Masquerade (The Dragonfly Chronicles Book 3)

by Heather McCollum

  ****

  Craignish faced west towards the sea. On clear days, Toren could see the faint blue line of horizon, from the turrets jutting out the top of the stone and mortar fortress that was his home. Home. He hadn’t seen it for five long years of fury-filled panic, panic that it was forever lost. But here he stood among the pines staring out across the glossy surface of Loch Melfort. Toren listened to the horses as they slurped mouthfuls of fresh lake water. Toward the center of the magnificent freshwater pool a large fish flopped.

  “Right out of one of my favorite Scottish novels,” Kat whispered. The sound of her breath between those lovely lips washed over Toren and he closed his eyes for a moment. He felt her next to him as if she hummed with life or some magical resonance. Cool fingers grazed his hand but then fell away. “Your home is unreal.”

  He glanced at her, gaze trailing the lush landscape of hair as it fell behind her ear and down her back.

  “I mean of course it’s real,” she said as if needing to explain. “It’s just so…majestic.”

  Toren’s gaze moved back to the castle. It was safer to look at the hard lines of granite and mortar than the soft lines of Kat’s lips. Although the contrast made Kat even more alluring. “Aye, majestic,” he repeated without thinking. Focus, he thought. “But also full of drafts and mice.” He looked at her. “No hot showers and toilets in those solid walls.”

  Kat gave him a quirky smile. “I suppose there are trade offs for pollution and modern craziness,” she whispered. “I can withstand it for a short time.”

  Toren’s lips clenched tight. Short time. She planned to go back. Of course, she planned to return. Kat had responsibilities, her children. The ache in the back of Toren’s head tightened. Ye will get used to it. But he didn’t say it out loud. Toren turned toward his horse. “Let’s ride.”

  Craignish Castle was so much more than majestic, thought Kat as they rode under the raised portcullis. It was surreal, riding through the quaint thatch-roofed village that dotted the countryside from the lake to the castle. Fresh, cool spring air mixed with the odors of smoking meat and animals. Women beat rugs and worked butter churns. Children scurried between the cottages laughing and brandishing wooden swords. Dogs barked and chased the children. People stopped their labors and waved to Toren and Eaden. They bowed to Brianag and stared quizzically at Kat, Margaret, and Sara. Kat pulled up the hood of her cape so that they wouldn’t see the right side of her face. Best not to scare the locals away just yet.

  “Ye’re cold.” Toren’s arm came around Kat and ensconced her against his hard chest.

  “I’m fine,” she said, but he pulled out one of the blankets and drew it around Kat, cocooning her in wool. “Thanks,” she mumbled through the small gap for her eyes and nose. Now they’ll think I’m a leper.

  Kat pulled the fabric down so she could take in the soaring towers as they entered the bailey through the six foot thick walls of stone. Fortified, glorious and strong. It suited Toren MacCallum, its rough granite blocks chiseled into amazing buttresses and arches.

  Kat blushed thinking of Toren’s amazing butt in those court costumes. Thankfully he’d changed into his Scottish kilt, although that showed his wonderfully muscled legs. Yikes! She had to get him out of her head. She would return to her time and he would remain here. They had no future together no matter what Drakkina insisted. She had to distance herself from him or the pain in her chest every time she thought of leaving would get worse. But how does one stop thinking about the elephant in the room when said elephant is warm and smells of pine and is plastered against your back? Kat sighed.

  Their party stopped before a tall set of steps that led to two gigantic doors. Two young boys ran out of the nearby barn and grabbed the reins as Toren lowered Kat to the ground. People stared. Not only did she look bizarre in the long cape and pants but her hidden face must be calling more attention. Kat pushed the hood back and pulled her hair out and around to swing along the sides of her face. Somewhat camouflaged, she walked with the others up the steps. A small group of villagers gathered below to watch them ascend. Kat raised her hand to wave but lowered it when none of her companions waved. Must blend in. Kat’s heart pounded as she walked into the hall. Without her glamour, Kat felt naked. She pulled the cape closer around her shoulders.

  Toren and Eadan grabbed forearms of several men in the hall, answering questions, while simply dressed ladies gathered around Brianag. She embraced several and wiped at her eyes. Margaret, Sara, and Kat stood back, waiting. Kat felt Sara’s hand brush her own and then push into her palm. Kat squeezed the child’s hand and bent to whisper. “I guess I’m not the only one whose heart is pounding.”

