Soon they reached the other end of the large hall and Athdar led them to a table set with platters of food and pitchers of ale.
‘Broc thought you might need something since you have been on the road,’ he said. The lady and her mother both acknowledged the man who must be Athdar’s steward.
Broc seemed of an age with Athdar, but where Athdar always wore a serious expression that furrowed his brow, Broc wore one that spoke of mirth...and something more that she could not decipher. He wore his long black hair pulled back and his eyes were the colour of the stone that lay in the walls around them. His smile caught her eye and she could feel the heat of a blush moving into her own cheeks. Athdar brought him closer just then so he could greet her and her mother.
‘Margriet, welcome,’ he said, bowing to her mother. ‘It has been several years since you last graced us with a visit.’
His deep voice affected even her mother and a blush that matched Isobel’s filled her cheeks. Then she giggled! She’d watched untold numbers of women react this way to her father, but had never expected to see her mother fall under this kind of spell.
‘Isobel, welcome,’ Broc said, taking her hand and smiling. ‘We met a few years ago at Lairig Dubh, but you were only a wee lass then. Now...’ Athdar cleared his throat loudly and Broc continued, ‘I hope you enjoy your stay here.’
She thought herself immune to such clear and blatant flirting, but she was not. And since neither her mother nor Jocelyn was resisting it, she smiled back, too.
‘My thanks for such a warm welcome,’ she said. ‘I am certain I will enjoy my visit here.’ Broc guided her to a seat.
‘Can I have your bag placed in your chamber?’ he asked while waving to the waiting servants to begin.
‘That is for Laria,’ Lady Jocelyn said before she could. The healer for Athdar’s village would be in need of what they’d brought.
‘Should I have it taken to her or would you rather have her come here?’ Athdar asked.
‘Mayhap Isobel could take them after we finish here?’
‘Certainly, lady,’ she replied. It would give her a chance to look about the village. And stretch her legs after long days of riding.
Taking the seat that Broc indicated, she watched as Athdar spoke to his sister in hushed tones. An expression of relief crossed his face—he must have been expecting bad news with this sudden visit. Then the tension between brother and sister eased and his face took on a boyish look and it took Isobel’s breath away.
She allowed herself but a moment of appreciation before turning to speak to her mother about the plants they’d brought. Marian, Duncan’s wife, had a talent with herbs and plants and oversaw the keep’s gardens. Isobel herself had worked with Marian at times, learning from her store of knowledge for use when she married and supervised her husband’s household. The plants they brought would add to the ones needed to treat fevers and pain, important for the winter and in time to have them dried and ready for use.
Athdar and Jocelyn joined their conversation and brought him news of the comings and goings at Lairig Dubh. Soon they had finished eating and the steward directed them to the chamber where their bags had been taken. Isobel excused herself from her mother and the lady and approached Athdar.
‘Can you tell me how to find Laria’s cottage?’ she asked, smoothing her hair back from her face.
‘Come, I will take you there,’ he said, guiding her down the steps.
‘You must have more important things to do,’ she said. Though it worked into her plans well, she did not want to take him from his duties as laird.... At least not yet.
‘One of a laird’s duties is to show hospitality to a guest, so you take me away from nothing more important.’ From the tone of his voice and the serious look in his eyes, he did not seem to be joking. So, neither did she.
‘I am honoured, Athdar.’
Isobel nodded at him and took his arm when he held it out to her. He matched his longer stride to hers as they crossed the hall and left the keep through the kitchens. He introduced her to relatives as they passed by, pointed out places along the path and kept up a steady flow of conversation along the way.
The keep was not as large as that in Lairig Dubh and neither was the village, but everyone they met looked hearty and well. No one seemed to fear approaching the laird and speaking to him, whether they were old or young, man or woman. The completed harvest and the coming winter were the two most common subjects raised, but some of the younger boys challenged Athdar to battles and he accepted them in good cheer.
Though he released her arms several times as they stopped to talk with others, he offered his once more as they began walking again. When she tripped over the exposed root of a tree, he held her steady and did not let her fall. The path meandered through a thick stand of forest before opening into a clearing. A small cottage lay within a still-lush garden, surrounded by a low wall. Curls of smoke drifted up from the chimney and wicked away into the air, leaving a hint of peat to scent the coolness. Athdar opened the low gate and let her pass him. Before they reached the door, it opened and a woman stepped out.
‘Laird,’ she said, nodding to Athdar. ‘Good day,’ she said, as she glanced at Isobel.
‘Good day, Laria,’ Athdar said, letting her arm slip down now. ‘This is Isobel Ruriksdottir, from Lairig Dubh. She has something for you from my sister.’
‘You are Margriet’s daughter, then?’ Isobel nodded as the woman continued to examine her face. ‘You do have her look.’ Laria stepped back and motioned for them to enter.
‘I must return to matters in the keep. I will send someone for you?’ Athdar remained on the narrow walk, waiting for her answer.
‘I can find my way back,’ she said as she followed Laria inside. ‘Again, I am grateful for you bringing me here.’
The short, wonderful walk they had together over, Isobel watched as he strode away from the cottage and her. No matter that he had spared her this time, he was an important and busy man here among his clan with much to do besides seeing to one guest. Still, it had been a boon granted to her and it pleased her.
‘You brought the plants?’ Laria asked.
Isobel realised the woman had moved across the cottage’s main room to a large worktable already crowded with jars and bowls and plants and leaves. She walked over and placed the bag she carried in a clear spot.
‘Marian sent along the ones you asked for and a few others she thought you might have need of,’ she said as she opened the bag, lifted out the wrapped bundle and handed it to Laria.
Isobel watched in silence as the older woman handled the cuttings and plants with almost reverence, unwrapping and gently easing the stems and roots and leaves apart. Some she placed directly in bowls of water, others she pressed into bowls filled with soil. Isobel did not know enough about the various herbs to know which ones were which or which needed what. Laria worked on, without giving any attention or notice to Isobel, so she wandered around the cottage, examining some of the covered jars, sniffing some of the more aromatic plants. But when she reached out to touch one, Laria called out to her.
‘Do not!’ she said sharply.
Her words and tone surprised Isobel and she jerked her hand back away from the dark, dense plant that had gained her attention. ‘I am sorry,’ she offered as she returned to the table where Laria yet tended to the newly arrived plants.
‘Some of these are more de...delicate than others and must not be touched,’ Laria explained and she held out the empty bag to Isobel. For a moment, Isobel thought the woman was going to say something else, something other than ‘delicate’.
‘Your