Knight of the Highlander (8 page)

Once all was organized, Arywnn visited her mother. The hallway leading to her mother's chambers smelled strongly of vinegar, turning Arywnn's stomach. After a gentle knock on the door, her mother's hoarse voice bade her to enter.

"Tis about time ye arrived. I've been waitin' all morn for a fresh cup of water." Her mother's frail body shifted restlessly on the feather mattress. The blankets did nothing to hide her boney frame. A fresh wave of pain and loss rose in Arywnn's throat. Surely her mother wasn't long for this world.

"Forgive me, mither. I'll go and fetch it now. Perhaps if ye are too thirsty tae wait, I can get ye a cup from the kitch—"

"Nay, ye ken. I willnae drink that water. Tis' surely poisoned. They are all waitin' fer me tae die. Not one of them would hesitate tae hurry me along." She lifted a pale hand and pointed at Arywnn, pinning her with a withering glare.

"Then I'll return shortly. Will ye be needin' anything else? Some food perhaps? A soft cheese woul—"

"Nay, just the water from the spring. That will be all." Her mother closed her grey eyes and sighed heavily, relaxing into the bed.

Arywnn nodded and grasped the pitcher, walking to the door. With a final glance back, she wished for a smile or kind word, yet none came. They had been stolen from her the moment her mother's mind began to fail. With a heavy heart, Arywnn closed the door and walked silently away.

The day was bright. A few fluffy clouds made lazy progress across the horizon, and the sun cast the earth in cheery glow. Arywnn's skin grew warm from the sun's heat, and her heart swelled with gratitude for such a lovely day. The empty pitcher thumped against her thigh as she briskly walked along the path to the burn. When she arrived, she dipped the pottery into the crisp water and rose. How many times had she repeated this trip?

She glanced at the thick brush surrounding the spring. Often she had sensed someone's gaze following her movements when she arrived here. Her eyes widened with realization.
No, it couldn't be… yet…
Her mind spun. Could the English Knight be the one? Surely that would be too much of a coincidence. Her mind continued to spin.

There were too many similarities.

She had never seen the one who watched her, and she had never seen Knight. Never had she been afraid when she knew she was watched, and she had that same sensation of protection when around Knight. The idea held merit, and provoked thought. Dare she ask him? As her thoughts centered on the Englishman, she began to wonder just how long she would have to wait till hearing him once again, tasting his kiss and feeling the shelter of his arms.

A blush heated her cheeks as she remembered his fiery touch in the stables last night. Surely she was a wanton woman for having such an intense reaction to a simple touch! With a deep breath, Arywnn turned and headed back to the castle and her waiting mother.

****

Colin waited with restrained impatience as his gaze kept wandering to the road outside the forge. As the afternoon progressed, each voice and footstep drew his attention.
Surely she'll be heading to the stables soon.
With a frustrated huff at his own lack of self-control, Colin savagely plunged a red-hot iron into the water watching the steam rise. He took another iron and placed it into the fire, and told himself not to glance to the road till he heard her voice. If he missed her, then fine. It would be good for his self-control to wait till later. Yet when would later be? Already his body heated with desire as he thought about holding her soft form once again and kissing her berry red lips. Closing his eyes against the onslaught of desire, he breathed in deeply and thought of his work, the water, and the forge… anything that would eliminate the fire within.

Earlier that day he had checked the castle stable's horses. Garten had nickered joyfully at his arrival and a grin tugged at his lips. That horse might be a problem. Even last night Colin had seen the skeptical expression cross Arywnn's face as Garten readily accepted his presence. Poor horse was probably wondering why Arywnn was so jumpy around someone she knew! Colin withdrew a small sprig of heather he had gathered earlier that morning. With a backward glance to insure his privacy he tucked the heather into a braid at the nape of Garten's mane. Any passerby would assume Arywnn had done it, yet when she saw it he knew she'd make the correct assumption. With a final pat to Garten's solid neck, he had left and headed to the forge. Where now he waited for Arywnn to pass by and find his gift, however small.

