Master of Mayhem (The Enchanted Well #2)

Chapter One

The Borderland, 1555

R uben waited for moonrise while he enjoyed an apple. He’d found it stored in a small, dugout storage bunker in the forest where his fellow Scots had left it for men like him who were riding the borderland. So close to the border, he wouldn’t tempt fate by stopping to hunt and cook something to fill his empty belly. Though the skin of the apple was just a tiny bit wrinkled, it tasted sweet, even after a long winter.

Ruben finished off the apple before he emerged from the forest surrounding the Midnight Well. He slid off the back of his horse and gave the animal a pat on its neck, still savoring the taste of the fruit on his lips. The horse made a low sound before walking closer to the well.

“Thirsty?” Ruben asked jovially. “I am as well.”

He pushed the cover that sat on top of the well halfway across its opening. The scent of fresh water rose up to tease him and his horse. The animal pawed at the ground and snorted some more.

“I’m getting to it,” Ruben assured his mount.

He dropped the bucket down, heard it splash when it hit the surface of the water, and then he began pulling on the rope. Getting the water back up the well was the part that required some strength.

Ruben pulled hard, smiling when the bucket came into view with water shimmering inside it. He leaned over to grab it by the side, hoisting it up on one side. The bucket tipped, allowing some of the water to trickle out over the rim. Ruben saw the water droplets beading up as they fell back into the dark well, but there was something else. On the surface of the water, there was a reflection.

Ruben narrowed his eyes, trying to identify what he was seeing. The water stilled in the bucket, his hand frozen on its rim. The water went as smooth as a polished glass mirror affording him a flawless reflection of a girl’s face.

He was instantly mesmerized.

No single feature stood out. She was simply dressed, and some would have labeled her plain, but Ruben felt as though a beam of moon light had broken through the veil of night to illuminate the reflection just so that he would always see her face. It was as though the divine hand of some ancient goddess guided its path.

Something snapped. Ruben dropped the bucket, breaking free of the strange enchantment that had rendered him in a trance like state, instead of realizing there was someone on the other side of the well. He jumped back, readying himself for a fight.

The girl gasped, shuffling back a few paces. Her eyes had gone wide in her face, making him instantly feel guilty for frightening her.

“Forgive me, lass.” Ruben made an effort to sooth her. He’d never been so sincere or worried that his apology wouldn’t be trusted.

“I did not see you, sir,” she muttered. “Until I was too close.”

And he hadn’t heard her. Ruben would chastise himself later for failing to hear the lass approaching. Letting his guard down was a good way to end up dead. For the moment though, he was far too captivated by her.

And tongue-tied.

His horse snorted once again. The girl looked at the animal and smiled.

“Your horse is thirsty,” she muttered. The girl pushed the cover of the well back toward Ruben. She reached for the rope that was tied around a beam above the opening of the well. She began to pull the bucket up.

“Let me do that, lass,” Ruben said as he reached for the rope but only managed to grasp her fingers because she didn’t release it.

Something felt as if it jumped between them.

Some sensation that felt too jolting to be real.

And yet, Ruben knew that she was not some mythical creature roaming the forest beneath the moonlight. Nor had he drunk too much cider. Whatever passed between them, she felt it as well, quickly withdrawing her fingers and clasping them against her chest while she blinked.

“Who are ye, lass?” he asked.

“I am Modesty Hawlyn.”

Her name sunk in, helping Ruben to resume thinking. “Yer sister Braylin sent me here.”

“My sister?” Modesty questioned.

Ruben nodded. The bucket was once more at the top of the well. He lifted it up and placed it on the ground so that his horse might at last have the drink the animal craved.

“Aye.” Ruben reached into his jerkin. “Braylin has sent ye a letter. I promised to bring it to ye.”

“Braylin,” Modesty whispered the name almost reverently.

She hurried around the well, not stopping until she was within a hair’s breath of him. Ruben was fascinated by her. So much so that he failed to release the letter when she attempted to tug it from his fingers. A little furrow appeared in the center of her forehead in response.

“Apologies, lass,” Ruben regained his senses. She succeeded in pulling the folded and sealed parchment free, the corners of her lips rising once more.

Her smile was more pleasing than anything he’d ever seen.

“Modesty?”

Someone was calling from down the hill.

“You must go.” Modesty forgot the letter and looked at him. “My brothers will raise the alarm and you are Scot.”

Whoever was looking for her called again. Ruben reached up and tugged on the corner of his cap.

“I am Ruben Lindsey, lass.” He’d never wanted a lass to know his name so much before. Ruben locked gazes with her, needing her to realize how important the introduction was to him.

She shivered. Or maybe the better word was trembled. Ruben noted the delicate ripple that moved down her frame. She hugged herself, her eyes widening before she shook her head and retreated a pace.

“Well…yes…Scots…so hurry on your way please. I do not care to see you drug into the market square over stopping to water your horse.”

