The Spellbinder: Highland Eyes Page 8

  Before he could say more, the woman Meryl noticed earlier stepped forward. She was shorter than Meryl and her graying hair was held back in a loose braid. Clear blue eyes and few creases in her face hid her age well. Meryl sensed the great respect the others held for her.

  "Welcome, Lady Meryl. I am Maisri ... That is an interesting necklace you wear. May I take a closer look?” Without waiting for an answer, Maisri touched the pendant, noting its double chain. The slight warmth it gave off surprised her—a warmth that didn't come from its wearer.

  Meryl didn't have a chance to say anything before the woman was examining the jewelry. “Why is everyone so interested in my pendant?” Meryl responded to the unexplained interest. “It's only a family heirloom.” The interest both annoyed her and roused her curiosity.

  "It has an unusual design. Who gave it to you?"

  "My mother left it to me when I was quite young. I only know what my aunt told me about her, which amounted to nothing."

  "The time and place of your birth?” Maisri asked bluntly. She listened carefully to Meryl's answers, and seemed to be mulling them over in her mind, while at the same time studying the pale silver eyes.

  "I don't know. Seems no one knows, so my aunt just picked a date. She thought August first was as good as any.” Meryl shrugged and began to feel as if she were on trial for some unknown crime.

  "No matter, just an old woman's curiosity. Welcome to our village.” Maisri shrugged off the questions and studied the cat by Meryl's side.

  "Oh don't worry about Dinks. He won't bother anyone."

  "I have never seen a cat such as this."

  "He is an unusual cat, to say the least. Some people think he is a...” Meryl stopped a moment and decided some things were better left unsaid. “How he is seen depends on the person who sees him."

  "That is rather unusual.” The two women exchanged brief glances. Maisri realized there was much they could learn from the other, and from the look in Meryl's eyes, she knew the feeling was mutual.

  The cat's green eyes fixed on the older woman. Maisri sensed a different kind of intelligence there, one that would be of benefit to the girl, one which made this animal extraordinary. Meryl would bear watching to see if she was the one they waited for. Proving herself to the villagers—proving to them the legend did indeed exist, was most important now.

  The villagers drifted back to their work, leaving Graeme and Rose with Meryl. Tristan moved away from the trio to speak with Maisri. It didn't take long for Meryl to figure out that whatever was being said didn't please the warrior. He glanced over his shoulder and caught her in his darkened gaze. His frustration was obvious, and it made her uncomfortable. Meryl turned her attention to the couple standing with her.

  It was obvious how Rose felt about the dark haired warrior. Her eyes glowed when she looked at him, which was often. Meryl's smile disappeared. Had she ever been that obvious when she was that age? Who was she kidding? Rose couldn't be more than sixteen, which wasn't much younger than Meryl, herself. It was just as telling that Tristan didn't feel the same way about the girl. While he was polite, she sensed no closeness, none of that special warmth, she knew existed between most couples.

  Tristan gathered up Laoch's reins and turned to Meryl. “Come with me, I'll show you where you'll be staying."

  "Nice to meet you both,” Meryl replied awkwardly to the others then followed Tristan to a hut several yards away. “Dinks, come.” The cat sneezed and followed his mistress.

  Tristan led the stallion into a lean-to attached to the hut. He rubbed down Laoch's coat with a curry brush, while he talked quietly to the stallion, apparently in no hurry to look after his guest. After setting out a measure of oats, and a bucket of water he turned to Meryl. “Laoch is settled in, now it's your turn.” He turned to the deerhound and spoke a few Gaelic words. The dog immediately plopped down in a corner and went to sleep. “Make sure that cat of yours stays out of my way. The cottage is small and I don't care to be tripping over him every time I turn around."

  "Who stuck a burr under your saddle?” Meryl mumbled as she followed Tristan around to the front of the cottage. His mood had darkened considerably after speaking with Maisri.

  The only light entering the cottage came from the open door. The sparsely furnished interior boasted a table with several stools around it, taking up most of the space. Shelf space along one wall held several dishes and cooking pots. Meryl didn't know what to expect. She was used to a fully stocked kitchen and well furnished home, and yet, this felt more right than the mansion did, but she wasn't about to admit it.

  "You can sleep in there.” Tristan nodded in the direction of a smaller room. “It'll give you some privacy."

  "But this is your home. What will the others think?"

  "They won't think anything. All they're concerned about is whether or not you're to be trusted. Until you've earned their trust, they'll be cautious around you."

  "So much for Scottish hospitality."

  "You have to understand, Meryl. These days it's difficult to trust strangers. These people come from many clans, and have learned that oftentimes they can't trust their own. Too often, our giving ways have left us vulnerable to betrayal."

  "You're right. I apologize.” What did she have to prove? Why did Maisri ask those questions? All her life, no one had shown the least bit curiosity about her past, and now it seemed everyone wanted to know her family history. “Tristan, why did you bring me back here?"

  Tristan hesitated a moment then finished setting kindling in the hearth. “The year is 1305. William Wallace has been executed for treason. Robert Bruce and Red Comyn fight for the crown of Scotland. They take turns making and breaking alliances with Edward."

