“So. They left one of their number behind. Prepare to die, woman.
“I am Andrew Ross and this is my castle. Tell me quickly who you are and what you do here.”
“My name is Gwenellen. My home is in a land known as the Mystical Kingdom.”
That had him releasing her and taking a step back. “I’ve heard of such a place. All Highlanders have heard the tale. But it is no more than a myth.”
“If it be a myth, than I am one, as well, but I assure you, sir, I am real.”
All too real, Andrew thought as he was forced to absorb a strange rush of heat that nearly seared his flesh. He pulled away as though burned and looked down to see if she’d left a mark on him. Though his skin was without blemish, he could still feel the tingling all the way to his fingertips. “How do you come to be here? Have you brought witchcraft to this place?”
The Knight and the Seer
Harlequin Historical #678
Acclaim for USA TODAY bestselling author RUTH LANGAN
“Ruth Langan is a true master at involving your emotions, be they laughter or tears.”
—Romantic Times
“…another tautly written, fast-paced and sensual romance. A fine example of
why this author is such a successful romance writer.”
—Romance Reviews Todayon The Sea Sprite
“Ruth Langan makes us believe in the beauty of true love.”
—Romantic Times
“…characters so incredibly human the reader will expect them to come over for tea.”
—Affaire de Coeur
#675 IN THE KING’S SERVICE
Margaret Moore
#676 WYOMING WILDCAT
Elizabeth Lane
#677 THE OTHER GROOM
Lisa Bingham
RUTH LANGAN
THE KNIGHT AND THE SEER
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◊The Knight and the Seer #678
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For Patty, our gifted artist,
who colors all our lives with love.
And, of course, for Tom, who paints with laughter.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Prologue
Mystical Kingdom—1552
“Now stand right here, Jeremy.” Nine-year-old Gwenellen, of the clan Drummond, helped the little troll onto a flat rock before taking several steps backward. She had the look of a pixie, with fine golden curls spilling down her back in tangles, and laughing eyes the color of warm honey. “You have to hold out your hands like this…” she lifted her hands, palms up and waited for him to do the same, “…so you don’t miss any of the flowers I’m going to send you.”
Catching the look of disbelief that passed between her older sisters, Kylia and Allegra, who were standing to one side, the little girl huffed out a breath. “I know what you’re thinking. Just because I’ve made a few…missteps before, you think I can’t ever get these spells to work. But this time I’ll prove you wrong.”
“And if you don’t?” Allegra, the oldest of the sisters at ten and three, had hair the color of fire and green eyes that danced with amusement as she studied the troll dressed in his top hat and frock coat, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere than here, as the object of her little sister’s experiment. “Poor Jeremy is the one who’ll find himself flying backward, or tumbling down a well.”
“Aye.” Kylia, a year younger than Allegra, with raven-black tresses and eyes the color of heather, nodded. “Or hanging from the very top of a tree, or sailing across the sky. And all because of your missteps.”
Gwenellen’s face grew redder with each mention of her many accidents. She was their despair and their delight. Despite her many failures, she never doubted that she would one day master the skills necessary to be a witch like her mother, grandmother and sisters.
The troll, Jeremy, was no bigger than a wee lad, his head barely reaching their shoulders. He claimed to have lived in the real world for more than a hundred years before making his home in the Mystical Kingdom with these lasses and their family. From the beginning he’d been especially fond of Gwenellen, whose sweet nature made it impossible not to love her, despite her imperfections. Though he wasn’t known for his patience, he’d shown a great deal of restraint while the little girl practiced her spells and talents, usually with disastrous results.
“He was never hurt.” Gwenellen shot a pleading look at the troll. “Tell them, Jeremy. None of my missteps ever caused you harm.”
“So far.” His voice resembled the croaking of a frog. “But be careful, my little friend. This time I’d prefer the petals to the thorns.”
“Aye. I’ll keep that in mind.” She turned to her two sisters with a haughty look. “We’ll just see who can conjure the prettiest roses in all the land.”
Tossing her hair back from her face she lifted her arms heavenward and assumed an air of great concentration before beginning to chant the ancient words. Though she paused a number of times as her tongue twisted over an unfamiliar word or phrase, she doggedly continued to the end before calling out triumphantly, “I bid thee now, from thy sweet bower, send me down the loveliest flower.”
A single angry dark cloud gathered overhead, followed by a rumble of thunder that brought Gwenellen’s mother, Nola, and her grandmother, Wilona, racing across the meadow, with Bessie, the hunched old crone who was also part of their family, trailing behind. Everyone looked up at the sky expectantly just as the cloud opened up and spilled its contents over Jeremy.
