True Highland Spirit (20 page)

“By yourself?”

“Aye. After that I declared I would join Archie to do whatever I could to serve my clan with a sword in my hand. Archie was no’ pleased, though he took the mutton wi’out question. I got him to agree that I could do as I please until he could best me wi’ a sword. We had a huge fight in the courtyard. In the end, he got eight stitches and I got to keep my sword.”

Dragonet raised his eyebrows. “You bested your elder brother?”

“I was mighty full o’ myself at the time, but I can see now it wasna a fair fight. I attacked him with abandon. He tried to disarm me wi’out hurting me. He held back. I did not. He could have bested me that day if he had been willing to do me harm.”

“And now?”

Morrigan stood by the smoldering fire. “Now I can hold my own.”

“I can bear witness to the truth of that assertion. But what now for you? Will you continue with the sword or…” Dragonet gestured at her new gown.

Morrigan turned toward the fire and rested her arms on the mantel. “I dinna ken what to do now. Going on raids was bad enough, but leading my clan to war? How can I ever go back to being a lady now? ’Tis a pity actions so honored in a man are so shameful in a lass.”

Dragonet stood and moved beside her. “Your actions, they have no shame, my lady.” Dragonet put his hand on her shoulder, warm even through her clothes. Morrigan turned and looked up at him, so unusual a position she caught her breath. She rarely needed to gaze up to see into a man’s eye.

“Ye dinna know me,” whispered Morrigan.

“I see no shame in you.” Dragonet’s words were a soothing balm on an old and painful wound.

“What would ye have me do?”

“You must improve your chess game to win my answer,” said Dragonet with smiling eyes.

After spending a few days in her company, Dragonet knew exactly what he wanted in life. She wielded a sword, wore a gown, had a heavenly body, and a vulgar tongue. No matter, he wanted her for his wife. In truth, he wanted to take her to bed.

“Shall we play another game of chess?” Dragonet asked instead. Taking a vow of chastity had not seemed a burden when he was twelve and women were unappealing. Insight into what he was missing was not helpful to his cause. He needed to be ruthless, get the information he needed, and leave.

From the conversation he overheard between Morrigan and Archie that night in Glasgow, he knew the cave was somewhere near Loch Pain. He had passed Loch Pain in his travels and found it was a rather large body of water, and none of the locals he had spoken to knew of a cave. Morrigan was the only one who knew the cave’s location. He had tried asking benign questions about the landscape in the area, hoping she would volunteer information about a cave. She had not.

“What for? Ye lied to me,” accused Morrigan.

“What did I say that was untrue?” Dragonet held his breath. What had she discovered?

“Ye said yer play was no’ good—liar!”

“I was attempting the modesty.” Dragonet exhaled in relief.

“There is a penalty for yer falsehood,” said Morrigan gravely.

“There is?” asked Dragonet, wishing he was not excited at the prospect. What was wrong with him?

“I get to ask ye a question and get a truthful answer.”

Dragonet inclined his head. “I accept my punishment. What is your question?”

“Who are ye truly? What is yer real name? Why did ye bring Andrew back here? And how did ye get so damn good at chess? I’m no’ usually such a bad player!”

“You are a good player,” Dragonet soothed. “But I have the advantage of spending several years playing with a Hospitaller chess grand master.”

“A Hospitaller monk?”

“Yes.”

“Are those no’ a warrior order?”

“Yes. They trained me as a knight as well.” Dragonet avoided her eye and instead set up the chess pieces. He was dangerously close to saying too much.

“So what were ye doing at a monastery?”

“Too many questions. You need to win for me to answer more.”

Morrigan put one finger on the plate of delicious gingerbread Alys brought them. The gingerbread was fresh from the oven, warm and soft, filling the room with the smell of sweet spices. Morrigan slid the plate across the table toward herself.

Dragonet stopped what he was doing “You would deny to me the gingerbread?”

“You would deny me the truth?”

