Forty-five seconds. It would take forty-five seconds to kill Doric and get out of the veil. Beth would have to take those boots off and run. How long afterwards would it take to explain why to Beth? She had no doubt her daughter would not take killing in stride, and when Ted asked Beth what was wrong—what would her daughter have to tell him? Carole’s heart sank, aching. Escape could cost her both Beth and Ted, but there was no choice. The thought shot sharp pains through her heart.
Doric stopped walking and turned around. To Carole’s dismay Beth jogged ahead, managing quite well in her heels, and adding precious seconds to their escape time. The wide warrior walked back to Carole.
“Dinna worrit, Shieldmaiten. Yer dah’ter not fer meh, she’s fer Berwick—clan leh’er. Weh be need’n han arc. Quite ah honor fer yer dah’ter, mate ‘o clan leh’er an—”
In the distance, Beth skipped up the steps of a shack and went inside. Carole moved lightning fast. If Doric saw her foot coming, he didn’t respond quickly enough. With a kick to his throat, Carole interrupted Doric’s speech about the honor it would be for Beth to become the mate of his clan leader. The squat warrior thudded backwards and fell. Darting forward, Carole kicked him in the head with her thick treaded boot. Kneeling, she lifted his head to break his thick neck. Oddly the voices didn’t object, but something inside her quailed. Inside her head Rutak Tural’s voice whispered over the years, droplets in the ocean. He’d called their kind droplets in the ocean. Dropping Doric’s greasy head onto the mucky ground, she stood looking down at him, wiping her hands on her pants, unable to kill him. She settled on kicking him in the side of his head, hard. Doric’s head jerked roughly to the side and back, his comb-over flipped out of place again. Carole fished his car keys out of his suit jacket, ignoring the blood trickling out of his ear. The injuries probably wouldn’t kill him, if warriors from his clan found him soon—and could heal like Rutak Tural had once done for her. Deep down Carole didn’t really care.
CROSSING THE WOODEN floor, Beth paused and looked down. Thick plank flooring muffled her footsteps oddly. Such quality construction struck her as unusual, especially for a shack in the middle of nowhere. Her eyes slid over an ugly mannequin, then to bolts of tartan. Plaids in lovely, muted shades were stacked against all four walls, floor to low ceiling. Piles of the fabric sat on tables and long bolts leaned against shuttered windows. Grey daylight came in through the lone open window, highlighting a length of red and blue plaid partially unfurled on a table. Beth hurried over, brushing a hand over it, and groaning with pleasure. The bolt was wider than any she’d seen, the wool finer, flawless, yet she’d swear it had been hand-loomed. It took effort to upend the bolt, the weight and length making it cumbersome.
“It would need to be cut smaller to sell to the public. What a shame!” Beth unraveled a length and rubbed it against her cheek, closing her eyes. “Oh! So soft! I’d adore a bedspread made of this!”
“I’d ha’dore seeing ter tha.”
Beth spun around, instinctively shoving the fabric to the floor creating a lame barrier between her and the voice, and inwardly wincing at the desecration. The ugly mannequin stepped into the light, revealing a fully kilted Scotsman. His elaborate red kilt matched the fabric barrier rolling over the tips of his boots. Grizzled ginger hair reached to his half naked shoulders, and long patches of hair dotted his jawline. Pale eyes slid admiringly over her, and Beth looked away from them. Ample sprouts of orange hair protruded from beneath the man’s armpits, and she glanced at his sporran only to notice long patches of hair on his belly. Mercifully her eyes returned to his.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t, er, realize you weren’t a—were—real.” She cleared her throat, choking back the words creepy mannequin. “Doric brought me. My name’s Beth White and I’d be interested in purchasing quite a bit of this material.” She gestured to the floor. “I’m going to be opening a shop, possibly nearby.”
The man laughed, slapping meaty hands against his thighs. For the first time Beth noticed he had a sword strapped to his side. Something about it sent a shiver right up her back.
“Is there a highlander festival going on?”
The man’s head tilted to the side, reminding her of a curious orangutan she’d once encountered.
