Chapter 2

Kenna's earliest memory of riding a horse was the day a kind man in a uniform had lifted her onto one and they had ridden to the castle where she now lived. She knew that something bad had happened to her before then but had no memory of it. Yet it haunted her in her dreams sometimes. She always heard the sound of screaming, the noise of shouting—and then nothing. It was as though she had never lived before that day.

One good thing had come out of it, though. From that day on, she had loved horses, and although she was a servant, she had been taught to ride at the tender age of eight. This had happened because the two guards who had rescued her, whom she called Uncle Jack and Uncle Frankie, had taught her until she could ride a horse as well as they could.

One day Frankie had seen her patting his horse, Robbie, running the palm of her hand down his velvety nose, and he had at once given her an apple to feed him with. The horse took it eagerly and munched it with great relish, making her laugh in glee and clap her hands.

"This is the horse you brought me to the castle in, isn't it, Uncle Frankie?" she asked.

Giggling, she stood on her tiptoes so that the animal could ruffle her hair with his nose. Of all the horses in the stables, she loved Robbie the best.

"Aye, hen, he is," Frankie replied fondly.

Ever since he had brought the little girl back with him on that fateful day, he had loved her as if she was one of his own daughters and indulged her in every way he could.

"Would ye like tae learn tae ride him? He is very quiet unless I tell him tae get angry." He growled and made a fierce face.

Kenna thought for a moment. "Aye, Uncle Frankie, that would be nice," she said, smiling happily.

"Mind ye, when ye get a bit bigger, ye will have tae learn tae ride wi' a ladies' saddle," he warned.

Kenna frowned. "Is that one of those silly sideways things?" she asked.

She had seen the ladies riding on their saddles, and she had always felt sorry for them. To her, they looked comical and undignified.

"Aye," Frankie replied, sighing. "But ye wilnae need them for a while, an' ye wilnae be able tae ride a big horse like this for a while either. Robbie is tae big, but there is a wee pony in the stables an' I am sure the laird will let ye ride her."

This was true. Kenna seemed to have the happy knack of making everyone who knew her fall in love with her, and Laird and Lady McDonald had been no different. Kenna had spent so much time with both Laird and Lady McDonald that she had begun to lose her broad Scots brogue and speak in more of a "refined" manner.

This was something that had not worried Flora a bit since she wanted the best for her adopted daughter and knew that a polished accent and the ability to read and write would take her far in life.

Laird and Lady McDonald had only two children, both sons, and they had always longed for a daughter. However, the birth of twin sons had been such a difficult one that the midwife had informed Katrina McDonald that there would be no more children.

Accordingly, when Flora had gone to see them to ask if she could raise her as her own in the castle, they had taken such a shine to her that they had agreed at once.

"What is your name, lass?" the laird asked, smiling as he pulled her onto his lap.

"Kenna, M'Laird," she said quietly.

The man and lady were dressed in such fine clothes that she felt even smaller and was frightened of their splendor.

"Would you like to come and live in the castle with Missus Bowie?" he asked kindly, raising his eyebrows in a question.

Kenna nodded. "Aye," she replied, almost in a whisper. "She is very nice to me."

"And would you like to learn to read and write?" Lady McDonald asked.

Kenna had no idea what the lady meant, but when she looked up at Flora for approval, her new mother nodded and smiled.

"Aye," she replied. "That would be grand, M'Laird."

And so it was that the local minister, Reverend Keir, was engaged to come three times a week for two hours a day to teach Kenna her letters and numbers. This caused a little jealousy amongst the other servants, so Kenna, to the best of her limited ability, began to pass on her knowledge to their children, and soon the very basic learning was spreading like wildfire among them.

Fortunately, Laird McDonald was a progressive man, and he engaged a tutor to teach the servants' children at the same time that Kenna was having her instruction. When the staff saw what was happening, the jealousy disappeared, and gratitude took its place.

Now, sixteen years later, Kenna still loved Robbie, although he was retired now and spent most of his time grazing peacefully on the castle grounds. However, it was nighttime and he was dozing in the stable, but Kenna knew he would wake if she brushed his soft lips with a slice or a quarter of an apple. She did so and laughed softly as he opened his mouth to accept the fruit while his eyes stayed closed.

Quickly, she passed out the apple pieces to the rest of the horses, petting them and talking to them softly. Kenna kissed each of them on their forelocks as she murmured their names because she knew every one of them. They were her friends, as were all horses.

She turned to leave the building but was suddenly aware of the sound of shuffling and moaning in the last stall, which was never used for anything but storing cleaning materials. She crept around the partition between the stalls and gasped in fright.

There was a creature in the space, hidden in the shadows. It seemed to be human from the noises it was making, but Kenna could not be sure. She could not even make out whether it was male or female.

Cautiously, she lifted her lantern and saw that a man was sitting in the corner. He had piled up a heap of straw behind his back and over his legs, then spread his cloak over it. It was a tattered, frayed thing with dozens of holes in it, and from what she could see of the rest of him, he looked like a filthy tramp. Such men could sometimes be dangerous, so she backed away slowly, looking for a weapon, and laid her hand on a rake that was used for spreading straw. After all, who knew what such a creature was capable of?

The man was holding his hands in front of his face to shield himself from the light of the lantern but lowered them as Kenna moved away. Now that she had a better view of him, she could see that he was what she had suspected—a vagabond—and her lip curled in disgust.

