True Love Brides 02 - The Highlander’s Curse (13 page)

“A home?”

“A modest hut could be made mine own.”

Murdoch’s opinion of that was clear. “A fortune?”

“Nay.”

“An occupation or trade? As pleased as I am that you apparently killed a wolf near Seton Manor, that is no way for a man to support a lady.”

“None other,” Garrett admitted.

“
Apparently
,” Annelise echoed, her disdain clear.

The laird inhaled sharply at her impudence, but continued to address Garrett. “It appears that you have no means to support a wife accustomed to the life of a noblewoman, and your manner of conduct since arriving here does you no credit.”

“Murdoch!” Annelise cried. “I would ask that you give Garrett a chance. He is recovered now.”

Murdoch looked between the two of them, then squared his shoulders. “One meal,” he stipulated, though Annelise was quick to show her delight. “You are invited to join us at the board this evening, as a guest of Seton Manor.”

The very prospect sent horror through Garrett, but he knew he had to survive this test to win his lady. He reminded himself that it would offer good practice for the challenge that awaited him at Killairig.

“He will sit with me at the high table,” Annelise said.

He had but a moment to feel relief before Murdoch shook his head. “He will not. He will sit below the salt, as befits a hunter of no rank, at the very base of the table where I can watch him.”

“Murdoch!” Annelise protested, but the laird kept his gaze fixed upon Garrett.

“Below the salt will be fine,” Garrett said, his manner stoic. “I thank you for the invitation. I shall be gladdened to look upon my lady from that vantage.”

“Garrett,” Annelise whispered. “It is not fair.”

“Annelise,” Murdoch said. “Isabella seeks you.”

His maiden was clearly uncertain what to do. Garrett appreciated that she did not want to leave him alone with the laird, but he knew little would be achieved by making an enemy of Murdoch. “Go,” he whispered. “Do not make the lady wait.”

Annelise spared him a searching glance, then left his side. She hesitated beside Murdoch, but the laird kept his gaze fixed upon Garrett. She cast one last look at Garrett, then hastened toward the hall. Garrett watched her progress, certain he had never seen a maiden so lovely or so sweet. He felt the haven offered by her presence draw away and the laird’s displeasure press upon him.

“Garrett MacLachlan,” Murdoch said softly. “What do you want?”

“To wed my lady Annelise and honor her as my wife.”

Murdoch’s lips tightened. “You must see that it is impossible.”

“You must guess that I have hopes that it will become possible.”

“Will you tell me of them?”

Garrett shook his head. “Only if they come to fruition.”

The laird nodded then stepped into the goat pen, considering Garrett with care. “I would not have Annelise hope for something that cannot be. If you care for her at all, you must agree that it would be unfair to mislead or endanger her.”

“I do,” Garrett said, seeing Murdoch’s surprise.

“You will dine with us on this evening, and you will leave after the meal. I have no fear that a woodsman like yourself can survive in the forest at night, and indeed, you might prefer it to any hospitality we might offer.”

It was a fair offer from a man who would prefer to see him gone immediately, and Garrett respected that Murdoch chose to be gracious. “And Annelise?”

“You will never see my wife’s sister again.”

Garrett could not accept this injunction. “No man can command Fate or the future. Who can say if our paths will cross again?”

Murdoch’s expression hardened. “None, but you will not compel them to cross. You will not seek her out.” Murdoch strode toward Garrett, so that they stood toe to toe. “She is my responsibility and I mean to defend her. There is an air of danger about you, Garrett MacLachlan, and I would not see Annelise caught up in its web. Do you understand me?”

Garrett nodded. In fact, he was encouraged, for he saw that Murdoch acted out of a desire to see Annelise safe, the same desire that motivated Garrett. “Indeed, I do. But I ask that you understand me, sir, and recognize that I will not rest until I have earned the right to request the lady’s hand. When I do, I shall return to offer for her.” Their gazes locked and held for a potent moment, the laird’s skepticism pressing upon Garrett’s thoughts.

Garrett believed that, in time, Murdoch would be convinced, and he held the laird’s gaze, showing his determination.

It was Murdoch who averted his gaze first, Murdoch who took a step back to survey Garrett’s attire. “I would suggest you wash before the meal. My wife keeps a fastidious hall.”

With that, he pivoted and marched away, leaving Garrett to consider how he might turn the evening to his advantage. Bolstered by Annelise’s potent kiss, he might be able to endure the meal without making a spectacle of himself.

But could he learn more of who opposed him?

And could he find the way to win Annelise for his own? No deity could be so cruel as to show him a glimpse of his salvation, then snatch it away.

Which meant that Garrett simply had to find the solution to the puzzle, before Orson Douglas claimed Annelise’s hand for his own.

*

“Of course, the key to ensuring quality of service from one’s minions is to bolster their loyalty,” Orson said. He leaned close to Annelise as he confided his brilliance in all such matters and she wished heartily that he would simply cease to speak. “Small gifts are of great value in managing this feat. Even the trinkets we hold in little regard can be put to tremendous use in building a servant’s bond.”

“Indeed.” Annelise found her gaze trailing to Garrett, who did sit at the very foot of the table. She was relieved in one way that Stewart sat across from Garrett—the presence of that trusted man-at-arms at the foot of the table lessened the sting of Garrett being seated there. On the other hand, Annelise did not doubt that Stewart was there to watch Garrett closely. She saw the older man try to draw Garrett into conversation, without success.

In Seton Manor’s hall, the high table was actually at the same level as the main one. It was set across the back wall, and the low table was set at right angles to it, extending toward the door. The salt dish was positioned at the junction of the two tables. There were far fewer souls abiding at Seton Manor than at Kinfairlie, and most ate in the laird’s hall for the main daily meal. That meal was served in the evening, for there was much labor to be done during the day. It was a different routine than Annelise had known at Kinfairlie, and one that promoted greater intimacy. Within a week of her arrival, she could have named every soul who labored beneath Murdoch’s hand, whereas there were still some in Kinfairlie’s village of whom she knew little.

