The Highlander's Touch

Page 49

“Have ye found what yer searching for?” he asked.
“I wasn’t searching for anything,” Lisa lied hastily. “I was merely admiring the room and wondering what treasures this chest might hold. I can’t help myself, I’m a curious girl,” she added breezily.
“Me mam used to tell me curiosity was one of the eight deadly sins.”
“There are only seven sins,” Lisa said defensively, “and curiosity can be a good thing. It encourages one to learn.”
“Me, I’ve ne’er wanted to learn much of anything,” Eirren said with a shrug. “Doin’ is much more fun than learnin’.”
“Spoken like a true male,” Lisa said dryly. “You are in dire need of a mam. Speaking of which, you and I have a date with warm water and soap later this afternoon.”
Eirren laughed and tossed himself into the chair. His thin legs protruded from beneath his dirty plaid and he dangled them over the side, bare feet swinging. “It’s not a bad castle, is it, lassie? Have ye seen the buttery? The laird stocks a fine larder and hosts a grander feast—that is, when he’s not planning wars and battling. There havna been many feasts in this castle for years now. Sad,” he added dejectedly. “A lad could starve for want of spiced plums and sugared hams.”
Lisa had a feeling that Eirren didn’t want for much of anything his clever little mind could deduce a method to obtain. “How did you get to Castle Brodie, Eirren? I don’t recall seeing you with the men when we were riding from Dunnottar.”
“Me and me da dinna leave till later that night. We doona travel with the troops. Me da is of the serving folk; it doesna sit well to mix with warriors.”
“Who is your da?” she asked.
“No one ye would ken,” he replied, leaping from the chair. “I hear the laird told his men ye were cousin to the Bruce,” Eirren said, changing the subject swiftly. “Is that the way of things?”
“No,” Lisa said, wondering why she trusted him enough to share confidences. Possibly because she had no one else to trust, and if she couldn’t trust a child, whom could she trust? “I told you I’m not from this time.”
“Did the fae folk muck about wi’ ye?”
“What?” Lisa asked blankly.
“The fairies—you ken we have ‘em in Scotland. Oft they are wily little folk, mussing about with time and whatnot better left alone.”
“Actually, it was the laird himself who’s responsible for my being here. He cursed something and it brought me to him when I touched it.”
Eirren shook his head disparagingly. “That man has ne’er cursed a thing well. Ye’d think he’d stop trying.”
“He’s cursed things before?” Lisa asked.
Eirren shook his head. “Doona be asking me, lassie. Ask him these questions. I only ken the few things I hear, and it’s not always the truth of the matter. I hear tell yer handfasted to the laird.”
“I’m not really. What does that mean anyway?”
“Means yer as good as wed, and if within a year an’ a day yer carrying his bairn, ‘tis a weddin’ without a weddin’ being needed. Are ye carryin’ his bairn?”
“No!” Lisa was certain she looked as appalled as she felt. Then she briefly considered what a child of his would be like, and how she would have to go about getting one. She drop-kicked the intriguing thought from her mind.
Eirren smiled gamely. “Ye can forgive curiosity, canna ye? Yer guilty of it as well. Would ye like to explore? I can give ye a wee tour before me da is needing me.”
“Thank you, Eirren, but I’m happy here.” She had to get back to her search and needed privacy to do it. “I thought I’d look through some of these manuscripts and pass the rainy afternoon in the … er … study.” What did one call a room like this? It was a medieval version of a modern den. A circular piece of wood served as a desk, for lack of a better word. It looked as if it had been hewn from a massive tree trunk and was nearly five feet in diameter. Centered before the hearth, it had smoothly rounded drawers that had surely been a woodcarver’s nightmare to create.
On either side of the hearth were recessed bookcases in which manuscripts bound in leather and rolled scrolls were neatly arranged on the shelves. Carved chairs with pillowed arms and cushions—someone in the keep was a clever seamstress—were strewn in cozy arrangements. Colorful tapestries adorned the walls, and the floor was dotted with woven rugs. It was obviously the room where Circenn tallied accounts, went through correspondence, and drew up maps and battle plans. The east wall was lined with tall windows, paned with a greenish glazed glass through which the green lawn was visible. Circenn Brodie was wealthy, that was a certainty, for in some of the rooms in the castle she’d seen clear windows.