Page 4 of Stolen Highland Dreams (The Highlanders #9)
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M ystery, intrigue, and rumors of strange happenings in the Caledonian Forest drew Dashiell MacTavish into the shadowed woods early that spring day, although he disguised his mission as a hunt.
A hunting expedition for the elusive two-legged creature he had overheard his clansmen discussing in hushed voices in the darkened passages of Cairn Castle this morn.
He wasn’t superstitious and didn’t believe in witches or ghosts or that a hare crossing his path would cause bad luck, as many of his clansmen believed. Even so, he wished to discover what his clansmen thought they had seen in the ancient forest. Surely, something that could easily be explained away.
He knew he could explain it away. He had seen nothing unusual on previous hunts he’d been on with his men.
The whisper of a chilly southerly breeze tickled the leaves of the massive oaks, the gentle tune of their fluttery voice overcome by the sounds of horses’ hooves. The clansmen’s mounts tromped on the spongy woodland floor, and his hounds milled about as they moved deeper into the forest.
Dashiell and his entourage stopped as the filtered sun danced across the branches stretched out to them. His advisor, Quinn, spotted a red deer drinking from a stream two hundred yards away and leaned over in his saddle to point out the prey to him.
Dashiell reached for his bow and nocked the arrow, but he glimpsed a silhouette behind the deer when he pulled the string taut. Lowering his bow, he stared at the shadow, then without taking his eyes off the figure, he whispered, “What is that behind the deer? Can you tell, Quinn?”
His friend from childhood shoved a wisp of blond hair out of his blue eyes, their clansmen staring at the sight as well, and then he turned to Dashiell. “I believe it is the Nymph of the Forest.”
He sounded so serious that Dashiell stared at him in disbelief. He hadn’t expected his advisor to have been taken in by the rumors.
“The what?” Dashiell had believed the elusive creature to be a man, not a woman, if this was the one the others had whispered about. He had assumed that the man was a hermit unlawfully living in his woods if the tales were true.
If he allowed one man to live there, there was no telling how many others would invade his woods and hunt and forage in them until there was nothing left for the members of his clan to eat.
“Some of our men and I have seen her a couple of times on recent hunts. Others have as well. Many have observed her since we moved into the keep this past winter before you joined us. They say she is a protector of the deer of the Caledonian Forest.”
Protector of the deer?
“We shall see, shall we no’?” Dashiell raised his arrow to his bow.
These were his hunting grounds, and no slip of a maid would prevent him from bringing home meat to feed his people. He had to ensure his clansmen would not be taken in by these superstitious beliefs and prove them wrong.
When he pulled the string rigid, the deer twitched its ear, her warm brown eyes observing him.
Before he could release his arrow, the slim figure of a woman moved into view. Dashiell froze.
The lass’s dark green gown and a matching veil covering her hair made her appear like a specter, blending in with the woods like a chameleon camouflaged in its surroundings. Yet he saw the glint of a sword hanging from a belt at her waist.
A chill swept up his spine as he realized how at risk she could be should he, or one of his men who were hunting, hit her instead of the deer. He wanted to say as much as possible, to warn her away, yet he could not utter a word for his life.
Intently, he studied her, trying to learn more about her—her age, figure, and hair color hidden beneath the veil. When she lifted her hand as if to stop him in his mission, it was as though he was carved into stone, unable to move.
If he’d been of sound mind, he would have crossed the stream, captured the lass, and proven to his people that the woman was only that. Not some fey creature with mystical powers.
Except the woman enraptured him, made his blood race, and forced him to acknowledge that there was more to his interest in her than he wished to admit. His men were just as enthralled, and even his hounds stood silently watching her, their tails straight behind them, their ears perked, their brown eyes watching the deer…and observing the lady.
Then the wolf pup—he was sure it was the same one he’d seen before—pushed through the ferns and nuzzled her leg. Had his men seen the woman with the wolf pup before? Was that why Quinn thought someone had been caring for him? More than just someone, but the fey woman? But he hadn’t wanted to reveal the truth?
At the motion of her hand, the deer turned and fled. As if she had released her hold on Dashiell, he let loose the arrow, sending it winging across the stream, where it found its mark in a lichen-covered trunk of a yew nearby with a thwack!
