Sapphire Dream

by Pamela Montgomerie

  But her brother only turned away. Twenty years she’d longed for this reunion, and she had already ruined the chance to reconnect with the first family member she came across.

  “Fintrie Castle used to be the seat of the Camerons of Deveron,” Hamilton told them.

  Rourke glanced at Brenna, who’d ridden silently beside him since leaving Deveron House, and then at Malcolm. The air was thick with sibling strife. But these two had no shared memories of better times to fall back on and Rourke worried at what the acting chieftain might do.

  Malcolm had not physically hurt her. Rourke would never allow that. But her brother could make her life miserable in other ways. And Brenna, poor lass, was in sore need of a warm family welcome. Even if she had brought Malcolm’s ire upon herself.

  In the distance, a town rose from the coastal plains. A small castle sat in the middle of the village as if naught but another house, looking as out of place as an eaglet in a sparrow’s nest.

  “Deveron House was started near to a hundred years ago and took seventeen years to complete,” Hamilton continued. “The old laird who commissioned it ne’er saw his creation unfold, but the chieftain has lived there ever since. His younger brother took on at Fintrie and his line remains there still. We’ll all be living there now,” he added soberly.

  Rourke wondered how long it would take Brenna to win over her kin, for he couldn’t leave until he felt certain she was safe. But once he was sure, he’d ride for Castle Stour.

  After running from the prophecy for twenty years, he was suddenly itching for the fight to come. He was more than ready to face the man who even now threatened the woman he loved, the man who’d had his parents killed. The man who had wreaked havoc on the northeast coast with his greed and callous attitude toward those weaker than him, and caused so much destruction out of fear of a simple prophecy and a wee lass.

  Either the earl or Brenna would die, of a certainty. He meant to make sure Brenna survived. It was the one good thing he could make of his wasted life.

  “How much older am I than you?” Brenna asked Malcolm.

  The young man merely grunted, but did not reply.

  “Two years,” Hamilton said instead. “Do you remember him?”

  “I’m starting to. A few things. He followed me around a lot.”

  “Och, aye. He was always trying to keep up with you, but you were a wee terror, into mischief more oft than not. Malcolm became the terror when you left. Ye’d have been a pair, if the fates had not intervened.”

  “Are there others?” Brenna asked Hamilton, her eyes brimming with curiosity. “Do I have any other brothers or sisters?”

  “Nay, there’s just the two of you. Your mam had three before you and one more after Malcolm, but none of the lot lived to see their first year.”

  Brenna’s brow creased. “The last one killed her.”

  “Aye. And didna live long herself.”

  The discussion came to a halt as they rode into the village. It was smaller than Monymusk, but well tended, with houses marching in neat rows along the cobbled streets. The hooves of their horses clattered along the cobbles as they rode toward the thick, turreted walls of Fintrie Castle.

  Rourke moved his mount beside Hamilton’s. “ ’Twould be best not to reveal her identity. The earl will be waiting for word that she’s been seen.”

  Hamilton met his gaze, his eyes wise as he nodded. “I was thinking the same.”

  “She’s the Lady Marie, then.”

  When they reached the thick, studded oak castle doors, they found several armed men waiting for them. Hamilton dismounted and Rourke followed suit, then lifted Brenna down. Malcolm still could not fully stand. Rourke winced in sympathy, wondering what additional pain the ride must have inflicted.

  They followed Hamilton into a courtyard very different from the one at Picktillum. Whereas Picktillum had a virtual village within its walls, the village here was just outside. Within the walls was a full garden brimming with roses and other flowering plants his mother would have known the names of.

  As they followed the wide path to the steps which led to the keep’s door, Rourke grasped Brenna’s shoulder, silently lending his support.

  She glanced up at him, her green eyes worried, her mouth taut. But as their gazes met, her expression softened and she reached up and took his hand, squeezing it, thanking him silently.

  Hamilton and Malcolm led the way into the entry hall where they were met by two women, one round with age, the other round with babe.

