by Katy Baker
He whirled and quickly donned the rest of his clothes then snatched up his weapons. Lucy scrambled up, pulled her shift over her head and placed a hand on his chest.
“Don’t go down there. Ignore him. He’s obviously off his head.”
Andrew sighed and laid his hand atop hers. “I must. He’s a fellow laird and custom demands I listen to his grievance. Dinna worry. All will be well.”
He kissed her on the cheek and then pulled the door open. Donal was waiting for him outside and the two men quickly ran down the stairs and out into the courtyard. Garrick lounged against a water barrel, his arms crossed across his chest. Several of his men stood nearby. When he saw Andrew emerge, he began clapping sarcastically.
“Ah, there he is. So glad ye deigned to speak to me.”
“I’ll ask again: what do ye want, Garrick?” Andrew growled.
Garrick spread his arms wide in mock innocence. “Only what is mine. My horses. The three ye stole from me yesterday.”
Andrew stared at him incredulously. “Yer horses? What are ye talking about, man? They were my horses, stolen from my stock by the villain Seamus Finnegan. We caught him red-handed.”
“Seamus Finnegan is no horse thief,” Garrick hissed, his hands clenching in anger. “He works for me, scouting for good stock to add to my stables. I demand ye release him and return my horses to me!”
“Are ye deaf, man? Those horses belong to me. They were stolen several weeks ago. So either ye are a fool who has been duped by this Seamus Finnegan or ye are in league with this thief. Which is it, my laird?”
Garrick’s eyes bulged. He went white with anger. “How dare ye?” He drew his sword and held it two-handed in front of him. The men hurried away, leaving a clear space around Andrew and Garrick. “I’ll teach ye some manners, Harris! I challenge ye! Let the good Lord decide which of us is telling the truth!”
The anger coiling through Andrew’s veins became white-hot. Garrick hadn’t changed. He was still the bully from Andrew’s childhood. Still the spoilt brat who liked to throw his weight around. Well, Andrew wasn’t a boy anymore, he wasn’t the smaller of the two to be pushed around. It was time Callum Garrick was put in his place.
He drew his sword with a metallic ringing noise and held it loosely in his right hand. The tip rested on the ground. “I dinna wish to fight ye,” he said to Garrick. “But if ye force me to it I willnae go easy on ye.”
“Easy on me? Arrogant fool! I’ve always been better than ye, Andrew Harris! Now I’ll prove it!”
He charged at Andrew, sword raised. Andrew waited until the very last moment, until he could see the whites of Garrick’s eyes, then he deftly stepped to the side, ducked under Garrick’s wild swing, and planted his foot in Garrick’s backside, sending him staggering.
Garrick spun and came at Andrew again.
They traded blows quickly, their swords striking each other in a clang of metal. From the corner of his eye he noticed people beginning to gather to watch the bout but he didn’t let it distract him. He focused on his opponent.
They were evenly matched. Like Andrew, Garrick had been trained with a sword since he was old enough to hold one. He knew all the forms, all the feints and parries. What he didn’t know however, were all the tricks that Andrew had been taught by his mentor, the master swordsman, Ewan Murray.
Andrew employed one of those tricks now. He pretended to stumble, taking him in range of Garrick’s sweeping sword. A look of glee crossed Garrick’s face and he threw himself forward, eager to deal the winning blow. This is what Andrew had counted on. He wasn’t as unbalanced as he made out, but Garrick, in his eagerness had thrown all his weight forward. Andrew leapt out of the way. With nothing in his path now Garrick staggered. Andrew caught the guard of Garrick’s sword with his own and yanked the weapon out of his hand. It went sailing through the air and landed in the dirt with a thud.
Andrew pressed the tip of his sword against Garrick’s chest. “It’s over, Garrick. The horses are mine and Seamus Finnegan will be tried as a thief and murderer when we return to Dun Arnwick. I suggest ye leave while ye still can, my laird.”
Garrick glared at him, fire in his eyes. There was no contrition in his gaze. Andrew shook his head and turned away. He paused when he saw the crowd that had gathered. They parted to let him through.