“Bit o’ a dialick barrier, Luv. Small mah’er, weal be speakin’ har ta har soon eh’nuf.”
“Pardon? You lost me after dialect barrier.”
The man stepped across the fabric, his boots leaving mucky prints. Beth couldn’t stop a sound of protest at the sight. He stopped a bit too close, not quite reaching her shoulders with the top of his head, and she instinctively leaned away.
“Nah worrit,” he said, grabbing her forearms harshly. “Meh name be Berwick, an ah give yeh mah declah-ration.”
“I don’t think so!” Beth said, yanking her arms free. “I don’t really care to know your name, if this is how you treat company.”
“Cuhmpny?” Berwick chuckled. “Luv! I mean ter make yeh mah wife!”
Immediately Beth put her hand over her mouth, a maneuver necessary to keep I’d rather lick your sword from coming truthfully out of it.
Berwick smiled, gesturing towards her with an open hand. “Over-wealmed yeh, ah understand.”
A giggle tried to escape her hand, and it became necessary to step on her own foot with the sharp heel of the other. Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, do not laugh. You want to buy the wool don’t you?
Berwick moved forward and reached a hand up to her forearm. Gently he ran a finger down it. “Ham sorrah ta ha’ bruised yeh.” Turning away, he bent and easily lifted the huge bolt of fabric from the floor. Brushing muck from it, he deftly tossed it up, unfurling a large length and draping it over the table. He ran his thick square hands over the material lovingly.
Beth dropped her hands and smiled faintly. She felt the same way about that cloth. It was beautiful.
“But ah, ‘spose ye’ll be gettin’ more’n ah few bruises t’day.” Berwick patted the fabric with both hands. “Hop on up, Luv. Bes’ be getting’ to it.”
Beth’s mouth dropped open. Berwick fiddled with a clasp at his waist and his sword crashed to the floor of the cabin, echoing through the heavy wood. Tugging at his kilt, half the fabric dropped off one beefy pink shoulder.
“Are you—” Beth said a word her mother would certainly not approve of, “kidding me? Drop. Dead! You disgusting—” Turning her back on him, Beth stomped to the door, choosing from all the cuss words she’d ever heard as she moved. Without looking back at Berwick, she opened the door and slammed it with all of her might. It made a satisfying echo through the sturdy cabin. Standing on the porch for a moment, she angrily shoved several bolts of fabric off the banister—but only after glancing at the porch floor to make sure it was clean. Beth stormed down the steps and starting walking.
“Mother? Where the heck are you? I will walk all the way to the Isle of Skye, but we’re getting out of here!”
STANDING OUTSIDE THE back window, Carole had heard every word. Quietly she slithered inside before Berwick could take a step after Beth. One stealthy leap and she landed on Berwick’s half naked back, wrapping both strong arms around his neck, and mentally counting the seconds until he’d pass out. Ten…nine…Carole willed Beth not to turn around, but at the same time she wondered if her daughter would really mind if she saw. Beth slammed the door at the same time they hit the floor together, Berwick already unconscious. His massive weight knocked the wind out of Carole. Blinking against infringing darkness, she struggled to remain aware and sucked deep breaths. It took a full thirty seconds to maneuver out from under him. She sensed Beth’s tirade on the front porch, and her daughter stomping away. Two hundred and seven seconds to get Beth and escape the veil. Too long!
Quickly she rolled Berwick onto his stomach and hog-tied him with his own belt, using the sword as leverage. I should kill him! Both of them, or they’ll follow, she thought. Berwick wanted Beth. Even with the man unconscious Carole sensed it in his dim murky
heart. She grabbed a handful of his hair, lifted his head and slammed it repeatedly against the floor until blood splattered. Again the memory of Rutak Tural’s words made her stop prematurely. Standing she raced across the room and jumped out the window, hoping she’d never regret leaving the men alive.
BETH HAD MADE good progress. She cluelessly stalked towards the edge of the veil with long strides, nearing the dip in the earth where Doric lay tied up with strips of his own kilt. Inside the Mini Cooper, Carole pulled up alongside her daughter and shouted, “Get in!”
