“Ye weren’t in Brianag’s room. Ye weren’t in my room.” Kat didn’t point out that there would have been no hope of her finding his room, but she stayed silent. “I thought the witch had stolen ye.”
“I tried to find Brianag and ended up finding Sara.”
“Sara?”
“Your daughter.”
He frowned. “A lie. Ye ken that lass. I have never slept with Margaret,” he said as if he were tired of explaining. Kat even saw his teeth grind against one another.
“I made certain Sara found her mother.”
“Ye met Lady Maxwell?”
Kat shook her head. “She never saw me.” Kat paused. “Margaret’s quite lovely.”
“She is timid and scared of her own shadow.”
Kat thought for a moment. “Sara doesn’t seem too timid. I wonder who the father is?”
“No difference. The child is not mine.”
“And you would leave a child living in Maxwell’s home? Her grandfather calls her cursed.”
Toren stared down at Kat as if willing her to shut up, but she met his stare, waiting. “Would ye have me wed her then so I could save the child?”
The thought soured in Kat’s stomach. “I didn’t say that.”
“We do not live in yer century, Kat, where government and lawmen can come and take a child out of a terrible home. In the sixteenth century, a child is just thankful to have food, a roof over its head, and a household free of plague. They may suffer silently, but they live.”
He was right. Kat knew he was right. She’d studied history and knew the horrors children could face without an advocate. But it still made her sick to think of the children in poverty with no one to care for them. She glanced down. “At least it looked like Margaret loves her.”
Toren pulled Kat along the hall. She wasn’t sure where they were going, but she hoped it was a room where she could sit down. She was suddenly very tired of this long adventure. How many hours had passed since she’d woken at the orphanage?
He finally stopped before a door. It wasn’t Brianag’s door. “Where are we?”
“My room.” The room seemed a bit larger and had a big low standing bed, its headboard pushed against one wall. A fire smoldered in the hearth, barely feeding the room with any warmth.
Toren left her sitting on the edge of the bed. Exhaustion pushed her over on one side. Just for a moment she’d rest her eyes. She blinked heavily, watching Toren toss some fuel on the fire and stir it up. She should see what fuel they were using. Peat, twigs and wood. It was all so interesting. She yawned until her jaw cracked. She’d check it out in a few minutes. The comfortable weight of sleep pressed in and she sighed into the soft throws.
****
Two hours later, Toren strode back into his room, exhaling an unacknowledged sigh that Kat still slept. She hadn’t woken and gone looking for him. He stood by the bed, watching her slumber in the low wash of firelight that permeated the room. The shadows cut across her face and he watched her chest rise and fall. She was beautiful, her hair fanned out across her cheek, her delicate hand relaxed against the coverlet. She shouldn’t be here with the danger around him, but they were linked by the necklace and the witch, Drakkina.
Toren bent closer. Her lips were parted just a bit, her dark lashes lay against ivory skin. He wouldn’t wake her. He’d just leave, let Eadan guard her until he brought Brianag back.
Toren inhaled her scent, warm woman, spring flowers. “Slàinte mhór, lass,” he whispered and began to turn. Kat pushed up immediately and glanced around. “What? Who needs me?”
“Hush, lass,” Toren replied. “Go back to sleep.”
Kat looked at him and then around the room. “Where am I?” Kat rubbed her eyes and moved her legs to the side of the bed. The thin chemise rode up her shins nearly to her thighs. Sleek muscles moved under her soft skin.
“Hampton Court. Elizabeth’s court.” He walked back over. “Ye were asleep. I didn’t mean to wake ye,” he said with what he hoped was a soothing voice. He lifted her legs back up onto the bed. Aye, her skin was soft and warm. How would those legs feel around him?
“And the year?” she asked sliding them back down the coverlet until her feet hit the floor, the chemise once more around ankles.
Toren groaned inside and squelched the eruption of fire her legs had kindled. He didn’t have time for this. Every minute meant that Brianag rode farther away. “Fifteen eighty-eight.”
“I was hoping that was all just a dream,” she mumbled. Kat looked beyond him. “You were out?”
