by Amanda Scott
The older woman stared at Beth as if she could not believe her eyes.
“How did you know we’d come here, Fin?” Patrick asked as he slid down from the saddle to shake hands with the man and to hug the younger woman.
“We just knew,” she said, hugging him back and grinning. The grin faded as she stepped back, looked up at Beth, and said, “You must be my little sister.”
Tears welled in Beth’s eyes, and an ache of longing filled her. “Am I truly? Are you sure?”
“Oh, my dear, there can be no doubt now!” the older woman exclaimed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Lift her down, Patrick. I want to hold my daughter!”
Beth gasped in astonishment. “Mother?”
Still tearful, the woman nodded. “Yes, my darling, and that is your sister, Molly, and her husband, the Laird of Kintail.”
As Patrick lifted Beth down, he held her close for a moment, murmuring, “You have a family now, my love. I hope you like them.”
“I will,” she said, savoring the endearment as she turned to her mother and said, “I never expected you to be so beautiful.”
Laughing and crying at the same time, they threw their arms around each other and hugged as if they would never let go.
A good deal of time passed before anyone mentioned the treasure.
They had finished eating a tasty supper in the splendid great hall, during which Beth had listened happily to her mother and sister chat about the family she had not known she had, and gazed about at the hall’s magnificent furnishings.
Patrick gently touched her arm. “I nearly forgot,” he said, reaching into his doublet as she turned to him, and withdrawing the chain with the gold leaf pendant that she had worn to the ball. “I brought this along for you, although I left the pomander and your belt at Stirling with the other trinkets.”
“You need not have brought it,” she said. “I am sure it is mere trumpery, because the jewels in my shoes proved to be only colored glass, you know.”
“Don’t be too certain of that,” Molly said, glancing at Fin as Patrick fastened the chain around Beth’s neck. “We should show her the chest, should we not?”
Fin nodded and said to Patrick, “You should come, too. If you are not meant to be there, I warrant we’ll soon know as much.”
Bewildered by their comments, Beth saw that Patrick was, too.
“Don’t think you are going without me,” Nell said firmly.
“Come along, then,” Molly said as she and Beth followed the men. “As Fin told Patrick, if you are not wanted, we’ll know.”
Beth gave up trying to understand them, but when Patrick smiled at her, she relaxed. He trusted them, so she would, too. He took her hand, and they followed the others down a corridor with splendid carpets, and colorful arrases on the walls.
At the end, Fin grabbed hold of what looked like a stone slab and pulled, and to Beth’s amazement, the whole thing opened like a door, revealing a dark tunnel beyond. When they entered, the stone slab swung shut behind them.
For a moment, she was frightened and clutched Patrick’s hand tightly. Then, astonishingly, a silver glow lit the way ahead just as it had in her dreams. Involuntarily, she clutched the gold leaf and went on with the others.
As they rounded a curve, she saw the chest ahead, sitting just as it had in her dream. A sense of dread touched her just then, and a man leaped out of the shadows near the chest, a drawn sword gleaming threateningly before him.
Shrieking, “No, Angus, no!” Nell crumpled to the floor.
“Step forward, lass,” the man growled, looking at Beth. “I ha’ waited long for this. Open yon box and hand me all that lies inside. Then I’ll leave ye in peace.”
Patrick and Fin were unarmed, and when Fin, who was in the lead, leaped toward the intruder, a swift thrust of the sword felled him. Molly screamed, but with his free arm, the man knocked her hard into the wall, and she, too, collapsed.
Patrick stepped protectively in front of Beth, but the villain leaped toward him, sword slashing, and the unarmed Patrick was no match for him. As he fell, an eldritch screech echoed through the tunnel, and the villain stopped in his tracks.
Briefly, Beth thought she was hearing her own screams, but when the man whirled, a huge black bear loomed over him out of the shadows. The man raised his sword, but the bear knocked it aside as it charged. To Beth’s astonishment, the man vanished and Thunder appeared in his place, barking and growling. When the bear paused, the dog leaped for its throat, but the bear stepped aside and Thunder ran into the wall. The dog shook its head and glanced at Beth.
