Master of the Highlands
” Lily began to stroke his head, and the boy closed his eyes. Her voice faltered as she realized she didn ’t know if her sudden emotion was because she missed home or because she was finally there.
She couldn ’t remember all of the words to the lullaby she sang, and repeated the same verse a few times, even after it had become clear that John had drifted off. Lily watched as the boy’s face became slack, mouth parted in the deep sleep of a child, and she wondered at the will of the universe to send her here. And was struck that, for the first time in a long while, she felt a real connection.
She just didn’t know if she was supposed to embrace it, or simply learn from it and walk away.
Ewen was almost through the doorway when he heard the sound of her voice. Kat had told the laird that Lily and John spent most of the evening searching for him, so he came looking for them in John ’s room to see what the matter was. But now Ewen pulled back into the shadows, listening to Lily. Her singing was strong and, although not perfect, sweet to his ears, her voice hesitating with an emotion that she was clearly trying to stifle. He wondered for a moment if anything had happened—perhaps her feelings had something to do with why they had been searching for him so frantically.
But the bedtime scene he spied on was a peaceful one. Maternal even.
The laird had held his own mother dear to his heart. For the little while he ’d known her, his mother’s love had guided him, buttressed him as the small keystone supports the whole. John did not have such a mother. All John did have was Ewen.
His throat clutched with grief. He didn’t pay much mind to his son, above and beyond the required tutelage and guidance. Seeing John solely as heir and successor had been a way for Ewen to distance himself from his former wife. Seeing him as a son had long been too painful a reminder of the mother.
Ewen ’s heart broke to realize that he had pushed away his own child. His child whom he loved more preciously than his own life.
When Lily began with John, the boy had responded like a plant to sunlight. Subtle changes unseen to others glared obvious to Ewen. He hadn’t realized that the boy fought insecurities until he saw the lad bloom with a newfound self- assurance. His demeanor, even his stride had been different in the past days. And, curse him if John didn’t remind Ewen of himself when he was a lad. The boy had boundless energy with curiosity that burned like a hot coal. It was not uncommon for the laird to discipline his son only to turn around, privately thrilled by the boy ’s cleverness and spirit.
He resolved to be more than just an instructor to his son. He would truly be a father.
Ewen leaned his head and shoulders against the door and listened, mesmerized by the sound of Lily’s voice.
Chapter 20
Picking her way along the path, Lily fingered the carrots tucked in the pocket of her skirt and wondered if Morag had dropped her foal in the night. She had pilfered the treat for her new favorite horse when cook’s back was turned. Lily wondered if she would soon notice how her carrot supply was slowly diminishing. She hoped not. Not only did the stunning brown and black mare have a penchant for them, but the cook seemed a surly sort and Lily didn’t want to see what would happen if she crossed her. In fact, Lily was so cowed by the woman that she hadn’t even had the nerve to introduce herself yet—she just continued to refer to her as “cook. ” She was just as Lily would imagine a castle cook to be: as thick as her cast-iron soup pot, with doughy jowls and a permanent scowl that made her seem as if she had always just come from cutting a bushel of onions.
She’d just have to trust that her luck would hold, and maybe see if cook had a supply of apples lying about as well. Morag would definitely love an apple. Lily snapped the tip off one of the carrots and started to munch, thinking she probably shouldn ’t hold her breath on the whole fruit thing. Though always a fan of meat and starch, Lily thought if she had to face yet another meaty stew, slab of meat, or meat pie, she ’d cry. Granted, she realized what a luxury it was to be so well fed, and she appreciated all Ewen had done for her, but she longed for some good, fresh produce. A salad, some melon, maybe a little sparkling water to go with them. She sighed. She had thought to find the horse some apples when, at this point, a sweet and juicy hunk of fruit felt like nothing short of the Holy Grail. Lily discovered the stables in her second month at Tor
Castle and had come back almost every morning since. It was unlike her to rise at dawn—back home she didn’t become human until she choked down at least two cups of coffee. But she found the chill Highland mornings invigorating, their serenity bolstering her more than any caffeine. While the rest of the household buzzed with the day’s preparations, the stables at dawn were a haven of calm. Animals chuffed peacefully in their stalls, dust motes hung lazily in the air, and sunlight shone through the slats of the ancient barn, cutting dramatic angles on the hay-strewn floor.
