by Ria Cantrell
Now, he just had to find out who the woman was, if she truly existed. The story seemed so outlandish, that he had a hard time believing it. Only, all the men told the same tale and none had waivered from it, even when he had made them suffer painful measures to get the truth. If there was a woman who was caught in the mix, she would be the perfect bait to draw out the MacCollum dogs. He would have to choose his spy wisely in order to glean the information he needed to find about the girl. He knew just such a man but it was dangerous. His ties to the MacCollum were tenuous, it was true, but he was still one of them and Dubh’s plans could backfire in an instant.
Hugh MacCollum was a man who had broken ties with the clan some years ago. He had caused some sort of dishonor to the “hallowed” MacCollum name and had left to join a band of mercenaries only to end up on Dubh’s doorstep some months ago. He had suffered a wound to his leg and nearly had lost it as an aftermath. Dubh’s healer had saved the leg, but not without a price. Hugh MacCollum could only walk with the aid of staff and even then, he would sometimes find himself sprawled in the dirt without warning. Hugh owed Dubh a debt, though, for when he was finished as a soldier and could no longer fight because of his dead leg, Dubh allowed him to stay on; giving him a place in the stables, mucking out the stalls.
It mattered not if Hugh fell on his face in a place where horses shat. Perhaps, it would now be time for the prodigal MacCollum to return home to beg for “forgiveness”. Dubh was sure that anything would be better than shoveling of dung for one’s existence and if he offered Hugh a deal, Dubh knew it would be taken. The problem with men who were paid soldiers was there was no allegiance to any one cause. Mercenaries were known to be swayed where they could earn the highest amounts of gold. The Black MacKenzie trusted Hugh MacCollum about as much as he trusted the bloody English, but he was a man who knew not to thwart an opportunity if it meant his ultimate survival.
He would speak to Hugh MacCollum and offer him a hefty pocket of coin for his infiltration back into the clan. The timing was perfect because the Laird was known for his compassion. What better day to send Hugh packing than during the aftermath of so strong a storm? Why, the softness of Caleb MacCollum’s heart would be sorely tested to put one of his kin out in the cold; even one who had fallen from grace. Ah, Dubh could taste the victory and even more, he could nearly savor the demise of his most hated enemies. He thanked his luck for sending the broken Hugh to his door months ago. At the time, it seemed like a useless thing to quarter the likes of Hugh MacCollum, but now, Dubh believed that it would now suit his purpose just perfectly. If he had been a man who gave merit to things like the divine, Dubh would have sent prayers of thanks to the God who had provided the means to the end. Dubh was no such man.
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Sinead had been giving a great deal of thought to the women who had embraced her since her arrival back in the fourteenth century. Both; his sister and the old chatelaine, seemed to think that Jamie and she were somehow destined to be together. She would have been lying to herself if she continued to deny it. As unlikely as it seemed, for there really was no future for her with the man, Sinead was starting to mull the possibility of it. How else could she explain her presence here if it had not been for the plight of Jamie pulling her through that mystical portal of time?
Yes, he infuriated her a bit, but he intrigued her too. Yes, he was a pompous man with a medieval mindset and she was a modern, free-thinking woman. The two seemed irreconcilable at best, but something about the man drew her to him like a moth to a flame. She hadn’t felt such a level of attraction to a man in a very long time. Hell, she was quite certain that possibly she had never been so drawn to a man as she was to the likes of Jamie MacCollum. Maybe Morag was right. Maybe she needed to get under his skin. Sinead thought that perhaps the games that men and women played in her dating arena would not work the same way in this time and place. Sure, there was probably a level of the chase that was still the same, but Sinead rather believed that a man like Jamie would wish to have a more direct approach. Life was harder here, and there was not a lot of time for silly games. If truth was to be told and suddenly Sinead felt she was finally being honest with herself; she was not big on the whole cat and mouse thing with men that she met in New York City. Maybe that was why she liked Jamie so much. The mind games were non-existent. He said what he thought and there was no illusion that he meant something else.
