Amethyst Destiny

by Pamela Montgomerie

  As their escort ushered them into the middle of the Great Hall, a pair of women bustled in through one of the interior doors. Both were middle-aged and dressed simply, yet carefully, giving Julia the impression they were part of the laird’s family and not servants.

  “Angus?” one of the women asked.

  “Aye,” the big Highlander replied. A response that sounded more like a confirmation to her ears.

  Apparently it was.

  “Praise the Virgin,” the woman cried, hurrying to Angus’s side as her gaze slammed into Julia’s. “’ Tis a glorious day.”

  Who do you think I am? Julia asked silently. Had another girl gone missing with the Brodie eyes? A petite blonde they were clearly mistaking her for?

  A man strode into the room from still another door—a tall, good-looking man dressed in a clean linen shirt over rough-looking pants, his hair dark and graying lightly at the temples. A man with Catriona’s features, with her high forehead and long, straight nose.

  Which made all too much sense, since Julia was all but certain Cat had fled this place twenty years ago. Was this man Cat’s brother, then? Or maybe her cousin?

  The question that lashed at Julia’s mind was why Catriona had fled. What danger had she run from? And did that danger still exist?

  The possibility of that incident twenty years ago having anything to do with today had seemed remote in the warmth and relative civility of Picktillum. But Ythan was part of a different time, a different world.

  And her Brodie kin, a dozen generations back, were acting way too strangely to give her any measure of calm.

  As the laird—for Julia had no doubt he was the man in charge—approached them, his gaze zeroed in on her and held. In his eyes, she saw emotions that made no sense. Joy. Triumph. Maybe even relief. As if he knew her. As if he’d been looking for her.

  Oh God. Was she one of Hegarty’s lost ones? Was it possible?

  As the man reached them, he tore his gaze from her and turned to Talon, rough power etching his face.

  “The chalice?” he demanded.

  “Niall Brodie?” Talon countered, his own tone as hard.

  “Aye. And ye’ll be the Wizard.”

  “I am.” Talon untied the golden cup from his belt and handed it to the man.

  The chieftain took the cup and held it high, eyeing it with almost the exact same look he’d turned on her. Triumph. Recognition. Deep relief.

  “Ye’ll come with me, Wizard. I’d a word with you as I fetch your silver.”

  Julia found herself suddenly surrounded by women. “Come, lass,” a booming female voice said behind her.

  Julia turned her head to find a large, severe-looking woman with huge breasts looking down her nose at her. She reminded her of a prison matron. “You’ll be having a bath, I’m thinking,” the big woman practically shouted.

  A pair of hands clamped around her upper arms. Julia’s gaze shot to Talon, but he shook his head. “’ Tis where ye belong.”

  “No! You’re wrong.” She wasn’t simply accepting this. Even if she’d started out part of this world, she wasn’t part of it now. She struggled against the hands that held her firmly, but the women towered over her, closing around her as they ushered her away. “Talon!”

  “Wheesht!” the prison cow bellowed.

  The hands on her arms bit into her flesh painfully. As the group pushed her into yet another narrow, twisty stairwell, she felt the last thread of control she’d held over her life disappear.

  Talon.

  Surely he didn’t believe she really belonged here. Surely he wouldn’t leave her.

  But the Wizard had been offered his silver. His mission was complete. And while he’d risked his life to save her from rape and death, he knew these Brodies were her kin, whether present or past. She ought to be safe enough here.

  She’d offered him her love and he’d pushed it away.

  Now that he’d accomplished his task, would he wash his hands of her?

  She wanted to believe he wouldn’t. Talon wouldn’t. But the Wizard, she was much less sure of.

  Would he leave her here?

  She was all too afraid he would.

  EIGHTEEN

  Talon watched the women sweep Julia through the far doorway, her voice echoing in his ears. Talon.

  But he said naught, made no move to free her. He’d already come to the conclusion now wasn’t the time. And if he’d had any doubt of that, the tip of the Brodie dirk pressing silently into the skin of his lower back assured him of the fact.

