CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
Sometime during the reign of King James
After the evening meal, Paige went back to Gavin’s chamber to get his bath ready. She didn’t want to stay down in the main hall for longer than necessary because she still had an uneasy feeling from her encounter with Broderick. Thankfully, he didn’t come to dinner.
Taking the large cloths off the chair where she had laid them to dry earlier, she placed them across the back of the wooden rim of the tub.
The door creaked open and Gavin stepped into the room.
“Hello,” she said as cheerily as she could. He had been so quiet during supper. Granted he was always quiet, but he seemed to have something on his mind. Something that she wasn’t sure she wanted to know about.
He undressed without a word, handed her the key to his trunk and climbed into the tub.
Not knowing what to do, or how to approach what happened to her today, she busied herself by getting the shampoo and soap out of his trunk. I didn’t even try to look at the contents like I normally would.
“How was training today?” She crossed the room and set the shampoo on the floor.
“It was acceptable.”
“That’s nice.” She dropped the soap in the water.
He slanted an eye open and looked at her.
“What?”
Dipping his hands in the water, he lifted them back up and splashed water on his face. Wiping the excess away, he reopened his eyes and gave her a pointed look. “If ye have something to say lass, just spit it out.”
It always amazed her at how well he could read her. “Well… I was wondering about something.” She slid her fingers through the length of his hair, untangling the silken strands before wetting it down.
“And that would be?”
“I was wondering about…something I heard.”
“What did ye hear?” He closed his eyes once again.
She cleared her throat. “I heard there is a treasure.”
He tensed. It was subtle and if she wasn’t touching him she wouldn’t have noticed.
“It is just a silly legend, nothing more.”
“What kind of legend?” Something about his tone and the way he was acting had her heart jumping into double-time.
“I already told ye, it is of no consequence,” he snapped.
Paige drew back away from him feeling as though he hit her. He didn’t of course, but the tone he was using with her made her feel like he had.
After he snapped at her, the conversation she was trying to broach with him about the treasure and Broderick squelched to a halt. The silence strained and made her feel even more uneasy. She didn’t know what was wrong and didn’t know what to say to pull him from his obvious funk. He hadn’t acted this aloof in a long time. She thought they were past that now, but apparently she was wrong.
After she finished washing him, he got dressed, which wasn’t that weird, but then he crossed over to the door and left the room without giving her a second-glance.
The tears that had clogged in her throat while she was bathing him came bubbling to the surface. Paige sat on the floor and cried, wishing for the first time since she had been here that she was back home.
Once her eyes were swollen and all her tears were drained, she stood up and undressed. Laying her clothes over the chair, she crossed the room and climbed in the tub.
Feeling numb, she leaned back, hoping the water would warm the ice in her veins. It warmed her, but did little to dispel her black mood, however.
Once she was finished, she was feeling more depressed than ever. Going through the motions, she got ready for bed and then paced the room awaiting his return. She knew she couldn’t sleep until he came back into the room. Soon, her depression turned to anger and she had half a mind to go search him out and give him a piece of her mind—but then she remembered all the men in the hall and quickly changed her mind.
Tired of pacing, she sat on his bed. Reaching out, she smoothed her hand over one of his many furs on the top, noticing again that they were a lot nicer than the crappy one he had originally given her to sleep on.
Clutching hold of his pillow, she inhaled deeply. She could smell his heady scent lingering on the fabric and her heart made another involuntary flutter.
CHAPTER TWENTY- FOUR
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
Sometime during the reign of King James
Gavin sat in front of the fire in the hall with his legs stretched out in front. He felt terrible about how he treated the lass, but what was he to do? Tell her he made a deal with the witch and in doing so had sealed her fate to die. He couldn’t do that. Not now. Not ever. But she wouldn’t understand that.
Leaning forward, he poured another drink for himself and then settled back into the chair once again. Gnawing deep down in his belly, guilt was eating him from the inside out. He had only just found the lass, the one that could make him forget and now he would have to let her go. If Jillian hadn’t left him of her own accord he would have done the same for her, or so he told himself. It didn’t matter anymore, anyway. He could barely remember her face. Instead, another face came to mind when he tried. And she was, at this very moment, upstairs awaiting his return. Damn the King and the treasure, he thought bitterly.
Letting out a lengthy sigh, he scrubbed his hand over his face and then dropped it back to his side. He had made up his mind. Tomorrow, when the moon was full, he would take her to the mist and let her go.
“Where’s the lass,” Broderick asked, breaking into his dark thoughts.
Gavin looked up. Broderick’s face blurred in and out of focus. “Resting.”
“She did well with supper this evening,” he said, making small talk as he pulled a chair up and sat down.
He gave Broderick a strange look. He didn’t remember him being at supper. He shook his head thinking he must have forgotten. “Aye, I suppose she did.”
“What will ye do with her?”
He lifted his brow. “What do ye mean?”
“Are ye going to use her ta get the treasure?”