Dashiell turned his head quickly to observe more of the lady, but she and the wolf pup had vanished as suddenly as the deer. Staring at the deep green and lighter green leaves fluttering in the breeze, narrow shafts of sunlight filtering through the dense forest where the lady, wolf, and deer had disappeared, he frowned.
After pausing for a moment, he smiled as he considered the novelty of the situation.
He put his bow and arrow up, not to be thwarted by the woman. “‘Tis a hunt. Let us retrieve all three, shall we?”
His men eagerly agreed, and spurring his horse on, Dashiell led the hunting party across the shallow stream, sending rivulets splashing. He headed deeper into the filtered shade of the timberlands, determined to find the woman, capture her, and question her about who she was and what she was doing there.
After riding a short distance and not finding the woman as he’d expected and somewhat disappointed and surprised at her fleetness of foot, Dashiell turned back and motioned for his men to release the wolfhounds.
The scenting hounds were used for tracking prey and had taken down a few English knights from their mounts during battles between his men and theirs in years past. They would bring her to heel.
Greatly anticipating the woman’s capture, he waited until the hounds’ howls rent the air.
“Come! They have found our quarry!” His blood racing with the thrill of the hunt, Dashiell turned toward the dogs’ barking.
They rode to the location of the ruckus, and his gaze caught sight of the lady’s leafy green gown billowing out behind her and her silky red hair trailing past her back, following the flow of her skirts, her green veil gone.
“Over there!” he shouted and pointed with his bow, then rode toward the lady. He saw no sign of her as he drew close to where he had spotted her.
Turning to his men, he said as he maneuvered through the woods, “You saw her come this way, too, did you no’?”
The men all shook their heads, whereupon Dashiell took a deep breath, knowing he was not wrong, and continued to make his way toward the sound of his hounds. When they arrived on the scene, they found the dogs had cornered a boar, its ivory tusks protruding threateningly as it charged the dogs and men about it.
Dashiell stared at the animal, then shook his head, disappointed that he had not found his real prey—the woman. “That is neither the deer nor the…what did you call her?”
“The Nymph of the Forest.” Quinn looked just as disappointed.
“Why has no one ever told me of this?” Annoyed that his people would keep the intriguing creature secret from him, he was determined to catch her and discover all there was about her. He imagined she was some waif of a woman who lived in the village nearby and frequented his woods, harvesting mushrooms and berries—which was forbidden.
Quinn said, “We have never had a good view of her. Nobody has ever been closer than we were to her today. In the shadows of the trees, we wondered if our imaginations were creating the illusion of a woman in your forest. A woman could never live out here on her own for very long. We didna believe you would wish to be bothered with unfounded rumors and such.”
Glancing back at the beast as it charged at the hounds again, Dashiell said, “Kill the boar. We will have him for the evening meal. The rest of you come with me. I wish to find the woman.”
He was still annoyed that his clansmen would not bother him with such a matter. The woman was intriguing, to say the least.
He followed the horses’ tracks back to where they had seen the deer at the stream. Studying the ground from his horse, he finally dismounted and examined the riverbank more closely.
His men were sure to wonder why he wouldn’t hunt for food when it was one of his favorite activities. But today, the woman consumed his thoughts.
Quinn and the others joined him, and Dashiell pointed to footprints in the mud.
“Look here.” He placed his shoe next to the imprint. “‘Tis the woman’s small footprint. She isna a figment of our imagination.” Kneeling at the stream’s edge, he reached for a clump of violets dropped nearby. He twisted them back and forth in his hand. “Wild violets grow abundantly in the meadow. She must have come from there. What did you see of her?”
“She is wearing green gowns that blend in with the forest. I dinna ken how she could get so close to the deer without spooking them, but when I saw her before, she stood near the deer as she did today. Then she spied the hunters and shooed the deer to safety.”
Dashiell considered the notion. “Perhaps ‘tis the same deer. Mayhap, she raised an orphan.”
“The others were bucks.”
Dashiell loved a good mystery as well as the hunt. “What about the wolf pup?”
Quinn cleared his throat. “Aye, we saw here with the pup as well.”
“I knew you were no’ telling everything you knew about the pup.”
“I couldna without revealing she had been with the wolf. Many of our clansmen have seen her, but they were afraid to report it for fear that you would believe they had been partaking too much of the ale or had gone mad. One of our men heard some of us discussing the lass in the great hall a week ago, and that is when they came forward and told me about her.”