His face was filthy, as were his hands, and his brown beard was scruffy and patchy, looking as though it had been pulled out in some places. There was a scratch on one of his cheekbones and a great purple bruise on his forehead. As well as that, she could see that his knuckles were grazed as though he had been engaged in a boxing match. He was probably a drunk, she thought, disgusted.

The man stood up, scattering straw everywhere, and Kenna backed away, holding the rake across her body for protection. He was the biggest man she had ever seen, and she was terrified.

"Don't scream."

His voice was deep and hoarse, and Kenna could tell by the manner of his speech that he was not a member of the working class.

"Please, all I wanted was somewhere warm to sleep. I have no intention of stealing or damaging anything, and I promise you that I will be gone in the morning. If you had not come in at this strange time, you would never have known I was here."

"It is not a strange time for me," she informed him angrily. "I have a right to be in the stables. You don't. Who are you anyway? And how did you get past the guards?"

"I am nobody," he replied sadly. "I am nobody worth knowing." Then his gaze fell to the basket she was carrying.

Kenna followed his gaze, then looked up at him again. There was one apple left in the basket, and he was staring at it desperately, obviously starving. He looked as if he would pounce on it at any moment, but before he could make a move, Kenna took out the piece of fruit and offered it to him.

He snatched it out of her hand and devoured it in seconds. Kenna had never seen an item of food disappearing so fast.

While the man was eating, she was studying him. He was quite handsome, she thought, and the clothes he was wearing were expensive and of good quality. His boots were made of exquisite leather, although they were scuffed and worn, and his closely-woven woolen tunic was embroidered with fine silk.

All of his garments were ragged and tattered, though, and had obviously been worn for a long time. There was a mystery here. Who was this fine gentleman? Whoever he was, he had fallen on very hard times. His beard was thick but patchy and scruffy, and it was so long that it was almost touching his chest. She itched to take a sharp pair of scissors to it.

"Who are you?" she asked again, more gently this time. "And how did you get in here? The place is bristling with guards."

The man sighed. "I told you, you don't need to know. Thank you very much for the food, but all I want to do is sleep now, then you will never see me again. If you wish to throw me out, though, there is nothing I can do about it." He shrugged, looking utterly defeated.

The silence that followed was suddenly broken by the loud rumbling of his stomach. The man ducked his head, embarrassed, and put both hands over his face.

All of a sudden Kenna felt deeply sorry for him. Whoever he was, he did not deserve this. She still wanted to know how he had evaded the guards, but that could wait until later. She knew she was acting against her better judgment, but she could not, in all conscience, leave him to starve, not while she was able to do something about it.

"Would you like something else to eat?" she asked.

At once he dropped his hands and looked at her, his eyes so hopeful that she could almost not bear to return his gaze. Everything about him spoke of desperation, and some elusive part of her earliest memories told her that she understood desperation very well indeed.

"I would like that very much," he replied eagerly. "Thank you."

"How long has it been since you ate?" Kenna was curious.

"I had some bread and ale yesterday morning and a few scraps a little while ago," he answered. "And although I told you I would not steal anything, I took a handful of oats out of one of the horse's mangers. I am sorry."

"Raw oats are not good for a human being," she informed him.

She wondered if he was telling her the truth or merely lying to get her sympathy.

"I know." His voice was hollow, and Kenna thought he might burst into tears at any moment. His stomach growled again, and he closed his eyes so that she could not look at him.

Kenna could not bear to see the man suffering any longer. She had been about to suggest that he stay where he was while she went inside to collect some food. However, there was something about him that made her want to trust him, an air of wholesomeness, despite his reduced circumstances. She had always followed her instincts, and they had never before led her astray, so she had no reason to believe that they would now. The stables, although warmer than outside, were still cold and no place for a man to spend the night.

"I will find you something to eat," she told him. "But you must be very quiet. If you make a sound that is too loud for my liking, I will make one that will wake the whole castle. Do you understand me?"

"I do," he replied firmly. "And I will make as little noise as I can. Do you want me to take off my boots?" He raised his eyebrows in a question.

For a moment Kenna thought he was joking, then she realized what the man meant.

"No, your boots are too worn to make any noise. Don't speak, and stay in the shadows. There is one more thing I have to do, though."

"What is that?"

He frowned as she took a cotton scarf from her pocket and held it up to his eyes.

"I have to make sure you will not be able to find your way back here," she said firmly. "I don't know you. I am a compassionate woman who is moved by your plight, but I must safeguard myself too."

The man stood up straight, raising himself to his impressive full height, and for a few moments she thought he was going to argue with her, but he nodded, then bent down so that she could reach him. Even so, he was so tall that she still had to stretch. Despite herself, she was impressed. What a magnificent physique he had! Then she checked herself. He was a tramp, and she should not be creating fantasies about him.

Eventually the job was done, and she breathed a sigh of relief. At least he could not overpower her now since he could no longer see where she was.

"Do you have any weapons?" Kenna asked, raising the rake in front of her.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dagger in its scabbard, then offered it to her, handle first.

"Thank you," Kenna said as she stowed the weapon away in her pocket. "I will return it when you leave."

Yet even as she said the words, Kenna found that she did not want him to go. She put out her hand to grasp his and noticed that it was so big that it enveloped hers, then she led him inside.