Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

G owan could not stop thinking about his guest. She was so amazingly beautiful, with her sparkling blue eyes and river of golden brown hair that ran down her back to her waist, and his weak man's body reacted every time he visualized her. If only he were handsome again. If only she could have seen him in his former days before the scars were inflicted, then perhaps he would be able to show her his face, but it was no use wishing for the moon. She was not his, and never would be.

However, her story had touched him in a way that he had never expected. He had always thought of the members of the Darroch family as villains, but now he realized that Minna was as much a victim as he was. She too was stuck in a situation she hated, in a prison that was not of her own making. She could run away, of course, but somehow he knew she would not, since he thought that she felt responsible for the village and everyone in it.

The more he thought about her, the more he admired her, and when he remembered her near-naked body as he undressed her, he felt his erection surge again and realized that he was not going to get much done that day. The more he tried to concentrate on other matters, the more the intrusive thoughts became and eventually he was performing his tasks unconsciously, hardly noticing what he was doing.

‘W hat if I were to show her my face?' he thought. ‘Would she think me a monster? Or could she look past it and see the man I really am?'

He chewed it over again and again, imagining her reaction to his scars. Would she recoil in horror? Pretend they did not matter while secretly thinking them absolutely repulsive? Or would she pity him? He could not even bear the thought of that. It would be wonderful if she told him they did not matter and meant it, but he could not imagine any female being able to look past the horrible marks on his face. That lovely young woman could get any man she wanted; she was not going to bother with one who was as ugly as sin.

Gowan caught a brace of pigeons, then pulled half a dozen trout out of the loch. After years of practice he was a skilled fisherman and could catch enough fish, as well as rabbits and other small animals, to trade with the peddler who brought him ale, bread, candles and other necessities. He always had enough to ensure that he never starved. However, it was sometimes difficult to keep his stomach full in winter, when he needed more fuel in his body to stay warm.

It occurred to him sometimes to wonder about the utter futility of living the way he did, and pondered the thought of trying to move to a town and starting a normal life. However, he was so accustomed to being a hermit that he doubted he could be with others at all now.

Gowan had finally caught enough fish of sufficient size to trade with Jock the peddler, so he went out on the path to wait for his cart to pass, leaning his back against a tree. They met each other twice a week, which usually provided all the human interaction Gowan needed.

He did not have to wait long for the rickety, heavily-laden and ancient vehicle to come rattling towards him, drawn by an equally ancient mule called Molly. Jock himself was the youngest of the trio, being only in his early fifties, and now he greeted Gowan with a gap-toothed grin and a wave.

"Hello, Mister Nobody!" he called cheerfully. This was his pet name for the man who would neither tell Jock his name nor show him his face. "How are ye farin' the day?"

"As well as usual, Jock. You?" Gowan asked.

"Well, lad. What dae ye have for me the day?" His green-eyed gaze rested on the fish, and he raised his eyebrows. "My mouth is fair waterin'. Fine trout."

"Good," Gowan replied, smiling. "Can you give me bread and porridge? And eggs?"

The last was added as an afterthought, and Jock narrowed his eyes at Gowan, then he sighed and relented. "Ye will put me out o' business," he grumbled. "Only four eggs, mind. That is all I have left."

"That will do, Jock," Gowan said, as he took his bundles from Jock and put them in his satchel. "Thank you. Stay well."

Gowan stood by the side of the road as he always did when the peddler drove away, waiting until he was well out of sight before creeping back into the woods. He was determined that nobody should ever know where he came from, because if it was revealed that he was just an ordinary fellow, and especially if he was the real Laird of the castle, then he would be a dead man.

Accordingly, he picked his way carefully through the trees again until he arrived at the little hut, then stopped to look at it, thinking about the woman who sat inside. He had waited a long time for his revenge, but now that he had Minna within his grasp, could he use her as a bargaining tool?

He rejected the idea as foolish at once. Jamie Darroch had almost killed his sister, and likely would not care whether she had survived or not. In fact, he might be angry if he knew she was still alive. Moreover, she could not go back into the castle, because Jamie's guards would recognize her at once. However, she might still be valuable to him. He knew every inch of the place, of course, but the last time he had seen it was years ago. Who knew what Jamie had done to it since then?

As soon as the door shut behind Gowan, Minna stood and went over to the sword that was standing by the wall behind a pile of clothes, then she picked it up and looked closely at the crest. It was a complicated design of intertwining leaves with a knight's helmet in the middle, and its motto was: ‘Keep Tryst.'

She hefted it in her hands, marveling at its size and weight, then frowned. She had seen this symbol before, but for the life of her she could not remember where.

She turned her attention from the sword to the faded tunic that lay at the top of the pile in front of it. It was made of thick wool, and had the same design on it embroidered in fine silk. Minna stared at it for a long time, then sniffed it. It smelled musty, but underneath that smell was another, and she realized that it was the male scent of the strange man who was looking after her. She would recognise the scent of him even if she never saw the man himself again.