“Why did no one tell me about her before?”
“You dinna believe in witches or such. I dinna believe you would wish to hear such news.”
“Nonsense. I wish to know all that goes on throughout my land.”
Dashiell and his men searched for clues as to where the woman had disappeared until the light turned a brilliant orange tinged with pink. Then, as it darkened to a deep blue, the light faded from the sky. Though he wished to continue beyond any reason he could account for, he finally ceased their search.
“We may as well return to the castle. We will find naught more concerning the woman tonight in the dark of the woods, I dare say.” He raised his brows at Quinn. “Do you think me too serious, then, Quinn?”
His advisor smiled. “Nay. I just didna think you would be interested in the story.”
“Aye.” Dashiell would not wish anyone to think he believed in such tales as rational as his people knew him to be.
When they arrived in the outer bailey of Cairn Castle, the supper bell rang. “We are just in time. I hope they knew we had just returned and hadna planned to eat without us.” He only jested. He knew very well his clansmen would not.
A stable boy quickly took Dashiell’s horse’s reins and led the horse to the stable while Dashiell and his advisor walked ahead of his men into the great hall filled with clansmen and women already gathered about the bare trestle tables.
Dashiell stalked toward the head table elevated at the backside of the great hall, overlooking the arrangement of the trestle tables, and turned to his advisor. “Is the lady from the village, do you think?”
“I have made some inquiries. They say she is the Nymph of the Forest, as we do, though the blacksmith said he had heard her name was Ella. The butchers and liverymen say she has magical powers, and the thieves who used to roam free in the forest avoid it now.”
“Well, that is good.” However, Dashiell thought it was utter nonsense. “Why were you making inquiries about the lass, Quinn?”
“I was curious about her.”
Dashiell considered Quinn’s normally stern face, a hint of amusement in his expression. His advisor bowed to him, took his leave, and joined his wife at the head table. Was his advisor more than curious about the mysterious woman?
He had been solely dedicated to his pretty wife, and Dashiell had never seen Quinn’s gaze or interest stray to another lass. The way he had kept the lass secret from Dashiell bothered him. Quinn seemed more than intrigued with her.
When Dashiell took his seat at the center of the table, he attempted to listen to the hushed murmurings concerning Ella all around him since the new sighting had incited tongues to wag. The talk might have been partly since he had now spied the wisp of a woman, confirming they were not the only ones to have seen her.
He dipped his spoon into his bowl of fish stew when Lady Yvaine, widow of his late uncle, leaned over to him. “I understand you have finally seen this mysterious nymph yourself.”
“Barely enough to believe she is naught more than shadows.”
Yvaine pinched her gray brows together and made a small, amused face. “Ah, but I have heard you made further discoveries concerning the woman—the size of her shoe and that she has been to the meadow in the valley as well.”
“Perhaps.”
“I hear she sprints as fast as the deer and that even the hounds canna locate her as she confuses their scent. You do know Quinn has tried to catch her twice before?”
Dashiell raised his brows and stared at his advisor, who was laughing with his wife. “Nay, he dinna tell me this.” He had suspected there was more to the story than his advisor had been letting on. He shook his head and took another scoop of the stew.
“Aye, since he has seen her, he thinks of naught else and has made many excursions into the forest, trying to track her down. His wife has been rather perturbed over his recent overwhelming interest in the lady.”
Dashiell observed Wynda leaning over her husband as she handed him a slice of boar. Quinn grasped the meat between his teeth, and Dashiell shook his head. Quinn and his wife seemed content enough, which was more than he could say about his own ill-fated relationships with women.
“I am certain Quinn is curious, as am I and all the other clansmen on the hunt today.” Dashiell downed his ale, then poked his boar with his knife and lifted it. “We will find this woman soon. Twelve clansmen inspect my forests every third year, but I will have them do it in a few days.”
“That’s a good idea.” His aunt drank some of her mead.
“They will be searching for more than the erection of a mill or fishpond or any enlarged clearing or land that has been enclosed without my authority or any abuse to cut wood this time. I will also send out my foresters, who act as my gamekeepers. Everyone who enters the Caledonian Forest will be on the lookout for the lady. We will find her.”