Garrett appeared to be composed but discomfited. Even from this distance, Annelise could see that he was not entirely at ease, although he strove to hide it. Was it simply that he was unaccustomed to the company of men? Or was there some other issue at work? Either way and even in his condition, he was easily the most alluring man in the hall—the tallest, the broadest, the strongest and Annelise was certain, the most noble.

Murdoch sat above the salt at the high table, Isabella to his left and Annelise to his right. She did not doubt that he was listening to her conversation with Orson. Orson sat to Annelise’s right, and the other visiting knight to Isabella’s left. The priest sat on the far side of the second knight. Candles burned high, on the table and in the torches mounted on the wall. In cooler weather, a fire was lit on the hearth to the right of those sitting at the high table, but on this night, the ambient heat from the kitchens behind was sufficient. The hounds were sprawled on every side, watching with interest as the meal was served.

Garrett reached down to pat a hound, and the beast’s tail thumped against the floor. Annelise smiled, liking how he could be both gentle and strong. He glanced up in that moment and their gazes met, Annelise feeling that strange heat rise within her even at such a distance.

It was as if he had awakened something with his kiss, a fire that burned hotter in his presence and with his encouragement. Annelise wanted very much to learn how hot that fire could burn.

Orson cleared his throat and Annelise started, realizing she had been too obvious in watching Garrett. He snapped his fingers at his squire. “Tell the lady, Percy. What did I give to you last? I have quite forgotten.”

The boy froze in place and stared at his knight. Either he was terrified of his master, or the last gift was one that would not suit to recall.

“Come along, Percy,” Orson said with impatience. “If you are to be silent in the presence of a beautiful woman, you will never win a lady’s hand for yourself.” He chuckled at his own wisdom, even as Annelise wondered whether he was chiding her for her own comparative lack of conversation. “What was it?”

“Um, a small knife, sir.” Percy fumbled at his belt and produced an eating knife. “This one, sir.”

Orson squinted at it. “Truly?” He shrugged, then turned another smile on Annelise. “Such a rough trinket that I cannot even recall ever possessing it,” he murmured, then winked at her as if they conspired together.

Annelise fixed her gaze upon her hands and said nothing.

Then she risked a glance at Garrett, only to find him staring at Orson’s squire. He looked shocked and was pale again. She might have risen to her feet, but Murdoch stayed her with a gesture.

Orson’s squire stepped back as the stew was brought from the kitchens, making way for the dish to be carried to the laird. Murdoch and Isabella were served, then the dish offered to Annelise and Orson. The squire reached to ladle a serving onto the trencher. To Annelise’s dismay, she had been compelled not just to sit beside the visiting knight but to share a trencher with him. The half loaf of bread used as a platter was deemed to be of sufficient size to be shared, and she knew well enough that some seized such opportunity as a means of courtship.

She was not truly surprised when Orson did as much.

“That is a fine piece of venison, Percy,” Orson said, his tone unctuous. “It is fitting fare for a lady’s lips.” He picked up the choice chunk of venison with his fingers and offered it to Annelise. His eyes glinted with anticipation and he smiled at her.

He looked like naught more than a hungry wolf. Annelise wondered why this man was so determined to woo her when most other men in Christendom could so readily overlook her charms.

She took a breath, seeking a measure of her boldness. “There is no need to feed me like an infant, sir. I am quite capable of seeing to my own meal.”

“But what rapture it would give me to feel the barest touch of your lips on my fingers,” Orson said in a whisper that any soul in the hall could hear.

Annelise found herself blushing at his unwelcome attention and well aware that many were watching her.

“How unfortunate then that I have no appetite on this evening.”

Orson moved the piece of venison even closer. “Surely I can tempt you, my lady.” He smiled, evidently thinking that his appeal could not be denied.

“Surely not,” Annelise said.

Orson’s eyes narrowed briefly, then he ate the meat himself. “No more than that, Percy,” he snapped at the boy. “There is no need to waste our host’s generosity, if the lady has no desire to eat.”

He had rather less to say about Murdoch’s hospitality when he held out his cup for more wine and Percy shook his head. “It has all been consumed, sir,” the boy whispered.

Orson’s shock was so complete that Annelise was tempted to laugh but she dared not do so. “They brew a fine ale here at Seton Manor,” she said. “And our host is equally generous with it.”

“Ale?”

“Aye. I think it better than the wine, to tell the truth.”

“That would not be such a feat,” Orson muttered, wincing as his cup was filled with ale. He sipped, grimaced, then drained the cup. By the time the meal was completed, he had had three more sups of ale and his face was growing ruddy.

Annelise hoped the indulgence ensured that he slept badly.

Indeed, she could not recall disliking a man more, and certainly not on so little acquaintance. She stole yet another glance at Garrett to find him sipping of his ale and giving his attention to the hound at his feet. He did not look to be comfortable, but at least he was not in torment.

She glanced down the table to find Murdoch watching Garrett, his expression inscrutable, then caught a quick glance being exchanged between Orson and Andrew.

“Andrew!” Orson shouted, as if he had forgotten that his companion was at the same table. “After such a fine repast, we can only thank our host and hostess for their generosity.”

Annelise doubted that Orson wished to thank Murdoch for either the wine or the ale. She looked between the two knights with suspicion.

“Indeed!” replied his fellow knight with such cheer that Annelise knew something was afoot. “But what gift could we bring to this hall that would suit?”

“A tale!” Orson declared.

*

‘Tell the lady, Percy. What did I give to you last?’