Yes, he said kissing her was a mistake, but Morag seemed to think; and for that matter so did his sister, that he was pushing her away not because he did not want her, but because he, in some medieval way, was trying to protect her. She liked the idea of a man wanting to protect her because for all her modern sensibilities, hadn’t she always been a sucker for those old fashioned ideals? If she hadn’t been, she wouldn’t have wasted so many dollars pouring the bookstores to find the perfect romances to wile away the time. She practically devoured them and perhaps even deep down, she wanted to be with a man like so many of the authors created in their stories; men who would fight for honor; men who would do all in their power to protect their women.
Sinead sighed. She was in a right pickle. She prided herself on being strong. She took kickboxing and she ran daily to gain physical strength. She enjoyed being independent. Was she so foolish to think that all she had worked for to be who she was could so easily be changed because of a man like Jamie? Then there was that little nagging voice that kept reminding her that there was no future for her here. She was supposed to go home. She was supposed to have a life and a job that she loved. When she thought of her job, cataloguing antiquities and precious items from the past, it all seemed so surreal. She was in the past. It was alive and the people were real; not just some entries in a journal, lost in the annals of history. Jamie was a living, breathing man. So were Caleb and all his people. In only a few short days, Sinead had gotten to know Morag and Bronwyn and when she thought of not seeing either of them any longer, a deep sadness yawned within her. She did not even want to go there at the thought of never seeing Jamie again.
Maybe what Sinead needed to do was to not think in terms of having a future with Jamie. Maybe she just needed to be present in the here and now. If something developed with Jamie, well, she could decide if it was better to stay or to return to the life she knew before having dropped through the rabbit hole of time. She sure spent a lot of time thinking about Jamie since meeting him merely days ago. It almost seemed like a lifetime and that she had been there longer than the few hours that marked day and night. It seemed that many waking moments were filled with thoughts of Jamie. So this is what obsession feels like.
Sinead had a feeling, though, that the women who had befriended her were not just telling her what they thought she wanted to hear. Rather, they were telling her the truth about Jamie. Sinead had to confess that he was a delicious piece of hunkdom. She hadn’t been with a man for quite a while and if she allowed herself the pleasure of indulging in a fantasy, she would also have to admit that she could blissfully fall into bed with him. She wondered if that thought was too dangerous to pursue. Being with a man like Jamie could seriously make it hard for Sinead to be with someone else, once she returned to her normal life. Somehow, no matter what Sinead decided to do, she was certain of one thing. One way or the other, life would never be normal again!
Chapter 25
By the time Hugh MacCollum approached the gates of the keep he hadn’t seen in years, he was nearly frozen to the bone. The only thing that kept him going was the jangle of coins that lined his pouch to remind him of his purpose and the promise of more to come once he returned with the information Dubh had needed. To say he had no great love for the kin that had spurned him so long ago would have been an understatement, but pride was a funny thing. Like anything else, Hugh had learned that it too could be bartered if the price was right.
As the edifice of MacCollum loomed through the mist, Hugh felt his heart rate quicken. There was a good chance that they would toss him out to freeze to deat
h upon his entry. If that happened, he would surely find a place to wait out the winter and he would take his new found gold far from the harsh highlands that he once called home. He clearly would not go back to the Black MacKenzie, should he fail. When he was an able fighter, the likes of Dubh MacKenzie would not have worried him at all, but what, with his leg all but dead at times, Hugh knew that he would be no match for the MacKenzie and he would certainly die. Death by freezing was preferable to the thought of the sadistic demise he would absolutely meet at the hands of Dubh MacKenzie.
Hugh had met men like him before. Some of them were ruled by madness but not Dubh. He was as clear thinking as the MacCollum laird was but there was a great difference in both men. Dubh’s black heart had garnered him the name Black MacKenzie and for good reason. He was a man without conscience and it almost seemed that he also lacked any semblance of a soul. He had been hardened with hatred and he carried it like a mantle. It fueled the cruelty that had overtaken Dubh long ago. Hugh had kept his head down and swallowed what had been left of his pride when he went to work mucking out the stables. Dubh had basically left him alone and Hugh had grown complacent in the simplicity of stable life. He should have known that Dubh did nothing out of charity and that he was only waiting for the prime opportunity to use Hugh’s ties to MacCollum to his own advantage.
