Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

A ltair could not resist teasing her. The young lass was so high in the instep, he could see that she was tempted to order him to do her bidding. Aye, here was a bonny wee girl who could wrap any man around her finger if she wanted to. And she made him feel young again.

"If it were a dream, Laura, then it must have made ye happy. Ye were writhing around on the mattress and whispering sweet nothings with a smile on that pretty face o' yers!"

Outraged, Laura shook her head. "It was a bellyache, nothing more. P-please leave now. I wish to dress."

Bowing his head briefly, Altair left the room. The broad smile on his face faded to a smirk as he went to see his steward.

"Hie, Berenson!" He found the elderly man in the pantry, trying to polish the family silver with sand and hog fat. "Tell Andrew and Stephen to set water boilin'. Oor Sassenach guest is awake and likely to fancy a bath."

"They're nae back from the village, Laird. I'm guessing the auld nanny is proving difficult to house."

Altair's smile faded and was replaced by a frown. "I would have taken her doon there meself, but?—"

Berenson shrugged. "There's naught we can do aboot it. If one o' those village elders takes a keek at ye and remembers ye from ages past, the fat will be in the fire."

"Surely, those who knew me before will all be dead by noo? It's been seventy years."

"Are ye willing to bet oor lives on it?" the steward asked, "because they'll be charging up the mountain with their pitchforks ready for a skewering if ye're wrong."

Altair flung himself out of the room without answering, barging through the side entrance door so he could access the fresh air outside. He was a prisoner in his own land! It was intolerable. There was only one road serving as a mountain pass, and it was guarded by the village of Iolaire. He could not visit that quiet hamlet again until every man and woman old enough to remember his last visit was dead. It was the only way he would be safe to brood in his castle for the next dreary, mind-numbingly boring seventy years.

He almost wished a neighboring laird would attack his domain, just so there was something to do. Surely, the villagers would not stay suspicious of him if they were forced to seek refuge behind his castle gates?

He could risk climbing down the steep cliffs, which would bring him down the eastern or southern side, but every village and town from here to Inverness knew the young Laird Altair Sterling from yesteryear. And if even one person recognized him to be the same man, it would not take long for rumors to fly.

He was the Last of the Immortal Brethren; The Eternal Highlander. Ageless, deathless, and fatally attractive. For the last two hundred years, young girls had been terrified in their beds while listening to stories about the evil enchanter who lived on top of the mountain. One look into his amber eyes and their hearts would be forever lost!

That was why Stephen and Andrew would have trouble finding lodgings for Nanny Mildred. Every villager was convinced the fortress was haunted at best and cursed at worst. If they feared the laird who ruled those living in the shadow of the mountain, they definitely distrusted his servants who did his bidding.

Trudging to the edge of the cliff, Altair looked down. Clouds eddied and drifted around the hard shards of granite before wisping to the hills below. Eagles circled overhead, magnificent and awe-inspiring, like messengers of the gods.

Altair spun when he heard the gate open behind him. In the distance, he could see who had come out, and the sight of her lightened his heart. "I thought ye'd be fed up with staring at this pile o' rocks after yer wee adventure, lass."

Laura seemed to inspect his face keenly before replying to check whether he was teasing her or not. She seemed to think it's safe to give him an answer. "The view is pleasant enough to look at from the comfort of the castle, Laird." Fixing her stare on him, she asked her question directly. "Berenson told me you were out here. Is there news yet of Nurse Mildred?"

She looked recovered from her traumatic night outdoors. "Nay, the lads have nae returned. I am pleased to see ye up and aboot, Maid Laura," Altair smiled down at her.

Laura's dark eyes sparkled. "And I am pleased to see you wearing a shirt!"

They laughed, but the wind whipped the merry sound away with a sharp gust. The housekeeper must have helped his visitor dress. A fine lawn shift lay under the tight-fitting tunic that molded around the soft curves of her body. The symmetry of her body was perfect, with her deep bosom balanced in harmony with the wide curve of her hips. Her waist was trim enough, but there was an adorable roundness to her belly. As a man, when Altair looked at her, she represented everything luxurious and generous about womanhood, from her long dark braids to her dainty feet and dimpled ankles.

She noticed him staring at her toes. "Forgive me, but my slippers broke on the rocks and Mistress Berenson's shoes do not fit me. But never fear about the dust on my toes, for I plan on bathing to my heart's content when the Berenson sons come back from the village."

