Chapter Eight
After telling Murdoch about the frustrating results of his meeting with Glengarten, Drummond slowly climbed the stairs to his private floor.
His loyal friend had promised to speak with Mrs. Farris again and warn the woman about the council’s wishes to impress Clan Heberdy.
That calmed Drummond somewhat, since Mrs. Farris, housekeeper of Dubh Tower for many a year, had always been quite fond of him and more inclined to heed his wishes rather than the council’s.
As Drummond approached his suite, his doorward, Griogair, squared his shoulders and stood taller.
“All is well, m’lord. Mistress Martha is still inside, but she sent for drink and a bit of food for Lady Evie a while ago.
’Tis my understanding that yer lady’s constitution is much improved from what it was when she arrived. ”
That news lightened Drummond’s heart even more. “Thank ye, Griogair. Carry on.” He entered through the solar, crossed to the seldom-used of the two large bedchambers, started to enter, then remembered his manners and knocked. “Evie?”
Mistress Martha opened the door, confronting him with a narrow-eyed squint. “The lady is much better, m’lord. She even asked that I become her personal advisor and take up residence here with her. She says it brings her comfort to have me by her side.”
“Here?” There was naught but the pair of adjoining bedchambers, his own and whoever he took as a wife, along with his solar and a small sitting room in this suite of private rooms. He had hoped to develop a closeness with Evie that Mistress Martha’s presence might hinder.
“The servants for this floor have quarters at the end of the hallway. We shall have to ensure there is an available bed for ye.”
The old crone’s wrinkled face puckered even more. She shook a bent finger at him, then jabbed it downward, pointing at the floor. “The lady was quite adamant that I stay here, m’lord. With her. I felt sure ye would wish her happy.”
“Of course I want her happy.” He also wanted to develop an intimacy with this mysterious lass.
He’d never experienced such a need to be close to a woman—and not just physically.
He needed her to need his presence as badly as he longed for hers.
Whenever she was near, he breathed easier, felt whole.
“Ye may stay in the private sitting room off the solar. If she summons ye, ye’re but a doorway away, aye? ”
The healer adjusted her heavy black shawl around her bony shoulders, then glanced back into the room behind her. “I shall see what she has to say about that, m’lord.”
“Is yer loyalty not to yer lord first? Did ye not swear fealty to me when ye first arrived?”
“Of course, m’lord, but did ye not bid me see to the lady’s needs before all else?
” She arched her graying brows nearly to her silvery hairline.
“I dinna claim to be her chaperone, m’lord.
I am merely here to keep the lady happy.
” She cleared her throat. “A happy lady is a pliable lady. If ye ken my meaning.”
He knew her meaning, all right. At least the old woman understood that he hoped to develop a closeness with the lovely lass on the other side of this door.
“Verra well, then. We shall see if Lady Evie finds the sitting room acceptable. If not, a suitable couch in her private chamber will be provided for ye.”
With a gracious nod, the wily crone stepped aside and bade him enter with a wave of her hand.
Barely over the threshold, he halted, unable to take a step farther. Gone was the bedraggled, rain-swept beauty from the sidhe hill at the center of the Black Forest. In her place was an enchanting woman who stole the very breath from his body.
Evie rose from the table beside the window, brushing crumbs from the burgundy kirtle that brought out the rich auburn of her tresses. She swept her gaze from his boot tips to the top of his head and frowned. “You haven’t changed out of your wet things yet. You’re going to catch your death.”
Gads alive, she already sounded like a wife, and it was the sweetest music he’d ever heard. The thought startled him, then settled into his bones like a warm tonic, making him smile. “I’ll be fine, lass. I’ve the sturdiness of a Highland coo.”
“And ye’ll be smelling like one if ye dinna change out of yer wet traveling clothes,” Mistress Martha said from behind him.
Evie covered her mouth to hide her smile, but the mirth dancing in her eyes betrayed her. She cleared her throat and returned to her seat at the table. “We asked for something to eat, and they sent loads of food. Would you like to join us?”
“Excuse me,” Mistress Martha interrupted again. “I need to fetch my things, m’lady, since I’ll be staying with ye. I’m sure ye dinna mind my leaving ye with such fine company.”
Drummond forgave the woman for the cow comment but committed it to memory. Never forgetting a barb was one of his less admirable traits, but it helped keep the lines clearly drawn between his allies and his enemies.
