The Knight and the Seer, Page 3

  The tavern owner studied the gold and chuckled. “For this much you could have the clothes off our backs.”

  Andrew managed a weak smile. “That won’t be necessary, Duncan. Just so they’re clean and warm, until our own garments can be washed.”

  “Blythe will see to it.” The older man turned to the wench. “After you show the gentleman and lady to their chambers, find my wife in the kitchen and tell her what they require.”

  The servant gave a quick nod of her head before leading the way up the stairs.

  On the second floor she paused to open a door and stepped aside, saying, “I hope this room suits the lady.”

  Andrew looked around, noting the clean bed linens, and a cozy fire burning on the hearth. He arched a brow at Gwenellen, who nodded her approval.

  “This is fine. You’ll see to some warm water and clean clothes for the lady?”

  “Aye, sir.” She stepped out and led the way to a room across the hall. “Will this suit you?”

  In his weariness he barely glanced at it. “It will be fine. Thank you.”

  When his door closed, Gwenellen stepped inside her room and moved slowly around, standing on tiptoe to peek out the high narrow window at a small garden below. Then she moved to the fire, pausing to extend her hands to the heat. Minutes later a knock on the door announced the arrival of several servants bearing a small round tub and buckets of warm water, as well as an armload of clothing.

  When they were gone, Gwenellen removed her soiled clothes and sank gratefully into the warm water. As she soaked away the grime she thought about all that had transpired this day.

  Was she meant to stay in this place and offer to help Andrew Ross? Or should she slip into the darkened garden below and attempt a few spells that might return her to the safety of the Mystical Kingdom? Of course, she’d had little luck with spells in the past. The next one might take her to a den of thieves. Or possibly to some distant star. There was no telling where she might land.

  At the moment, the wisest choice would seem to be to do nothing. If she remained here, she had an opportunity to use her gifts for good. Gifts that seemed to do her no good at all in her kingdom.

  “Oh, Father.” She stood, dripping water, and wrapped herself in linen before stepping from the tub. “Is this where I’m meant to be?”

  Just then there was a hiss and snap on the hearth, and Gwenellen looked over to see a puff of smoke rising from the fire. As she watched, the smoke took on the form of her father.

  “Welcome to my world, my daughter.” His voice was like the sigh of the wind.

  “I’ve seen little of it, but what I’ve seen isn’t so different from our kingdom.”

  “There are good people here. And some, as you’ve witnessed by the destruction at Ross Abbey, who are not so good. Though it is not the paradise you left behind, there is great beauty here. It was always my wish that my children would travel comfortably between their world and mine.”

  “Then I’m happy to be here, Father, and learn more of your world.” She started toward him, eager to embrace the man she’d learned to love, not only through his visits, but from the tales told her by her mother.

  When she reached out her arms, he backed away. “My greatest regret is that I have never been able to hold you, my child.”

  His image faded, leaving nothing but a wisp of smoke, drifting toward the ceiling. And the lingering scent of her father that filled her with an odd sense of peace. For now, at least, she would do as her father wished and remain in this strange new land. And pray that it would prove to be less forbidding than her first glimpse had shown it to be.

  Chapter Three

  Dressed in a borrowed gown of bleached wool, and wearing a threadbare shawl around her shoulders, Gwenellen made her way down the stairs toward the small dining room. Inside she found Andrew Ross standing alone, staring into the flames of the fire. In his hand was a tankard of ale. When he turned toward her, she could see the pain of grief in his eyes. She found herself wondering what it would be like to find all those she loved dead upon her return. It was too horrible to contemplate, and she wished with all her heart that she could ease his suffering.

  He quickly pulled himself together and struggled to be civil. “Will you have some ale to warm you, my lady?”

  “Aye. Thank you.” She waited while he filled a tankard and handed it to her.

  When their fingers brushed, she absorbed the quick rush of heat and looked up with alarm. Had he felt it, too? She’d never felt anything like this in her kingdom. It must be something that could only be experienced in the mortal world.

