Dating Two Dragons (11 page)

Exhausted from her journey she almost fell to sleep beside the fire after eating a hearty meal of venison and wine. The wine had been strong and didn’t take long to affect her. Just as she was about to nod off, Henry who had been fast asleep on her lap, sat up suddenly, his silky ears raised to attention. He had heard something and jumped from his mistress’s knee and trotted across the stone flagged floor towards the door. With hackles raised he started barking, pawing at the wood as if needing to be let out.

“Henry –you stop that”, Beatrice feared he would wake up the whole household for everywhere was quiet. Rushing to the door she scooped him up in her arms, yet he continued to bark.

“Now Henry”, she scolded the dog “stop that at once you hear”, and opening the door she stepped through into the hallway to show the little dog that there was nothing there.

The front door of the house stood open to the elements and in the open doorway stood the bulky shape of a man. His face was in the shadows but he seemed somehow distressed, almost as if in pain. She could sense something in the air; something powerful as she moved slowly towards him.

There was something about the man stood before her that made her shudder and as she approached the little dog jumped out of her arms and went scurrying away to the corner of the hall and began to whine and cower. The poor thing seemed frightened half to death.

The moon was full and cast its pale glow as it moved out from behind the clouds, shining directly into the open doorway. Beatrice could feel the room start to sway, the thing before her seemed half man, half beast. As the creature walked towards her she passed out onto the cold stone floor.

The rain beating down on the casement window woke Lady Beatrice from her dreams and for a moment she had forgotten where she was. The room was strange and was not her own. Then she remembered her journey to the Highlands the previous day and the reason for being there. Her heart fluttered slightly in her bosom at the thought of her impending marriage.

Henry, her little dog, had been sleeping by her feet on the bed and on seeing his mistress awake scampered up the embroidered quilt and nuzzled into her arms.

Poor Henry, he had been startled last night.

Last night! Her heart raced as images of the night before flooded back to her; the strange vision in the doorway. She couldn’t remember anything after that except waking up in her bed that morning.

Lifting up the quilt she glanced tentatively below; someone had undressed her and put on one of her nightgowns. She blushed to think of a stranger removing her clothing. Her maidservant Jane had often helped with her hair and toilet back home, but she had preferred to dress and undress herself.

And the man, or beast, or whatever it was. Surely that had been a figment of her imagination? She had been exhausted and the wine wouldn’t have helped but had she been dreaming? It had certainly seemed real at the time but the mind can play strange tricks. Her emotions had been all over the place too –apprehension at meeting the man she would spend the rest of her life with, and at this moment still a stranger. An odd feeling passed over her causing the hairs on the back of neck to stand on end as she gave an involuntary shiver. There was something here that wasn’t quite right; she could sense it.

Since a girl she had been known for her powers of intuition. It wasn’t as if she could foretell the future or anything like that; it was just that she was aware when something wasn’t right –like the time she had woken the household, just before a fire had started in the kitchen –saving all their lives and the house. It had all begun when her twin brother Michael had been killed in a hunting accident –he had been just 8 years old and had fallen from his horse. She missed him every single day and still felt a strong attachment to him; as if she were now living both their lives. He often visited her in dreams to warn her when she was in danger. She had not dreamed of him for a long time.

Rubbing her arm she realized it was aching and rolling up her white cotton sleeve she noticed a large red and purple bruise. She thought she had a memory of falling, of hitting the hard ground beneath her; something had certainly happened last night and she shuddered to think of it. What if the vision had been real after all?

Climbing out of the vast bed she looked around her. The room was much larger than hers back home, but the furniture made it seem cold; unloved. A patterned rug and dark wood paneling kept out some of the cold although she still shivered in the chill air.  Great purple velvet drapes adorned the large wooden bed, and there was an intricately carved, dark wooden tall chest in one corner. In front stood her bags; all of which had been unpacked –some of her items lay neatly on a small round table –the others she presumed had been placed in the chest.

But who had done this? She fingered the pearl handled brush and small hand mirror that her mother had given to her; the memory made her suddenly homesick and she began to cry. Looking out of the window she gazed across the morning mist and drizzle. The countryside looked harsh and cruel and she wondered what on earth she had let herself in for.

There was a gentle knock at her door and she froze. What if it was Lord Selkirk? Wrapping a woolen shawl around her shoulders she opened the door.

It was a young girl in a simple blue dress and wearing a white mop cap. She curtsied as the door was opened and she walked into the room. Beatrice breathed a sigh of relief; she wasn’t ready for seeing Thomas Selkirk just yet.

“I’m here to help ye Ma’am, and I’m to tell ye that the master is already out and aboot and there’s food set out for ye d’oon stairs”

The girl looked half frightened; she must only be about 12 years of age and Beatrice smiled at her. It was nice to know that she wasn’t the only one afraid.

Becoming bolder the young girl smiled back.

“Will there be anything else my Lady?”

Beatrice wondered if the girl knew anything about the previous night.

“Did you unpack my things for me last night?”

The girl looked wide eyed and shook her head. “Och no Ma’m, I mean yer Ladyship. That would have been Mistress Selkirk –I’m only the scullery maid”. And with a final curtsey she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Well at least the mystery of her undressing and the unpacking was clear, but who on earth was Mistress Selkirk?

Putting on her gown from the previous day she tidied her hair as she looked in the small mirror. Was she still the same girl as yesterday? The same electric blue eyes looked back at her, yet she looked weary, older somehow and she frowned at her own reflection. Would the same young woman ever return?