“Aye, with Eadan. Brianag has been stolen.”
Kat stood up. “Stolen? Are you sure she’s not just lost? This is a big place. Have you looked in the stairwells?”
“Fergus Campbell took her. Elizabeth’s guard witnessed it.”
“Who is Fergus Campbell?” Kat asked, glancing around. “Do I have any clothing?”
“The olc betrothed,” Toren said in a low, controlled voice. If he could control his voice, maybe he could control the rage that threatened. The bastard had stolen his sister. He’d only just seen her again after five years of believing he never would again. And now she was gone and in the clutches of a future murderer. “Eadan will bring ye gowns on the morrow.”
“On the morrow?” Kat imitated his Scottish accent. “What does that mean?”
He looked directly into her narrowing eyes. She’d already caught on. She was not only beautiful but intelligent, too. “Ye are not coming with me, Kat. Eadan will care for ye here until I return.” He waited for her shouts, perhaps stomping, or a tantrum. Isn’t that what women did when they didn’t get their way? “Once I find Brianag I will take her to Craignish and then return for ye. Ye will be safe here until then.”
“Can Eadan protect me from Drakkina?” she asked calmly.
Toren frowned. “Can anyone?” No one could protect them from the witch, not until Toren could tether himself to this century. If he could do that, then Drakkina would not take Kat away, either. The witch had said that they must stay together. Tethering himself was the only way to ensure that he and Kat stayed in the sixteenth century. And to tether himself, he needed the magic of Craignish, his home.
He’d always felt the buzz of energy around the circle of ten large stones to the west of his home. He’d come to understand and manipulate some of it which was why his binding spell on the dragonfly necklace still told him its location. Magic usually had little to do with strength and cunning in battle. But it could be of use in some instances. If he could get home, he could tether himself to the stones in this century. His mother’s ancient texts outlined some complex binding rituals. One of them would show what he needed to do. Then he’d return to Kat and convince her that she could be happy here.
Kat walked briskly over to the wardrobe and pulled the heavy oak doors open. She grabbed a pair of his riding trews and a shirt. They would be huge on her. He watched as she shimmied into the britches, hoisting them high.
“Do you know which way he went?” she asked as she turned her back to him, stripped off the thin chemise and threw his large shirt over her head. His breath caught at the sight of her naked back, her straight spine, her shoulder blades. What in bloody hell was he doing? Toren scrubbed hands over his face. He had no time to ogle Kat, nor have this conversation.
She looked back over her shoulder and frowned. “You don’t know which way they went?”
“Maxwell says he went east to go across the channel to Calais.”
“East,” Kat said as she tried to tuck the long ends of the shirt into the overly large trews. “Do you know where my underwear ended up?” she asked. “I didn’t see them in Brianag’s room.”
Before she could finish her sentence, Toren strode across to the mattress where he’d concealed his modern clothes along with Kat’s undergarments. He tossed her the skimpy piece of Wednesday embroidered cloth. “I said, Kat, ye aren’t going with me.”
Kat caught the scraps of fabric. “He kidnapped her beca
use he heard you were breaking the engagement?” she ignored his statement.
Toren watched Kat drop the trews, leaving her knees exposed under the long shirt. She slid her scrap of cloth up each leg and then yanked the trews back up. Then she tucked the black bra under his shirt and slipped her slender arms inside the sleeves. After a moment of elbowing and tugging, her arms pushed back out through the arm holes. “That feels better.” She looked at him. “Do you have a belt of rope I could use to keep these up?”
Toren’s anger simmered. “I don’t have time to deal with ye. Ye’re staying here.”
She spun around and Toren could clearly make out the stubborn set of her jaw. “Will he hurt her? What is his plan, marriage against your will?”
“Aye, he’ll hurt her. Aye, he’ll try to marry her.” He shook his head. His sister was terrified of the man. And now he was in jeopardy of losing her. “I must get her away from him before it’s too late.”
Kat met his eyes. “Then you are taking me with you because I can get her away from them when you cannot,” she said succinctly, her tone taunting him to ask her how. But he knew what she was thinking.