  Sara looked up with wide eyes. Poor thing. Kat looked at Margaret, who stood statue-like, pale and without emotion. She was petrified. Of course they were. Kat had only been thinking about her own problems. Margaret and Sara were refugees and related to the hated enemy. Their lives depended on the forgiveness and acceptance of these people. There were no women’s shelters or restraining orders in the sixteenth century. They could be thrown out to the wolves, literally.

  Kat felt her spine stiffen, resolve breeding strength. She’d protect them, wouldn’t let the MacCallums turn them out. Eadan walked over, his boots clicking on the stone floor. He took Margaret’s arm. Bless that man! He led her over to Toren who turned to look at Kat. Toren’s eyes said, Come. Kat gave a brief shake of her head and moved her hand that was still intertwined with Sara’s.

  “Bring her too,” Toren said, catching everyone’s attention. Kat tried to beat down the blush she felt rushing up her face, but knew the color would intensify if she tried to quell it. She squeezed Sara’s small hand and they walked to the group.

  “This is Kat Di-Ciadaoin,” he said and he looked at Sara. “And Lady Margaret’s daughter, Sara.” Sara curtsied. Kat bowed her head slightly. After all she wasn’t even wearing a gown. Curtsying in pants would look ridiculous.

  “Kat saved Brianag.” Toren’s voice boomed in the silent hall full of assessment. “She risked her life by sneaking in to Fergus Campbell’s camp and freeing our sister.”

  “It was amazing!” Brianag said, and then lowered her voice. “I owe Kat my life.”

  Smiling faces surrounded Kat, and all she could do was smile back. No one stared at her cheek and neck, they just smiled into her eyes.

  “And Lady Margaret.” Eadan stepped up, his voice as huge as his brother’s, “saved us all by revealing Hughe Maxwell’s plan and pointing us in the direction of the Campbell camp. For her bravery in choosing to do right against her father, we bestow our protection on her and her daughter.”

  Eyes turned to Toren as if approval was needed. This was definitely not a democracy. Toren stood tall next to Eadan. “Eadan’s words are my words,” he said, and the room was filled with wide gazes. Even Eadan looked surprised.

  Kat heard whispers behind. “Aye, that’s what he said. ‘Eadan’s words are mine own.’”

  Toren thumped his hand down on Eadan’s shoulder and nodded toward Margaret. “Ye are welcome Lady Margaret.” His eyes moved to Sara and he bowed slightly. “As are ye, Lady Sara.”

  At that Brianag clapped twice, making Kat jump after the tension. “Alice, Anne, some food.” With that, the room breathed once more. Women bustled toward an alcove that must contain the kitchens. Warrior-looking men came up to Eadan and clapped him on the back and spoke with Toren. Margaret returned to Sara’s side and took up her daughter’s other hand. She smiled timidly at Kat.

  Kat felt the need to talk. “Glad that’s over with,” she whispered and Margaret smiled in agreement. Kat leaned a little closer, over Sara’s head. “Eadan did a fine introduction for you.” A blush crept along Margaret’s jaw and then washed up her face. Oops, Kat hadn’t meant to embarrass her.

  Kat turned back to the room as women brought out platters of bread and meat and what looked like some sort of mush. Brianag directed another woman, pointing to curving steps in a dark alcove. How man
y rooms did Craignish have? Brianag walked over.

  “Do eat a bit and then ye can refresh above stairs.”

  “I hope we’re not putting you out,” Kat said. Brianag looked confused. “I mean, I hope there is room for us and that we’re not intruding.”

  Brianag smiled and shook her head. “Father had many rooms built in hopes of a large family. Mother got tired of birthing after I came along.”

  Kat was about to ask if she could change, but she wasn’t sure if there was anything to put on. Was it rude to ask someone to give you clothing? Her stomach growled at the aroma of rosemary seasoning. Perhaps she should eat first and then ask Toren if there were any spare gowns about.

  Kat, Margaret, and Sara sat at a long wooden table. Throughout the meal, Kat felt curious eyes on her and she pulled her hair forward on the right side. So far no one had mentioned her scars nor showed any revulsion to Sara’s large birth mark. Perhaps the MacCallums were more civilized.

