The Touch 0f Her Hand (Highlander Heroes Book 1) Page 6

  Tess shrugged and glanced at Ezra. Surely, she would need his permission and escort if she wished to keep her head attached to her body. Cook followed her glance, and with a chuckle, waved Ezra over, quickly explaining that Tess was needed in the garden.

  Ezra gave Eagan a distasteful frown but said nothing. Only when Eagan appeared to have emerged victorious in the stare-down that ensued did Ezra move, walking away from the kitchen and through the larder to open the door that led to the inner courtyard of the castle. Tess followed, eager to embrace this change in routine. Once outside, Ezra stopped and propped himself against the exterior wall of the kitchen, next to the castle’s immense pile of chopped wood and barely glanced her way.

  Tess wished she had any kind of power at all; she had never wished harm on another person, but she’d sorely like to see this insolent man be given some kind of comeuppance. Annoyed, she slapped her hands on her hips and glanced around. This large inner bailey was one big square, surrounded on all sides by the castle. At the front, across from the hall, the gatehouse and garrison loomed up and over the inner gate of massive wooden doors that sat open during the day. Tess spied the smith’s shop and the stables and the bakehouse, the last recognizable by its lower roof and numerous chimneys. But was she supposed to guess where the garden might be—oh dear Lord, was that it?

  She stepped closer to what might have been at one time two separate fenced in areas with neat rows of vegetables in one half and herbs in the other. Presently, it was too overgrown to discern individual plots. The interwoven branches of the wattle fence were so damaged they might actually be irreparable. She saw no raised tufts of earth for a gardener to sit or even one drainage ditch anywhere inside either section. She had been well schooled in the importance of these features from time spent in the gardens with the novice nuns at the cloister where she’d spent her early years.

  She hadn’t any idea where or how to begin but crept closer to see if anything useful at all might be found or retained within. It was then she noticed that ground seemed to be missing right where the garden met the wall of the keep. Curious, she investigated by pulling at the brown vines that had latched onto the stone. She was surprised to find that the ground was not missing here; rather, the vines obscured steps that led down into a timber framed underground root cellar. Sunshine did not reach this far corner of the yard, so the interior was dark. She could make out a narrow space, maybe fifteen feet in length, not quite under the wall of the kitchen. One timber wall was lined with shelves and these were filled with dozens of small crocks and flat pans of wood, some sprouting greens, likely planted from seeds of last year’s crops.

  This now, was a start.

  Tess ducked her head to exit the little cellar and approached Ezra, with a careful effort to appear undaunted by his perpetually glowering visage.

  “I shall require some tools,” she said. She thought she quite successfully captured the tone the abbess had often used when dealing with the most inferior novices.

  Ezra stared at her. His mouth moved in a way that suggested he only worked at some bothersome bit of food stuck between his teeth.

  “Do you speak the common tongue?” She dared to ask. Then, in a lame attempt to show a superiority she certainly didn’t feel, she asked the same question in French. When he still only stared at her, she turned and began to walk away from him, resigned that if she must find the tools herself, the stables or the smithy would be good places to start.

  She had only taken three or four steps when she felt her hair tugged roughly from behind. She yelped as she was nearly yanked off her feet. She turned, bent now, to find her hair still in Ezra’s meaty grasp. Instinct bade her reach up to defend herself and remove her hair from his hand. “Let me go, you boorish oaf!” He smiled at her. He actually smiled, though Tess was quite alarmed to see the complete lack of humor in his dark and nasty eyes.

  “Ezra!”

  Tess froze, knowing she had never been so happy to hear the beast’s thunderous voice. She kept her gaze locked on Ezra, her eyes narrowing, not entirely sure how or why the beast’s presence emboldened her.

  “Ezra!” He called again, closer now, in a voice Tess easily recognized as his barely-controlled-rage tone.

  Tess straightened, feeling Ezra’s hand only now loosening from the long strands. She jerked the rest of her hair free before he released all of it. She didn’t turn to face Conall, whom she could feel behind her, but kept her eyes hard on the miserable mountain before her.

