Masquerade (The Dragonfly Chronicles Book 3)

by Heather McCollum

  ****

  Kat rode behind Brianag. Her companion knew more about handling the horse than she did. Kat pointed west and Brianag steered them through the leafless birch trees and pines.

  “I ken the way, Kat,” Brianag said.

  “You do?”

  “Aye. My brothers and I have played in the ten stones many times growing up before Tor was sent away. It’s quite close, really.”

  “Toren was sent away? Why?” Toren hadn’t talked again about his time at the Maxwell’s.

  “Highland sons are to be schooled for some years in the Lowlands to learn English ways and court etiquette,” Brianag said, and pushed a low pine branch out of their way.

  “So Toren lived with Hughe Maxwell and Margaret?”

  “And Margaret’s brother, Edward, until he died.”

  “Margaret had a brother? How did he die?”

  Brianag hesitated. “There was a fire in the stables six years ago, the last time Da made us visit. Edward died in it.”

  “How horrible,” Kat said. “Was Toren there when it happened?”

  “Yes,” a man’s voice called out as he stepped from behind a tree trunk. Brianag’s back stiffened and she yanked back on the reins as Fergus Campbell grabbed her bridle and tisked. “Do not ye ken the dangers of riding alone in the woods?”

  The first man walked closer to them. He was middle aged, possibly older. With gray in his hair and neat, tailored English clothing. But it was his eyes that caused a chill to prick down Kat’s back. They were like beads of blue ice, so cold, so hard. “Yes, Toren MacCallum was there at the fire.” Those frozen orbs turned from Brianag to Kat, piercing her. It made her want to pull back. “Which is why I am here.”

  “Tor had nothing to do with Edward’s death, Lord Maxwell,” Brianag said. Kat felt a tremor run through Toren’s sister even if her voice held nothing but hostile reproof.

  Lord Maxwell? Margaret’s father? This was the man who’d sliced Toren’s cheek, who’d probably beaten him as a young boy. Rage welled up and Kat met the icy stare.

  “Toren MacCallum set that fire and left Edward to die in it after Edward walked in on him and Margaret,” Maxwell said. His statement was calm, but checked fury held it aloft. “And now he will learn what it means to suffer without one of his family members.” His gaze drifted back to Brianag.

  A breeze blew through the pine branches making them sway. The smell of sea tickled Kat’s nose. The sun had begun to set, making the shadows long and dark in the forest. The stones were just on the other side of the rise. But none of that mattered now.

  “We are on MacCallum land. Ye trespass,” Brianag said, ignoring the threat. “My brothers will not stand for it!” She had definitely found a backbone. At least ten other men came from behind trees to surround them. Kat looked back over one shoulder, but Toren wasn’t riding to the rescue. She turned around, her eyes trained on the path to the stones. They’d been so close.

  “Yer brothers are not here right now, are they,” Fergus sneered and yanked the reins from Brianag’s fingers. He pulled their horse along behind him and mounted another.

  “Where are ye taking us?” Brianag demanded as they all began to ride south.

  “Somewhere we can have a little discussion,” Maxwell said and Fergus chuckled.

  Kat’s heart hammered. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered to Brianag. Though her friend sounded irate and proud, Kat felt her tremble. To be back in the same devious hands as before must be terrifying, and Kat had been the one to insist on this journey. She should have swallowed her pride and asked Toren to take her. Instead she’d avoided him.

  Brianag reached back and squeezed Kat’s hand. “Any butterflies around?”

  Kat didn’t see any at the moment. She wasn’t sure how they knew to come. They did sometimes, but not at other times. She couldn’t use any magic to call them. “I don’t know how to call them,” Kat whispered against Brianag’s ear.

  “So the butterfly witch does speak,” Fergus sneered. “Perhaps I can entice ye to scream.” He laughed. The tone and look told Kat Fergus Campbell had ideas on how to exact his revenge for the earlier attack. Fergus thumped a hand on the blanket tied to his horse. “We all carry blankets now, nice thick ones. Unless yer butterflies can eat through wool, they are no threat to us.” Kat noticed several of the surrounding men nod and others make the sign of the cross.