“Cruel woman. The inquisition, they could take lessons from you. No man could withstand such torture.”

Morrigan took a bite of the warm gingerbread, letting it melt in her mouth. “Mmmmmm…”

“My mother named me Jacques,” Dragonet began to speak in a rush, all the things he wanted to tell her bubbling to the surface. “Dragonet was the name given me when I was elevated to the knighthood. I was given to the care of the Hospitaller Knights after my mother died.” Dragonet paused and took a gulp of mead to swallow down the emotion that always came when he thought of how his beautiful mother died. “It was the plague. Everyone in the household perished. I was given to the Hospitallers afterwards. Their order also had been much afflicted. I was trained to fight, to play chess, to play the lyre by masters in their fields. I think they wanted to pass on their skill before the death struck again.”

“Did they die?”

“Many did.” He rearranged the pieces on the board, making minute adjustments to their already perfect position.

“Ye dinna care to speak of it.”

“No.”

“I am sorry I teased ye.”

Dragonet shrugged. It was more than he had revealed to anyone in a long time.

“The plague struck this region many years ago, but we were spared in part due to our remoteness,” said Morrigan. “It was the one time being ostracized was a blessing. It struck some of the towns, but no one in the castle fell ill.”

“You were very lucky to be spared. I was living in a town when it struck. My family fell ill. There was nothing I could do.” Dragonet stared at the chess pieces with unseeing eyes. “So many sick and dying. So much fear. Even the priests would not come in the end. My mother… there was no one left to bury her… so I had to…”

Morrigan reached out and took Dragonet’s hand. He struggled against the tears that sprung to his eyes.

“Forgive me for asking, I did no’ wish to cause ye pain,” said Morrigan gently.

“Even after all these years, to speak of that time is difficult.” He wrapped his fingers around her hand, warm and comforting.

“I am sorry for yer loss.”

“And I for yours.” Dragonet remembered Morrigan had also lost her mother at a young age.

“How old were you when she died?” Morrigan asked.

“I was ten years.”

“I was also ten when my mother passed away.” Her voice was soft.

“It is a hard age for such a loss.”

Morrigan turned toward the window and nodded. He took her other hand in his, and they sat together in the fading light of dusk, holding hands. They were silent, but it was comfortable, as if he was finally where he belonged. He belonged with her.

“I miss her,” whispered Morrigan.

“Me too. I often wish…”

“Me too.”

They lapsed again into companionable silence until Morrigan took a deep breath. “Such maudlin topics of conversation, I am sure Alys would not approve.”

“I should say prayers before the evening meal.” Dragonet squeezed her hands and stood. “Good evening, my lady.”

“Ye always say yer prayers, sir knight?” asked Morrigan as Dragonet walked to the door. “Must be the monk in ye.”

Dragonet stopped short and turned to face her, his stomach dropping to his feet. Had she discovered the truth? “I beg your pardon?”

“Being raised by monks, I warrant they instructed ye to pray.”

“Ah, yes.” Dragonet exhaled a held breath. “They were most insistent I do so. Shall I see you later in the great hall?”

“Indeed.”

“Would you give me the honor of escorting you to the meal?”

A slow smile spread across her face that sent tingles up his spine. She cleared her throat and almost managed to chase the smile from her face. “’Tis no need, but I will accept yer company if ye so wish.”

Dragonet bowed and was unable to suppress a true smile in return.

***

“How are ye feeling?” Morrigan asked Andrew. It was late in the day and he was just waking. He lay on his bed, Morrigan sat on a chair at his side. In truth she did not like the way he looked. He was pale and thin. The wound was still swollen and red.

Andrew smiled. “Good to be home.”

“Ye should have stayed at the convent; ye were in no condition to travel.”

“I am only tired, and I can rest better here.”

“Dragonet should ne’er have brought ye.”

“I wanted to come home. ’Twas my choice. Dragonet offered to see me safely home. I think he was concerned for my well-being.”

