Highland Hero (10 page)

“The Keith women have held Rose Cottage for a long time, aye?” asked Sir Adair, telling himself there was nothing wrong with being so intensely curious about Rose, for she was living on his lands, one of those he was sworn to protect.

“Aye,” she replied, “for nearly as long as the laird has been a Dundas.” She knew she ought to tug her hand free of his but told herself it was a small, harmless indulgence. “The tale is that the first Keith woman was fleeing a mon and sought shelter in a small copse. The Laird of Duncairn was moved by her troubles and offered her shelter, told her she could make her home upon his lands. She built Rose Cottage with the help of some of the laird’s men and started the garden. Keith women have been there ever since. They always keep the name Keith as weel, e’en if they wed. That was done mostly in the beginning. The family grew enough after that, so that if a Keith woman was to marry, another Keith woman would come to tend the garden.”

“Your mother remained a Keith.”

“Aye, she wed one. My father died when I was a wee bairn, though, and I dinnae recall him.”

“And when did the women become so famous for their food?”

“I think it was from the first time the garden gave us enough food to cook with.” She sighed. “My mother ne’er told me the why of it all. She may have intended to, but the fever came upon her swiftly. She was ill and then she died, too quickly to settle any of her affairs or tend to matters left undone. I have yet to get through all of her writings. The tale may be in there.”

“Do ye read and write as weel?”

“Aye. The Keith women have long been healers. ’Twas thought wise to keep careful notes of herbs and cures. If something new was tried, it was quickly noted, and its success or failure as weel.” As they neared her cottage, she tugged her hand free of his. “I thank ye, laird. ’Twas most kind of ye to walk me home.”

Adair fought to ignore the sense of loss he felt when she pulled her hand away. “I suppose ’tis too dark to see the garden now.”

“Oh, aye. ’Twould appear as no more than shadows.” She opened the door to her cottage and grimaced when all four of her cats hurried out to twine themselves around her legs.

“Four cats?”

“Shortly after my mother died someone left a basket of four kittens on my threshold. Your father denied it, but I am sure it was he. Oddly enough, there are three toms and one female.”

“Why are ye nay o’erwhelmed with the beasts?” He bent to scratch behind the ears of a large ginger tom and almost smiled at the deep, loud purr that erupted from the animal.

“I have a wee but verra comfortable cage I lock the female in when she is in season.” She picked up a sleek gray cat. “Lady accepts her occasional banishment. She has had but one litter, quickly dispersed among the villagers.” Rose frowned down at her biggest cat. “Sweetling broke through the door. ’Tis thicker now.” Looking back at Adair, she caught the faintest hint of a smile curving his lips.

“Sweetling? Ye named that monster Sweetling?”

“Weel, he was but a wee thing when I got him. The ginger tom is Growler, for he did a lot of that, and the gray-striped tom is Lazy, which he still is.”

“All alone as ye are, ye ought to have something more protective than cats.”

“Weel, Geordie the blacksmith’s son found them a fierce obstacle when he was creeping about here one night. Of course, he couldnae tell people he was sent to heel by four cats, and the tale he told caused me a wee bit of trouble for a while.”

Her familiars, the Widow Kerr had called Rose’s cats, demons in disguise. Adair suspected Geordie’s lies fed that nonsense. Many people feared cats. Even those who kept them to control vermin were often uneasy around the animals. He was sure the rumors about Rose only enhanced the tales whispered about her pets.

Adair was not exactly sure what he felt about magic. Most of the time he did not believe in it. On the rare occasion when he found himself wondering if it did exist, he disliked the idea. Rose had made no mention of it, and he hoped that was because she did not believe in it either.

He told himself it would be necessary for him to spend some time with Rose to search out the truth, ignoring the inner voice that scorned his thin excuse. In his writings, his father had talked of magic and the trouble it often caused the Keith women. Rose’s trouble was being brewed by the Widow Kerr, as her mother’s had been, and by others like Geordie the blacksmith’s son, who wished to turn critical eyes away from his own shameful attempt to attack Rose. He would not allow this superstitious nonsense to exist upon his lands.

When he fixed his attention back on Rose, he found her and her cats staring at him, their heads all cocked at the same angle. Adair could easily imagine how such things could stir superstition in the ignorant. He found it both charming and a little amusing. At the moment, it was not hard to see the beguiling child he had once known. He reached out to brush his knuckles over her soft cheek.

“Mayhap ye havenae changed as much as I thought,” he murmured. “Good sleep, Rose.”

Rose watched him walk away. With a faintly trembling hand she touched the still warm place upon her cheek. Such a light caress he had given her, yet she had felt it right down to her toes. The man was definitely a threat.

“Robert, has someone been eating my tarts?” Adair asked his steward.

Once back in his great hall, Adair had made himself comfortable in his chair and poured himself some ale. He had set Rose’s basket in front of him, intending to indulge himself. Although he had been greatly distracted by Rose, he was sure that eight tarts had remained when he left to escort her home. There were only six now. He counted them a second time to be certain, then eyed a blushing Robert.

“I had one, laird,” Robert confessed. “Your father always allowed me to have one, and I fear I helped myself out of habit.”

“Ah, and then it tempted ye to have a second. I understand. They are indeed verra tempting.”

“Aye, they are, but I only had one. My son had the other ’ere I could stop him. He was agitated after his confrontation with Meg and, as he ranted and raved, he snatched one up and ate it. I reprimanded him severely, m’laird, and he was verra sorry. Although it did ease his temper.”

“Of course it did. No harm done,” Adair murmured, then he frowned at the tart he held in his hand. “They are verra good. Rose is an excellent cook.”

“As was her mother, laird.”

“Do ye think there is magic in her food or in her garden?”

