Touch Of Enchantment Part 11

A small hand brushed her wet cheek, coaxing her to open them. Jenny blinked at her with her solemn green eyes, as if to comfort her.

If Tabitha had been wearing the amulet at that moment, she would have wished to restore this child's faith in her own worth. She would have given Jenny her voice back and somehow made her believe that she wasn't at fault for the terrible thing that had happened to her.

But Tabitha had only one gift to give. She climbed to her feet and briskly dashed her tears away. "You can't expect me to cut such a dirty mop of hair, little miss. If you want your way, you'll have to let me wash it first."

Jenny eyed the tub with sullen suspicion, but did no more than drag her feet in protest when Tabitha placed a firm hand on her shoulder and steered her toward it.

When Magwyn saw what Tabitha had done to her daughter, she fainted dead away.

Bleating like frightened sheep, the other women gathered around their fallen comrade. Iselda dropped to her well-cushioned knees and began fanning her friend with a card of wool.

A tall, scrawny old woman whose wispy top knot made her look like a brittle cotton swab shifted her pipe to the corner of her mouth. "Shorn her like a lamb, haven't ye? Wee la.s.s looks more like a lad."

Magwyn sat up, hearing just enough of that dour p.r.o.nouncement to set up a keening wail. Tabitha would have clapped her hands over her ears if Jenny hadn't been clinging to one of them, wide-eyed with fascination at the chaos her appearance had provoked.

"Now, Magwyn," Tabitha began in what she hoped was a soothing tone. "You don't understand. Jenny begged me to a" "

She hopped backward as Magwyn sprang to her feet, her freckled hands curled into claws. The woman's eyes seemed to spit sparks of green fire. "How dare you take a knife to my daughter's crowning glory? Hasn't she suffered enough shame at the hands of the English?"

Like the most trite of tourists, Tabitha wanted to whine that she was American, for G.o.d's sake, not English. But since America hadn't been discovered yet, she doubted it would matter. The women were milling around as if hoping to witness a full-fledged brawl.

"I was simply trying to help. When Jenny came to me a" "

Magwyn's face crumpled, a glimpse of pain coming through her rage. "Came to you, my a.r.s.e! If she was goin' to come to anyone, don't you think she'd have come to her own mother?"

Ever the peacemaker, Iselda stepped between them. She wisely chose to address Tabitha, the more rational of the two women at the moment. "Surely you can understand Magwyn's dismay, la.s.s. Tis only for the most vile of sins that a woman might have her hair chopped off." She ticked them off on her plump fingers. "Thievery, adultery, immodesty, sodomy, whoring, fornica a" " She blushed to the roots of her hair as her gaze strayed to Tabitha's blunt bob.

Tabitha stiffened. They probably believed she had committed most of those lewd sins and a few unspeakable others not only with their laird, but with several men before him. The irony almost made her laugh. Almost.

"Council's in session, Magwyn," said the old woman, puffing serenely on her pipe. "You should take yer complaint to the laird."

"Aye, the laird!" echoed one woman.

"Granny Cora's right. He'll know what to do with her," murmured another.

After a moment of tense silence, Magwyn finally nodded. She s.n.a.t.c.hed her daughter's hand out of Tabitha's grip as the women formed an impenetrable cordon, herding the accused before them. Tabitha's confident stride didn't falter until it occurred to her that she had no way of knowing if Colin would take her side or what the consequences would be if he didn't.

Chapter 14.

When the mob of women came marching down the hill, Colin was on the verge of banging either his head or someone else's against the council table. He welcomed the interruption. Even the shrill cacophony of irate female voices seemed preferable to spending another moment arguing with lads who fancied themselves men and men behaving as if they were lads.

His relief lasted only until he saw Tabitha marching at the head of the mob.

As she approached, Colin rose to his feet, preparing himself to meet some unspoken challenge. Ever since their encounter at the pool, he'd been plagued by images of her silky smooth legs wrapped around his waist.

Despite the proud tilt of her head, or perhaps because of it, he feared Tabitha wasn't the leader of the mob, but the victim of it. As they reached the table, Magwyn gave her a hard shove, confirming his suspicions.

He caught her before she could stumble. "What is the meaning of this?" He addressed the soft-spoken question not to the woman in his arms, but to Magwyn, who was glaring at him with stony disapproval.

She answered him by drawing a child out from behind her skirts and thrusting her forward. "Look! Just look what the wench did to my babe!"

Colin frowned and blinked rapidly, hardly recognizing the feral creature he'd so briefly glimpsed the night before. A shining cap of curls crowned the moppet's head and she was scrubbed so clean and pink she practically glowed.

" Tis a vast improvement. I should think you'd be pleased."

"Her hair!" Magwyn wailed. "Look how she butchered my Jenny's beautiful hair!"

Colin sighed and turned Tabitha around to face him, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders. "Did you cut the child's hair?"

She met his gaze boldly. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because she asked me to."

