The Spellbinder: Highland Eyes Read online

  Tristan turned to his men. They had foolishly gathered out of curiosity, to see how she would deal with the new problems. “You heard the lady.” A chorus of grumbles followed Meryl into the keep.

  Meryl stood in the middle of the great hall, surveying what had to be done. In moments, other women stood behind her waiting. “Maisri, if you would be so kind. Take some of the children above stairs and have them start sweeping. Save all the hearth ashes, but sweep down all the rushes. A few of you might want to go after the younger children and help collect what fresh rushes you can find. We'll also need plenty of straw for thatch and maybe get some of the hut roofs repaired as well.

  "Ena, take three women and get started in the kitchen area."

  The redhead gave Meryl a defiant stare and held back a retort. Her brandy eyes held no warmth. She called to three others, then made her way to the kitchen, her hips swaying in temptation.

  Meryl caught the men oogling the redhead and her companions and was determined to get their attention where it belonged. “Tristan, you and your men clear the tables and benches out of here and scrape them down. Once that's done, they'll get a good soap scrubbing. Any questions?"

  No one spoke.

  "Let's get to it."

  Above stairs, the older children raised clouds of dust and dirt while they swept haphazardly. They laughed while they worked, until Maisri scolded them for the poor job they were doing. Serious attitudes took over and piles of old rushes were carefully sent tumbling down the stairs into the great hall. Under Maisri's sharp eyes, they worked diligently, preparing the floors for scrubbing.

  One of the large hearths had been cleaned out and a fire started in it to heat water for scrubbing. Several cauldrons were set near the flames to heat. Maggie handled a large ladle to pour hot water into waiting buckets. Someone jostled her. Maggie lost her balance and caught her heel in the hem of her skirt. Hot water flew from the ladle.

  Meryl grabbed the full bucket next to Maggie and handed it off to the nearest woman. With her back turned, she didn't see Maggie stumble or water flying from its ladle until it was too late, and failed to move out of the way.

  Meryl screamed.

  * * * *

  Tristan's men grumbled. They were warriors, not servants to be cleaning and scrubbing. He chuckled at their complaints while they worked on the greasy wood. He heard a scream from inside the great hall and recognized Meryl's voice. She wasn't playing. What had happened to her this time? Dropping the blade he was using to scrape the table top, he ran into the keep and forced his way through the crowd of hovering women.

  "Fiona, get some grease, quick,” one of the women ordered.

  "No!” Meryl told them calmly. “No grease. It'll make it worse. Get a bucket of cold water from the loch."

  Tristan got through the group and examined her burned arm. Meryl's right forearm was the bright red of a cooking lobster. “What happened?” All the women began chattering at once. “One at a time!” he shouted trying to make himself heard.

  "It was an accident,” Maggie told him tearfully, when the others had quieted. “I was about to pour some hot water into a bucket and someone bumped me and the water splashed all over Meryl's arm. She didn't see it coming until too late. She couldn't get out of the way."

  "Not your fault, Maggie. I should have had been paying closer attention. It could have happened to anyone."

  "But it happened to you, Meryl. Again.” Tristan bit back his anger as he examined the burn again.

  "Better me than one of the children,” she responded lightly, trying to hide the pain.

  One of the older boys set a bucket of cold water on a stool in front of her. Meryl knelt near the stool and grimaced in pain while she lowered her arm into the bucket. The cold clashed with the heat of the burn. At this moment, she wished she couldn't feel anything. In the meantime it would take a while for the water to numb her arm.

  "Get back to your work,” Tristan ordered the women who remained crowded about them. They reluctantly did as they were told. When they had dispersed to other parts of the great hall, he turned back to Meryl. “Too many accidents, Meryl. Do you believe me yet, someone wants you out of the way?"

  "It doesn't make any sense, Tris.” She hissed at the cold water beginning to take away the heat of the burn. “I don't have my inheritance and I have no idea what it entails. Why would someone want to kill me before I inherit? What is waiting for me that's worth all this trouble?"

