by J. D. Robb
Laurel’s mind was working overtime. It seemed the classic sibling rivalry scenario. The successful brother, doted on by both mother and father. The outcast, craving the love of a father, and now, though sharing the brother’s largesse, still smarting from those years of neglect. “Do you sense that Fergus resents the years he was forced to care for his mother, without benefit of a father?”
“I know not. He rarely speaks of those days.”
They both looked up at a sharp rap on the door.
It was opened to reveal a warrior poised in the doorway.
At once Donovan was on his feet. “Uncle.”
Intrigued, Laurel studied the man who was staring at her with such open curiosity.
At the sight of her, his jaw had dropped. “I’d not have believed had I not seen with my own eyes.”
Fergus looked nothing like his half brother. Where Con was tall and dark, Fergus seemed pale by comparison, with fair hair that fell to his shoulders, and eyes the color of a cloudy sky. He wasn’t nearly as tall as Con, but he was broad in the trunk and shoulders, and his arms rippled with finely honed muscles.
Laurel could imagine those strong arms wielding a dirk or broadsword with deadly accuracy.
“Fergus. Will you join us?” She held out her hand, but he remained in the doorway, his face registering no pleasure at the sight of her. If anything, he seemed to be regarding her with open suspicion.
“My lady.” He gave a slight bow. “The laird said you are not yet recovered from your ordeal.”
“I’m fine, as you can see.”
“It is customary for the barbarians to render their captives unable to escape, either by breaking their legs, or otherwise inflicting enough pain that they have no choice but to remain.”
“Then I consider myself indeed fortunate to be here.”
Abruptly he composed himself and turned to the lad beside her. “Your father summons you to join him in the stables.”
The boy’s face came alive with delight. “Does this mean we will resume our search for the barbarians?”
“I know no more than you. I was in the village when a rider ordered me to return to the fortress. Come, lad. It wouldn’t do to keep the laird waiting.”
Donovan paused to brush a kiss over Laurel’s cheek. “Forgive me, Mother. I must go.”
“Of course you must.” She closed his hand between both of hers. “I so enjoyed our visit, Donovan. Promise me you’ll return.”
“Aye. Though I know not when. I am at the bidding of my father.” He shot her a radiant smile before following his uncle from the room.
As the door closed behind him, Laurel leaned her head back and closed her eyes, deep in thought.
Of the people she’d met thus far, there were only two she felt she could trust completely. Con and Donovan. Father and son. Both had been desperate to find their long-lost Laurel. And both were elated at her return.
It was impossible to fake that kind of love. The man and boy were deeply devoted to the lady Laurel.
The same couldn’t be said for the others. Brinna, Dulcie, and Fergus all seemed not only astounded by her sudden reappearance, but also somewhat dismayed by it. Which only suggested to her that one or all of them may have had a hand in the disappearance of the laird’s wife.
Still, she could be wrong. They could be simply too overcome to express their true emotions. Which would mean there could be others who had been involved in the lady Laurel’s disappearance.
Until she could learn more about these people who surrounded Conal and Donovan, she intended to trust no one but herself. She would watch and listen. And learn all she could about the secrets they kept hidden in their hearts.
She was more and more convinced that this thing that had propelled her back in time was no mere accident. She was here for a reason. Perhaps she was sent here to help Con the Mighty determine the identity of the traitor in their midst. Or maybe she was meant to use her knowledge of the future to educate his people in some area in which they were lacking.
Whatever the reason, she had no doubt it would be revealed to her in time.
For now, she must be cautious. She must be attentive to all that was said. And to all that was left unsaid, as well.
She struggled to ignore the tiny thread of uneasiness that curled along her spine.
Someone had gone to great pains to get rid of the laird’s wife. The first Laurel may be already lying dead somewhere in a shallow grave. If that were the case, for as long as she continued to pretend to be that woman, her life was equally in danger.
She had no doubt that those who’d been willing to kill once wouldn’t hesitate to kill again, given the opportunity.
And so she would watch and listen, and do all she could to protect herself until this dream, this nightmare, this…crazy twist in time was resolved.
Five
“My lady.” Brinna glanced around in puzzlement. “Is the lad gone, then?”
“I’m afraid so. He was summoned to join his father in the stables.”
The serving girl set down the tray she’d retrieved from the refectory. “Cook baked Donovan’s favorite scones.”
“I’m sure he’ll happily devour them as soon as he returns.”
Brinna straightened. “Cook sends word that she and the servants are planning a lovely banquet this eventide to welcome you home, my lady.”
“Thank them for me, and tell them I look forward to it.”
The girl understood that she was being dismissed. “Aye, my lady. Will you rest now?”
Laurel nodded and pretended to stifle a yawn. But as soon as she was alone, she moved around the suite of rooms, hoping to learn anything she could about the woman who had recently occupied them.
Atop a small cabinet she found needles and a skein of yarn. In a drawer were a series of brushes and pots containing various plant and tree dyes. It would appear that the laird’s wife had also been an artist. Laurel thought about the tapestry, and the lovely drawings set amid the embroidery, depicting everyday life in the castle. She was convinced that some of the work on that tapestry had been done by Laurel’s hand.