Music suddenly filled the tunnel—eerie, haunting, and magically beautiful. Despite her terror and every horrible thing that had happened, it made her smile, and her feet twitched as if at any moment she would begin to dance.
“Plague take ye, ye peevish, white-livered, hag-born runagate! Ye might as well show yourself properly now. Ye’ve won the day.” Astonishingly, the bear spoke but with Maggie Malloch’s voice, and as it did, the huge dog seemed to grin and stood upright.
Its shape shifted and changed before Beth’s eyes. To her shock, in place of the huge gray deerhound stood a man with bristling green hair, a fiddle in his right hand and a bow in his left. The pupils of his eyes whirled in red and green spirals, and Beth counted six fingers on each of his hands.
She could not move or think straight. Tears streamed down her face, and her throat ached as she realized she had survived the cardinal’s witch burning and found her family only to lose everything. And here Maggie Malloch was playing tricks with a dog and a bear. To be sure, the dog—or the man that had taken its place—was grinning, and Maggie was angry, but—
“Tom Tit Tot,” Maggie exclaimed. “I hoped I’d never see your rascally face again, yet here ye be, making your mischief and ruining everything.”
“Ye might show yourself properly, too, lass,” the odd-looking man said. “I ha’ missed ye summat fierce.”
“Mam,” a new voice said, “he has six fingers on each hand!”
“Silence, you!” shrieked the man, whipping fiddle and bow behind him.
“Aye, so he does,” Maggie said in a deceptively even tone. “I suspected as much when I realized some’un had cast a spell tae encourage me tae overstep the mark, helping the lass. There be few powerful enough tae do that, but this villain ha’ done it twice now. I didna count his fingers afore now, though.”
“I ken his true name!” the new voice exclaimed triumphantly.
“Say it out loud, Claud, quick!”
“Jonah Bonewits be your name, ye bastard!”
“He canna shift now ye’ve solved his riddle,” Maggie exclaimed.
The green-haired man shrieked, and his shape and coloring changed again, his hair standing out like rays of the sun and turning from green to red with fair tips. His face narrowed, and Beth saw that his cheeks bore multicolored streaks, but his eyes had lost their whirling colors and glittered darkly now with fury. Raising both hands high, he bellowed, “Show yourself properly, ye vixen queen o’ curds!”
“Afore I do,” Maggie said tautly, “ye should ken that the lass has seen everything ye’ve done here today.”
Hands still raised, the man froze in place, clearly horrified.
The bear vanished then, and Maggie appeared in its place. Facing the odd man with her hands on her plump hips, she said calmly, “Ye’ll do nowt tae harm her, Jonah Bonewits, for although ye hid her from us, ye ha’ protected her, and having protected her, ye canna harm her now.”
“I do serve Angus,” he said.
“Ye serve nae one but yourself,” Maggie said scornfully. “Ye’ll no force my Claud tae marry your Lucy, neither—and he is my Claud, ye hollow-eyed wretch. Ye’re tae leave him be.”
“Aye, well, Lucy Fittletrot isna my Lucy,” the man said. “She were just helping me wi’ a bit o’ mischief.”
“I’ll be taking this up wi’ the Circle,” Maggie said grimly.
“Ye do that, lass,” the
man said, eyes narrowing again. “If ye want tae pit your powers against mine again, ye just do that.” With that, he vanished.
Maggie turned to Beth. “Ye’ll be safe now, lass. Nae one will harm ye.”
“But what of the others?” Beth asked, her voice choked with her tears.
“They be only sleeping,” Maggie said. “I stopped the blood where it flowed, and the women are no hurt at all. Ye’ll see when they waken.”
Rushing to kneel beside Patrick, Beth saw that Maggie was right. He breathed normally, and she could find no sign of blood despite having seen the man stab him with the sword.