  One woman came forward with a pitcher. “Milady wishes some light wine?” Kat turned and nearly gasped at the puckered skin down her cheek and neck. It was a burn scar, just like Kat’s. Kat just nodded and the woman smiled and poured.

  “Thank you,” Kat murmured and turned her attention across the table. A man talked with Eadan. He reached forward to stab a slice of venison with his knife. Three fingers on his right hand ended at the first knuckle. Kat scanned the room. One lady brought in a platter of pheasant or small chickens. A sleeve inched up and her wrist and forearm where mottled with a nasty looking scar—perhaps a water burn. An elderly man at the end of the table stood up to wave at another who had just walked in. The elderly man’s right leg ended at the knee.

  Kat kept looking around so she wouldn’t be caught staring. Her gaze stopped on Toren and connected. He nodded slowly. Kat knew she must be breathing for no stars danced in her eyes. Thank goodness breathing was a mostly autonomic response. Kat nodded and looked down at the buttered bread.

  Sara cupped her small hand at Kat’s ear and whispered. “Many people here have scars. Did you notice?”

  Kat nodded and leaned down. “We fit in,” Kat said. Sara smiled broadly and politely bit a piece of chicken. Odd that Toren hadn’t mentioned that his household was filled with imperfect people. And for an instant Kat’s stomach clenched at the idea that he was orchestrating this scenario to put her at ease. Kat’s face flushed. Could he or his well meaning sister have asked all those who had scars or deformities in the village to come play the part of normal Craignish Castle attendants? Kat chewed the dissolving bite of bread while her mind chewed on the improbable possibility.

  “Usually Lizzie’s bread makes people smile, not frown so,” Brianag said from across the table.

  Kat’s attention rose to Brianag’s joyful eyes. Sincerity shined there like a beacon, bringing out her own smile. “It is wonderful,” she said around a swallow. Even if Brianag had hired deformed actors to play in her house, she did it out of friendship.

  “Aye, it is most delicious,” Sara said beside Kat. Kat’s heart warmed. It was the first time Sara had spoken to another adult without answering a direct question. If the deformed actors had made the child feel as if she fit in, then it was a good idea.

  “Then what had ye frowning so ferociously?” Brianag asked.

  “I’m afraid I’m just a bit tired,” Kat said and looked down at her dusty clothes. “And very dirty.”

  Brianag looked down at her own clothes. “I say, we look like we’ve rolled instead of rode home.” She laughed. “Winifred,” she called and a young girl looked up from the end of the table. “Could ye ask Evan and Aedan to haul up the bathing tubs to the two rooms that are being prepared for our guests?”

  “Aye, milady,” Winifred answered.

  “And have them wait to carry the hot water.”

  Winifred nodded and trotted towards the kitchens.

  “A bath would be wonderful, thank you,” Kat said with relief. The thought of washing in hot water pushed a giddy bubble up through Kat’s stomach. Just how long had it been since she’d bathed? No deodorant, no make-up, no glamour magic, not even a proper hairbrush, she thought twisting an end of hair. She was a wreck. Perhaps that’s why she could still feel Toren’s gaze. She laughed at the thought. Did he stare in disgust at her quick downfall into ugliness? But when Kat turned, Toren’s eyes did not hold disdain. She swallowed her last laugh, making it more like a giggle. Toren’s eyes held something more…predatory.

  He stood by the hearth with several other warriors who had walked in, grabbed a trencher of food, and found Toren. They did most of the speaking while Toren’s gaze flicked to them, but then moved back to rest on Kat. His arms lay across his broad chest as he leaned casually back against the granite, his feet braced apart as if he stood on a ship’s deck.

  Kat turned back to the plate and took another bite of Lizzie’s fabulous herb bread. “Yes, a bath would be wonderful,” she murmured.

  “And a gown I think,” Brianag said, as her gaze moved from her brother to Kat.

  “If you have one I might borrow,” Kat said.

  Brianag nodded. “It seems ye have a hard time staying in a gown,” Brianag whispered, causing Eadan to swallow wrong and cough. “I’ll find Mary. She’ll know where the spare gowns are kept.” Brianag turned to Margaret. “And we’ll find a few for ye.” She looked to Sara. “I ken that we’ve saved some of my childhood dresses as well. Mary will ken the way of fitting them to ye.”

