"Yes, please, thank you very much." Tabitha feared it might be unwise to turn down any offer of food, however ridiculous. Besides, the meaty aroma wafting from the iron pot tucked beneath his arm made her mouth water.

The boy hesitated, steaming ladle in hand, and stared at the table in dismay. "Why have you eaten your trencher?"

She glanced down to discover a pile of crumbs where her bread had been. "Because I was hungry."

"But where am I to put your stew?"

She blushed, realizing she had just committed the unpardonable faux pas of eating her plate. "Never mind. I'm not hungry anymore."

The boy went off, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. Tabitha rested her chin on her hand, thinking this wasn't much different from those intolerable banquets her father hosted for his board of directors every Christmas. She always managed to say the wrong thing, offend the wealthiest stockholder, or use the incorrect fork. At least she didn't have to worry about that here.

Two strapping boys armed with sticks raced around the table. Their mock swordplay earned them approving cheers from the other boys and laughter from their mothers. A herd of toddlers tumbled and cavorted around a crackling bonfire. Earthenware pitchers of ale and mead flowed freely along the lengths of all seven tables, pa.s.sed from hand to hand with affectionate nudges and ribald jokes. The food was plain, but plentiful, and shared by all.

Their unrestrained merriment baffled Tabitha. She'd been known to brood for weeks because a computer virus wiped out a day's worth of programming. These women had lost everything a" their homes, their husbands, their daughters' innocence, yet they celebrated their laird's return without a hint of self-pity.

A boy with a thatch of dark hair began to pluck out a melody on a delicate handheld harp. Urged on by her beaming mother, a little girl pressed a carved pipe to her rosebud lips. The mingled voices of string and reed rose into the night with piercing sweetness. In the twenty-first century, the song would have been cla.s.sified as New Age, but its melody was as timeless as the stars themselves. To Tabitha, it echoed like a druid's hymn or the seductive whisper of a fairy king coaxing a mortal woman into his bed.

Shaking off the whimsical thought, she pushed aside the mead. The honeyed brew must be going to her head.

A small boy knelt to drum on a calfskin stretched taut across an iron cauldron. But as a stranger garbed all in black came sauntering down the hill from the village, Tabitha could no longer distinguish the primitive drumbeat from the pounding of her heart.

Chapter 12.

Tabitha understood for the first time just how betrayed poor Beauty must have felt when her rumpled Beast turned into a prince.

Colin still looked nothing like Prince Charming, but with a pair of dark hose clinging to his muscular calves and his broad shoulders draped in an ebony tunic emblazoned with a silver raven, he could have easily pa.s.sed as a distant cousin of the Prince of Darkness. He'd even shaved his scruffy beard.

The Scot-Killer's dagger was tucked in his belt like a badge of honor. He'd braided the hair around his face into two plaits, then drawn the plaits back in a leather thong, using them to harness the rest of the unruly ma.s.s. Tabitha felt a ridiculous urge to rush over and tug loose a few strands. To rumple his tunic and dab a smudge of dirt on his nose.

As she watched him weave among his people to greet old friends and settle petty disputes, offering a clap on the shoulder here and an encouraging smile there, she drained the mug of mead without realizing it. She was beginning to understand why he exuded such raw confidence, even in the face of Brisbane's treachery. In this isolated kingdom of Castle Raven, he was both lord and law. Although it had taken his father's untimely death to bring him to the throne, he sat it with the a.s.surance of a man who'd been born to the privilege. Would she possess half as much grace, she wondered, if forced to step into her father's shoes at Lennox Enterprises?

He paused to bestow a kiss on the gnarled hand of a blushing crone. As he straightened, their eyes met over the old woman's fuzzy head. A mocking hint of a dimple touched one cheek. She sensed that he presented far more danger to her in this place, especially if he decided to make good his claim on her.

Her own words came back to haunt her a" Or you'll what? Carry me off to your castle and ravish me? The taunt didn't seem quite as witty as it had when she'd mistaken him for George Ruggles from Accounting. Or when she was still wearing underwear.

Colin's path veered in her direction. If he hadn't taken the amulet from her, she would have wished herself invisible.

"My lady," he murmured, sliding onto the bench opposite her.

"Mr. Ravenshaw," she replied stiffly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of addressing him as "My lord."

"Have you been enjoying the festivities?"

She couldn't have said why his bemused smile put her on the defensive. "I haven't been stealing the silver, if that's what you're asking. Especially since there doesn't seem to be any to steal."

"Is that why you're in such a p.r.i.c.kly temper?"

"I am nota!" Her indignant protest sputtered to a halt as she realized that in fact she was. "Well, you'd be in a p.r.i.c.kly temper, too, if the cat gobbled up your partridge, you ate your own plate, and you had to wear this ridiculous dress."

His gaze dropped briefly to the embroidered bodice.

"Magwyn was married in that gown. Iselda told me she risked her life to drag it from the flames when Roger's men torched her cottage."

Colin spoke without a hint of reproach, but Tabitha felt shame coil deep within her. She had a walk-in closet full of designer clothes at home, but none st.i.tched with such care or offered with such generosity of spirit.