  For a reason he could only guess at, Niall Brodie had claimed Julia. One of theirs, aye. With her mismatched eyes, there was no doubting it. Yet there was more going on here and he intended to get to the bottom of it.

  He would not forsake the lass.

  As if reading his mind, Niall raised his hand. “Search him.”

  The look in the man’s eyes told Talon he’d welcome a reason to slide a blade between his ribs. And every man around him had one at the ready, he’d no doubt. Including the one behind him.

  Talon lifted his hands and gathered the Wizard’s persona around him. He threw the chieftain of the Brodies a self-deprecating smile. “I’ve delivered your treasure as promised. I’ve no quarrel with ye. I’ll be getting my silver and be on my way.”

  The Brodie eyed him sharply. “Aye, ye’ll forget the lass. She’s no longer yer concern.”

  Talon scowled. “That one’s been naught but a pain in my arse.”

  Niall Brodie’s eyes narrowed. “How did you come by her?”

  “I found her in Aberdeenshire. At Castle Rayne. Where I found the chalice,” he lied. “She’d been thrown from a horse and remembered not how she’d come to be there. She still remembers naught of who she is or from whence she hails. All she knows is that she’s a Brodie. Since I was coming here anyway, I brought her to ye. To her kin.”

  Niall watched him keenly, his thoughts hidden behind hard eyes the same green as the one of Julia’s. After a silent moment, the chieftain nodded.

  “Ye’ve done well, Wizard. Ye’ve returned me my chalice and my kinswoman. Angus, fetch him his silver, then take the lads and see him to the burn.”

  Talon’s instinct for trouble flared anew. Something in the man’s eyes, in his tone, held an ominous ring.

  The lads would see him off, would they?

  He had a bad feeling he wasn’t going to enjoy this send-off. Nay, he wasn’t going to enjoy it at all.

  Julia struggled against the tide of women and the surprisingly strong hands that gripped her. She was going to have bruises, no doubt about it.

  They pushed her into what appeared to be a dark and shadowed storage room filled with buckets and brooms and all manner of crates and jars. A single candle flickered, sending shadows dancing over the walls. In the middle of the space sat a flat, shallow pan with lips that rose only about six inches on each side. Surely that thing wasn’t the tub?

  A dozen hands began plucking at her clothes.

  “Hey! I can undress myself.” Which was probably a lie.

  Out of nowhere, a meaty hand slapped her hard across the face, knocking her back, sending pain slicing through her head and setting bells to ringing in her ears. Tears burned her eyes as she stared at her assailant, the stern-faced matron, in shocked silence.

  “Wheesht!” the woman said, her too-loud voice doing nothing to quell the pain in Julia’s head.

  This wasn’t funny anymore. She blinked back the tears of pain as she let them strip her of her clothes, her heart thundering, her stomach cramping with disbelief and outrage. And no small amount of fear. But as one woman knelt to tug at Julia’s boots, the necklace slid, tickling Julia’s foot, and she feared it was about to fall out. There was no way was she losing her ticket home. She struggled free of the hands holding her and bent to snatch the necklace before it fell on the floor, then rose and slipped it over her head.

  As rough hands latched on to her again from every side, one of the women grabbed for the jew
el. The thief tried to lift it, but it wouldn’t go even when she yanked hard enough to make Julia cry out with pain.

  The woman grunted. “It willna come off.”

  “Leave it,” the cow yelled.

  Julia swallowed hard, trembling with equal parts fury, outrage, and fear. She had to get out of here. She had to find a way back to Picktillum. Back to Hegarty.

  If only Talon would come for her.

  The thought of him nearly made her lose the last of her precarious control. Talon, you bastard, how could you leave me here? I love you, dammit. I love the man I know you are, the man behind the Wizard’s mask.

  But that man wasn’t here, was he? Had he taken his silver and ridden off? A few days ago, she wouldn’t have expected him to risk anything for her. She’d believed no one would.

  Talon had proven her wrong. He’d made her believe she was worth saving.