Surprisingly, it had been Ewen who had encouraged her to explore the stables. He had blurted out one evening that she should see the pregnant mare, and Lily couldn ’t resist the offer. Besides, she didn’t want to risk offending the laird just in case what she understood to be a suggestion was actually some kind of order. He could be impossible to read sometimes.
She had been nervous on her first visit but was made to feel immediately at home by Lennox, the effusively kind—if somewhat dim—stable hand. He was a short man of indeterminate years, his age blurred by a lifetime of whisky and a hard life outdoors. As far as Lily could tell, he could be anywhere between thirty and fifty years old. His hair was light, and again Lily couldn ’t tell if the color was a product of sunshine or age. But Lennox’s most telling features were the deep creases etched at the corners of his eyes by the permanent grin affixed to his face.
He wasted no time introducing her to Ewen ’s prized bay mare, thick with her first foal. Lennox cooed and chatted to Morag as if she were his truest confidante and continually doted on her with tiny gestures—brushing her forelock out of her eyes, shooing flies, discussing the braw foal that she ’d drop any day, and otherwise encouraging her in an exaggeratedly slow turn around the paddock.
Lennox’s love for the animal immediately endeared him to Lily. His affection was so sincere and without guile, she found him an easy person to trust. Since then Lily felt free to come and go as she wished. She could wander through the stables in near silence and murmur to the animals—scratching behind ears and stroking velvety muzzles—and in turn was greeted only by Lennox’s ready grin and the occasional whinny.
Like many girls, Lily had taken riding lessons when she was young, and visiting the stables had been a balm to her soul. There was something about stables that she found reassuring. The rhythm of the day was the same wherever—or whenever—you went: horses up to be fed and watered at dawn, exercised in the late morning, tack cleaned in the early afternoon, horses fed and watered again in the late afternoon. Never an exception nor alteration in schedule. Some people found barns unpleasant, perceiving only manure and dampness. Lily, though, loved the rich animal scents that greeted her whenever she entered; they were so distinct and universal—a mingling of horses, hay, and leather that brought her back to her childhood with an immediacy that only the sense of smell could do.
She was in a particularly expansive mood that morning despite the gray thunderheads that made it seem more like 7 p.m. than 7 a.m. It was going to storm; she could smell the moisture thick in the air. Lily smiled to herself and thought she was becoming a true Highlander to find the bleak sky overhead so exhilarating.
“Morning, Lenny! ”
She had used the nickname playfully one morning and Lennox seemed so thrilled by her familiarity that she decided to keep it.
“Mornin ’, mum. ” The stable hand pulled his threadbare bonnet off his head and clutched it to his chest.
Lily looked round in confusion at the barn full of empty stalls.
“No horses here today, mum, except for our Morag. All ’s gone down to the picnic, left at sunrise to make a day of it. ”
“What do you mean, picnic? Don ’t be ridiculous, it’s about to storm. ”
Lennox looked crestfallen, as if somehow he were at fault.
“No, not that you’re ridiculous, Lenny. I mean…who’s idea was it to go out on a day like this?”
“Mistress Rowena, mum. She ’s with young master John, and her sister, and some of the crofter’s wives too, mum.
But it’s Mistress Rowena that’s who’s leading the party.
Yestreen she came down here and said as she wanted enough horses for a small group of folk and they were going to meet up with the laird’s hunting party that’s gone out the day before stalking deer. The laird, he spotted a fine roe buck, near the Witch ’s Pool, aye?”
“Witch’s Pool?”
“Aye, long ago the Camerons they chased a witch over the edge of the falls after she put a curse on their cattle. ”
This information was met by a blank stare from Lily. “What does that have to do with the picnic?”
“You ken the Caig River?”
“John has told me about it, ” she said impatiently, “but I haven ’t been up that way yet. ”
“Aye, well, the river can get angry, especially when the rain’s been heavy like in the past fortnight. ”
Lily supposed the weather had been gloomy in the last couple of weeks. The path down to the stables had been particularly mucky in the mornings. She had become so accustomed to the bleak Highland weather, though, she hadn’t really given it much thought.
She exclaimed, “And that’s where she took John?” Lily couldn’t imagine trekking near river rapids in such threatening weather. “What is Rowena thinking?”
Lennox hunched his shoulders as if bracing against a blow. She quickly amended, “No, don ’t worry, maybe I ’ve just misunderstood. Please do continue, Lenny. ”
“T’ weren’t easy to get her as the witch she had changed herself into a cat, but the Cameron laird wasn’t fooled. They chased her over the falls. ’Tis why they call it the Witch’s Pool. ”