Sapphire Dream

by Pamela Montgomerie

  “Do you know the way to reach it, Wildcat?”

  Brenna groaned. “No. But I was standing in the mouth and looked down to find a path leading toward the beach. Precarious, but it’s there.”

  “ ’Twould help if you knew how to find it, Wildcat.” His voice was wry.

  “Yeah, I know.” She hadn’t given much thought to the actual finding of the path. Especially in the dark. “It’s not going to be easy to locate or someone would have done it by now. But it’s the only chance we have.”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “We’ll find it.”

  As they turned back toward the cave where Hamilton and Malcolm waited, she looked at him sharply. “Don’t even think about leaving me behind, Pirate. Getting into the cave isn’t going to get you into the castle. The door’s hidden. You won’t find it without me.”

  He didn’t say anything, his big hand gently gripping her shoulder. But his silence confirmed that he’d at least considered tying her in a cave yet again.

  She could hardly get mad about it, though. Not when she was practically spitting distance from the monster’s lair and Rourke had done nothing so far to hold her back. And she knew how badly he wanted to keep her safe. Just as badly as she wanted to protect him.

  They made their way back to the sea cave where she and Rourke had briefly hidden a week ago when the bluecoats were chasing them. Hamilton and Malcolm had already opened the pack with their supper and were munching on cold pork and hard rolls.

  Hamilton handed her a roll as she passed him. “Did ye find the cave?”

  “Aye.” Rourke grabbed a slab of pork. “But not the path to it. Once it’s full dark, we’ll have to do some scouting.”

  As she ate the quick meal, Brenna thought of the battle to come. For twenty years, she’d waited for this night without even knowing. Finding her father. Destroying the Earl of Slains as the prophecy foretold. She had to believe it would happen. She would fight to make sure it happened. Never had she been more ready for anything in her life.

  Brenna’s gaze went to her brother where he joked about how many bluecoats he could hoist on a single sword. Hamilton laughed. Rourke smiled. Men had strange senses of humor.

  Over the past days’ ride, she’d come to know Malcolm a little better. He was still cool with her as if he blamed her for all that had befallen the Camerons. And she knew that he did. But she also sensed in him an inherent kindness and had seen evidence of an honor that she greatly admired.

  As Brenna sat in the damp cave, tearing off chunks of pork with her teeth, she suddenly wanted him to understand. Especially if she didn’t survive. And if they did come out alive on the other end. Well, he was family.

  When she was finished eating, Brenna washed her hands in the surf, then went to sit by her brother.

  “We need to talk.”

  He glanced at her, his eyes cool. “Aye?”

  Brenna motioned deeper into the cave. “Will you come with me?”

  She could see by the stubborn bend of his mouth that he wanted to say no. But Rourke came to her aid.

  He slapped Hamilton on the back and rose. “While you talk, Hamilton and I have a wee bit of scouting to do, aye?”

  As the two men left, Brenna sat on the rock beside Malcolm. “You’re angry with me. And it’s not just because I attacked you in the stables.”

  Her brother only grunted, staring straight ahead.

  “You blame me for all this, don’t you? The fire. Our father being taken.”

  He finally met her gaze with a scowl. “You are a curse upon this clan and always have been.”

  Brenna sighed, hearing the anger in his words, feeling the pain of it pierce her heart. “I’m not the curse, Malcolm. The prophecy is the curse.”

  She turned until only one hip rested on the rock as she faced him. “Have you ever stopped to think what it was like for me? I was five . . . five . . . when I was torn from my family and exiled far away. Our aunt raised me until I was ten and then she died, leaving me completely alone with no understanding of where I belonged. No idea how to get home. I was ten years old and completely . . . completely . . . alone. I needed you.”

  Her voice broke and she turned back, sitting once more with her hands in her lap. “I needed all of you, but you didn’t come for me. You left me there.”

  He turned to meet her gaze, his eyes narrowed and thoughtful. “We didna know where you were.”

  “I know that. I didn’t know where I was. But I trusted my papa to find me. For years, I woke every morning hoping he’d finally come for me. But he never did.”