“I have no need to hide,” he said low and she broke the stare for a moment as if he’d slapped her. He hadn’t time for this.
A knock broke the silence and Eadan walked in. “Yer horse is ready. Send word when ye find her and I’ll bring Lady Kat with me. We will meet at Craignish Castle.”
“Aye,” Toren said, still watching Kat as she picked up a short, woolen throw. He walked toward the door and Kat followed.
“Guard her well.” Toren commanded Eadan.
“Where is she?” Eadan asked and Kat grinned, though the humor did not reach her eyes.
“He cannot guard me, Toren.”
Her voice made Eadan turn in a circle. When he came back to her again, his eyes opened wide. He bowed. “Lady Kat. I did not see ye there.”
Toren growled low in his throat. “I do not need ye, woman.”
“I can be of great use, Toren, or do you think Brianag would prefer to see her brother battle fifty Campbells to the death before her betrothed forces himself on her.” Kat’s harsh words dropped Eadan’s mouth open. “I can move in there silently. I can cloak Brianag too. Bring her out.”
“I do not hide, lass. I fight in the open.”
“Then ye’ll die in the open, ye cocky arse,” she said with a poorly imitated burr. “And seeing as we’re supposed to be together and alive to save the gosh darn bloody world,” Kat said, moving her head and hands together in a gesture that held the sarcastic, condescending attitude that he had witnessed often in her century. “I think I am going with ye, milord or milaird or whatever you are.” Toren glanced at his brother, who stood stunned.
Toren cursed, his eyes on Kat. “Ye’ll follow me anyway,” Toren stated simply.
“And only you will see me.” She smiled darkly.
“Abhidse,” he swore in Gaelic. “Eadan, find her some smaller trews to ride in.”
Eadan found his tongue. “If she goes”—he shook his head slightly—“then I go.”
Toren glared at both of them. “Then we ride immediately.”
They stepped out into the predawn chill where Toren’s horse awaited. Eadan led two more from the silent stable.
“She doesn’t ken the way of riding, Eadan. She will ride with me,” Toren said, as they walked across the courtyard. Out of the shadows of the stables came another cloaked figure, a woman.
“The horse is not for Lady Di-Ciadaoin,” Eadan said, his words hard, defensive, guilty. “I came upon them trying to leave on their own.”
Kat halted next to Toren as the woman walked awkwardly across the hard-packed ground, awkward because she carried something of good size. Kat’s inhale brought his attention back to her. “It’s Margaret and Sara,” she said softly.
Anger, low and stubborn flowed through Toren. “This is no place for a Maxwell, especially a woman and a child.” Margaret took a step back and lowered the child. He should have left by himself without saying anything to anyone. He’d probably already have Brianag back by now. His patience about to explode, Toren took a deep breath.
“Tor.” Eadan stepped between them. “They have nowhere else to go.”
“The child is not mine,” Toren said. “Her father lies.”
“And he threatens,” Margaret said, raising her head in an awkward show of defiance. “I will no longer live in fear for my child.”
Kat moved around him and walked up to Sara. “Hello Sara, we will get to see a beautiful sunrise, don’t you think,” she said in a positive tone. Kat then looked at Margaret Maxwell. “I am Kat. You have a lovely little girl.”
Margaret didn’t know quite what to reply from the somewhat shocked look on her pale face. The lass didn’t even ken how to take a compliment.
Sara smiled warmly at Kat but didn’t say anything. The grip her mother had on her shoulder kept the words inside. Margaret would infuse the child with her own timid character if she didn’t relax. Finally Margaret nodded to Kat. “I believe I have you to thank for finding Sara. She should not have put you to such trouble.”
Kat replied, smiling at Sara. “It was no trouble.”
Toren turned to Eadan. “They are not coming. This is a rescue, not a ride in the country.”
Margaret raised her eyes to Toren. “My father lied, Campbell heads to the north where his men await at the border. I overheard his plans.”
“I had surmised that they were not headed to Calais.”
“But you did not know which way he went.” She pushed one hand fisted against her chest.
“Why help us?” he asked.
