His Scottish Pet: Dom of the Ages (2 page)

Scottish Waif

The obligatory visit proved more taxing than he presumed. The rain started before he headed out and remained steady, making the travel intolerable. Once there, he found that the Baron of Rannoch, known as a Saxon sympathizer, was a conniving little man who craved only two things: conquering virgins and padding his pitiful frame with jewelry. Ryce was able to provide several unique trinkets to add to the Baron’s collection, but was advised to procure more.

Ryce was grateful that the Baron was an easy man to manipulate, but he left the manor with a sense of unease. How many others might be pulling on the blaggard’s puppet strings or, worse, biding their time to overthrow the wretch?

He
hefted his saturated cloak back onto his shoulders as he left the expansive manor grounds, letting out a frustrated grunt. He still faced a two-day journey ahead in the rain. The gray haze cast a dreariness over the landscape that seeped into his soul as he listened to the continuous plodding of his horse in the thick Scottish mud. The constant downpour left everything cold, dirty
—
dank.

He was extremely disappointed hours later not to see any signs of life in the tiny village he passed through. He’d hoped for a warm draught or at the very least some respite from the relentless torrent. The reason for the village’s desertion became obvious when he headed up the hill on the other side.

A small band of mourners were gathered at the graveyard. It was not an uncommon sight due to the recent famine, and Ryce was tempted to pass by, but he turned his horse towards the meager assembly to pay his respects to the suffering.

His boots slapped the mud with an oozing thud as he dismounted. He tied the reins to a small bush and joined the dismal group. There were almost thirty gathered, all in tattered rags. A few old men, several women and an abundance of scrawny children.

Silence greeted his intrusion. After several strained moments, he snorted authoritatively, “Continue.”

A few words were said for the woman who had passed and then the mud was thrown upon her emaciated remains. All of them were likely to die the same way. Freezing rain, combined with the famine, posed certain death to the weak and aged.

A withered hand grasped the sleeve of his drenched cloak. “Take ’er. Ye must take ’er.”

Ryce patted the old woman’s hand. “There, there. You’re in shock.”

The old woman tugged on his arm more fiercely. “Ye have to take Chrisselle!”

The group voiced their agreement, all but one miserable figure who stood away from the group. The girl’s hair was matted and wet, her gaunt figure trembling under her threadbare dress.

“I cannot,” he replied firmly.

A skeletal woman holding a tiny babe shouted, “Ye cannae leave ’er haur. My bairns ur starving. We cannae feed ’er!” She pointed to several fresh graves up the hill.

The entire group echoed a chorus of hearty, “Ayes!”

“But I am a stranger, for God’s sake. The girl needs to remain with her people.”

“Nae. We ur starvin’. The lass must go wi’ ye.”

“I have no use for her,” he protested.

“She is of age,” the old woman stated, grabbing the girl and thrusting her at Ryce.

He stepped back to let the girl know he was not interested in the offer being made. She could not have been a more pitiful sight. All skin and bones, the girl was sickly and unkempt.

The woman carrying the infant added, “She’s a ’ard worker. Aren’t ye, lass?”

The girl’s hoarse voice came out in the barest of whispers. “Dinnae make me go wi’ heem.”

“Isnae fur ye to say,” a scraggy wisp of a man snapped. “Ye mathair is deid. We dinnae want ye haur.”

Ryce had heard enough. It was obvious the village could not spare the food and now that she had no family to look out for her, the girl was certain to die. “Fine. Gather her things.”

The old woman shook her head slowly.

Of course, the girl was wearing all she had in the world. Ryce was furious at being put in this position and commanded gruffly to the young lass, “Get on the horse.”

She did so reluctantly, but he did not miss the muffled sounds of her crying.
God’s teeth, what am I getting myself into?
He hoisted himself onto his steed and wrapped his wet cloak around her, hoping the shared body heat might warm her.

Her body was like ice.
She’ll probably die along the way
, he thought, as he kicked his horse and took off.

They rode without speaking. It took hours before her sobs finally quieted. Had this responsibility not been thrust upon him, he would have had sympathy for the girl. She’d just lost her mother and was alone in the world in the hands of a stranger. However, he had no interest in caring for her and no one he trusted to hand her off to. For all intents and purposes, he was stuck with the waif.

“We will stop here for the evening,” he told her, pointing to the rock alcove he had spotted days earlier on his travels through the area. He slipped off the horse and tied the reins to a tree. Ryce held out his hands to catch her and was horrified to feel how light she was. He fished out his supplies from the saddle pack and guided her into the cave, hoping it would provide relief from the unrelenting rain. It was a shame Eventide would have to remain in the downpour, as he knew the horse needed a break from the constant raindrops as much as he did.

Ryce covered her in his only blanket, knowing it would not be enough to warm her. Had he been alone, he would have skipped a fire that night, but he wasn’t sure she would last until morning without one. It took until dusk to gather enough wood and long into the night before he was able to build a fire from the damp sticks.