  He was already turning away, making it impossible to look into his eyes. She watched as he walked to the fireplace and stood in silence.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” The words seemed so inadequate, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  When he remained silent she cleared her throat. “Were you gone from your home a long time?”

  He lifted his head and seemed to struggle to pull himself back from a dark place within. “I left the Highlands for Edinburgh less than a fortnight ago.”

  “What took you to Edinburgh?”

  “I received a missive from the queen requesting my company at court.” He spoke almost to himself. “It’s as though my enemies were merely waiting for me to leave, in order to do their deeds.”

  “You think your enemy knew your fortress was vulnerable?”

  “I know not.” He looked up when a servant entered and began setting a table with fresh linen and silver. A second wench began arranging a platter of sliced mutton on the table, along with bowls of broth and a loaf of bread warm from the oven.

  When the servant was finished she turned. “Mistress MacIntosh will send tea and pudding when you ring, sir.”

  “Thank you.” He drained his goblet and waited until the wench left before holding a chair for Gwenellen. He took the seat across from her and held the platter while she helped herself to meat.

  His gaze narrowed on her hands. “What happened to your blisters?”

  Feeling self-conscious she lowered her hands to her lap. “I…worked a spell.”

  “You expect me to believe that?” He reached over and caught her hands, holding them palms up for his inspection.

  There it was again. That quick rush of heat, and then the strange tingling that had her drawing back in alarm.

  “I demand proof.” He thrust his hands toward her. “Use the spell on mine.”

  She was already shaking her head. “That wouldn’t be wise.”

  “Because it’s all a lie?”

  “Nay. But…it might go awry.” She gave an embarrassed laugh. “Whenever I try my spells on poor Jeremy, he never knows what might happen. One time he found himself at the very top of a tree. Another time at the bottom of a well.”

  “Is Jeremy your husband?”

  Again that soft, musical laugh that wrapped itself around his heart in a way that he found puzzling. “Jeremy is a troll who lives with us in the Mystical Kingdom.”

  “A troll?” He arched a brow. “Now I know you’re having fun with me.”

  “Nay. I assure you. He is more than ten score years.”

  “No one lives more than a hundred years.”

  “No one in your world, perhaps.” Seeing that he had no intention of withdrawing his hands, she gave a long sigh. “Just so you know that I tried to give you fair warning.”

  She kneaded his hands between both of hers, moving her thumb and fingers over his, while she began to chant.

  Andrew was forced to absorb a sudden shaft of heat as her fingers slowly moved over his. Heat that went straight to his loins. As if that weren’t enough, he felt a momentary thrill at the sound of that soft, breathy voice as she began to chant.

  There was something about this woman. By firelight, her skin was as pale as alabaster, her eyes gleaming golden like a cat’s. Her hair, the color of palest ale, fell in silken curls to below her waist. He had a compelling desire to plu
nge his hands into her hair, to see if it could be as soft as it looked. But that would be dangerous. For all he knew, she could have been sent by his enemies to lull him into a false sense of security. Besides, with all that had happened, he was hardly in a mood to have his mind muddled by some charming female.

  Suddenly the chanting ceased and her eyes widened. “I command you, as all things begin, to heal these wounds and make new this skin.”

  At her words, something flew through the air and landed with a crash in the middle of the table, sending meat and gravy spilling across the linen cloth.

  Both Gwenellen and Andrew pushed back from the table, staring at the resulting mess with matching looks of shock.

  Then, as the truth dawned, Gwenellen’s cheeks grew bright pink. “I wanted this man’s skin made new. Not a new skin.” She picked up the odd thing that had intruded and muttered, “It appears to be kidskin, or perhaps a lambskin.”

  Andrew plucked it from her hands to study it by the light of the fire. “I believe it’s a pig’s bladder.”

