The Virgin Spring

A healer.

She was a healer.

That much she remembered. But where was her horse, and where had she been going when Gilchrist found her, half-clothed and unconscious? On the walk to the cottage, Peg had recounted the tale of the virgin’s spring. Rachel shuddered.

What if Arlys was right?

Chapter Four

Arlys was wrong.

Gilchrist felt the truth of it in a way he couldn’t explain. He sat atop the newly constructed battlement of Monadhliath Castle and gazed down into the bailey at Rachel and Alex.

She blushed as Alex unexpectedly took her arm and guided her through the maze of hewn stone and sweating workmen. Gilchrist’s stomach tightened.

“Let it go,” Hugh said. “Ye’ve other matters to attend to.”

“What d’ye mean?”

“The Englishwoman. Rachel.”

He snapped to attention and leveled his gaze at Hugh. “What about her?”

Hugh smirked and raised both tawny brows.

“Well, what about her?” He was losing patience. Hugh had been acting strangely the past day, ever since he’d returned from the spring with the woman.

“It’s just that…” Hugh paused and nodded below into the bailey. “At first I didna like it, ye being so smitten with her and all. But then—”

“What?” He leapt to his feet. “I’m no smitten. What are ye think—”

“Och, man, ’tis plain as the nose on yer face.” Hugh pointed a finger at his chest. “But she’s English. Ye must no forget that.”

“Are ye daft? I told ye, I’m no—”

“’Tis a miracle, really,” Hugh said, “the way she’s rallied yer spirit.” He nodded appreciatively in Rachel’s direction.

“But—”

“Just dinna think on her too seriously. Ye’ve other—”

Gilchrist reached out and gripped Hugh’s shoulder, stopping him in midsentence. “That’s enough.”

Hugh’s eyes widened. “I…excuse me, Laird.” He quickly lowered his gaze and Gilchrist released him.

“Ye’ve been my friend long years, Hugh, but dinna think to tell me my business.”

He fisted his hands at his sides. Hugh nodded once in compliance, then strode to the steps leading below. Gilchrist almost called him back, then changed his mind, swearing silently under his breath.

He turned toward the battlement and peered over the edge, looking for Rachel. Ah, there she was, inspecting the masonry of the steps leading to the keep.

Peg had loaned her a gown. ’Twas no much—a thin garment of pale-green wool. He noticed how it gently skimmed her body and pulled slightly at her breasts and hips as she moved. She wore her dark hair loose—a midnight tumble of silk that reached nearly to her waist.

All at once, he recalled her scent and the feel of her in his arms as they rode astride his mount. He pushed the thoughts from his mind, but continued to watch her.

The workers paid her no mind and the few women in the bailey turned from her and pulled their children away when Alex led her toward them. No one would speak to her, save Peg and Alex. It had been like that since she’d arrived.

Rachel tipped her chin high and fisted her hands at her sides, not breaking her stride. Her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink, but she did not avert her eyes from the small knot of clan folk who whispered as she walked past, nor did she respond to the occasional insult tossed in her direction.

Gilchrist knew the feeling well.

“Brave lass,” he whispered, and absently flexed the muscles in his burned arm.

He watched her. Every move.

She could feel Gilchrist’s eyes upon her as Alex led her down the path and away from the castle. Gilchrist had not come near her since he’d sent her away with Peg, and yet everywhere she looked he was there, watching her from a distance.

On impulse she looked back. There he was, leaning against the battlement, his gaze fixed on her. A small thrill coursed through her. He fascinated her—there was no other word for it. He looked almost made of stone, himself—a citadel within the citadel, alone by design.

“Did ye no hear me?” Alex said.

Rachel shook off the strange emotion and turned her attention back to Alex. “I—I’m sorry, what did you say?”

The warrior smiled, his dark eyes studying her face. “I said, can ye no remember anything more?”

Alex had prodded her with the same questions, over and over, for the last hour. “Nay, I’ve told you,” she said, trying to conceal her irritation. “I remember naught before I awoke in the cave. Neither name, nor family, nor what led me to the spring.”

She met his inquisitive gaze and pursed her lips. Alex’s rigid posture relaxed and a warm smile broke across his face. Finally, he believed her.

“Well, ’tis a shame, but dinna worry. We shall take care of you.” Alex took her hand in his and gently moved his thumb over her palm.

She resisted the urge to pull away. Her pulse quickened as she met his gaze. He’d been overfriendly and protective of her all morning. She supposed she should be grateful, but something about him unsettled her.

He was fair handsome, his brown eyes penetrating, his voice rich and soothing. Still, an uneasiness washed over her as he continued to so boldly caress her hand.

“I shall take care of you,” he whispered.

She did pull away then, her thoughts racing. There was something about his voice…his words. What was it? Rachel stopped and massaged her brow for a moment.

“Are you unwell?” Alex asked.

“Nay, I—”

“She looks fit enough to me.”

Rachel whirled toward the feminine voice. Arlys leaned against the doorway of one of the cottages that lined the castle’s curtain wall, her arms folded across her chest, one hip thrust forward.

“Arlys,” Alex said as he moved toward the woman. “D’ye no have chores to do?”