As the almost hidden view of the keep rose out of the rock like a specter through the thickening frosted fog, Hugh felt the old resentments well inside him like that of a new found spring. Aye, he had made the choices that had set his course for his life, but it still ached raw within him at the memory of it. He had been a young man when last he had entered these walls. Donal was laird at the time but Caleb was in line as Donal’s health was rapidly on the decline. Caleb was nearly the same age as Hugh and he uttered not a word for Hugh’s behalf. Hell, no one did. His crime had brought dishonor to the clan.
He had been tossed out for his abuse of the drink and for his abuse of his woman. Donal could not abide that. Couple those with the things that had made their way into Hugh’s possession and he had been ousted like the offal refuse carted away to the dung heaps. Hugh lost his lust for the drink for a time, when he was fighting men for money. Mercenary life suited him and he gave little thought to the clan whose name he bore. Aye, MacCollum in name only, he would say. Ach, but he was an old man now; old and crippled. He had taken back his love of drinking to an extent, but stayed sober enough to work amid the beasts of the stalls. He had been given little choice and taking to the streets was not an option. Even a man whose pride could be bartered with gold and silver could not bring himself to sitting with his hand out like a common beggar.
As his tired nag came closer to MacCollum Keep, Hugh sat up straighter. Aye, he was supposed to look like a downtrodden refugee, but he still had some pride left that had not been bartered away. He was the prodigal son, so to speak, returning home. Now, he would see if what he had heard about Caleb MacCollum was true. It seemed his distant cousin had made quite a name for himself as a leader of the clan. He was known to be strong but fair and some had dared to even say, he was soft hearted at times. Though if he was anything like his father Donal, Hugh was certain soft hearted was the wrong term to describe Caleb. Like their father, Hugh had also heard that Caleb’s sons were forces to be reckoned with; especially that wild one known as the Highland Wolf. There was a daughter, too and Hugh wondered if she was the one who had been out with her brothers when the MacKenzie had thought to ambush the men. That would make much more sense than the mad tale of some woman magically appearing in the swirling snows. More than likely she was with her brothers all along and the daft MacKenzie men had become snow blind.
Hugh MacCollum did not give much merit to things that could not be explained and he certainly did not believe in such matters like magical banshees and ghosties. He spat beside his mount at the thought and trudged closer to the bridge leading to the mountain façade which masked the great MacCollum Keep. From the outside, it looked like the granite cliffs but Hugh knew better. It was created to appear as if it was carved out of the stone and once he crossed the bridge, through the small village, the full power of the place was revealed.
As he trudged across the bridge through the once familiar lands of his home, Hugh noticed not many people were milling about. It was bitterly cold and he supposed most of the villagers were busy keeping the hearth burning. Only a handful of men worked at a task here or there and they gave Hugh the briefest of nods. He had been away a long time. He did not recognize anyone and Hugh supposed that no one knew who he was. That was a good thing. The less people who knew him, the least chance of being detained before he actually had to face Caleb MacCollum.
The drawbridge was already lowered and there were some people about clearing it of the ice and snow that had accumulated on it. Trying to shake the cold off of himself, for even the nag was shivering badly, Hugh pushed forward. As he clattered toward the end of the span, two armed men halted Hugh, with spears crossed before him.
“What business do ye’ seek here at MacCollum, traveler?”
“I am kin to the great laird, sir. I seek refuge within as I am cold and tired.”
“What name shall we pass to the Laird, then?”
“Tell him t’is his cousin Hugh. I have returned after many years away.”