  But what if he didn’t think she needed saving?

  The cow grabbed her arm and jerked her, stumbling, over the lip of the pan and held her while another woman picked up a bucket of water and poured it over her head.

  The shock of cold had her gasping and trying to pull away.

  A hard slap to the back of her head had her stopping.

  No wonder the woman couldn’t hear anything. How many times had she been hit? As a child, no doubt. Good grief.

  Hands and rags scrubbed a harsh-smelling soap over her skin—skin she was pretty sure was a lot cleaner than most of theirs.

  Julia shivered, standing naked in the tub, as cold water doused her head and body. Her cheek stung, her ears still rang from the cow’s assault.

  “I’m not who you think I am,” Julia growled between chattering teeth.

  “Yer a Brodie,” the cow replied, nearly roaring the words in her ear. The woman had to be deaf.

  Julia closed her eyes, shivering with cold and misery, willing herself away from the here and now. A plan. She needed a plan.

  And what kind of plan was she going to come up with when she didn’t know anything? All right, then, what she needed now was patience. And courage, because God knew, she could be in for anything.

  The fear slid through her veins, doing nothing to dispel the bone-deep cold.

  Another wash of ice-cold water dumped over her head and then scratchy wool surrounded her and she was once more yanked out of the pan, stubbing her bare toes.

  As the women dried her, she opened her eyes and caught the gaze of one of the oldest women, a woman who had to be at least sixty. The woman looked away quickly, but not before Julia caught the unhappiness in her eyes. Sorrow. Maybe even pity.

  God, what did they have planned for her? Was she being prepared for some bastard’s bed? Or, heaven help her, more than one?

  As if in answer to her silent question, the cow yelled in her ear. “Ye’ll be dining with the laird.”

  Catriona’s kin. The man with cold, hard eyes.

  Why hadn’t she stayed at Picktillum? If only she’d stayed with Brenna.

  A thick woolen shift went over her head, followed by a plaid skirt and matching shawl. The skirt and shift fell to the tops of her feet. Feet they apparently meant to keep bare. She considered demanding her boots, but figured she’d just get hit again and probably still not get her boots, so she remained silent.

  The women ushered her out of the storeroom, her damp hair cold against her chilled and aching head.

  As they pushed and prodded her up yet another twisty stair, she wondered just how much she was going to have to endure before she found a chance to escape. Because she would, eventually, escape. She had to believe it.

  Once again, she was on her own.

  Talon stumbled to his feet, his lip swollen, the taste of blood and grit in his mouth. His ribs ached and his thigh felt twice its normal size. He’d taken a hell of a beating by those lads before they’d left him beside the burn some four or five miles from Ythan, his bag of silver dropped upon his aching head.

  “Julia’s in danger, ring,” he said through clenched teeth. “She needs me.”

  He rolled onto his side, struggling to rise onto his knees.

  Much was going on that he didn’t understand. Too much. The chalice and its magic. Brodies making the sign of the cross at the sight of Julia’s eyes—Brodie eyes. Niall Brodie claiming her as kin. Which she was, of course, just not any kin he would possibly know.

  Nay, he didn’t know what was going on, but he knew Julia needed him. He would not forsake her.

  He wiped the blood from his mouth and looked up at the sound of horse’s hooves racing over the ground. A riderless horse.

  “I’ll be thanking ye, ring. Glad I am to have ye back.” Hurting all over, he stumbled to his feet, then caught his breath against the pain and swung into the saddle.

  He turned the beast toward Ythan Castle and urged it into a fast run. He didn’t know what they’d stumbled into, but his instincts roared that Julia was in danger. And his heart ... God help him, his heart was crumbling beneath the weight of his fear and the need to keep her safe.

  The past days between them had been strained, what with her telling him she loved him, then refusing to trust him with her necklace after he’d told her she couldn’t love him because she didn’t know him at all.

  He’d hurt her and she’d pricked his pride in return. But none of that weighed against what, in a few short days, she’d come to mean to him.

