"Well, when it all began, we — well, we had her here, of course," he said with a shrug. "What was she going to do, give birth to a child of our bloodline in that terrible dank old castle? Absolutely not. Arabella was in with her. My sister," he added with a flick of his wrist. "She came up especially to handle all of the… unpleasantness. At any rate, once it all began, she announced that the woman was dreadfully ill and had to be rushed off to London at once to see all the best doctors. Within weeks, we'd received word that she'd died. Dreadful thing," Weatherby said softly, shaking his head. "Such a lovely girl. She'd have made someone an excellent wife if only she'd had her head straight…"
The brief flare of sympathy that Scarlet had been developing deep in her chest for Weatherby vanished as though it had been snuffed out like a candle. "Really?" she said, tilting her head to the side with a frown. "That's your takeaway from all of this. It's unfortunate that she didn't end up somebody's wife."
"Some would say the death was a just punishment," Weatherby said with a shrug of his shoulders. "That that's exactly what you get for running around being silly out of wedlock." The anger that flared in her at that was black and furious — but before she could react, Weatherby continued. "At any rate, you'll learn all of this in due course. You'll be rejoining the family, of course."
"What do you mean, rejoining? You're not my family," Scarlet said, narrowing her eyes.
"Maybe not, but that can be our little secret, can't it?" Weatherby smiled at her, his hard little eyes glinting. "Once you learn all the details, it will be easy enough to play her role… and won't the family be thrilled, having their Emily back after all these years?"
"What the hell do you mean? I'm not pretending to be some dead woman," she snapped, temper flaring. "Are you insane?"
"There, you've got her temper down pat already," Weatherby chuckled.
Baldric had returned, a neutral expression on his face that seemed very deliberate, and a couple of men with swords at their belt were in tow, peering curiously into the room beyond Baldric and exchanging glances when they saw Scarlet. She took a sharp breath, aware that she was rapidly approaching a decision point. The minute those guards set foot in the room, she was gone. "Now, now, Emily. Come along. You've clearly got some memory problems," Weatherby said with a shake of his head. "I suppose we'll find out where you've been these last seven years in due course, but until then…"
"Alright, Lord Weatherby," she said demurely, casting her gaze downwards as she affected her English accent again.
Lord Weatherby beamed with delight, his hard green eyes glittering with pleasure. Typical… men like that were always so easily taken in by the appearance of being obeyed. She shot a quick glance toward the doorway, where Baldric was looking straight at her, his own gaze intent — it was clear he wasn't taken in the way Weatherby was. She couldn't resist. She tipped him a wink — just a flash, and she saw his eyes widen a little in surprise and what was unmistakably amusement.
She'd been right. He was on her side here. And that gave her all the confidence she needed to turn suddenly on her heel and sprint for the window.
Weatherby, just as she'd predicted, was slow to react. He'd turned his gaze to Baldric and was midway through ordering him to get a room set up for their guest and to make sure she had some supper — she couldn't resist feeling a pang of regret at that. Maybe she could have spun her ruse out a little longer, gotten a hot meal out of it before disappearing into the night… hadn't the tailor said that Weatherby had an excellent cook on staff? But no… she was likely to be confined to her room, and from what she'd gathered, all the bedrooms and guest quarters and the like were on the second floor. She didn't much fancy breaking an ankle diving from the window. Dinner could wait — she had plenty of meat stashed in her rucksack, after all. And besides, she'd gone hungry before.
All of these thoughts flickered through her mind faster than blinking — she was on the window ledge as she finalized her conclusion that escape was the right move, and Weatherby was only just opening his mouth to shout in outrage when she slipped out and landed neatly on the grass beyond the house. She'd been casing the joint, which meant she had a very clear idea of where she was, how far into the property she'd gotten, and exactly where the wall she'd scrambled over was — and what was more, she knew exactly where a low tree stood that would make it easiest to climb over the wall and make her break for freedom.
