Читать книгу My Lady Captor - Hannah Howell - Страница 12

“This isnae good,” muttered Neil as she moved to stand next to Sorcha in the inner bailey. “Nay, this isnae good at all.”

Sorcha grimaced, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as the evening chill began to add a bite to the breeze swirling through the inner bailey. She had been watching Margaret and Beatham play with four active puppies in front of the stables for twenty minutes. The pair were so engrossed in the puppies and each other that they had not noticed her scrutiny. They were, in truth, oblivious to everything and everyone around them.

She had warned Margaret several times, the last one only two days ago, moments after leaving Ruari’s arms and realizing the depths of her own weakness. Margaret was not heeding the warnings any better than her own heart heeded the ones she gave it. Sorcha could heartily sympathize with her cousin. Beatham Kerr was a handsome, sweet-natured young man. It was also clear that, unlike his older cousin, Beatham’s passion for Margaret was not simply a carnal one. It was difficult to know what to do or even if there was anything she could do.

“I have warned the girl many times,” Sorcha said, sparing a quick glance up at her scowling aunt.

“So have I. E’en muddle-headed Bethia took the lass aside for a wee talk.” Neil shook her head. “Margaret smiles, assures us all that she kens what we mean, thanks us kindly for our concern, and blissfully carries on just as ye see her now. Either she is more witless than I kenned she was or she is being polite when she does that. She is simply too kindhearted and sweet to tell us to mind our own houses.”

“I think ’tis a wee bit of both. Beatham is no help either. He is as sweet and as witless as she is. I begin to think that they both believe that, despite all that has happened and all that will happen, they will get what they want—each other.”

“Mayhap ye can speak to Sir Ruari. He may be able to knock some sense into the lad.”

“I am sure Sir Ruari has already done so.”

“I dinnae ken how ye can be so certain when ye havenae been near the mon in two days.”

“I have been verra busy. There has been no time to coddle the fool.” She scowled up at Neil when her aunt made a sharp mocking noise. “And what was that for?”

“Ye are a poor liar, child.” Neil crossed her arms beneath her ample bosom and met Sorcha’s look squarely. “Ye have been hiding from that mon for most of the time he has been here.”

“That isnae true.”

“Hah. If ye were animals, he would be the wolf and ye the poor trembling hare. Ye have ne’er had to be so cautious about your feelings, dearling, so ye cannae expect to suddenly become skilled at concealing them.”

For a minute Sorcha considered continuing to strenuously deny what Neil—and too many others—thought. With a sigh of resignation she decided it was useless. Neil was right. She was not used to concealing what she felt and was undoubtedly doing a very poor job of it. It might also help to have someone she could talk honestly with.

“And what do ye suggest I do? Pin my heart to my sleeve and wave it about as a banner heralding my stupidity?”

Neil laughed, then quickly sobered when Sorcha glared at her. “Nay, lass. And just because your heart goes in a direction ye dinnae wish it to, doesnae mean ye are witless. When I was a young lass, I suffered from a fever of the heart.”

“Truly?” Sorcha immediately regretted her blatant surprise, afraid it would hurt Neil’s feelings.

“Aye, truly. I ken I seem a hard woman, but as I said, I was young.”

“Ye are but three-and-twenty now. ’Tisnae old.”

“I was but sixteen when I lost my heart. The mon was no good, but I refused to see that. Weel, my heart did. My head kept telling me to be careful, but I was too fevered to heed that good advice. Didnae heed anyone else’s good advice either. He was tall, strong, and handsome. I thought I had ne’er seen a bonnier face.”

“I suppose Ruari Kerr does have a bonnie face,” Sorcha murmured.

“Oh, aye, ’tis pleasant enough”—Neil exchanged a quick grin with Sorcha—“To make a long, dreary tale short, I loved that rogue with all the blind heat a young lass can muster. My own good sense and the warnings everyone gave me proved to be true. He didnae abide with me long. We were handfasted, but that was just so he could share my bed without one of our kinsmen threatening his life. The mon didnae e’en stay the year and the day. A few months and he disappeared into the mists, ne’er to be seen again.”

“How is it that I ne’er learned of all this?”

“I was living with my sister Fenella in Stirling. Once I realized the fool wasnae returning, I came back here. ’Tisnae spoken of because no one wished to open old wounds. Now that I have spoken of it, I realize those wounds are healed now.”

“I am sorry, Neil.”

“Nay, no need to be sorry for me. I was sorely hurt, but once the pain eased, I realized I had no deep regrets. I had myself a fine time while that rogue was with me. Aye, I would cleave the maggot’s head in twain if I e’er saw him again, but I am now able to recall all that was good, and those are some verra sweet memories.”

“I am not sure I understand what ye are telling me,” Sorcha shivered and wrapped her arms around herself in a vain attempt to protect herself from the chill air.

