Teresa Medeiros (17 page)

Still clutching the towel around her, Tabitha stumbled backward, giving the child ample room to flee. She’d never been particularly comfortable around children, having spent so little time in their company. Even as a little girl, she’d much preferred communicating with her laptop computer.

But Jenny climbed off the cot and crept toward Tabitha, her gaze fastened on something behind her head. Tabitha looked around for something to distract the child, and spotted Lucy still sitting on the rim of the tub.

She scooped up the kitten and held it out. “Did you come to pet the pretty kitty?”

When Jenny hung shyly back, Tabitha rubbed Lucy’s downy fur against her own cheek. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Lucy likes little girls.”

Jenny stretched out one grubby hand, the gesture tentative, yet trusting. To Tabitha’s surprise Jenny reached past the kitten to capture a strand of her damp hair.

Tabitha sank to her knees as Jenny tugged on her hair. It hadn’t been Lucy the child had been drawn to but Tabitha’s hair! Jenny stroked and patted the thick tendrils, a wistful smile hovering around her lips.

Even when Lucy wiggled out of her grasp and bounded to the floor, Tabitha held herself absolutely still, as afraid the child would flee as she’d been afraid she wouldn’t only seconds before. Then Jenny ran to the table and grabbed the dagger Tabitha had left lying so carelessly on its surface.

Tabitha sprang to her feet. “Jenny, no! Put the knife down. It’s very sharp.”

Jenny nodded with grim satisfaction. She pointed at Tabitha’s head, then grabbed a handful of her own waist-length hair and made a mock sawing motion.

Tabitha sank back down to the child’s eye level. She might very well be witnessing her first attempt at communication since Brisbane’s men had attacked her. But when she realized what the little girl wanted her to do, she said, “Oh, Jenny, you can’t want me to cut your hair like mine? What would your mother say?” She captured a stray tendril of the girl’s hair, finding a glint of gold buried within the filthy dun. “Your hair is so pretty.”

Jenny backed away, giving her head a savage shake. In her eyes, Tabitha caught a glimpse of hatred, not just for the men who had raped her, but for herself.

A tear slipped down Tabitha’s cheek. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “They told you your hair was pretty, didn’t they? The men who hurt you.”

Jenny nodded, then fisted her hands in the snarls on each side of her head, tugging until her eyes began to water with pain.

“They held you by your hair while they …?” Tabitha closed her eyes, the image too horrible to bear.

A small hand brushed her wet cheek, coaxing her to open them. Jenny blinked at her with her solemn green eyes, as if to comfort her.

If Tabitha had been wearing the amulet at that moment,
she would have wished to restore this child’s faith in her own worth. She would have given Jenny her voice back and somehow made her believe that she wasn’t at fault for the terrible thing that had happened to her.

But Tabitha had only one gift to give. She climbed to her feet and briskly dashed her tears away. “You can’t expect me to cut such a dirty mop of hair, little miss. If you want your way, you’ll have to let me wash it first.”

Jenny eyed the tub with sullen suspicion, but did no more than drag her feet in protest when Tabitha placed a firm hand on her shoulder and steered her toward it.

When Magwyn saw what Tabitha had done to her daughter, she fainted dead away.

Bleating like frightened sheep, the other women gathered around their fallen comrade. Iselda dropped to her well-cushioned knees and began fanning her friend with a card of wool.

A tall, scrawny old woman whose wispy top knot made her look like a brittle cotton swab shifted her pipe to the corner of her mouth. “Shorn her like a lamb, haven’t ye? Wee lass looks more like a lad.”

Magwyn sat up, hearing just enough of that dour pronouncement to set up a keening wail. Tabitha would have clapped her hands over her ears if Jenny hadn’t been clinging to one of them, wide-eyed with fascination at the chaos her appearance had provoked.

“Now, Magwyn,” Tabitha began in what she hoped was a soothing tone. “You don’t understand. Jenny begged me to—”

She hopped backward as Magwyn sprang to her feet, her freckled hands curled into claws. The woman’s eyes seemed to spit sparks of green fire. “How dare you take
a knife to my daughter’s crowning glory? Hasn’t she suffered enough shame at the hands of the English?”

