"I'm sorry," she said softly.
"Aye. Me too. At any rate," he said briskly. "I'm back in service now, and we're getting past all the unpleasantness."
She bit her lip, not sure whether to bring up the questions she had about Lord Weatherby. But Kieran seemed to have his own questions in mind for her. "How have you been getting on? Settling in alright?"
She thought of the quantity of coin she'd managed to liberate from the locals and hid a grin. Yes, she was getting on just fine… but how much of that should she confide in Kieran? With her luck, he might try to stop her. So, she shrugged her shoulders. "I'm doing fine. Exploring the place, hearing all sorts of wild stories about the women who've come before me…"
He chuckled. "Aye, we've had an eventful few years as a result of the other women like you."
"This curse," she said thoughtfully. "Is there any way to break it?"
He looked a little taken aback. "Break it? It's been broken. Years ago. By Delilah Cortland, in fact, the descendant of the witch who placed it."
She stared at him. "It has? Then — why am I here?" Breaking the curse had been her main intended tactic for getting out of this place… how was she supposed to do that if it had already been broken?
"From what I understand from my kinsmen," Kieran said, his eyes troubled, "it seems that the curse being broken has put an end to any more untimely deaths among the women who fall in love with MacClaran men — at least, any that lie outside simple fate or bad luck. But for those who passed away before the curse was broken… well, their descendants are still fated to return, despite the lifting of the curse."
"Right," she said faintly. "So, I got dragged back because of an old curse. Great." She sighed, taking a sip of her ale to fortify her. At least the drinks were good here. That was something to hold onto. "How am I supposed to get home, then?"
He hesitated. "That's… well, as far as we know, Scarlet, that's not possible."
"Not possible." She tilted her head, looking straight at him. "Has anyone tried? Or have all the other women been so delighted by the prospect of being someone's wife that they didn't bother trying to get back to their real lives?"
He actually looked hurt by that, and she felt a pang of regret deep in her chest before she hardened herself against it. She didn't owe anything to this man except a few coins for the accommodation he'd paid for — and she was more than capable of repaying that debt. So why did the look on his face tug at her heartstrings so?
"There isn't any way back, Scarlet," he repeated, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, but I don't want to mislead you with false hope. They've tried… and they've failed. And they've all found a way of making a life here, one way or another. I hope you'll do the same."
"I don't want to make a life here," she said irritably. "I want to go back to my old life."
Was that really so much to ask?
Chapter 10
“And what was that?" Kieran tilted his head curiously. "I've been remiss in not asking. Too busy thinking about Emily, I suppose. Tell me about your life back home, Scarlet."
She sighed, not especially wanting to get into that right now. When well-meaning strangers asked her what she did with herself, she had a go-to lie, and it was this lie that she defaulted to now. "I'm a graduate student," she said with a shrug. "My degree's in anthropology, and I'm doing some traveling before I go back to start work on my dissertation." To date, nobody had bothered asking any further questions — with the exception of one enthusiastic young man at a party who told her with great excitement that he was just starting his degree in anthropology. She'd had to make out with him to stop him from asking any awkward questions. She hoped very much that the same wouldn't be true here.
But Kieran was nodding, clearly satisfied with that answer. "I see. And do you travel with anyone? Family, friends… husband?"
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Smooth, Kieran. Really. No, I travel alone," she said, feeling an odd pang of regret at that. Stupid Ryan, still playing on her mind. To think she'd had ideas of the two of them traveling together, Bonnie and Clyde style, taking the world by storm, stealing whatever wasn't nailed down… well, the joke was on him. No matter how much he might have bragged about all the international jobs he'd pulled off, she'd be willing to bet he'd never been as far as she was right now.
"I have to ask," he said softly, clearly on his own train of thought about a lost love. She fought back a sigh, knowing what subject was about to come up. "Just once, and I'll drop the subject for the rest of the evening, alright?"
"Alright," she said wearily, rubbing at her face. She supposed she'd been interrogating him pretty thoroughly — answering a few of his questions was the least she could do. Especially as she fully intended to lie through her teeth if she didn't feel like giving an honest answer.
"You don't… remember anything, do you?"
"About what? Scotland? All my memories of this place are from the last few days. And I'm still not entirely sure it's not all a big stupid hallucination, so…"
"I mean about our life together."
"Kieran, you have to stop torturing yourself like this," she said irritably, trying to balance the annoyance in her tone with a bit of empathy… which, she was surprised to realize, was actually genuine. She did care about this man and his stupid grief. Interesting. It usually took her a while to give a shit about other people. "I'm not Emily. I might look like her, I might well be descended from her, or whatever, but I'm definitely not her. I'm my own person, I was born hundreds of years and thousands of miles from here, and I sure as hell don't have any of her memories. I'm not her. She's gone. You need to confront that."
Kieran sighed, reaching up to shove his blond hair from his eyes, looking disappointed but not especially surprised. "You're right, of course. I just hoped… I don't know. That there would be some trace of her in you."
"I know," she said softly, wavering for a moment… and then deciding to break. "I lost my father when I was sixteen."