  “Ye were to have returned when you were grown.”

  Brenna cocked her head with surprise. “Who told you that?”

  “A wee little man, Da said. Came soon after ye left to say ye’d be back when you were grown.”

  “Hegarty. He told Janie to bring me back when I was twenty-five.”

  “We expected ye sooner. Da said lasses are grown by their thirteenth year. Every day, he prayed this would be the day you came back to him.” His voice turned bitter. “You are all he ever thought of.”

  And suddenly she understood. In her absence she’d become a ghost, haunting those she’d left behind.

  Brenna laid her hand on Malcolm’s forearm. “I’m sorry.”

  He sighed, the stiffness seeping from his spine as his gaze softened. “ ’Twas not fair of me to say that of Da. He paid me all the attention any lad could wish for. But he didna smile. Our grandmother told me he lost his smile the day he sent you away.”

  “Maybe.” Brenna withdrew her hand. “But our mother died soon after that. It wasn’t me he was mourning. At least not just me.”

  “I ne’er asked. ’Twas you he talked about. ‘When Brenna comes home . . .’ We celebrated your thirteenth birthday with great joy expecting you at any time. Your chamber was readied and day after day we waited. But you didn’t come. Ye never came.”

  Tears burned her eyes as she thought of her father’s hope turning slowly to dust as the months, then years went by. She knew all too well how painful hope could be. She pressed her fingers to her eyes, aching for the pain they’d all endured.

  “At least I’m here now.”

  “How did you get here if Janie didna bring you?”

  “Hegarty came for me. In his way.”

  “Where were you, Brenna?”

  She met his gaze, then shot him a rueful smile. “I’ll tell you about it, little brother. When this is over.” If they got out of it alive. “Though I doubt you’ll believe me.”

  “That bad, eh?”

  Brenna shook her head. “Not bad. In some ways it was a great place to live. At least once I was an adult.”

  “How did ye get on as a lassie? All alone?”

  “People took care of me. Some better than others.”

  “Did they hurt ye?” His voice had turned hard again, but this time in her defense.

  “Not . . . No. Not really. But I learned to defend myself.” She grimaced. “As you know.”

  To her surprise, Malcolm chuckled. “Aye, and well at that.” He reached for her, his hand cupping her shoulder. “Ye’ll forgive me, aye? I ne’er considered the situation from your place, as you said. It must have been muckle hard being all alone and lost as ye were.”

  She covered his hand with hers and met his gaze, so like her own. “You can’t know what I would have given to have had a brother all those years.” Out of nowhere, tears filled her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. “What I would give still.”

  His mouth pursed. Slowly, his arm slid around her shoulders and he pulled her against him. “Ye have a brother, lass. I’m told I worshiped ye when we were small. I think, mayhap, we could try again.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and felt him tighten his grip.

  “I should take it as a personal favor, though, if ye’d not make a habit of unmanning me, aye?”

  Her laughter took her by as much surprise as the tears had moments before. Pressing her face against his shoul
der, she felt his body shake with laughter of his own.

  Pulling back, she covered her mouth, cringing, even as she continued to laugh. “I’m so sorry about that, Malcolm. I was upset and angry, and I didn’t know who you were.”

  “Did ye really take down half the viscount’s crew as he says?”

  “Half?” Joy bubbled up inside her at the admiration dancing in his eyes. “Just four. But, oh my God, they were pirates, Malcolm.”

  Brenna swiped at the last of the tears and just looked at him. So much to say. And yet nothing that needed saying at all. Expect for one thing.

  “I’m glad you’re my brother.”

  He pulled her close and kissed her on the forehead. “And glad I am you’re home.”

  The sun was fully set by the time Rourke returned.

  “Did you find the path?” Brenna asked anxiously.

  “Aye. ’Tis well hid, but I found it. Take off your boots and hold up your skirts, Wildcat. The tide’s risen.”

  Brenna did as he said, then took Rourke’s hand.

