Highlander Protected: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander In Time Book 3)
Page 19
There was plenty of time, now that Teodoro was dealt with – plenty of time to find a little space of her own, some work to busy herself with, some way to contribute to the castle. Perhaps she could teach the young people of the village how to ride horses. After all, having learned so recently herself she knew the best ways to communicate the important principles.
Dolores had left her cot set up – and she saw a candle had been placed above it. Dolores may have been a quiet, unassuming woman, but Marianne was an expert and knew a spell when she saw it. She’d been keeping her safe, in her own way – she could picture her kneeling every night to light the candle, and her heart was suddenly so full of love and affection for the woman that she almost wept. She couldn’t wait to tell her all about their journey, about how she was finally free of Teodoro’s evil, about how well she and Eamon had done…but she felt an odd stab of apprehension about telling her about the newfound relationship between her and Eamon.
Dolores had always been so guarded about Eamon… Marianne got the idea that she didn’t like him. And for some reason, Dolores’s approval was important to her. Perhaps that was Elena’s influence – she had loved her mother so, so much. Without realizing it, she’d sat down on the cot and put her rucksack down beside it too. The long, dusty road was beginning to catch up to her. The sun was low in the sky – time enough for a quick nap before dinner, right? Then Dolores would be done with her work, and they could talk long into the night like they used to… maybe even play another game of cards, she was just beginning to get a handle on the rules…
When Dolores slipped upstairs after her work in the kitchens was done, it was to find the woman who looked so much like her daughter fast asleep on her cot, safe and sound. She almost rushed to wake her, to find out what had happened – but as Marianne stirred in her sleep with a smile on her face, Dolores thought better of it. She’d never seen her sleep with a smile. Always, there’d been a frown of anger or fear, panicked twitching of her fingers and toes as she wrestled with whatever invisible demons were besetting her in her nightmares. Not so tonight. She was sleeping as deeply and as dreamlessly as Elena had as a baby – and tears filled her eyes as she observed the way Marianne’s hand lay by her cheek, the fingertips curled up just the way Elena’s always had. Her daughter was gone, it was true. But it felt like a blessing from the Lord itself to have Marianne back – not quite to take her place, but to ease some of the hurt of her absence. Marianne slept the night through and awoke feeling refreshed, but absolutely ravenous, when the sun was already halfway up. And there sat Dolores, smiling wide, with an enormous tray of pastries and a pot of tea ready and waiting for her. Marianne bounced to her feet and flung her arms around the woman, almost lifting her off the ground in a bone-bruising hug, and they both laughed.
“Sorry, sorry, I know you hate hugs, Dolores,” Marianne laughed, releasing her.
“I’ll always make an exception for you.” She smiled. “Now eat your fill and tell me what happened.”
Marianne was already halfway through a pastry, but she smiled at her friend and gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up as she sprinkled crumbs all over the clothes she’d worn to sleep. A bath was the order of the day, she reckoned. Once she’d eased a little of the voracious hunger in the pit of her stomach, she poured the tea and set about telling Dolores every single detail of the trip, getting caught up in the story as she told it – the adventure of getting down to the village undetected, the excitement of riding the horses for the first time, learning more about Eamon as they travelled, the disastrous outcome of their first sparring session…
“He’s a seasoned warrior, Marianne, what did you expect to happen?” Dolores couldn’t help but interject, and Marianne laughed, feeling a little silly.
Her face grew solemn, though, as Marianne got to the part of the story that concerned Father Teodoro, and her hands shook at every turn of the tale.
“But he’s gone, Dolores,” she said, leaning forward and taking the woman by the hand. “He’s dead and gone, I swear it. We’ve told everyone else a different story,” she added a little belatedly, worried that Dolores would be confused by conflicting reports. “Weatherby was worried about being embarrassed by harboring such an evil man without knowing the first thing about what he was planning, so he asked us to modify the story a little bit. But I wanted you to know the truth, Dolores. I wanted you to know that we got that bastard. Eamon, and me we took him down. And—” she hesitated here, but she wanted Dolores to know the full story. “I felt her. I felt Elena, with me, in that dungeon down there. She helped us, Dolores, I’m sure of it. She helped Eamon break free. Or I did. Either way, I know that wherever she is, she’s at peace.”
