A Warrior's Taking

by Margo Maguire

  But here…Captain Barstow’s death had caused the impoverishment of his family. Ravenfield did not appear to have been prosperous for a long time, but at least the children and Sarah had a home here. They managed to earn enough money to buy the essentials they needed.

  Brogan had not been able to continue listening to Sarah’s plans and the lasses’ glum questions about their future. It was all too appalling.

  “She needs a husband,” the dragheen remarked.

  Brogan felt his jaws clench, even though he’d already considered this. He just didn’t care to hear it from another.

  “She needs someone to provide for her. To give her a secure position in life,” said Colm. “I’ve considered planting a thought—”

  “In whom?” Brogan demanded, thinking of Crowell, who had not seen past Sarah’s drab clothes to the vibrant young woman who wore them. “Is there a likely husband for her in all the parish? Why, then, has no man claimed her?”

  “She has no dowry,” Colm replied calmly, “no property to bring to a marriage.”

  “And that’s all there is to it?” Brogan demanded. He reached into his pockets and drew out a few of the coins that were so prized here. He would leave all this money with Sarah when he left. Mayhap this would bring a likely spouse to her door.

  “Not quite, m’lord. The lass has a certain history in these parts. She is known as a pauper, the daughter of a drunkard. But if she were more comely, mayhap—”

  “She’s as comely as any Druzai—”

  “To an eye that sees beyond the tattered clothes and work-worn hands,” said Colm. “If only her father hadna taken to the drink after her mother’s death…”

  “Doona be giving ideas to anyone, dragheen,” Brogan said harshly. The last thing Sarah Granger needed was to gain a husband who believed he’d been duped into marriage. He’d heard far too many instances of dragheen suggestions going awry. Sarah was more than capable of attracting a man without dragheen assistance. She needed to attract a spouse on her own merit for any love match to succeed.

  But Brogan would make a few suggestions of his own, as a man who knew what feminine accoutrements would make her most appealing. Then he could return to Coruain, confident that she would fare well.

  The tears she’d unconsciously shed had touched him more deeply than he cared to admit, but he wanted to feel no more. The lass was a survivor, and quite capable of taking care of herself and the two bairns.

  “Ah, but think how simple ’twould be if Ravenfield’s heir decided to wed our Sarah,” Colm said. “I could make but a wee suggestion—”

  “Ridley?” Brogan stood abruptly and paced restively. He’d been thinking her squire was her most likely céile mate, but marriage with Ridley would mean she and the lasses could remain at Ravenfield.

  In any case, dragheen interference was not acceptable.

  “You know what would happen, Colm,” Brogan said. “Your hints would seem sound for a week or two, mayhap even a month. But once your spell dissipated, her husband would feel he’d somehow been duped. Mayhap even tricked by her.”

  “Miss Granger was ill used after her father died, before coming to Ravenfield. I would see her secure in marriage, m’lord. Ne’er again should she have to worry about losing her home.”

  Brogan made a sound deep in this throat. “Ill used? In what way?”

  “Beaten on the whim of a bad-tempered mistress. Embarrassed by bored husbands who tried to take advantage. Abused by young men who—”

  “Are you saying she was raped?” Brogan asked, his anger rising.

  “No’ to my knowledge, m’lord. The lass has found comfort in hiding herself here at Ravenfield.”

  Brogan swore brutally. ’Twas no wonder she did not wish to attract attention to herself. This Tuath world was even worse than Brogan had thought before coming here. Now he knew how barbaric they were.

  “I’ve sent a message on the wind,” said the dragheen, “for information about Mr. Ridley. I’ve learned he is a bachelor, m’lord.”

  “Bachelor or no, do you no’ think Ridley would soon become dissatisfied with a wife he did not choose for himself.”

  “These are Tuath, m’lord,” said Colm. “They are accustomed to accepting their lot, whatever it may be. They are accustomed to accepting marriages arranged for them. They know no sòlas. They do not become céile mates.” Yet a match suggested by a dragheen would never succeed. Ridley could very well grow dissatisfied if his attraction to Sarah did not originate from his own heart and mind.

