Master of Mayhem (The Enchanted Well #2)

Chapter Two

M eals in the Hawlyn home were simple. Modesty had never been so grateful for that fact as she was with Prudence’s letter concealed inside her sleeve. They would not be lingering at the table. Soon she would be able to seek the privacy of the alcove above the main floor of the house where she and her sister Temperance slept.

Anticipation was bubbling away inside of her. She’d had no reason to think she would ever receive word of her sister’s fate, but she had hoped, of course.

And now, she had a letter!

Her parents truly embraced the ideals of the Puritan faith. There was no celebration of feast days or pagan festivals such as Samhain or May Day. Yet Modesty and her sister Prudence had gone to a Samhain bonfire.

It seemed so long ago and yet, it was but one season. Winter never moved quickly like spring or summer did and the last one had dragged on for an eternity because Modesty hadn’t known her sister’s fate.

Prudence had seen the face of a Scot in the water of the Midnight Well.

It had seemed harmless enough. Just a little whimsy under the full moon. Norla, the old woman who helped in the house, had told them to go up to the well under a full moon and so they had. Modesty had witnessed the way her sister Prudence was captivated by the Scot she met at the well. But seeing it was nothing compared to the way it felt to have her own encounter.

In just the blink of an eye, Modesty had discovered that she had a deep wellspring of feelings inside of her. It was as if she’d been walking around with her eyes closed and suddenly they opened.

She could see Ruben’s face still. Sitting there eating a meager meal of porridge without a bit of sugar or dried fruit, Modesty discovered herself fighting the urge to smile at the recollection. He’d unleashed something inside of her. Even if it was a sin, she liked the way he made her feel.

Modesty felt her cheeks warming in spite of the fact that her parents had let the fire die down now that supper was cooked. With spring beginning, there was no need for a fire at night.

“Modesty? You are flush.”

Her mother stood up, coming around their small table to lay her hand against Modesty’s forehead.

“Do you ache?” her mother asked.

“No,” Modesty answered.

Her mother peered intently at her.

“Temperance, you shall sleep down here tonight. If your sister has a fever, I do not want it to spread to you,” Master Hawlyn spoke quietly. “Modesty, you are dismissed from evening chores.”

Modesty opened her mouth to protest but the letter tucked into her sleeve was more tempting than doing supper dishes. She nodded before stopping in front of her father and knelt down in front of him for his evening blessing.

Her father put his hand on her head. Modesty held still while he muttered a soft, sincere prayer.

“Good night, Modesty.”

“Good night, father.”

Modesty took a small tin lantern from the table and went up a narrow set of steps to reach the floor above. The spot she slept in was tiny. Just a little section at the end of the floor. The roof slanted on either side of the room but there was a sturdy door to help keep in the warmth from the chimney.

In this small space she could at last be free from the tight cap her father insisted she wear. Modesty had thrown the little linen garment more than once but tonight, she was far more interested in reading the letter.

There was a small stool between the beds. Modesty placed the lantern on it. Made of tin, it had cuts in it to allow the light from the candle out while offering protection from the flame being blown out. Modesty took another look at the door to make sure it was closed before she tugged the letter free and opened it.

My dearest family. I hope this letter will someday find its way to you. Be happy, for I am very well.

Modesty drank in the details of the letter. Prudence was married and happy. Actually, Modesty looked again at the signature on the bottom of the letter. Her sister had signed it Braylin.

Modesty sat for a long moment. Ruben’s face rose from her mind while she contemplated her own name from before. Back when the family had celebrated things such as Samhain. Modesty slowly smiled. She and Braylin had gone to a Samhain bonfire just a single season before. It had been a grand time full of frivolity.

But it had led to her sister being taken away by the Scots. A chill raced through her. The winter had been long and bitter with the entire family worried about Braylin’s fate.

“Modesty? I have brought you some…”

Her mother didn’t knock. She was pushing in the little door while holding a pottery mug in one hand.

“…tea.” Her mother’s gaze was on the letter.

Her father had decreed that the entire family should be grateful that no blood had been spilled and that Braylin’s fate was her own doing for going to the Samhain dance. Modesty had kept her silence, but she disagreed with her sire. A need to know how her mother felt had burned inside of her. Now, there was no quelling the urge to see what was truly in her mother’s heart.

“It is a letter from Braylin,;” Modesty stated the truth clearly.

Her mother stiffened, her eyes widening. “However did you come by it?”

“A Scot delivered it to me just after sunset.”

Modesty watched her mother’s face, intent on seeing her true, first reaction.

