by Jeanne Rose
Danger?
Even as he stiffened, he realized his enemy was close upon him. Far too close.
How had this happened? Where was the sentry?
With a crazy shriek, a dark figure suddenly leaped from the shadow of some fallen stones. The wild man was brandishing a sword in one hand, the stolen golden dirk in the other.
“Atholl!”
“What? Caught without your claymore, Prince?” the maniac snickered. “Isn’t that too, too bad!”
Indeed, Bain’s sword stood inside the doorway behind him. His enemy had managed to sneak up on him when he was unsuspecting and unarmed.
Bain shouted a curse.
“Spells won’t save you now!” yelled Atholl, launching himself at the larger man.
Bain feinted, grabbing his enemy’s sword arm. They both went down. Rolled. Struggled. Until, with a grunt, Atholl dropped the larger weapon.
But he still had the dirk that had once been Bain’s own.
“Thief!” Bain snarled, wrestling with the man. Beneath Atholl, he reached up to grab his throat . . . and glimpsed the silver ring on his enemy’s hand.
The token he’d given Caitlin.
Distracted, his fingers loosened.
And the dirk plunged downward, tearing a burning hole through his chest. Bain saw his own blood on the blade before Atholl slashed down a second time.
“Die, you monster!” the man howled.
Bain tried to rise, to throw off his attacker, but he was suddenly too weak. His muscles spasmed and sharp pain radiated outward from the wounds. .
Atholl pulled his arm back for another savage stab, his face a mask of hatred. Bain tried to hold him off, even resigned that it was no use, when a wild flurry of feathers suddenly lunged from the sky.
The falcon.
With a scream of terror, Atholl dropped the dirk and rolled to the side, clutching his head.
“My faithful friend,” muttered Bain. Unable to rise, he focused all his psychic energy on his sentry.
The falcon swooped again and again, raking its claws along Atholl’s back. Hands covering his wounded head in protection, the man crawled to the dirk and then on to the sword he had dropped. Bloody and winded, he nevertheless staggered to his feet, weapons in hand.
“Gods protect you!” cried Bain to the bird as it descended, shrieking its war cry.
Atholl swung the sword and the dirk, missing with both. The falcon turned on the wind, talons extended and striking a swift and savage blow to the man’s face. Rivers of blood spurted in every direction. Had the falcon taken an eye?
Bain could only watch from where he lay as Atholl screamed and ran, the sentry in pursuit. The horrible sound faded with increasing distance.
Bain dragged a hand to his chest. Warm blood seeped between his fingers; cold crept up from his legs. Gray clouds seemed to merge with the mist now flowing in with the current from the sea.
Was he dying?
Would he at last be free from his cursed life?
“Caitlin.” Her name came no more than a ragged whisper from between his lips that grew stiff with the effort. If only he could see her face again.
But was she safe, unharmed? How had Atholl obtained the moonstone ring?
Only for her sake did he cling to the solid earth beneath him, though he feared the effort would in the end be for naught.
“Caitlin,” he whispered, his voice weaker.
Then his eyes closed.
CAITLIN HAD the most awful feeling.
She’d grown increasingly jumpy since returning to her cottage, so nervous she hadn’t quite been able to decide what to do first – pack, contact Sergeant Cooke or call the airlines. Since the cottages weren’t equipped with phones, and she’d forgotten to ask to use the MacDonalds’ at breakfast, she’d have to return to the manor house to make a call. So she’d attempted to put her art work in order, only to be interrupted by someone loudly peeling out of the B&B’s driveway as if demons nipped at his tires.
Had something happened?
She’d gone outside and looked around, spotting Bridget in one of the windows of the manor house washing the glass panes. That seemed normal.
Next, she’d walked about the cottage complex, only to find each thatched, white-washed house quiet and deserted. Approaching Julian’s place, she’d tried the locked door, then peered through the window. She hadn’t been able to see very well but nothing had seemed out of order.
