“Clean and shine them again!” he complained. “I’ve only just done it, then!” But he took them nevertheless and turned around, walking into the room he shared with Alan. “Will he compete in the games?” he asked over his shoulder. When he received no response, he turned to look…but Mared had already slipped away.
She returned to her tower chamber. Una had long since disappeared—undoubtedly in the company of the smiling footman. But in the afternoon, when the games began, Mared could not endure the stuffy old chamber, and with her arisaidh covering her head, she walked outside into the crowd of visiting servants and villagers and some highborn guests. She moved about, keeping her head down, her face obscured by her arisaidh, admiring the crafts of the artisans who had come from the village, watching with other enthusiastic onlookers the hammer and rock throw that pitted two enormous men against one another.
The Douglases of Castle Leven had left no detail undone—the ale flowed freely all afternoon, and the longer the games went on, the more unruly the crowd became and the louder they cheered their favorite competitor.
She was relieved that she did not see Jamie, but the boisterous behavior made her nervous, for one never knew what an ale-soaked Douglas crowd might find offensive. Or amusing. So Mared had slipped away, into the forest, content to walk alone.
Diah, but she missed her long walks around Talla Dileas and Loch Chon! And as it was a glorious autumn day, she determined there was no time like the present to avail herself of the beauty surrounding Loch Leven.
It was a blissful, peaceful walk, and she had gone on for two hours, she guessed, judging by the movement of the sun. When it seemed that the sun was beginning to sink behind the trees, Mared made her way back to the castle. But as she neared the property, she was a bit disoriented. She could not see the castle for the trees and wasn’t certain which of the two paths before her led back to the castle and the old stable block and which led to the new stables and washhouse.
She picked the path to the right and strolled on, admiring the flora. When she heard the laughter of men, she was certain she had reached the castle grounds and walked out of the forest…and arrived at the west end of the new stables.
“Mary Queen of Scots,” she muttered beneath her breath. At least she knew where she was. As she rounded the stables, she saw the source of the laughter, and her heart dropped to her toes. She instantly backed away, but it was too late, for Jamie McGrudy had seen her.
He and three men were on their haunches, rolling dice on the dirt next to the stables. The moment he saw her, he instantly rose up, glaring at her.
One of his friends turned to look, and he came to his feet, too, with a surly smile on his lips. “Ho there, co tha seo?”
“I’ll tell ye who it is, lad—none other than the witch of Loch Chon, the accursed Miss Lockhart.”
“Accursed?”
“Aye,” Jamie said, walking out of their circle toward Mared. “’Tis said that she has the eye of a’ diabhal.”
He would not, apparently, ever announce her curse correctly, Mared thought and took an uneasy step backward. Correct or not, what he’d said had caused a ripple of exclamation to rise up from his companions, and the remaining two came to their feet, one of them looking at her curiously, the other looking at her with fear.
“Donna be foolish, Jamie,” she said, the lightness in her voice belying the terror she felt. “I told ye—’tis an old wives’ tale.”
“Is it?” he drawled, casually moving toward her. “Then why have yer own blood forsaken ye and given ye over as whore to the laird of Eilean Ros?”
“A whore, is she?” One of the men asked, so drunk he could scarcely stand on his own two feet.
“Aye, a bloody whore,” Jamie said, and his brown gaze went terribly dark as it hungrily swept her body.
Mared’s terror was quickly turning into a choking panic. She was an inexperienced woman in some respects, but she instinctively understood the look in his eye, understood all too well his intent.
“What do ye think of it, lads? Shall I kiss a’ diabhal, then?”
Frantic, Mared thought of what to do and glanced over her shoulder.
“Ach, ye donna think to run from us, do ye lass?” Jamie asked with a cold chuckle. “I’d fetch ye back in a moment, I would, and I’d no’ be pleased.”
One of the men laughed. “Let her run, Jamie! I’ll wager ye canna catch her, but if ye do, I’ll pay ye a bloody crown, I will.”
Mared took several steps backward; her plaid slipped off her head.
“Oh, she’s bonny, lad,” one of the men said. “If a’ diabhal doesna take ye, perhaps I’ll have a go.”
The men laughed, and Mared’s heart climbed to her throat. In her panic, she turned to run, twisting about so quickly that she tripped, but she quickly regained her footing and ran as fast as she might.