"I'm sorry," he said simply, looking up at her.
"Yeah, me too. Cancer's a bastard, what can I say. But… I know what it's like to have lost someone, to hope like hell that there's some trace of them left. I got… I got a bit spiritual, for a while," she said, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Not religious or anything, but I got kind of… intensely superstitious. If the weather was good, it was a sign from him, if I found a coin on the street, it was a sign from him… all that kind of stuff."
Kieran smiled. "That's nice. He's still watching over you."
"No," she said firmly. "That's just my point. He's not. He's dead and gone, Kieran. And so is Emily. All we have left of them is our memories of who they were in life — the time we shared with them. And I think it does that time a disservice to pretend that — random acts of chance are messages from them. I have plenty of messages from my father. He made me the person I am today — he taught me every important lesson I ever learned. I don't need signs from beyond the grave — I am the sign. You know?"
Kieran was looking at her intently, and she blushed a little, embarrassed that she'd gotten so carried away.
"Sorry. I don't usually spill my life philosophy over dinner," she said drily, taking another sip of her ale to hide her discomfiture. "It's this ale. Ridiculously strong."
"Aye, Bryan brews it strong," Kieran chuckled, and she appreciated the out he was giving her. They ate in silence for a little longer, and she could tell from the look on Kieran's face that he was thinking intently about what she'd said. That felt — oddly good actually. Ryan had never listened to a goddamn thing she'd said. How many times had she warned him about some problem that wound up coming back to bite him in the ass? How many times had she all but begged him to listen to her…?
"Anyway," she said briskly, feeling that the silence was beginning to get maudlin. "Tell me about Lord Weatherby."
He looked up at that, and there was a mixture of distrust and suspicion on his face that immediately piqued her interest. "
What about him? What have you heard?"
"Pretty much nothing, aside from the fact that he's English, and the locals don't like him much. A few stories about some refugees who took him hostage last year?"
"Aye; that happened." Why did he look so guarded all of a sudden? "Scarlet — promise me you won't go poking around his estate."
She frowned. "His estate? Is it close?"
"It doesn't matter." His mouth was suddenly a hard line and she could see tension creeping into his shoulders as he took a deep gulp of his ale, as if to steady himself. "He's got dozens of guards, packs of dogs… it's very dangerous over there."
She tilted her head. "What, he doesn't take visitors?"
"It doesn't matter. Promise me you won't go over there, Scarlet." What was this sudden intensity from him? She'd expected more storytelling, maybe some elaboration on whatever had happened with the kidnapping last year — not this sudden, abrupt stonewalling. Something about it rubbed her the wrong way, and she narrowed her eyes as she put her fork down, her shepherd's pie all but demolished anyway.
"Why not? What's over there?"
"Nothing."
"Then why are you so determined to stop me from going there?" She leaned forward, grinning a little, hoping to involve him in the joke. "Is there treasure on his estate, or something?"
"Don't be stupid," Kieran snapped, and she recoiled as though she'd been struck, surprised by the look of anger and resentment in his eyes.
"Excuse me?" she said coldly, folding her arms across her chest. "I'm not sure what you think gives you the right to speak like that to me —"
"Just — stop being argumentative and do as you're told, alright?" Kieran said impatiently. "This is my home, I know more about it than you, just… take my word for it, there's nothing for you at the Weatherby estate."
She narrowed her eyes, shocked by his conduct. Just when she'd been warming up to him, too. Why were men absolutely all the same? Nice for a few days… then absolute shits. She could feel part of her trying to make excuses for him, but she suppressed that urge as firmly as she could. No more making excuses for the shitty men in her life. He was going to act like this? Cool. Then he was out of her confidence for good. "Fine," she said coolly, turning her eyes back to her meal and stabbing at a pea with her fork, even though her appetite had absolutely disappeared. "Whatever you say, Lord MacClaran, I'm but a wee woman, here to do your bidding —"
"Don't do that," he said softly, looking regretful already.
But she knew better than to give any credit to that kind of soft puppy-dog eyes look. He'd gotten what he wanted — her obedience — and now he was going to turn on the charm to try to reward her for doing what she was told. Well, she wasn't a dog, and she wasn't going to be trained by this asshole. She played nice, though, for the rest of the meal, and if he suspected she was scheming, he certainly didn't have enough evidence to call her out on it.
Well, good. She hinted around a little to see if he'd be willing to give her any more information about why he was so dead set against her going to the Weatherby manor, but every time she got close to the subject, he got tense and moody again, and it became clear that he wasn't going to explain himself at all. He clearly hadn't had much experience with women, she thought, resisting the urge to shake her head as they drank ale and laughed about a drunk at the bar who'd fallen from his stool. Or anybody with an inquisitive bone in their body. All he'd have had to do was tell her why he didn't want her going to the manor… then she'd have been satisfied. She'd had absolutely no plans to go anywhere near the damn place — there was plenty to keep her occupied in town for now, and her next stop after that was going to be the Keep.
