The Virgin Spring. Debra Lee Brown
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her scent and the feel of her in his arms as they rode astride his mount. He pushed the thoughts from his mind, but continued to watch her.
The workers paid her no mind and the few women in the bailey turned from her and pulled their children away when Alex led her toward them. No one would speak to her, save Peg and Alex. It had been like that since she’d arrived.
Rachel tipped her chin high and fisted her hands at her sides, not breaking her stride. Her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink, but she did not avert her eyes from the small knot of clan folk who whispered as she walked past, nor did she respond to the occasional insult tossed in her direction.
Gilchrist knew the feeling well.
“Brave lass,” he whispered, and absently flexed the muscles in his burned arm.
He watched her. Every move.
She could feel Gilchrist’s eyes upon her as Alex led her down the path and away from the castle. Gilchrist had not come near her since he’d sent her away with Peg, and yet everywhere she looked he was there, watching her from a distance.
On impulse she looked back. There he was, leaning against the battlement, his gaze fixed on her. A small thrill coursed through her. He fascinated her—there was no other word for it. He looked almost made of stone, himself—a citadel within the citadel, alone by design.
“Did ye no hear me?” Alex said.
Rachel shook off the strange emotion and turned her attention back to Alex. “I—I’m sorry, what did you say?”
The warrior smiled, his dark eyes studying her face. “I said, can ye no remember anything more?”
Alex had prodded her with the same questions, over and over, for the last hour. “Nay, I’ve told you,” she said, trying to conceal her irritation. “I remember naught before I awoke in the cave. Neither name, nor family, nor what led me to the spring.”
She met his inquisitive gaze and pursed her lips. Alex’s rigid posture relaxed and a warm smile broke across his face. Finally, he believed her.
“Well, ’tis a shame, but dinna worry. We shall take care of you.” Alex took her hand in his and gently moved his thumb over her palm.
She resisted the urge to pull away. Her pulse quickened as she met his gaze. He’d been overfriendly and protective of her all morning. She supposed she should be grateful, but something about him unsettled her.
He was fair handsome, his brown eyes penetrating, his voice rich and soothing. Still, an uneasiness washed over her as he continued to so boldly caress her hand.
“I shall take care of you,” he whispered.
She did pull away then, her thoughts racing. There was something about his voice…his words. What was it? Rachel stopped and massaged her brow for a moment.
“Are you unwell?” Alex asked.
“Nay, I—”
“She looks fit enough to me.”
Rachel whirled toward the feminine voice. Arlys leaned against the doorway of one of the cottages that lined the castle’s curtain wall, her arms folded across her chest, one hip thrust forward.
“Arlys,” Alex said as he moved toward the woman. “D’ye no have chores to do?”
Arlys shot him a nasty look then flashed her blue eyes at Rachel. “And what chores have ye assigned her?”
Rachel started to speak but Alex interrupted her. “Rachel is our guest, and is still recovering from her…accident. She need no trouble herself with work.”
“Ha!” Arlys said.
“But, I’d like to work,” Rachel said and took a step toward her. “I’m not used to idleness.”
Alex stepped between the two of them, worried, no doubt there would be a repeat of yesterday’s sparring.
“Well, I’m sure Alex can find plenty to occupy yer time.”
Before Rachel could respond, Arlys stepped into the cottage and began to close the door. She paused and glanced briefly at Alex. Her venomous expression softened. Rachel caught the barest hint of tears glassing her eyes before the door slammed shut.
She looked to Alex who stood motionless, eyes fixed blankly on the cottage, his smile faded. There was something in his face that surprised her.
Regret.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve upset her.”
Alex shook off his momentary melancholy and moved toward her, transforming himself in three strides into the delightful escort he’d played at all morning. “Bah, ’tis naught. She’ll come ’round.”
“She has every right to dislike me.”
Alex took her arm and guided her down the hill and into the maze of small cottages that surrounded the castle. Arlys’s accusation still nagged at her.
“Peg told me the story of the virgin’s spring,” she said.
“Och, dinna listen to those old wives’ tales. The girl is a simpleton. She knows naught of what she speaks.”
“Peg is sweet, and has been most kind to me.” Rachel looked from one woman to the next, as they made their way through the tiny village. None returned her hopeful smile. “In truth, she’s the only one who’s offered to call me friend.”
Alex stopped before a small structure at the end of the last row of cottages. “Come now, Rachel, have I not been a friend to ye?” He raised his brows in question and the corners of his mouth turned up in a handsome smile.
“You have,” she said and felt grateful for it.
“Well, then, come—there is someone who’d like to meet you.”
Alex led her to the door of the small cottage. “This is my mother’s house.” He tripped the latch and bade her cross the threshold.
Rachel entered and let her eyes adjust to the dim light. The cottage was tiny and ill kept. A table stood in the center of the room. An old woman sat on a crude stool near the hearth, rocking herself back and forth, seemingly oblivious to their arrival.
“Mother,” Alex called to her. “I have brought ye a visitor.”
The woman looked up and, as she met the eyes of her son, a dazzling smile broke across her wrinkled face. “Alex,” she said and rose from the stool.
“Mother, this is Rachel, the woman of whom I have spoken.”
Rachel took a step forward and smiled as the woman turned her attention to her.
“Ahh, Rachel.” The old woman’s eyes lit up as she studied her with surprising alacrity.
“I am pleased to meet you.”
Alex hung back as his mother greeted her. “You may call me Moira,” the old woman said.
“Moira,” Rachel repeated. “’Tis a lovely name.”
The woman chuckled. “’Tis ye who are lovely, lass. My son never spoke of your beauty.” She glanced briefly at Alex, whose face colored at his mother’s words. “Only that ye canna recall a thing about yourself before your fall in the wood.”
“’Tis true,” she said. “Except for one thing.”
“What?” Alex said and moved quickly to her side. “Tell me.”
Rachel hesitated for a moment. She did not like the overzealous look in his eyes. “I—I’m a healer,” she said finally.
Moira’s eyes widened.
“How d’ye know that, if ye canna remember?” Alex said.
“I just know,” she said. “And there are other things—not so much things I remember, but