For her size, Cat was extremely strong. Lifting weights and kickboxing had honed her muscles and increased her endurance. She was small-boned, however, and delicate in her build, and even the weight of her small sword eventually was a strain on her wrists. It was becoming difficult to catch her breath as she worked to keep him at bay. Bending down, she threw some imagined dirt into his eyes. This would be the actress’ next move.
“Never fight fair when you’re fightin’ for your life, girl. You’re learning, lass,” said David. He did his best to speak in a rolling Scottish brogue.
“You’re better than the actors with that accent! Stop! Time out! I’ve had enough!” She raised her sword to signal she needed a rest, then turned from David and wiped the sweat from her brow. She worked at dragging the air into her lungs.
“I don’t want to be an actor,” said David, breathing just as heavily. “Besides, you’re the one the director is after! I know he offered you a part. Don’t deny it.”
Cat paced to walk out her fatigue. Her bright green eyes flashed when she grinned. “I won’t. He did offer me a small part in his next film. He also asked if I would have dinner with him.” She shook her head. “Not interested.”
“Your first experience with the infamous casting couch?”
She nodded. David walked up behind her and took hold of her long red hair. It was in a braid which fell to her hips. “It’s this dark auburn flame that’s so thick and beautiful. Men love long hair.”
“It doesn’t matter. As you said, I don’t want to be an actor. The only part I would ever want to play is Errol Flynn.” She smiled, displaying straight, white teeth.
“Let’s get back to your mysterious monk. Maybe he was a method actor? They become the character they portray for the duration of the film. He was probably using you to test your reaction.”
She lifted her brow. “It’s no mystery, even though you won’t admit it! I’m a sucker for the legend of Excalibur, so you told him to be Merlin. You still want to pay me back for the loss of your tights. I told you Jim thought of that gag! We couldn’t resist the idea of you dressed only in tunic and boots in that scene.”
“Carter knew the shot would be cut off at the waist so he went along with it. Jim is too good a stuntman to lose, or I’d fire the blackguard. Plus, he can pinch-hit as a key grip when we need him. Directors love people who are multi-talented. It saves them money. You’re a perfect example. A stunt-woman who’s an expert on antique swords and cutlasses is invaluable on this production, although I think Carter would have given you the job on your choreography alone. He was thrilled with your experience. Also, it’s obvious he finds you drop-dead gorgeous. He made a similar remark when he watched you work yesterday. Ready for another go?”
He took his stance and held up his sword.
Cat nodded. “In a second.”
She stretched forward in a practice lunge.
“You shouldn’t have turned him down, Cat. You’ve dreamed of coming to Scotland, and I happen to know you haven’t taken the time to see any of the sights. Have dinner with the man. You needn’t be afraid of sexual harassment. Carter Welles is a decent man, and that’s not his style. He’s divorced, but he doesn’t have a steady stream of starlets in his bed, and we both know he could. I’ve spoken with him. He talks about his children a lot. I think he was very hurt by the divorce.”
“Just what I need,” she huffed derisively. ‘My ex is a witch, but I can’t stop loving her’, or talking about her! I gave up on that type of man a long time ago.” Cat shook her head.
“So cynical at twenty-four. You’re too independent for your own good.”
“Maybe. But most men I meet are interested in a temporary sexual relationship with no commitment. I want … the fairy tale.” She fluttered her lashes and bowed.
“I have a strong suspicion that you’re just as innocent sexually as the princess in a fairy tale. True?” She favored him with a look that would strip the hide off at ten paces.
“What makes you think I’ll answer such a question?”
David gave her a wink. “Don’t be angry, Cat. I think you just did. I find your discretion not only admirable, but wise in this day and age. If you want true love with all the trimmings, you should have it. I wish you luck in finding it.”
Cat resumed working on the routine for another hour, and was fatigued when she made her way through the castle. The director wasn’t going to film the scene until sunset, so she wanted to find a secluded corner and rest.