Reassured, she’d returned to her own cottage and continued sorting and packing drawings.
But that had been an hour ago.
Now the uncomfortable feeling was back again and she felt twice as uptight.
Physically and psychologically chilled, she hugged herself and started to put on her kimono when she realized she’d left her cardigan at the breakfast table . . . with the falcon ring in its pocket.
The missing token had to be the reason for her discomfort.
She hurried for the manor house, chiding herself for leaving such an expensive piece of jewelry lying about. It wasn’t until she spotted the red sweater sprawled on the ground that she panicked. She knelt and felt the pocket, already knowing the ring would be gone.
Someone had stolen it.
Bain’s enemy?
Could the thief use the ring for some sort of nefarious purpose? Grabbing the cardigan, she raced for the car and Black Broch.
Something told her that Bain was in danger.
CHAPTER TWELVE
CAITLIN FELT WORSE and worse as she sped toward the ruins. A huge weight pressed down on her, taking her breath away. A psychic warning? At some deep inexplicable level, she believed that she and Bain were one and she feared for his very life. He’d said his enemy wanted to destroy him.
He’d also said he was alone.
Perhaps she shouldn’t care about that. He’d walked away from her without a backward glance. But she couldn’t stand the thought of him being attacked or harmed and having no allies, no one to turn to.
Reaching the crossroads, she was forced to slow. A mist crept in from the sea, obscuring the road, blending with the low-hanging iron gray clouds that hid Black Broch itself. Several fat raindrops fell on the windshield. Caitlin parked the car and struggled up the steep incline, her feet slipping on wet grass, the air about her cloying and electric as if with suppressed lightning. She shouted, “Bain!” as she neared the summit. Hearing no reply, she circled the castle first in one direction, then the other. “Bain!” she called again, approaching the path that overlooked the loch.
Was that a sound? She stopped short, listening intently.
“Caitlin . . .”
Thick mist swirling about her ankles, she stepped forward carefully. “Bain? Keep talking. I’m trying to find you!”
She strained to hear an unintelligible mumble and a moan, then almost stumbled over him lying before her. A dark stain spread across his chest. Falling to her knees, she realized it was blood.
“Oh, my God!”
He grasped her hand tightly. “Caitlin . . . you are not harmed.”
The blood seeped from a ragged tear in his dark shirt. She forced herself to remain calm, to fight back hysteria. But his handsome features were so drawn, his skin so pale.
“We have to get you to a doctor.”
“Not necessary.”
She couldn’t hold back a sob. “I won’t let you die.”
He smiled wanly. “Hold me.”
“But you’re hurt.” Carefully, she slipped her arms about his shoulders, raising his head to her lap.
“Ah, that feels better.”
Cradling him, she gingerly undid his shirt, expecting the worst. When she saw where the wound lay, she cried out. “I have to get you to a hospital.”
“’Tis not as bad as it looks.”
Tears squeezed out of her eyes and ran down her cheeks. “Someone stabbed you through the heart!”
“Do not weep, lass. ’Tis not so deep.” He wiped tears from her cheek with gentle fingers, then pull
ed his shirt open further. “See? The bleeding has almost stopped. The wound is painful but not deadly.”
Strangely enough, the wound didn’t look so bad when she peered at the cut more carefully. “But your shirt . . . you’ve lost so much blood.” She didn’t understand . . .
“I am weak but will recover. I need rest, ’tis all. Take me to my bed.”
“Bain!”
“Do as I ask. Please.”
What choice did she have? She couldn’t carry him off bodily. Sniffling, she rose, then helped him. He groaned and slung his right arm about her shoulders, leaning against her as she eased forward.
“How did this happen? Did your enemy attack you?”
His expression hardened. “Indeed. He lay in wait for me.” His gaze accused. “He had the falcon ring.”
She swallowed guiltily. “I-I took it off and left it in my sweater pocket. He must have found it.” But who? Julian? Or Alistair? “You told me to leave . . . I was planning to give the ring back to you.”