  Brogan fixed his gaze on the dragheen. “Doona interfere. I will deal with her predicament myself.”

  Even if she would not experience the bond commonly shared between Druzai spouses, there would surely be an acceptable husband for her.

  And it would take none of his extraordinary powers to achieve it. She was more than capable of attracting her own mate. He had only to show her how.

  Colm’s stone feathers crackled. “I’m sure ye know best, m’lord.”

  Brogan filled the pitcher at the well and started back to the house, though he still felt edgy. He was satisfied the dragheen would make no suggestions on Sarah’s behalf, but there was no love spell on earth that actually worked beyond providing a short-lived infatuation.

  She would have to win a husband with her own charms.

  “Here’s a thought,” said Maud. “We’ll make some extra room at my sister’s in Ulverston. Then you and the girls—”

  “We couldn’t ask that, Maud.” Sarah knew that Maud’s sister lived in a tiny cottage. There would be barely enough room for the two women. “You’ve been looking after us for so long—you deserve a rest.”

  Mr. Locke returned to the table, and Sarah suspected the discussion of their predicament had made him uncomfortable. He was a guest, and they needed to avoid speaking of their private troubles while he was present.

  He had his own. Likely his trip away from Scotland was intended as a respite from his own grief. Sarah had somewhat softened toward him upon hearing of his loss, and knew she must guard her heart. He was a man with obligations in Scotland, and she had her own duty here. Wishing for…No, she’d learned long ago that wishes were only for children.

  “Mrs. Pruitt visited this afternoon,” she said, putting her dismal thoughts from her mind.

  “Oh! While I was in Craggleton?” Maud asked. “Was she just as evil-tempered as ever?”

  “She’s decided to hold a musical soiree,” Sarah said suddenly. She hadn’t intended to mention the soiree, much less attend it, but the girls needed cheering. She swallowed and continued. “We’re all invited.”

  The girls looked up from their plates with bright eyes. Sarah knew the only reason she and the children had been invited was the presence of their guest. As much as she’d wanted to, Mrs. Pruitt had not been able to slight Sarah and the girls, not without offending Mr. Locke.

  “Will I have a new dress to wear?” Margaret asked, their troubles forgotten for the moment.

  “Will we be allowed to dance?” Jane wanted to know.

  Sarah nodded. “I’m sure we’ll be able to make new gowns for you…and of course you’ll be able to dance,” she added, hoping it would be so. She’d never been to a soiree herself, and would be attending this one only because of Mr. Locke.

  With Sarah’s news, the tension in the room eased and the girls began to talk excitedly about the function at Mrs. Pruitt’s grand house. Captain Barstow had taken them to a soiree a few years before, but they’d been too young to remember it well.

  With the money Mr. Locke had paid for his board and lodgings, Sarah would be able to buy new fabric to make party frocks for the girls. In spite of their reduced circumstances, they would be cleanly and neatly dressed. The way she and the girls appeared at Mrs. Pruitt’s party would affect her reputation and whether anyone would hire her ser vices as a teacher.

  “When is this magnificent event to take place?” Maud asked, smiling widely.

  “Friday,” Sarah replied, kee
ping her eyes on her plate. “Mrs. Pruitt is hoping Mr. Locke will stay long enough to attend.”

  Brogan shook his head, keeping his features expressionless. In truth, he should not be here now. The more contact he had with this Tuath family, the more complicated things became.

  Yet he found himself wanting to show Meglet that the world was not the harsh and unforgiving place she imagined. He’d like to provide teacups for Jane’s parties and a doll with two arms. And the list was growing. When he had the blood stone in his possession, there was all manner of magic he intended to perform, from easing the aches in kindly Maud’s stiff knees and back, to settling the Ravenfield inheritance in Sarah’s favor.

  “’Tis likely I’ll be gone before Friday.” If he located the stone after supper, they would not find him in his room in the morning. If it turned up in the morn, he’d leave before noon.