She bolted across the lawn, headed for the tree she remembered, grateful that there were no guards on the inside of the wall — a rookie mistake, she thought with a grin, especially for a man who didn't have cameras or any other kind of tech. All kinds of nasty elements could be hiding out in his garden, for all he knew… she wondered idly if he'd make any changes before she came back for another robbery. The items she'd liberated from his estate were clanking in her pockets and thinking of his ugly little face as he'd decided so casually that he was in control of her life now, she wished she'd stolen more.
There were shouts coming from the house behind her — she risked a glance over her shoulder, and though it was hard to make out what was happening in the murky twilight, she had a suspicion that one of the guards had gotten stuck in the window. They had been big men, and no doubt the armor didn't make it easy… she grinned to herself as she leapt into the tree, lithely scrambling up branch after branch as she headed for the top of the wall. Atop it, she shot a quick glance right and left… and then winced as she realized what had happened.
A patrol of guards was about twenty feet away — two men, flaming torches in their hands, their body language relaxed for now… but even as she watched, she saw them tense up, staring up at her perched on the wall with a combination of surprise and alarm. Decision time. Scarlet tensed up for a moment, weighing up her options — bribe them, somehow? Talk them out of raising the alarm by sharing some of her ill-gotten spoils? Would that even work? There were shouts from behind her now, though, as the guards finally got free and started running across the garden, and she shut her eyes, shaking her head. Not an option. The alarm had been raised. All she had left was her feet.
So, she slid down from the wall and landed hard, bending her knees to absorb the impact, then dropping and rolling a few feet when it became clear that bent knees wouldn't be sufficient. She sprang up, grateful for no injuries, looked up at the guards, who were still rooted to the spot with wide eyes and shocked expressions that would have been comical if the situation hadn't been so dire. Resisting the urge to deliver a witty quip — she didn't want to stir them into action — Scarlet turned on her heel and set off running. It was almost full dark now, which was in her favor — all she had to do was lose herself in the trees, hide out until they'd given up on hunting for her, then make her way back to the village to lie low for a few days.
She hit the treeline running, but the guards were behind her, torches raised. No — not guards, she realized with a thrill of worry. One guard had made chase — the other was nowhere to be seen. Probably raising the alarm, she thought grimly. That meant a big search. For the first time, real worry began to prickle at her. What was the best plan, here? She kept running, dodging around trees, hoping to wear out the guard behind her, but he was dogged in his pursuit, torch raised, shouting at her repeatedly — stop, stop, stop. Did he really think that was going to work? No, she realized belatedly — he wasn't shouting for her benefit. He was shouting so that the other men would know where to go.
Sure enough, more points of torchlight were beginning to appear behind her, and she gritted her teeth, accelerating through the trees. There were rather fewer of them than she'd hoped, and she was rapidly losing track of her bearings, what with night closing in and the adrenaline of the pursuit. Where was her backpack stashed, again? Would she even be able to find time to pick it up? It would be a shame to lose it, especially as it had her regular clothes in it… she shook her head and kept running, adrenaline and fear making her feet faster than usual. But the guard was still in pursuit. This was getting dire.
It wasn't long before the shouts of the men were joined by the baying of dogs, and she remembered what she'd learned about Weatherby's security improvements since he'd been taken hostage by the refugees. A whole pack of hounds, it seemed, had been installed at the Weatherby estate — hunting dogs with extremely sharp noses. She felt her heart pounding hard at the thought of that. Hunting dogs weren't exactly in her wheelhouse — you didn't run into them much, especially when you did most of your crime in cities. The worst she'd encountered was police dogs, but as she never dealt in drugs, they'd never been a bother. The idea of being tracked by her scent was worrying.
