Rhoda's Thoughts and Sundries

Valerie's Song, Chapter One

2010-02-22T22:28:00.005-06:00

Britain
510 A.D.

“Please, Valerie, I cannot go alone. You must come.”

Valerie covered her ears and hurried away down the garden path. She had heard enough about the Midsummer’s Eve festival.

It was a lovely morning to be outside. Cool breezes from the ocean made this June day unseasonably mild. The blooming rhododendrons brought a riot of color to the garden paths while the marigolds, honeysuckle and herbs perfumed the air with sweet, spicy scents. Valerie had worked hard to finish her chores so she could steal an hour out in the garden to practice her harp and enjoy the fresh sea air. She had no desire to waste anymore of her precious time listening to Lowenna’s insane scheme.

Her cousin’s frantic footsteps pounded behind her. Valerie sighed with resignation and waited for her cousin. Running away would not discourage Lowenna. Valerie took a seat upon the nearest stone bench, sneered up at the stone statue of Minerva that presided over a wired ivy trellis, and perched her harp upon her lap. Lowenna sat beside her.

“This notion of yours is folly,” Valerie said looking into her cousin’s brown, imploring eyes. ”If your mother and father were to find out that we went to the Midsummer's Eve festival, we would be in horrible trouble.”

What Valerie really meant was that she herself would be in horrible trouble. Lowenna was Aunt Gwladus’s favorite daughter and would bear little blame for the incident. Aunt Gwladus seemed convinced that Valerie exerted a bad influence on Lowenna. A clandestine adventure in the village during this riotous, almost pagan gathering would further reinforce Aunt Gwladus’s suspicions.

Lowenna grasped Valerie’s arm. Her expression was earnest and appealing, while her eyes shone with desperation. “I swear Mother and Father will never know. They will not even be here, for they will be attending Lord March’s banquet, and I will just happen to become too ill to attend. Once they leave, we can go to the village. Glenda and Ewan have promised to help us.”

Of course Lowenna had her scheme all planned out. She always did.

Valerie shook her head and gave her cousin what she hoped was a severe look. “Nae, Lowenna, you promised your mother not to fraternize with the servants, especially Glenda.”

She held Lowenna's gaze for a long time and noted with dismay the defiant expression.

“Gaius will be there,” Lowenna said in husky, breathless tones. Her willful expression vanished only to be replaced by a look of childlike vulnerability.

An uneasy feeling crept over Valerie at the mention of Gaius’s name. She sat in silence and listened to the warbling song of a lark while she thought of an argument to dissuade her cousin.

“I know this is foolish,” Lowenna continued, “but I must be with him one more time before King Branius comes.”

Despite the troubling specter of another one of Lowenna’s hopeless infatuations, Valerie could not help but be moved by Lowenna’s plea. As flirtatious as Lowenna was, Gaius was different from all the other guards and noblemen Lowenna had fancied herself in love with. The youngest son of Lord Ravenhurst, a neighboring landowner, he and Lowenna had known each other since they were children. He had recently returned home after having been fostered in the Duke of Cornwall's household for the past several years. The Duke's tutelage had transformed him from a boy into an alluring, self-assured warrior.

“Is seeing him again a wise thing now that you are betrothed?” Valerie asked.

“It matters not,” Lowenna said softly. “I promised him we would meet on Midsummer’s Eve. It will probably be the last time I ever see him. I must tell him that King Branius was my parents’ choice and not mine.” Lowenna’s childlike, round eyes moistened as she spoke.

For a long time they sat in silence. Lowenna plucked a marigold and absently tore it apart while Valerie plucked the strings of her harp.

Lowenna brushed petals and seeds from her skirt and smiled coaxingly at Valerie. “Admit it. You want to go as badly as I do. You wish to join the revelers and watch the bonfires burn upon the hills. You can disguise yourself as a peasant and sing one of your ballads in the contest. The crowd would love you.”

Valerie smiled and played a tune as she thought of joining her voice and her harp to the magic of the festival. Valerie had dreamed of entering the bard’s contest and performing one of her ballads since the previous summer when she and Lowenna had first successfully attended the festival in secret. Valerie had heard many of the contestants and knew in her heart she was as talented as any of them.

After the contest, the villagers lit the huge pile of rubble for the bonfire. She strummed a chord on her harp as she remembered the sight of the neighboring bonfires on the surrounding hills and the smells of wood smoke and ale in the air. The peasants had donned their most colorful attire. Merchants had set up booths and sold fine embroidered linens and bolts of fine cloth, bottles of wine, cheeses, freshly baked breads, and fine metal work. Acrobats performed on the village green and danced to the pulsating music.

She and Lowenna had been completely caught up in the experience until a group of drunken lads assailed them. The lewd comments the young men hurled at them made them realize that their finer, conservative clothing made them easy to recognize. It also made them realize that they had arrived alone with no one to protect them and had these lads meant true mischief, there would be little they as mere girls could do to protect themselves. As soon as their unwelcome escorts had encountered maids more responsive to their overtures, they had lost interest in Lowenna and Valerie, and the two girls snuck away from the festival and made their way home.