“Thunder and the man with the sword were the same person, and you were the bear!” she exclaimed. “The others will never believe it. I can scarcely believe it, myself, though I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Ye’ll no be telling them,” Maggie said. “Until they stand they’ll no waken entirely, and when they do, they’ll remember only that ye were about tae open yon chest wi’ your key. ’Tis your fortune inside, and none but ye can open it. They’ll see nowt amiss, I promise ye, and your own memory o’ this will fade at once.”
As she spoke, her voice faded, and Patrick stirred.
Beth’s attention instantly shifted to him. “Oh, my love,” she murmured, helping him up, “hold me tight.”
He obeyed as the others stood, and Kintail said, “Have you your key, Beth?”
Without thinking, she put her hand to the chain and found that her gold leaf had turned into a golden key. A moment later, the chest was open, and even in the dim light of the tunnel, the magnificent jewelry inside glittered brightly.
Chapter 25
The woods near Dunsithe
The woodland was eerily dark and silent. No breeze stirred, no leaf twitched. It was as if the wee folk had cast a spell over every creature, so quiet that walking beneath the trees, Patrick could hear only his footsteps crunching through dead leaves, and when he paused, he could hear himself breathing. Drawing his cloak around him, he stood until he heard rustling in the shrubbery and the distant cry of a night bird, enough to reassure him that no mischief was afoot.
But where was Beth? She had gone upstairs to get ready for bed soon after they returned to the great hall after finding her inheritance, but when he had gone up a bit later, she was not in their room. He had searched briefly before a hunch stirred, suggesting that she had somehow slipped out and gone into the woods.
As he remembered that disconcerting thought, he saw a silvery glow ahead, and soon came upon a glade where the moon cast silvery light on the familiar figure standing quite still on the grass in the center.
Barefoot, clad only in a white, clinging nightdress, she stood with her face tilted toward the heavens, her lovely, slender profile etched against the dark woodland beyond. Even her hair looked white as it spilled down her back in a silken sheet. Her eyes were closed, their long, thick lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. The sight reminded him briefly of the day he had seen her step out of the cave, and he wondered what she was thinking.
The air was cool and a little damp amidst the lush greenery of the woods. He inhaled deeply, wanting to go to her, to take her in his arms and hold her close.
At the thought, he could almost feel her so, could easily imagine her soft flesh pressing against his. Aware of the warm cloak he wore, he wondered if she noticed the chill, or if she had lost herself in her thoughts, as she had once told him she had done since childhood whenever she wanted to escape an unhappy moment in favor of a happier one.
Was she unhappy now? She had been through a great deal, for her world had turned upside down during the past sennight. What normal person would not be bewildered? He yearned to help, but even so, he hesitated to interrupt her now.
Instead, he watched, and as he did, he sighed with the pleasure he derived simply by being near her. Had anyone told him that such a feeling could come from nothing more than the awareness of a woman’s presence, he would have laughed as he had laughed at so many things in his life. For years, he had cast off the notion of letting life surprise him. Even before his father’s death, experience had taught him that life was brief and unpredictable, and he had resolved after his mother’s death never to let life’s unpredictability disturb him so terribly again. But he knew now that he had misled himself and underestimated the power of love. He knew now that he would have sacrificed his life and all he held dear to save Beth. He knew, too, that he would never see the world in the same light again now that she was his.
She opened her eyes, and his body stirred when she inhaled and her soft breasts rose beneath the thin gown she wore. He held his breath, wondering if she sensed his presence. She stood still, though, a young Diana, worshipping the moon.
Then, as it occurred to him that he might startle the liver and lights out of her if he moved now or called to her, she said softly but nonetheless clearly, “I suppose you have come to take me back.”
For a moment, he was uncertain that she had spoken to him, because she still gazed at the moon, but then she turned her head and smiled at him.
“How did you know I was here?” he asked.
“You may think you move through the woods with stealth, sir, but in this stillness, you sounded like an army on the march. How did you find me?”
“You were not in our chamber, so I came out here.”
“But why here, to this place? These woods are vast, and I might have gone elsewhere, might I not?”