  They rode for an hour or so until the sun sank below the mountains and the Highland wind pushed into their faces. Maxwell turned to Fergus. “Have the men we left south of the lake ride to your holding. Now that we have guests,” he said stressing the word, “we will change our strategy.”

  Fergus motioned to one of the party to ride as they continued on through a valley.

  Kat felt Brianag’s shoulders fall a bit. “We’re no longer on MacCallum land,” she whispered. “This is Campbell dirt beneath us now.” Kat rubbed her hands up and down Brianag’s arms.

  “They will come for us,” Kat whispered against Brianag’s ear. “Toren is smart. He’ll know what’s happened and what to do.”

  “May God bless him and keep us,” Brianag breathed the prayer. Kat leaned forward against Brianag’s back and squeezed her in a warm hug, adding her own silent prayer.

  Would Toren know what had happened to them? Margaret knew that they were headed to the stones. How could Toren know that they’d been kidnapped? Sixteenth century Highlanders could track couldn’t they? Kat looked but the darkness had already obscured the ground so she couldn’t make out if their horses were leaving any prints. Kat buried her face in Brianag’s hair. What the heck had she been thinking to wander out alone, letting Brianag come along? It could be her own fault that the MacCallums were destroyed. How would her actions affect history?

  Alarm tightened in Kat’s chest and she gasped softly, sitting upright. She looked around but they still climbed the narrow path toward torch lights outlining a large castle in the distance. Kat rubbed her chest. Fury and blood lust swirled with worry and fear. Toren. It had to be Toren. He knew something was wrong, but how much? Could he feel her emotions? What emotions would they be? Remorse, stupidity, guilt? All of the above and more. Kat closed her eyes and concentrated on the way Fergus and Maxwell made her feel, loathing, worry, helpless. Kat leaned forward.

  “Toren knows we’re gone and that something’s terribly wrong,” she whispered to Brianag.

  “How?”

  “I feel it somehow. A connection between us, I think.”

  Brianag squeezed Kat’s hand. “God grant him the wisdom to ken what to do.”

  “Ye two, shut yer pretty lips,” Fergus commanded, riding close. Both women stared straight ahead. Fergus reached out and caught a slip of Kat’s hair. He ran it through thick fingers. “Shorter than most, but soft.” He twisted it over his fist, forcing Kat to bend toward him. “Smells nice, too.” He lowered his voice, releasing her hair. “Hmm, now what should I do with a lovely lass who happens to be Toren’s woman?” His smile was a leer.

  “Watch out. I may just be a witch,” Kat hissed.

  Fergus opened his eyes wide in mock worry. “Well, well, the Lady Kat has claws.” He smiled. “I think I can handle yer butterflies, witch.” Fergus kicked his horse and trotted toward the front of the line.

  Kat clasped Brianag’s hand as they rode together under the pointed jaws of the gate into the bailey. The bars lowered after they’d entered, grinding until they sank into the ground like teeth. With the sound, Kat’s breath hitched. She swallowed against the terror and almost turned invisible right there in front of everyone. But she stopped herself. Which enemy was worse, the Campbells and Maxwell or the demons bent on killing her, stripping her magic, and destroying the world?

  Kat breathed deeply. She’d need oxygen to make her brain work. And she definitely needed her brain since she couldn’t use magic. Kat sent a call out in her mind to Drakkina. No magic involved, just a plea and a prayer up to God. Maybe God would send the witch to look for her. Perhaps the wit
ch could hear Kat’s thoughts. Find Toren, Kat thought hard. Help us get out of here.

  They were ushered into the keep and placed in a corner while the men ate and drank at the long table. The design was similar to the keep at Craignish. But the similarity stopped there. The rushes were dirty, the few tapestries on the walls held a layer of dust, and the servants seemed to prefer the shadows.

  “There has not been a lady of the house in years,” Brianag whispered.

  “I can tell.”

  “To think I almost became the lady of this keep,” Brianag said on a shiver.

  “Toren won’t let that happen,” Kat assured. A timid woman with a dirty apron brought over two trenchers of bread with a thick stew and handed it to them.

  “Thank you,” Kat said, while Brianag nodded her thanks. The woman gave them a small smile and receded into the darkness. Kat barely ate the chunky pieces of meat and some sort of root vegetable in the thick gravy.