“Why, er…” Morrigan flicked imaginary crumbs from her gown. “Why did Dragonet help ye?”

Andrew shrugged. “I dinna ken. But I can tell ye it was a good thing he did. I was not as strong as I thought.” Andrew gave a sheepish grin.

“But why Dragonet? Why did he no’ return wi’ the French soldiers?”

“I thought…” Andrew shrugged. “He had been so helpful, so attentive to ye, I thought maybe ye had an understanding.”

Morrigan shook her head. “The one thing we dinna have is an understanding. I am at a loss to explain his presence here.”

“He’s a good man, Morrigan. If ye fancy him for a husband, I would wish ye verra well.”

“First Alys, now ye. I wish ye woud’na make me a match. I have no word from Dragonet that his interest leans in that direction.” Morrigan took a deep breath and changed the subject. “How do ye like marriage?”

“Cait.” Andrew’s eyes turned wistful and he gave a lopsided smile. “She is wonderful.”

“That’s no’ how I remember her.” Morrigan muttered.

“Ye never got to know her. She is beautiful.”

“I am glad ye are happy. ’Tis a goodly marriage. I will admit she has been kind to us.”

“I knew she would be. If the Campbells were no’ so far away I would have gone there first. I hope to rest here a few weeks and then continue on to her.” Andrew shifted a bit in his bed and looked away in a shy manner. “When I left, I believe she was increasing.”

“Ye got her breeding? Well, Andrew. Good for ye, lad. Though I think ye are a mite young to be having children.”

“Old enough, it seems,” he said with a wide grin. “Cait and I were talking, and we agreed that what ye need is… err…” Andrew stuttered and cleared his throat. “What ye need is a good husband. Might do ye good.”

“That is quite enough o’ that, Andrew my lad.” Morrigan stood up and tucked him tightly beneath the covers the way she did after their mother died and she had taken care of him. “Ye sleep now.”

“I love ye, Morrigan. I know ye tried to protect me, ye and Archie both, and I thank ye for it. If I dinna get another chance, I wanted to let ye know.”

Her younger brother had lost weight, lying wan and weak in the bed. A lump formed in her throat. “Ye will be fine. Get some rest now; I’ll check in on ye later.” She walked to the door and turned back to him. “I… I love ye too.”

***

Etiquette books were of no use whatsoever. Morrigan rummaged through her mother’s things trying to find something useful. She had spent the past two hours struggling to read a book that purported to be a guide for ladies but it was no help.

For several days Morrigan had spent most of her waking hours with Dragonet and most of her sleeping hours thinking about him. He was a favorite of the castle, singing and playing his lyre at mealtimes. He taught Morrigan to play a new song. They chatted long hours by the fire and played countless games of chess. But while her skin burned for his touch, he remained distant, careful not to touch her, or to kiss her, or to hold her, or to do any of the things Morrigan wanted. Yet he remained at the castle and spent all his time with her, so what did he want?

“Morrigan? Are ye… reading?” asked Alys. Morrigan realized her mother’s room was where Alys slept, awaiting Archie’s return.

“I think I might show my earlobes.”

“Pardon?”

“This book is no’ verra helpful, but it did warn showing the earlobe may send a man into an uncontrolled, lustful frenzy.”

“Ye canna show yer earlobes. ’Tis no’ proper.”

“Hang proper. I’m looking for uncontrolled, lustful frenzy.”

“Dragonet?”

Morrigan sat on a bench with a sigh. “I dinna understand what he is about. We talk and talk and he seems to want to spend all his time wi’ me, but then he shows no interest in me. And even when I think he is attracted to me, he ne’er acts on it. I dinna ken what to do. I must make a verra poor lass.”

“Nay, ye are a fine lady.” Alys sat next to her on the bench. “What do ye talk about with him?”

Morrigan shrugged. “Nothing. Anything. We talk of my family; he doesna like to speak of his. He asks about the castle, the grounds, our clan and our land, people who visited, nothing of importance.”