Robert grimaced. “I dinnae wish to use the word
magic.
’Tis a word that can stir up trouble and talk of evil. I believe the Keith women have a true skill at cooking food that pleases both the mouth and the heart. I think they chose wisely when they chose their land, picking a place with rich soil and ample water that enhances the flavor of all they grow.”

Adair smiled faintly. “Weel said. I believe I will still have a close look at that garden.”

“Do ye suspect magic, or, weel, witchcraft?” Robert whispered the last word as if merely speaking it stirred his fear.

“Most days I dinnae believe in either. Howbeit, many others do, and the Widow Kerr seems most intent upon stirring up that fear. If I have a good look at that garden, I shall be able to turn aside such fear and superstition with clear, cold fact. I would prefer to tell the widow to close her mouth and cease with her lies, but—”

“’Twould be easier to make the wind cease to blow or stop the river’s flow,” muttered Robert.

“Quite probably,” replied Adair, faintly amused by this sudden show of temper in the usually sweet-natured Robert. “The game she plays is dangerous, however. She could get that poor lass hurt or killed. I will try to weaken the power of her poison, but if I cannae, I will make her cease. I willnae have that idiocy at Duncairn.”

Brave words, he thought later as he lay in his bed and savored the last of Rose’s apple tarts. Superstition and fear were difficult enemies to fight. Especially when Rose made food such as these apple tarts, he mused, as he savored the sense of peace and well-being that flowed through him. Any fool knew food, no matter how delicious, should not have such an effect upon one’s humors. Adair still resisted calling it magic, but he had to admit it was unusual. If he was not feeling so pleasant, such a reaction to eating an apple tart might even make him uneasy.

Crossing his arms beneath his head, he closed his eyes and was not surprised when visions of Rose Keith filled his mind. She had grown into an enchantingly beautiful woman. He had wanted her immediately and knew a long celibacy had nothing to do with it. Something about Rose stirred him in more ways than he could count. He wanted to ravish her even as he wanted to shelter her from every harsh word. He wanted her to soundly disavow any taint of magic yet found the mystery surrounding her and her garden intriguing. Just thinking about her made him feel like smiling, yet it had been a very long time since he had seen or felt anything worth smiling about.

Despite his confusion, seeing Rose in his dreams would be far preferable to what usually haunted him. Adair had a suspicion he would not be suffering any of those dark dreams this night. The painful memories and grief that had kept such a tight grip on him for so long were still there, but not so insistent, so overwhelming. He had lost so many friends, bold young men who had gone to France to find glory and riches only to find pain and death. Although he had gained some wealth, it could never buy him back the time he had lost with his family, now all dead and gone.

The grief inside his heart stirred a little, but only a little. It was as if some unseen hand had restrained that demon. He thought for the thousandth time that it was his own pride, his own arrogance, that had kept him in France, that he should have seen more clearly how time was slipping away. A soft voice in his head told him true arrogance was thinking he could foresee God’s will. Guilt, yet another demon with which he had long wrestled, raised its head before it, too, was subdued.

Dark, bloody memories of battle and capture were still there. He could see their nightmarish shadows lurking in the back of his mind, eager to scar his dreams and disturb his sleep, but they did not surge forward as they always had before. They were in the past, a voice soothed, one that sounded very much like his late mother’s.

That was a little alarming, he thought, yet he did not
feel
alarmed. He felt comforted. Adair could almost feel his mother’s touch, her soft kiss, and hear her say,
Aye, my braw, wee laddie, ’twas a sad time, weighted with grief and pain, but ’tis past. Ye are alive, ye are home, and ye have met a bonnie wee lass. Let those truths fill your heart and mind and sleep, my laddie, sleep.

A bonnie lass who fed him apple tarts that made him hear his mother’s voice in his head, he mused, but could not gather the strength or will to be troubled by that. He would court Rose, he decided. It was time he was wed and set about the business of breeding an heir. Rose was the first woman he had met who had stirred such a thought in his head.

For one brief moment he feared that, too, was caused by her apple tarts, but only for a moment. Adair knew the feelings Rose stirred within him were caused by Rose and Rose alone. The seed had probably been planted years ago by the endearing child she had been. He would have her for his own, but first he would get her to cast aside all this dangerous foolishness about magic.

As sleep crept over him, Adair thought he heard his mother’s voice again. She was scolding him for thinking he could take only a piece when true happiness and the prize he sought would only come to him when he could accept the whole. Adair decided he was too tired to understand what that meant.

Chapter 3

“Ye willnae get away with using your witch’s tricks on the laird.”

Rose sighed, then took several deep breaths to try to smother her anger. Mistress Kerr’s voice was enough to stir her anger now. After years of enduring the woman’s poison, she simply had no patience left. She knew she had to be careful, however. Every word she said to the woman had to be carefully weighed or it could come back to haunt her. It was not fair, but Rose knew she had to remain calm and courteous. It was her own fault she was going to have to endure this confrontation. She had been so caught up in her thoughts about Sir Adair that she had undoubtedly missed several opportunities to elude the woman.

“Pardon, Mistress?” she asked in a sweet voice as she turned to face the woman.

Mistress Kerr crossed her arms and glared at Rose. “Ye heard me. The mon has barely warmed the laird’s seat and ye are trotting up there with some of that cursed food. Aye, and then ye bewitched the lad so that he followed ye home.”

“Ye make our laird sound like some stray pup. And might I ask how ye ken he walked me home?”

“Geordie saw the two of ye walking along hand in hand. Ye have probably already lured him into your bed.”

“Ye insult the laird
and
me. Our laird is a gallant knight and didnae like the idea of my walking home alone. Since Geordie was obviously lurking in the wood again, it appears the laird’s protection was needed.”