Ruben was tempted to stay right there. But in her eyes, there was true concern. If he stayed, he’d be risking more than his own suffering, and for once, that mattered to him.

“Until next we meet, lass.”

“Oh, we can never meet again.” Modesty scolded him softly. “Please stay well away from here. There is a new garrison of soldiers here to secure the border. They might convict you of being a spy.” She extended her arm, pointing behind him. “Go, sir, and be careful. This is not a safe place.”

Her voice rang with a note of fear edging it. Ruben felt his body tighten in response.

“Braylin says yer father is devoted to his Puritan faith,” Ruben said.

“He is,” Modesty confirmed.

“Any garrison sent by the queen would also be intent on enforcing the return to the Catholic Church.”

Fear drew her features tight. “My father says we must remain faithful to the Puritan path.”

Ruben extended his hand out. “Come with me, lass.”

He was mad to make such an offer, and yet, there was no stopping the words. Even knowing how insane he sounded, Ruben didn’t regret speaking.

She started to reach for his hand. Ruben knew he didn’t imagine it. But her name came from down the hill again and she turned and started running toward whoever was searching for her.

Ruben had never been so close to tossing a lass over his shoulder in his life.

He clenched his jaw against the impulse. Aye, he was Scots, but that did not mean he was lawless. Or without honor. The lass was gone, back to her family. Such was a natural thing.

Yet he wished she’d put her hand into his.

*

“Until next we meet, lass.”

Modesty hurried down the path with Ruben Lindsey’s voice echoing inside of her head. Her brother James was standing there where he could still see the house they lived in. At seven winters, James wouldn’t venture further. He stood there at the top of the yard, looking into the darkness for her, while holding onto an imaginary apron string that was firmly attached to the house.

The darkness was something he feared still. Their parents had certainly done their best to instill that fear into her too.

But the night sang to her.

While her parents and brothers were stuffing up their ears with wool and shutting themselves in during the dark hours, Modesty snuck out to hear the night wind and soak up the moonlight. Under the cover of darkness, she could at last be at ease. Free from her parents’ strict Puritan beliefs.

She loved her parents, truly she did.

You do not like being called Modesty…

The small voice in her head rang true. When her father had turned to the Puritan faith in his quest to have sons, he’d renamed all three of his daughters after virtues he advised them to devote themselves to embodying.

Now she was known as Modesty. Her sisters were Prudence and Temperance. Yet she recalled a time when her sisters had been Anne and Braylin and she had been Sabine.

The letter was tucked securely inside of her sleeve. Modesty felt heat stinging her cheeks. It was a blush born of pure guilt sure enough. She’d been so awe struck by Ruben Lindsey, the first news from her sister Prudence had simply slipped off her mind.

Ruben had called Prudence, Braylin.

Modesty smiled. Her lips simply curled up until her lips parted in response to how happy she was. No, she had no idea what words the letter held but there was news, when there had been nothing but silence for months upon end since her sister had been taken away by Scots.

Long months, during which Modesty had feared the worst concerning her sister’s fate. Really, Modesty should feel ashamed for being interested in anything beyond the letter. How could she be so captivated by the messenger?

Ruben Lindsey’s face filled her mind again. She hadn’t meant to think of him. It simply happened and now that it had, she felt the heat on her cheeks spreading down her body. Where their hands had so very briefly touched, it felt as though the skin was on fire.

How much more intense would that sensation be if she’d taken his invitation and placed her hand into his? Temptation needled her, encouraging her to turn her head and look back up the path to see if perhaps he might still be there.

Perhaps she should go to him.

“Mother said you should sleep early, so your eyes do not have dark circles beneath them at your wedding,” James said.

Her wedding. For a few precious moments she’d forgotten about the match her father had arranged for her. Now that spring was beginning, a date would surely be set for her to take her vows. She had met her groom only for the briefest of moments. His face didn’t linger in her mind like Ruben Lindsey’s did.

Modesty lost the battle not to look back up toward the meadow. The clouds shifted, allowing the starlight to cast the area in glittering light. Up at the top stood the well.

The Midnight Well.

She’d forgotten about the enchantment!

On the very edge of the English border, the locals told a tale of the Midnight Well being enchanted. If you ate a piece of forest fruit and looked into the water on the night of a full moon, you would see the face of your soul mate.

Prudence had gone up and tested the myth.

The clouds shifted again, revealing a bright, full moon in the night sky. Modesty felt her breath catch.

Had she just met her soul mate?

All of a sudden, her heart was racing, sending blood speeding through her veins. She was breathless, and the feeling was beyond anything she’d ever experienced.

“Modesty?” James reached out and tugged on her skirt to get her attention. “Did you gasp because you are nervous about getting married?”

She’d forgotten James. His eyes were wide in his young face. But he was taking note of every expression crossing her face.