Her mother’s eyes narrowed but not in disapproval. She tugged the door shut firmly and hurried over to where Modesty sat. Her mother thrust the mug toward her. Modesty barely managed to curl her fingers around it in time before her mother relinquished it and plucked the letter from Modesty’s grasp.

Her mother scanned the page, her face tight with fear. There was the truth that had gone unspoken in their house all through the bitter months of winter. Her mother did not love her sons more than her daughters.

“Oh…such happy news.”

Her mother looked up suddenly, realizing that she’d been completely absorbed in the letter. Modesty smiled at her mother.

“Of course, I would have preferred that your sister had not been taken away by force. Your father is right to warn us about the dangers of going to such things as bonfires. Your sister has been greatly blessed and delivered by grace.”

“She has,” Modesty agreed. But Modesty heard the ping of jealousy in her own voice.

And her mother didn’t miss it.

“Do not long for such a fate, Modesty,” her mother implored her. “It is normal to be nervous about your match. Eleph Cressens is a fine young man, a good son, and strong in faith.”

“He said not a single word to me when we met, mother,” Modesty spoke softly. “Nor I to him.”

Her mother laid a soothing hand on her forearm. “You must trust in your father’s judgment.”

“As you are trusting that remaining Puritans will not get us all convicted as heretics?”

Her mother sucked in a stiff breath. “Modesty, mind your thoughts. Do not rebel against your parents. Such is a mortal sin.”

“Mother, I do not wish to stray from the path of grace, but are we not bound to obey our queen as well?”

Her mother’s face became etched with worry, betraying how much she secretly agreed with Modesty.

“I must respect your father’s choice.”

“You mean obey,” Modesty argued.

Her mother gave her a stern look. “Yes, Modesty, obey. That is the position of a wife. Of women.”

Her mother’s tone was thick with warning. She stood and started for the door, but she stopped and turned to look back at Modesty.

“To be a woman is to understand that happiness often comes from seeing your home happy.” Her mother locked gazes with her. “All men desire sons. It is the duty of a wife to provide them, no matter what is required of her.”

Her mother disappeared through the door, closing it softly behind her. Modesty held the simple pottery mug, feeling the way it warmed her fingers.

Her mother found joy in making those around her comfortable.

It was the place of a mother and of a wife, and many would say of a daughter as well. So why did the idea of obedience irritate her so very much?

Modesty truly wished she knew the answer to her question. Instead, all she discovered was an increased longing to read Braylin’s letter once more. Her memory offered up the way Braylin had danced in the firelight with the self-proclaimed “Laird of Misrule” at the Samhain bonfire.

Her sister had looked so very happy to be alive.

Much in the same way that Modesty had felt when Ruben appeared at the Midnight Well. A need to skip and dance had pulsed through her because standing still was simply impossible with the way Ruben had set her heart racing. Had she not experienced it herself, Modesty wouldn’t have believed such a thing was even possible.

The silent, somber-faced groom Modesty was heading toward in another two weeks held not even a hint of appeal.

None at all!

*

Lindsey lands—

“It’s good that ye are back, Ruben.”

Ruben handed off the reins of his horse to a lad. The boy was lanky but tall. He took the horse away with confidence.

Ruben locked gazes with his father’s captain. Arland wasn’t welcoming Ruben home with joy. No, the veteran retainer of the Lindsey clan had worry etched into his face.

“There has been a letter from the Douglas,” Arland began. “Yer father will not let anyone see it. He’s asking for ye, Ruben. He did not care to hear that we had no inkling of where ye had gone. Alone.”

There was subtle note of reprimand in Arland’s tone.

Ruben locked gazes with Arland. “I should not have given ye cause to worry.”

His father was ill.

Ruben avoided admitting that his sire was gravely ill, but there was no way to avoid it when he arrived at his father’s bedchamber.

Laird Lindsey had not been out of the chamber in months. Hope was something that had dried up sometime during the winter. Now, Ruben felt his gut tightening as he raised his hand and rapped on the door with his knuckles.

The door opened a moment later. One of the Lindsey retainers looked at Ruben and pulled the door all the way open so Ruben might enter the chamber.

He missed hearing his father call out permission for him to enter. Laird Lindsey was reduced to a shell of his former self now, his booming voice nothing but a memory. All he managed to do was to lift one hand and gesture Ruben forward.

“Father,” Ruben greeted his sire. “I am sorry to make ye wait upon me.”

His father was laid out on the bed. His body was just skin and bones now. Some manner of disease had him wasting away while his mind was just as keen and sharp as it had always been. A fire was burning in the hearth and there were thick blankets beneath and on top of the laird.