“Sit next to it,” he huffed, in a foul mood after spending hours to coax the flames. He pulled out a dried piece of deer meat from his bag and handed it to her. The girl refused to take what he offered, even though he could hear her stomach growling.

“Take it,” he ordered. When she failed to obey, he tore off a small piece and knelt next to her. “You can open your mouth or I can force it down your gullet. Doesn’t matter to me.”

The girl slowly opened her blue lips, closing her eyes as she did so. He gently placed the morsel on her tongue and watched tears run down her cheeks as she chewed. Her reaction softened his heart. “That’s it, lass,” he encouraged. He continued to feed her a few more pieces, but put the rest away for later, taking none for himself. “We need to get your body used to food again.”

He followed the food up with sips of fresh water. He tilted her head back gently to help her drink. She had eyes the color of moss with a depth that was cavernous to his soul. He looked away and muttered, “You’ll be fine.”

Ryce ordered her to lie near the fire and placed the blanket over her thin frame. Despite the protection of the cave and the fire, her teeth were chattering. No wonder, there was no meat on the girl to hold in heat. Without any explanation, he gathered her into his arms and covered both of them with the blanket, tucking it securely around her.

She became stiff in his embrace, which made him chuckle. “Have no fear. I prefer women with meat on their bones.”

By the time the fire died, she was asleep. He closed his eyes, but could not drift off himself. The waif was going to complicate his life in ways he could not manage.

Ryce unconsciously snarled in frustration and felt the girl stir. He remained quiet and she snuggled closer to him, falling back into a fitful slumber.

How could he keep his secret from her? There was no possible way to keep it hidden with her living in the same quarters. The only option was to get rid of her before she had a chance to discover his curse.

“You will not ruin what I have created here, little lass,” he whispered softly. He listened, and noticed her breath remained steady. He had to admit, the girl had a strong will. She was tougher than he thought and might survive after all.

****

At the break of dawn, Ryce woke her up. Without a word, he pointed to the horse. He was determined to get her to his cottage. It meant he would have to ride Eventide hard
,
for it was his intention to make it before nightfall.

The girl never complained, and ate obediently whenever he took a few moments to water his steed. He explained as he hand-fed her, “Your body is desperate for meat. It is good to see you keeping it down.” Naturally, he only gave her tiny rations. More than that and it would end up back in the dirt as she retched. Fortunately for her, he’d had extensive experience with starvation and personally knew how much a stomach could take before it protested violently.

As the sun began to settle down on the horizon, the girl spoke her first words to him. “It’s gloaming.”

“What?” he asked, still unfamiliar with some words of the Scottish dialect.

She pointed to the sinking sun. “Gloaming.”

“Ah… well, yes, it is almost dusk and we still have hours to go. I am determined to get you to a warm place tonight.”

She asked softly, “Whit’s yer name?”

“Master Leon, lass. You shall call me by that name alone.”

“Aye, Master Leon.”

He smiled at the Scottish lilt she added to his name. “And your name?”

“Chrisselle Buchanan.”

“A fine Scots name.”

“Aye,” she said forlornly, slumping against the saddle.

He’d momentarily forgotten her circumstances in an attempt to make idle conversation. Her family was dead and her people had abandoned her. He could think of nothing worse
—
at least not for her.

Ryce changed the subject. “We are lucky the rain finally stopped.”

She said nothing, but nodded her head against his chest.

When it became too dark to see, he dismounted his horse and continued on foot leading the animal. He knew the area well enough to chance the dark passage. He and Eventide stumbled several times in the inky black. He understood he was risking harm to his stallion, but the drive to get home overrode his vigilant nature.

Ryce was relieved when he finally spotted the cottage. “A warm meal and bed is almost yours, Buchanan,” he announced.

“Ma name is Chrisselle, Master Leon.”

He immediately corrected her, needing to establish distance. “While you are under my roof you shall simply be known by your clan name.”

She was silent. He wondered what she was thinking. Was she worried he would harm her, or was she too distraught to appreciate how vulnerable she truly was? He decided to keep her unsure of his intentions, hoping to discourage her from questioning him. It was imperative that he find a safe place for her before complications ensued.

He had her start a fire while he took care of Eventide. His horse needed extra attention after such a demanding journey. Ryce talked to the beast as he watered and combed the stallion in the stable. “You did well today. The girl needed warmth and sleep. She’ll recover because of you.” He curried the dark grey flank of his prized horse. “It’s a fine mess, I know. Maybe I should have left her to her fate.” His quick hands finished the job and he covered the steed in a blanket. “Just a little food tonight. I don’t need you getting sick, too.” He slapped Eventide’s shoulder when the beast nickered. “Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty for you in the morning.”

Ryce entered the small stone dwelling, glad to see she was standing next to a healthy fire. He grabbed a pot and left to fill it with creek water, then returned putting it over the fire. “Tonight will be a meager meal, but that’s probably all you can handle.” He broke up the last remaining deer meat and added the few pieces from his cupboard, throwing it all into the pot. “A little warm soup will do you good, Buchanan.”