“I am only thankful you are not harmed.”
Which touched her. “I’m only thankful that you survived.”
“Sweet Caitlin.” He brushed a soft kiss against her cheek.
They halted at the foot of a great tower and Bain ran his hand along a crevice. A door swung inward.
“How on earth do you hide these secret doorways so well?” She was certain she’d exited on the other side of the ruins the first time she’d visited. “I searched for a way in the other day.”
“If my doors could be found, they wouldna be secret.”
He scooped up a sword propped against the wall inside. The sparkle of jewels, the sheen of gold was visible in spite of the dim light.
“Your claymore?”
“I couldna get to it before the man was upon me.”
They descended a length of stone steps. A flaring torch hung in a sconce on the wall at the bottom.
He indicated the left. “This way.”
The passageway they entered was long and dark. Another torch flared at the end and several heavy wooden doors opened on one side.
Bain stopped at the third. “My chamber.”
Caitlin pushed the door open, revealing a spacious bedroom with a huge four-poster, a high shuttered window and a fireplace. A couple of claw-footed, straight-backed chairs sat on a thick sheepskin rug laid before the cheerful blaze. She helped Bain recline on the plaid-covered bed.
“We need to clean your wound.”
He motioned to a tall chest by the wall. A pitcher and basin sat on top. The water steamed as she poured it. Hot? How convenient . . . as if someone knew . . .
She brought the basin and a cloth to the bed. “This might hurt.” Still worried, she hesitated. “If you’re not feeling any better in an hour or so, if you’re feverish, will you go to a doctor then?”
He laughed softly. “I will feel better.”
She immersed the cloth and peeled back his shirt, stiff with drying blood, and nearly did a double-take. “It’s already scabbing over.”
“Your love heals me.”
Her love? She’d never told him how she felt. But when she was with Bain, thought and speech could meld, the impossible could seem probable, illusion could merge with reality . . . or was it the other way around?
Glancing at the shirt with its ragged tear, she was reminded of her blouse that had been torn by a hound of hell. But she hadn’t been dreaming when she’d found Bain today. She supposed the wound must have looked worse than it was because she’d been so upset. Maybe some of the blood had been the other man’s.
She washed the cut, then helped him shrug out of the shirt. “You could use some antibiotics.”
“A kiss will do.”
“Are you trying to make jokes?” She had relaxed some now that she finally believed he wasn’t at death’s door. Actually, she was feeling a bit light-headed. “What makes you think I love you anyway?”
“You wouldna be here otherwise.”
“Don’t get too conceited. You can’t be sure of that.” She tried to ignore his closeness, his enticing masculine scent, remembering she was ticked that he’d pushed her away the last time they were together. “You told me to get out of the country. I have a rule. I don’t moon over men who don’t want me around.”
“I never said I didna want you, lady. I only said you should leave if you could.”
“Oh, meaning if I could find the strength to tear myself away from you? Right, we’re supposed to be bound.” She took the basin back to the chest and wrung out the rag to let it dry by the fire. “Though exactly what we’re bound by, I’m not sure.”
“You will find out . . . if you stay here long enough.”
“Really? What’s going to happen?” She couldn’t help being sarcastic. “Are the fairies coming to carry me away?”
“‘Tis not the outside threats that are the most dangerous,” he said ominously.
Meaning threats that came from the inside of a person were more frightening? Like delusions, withdrawal, suicidal depression?
She look at him closely. “I agree that fear itself is the greatest enemy, any sort of negative emotion.” Her brother’s fear had cut him off from the outside world; Neil Howard’s had made him paranoid. She approached the bed. “You need a bandage.”
“Use another cloth.”
She fetched it and came back. “Speaking of outside threats, this enemy of yours didn’t do a very good job today. He jumps you, leaves a flesh wound and runs away?”
“Only because the falcon dived from the sky and attacked.”
“Did it rake him with its talons?” She shivered, thinking of the time the falcon had dive-bombed her.