Lucy was waiting for him by the door. Her face was white and her eyes wide. She rushed to him and threw her arms around him.
“Don’t you ever do that to me again!” she cried. “I was terrified!”
“Of that? It was merely a bit of horseplay. Nothing serious.”
“Nothing serious?” she said incredulously. “You were fighting with swords! How much more serious could it get? One slip and...” She drew a finger across her neck.
“Well, it’s over now,” he said, trying to soothe her. “Garrick willnae bother us anymore.”
Just as the words left Andrew’s mouth Garrick bellowed behind him. “That’s right! Go back to yer whore, murderer!”
Andrew froze then slowly turned around. “What did ye say?”
Garrick spread his hands wide, encompassing the audience. "Well isnae that the truth? Don’t ye want people to know yer dirty little secret, Laird Harris?"
"Shut yer mouth, Garrick," Andrew growled.
But Garrick only grinned, knowing he’d said exactly the right thing to rankle Andrew’s ire. Some part of Andrew knew Garrick was deliberately baiting him. Having lost the duel he planned to goad Andrew into anger and show him up that way. Andrew knew it but even so Garrick's words made pure fury pound in his veins.
"This is yer laird!" Garrick said, turning in a slow circle and taking in the assembled watchers, every bit the performer playing to his audience. "This is the man ye follow! The man who left his family to die because he was too busy between the legs of a whore!" He pointed at Lucy. "Now he's found himself a new whore! He will consign ye all to ruin! Yer laird is not fit to lead!"
Something inside Andrew snapped. He crossed the intervening space in three long strides. Garrick saw him coming and tried to scramble away but he wasn't fast enough. Andrew’s fist connected with Garrick's nose with a loud crunch. Garrick's eyes widened in pain and shock and he crumpled to his knees.
Andrew followed him. His next blow caught Garrick across the temple and laid the man flat on his back. All sense and reason had flown out of Andrew's head. He was no longer in control. Memories of that day flashed before his eyes. The searing flames. The stink of burning. The screams... Oh Lord, the screams.
He hadn’t realized he'd drawn his sword until he saw it suddenly pressing against Garrick's windpipe. Garrick had blood running down his nose, one eye swollen shut and numerous other cuts and bruises about his body. Had Andrew done that? He couldn’t remember.
Garrick's eyes were wide with fear and he stared down at the sword blade resting against his throat. All it would take was a push from Andrew and his enemy would be slain. The memories would be silenced. Andrew would be free.
He curled his hands around the hilt, preparing to make the killing thrust.
"No!"
A face appeared in front of him, a beautiful face that he almost recognized. The anger subsided a little, just a little. The woman grabbed his arm.
“Don't do it, Andrew," she said, her voice shaking. "Don't do it."
Andrew blinked. "Lucy?"
She nodded. "Put the sword away, Andrew."
He glanced from her face to his sword then to Garrick's wide eyed, fearful expression. The watching crowd had fallen deathly silent. He snatched his sword from Garrick's throat and re-sheathed it.
"Gather the household!" he snapped at Donal. "We’re leaving!"
Then, unable to bear the look of horror on the faces of those around him, he spun on his heel and strode away.
Chapter 16
LUCY STARED OUT OF the window, her chin propped on her hand. Outside, the castle grounds were all but obscured by curtains of rain. A storm had blown in from the sea and r
aged all day. It covered the castle in a gray blanket and dampened everyone's spirits still further.
They had returned to Dun Arnwick yesterday. What should have been a joyous homecoming after everyone enjoying themselves at the fair, surplus crops being sold for a good price, and trade deals being set up for the coming year, was instead a morose affair.
Andrew rode at the head of the column on the way back. Lucy had tried to join him but he pulled his horse ahead of her, making it clear he wanted to be alone. Lucy didn’t know what to make of that. Mona and Annis had reassured her that this was just one of their laird’s dark moods and that it would pass.
Lucy wasn't so sure. Since they'd got back, she’d barely seen him. He'd been out of the castle most of the time, riding with his men to recapture the last of the stolen horses that Seamus Finnegan had taken. When in the castle, he kept to his rooms and wouldn't see anyone, even her.