Before she could apologize for being an ungrateful brat, Arjon and his blond admirer stumbled over to join them, reeking of ale and breathless with laughter. The woman had sheathed her claws since deciding Tabitha was no rival for Arjon's fickle affections. She draped herself over the knight's lap and twined one possessive arm around his neck to toy with the curls at his nape.

"Have you been reviewing the troops?" Arjon asked, bypa.s.sing a mug to gulp directly from a pitcher of mead.

Colin nodded ruefully. "It seems the lads of Ravenshaw have organized themselves into a fighting force to be reckoned with. If I hadn't returned, they planned to march on Brisbane's castle and avenge their laird's honor."

Arjon hefted the flagon. "To the lads! The future of Ravenshaw!"

As one of the long-haired, wild-eyed boys hurtled himself over a table to tackle another, Colin made a sound that was half laugh, half groan. "I'd as soon arm the women with pitchforks and rocks than lead that band of ruffians into battle. I've little choice but to appeal to the MacDuff for men and supplies."

A weighted look pa.s.sed between the two men.

"Who's the MacDuff?" Tabitha asked.

When Colin busied himself with pouring a mug of mead instead of answering, Arjon said, "MacDuff is the laird who fostered Colin when he was but a lowly page. His lands border Ravenshaw to the north."

"Will he help you?" she asked, addressing Colin directly.

"Aye," he said shortly. "He's been like a second father to me."

He didn't seem inclined to elaborate and before she could press, a flock of merrymakers led by Magwyn descended on them. Ignoring Arjon's reproachful sneeze, Tabitha plopped Lucy into her lap to keep the cat from being trampled. A ring of curious children soon surrounded her.

"Will the wee kitty bite?" asked one earnest little fellow.

"Not if you're very gentle with her."

"Does she eat mouses?" a freckled girl asked, her green eyes shining with delight as Tabitha allowed her to stroke the kitten's soft fur.

"I don't know. She's never seen a real mouse."

As the children clucked and cooed over the preening cat, Tabitha became aware of another child lurking on the fringes of the torchlight. The same ragged little girl who had huddled beneath the table. Her enormous eyes didn't seem quite so hollow when touched by yearning.

Tabitha cupped the kitten in her hands and held it out. "Would you like to pet her, sweetheart?"

The little girl jumped guiltily, then darted away, melting into the shadows like a wraith.

As Tabitha entrusted the kitten to the little boy and his delighted cohorts, Magwyn shook her head sadly. "Me Jenny ain't spoke a word since Brisbane's men took after her. She won't bathe or let me comb her hair. She's turned skittish like a wild creature, always runnin' away before I can lay hands on her." A wistful smile touched the woman's lips, giving her gaunt face a rawboned beauty. "You should have seen her before a" always chatterin', beggin' me to tuck some flowers in her bonny curls or st.i.tch her a new dress."

Tabitha gazed into the darkness where the child had disappeared. She couldn't have been any more than eight or nine years old. "How do you bear it?"

Jenny's mother shrugged, the gesture more weary than bitter. "Women have always been the spoils of battle."

"But Jenny isn't a woman. She's a child."

Magwyn rose from the bench, slanting Tabitha a pitying glance. "Not no more, she ain't."

Tabitha's throat tightened with rage at the terrible injustice that had been done to the little girl. She shifted her burning gaze to Colin, realizing that despite his casual posture, he had been eavesdropping on the entire exchange.

"Is that what you believe?" she snapped, relieved to have found a masculine target for her wrath. "That women are nothing more than the spoils of battle? You just returned from six years of war, didn't you? Did you consider raping your enemies' wives and daughters a regrettable, if agreeable, duty?"

"No. But I did find it my regrettable, if agreeable, duty to execute any man who did."

The tension seeped out of her. She should have known Colin would appoint himself the avenging angel of the Holy Crusade. Before she could make amends, he turned his face away in a cool rebuff. She could almost believe she'd insulted him.

A cheer went up from the opposite table. "To Auld Nana!"

"Auld Nana!" the others shouted, lifting their mugs in tribute.

"Nana," Colin echoed softly, following suit.

"Who's Nana?" Tabitha whispered to Arjon.

"Auld Nana was Colin's nurse and his father's nurse before him."

She nearly giggled aloud at the thought of a fierce warrior like Colin having a "Nana."

"You would've been proud of her, master," said Iselda, the plump matron who had first thought Colin a ghost. "Nana fought like a Valkyrie to protect your stepmother's babe after our dear lady perished. She knew what that child meant to her, comin' so late in life after so many years of strugglin' to give your father a bairn. When it appeared the battle was lost, Nana carried the child up to the chapel and barricaded the door against those murderin' English." Her righteous zeal faded on a sigh. "She had no way of knowin' the siege would go on for more than a fortnight after that. No one saw either of them alive again."

"I trust you gave her dear old bones a proper burial," Colin said.

The revelry lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the distant squeal of a frolicking child. Arjon arched an inquisitive eyebrow at the amorous blonde, but she avoided his gaze by burying her face in the crook of his neck.

"Iselda?" Colin prodded. "You did lay my sister's bones in the family crypt, did you not?"