Intrigued, she opened a wardrobe and studied an array of gowns, both day-and nightwear, as well as a shawl, a bonnet, and several lengths of ribbon that would have been useful as colorful sashes. Holding each gown to her, Laurel realized that she and the laird’s wife had been the same size. That should hardly surprise her, since everyone who had seen her so far had mistaken her for the missing woman. Still, now that she was touching Laurel’s clothes she was once more reminded of the fact that this was not some harmless game. While she was here, feeling safe and pampered, the laird’s wife was being held somewhere against her will. Or worse, dead—her abductors smug in the knowledge that their victim would never be able to reveal their villainy.
Except that she was back, and walking among them.
Whether they believed in ghosts, or bought into her story of an injury-induced lapse of memory, sooner or later, they would feel compelled to dispose of her, in order to protect their involvement in this wicked scheme.
While Conal and Donovan were rejoicing in her safe return, they might be tempted to relax their guard. She could afford no such luxury. She would have to remain alert to every danger. Not the least of which, she thought with a sigh, was the laird’s determination to take her to his bed. If it weren’t for Laurel’s damnable sense of right and wrong, that much, at least, could have been satisfying indeed. But the thought of lying with a man while his wife was in grave peril was repugnant to her. And since she couldn’t make him believe that she was not his beloved Laurel, this promised to be the most dangerous threat of all.
She looked up when the door was thrust open and the man she’d just been thinking about stepped into the room.
His eyes were narrowed in thought, his mouth a grim, tight line of concentration.
“What is it, Conal? What did you learn from the prisoner?”
“Not nearly enough. With my sword at his
throat, he admitted that he’d known in advance how to slip past the guards, and which passageways would take him to the chambers of the villagers, so that they could be silenced before sounding the alarm. But he denied knowing the name of the one who’d given such information, claiming that only his leader had that knowledge.” Con tossed aside his sword and dirk and filled a goblet with ale, drinking deeply.
“Do you believe him?”
He shrugged. “When a man is about to die, he has no reason to speak falsehoods.”
“Where is the prisoner now?” She held her breath, wondering if the blood on Con’s sword belonged to the unfortunate prisoner.
“I left him with Fergus and Duncan. Fergus is convinced that he can make the barbarian give up his secrets.”
Laurel felt an involuntary shudder at the thought of what the prisoner would be forced to suffer. “And if he’s telling the truth and truly doesn’t know the name of the traitor?”
Another shrug of those powerful shoulders. “Then he will welcome his death.”
Laurel had a sudden fear. “What about Donovan? Dear heaven, you didn’t leave him there to witness such brutality?”
Con managed a smile. “Always the fierce she-bear when it comes to our son. Have no fear, my love. I sent Donovan to the village to fetch the apothecary.”
“For your wound?” Without thinking, she touched a hand to the clean linen that bound his shoulder.
He closed a hand over hers. “Nay, love. For yours.”
“Mine?” She tried to draw away, but he held her fast. “I have no need of any medicine.”
“I want the apothecary to see to the blow to your head. Brinna told me that you could not even recall our son.”
“It was…” Laurel’s mind raced. “It was a momentary lapse. Nothing more. I’m a little confused. But I certainly don’t need anyone examining my head.”
“Then you’ll submit to it for my sake.” He gathered her close and pressed his mouth to a tangle of hair at her temple. “I cannot bear the thought that you’ve been harmed by those barbarians, my love.”
She tried to ignore the sizzle of heat that curled along her spine, but it was impossible. Though she had no right to his affection, she was being drawn ever closer to the heat of his passion. Sooner or later she was bound to become incinerated.
What a way to die.
She felt the bubble of laughter rising up to her throat as she wrapped her arms around his waist and decided to stop fighting it and just give herself up to the pleasure. Pushing aside the nagging little guilt that tugged at the edge of her conscience, she lifted her face for his kiss.
“Did I call you a she-bear?” He brushed her lips with his. “I should have said vixen.”
She was about to make a teasing reply when she felt his quick intake of breath a moment before he crushed her to him and kissed her with such intensity, she had no choice but to give herself up to it.
And then she was lost.
Lost in a haze of sensations unlike anything she’d ever before experienced. How could one man’s lips bring so much pleasure? At once sensual and worshipful. As though she were the most alluring goddess ever created. Whispering over her face, her neck, her throat. Promising a banquet of delights. And his hands. Those big, warrior’s hands that could wield a sword with such power now moved over her as softly, as gently, as though she were fragile glass. His fingers sought out each line and curve of her body with the absolute certainty that every part of her belonged to him.
They were so lost in each other it took them a moment to realize that the door to their chambers had opened.
Two heads came up sharply. Two chests rose and fell as they struggled for each ragged breath.
Duncan stood in the doorway, looking completely unapologetic about having violated the laird and his lady’s intimacy.
“M’laird.” He gave a quick bow of his head, though his gaze remained on Laurel. “Yer presence is requested in the great hall.”