Beth stared through the window. “You know how to drive?” Her voice sounded muffled through the glass.
Sixty-seven seconds, if Beth stopped asking stupid questions and got in. Carole reached across and opened the door. “Now.”
Beth slid in. “Mom? Are you stealing Doric’s car?”
Carole hesitated briefly, the disappointment in Beth’s eyes—as always—crystal clear. “Yes!” Carole huffed. “I’m stealing Doric’s car. That guy is a creep, and we’re getting out of here.”
“Mom! Did he try something with you?”
“Let’s just say he had plans I objected to.”
“Oh! That’s disgusting! What did he—oh, no—no, don’t tell me. You’re okay, right?”
Carole nodded.
“You should have seen his friend! Creepy little—did you ever see the movie Deliverance?”
Climbing uphill, the car slid a bit on the mucky ground. Carole didn’t answer.
“Did Doric scare you, Mom?”
“Yes,” Carole said.
“Go faster,” Beth said, tugging her seatbelt across her body and securing it with a click.
They hit the edge of the invisible veil with no warning. The car jerked back and forth and Beth said a word Carole had never expected to hear come out of her mouth. At least not without that Berwick character suggesting flat-out rape.
“That’s enough of that. Your father would have a fit if he heard you talking like that.”
“Mother! Are you kidding? What was that, and did you smell it? Something like garbage, I noticed it when we drove in.”
“It was really windy.”
“I don’t think so! That is not normal, turbulence doesn’t happen on the ground.”
“Apparently it does, Beth. Those people in Inverness warned you about the weather here.”
“Yeah, they said it’s cold and wet! Not—not—whatever the heck that was. There’s something weird about this place! That was something—something—I don’t know, but it was something.”
Scanning, Carole headed across the moor, purposely plowing through brush and avoiding muddy spots. Beth twisted in her seat to look behind them.
“Do you think they’ll follow us?”
Carole pushed the pedal all the way to the floor. She knew they’d follow. The little car responded with surprising speed and they trounced up and down until they hit the narrow road.
“Whoa! You’re going the wrong way.”
“We can’t go to Skye, now. You told Doric where we were headed. I’m going back to the rental to get our stuff.”
“You know we could get in a lot of trouble stealing a car.”
Smiling faintly, Carole replied, “Only if we get caught.”
“Go Mom!” Beth laughed, and a real smile touched her lips. “Who are you and what have you done with my real mother?”
“Just protecting my daughter.”
The smile vanished and Beth went quiet.
IN A MATTER of minutes Carole pulled up beside the rental. Beth got out, still subdued, and walked to the sedan. Opening the door she hit a button on the dashboard and the trunk popped open. Without a word she dragged her heavy monogrammed suitcases out, pushing and shoving until each piece fit into the hatch of the Mini Cooper. Carole quickly dug through the glove box of the rental and took every bit of identifying data out. She wasn’t going to make it easy to trace it back to Beth.
They returned to Inverness in time for rush hour traffic. Part of Carole wanted to ask Beth to take over, but she knew her daughter was stewing. She just hoped Beth wouldn’t ask questions she couldn’t answer truthfully. What if Beth asked why she could physically feel the touch of Doric and Berwick inside her own body? Surely she had been drawn to Doric on some low level. It had to have been noticeable. Beth hadn’t felt the touch of one of their own since she’d been a baby. Carole wondered if it had made her daughter remember the bond they’d once shared. Every day she ached to open her heart to Beth again, but knew she never could. Beth couldn’t live in that world, and it was better if she didn’t know about it. Surely the touch of Doric and Berwick’s hearts wouldn’t tempt her to repeat the experience. Maybe it had been a blessing.
“Mom?” The sound of Beth’s voice made her jump. Carole didn’t look at her, and waited, trying to hide her tension.
“I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth. Will you?”
“If I can.”
Beth made an angry sound of frustration, and rearranged her legs in the confines of the car. “Do you remember when we lived in Indonesia? I was thirteen.”