The woman's broad face flushed. She twisted her skirt between her florid hands. "Well, me laird, not exactlya"

It was Magwyn who came charging to her rescue. "We ain't been back. When Brisbane called off his dogs, we dragged out all the food stores from the cellars and all the valuables we could carry from the solar a" trunks filled with clothes like those you're wearin', silver plate, salt, spices a" but not one of us has set foot in the castle since."

Colin rose to his feet. "Why in G.o.d's name not? Your cottages aren't fit for habitation. Did you fear I would punish you for seeking shelter in the castle?"

" 'Tweren't you we was afraid of." She signed a cross on her breast as her gaze drifted to the ruin brooding against the night sky. " 'Twas whatever dwells within those walls."

"Restless spirits, me laird," Iselda blurted out. "Flickering lights in the black o' night. A murdered babe wailin' for vengeance. We've all heard it, we have, every last one of us."

Iselda's confession was greeted by frightened murmurs and timid nods. As Tabitha followed Colin's haunted gaze to the tower at the peak of the castle, she shivered despite herself.

She half expected the fearless warrior to mock their alarm, but instead he nodded gravely. " Tis pleasant enough to camp beneath the stars in summer, but it won't do for winter. I'll fetch a priest from MacDuff to sprinkle holy water around the tower and pray for the unshriven souls of the dead."

The women nodded to one another, looking pleased if not precisely comforted by his promise. Their murmurs were interrupted by a bearded old man who came trotting up to bob an awkward bow in Colin's direction.

"Sira?" The man scratched his bald pate, as if suddenly remembering his master's recent promotion. "Um, me laird, if you and your lady are ready to retire, your pavilion is prepared."

"Well done, Ewan. My lady?" Colin extended his hand, his eyes glittering with unmistakable challenge.

Tabitha wondered what would happen if she refused his invitation. But then she became aware of the shy, sidelong glances directed their way. Arjon winked at her before bestowing a wet, openmouthed kiss on his clinging companion. Tabitha's cheeks heated, but she discovered she couldn't stand to embarra.s.s Colin in front of his people.

"My laird," she murmured, deliberately mocking his burr as she trusted her hand to his. " 'Twould be an honor."

Tabitha had always considered herself as bigboned as an ox, but Colin's broad palm swallowed her hand. She'd meant to pull her hand away as soon as they were out of sight of the others, but as they climbed the steep hill, he laced his fingers through hers, making her his reluctant captive.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" he asked as the shadow of the castle darkened their path.

She edged nearer to him. "No. Do you?"

"I once did. But I fear 'twas naught but wishful thinking. My stepmother always said that the dead punish us with their absence, not their presence."

"You loved her, didn't you?"

Affection warmed his gruff voice. "Aye. My own mother died young. Blythe was the only mother I ever knew."

"And your father?"

"He loved her, too."

Tabitha wondered if Colin had deliberately misunderstood her question, but as a shaft of moonlight struck his shuttered face, she didn't dare ask. A welcoming oasis of light loomed out of the darkness. Her steps faltered.

Colin tugged her gently, but inexorably, toward the round pavilion perched at the edge of the wood. As Tabitha ducked into the tent's interior, her uneasiness bloomed into full-blown apprehension.

Ewan had made every effort to see to his laird's comfort. The torchlight's lambent glow bathed a nest of colorful pillows and a small table occupied by a narrow pitcher and two silver chalices. Thanks to Colin's earlier boast, his man must have a.s.sumed they would be sharing the narrow cot draped with furs. The sandalwood perfume of incense wafted from a tiny bra.s.s burner, making Tabitha nervously wonder what other exotic tastes Colin might have acquired in the Holy Land.

The knight seemed infuriatingly at ease in this den of sensual iniquity. After sealing the tent's flap behind them, he poured himself a chalice of something burgundy and reclined on the pillows like a smug sultan. Tabitha stood stiffly by the table, biting her bottom lip to keep from wishing for an iron chast.i.ty belt. Without a key.

"What ails you, la.s.s? Lucy got your tongue?" When that dig failed to provoke a response, he sighed. "Are you still sulking because I took your precious bauble into my care?" Setting aside the chalice, he canted his arms behind his head like a Playgirl centerfold and c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at her. "Did it never occur to you that there might be a way for you to earn it back?"

Tabitha gasped. He was actually trying to coerce her into s.e.x.

Unable to bear the sight of his mischievous grin, she spun around and gripped the edge of the table.

"You drive a steep bargain, sir," she said softly, her voice laced with bitterness.

" 'Tis your own fault for enticing me, my lady. What you bestowed upon me in the cavern must surely be only a sample of your talents."

Tabitha swung around to face him. She didn't know what outraged her more a" that he blamed her for inciting his crude l.u.s.t as men had been doing to innocent women for centuries or that he'd spoiled her memory of the tender kiss they'd shared.

She dug her fingernails into her palms. "I hate to disappoint you, but my 'talents' don't extend much beyond what you've already 'sampled.' "

He took a sip of the wine. "Oh, come now. You must have learned something while you were traveling with the mummers. Another trick like the one you showed me or a song perhaps?" His expression was almost boyishly hopeful.