The Virgin Spring

Rachel frowned. She would not be staying with them for quite some time. In fact, she meant to leave as soon as possible. Peg leaned forward, her face alight, awaiting Rachel’s reply. She had not the heart to dash the girl’s hopes.

“For as long as I remain with you,” she said, “I will teach you what I know.”

Peg squealed with delight and nearly leapt across the table to hug her. She returned the embrace, then disentangled herself from the girl’s arms. “Now,” she said. “Will you do something for me, Peg?”

“Oh, aye—anything.”

Rachel rose from the bench. “’Tis time I see my horse.”

Peg followed her to the door, frowning. “Oh, I dinna think the laird will like that.”

“I expect he won’t,” she said, and let the corners of her mouth turn up in an impish smile.

Ten minutes later they arrived at the busy stable. ’Twas another newly built structure which lay inside the curtain wall not far from the keep. Alex had pointed it out to her earlier that day.

A stable lad scurried past them toting a saddle that was almost bigger than he was. Another labored in a far corner, pitching straw into a small hayloft. Peg led her down a row of stalls, past a number of impressive mounts.

She marveled at their shiny coats and supple musculature. They were well cared for, and were like no other mounts she’d seen. She recognized Gilchrist’s stallion and stopped before the magnificent beast.

“He is handsome,” she said, and ran her hand lightly over the beast’s flank. “Do you not think so?”

“Aye, he is that,” Peg sighed. “And so very smart.” Another breathy sigh escaped her lips. “But he doesna notice me.”

What a strange response. She turned toward Peg and her confusion vanished. The girl stood transfixed, staring at a young man who’d just come out of one of the small cottages that lined the perimeter of the stable yard.

He was tall and fair, and wore leather breeches instead of the plaids that were the garment of choice at the Davidson stronghold. Peg’s wide-eyed gaze fixed on him as he passed them by, heading toward a stall. True to the girl’s words, he spared them not a glance.

“Ah,” she said, suppressing a smile. “You fancy him.”

Peg slowly nodded her head. “Aye.”

“Who is he?”

“Jamie Davidson,” she breathed. “The stable master.”

“I see. Well then…” She linked arms with Peg. “We’d best go speak to him.” Peg sprang to life and began to protest. “About my horse,” she added.

“But—”

“He looks friendly enough. I’m sure he’ll let me see her.” She dragged Peg toward the stall she’d seen the man enter. “He’s young to be a stable master.”

“Oh, aye,” Peg said. “He was apprenticed as a lad and grew up in the stable at Braedûn Lodge. I’ve known him since we were bairns.” She paused and a pretty blush colored her cheeks. “When the old stable master died, Jamie took over. Duncan loved him like a son. ’Twas only fitting for Jamie to take his place.”

“And he has reared all these fine mounts?”

“He cares for them now, aye. But the original stock was bred by Duncan and Lady Alena.”

This surprised her. “A woman?”

“Aye. She’s the wife of the laird’s elder brother, Iain. And a finer horsewoman ye’ve ne’er seen. She lived with us at Braedûn Lodge for a time, before she and Iain wed and went off to live at Findhorn Castle.”

“Findhorn Castle—where is that?”

Peg pondered the question for a moment. “North, me-thinks. I have never been there. ’Tis the Mackintosh stronghold.”

Now she was truly confused. “I thought Gilchrist was a Davidson.”

“Oh, he is—his mam was a Davidson, the old laird’s sister. But his da was a Mackintosh, The Mackintosh, as is his brother now.”

“I see.” She wondered at this arrangement.

“And Alex. What is he?”

Peg stopped. “His mother is a Davidson.”

“Moira. Aye, I have met her. And his father? He is a Davidson, too?”

Peg’s blush deepened. “Weel, most likely. One of them is certain to be his da.” She stared at the ground and idly drew a line in the soft dirt with her foot.

“What do you mean, one of them?”

“His mam ne’er married.” Peg met her gaze. “D’ye catch my meaning?”

Rachel hid her surprise. “I understand,” she said simply, and drew Peg further along the row of mounts.

They slowed their pace as they approached the stall Jamie had entered. Rachel could hear him whistling. She peeked inside the timber enclosure. His back was to them; he was currying a mare’s coat with huge handfuls of fresh straw.

A white mare—her mare.

“Glenna,” she whispered.

The stable master stopped in midstroke and spun on his heel. His expression was all interest and mild surprise. “Glenna? Is that her name, then?”

She moved closer and began to stroke the mare’s snowy coat. “Aye.” Glenna nudged her hand and softly nickered in response. The simple gesture brought the sting of salt tears to Rachel’s eyes. She quickly wiped them away.

“Glenna,” Peg repeated. “’Tis a bonny name for a mare.”

Rachel smiled and threw her arms suddenly around Glenna’s neck. The mare knew her. ’Twas a small thing, but it was the only tangible evidence she had of her former life. She clung to it and it buoyed her strength.

“Her saddle, and the leather bags attached to it,” she said. “Where are they?”

“In the shed yonder.” Jamie nodded at a small cottage on the perimeter of the stable yard. “The clothes and things that was in ’em have already been taken away.”

“Who took them?”

“Alex.”

Alex. He’d shown her much kindness, yet there was something about him that unsettled her, something in his eyes. “Why would Alex take my things?”

Peg stumbled forward, blushing hotly, trying for all the world not to look at Jamie. “Perhaps to keep them safe?”

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