The Virgin Spring

She smiled at him suddenly. “I have brought him some fresh honey cakes.”

Gilchrist stepped aside to let her pass, when his eye caught a whip of dark hair and a pale-green gown.

Rachel.

Peg was leading her down the hill from the castle, toward the row of cottages where they stood. Arlys frowned as she followed Gilchrist’s gaze, which was now fixed on the Englishwoman.

Rachel appeared full recovered from her faint. She walked briskly, without assistance. In fact, Peg had to run to keep up with her. She was heading straight for them.

“Christ,” he muttered under his breath. He glanced quickly at Arlys. “Those honey cakes, ye wouldna rather share them with me?”

She tore her murderous gaze away from Rachel and let her blue eyes light on him. His words surprised her, he could tell. She recovered herself quickly and smiled. “Aye,” she said.

Her voice was breathy, her demeanor suddenly flirtatious. Gilchrist willed himself to hold her gaze even as he heard Rachel’s footfalls approach, then stop abruptly before them.

Aye, ’twas time he lay this dangerous interest in the Englishwoman to rest. Without another thought, he grabbed Arlys around the waist with his good arm and pulled her into an embrace. She dropped the basket as he kissed her hard on the mouth. He was vaguely aware of the broken honey cakes lying ruined at their feet.

The eager girl responded with well-practiced skill. But ’twas not her lips he tasted, nor the fragrance of her hair that permeated his senses. His all-consuming awareness was for another.

Out of slitted eyes he watched Rachel’s response. Shock, and something more. Pain. He read it in her face. He felt it as much as saw it, and the knowledge caused his heart to pound, his head to spin.

Damn her! And damn himself for caring.

Rachel closed the door of the cottage and pressed her forehead against its cool timbers. She drew a deep breath and tried to get a grip on her shifting emotions.

“Are ye truly an English lady?” Peg asked. “Or, or are ye a whore, d’ye think?”

She whirled on the girl and Peg jumped backward like a startled kitten.

“I—I didna mean to offend ye.” Peg’s wide, doe eyes and naive concern softened Rachel’s anger. “I’m just curious is all.”

“I know you didn’t, Peg.” She gestured for the girl to sit at the table, then joined her.

“Ye truly dinna remember, do ye?”

She smiled. “Nay, I do not.”

“Some of the women say ye could be both—a fine lady and a whore. But Moira says ’tis nonsense and we must no speak such things.”

Both. Could such a thing be true?

She closed her eyes and let her mind wander. As always, the image of the high place burned bright, obliterating all other thoughts. For all she knew, she could be the queen of England.

More likely a common whore. She recalled the way her cheeks burned and her blood stirred when Gilchrist held her atop his mount that first afternoon. He’d wanted to kiss her, and she’d wanted it, too. She shook off the unsettling memory.

Her path was clear to her. She must get to Craigh Mur. She must find out who and what she was. Mayhap she was a married woman with children. Rachel moved a hand across the flat plane of her belly. That possibility hadn’t crossed her mind until just this moment. Children. Nay, she was certain she had none. She would feel it if she had.

“Would ye teach me?” Peg asked abruptly, interrupting her thoughts.

“Teach you?”

The girl ran her hand over the tattered cover of the book that lay on the table, then pushed it toward her. “Aye, the healing arts. Will ye teach me?”

Rachel had not had time to examine the old woman’s book. She opened it now and scanned page after page of bold script, lists of herbs and their common uses, simples and other preparations, and a log of injuries and illnesses she had treated. Gilchrist’s name caught her eye, but before she had time to read what the old woman had written, Peg reached out and caught her hand.

“I canna read it, ye see. The old woman wanted to teach me, but I was no much of a student.” Peg’s childlike face colored.

“You can’t read?”

“Nay. Few can. Only the laird and a handful of others. I knew right off that ye could, though. ’Tis a wondrous thing for a woman, is it no?”

Of course the girl couldn’t read; what had she been thinking? Reading was for scholars and priests, and precious few others. But Peg was right—she could read. Rachel’s eyes flew over the words on the page. ’Twas Latin. She could easily decipher the old woman’s hand.

“I am the clan’s healer now,” Peg said. “They depend on me.”

She met the girl’s gaze and smiled. “Of course they do.”

Peg grinned from ear to ear. “So will ye teach me? To read the old woman’s book, and all that ye know of the art?” She gestured to the apothecary that filled the wall of shelves behind her. “Ye know much more than I, and it seems ye will be staying with us for quite some time.”

Rachel frowned. She would not be staying with them for quite some time. In fact, she meant to leave as soon as possible. Peg leaned forward, her face alight, awaiting Rachel’s reply. She had not the heart to dash the girl’s hopes.

“For as long as I remain with you,” she said, “I will teach you what I know.”

Peg squealed with delight and nearly leapt across the table to hug her. She returned the embrace, then disentangled herself from the girl’s arms. “Now,” she said. “Will you do something for me, Peg?”

“Oh, aye—anything.”

Rachel rose from the bench. “’Tis time I see my horse.”

Peg followed her to the door, frowning. “Oh, I dinna think the laird will like that.”

“I expect he won’t,” she said, and let the corners of her mouth turn up in an impish smile.

Ten minutes later they arrived at the busy stable. ’Twas another newly built structure which lay inside the curtain wall not far from the keep. Alex had pointed it out to her earlier that day.

A stable lad scurried past them toting a saddle that was almost bigger than he was. Another labored in a far corner, pitching straw into a small hayloft. Peg led her down a row of stalls, past a number of impressive mounts.

She marveled at their shiny coats and supple musculature. They were well cared for, and were like no other mounts she’d seen. She recognized Gilchrist’s stallion and stopped before the magnificent beast.

“He is handsome,” she said, and ran her hand lightly over the beast’s flank. “Do you not think so?”

“Aye, he is that,” Peg sighed. “And so very smart.” Another breathy sigh escaped her lips. “But he doesna notice me.”

What a strange response. She turned toward Peg and her confusion vanished. The girl stood transfixed, staring at a young man who’d just come out of one of the small cottages that lined the perimeter of the stable yard.

He was tall and fair, and wore leather breeches instead of the plaids that were the garment of choice at the Davidson stronghold. Peg’s wide-eyed gaze fixed on him as he passed them by, heading toward a stall. True to the girl’s words, he spared them not a glance.

“Ah,” she said, suppressing a smile. “You fancy him.”