  Hamilton eased out of the cave first. Malcolm took up the rear. The night was clear, the moon half full. Bright enough to see where they were going, but bright enough, too, for a sharp-eyed bluecoat to catch the flash of movement. Fortunately, they’d prepared for the possibility of a clear night by dressing all in black.

  Hamilton had told her Castle Stour hadn’t been attacked since the first Earl of Slains’s father seized it soon after it was built nearly a hundred years before. There was no reason they’d be expecting an attack tonight. Especially from the cliffs, by a mere four people.

  The element of surprise was definitely on their side. Unfortunately, that might be the only thing that was.

  By the time they reached the small beach, Brenna’s feet and bare legs were soaked, but the rest of her was still reasonably dry. She took a moment to slip her boots back on, then took Rourke’s hand again as he led them to the base of the cliffs. There was no actual path on the lower slope and they climbed single file, Rourke in the lead with Brenna right behind him. This time Hamilton brought up the rear.

  Brenna cursed her decision to wear a gown instead of pants, but it was too late to do anything about it. Besides, if she needed to attract attention as she had once before, she didn’t want to be forced to prove she was a woman. No way was she flashing anyone with her father and brother around.

  Slowly they made their way up the cliffs, with Rourke lifting her up one ledge and then the next until finally they were at the base of the precarious little path she’d seen from the cave’s mouth only a week ago.

  A week.

  Plus about three hundred and twenty-two years.

  She remembered the twenty-first-century earl’s granddaughter, Lintie, scrambling over the iron railing into the cave. Of course, the iron railing wasn’t there yet. It wouldn’t be added until the need arose to keep tourists and small grandchildren from falling.

  They climbed the path easily. Rourke and Hamilton went into the cave first, swords drawn, while Malcolm lifted Brenna onto the mouth’s ledge.

  For the first time, her feet trod the same path they had in that other time, so far into the future. A week. A simple week of her life to have traveled so far.

  Brenna had told them the cave was deep, so they’d risked bringing a small lantern to light the way. Hamilton lit the lamp and handed it to her. In the dim, flickering light, the cave looked strange and unfamiliar. Clearly, the refuge of seabirds in this time, the floor was thick with guano and crumbling sea grasses.

  Brenna led the way, being the only one who knew where to go. The closer she got to the door, the stronger her heart pounded. What if it wasn’t there? Or what if it was and they opened it onto a gathering of armed guards?

  Worse, what if everything went as planned?

  She grabbed for the wall as a hard shaft of fear barreled through her. Within minutes . . . minutes . . . she could be standing face-to-face with the Earl of Slains, the man who’d wanted her dead for twenty years.

  Oh God, she didn’t want to die. Not now.

  “Wildcat?” Rourke’s hand slid over her hair.

  “I’m . . . okay. I just . . . needed a moment.” She took a deep breath and struggled to get control over the sudden attack of nerves. It was too late to let them get the better of her. Way too late.

  Because the earl wasn’t the only one waiting for her on the other side of that door. Her father was, too.

  She continued forward until she reached the small alcove at the very end of the cave that she knew hid the door. The wall was cool and damp against her fingertips, soft with moss or lichen in places. Lifting the lantern, she studied the rock, but could see no crevice, nothing to give away the door.

  “It’s here, on this wall. The door opens inward, into a pantry or a small storage chamber that, in turn, empties into what was originally the kitchens, but which I think are dungeons now. There could be guards anywhere.”

  “Inward makes little sense,” Malcolm muttered. “Too easy to breach from outside.”

  Rourke shook his head. “There’s no room for the door to swing on this side. And who would find it if they didn’t know?”

  “That’s probably the reason no one in the castle’s ever found it,” Brenna said. “There’s no handle and nothing to mark it as a door.” At least, that was the theory of the twenty-first-century historians.

  They were about to find out.

  The men stepped back to allow Brenna to get out of the way. Hamilton took the light and held it high as Rourke pressed his hands against the stone and pushed.

  Brenna heard a small groaning of the rock, but nothing happened.

  “’Tis here,” Rourke said excitedly. “And stuck.” He turned sideways, then slammed his shoulder against the wall.