She raced through her memory as she raced through the trees, her heart pounding sickly in her chest as she pushed herself for more speed. The guard behind her had been outpaced, finally, and she felt a thrill of relief — but the men were still pursuing her. She couldn't relax yet, not with those dots of torchlight behind her, closing in — and the sound of the dogs barking was getting closer at an alarming rate. As she ran, dodging trees and leaping over stones as she went, she reached into her pockets. Thankfully, all the meat she'd stolen was still there. Was it too much to hope that the dogs might be distracted by that? Worth a shot… she flung a few fistfuls of it behind her, hoping they'd stop to eat it at least. How hungry did Weatherby keep the dogs? Were they better at their jobs when they were hungry? A thrill of real fear ran down her spine. What if they ate her? She could hear them baying behind her, and she had a flash of primal terror, the image of wolves howling at the moon leaping unbidden to her mind.
Don't be stupid, she told herself, trying to stay calm. They're just dogs. You're a human being, you're smarter than a dog, you can outwit them… all she needed was a plan. They were tracking her by smell, probably — but what could she do about that? Obscure her tracks with perfume? Or somehow… she remembered a book she'd read as a child in a flash of insight that made her gasp. Men, running from the police, wading uphill through a river to obscure their scent from the dogs. Did that work? Or was it some silly invention of an author who hadn't bothered to do any research about dogs?
It didn't matter, she told herself grimly. Right now, she had to try whatever she had. She just hoped she could make it to the river before the dogs caught up with her.
If not… well, she didn't like the sound of being a Weatherby, that was for sure.
Chapter 15
Scarlet was beginning to run out of puff. She could tell by the way her legs were shaking, by the way her breath was coming more ragged in her throat. She was a runner, an athlete, someone with a lot of training — she knew when her body was on its last legs, and when she had more reserves in the tank to draw from, and she was rapidly approaching the former situation. Not just yet, but soon, she'd start to stumble — lose her balance, fall, trip, maybe hurt herself badly enough that she couldn't run any further. She needed to do something now. Gasping for breath, she flung more meat behind her, scattering it wildly into the trees. Did the barking of the dogs sound a little further back? Maybe… maybe… but not far back enough. She had to keep running. Had to hope that her memory served her right… that she hadn't been too disoriented by running through the forest to be turned around completely… that the river really was up ahead of her like she remembered…
She burst out through the trees and almost sobbed with relief. There, ahead of her, was the river — deep and wide, its waters glinting under the moonlight. She charged up to the bank, glancing over her shoulder with trepidation — the torchlight was a good distance away, which was a relief, but the barking was still loud in her ears and she knew she had to do something. But she still hesitated on the river bank. It was a cold night — the air had been burning against her flushed skin for some time — and it occurred to her that the waters might just snatch her away for good if she got too deep.
But what other choice did she have? If she could get across the river, she'd be safe, right? The dogs wouldn't swim across without their masters, would they? And their masters were all covered in metal — they'd be likely to sink to the bottom of the river if they tried to swim after her. All she could do was rely on the guards not being paid enough by Weatherby to risk life and limb like that… and dangerous as it might be, she knew it was her only hope of escape. The rucksack was gone. She just needed to get across the river… then she could come up with a new plan about where she was going to spend the night, and how she was going to avoid dying of exposure once she'd splashed back out of the water's chilly depths.
If she even lasted that long….
She hovered on the bank for a moment, mustering the courage. But before she could plunge into the depths, an unfamiliar sound distracted her, sent her head whipping around — and her eyes widened in shock and, for a moment, fear. A horse was thundering toward her along the riverbank, nostrils flaring, sleek black flanks heaving as it galloped straight toward her. For a moment, she was convinced it was Weatherby — he'd somehow tacked up a horse in record time and come tearing after her himself, torch held high — but as that torchlight fell onto the rider's face, a new kind of shock staggered her.
It was none other than Kieran MacClaran. He had a dark cloak about his shoulders and a look of grim determination on his face, but she recognized him immediately — and as he wheeled the horse to a sharp stop, she fought the urge to weep with relief. That wouldn't have been particularly on brand for her, would it?
"Scarlet, you madwoman," he gasped, eyes wide as he slid down from the horse's back and took a few steps toward her. "What are you doing?"