  Meryl stood in the curtained doorway of the smaller second room, then turned her back to it to face Tristan where he still knelt by the hearth. By his clipped speech, she suspected he was holding back information. She stared back at him, her head tilted, wondering why he was careful with what he told her. For someone who wanted her help, he was far from forthcoming with answers.

  "I do recall some Scottish history,” she replied defensively. “I know the battle for the crown will go on for some time yet. Wallace was bigger than life, both in size and deeds, but none of what you say tells me why I'm here."

  "Unfortunately, it's not my place to answer those questions. All I know is that you're important to our future, to the future of Scotland. In due time you'll learn what you need to know."

  To the future of Scotland. His was the sort of answer that told her nothing. She did her best to tamp down her frustration. Meryl turned again to the smaller room and gave her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. A narrow bed filled one corner and she ran her hand slowly over the coverings on the straw filled mattress. The coverlet was worn and faded. A feeling of belonging startled her. This wasn't her time, so why should she feel as if she'd been here before?

  A chest set against the wall looked well traveled. It looked to be about three feet long and a couple feet high. Meryl knelt before it and ran her hands lightly over the surface. Most of the wood, its color uneven, looked worn with use. Her fingertips found nicks in the carvings. A Celtic braid was carved along the edges of each side, just within the brass finishings that covered the edges where the sides met. A hasp reached down from the cover and was safely secured with a stout lock. Beneath that was a Celtic knot, with neither beginning nor end; a symbol of infinity.

  The lid itself was domed in shape and also had the braid design around its perimeter. In the center, just below the highest part of the lid, was a two-headed dragon. Its long body twirled around and over on itself, with a head attached at either end, facing each other. A power struggle? One couldn't destroy the other without destroying itself in the process. Most of the finish was worn and the brass fittings were dull and scratched with lack of polishing. Meryl laid a hand gently on the lid. The wood felt warm to the touch, as if the chest had meant something special to someone. She lightly tapped her shor
t nails thoughtfully against the cover while another thought hovered at the edge of her memory, something else she couldn't grasp. She sighed then left the small room.

  CHAPTER NINE

  For several days, Meryl wandered around the village, feeling useless. All thoughts of escape had dissipated with the fact there was nowhere to go. The little village was isolated. Learning anything from these people proved to be difficult. Getting to know some of them turned out to be harder. If she was going to stay here, she might as well learn how they did things. Her modern ways had no place here and would only make her look more a witch than if she used real spells. The possible consequences of those actions made her shudder. Maisri was the only one who willingly answered questions and showed her the way of things.

  Meryl took an instant liking to the older woman, sometimes imagining what her own mother might have been like. Maisri wasn't quite as tall as Meryl. The woman's gray hair hung in a neat braid. She spoke softly, when she had something to say, and the respect the villagers held for her was obvious. Meryl knew instinctively that Maisri held the key to the reasons for her being here.

  Maisri showed Meryl around the village, and introduced her to several women. Their response to her was guarded. Meryl didn't know how she was going to fit in if she couldn't get past their defenses. They went about their work, casting occasional glances her way, whispering to one another. Their conversations were too soft for Meryl to pick up any hint of their suspicions.

  Meryl couldn't help but notice how Rose, more than anyone else, avoided her. The reasons were obvious. Rose saw her as a threat to what she wanted—Rose wanted Tristan. Meryl silently wished the girl luck. As the contemporary world put it, Tristan was ‘married to his career.’ He cared only about being a warrior. Just the same, Meryl figured if there was a way to win his heart, Rose would find it, despite Meryl's presence. By the standards of this century, Rose was nearing the age when she'd be considered too old to marry. Meryl felt both amusement and sadness for the girl. Did she honestly believe Meryl stood in her way? Despite the younger woman's determination, Meryl wondered if Tristan had any heart at all.

  Thinking back on it, Meryl realized Tristan had been nothing more than polite to her since their arrival. They shared the same cottage, yet they barely spoke to one another. He left early in the morning, before she woke. Unlike the others, Tristan had shown no fear of her strange eyes, but still he kept distant from her in every sense. Rose most assuredly had to find a way to get past the warrior's solitude. Goddess knew, Meryl couldn't—not that she wanted to.

  Dinks followed Meryl about the village and showed particular curiosity when it came to the children. Whenever he got close to them, Famhair seemed to come out of nowhere to guard them. “Hurt any of the wee humans,” the hound growled, “and the human pack leader will be finding your bones scattered about the village."

  Dinks hissed in return, resenting the way Famhair distrusted him. “I have no intention of hurting them. I find them fascinating.” Dinks found the smaller creatures easier to play with. He sniffed at them, much to their delight, and noticed they smelled a bit differently than the larger members of their pack—and they were more attentive. Dinks loved attention; he thrived on it, but his first loyalty would always be to his mistress. Before long, hound and cat were playing a game of rough-and-tumble with some of the older children while the younger ones looked on, squealing with delight.

  Someone began playing a chanter and the notes danced on the air. Meryl listened to the jaunty tune and wondered about the occasion. Soon they'd be harvesting what crops they had. She knew people in these times didn't stop working at mid day to play unless they had something to celebrate. Tristan had already left to join his friends.