  “But we’ll need an escort,” Margaret whimpered. “Who will take us to Pruitt Hall?”

  “Margaret, hush,” Sarah admonished, quick to mask the disappointment in her own eyes. “Mr. Locke is under no obligation to us. Besides, we are quite accustomed to getting ourselves to and from our destinations, are we not?”

  He felt like a heartless lout, but he was in no position to make any promises. He did not even intend to stay long enough to say farewell once he had the stone in his possession, not when it was so desperately needed on Coruain.

  He had no idea what was happening at home. Eilinora might have already returned for another attack, and here Brogan sat, calmly eating Maud’s delicious roasted fowl in the kitchen of a quiet English estate. ’Twas irresponsible.

  Sarah turned to him. “Did you find anything of interest in the caves today, Mr. Locke?”

  He shook his head, refusing to feel any regret for keeping his distance. Druzai and Tuath were not meant to mix. ’Twas what he’d always believed, and he saw no reason for changing his opinion.

  “I saw naught but markings on the walls,” he replied, glad of the change in subject.

  “The runes?” Maud remarked. “No one has ever been able to tell what they signify. Neither them nor those peculiar circles.”

  “Except Miss Granger,” said Jane. “She knows.”

  Brogan nearly dropped his fork. He looked across the table at Sarah. “You understand the meaning of the etchings, Miss Granger?”

  She shrugged her narrow shoulders, and Brogan caught sight of a line of fine, white lawn beneath the neckline of her gown. He blew out a long, deep breath, refusing to allow himself to be distracted by that bit of her beguiling feminine undergarment. He would not wonder whether ’twas the same worn chemise he’d handled earlier.

  “They’re only children’s tales. I don’t really know what the symbols mean.”

  Brogan shifted his gaze and looked into her eyes. “The stories are your own, Miss Granger?” he asked. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for…perhaps that she would say her tales and the clues given by the runes had been passed down from generation to generation.

  “Of course,” she replied. “No one knows the meaning of the runes. Even Captain Barstow did not know.”

  ’Twas only a small disappointment. He’d never really expected Sarah to come out with a tale of runes or crìoch-fàile that were clues to the location of the ancient blood stone.

  The quest that had seemed so straightforward and simple only two days ago now seemed next to impossible. Brogan was going to have to search every one of those caves, as well as the castle, inch by inch. There had to be a hidden compartment, a door, or some small niche where the blood stone might have been concealed.

  He had to hurry. If a Druzai seer had located the blood stones, ’twas likely one of the Odhar had done so, too. Eilinora would know the stones could be used against her. She or one of her minions was sure to turn up here sooner or later, and Brogan wanted to be long gone by then.

  He only wished he’d spent more of his idle hours playing with puzzles.

  Mr. Locke’s eyes darkened, and he seemed deep in thought. His lashes were long and thick, spiked as though he’d been caught in a summer rain. Sarah wished she could answer all his questions about the runes in the caves and high upon the tower walls, but she knew nothing about them. None of the amateurs or scholars who had visited the ruins had been able to offer anything but theories about the strange markings.

  They reminded Sarah of the etchings on her Luck—a small tin box given her by her mother just before her death. The marks on the tin were worn nearly smooth, but Sarah had been able to feel them in the dark hours of the night when she’d missed her mother so desperately. She’d held the box in her hands, hoping to feel closer to her, but the cold tin had been a poor substitute for her mother’s gentle hands on her hair and skin.

  Looking for a diversion from her maudlin thoughts, she turned to the housekeeper. “Supper was wonderful, Maud. Thank you.”

  “Yes, well, you can thank Mr. Locke…his coin was what put this fine bird on our table.”

  Looking up blankly, Mr. Locke seemed not to hear Maud’s words of appreciation. “Have you a pen and paper?”

  A bit of his hair came loose from his queue, and he seemed quite distracted.

  “We surely do,” Maud answered him. “I’ll just get it from the library.”