They had not been caught, and if anyone had recognized them at the festival, they had not told Lowenna’s parents.

Attending the festival in the company of Ewan and Glenda would protect the girls from the hoards of amorous men, but it might not keep Valerie’s identity secret if she sang well enough to win the prize. If Valerie were to sing, she would have to dress even more plainly than the other peasants.

Valerie stopped playing and shook her head vigorously. She could not believe that she was actually thinking of going. If her aunt and uncle were to ever find out, Valerie would be forever banished from Tawelloch and would find herself the wife of their revolting, middle-aged neighbor, Panarius. Valerie’s aunt had been talking about finding Valerie a husband, especially now that Lowenna was to be married.

Lowenna seemed to sense Valerie’s growing misgivings. “Please, Valerie,” Lowenna said, her eyes wide with panic. “If I go without you, I might not be able to resist giving myself to Gaius.” A delicate blush broke out on Lowenna’s face. “He has touched me and kissed me before,” she whispered. “I did not find it unpleasant, but I am not such a ninny not to know where it would lead if I continue to allow it.”

Valerie’s mind filled with dread. If Lowenna was attending the festival mainly to be with Gaius, then Ewan and Glenda would provide them little help. They could offer physical protection and help Valerie and Lowenna appear as fellow servants, but being merely servants themselves, they alone would not be able to protect Lowenna from her own headstrong desires.

Valerie shook her head.

Tears fell from Lowenna’s eyes.

“Even if you have never been in love before,” Lowenna went on, “you sing of it. You must know something of it. Please do not force me to endure the temptation of Gaius’s advances by myself. You are my conscience. I will be safe as long as you are with me.”

Valerie turned her face from her cousin and allowed her gaze to rest on a robin which was now perching upon a rowan tree. Yes, she knew of love, its beauty, its intensity, its power and its pain. Being a love child herself, she owed her very existence to it.

She sung of love, thought of love, and accepted the consequences of her own parents’ immoral foray into its madness and passions, but she had never actually experienced love herself, and with all her being, she hoped she never would.

Valerie returned her gaze upon her cousin and could not help but be moved by the imploring look in Lowenna’s large, brown eyes. The hard set of her mouth and the narrowing of her eyes showed determination. Lowenna would see Gaius one last time whether or not Valerie went with her.

Memories of the festival they were at so briefly last year filled Valerie’s mind and further weakened her resolve. That festival with its free flowing ale and lusty young peasants would tempt Lowenna’s restless nature and make her responsive to Gaius’s sexual overtures if he chose to make them. The music, the fragrant night air, the ale, the fires and the reveling inspired such wantonness. Valerie would have to go, if for no other reason than to help Lowenna. If something were to happen to her cousin and Valerie were not there to prevent it, she would never forgive herself.

The decision was becoming increasingly clear and troubling.

Valerie’s conscience assailed her: she wanted to go tonight, just as she had a year ago. She rarely saw anyone outside of Tawelloch and though she enjoyed Lowenna’s company and sometimes enjoyed caring for her small cousins, she wearied of the many chores she was forced to do. Most of all she wearied of the fact that nothing she did ever suited her aunt. The constant cloud of suspicion she was under and the prospect of living the remainder of her life with an obnoxious, ignorant farmer like Panarius filled Valerie with restlessness.

Lowenna threw her arms around Valerie and made a joyful cry. “You are the most faithful friend anyone could have.” Tears fell anew from Lowenna’s swollen eyes. “Thank you.” She wiped her eyes. “Thank you,” she repeated softly.

The gentle wind blew, the seagulls cried, and the sun rose higher as Lowenna revealed the plan. Valerie listened intently with an exhilarating mixture of fear and daring pounding through her veins while the melody of the ballad she intended to sing played in her mind.

Belthazar's Journey

2009-12-01T00:21:00.000-06:00

Belthazar's Journey

To the honorable Phraates, King of the Medes and Prince of Parthia,

Greetings and Salutations,

I am writing in regards to my sudden departure from the household of your cousin and governor, Ciretis.

Since I am your humble servant, I do not dispute your right to chastise me for leaving the service into which you entrusted me. Being the just, wise ruler you are, you would not act on the basis of hearsay, but before judging me, you would wish to know my reasons for leaving Medea and setting out for Judea.

As you know, I have dedicated my life to the advancement of truth and acquisition of knowledge in the best tradition of the priestly caste into which I was born. Through study of the stars and the interpretation of dreams and visions, I have faithfully served you and your family. For thirty-five years I have advised you in spiritual matters. And so, I appeal to you, Great King, to regard with favor the friend of your youth, your confidant in the early years of your reign, to remember your servant's honesty and sincerity. And though I have set off on this journey without the blessing of my present master, please know that I still remain a seer dedicated to the discovery of truth, and that it is this very truth which now takes me to Judea.

The extraordinary events which led to this journey began five years ago after that devastating fire which had claimed the life of my wife and our three sons. Not only had I lost the woman who had supported me and given me joy through thirty happy years of marriage, but I had lost my progeny. Into my sons, I had poured the wisdom and heritage of countless generations of my family. I had been assured the secrets imparted to me by my father would be passed on through the ages by my sons, and that through them our mighty line would continue to prosper and serve through the ages to come. That assurance was wiped away in one day by a meaningless fire started by a drunken slave boy.