How he wished he could ride down the mountainside to buy shoes for her at the Iolaire cobbler! But he could fulfill at least one of her wishes.

"Ye dinnae need to wait. I'm willing to fill the tub for ye to bathe—but ye must do it in the kitchen like the rest of us."

She gave him a challenging look. "Are you too proud to carry buckets up the stairs?"

Altair did not rise to take the bait. "Nay, I'm too canny to waste me time with such a boring chore."

Her pert little nose wrinkled with confusion. "Canny? What word is that?"

Taking her by the elbow, he guided Laura back to the side entrance. "It means shrewd, wise to the ways o' the world, as ye would say in the language of the Sassenachs."

The steward had left the pantry by the time they entered. It was just the two of them in the large downstairs kitchen. Laura looked around her with a critical air. "How old is this kitchen, Laird? I see no innovations or improvements."

Thumping the palm of his hand against the crumbling bricks of the fireplace, Altair's mouth twisted into a rueful smile. "There has been a Sterling protecting the lands around the village of Iolaire for nearly five hundred years."

Laura's mouth formed a small ‘o' of amazement. "Gracious! What interesting stories you will be able to tell your children!"

He did not have the willpower to explain to her that she was wrong, so he set about heating the water. Despite his solitude, Altair was not blind to the feelings of others, and he could sense that Laura was waiting for him to tell her whether he was married or not. But because the explanation was too complicated, he figured it was best to skip over it.

A large fire pit smoldered in the middle of the floor. At one side of the kitchen was an enormous hearth, set under a brickface chimney. After going to the water pump in the yard, Altair came back carrying two large cauldrons of water. He set one over the fire pit and the other in the hearth after pushing the spit stick out of the way.

Every medieval fortress had an underground well in case the enemy poisoned the water supply. Laura dipped one hand in the cauldron and spooned the water to her mouth. She closed her eyes and sighed to show him she thought the water tasted delicious.

"Shift yer feet, lass," he growled, pointing to the trapdoor over which Laura was standing. He watched as her chubby toes skittered out of the way. Altair smiled as he tramped down the steps and came back hauling a large copper wash tub in both hands. "Ye must please forgive me curt commands. I have nae experience with how to treat young maidens."

"Why ever not?" Laura was rubbing her hands together in excited anticipation of sinking under the surface of warm water in such a splendidly big tub. "Pardon me, but if you are a widower, I can assure you that there are many dozens of fathers in England ready to sell off their daughters to the highest bidder!"

It did not take an observant person to see the young girl spoke with some bitterness. "Is that what yer faither did to ye?"

Not daring to look into his piercing amber-colored eyes, Laura nodded her head. They stood in companionable silence for a long while before Altair sighed and stomped out to the lumber room to haul in some logs for the fire.

When he had a good blaze going and hung the cauldrons of water over the flames, the laird sat on a bench, pushing a stool over to Laura with one booted foot. She sat down on it, dainty as a butterfly. He waited for her to continue with whatever was on her mind.

"Pardon my curiosity, Laird, but besides the Berensons, are there any other servants living here?"

A sharp shake of the head was all he needed to give. Laura's eyes grew wide with astonishment. "But this castle is huge! It must take an army of servants to clean. Do they live in the village?"

Sensitive to his expressions, she noticed the fleeting annoyance that crossed his face, but Laura did not back down. "If it is a secret, Laird, by all means, tell me and I will be quiet. But I hardly think that's fair because then you will remain a mystery to me."

That made him smile again. "Ye're a spirited wee thing, are ye nae?"

Laura had the grace to look ashamed. "My father says the same thing. He begged me to hide my ‘high spirits' from the noblemen when they came courting."

"Is yer faither in the doldrums from lack o' gold?"

Laura explained to him about the two failed harvests and how money seemed to trickle through her father's fingers since her mother passed away five years before. "My mother, Lady Raleigh, was a ‘canny' noblewoman, so good at keeping household accounts. I miss her very much."

His eyes lit up at the proud way she repeated the Scottish word back to him. "Och, lassie, we'll make a Highland goodwife oot o' ye yet!"

But this did not amuse her. Laura's pretty mouth pouted. "I do not want to be a goodwife. At least, not to a stranger. Can you believe that it was my future husband's father who made the match for him? What man would agree to such a thing?"

