The Knight and the Seer

  “But…”

  “Go.” He kissed her. A quick, distracted kiss before stepping from his room.

  Gwenellen hurried to her own chambers and found Olnore already there, an assortment of garments spread across the bed.

  Gwenellen studied the heavy wool gown and hooded traveling cloak. “What is all this?”

  The maid seemed as bewildered as her mistress. “I was told to prepare you for a journey, my lady. I know nothing more. Come now and we’ll…”

  Instead of changing her clothes, Gwenellen turned and raced down the stairs, unmindful of the fact that she was still in her nightdress. At the bottom of the stairs she found Andrew talking to the housekeeper.

  When he saw her, his head came up sharply, and he signaled the housekeeper to leave.

  Gwenellen remained on the lower stair, so that her eyes were level with his. “Olnore said I’m to dress for a journey. Why, Andrew?”

  He paused before her. “One of the lads who’d been posted in the hills knows every dip and hollow in this land. I would trust him with my life, or my most precious possession.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He placed a finger to her lips. “I sent him to the stables to tell Lloyd to saddle a horse for you.”

  She was shaking her head. “I have no need of a horse.”

  “The lad will accompany you to your kingdom.”

  She stiffened her spine. “I’m not leaving here, Andrew. I’ll not leave you now.”

  “Shhh.” He placed a finger on her lips to still her protest, and even that light touch had heat pulsing between them. “You have no choice, Imp. I am laird. And you will do as your laird commands.”

  “I won’t.” Tears stung her eyes and she blinked hard, ashamed to let him see her weakness.

  He saw her tears and muttered an oath. He couldn’t bear to see her cry. But this was not the time for weakness. He needed to be strong. Not only for himself and his people, but for her. “Understand something, my lady.” His tone hardened, as did his formal use of her title. “You are here at my pleasure. And you have brought me great pleasure. But now I must concentrate all my energy on the battle to come. I cannot allow any distraction.”

  She struggled to keep the pain from her voice, though each word was an effort. “Are you saying I was nothing more than a…pleasant distraction?”

  He heard the approach of horses and carts, as the villagers arrived to prepare for battle. Though he longed to drag her into his arms and kiss away her tears, there was no time.

  No time.

  He thought of the hurtful words he’d hurled in anger at his father. Words that could never be called back. The time for kind words had passed, and would never be given him again. And so this time he must choose his words carefully.

  “You have been more to me than I ever dreamed, my lady. But now I must join my people to do battle with my enemy. It will bring me much comfort to know that you are in your Mystical Kingdom, where you will be safe, and carefree, and happy forever, far from this hell. That is where you belong. Not here.”

  Stung, she couldn’t seem to wrap her mind around what she was hearing. “You can’t mean this.”

  His tone hardened. “It’s time for you to accept the fact that the idyll is over. I have no time for witches, my lady, no matter how sweet and charming. As you yourself told me from my father’s lips, my duty lies with my people.”

  With a slight bow, he stepped back, breaking contact.

  Gwenellen stood paralyzed as he strode out the door to join his men. Then, blinded by a mist of tears, she turned and raced up the stairs.

  “Where do you go, my lady?” Olnore slipped the coarse woolen gown over Gwenellen’s head and helped her with her hose and kid boots.

  “The laird has ordered me to return to my home in the Mystical Kingdom.” Gwenellen sat at the dressing table while her little maid brushed her hair. “But I have no intention of going.”

  “My lady.” Olnore stared at her reflection in the looking glass, her eyes as wide as saucers. “No one may defy the laird.”

  “What will he do? Have me flogged?”

  “Nay, my lady. But he can have you tied to your horse and taken away in shame. Would you force him to do such a thing at this time, while he is facing such danger?”

  Gwenellen closed her eyes. “Is there no way to defy him?”

  “No way that I know of. Only a laird’s family may challenge his word.”