Suddenly I was totally alone--an object of pity and scorn. Those who worked under me secretly claimed that the gods had taken my family away because of grievous sins I had committed. Others surmised that I had offended the gods by my great pride. Needless to say, I had lost the respect of my brethren here in Medea, and so you sent me to your cousin's home in the mountains. Though you had only wished to spare me the pain of my memories and help me heal from this terrible grief, I misinterpreted it as a negative judgment on my abilities, and the result of the wicked rumors set forth by my enemies and detractors.

Foremost among these detractors was Casper. Oh, how anger burned in my breast at Casper, the young mage I had once championed and whom I had mentored.

I will never forget the day when Casper entered my court-yard and personally delivered your decree.

When I looked up from my star charts and met his intense green-eyed gaze, I was immediately struck by the beauty of his blue silk robe. Where had he acquired so expensive a garment? With his fine raiment and carefully trimmed beard, he looked stately, important--quite a contrast to the disheveled young boy whom I had introduced to your court ten years before.

I stood, bowed deeply and bade him to sit.

“Nae," he said. “I must be on my way." In his hand was a scroll which he handed to me. “This is from the king."

“Is the king well?" I asked. “I have not seen him for many days. It is not like him to communicate with me in writing."

“The king is well, but is much preoccupied with state matters,” Casper replied gravely.

I took the scroll and looked at Casper to see discomfort in his bearing. “You know what this message is,” I said.

He lowered his eyes. “I do indeed.”

“Then what is it that the king could not tell me face to face?”

“Read the letter.”

I tossed the unopened scroll on the table. “If you were any sort of friend you would tell me.”

“Very well then,” he said with resignation. “You have temporarily been relieved of your position. Since the loss of your family, you have been distracted. Your ability to advise the king has been compromised. The king is still very fond of you, but he felt you needed a new task and a change of scenery to help you heal from your loss.”

Sympathy softened his expression, and I could see a trace of discomfort in his eyes. At that moment I could almost believe he was sad for me.

“And who will be my replacement?”

He lowered his head in silence and then lifted his gaze to mine. “I will,” he admitted in a steady voice.

“You have done quite well for yourself, my prodigy. The student has at last replaced the master."

He bowed in acknowledgment. “Yea, I have. You have taught me well, and I cannot but admit that I am pleased with my new position, but I did not want it at your expense. You must believe that. I have not half the knowledge you have, but the king felt he had no choice. Things can not go on as they are."

“What do you mean?"

He lowered his gaze and drew his eyebrows together as if in deep thought. “You are bitter since the tragedy,” he finally said, “and that is to be expected. No one faults you, but your grief and your hurt have clouded your vision."

I picked the letter up, broke the seal, and with one motion tore it from its handles and crumpled it my hand. I threw it at Casper's feet. “Get out of my sight, traitor."

I retired to the mountains and lived out my supposed exile the best I could. I watched the stars and read the charts for my new master, but my heart was not in the task. Though I was spiritually dry and began to doubt the validity of my forecasts and insights, I was able to greatly influence and enrich my new master.

As my tasks became increasingly routine, a great darkness settled over me. For the first time in my life, I was cynical. I no longer believed in the wisdom I had learned from my fathers. In time I skillfully manipulated the results of my astrological forecasts and interpretations of dreams and to my astonishment, my master became even more enriched.

It was not long before my conscience tormented me for this ruse. I could not sleep at night, and when I did sleep my dreams were troubled. I stopped eating regularly and suffered from excruciating head-aches.

My life was empty, and I wished to die. One day in my pain I cried out to the star-filled sky and begged that my life would soon end, for I had not the courage to take it myself. I wept for the past--for my wife, for my children, for the days when I had sought enlightenment, and I realized that what I wished for more than anything was the return of my innocence. I wanted truth, beauty and purity in my life again. I wanted to be clean.

One night I had a dream in which I was alive, but walking around like a rotted corpse. Everywhere I went, the sight of me filled people with dread and fear. It was as if I were a leper, for men threw stones at me and bade me to be gone, and women shielded their eyes from me in total disgust. And then I beheld a man dressed in a pure white robe. There was glow and aura of holiness about him. Unlike all the others, he was not afraid of me. He gazed upon me with eyes which seemed to delve into the depths of my soul.

And then he spoke to me. “Belthazar, I will make you clean.”

He held his hand out to me, but I would not take it because I was dirty.

I walked away and behold there before me was a white lamb without spot. I heard the voice again. “Belthazar, I will make you clean."

“Yes, make me clean," I said.

And before my eyes the lamb was slain and his blood gushed forth and covered me.

I woke from my dream, and for the first time in years, I found a respite from my bitterness. As I went about my work I asked for an interpretation of the dream, for I knew it was of great importance.

And then the strangest thing happened. I observed an extraordinary event in the sky. There was a very bright star sitting in the Jewish house. It was completely unknown to me. At first I thought it was some sort of anomaly easily explained away. I had seen them before and had heard accounts of them in the past from my father, but this star persisted and grew even brighter.