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Several days of diligent scrubbing brought the keep and bailey to standards Meryl could live with. Her arm remained lightly wrapped in a wide bandage to protect the skin from further damage. The heat had gone out of the burn, leaving her arm red and sensitive. Her work was limited ... or so she thought Tristan believed. She worked as hard as everyone else and always seemed able to sense when he was around. When he appeared she played lady of the manor, giving directions, and watching the others work. She was grateful the other women had caught on to her ruse and played along with her.

  "You work too hard, Meryl,” Tristan admonished her.

  "I hardly work, you mean,” she huffed.

  "No, I mean you work too hard.” He reached up and brushed a streak of dirt from her cheek, laughter in his eyes at having finally caught her.

  "I can't just sit around like a grand lady while they do all the work. It isn't my way,” she complained. She gestured toward the working women, her frustration evident.

  Dinks and Famhair moved between the two humans and stared up at the other's owner. The cat's eyes glowed eerily in the half shadow. Dinks growled at Tristan, while the deerhound seemed to be studying Meryl. “What is wrong with that cat?” Tristan was slightly unnerved by the glow. Dinks appeared too human at times.

  "Just a trifle jealous.” Meryl gave a negligent flip of her hand. “He's always been my protector. Now you come along and claim the duty."

  "Competing with a cat? I don't think so.” He eyed Meryl's pet, and Dinks returned the look with an unblinking stare. Tristan turned on his heel and went back to the bailey.

  When Meryl turned away, Famhair glared down at the cat and grumbled, Hey, cat. How come you get to sleep by the hearth where it's nice and warm, and I get a stall in the stable?

  Dinks gazed up at his larger companion and snickered. Learn to make yourself smaller than a pony and you might be allowed to sleep in here. He sauntered over to the edge of the hearth, made himself comfortable and promptly went to sleep.

  Famhair hesitated a moment, woofed indignantly, then turned quickly to follow his master.

  The men labored outside, managing to complete repairs on most of the huts, making them serviceable for the approaching winter. Their small hearths were cleaned out and made serviceable for heat and cooking. These cottages could be put to immediate use if some hearty souls didn't mind a few drafts. Backed against the wall, the inhabitants would be better protected against the cold. Winter winds made their way down from the mountains, cutting short any planned outside work beyond the walls.

  Meryl took a count to find there were too many people who would be living within the keep for the next few months. Wall to wall pallets covered the great hall floor every night. The children slept, huddled together like a huge litter of pups. The night sounds emanating from the adults, often kept Meryl awake and she wished they'd been able to find the fuel to heat one of the above bedchambers. She sighed wistfully; that would have to wait until spring.

  The weeks flew past and what was once a grand adventure turned into a nightmare.

  Meryl and Tristan inventoried everything they had. There was enough game in the forest and fish in the loch to supplement what they had stored and see them through the worst of the winter. If they were careful, they could live well enough until the first harvest was brought in.

  Meryl expected complaints from time to time and dealt with them accordingly, but she was surprised with the angry chatter confronting her one evening at supper.

  "Is it true?” Ian as
ked. “Does this valley belong to some magician who has yet to return to reclaim it?"

  Momentarily at a loss for words, Meryl sipped her ale and studied the blacksmith. She placed her cup back on the table and sat back, keeping her surprise to herself that they hadn't heard the story weeks sooner. “Where did you hear this?"

  "Is it true?” he asked again, more insistent.

  Tristan turned in his seat and stared at her, making her uncomfortable. She had hoped to keep this bit of information to herself, until she knew better what to expect. “That is what I've been told. I've also been assured this was the place we would make our new home. If you recall the condition of this place, no one has been here for years."

  "And how do we know we won't be forced to leave when the real owner arrives?” Ena stared at Meryl, her brandy colored eyes betraying nothing.

  Meryl had an uneasy feeling about the flame haired woman. “We won't. Have I guided you wrongly so far? Have I had less than your best interests at heart?"

  "No,” Ian admitted. “You've guided us true.” He gulped down his ale and said no more.