He did not remember moving toward her, but he stood facing her now. Quietly, savoring the sweetness of being with her, of feeling his body stir in response to her, he said, “It felt as if I should come this way, and so I did.”
She nodded. “I knew you would. Do you suppose the wee folk are managing things for us again?”
“I doubt it,” he said, smiling and reaching out to shift an errant strand of her silky hair back over her shoulder. “I choose to believe that I knew where you were because I love you and could sense your presence. And you knew I was coming, not because I was as loud as an army on the march, but because you are attuned to my senses in the same way and for the same reason that I am attuned to yours.”
She smiled. “Truly, Patrick?”
“Truly, mo chridhe,” he said, putting both hands on her shoulders and bending to kiss her.
She met him halfway, stretching upward, leaning into him, and letting her body press against his, just as he had imagined feeling it only moments before. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the familiar flowery fragrance of her hair and moving his hands from her shoulders, down her arms, and around her, holding her close. Her lips felt soft and yielding beneath his, her body pliable and warm.
His body stirred again, and he yearned to possess her.
Slipping off his cloak, he spread it on the ground, then lifted her and knelt to lay her down upon it. She gazed serenely up into his eyes, making no protest.
“I want you,” he murmured.
“Now, Patrick? Here?”
“Aye, lass, now and at once.”
“But what if someone comes?”
“I’ll shoot them,” he said matter-of-factly, unbuckling his belt and setting pistol and sword aside.
Beth started to chuckle, but his hand moved to her breast, and the chuckle turned into a gasp of pleasure. “Oh, Patrick.”
“Damnation,” he murmured.
“What?”
“This blasted gown of yours fastens in the back.”
“You’ll think of something,” she said with a teasing smile.
Lying on one side, he gathered her close and kissed her neck, sending feathery ripples of pleasure through her. Then his lips found hers, crushing them, and his passion warmed her, making her tremble as her body leaped to his touch.
She could no longer keep both hands still, and her right one slipped beneath his doublet, pulling his shirt free of his breeks and then moving to explore the tight bare skin beneath it, caressing the hard lines of his ribs and the muscular planes of his flat stom
ach.
Elbow crooked now, he rested his head on his left hand, but his right one stayed busy, caressing her breasts, kneading them, and teasing her nipples through the thin fabric of her gown. He paused, smiling and gazing deeply into her eyes.
She reached up and stroked his cheek. Then, with one finger, she traced a line up to the corner of his eye, moving her fingertip gently across his eyelid so that he shut his eyes, and then stroking along the line of his eyebrow, back down to his cheek again. She touched his lips with two fingers, lightly, teasingly.
Patrick groaned. Never had he felt such sensations. Flames roared through his body, flames that she had stirred to life with no more than the touch of her fingertip. It was no wonder Davy Beaton and the others had believed her to be a witch. She certainly had bewitched him. And if God willed it, she would continue to do so for as long as they both lived.
Her fingers still teased his lips, and impulsively, he caught one of them and sucked on it, savoring the taste of her skin.
She smiled, and yearning swept through him. He wanted her with a passion that he had never felt for anyone before. Holding her, he rolled to his back, pulling her atop him and reaching for nightdress ties. They succumbed swiftly to his eager fingers, and in moments, he stripped the gown from her body and flung it aside. As his hands caressed her naked back, the fact that she had worn so little both delighted and angered him in a mixture of overwhelming emotion.
“You should not have come out so scantily clad, lass. Don’t do it again.”
“Or?” Her voice sounded lazy, teasing.
He rolled again, this time pinning her beneath him and looking down into her eyes. Sternly he said, “Or I’ll smack that pretty backside of yours until you learn to take more care. What if you had come upon an enemy out here, with you barefoot and wearing only that thin gown?”
“No one is here but you,” she murmured, “and you still have your clothes on.” Now both of her hands were under his shirt, feeling cool on his skin but stirring heat through his body. “Take off your clothes, Patrick,” she added, still in that teasing murmur. “I would see you naked in the moonlight, my love. Or would you have me act as your handmaiden?”