Margaret stroked Sara’s hair and looked down at the top of her daughter’s head. Her voice seemed to shrink in the large expanse of darkness. “I’ve always done what I need to do to survive.” She pulled her daughter into the folds of her gown. “But I do not want that for her. I do not know if I can protect her…from him. ‘Tis why she ran off earlier, away from his rage.” She pulled Sara deeper into the folds of skirts. “I cannot protect her.” Margaret’s voice caught and tears sparkled in her eyes.
“Ye ken I was not to blame for Edward’s death,” Toren said, watching her closely.
Margaret gave a brief nod but would hardly meet his eyes. “I know—”
“But ye said nothing when the blame fell on me?” Toren pressed, as he kept the pain buried deep where it had lived since the night of the fire.
Margaret’s voice was soft, lowly. “I’ve always done what I need to do to survive. I keep out of everyone’s way and I keep quiet.”
Kat glared at him and patted Margaret’s arm. The firm set of her jaw told Toren that she had already made up her mind. She would protect the child and mother. He should jump on his charger and take off, leave the rest of them to figure out what to do with themselves. His hands fisted.
Eadan moved to stand beside Margaret. “Now that she’s told ye his plan with Campbell,” Eadan said. “He will kill her and Sara if we doona protect them.”
Once again Lady Margaret was using him to survive. So be it. He wouldn’t have the death of a woman and child on his soul. “Ye’re responsible for them, Eadan.” Eadan nodded solemnly. “And when we find Brianag, ye will take Margaret and her daughter back to MacCallum land. We will decide what to do with them after that.”
Kat bent down and whispered something to the girl which made her giggle. He had the uncomfortable feeling that Kat was making fun of him. He scowled and moved to his large charger. “Kat,” he called, and swung up into the seat. “Unless ye wish to run along behind, ye best come over here.”
Kat frowned as she approached the wrong side of the horse.
“Other side, Lady Di-Ciadaoin,” Eadan added.
“Please call me Kat.” She walked behind the horse to the other side. Toren rolled his eyes and decided to give her a lesson about horses and safety when he had a chance. He reached down and clasped her waist. She gasped as he pull
ed her up and quickly settled her before him, throwing a woolen robe in front of her so that she was blanketed up to her adorable stubborn chin.
“Will Sara be safe riding with her mother?” Kat asked, as she batted at the blanket. He pulled it back up, tucking her in like a child, just as he knew Margaret would do with Sara.
“Aye, she will be safe. Margaret learned how to master a horse at an early age.”
Eadan and Margaret followed him out through the gates. Toren had left a message with Elizabeth’s advisor, alerting her of the need to leave hastily. As for the reasons, he’d kept them fairly ambiguous. This was a Highland matter, and he would deal with it as a Highlander, not some English courtier. Although Kat was determined to interfere. Perhaps she could be of use.
Toren tapped the charger gently, though the steed snorted and danced, just waiting for him to let up on the reins. Toren felt much the same way, but they should clear the castle grounds first.
Toren inhaled the sweet fragrance from Kat’s hair, so contrary to the pungent smell of too much humanity living together that wafted on the night air. The soft lass fought to stay upright and wiggled between his loins. He wrapped an arm around her waist, hoisted under her breasts and pulled her back. His lips grazed the soft skin near her ear. “Stop wiggling yer sweet arse against me lass or ye will make this a damn uncomfortable ride.” She stopped immediately. “Just relax back. I will not let ye fall.”
Toren sighed over her head, his breath huffing into the stagnant night air. Just holding her was making this a damn uncomfortable ride. Perhaps he should bed her and be done with it.
He glanced to his side where the two other horses rode. Eadan watched Margaret. Margaret held tightly to her daughter. Her lowered eyes darted to Eadan. Was she acting coy, or fond of Eadan, or just guilty? That one was hard to read.
They rode out through the gates and continued into the silent night, broken only by the occasional drunk or courtesan wandering the streets.
Toren’s eyes watched the sides of the road. Maxwell may be using his daughter, allowing her to overhear his plans. Even if her intentions were pure, Lady Margaret could very well be leading them into a trap.
Masquerade (The Dragonfly Chronicles Book 3) Page 12