“My enemy was hurt sorely. I owe the bird my life.” He glanced up at the window. “Could you open the shutters, so that he may come in when he wishes? I saw him last chasing after Atholl.”
“Atholl? Is that the name of your enemy?” The window being high and sunk into the deep wall, she had to take a poker from the fireplace to reach the shutters. They opened, revealing pale swirling mist outside. “I don’t know any Atholl.” And she’d been wrong to suspect either Alistair or Julian. “You needn’t have tried to hide his identity.”
“Merely mentioning the name could have placed you in danger. He is a madman who toys with black magic. He is desperate to slay me and would threaten anyone who stood in the way.”
She recalled that Bain had said his enemy was full of ruthless hatred. The man had certainly been hateful in murdering Professor Abernathy.
“He wants my inheritance,” Bain continued, his eyes glittering.
“You mean Black Broch?” She sat on the edge of the bed.
“Aye, and my weapons as well. Already he possesses the dirk that matches my claymore. He stole it from me some years ago.”
“Because he thinks he’s the true heir of the MacBains, right?” “And that the weapons will make him invincible.”
“Like they’re magical?” She stared at the sword, almost able to understand. It looked like something from a legend. But magical tales were one thing; assault and murder another. “I still think you should report this Atholl to the police. He can’t go around attacking and killing people.”
“He shall meet his fate.”
Fate again. But she’d have to accept Bain’s decision to avoid the police for the moment.
Bain yawned.
“I suppose I should let you rest.”
“Perhaps ’twould be best. I am very tired and may have work to do later. Could you pull off my boots?”
She tugged off the tall boots and dropped them on the floor, then helped take off his trousers. He wore nothing beneath and was gorgeous from head to toe. She took a deep breath.
“I can be at your disposal later as well, lass.” He sounded smug. And infinitely seductive.
Flushing, she flipped a cover over him. “So you’re going to take a nap?”
“You are welcome to sleep beside me.”
To d
istract herself, she asked, “Any food around here?”
“The kitchen.” He waved toward the door. “Turn right. At the end of the hall, go down another flight of stairs. You’ll pass three doors. The fourth is the kitchen.”
Three doors? More stairs? How big was Black Broch anyway?
“Keep track of where you are. Do not be wandering about,” Bain warned her, sounding sleepy. “You could become lost.”
How did he hide all the rooms and passageways? She started to ask and saw that he had nodded off.
Folding and placing his trousers on one of the chair seats, she almost knocked over a slim easel she hadn’t noticed in the flickering firelight. A portrait of a woman sat upon it and, with surprise, she recognized herself. Bain had kept the portrait from the fair.
How sweet.
Gratified . . . no, thrilled . . . she smiled. Before leaving the room, she took one last look at him. His dark lashes feathered strong cheekbones. The mouth that could be so hard looked soft and sensuous. Moved to kiss him, she held back, fearing he’d awaken. His wound might be minor but it had apparently exhausted him.
Opening the door, she entered the dim passageway. Spooky. But she shouldn’t be frightened. Surely Atholl, the madman, couldn’t get in, since the doors to the outside world were hidden. Might she run into anyone else? Ghillie? She supposed she should have asked Bain where his servant was.
Her footsteps echoed off the stone walls. She jumped when a torch hissed as she passed beneath it. She really wasn’t certain where she was going. But then, she hadn’t known where she was going with Bain from the very beginning. She’d simply had to trust.
HE DROVE SOME DISTANCE to a hospital in Inveraray, not wanting anyone in Droon to suspect what had been going on. He’d nearly fainted from the hot pain the razor-sharp talons had inflicted.
Blood caked the left side of his face and ran from his many wounds. His lid had been slit, but his eye was intact, thank the gods.
The staff on emergency duty had oohed and aahed. He’d received dozens of stitches while telling them some drivel about coming upon a falcon’s nest on the cliffs by the sea. They’d wanted to keep him overnight, but he’d refused.