“What I am trying to tell ye is that ye should do as ye please.” She draped her arm around Sorcha’s shoulders and nudged her niece toward the keep. “’Tis growing chill and damp. We had best go inside. Staring at those two willnae change what is to be. ’Tis all in their hands. And your own fate is all in yours.”

“Ruari will be gone soon,” Sorcha said as she fell into step with her aunt.

“Weel, our lads willnae reach Gartmhor until the morrow or the next day,” Neil said. “Then they must discuss the ransom, and then it must be gathered. The Kerrs will need about three days to come here. So ’twill be a week, mayhap more, ere Sir Kerr leaves. Ye dinnae have to ransom Dougal until twelve days from now. I suppose ye can continue to hide and your problem will ride away in a short while.”

“Or?”

“’Tis up to you, lass. True, ye think the mon can ne’er be yours and ye are probably right. What ye must ask yourself is which ye will regret the most—following your heart, taking a wee chance no matter how small it may be, or continuing to hide and never even trying to grab what ye want.”

“Hard choices.”

“Verra hard. But, ye will ne’er be faulted for whichever one ye decide to take.”

“Thank ye for that comfort, Aunt. Mayhap I shall wander up to the great laird’s chamber and see how he fares. Another visit with the arrogant fool may be all I need. But first, have ye seen Effie?”

“The child huddles in the great hall. She was banished from the kitchens this morning and refuses to understand why,” Neil replied as they entered the keep.

Sorcha sighed, broke from her aunt’s light hold, and strode into the great hall. She had spoken to Effie at least once a day since her return to Dunweare, but the child was not interested in listening. The girl’s own mother, Eirie, had been reduced to tears just yesterday out of pure frustration and some fear for her child’s sanity. Just as so many others had, Eirie had thought her daughter would cease to speak of being a changeling once she was on the threshold of womanhood.

She found Euphemia curled up on a bench near one of the narrow windows encircling the great hall. The girl looked so forlorn, Sorcha felt a strong tug of sympathy, but hastily shrugged it away. It was time to be firm, even scolding. There may have been too much kindness and not enough authority. Mayhap Effie had been too coddled.

“So, here is where ye have come to sulk,” Sorcha said, sitting on the stone sill of the window.

“I am here because I have no wish to speak to anyone,” Effie grumbled, staring down at her hand, her lower lip protruding in a childish pout.

“What ye wish matters verra little to me just now.” Sorcha almost laughed at the shocked look the girl gave her. “’Tis far past time ye ceased feeling sorry for yourself and gave a wee bit of thought to others.”

“And why should I think of them when they drive me away?”

“They didnae drive ye away. ’Tis just the mean spirits ye are tugging about that they dinnae want.”

“There are no spirits!” the girl cried, leaping to her feet, her delicate hands clenched into tight fists.

“Sit down,” Sorcha ordered, a little surprised when the girl obeyed her. She stared into Euphemia’s big blue eyes and saw a deep fear lurking behind the childish expression of defiance. “It seems verra strange that ye can believe in fairy folk and changelings, yet not believe in spirits.”

“I believe in your spirits.”

“How kind. Euphemia, if there are well-behaved spirits who do little more than visit and talk, why cannae there be ill-tempered spirits who make noise, steal things, and toss things about?”

“Weel, they can just go and trouble someone else.”

“That would be fine indeed, but they willnae. Ye are changing from a child into a woman—”

“I am not!”

“Effie, ye can shout and stomp your tiny feet all ye wish to, but ’twill change nothing. Ye are soon to be a woman.”

“This isnae supposed to happen to fairies.”

Sorcha stared at her young cousin for a moment as she began to understand Euphemia’s delusions. “I suspect fairies have some similar affliction. After all, there must be new fairies from time to time, or they would disappear.” She moved to sit next to Euphemia and took the girl’s hand in hers. “Euphemia, becoming a woman may not be nice, may even be a wee bit frightening, but denying it willnae stop it. All ye are accomplishing at the moment is to make those troublesome spirits louder and stronger than they might be.”

“Why do they have to be here at all?” She cursed when the shield over the fireplace crashed to the rush-strewn floor again. “Go away,” she yelled.

“If ye would cease to fight the truth, ye would hear less of that. The more upset and angry ye are, the more upset and angry they are. ’Tis as if they are bred of your emotions, and the stronger your feeling, the stronger they are.”

“Ye mean that if I am quiet and peaceful they will go away?”

“They willnae leave completely, but they will grow less bothersome. When ye are finally a woman, they will fade away. Ye must accept that as all the Hay women before ye have. God decided lasses must become women in this way, and ye cannae change His plan. I dinnae ken who or what decided we must do so with these spirits about to add to our misery, but that cannae be changed either. Mayhap someday a woman of the Hay clan will stumble upon the secret of banishing them, but until then they must be accepted.”