  “Hamilton, who are . . . ?” The older woman stared at Brenna, her cheeks going pale. “Saints have mercy, ’tis our Ena, back from the grave.”

  “Nay, Mum,” Hamilton said, grabbing the woman’s arm to steady her.

  Her gaze swung to her son, then back to Brenna as understanding dawned and with it a smile of such hope that Rourke was once again filled with self-hatred for having tried to send the lass back to her own world.

  “Brenna,” the woman breathed. “Is it you, lass?”

  Brenna stood uneasily by his side, raking her teeth over her bottom lip as her gaze went to Hamilton.

  Hamilton just shrugged as if to say he should have known there would be no fooling his mother.

  She’d not be Lady Marie after all.

  Brenna nodded slowly. “It’s me.”

  The woman lifted her hands and shook them, rushing forward to enfold Brenna in a huge hug. When she pulled back, she slapped her palms to her cheeks. “The image of your mother, you are, lassie. The very image.” She smiled sadly. “But ye dinna remember. Do ye remember me?”

  Brenna shook her head. “No. I’m sorry.”

  The woman grabbed her hands. “Never you mind. You were such a wee slip of a thing when last you were here. I’m yer aunt. Yer father’s sister, Gaira. Praise the heavens, Alex will be beside himself when he hears.”

  Gaira blanched at the sound of her own words. A silence descended over the group and Rourke knew they all had the same thought. Alex Cameron would indeed be beside himself . . . if he still lived.

  “Och, come, lassie,” Gaira said, pulling Brenna along at her side as the younger woman joined them. She approached Brenna shyly.

  “Brenna? ’Tis me. Larena. Do you remember?”

  Brenna gave a helpless shake of her head.

  “I am your cousin. We are of an age, you and I. We used to be very close.”

  “Lari’s a year older,” Hamilton said behind her. “But ’twas you who was the leader, always gettin’ the pair o’ ye into one scrape or another.”

  “That seems to be a recurring theme,” Brenna muttered.

  Larena grinned. “Do ye not remember the time we tried to saddle and ride one of the hunting hounds?”

  Rourke felt his mouth twitch as he tried to imagine the two wee lassies trying to ride the hound. She’d been a wildcat from the start, which might have served her well growing up as she had. Such abandonment might have broken a softer lass. Nothing broke his wildcat.

  As others gathered around her, Rourke felt himself slowly pushed to the side, along with the other men. Hamilton clapped him on the back. “Come share a wee dram with me, laddie.”

  But Rourke’s gaze remained firmly on Brenna as the women began to usher her toward the upper stair.

  “She’ll be fine, Kinross. They’ll not harm her.”

  But as she allowed them to lead her away, Brenna’s gaze sought and captured his. Panic shimmered in the green depths of her eyes, telling him she needed him still.

  “ ’Tis time we made plans,” Hamilton said when supper was over.

  Brenna was seated in the middle of the long table between Hamilton and Rourke. She watched the heads of a number of the men bob in agreement as the women of the clan rose and left their seats. Her aunt came up behind her and slipped her arm through Brenna’s, pulling her to her feet. “Come, lass. We’ve given you time to settle, eh? Now ’tis time for you to tell us a story or two about where you’ve been.”

  Brenna braced
herself, refusing to be pulled away. She didn’t want to be rude, but they sure as heck weren’t ready to hear about the twenty-first century. Besides, she fully intended to be part of the battle planning.

  With care, she extricated her arm. “I’m sorry, Aunt Gaira, but no. I’m staying here.”

  Several of the men exchanged disapproving glances. Hamilton watched her calmly.

  “This is a man’s discussion,” Malcolm said from the head of the table.

  Brenna met his gaze, biting her tongue from saying what she really wanted to. Well, I guess that leaves you out.

  “Is it?” She forced herself to remain calm as she stood, staring him down. “I thought you were planning to discuss how to rescue my father who was taken in place of me because of a prophecy that states that I will cause the Earl of Slains’s destruction. Forgive me for believing this conversation concerns me.”

  One of the elders spoke up. “You’re just a lass, Brenna. You must leave the warmongering to the men. Now run along with the women.”

