My Lady Captor. Hannah HowellЧитать онлайн книгу.
“And what do ye suggest I do? Pin my heart to my sleeve and wave it about as a banner heralding my stupidity?”
Neil laughed, then quickly sobered when Sorcha glared at her. “Nay, lass. And just because your heart goes in a direction ye dinnae wish it to, doesnae mean ye are witless. When I was a young lass, I suffered from a fever of the heart.”
“Truly?” Sorcha immediately regretted her blatant surprise, afraid it would hurt Neil’s feelings.
“Aye, truly. I ken I seem a hard woman, but as I said, I was young.”
“Ye are but three-and-twenty now. ’Tisnae old.”
“I was but sixteen when I lost my heart. The mon was no good, but I refused to see that. Weel, my heart did. My head kept telling me to be careful, but I was too fevered to heed that good advice. Didnae heed anyone else’s good advice either. He was tall, strong, and handsome. I thought I had ne’er seen a bonnier face.”
“I suppose Ruari Kerr does have a bonnie face,” Sorcha murmured.
“Oh, aye, ’tis pleasant enough”—Neil exchanged a quick grin with Sorcha—“To make a long, dreary tale short, I loved that rogue with all the blind heat a young lass can muster. My own good sense and the warnings everyone gave me proved to be true. He didnae abide with me long. We were handfasted, but that was just so he could share my bed without one of our kinsmen threatening his life. The mon didnae e’en stay the year and the day. A few months and he disappeared into the mists, ne’er to be seen again.”
“How is it that I ne’er learned of all this?”
“I was living with my sister Fenella in Stirling. Once I realized the fool wasnae returning, I came back here. ’Tisnae spoken of because no one wished to open old wounds. Now that I have spoken of it, I realize those wounds are healed now.”
“I am sorry, Neil.”
“Nay, no need to be sorry for me. I was sorely hurt, but once the pain eased, I realized I had no deep regrets. I had myself a fine time while that rogue was with me. Aye, I would cleave the maggot’s head in twain if I e’er saw him again, but I am now able to recall all that was good, and those are some verra sweet memories.”
“I am not sure I understand what ye are telling me,” Sorcha shivered and wrapped her arms around herself in a vain attempt to protect herself from the chill air.
“What I am trying to tell ye is that ye should do as ye please.” She draped her arm around Sorcha’s shoulders and 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