger years. He had always been first with a prank and the one who could be relied upon to enliven even the most tedious day. These days, it seemed his life was naught but tedium, for he was laird himself. To Elizabeth’s surprise, Alexander seemed to relish his responsibilities, for he had even taken to spending time with his ledgers. That pleased Anthony, the castellan, a great deal, but Elizabeth found it a dull choice.
Alexander’s wife, Eleanor, was a fine woman and one Elizabeth liked very well, but their two young children consumed much of her time. She also was a healer, who had taught Isabella her skills, and much concerned with the welfare of all within Kinfairlie’s village. Elizabeth helped Eleanor on occasion, but even that was a lonely business. When she delivered a posset to the baker for the lady of the manor, there was much gratitude expressed but not much conversation. She was of the family of Kinfairlie, and thus to be treated with respect and deference.
When Elizabeth desired most to talk.
Or even to gossip.
Her remaining two brothers were gone abroad, and she even missed them. The chamber once shared by all the sisters seemed large and empty, echoing with silence and shadowed with memories. Alexander was so consumed with the business of the king’s return, that there were few guests in the hall these days, as well. The only guests who had visited had been a pair of knights, on a mission from the earl. Orson Douglas had been seeking Annelise, and Elizabeth felt sorry for her sister that the knight in question might find her. She did not trust him a whit, and neither had Alexander, though he had not been able to avoid telling the knight of Annelise’s location. Orson’s companion, Andrew, had been even worse. He imagined that he flattered Elizabeth but she was well aware that he spoke only to her breasts. She had been glad to see them ride out from Kinfairlie and wished they would never return again.
Despite her boredom.
Within a week, though, her mood had eroded to the point that she would have welcomed a frog in her pallet.
She even missed the spriggan, Darg. That Fae had provided a great deal of vexation to Elizabeth but at least it was lively. Since the second collapse of Ravensmuir the previous winter, there had been no sign of the spriggans in Kinfairlie’s hall.
Elizabeth was beginning to fear she would spend her entire life in boredom.
And so it was that she begged Eleanor for a task on a sunny June afternoon. She did not care what it was, so long as it took her from the hall and the village. She hoped it might promise some company and that Eleanor might send her on a quest to another village, but her brother’s wife misunderstood her. Eleanor clearly believed Elizabeth simply needed a breath of air, for she dispatched her to collect strawberries from Kinfairlie’s forest.
“You should go where the fire was,” Eleanor said. “Where the trees burned, the land is clear to the sun. It is said that the Fae plant strawberries first when the land must be sowed again. A basket of berries would be a most welcome addition to this night’s fare.”
Elizabeth smiled and agreed, feeling as if she had been sent on a quest like a troublesome child. Isabella would have been sent for a proper herb, trusted to harvest it properly as well as identify it correctly. But not Elizabeth. Nay, she had no talents, save the gift of being able to see the Fae, although that seemed lost these days as well. She dutifully fetched a basket, donned her boots and cloak, and marched out of Kinfairlie’s hall toward the forest.
More solitude. The forest offered exactly what Elizabeth did not desire. Even the sunlight and the chatter of birds could not console her. The light wind from the sea did not lift her spirits as usually it did, and the silhouette of broken Ravensmuir only made her want to weep. She trudged to the clearing where the forest had been razed, and sure enough, she spied small green plants growing there. She picked a few, confirmed that they were strawberries and ate a great many before setting to work.
She had picked perhaps half a basket of the small fruit and shed her cloak beneath the sun’s bright eye, before she became aware that she was being watched. Elizabeth straightened with care, her curiosity alight, and turned in place. She was not tru
ly surprised to see the man seated on the far side of the clearing, fingering his beard, but her heart leapt at the sight of him.
Finvarra.
The Fae king smiled slightly at Elizabeth, utterly at ease while he waited for her to acknowledge and recognize him. She had first seen him when he had ridden his stallion into Kinfairlie’s hall, a large charcoal steed with silver bells in his dark mane. Elizabeth had known from the first that it was an uncommon steed, not only because no one in the hall saw it other than herself, but because its eyes glowed in a most unnatural way.