  “Family.” She opened her eyes. “Did you know Lord Andrew’s mother, Olnore?”

  “Nay, my lady.” The little maid fastened the heavy curls with a jeweled comb. “She died before I was born.”

  Gwenellen stood, smoothing down her skirts with nervous, jerky movements. Each minute brought her closer to leaving, and she could see no way to avoid it. “And what of the old lord’s second wife?”

  “The lady Sabrina?” Olnore’s tone hardened. “Her hair was as black as a raven’s wing. Her body lush and perfect. I’m told she spent hours each day with her servants, until she was satisfied with every aspect of her hair and gown. She was the object of many men’s lust, for she was a great beauty.”

  Gwenellen’s hands stilled. “A beauty? She was young?”

  “No older than you, my lady.”

  That fact shouldn’t have startled Gwenellen, for she’d seen the magnificent gowns. Still, she’d pictured a woman closer to the old laird’s age. “How long were she and Andrew’s father wed?”

  “Not long, my lady. No more than a fortnight.”

  Gwenellen’s head came up sharply. “And Lord Andrew was gone to Edinburgh no more than a fortnight.”

  The little servant nodded. “He took his leave of the castle as soon as his father and the lady Sabrina began to speak their vows in the chapel. He didn’t even take time to join in the wedding feast. Of course,” Olnore added, “who could blame him, when the lady was betrothed to him before she wed his father.”

  Seeing the shock in Gwenellen’s eyes she clapped a hand to her mouth. “Forgive me, my lady. I thought you knew. It was common knowledge here in the abbey.”

  “I suppose everything the laird does is…common knowledge.” She struggled to keep her voice carefully bland. “No wonder he and his father became bitter foes. He must have loved the Lady Sabrina very much.”

  “No more than…” Olnore swallowed back what she’d been about to say and held out the hooded cloak. “You will have need of this on your journey, my lady.”

  Carefully schooling her features, Gwenellen nodded. “Aye, thank you.” As she drew it around her she caught the young maid in a fierce hug. “Goodbye, Olnore.”

  “Safe journey, my lady. I…deeply regret saying anything that caused you pain.”

  “You spoke the truth, Olnore. And for that, I should be grateful. I shall miss you.”

  “And I shall miss you, my lady.”

  Gwenellen waited until she heard the door to her chambers close. Then, with tears stinging her eyes, she walked to the balcony and stared out at the lovely green fields, and the distant, forested hills.

  “Oh, Gram.” Her voice was filled with pain. “How could I have been so foolish?” She pressed a hand to her mouth and turned away, wallowing in misery.

  After all her grand pronouncements that she would never do as her sisters had done and lose her heart to a Highland laird, she had done just that. And not just with any mortal. She’d lost her heart to a man who loved another.

  “Nay.” She wiped away her tears. “I’ve lost neither my heart nor my mind. Nor will I.”

  As she marched across the room she took a deep breath, willing herself to let go of the desire to weep. There was no harm done. Except to her poor heart. And that would heal. In a lifetime or two.

  She knew now what drove Lord Andrew Ross. Though it was true that he sought to avenge the death of his father, there was something much more compelling that had him eager to build an army and stand up to his enemy.

  She understood also why his father
had gone to such great lengths to prevent his son from having his revenge.

  Both men still loved the Lady Sabrina.

  Gwenellen had been brought here merely as a bridge between the two.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The scene was one of frantic activity, as the men massed on the meadow, presenting their weapons for the laird’s inspection, and the women and girls herded sheep inside the abbey walls and drove pony carts laden with whatever household goods they could manage.

  Poor Mistress MacLean was rushing about trying to get an entire village settled inside the walls of one very crowded abbey.

  Babies were crying. Sheep bawling. Men shouting. Servants dashing about, offering help wherever it was needed.

  Gwenellen could hear the noise and confusion slipping away as she made her way along the darkened hall of the old section of the abbey. By the time she stepped into the library, there was only silence.