  But then she heard the captain, John Cardmore, standing close as well, his deep voice exploding with greater fury than his laird. “I’ll gut you myself! Get back to quarters!”

  Ezra’s eyes left her, though still his scowl remained, and he stepped around her, so close she felt his arm brush her shoulder. Tess remained absolutely unmoving.

  Conall stepped in front of her, standing just where Ezra had. Tess’s eyes remained fixed, settling on the plaid covering his chest as it entered her field of view. She released her breath and felt her limbs turn to pudding. She stared at her hands, one still holding the length of her hair. They trembled.

  “Here now, lass, what did you do to provoke him?”

  Tess immediately recognized the benefit of such an obnoxious and maddening question: it obliterated her fear, replacing it fairly quickly with irritation.

  “Were you trying to escape?” He asked.

  She raised her eyes to Conall, indignation straightening her yet more.

  Crisply, she said, “When I do escape from that ill-mannered and ham-fisted oaf, I’ll be sure to make it look quite easy.” More bravado, she knew, but warranted, she allowed. “I was sent at Eagan’s behest to attend your garden—a more disgraceful and wretched patch I’m sure I have never seen.”

  Conall glanced back at the offensive plot. “Do you ken anything about gardens?”

  “I do. But your drudge, Ezra, wouldn’t provide me tools and so I was off to procure them myself.”

  He seemed to consider this. “Aye, c’mon then.” He began walking, his long strides forcing Tess to bounce into action to keep up with him.

  “What might he have done had you not happened upon us?” She turned her eyes to him though was privy to only his profile, and thought she detected a flicker of unease cross his features, as if he, too, knew Ezra’s temper to be unpredictable. “If you do actually need me alive, mayhap you’d best find another you trust more to keep me so.”

  TESS NOW SPENT MOST of her day outside, quite happy to repair the damage neglect had caused to the very lacking garden. The MacGregor had, after the incident with Ezra, provisioned her with several basic tools: petite spades and trowels and even a digging and cutting knife, though they be dreadfully small; several wooden buckets with long rope handles; and a larger water barrel, which had been situated between the two gardens, near to the root cellar steps. Conall had shown her to the well in the front corner of the inner courtyard, near the stables, beneath what he had informed her was the armorer’s tower.

  She started each morning by grabbing a bucket and heading to the well, ignoring the curious but unfriendly people who were busy with their own work. She completely ignored Ezra, who had sadly retained his position as her keeper, and who made no effort to lend any assistance at all, though it was quite a chore to lug the water-filled buckets back to the garden and even more difficult to lift and empty them into the waiting barrel. She hadn’t any need of water just yet, though, as her immediate intent was only to make sense of the garden. But if she filled it up little by little now, when she did have need of water, she might have the barrel well full. She began to clear away a year's worth of weeds and found, to her surprise, several herbs and plants, struggling but surviving in the small plot. She would have liked to hack away at the intrusive larger weeds but the pathetic knife she’d been allowed required that she saw them off. Little by little, she disentangled portions of the wattle fence, stacking it neatly to the side until she was ready for it.

  By the end of
her first full day in the garden, she sat back on her heels, sorry for the damage this labor had caused to her borrowed gown and surveyed the results of her efforts. Truthfully, she was rather disheartened by what little progress she seemed to have made. She stood and stretched and looked around for Ezra. He was down the wall a way, talking to someone near the granary, though his eyes remained fixed as ever on her. She spent the next hour in the narrow root cellar, clearing out all the unused crocks and buckets filled with what she guessed might be compost. She moved everything outside, including all the sprouting plants and went to the kitchen to beg a broom from Eagan.

  The little round cook took one look at Tess and laughed out loud. “Aye, lass, you might be wanting your kitchen job back, no?”

  Tess shrugged, considering her filthy hands and skirts. “I think not.” She smiled. “What’s worse, these hands—” she held them up for his inspection “—or my chafed and chapped kitchen hands?”