“Nay, my friend. Tell Cook that Laurel and I will sup alone in our chambers. I’ve yet to welcome my wife properly.” Con kept his arms around Laurel, holding her when she attempted to draw away.
Seeing that he was being dismissed, the handsome young warrior cleared his throat. “The staff and villagers have planned a banquet to celebrate the lady’s return.”
Though Con said not a word, Laurel could hear the growl of frustration in his words. “Is there no way to stop this?”
Duncan gave a shake of his head. “The hall is already filled with villagers, ready to feast. ’Twould be an insult to send them home now.”
“Aye.” Reluctantly, Con released Laurel and gave a wry smile. “Come, my love.” He caught her hand and led her out the door and along yet another hallway. As they walked, he leaned close to whisper, “I dare not curse the Fates that are keeping us apart, since those same Fates brought you safely home, wife. Besides, sooner or later, the others will need their beds. And when they do, I’ll show you all the love I’ve been storing up just for you.”
Laurel found herself shivering, and wondered whether it was caused by fear or anticipation.
When they reached the great hall, they were joined by a beaming Donovan, who emulated his father and offered his arm to his mother.
“The apothecary is here, Father.”
“For now, he’ll join in the celebration, and see to his work another time.”
Con’s words had Laurel relaxing. She’d been given a reprieve.
As she stepped through the doorway of the great hall, Laurel realized with a start that she hadn’t been at all prepared for the pageantry of the occasion. A bonfire of burning logs blazed on a hearth at either end of the room, casting a fiery glow over all. The room was filled to overflowing with men and women seated at long tables, while serving wenches scurried about filling goblets. There were shouts and bursts of raucous laughter that erupted around the hall. But when Laurel was spotted standing between her husband and son, the voices became a roar like thunder that threatened to shake the very timbers soaring high above.
“Welcome, m’lady.”
“Here she is now. Welcome home, Lady Laurel.”
“To our lady.”
Goblets were lifted. Men raised their swords in a salute, while many of the women wiped away tears of joy as she moved slowly through the crowd.
Against her ear, Con whispered, “See how they love you?”
Laurel ignored the rush of heat as his breath fluttered the hair at her temple. “From the sound of them, I’d say the ale has been flowing freely for some time.”
He chuckled. “And why not? They’ve fretted and suffered right along with their laird. Now is the time to celebrate our good fortune.”
A little girl rushed forward and thrust a bouquet of wildflowers into Laurel’s hands. Touched, she knelt and drew the child close while pressing a kiss to her cheek.
When she straightened, she saw the girl’s parents openly weeping.
What had Con’s wife done to make these people love her so? Laurel thought about Brinna’s words. It would seem that, despite living an ordinary life, visiting neighbors on market day, knitting a little coat and bonnet for a new baby, the lady Laurel had found a way to endear herself to the villagers.
Was there a lesson here? Had she ever really cared about the needs of her friends, or had she squandered all her energy on the pursuit of her career? Did she have anyone in her life willing to abandon everything to search for her? Would her friends openly weep if she were to return after a mysterious absence?
There was no time to ponder such things. Con and Donovan led her through the throngs to a table set on a raised wooden dais, so that it could be seen by all in the room. They climbed the steps and Con held her chair, then took his place at the head of the table, with Laurel to his right and Donovan to his left.
He signaled for Fergus and Dulcie to join them. Looking pleased, they left their table and climbed the steps before taking their places beside Laurel. The warrior Duncan
was likewise summoned, and he and a tall, thin woman approached. While the woman bowed slightly, Duncan introduced her to Laurel as his betrothed, Mary. Before Laurel could offer a word of greeting, Mary reached out and caught both her hands, lifting them to her lips.
“Praise heaven that you’ve returned to us safely, m’lady. I felt as if I’d lost my own dear sister. And now you’re back, and we have reason to smile again.”
“Thank you, Mary.” Overcome, Laurel had to swallow the lump that threatened to choke her.
Beside her, Fergus studied her with a keen eye. “You look pale, my lady. Are you not yet recovered?”
“Perhaps just a bit overwhelmed.” She lifted a goblet to her mouth and drank, hoping the ale would settle her nerves.
With Con on her left and his half brother on her right, Laurel was able to observe them in close proximity for the first time. While servants moved slowly about the room, offering trays of plump partridge, thick slices of mutton, and bright red salmon, freshly caught in the nearby river, the two men spoke in solemn, hushed tones.
Fergus looked past her to his brother. “The barbarian died without another word.”
Con nodded. “I expected as much. If he knew more, he’d have spoken of it rather than lose his life.”
“I wasn’t quite finished with him, but Duncan had had enough, and ended his life before I could ask more.” Fergus studied his half brother. “Will you lead an army to find the invaders?”
Con stared out over the crowd. “I haven’t the heart to ask these men to leave their families once more, when they’ve only now returned.”
Fergus frowned. “Could it be that you’re not willing to leave your own family, now that what was lost has been returned to you?”
Laurel turned to glance at Con’s face, but instead of taking offense at the taunt, he merely smiled and touched a hand to Laurel’s cheek. “Would you be willing to leave such as this, brother?”