deafening roar a great gust of wind came rushing down the chimney, swirling soot and ash in its path. Seeing it rolling over the room in a huge black wave, Andrew fell to the floor and waited for it to pass overhead.
Gwenellen wasn’t as fortunate. Still standing, arms extended, she was battered and buffeted by the wave. By the time it passed, she was bent double, coughing and retching.
Andrew tossed aside the firewood and rushed to her side. He caught her by the arms and helped her to her feet. “My lady. Speak to me. Are you harmed?”
When she lifted her face, she could hardly speak over the dust in her throat.
Andrew struggled not to laugh at the sight of her. Her face and arms, her hair, her gown, were all coated with soot and ash. The only thing left to see were the whites of her eyes. And those were flashing in outrage and growing temper.
“I’m unharmed. Leave me.”
Instead of doing as she asked he walked to the night table and filled the basin with water. Moistening a linen square he turned and began to wipe the soot from her face.
“I can do that for myself.” Humiliation stung her cheeks and roughened her tone as she snatched the cloth from his hand.
He watched as she scrubbed her face with more force than necessary.
All the while he peered at her closely. “You were attempting to light a fire on the hearth with one of your spells?”
She held her silence.
Taking pity on her he relented. “Perhaps I misjudged you, my lady. It would appear that you do fancy yourself a witch.”
“Fancy myself? I’m not a witch. I’m a fool.” She turned away, unable to bear his studied looks and forced kindness. “If either of my sisters had attempted that spell, these chambers would be warm and cozy. Instead…” She looked around, horrified at the soot and ash that covered the floor, the pallet, the walls. “Instead, I’ve ruined everything the village women worked so hard to achieve this day.”
He touched a hand to her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter, my lady.”
“But it does.” She pulled free of his touch and forced herself to meet his eyes. “Don’t you see? I can’t do any of the things the rest of my family can do with ease. And the one thing I can do is of no importance to anyone, because nobody would ever believe that I can actually speak with the dead.”
“Is it so important that others believe?”
She clutched the linen square in her fist. “How can I convey the messages from the other side if no one believes in the messenger?”
He thought about that before nodding. “I suppose that would be a problem. Very well.” He bent and picked up the logs, then turned toward the doorway. “You will tell me again what my father said.”
Her head came up sharply. “You’ll listen?”
“Aye. But first I must find you another chamber, and something to wear until your clothes have been cleaned.”
Confused, Gwenellen danced along behind him, struggling to keep up with his hurried footsteps. “You mean I’m welcome to stay the night? You’re not just tolerating me out of a sense of duty?”
He bit back the grin that was curling the corners of his mouth. If she knew how she looked, her hair and face and garments blackened with soot, she’d be even more embarrassed than she was by her failed spell.
He led her down the hallway toward the chambers beside his, consoling himself that it was only for a few more hours. How much could go wrong in a single night?
“Here you are, my lady.” He dropped several logs on the fire in the sitting parlor, then carried the rest to the sleeping chambers beyond.
Gwenellen looked around and realized that this suite of rooms was even more elegant than the first. The chaise positioned in front of the fireplace had been draped with furs for comfort. On a side table was a decanter of ale and several goblets. Judging by the freshly-washed garments hanging on pegs along one wall, this had once belonged to the old laird’s wife, the mistress of Ross
Gwenellen wasn’t as fortunate. Still standing, arms extended, she was battered and buffeted by the wave. By the time it passed, she was bent double, coughing and retching.
Andrew tossed aside the firewood and rushed to her side. He caught her by the arms and helped her to her feet. “My lady. Speak to me. Are you harmed?”
When she lifted her face, she could hardly speak over the dust in her throat.
Andrew struggled not to laugh at the sight of her. Her face and arms, her hair, her gown, were all coated with soot and ash. The only thing left to see were the whites of her eyes. And those were flashing in outrage and growing temper.
“I’m unharmed. Leave me.”
Instead of doing as she asked he walked to the night table and filled the basin with water. Moistening a linen square he turned and began to wipe the soot from her face.
“I can do that for myself.” Humiliation stung her cheeks and roughened her tone as she snatched the cloth from his hand.
He watched as she scrubbed her face with more force than necessary.
All the while he peered at her closely. “You were attempting to light a fire on the hearth with one of your spells?”
She held her silence.
Taking pity on her he relented. “Perhaps I misjudged you, my lady. It would appear that you do fancy yourself a witch.”
“Fancy myself? I’m not a witch. I’m a fool.” She turned away, unable to bear his studied looks and forced kindness. “If either of my sisters had attempted that spell, these chambers would be warm and cozy. Instead…” She looked around, horrified at the soot and ash that covered the floor, the pallet, the walls. “Instead, I’ve ruined everything the village women worked so hard to achieve this day.”
He touched a hand to her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter, my lady.”
“But it does.” She pulled free of his touch and forced herself to meet his eyes. “Don’t you see? I can’t do any of the things the rest of my family can do with ease. And the one thing I can do is of no importance to anyone, because nobody would ever believe that I can actually speak with the dead.”
“Is it so important that others believe?”
She clutched the linen square in her fist. “How can I convey the messages from the other side if no one believes in the messenger?”
He thought about that before nodding. “I suppose that would be a problem. Very well.” He bent and picked up the logs, then turned toward the doorway. “You will tell me again what my father said.”
Her head came up sharply. “You’ll listen?”
“Aye. But first I must find you another chamber, and something to wear until your clothes have been cleaned.”
Confused, Gwenellen danced along behind him, struggling to keep up with his hurried footsteps. “You mean I’m welcome to stay the night? You’re not just tolerating me out of a sense of duty?”
He bit back the grin that was curling the corners of his mouth. If she knew how she looked, her hair and face and garments blackened with soot, she’d be even more embarrassed than she was by her failed spell.
He led her down the hallway toward the chambers beside his, consoling himself that it was only for a few more hours. How much could go wrong in a single night?
“Here you are, my lady.” He dropped several logs on the fire in the sitting parlor, then carried the rest to the sleeping chambers beyond.
Gwenellen looked around and realized that this suite of rooms was even more elegant than the first. The chaise positioned in front of the fireplace had been draped with furs for comfort. On a side table was a decanter of ale and several goblets. Judging by the freshly-washed garments hanging on pegs along one wall, this had once belonged to the old laird’s wife, the mistress of Ross
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