She straightened suddenly as she saw a group of mounted men riding through the gates. It was Andrew and his guardsmen returning from their latest mission. Andrew jumped out of the saddle, barked orders to his men, and then marched up the steps into the keep. This was her chance. She ran across the room to the door and yanked it open, hurrying down the corridor towards the Great Hall. Just as she’d hoped, she intercepted Andrew before he reached his own chamber.
He looked up as she strode towards him. A strange expression flitted across his face. Was it longing? Or regret?
He gave her a small bow. "Lady Jennings."
Lucy frowned at his stiff formality. "We need to talk." She crossed her arms over her chest and blocked the corridor to make it clear she wouldn't be put off.
Andrew nodded. "Aye, we do. Come this way."
They climbed the stairs to his solar. Andrew pushed the door open, indicating for her to precede him. She stomped inside and perched on the window ledge, crossing her arms. He took his time closing the door before turning to face her.
She longed to cross the room to him. If only she could touch him, put her arms around him, she was sure everything would be all right. But there was something in the way he held himself, almost like a wary animal, that made her stay exactly where she was.
"I haven't seen much of you since we got back.”
"Nay, my apologies. I’ve been busy."
"Is that right? Silly me. I thought you were avoiding me."
He grimaced. "Lucy, I—”
"Was Garrick telling the truth?" The rival laird’s words had eaten at her all the way home.
Andrew glanced at her, his eyes full of pain. "I've already told ye what happened to my family—”
"I don't mean that! I meant what he said about me being your whore. Was he right, Andrew? Since we slept together you've been cold and distant. Is that because you've got what you wanted from me?"
Lucy had promised herself she wouldn't get upset. She would ask these questions, get some answers, and would remain calm and attached, no matter the answer. But she couldn't do it. A spear of anguish drove through her.
"How can ye say that?" Andrew snapped. "Is that what ye think of me?" He strode towards her and for a second Lucy thought he would take her in his arms but he stopped short. "That night between us was the best of my life. I meant every word I said to ye, Lucy." He scrubbed a hand through his hair and looked around the chamber as if searching for the right words. "But Garrick told the truth about what happened the night my family died. About what I did."
"I don't understand.”
He shook his head.
Lucy laid a hand on his arm and he tensed. "Tell me."
“I told ye that I left my post that night but I never told ye why. Garrick spoke the truth yesterday. I left my post because I was with a woman. Whilst my family burned I was warming a lass’s bed."
Lucy went very still, sensing he was building up to something.
"I canna let it happen again. I am the laird of this clan and I have a duty to my people. I made a vow to myself that I would never be diverted from my duty again. It would come before everything." He reached out and gently removed her hand from his arm. "I'm sorry, lass. I gave my heart to ye when it was not mine to give. It already belongs to another. To my clan, to my duty. I should never have forgotten that. I canna be with ye, lass. I’m sorry.”
Lucy stared at him, feeling the blood drain from her face. His words echoed in her ears, slicing into her like little knives. She'd done it again. Trusted. Given her heart. And had it shattered.
“You bastard," she whispered.
Her full-handed slap caught him across the face, snapping his head to one side but it brought Lucy no satisfaction.
Tears pricked her eyes but she would be damned if she would let this man see them fall. She pushed past him and ran from the room.
Lucy’s heart had been broken before and she’d thought that was the worst pain she would ever experience. She was wrong.
This was far, far worse.
ANDREW DIDN'T MOVE for a long time after Lucy left. His cheek stung where she’d hit him but he welcomed the pain. He deserved far worse than that. Slowly, he lowered himself into a chair and sat with his chin propped on his hands. Inside, his heart was shattering into a million tiny pieces. Pain unlike anything he’d ever experienced rampaged through him.
"Lucy," he whispered. "Oh, Lucy." For a second his resolve wavered on the verge of snapping. For a heartbeat he almost went after her. But he hardened his heart. It was better this way.
Lucy Jennings deserved far better a man than Andrew Harris.
