“And neglected,” Torin said, annoyed at himself for allowing the problem to get out of hand.
“My lord,” Verena said, hurrying over to him.
Torin did not like the worry in the woman’s eyes, and he gave a quick glance to the cottage. “Is something wrong with my wife, Verena?”
“I hope not, my lord?” Verena said, twisting her hands in front of her.
“Tell me,” Torin ordered, his stomach gripping tight with worry.
“I warned her not to go. I told her you forbid anyone to enter without your permission, but she went anyway.” Verena looked to the keep.
“My wife is in the keep?” he asked stunned.
“Aye, for a while now and she still hasn’t come out.”
Torin rushed to the steps, Kinnell at his side when the door to the keep swung open and his wife stepped out. The sleeves to her underdress were rolled up, her braid in disarray, the dark strands covered with dust as was most of her, but she wore the biggest smile that lit her face and made her appear even more beautiful.
Flora stood at the top step, happy to see her husband and called out, “The repairs must have been finished in your absence. I have started cleaning our bedchamber. We can sleep in the keep tonight.”
CHAPTER4
Torin was ready to make known his anger that she dared to go against his order when he saw that curiosity had people drifting closer to listen.
“Be careful what you say,” Kinnell warned in a whisper. “You do not want your new wife to appear braver than you.”
Torin let a pleasant smile hide his annoyance as he called out, “After a thorough cleaning.”
Flora brushed at her garments, after glancing over herself and a plume of dust rose off them. “I suppose you a right. It will take more than a few hours to clean the keep of its neglect.”
That stung and yet Torin heard not a hint of disapproval or reprimand in her remark. She had simply stated the obvious, the truth of the situation… the keep had been neglected.
Flora hurried down the stone stairs, dust flying off her. “It is a lovely keep and I look forward to bringing it back to life, and, of course, ridding it of the ghost.” She slipped her arm around his, excited to finally have something interesting and challenging to discuss. “Come we will discuss it while we eat. I am famished.”
Torin heard Kinnell chuckle as he walked away, and he also heard chatter. Tongues wasted no time wagging, and he wondered what they were saying.
“Where is your cloak?” Torin asked as he walked along with his wife.
Flora halted abruptly and looked over herself once again. “I forgot. I must have left it in the keep. “I will go fetch it.”
Torin stopped her with a firm hand to her arm. “I will have it fetched.”
“Who will fetch it when all fear entering the keep?” she asked but gave him no chance to respond. Instead, she continued with questions. “Why didn’t you tell me about the ghost? How long has he haunted the keep? Have you seen him or heard him?” She answered some of the questions herself. “Well, of course you must have seen and heard him if you were frightened enough to abandon the keep and with all the dust and cobwebs accumulated there it appears your absence has not been a short one. But your absence could also have been forced due to the lack of people willing to work in the keep.”
Her endless chatter had his mind swirling and the way she asked and answered her own questions accurately made him realize that his wife had a sharp and quick mind.
“You must tell me everything about the ghost, the myth, all of it so I have what I need to solve the mystery. It should not take long. Once information is examined and the useless or lies discarded, truth will shine through.”
They entered the cottage and Flora went to the table eager for a hot brew, the chill of the keep feeling as if it had seeped inside her.
“The Highlands are far different from the lowlands. The Highlands have a mystery to them that its people accept and respect. It allows all creatures to survive and thrive here, otherwise life would be difficult,” Torin said.
“That is good to know. Tell me more,” she said and eagerly took a seat at the table to quickly fill two tankards from a pitcher, the distinct scent that of fresh cider. “How did this myth come about?”
Torin joined her at the table, his grumbling stomach reminding him he had not eaten in some time. He speared a chunk of deer meat with his knife. “It is the story of the birth of the Isle of Outerson home to the Clan Norham.”
“So, you believe that a giant tore a piece of land off to float it out into the loch and create an island?” she asked, repeating what the cleric had told her. “It does not seem plausible, but I can see how such a myth would serve to create a powerful legend for a clan and since the giant protects it, it also serves to keep others away.”
“We are fierce and fearless warriors and—”