His eyes bulging, Piers nervously gulped before he replied, “I’ve been informed that the countess has, er, left the castle.”
The disclosure incited an immediate burst of rage, Galen nearly choking on his fury.
“She didwhat?!”
It had taken little effort for Laoghaire to escape through the postern door that was located in the middle bailey. She simply demanded the key from one of the garrison sentries, the guard unaware that she’d been ordered not to leave the castle.
The devil take Galen and his commands! I am his wife, not his villein.And besides, she was secure in the knowledge that he would never learn of the transgression, as it would be several days before he returned.
Since her arrival at Glenclova, Laoghaire had been a virtual prisoner in Galen’s castle. While comfortable enough, if she’d been made to spend one more hour breathing stale air and listening to the cacophony of blacksmiths hammering, men-at-arms clanging their swords, and barking dogs, she would have thrown herself over the parapet.
As she wended her way through the wooded glen, Laoghaire soon became enthralled by the sight of a fast-running burn and the musical sound of leaves rustling in the breeze. Having spent her entire tenure at Castle Airlie gazing upon the uninspiring sight of gray stone towers and curtain walls, she’d almost forgotten the fertile beauty of God’s green motions.
Detecting a patch of spiky green and red moss, she unsheathed the small dagger that she wore on her belt. Then, bending at the waist, she cut several clumps and stuffed them into the satchel that she’d brought with her. Foraging for this special type of moss was the true purpose of her trip to the woodland.
Because she was unfamiliar with the terrain, she’d followed the winding burn, so as not to lose her way. Having already walked several furlongs, she’d long since lost sight of the castle. Which was undoubtedly the reason why she began to feel lighter, freer. Moreover, the air suddenly smelled sweeter, intoxicatingly so, with Laoghaire able to detect the mingled scents of pine and the rich, fecund earth in which the tall trees grew. While this was not her beloved misty isle, it was nonetheless lovely to behold, the tranquil setting having a soothing effect upon her humors.
Suddenly hearing a gurgling splash of water, Laoghaire quickened her pace. As she made her way through the verdant brush, she inadvertently frightened a pair of nesting birds, the starlings flying off in a frantic flutter. Coira, who was well-versed in the legends and lore of Glenclova, had mentioned in passing that there was a waterfall located in the vicinity. According to her attendant, the site had once been sacred to the Picts, the Celtic tribe that inhabited the region centuries ago.
With each step, the rush of water became louder, beckoning her with its entrancing, almost deafening roar. When Laoghaire finally caught sight of the linn, her breath caught in her throat, the cascade far more spectacular than she originally imagined. Slack-jawed, she stood on the bank of the burn and stared in wonderment at the frothy surge of water that rushed over a tumble of massive boulders, falling into a rock-lined pool at its base. As the light struck the airborne droplets of water, it appeared as though handfuls of precious diamonds were being flung through the air.
“’Tis truly a sacred pool of water,” Laoghaire murmured, awestruck.
In the next instant, she espied a standing stone positioned a few feet from the bank of the burn, nearly hidden from view by a thick tangle of vines. The stone was as tall as she was; however, it was off-kilter, the enormous slab leaning precariously to one side, as though it had been blown into that position by westerly winds. Curious, Laoghaire walked over to the ancient relic, surprised to see that the entire surface was carved with strange symbols. Once, years ago, her brother Kenneth had taken her to see the pair of standing stones that overlooked Loch Eyre, but those majestic stones had been bare, covered only with lichen.
This Pictish monument is a thing of beauty, she marveled, stepping closer to better examine an ornate snake that was incised on the upper-half of the stone. Wondering at its meaning, her mind was suddenly filled with images of mythical beasts and faery people. Instinctively she grabbed hold of thegloine nan Druidh—Druid’s glass—that she always wore around her neck, suspended from a thin, golden chain. The amulet, a round blue stone with a hole in its center, had been given to her mother by the last of the Druids, Laoghaire Odhar Fiosaiche, on the day that he helped Beitiris MacKinnon give birth to her only daughter. Thegloine nan Druidhcould reputedly endow whoever wore it with the gift of Second Sight. However, despite having worn the stone for many years, Laoghaire had yet to have a single prophetic vision.
Although at that particular moment there was something in the air, some mystical, unseen vibration of energy that made her think that maybe,just maybe, she would be able to foresee the future.
Waiting in expectant anticipation, she stood motionless, uncertain how the vision would reveal itself.
Just then, a shadow fell over her as a cluster of slate-gray storm clouds rolled across the sky. Laoghaire peered upward; and saw that the clouds were nearly identical in color to Galen’s eyes.
With that intrusive thought, her shoulders sagged, the magical moment instantly ruined.
Galen is never far from my mind, she inwardly seethed, the realization striking a sour note. That her husband believed her unchaste—and disingenuous as well—infuriated her. Even as it left her feeling strangely bereft.
He will never believe me.
That she came to the marriage without her maidenhead intact would always be divisive. They hailed from different worlds; that alone was challenging enough. But to accuse her of being a liar was a chasm that could not be bridged.Ever.
Needing to purify herself from the leaden weight of those dark thoughts, Laoghaire walked over to the bank of the burn. Water was one of nature’s gifts, able to not only cleanse the body, but heal the soul. As she gazed upon the sparkling waterfall and the entrancing pool of water, she quickly unbuckled her belt and removed her boots; after which, she reached up and unpinned the brooch that held her plaid arisaidh in place. Still keeping her gaze on the shimmering water, she let the length of fabric fall to the ground. Then, bending slightly at the waist, she reached for the hem of her linen léine and pulled the garment over her head.
Naked, she spread her arms wide before she tipped her head back and peered at the vault of sky above her.
“Everything under the heavens is sacred. Here resides grace, beauty, and the bounty of Your blessing,” she proclaimed, her voice becoming one with the melodious birdsong and the babbling rush of water.
Horse and rider charged across the mead at a breakneck speed.
When I find the wench, she will be made to regret her disobedience, Galen vowed, the heart-pounding gallop fueled by the twin forces of rage and worry. According to the sentry who’d been manning the western tower, Laoghaire left without an escort. A lone woman was always vulnerable, but a lone noblewoman would prove rich pickings should a marauding band of thieves—or, worse yet, English troops—happen upon her.
As he considered the possible calamities that could befall his Highland bride, the muscles in Galen’s lower belly painfully tightened. All of a sudden Father Giroldus’s earlier suggestion that he beat his wife into submission seemed an inspired idea.
Approaching the copse of ancient pines that bordered a winding burn, Galen slowed his mount to a trot. Instinct told him to follow the flow of water. These environs were unfamiliar to Laoghaire; but if she kept to the brook, she’d be able to navigate her way back to the castle. Assuming that she intended to return Castle Airlie.
“If she is attempting to escape to the Isle of Skye, I will lock the wench in a tower and only let her out on holy feast days,” Galen grated.
Suddenly hearing the sound of splashing water, Galen peered between the tree trunks. When, in the next instant, he caught sight of a black and red plaid that appeared to have been haphazardly flung onto the ground, he immediately reined in his horse. He then stood up in the stirrups to get a better view.
