“Well, no, not yet but…” He wasn’t going to tell the man the deal he made with the witch. The villagers were a superstitious lot. If he told him about the lass he had at the castle who claimed to be from the future, either Shamus would think him crazy or he might gather the village folk to come to the castle to have a look for themselves.
The way Paige talked and looked, even though she was dressed in his colors the villagers would immediately realize something was not quite right. Then they would get scared and do to her what they always did when they didn’t understand something.
They would try to burn her at the stake like the one before the last. And when that didn’t work, they would drown her in the nearest body of water, which was his Loch to see if she would float. And she did; instead of releasing her, they weighed her down with rocks to make sure she did not come back, which she didn’t.
Nay. He’d seen enough of that kind of barbaric behavior to last a lifetime. He wouldn’t want that fate on the lass, even if she was a true witch. He would need to talk to her again, see if the crone told her how to go about getting the treasure from the monster without being used as a sacrifice.
Shamus exhaled and stuck his pitchfork in the dirt. “I can give ye some eggs, a few vegetables from the larder and a few kegs of ale.”
“Nay, I don’t want to take the last of yer eggs or vegetables. He left the ale part out.”
“It’s fine,” he said. “We can spare a few.”
“I thank ye kindly for yer generous nature, Shamus.”
“Just remember the service I have done for ye, if and or when ye ever find that damnable treasure, aye?”
“I will not forget.”
“Tilly, fetch the Laird his bounty.”
“Aye father,” said a young pretty girl not more than ten and six with curling red hair. She gave Gavin a small smile before she ducked back into the tavern behind her father to do his bidding.
“Now,” Shamus said, holding his massive arm out. “Let’s get a drink and ye can tell me what ye have been about since the last I laid eyes on ye.”
Gavin nodded his head at his men letting them know to keep an eye out and followed Shamus inside the darkened tavern.
♦
“This tastes a lot better than our breakfast,” Callum noted as he took the last bite of his stew and finished off the rest of the ale in his tankard.
“Aye, it does.” Muir lifted his own cup and finished off the contents, then set his cup back down and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
The rest of the men sat around on benches or the ground beneath a tree, eating and drinking as well. They were talking jovially amongst themselves as they waited the return of their laird.
“What do ye think the lass has gotten into whilst we have been away?”
Muir shrugged. “I heard the laird tell her ta clean the castle.”
“Och, I do not envy the lass that task.”
“Me neither,” said Muir.
“Do ye think she is hungry?”
“Nay, there was plenty of the rotten breakfast left. She can eat that if she gets too hungry.”
Callum made a face at the mention of their terrible breakfast. “Mayhap we should bring her some stew?”
“Ye can give her yers,” he said. “I already ate mine.”
“Aye, I did too,” Callum said, eyeing his now empty bowl.
CHAPTER TEN
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
Sometime during the reign of King James
The sun had faded into the horizon and fat bellied clouds pressed down from the skies above when Gavin finally stepped back out of the pub. Feeling no pain as he was well into his cups, he grasped the door. Unsteady on his feet, he made his way over to his horse.
Standing, his men handed back the tankards and the bowls from the stew they were fed and then remounted their own horses one by one, reining them around.
“Thank ye Shamus,” Gavin said. “I will not forget the generosity ye have shown me and my men.”
“I will expect ye ta pay me back with interest when ye find this elusive treasure, aye?”
“Aye, I give ye my word.” Gavin swung up into his saddle. His horse danced sideways ready to be on his way.
“See that ye stick ta it,” Shamus called out.
“Aye, I will,” he promised.
Once his men said their farewells to all of Shamus’ daughters who were enthusiastically waving, he reined his horse around.
They had a goodly amount of food that would stave off their hunger for a bit longer. He only hoped the lass knew how to cook it. Luckily, a few of his men were busy while he was talking with Shamus and had somehow gotten two rabbits to add to their bounty along with a chicken.