"It's a long story," she said faintly, not sure where to begin — but she couldn't stop herself from turning back to the woods, where those points of light were getting closer and closer, the barking of the dogs louder and louder… "We have to go. Right now."
"What do you mean? What have you done?"
"Nothing at all! I just — I met Lord Weatherby, and —"
Kieran's face went stormy in the torchlight. "Didn't I tell you —"
"Let's talk about what you told me when I'm not being hunted by a pack of savage dogs, how about that?" she suggested through gritted teeth, rummaging through her pockets. Kieran heaved a sigh.
"Fair enough."
And with that, the pack came bursting through the trees. Looking at them, Scarlet felt oddly relieved. The image she'd been building in her head was horrifying — long snouts, slathering jaws, sharp pointed teeth dripping with blood from whatever hapless creature they'd killed last… but the dogs she was looking at were far from that. They were quite small actually, and though they came barreling toward her, she realized that there were only four. Quickly, she reached into her pocket for the dried meat and flung it toward them — two of them set about fighting over one piece, while the other two circled her, sniffing enthusiastically at her trousers with their tails lifted high and wagging furiously.
"Savage dogs, is it?" Kieran enquired, clearly fighting to stop himself from laughing.
Scarlet gritted her teeth. "Well, I didn't know, did I? Can we go now?"
Two guards came stumbling out of the woods in pursuit of the dogs, and she shut her eyes, irritated that Kieran hadn't bothered listening to her. "See? I told you we should have —"
"Halt!" one of the guards gasped.
She recognized him as one of the two from the patrol who'd spotted her sliding down from the wall, and she couldn't help but admire his stamina — he'd done well to catch up with her. "Halt right there — this woman is a — a guest of Lord Weatherby —"
He leaned on his knees, panting fit to burst, and she grinned to herself, grateful that she'd at least had the time to catch her breath a little to avoid such indignity. The other guard stepped forward, lifting his torch high as he peered curiously into Kieran's face.
"I know you," he said suspiciously. "You're Kieran MacClaran. Haven't seen you around these parts for — what is it, seven years now?"
"With respect, it was never the lands that attracted my visitation," Kieran said with a ru
eful twist of his lips.
The guard actually chuckled, lowering the torch a little, and Scarlet breathed a little easier as she saw his hand move away from the sword at his hip. "What's going on, here?"
"A little misunderstanding, I suspect," Kieran said smoothly, and she could hear the lie in his voice. Still, she wasn't going to interfere. The guards weren't taking hold of her and hauling her back to Weatherby's clutches, and nor was she struggling through a freezing river — this was a big improvement on her predicament, as far as she was concerned. And Kieran wouldn't let Weatherby get her back in his clutches — would he? He'd seemed awfully cross with her for coming here, but even he wouldn't stoop so low… she hoped.
"Misunderstanding?" The guard looked suspicious. "This woman came leaping over Weatherby's walls, pursued by guards."
Kieran spared her a brief glance, full of a very meaningful expression that told her she'd have a fair bit of explaining to do later if they made it out of this one alive. Then he turned his face back to the guards, smiling broadly. "She's an athletic young woman, yes. This is Scarlet, a friend of mine. She's staying with me at the Keep."
"Is that so?" The guard's eyes narrowed. "Then why was she making a run for it from Weatherby's?"
Scarlet opened her mouth — but Kieran shot her a warning look so taut with meaning that she closed it immediately, honestly frightened that he might just draw the sword at his hip and cut her tongue out if she dared try to speak.
"Well, that's the thing," he said sadly, shaking his head as he patted her shoulder affectionately. "This poor young lass… she's not right in the head. Some kind of terrible malady — our doctors are studying her closely. She's prone to flights of fancy," he said, giving her a sharp look. "And to doing reckless, stupid things like breaking into people's gardens. She's harmless, really — a danger only to herself. Lord Weatherby, bless his heart, was only trying to ensure she was safe."
Highlander Guarded: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander In Time Book 10) Page 10