  All the anger and injustice of the past days, past years, bubbled up until she could barely speak through the bitter taste in her mouth. Screw being calm.

  She leaned her hands on the table, looking directly at the old coot who she knew was some kind of cousin of her father’s. Neil, she’d heard him called. But before she could start with her tirade, Rourke rose beside her and put a hand on her shoulder.

  Brenna knocked his hand away. She couldn’t take it from him, too. “Don’t you dare—”

  “I agree with ye.” In his pale eyes she saw warmth and understanding. And something far more precious—respect. “Ye should be part of this.”

  He turned to the others. “The prophecy and everything to do with it affects her, aye? But the reasons for her to remain are far beyond mere involvement. The lass is a hellcat. A fierce and courageous fighter. And she kens more about Castle Stour than any man here, I trow. She’s been inside.”

  Exclamations of surprise erupted around the table.

  Brenna jerked her gaze to Rourke’s, then remembered telling him, shortly after diving off the ship, that she’d toured Stour.

  Hamilton nodded. “She should remain.”

  Malcolm scowled, but Brenna ignored him as Rourke held her chair out for her and she retook her seat. She met Hamilton’s gaze with gratitude and earned a quick wink. Some of the men were still grumbling under their breath.

  Rourke’s hand slid over her knee and she took the support he offered, twining her fingers through his. She met his warm gaze and felt him climb right down into her soul. He’d become not only her protector, but her champion. She knew better than to think he didn’t bear watching. He was still all too likely to try to keep her out of harm’s way. But he’d supported her just now against a roomful of men and for that she could kiss him.

  With a last scowl her way, Malcolm launched into the discussion. “Missives have been sent to eight of our allies. ’Twill likely be days before we receive any replies. If we can amass a great enough force, we shall attack Stour and demand the release of my father.”

  One of the elders, a man with little hair and fewer teeth, rose unsteadily. “The king, I say. Ye must go to the king.”

  “Ye auld fool,” Neil replied. “The king is beholden to Slains for much of his support. He’ll not side with us on anything concerning Slains and Stour.”

  “Ye cannot know . . .”

  Brenna rose. “Why don’t we—”

  Neil cut her off as he motioned toward Rourke. “The Douglases have always allied themselves with us. We’ve got Lord Kinross himself here.”

  Brenna crossed her arms. God, this was going to try her patience. “Why don’t we—”

  “And the Camerons of Locheil,” the elder broke in.

  “They’ll—” Neil began.

  Brenna had had enough. She slammed her hands on the table, rattling the china and silver. She was seething and suspected everyone at the table knew it by now.

  “Och, aye, uncle,” Hamilton said, a twinkle in his eye. “You dinna want to cross this one. She’s got Alex’s own temper. She’d as likely kick you in the ballocks as look at you, wouldn’t she, Malcolm?”

  Malcolm just grunted.

  “The lass is no lady,” Neil complained.

  “She can be,” Rourke said beside her. He gave her a sidelong look. “I think. But she is a warrior first. She took down four of my crew with her bare hands. And I was captaining a muckle rough crew.”

  Hamilton nodded at her. “Say your piece, Cousin.”

  Brenna looked from one man to the next, daring anyone to cut her off again. Some looked down or away, but most met her gaze with curiosity, if not approval.

  “I assume the reason you are not discussing a rescue attempt is that you know of no way into the castle past the guards, am I correct?”

  Old Neil scoffed. “And would ye be taking out the earl’s army with your bare hands?”

  “That will be all, Neil,” Hamilton said sharply. “Brenna is your laird’s daughter, and you will provide her, at the very least, the respect due to her as such.”

  The old man grumbled and picked at a stain on the tablecloth in front of him.

  Brenna watched him, wondering briefly how many bridges she was going to burn today. “I think I know a way into the castle.” Her gaze swiveled to Hamilton. “A way that possibly even the Earl of Slains doesn’t know about.”

  “How do you come by such knowledge?” Hamilton asked, his eyes excited yet confused.

  “It’s a long story.”