****

Arywnn escaped to the stables as soon as her mother released her. All morning her mother had instructed, in detail, how and when she wanted her room cleaned. When the maid had done it incorrectly, her mother had called Arywnn back to supervise the poor woman. A few hours later, Arywnn was gasping deeply of the clean air, thankfully no longer inhaling the acrid scent of vinegar that now surely clung to her very skin.

The dirt road was solidly packed from years of walking. As she passed by the smithy she paused for moment, glancing in at the incessant sound of a hammer pounding metal. When Colin didn't glance up, she resumed her walk. Her heart was still soft toward him, and he held an allure she couldn't deny.

How could her heart be divided? With a dismissive shake of her head, she entered the stables and grinned when Garten nickered and pawed the earth, anxious to be free.

"Good-day tae ye as well," she cooed, as she petted his nose. "Let's get ye free, shall we?"

Garten shook his head, and Arywnn turned to gather a blanket and bridle. Once he was set she mounted, but her attention was grasped by a sprig of heather. The small cluster of flowers was braided into Garten's mane. Lovingly she caressed the treasure, and a grin tipped her lips as she warmed from the inside out.

Knight.

Why did he risk such a gift? Yet her mind was quick to assure her, even warn her, that he was indeed around the clan. If he were the traitor, he would easily move about during the day unmasked and known as someone else entirely. Arywnn narrowed her eyes at Garten as he turned to glance back at her with an impatient snort.

"Ye know who he is, don't ye? Too bad ye cannae' speak," Arywnn mumbled to herself as she clicked her tongue and nudged Garten. He shook his bridle gently and moved out into the sun.

Truly it was a brilliant gift. No one would be the wiser that it was given. Any one would think she had done it. Her Knight was a crafty one. When would she get to thank him? Each time she had met him, it had been in the forest at night. To do that often would surely raise suspicion. Was there another way? Surely he would never meet her in daylight… his form, height, and even dress could easily give him away.

Would she ever know his true identity? No, she knew is true identity, what she wanted to know was who he pretended to be… yet her heart whispered that it would be far more dangerous to know the truth than the lie.

****

The evening arrived without sight of Arywnn. Colin set the forge to rights, and headed to the stables. Garten nickered as he arrived, and then continued to munch on his hay, nibbling at the green stems as his breathing blew away the chaff. Saving him for last, he checked all the other mounts, and then approached Garten. He glanced to his mane and discovered the heather missing, but in its place was a purple thistle flower. Colin chuckled at the irony.

Legend had it that an invading Viking army was thwarted when a warrior stepped on a thistle and shouted out in pain, alerting the Scottish village of the attack. The Scotsmen prevented the Viking attack, and since then, the thistle was a symbol of Scottish victory. Yet here he was, a spy for England. Arywnn could easily be his thistle, alerting the village of his presence. He must be vigilant. Did she realize this? Is that why she chose the thistle? Or was there another reason? He removed the purple bloom from Garten's mane. Tucking the bloom into his leather apron, he left the stables with the weight of the thistle both in his apron and on his mind.

It was time. Colin had forced himself to take a break from seeking out Arywnn's attentions, but now that tortuous wait was at an end. With a lighter step he made his way to the forge already counting the hours till he'd 'happen' to meet her in the stables. It was quite simple. Once he noticed Arywnn make her way toward the stables, he'd leave as well. He would whisper his plan softly into her ear as he helped her mount Garten, and then count the hours again till he saw her.

"Ye are merry this morn'," Gareth's voice called as he entered the forge.

"Aye, and ye are not," Colin spoke cautiously as he regarded his friend's ridged muscles, as he leaned against a beam in the dark forge.

"Nay, I'm not," Gareth grumbled and pushed away from the beam, walking over toward Colin rubbing his face with his thick hands.

"And why's that friend? Did yer wife burn yer haggis?" Colin attempted a lighter tone to try and discern the severity of Gareth's mood. Was it a friendly chat, or was there something more, something deeper?