Magwyn snorted. "I suppose next you'll be claimin' she spoke to you when she's spoken nary a whisper to her very own mother for over a month." Several of the women scoffed in agreement.

"I never claimed she spoke to me. She simply indicated that she wanted her hair cut like mine. Once I started tr.i.m.m.i.n.g, she decided she wanted it even shorter and I didn't have the heart to deny her."

"Why did she seek such a strange favor?" Colin asked.

Tabitha pressed her lips together, going as mute as Jenny. Despite his frustration, Colin had to admire a woman who could be trusted with secrets. Especially a child's secrets.

Since it seemed he'd glean no more information from Tabitha, he freed her and crooked a finger at Jenny. "Come here, la.s.s."

He did not beg or cajole. He simply commanded. And to everyone's astonishment, the child obeyed.

He squatted down to her eye level, keenly aware that Tabitha was watching him with an unfathomable expression in her gray eyes. "Did you want this lady to cut your hair?"

Jenny tucked her head shyly, then nodded.

"And do you fancy it?"

She nodded again, more violently this time.

"So do I," he confessed, rumpling the soft curls. The matter-of-fact gesture coaxed a shy, gap-toothed smile from the child.

Magwyn gasped. "Why, 'tis the first time I've seen her smile sincea" As she lifted her eyes from Jenny to Tabitha, her expression shifted from awe to dismay. "It seems I've misjudged you, my lady," she said stiffly. "Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?"

"Consider it done," Tabitha replied. "I really should have asked your permission first."

"A common refrain," Colin murmured in her ear. "Considering you'd still have done exactly as you pleased."

He savored the openly hostile glare she shot him. Before she could fashion a tart retort, the women gathered around her, acting on Magwyn's cue to welcome her back into their fold.

Iselda took her by the arm. "Now that the wee misunderstandin' has been cleared up, you can join us in our weavin', dearie."

"Weaving?" Tabitha echoed.

"Aye," said Granny Cora, tugging on her other arm. "And after the weavin', we'll butcher a nice fat sow for supper and let you pickle the entrails."

"Pickles?" she repeated even more faintly. "I never cared for pickles."

As the women urged Tabitha up the hill, she was no less a captive than she'd been marching down it. She cast Colin a helpless glance over her shoulder. He grinned. What did she expect him to do? Charge after her, roaring a battle cry, and rescue her from an afternoon of domestic drudgery?

When she dragged her feet, even Magwyn smiled. "Come along, la.s.s. We should leave the menfolk to their council."

Tabitha stopped dead in her tracks. No amount of gentle tugging could prod her back into motion.

Colin felt a surge of apprehension as she pivoted to face him. A predatory gleam lit her eyes as her gaze swept the long table and the ring of surly faces surrounding it. "A council? Would that be anything like a board meeting?"

Chauncey, the late tanner's overgrown son, surged to his feet, sweeping his waist-length tangle of hair out of his eyes. "We'll not have our laird beholden to a bl.u.s.tering braggart like MacDuff. I say we march on Brisbane's castle by night just as we planned before Laird Colin returned."

This proposal roused a chorus of enthusiastic "Ayes!" from the boys flanking Chauncey and a round of contemptuous "Pshaws" from the old men on the opposite side of the table.

Tabitha pounded on the table with her makeshift gavel, making Colin wince. "You're out of order, young man. Another outburst like that and I'll be forced to fine you."

Chauncey sank down on the bench, pouting like a chastened toddler.

One of the old men stood, his snowy beard bobbing against his sunken chest. "Don't heed the foolhardy lad, me laird. Why I was a" " Tabitha cleared her throat pointedly. The old man spat on the gra.s.s. "Permission to speak, la.s.s?" he drawled with acid sarcasm.

"Permission granted," she purred, waving the gavel as if it were a royal scepter.

The old man shuffled back around to face Colin. "I was advisin' yer da on matters of war when ye were still suckin' Nana's teat."

A dull flush crawled up Colin's throat. Tabitha bit her lip to keep from giggling, but Arjon made no effort to hide his amused smirk.

The old man shook his fist in the air. "And I say we pet.i.tion the MacDuff for men and weapons. We'll take our stand here at Castle Raven, just as we always have."

"Look what that got us last time," the sullen Chauncey muttered. "Our dads killed and our mothers and sisters raped."

The table erupted in ominous grumbles that rapidly escalated to shouted insults regarding the partic.i.p.ants' questionable parentage and unnatural affection for sheep. Tabitha slammed down the gavel before they could come to outright blows, but it was Colin rising to his feet that finally silenced them.

"I weary of this infernal bickering," he said, his soft voice mesmerizing them. "If you cannot a" "

"Sir?" Tabitha interrupted with a long-suffering sigh. "Do I have to remind you of proper protocol?"

Colin swung toward her and thundered, "Do I have to remind you that I am laird of this castle?"