Fat droplets of rain splattered down from the heavens above as they drunkenly headed back towards the castle.
One Highlander slipped away from the rest and made his way back toward the tavern.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
Sometime during the reign of King James
With the heavy clouds pressing down and with the sun now being gone, it was almost completely dark.
“Please don’t rain.” I wasn’t too keen on storms and was hoping against hope the storm would pass but I wasn’t to be that lucky. One fat drop landed on my head, then two, and then a bucket of drops rained down on me, forcing me back inside the castle into the dim hall.
Shadows stretched across the room, and the fire was almost out. Standing in the doorway watching the rain bounce down on the ground and create small rivers in the dirt. Pitchforks of lighting streaked down from the sky and the Earth shook as the thunder rolled.
The wind picked up, pushing the heavy sheets of rain inside from the torrential downpour, until I finally had to shut myself inside the castle. Shaking off the rain, I made my way to the fireplace, bent down, and tossed on a few more logs. The flames licked up the sides of the wood, and burned brightly once more. Standing, I wiped my hands on my gown and pulled a chair over in front of the fire, then another one to prop my feet on.
Once again, I had the feeling someone was watching me. My heartbeat broke into a gallop as I turned but all that greeted me were shadows from the flames shifting across the now clean floor. Rubbing my arms, I situated myself back on the chairs and stared into the fire as I tried to figure out what I was going to do.
I was tired and even though I had a rather delectable Highlander to look at, I knew at some point that I would need to get the hell outta dodge, but how?
Now that was the million-dollar question.
There had to be a way though. The damned lying gypsy made her way out of here and tricked me into coming here. Was it some kind of witchery that she used, or was there some other magical conduit used? Sure, I was reaching, but what else was there to consider? I didn’t know.
The warmth from the fire, along with exhaustion from cleaning all day, had my eyes drifting closed. Every so often, I would jerk awake when another spike of lightening lit up the room or a roll of thunder shook the castle.
“Where are they?” I gathered my arms around myself and hunkered down more in my chair.
My eyes had just drifted shut again when I heard a scratching sound. Jerking upright, I dropped my feet from the chair and spun around. My skin prickled but I didn’t see anything. God, I hoped it wasn’t a rat. Or worse, some other God-awful thing I had no knowledge of from the past.
“Just your imagination, Paige,” I said trying to calm my growing unease and stop my rampant fear from gaining momentum.
Lifting my feet once again, I propped them up on the chair. I had nearly convinced myself I was imagining the noise when I heard it again. This time I was sure it was coming from the door. Jumping from the chair, I warily made my way across the room, and pressed my ear against the rough wood.
Again, I heard the scratching sound. Stupidity reared its ugly head and I did something I would never do at home if I heard a noise outside my door. I grasped hold of the h
andle, telling myself I would only take a peek. Maybe my Highlanders had forgotten their keys. I snorted in derision as a bubble of hysteria broke from my throat. There was no lock on the door, so there would be no need for a key, the sane part of my mind ranted at me. Still, I pulled open the door and immediately screamed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
Sometime during the reign of King James
The mangy dog from earlier unceremoniously shoved his way through the door and bounded past me in a dripping ball of fur into the hall.
Removing my trembling hand from my chest, I shut the door.
The dog shook his body and splattered water all over the floor I had tried so hard to clean.
“Nice doggy.” I took a step forward with my hand outstretched to pat its massive head, glad to have some company.
Instead of wagging its tail, happy that I saved him from the storm, he got into a defensive stance and bared its teeth at me, growling low in its throat. What was left of the fur rose up into hackles on its back. Of course, it couldn’t be a nice little dog that I let in. No, instead it was a massive pony sized one.
Once again, my heartbeat broke into a gallop that soon turned into a dead run as the dog closed the space between us. Taking a tentative step back, I kept my gaze on the dog, heading slowly for the stairs. I knew if I broke into a run, he would attack me. I’d watched enough survival shows to know that much. Lot of good it did me though, because I usually got bored and turned off the television before I found out how the people got away.
