Chapter Five
Once she entered the ring of light, Katherine breathed a sigh of relief seeing how frail and small the woman looked, not much taller than a half-grown child. Her eyes were as black as her tightly wound hair, and when she spoke, her teeth shone as pearls against her dark skin. Her accent was British, but the tone beneath it was alien to the Isles.
“Pardon, Mistress. I do not mean to unsettle you.” Her eyes searched the room and then settled on Katherine. “I am Selina. I have come to give you aid.”
Although her words were harmless, the woman’s manner had a menacing air, and an alarm sounded in Katherine’s mind. She wasn’t certain why such a small woman should create the fear that she was suddenly feeling. “I–I don’t need any help,” she said quickly. “Perhaps you could be of service to Mistress Belwood.”
The servant edged closer. “But no, I am for Mistress Katherine only, not your traveling companion. I have come for you.”
The interior alarm rang louder within her.
“No!” Katherine cried, backing away, her senses fully awakened, her skin crawling. “Leave! I have no need of you.”
The woman’s mouth worked into a tight smile. “As you wish. Perhaps later.” She bowed and backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Calming her breath, Katherine couldn’t explain the fear that had coursed through her. Was that woman actually her maid? But hadn’t Alexander told them that there was only one female servant in the manor, a cook? So who was this woman? The rhythm of her heart slowed as her fear faded. Once the woman was gone, Katherine felt foolish for feeling afraid of her. Taking a deep breath, she timidly opened the door and, glancing at both sides of the hall, she then hastened through the dimly lit corridor and down the stairs. Anxious for company, even May-Jewel’s, she ran across the great hall.
Upon seeing Katherine, May-Jewel said, “Why Katherine, how stylish you look in that gown!” She smiled at her sister.
“I sewed it myself,” Katherine replied. After admitting that, she waited for the usual caustic remark. When it didn’t come, she raised her eyebrows in surprise and smiled at May-Jewel in return.
Her sister’s presence and the soft flickering of the dining room’s fireplace caused Katherine’s fear to fade. She relaxed in the security of the room, taking a moment to survey it. Ancient crests of local clans hung on the walls and were interspersed with images of the Celestial Hierarchy. Atop the crest of the Clan Craig was a Seraphim, the highest ranking angel in heaven’s army. Cherubim mounted another crest while images of the rest of the hierarchy adorned the crests of the other clans from Lanarkshire. The reflecting glow of the fire washed each crest in ripples of light, making it seem as if the angels were alive and watching her as Katherine moved about studying each one.
Katherine then scanned the rest of the room, impressed by its richness, especially the huge oak table that filled the center of the room which, on other occasions, could have easily seated thirty people, though tonight there would be only three. The crystal drops on the lanterns captured the saffron glow of the fire and cast a soothing aura. Walking around the table, she was surprised by the crystal and silver place settings. What a contradiction this manor is, she thought, some rooms are so stately and cared for while others suffer utter neglect.
Neither of the women were aware that Alex had entered the room until he spoke.
“Forgive me for not returning to escort you to dinner, but unexpected business demanded my attention.”
Both women turned to him, and May-Jewel’s soft gasp was clearly audible.
Alex stood before them formally attired in his kilt. A lace jabot hung from the high neck of his tight fitting black doublet. Yards of dark pleated plaid snuggly hugged his narrow hips, dropping to the middle of his kneecap. A silver-handled dirk embedded with cairngorm stones was strapped to his right hip and a badger-headed fur sporran discreetly hung over the center of his lower torso. Ghillie brogues completed the traditional attire.
May-Jewel walked around him, her eyes registering delight, a teasing smile on her lips. “Mistress St. Pierre,” she taunted, “isn’t Alexander a magnificent sight? I’ve never seen such manliness in a skirt. And such a short skirt!” She laughed.
Frowning, Alex marched across the room and poured himself a drink. He had expected admiration not playful jabs. Being fiercely proud of his heritage and his clan, he fought the impulse to take the teasing seriously. What would a girl from America know of tradition anyhow, he questioned.
“Mistress Belwood,” he replied, moving to her side, “have they no respect for heritage in that wild land of yours that you should find my attire so entertaining?”