The two guards eyed one another but neither said a word. Hugh got the uneasy feeling that he was already found out and would not be granted entry after all. One of the guards gave a silent incline of his head toward a man shoveling snow from the planks of thick wood. In an unspoken dialogue, the man laid down his tool and walked beyond the guards standing before Hugh. The guards were on high alert after the attempt on the laird’s sons but because of the storm, the bridge had to be maintained and cleared. Still, men lined the battlements guarding the entry and Hugh was not foolish enough to think that a bowman was not aiming a shaft at his heart at that very moment. So he waited and tried not to shiver too much, for sitting so long on his mount had allowed the cold to settle into his bones. His old injury in his leg pained him sorely, as well, but he gritted his teeth through the agony of it and hoped he seemed innocent enough within the guise of his age and infirmity. He expected a man would either come out granting him entry or one would tell the guards to bar him from MacCollum, as Donal had done all those years ago.
Instead, moments after the man had gone within the keep, none other than the laird himself came out and relieved the guards of their charge. Though they were close in age, Caleb MacCollum was the picture of health. His hair was laden with silver, but he was stalwart and hearty. In quiet contrast, Hugh was much less hale. He had grown thin and stooped from his use of the staff to walk. His own hair, what was left of it, hung in thin white strands. His skin had taken on the pallor of one who had battled illness that came from too much drinking. Despite trying to sit taller, Hugh knew that he looked every bit the beggar he had hoped he would not become.
Hugh could feel the scrutiny of the laird as his eyes seemed to bore into him. Neither a smile or a scowl was upon his lips, but Hugh knew not to underestimate Caleb. He mustered a smidgeon of pride and lifted his weak chin slightly in defiance of Caleb’s silent examination. Hugh could not judge how long the two men eyed each other for it seemed like an interminable length of time. Finally, Caleb said, “Hugh MacCollum. T’is ne’er a thought that I’d see the likes of ye’ back on Highland soil.”
“That is true, cousin, but in my time of need I had nowhere else to go.”
“Time of need is it? How did ye’ find yerself needin’ to be back here at MacCollum?”
“I am ill. I truly have nothing left. I canna’ fight any longer and no army will have me now. I dunna’ expect ye’ to grant me quarter, but only if ye’ could offer me some food and a place to lay my head. I have taken to the stables and dunna’ mind lodgin’ there.” Hugh had to at least appear that he had humbled himself enough to return. Hell, just him being back to grovel for a place that should be rightfu
lly his made him sick to his stomach. He jangled the coins softly in his pouch that lay heavily upon his nearly frozen thigh. It reminded him of the reward at the end of it all if he succeeded in aiding the Black MacKenzie. With a final pathetic plea, Hugh mustered his greatest show of acting and he said, “Will ye’ nay show me some kindness, Caleb? I am kin after all. Will ye’ nay grant me what ye’ would to anyone seeking refuge in yer’ home? Even that of a stranger?”
Caleb mulled Hugh MacCollum’s words. It was true. Hadn’t they harbored strangers seeking respite on many occasion? Caleb had often opened his home to those who needed some place to rest out of the cold. His own people knew him to be a man of compassion and often would come to the keep when their own homes were too cold to sustain them for the night or for that matter, the winter. Why, even now, there was a stranger being housed within who was given the proper treatment of a guest in his home. Could he do no less for one of MacCollum’s own? True, that Hugh had made his lot in life and he had sought choices that had led him astray, but that was a long time ago. The man looked to be ailing and unhealthy. The cold was bone numbing and so Caleb said, “Alright, Hugh. Ye’ may stay, but mark me. Should ye’ do anything that I or any of my clan find dishonorable, ye’ will find yerself out on the cold road again. Guards, allow him to pass.”
Hugh hid the smile that wished to form on his lips. That battle had been easily won. Now he just needed his luck to hold long enough to get the information Dubh MacKenzie had paid him for. He wondered how a man like Caleb had succeeded in leading the clan. He almost thought the man had grown soft in the years since he had last seen him. Still, it mattered not to Hugh. He was in, and that was the first step to procuring more of the gold that the Black MacKenzie had promised him upon his return.