I began to doubt my sanity. Perhaps I wanted an answer so badly to my personal struggles that I was imagining the heavens bore the key.

But as I observed the star, my enthusiasm returned. Somewhere within my being I began to understand that there was a purpose and order to this universe, and that in some way I was connected to that plan. Whoever had mapped out the heavens cared that I was lonely, bewildered, and without hope.

Unfortunately while all this was happening I was far away from my fellow seers, and I could not seek their advice. I received more dreams, and these were more specific. In the dreams there was a glittering man, a messenger of God, who told me to prepare for a long journey. I was to leave everything behind and follow this star.

The dreams persisted night after night. In one dream I was instructed to take all the gold I had been saving and to use it all to buy myrrh. This myrrh was very expensive, but I did as the heavenly messenger commanded.

Then I was told to leave and ride westward to Babylonia where I would find companions for my journey, for we were all to go to Judea and find the long promised King of the Jews.

But I could not simply leave my master and ride to the western lands. I was still in your service and on loan from you. I could not defy you whom I had pledged to serve. But the heavenly visitor told me that I was now to serve a higher king than yourself, a heavenly king who would take care of me.

As I puzzled over this matter, I decided that loss of honor, death or imprisonment, could not be worse than the darkness I had previously walked in. What I had strived for all my life, what my forefathers had looked for and had never seen, was to be found in Judea. I had no choice but to go and find this king of the Jews, for before I had sworn an oath to you, I had swore one to my forefathers and to my fellow seers that I would be first and foremost a seeker of truth.

I gathered some provisions, a few of my belongings and the myrrh I had bought and loaded them onto my camel. I had told your cousin, the governor, I was taking an important journey and did not know when I would be back. He was angry, but he did not hinder me.

And so I rode to the western edge of Babylonia and found the inn which the heavenly messenger had described. I had been instructed to go to the well and wait. This I did. And so I waited until two men on camels came into sight.

When the men dismounted, I gasped, for I immediately recognized the brightly colored blue robe of one of the men who was now approaching me.

“Casper," I cried out, guilt flooding through me at the horrible accusations I made to him at our last meeting. In his bearing and in his face I could see stalwart purpose and strength of character. I realized that Casper had always been a devoted seeker as I was and that in the later years of our association, I had been envious of his rapid success.

He embraced me.

“It is good to see you again my friend," he said.

“You are here to follow the star?" I asked him.

“Yes, for I have been studying the charts as you taught me and the conclusion is unmistakable. The long promised king of the Jews is to be born, and we must go and worship him."

I had not previously known our third traveler, Melchior, but he too was a seer and had seen the star and was compelled to follow it.

Melchior was a wealthy man from a family of seers who as a child had received a promise in a dream that he would see the King of all Kings. He had waited all his life for this event, and had saved up gold for that day. When he saw the star he knew it was the sign he had waited for.

Casper had been given a recurring vision of a great priest who would intercede before God on behalf of flawed mankind. His gift was frankincense.

I promise you, great king, that my story is true and can be collaborated.
Though the journey is physically difficult, I cannot begin to tell you the joy my companions and I possess as we share our hopes with one another. After we find the promised king, I will write to you again and tell you of it.

Please be merciful in your thoughts of us as we travel, and receive us back into your presence when we return. After beholding this marvelous wonder which countless generations of men have longed to see, I have no doubt that we will be even more qualified to serve you and that in the end, you will be one beneficiary of our new enlightenment.

Your faithful servant,

Belthazar

The End

2009-11-16T22:25:00.004-06:00

The Twilight Laird
Chapter One

Argyllshire, Scotland
June, 1819

James MacGregor leaned against the bar. “The devil take Miss Lawrence,” he said. “For the last time, I have no desire to meet the woman.”

The tavern-keeper’s grey, wizened eyes regarded him steadily. James glanced at the shelves of bottles behind the bar. He was sick to death of hearing about the many accomplishments of this Englishwoman who had inherited Glasdun Castle. Since she had arrived scarcely a fortnight ago, no one could talk of anything else except Miss Lawrence’s nice manners, Miss Lawrence’s great kindness, Miss Lawrence’s fashionable gowns, Miss Lawrence the salvation of Mindor.

Neil handed James another dram of whisky. “Are ye not even a wee bit curious about the lass who is now to care for your childhood home, Jamie? Even if she is of the same blood as her father, she is at least more charming.”

James laughed. “I would lay ye odds, dear friend, that she is naught but a London society girl taken in by those Waverley novels. Because of this drivel, Scotland is now the rage of the high and mighty London ton. The redoubtable Miss Lawrence will transform Mindor into a pleasant little summer retreat from whence she can entertain and impress her Sassenach friends. Before ye ken it, we’ll all have to be donning kilts and claymores to add to the atmosphere.”

“Get away with ye, Laddie.”

“Ye think I jest, Neil?”

Neil sighed and leaned against the bar. “I think perhaps ye underestimate the girl. My wife has met her and claims the lady has a pleasant air about her, not the least uppity.”