Ruben heard the door shut behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see that the retainer had left.

“The Douglas…the damned Douglas’s have broken their word to me,” Laird Lindsey declared.

His father began to wheeze.

“Here now, father, there is no reason to be so angry.” Ruben tried to sooth his father.

Laird Lindsey growled. “They have broken yer…engagement…gone and promised that girl to the Gordon….the damned Gordons!”

Whatever Ruben might have guessed his father would say, the news surprised him.

“Father, she is but eleven winters old.” Ruben tried to calm his father.

“There will be no wedding any time soon.”

And he was now, unexpectedly, free of the pledge his father had made. Ruben found himself thinking of Modesty.

His father grunted, recalling Ruben to where he was.

“Aye…well…ye will need a wife much sooner than that lass will be ready,” Laird Lindsey agreed. “I agree with ye, Ruben. Better to move on from the girl. Ye are wise to think of ensuring the Lindseys feel yer blood line is secure. A more suitable bride will be found, without us needing to be the ones to break the arrangement.”

His father suddenly nodded and smiled at Ruben.

“Ye will be a fine laird for the Lindsey,” his father praised him. “Ye do nae let the scheming Douglas get ye fired up.”

His father’s expression became worried. He looked around the chamber, his gaze settling on a place where a set of leather-bound books had once occupied a shelf. The wood was darker where the books had sat for so many years.

“Do nae long for them,” Ruben said.

His father grunted. “I long for a time when we were nae reduced to selling our finer things. Curse the English and their war of rough wooing! The Lindseys paid a dear price. So many homes and fields burned.”

“It is over now, father,” Ruben reminded his sire. “The crofts are rebuilt. Every last one. I saw to it myself. We will have a good harvest. Better times are ahead.”

Laird Lindsey looked at Ruben. “I am blessed to see ye’ve grown into a fine man, Ruben.” His father swallowed roughly. “I should have found ye a bride that was nae still a child. Forgive me for that, son. The Douglases would have been a strong alliance. I wager the Gordons knew it very well. That’s why they stole the girl away. Spring is coming, but not soon enough for me to see the heather bloom one last time.”

Ruben heard the sorrow in his father’s tone before his eyelids appeared to become heavy. He watched his father battle to stay awake, but he drifted off into sleep a few moments later. Ruben tucked the bedding up around his father’s neck before he turned to leave the chamber.

Ruben stopped, looking at the bare shelves. The chamber had naught left but necessities. His father had insisted on everything being sold to pay for the damage the English troops had done. No Lindsey had starved during the last winter. Ruben had seen to his duty to provide for his people.

But the coffers were empty. If the harvest was not plentiful, their luck wouldn’t hold through to the next year.

He rode alone because the truth of the matter was, he could not spare a retainer’s pay to have one at his back. There were too many in need. English troops had been a pestilence upon his land for over five years. They stole the harvest and burned the villages.

A dowry from the Douglases would have been most welcome but the truth was, Ruben was relieved to hear of the broken engagement.

He should not be pleased. The Lindseys needed the money, and the alliance, his wedding, would have gained them.

But he felt as if he was suddenly free to draw breath without feeling as if his throat was caught in a noose.

Modesty’s face rose from his mind. The memory was so crisp and clear, the lass might well have been standing in front of him. And he liked what he saw, that was undeniable. A sensation filled him, one unlike any he could recall ever having before. Warmth filled him, and it made him realize that it had been a very long time since he’d felt anything other than duty.

“What is that smile for?” Arland was waiting for Ruben on the other side of the door.

Ruben blinked. Modesty’s face was gone as if Arland had punctured a bubble that Ruben had crawled inside along with his memory.

“My father is dreaming of seeing the heather. I want to get him some,” Ruben replied.

“Heather?” Arland tilted his head to one side while he thought. “There is nae any heather blooming just yet.”

“I saw some,” Ruben stated firmly.

Arland fixed him with a disgruntled look. “Would ye have seen that heather, wherever it was ye were for the past few days?”

“I went to Black Moss Tower to see Dugan Hay,” Ruben answered Arland.

Arland snorted. “There would be no heather blooming there, lad.”

For just a moment, there was a glint in Arland’s eyes that reminded Ruben of a decade past when the veteran retainer had been the one charged with tempering Ruben’s youth.

“Aye, well, I took a letter down to Dugan’s wife’s family,” Ruben confessed.

Arland grunted. “The borderlands. And ye rode by yerself.”