At least, that had been the case half an hour ago, before he'd thrown his bizarre little tantrum about the concept of her going to visit Lord Weatherby. But now… well, now it was priority one to get over there. Step one — figure out where it was. Asking Kieran was obviously not an option, but she'd made plenty of friends among the locals who would be more than happy to give her directions. Step two — pay it a visit. The manor of a rich Lord might be an excellent place to procure some funds to keep her in the manner to which she had become accustomed… and if anyone was curious about her sudden windfall, she could always spin some lie about Weatherby being a distant relative who'd wanted to make sure she was well taken care of and comfortable on her travels. That would fit in nicely with her English persona, wouldn't it?
And who knew where she'd go next? Once she'd gotten this trial trip out of the way, and once she'd outstayed her welcome in the village… she knew her days were numbered here. Sooner or later, someone would make the connection between the lighter pockets and the new arrival in town, no matter how careful she was. That, or she'd just get drunk and blab. It had happened before, and it would happen again. But this was the medieval era. It wasn't like they could send an email to nearby towns, warning them of the platinum blond thief in the area… she hid a grin as she realized just how many options were available to her now.
Sure, it sucked that she couldn't get home… but at the same time, home was rather unpleasantly full of murderous cops and horrible ex-boyfriends, wasn't it? Maybe she could make a new home here… and a name for herself as the most notorious thief of the medieval age.
Kieran said goodnight to her a little later, and even apologized for his conduct regarding the Weatherby manor. She shrugged it off, not particularly interested in his new-found guilt. It was easy to apologize once you'd gotten what you wanted, wasn't it? But little did he know, he'd gotten quite the opposite. He gave her a last, lingering look before he left the bar, and she smiled back brightly, not interested in whatever thoughts were going on behind that face… that handsome face, she had to admit, shaking her head as she turned and headed for the bar. It was a pity he was such an ass. Maybe the two of them could have traveled together…
No. Scarlet Adams worked alone. That was going to have to be her motto, going forwards. She was the only person she could trust, the only person she could rely on. Men like Kieran seemed nice at first… but it was only so long until they revealed their determination to control her. Best to cut that kind of thing off early.
She spent the rest of the evening drinking with a few of the lads she'd been getting to know and beat them all soundly at cards a few times — they expressed surprise at how quickly she'd improved, and she smiled modestly, saying that it was all luck and even returning her winnings to them as a gesture of good faith. Beating them hadn't been about the money — she had already liberated plenty of coins from their purses when they'd not been paying attention. It had been about venting her irritation with Kieran. And it had worked. When she headed up to bed, drunk and happy, she barely gave the man a thought. Her mind was too busy buzzing with the new scheme she'd come up with as a direct result of his attempt to control her.
That'd teach him to try to get Scarlet Adams under his thumb.
Chapter 11
The next day dawned overcast and gloomy, which was fine by Scarlet. She had a day of recon planned and didn't intend to be spending much time in the streets — though she did make a quick trip to the tailor in town, wanting to add to her wardrobe a little. As much as she appreciated her stolen clothes — which still hadn't been recognized by their owners, to her great relief — she was getting a little tired of wearing the same thing every day like a cartoon character. She picked out a couple of new pieces for traveling, deliberately choosing the darker fabrics — a cloak, a new shirt, and a pair of dark trousers which she claimed were going to be a gift for her cousin. The truth was, she was shopping for her thieves' attire.
The new garb did clean out the majority of her ill-gotten savings, but she was willing to cop the expenditure. Robbing laundry lines was risky — both regarding getting caught and getting recognized in the stolen clothes — and besides, she had some specific needs for these clothes that laundry lines might not be able to fulfill. Besides, it was good to put a bit of coin back into the local economy, instead of s
pending it at the pub as she'd been doing. She had enough coin to buy a few rounds of drinks — that would be enough, she decided. At least until she got to Lord Weatherby's manor and refilled her pockets.
The tailor, to her delight, brought up Lord Weatherby the minute he heard her accent — a stroke of good fortune. She had been wary of talking too much about him to her friends at the bar in case they made some connection between her enquiries… and the inevitable uproar in a few days when the manor was robbed. You never knew who was listening in a busy place like that, and though Scarlet wasn't sure whether undercover cops had been invented yet, better safe than sorry. But the tailor was more than willing to gab on and on about Lord Weatherby.
"He's a fussy man when it comes to his clothing, that's for sure," he said, shaking his head with amusement as he carried Scarlet's purchases over to his counter to fold them. "Adores black velvet. I get it in special for him. I swear I spend half my life riding to and from that manor of his."
"I've heard it's a nice ride," Scarlet said, hoping that the gentle probe would be enough — and the tailor took the bait marvelously.
"Oh, yes! Straight out of town to the south, then along the river until you spot it in the distance. A long trip," he added, shaking his head. "But Weatherby's manservant is very good about putting you up for the night. And the food!"
She had her directions. She had no intention of staying in Weatherby's manor long enough to find out how good the food was — she had other things in mind. But knowing where the manor lay was a good start. She bid the tailor good morning and headed back for the pub with her new clothes under her arm. She wouldn't be trying them on in town, of course — that would be a job for the road.
Highlander Guarded: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander In Time Book 10) Page 7