He realized after speaking he sounded way too interested in the woman himself, which he hadn't meant to do. The word would spread through the clan. Well, it couldn't be helped now. He was intrigued with the woman.
“They say she turns into a great horned owl at night. That is why she is in no danger from the wild beasts who roam the forest.”
Dashiell smiled at the notion. He had never thought his aunt to be so superstitious. “Is that so? We will see.” He chewed on his boar meat, but seeing Yvaine watching him, he paused. “You have something further to say to me, as I know that inquisitive look in your eyes.”
“You know what your grandmother would have said about her.”
“She was of the fey.”
“Aye. What did you think of the lass?”
“I didna get enough of a look at her, I am afraid. How long have you known about her?”
“Since Quinn first saw her.”
“Why did you no’ bring this to my attention before?” As extraordinary as the lass was, someone should have told him!
“I have never seen the lass. Someone who had seen her should have made you aware of her presence in the woods.”
As the lady supped her soup, Dashiell frowned at her. “You usually tell me everything that is going on, whether I wish to hear of it or no’. If you were no’ a lass, I would have made you one of my advisors some time ago.”
Yvaine smiled at him. “Why, what a nice compliment. Had I been a man, I would have been honored to serve as one of your advisors.”
“I am still waiting for my answer, my lady.” He swirled the ale in his tankard. After drinking the remainder, he poured himself another tankard full.
“I am afraid I have forgotten the question.”
Dashiell studied her, knowing his aunt did not speak the truth. Despite her age, she was as quick-witted as any of his advisors. “Why did you no’ tell me of the lady of the forest before?”
“Truthfully, I wasna sure how you would take it.”
“What do you mean?” He didn’t need her to speak in riddles.
“You are a most solemn individual.”
He glanced at Quinn. “I have heard that already today. Does everyone think this of me?”
“I wouldna ken.”
He observed Yvaine pull apart her boar. In her mysterious way, she was trying to tell him something, but he had no idea what. “Tell me, how am I too serious?”
“I didna say you were too somber.”
“You ken my meaning. What makes you think I am serious?”
Yvaine sipped more of her honeyed mead. “When we celebrate some great good that has transpired, you have the greatest feasts. No one would rather be anywhere but with you at these times. But you never join in any of the games. You watch and enjoy seeing your people having fun but never participate. No’ even when MacAfee and his men were here most recently.”
“There is no need.” He sliced off a piece of brown bread. “Everyone has worked hard during the year, and the celebrations are a time when the ladies can let down their hair…so to speak.” He smiled when Yvaine raised her eyebrows at the notion.
Immediately, he thought of Ella and her glorious red hair, catching a shimmer of sunlight rippling across its waves. He let out his breath, wishing he could have scooped the woman onto his saddle and run his hands through her unbound hair. He wondered then where her veil had gone and if he could find it clinging to a branch in the forest.
Seeing his aunt waiting for him to say more, he added, “And the men can relax. I enjoy seeing everyone enjoying themselves. But you speak of these special occasions…when we are no’ celebrating?”
“You dinna seem enthusiastic about much of anything. You are rather somber for your youthful age.”
“With our continued troubles with the neighboring clans, a clan chief canna be frivolous.”
“Frivolity can be a good thing. I have heard the whimsical can aid digestion.”
Dashiell nodded. “If you were my advisor, my lady, what would you advise me to do?”
He glanced at his people, laughing, talking, enjoying the boar and ale.
“Participate in the games, for one, I would say, if I were your advisor.”
“When there are no games to play?”
She shrugged.
“I must decide to marry soon, and I have no interest in any woman in that regard. I must make this choice, and love is not a consideration. Instead, I willna doubt have to marry one of our neighboring chiefs’ daughters. Two are spoiled beyond repair, and I willna have them abusing my people.”
“All sound reasons, my laird.”
“Another lass trembles before me as if I am the most fearful man she has ever gazed upon. I’ve heard one is interested in meeting me, but I dinna know what she would be like. How can I be in good spirits with such a gloomy prospect?”
Yvaine smiled, lifted one gray brow and a piece of bread to her lips, and said, “Mayhap, you will marry the Nymph of the Forest.”
He grunted. The woman belonged in the village, cavorting in the meadow or the woods, not helping him run his staff and castle. “Now you see why they dinna make women, advisors, my lady.”