Several of the men flinched at the earth-trembling volume of his voice, but Tabitha simply gave him one of her most infuriating smiles. "And I'm Chairman of the Board, which, according to Robert's Rules of Order, grants me the authority to govern this meeting as I see fit."

He glared at her in stony silence.

She pointed the gavel at him. "You may speak."

His powerful hands clenched and unclenched as if fixed around her throat. "As most of you know, this council is naught but a formality. I value your wisdom, but 'tis I, as Laird of Ravenshaw, who will make the final decision." He nodded toward the old men. "I'll seek out the MacDuff as you advise." Before they could so much as nod their satisfaction, he turned toward the boys. "But I've no intention of waiting for Roger to return and pick our bones clean. Once we've made our alliance with the MacDuff, we'll take the battle to Brisbane."

Led by the exuberant Chauncey, the boys erupted in hoa.r.s.e cheers. Tabitha raised her voice in a vain attempt to be heard above the din. "A motion has been made. All in favor say 'Aye.' Those opposed a" "

"Bring me the map of Brisbane's lands," Colin commanded, neatly cutting her off.

"Aye, my lord." Ewan hastened to spread a parchment on the table before his master. Colin leaned forward until his nose practically touched the map.

Wisely deciding her role as self-appointed Chairman of the Board of Ravenshaw Enterprises had just been usurped by its president and CEO, Tabitha came around the table to peer over Colin's shoulder. The map was covered with incomprehensible scrawls and calligraphy so cramped it appeared to have been inked by nearsighted elves. She absently drew her gla.s.ses from her skirt pocket and slipped them on.

Her brow furrowed as she studied the map. She a.s.sumed the strange hush that had fallen over the men was the result of a similar concentration.

But when the silence stretched to near snapping point, she glanced up to find them staring at her nose. She reached up, thinking to rub away a smudge of dirt, only to encounter the wire bridge of her gla.s.ses. As Colin turned to see what had captured his men's fickle attention, apprehension blossomed in Tabitha's belly.

He straightened, c.o.c.king his head first one way, then the other, as if studying her from all angles might explain the inexplicable. His fingers brushed her temples as he drew the gla.s.ses off of her. She couldn't have felt any more vulnerable had he stripped her naked in front of his men.

She held her breath, antic.i.p.ating questions she didn't dare answer. But he simply held the gla.s.ses up to the sunlight, smudging the lenses with his broad thumbs, then slipped them over his own eyes, holding them in place as if not trusting the strength of the earpieces.

As he blinked in wonder at his surroundings, Tabitha's breath caught in a strange little hiccup. Oddly enough, the gla.s.ses enhanced his rugged masculine appeal instead of detracting from it. She couldn't decide if he looked more like a gorgeous accountant or a brainy GQ model. His men watched warily as he leaned over the map.

"Arjon," he said, stabbing a finger toward an incomprehensible squiggle, "what river is this?"

Arjon leaned closer. "That would be the Tweed."

Colin broke into a dazzling grin. "Just as I thought. And this patch of hills?"

"The Combies." Arjon went on naming landmark after landmark until Colin was nearly shouting them in unison with him.

Suddenly Tabitha understood why he was always glowering at her or slaying her with that daunting Clint Eastwood squint. He was probably more nearsighted than she was!

"Miraculous," he breathed, shaking his head. "I never dreamed such marvels existed. Not even the Sultan of Egypt possessed such a treasure." He shifted his gaze to his friend's face, recoiling in mock horror. "Why, Arjon, you're much uglier than I realized!"

The men, including Arjon, burst out laughing. Tabitha might have laughed, too, but as Colin turned the full force of those magnificent golden eyes on her, she realized too late that the joke was on her.

"And you, my lady," he said softly, tracing her perfectly ordinary features with his bemused gaze, "are even more beautiful." Almost as if his confession disturbed him as deeply as it had her, he drew off the gla.s.ses and held them out to her. "However wondrous, I mustn't grow too attached to these. I believe they belong to you."

Tabitha backed away from him, nearly stumbling over her own feet. "You keep them. Really. I don't need them anymore."

She could see far too clearly without them. She could see the sunlight glinting off Colin's glossy, dark hair, the beguiling crinkles around his eyes, the rueful smile curling the very corner of his mouth that she ached to kiss.

"Please keep them. They're just two pieces of warped gla.s.s I use in my magic act. Nothing but a petty trick." A trick indeed, Tabitha thought. A cruel trick of both time and fate. Colin's smile faded as she continued to retreat. "Consider them a gift. A token of my appreciation for your many kindnesses."

Before she could blurt out anything even more d.a.m.ning, she turned and fled up the hill, her vision distorted by tears.

Tabitha tossed and turned on the narrow cot, envying Colin both his nest of pillows and his serene sleep. Even with the furs arranged beneath her, she might as well have been resting on a bed of rocks. Desperation poked and prodded her, making even the pretense of sleep impossible.

The night was as restless as she was. The wind prowled around the tent like a fretful dragon, whipping branches against its billowing walls and moaning a doleful refrain.