My Lady Captor. Hannah Howell

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СКАЧАТЬ nudged her niece toward the keep. “’Tis growing chill and damp. We had best go inside. Staring at those two willnae change what is to be. ’Tis all in their hands. And your own fate is all in yours.”

      “Ruari will be gone soon,” Sorcha said as she fell into step with her aunt.

      “Weel, our lads willnae reach Gartmhor until the morrow or the next day,” Neil said. “Then they must discuss the ransom, and then it must be gathered. The Kerrs will need about three days to come here. So ’twill be a week, mayhap more, ere Sir Kerr leaves. Ye dinnae have to ransom Dougal until twelve days from now. I suppose ye can continue to hide and your problem will ride away in a short while.”

      “Or?”

      “’Tis up to you, lass. True, ye think the mon can ne’er be yours and ye are probably right. What ye must ask yourself is which ye will regret the most—following your heart, taking a wee chance no matter how small it may be, or continuing to hide and never even trying to grab what ye want.”

      “Hard choices.”

      “Verra hard. But, ye will ne’er be faulted for whichever one ye decide to take.”

      “Thank ye for that comfort, Aunt. Mayhap I shall wander up to the great laird’s chamber and see how he fares. Another visit with the arrogant fool may be all I need. But first, have ye seen Effie?”

      “The child huddles in the great hall. She was banished from the kitchens this morning and refuses to understand why,” Neil replied as they entered the keep.

      Sorcha sighed, broke from her aunt’s light hold, and strode into the great hall. She had spoken to Effie at least once a day since her return to Dunweare, but the child was not interested in listening. The girl’s own mother, Eirie, had been reduced to tears just yesterday out of pure frustration and some fear for her child’s sanity. Just as so many others had, Eirie had thought her daughter would cease to speak of being a changeling once she was on the threshold of womanhood.

      She found Euphemia curled up on a bench near one of the narrow windows encircling the great hall. The girl looked so forlorn, Sorcha felt a strong tug of sympathy, but hastily shrugged it away. It was time to be firm, even scolding. There may have been too much kindness and not enough authority. Mayhap Effie had been too coddled.

      “So, here is where ye have come to sulk,” Sorcha said, sitting on the stone sill of the window.

      “I am here because I have no wish to speak to anyone,” Effie grumbled, staring down at her hand, her lower lip protruding in a childish pout.

      “What ye wish matters verra little to me just now.” Sorcha almost laughed at the shocked look the girl gave her. “’Tis far past time ye ceased feeling sorry for yourself and gave a wee bit of thought to others.”

      “And why should I think of them when they drive me away?”

      “They didnae drive ye away. ’Tis just the mean spirits ye are tugging about that they dinnae want.”

      “There are no spirits!” the girl cried, leaping to her feet, her delicate hands clenched into tight fists.

      “Sit down,” Sorcha ordered, a little surprised when the girl obeyed her. She stared into Euphemia’s big blue eyes and saw a deep fear lurking behind the childish expression of defiance. “It seems verra strange that ye can believe in fairy folk and changelings, yet not believe in spirits.”

      “I believe in your spirits.”

      “How kind. Euphemia, if there are well-behaved spirits who do little more than visit and talk, why cannae there be ill-tempered spirits who make noise, steal things, and toss things about?”

      “Weel, they can just go and trouble someone else.”

      “That would be fine indeed, but they willnae. Ye are changing from a child into a woman—”

      “I am not!”

      “Effie, ye can shout and stomp your tiny feet all ye wish to, but ’twill change nothing. Ye are soon to be a woman.”

      “This isnae supposed to happen to fairies.”

      Sorcha stared at her young cousin for a moment as she began to understand Euphemia’s delusions. “I suspect fairies have some similar affliction. After all, there must be new fairies from time to time, or they would disappear.” She moved to sit next to Euphemia and took the girl’s hand in hers. “Euphemia, becoming a woman may not be nice, may even be a wee bit frightening, but denying it willnae stop it. All ye are accomplishing at the moment is to make those troublesome spirits louder and stronger than they might be.”

      “Why do they have to be here at all?” She cursed when the shield over the fireplace crashed to the rush-strewn floor again. “Go away,” she yelled.

      “If ye would cease to fight the truth, ye would hear less of that. The more upset and angry ye are, the more upset and angry they are. ’Tis as if they are bred of your emotions, and the stronger your feeling, the stronger they are.”

      “Ye mean that if I am quiet and peaceful they will go away?”

      “They willnae leave completely, but they will grow less bothersome. When ye are finally a woman, they will fade away. Ye must accept that as all the Hay women before ye have. God decided lasses must become women in this way, and ye cannae change His plan. I dinnae ken who or what decided we must do so with these spirits about to add to our misery, but that cannae be changed either. Mayhap someday a woman of the Hay clan will stumble upon the secret of banishing them, but until then they must be accepted.”

      “It seems to me the Hay women must shoulder a great many burdens.” She scowled at her feet for a moment then glanced sideways at Sorcha. “Do ye think that, when I do become a woman, I shall gain a special gift as ye did?”

      “Aye, ye may. Many a Hay woman has. Ye have drawn these troublesome spirits so swiftly and so strongly it would seem likely. Now, child, my mother’s mother did brew a potion that will help ye stay calm—”

      “I dinnae want to take a potion.”

      “I didnae say ye had to. I but mention that there is one. Ye may weel find yourself so weary of these spirits ye crave a moment’s peace. The potion will give ye one. I just wished ye to ken that ’tis there.” She stood up, kissed Euphemia on the cheek, and then smoothed down her skirts. “Now I must go and see how our prisoner Sir Ruari is.”

      “Sorcha, will ye tell the mon how sorry I am I acted so foolishly when I went to his room?”

      “Aye, I will, but I shouldnae worry much on how he thinks of you. I am certain the mon believes it was just some odd whim of a woman-child and has ceased to consider it.” She winked at Euphemia and was pleased to see the girl smile briefly.

      As Sorcha climbed the stairs to Ruari’s chamber, she felt her steps grow weighted with her nervous reluctance to see him. Not seeing him solved nothing, however. She continued to think about him. She blushed to think of the times she had caught herself staring at nothing as she recalled the kisses they had shared. No amount of work banished those heated memories. Neil was right. Hiding from the man served no purpose at all. Sorcha opened the door to his room and heartily wished she could find the solution to her inner turmoil before she did something she would regret.

      Ruari СКАЧАТЬ