  Rourke spoke beside her, his voice low. “Are you certain it now exists?”

  She met his gaze. “Certain? No. But historians believe it was part of the original construction. They believe none of the Earls of Slain ever knew of it.”

  Rourke nodded gravely. “I am willing to make the attempt.”

  Hamilton nodded. “As am I.”

  All eyes slowly turned to Malcolm, who sat watching the table stonily.

  “What say you, lad?” Hamilton asked him.

  Malcolm lifted his head and looked from Hamilton to Brenna. He sat up and leaned forward, addressing her. “Where inside the castle would ye take us?”

  “The dungeons, I think.”

  “And will you lead us inside?”

  Hamilton and a couple of others made sounds of disapproval, but Brenna met the challenge in Malcolm’s eyes. “Absolutely. You’re not going in without me.”

  Rourke put his hand on her arm. “Wildcat. ’Tis too dangerous.”

  “Aye,” Hamilton chimed in. “You can tell us the way.”

  But her gaze remained on Malcolm’s. He would sacrifice her in a heartbeat. But his lack of concern for her welfare was just the weapon she needed.

  “If he’s being held in the dungeons, I can possibly get you in and out without you ever being seen. I can’t promise, because any number of things could go wrong, but I’m the best chance you have of getting him out of there alive.”

  “Brenna, nay,” Hamilton said. “Your father would ne’er forgive us.”

  “My brother is chief of this clan until our father returns. If we’re going to free him, there’s no room for fear. Either for ourselves, or for one another.”

  Malcolm rose. Now that the pain she’d inflicted on him seemed to have passed, he stood tall and straight. At twenty-three, he still had a lankiness about him, but she saw the promise of power in his build. And the pride of generations of Cameron leaders in his stance.

  “My sister has the way of it.” He acknowledged her as kin for the first time. “If she has knowledge that we need, we’d be fools to ignore her.”

  “How do we know she can be trusted?” Neil asked. “She may have turned spy for the earl.”

  Rourke opened his mouth to defend her, but Malcolm got there first.

  “If you’d heard the filth coming from her mouth when she learned of our father’s capture, you’d not being asking, Neil. She’s risking her life more than any among us
by leading us into Stour. If the earl catches her, he’ll not be releasing her alive.” Malcolm’s gaze swung to her and held. “And she knows it well.” In his eyes, she saw something dawn and grow. A grudging respect.

  Brenna inclined her head in acknowledgment. The two of them had a long way to go to develop any kind of fa milial relationship, but this was a start. And he was giving her exactly what she wanted—a chance to find her father. And a chance to end this curse upon her family once and for all.

  SEVENTEEN

  Sleep eluded Brenna in the cramped little bed, Larena snoring softly beside her. A very pregnant, very naked Larena. Brenna lay on her back, in her shift, at the very edge of the mattress, tense with worry.

  At daybreak they were heading for Stour. Rourke, Malcolm, Hamilton, and her. Others would follow later, but they didn’t want to attract attention by moving too large a force at once. Four travelers would attract little attention. When they got close, they’d lay low until the middle of the night, then go in.

  Hopefully. The tour guide had speculated that the third earl hadn’t known of the existence of the cave and the entrance. What if he was wrong? The thought made her stomach churn. What if this didn’t work? What if they couldn’t get in?

  But she knew. If she couldn’t get her father out the back way, she’d find a way to trade herself for him. He wasn’t going to die for her. No one else was going to die for her.

  Her old life and all its responsibilities were gone, lost to her. And she’d been missing so long from this life she no longer had a place in it. She was completely expendable. Either she or the earl must die. And if it had to be her, so be it.

  This would be her gift to those who’d suffered so much because of this prophecy and, indirectly, because of her. Her biggest fear was that Rourke would get in the way and try to save her. His death had nearly destroyed her once. She couldn’t bear the thought of it happening again.

  The nearly total silence of the night pressed in on her. Larena was a quiet sleeper and the usual night sounds were missing here. The hum of the air conditioner. The sound of traffic on the street. The distant whine of a siren.