Modesty shook her head, but it wasn’t enough to dispel Ruben’s face. The memory was so powerful, she felt as though she was looking at a portrait of him.

Such was foolish nonsense. People did not form such strong connections in a mere moment.

And yet, Modesty looked away from James again, returning her gaze to where the Midnight Well was standing so silently at the top of the clearing.

She had not eaten any forest fruit. Nor had she looked into the water of the well. Modesty gasped again when realization dawned on her.

Ruben had drawn the bucket up with the water. Had he eaten forest fruit, perhaps?

The back door of the house opened. Her mother stood there, illuminated by the fire in the hearth.

“Come in quickly! The moon is full tonight. There will no doubt be pagan rituals and spells cast by those intent on walking a path apart from God.”

James gripped a handful of Modesty’s skirts, pulling her toward the open door. The warmth of the fire should have beckoned to her, but Modesty discovered herself far more tempted by the moonlight and the possibility of discovering Ruben Lindsey still lingering in the shadows.

Would she put her hand into his if given the chance again?

Indecision tore through her. The letter inside her sleeve was proof of the price she’d pay if she did take Ruben’s invitation. It would cost her the family waiting for her inside the little house. Modesty started forward at James’s urging but what kept her moving was the certain knowledge that Prudence would never return to the family home.

She knew naught of Ruben Lindsey. What sort of folly would it be to trade her family for the unknown?

It would be exciting…

That little voice inside of her head was trying to tempt her again. Modesty picked up her feet and moved faster. Girls who went into the forest with men often ended up ruined. Afterwards, they found themselves with no other place to go than a house of ill repute.

But, Ruben Lindsey was a man of honor.

Perhaps it was folly to think such a thing without any evidence, but Modesty was sure she felt it. For her, it was as firm as the ground beneath her feet.

Her mother shut the door firmly behind her, the sound making Modesty jump. All of the window shutters were already closed and barred. The scent of supper mixed with the warmth from the hearth promised Modesty the simple comforts of home. It was a far safer choice than the invitation Ruben Lindsey had offered.

So why did she feel so disappointed?

*

Ruben watched Modesty on her way down to the house.

Why had he offered her his hand?

He was perplexed by the impulse, and doubly so by the fact that he’d been unable to master it before he had spoken the words.

A man lived by his word.

Such was a principle deeply ingrained in him. He didn’t lament it either, for honor was something he held in the highest esteem.

Yet he was still staring at Modesty Hawlyn. An English, Puritan girl who had a match made for her just as Ruben had one too. There was a mountain of reasons why he should turn his back and ride away.

Yet he lingered.

There was a soft chuckle from behind him.

Ruben turned to see an old woman. She grinned widely, showing off her gap-toothed smile.

“You saw her in the water…,” the woman declared as she pointed at the moon that was now rising above the treetops. “In the light of the full moon….if you eat the fruit of the forest, and look into the water of the Midnight Well, you will see the face of your soulmate.”

His lips were still sweet with the juice of the fruit. Ruben shook his head and the crone cackled again.

“Ye should not sneak up on a man, old woman,” Ruben chastised her. “These woods are disputed land.”

“I know it well,” the woman exclaimed. “For I have lived many, many more years than ye have. Here in this place that kings try to claim, but they are too far away to keep a grip on those who live here.”

Ruben grunted. “Aye, well that fact does nae stop the soldiers from spilling blood in these woods. You’d do well to stay away.”

“I come to the well on the nights of a full moon.” She lifted her face when the wind blew. “Do you feel the warm air returning? Spring is eager to break the grip of winter. The Midnight Well is stirring too. It has awakened something inside of you.”

“It is nae enchanted,” Ruben scoffed. “That tale was begun by a clansman who was sent to dig the well. After all that labor, he thought of a way to keep everyone else away. It is a story, naught else.”

“I knew Peadair. Watched him dig this well when young Rhona lived in that house.” She pointed down to where Modesty had gone.

Ruben started to say something to dismiss the woman’s recollections, but his tongue suddenly felt dry, unable to produce words. The crone cackled.

“I am Norla. This has been an enchanted place for more years than even I have seen. The Fae folk live here and when the well was dug, the water in its depths flowed with their magic. Peadair was the first man to be enchanted. He spirited young Rhona away. The pair bound by the magic of the well.”

Ruben looked back toward the well. He’d heard tales of it his entire life, but he’d dismissed them as clever ways of keeping the English from using the water.

Norla tossed something down at his feet. Ruben looked to see the core of the apple he’d so eagerly consumed.

“Ye saw her face in the water, beneath the full moon. She is yer soul mate. Fail to heed the Midnight Well, and ye will live a life without love.”

Norla finished her warning and started back into the forest. The clouds shifted again, covering the moon, almost as if the night itself wanted to help the old woman disappear.

It was nonsense, of course.

So why did Ruben look back down the path Modesty had gone, feeling as though there was a string connecting them?