  As Gwenellen blushed in embarrassment, the corners of Andrew’s mouth curved upward. He wanted very much to laugh, but he knew it would only add to her humiliation. Still, the absurdity of it had him covering his mouth with his hand and coughing several times before turning back to her.

  “I’m…” Seeing what she thought was a scowl, she could hardly get the words out. “I’m truly sorry. But I did warn you that my spells often went awry.”

  “So you did. But I must admit I wasn’t quite prepared for a pig’s bladder in the middle of our table.” He lifted a decanter, filling both their tankards. “Let’s ignore this…minor interruption and try to enjoy our meal.”

  Humbled, Gwenellen took a bite of warm bread and made an attempt to get the man’s mind off her blunder. “What did the queen ask of you when you went to Edinburgh?”

  “Her Majesty is feeling put upon by many who want her to share the power of the throne. She requires a few trusted friends to counsel her on matters of church and state.”

  “And are you one of the queen’s trusted friends?”

  “My family has long been aligned with hers. Now that she has returned from France to claim her rightful place upon the throne, she is feeling besieged from all sides. But, though I was flattered by her trust, and eager to see her succeed, I have no desire to live anywhere but here in the Highlands. Alas, I arrived home too late.”

  “Do you believe someone alerted your enemy to your absence?”

  He nodded. “How else to explain what happened?”

  “And now your enemy has your stepmother.”

  “Sabrina.” There was something about the way he spoke her name that had Gwenellen looking at him closely.

  “Do you think she is still alive?”

  “It would serve no purpose to kill her. Logan has long desired a war between us. My father resisted, believing it would drain our clan. Now, with Sabrina as bait, we’ll have no choice but to do battle with those who covet our land, our flocks, our people.”

  “Would you surrender all in order to save her?”

  He didn’t answer directly. Instead he seemed to turn inward for a moment before choosing his words carefully. “I am a warrior. I will do what I must to avenge the death of my father.”

  “What will you do for an army?”

  He gave a mirthless laugh. “My bravest and strongest warriors were left in Edinburgh, to guard the queen. Until they return, what I have left is a village of old men, and women and children.”

  “I could stay and help.” She spoke the words softly.

  “You? And how will you help? Will you cast a spell upon my enemies?”

  She knew her cheeks were coloring again. She could feel the heat burning. She looked down, avoiding his eyes. “I can try.”

  “I’m sorry.” Again that hint of laughter, though he managed to hold it inside. “I don’t believe a pig’s bladder will do much harm to my enemies. But I do thank you, my lady.”

  She felt the sting of his rejection. He thought her puny attempt at a spell was laughable.

  Andrew had already dismissed her as he reached for the bell, convincing himself that there had been no blisters on her hands. In his grief, he’d only imagined them. He was certain of it.

  Minutes later the little servant entered and began pouring tea and spooning pudding into dishes.

  When the servant took her leave, Gwenellen tasted, then smiled. “It isn’t as good as Bessie’s, but it’s still quite tasty.”

  “And who is Bessie? Another troll?”

  Gwenellen’s smile faded at his mocking tone. “A hunched old woman who lives in our kingdom. She once lived in your world, but because of the way she looks, she was often ridiculed. When she had the opportunity to leave this world and live with us in the Mystical Kingdom, she was most eager to do so.”

  “I hardly blame her.” Andrew found himself fascinated with a strand of honey hair that dipped over one eye. It begged to be touched. With an effort he looked away. “There are many in my world who are cruel to those who are small, or weak or different.” He set aside his half-eaten sweet. “If there is such a place as the Mystical Kingdom, I can understand why you and your family would choose to live there.”

  “Though I know you don’t believe me, it truly does exist. I’m too young to remember, but I’m told that when we lived in your world our lives were threatened because we practiced the old ways. There were many who feared us, and wanted us put away.”