  But when Maud started to rise stiffly from her chair, he bade her to remain seated, not to trouble herself on his account. “Just tell me where to look and I’ll see to it myself.”

  He went toward the door, but came back to the table and dropped two guineas on it. “This should be enough to buy a few new party gowns for you ladies.”

  Chapter 6

  Brogan took four sheets of paper and put them together on the desk in the library, making one large square of white. Then he drew a complete diagram of the castle and caves in four quadrants, marking the runes in the locations where he’d found them. On the morrow he would make exact copies of the crìoch-fàile patterns and see if he could fit them together and make sense of them.

  If there was a puzzle or riddle in the words, he still had to find the clues that put them together. He read and reread the runes he’d already found, but was distracted by the voices in the drawing room.

  Then he heard music.

  Brogan had never heard such sounds on Coruain, where the soft strings of their lutes and teilinn soothed and lulled the uneasy to sleep. He got up from his chair and opened the door to the drawing room.

  Sarah and the lasses were sitting together on a long bench before the huge instrument. Sarah’s hands flew over the white and black strips, making the most complex combination of sounds he’d ever heard, while the children’s feet swung in time with the music.

  Sarah caught sight of him and faltered.

  “Doona stop, lass. ’Tis verra fine.”

  She resumed playing the piece, slowing down the pace and telling Meglet to join in. Sarah moved her hands to the left and played the deeper notes, while Meg played the lighter, more delicate part, keeping time with Sarah. Meglet made a few mistakes, but Sarah did not chide her. They continued until the piece came to a satisfying conclusion. It did not drift to a subtle end as Druzai music often did, so ethereal the listener sometimes thought he’d imagined hearing it.

  There was silence for a moment, and then the girls asked Sarah to play another piece on the pianoforte. Brogan leaned back against the door-jamb and crossed his arms to listen as she started to play, considering that any Tuath man who heard Sarah Granger’s music would be a fool if he did not immediately want to wed her.

  Sarah and the girls went upstairs to prepare for bed after the music lesson. Sarah had played two more short pieces, and yet a third at Mr. Locke’s request.

  She had never played for an audience before. Her father had taught her well, but she doubted her own abilities when she caught sight of the expression on Mr. Locke’s face as he listened to her play. He looked as though she were playing Mozart in a manner he’d never heard before.

  Yet she quickly realized
he did not disapprove. Whatever she’d done that was different had not displeased him, and Sarah felt an unfamiliar pleasure at his good opinion, in spite of his abrupt departure when she’d told the girls it was time for bed.

  They bid Maud good night and went up to the nursery. “Miss Granger, can you not convince Mr. Locke to stay and escort us to Mrs. Pruitt’s party?” Margaret asked.

  “Of course not,” said Sarah. “A lady never asks a gentleman such a thing. Never.”

  “I don’t see why we can’t go alone,” Jane grumbled. “We know our way to the dragon lady’s house.”

  “I would like a pink gown for the soiree,” said Margaret. “One with ribbons and bows.”

  “All right,” said Sarah, smiling as Margaret lightened the mood. “What about you, Jane?”

  The little girl shrugged and drew on her nightgown. “Pink, too.”

  “No, you cannot have pink if I am to have pink,” Margaret scolded. “Yellow. You look quite good in yellow.”

  While the girls washed and cleaned their teeth, Sarah gathered up their stockings to be laundered for tomorrow, and lined up their shoes beneath the window ledge. “Please may we have a story tonight, Miss Granger?” asked Margaret.

  “Oh yes, please! About a fairy princess at a ball?” Jane added.

  “Come and get into your beds,” Sarah instructed. She set the lamp on the table between their beds, then drew back their blankets. The two sisters climbed into the same bed, and Sarah sat on its edge.

  “Where is Brownie?” Jane asked.

  “She’s outside looking for mice,” Margaret replied impatiently, turning to Sarah. “Ready.”

  “Once there was a sad, sad yeoman.”