He could think of nothing else to say to her complaint than laugh. "Cheer up, sweetheart. The ring is nae on yer finger yet. If ye mislike the match, maybe this is yer chance to hie back the way ye came."

A small smile appeared on her face. "I wish I could. I cannot help feeling that this is the end of the road for me. But it is a daughter's duty to obey her father."

"Sometimes it's worth a gamble to see what partner lady luck turns up for ye, don' ye agree?" Altair pushed himself up from the bench and went to dip his finger in the water. He waited for Laura to join him and repeat the action. He wanted her to tell him she liked the heat of the water, but she remained silent.

"Well? Is it hot enough for ye? Or would ye like it to sit over the flames for a wee while longer?"

They were so close, side by side, as Laura lifted her finger to her mouth and sucked it. "It is lovely and warm. Thank you. It is perfect."

With her finger still damp from her mouth, Laura reached out and touched his wrist. Altair did not know that it was the first time Laura had voluntarily made contact with anyone of the opposite sex. All he could think of was how sweet and trusting his visitor's nature was. He could not remember the last time an innocent maiden had come looking for him and wanted to stay long enough to strike up a conversation.

He waited for her to withdraw or recoil from him because that was what women had always done in the past. But Laura's face broke into a wide smile, like sunshine breaking through the clouds on a rainy day. "Well, what are you waiting for, Laird? I am here to help you lift the cauldron off the hook."

A bark of laughter greeted this helpful statement. "I think ye better leave the heavy lifting to me, hen. These things weigh more than a bushel."

Without thinking, Altair lifted the cauldron handle. It was blazing hot from the flames. The smell of burning flesh filled the kitchen all the way up to its vaulted ceiling. The laughter died on Laura's face. Horrified, she grabbed the injured hand and began looking for something cool to wrap it in. Spying a pitcher of ale on the table, she was about to drag Altair to the jug and plunge his hand into it when Laura froze.

"It-it cannot be…" Laura held his injured hand tightly as she inspected the damage. And as she looked, the welted flesh began to smooth out and heal. After a brief wait, there was no sign of burning or blistering left.

Despair seized him as he waited for Laura to scream and point witchcraft at him. But she did neither.

"I think I understand why you live here all alone with no friends or family, Laird Sterling."

He wanted to plead with her to stay. He wanted to make her understand. "It is nae fault o' mine, Laura," his voice was hoarse as the healing sleep started to take hold of him. "This happened long before I was born—the curse o' me clan."

The water began to boil furiously as the steam built up in the kitchen. Altair hesitated. "Can I take the pots off the boil?"

Laura stepped aside and watched him stagger to the fire pit. Heaving the heavy cauldrons off the flames using a linen cloth, the laird hauled them over to the tub and poured in the water. Then he rubbed his eyes.

"Are you hurt?" Laura wanted to know. "You act as if you are in pain."

He wanted to tell her that his wretched soul was in torment from loneliness and hopelessness, but he could not give in to the weakness. "I am a wee bit tired after all that. If-if ye dinnae mind, dearheart, I'll go lie doon."

"I will come with you," Laura declared, putting her arm around his waist and helping him to the stairs. "Just to make sure you are safe inside your bedchamber before I disrobe and bathe."

Was she cracking a joke? How was this possible? Why was she not screaming and heading down the mountainside as fast as her legs could carry her?

"Dinnae tempt me," he tried to smile, but it came out more like a wry smirk. "The thought o' having a keek would be enough to wake the dead."

"Is that what you are, Laird? A nightwalker? Those men who rise from their graves to walk amidst their brethren."

All he could do was deny her accusation. "Nay, I am alive—always, constantly alive."

Laura allowed him to guide her to his bedchamber. It was a massive round room at the top of the tower. Every window had a view of the sky. As he staggered inside with Laura propping him up, Altair noticed her look out at the shadows flickering outside.

"What—" she whispered, more to herself than to him. "What can be moving around outside such a tall tower?"

"Iolaire…"

Laird Altair collapsed onto his bed. The scald from his hand had been enough to sear off the flesh, but all he needed to heal would be a few hours' sleep.

The last image he saw was the curvaceous outline of Laura Raleigh standing at the window, watching the eagles circling in the sky outside the tower. When she moved to stand next to his bed, he felt her cool hand running through his hair as she stared down at him.