As she had done often since arriving, Cat took a wrong turn down the corridor. The castle was like a maze, and she walked for about twenty minutes. Finally, becoming frustrated, she gave up and decided to re-trace her steps.
It was then she caught sight of the mist. It was lavender, but unlike any she had ever seen. Cat shook her head, convinced David had persuaded someone from special effects to be in on the joke.
She was intrigued and instantly determined to find out how they created such a pretty mist. It wasn’t just lavender; there were tiny particles in the air that flashed like diamond dust. It swirled up from a narrow staircase.
Cat was so fascinated she was caught off guard when someone appeared behind her. She took a deep breath as a startled scream fought its way from her throat.
“All right. That’s it! I’ve had it with you!” She stared up at the actor in the black monk’s robe. He pulled his hood back.
“Tell David it worked. You’ve had your fun! You frightened the life out of me, so he’s paid me back in spades! It almost worked too well. My first instinct was to attack you with this!” She brought her sword down in a sweep to bring home her point. “Although it’s not sharp and meant to do you no damage, it would make an excellent club.” The old man smiled, his blue eyes shining.
“You needn’t fear me, Catherine. Trust your heart. Follow the lavender mist. Use the keys. You never could resist a challenge, and you will enjoy the quest.”
“Well, that’s a new one. What keys? What are you talking about?”
He walked backward slowly, blue eyes piercing the distance between them.
“Trust your heart.”
She ignored the melodramatic line and shook her head. “Wait! Didn’t David tell you no one calls me Catherine?” She spoke the words as if amused. She wanted him to know she intended to be a sport about it. His black robe billowed out when he turned.
“None, save your mother when you were a child. She would sweep your hair behind your ears and sing to you before you slept.”
He watched her silently.
Cat felt a shiver as a wave of apprehension swept through her. She floundered under the brilliance of his gaze.
“How do you know that? David doesn’t know about that. No one here knows my mother sang to me. She would sing that little song …”
Cat searched her mind for a plausible explanation, and glanced uneasily over her shoulder, looking for a way out. She was suddenly anxious to escape his disturbing presence.
“She loved you. Very much. As the song said, ‘a bushel and a peck, and …’ “
Cat stepped back and instinctively took a defensive stance as she finished the song for him in a frightened whisper.
“ ‘… a hug around the neck.’ Oh God! You can’t know that! How do you know that? Wait!”
“Trust your heart, Catherine.” Her feet were at once unable to move. This was no coincidence.
Her thoughts raced to her childhood. Her mother had died when Cat was twelve years old. Barbara Terril had tucked her in every night and performed the little ritual the old man had described. She remembered the softness of her mother’s touch when she pushed her hair behind her ears, kissed both cheeks and sang the little song. It was their own private time. Cat was not at all sure even her father knew of it. As a teenager, there were many times she had heard her friends complain about their mother’s interference, and Cat found it ironic that she longed for the same, for just one more day with her mother; her sense of humor, warmth, an
d wisdom.
Merlin. Mama, how did he know? Was he the man of magic and legend? Time traveler? It was too outrageous to believe.
Her skin was clammy and cold, and she stood still for a long while. The mist was now sweeping around her boots, and she turned to watch the narrow stairs from which it came. She had been frightened, but now felt a profound curiosity. It settled over her shoulders like a warm blanket.
As if hearing her own voice would bring her back to reality, she spoke aloud. “Face it, girl. You’re too inquisitive to retreat.”
It was colder, and the air was musty when she followed the steps down to a long passageway. The mist came from the left, and her steps slowed while she pondered the wisdom of her actions. Nervously, she ran a hand through her hair and continued on to another staircase. This one went straight down, the narrow steps banked by the castle walls.
“This is a nightmare of claustrophobia,” she said as she sheathed her sword in the scabbard at her waist. She put her hands on either side of the walls and made her way gingerly down the ascent. When she saw the door, Cat gasped out loud at the beauty of it.