“It seems to me the Hay women must shoulder a great many burdens.” She scowled at her feet for a moment then glanced sideways at Sorcha. “Do ye think that, when I do become a woman, I shall gain a special gift as ye did?”

“Aye, ye may. Many a Hay woman has. Ye have drawn these troublesome spirits so swiftly and so strongly it would seem likely. Now, child, my mother’s mother did brew a potion that will help ye stay calm—”

“I dinnae want to take a potion.”

“I didnae say ye had to. I but mention that there is one. Ye may weel find yourself so weary of these spirits ye crave a moment’s peace. The potion will give ye one. I just wished ye to ken that ’tis there.” She stood up, kissed Euphemia on the cheek, and then smoothed down her skirts. “Now I must go and see how our prisoner Sir Ruari is.”

“Sorcha, will ye tell the mon how sorry I am I acted so foolishly when I went to his room?”

“Aye, I will, but I shouldnae worry much on how he thinks of you. I am certain the mon believes it was just some odd whim of a woman-child and has ceased to consider it.” She winked at Euphemia and was pleased to see the girl smile briefly.

As Sorcha climbed the stairs to Ruari’s chamber, she felt her steps grow weighted with her nervous reluctance to see him. Not seeing him solved nothing, however. She continued to think about him. She blushed to think of the times she had caught herself staring at nothing as she recalled the kisses they had shared. No amount of work banished those heated memories. Neil was right. Hiding from the man served no purpose at all. Sorcha opened the door to his room and heartily wished she could find the solution to her inner turmoil before she did something she would regret.

Ruari sat up the moment Sorcha entered the room and smiled at her. He had begun to think he had scared her away. It did not please him to discover that he missed her, but he reluctantly accepted the truth of it. She was too thin, knew far too much about a man’s ways and had some very strange ideas, but he could not conquer a growing fascination with her.

“Have ye decided to grace me with your company for a few moments?” he asked.

“Aye, if ye behave yourself.” She collected a bowl of water, a washing cloth, and clean bandages.

“Do ye truly think this is necessary?” he muttered as she prepared to tend his wounds.

“We shall see.” She removed his bandages and studied his wounds, astonished by their condition. The man was healing with an almost miraculous swiftness. “I believe ye dinnae need the bandages any longer. Your injuries will fare better if allowed to breathe. Ye are a wondrous healer,” she murmured as she gently bathed his wounds and dabbed them dry. “I dinnae believe I have e’er seen wounds heal so swiftly.”

“I was always quick to heal.”

“I wouldnae be surprised to discover that these sword cuts began to heal ere your enemy finished inflicting them. Ye tell me that my talk of spirits could cause me trouble. Weel, I suspect this rapid healing has roused a question or two.”

Ruari scowled, not pleased to be reminded of how odd his ability to heal quickly was. It had caused him a few uneasy moments. He attributed it to his own strength, but others often wondered if it was a gift from God or the devil. When so many suffered poisoning in their wounds, death, or a crippling fever, his continued good health, no matter how severe his injuries, was not often seen as the blessing from God he considered it to be.

“It has been a week since I was cut down. I didnae grow feverish nor did my wounds fester, so ’tis no great miracle that I continue to regain my strength.”

“A weel-practiced answer, I think,” she drawled as she put away her nursing tools.

“’Tis but the simple truth.” Ruari frowned when he realized she was not listening to him.

Sorcha cursed as she caught sight of a familiar shadow in the corner of the room. It was an inconvenient time for one of her spiritual companions to seek her out. As the shape grew clearer, she cursed again. It was Crayton, the spirit who visited regularly, and could be somewhat of a nuisance. The fact that his image was so distinct, only slightly faded below the knees, told her he was not feeling playful. The scowl on his young, handsome face made her uneasy. Crayton was in a sour mood.

“Ye dinnae need to coddle the oaf as much as ye do,” said Crayton.

A quick glance at Ruari assured Sorcha that he heard and saw nothing. She was never quite sure if Crayton spoke aloud as mortals did or if she heard him only in her head. At times she was certain of the latter, but the former was never as easy to discern. The one thing she was sure of at the moment was that she wanted Crayton to leave. She tensed as he moved to the bed and glared down at Ruari.

“Go away,” she whispered and grimaced when Ruari eyed her warily.

“I should like to leave, mistress, but I was made to believe I was a prisoner,” Ruari said.

“I wasnae speaking to you.” With a distinct flounce of irritation Sorcha sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at Crayton. “I ken that ye dinnae believe a word I say about spirits and ghosts, but I fear one has come to annoy me.”

Ruari frowned and looked around then wondered why he bothered. Did he really think he would see proof that she was not a victim of strange delusions? He realized that her claims of being able to talk to ghosts were not as unsettling as her actually doing so.