  “Eat something,” Brianag said. “We will need our strength to get home.”

  Home? Would Kat ever find home? And exactly where was that now? The thought of not seeing Toren knotted in Kat’s stomach. A wave of want rolled over Kat. So similar to the homesickness she’d felt for her kids. Kat bit into the least offensive chunk. The timid lady brought them some watered wine. Enough wine to make the water acceptable and a bit more sterile.

  “Is there a way out of here?” Kat asked the servant. “Can you help us?”

  The servant’s eyes froze like an animal caught in front of a car. Frightened, not sure which way to run, perhaps in denial that she was about to be road kill.

  “If ye will be harmed by it, do not answer,” Brianag offered and smiled. “I’m Lady Brianag and this is Lady Kat.”

  “I ken who ye are.” The small voice breathed from dry, thin lips. She reminded Kat of a beaten puppy.

  “And you can come with us when we leave, if you want,” Kat said, making Brianag look at her. “I’m sure the MacCallums will take you in if you’re mistreated here.” Kat smiled, then shook her head. “No one deserves to be mistreated, especially in their home.” The woman looked amazed.

  Thankfully Brianag nodded to confirm what Kat had thrown out. Perhaps the wrongness of domestic violence was a new concept for the sixteenth-century peasant woman who was probably happy she had food and a roof. But Kat didn’t care. Domestic violence was atrocious no matter what century.

  “Do you have anyone else here, parents, children, siblings?” The woman shook her head, scattering coarse dreadlock hair around bent shoulders. Kat smiled. “Then you’re coming with us.”

  “What’s yer name?” Brianag asked.

  “Britta! Get back here,” Fergus yelled from the table. The woman jumped and ran to refill goblets.

  Kat huffed. “They are mistreating her. Look at her.”

  The little woman darted around filling mugs and carrying large platters of food. People bumped her without apologizing and one man even pinched her.

  During the entire painful meal, Britta’s eyes continued to flit to Kat and Brianag.

  “She wants to go with us,” Kat said, easily reading the jumpy creature.

  “I’m not sure we will be going.” Brianag took a sip from her mug. “At least not before we look like her.”

  Kat’s face hardened. She would never look that scared, that beaten. And damn if she was going to abandon someone who did. Kat’s gaze roamed the keep’s structure. The kitchens would be where Britta and another woman scuttled in and out. A set of curving stairs twisted higher, most likely leading to the bedrooms. Another set curved downward, probably to the dungeons. Kat had never visited a true, rat infested dungeon, but in her current position it would be a preferred resting spot over the bedrooms above. She doubted they would be left alone in those bedrooms.

  As if cued into her thoughts, Fergus glanced over at her, leering brown, broken teeth. He adjusted himself through his kilt while some of the men around him snickered and guzzled more ale.

  Just one butterfly, Kat wished deeply. Just one, fluttering around the room would wipe that smirk from his cocky face.

  Maxwell glanced in their direction and began to talk, but Kat couldn’t hear him. He seemed calm enough, like a man who held all the cards.

  “Come!” Fergus called out to them.

  “Are we hounds then,” Brianag whispered, but rose from her seat. Kat followed.

  “There will be other battles to win,” Kat said and they walked arm in arm across the hall.

  “We’ve just been discussing what good luck it was that we came across ye fair maidens in the woods,” Fergus said, stressing the word maidens as he eyed Kat in a way that told her he didn’t think she was a maiden any longer. He tapped one finger against his lips. “What to do with ye?”

  Maxwell motioned for them to sit and Kat and Brianag did as one. “I assume that my daughter and her child are at the MacCallum holdings.” It was a statement, but he waited for an answer.

  “Lady Margaret has sought refuge for herself and her daughter,” Brianag answered. “And we are honoring that request.”

  Maxwell’s face hardened, his eyes turning to ice. “Refuge? Why would she need to seek refuge in a holding where she is to be married? I freely give her to Toren MacCallum. He shall marry her to right his wrong.”

  Kat wondered if they should let the men think that was still possible. Even if Kat was to go home to her century, Toren would never marry Margaret. It was obvious from the hidden glances and unspoken language that Eadan liked Margaret. And she seemed receptive, or at least hadn’t cut him off.