  “That seems to be our way of things.” Ignoring the tea he reached for his goblet and emptied it, then pushed away from the table and stalked to the fireplace, where he stared in silence for many minutes. At last he turned and held her chair. “Come. After the day we’ve put in, we both have need of our rest.”

  He opened the door and allowed her to precede him before following her up the stairs.

  Outside the door to her chambers he paused. “Despite the fact that your spell failed, I do thank you, my lady, for all that you did for me this day.”

  “You are most welcome, sir.”

  “As for your witchcraft…” He paused, then decided she’d suffered enough for her mistake. “I hope you’ll take some time before trying another of your spells.”

  “As you wish.” Gwenellen’s smile faded when she suddenly felt his hand at her shoulder.

  Startled, she turned back.

  “Forgive me, my lady. I meant no offense.”

  “None taken.”

  But he could see that he’d hurt her. Her lips had already turned into a pretty little pout that held his gaze even when he tried to look away.

  Without thinking he lifted her hands to his lips. “It would seem my grief has robbed me of my humanity. Even at my best, my mouth has always worked ahead of my brain. It is my great weakness.” He brushed a kiss over the back of one hand, then the other, and experienced the most amazing rush of feeling. As though he’d just stepped off a high, steep cliff and was crashing to earth.

  As for Gwenellen, the mere press of his lips to her flesh had her heart fluttering in her chest like a caged bird. Wide-eyed, speechless, she looked up at him just in time to catch the glint of something dark and dangerous that had crept into his eyes.

  With reluctance he released her hands and started to back away. With no warning he caught her roughly by the upper arms, drawing her close.

  Against her lips he muttered, “Woman, what have you done to me?”

  Gwenellen had never in her life been caught by such surprise. One moment she’d been thinking about slapping his arrogant face. The next, her mind was wiped clear of all thought. It was impossible to think while those warm, clever lips were skimming hers. While those big calloused hands were gliding down her back, setting fires everywhere they touched. The very blood in her veins seemed to heat and thicken, until it flowed like molten lava. Her lips softened and warmed to him, while deep inside she felt a tug unlike anything she’d ever known.

  Andrew absorbed a ser
ies of shocks. His body was suddenly alive with need. All his senses were sharpened. He could taste her. So sweet and exotic, it made his head swim. A taste that had him hungry for more. The woman scent of her filled him until he was drowning in her. He could feel her in every part of his body.

  He hadn’t meant for this to happen. But now that his hands were on her, his lips moving over hers, there was no stopping it.

  There was such innocence here. He swallowed back her little gasp of surprise and took the kiss deeper, until he felt her lean into him and offer more.

  His hands were in her hair. It was as soft as he’d imagined. Finer than the finest silk. His mouth whispered over her lips, her face, the tip of her nose, before returning to claim her lips once more.

  Andrew knew he’d overstepped his bounds. It was clear from the hesitant way she responded that she’d never experienced such a thing before. And yet he couldn’t resist. Not when her lips were so sweet. Not when her body was leaning into his, making him achingly aware of how perfectly she fit against him. The tug of desire was shocking in its intensity. The thought of filling himself with all that sweetness was almost overpowering.

  When she sighed he breathed her in and allowed himself the pleasure of one last lingering kiss. Then, calling on all his willpower, he lifted his head and took a step back.

  His tone, when he finally spoke, was gruff, mirroring the confusion he felt. Had this female bewitched him? What else could explain what had just happened between them? His father was barely cold in his grave, Sabrina was being held captive, and he was allowing himself to dally with a…witch. “I’ll arrange for someone in the village to return you to your kingdom on the morrow.”

  “Return me? But I…”

  He held up a hand to silence her protest. “I realize you would prefer one of your…spells, but I cannot leave your safety to chance. I owe you that much, at least, for the help you gave me this day. Be prepared to leave at first light.”

  He held her door, giving her no choice but to step inside. Gwenellen prayed her legs wouldn’t fail her. Closing the door, she leaned weakly against it and listened as the door across the hallway closed.