Stepping into the hallway she wandered towards the great stone staircase. She hadn’t seen much of the house last night and it appeared much bigger than she had first thought. Lord Selkirk was a rich man; much richer than her father and owned a great deal of land.

At the bottom of the staircase she looked around helplessly; wondering which way to turn. Heading for the door directly in front of her she stopped quickly, there was the sound of footsteps behind her.

“If you’re looking for food it’s set out in the Great Hall; I’m afraid Thomas is already up and out today”.

Beatrice turned around to meet an extraordinary looking woman. She was taller and thinner than Lady Ciri and although handsome, one would not have called her beautiful. She was dressed simply in a black dress and looked cold and stern; frowning as she spoke.

“The Great Hall is to your right –I’ll show you” and moving briskly down the hallway, led the way.

The hall was much larger and grander than the cozy room she had eaten in yesterday and there was no welcoming fire in the grate this morning to warm her. The air was chill and she felt uncomfortable under the imposing eye of the woman before her who surely must be the housekeeper. A wooden bowl filled with thick looking porridge had been set out alongside a hunk of bread and cheese, and a goblet of light colored ale.

Dipping a spoon into the lumpy porridge she sampled it on her lips; it was cold and stuck in her mouth.

“We eat early here and don’t have enough servants to make anything fresh. If you want your porridge hot then you will have to rise earlier in the morning”.

Beatrice had no recollection of time.

“What time is it?”

“There’s a clock in the hall, it’s just past 11 of the clock”

The woman was matter of fact and brusque in her manner and turned to leave. On reaching the door she turned back.

“I’m Gertrude Selkirk, sister of Sir Thomas”.

Trying to hide the shock on her face, Beatrice put down the spoon. This woman would be her sister in law and she had hoped for some warmth.

“I do hope we can be friends?”

Gertrude glared at the young woman before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.

It seemed unlikely. She hoped Thomas would be friendlier and more welcoming than his sister.

Suddenly she didn’t seem to have an appetite, and rising from her seat she walked around the room. Along one wall hung a line of portraits, men and women looking down at her from across the ages. Their eyes seemed to follow her footsteps and as she walked she felt that they were mocking her. How dare this young girl from the Lowlands expect to become Mistress of this great house? The thought suddenly struck her; Gertrude had been the Mistress of the house before her intrusion; when she married Thomas she would naturally step into that role. No wonder Gertrude was cold towards her. She must make it plain that she had no thoughts of interfering and there would be no change once she was Lady Selkirk.

The paintings gave her the shivers; there was something about the eyes of the portraits that was almost animal like, a wildness that seemed to have prevailed down through the centuries.

Stepping to the window she sat on the little box seat. The day was brightening at last and the sun glimmered its weak light across the moorland. There seemed no garden to speak of; the house built straight into the heathery landscape. On the horizon she could see an expanse of dark green; one of the thick pine forests no doubt. In the absence of Thomas and no-one to direct her she mused that a little walk could do no harm. She could do with some air and wouldn’t stray far. Rushing back up the stairs she pulled on her patterns –thick wooden platforms to keep her dainty slippers dry and free of damp and mud. Fastening her travelling cloak around her she headed quickly back down the stairs and scooping up Henry into her arms, she ran out through the main door before anyone could see her.

Although bright the air was still chill and Beatrice wrapped the hood of her cloak over her head before walking steadily across the patchy grass to the edge of the moorlands. The air smelled of fresh pine and sweet heather and she breathed deeply. It was good to be outdoors. There was nothing but the vast sweeping moors whichever way she turned and she decided to walk along the back of the house to get the full view.

As walked she discovered a small copse of Hazel trees behind the house; the afternoon sun catching the burnished leaves and spinning them to gold. Her father had often told her and her twin brother Michael folk stories of the wise old Hazel tree, and how it protected the Fairy folk of the forest against evil. Standing beneath the boughs she could almost feel their magic and leaning against a trunk she closed her eyes to the sunshine. Nature always restored her and it wasn’t long before she was smiling.

Hearing a horse approaching she moved further under the cover of the leafy canopy so as not to be discovered. Henry on the other hand had other ideas, and leaping from her arms, ran chasing towards the horse which was galloping towards him at full speed.

Fearing for her little dog’s life Beatrice ran from her hiding place and launched herself between the animal and her beloved pet.

The horse reared its front legs, causing her to stumble and fall backwards onto the ground, as the little dog ran away unscathed. The animal continued to paw at the ground, snorting furiously and its eyes wild with fear.

The rider clung on to reigns , patting the great  black head tenderly until the beast was calm, the heaving flanks wet with perspiration as it frisked its tail back and forth; the only sign of the former agitation.

“What on earth are ye playing at yer stupid little fool?” The owner jumped down from his saddle; his red and green tartan great kilt swathed around him as he stormed across to where she was laying in the grass. His voice was harsh and cold and she sat in silence, her hood protecting her identity.

“Well”. Storming over he removed her hood and was taken aback when the face of his beloved Beatrice was revealed.

“Lady Ciri, what on earth?”

He looked just like his miniature; in fact that was incorrect, he was more handsome than his portrait. She felt herself blush as his dark brooding eyes played into hers. His hair was ruffled over his forehead and his full lips red and generous as he glowered over her.

It took him a while to regain his composure. The last time he had seen Lady Ciri was four years ago. If she had been beautiful then, she was stunning now. Her dark black hair tumbled around her small heart shaped face; her lips a perfect bow and those brilliant eyes; staring back out at him like two perfect sapphires. He had sounded harsh and now she was recoiling away from him in fear. He had lived too long alone and his manners could be gruff and hard, but his heart was bowled over by the beautiful young woman before him.