  “Then you have no need to retain us,” Kat said instead.

  “Oh, but I do,” Fergus said, and his eyes moved to Brianag. “I’ve long since had a heart full of love for the Lady Brianag.”

  Kat felt the tremor ripple through her friend. The terror of Fergus’s earlier kidnapping must be playing through Brianag. Would she be able to speak for herself? Kat opened her mouth, but Brianag’s words stopped her.

  “Fergus Campbell, before all those witnessing our abduction, I swear before God that I will never wed with ye. If ye so much as touch me, ye will be acting against God and the MacCallums will not rest until ye are smashed into the ground.”

  So she chose not to go with the subtle. Kat almost smiled as Fergus’s grin faltered, but her humor would only make things worse.

  Fergus looked at Kat. She shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I think she said it all quite well.”

  Maxwell glared, his eyes raking down Kat’s body in a way that made Kat feel unclean. “And who exactly are you?”

  Kat crossed her arms and raised her chin. “I am Lady Katell Di-Ciadaoin.”

  Fergus chuckled. “Lady Wednesday, I believe.” He looked at Maxwell. “It’s said that Toren will marry her instead of yer daughter.”

  Maxwell wet his thin lips. “I think tonight will put an end to that.” He smoothed back his neatly cropped, graying hair. Kat swallowed down the bit of bile rising up from her stomach with the stew. What did the man mean?

  “I’ve long since wanted to remarry,” Maxwell said with thinly veiled lust. The hard stare, as if he were assessing her weaknesses and attributes, made Kat’s skin crawl. “I will take you, Lady Di-Ciadaoin.”

  “You have got to be kidding,” Kat blurted. “You’re old enough to be my father.”

  “I rarely joke,” he said, with a vicious little frown that showed the tips of browning teeth.

  Fergus frowned. “But Maxwell…” he hesitated. “I thought to teach this lass a thing or two, perhaps with my future bride.”

  What the hell! They were starting to argue over who was going to rape and marry who. Apparently her scars didn’t hinder their attraction.

  “This is ridiculous,” Kat blurted again. “Neither of us is marrying either of you. Nor doing anything else with you.”

  Everyone looked at her like she was insane. “You”—she pointed to Fergus—“are an enemy to the MacCallums. If you force yourself
on either one of us you will bring the entire horde of MacCallums down on you. They’ll just kill you and take Brianag and me home.” Kat wiped her hands in the air as if the deed was easily accomplished. Kat continued.

  She turned to Maxwell. “And I don’t know why you insist Toren killed your son and slept with your daughter when he didn’t, but marrying his woman isn’t going to accomplish anything except putting a target on your chest. He’ll just kill you and take me home. Or do you plan to stay cooped up in this castle forever?”

  “You mistake your worth,” Maxwell ground out, his words calm, chilling. A bluff to intimidate the weak?

  She hoped.

  “Toren will marry Margaret or I will take her home.”

  “She’s not going anywhere,” Kat continued. “She’s going to wed with Eadan.”

  “He’s already handfasted with her,” Brianag continued. That was new. True or not it had an effect on Maxwell. A red flush of fury rushed up his neck and across his face. Kat wasn’t sure if it was wise to ruffle Maxwell’s feathers, but it was buying them some time.

  “Never!” Maxwell yelled, shattering his self restraint. “She will wed with the chief of the MacCallums.”

  “If ye hate Toren so much, why would ye want yer daughter to marry him?” Brianag asked. Good question.

  “The child is his, not his brother’s.” Maxwell’s face had resumed its calm condemnation, the beast restrained somewhat. Kat shivered. To think Toren lived under this man’s roof. And poor Margaret, no wonder she sought the shadows, like a victim. The hairs on the back of Kat’s neck bristled. A victim.

  “Sara is not Toren’s child and you know it,” Kat said, her eyes narrowing as she studied the man. He stood with hands fisting at his sides.

  Maxwell stared her down, but she refused to look away. “Who is the father?” Kat asked. The question hung in the air, ignored, shunned. Kat knew victims. Many of her children in the orphanage were taken away from incestuous homes. Margaret was a woman, but treated much like a child in this time. She had no rights of her own, forced to live with her father. And now that she had a daughter who was growing up, she finally sought refuge.