Like the most trite of tourists, Tabitha wanted to whine that she was American, for God’s sake, not English. But since America hadn’t been discovered yet, she doubted it would matter. The women were milling around as if hoping to witness a full-fledged brawl.

“I was simply trying to help. When Jenny came to me—”

Magwyn’s face crumpled, a glimpse of pain coming through her rage. “Came to you, my arse! If she was goin’ to come to anyone, don’t you think she’d have come to her own mother?”

Ever the peacemaker, Iselda stepped between them. She wisely chose to address Tabitha, the more rational of the two women at the moment. “Surely you can understand Magwyn’s dismay, lass. ’Tis only for the most vile of sins that a woman might have her hair chopped off.” She ticked them off on her plump fingers. “Thievery, adultery, immodesty, sodomy, whoring, fornica—” She blushed to the roots of her hair as her gaze strayed to Tabitha’s blunt bob.

Tabitha stiffened. They probably believed she had committed most of those lewd sins and a few unspeakable others not only with their laird, but with several men before him. The irony almost made her laugh. Almost.

“Council’s in session, Magwyn,” said the old woman, puffing serenely on her pipe. “You should take yer complaint to the laird.”

“Aye, the laird!” echoed one woman.

“Granny Cora’s right. He’ll know what to do with her,” murmured another.

After a moment of tense silence, Magwyn finally nodded. She snatched her daughter’s hand out of Tabitha’s
grip as the women formed an impenetrable cordon, herding the accused before them. Tabitha’s confident stride didn’t falter until it occurred to her that she had no way of knowing if Colin would take her side or what the consequences would be if he didn’t.

CHAPTER
14

W
hen the mob of women came marching down the hill, Colin was on the verge of banging either his head or someone else’s against the council table. He welcomed the interruption. Even the shrill cacophony of irate female voices seemed preferable to spending another moment arguing with lads who fancied themselves men and men behaving as if they were lads.

His relief lasted only until he saw Tabitha marching at the head of the mob.

As she approached, Colin rose to his feet, preparing himself to meet some unspoken challenge. Ever since their encounter at the pool, he’d been plagued by images of her silky smooth legs wrapped around his waist.

Despite the proud tilt of her head, or perhaps because of it, he feared Tabitha wasn’t the leader of the mob, but the victim of it. As they reached the table, Magwyn gave her a hard shove, confirming his suspicions.

He caught her before she could stumble. “What is the meaning of this?” He addressed the soft-spoken question not to the woman in his arms, but to Magwyn, who was glaring at him with stony disapproval.

She answered him by drawing a child out from behind
her skirts and thrusting her forward. “Look! Just look what the wench did to my babe!”

Colin frowned and blinked rapidly, hardly recognizing the feral creature he’d so briefly glimpsed the night before. A shining cap of curls crowned the moppet’s head and she was scrubbed so clean and pink she practically glowed.

“ ’Tis a vast improvement. I should think you’d be pleased.”

“Her hair!” Magwyn wailed. “Look how she butchered my Jenny’s beautiful hair!”

Colin sighed and turned Tabitha around to face him, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders. “Did you cut the child’s hair?”

She met his gaze boldly. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because she asked me to.”

Magwyn snorted. “I suppose next you’ll be claimin’ she spoke to you when she’s spoken nary a whisper to her very own mother for over a month.” Several of the women scoffed in agreement.

“I never claimed she spoke to me. She simply indicated that she wanted her hair cut like mine. Once I started trimming, she decided she wanted it even shorter and I didn’t have the heart to deny her.”

“Why did she seek such a strange favor?” Colin asked.

Tabitha pressed her lips together, going as mute as Jenny. Despite his frustration, Colin had to admire a woman who could be trusted with secrets. Especially a child’s secrets.

Since it seemed he’d glean no more information from Tabitha, he freed her and crooked a finger at Jenny. “Come here, lass.”

He did not beg or cajole. He simply commanded. And to everyone’s astonishment, the child obeyed.