It was very low, suitable for a child’s playhouse. The door was wooden, ornately carved, and polished to a brilliant shine. The mist flowed from beneath it. Green ivy framed the edges, and a heavy black iron gate covered the door. One padlock hung on the iron chain wrapped around the gate. The doorknob was golden with two key slots, one above the other. In the very center of the wrought iron gate was a black velvet pouch tied to the iron by its drawstring.
Cat crouched down before the door for several minutes, and touched the mist that flowed like water from under it. It circled and wafted around her hands when she untied the pouch.
Her fingers trembled as she opened the soft velvet bag to find three skeleton keys. Each key was unique and delicately carved. Curiosity tugged at her. What was behind the door?
Was it magic? The source intrigued her, but she wasn’t afraid.
She studied the keys. One was longer than the other two. The two smaller keys appeared to be identical in shape and size.
Cat took the larger key and worked it inside the old padlock that held the chain to the gate. It opened easily. The chain was small, but heavy, as she unwound it from the iron gate and pulled it open.
Cat took a deep, shuddering breath and examined the doorknob.
“Trust your heart,” she spoke to herself aloud.
There were two keyholes, one above the other. She tried one key and turned it, then the other. She turned the knob only to find it still locked. Cat began to get frustrated as she worked to open the door. She turned the bottom key first. Nothing. She turned them slowly in the opposite direction. Nothing. Finally she removed both keys, inserted them simultaneously, and turned them one at a time. She turned the knob and pulled.
The door came open, and she was pulled violently through the doorway in a powerful vacuum of cold air, rendered as helpless as a rag doll. The centrifugal force pinned her arms tightly to her body. The lavender mist enveloped her in a whirling vortex.
All she could do was scream.
Chapter Three
For they sleep not, except they have done mischief …for they eat the bread of wickedness, and drink the wine of violence.
~Proverbs 4:16-17
Angus heard the lass screaming before he saw her. He and Graham bounded up from their plaids and grabbed their swords.
The sound of the waterfall muffled her cries before she slipped beneath the surface of the water. Angus handed his weapon to Graham and plunged into the cold lake. He swam to her side, grasped her leather tunic, and pulled her head up to the surface. She had swallowed a great deal of water, and coughed to force it from her lungs. The lass was doing her best to drown.
Angus reached around her waist and felt the sword in the leather scabbard. She didn’t have the breath to fight him when he dragged her to the bank. He took the sword and deposited her face down in the grass. She was dressed as a lad, but a mane of long auburn hair had come loose from its braid and lay in a tangle down her back. She coughed up more water.
He unsheathed the sword and held it up to Graham.
“Would ye look at this? ’Tis light enough to be a child’s toy.”
“A pretty toy at that. Think ye she means to wield it?”
Angus shrugged. “ ’Tis so blunt it will do little damage.”
Cat was on her hands and knees. “Of course it is, it’s a stage combat weapon. A choreographed fight isn’t meant to cause injury.”
They stared at her in confusion, then Angus spoke. “And what is a korrea fight, lady?”
“This is not funny. I don’t care who’s in on the joke. Give it back. The sword is mine, you idiot,” Cat complained.
She turned over and faced them. Angus looked into a visage so fair that, were it not for her bedraggled state, he would think her a vision, an elfin beauty. Her eyes were the color of spring grass in the Highlands. Her eyelashes were black, long, and spiky wet. Her skin was creamy and her cheeks pink from her efforts to save herself from the deep water.
“Who are ye, lass?” His voice was soft, and his thoughts turned lustful as he gazed down at her curves beneath the tunic. The belt at her waist defined its smallness. Her body was slender; her hips slim.
“Who are you? You two don’t work for the production company.” She looked around, fear and confusion in her eyes.
“Befuddled, are ye? Ye saucy wench! Hit your head on a rock? Ye be daft. Ungrateful too! Angus, ye should have let her drown,” Graham grumbled.