  What a shame, she thought, that this wonderful old room would go unused by the servants and villagers, because of a foolish fear of those who had passed before them. Did mortals really believe the spirits of the dead would bring them harm? Didn’t they realize that these good souls wanted only the best for their loved ones left behind?

  She paused, feeling as she always did the sense of peace that came whenever she was in the presence of the spirits. A peace that wrapped itself around her like a warm shawl.

  “I know I cannot stay here.” Her voice was hushed, out of deference to this holy place. “The village lad is even now awaiting me in the courtyard, to accompany me back to my home. But I thank you for the sanctuary you offered me in this room. I will never forget it. Or the holy women who dwell here.”

  As she started to turn away her eye was drawn to the same high shelf where she’d first seen the strange, luminous book. It was there again, shining like a beacon in the shadows.

  “How I would love to uncover your secrets. Alas, my flying spells have failed me too often to risk it yet again. Your secrets will remain hidden within the pages until someone wiser than I stumbles upon this place.”

  She turned away and started out the door. Just then there was a terrible crash. When she turned back, the book was lying on the floor, radiating more light than a score of candles.

  She stepped cautiously closer, and realized the pages were turning by themselves. Kneeling, she watched in fascination until the movement ceased and the book lay open. Because the pages appeared to be fragile, she didn’t touch them as she leaned close and began to read the ancient words.

  They seemed so familiar to her. Some were words she’d used in her own failed spells. Others were words she’d heard but had never spoken aloud. She stumbled over them as she struggled to speak each word.

  When she finished, a strange silver mist began swirling around her. She scrambled to her feet, watching as the mist rose higher, wrapping around her waist, her shoulders, her head. Soon it formed a thick cloud that completely filled the room.

  She felt no fear. She sensed that this cloud would cause her no harm. And as she breathed in the mist, she felt light as air.

  There was a great rush of wind, dispelling the cloud. When Gwenellen looked around she was no longer in the abbey, but flying high above it. Then she was passing over the meadow, where Andrew and the village lads were forming their first line of defense. Sunlight glinted off their swords and knives and farm implements.

  “So. I am meant to be here in the thick of battle. So be it.” She folded her hands over her breasts, and lifted her face to the sky, ready to accept her fate.

  Instead of lowering to the ground, she soared even higher. So high the men far below took no more notice of her than they would of a bird.

  The hem of her gown brushed against treetops as she floated over a Highland forest that formed a boundary between Ross and Logan lands. Once she cleared the forest, she looked down to see a long column of Highlanders, some on horseback, more on foot, headed along a grassy path that would take them directly to the meadow where Andrew and the others waited.

  At the very head of the column were a man and woman, each astride magnificent horses.

  Gwenellen peered down at them. The man was fair of hair, broad of shoulder. He sat his horse with ease, with a pride of bearing that spoke not of a man going to battle, but rather of one riding to glory. He chatted easily with the woman. The hood of her ermine cloak had been tossed back, revealing sleek black hair that spilled down her back. From Olnore’s description, this could only be the Lady Sabrina, for she was a stunning beauty. But this was no captive, bound and forced against her will to watch the destruction of a lover. She tossed back her head and laughed at something said by the warrior. Then, while Gwenellen watched from above, the woman leaned close and touched her hand to the man’s shoulder. He, in turn, cupped her face and kissed her.

  For a moment, as they rounded a curve in the mountainous trail, the couple was hidden from the view of his men. Gwenellen felt herself dropping lower, until she could hear the words spoken between them.

  “…badly misjudged Andrew.” The woman kept her hand on the man’s shoulder. “I was certain that famous temper of his would bring him to a quick end at your fortress.”

  The man shrugged. “Perhaps it’s as I thought, and without an army of warriors beside him, the man is simply a coward.”

  “You’d be wise not to miscalculate, my love. His temper is legend. As are his courage and skill on the field of battle.”