  The door gave spectacularly, with the accompanying crash and minor explosions of dozens of things hitting the floor.

  “Close it!” Brenna hissed.

  Hamilton pushed her toward the cliffs. “Run!”

  Damn. She tore out of the cave and jumped off the ledge to hide where Lintie had that day. Malcolm was right behind her.

  Her brother shielded her, knife drawn, as the two of them waited. Blood pounded in her ears, thudding harder with every minute Rourke and Hamilton didn’t come. Had they been caught?

  Finally, Malcolm moved. “Wait here, lass.” He jumped onto the ledge and disappeared into the cave.

  Brenna grunted. “Wait here, like hell.” Hiking her skirt, she lifted her leg and swung herself onto the ledge. As she crept into the dark, she heard no sound. Neither did she see any light illuminating the end as she was certain she would if the door had been discovered.

  As she neared the end of the cave, she heard a soft, “Wildcat.” Rourke’s hand cupped her elbow and he pulled her tight against him. With their lantern now out, she could see nothing, but the solid beat of his heart steadied her own.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “I found a fingerhold and pulled the door closed. We heard voices. They dinna ken what caused the mess.”

  She felt another body close. Malcolm’s voice, rich with humor, spoke near her ear. “Hamilton said they heard the word earthquake.”

  Brenna released a laugh on a puff of air. “Good. That’s good.”

  “They could be a while, straightening the mess we made,” Rourke said dismally.

  “Or not. It’s the middle of the night.”

  “Aye. We thought of that. We’ll wait a bit longer.”

  Finally, Rourke tried again, more carefully this time. Little by little he pushed. Brenna heard a soft thud as the door hit something, but no crashes and shouts accompanied the maneuver this time.

  She heard him move inside. A moment later, he returned. “A light,” he said.

  Hamilton lit the lamp and handed it to him. He held it aloft to reveal the destruction they’d caused in the small pantry. Sure enough, weapons everywhere. Muskets, swords, knives, shields. And barrels which she
could only guess held musket balls or gunpowder.

  Rourke ordered her to remain outside with Malcolm, but he must have heard the angry noise she made, for he turned and found her face, kissing her hard. He pulled back, holding her cheek in his calloused palm.

  “Wildcat . . . Brenna . . . I’ll not allow anything to happen to you, lass. I love you.”

  Then he turned and disappeared into the pantry before she could recover from his words. He loved her. Loved her. The words sang through her. She stared after him as he and Hamilton doused the light and slipped out of the pantry into the dungeon.

  She started after him, but Malcolm grabbed her arm. “Brenna.”

  “It’s our father in there. And you’re the acting chieftain. So how did we wind up out here?”

  His grip softened, then disappeared. “Aye. You’re right.” He pulled the door open a few inches, then a few more until he could look around. Then he took her hand and led her into the dungeons behind him.

  A single torch lit the dank, foul-smelling place, where at least a dozen men were chained to the walls, keys hanging above their heads as if to torment them. The prisoners were all lying on the bare stone floor, asleep, or worse. No guards were visible, but Brenna remembered the layout of the place and knew the dungeons took a turn before reaching the stair. The guards were probably bunked around the corner or in a small anteroom.

  Malcolm led her to the right, heading in the direction they’d seen Hamilton go. They’d barely gone ten feet when Malcolm released her and dropped to his knees before an old man.

  “Da.”

  Her father.

  Brenna stood as if frozen, as if her feet had forgotten how to move. He wasn’t what she’d been expecting. He wasn’t the young man of her memory any longer. He looked old and beaten, as if life had taken too great a toll. His unwashed gray hair hung to his shoulders and gray stubble covered his face. As he spoke to Malcolm, she saw that he was missing a couple of his bottom teeth.

  Then Malcolm said something to him and his head snapped up. Green eyes, brimming with shock and intelligence bore into hers. Then his face broke into a smile that erased the years with a single stroke. She knew that smile, for she’d seen it a hundred times in her memory—him laughing at the storm.