  "And I would never deliberately misguide you. Each one of you has given up a great deal to make this journey. Granted, you didn't have much choice with the English patrol breathing down your necks. But I have it on good authority, this valley will be our permanent home. I will deal with the owner when they arrive, probably in the spring. Let's not borrow trouble now. We have more than enough to deal with if we're going to get through the next few months with our tempers intact. It will be difficult enough getting through this winter, without worrying about a lord or lady who may or may not appear to claim their home."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Time began to drag and Meryl's patience barely hung on by a thread. She was ready to scream. The idea sounded good—for a brief moment—but in the long run it wouldn't help. Almost a hundred people, adults and children were living in close quarters through the winter and there wasn't enough work to keep them busy. She looked forward to dryer spring weather when she could get the men working building new huts. What they needed was a little village just outside the keep's high walls.

  Without having seen a great deal of it, Meryl knew the valley was more than sufficient size to support these people. Soon she would have to meet with the six warriors and discuss new responsibilities for them. She didn't particularly look forward to such a meeting, but with the misty curtain creating superstition, there was no real need to have warriors defend the keep. If any tasks were to get done in the next few months, it would require delegating authority.

  Besides short tempers, Meryl had had enough of this whole courting business. Several young men vied for her attention. Graeme subtly pushed for an acceptance to his proposal and Tristan practically ignored her. His indifferent attitude toward her stung. What had she done to deserve it? Had she offended him, or made him angry? Meryl hadn't asked to come to this time with him. She didn't want to be the one in charge. She wished she were back in the mansion. Listening to Enchantra's opinions concerning Meryl's inability to cast a spell would be nothing compared to this cacophony.

  Meryl rested her elbows on the trestle table and hid her face in her hands. A few moments’ peace would go a long way right now. The noise in the hall dimmed and an argument in the kitchen grew in intensity. She sighed then made her way to the kitchen, reluctantly prepared to referee.

  She stopped just inside the small cooking area, unnoticed by the workers. “What is going on—” no way would she be heard. With two fingers to her mouth, she gave a loud, unladylike, shrill whistle. The kitchen suddenly became quiet and the dozen workers turned to see who interfered. “That's better. Now, what is going on in here? You make enough noise to wake the dead.” No one said anything, but shifted uncomfortably. “I asked a question: I expect an answer.” Meryl spoke more sharply then she'd intended. “MacNab?"

  The rotund cook stared at Meryl then glanced at Rose. “Clumsy girl spilt flour all over."

  Meryl noticed the mark on Rose's face and went to the girl to take a closer look. The red handprint stood out against Rose's pale complexion. “What happened, Rose?"

  "I'd just filled the bowl with flour for the next batch of bread and Geoffrey ran into me. I dropped the bowl and MacNab struck me for being careless. He didn't see what happened.” Rose waited. The defiant look in her eyes dared Meryl to discipline her.

  "In the first place, there are too many people working in this small area at one time.” She pointed to several workers. “You, you and you are no longer assigned to cooking duties. You will serve tables and clear them. That should limit the congestion in here. MacNab,” she turned to face the cook again. “You have no right to lay a hand on anyone."

  "But discipline—"

  Meryl cut him off. “If there is to be any discipline meted out, the complaints are to be brought to me. I'll not tolerate this sort of behavior. Is that clear?"

  "Quite clear,” he grumbled.

  "Rose."

  The girl stiffened, expecting to be punished for the spilt flour and the mess it created. No, she concluded, the spilt flour would just be an excuse. Meryl had seen her too many times talking and laughing with Tristan. Now their ‘self appointed’ leader had the perfect opportunity to get even.

  "Put a cold cloth on your cheek to take the sting out of it. From now on, you'll work with Maisri. Your skills would be put to better use there."

  Rose's eyes widened in surprise. To get out of the kitchen was a blessing she hadn't expected. To have Meryl deal with the situation fairly? It was the last thing Rose expected from the outsider.

  The kitchen was silent for a moment, except for the crackling in the hearth where a large bird was slowly turned on a spit. Droplets of fat fell into the fire and sizzled. “See that this mess is cleaned up before someone gets hurt.” Meryl turned to leave, but hesitated a moment to gaze at the bird's crisp golden skin. “And MacNab,” she sighed with frustration and longing, “...I do believe your goose is cooked."