"Not that again! Saint's preserve me if that woman makes haggis again. I'd rather eat rocks." Gareth shook his head and gave Colin a slight smile, but the joy didn't reach his eyes.

"Then what troubles ye this early in the morn'?" Colin asked as he went over and began to stoke the forge's fire. He waited in silence as the coals glowed brighter, waiting for Gareth to speak his mind.

"Ye ken of the traitor, aye?"

"Aye, I think all know about the traitor… and the prize." Colin glanced back at Gareth with a raised eyebrow. He turned once again to the fire, knowing that Gareth would explain.

"The prize… 'tis a brilliant plan. There's nae a man not vying for that prize. But I wasn't concerned about the lass. 'Tis Rian."

"Rian?" Colin turned to face Gareth.

"Aye, Rian." Gareth shook his head and pierced Colin with a sorrow filled expression.

"He thinks he's found the traitor."

"Does he now?"

"Aye, he said he was bringin' proof tonight tae the Laird."

"I'm afraid I dinnae' understand. Why is this so troublesome tae ye?" Colin furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"The man Rian accuses is no traitor. 'Tis my daughter's husband." Gareth hung his head.

"No. T'would be folly fer Rian tae accuse yer kin. Yer son-in-law was born and raised in Clan Chattan. There's nae a way he'd have ties back tae England. Why would Rian go tae all this work unless he was desperate? What does he want from yer family Gareth?" Colin squared his shoulders and gazed at the top of Gareth's hung head.

"He doesn't want anything from my family. I dinnae' ken why he would accuse one of his own clansmen." He paused and glanced up at Colin. "Would ye ask around? See if there's something my old ears have missed. He has two weans. Ye ken that the Laird would run him through on the slightest evidence."

"Aye, indeed the Laird would," Colin mumbled then closed his eyes. "I'll make ye no promises, yet I'll let ye know if I hear something about Rian or yer son-in-law."

Gareth nodded and strode forward. With a grateful slap to Colin's arm, he said, "I thank ye," and then left, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

Colin rubbed his bearded chin with his gloved hand. Time was running short. He hadn't much time till he would need to leave. His mission was compromised as it was, he didn't need the innocent blood of Gareth's son-in-law on his conscience as well. With a heavy sigh, he turned back to the forge. So much for his plans. Tonight he wouldn't meet a lovely lass; tonight he would search out the rat.
Rian.

The evening approached, and Colin headed home. All day he had listened for news or whisperings concerning Gareth, Rian, or spies. The village was strangely silent on all three subjects leading Colin to greater suspicion than before. Once home, he waited till full dark, then shrouded himself in black and covered his face. Going through the back entrance of his home, he snuck into the forest. After climbing a few trees and waiting in the dark, listening, watching, he made his way back to the front gate. A loud shout drew his attention. Drawing closer, he listened intently. Another shout rang out, this time closer. A commotion began on the inside courtyard, so Colin ran quickly through the trees and ducked into the secret entrance, not fully entering the courtyard. The pitch dark of the corridor hid him from watching eyes, and he leaned around the wall cautiously.

Rian was the one shouting. In one hand was a sword, and the other held a torch that continued to swing dangerously close to a straw-laden cart. He stumbled around, clearly drunk and growling.

"He promised! All ye listen! T'was I that was tae be named the Tanist! I was tae bed the lass! T'was I he promised! She's mine! The wench Arywnn is mine!" he called wildly. He backed away from the cart, as if realizing his near disaster, and walked away.

Colin's heart beat fiercely when he heard Rian's words. Though clearly deep in his cups, he was a man scorned and undoubtedly shouting the truth. Was it all a ruse, the 'prize' for the man finding the traitor? He gave a disgusted snort. He wasn't surprised. Yet as much as it disgusted him, the plan was quite brilliant. Offer an unattainable prize to all the men, and send them into frenzy. They would all certainly do their best to ferret out the traitor and gain the prize of Tanist and Arywnn's hand. Yet, secret the true Tanist to the plan, and have him come out the victor regardless — a Tanist by choice, and by victory.