Ruben became serious. “We do not have the coin for me to have an escort.”

“Ye are the future of the Lindseys.” Arland’s tone was hard. “The borderlands are uncertain. Losing ye is something we can nae afford.”

“Ye trained me well, Arland.”

Ruben meant his words as reassuring, but Arland’s expression only darkened. “What will happen to yer sister if ye die out there in the borderlands?”

Ruben was instantly serious. He reached out to cup Arland’s shoulder. “My sister is too young to become a pawn in the struggle for power. I expect ye to escort her to Hay land where she can finish growing up. Ye gave me yer word to safeguard her, Arland. That is the only way I can see to the defense of our borders.”

“Aye, I gave my word to ye and yer father,” Arland replied seriously. “And I will keep it, if that’s the way things go. I’d rather see ye and a wife standing at the church doors for the baptism of a child that will keep the Lindseys from fighting over who comes next.”

Baptism.

That word stuck as Ruben headed back down the passageway. He knew that everyone got married. As the son of the laird, he would wed too. It was simply one of those things that happened to everyone in life. Now that his engagement was broken, Ruben suddenly had a whole different feeling about the topic of his marriage.

And that feeling led him straight back to thinking about Modesty Hawlyn.

Ruben stopped. It actually took some willpower to make himself stop walking toward the stables.

Getting heather for his father was an excuse to see Modesty.

As the next laird of the Lindsey, he had to hold himself to a higher standard. But as he thought about Modesty, Ruben realized he wanted to be his very best for her.

It made no sense. The desire to please her was so deeply rooted inside of him, he truly needed to rid himself of it.

An enchanted well? It was folly to believe in things such as that, and yet, Ruben couldn’t deny that all he wanted to do was climb back into the saddle and head south to where Modesty was.

He needed to be mature enough to deny the impulse. Somehow, he had to find the strength of will to be the man the Lindsey clan could depend on to see them on to a brighter future.

Ruben realized he’d come to a stop at the end of a passageway. He might turn right or left. To his right was his father’s study. The desk would likely have other offers for marriage. The Lindsey clan was an old and respected name. Their financial affairs were not common knowledge.

It was his duty to go down to the study and select a bride. Ruben set his jaw, clenching it against the impulse to turn away from what was expected of him.

“Did ye truly see heather blooming?”

Ruben turned with a flare of his kilt. His sister jumped as well.

“Allision lass, I did nae see ye there.”

His sister started worrying her lower lip. When he spoke, she smiled, and stopped trying to become part of the wall. At fifteen winters, Allision was growing into a woman, but her mind was still tender.

“Everyone is busy with father,” Allision remarked. “I know that is as it should be.”

His sister needed a mother. Ruben tightened his resolve to get on with the business of finding a suitable bride.

“Ye are nae a bother, Allision. You are my sister,” Ruben reassured her.

Allision brightened. “Could I ask ye….”

Her voice trailed off and her teeth appeared on her lower lip again.

“Ye may ask me anything,” Ruben stated firmly. He didn’t care for how helpless he felt. Instilling courage in young lads was something he understood how to do. But when it came to his fragile-looking sister, he was completely lost on just how to guide her into adulthood. “Come now, Allision, it is only us here. Ye can be bold and ask what ye please.”

Allision appeared to muster her courage. “Could I be with ye when ye give father the heather? I very much want to see joy in his eyes.”

Behind his sister Arland slowly shook his head.

But Allision was looking at Ruben with bright anticipation in her eyes.

Christ, it had been a very long time since Ruben had seen such joy on her face, or anyone else’s. His father’s wasting illness had cast a shadow that was deep and dark inside the walls of the stronghold. Allision was hungry for a life that wasn’t about impending death and Ruben realized he was too.

“Aye I will make certain ye hand the heather to father.”

Allision clasped her hands together and actually jumped with joy. “I will go to the kitchen and fetch ye some food for the journey!”

Allision was off in a flash of ankles as she skipped off. The sound of her steps was light on the stone floor, bouncing between the walls like butterflies.

Ruben looked at Arland. His father’s captain had his hands stubbornly propped onto his hips. His body was rigid but he titled his head to the side before slowly shaking it.

“Go get the heather,” Arland grumbled. “I’ll see to looking after yer sister.”

Something burst inside of Ruben. A sensation so great, he truly wondered if he was about to follow his sister’s example and skip through the passageways. He didn’t trust his voice to not betray how jubilant he was, so he nodded.

Arland grunted. “Enjoy it, lad. I doubt you’ll see another opportunity to ride the night.”