“I haven’t given it much thought.” He took another drink.
“Aye, I can see yer dilemma.” Broderick made a grunting noise which drew Gavin’s attention to him once more.
“What are ye getting at?” Gavin blinked, noticing Broderick had a strange gleam in his deep-set eyes.
“Far be it from me ta tell ye how ta handle these types of women …”
“Types of women...?” Shivering in spite of the warmth coming off the fire, Gavin twisted in his seat and lowered his cup before he took another drink.
“Aye, ye know…” Broderick lowered his voice, “the witches.”
“She is no witch.” His body tensed.
Broderick gave him a doubtful look. “She did come through the mist.”
“So what of it, they all do.”
“Aye and they are all witches.”
“So say ye.”
“How can ye deny what we all know?” Broderick gave him a look filled with disdain.
“What ye all know,” Gavin snorted, and waved his hand. “What of the men, were they witches’ as well?”
“I am guessing so.”
“Then where did they go?” Gavin shook his head and immediately regretted it because it made his brain feel funny and his vision blur again. He looked down into his cup. He hadn’t had that much to drink had he? For some reason he couldn’t remember. “Spit it out, Broderick. I grow weary of yer dancing around.”
“If we are ta get the treasure, the witch said we must use the girl.”
Another shiver of something akin to dread slid up his spine. “Aye, I know what the damn crone said.”
“Then when are ye going ta do it?” Broderick prodded.
“When I get damned good and ready, that’s when,” Gavin snapped.
Broderick reared back, his eyes narrowed and his hands tightened into fists. “Och, ye will get us sent back to
the gallows with that kind of talk.”
“Laird.” Gavin kept his cool but he was ready for him if the need arose, well, he hoped he would be—if the damn floor would stop moving under his feet.
“What?” Broderick glared at him.
“That is Laird ta ye or have ye forgotten?” Gavin leveled him with an icy stare that had brought many a man to heel in his past.
Broderick shook his head and grumbled something unintelligible under his breath. “Nay, I have not forgotten, Laird,” he scathed the word.
“And ta answer yer question,” he poked, “I am Laird here, which means I am the only one who will decide the fate of the girl, do ye understand?”
“Aye,” Broderick said begrudgingly. “But remember the King awaits his bounty and if ye do not give it ta him like ye said ye would we will all suffer the consequences, not just ye.” Broderick turned back towards the fire with a scowl.
Gavin watched him, his drink forgotten. Now he remembered why Broderick was the least favorite of his men. He was too damnable perceptive for his own good.
♦
“Psst, Muir,” Callum called softly as he looked warily over at his Laird and then to Broderick, who was his least favorite. There was always something about the man that made his skin prickle when he was around him, so Callum steered clear of him as did most of the other men.
“What are ye whispering for Callum?” Muir covered one of his eyes to stop from seeing double.
“Shhh…” He lifted his finger and missed his lips.
“What are ye shushing me for?”
“I am trying to eavesdrop,” Callum said, as he cupped his ear.
“If yer trying to eavesdrop then why are ye speaking ta me?”
“Cause I can’t hear what they are saying?”
“Then how on Earth can ye be eavesdropping if ye cannot hear?”
“I wanted ye ta listen for me?”
“Och, Callum why would I want ta do that?”
“Ta hear what they are saying.” He rolled his eyes and then grabbed the table to keep from falling out of his chair. “What are we drinking?”
Muir peered down in his cup with his one eye. “I don’t know but it has a hefty kick. Ayeee,” he slurred.
“Ayeee, ye have that ri…ght.” Callum slid from his chair under the table.
“Callum, what are ye doing down there?” Muir leaned over to peer down at his friend.
“I’m holding the floor down.”
“Callum the floor isn’t moving…” Just as he said it, the floor wobbled and he had to steady himself on the table to keep from falling over. “Good work, Callum.” He hiccupped and fell backward onto the floor.
“Muir, what are ye doing?” Callum peered over at him from under the table.
“I’m holding down the floor, too.”
“Good work,” Callum said and then his eyes rolled back in his head as he promptly passed out.
Muir would have agreed but he passed out as well.
Gavin heard another thump and looked over his shoulder. Another one of his men had fallen to the floor. He turned back around. The room blurred. It would seem the only ones still standing, or in his case sitting, was Broderick. Prickles sprung up on his skin. Something wasn’t right. He felt it in his gut. Gavin turned his head and the room spun in slow motion. He pressed his palms to his eyes. But it did no good. He still felt like he was moving.
A sickening feeling bubbled up from his stomach. Stumbling from his chair, he swerved around one of his men that passed out on the floor. This was nothing new, his men often slept in the hall when they had too much drink. As he sidestepped around another one of his men, the momentum carried him across the room swiftly. He hit the rough stone of the wall hard but remained standing.
Broderick turned to watch him.