“No. She’s too beautiful for that fate. Better she warm my bed.”
“In your dreams, cowboy! If you don’t work for Carter Welles, then you must be part of the Castle tour. Either way, I am not amused.”
They both stared at her as if she had two heads. The older man enjoyed a hearty belly laugh.
“Now, ye are part boy, part cow!”
She stood up and reached for her sword. He wouldn’t give it to her, but laid a heavy hand on the back of her neck.
“Your weapon belongs to me, wench, as do you.”
It was the arrogant way he said it. Cat’s temper got the better of her, and she caught him by surprise with a roundhouse kick. Her foot made brief contact with his groin in a sharp jab. Angus buckled to his knees from the unexpected attack, and let out a roar of anger.
Graham stepped up when Cat moved to take her sword. He grasped her arm and backhanded her across the face. The blow would have knocked her to the ground had he not been holding her arm.
“No! Dinnae beat her!” Angus spoke the words in a strangled gasp. It was difficult to speak through the pain. “If she pays, it will be at my hand!”
The girl stared up at Graham as if suddenly terrified. She gingerly touched the blood at the corner of her mouth where her teeth had cut her cheek.
“Dear God, where am I? You would not have done that unless …”
“She’s mine!” Angus said.
Cat scrambled to run from them, but Graham held her. He was kicked so much as they struggled, he roared his complaint to Angus.
“Ye want me to keep this demon from leavin’, ye best help me. Or there will be a lot more damage to the body ye be lustin’ after! “
Angus recovered enough to help Graham tie the girl, using leather strips to bind her wrists behind her back. Angus grabbed a handful of the auburn hair and pressed his knee into the small of her back. He pulled her head back until she winced.
“Ye fight me any more, lass, and I’ll beat ye black myself. Ye be a scrapper, I’ll say that.”
She was having a hard time breathing as he pushed his weight down on her back.
“Give her another lick or two, Angus. She has earned it. She come near to puttin’ an end to your wenching for all time.” Graham let out a lusty laugh.
“Cease your jesting, old goat! I have a plan. If it’s to be, she’s not to be beaten! We must not mark her if she is to be given to the Englishmon as a wife. She c
an be Brianna!”
Graham narrowed his eyes. He glanced down at the lass, now still and subdued as Angus sat astride her. He looked back at Angus and shook his head in disbelief.
“Nay … ’Tis foolish. It willnae do.”
“You think naught? She be as redheaded as Brianna. She’s close to the same size. If we be crafty enough Montwain will never know she is not Brianna until they be wed, and we be gone! Even the King hasnae seen Brianna since she was a wee lass.”
“And if the lass screams her plight to Montwain?”
“We don’t give her the chance! She willnae be alone with him until they be wed!”
Angus stood up in a fluid motion and pulled Cat’s hair, wrapping it around his meaty wrist. She cried out when she looked at him, wincing in pain when he forced her to stand. He tugged her hair to yank her to him, and placed his lips a hair’s breadth from her ear.
“You willnae say a word to Montwain, lass,” he warned. “If I say ye be Princess Joan, sister of King Henry of England, ye be it! Or I’ll slit your throat here and now. Do ye ken?”
Angus could see he frightened her. It was his intention. She did not answer. Her eyes narrowed in anger, but she looked away from him and nodded.
Angus enjoyed the scent and the softness of the lass, and kept her before him on his mount during the ride back to the castle. She was weak and confused, did not speak, but he didn’t miss senseless chatter from a wench who could be mad. He wanted her, but he fought down the desire. She was his captive, and she would marry Montwain.
Cat caught sight of the first clump of trees that looked familiar, and her heart pounded with excitement. The landscape was the same as she remembered around the castle used by Carter’s crew.
“Merlin did it!” she whispered in awe.
She glanced around and twisted in the saddle, trying desperately to make sense of it.
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