  “Then perhaps your charms aren’t as potent as you thought, my love. You did tell me he would be so enraged he would come after you even before he put his father in the ground.”

  “Aye. I misjudged him. No matter. By the end of this day, you will control all the land in these Highlands, as well as the people, who will have no choice but to swear allegiance to you.”

  “And to my bride.” He chuckled. “Let the queen try to ignore us then. You and I will be a force to be reckoned with in Edinburgh.”

  Gwenellen felt herself suddenly lifting high above the tree line as the rest of his warriors came into view. And though she hovered in plain sight, no one looked up or took any notice, so intent were they upon the day that loomed before them.

  She was lifted higher into the sky, until she could see both Logan’s army and Andrew’s. There would be ten or more men to every one of Andrew’s. And while the village lads stood quietly awaiting their fate in the meadow, Gwenellen studied the razor-sharp blades of the swords belonging to Fergus Logan’s army of warriors.

  A shiver passed through her, and she lifted her face to the heavens with a feeling of helplessness. “What is the good of giving me this gift, if I have no way of using it? What am I to do with this newfound ability to fly?”

  As if in reply she was whisked across the sky and dropped to the grass of the meadow with such speed, all she could do was lie very still and wait for the world to stop spinning.

  She looked up as a sea of faces swam into her line of vision. And then all the faces faded but one. All she could see was Andrew, eyes narrowed, mouth twisted into a tight line of fury.

  “I gave you an order, and you dared to disobey me?”

  “I had every intention of doing as you asked, my lord. But I…” She glanced around at the others who were watching and listening in silence. “I wanted to visit the old abbey before I left. It holds precious memories.”

  He turned to the men and lads. “Return to your positions and watch for any sign of the enemy.”

  As the men dispersed, he reached out a hand to help her to her feet. Even that brief contact had her trembling, and she wondered that even now, knowing he loved another, she could feel this way.

  His tone was tight with control. But anger was there, just below the surface. “You attempted another flying spell to evade my orders.”

  “I didn’t know it was a spell. You recall the book I was seeking that first time you found me in the library?”

  How could he forget? His poor heart had nearly stopped
at the sight of her clinging to the very top shelf. He said nothing as he continued staring at her.

  She took in a deep breath and started talking faster, afraid that in his present temper he might simply turn away and ignore what she had to say. “As I was taking my leave of the place, the book fell to the floor and the pages began turning. When they stopped, I read aloud the words, and the next thing I knew I was flying high in the sky.”

  He fixed her with a look. “And you expect me to believe that none of this had to do with my order to leave?”

  “I didn’t want to leave you. Nor do I want to now. But I’d had every intention of doing as you ordered. Andrew, you must believe me. There are forces here. Forces beyond our control. The holy women, your father…”

  “Cannot fight my battle for me. Nor can you, my lady. We will die this day. But we will die like warriors.” His voice lowered to a fierce whisper. “But I’ll not have you joining us in the carnage.” He pointed toward the abbey. “You will leave me now. I must join my men. And you must obey your laird and return to the safety of your kingdom.”

  He turned away and started across the meadow.

  “There’s more, Andrew. I heard them talking.”

  He continued walking, and she had to run to keep up with his long strides.

  “It’s as your father said. This was all a trap, meant to lure you to Fergus Logan’s fortress. His army is twice the size of yours. Once he has disposed of you and your men, he intends to claim your land and force your people to swear allegiance to him, in order to force the queen to acknowledge him.”

  He paused. “Do you think I don’t know this? Logan has always been jealous of the bond between our clan and the queen. It is the reason why he, and his father before him, coveted our land and our warriors. He foolishly believes that with enough land and subjects, he will win the favor of his monarch. In the past we were able to turn away his overtures to war. But this time is different. He killed my father. Has taken as hostage my father’s bride. Honor demands that we stand and fight.” He turned away. “We waste precious time. Go now, my lady. Before it is too late.”