Gavin always had good instincts. And they were telling him he needed to get out of the hall. Bracing himself on the wall, he decided a short lie down wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Out of sheer determination, he forced his feet to move. Each time he lifted his foot to move forward he leadenly slammed it back to the ground and repeated the action until he made it to the stairs.
Grabbing the wall, he used it to help him make his way slowly up the stairs. It took all he could do not to fall down.
♦
At some point, she must have dozed off because she was startled awake by a strange dragging sound coming from outside the door. Half asleep, she stumbled out of the bed. The wood scraped on the stone floor as the door opened.
Wobbly on his feet, Gavin zigzagged across the room and headed straight for his bed, but then he stopped and picked up the folded fur on his trunk.
“Lassss,” he called, slurring.
“Yes.” She stepped forward from the shadows.
He turned and gave her a strange look. “Come here.” He wavered.
Taking a calming breath, she made her way over to where he stood, thinking he wanted to apologize.
“Here,” he shoved the fur into her hands.
“What’s this?”
“Yer bed.” He took two steps forward and fell face first into his own bed.
Mouth agape, she stood there, feeling so many emotions coursing through her at once she didn’t know which one to feel first. As it turned out, one overrode the rest and as she lay down on her filthy bed, she started to cry, again.
A minute later, he started to snore.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
Sometime during the reign of King James
Not surprisingly, when Paige awoke his bed was empty. With swollen eyes from crying half the night, she got up and splashed water on her face. Her heart sank a little more when she realized he didn’t even bother bringing her clean water today.
Taking her time, she finished washing and then started straightening the room. Gathering up her fur, she rolled it into a tight ball and tossed it on the trunk. A mix of emotions jumbled inside of her. She didn’t know what she did wrong. Was he acting so distant because she told him she loved him and he felt bad because he didn’t feel the same way?
Her chest tightened at the thought.
Maybe she shouldn’t have told him how she felt. And if he didn’t do those things to her, those marvelous, wonderful, incredible things to her body, she may have been able to keep her feelings to herself. So, in a way, it was his fault. Not hers.
Paige grabbed up his pillow to fluff it but punched it hard instead before she tossed them back on the bed. Apparently, one of her jumbled emotions finally won out against the rest… anger.
Fired up, she jerked his furs back across the bed and stormed across the room. Pulling the door open, she stomped down the dimly lit corridor, down the stairs and into main hall. She didn’t care if the other men were around this time. She was planning to give Gavin a piece of her mind. She wasn’t some….
She pulled up short.
The hall was empty.
But it wasn’t like the other mornings when she was left alone.
Chairs were overturned and there was an ominous quality to the room. Her skin prickled and she rubbed her arms. Her anger disintegrated, turning quickly to fear.
Once again, she had a feeling she was being watched. Slowly, she turned around, hoping, no praying, that it was her over active imagination kicking into high gear again but when she turned this time, someone was there, and that someone was looking right at her.
“Good day to you,” she said as cheerily as her shaking voice would allow.
“Och, lass, mayhap it is a good day for someone but not for ye,” said the tall wiry man with a smirk. He was not unattractive but there was something sinister lurking in his deep-set fathomless black eyes. Fingers of ice crawled over her and she had an overwhelming urge to run. For once, she didn’t second guess herself.
She took off running.
She barely made it across the room to the door when rough hands grabbed her and slammed her back into the table. The edge caught her in her bel
ly and she could scarce catch a breath. She gripped the sides to right herself. A body pressed up behind her and yanked one of her arms off the table as a hand closed over her breast, squeezing the delicate flesh as he jerked against her bottom, trying to lift her gown. Her fear turned quickly back to anger. She bucked and kicked, trying to dislodge him, knock him off balance so she could grab the tankard near the edge of the table. She could feel the swell of his erection pressing against her bottom.
“Och, lass. Stay still.”
Like hell I will, she thought as her fingers closed around the tankard.
He made a low growling noise as he flipped her around.
Using the momentum to her advantage, she slammed the cup into the side of his head.
He staggered back with a confused look on his face and then lifted his hand to his head. Pulling his fingers back down, he stared at the blood dripping down from the tips. “Why ye little bitch,” he snarled and took a step forward.
Paige threw the cup as hard as she could.
It hit him square between his eyes. This time when he staggered backward, he kept going and collapsed to the floor.
Shaking all over, she stepped over his body. Running across the room, she yanked open the door and was instantly blinded by the sunlight. Stumbling, blind, she made her way down the stairs to the courtyard, bracing herself under a tree, trying to get her vision back. Something creaked over her head. She looked up. Hanging above from the tree was a foot, and then another. Caught in the middle of dangling feet, she screamed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
Sometime during the reign of King James
A fist slammed into Gavin’s belly, waking him. Two men that he didn’t recognize yanked harder on the leather strips binding his wrists. The burning taste of bile slid up his throat as the dinner he had eaten only hours before regurgitated out from his mouth onto the ground beneath his feet.
Lost in the Highlands, Volume One Page 27