Each step I took backward… the dog took a step forward.
I tried to control my breathing, I didn’t want it to sense my fear, but damn, how did one not act terrified of a dog that could easily rip a person in two with just one snap from its mouth that was filled with rather sharp gruesome teeth.
Maybe it’s giving you some payback for trying to feed it your ‘Oatmeal Surprise’ my sick mind chided me as I took another step backward.
I was now on the stairs, but I could tell the dog was growing impatient. It may have had something to do with the fact that it was growling even more with each step I took as I tried to distance myself from him.
“Nice doggy,” I said again, trying to keep my voice level and calm as I took another step upward.
I wished I had something to throw to distract him, like a steak or a bone, but of course, I had none of those things. Then I remembered that I did have shoes. Didn’t dogs like eating shoes? I couldn’t remember. It would work, I thought, at least I hoped it would. Reaching down slowly, I pulled on one of my shoes.
The dog took two steps forward as I fought to release my damn shoe. It finally gave but my time was up. The dog was poised for attack.
“Fetch,” I yelled as loud as my constricted throat would allow and threw the shoe as hard as I could. My shoe crashed against the far wall with a resounding thwap.
The dog emitted a fierce growl and swung its head in the direction my shoe landed. I didn’t wait to find out if he was going to chase after it. I took off up the rest of the stairs. I could hear the dog spinning around on the stone trying to gain traction with its nails as I sprinted like a seasoned athlete with my skirts held high and only one shoe on my foot down the dark corridor to his room. I just made it inside when the barking grew in volume and I knew he was just inches away from gaining on me. I was done for.
By the grace of God, I was able to slam the door shut as the dog slid into it, barking, and scratching the wood with its paws.
In the distance, I could swear I heard cackling laughter that sounded a lot like the gypsy that sent me here, but that wasn’t possible. Must be hearing things, I thought.
Heart pounding, I brought the bolt home and pressed myself against the wood, trying to get my breathing under control. The dog started whining and scratching the door more.
“Shut the hell up,” I railed, clearly having lost the tenuous hold on what was left of my control.
The dog whimpered one last time and then miraculously shut up. It sounded as though it had left but I didn’t care. There was no way in hell I was going to leave the safety of this room, no matter what.
On cue, my belly grumbled. Reminding me, I hadn’t eaten anything since the gross ‘Oatmeal Surprise’ I made. “Well, too damn bad,” I told my growling stomach. “You will just have to starve.
Crossing over to the fireplace, I put some more logs on the dying embers and coaxed the fire back to life. Standing once more, I walked over behind the screen to relieve myself and then cleaned up as best as I could with the leftover water I used this morning.
After I finished, I decided a little snooping wouldn’t be out of order. I looked around at his things. He had some paper on the table as well as an inkwell but nothing written down. Losing interest, I made my way to his chest and tried to open it, but it was locked.
“Dangit!” I kicked the trunk with my shoeless foot and was rewarded by a sharp pain shooting up through my big toe, which put an abrupt end to my snooping.
Not having anything else to do, I threw some more wood on the fire, paced the room a few times and then sat on the fur on the floor, thinking I should just go to sleep and maybe while I was asleep my Highlander, err, Highlanders, might return.
Lying down, I tried to get comfortable, but it was cold and the floor was hard. Shivering, I sat up again. Looking over my shoulder, my eyes drifted to his rather large comfy looking bed.
“Why not,” I said. Not seeing the harm in it, I stood up, walked across the room, and pulled back the furs on top of his bed. I wasn’t even the least bit surprised to see he had very modern sheets on his bed as well as pillows. I sat down on the edge and kicked my feet out on top.
“Wow.”
It felt like I was in a bed in a five-star hotel, compared to the scrap of filth he had me sleeping on the night before.