“I cannot imagine ye singing her praises, Neil. I hear she is a religious woman and as such would have ye out of business within a heartbeat for selling the old demon spirits.”

James lifted his glass anticipating with relish the radiating warmth of Neil’s fine Scotch whisky. He thrust it toward Neil in a mock toast. “To our new Madame Bountiful, the Godly, and very English Miss Lawrence, who has come to save our village from perdition and to teach us the ways of civilization.” With one gulp he emptied his glass and held it out for another drink. “Let us enjoy our whisky while we still can, Neil, before she runs ye out o’ town.”

Neil refilled James’s glass and then poured one for himself. He shrugged. “Ach, she’d be doin’ me a favor then. I should’ve packed off and headed on to Edinburgh long ago.” The pudgy old man raised a brow and set his shrewd grey gaze upon James. “Why I stay here and waste my time with the likes of ye, I ken not.”

“Go to Edinburgh. None could blame ye while George Grimes remains in charge here.”

“I’ve said the same to ye many a time, Jamie, ma lad, and ye dinna listen any better than I.”

James could not avoid Neil’s meaningful look. “How about it?” Neil went on. “Ye’re a good doctor and could have a comfortable living in Glasgow, Edinburgh or anywhere ye cared tae bide. Why do ye stay here living in the past and watching your youth fade away?”

James lowered his gaze and gently swirled the whisky around in his glass. “Ye know the answer to that.”

“Truly, Jamie, I do not. I never did. Let go of the past and build ye a new life. ‘Tis long past the days of the clans and lairds. What ties ye have here, Jamie, are only in your own mind.”

The whisky burned in James’s throat. He set the empty glass on the bar with such force he wondered the glass did not break. He took several deep breaths in an effort to control his tongue. He could remind Neil that this topic had long been forbidden, but what good would it do? Neil was like all the old-timers in Mindor, short on money, but rich in strongly held opinions. James could explain his reasons for remaining in Mindor for eternity, but he would never be able to cause Neil to understand--hell, James could not understand it.

“I need to get over to the glen and visit Annie MacIntyre and her sick bairns,” James mumbled, slipping off his stool.

“There she is!” exclaimed Neil twisting his body to stare out the window. “There she is in all her splendor alighting from her carriage.” A child-like look of enchantment washed across his face. “My, my, she’s a fetching lass. Come, Jamie, let us step outside and give her a look over, shall we?”

James kept his gaze riveted to the bar and the shelves of bottles and glasses before him. He would eventually have to meet this woman if she remained much longer at Mindor, but he would do it in his own time.

“Go ahead and gawk at the girl, Neil,” James called out. “But mind what a fool ye’ll look.”

Neil shrugged and turned away from the window, disappointment in his eyes. “‘Tis too late, for she has stepped into the apothecary’s shop.”

James walked away from the bar. “I will go now, Neil, for not even another dram could make me stay and watch ye make a cake of yourself over this girl.”

Mariah Lawrence guided her gig down the rough, muddy path that led to a dwelling nestled in a glen. After tying her horse’s reins to a tree, she and her maid, Abby, carried blankets and baskets of food and medicines to the door of the whitewashed cottage.

Abby called attention to a bay gelding grazing near the gig. “Ach, that is the doctor’s horse.”

Even before the door opened, it was apparent things were not well. A baby screamed. Heavy footfalls approached and then stopped before a crashing sound thundered from inside. The baby’s cries increased in volume.

“The wee bairn does nae sound well,” Abby whispered.

Mariah hoped she and her maid had arrived in time to do some good before the situation turned tragic. Abby bit her lip in what seemed a struggle to hold back moisture pooling in her eyes.

“It will be well,” Mariah said in an attempt to reassure the younger girl. “I will see that your family receives the best care.”

The door opened to reveal a tall, balding man who appeared to be in his mid or late forties. Like many Highlanders, he stood straight and tall with the bearing of a military man. He had even facial features and penetrating blue eyes that fixed Mariah with direct, unguarded scrutiny. His expression softened when he turned to look at the young woman standing beside Mariah.

“Da,” Abby said in almost a whisper. “This is my new mistress, Miss Lawrence.”

Mr. MacIntyre responded with a curt nod.

Abby lifted her basket. “We have brought ye some food and medicines for Ma and the bairns.”

A young girl of three or four with pale skin and blonde hair clung to the man’s side. Her eyes widened with curiosity as she stared at Mariah.

“Good day to ye, Sullie,” Abby cooed holding her arms open to the girl. The girl ran to her, and Abby picked her up and held her.

Mariah laid the basket and blankets on a table by the door. She repressed a sigh as she surveyed her surroundings. Blankets, rags, and dirty dishes cluttered the rough-hewn furniture. Odors of vomit and urine permeated the air.

While Abby and her father talked, Mariah studied the chaotic scene before her and tried to determine what she should do. Half a dozen chairs, a dining table, a work bench and three pallets filled the main room. In the large stone hearth a caldron simmered over a peat fire. A girl, only slightly older than Sullie, lay sleeping on one of the pallets. Mariah had a difficult time deciding where to stand in the cramped room so she would not be in Abby or Mr. MacIntyre’s way while they put up the food and medicines.

