Dreamer (Highland Treasure Trilogy) by May McGoldrick, Nicole Cody, Jan Coffey, Nikoo McGoldrick, James McGoldrick Page B
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Rothes when Makyn was just a lass. They were
building the church in the village, and the earl come up to see the doings.
That’s when Makyn asked him.”
“Asked him what?”
“She wanted to be a nun, the brazen
thing. So the laird gave her a bag of gold to get a good place at the cathedral
at Elgin, and she went off without so much as a ‘by yer leave’ to her own
father.”
“That’s it?”
“Aye, that’s it.”
“Then what of all the talk?”
“‘Twas all wickedness and lies, I
tell ye.” Wink glared at the earl. “They were all jealous that the laird would
be so good to her and not to them.”
“So there was no bairn.”
“Nay, m’lord. There was no bairn.”
“And your daughter went to Elgin.”
“Aye, m’lord.”
Athol’s look of barely concealed
skepticism was met with a look of anger from the old man.
“She’s still there, for all I know.
I told the other the same thing. Go and look for yerself!”
Athol stared at the man for a
moment. “What other?” he asked quietly. “Has another been here before me?”
The aged miller looked away
quickly. Clearly, his tongue had revealed more than he’d intended.
“Who has been here, miller?”
Wink hesitated a moment, mumbling
to himself before turning and looking the earl directly in the eye.
“Adam, m’lord! Adam of the Glen!
Why, the lad asked near the same questions that ye’re asking now. I’m telling
ye, the lad’s keen to know the name of any mistress the laird might’ve had. But I sent him on his way, m’lord, that I did. Yer father kept no lasses here!”
CHAPTER 5
So why did he marry her ?
Catherine wondered. He could have had Susan and made everyone happy!
She frowned at the slender
shoulders and tight braids curled beneath the starched cap of the young woman
walking half a step before her. These were the same corridors that Catherine
had traveled earlier, and the deepening of the gloom into night did nothing to
improve their character. The only architectural relief was a narrow ledge that
ran along the wall, beneath the occasional slit windows that looked down on
roof of the kitchens and the courtyard. Jean walked just ahead of the other
two, carrying a flickering taper and occasionally glancing back inquisitively
from one woman to the other.
Well, Catherine thought, it was no
wonder that--even after knowing that she was not Ellen Crawford--Susan
MacIntyre had had little to offer her but the most indifferent whisper of
greeting.
Catherine furtively studied the
other woman again. It was interesting to see how, in appearances anyway, she
and Susan were so similar. Though Susan appeared to be a few years younger,
they were both of medium height, with black hair and fair complexions. Susan
had a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, but her tightly pursed mouth and
downcast eyes allowed no hint of humor to break the somber look of her. Even
her dress, black and plain, was modest to the point of primness, its neckline
high with a collar of linen to hide any glimpse of skin. She appeared to have
a taste for a fashion that made her look much older. Of course, Catherine knew
she was somewhat partial to that style herself. She’d been taught early on that
it was much better to have people remember you by your wit rather than the
fanciness of your dress.
Lady Anne Stewart’s chamber lay in the
southwest corner of the castle. As they passed into the wider corridor,
Catherine’s eyes took in the fine tapestries hanging on the whitewashed, plastered
walls. This section was clearly finer than the wing where Catherine had been
placed, but even if it were her nature to complain, she was not about to. No
doubt John Stewart’s chambers were nearby, and she was grateful for the
distance.
From the few words she’d been able
to drag out of Susan, the earl’s mother had become bedridden for the first time
in her life, early in the summer, after a cough began to weaken her. But as the weeks had passed, the castle
building the church in the village, and the earl come up to see the doings.
That’s when Makyn asked him.”
“Asked him what?”
“She wanted to be a nun, the brazen
thing. So the laird gave her a bag of gold to get a good place at the cathedral
at Elgin, and she went off without so much as a ‘by yer leave’ to her own
father.”
“That’s it?”
“Aye, that’s it.”
“Then what of all the talk?”
“‘Twas all wickedness and lies, I
tell ye.” Wink glared at the earl. “They were all jealous that the laird would
be so good to her and not to them.”
“So there was no bairn.”
“Nay, m’lord. There was no bairn.”
“And your daughter went to Elgin.”
“Aye, m’lord.”
Athol’s look of barely concealed
skepticism was met with a look of anger from the old man.
“She’s still there, for all I know.
I told the other the same thing. Go and look for yerself!”
Athol stared at the man for a
moment. “What other?” he asked quietly. “Has another been here before me?”
The aged miller looked away
quickly. Clearly, his tongue had revealed more than he’d intended.
“Who has been here, miller?”
Wink hesitated a moment, mumbling
to himself before turning and looking the earl directly in the eye.
“Adam, m’lord! Adam of the Glen!
Why, the lad asked near the same questions that ye’re asking now. I’m telling
ye, the lad’s keen to know the name of any mistress the laird might’ve had. But I sent him on his way, m’lord, that I did. Yer father kept no lasses here!”
CHAPTER 5
So why did he marry her ?
Catherine wondered. He could have had Susan and made everyone happy!
She frowned at the slender
shoulders and tight braids curled beneath the starched cap of the young woman
walking half a step before her. These were the same corridors that Catherine
had traveled earlier, and the deepening of the gloom into night did nothing to
improve their character. The only architectural relief was a narrow ledge that
ran along the wall, beneath the occasional slit windows that looked down on
roof of the kitchens and the courtyard. Jean walked just ahead of the other
two, carrying a flickering taper and occasionally glancing back inquisitively
from one woman to the other.
Well, Catherine thought, it was no
wonder that--even after knowing that she was not Ellen Crawford--Susan
MacIntyre had had little to offer her but the most indifferent whisper of
greeting.
Catherine furtively studied the
other woman again. It was interesting to see how, in appearances anyway, she
and Susan were so similar. Though Susan appeared to be a few years younger,
they were both of medium height, with black hair and fair complexions. Susan
had a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, but her tightly pursed mouth and
downcast eyes allowed no hint of humor to break the somber look of her. Even
her dress, black and plain, was modest to the point of primness, its neckline
high with a collar of linen to hide any glimpse of skin. She appeared to have
a taste for a fashion that made her look much older. Of course, Catherine knew
she was somewhat partial to that style herself. She’d been taught early on that
it was much better to have people remember you by your wit rather than the
fanciness of your dress.
Lady Anne Stewart’s chamber lay in the
southwest corner of the castle. As they passed into the wider corridor,
Catherine’s eyes took in the fine tapestries hanging on the whitewashed, plastered
walls. This section was clearly finer than the wing where Catherine had been
placed, but even if it were her nature to complain, she was not about to. No
doubt John Stewart’s chambers were nearby, and she was grateful for the
distance.
From the few words she’d been able
to drag out of Susan, the earl’s mother had become bedridden for the first time
in her life, early in the summer, after a cough began to weaken her. But as the weeks had passed, the castle
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