As before, Finvarra had rings on his fingers and a golden crown upon his head. His beard was as dark as midnight and flowed down his chest, where he fingered it, his rings glinting. Elizabeth could see even at this distance that his eyes were just as dark as his beard. On this day, he wore a robe of emerald green, trimmed with golden embroidery, which blended into the hues of the forest remarkably well. His boots were made of gilded leather, supple and gleaming.
As before, a cluster of winged creatures fluttered around him, like a cloud of gilded dragonflies. They were Fae, though, tiny perfect creatures serving their laird.
Elizabeth remembered his words, the ones he had uttered into her own thoughts on that night and which still echoed in her dreams. One day, beauteous Elizabeth, you will come to me. I already grow impatient.
It was as if she had been waiting for him, even though she had forgotten ever having seen him. Her mouth went dry and her heart quivered. Her basket of strawberries dropped at her feet, for she both knew and feared what Finvarra wanted.
When he smiled, she straightened. Here was adventure and to spare.
When he beckoned to her with one finger, Elizabeth could only obey. She crossed the clearing quickly and decisively, more than ready to have something change in her life, and paused before the king.
On impulse, she bowed. Like every child who had ever heard a tale, Elizabeth knew it was not wise to offend the powerful Fae, and Finvarra was the most powerful of all his kind. “Well met, my lord Finvarra.”
He smiled with pleasure and gestured to the chess board before him. “I seek another player, Elizabeth. Will you join me for a game on this fine day?”
“But what stakes, my lord?” she asked, knowing that one did not engage the king of the Fae without knowing what was at risk.
It could be everything.
It could be naught at all.
It could be the laugh of a child, the weight of a feather, a glimmer of sunlight through the clouds. It could be the fate of a sibling or the destiny of true love.
“This time, let us just play, the better to understand each other.”
It was an invitation Elizabeth could not refuse. She sat down, noting that he took the black side while she was granted the white. He gestured to her with grace, the Fae attendants flying closer to watch, and Elizabeth chose to move a pawn.
She was glad indeed that Anthony had taken great pleasure in teaching her to play chess, though she did not doubt that Finvarra was a more experienced player.
As king of the Fae, he had had centuries to hone his game.
*
It was outrageous.
Annelise simmered, well aware that her sister and husband were keeping her from Garrett. She had been compelled to sit beside Orson at the midday meal and now listened to his endless tales about his marvelous self and his many feats of valor. She was certain they were no more true than that of his killing the wolf, but Murdoch’s quelling glance had silenced her.
For now. She clenched her fists in her lap and did not even endeavor to smile or encourage him, a choice that had no obvious effect upon Orson’s determination to woo her.
Annelise was disgusted. Simply because he had earned his spurs and had noble birth, Orson sat at the high table and was granted a chamber in the manor itself, albeit one to share with his companion knight. He was treated with the utmost courtesy, even though he was a complete stranger to every soul in Seton Manor.
All Annelise knew of him was that he had lied about the wolf pelt, and that was no commendation.
Garrett, on the other hand, had saved her life from that same wolf. He had acted with valor and strength, but upon coming to the gates, he was dispatched to a hut beyond the kitchens, suitable only for a goatherd. He, too, was a stranger, but one whose deeds spoke mightily of his nature.
Yet he was a hunter, not a nobleman, and therein was the difference.
It was wrong. It was unjust. In terms of his merit as a man, his honor, his nature and his morals, he was a veritable prince compared to Orson, who cared only for his own importance and comfort. Annelise could not believe that she was the only one in the hall who saw the truth of it.
Was this a mark of how any choice on her part would be treated? Would they compel her to wed Orson or another man of his ilk, just because of his rank? Annelise cared little for comfort and wealth, at least not in contrast to happiness and love. A stubborn conviction was growing within her that she would have Garrett and no other, even if she were obliged to live out her days in the forest.
She would be by his side, which would be compensation enough.
