“You have no right to show up out of nowhere and bring up my past when you abandoned me,” she should have voiced with heated passion and self-confidence. Not too much heat, though. There was something to be said for calm intensity. That in mind, she should have narrowed her eyes and spoken with authority because she was in control of herself,, nobody else. Or so she liked to imagine despite it being the furthest thing from the truth.
A tug on her skirt brought her out of her daydream.
“Hello, there.” She smiled down at Duncan’s sister, Besse, with her golden locks.
“Hello.” Besse’s big green eyes were round as saucers. “Did ye see them? The new characters?”
She referred to Greer's mother and those with whom she traveled.
“I did.” Greer crouched, glancing left and right as if they shared a secret and spies might be listening. She leaned close and whispered, “What do you make of them?”
“I dinnae know.” Besse slid a sly little look toward the back stairs. “But mayhap ye can tell me, aye? Mayhap spin yer magic?”
She smirked. “Are you asking me to spy on our visitors?”
Besse nodded, knowing Greer would never tell.
Enjoying being with Besse and Duncan almost as much as spending time alone, Greer pretended to think about it before she nodded. “All right, but you must be very, very quiet. Can you do that?”
The girl’s eyes lit up, and she nodded with excitement.
“Okay, then.” Greer took her hand, and they headed up until they were in one of several hallways overlooking the great hall. Crouching behind a pillared balustrade cast in shadows, they peeked through with no risk of detection. Nor, with all the bustling castle activity below, could they be heard.
Disappointment flashed in Besse’s eyes. She pouted at the men sitting in front of the fire. “Och, he isnae down there anymore.”
“Who?” But Greer knew. Edmund’s brother. The Scotsman called Teagan. Her dashing ride-off-into-the-sunset hero.
“The big warrior with the sad eyes.”
He did have sad eyes, didn’t he? Soulful, thickly-lashed, deep brown eyes that looked as haunted as she felt. How she’d wanted to stare at him when she joined everyone earlier but didn’t dare. Bartholomew was always watching and quick to jealousy. She could only imagine how he would have responded had she dared cast a glance at a younger man.
Especially one who was not only Scottish but put him to shame physically.
“Well, of course, our warrior-hero is not there right now,” she whispered, spinning her ‘magic’ as Besse and Duncan liked to call it. “For he is doing a sweep of the castle to see what his men are up against before they raid the estate and steal us away.”
“I thought that might be it.” Besse’s eyes rounded again. “Where will they take us?”
“To his castle, naturally.A place where you do not have to hide in corners anymore. Where you can speak your mind, within the realm of good manners that is, and smile and laugh in the open.”
Where some might say it cruel to give children like Besse and Duncan false hope, she knew better than anyone how important hope really was. It allowed one to get out of bed in the morn. To get through their day, then start all over the next. For poor Scottish children like Besse and her brother with nothing but a bleak future ahead, she saw no harm in it.
But then, one way or another, she was determined to get them out of here before her uncle sold them off. Because he would. He had before. It mattered naught that their mother was here because she would be sold as well. Or kept and used for free labor and other unsavory purposes.
“I have never seen a place like that.” Besse shook her head. “Do ye think his sweep is going well? That he will save us soon?”
While she knew it wrong to put such responsibility on a perfect stranger, she truly did mean to see it through herself somehow. Now that her mother was here, perhaps there might be a way. If Cecille would agree to such. For it would mean a great deal of stealth lest she risk Randolph’s considerable wrath.
“I think ’tis verra likely yer warrior-hero will save ye,” came another whisper. “And save ye soon.”
It took her a moment to realize that hadn’t been a voice in her head.
Rather, it had been the voice of the last person she expected.
Chapter Five
Teagan was never so relieved when a servant offered to show him to his chambers. He knew it was so Randolph and Bartholomew could speak privately with Edmund about him, and that was fine. He had faith in his friend to play the part well.
They had been lucky when a man named Alfred made no comment upon joining them. Unbelievably enough, he was the very soldier Teagan and Edmund had come upon in that border village during the war. The one who had defended the lasses. It seemed he was a cousin of the family and resided at the castle but most likely because of his stutter, was not welcome during a “gentleman’s” conversation. Or so Teagan assumed when he was dismissed almost as soon as he arrived.
Over the course of an ale, Randolph and Bartholomew had spent more time looking at Teagan haughtily than anything else. Not to be mistaken with the flashes of disgust in their eyes. It mattered little that he was an English sympathizer, for, at the end of the day, he would still be Scottish. He would still be their long-time nemesis.
To be expected, they asked pertinent questions. Ones he answered readily enough, sure to look mightily impressed by the castle, not to mention the men themselves. That they would honor him with an audience. What more could a simple Scot ask for? ’Twas a bloody dream come true.
Or so they thought.
The moment he was shown his quarters, rather surprised he wasn’t given a stall in the stables instead, he set out to explore, grateful for some time alone. Or, if he were to be honest, hopeful that he would run into Greer. That he might finally introduce himself properly and exchange a word or two with her.
An opportunity, it just so happened, that presented itself shortly after that in a hallway near the top of the castle. As good at stealth as his brother, Malcolm, he kept to the shadows, then crouched near Greer and a little girl, talking in hushed tones. Also very good at hearing, he caught every word exchanged. Despite his realistic view of the world, he found their conversation endearing.
He couldn’t help but participate when the opportunity arose.
“I think ’tis verra likely yer warrior-hero will save ye,” he whispered loud enough for them to hear when the little girl asked if Teagan—hero that they painted him—might save them.
He would, too. By all that was holy, he meant it. He need not know them to feel this way, either. Just off what he’d seen of this place so far, he would bring the whole of the MacLauchlin Clan down on Randolph and his self-important sidekick Bartholomew if given half the chance.
“Go on now,” Greer whispered to the wee lassie before he had a chance to say it was unnecessary. She need not flee. It seemed, however, much like the lad who had stubbornly tried to stay with her earlier, the little girl wasn’t going anywhere.
Rather, much to Greer’s obvious mortification based on her widening eyes, she headed Teagan’s way.
“Hello,” the girl whispered. She looked around for intruders before daring to speak to him in their native language. “An tàinig thu dha-rìribh gus ar sàbhaladh an uairsin?”