Instead of flowers, they watched as he was covered with a white, powdery substance that mounded around his feet, spilled over his top hat, coated his clothes, and sent him into a fit of sneezing.
Gwenellen stood perfectly still as the others raced to Jeremy’s side and began to dust him off. As they did, Allegra and Kylia started giggling.
“You think this is amusing?” The little troll’s ruddy face grew as dark as the storm cloud that had now blown away.
“It isn’t you, Jeremy.” Allegra dipped a finger into the powder and tasted it before falling into the grass, convulsed with laughter. “It’s just that Gwenellen came so close, this time.”
“Close?” The little girl was fighting tears. “How can you say such a thing? What I wanted was rose petals.”
“Not roses. Flowers,” Kylia said, between snorts of laughter. “You asked for the loveliest flower. And what you got was…” She could barely speak over the laughter. “What you got was flour. Fine, milled flour.”
The two girls continued giggling while Jeremy stared in disgust at his top hat and frock coat, covered with white dust.
As for Gwenellen, she plunked herself down in the grass and rested her chin on her clenched fists, blinking back tears.
When the others had scattered, Wilona sat down beside her granddaughter, while Nola stood with her hands on her hips, regarding the two of them. “Another misstep, my darling?”
The little girl nodded. “These spells are so easy for the rest of you, Gram. Why are they so hard for me?”
The old woman drew her granddaughter close and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You just need time to uncover your gifts, Gwenellen.”
“Aye. That’s what Father said.”
“Your father?” Wilona drew back and shot a glance at Nola. “When did he talk to you?”
“Last night. I was having trouble sleeping, because of that little…misstep I had yesterday.” She steadfastly refused to call them mistakes, insisting that they were mere miscalculations.
Wilona thought about poor Jeremy, paddling furiously at the bottom of the well, and shouting at the top of his lungs to be rescued from Gwenellen’s latest attempt at a spell. He would have hardly referred to it as anything but a catastrophe.
“Are you sure it was your father, my darling?”
Gwenellen nodded. “He looked so tall and handsome, with his plaid tossed over one shoulder, and the glint of a jeweled dirk at his waist.”
Nola dropped to her knees and touched a hand to her daughter’s arm. There was a new urgency to her voice. “What color were the jewels?”
“Deep, dark red, like blood, Mum. Except for the middle one, that was as green as Allegra’s eyes.” The child turned to her grandmother. “And a lock of his dark hair spilled over his forehead just so.” The little girl touched a finger to the old woman’s brow.
The two women went very still. Gwenellen had just described her father perfectly, even though she’d never seen him, for he’d died before she was born. He was a mortal who had defied his clan to marry Nola, knowing she possessed powers that were frowned upon by his people. Yet theirs had been a true love-match, and until the day he died, he’d made her life unbelievably happy.
“What did your father say to you, lass?”
Gwenellen’s smile returned. “He told me that I had a gift. A very special gift which no one else in the Mystical Kingdom possessed. He said that it could not be used here, though he didn’t say why. But he told me that when I leave our kingdom and go into the world of mortals, it will hold me in good stead.” She looked over and saw the way her grandmother was looking at her. “What is it, Gram? What’s wrong?”
Wilona brushed her hand down the child’s hair. “There’s nothing wrong, my darling. Your father is right. Your gift is very special indeed. And one day, in the world of mortals, you’ll discover just how important it is. Now go and make peace with Jeremy.
When the little girl skipped away, Wilona got to her feet. “You know what this means, don’t you, my daughter?”
Nola seemed almost reluctant to admit it, even to herself. “No wonder her gift isn’t apparent here in the Mystical Kingdom, for there are no graves here.”
“Aye. But in that other world, she will be able to speak with all their cherished dead.”
“It is a rare and precious gift.”
The older woman looked thoughtful. “And one that is often misunderstood.”
“We must shield her, and see that she never strays from the Mystical Kingdom.”
With a sigh Wilona drew her daughter close. “It’s impossible to shield her from the world, my child. What we must do is help her find her strengths so that if she should ever find herself away from here, she’ll be able to survive.”
The object of their discussion danced across the meadow in search of her playmate. She would need a great deal more practice before being called a certified witch like her sisters. But it would happen, she vowed. She would just have to work a little harder.
And find a way to stay in Jeremy’s good graces until she succeeded.
Chapter One
Mystical Highlands—1561
“Here now.” Nola Drummond lay her hands upon her youngest daughter, Gwenellen, sprawled in the heather, looking dazed.
Seeing her daughter tumbling from the sky had started Nola’s heart drumming like a runaway carriage. It was nothing new. It seemed to her she’d spent a lifetime worrying about this free spirit who was always getting herself into trouble. But every time it happened, her heart seemed to die a little. “Let me take care of your cuts first, child. That was a nasty fall you took.”