  Everything. She’d come to mean everything. Her absence left a hole inside of him—a cold, empty darkness he suspected had always been there until she’d stumbled into his life and filled it with light and warmth. And love.

  Love.

  He hadn’t thought he had it inside him. He’d not believed he’d recognize it if he did. But emotion filled him, warming and squeezing his heart, feeling as if his chest were not large enough to contain it all. And he knew it in his bones.

  Jesu, he loved her.

  And she was in danger.

  He urged the horse faster, gritting his teeth against the pain. All that mattered was reaching Julia before it was too late.

  The cow’s beefy hand dug fresh bruises into the flesh of Julia’s upper arm as she pulled her down the hall, through an open doorway, and into a masculine, if sparely appointed, room. A large rustic dining table sat in the middle, a throne-like chair at the head and long benches on either side. The whitewashed walls had been covered by a vast and rather disturbing assortment of weapons.

  “The lass,” the cow shouted, then released her and backed away, leaving Julia standing before the chieftain, Niall Brodie, and three of the men she recognized from the ride.

  She lifted her chin, her eyes telling them she wasn’t giving in without a fight, even if deep inside, she started to quake. With a start, it occurred to her that any one of these guys could be her great-great-grandfather half a dozen times back. Any one of them might be preparing to attack her.

  Time travel gave a whole new meaning to the term incest.

  But none of the men eyed her as if he had designs on her body. In fact, only Niall looked at her at all, and she saw nothing even vaguely resembling lust in his eyes. He raised his hand and made a motion the other men seemed to understand, for all three headed to the door.

  Behind her, she heard the click of the latch that told her she was now alone with the head of this clan. He motioned her to the table behind him.

  “I had your dinner sent up here, lass. Have a seat before it grows cold.”

  Julia didn’t move. “Where’s Talon ... the Wizard?”

  “He left with his silver. He’ll be long gone by now.”

  She swallowed hard, believing him. “What do you want from me?”

  He watched her coolly, lifting a brow. “I assure ye, lass, your virtue is safe with me. I wish only to ask ye a few questions as ye eat.”

  Julia watched him warily. “Why did they bathe me? I didn’t smell any worse than anyone else around here.”

  “Come, lass,” he said, a weary note in his ton
e. “Eat and I’ll explain.”

  The smell of roast beef reached her nose and her stomach rumbled with answering interest. It occurred to her she’d be a fool to turn away food. She couldn’t be certain they wouldn’t withhold it from her in the future. She couldn’t be sure of anything.

  Walking across the wooden floor in her bare feet, she took a seat on the bench and dug into the food. It wasn’t nearly as good as what she’d had at Picktillum, or Rayne for that matter, but it wasn’t bad. And she was hungry.

  Niall sat on the throne-like chair, leaning back, his arms casually resting on the arms of the chair as he watched her eat.

  “What is your name, lass?”

  “Julia,” she replied when she’d swallowed the bite she was eating. “Julia Brodie, but you guessed that part.”

  “Aye. And from whence do ye hail? Ye’ve not been living in Scotland.”

  “The accent gives me away every time. I’m from the American colonies. My father was from Scotland, so when he died, I came back here.” It almost made sense. Would a woman really just show up in a country in this century with nowhere to go? “I’d hoped to find other Brodies,” she added, hoping it didn’t sound too lame.

  The laird watched her thoughtfully. “The Wizard said you’d lost your memory.”

  Ugh. “Did he?” She turned back to her food. “I may have told him that.”

  “And why did ye not tell him the truth?”

  She gave a mental groan. The last thing her tangled brain needed right now was to have to follow the logic trails of hers and Talon’s contradictory lies. Lying was a pain in the butt.

  She shrugged. “Because it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  To her relief, Niall nodded as if that response made sense to him. “Who was your father?”

  “Duncan. Duncan Brodie.”

  A small frown marred his angular features. “But he died?”

  “Yes. Last year.”

  “I see. I dinna ken any Duncan Brodie who went to the Colonies.” He nodded at her meal. “Eat, lass.”