  The general atmosphere in the hall had quieted after her shrill whistle. Meryl was grateful for the minor respite. If one more thing went wrong before the day was over ... The door leading to the bailey opened just enough to allow a hooded figure to enter. Meryl recognized Ena when the woman turned, laughing, waiting for her companion to enter. Tristan. Meryl's heart skipped a beat as Ena leaned closer to Tristan and they both laughed.

  One more thing just happened.

  Meryl grabbed her cloak from where she'd left it on a table and flung it about her shoulders, then dashed out the door before Tristan could close it.

  "Meryl,” he called. She ignored him, ran down the outer steps and turned left to cross the huge garden on the south side of the keep.

  Meryl stopped a moment—where to go. She didn't want to see or talk with anyone. The garden. When she took a quick tour of the grounds in the autumn, just after their arrival, she'd discovered a small private garden, well hidden beyond the one in which she stood. She paced along the inner wall until she came across a gate covered with ivy. For a moment, the latch refused to budge, but finally opened with a rusty squeak. She'd have to see about those hinges if she wanted to keep this small place to herself. The late afternoon wind was warmer than it had been, a sure sign spring wasn't far off.

  She sat on the stone bench and sighed. Why did she ever let Tristan bring her here to Scotland? All this responsibility was proving to be beyond her. What on earth had convinced her she could make a difference in these people's lives? That truly had to be the height of arrogance on her part.

  She let her imagination wander while she studied the private garden. Signs of life were beginning to peek through the soil. Tiny bits of green peeked through the soil. There was something else about this place, something that had nothing to do with spring growth. In her mind's eye she saw a lush garden where a young girl hid between shrubs. The child hugged her knees to her chest as if trying to make herself smaller. No, not smaller, invisible. The child seemed
afraid of something or someone. Meryl tried to look around the garden to determine what the danger was and where it came from. Someone was looking for the child. Meryl felt a shiver of apprehension crawl along her spine. She wanted to call out to the girl, warn her to run, but her voice refused to cooperate.

  "Meryl,” a deep voice called to her. It drew closer, became clearer. “Are you all right, lass?"

  Meryl looked up, startled out of her daydream but not really surprised. She wasn't pleased to have been followed and berated herself for not having closed the gate properly. “I'm fine. What do you want, Tristan?"

  He was taken aback by her flat response, but sat beside her without invitation. “I don't want anything. I was worried. You seemed upset."

  "Upset? Whatever gave you that idea?” She released the pent up frustration. “Five months of close quarters with people who do nothing but bicker about petty things. Everyone gets on everyone else's nerves and they all expect me to settle their disputes. I've had enough, Tristan. I don't understand why you brought me here. I want to go home.” She said the last emphatically, and looked into his green eyes, searching for answers, but found none. Yet, there was something hidden in their emerald depths she couldn't put a name to.

  "I'm sorry you're upset, Meryl, and I wish I had answers for you, but I don't. In a few days we can start building more cottages for these people and ease the congestion within the castle. If we can get enough people working, we can probably establish something of a village both here and outside the walls. Think you can hang on until then?” He smiled lightly but his eyes reflected his concern.

  Meryl sighed softly. “A few days. I guess I can manage until then."

  Tristan took her smaller hand into his and lightly rubbed his thumb over the backs of her fingers. He hesitated, not sure if he dared ask her the questions that were on his mind. “What will you do about all these young men courting you?"

  Once again, Meryl tried to gauge his thoughts. It was an odd question from someone so popular with the young ladies, two of whom pursued him relentlessly. “I haven't decided. Several of them want more of my time, which I'm not free to give. Graeme has proposed marriage.” Meryl wondered why she bothered to tell Tristan all this, when it was obvious he really didn't care. The whole subject was only annoying, and talking about it wouldn't solve anything. Only a fool would doubt Tristan's attraction to Ena. In more ways than one, the redhead had the knowledge to keep his interest.