  Meryl sat on a stump just outside the doorway of the lean-to and watched the goings on. She didn't feel comfortable joining the others and decided to sit alone and watch them. She smiled, watching Dinks saunter around the corner of the building, looking for a new game to play; he moved gracefully and stretched out his sleek body, then made himself comfortable at her feet. She envied him his unconcerned attitude, then turned her attention back to the merry-making and lost herself in the revelry.

  Several children, no more than six years old, held hands, forming a circle. They laughed and tried to imitate the adults’ dancing, only to trip over their own feet and each other. Meryl tapped her foot to the cheerful tune, while Tristan twirled Rose around. The young girl laughed, her face flushed with excitement. Meryl could see the sparkle in Rose's eyes, thrilled with the attention Tristan paid her.

  Graeme approached. “Come, dance with me, Meryl. I know you want to. You haven't been able to sit still since you came out here."

  "Have you been watching me?” she asked, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

  "Can't help but watch the prettiest girl in the village."

  Despite the compliment, Meryl wanted to refuse, but Graeme took her hands and pulled her into the group. She watched the others, then tentatively tried the steps. Before long she was dancing as if she'd been doing it all her life. Graeme twirled her about until she was almost dizzy. Her feet had wings as she spun around, laughing.

  Her laughter was short lived when a small girl tugged at her skirts. Meryl glanced down at the child, then looked in the direction she pointed. In the distance, horses, perhaps a dozen of them, galloped toward the village.

  "They'll be looking for our young men” one woman spoke up, frantically. “There is no place to hide them now.” She twisted her apron in her hands and looked about fearfully.

  She was right. They were all out in the open, in plain sight of anyone who approached. The young men she spoke of were the warriors staying in the village. Most had no homes and wandered throughout the highlands, doing battle with any English soldiers they came across. They were ready to do battle now, giving little if any consideration to the people and children around them. Most were too eager and Meryl didn't like the enthusiasm they showed. Their eagerness to fight could cost the others their lives.

  "There will be no battle today if I can do anything to stop it,” Meryl muttered under her breath. “Don't be so sure,” she replied aloud to the woman's concern. Something strange was happening. She felt a new and different kind of confidence surge through her. She touched the pendant and felt its warmth. She knew exactly what she should do, and hoped she could pull it off. “Have you ever heard of hiding in plain sight?” She grinned and looked at the woman who had spoken. The woman looked back at Meryl as if she'd gone daft.

  "No one is to make a sound until the soldiers are gone,” Meryl warned the villagers. “Keep the children quiet.” She closed her eyes and concentrated on her pendant, which seemed the right thing to do at the moment. Something new began to build within her, something she believed she could call on to help these people. She raised her hands and held her arms out from her sides, then turned slowly in a circle, her eyes still closed in concentration.

  "Circle ‘round the village be

  To keep this highland English free.

  Warriors neither seen nor heard

  As long as no one speaks a word"

  Maisri glanced at Meryl, one eyebrow raised, silently questioning the improbable spell. Meryl shrugged again. “What can I say ... I'm new at this.” Under her breath she added, “It better work or we're all going to end up in a cauldron.” She smoothed the front of her dress to hide her nervousness. “I can do this. I will do this,” she repeated to herself emphatically. She could only hope that the cloud of dust raised by the oncoming horses would obscure the riders’ vision.

  A dozen English soldiers reached the perimeter of the village and suddenly stopped when their horses refused to go any further. The leader dug his heels into his mount's sides but the animal refused to budge, rearing up instead.

  Meryl waited until the horse settled back on all fours, then carefully approached the skittish animal, speaking quietly to it. When the horse settled, Meryl looked up at the officer. “What can we
do for you, sir knight?” she asked innocently. “Surely a bit of music at midday isn't breaking any English laws, despite the fact we are in Scotland.” Meryl saw him flinch when he looked into her pale silver eyes. The corners of her mouth twitched slightly, while he tried to look away. She could see and feel his discomfort. Meryl continued to speak softly to the gelding, as if talking with its rider were a natural everyday event. She rubbed the gelding's velvety nose to calm him.

  "What witchcraft do you do?” Only days earlier, Matthew had been commissioned by King Edward to find the Scots warriors harrassing English troops and deal with them. Information had led him to this small village. He suddenly felt uncomfortable as he tried not to stare at the strange girl. Apparently, she wasn't easily intimidated like the others; no one else seemed inclined to say anything. He didn't like the way she calmed his warhorse enough to obey her. “Why won't he enter?"

  "No witchcraft, sir. I'm just a simple woman who has a way with animals, nothing more. Perhaps he has more sense than to trample innocent children.” She gazed up at him again. “What do you seek here?"

  "Where are you hiding the warriors?"

  "Warriors? Look around. You see before you the entire village. We were just having a few moments’ entertainment. We have no warriors here for you to see.” Meryl's voice and demeanor carried an aura of innocence and confidence. Inside, she shook like a well-set plate of jello. It would be a miracle if she could pull this off. She continued to gently stroke the gelding's nose.