Dirty dishes and utensils littered the dining table. Mariah collected them, piled them together, and took them over to a large wash basin.

Abby gasped and ran toward Mariah trying to take the dishes from her arms. “Miss, ye must nae do this.”

Mariah held firmly onto her load and took a step backward where her foot contacted some slimy substance on the stone floor. She lost her balance when her feet slipped out from under her. Her knee hit the bench before she fell. Somewhere between standing and falling, the crockery had slid from her grasp and shattered on the floor. The bench shook and upset an open wine decanter which dispelled its crimson contents over the table and onto Mariah’s pistachio muslin dress.

Abby cried out in horror while Mr. MacIntyre let loose a vehement curse in English. A fresh volley of the baby’s cries emanated from the next room.

The door burst open. “What the bloody hell?” shouted a tall, bearded man.

Mariah gritted her teeth and repressed a cry of pain as she grasped her injured, throbbing knee. Her wrist hurt as well. Her dress was stained beyond redemption and torn. Mr. MacIntyre and Sullie looked at her in stunned horror. Tears, borne of pain and embarrassment, stung her eyes.

Abby rushed to her side. “Oh, Miss, are ye hurt?” She looked at Mariah and stopped short as horror filled her eyes. “Ach, yer fine dress!”

Mariah put out a hand to keep the maid from coming too close. Abby’s exaggerated deference had proved too hazardous already. “I am well,” she choked. “Do not worry about my dress.”
Mariah cringed as she moved to pick up some of the larger shards in front of her.

“Ye must nae do that, Miss,” said Abby as she bent down beside Mariah and tried to pick up the mess before Mariah could get to it. “Oh, oh, this is horrible. Pray forgive me,” Abby went on in a pitiful voice. “I should nae have brought ye here.”

Mariah felt a movement above her. The man from the other room swept her from the floor and carried her across the room to a chair. His sleeves were rolled up, and Mariah caught a glimpse of taunt, well-defined muscles and a light smattering of reddish blonde hair. For such a gangly man, he was amazingly strong, for he had moved her quickly, but carefully.

Her knee and wrist still hurt, and she would undoubtedly have some bruises, but she knew she wasn’t badly injured. What would please her most at that moment would be for everyone to leave her alone and allow her to gather her composure. She was embarrassed enough without being treated as an invalid.

She did not have to worry long about enduring sympathy, for the tall man, whom she had guessed to be the doctor and the owner of the bay gelding outside, faced Abby.
“Your ma needs to be bathed again.”

Abby looked at him with such reverence that Mariah half expected her to curtsy. The girl abandoned her attempts to clean the floor, nodded and quickly rushed from the room.
The doctor turned his attention to Mr. MacIntyre and uttered some words in Gaelic. The man’s face bore a look of alarm and then sullen irritation.

The doctor’s voice sharpened as he barked out a command.

Mr. MacIntyre’s eyes narrowed. After an indignant utterance, he turned away and opened all the windows. When he finished, he grabbed a bucket from off the work bench and took it outside. Sullie stuck her finger in her mouth and followed him.

“I do nae know how many times I have told him that it is the water making this family sick and not the air,” the doctor muttered after they had gone. “But they do nae believe me. As soon as I leave, he will close those windows again.”

He never looked at her as he spoke, and Mariah wondered if he was actually addressing her or just speaking to himself.

Though he seemed unaware of her, she was very conscious of him.

She studied him as he drew a pipe and a bag of tobacco from the pocket of a coat hanging on one of the chairs. He filled the pipe and lit it from the hearth before going to stand beside one of the front windows. The tobacco smelled sweet and provided a welcome cover for the other unpleasant odors that filled the room.

Mariah examined his profile. He appeared to be around thirty years of age. He had a strong jaw and a prominent, aristocratic nose. His hair was unfashionably long and hung in thick wisps to his shoulders while his beard was close-cropped and neatly groomed. With his fair skin, his well-ordered features and light brown hair, he reminded her of a Viking. His eyes were sharp and intelligent.

Mariah allowed her gaze to drift from his face and down his sinewy form that was well defined by a loose linen shirt, brown trousers, and bottle green silk waistcoat. His clothes were well-cut and looked like they had been of good quality before becoming tattered with wear.

If not for the hard look in his eyes and his frown, she might have considered him handsome.
Turning from the window, he slouched lazily against the wall and faced her. He drew slowly on his pipe and studied her. Her mouth went dry and heat rushed to her cheeks when his gaze lingered upon her face and then fell to rest upon her bosom before continuing its perusal down to her ruined skirt. There was a speculative gleam in his eyes as he viewed her through a cloud of smoke.

His silent, insolent appraisal of her person made her heart race with anger, yet at the same time made her skin tingle.

She lost patience with the doctor. She was not going to play this childish staring game any longer. She rose from her seat, picked up a wet rag beside the wash basin and returned to the workbench where she squatted down to clean the mess that had caused her to slip. It was not vomit as she had first feared, but bacon renderings. She wiped the mess away along with the wine that had spilled from the tumbler.

