Chapter 7

Nhaimeth had never felt this way afore, as if he walked in a haze that didnae clear unless Rowena came into view. Never afore had he experienced the need to let a lass—Rowena—into his life, and that was the truth. Of course one day he might actually speak to her, say her name aloud.

Evening was closing in on the second night at the gypsy encampment. He relaxed afore the stone hearth set into the ground, next to Guaril, the leader. The talk was unremarkable, an exchange of nondescript fact, a comparison of differences. Finally, Nhaimeth asked the question hovering on his lips from the moment he saw Rowena, “It’s strange to encounter another like myself—a dwarf. Few survive, especially female. I hope ye dinnae put her on show at fairs for folk to gawp at.”

Guaril threw back his head and laughed, baring the brown throat beneath his neat beard in the firelight. “Rowena wouldn’t permit such a thing. That lass has a mind of her own. Mayhap she would have survived whether we’d found her or not. Ye might have noticed her skin is fairer than the rest of the tribe’s. We found her left under a tree in the forest but a few leagues from here, as if left for the gods, who chose to give her up to us.” Guaril pressed his hands on his knees and leaned forward. Did he feel the gleam of the fire would hide the moistness coating his eyes as he imagined what might have been? “The price has been paid, the tribe have been blessed with good fortune since she came to live amongst us, and she was fortunate we found her afore the wolves that this area is renowned for did.”

Struck by an undeniable truth, Nhaimeth nodded in response. His father had given him a gift—life—for as Erik the Bear had said afore he left this world, he could have left Nhaimeth out on the mountain to die. “I remember Rob speaking of meeting up with some of yon beasts with his grandfather when he was nae more than a lad. They didnae harm him though. I think his grandfather had an affinity with Wolves.”

“A gift from the old gods. It runs in the blood of the first folk from round here—wolves, white stags and an ancient bloodline. It’s fitting. Rowena’s gift is the ability to interpret what has gone and read what lies ahead from the lines in yer palm.” He turned to Nhaimeth and ran a finger across his open palm. “She is special.”

“Aye, she is that,” Nhaimeth said and went back to staring into the flames. Guaril might have meant to reassure him. It was obvious they all loved the wee lass. He could tell it wouldn’t be hard, for he was halfway there himself simply by watching how she went about her day. A delightful pastime, watching a smile coming in and out on her face, bright, as if she wore a star, while she spent her day helping her fellow gypsies. But then, she wasnae really a gypsy. She was just like him—fortunate to be alive.

It didnae diminish the heat in his belly, or the wariness prickling under his skin—the fear. If she took his hand in hers what would she discover? A man, a lover, or just another dwarf with naught to contribute to a real life.

Nhaimeth rose frae the fire and returned to the cave to wrap himself in his plaid and think.

Would he let life pass him by, or would he find the courage within him to reach out and take Rowena’s hand in his?

After the storm abated to a soft drizzle, Rob had gone into the forest to explore, to reacquaint himself on foot with the pathways he had travelled the summer afore last, so different now. Staying a few paces back frae the edge of the forest, he had spied on the stone Keep that La Mont had built to replace the ancient wooden building in which Rob had grown up. Melinda had thought the castle with its sturdy square tower to be almost as grand as the New Castle built at William’s behest, but then she hadn’t seen Cragenlaw with its huge Keep and walls standing astride tall cliffs that challenged the waves it glowered down on frae on high—unapproachable, beautiful, invincible.

The afternoon was drawing towards evening when he saw La Mont arrive, flying overhead his distinctive red and white banner that Rob remembered frae when he was captured two years past. The knight riding beside him at the head of the large troop of mounted warriors was unknown, yet familiar. The distinctive dark armour and the black sigil with its fist of silver had been in the group of knights whau joined De Mowbray’s not long after King Malcolm was killed. He’d noticed him arrive with La Mont, all of them staring down on Malcolm and his son Edward, the Scots heir cut down when he went to his father’s aid.

Aye, it would take a lot for him to forgive De Mowbray and the other Normans treating the Scots’ King and his heir like an amusement. Aye, and now the dark Norman knight was at Wolfsdale, it shouldnae be hard for Rob to discover his name.

Rob headed back through the forest towards the cave, satisfied his day hadn’t been for naught. Even as he had neared Wolfsdale, he had realised the futility of his journey. He hadn’t seen any sign of Melinda, and standing spying on Wolfsdale was naught but giving in to a forlorn hope.

Though the rain had ceased a while earlier, his clothes were still damp when he reached the camp and squatted in front of the fire, shivering. “Thanks,” he murmured, looking up as Guaril threw some more wood onto the lowering embers. The fire and the hungry flames leapt up, licking at the tree bark as if to devour it.

Sitting down beside him, the gypsy stared at him, stared through him with dark eyes that appeared to see everything. “Was yer journey to Wolfsdale successful?”

Rob twisted to face Guaril. The heat of the fire warmed him on one side but his innards felt as frozen as the side and back facing away frae the fire. “Did ye have someone follow me? I told nae one, not even Nhaimeth, where I was going.”

“No, it was just a feeling. As soon as she saw ye, Rowena felt that ye were the one who had lived in the cave over last year’s summer. A man searching for something, or someone then, the moment ye took the bowl of food she handed ye, she saw it all. Ye’re here for the Lady of Wolfsdale.”

The note of certainty in his pronouncement flummoxed Rob, took away his balance until he almost toppled over onto his arse afore he managed to give voice to a denial. “Nae, I’m here to escape the Normans, naught more, naught less,” he lied. The gypsy had suggested as much last night, but how could his suggestion be true? What woman wouldn’t send a message telling a man he was to be a father?

His mother.

Guaril drew his thick black brows together in a frown. “Then we are mistaken; yer not here searching for the lass and her bairns.”