“I cannae see anyone,” he said, watching her warily as he wondered if her madness was truly the harmless kind.

“Of course ye cannae. If ye could see him, ye wouldnae be eyeing me as if ye fear I will suddenly begin to drool, babble, and tear at my hair. Believe me if ye will or think me a sad, addled lass, I really dinnae care at the moment. All I can say is that I speak the truth when I tell you there is a ghost in this room. Nay,” she cried when, cursing softly, Ruari got to his feet.

Sorcha could not move quickly enough to stop Ruari from walking through Crayton. All she could do was catch Ruari as he swayed and began to fall. The grin on Crayton’s face annoyed her. She waved him out of the way as she helped Ruari back to his bed.

“I must have gotten to my feet too swiftly,” Ruari muttered as he laid down.

“Weel, that may be some of your trouble,” agreed Sorcha as she helped him get comfortable. “Howbeit, what ye were just afflicted with happens when ye walk through a ghostie.”

“I walked through him, did I? He wasnae gentlemon enough to step out of my way?”

“Nay, he wasnae, and ye need not speak so bitingly.” She poured him a drink of cider and handed him the tankard. “Dinnae ye believe in ghosts at all?”

“Nay, I dinnae believe in anything I cannae see and hear.”

“Ah, then ye have spoken with and seen God, have ye?”

“Dinnae be impertinent. That is quite different. And, since ye mention God, why would He allow spirits to wander the land when He has so many places for the souls of the dead to go?”

“I wouldnae be so blasphemous as to try to explain God’s ways.”

“Verra clever,” he snapped. “Have ye any explanation for why spirits would wander the earth, if they do, and why they should choose to speak to a wee lass?”

“Does the fool think ye are some bottomless font of wisdom?” asked Crayton dryly.

“Hush, Crayton. Why dinnae ye go and visit with my Aunt Neil?” suggested Sorcha.

“She cannae hear me. She just kens that I am near and talks to me.”

“Then wait for me in my bedchamber. Ye should have more concern for this mon. He was wounded fighting the English.”

“Do ye think he saw the mon I search for?” Crayton asked, drawing near to the bed again.

“Nay, of course he didnae. Ye were murdered when my mother’s mother was but a bairn. Your killer is long dead now and having his toes roasted in hell. I dinnae ken why ye willnae heed me when I tell you that.” Sorcha sighed when Crayton glared at her then left, fading into the wall. She turned to find Ruari staring at her a little too intently for her comfort. “He is gone.”

“Ye didnae answer my questions. Why are there ghosts, and why should they come to ye?”

“I dinnae ken why these spirits linger,” she replied. “My mother believed it was because they had left something undone, and until they felt that all was cleared away, they wandered the earth. As far as I ken, none of my kinswomen have met a spirit who died peacefully, his priest at his bedside, and his death not only expected but accepted. The spirit who spent the most years with my mother was a young woman named Mary who had been cruelly murdered by her husband. It took years for the truth to be discovered but when it was and the mon was punished for his crime, she left and my mother never saw her again.”

“And ye said this Crayton was murdered.” Despite himself, Ruari was interested, although he tried to convince himself that it was simply because he liked a good tale.

“Aye. An English raiding party stumbled across him and his lover, Elspeth. The poor lass was raped and murdered before his eyes, and then he too was murdered. The men responsible must all be dead by now, for it happened so long ago, but Crayton lingers, needing someone to be punished.”

“He cannae find many Englishmen here.”

“Nay, but he died not far from here, and I think he may be stuck here. Why do ye ask so many questions if ye think I am mad?”

“Mayhap I but try to see the reasoning behind your delusions.”

“And mayhap ye are just bored.” She stood up and moved to the door. “Ye will have to seek your entertainment elsewhere, sir. I dinnae really like being the source of your amusement.”

Ruari sat up as she opened the door. “Ye cannae expect everyone to believe ye without question.”

“Nay, I dinnae ask that of anyone. I do not, howsoever, expect to be thought mad or made an object of ridicule.”

He winced when she left, shutting the heavy door behind her with a distinct thud. Sending her away angry and offended had not been his plan, he thought as he slumped against his pillows. When she had arrived after hiding from him for two days, his first thought had been to cheer the opportunity to steal another kiss and to hope for more, much more. Instead she had begun to speak of ghosts and talked to someone who was not there. He, in turn, had acted as if she were foaming at the mouth and waving a bloodstained battle-axe around. That was no way to accomplish a seduction.

“But she speaks to the air,” he muttered angrily then took several deep breaths to calm himself.

Many people believed in ghosts. Even though he had never met anyone who thought he could talk to them, he had no right to scorn her beliefs. She was right to get so angry. He stared at the door and wondered how long she would hide from him this time.