As Mariah picked up more pieces of broken crockery, she fought the temptation to break the silence which was becoming increasingly unbearable. The doctor was still watching her from the window when she finished and came to stand before him.

“What is wrong with them?” she finally asked. “Will they get well?”

He walked over to the fireplace and emptied the ash out of his pipe before replacing it in his coat pocket.

“The children will recover,” he said in a low voice with a strong Scottish burr. “It is the mother I am concerned about. She is nursing the baby and has become dehydrated from the illness. I urged her to let someone else nurse the bairn for the time being, but she will nae heed me. She needs to drink more water, but not what they are getting from the burn which is being poisoned by cattle grazing upstream.”

“They should gather their water upstream from the cattle.”

His look softened, and he nodded his head slowly. “Aye, so I have told them.”

She approached him and held out her hand. “I have not introduced myself. I am--,”

He ignored her proffered hand and narrowed his eyes. “I know who ye are,” he said, his voice surprisingly sharp. “And I would say to ye, Miss Mariah Lawrence, that ye would serve the people of the glens far better by dispensing justice and employment than by handing out poor baskets.”

A fire rose in her gut. She had tried to be kind to him, but he had cruelly and unexpectedly spurned her expressions of good will.

He took a step toward her. “Perhaps ye do have the best of intentions, Miss Lawrence, but ye obviously have no understanding of the Highland crofter and how best to help him.” He shot a glance at her stained dress. “Ye cannae adequately take care of yourself. It would be best for everyone concerned if ye would go back to your house parties, soirees, or whatever ye do to pass your time.”

Mariah had never encountered such blatant hostility and was at a loss on how to respond to it. The embarrassment of her recent accident rushed back to her, making her want to weep. On the other hand this man’s smug, patronizing manner and disapproving expression made her wish to do him bodily harm. She clinched her fists in an effort to keep from striking him. “You are a--a--rude man. You certainly have the advantage, for I do not even know what to call you except--rude. And just who are you, anyway?”

His expression did not waver. His eyes issued a challenge.

“The Prince Regent perhaps? Or bonny Prince Charlie?” she went on, no longer able to weigh her words. “You certainly seem to have a high opinion of yourself judging by the way you give me advice and bark orders to your Highlander friends.”

A slight quivering of his lip was his only response to her outburst.

“I am James MacGregor.” he answered coldly. “Now, that we have exchanged pleasantries, take your maid and be on your way so that I may get on with my work. Ye are wasting my time and interfering in my business.”

She lifted her hands and spread them, palms up, in a pleading gesture. “I came here to help.”
He sighed tiredly and regarded her the way one would regard a stubborn child. “Very well,” he said. “You and Abby need to bathe the babies. Before ye leave here, see that they and their mother each get a spoon full of my elixir. There is a well behind the neighboring cottage. Fill the pails with enough of that water to serve the family through the night.”

He abruptly turned from her and went to the other room.

Fifteen minutes later, Mariah and Abby were heating water for baths when James MacGregor emerged from Mrs. MacIntyre’s sickroom. Mariah watched him out of the corner of her eye as he rushed past them carrying his bag and grabbing his coat.

He paused before the front door and addressed Abby. “I have left my instructions with your father. I will return early tomorrow morning.”

Mariah and Abby spent the better of the afternoon nursing Abby’s family and cleaning the cottage. Unaccustomed to the long days of the Highland summer, Mariah was unaware of the passing of time and how late it was getting until she had fetched her last pail of water from the well and noticed the pink and red radiance of the setting sun.

After delivering the pail, she found Abby in Mrs. MacIntyre’s room. Abby rose from the bedside and went to stand with Mariah in the doorway.

“We must leave,” Mariah said softly. “It is late, and my aunt and uncle will worry about us if I do not arrive in time for supper.”

Abby put her hand to her mouth and gasped. “Aye. I should nae have brought ye all the way out here.” She threw a look at her mother. “But I do think we did help, but there is so much more to do. My da is still resting, and the broth we started is nae done, and--”

Mariah took her maid’s hand. “Stay with them tonight and watch over them. I will send a groom for you tomorrow to return you to Glasdun Castle.”

Abby’s eyes widened. “But how will ye get home, Miss? Ye cannae set out upon the heath by yourself. And who will help ye dress for dinner and see to yer needs?”

Mariah smiled reassuringly at her. “I will go back just the way I came. As for dressing, one of the other girls can help me. Your family needs you more than I do.”

James MacGregor paused at the crest of a hill and watched a gig lumbering down the steep road. It was that do-gooder, Miss Mariah Lawrence and her maid. He knew, because he had recently seen that particular gig parked in front of Malcolm MacIntyre’s cottage.

He urged his horse forward at a brisk canter. As he approached the gig, he saw there was only one occupant. He soon came close enough to see tufts of Mariah Lawrence’s lustrous dark hair escaping the confines of her green bonnet. His curiosity was piqued. What had happened to Abby, and why was Miss Lawrence traveling alone on the heath?