That question was unexpected. “I remember Indonesia. What about it?”
“Do you remember that boy? Wuan Cho? The one who—attacked me?”
“Of course I do. Are you all right, Beth? Did those guys back there frighten you that much?”
“No,” Beth replied slowly. “They made me mad. The fact that it scared you scares me.”
Because if they hunt you down, they’ll kill you, Carole thought. “What did you want to ask me about Wuan Cho?”
“Did you have someone hurt him?”
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“Oh, Mom! I guess I know now. I always wondered.”
“You knew I never worked for the U.N.”
“Well, yeah, but—wow—they really messed him up.”
“He deserved it,” Carole said without a drop of remorse.
To her surprise, after a moment, Beth agreed. “Yeah, he did. Does Dad know what you did?”
“About Wuan Cho? No!”
“No, Mom, I meant your work. Did Dad know about your work? Did he know you didn’t work for the U.N.?”
“Oh, yes, he knew. Beth, I know you consider anything someone won’t tell you a lie, but it’s not something I can talk about.”
“Were you a spy?”
“Stop it!”
“I noticed you wiped our rental car for prints. I’m not blind.”
“I never saw Deliverance, but I’ve seen your father’s cop shows.” Carole would have bet anything that Doric had already located the car. She hoped he couldn’t scan too well. No amount of wiping would prevent microscopic telltale evidence. “I don’t want him coming after you, he’s a creep.”
“You should have met his friend, what a jerk. He asked me to—uh, never mind. I don’t want you to go back there and Wuan Cho all over him.”
That made Carole laugh.
“You’re so pretty when you laugh, Mom. You don’t still keep in contact with the people you used to work with do you? The kind of people who would beat up a kid?”
“I’m retired, too old.”
Beth snorted. Before she could press for more information, Carole interrupted.
“So where to? For your shop? What other novels did you read?”
“Ugh, don’t rub it in.”
“How about the States, Beth? You’ve never lived in the States.” They’d never lived there, not since Beth was a baby. It would be harder to trace them there.
“No place crowded. Not Dad’s Washington cronies and not the west coast. I want a small town.”
“There’s a whole lot of country between those coasts.”
“You grew up in the southwest, didn’t you? What was it like there?”
“Hot,” Carole replied quickly, thinking of the veil. No place too remote. “South Carolina is nice, lots of sunshine. You don’t want to be too far from a city, do you?”
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“Well, not Deliverance. I want someplace that snows, and someplace with lakes.”
“New York has snow and lakes.”
“Ugh, Mom. Isn’t the whole place a city?”
“No, it’s very picturesque. How about Michigan? It has a thousand lakes or something like that.”
“Mich-ee-gen. I could go for that.”
“I probably need to ditch this car. We can take a train to the airport.”
“A train! Mom, I’m not riding in a train with four suitcases. People get violent about it. A taxi.”
“And,” Carole continued, “We’ll just grab a flight to the States and have your Dad meet us there. We can all go house-hunting together.”
“We’re never going to get a direct flight to Nowhere, Mich-ee-gen from here.”
Carole shrugged. “How about we settle for as close as we can manage? I just stole a car, remember?”
“Mom, I’m glad we came just the two of us.”
Carole was glad too, and she fought the urge to touch her. Beth’s heart reached towards hers, almost irresistible. She settled for shooting another smile at her daughter.
“Me too. I’m really glad. And I’m not asking you to lie, but if your father asks what we did in Scotland, I’m hoping you’ll try to leave out the part about me stealing this car.”
“I’ll do my best to hide your crime. But mostly because you’re probably the first car thief to ever take a Mini Cooper, and I’m kind of ashamed for you.”
Carole’s smile got wider. “Your father has wanted to buy you a car for years. If we’re living in a small town in the states, I think I could comfortably agree to it—”
Beth emitted a squeal of delight worthy of a girl ten years her junior.
“On one condition,” Carole continued, serious. She turned to look into her daughter’s eyes. “Promise me you’ll never speed.”
Heartless A Shieldmaiden's Voice: A Covenant Keeper Novel Page 31