He squatted down to her eye level, keenly aware that Tabitha was watching him with an unfathomable expression in her gray eyes. “Did you want this lady to cut your hair?”

Jenny tucked her head shyly, then nodded.

“And do you fancy it?”

She nodded again, more violently this time.

“So do I,” he confessed, rumpling the soft curls. The matter-of-fact gesture coaxed a shy, gap-toothed smile from the child.

Magwyn gasped. “Why, ’tis the first time I’ve seen her smile since …”As she lifted her eyes from Jenny to Tabitha, her expression shifted from awe to dismay. “It seems I’ve misjudged you, my lady,” she said stiffly. “Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

“Consider it done,” Tabitha replied. “1 really should have asked your permission first.”

“A common refrain,” Colin murmured in her ear. “Considering you’d still have done exactly as you pleased.”

He savored the openly hostile glare she shot him. Before she could fashion a tart retort, the women gathered around her, acting on Magwyn’s cue to welcome her back into their fold.

Iselda took her by the arm. “Now that the wee misunderstandin’ has been cleared up, you can join us in our weavin’, dearie.”

“Weaving?” Tabitha echoed.

“Aye,” said Granny Cora, tugging on her other arm. “And after the weavin’, we’ll butcher a nice fat sow for supper and let you pickle the entrails.”

“Pickles?” she repeated even more faintly. “I never cared for pickles.”

As the women urged Tabitha up the hill, she was no less a captive than she’d been marching down it. She cast Colin a helpless glance over her shoulder. He grinned. What did she expect him to do? Charge after her, roaring a battle cry, and rescue her from an afternoon of domestic drudgery?

When she dragged her feet, even Magwyn smiled. “Come along, lass. We should leave the menfolk to their council.”

Tabitha stopped dead in her tracks. No amount of gentle tugging could prod her back into motion.

Colin felt a surge of apprehension as she pivoted to face him. A predatory gleam lit her eyes as her gaze swept the long table and the ring of surly faces surrounding it. “A council? Would that be anything like a board meeting?”

Chauncey, the late tanner’s overgrown son, surged to his feet, sweeping his waist-length tangle of hair out of his eyes. “We’ll not have our laird beholden to a blustering braggart like MacDuff. I say we march on Brisbane’s castle by night just as we planned before Laird Colin returned.”

This proposal roused a chorus of enthusiastic “Ayes!” from the boys flanking Chauncey and a round of contemptuous “Pshaws” from the old men on the opposite side of the table.

Tabitha pounded on the table with her makeshift gavel, making Colin wince. “You’re out of order, young man. Another outburst like that and I’ll be forced to fine you.”

Chauncey sank down on the bench, pouting like a chastened toddler.

One of the old men stood, his snowy beard bobbing
against his sunken chest. “Don’t heed the foolhardy lad, me laird. Why I was—”

Tabitha cleared her throat pointedly.

The old man spat on the grass. “Permission to speak, lass?” he drawled with acid sarcasm.

“Permission granted,” she purred, waving the gavel as if it were a royal scepter.

The old man shuffled back around to face Colin. “I was advisin’ yer da on matters of war when ye were still suckin’ Nana’s teat.”

A dull flush crawled up Colin’s throat. Tabitha bit her lip to keep from giggling, but Arjon made no effort to hide his amused smirk.

The old man shook his fist in the air. “And I say we petition the MacDuff for men and weapons. We’ll take our stand here at Castle Raven, just as we always have.”

“Look what that got us last time,” the sullen Chauncey muttered. “Our das killed and our mothers and sisters raped.”

The table erupted in ominous grumbles that rapidly escalated to shouted insults regarding the participants’ questionable parentage and unnatural affection for sheep. Tabitha slammed down the gavel before they could come to outright blows, but it was Colin rising to his feet that finally silenced them.

“I weary of this infernal bickering,” he said, his soft voice mesmerizing them. “If you cannot—”

“Sir?” Tabitha interrupted with a long-suffering sigh. “Do I have to remind you of proper protocol?”