She would have excused herself as soon as the meal was completed, but Isabella thought more quickly. Annelise was bidden to take Orson to the stables, that she might show him her mare, Yseult. When that task was finally completed—for Orson made a feast of a morsel—there was yet another task assigned to her. Isabella invited Orson to admire Annelise’s embroidery. The afternoon proved to be an ordeal beyond belief, and one that showed no signs of reaching its end.
Finally, Annelise managed to excuse herself to change her garb for the evening meal. Once in her room, she had no doubt that Isabella would check upon her. One glance out the window proved that Stewart was sitting idly behind the kitchen. The faithful servant of Murdoch’s cast the occasional glance at her window, proving why he had taken that position and for what purpose. Murdoch was aware of her earlier escape route.
Annelise folded her arms across her chest in vexation. What was wrong with all of them? Alexander had agreed that she—and Isabella and Elizabeth—could each wed by choice. Isabella had been married to Murdoch before any had known he would hold the seal of Seton Manor. She could not understand why Murdoch was so determined to keep her from Garrett over the question of property.
It only meant that she would have to create her future by choice, rather than sit by and let others choose her fate for her. It had not been in Annelise’s nature to make such demands, but her boldness had already been rewarded.
She would simply have to be more bold. Annelise waited an eternity, then crept to press her ear to the door.
Silence in the corridor.
She opened the door and listened. The voices from the hall below were muted, and Isabella said something about returning to the chapel. Annelise listened and resolved that Orson had gone with Isabella.
Annelise crept to the top of the stairs and paused to listen again. She descended slowly, one step at a time, alert to any sound. She heard a dog barking at the gate and another snoring in the hall. She heard Andrew talking to the ostler in the yard and Orson laughing—probably at his own jest—far away. She heard the maids gossiping in the kitchens and the pots clanging.
She took a deep breath and hastened down the last of the stairs. The hall was empty for the moment. Annelise fled down the corridor that led past the kitchens and toward the hut where Garrett had been taken.
If anyone asked her, she would say she wanted to check upon his illness.
But when Annelise reached the hut, her breath coming quickly, she was dismayed to find its door propped open. It was dark inside, with no sign of anyone. Surely, Garrett could not have left? Surely, Murdoch could not have cast him out?
She spun in place, distressed beyond compare, when she heard a man’s low words.
“There, now,” he said quietly. “Just a moment and all will be better.”
Garrett!
Annelise raced to
ward the sound of his voice. She turned the corner to the pen where the goats were kept, and smiled at the sight of him milking one of the nanny goats. His movements were sure and gentle despite his size and strength, the milk squirting into the bucket at steady intervals. He sat on a stool, his kilt pushed up over his knees, and she admired the lean strength of his legs. The goat herself chewed and looked around, apparently content. The other goats in the herd milled around them, nursing their own kids, eating hay, and bleating.
The doe’s kid ducked under her other side and clamped on to one of her other teats, as if afraid Garrett would take all of the milk. “There is sufficient to share,” Garrett murmured softly and the doe bleated, as if to agree. She nuzzled her kid with an affection that made Annelise’s heart clench, then turned a steady yellow gaze upon Annelise.
Garrett glanced over his shoulder at Annelise and smiled. She knew he was not surprised by her presence and assumed he had heard her approach.
Annelise smiled. “I did not know you could milk goats.”
“Once you have the rhythm, it is not so hard, and they are uncomfortable if they become too full. I have milked many a goat in my time.”
“There is a girl who milks them. Bess.”
“She must be busy at the hall, with so many guests.”
“And you were thirsty?”
Garrett shook his head. “Nay. I decided to make myself useful.”
Annelise walked toward him, struck by the difference in his manner from earlier that afternoon. He looked just as he had in the forest. Purposeful and strong. Hale. “You feel better, then?”
Garrett nodded once.
She paused beside him, hesitated, then put her fingertips on his shoulder. He lost his rhythm with the milking for the barest moment, and Annelise smiled that he should be as stirred by her presence as she was by his. “Was it because you are not accustomed to being with people?”
True Love Brides 02 - The Highlander’s Curse Page 8