“Aye.” Gwenellen started to sit up, but when she saw the sky spinning in dizzying circles overhead, she fell back against the fragrant flowers and allowed her mother to ply her gifts of healing. “One minute I was riding Starlight past a bank of clouds…” She looked over to see her winged horse standing nearby, calmly nibbling grass. “…and the next I was tumbling through space.”
“It wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you were trying to beat Jeremy in a race again, would it?”
Gwenellen saw the little troll running to keep up with the brisk strides of her grandmother, Wilona, who wore a look of concern as she headed across the meadow toward them.
“Are you hurt, lass?” Wilona tossed long silver hair back from her face and began to probe Gwenellen’s wounds. “Jeremy said you fell from Starlight’s back in midair.”
“She was trying out a new spell that would let her fly.” The troll’s voice was a nervous, high-pitched croak. “It’s worked before. She was certain it would work again.”
“Certain. You’re always so certain.” There was something new in Nola’s tone. Not just accusing, but something more, rising up to grab her by the throat. Terror? Despair? She turned back to her youngest daughter. “You may be certain of this. One of these times those failed spells will get you into serious trouble.”
As always, Wilona tried to smooth things over between her daughter and granddaughter. “Well, it seems there’s been no harm done. I see nothing more than a few simple cuts and bruises.”
“You see, Mum?” Gwenellen sat up carefully and waited for the world to settle.
“You could have been killed.” Nola got to her feet and shook down her skirts. “When will you learn that you can’t keep taking these foolish risks without paying a price?” She turned to the troll. “Jeremy, you may as well unsaddle Starlight. Gwenellen will remain on the ground for the rest of the day.”
Jeremy shot his friend a sympathetic wink as he turned away to see to the horses.
When Nola stalked away Gwenellen turned to Wilona. “Mum was furious.”
“She worries over you.”
“Oh, Gram. Why do I keep making all these foolish blunders?”
“It’s called growing up, my darling.” The older woman ran a hand over the silken curls that were now a mass of tangles. Such glorious golden hair, in rich contrast to those honey-brown eyes. Her grandmother was quite certain Gwenellen didn’t have the faintest idea that she was a stunning beauty. How could she? There were no mirrors, except the smooth surface of the Enchanted Loch. And no one here in the Mystical Kingdom to reflect back her beauty.
“I’m never going to be grown up. Look at me. I’m ten and eight, and still can’t heal wounds like Allegra, or cast spells like Kylia.”
“You have your own special gifts, Gwenellen.”
“What gifts? Oh. You mean talking with my father. But what good is that?”
“What good? I’ll tell you. In that other world…”
“I don’t care about that other world. Here
, my spells fail more often than they succeed. I can’t tame the weather.” She gave her head a shake, sending fair curls dancing. “I can’t even tame my hair.” She covered her face with her hands. “I’m never going to be like you and Mum and Allegra and Kylia.”
“That’s true, my darling.” Wilona got to her feet and drew her granddaughter up before gathering her close. “You’ll never be like anyone but yourself. And that’s exactly as it should be.” She framed the pretty, heart-shaped face with her gnarled hands. “Listen to me, Gwenellen. Life is a journey. At times it’s a grand adventure. At other times it can prove to be a bit of a challenge.”
“Mine seems to be all challenge,” Gwenellen muttered with a pout.
“Pay it no mind. What we see as mistakes are simply lessons we must learn as we travel through this world.”
“Why then do I seem to have so many more lessons to learn than my sisters?”
Wilona smiled. “I haven’t the answer to that, my darling. But this I know. You’re very special to me. And one day you’ll prove your value, not only to yourself, but to someone who will mean more to you than any you have known so far.”
Gwenellen kissed her grandmother’s cheek. “I know you mean to comfort me, Gram, by suggesting that I will one day have a man who loves me the way Merrick MacAndrew loves Allegra, and Grant MacCallum loves Kylia. But I have no interest in snagging a mortal man who will carry me off to his Highland fortress, so I may play mistress to his castle while he marches off to battle. I much prefer my life here in the Mystical Kingdom with you, Mum, Jeremy and Bessie.”
“You say that now because you haven’t yet met the man who will claim your heart.”
“My heart is not to be bargained for.” Gwenellen stepped back, feeling the return of her impish good nature. “I would, however, be very happy if I could perfect one good spell that would work every time I attempted it.”
“Name one, my darling.”
She thought a moment. “A spell that would let me fly.”
“What need have you of flying, when you have Starlight to carry you wherever you choose?”
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