Dolores’s eyes had been full of tears since they’d reached the part of the story that concerned Teodoro – and now they spilled over, running down her cheeks. But she was smiling as she wept, and she squeezed Marianne’s hands tightly, the joy and sorrow in her face unmistakable.
“I know, Marianne. I know she’s at peace. I felt it, too. In the middle of the night, I sat bolt upright in bed. All the candles in the room were lit at once, as though by magic – then just as quickly they went out, in a breeze, even though the windows were shut and barred. I thought I’d dreamed it, but the wicks were black in the morning, even on the new candles I’d not lit yet.”
They beamed at one another in wordless joy for a moment. Then a timid knock on the door disturbed them. A little surprised – who would be visiting them, midmorning? Surely not Cora or Audrina – they’d both told her to get as much rest as possible, they wouldn’t be visiting.
Dolores opened the door to reveal most of Eamon MacClaran, who was a little taller than the doorway. He was dressed neatly, in clothes a lot finer than the ones he’d worn on the road with her. His hair was trimmed short, as was his beard, and he’d clearly scrubbed all the dirt from the road off him – something Marianne still hadn’t had a chance to do. Dolores was sizing him up. Marianne realized that she hadn’t ever seen them together. Did they still have bad blood over Elena’s death – over Eamon’s failure to save her?
“Good morning, Lady Dolores,” Eamon said, gruffly formal, and sketched a little bow that almost made Marianne giggle. He was putting on quite a show. And even though she knew he could see her – she was standing right behind Dolores — “Is Ms. Marianne in?”
“You killed Teodoro,” Dolores said abruptly, with that characteristic bluntness that had so alienated her from so many people. “Beat him to death with some chains, I heard.”
Eamon hesitated. “Aye. Aye, that I did.”
“Good.” Dolores extended a hand to him – a little nonplussed, he looked at it for a second, before Marianne mimed shaking it behind Dolores. His eyes widened, and he shook Dolores’s hand, another oddly formal little moment. “Thank you for avenging my daughter. I know we’re telling everyone else a different story, and I’ll not mention it again, but thank you. You did something very good, and I am deeply, deeply grateful to you.”
Eamon nodded, and after a moment’s hesitation, he bowed again. “Glad to be of service.”
“Now. I also understand you’ve been courting my ward, Marianne.”
Marianne nearly choked on the sip of tea she’d just taken. Her ward? She supposed that was accurate, more or less – Dolores had been looking after her since she moved to the castle – but still, it made her feel a bit silly. Like a little kid hiding behind her mother as she decided whether or not she’d done enough of her chores to justify her going out with her friends to play.
“Aye,” Eamon agreed solemnly. “That I am.”
“Well?” She turned, gesturing Marianne forward – she came to join her in the doorway, trying to fight down an urge to laugh as she put on her most serious expression. Eamon looked at her beseechingly.
“Ahem. Ms. Marianne. I was wondering if I might request the pleasure of your company this afternoon at lunch, and then perhaps a stroll around the courtyard?”
Dolores turned a
beady eye to Marianne, who was fighting down her laughter now.
She put on her best southern accent. “Why, Eamon MacClaran, I’d be delighted.”
“Good,” Dolores said, sounding satisfied. “Off you two go, then, don’t let me stop you.”
Marianne hugged her once more, not sure whether all of that had been Dolores’s idea of a joke and not caring at all.
Then she took the arm Eamon extended to her, and they walked down to the Great Hall together.
About Rebecca Preston
Rebecca lives in New York City with her dog. She loves sweet love stories with great characters. She loves traveling the world and experiencing new cities and cultures. Jane Austen is her favorite author.
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