“Thank you, I’ll be fine,” Evie told the healer, but a tenseness appeared to settle over her as she added hot water to the cup in front of her.
“Mistress Martha recommended I drink these steeped herbs,” she said as the crone left the room.
“Once you get past the initial twang, they’re not too bad, I don’t guess. Would you like some?”
“Nay, lass.” He seated himself across the small table and poured himself a tankard of ale. “This ale will suit me. I’d not put it past that old woman to poison me with her herbals.”
Evie arched her brows, seeming surprised before shaking her head. “Oh, I think she likes you. She had nothing but good things to say about you.”
“And do ye like me?” He feasted on the way the candlelight cast a golden glow across her skin. Her coloring was much improved from what it had been as they traveled.
“I don’t know you well enough to like or dislike you.” She nervously looked away, avoiding his eyes, a sure sign she was lying.
“Ye are safe here, lass. I promise.” He noticed the blood-red ruby on her finger. “I dinna recognize that ring from Mother’s collection.”
She stared at him, then touched the circlet on her crown and the necklace at her throat. “These belonged to your mother?”
“Aye.”
She went to remove them, but he leaned across the table and stopped her.
“Nay, lass. Ye do them proud. Mother is smiling down from heaven as we speak.”
Still frowning, she shook her head. “But I’m just a visitor here. I’ve no right to come in here and wear all these things as if I own the place. That’s just not right.” She gave him a pained look. “Your people will not appreciate this, and I don’t want to get on their bad side.”
“I already told ye that I do as I will here, and it is my will for ye to be dressed in every finery I can provide. I will see ye comfortable and happy here at Dubh Tower.” Happy forevermore, but he left that part unsaid.
She was still too skittish, skittish as a red deer. “Yer joy is important to me, lass.”
“Why?”
He reached across the table again and touched her hand, almost groaning as a sense of completeness surged between them. “Tell me ye dinna feel that.”
“I can’t deny that,” she said ever so softly. “Because something tells me you’d know I was lying.”
He almost smiled. She already knew him as well as he knew her. But that worry in her eyes troubled him. “What do ye fear, lass?”
She slid her hand out from under his and sat straighter in the chair. An aloofness came over her. “You have no idea where I come from. You know nothing about me.”
Disappointed that she’d drawn away, but doing his best to understand, he folded his hands on the table in front of him. “Then tell me about yer Nashville. Tell me about yer life before I found ye on the sidhe hill after the storm brought ye to me.”
She eyed him as though weighing the goodness of his soul. “I’m not so sure that would be a good idea right now.”
Her leeriness stung like the prick of a thorn. “Ye’ve no reason to fear me, lass. I would never harm ye.”
“I don’t think you’d hurt me,” she said slowly, as if trying to sort through her thoughts and choose the perfect turn of phrase. “But I also don’t think you’d appreciate how I’d complicate your life.”
He huffed at her weak excuse. “Life is always complicated by one thing or another. What choices should be made? Which people to trust? Which path to take?” He wanted to reach for her hand again, but forced himself to hold fast. “Ye make things better here. All the scattered pieces fall into their proper places and create a whole whenever I look into yer eyes.”
“I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me.” She sipped her steaming herbal, made a face, then set it back on the table. “Mistress Martha needs to work on her flavorings.”
He slid a small crock from the center of the table toward her. “Honey often hides the gravest of sins, and a healthy dollop on yer bread or in yer drink keeps evil away. Mother always said so.”
She smiled, and her worries seemed to ease.
“Granddaddy always kept bees because Grandmama loved honey.” She stirred some into her cup, took another sip, and nodded.
“Much better.” But then she gave him a puzzled look.
“Where do you keep the hives? Or do you bring the honey in from other places, or store it whenever you find it in the wild?”
“Bee boles are in the south-facing wall of the garden. When the weather’s not so dreich, would ye like to see them? The beekeepers are always proud to show them off, and we need to introduce ye to the bees.”
“Introduce me to the bees?”
“Aye, the bees must be told about all the comings and goings in a keep. ’Tis bad luck to keep secrets from them.
They might leave or stop giving us honey.
Bees not only bring us good fortune but are also a connection between the living and the dead.
They travel back and forth between this life and the next.
They must be honored as valued members of the clan. ”