  Brianag turned before Kat could even muster a blush over her joke. Kat’s embarrassment passed quickly to excitement at the thought of wearing another authentic sixteenth-century gown. For years Kat had glamoured dress after dress in the privacy of her dorm room at UVA, but all of it had just been an illusion.

  Kat stood and nearly panted after Brianag with the thoughts of velvets, mockado, and bombazine fabrics filling her mind, finally blocking out the stare of one intensely striking Highlander. Being ripped from her life and her children was a curse, but being thrown into the glorious past that she had studied was amazing. Kat’s eyes scanned each wall, each turn, each tapestry as they passed through the torch lit corridors.

  “This room will be yours, Kat,” Brianag said, indicating a sparse yet functional granite box of a room with two skinny windows, a glowing hearth, and a low bed with cheery yellow curtains surrounding it. “Margaret,” Brianag said. “I thought ye would like to have Sara with ye.”

  “Aye,” Margaret agreed and clasped her daughter’s hand.

  “Ye will be in the room three doors farther down then, as the bed is larger.” The three continued down the hall, leaving Kat standing in the doorway. “Winifred will be up shortly with yer bath, Kat, and then Mary with some gowns,” Brianag said.

  “Thank you,” Kat called and walked farther into the room. She shivered and moved close to the fire, splaying hands out to catch the heat. Her hand rested on the stone arch above the hearth. Real, hard, cold granite. Amazing! Since she was stuck in authentic sixteenth century for now, she should enjoy it.

  “Will the room do?” a familiar voice yanked Kat around. Toren stood in the doorway.

  Kat nodded. “Yes, it’s beautiful.”

  Toren looked at the tapestries along the walls. “Not our best, but something for a historian to enjoy. I hope ye find it comfortable here,” he said with a slight frown. Just what that meant, Kat wasn’t sure but she was having a hard time thinking in the confined space.

  His presence filled the room. Toren was tall, broad, and full of muscle. For days Kat had only viewed him in God’s grand outdoors. In the shadow of mountains and open sky and soaring trees, Toren seemed of normal large stature, but inside the room, he suddenly felt like a giant.

  She swallowed. “Comfortable here,” she repeated. “Is that why you brought in so many”—she hesitated—“scarred and maimed people.” She indicated the door. “So I would feel comfortable with not being able to use my magic?”

  Confusion drew Toren’s brows in.
“I do not ken what ye’re saying.”

  Kat moved her hand with a little flip. “Really it is okay, sweet in fact. It made Sara feel much better seeing some other people with scars and physical limitations.”

  “Those people work in the castle. The others were seasoned warriors.” Toren stepped closer. Kat turned so that her good cheek faced him. “No one brought in people to make ye feel more comfortable.”

  Kat felt a flush. “But so many of them were scarred or hurt in some way.”

  “Life is hard in this century. Ye ken that, lass.”

  “But at court I didn’t see anyone-”

  “Because court won’t allow imperfection, at least not on the outside.” Toren’s hand reached for hair by her right cheek. Kat stood her ground. “But in real life,” he continued, “outside the court many people have scars, imperfections. And they don’t have to hide them.”

  At that Kat’s chin rose. “I’m not hiding.”

  “Good.” He smiled. “Because scars show that a person is strong. That they survived.”

  Kat watched him, frozen, as he ran his finger down her right cheek.

  “That something battled against them and they won because they lived, whether it was illness or from a sword or from a burn.”

  “I guess I never thought of it that way,” she murmured.

  “Of course ye haven’t.” He dropped his hand and turned. “Not living in yer world of make-up, super models, plastics, buutox.”

  “Botox,” Kat corrected.

  “Whatever foolishness,” he said. “I watched a lot of yer TV and almost every picture shows a way to look younger and smoother and more like a wee lass, rather than a woman.” He shook his head. “Scars show strength and wisdom.”

  “My scars just show how stupid I was,” Kat said, her gaze on the floor, but then she forced it up. She wouldn’t look pitiable in front of Toren.

  “Ye were a young lass, right?” Kat nodded. “Curious, headstrong lass.” She nodded again. He caught her chin and tilted it so he could look in her eyes. “Perfect qualities in a leader and a warrior. And ye survived and learned from it. Ye ken the feel of pain, ye lived through it and came out the stronger.” Toren tilted his head. “It has added interest and strength to yer beauty,” he said softly.