  Eagan laughed and waved one finger at her, as if struck by inspiration. He disappeared around the corner, into the linen storeroom, and reappeared only moments later with a stack of items, pressing them into those dirty hands of hers.

  “Too late, lass, to save today, but tomorrow you start fresh.”

  Tess perused the items, finding two long aprons, two sets of light canvas gloves, and some square linens of blue. She held up the corner of one.

  Eagan nodded. “Tie that hair back, lass. Get it off your face.”

  “Thank you, Eagan,” she said, warmed by his thoughtfulness. “And have you a broom to spare? The cellar needs much attention as well.”

  Eagan scrambled to find this as well. Once outfitted, Tess returned to the garden.

  Ezra stood in the doorway, looking as always, pleased to focus so much hatred upon her. But she disregarded him, more easily now since Conall and John Cardmore’s reaction to his hands upon her yesterday assured her he would keep those paws off her from now on.

  Her work continued, seemed never ending, and made the kitchen chores appear as play time now. This work was physical and grueling, and she loved every minute of it. No one spoke to her and she was fairly happy to be left alone. She enjoyed the progress she made, slow though it was, and felt that she had some purpose now, which she realized she’d never actually known before.

  She saw little of the beast now, for he rarely visited the kitchens, never came near the garden, and usually was found out on the practice field. Sometimes, she would hear his voice, booming across the bailey, or through the castle at supper time. If he laughed, she never mistook that for anyone else. His laugh was unique, if rare, and more often than not upon hearing it, Tess found herself shaking her head again at the wonder of it. Such a beautiful sound. Such a wretched beast.

  At night, she lie upon the fur throws, clean ones that had been kindly replaced by Serena, and thought of home. She never questioned why her father or Alain had not come for her yet. It had only been a couple weeks. Surely there was good reason to wait. Sir Arthur might be appealing to the king for assistance. Wisely, Tess stopped believing that tomorrow would be the day. That had proven much too wearying, too heartbreaking to endure.

  They would come.

  They would come.

  SEVERAL DAYS LATER, she plucked vigorously at some protruding weeds, taking out today’s frustration on the hapless interlopers. Oh, she didn’t mind this work, truly, but she’d begun her day as was her habit by loading a bucket of water from the well to fill her barrel, only to find that the barrel, which she had filled to nearly half by slogging heavy buckets across the bailey day after day, lay on its side now. The ground all around was soaked with puddles and some of the water had poured down into the root cellar as great slides of mud. She’d set down the lone bucket and had examined the yard, looking for an obvious culprit, as it was improbable that the barrel had overturned without help. There was none, or there were plenty, as eyes watched her steadily from all directions. Ezra stood again down at the granary, his face only uglier now with the spiteful grin attached to it. She faced the barrel again and breathed deeply to strengthen her own mettle. She tried to right the barrel, but even empty of its contents, it proved impossibly heavy. She attempted to stand it up from several different directions but the weighty thing barely budged. She knew these awful people watched her, surely filled with glee at her struggles, but this only infused her with larger determination to stand the darn thing up again. She slipped in the fresh mud and fell onto her knees. She felt tears well suddenly and wondered why they hated her so. But she pressed on, latching onto one of the metal rings that circled the barrel and trying to hoist herself up as her feet were now caked with inches of thick sludge and continued to slip.

  She started as a shadow fell over her, and gasped when she was yanked to her feet by a sure and strong hand. It was Conall, his touch familiar by now. Her dejection was not something she’d have wanted him to see, but there wasn’t anything to be done about it. He moved her easily out of the mud, onto the dry dirt. Tess glanced down at her skirt and apron, coated with muck from the knee down.

  Conall frowned and moved his eyes around, taking in the mess behind her.

  “I have never in my life done something harmful to another person,” Tess said, “not intentionally, not out of sheer malice or hate. I just don’t understand it.”