It was best if she learned to hate him and returned to her homeland where she could find a man worthy of her. It pierced him to the core to know that that man wasn't him.
He’d told her the truth about his devotion to duty. The fact that he'd been in bed with a woman when his family died had made him wary of any such relationships.
But that was not the whole truth either.
The truth was Andrew Harris had realized he was a monster. He'd almost killed Laird Garrick two days ago. And why? Because Garrick had said some things he didn't like. He’d taunted Andrew and Andrew had lost control. If Lucy hadn't stopped him he didn't know how far he would have gone.
That scared him. There was such darkness inside him. There was so much that was broken. He couldn't ask Lucy to give up her home, her friends, her future for a man like him. She deserved to be happy, not shackled to a monster.
So Andrew had said the words he knew would push her away from him, even though the look in her eyes had sliced him as surely as any blade. She would heal in time and find happiness far away from the darkness that was Andrew Harris.
It was the only gift he could give her.
"YOU'RE ABSOLUTELY SURE?" Lucy asked, staring at the parchment in her hand.
Dougie sighed. "Aye, lass. Ye can see it right there. Her name wasn't Irene MacAskill, but Irene MacGregor. She fitted the description ye gave me but it turns out she's a tanner from the south coast and has never even been near Dun Arnwick."
Lucy's heart sank and she rolled up the parchment. She’d been pestering Dougie for the last half hour, questioning him thoroughly about Irene MacAskill. Dougie, perhaps sensing her desperation, answered her questions patiently and showed her all the written accounts of the people he’d sent out on the search. None of it gave her the least clue as to where Irene MacAskill could be found.
Dougie cocked his head as he regarded her. "If ye dinna mind me asking, lass, why are ye so interested all of a sudden? Since we got back from the fair, ye’ve seemed a little... on edge. Whilst I understand yer desire to go home, I thought ye'd also grown to like it here with us."
"I have. I do,” she replied. "It's just that...” She faltered. How could she tell Dougie what was on her mind? I love it here. You and Mona and Annis and Jamie have become a second family to me. But I can't stay because Andrew has torn my heart in half and every moment I spend here reminds me of what a fool I've been and of what I've lost. Garrick was right. I’m nothing but Andrew’s whore.
Dougie patted her arm. "I'm sorry I dinna have better news for ye, lass. If ye like I’ll send the riders out again. Mayhap we’ll be able to discover more this time."
Lucy was grateful for his offer but shook her head. It was clear that Irene MacAskill didn't want to be found.
“No, that’s okay. Thanks."
She had no idea what to do. Desperation filled her. It felt almost as though something snapped at her heels, making her restless and edgy. She wanted to leave. She wanted to walk out of the castle gates and never look back. She wanted to get as far away from Andrew Harris as possible. But she had nowhere to go. Somehow she must find a way back to her own time. It was the only answer. But how? If Irene MacAskill couldn't be found Lucy was at a loss.
"Are ye going to be playing tonight, lass?"
Lucy looked at Dougie, startled out of her thoughts. "Sorry? What?"
"I wondered if ye will play tonight? For the Murray’s visit? We discussed it last week, remember?"
Lucy did remember, although with everything that had happened it had gone completely out of her mind. Ewan Murray and his family were arriving today. The last thing Lucy wanted was to perform. The only thing she wanted to do was curling up in bed and shutting out the world. But Dougie was looking at her with an eager expression on his face and she knew the rest of the clan would expect her to play—she’d been more than keen when the proposition was put to her last week.
“Of course,” she said, forcing a smile onto her face. “Can’t let our guests down can we? But on one condition—you and Rory play as well. It’s far more fun playing in a group. “
Dougie grinned. “Aye. Try and stop us.” He took her hand in one of his gnarled ones and his expression turned serious. “I dinna ken what has upset ye lass, nor what happened between ye and the laird although tis obvious to everyone that ye are avoiding each other. But I want ye to know that ye’ve made a real difference to this place since ye arrived. Ye’ve brought music and life and laughter back to Clan Harris. Ye’ve saved us.”