Making up my mind, I climbed from the bed and crossed over to the door. I undid the latch just as another roll of thunder shook the room along with a flash of lighting. My feet barely hit the floor as I ran back to the safety of his bed. Sitting back down, I kicked off my remaining shoe, torn sock and climbed under the furs to the point I was buried. I made a little air hole for myself but other than that there were no visible parts of my body showing. I decided I would get some much- needed sleep and since I was a light sleeper, when I heard him come back, I would get up before he even made it to his room, or so I told myself.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
Sometime during the reign of King James
The ‘13’ Highlanders made their way back into the main hall of the castle. Each of the men were drenched and chilled to the bone.
“Put the supplies away in the larder and get some rest,” Gavin told his men as he made his way to the stairs.
“Och, why is the floor so wet?” asked Callum, sidestepping a rather large puddle in the middle of the room.
Muir shrugged. “At least it smells clean.”
“Aye, that it does,” said Alec, as he unhooked his plaid and laid it over the chair in front of the fire to dry.
“The lass may not be able to cook but she can obviously clean,” Graham noted as he twisted the length of his hair which released more water on the floor.
Gavin wiped the water from his face with his plaid, and looked around the hall, not believing his eyes. It was clean. Well, as clean as could be expected, he supposed. He also noticed the rushes were gone and decided very quickly that was not such a bad thing since it smelled a lot better now.
Feeling a sense of urgency to see the lass, to make sure she was all right, or so he told himself, he took the stairs two at a time to his chamber.
At once, he noticed the dog curled up outside his door. The dog lifted his massive head and then seeing who was coming down the hall, dropped it back down to the floor. Gavin stepped around the dog, and opened his door. It scraped open against the stone barely making any sound this time. His eyes went to the
place in front of the fire and his heart dropped at what he saw. She wasn’t here.
For some reason, unbeknownst to him, his heart sped up. He tore out of his room, back down the stairs to the hall. A few of the men had yet to retire to their sleeping quarters. “Where is she?” he nearly yelled.
Callum started, stifling a yawn. “Who?”
“The lass?”
“Do ye suppose she left?”
“Why would she leave?” Gavin asked more to himself than the remaining men in the room.
“Mayhap, she didn’t want to clean for ye anymore,” Muir added helpfully.
Graham stood up from the chair. “Mayhap something happened to her?” He bent over and picked up a lone shoe. “Is this hers?”
Gavin’s belly twisted involuntarily at the sight. Why would her shoe be down here? Did she leave, just as Callum had said or did something happen to her. Irritated more with himself than his men, he made his way to the cook room. Reaching the doorway, he pulled up short. The place was clean as well, at least cleaner than he had ever seen it. Walking over to the door, he opened it and peered through the blackness of the night.
The wind howled and water pelted against his body and his face as he tried to see some sign as to where she may have gone. He saw a figure move out from under a pine tree and relief filled him, until he saw who it was.
“What are ye doing out here?” Gavin watched as Broderick stepped out from under the pine tree.
“I was tending to the horses and got turned around in the storm.”
Gavin merely nodded and pushed the door open wider so he could pass.
“Is something amiss?” Broderick asked.
“The lass, she is …” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. “Nothing.”
Not having any answers readily available, he shut the door against the wind and rain. Turning around, he made his way back to the great hall. After the long day and ride, not to mention the several tankards of ale he drank exhaustion was taking its toll, settling in against him. Barely able to keep his eyes open, he scrubbed his hands over his face and then dropped them to his sides. He hated to admit it, but he had been looking forward to seeing the lass, but apparently the feeling had not been mutual. Of course, he knew it was his fault. Had he been kinder, mayhap she would have wanted to stay, for a bit at least. He’d run off the other one, Jillian, in much the same way he supposed. He had thought she was different though. He’d thought…well, it didn’t matter anymore. She was gone now, just like Paige.
Lost in the Highlands, Volume One Page 7