It was not long before he came back, and he was carrying some bread, eggs and porridge in a small sack.

"Are you still feeling well?" he asked politely.

"Much better, thank you," she replied, smiling at him.

Gowan was enchanted by her bright smile. "Good," he said, trying not to sound too pleased. He set out some ale and bread for her, and she watched while he swept the ashes from the fire and stacked it with some fresh wood.

When he was finished, he came to sit beside her and watched her silently until she had eaten everything. He was completely intrigued by her. She seemed so calm after the terrifying experience they had just endured, and was not afraid of him.

Suddenly she leaned towards him and tried to look at him, but he jerked backwards with a sound that was almost like a gasp of fright.

"Why will you not let me see you properly?" Minna asked.

Gowan sighed. Normally he would have swept his hand backwards through his hair in agitation, but he stopped himself just in time. "That is my business," he told her firmly. "And I can speak to you properly without revealing my face. It makes no difference to my voice."

Minna shrugged. "Have it your own way." Her voice was indifferent. "What do you plan to do with me?"

"I plan to keep you alive," he answered. "I will not let anything happen to you as long as you are with me, but now that you know I am not the devil my protection is gone. If you tell anyone that I am here I will either have to run or be killed."

Minna could tell by his manner that Gowan was dejected. He sat cross-legged, playing with the leaves on the floor, his whole attitude one of hopelessness.

"But why? What is it that makes you so afraid?" Minna was mystified. "Who are you?"

Gowan thought about her question for a moment then decided that it would be too dangerous to tell her, even though they were on the same side. Once again, he ignored her question.

"I want to help you leave, but not at the expense of my own safety," he said at last. "I will find you a horse and take you on the best road out of here, then you can go wherever you wish."

"And you? What will you do?" Minna asked. "Stay here until you are an old man? From what I can see of you, you look young and healthy - it seems like such a waste."

"If I must." His tone suggested that he was not prepared to talk about the subject any more, but Minna persisted.

"Then I will stay too." Her voice was firm and determined. "I am going to see my brother and I am going to make him pay for all the misery he has caused in this estate and in the village since my family stole it from its rightful owners.

"People have forgotten its rightful owners," Gowan said sourly. He did not wish to listen to her - the subject was too painful.

Minna shook her head. "No, they have not," she argued. "They still speak about Laird Hepburn and how kind and fair he was. But my own father - I am ashamed of him, of my brother, of my whole family. They are nothing but thieves and bandits, and I can't tell you how much I despise them."

Despite the fact that she was meant to be his enemy, Gowan felt infinitely sorry for her. She was like a good, sound apple in a barrel full of rotten ones. While listening to the villagers' conversations, he had heard her praises being sung over and over again, and he was delighted to find that what they had said of her was true. She was a kind, compassionate person, and he knew that given half a chance he could fall in love with her, but that was a distant dream. Fate might have flung them together, but she was a fickle mistress who could also tear them apart. He was determined merely to enjoy the time he had with her, and when she had gone, he would go back to his lonely existence and live with his memories of her.

"When you leave here, where will you go?" he asked softly.

"Nowhere," she answered. "I am going to stay in this place and kill my brother. He has murdered so many with his greed and neglect that he does not deserve to live."

Gowan was horrified. "You can't do that !" he cried. "He has a hundred guards around him. How far do you think you will get? Even if you managed to be within touching distance, do you not think he would defend himself? He is a big man. He could kill you with his bare hands."

"I have a responsibility to Cairndene and its people!" Minna yelled. "I can't leave them like this! What are you doing for them?" She poked a finger in his chest so hard that he fell back on his elbows and the hood of his cloak fell onto his shoulders, revealing his face.

They stared at each other for a moment.

"Are you happy now, Mistress Darroch? Now do you see why I hide away like this? No-one likes to look at this ugly scarred face of mine. Run away if you like - I don't care any more." Gowan said bitterly. He turned away, but Minna pulled him back, then turned his face so that he was looking straight at her. To her astonishment, instead of the green, gray or blue eyes she had been expecting, his eyes were deep brown, a vivid contrast to his shining golden hair. He was stunning.

"You are not ugly," she said gently. "I see a very handsome man with a little puckered skin on his left cheekbone, and I would be proud to be seen with you."

Gowan looked at her doubtfully. Perhaps she was paying him these compliments to make him feel better, although why she would do such a thing was beyond him. She could not be serious.

"How long has it been since you looked in a mirror?" , she asked, seeing the doubt on his face. He thought for a moment, trying to find the answer to her question. "A few years," he replied. In fact, he had not seen his face since before he had been thrown out of the castle. A small flame of hope crept into his heart at the thought that he might not be as disfigured as he had thought. Perhaps he had healed a little and was not quite so disfigured any more.

"What is your name?" Minna asked suddenly.