  Though a response initially appeared forthcoming, he said nothing. His clenched jaw twitched, and he stepped around her to right the barrel, moving it away from the wall of the keep and onto dry ground between the two gardens. Then he went to grab her bucket, but Tess snatched up the rope before he could. Incensed at his lack of words or any offer of apology—unreasonable, she knew—she lifted the bucket and dumped it into the barrel.

  “Lass—”

  “Leave me alone.” Anger had displaced the dejection. Tess stalked away, her knuckles white as she clenched the bucket so tightly by the rim. She filled it once again at the well and saw only the back of Conall upon her return as he strode into the hall. She held her head high—damn them all—and pushed herself to make six trips back and forth from well to barrel, made more difficult by the mud still clinging to her only pair of shoes.

  An hour later while she cleared the last untouched corner of the garden, her yanking and pulling and cutting done with jerky motions to match her mood, she felt eyes upon her. She turned, expecting to see Ezra had closed in on her, though usually he allowed her quite a bit of distance.

  It was not Ezra, but a small girl, perhaps four or five years of age. She was pretty and blonde, her eyes, with the sun behind her, as blue as the beast's.

  "Hello," Tess greeted her, all anger fading at the sight of this sad looking child. Tess noticed a wilted flower in her hands. "What a pretty flower."

  There was no reply. Tess came up on her knees and turned to face the girl, eye to eye though still many feet apart. "My name is Tess."

  But the little girl only tilted her head as if she didn’t understand the words.

  "What is your name?" Tess persisted, smiling gently.

  "Her name is Bethany.”

  Tess turned and found Serena walking toward them, coming from the hall perhaps. "Good day, Serena."

  "And to you, Tess." Serena said, and stood behind the child, running a hand through the girl's golden hair. "She doesn't speak. Hasn't since the MacGregor found her on a roadside, holding the hand of her mother," Serena said and then mouthed to Tess, "Dead."

  Tess frowned, her hand poised over her brow, shielding her eyes from the sun as she glanced up at Serena. "Oh, how terrible. The poor thing."

  "She's rather wonderful, our Bethany, aren't you, darling?" Asked Serena, but the child continued to stare at Tess. “John Cardmore named her. She seems to like it.”

  "Would you like to help me?" Tess asked, her heart breaking for this wee child. There was no response.

  "I've just come to fetch her for something to eat. If I didn't bring her in and sit her down, I fear she'd never eat a thing."

 
"Where does she live? Here in the castle?"

  "Sometimes, she sleeps with me. Other times, I know not where she is for days at a time."

  Tess was alarmed by this.

  "Come along, Bethany," Serena prodded, taking the girl's hand in hers. Bethany resisted only long enough to offer her fragile flower to Tess, holding the bloom up in the sun, her arm stretched taut, her gaze uncertain.

  Tess smiled warmly. "Thank you, Bethany. I shall keep it with me in my...room."

  Bethany might have smiled but Tess couldn't be sure. Serena pulled her away and Tess was left to think about that poor child the rest of the day.

  CHAPTER 7

  The next day, dressed in a lighter and more serviceable kirtle of linen, and with her shoes scraped clean of as much mud as possible, Tess tended her garden. She kept an eye out for Bethany and was disappointed not to see her at all.

  But she saw something almost as intriguing. A scuffle had broken out among two men in the courtyard and had quickly escalated into a full-fledged fist fight. It captured Tess’s attention only momentarily but what heightened her interest was Ezra's total preoccupation with the sparring, which now had the two stout men rolling on the hard ground, over and over, swinging arms, throwing punches as they went.

  Tess watched Ezra. He was completely engaged, not paying the smallest bit of heed to Tess. Quickly glancing about, Tess observed that nearly everyone in the vicinity was taken in by the spectacle. Slowly, and without great consideration, hoping the combatants would carry on, Tess crept away from the garden, toward the center of the yard, as if she only wished to witness the melee, as so many other people now did. When the crowd of people surrounding the wrestlers grew to be two and three deep, Tess ambled away casually and moved toward the stables across the yard from the garden.