He was tempted to slow down and speak with her and ask if she required some assistance, but she was so typically English with her air of superiority and her take-charge manner, she would probably never acknowledge the need for his help.

He slowed down only enough to exchange a look with her and to politely tip his hat. The look was a few seconds longer than he had meant it to be. He could not deny she was nice looking, and James did have an appreciation of a shapely feminine form and pleasing countenance.

She cast him a sidelong glance and a wry smile. “So we meet again, Mr. MacGregor.”

Long seconds passed and against his better judgment, he slowed his horse to match the gig’s speed. The sparkle in those warm, brown eyes was intriguing. Perhaps he could spare her a few moments.

“Are ye out for a leisurely, evening ride?” he asked her.

He allowed himself another glance at her face. There had been much talk about Mariah Lawrence since she had graced his Highland community. He had heard she was pretty, but that could be said about any young woman who wore expensive clothes and possessed nice manners. He had envisioned, at best, a classic English beauty with pale, rosy skin and blonde hair.

There was nothing typically English about Mariah Lawrence’s appearance. Her hair was so dark that in certain light, it looked black. Her eyes were brown and fringed with heavy, dark lashes. The slight tilt of her eyes gave her an exotic look. If not for her taller than average height and fair skin, she could have easily passed for one of the Portuguese women he remembered from his days in the Peninsular campaign.

“Do you not have more patients to visit?” she asked.

She gazed at him with equal intensity as she awaited his answer. In an effort to break the tension, he reached into his pocket, drew out a handkerchief and wiped sweat from his face. He replaced it and then pulled a flask from his coat pocket and took two deep swigs.

She gasped and stared.

Despite her sultry, dark appearance, she was indeed a proper English lady. He had almost forgotten. “I beg your pardon,” he said holding the flask out toward her. “Ye’ve probably never seen such a thing done in London assembly rooms.”

“Your habits are your own business, sir.”

“Aye, they are,” he said, replacing the flask. He asked himself why he had taken a drink at that moment. Even for him, it was an odd thing to do. This woman brought out the worst in him. Perhaps it was time to be on his way.

“Good day tae ye, ma’am,” he said as he spurred his horse forward and passed her. Just as he urged his horse even faster, he could hear the sound of the gig behind him. He turned around to see that she was driving her horse at too fast a pace down this rough road. She was pursuing him. “Mr. MacGregor!” she called out.

He stopped, turned his horse, and waited for her to ride up to him.

Gone was her air of calm. Her face was flushed, and she looked frightened. “I--I have lost my way,” she said. “How would I get to Glasdun Castle from here?”

He looked at her, not being able to believe what he had heard. “Ye are on this road and are going to Glasdun Castle? What’re ye thinking, Woman?”

She was full of surprises. He gazed at this exquisite looking creature in a well-cut dress that was stained with wine. Her hair was half falling down, and she was so proud, so self-assured, yet she could not accomplish such a simple task as to find her way home. He could not help himself. He lowered his head into his hand and laughed. When he had assuaged his humor, he leaned forward in his saddle and smiled at her.

She blushed even deeper and looked for a second as if she was going to cry. She lowered her eyes and then lifted her gaze to him. He kept on laughing until her mouth twitched and she smiled sheepishly.

That simple, beguiling expression made him catch his breath. At this moment he would stand on his head for her if she asked.

“Aye, I will take ye to the castle gate myself. It is nae far. We need to turn around and go back about two miles. From there the castle is only another three or four miles away.” he said.
“Thank you ever so much, Mr. MacGregor.”

Oddly enough her response gratified him, and he was beginning to look forward to the extra time with her. As they rode along, he refrained from making conversation in fear of being further drawn under her spell. He quickly reminded himself of the situation. This woman was alone on the heath just as the sun was setting. A half-wit would have had better sense. He hardly knew this woman, yet he was sitting upon his horse making calf’s eyes at her.

He pointed to the empty seat beside her. “Where is Abby?” he asked, forcing severity into his voice.

“I left her back at her father’s cottage. There was still much to be done, and I suggested she stay with her family through the night. I thought I remembered the way Abby had shown me, but I must have missed a turn somewhere.”

“Are ye daft? What sort of fool are ye to venture the countryside alone without a groom or a maid? Most people in the glens are good, honest folk, but there are enough people who have lost their lands and livelihood due to your uncle and father and might take that grudge out on ye.”

He could see anger arise in her dark eyes.

“You need not direct me to the turn, Mr. MacGregor. I can find it myself,” she said in icy tones. “I bid you good evening.”

She shook her reins and drove away. He should have let her go, but if he were to wake up the next morning to the news that she had been attacked or worse, he would never forgive himself. He followed and rode up beside her.

“I told ye,” he said through gritted teeth. “I would accompany ye, and so I shall. Once we part ways there, the devil can take ye for all I care, but not until I see ye safely home.”

She drove her gig in sullen silence the remainder of the way, and with not even a good-bye, she turned on to the road that led to the castle that once had been his castle.

No doubt, she hated him now. He had been all too willing to show his dislike of her and her meddling ways. It really mattered not what they thought of one another, for she would soon tire of trying to civilize Mindor’s Highlanders and would return to England.