by Diane Darcy
“Aye, lass. Prepare yerself. On the morrow I’ll no doubt be able to stomach the task.”
She nodded like a fool.
She needed to escape.
Quickly.
An insane man held her life in his hands.
CHAPTER THREE
“My boss would probably be willing to pay good money to get me back.”
Gareth barely heard her. He was starving, and the realization brought him a spurt of surprise and joy. He could eat again? After years of watching people walk around the visitors center consuming meals, snacks, and desserts such as he’d never seen, the realization he could eat again was thrilling!
His stomach rumbled. The drive was urgent, by the sounds of it.
He grabbed the girl’s pack. It took him a moment to figure out how to open it, but he finally succeeded. He rooted around for a moment, then dumped everything out, staring down at equipment, sandals, a book, and a hairbrush. His lip curled in disgust. “Ye’ve not any food in yer pack?”
Eyes wide with fear, she shook her head.
His lips tightened. “Who leaves a pack lyin’ about with no food in it?”
She shrugged, and wrapped her arms around her knees.
Grabbing up his knife, he gestured toward her. “Come, we’re to go forage. We’ll need supplies to last the night.”
Her pretty blue eyes widened with hope. “You’re right. We should go buy some food. I’m hungry, too. It’ll be my treat.”
Food in his belly might be just what he needed to settle his conscience. Then he’d truly be capable of killing the woman on the morrow.
She quickly slid on the sandals, put everything back in her pack, closed it up, and slung it on her back. They walked through the distance until they came to a house.
“Ye’re to stay here. If ye’re not here when I get back, I’ll kill the people inside in yer stead.” He wouldn’t truly, but he hoped his words would keep her in place.
She nodded, and sank to the ground.
He walked a few feet and could feel the rage building in him again. Charles Stuart hadn’t cared about the young men killed in his stead for his unjust cause. As his blood kin, why would she?
He’d gone but a short distance when he saw clothing hanging from a bit of rope. He cut the rope and headed back to the girl and grabbed her wrists.
She tugged. “No, please don’t.”
Not bothering to argue, he subdued her struggles, quickly tied her hands behind her back, and bound her feet. The bit of cloth was still about her neck, and he lifted it into place to gag her.
She thrashed her head. “No, stop. I won’t call out. I swear it.”
He didn’t bother to argue. When she was bound and gagged, he set off once again in search of food.
The back door was unbarred. He moved in silence to find the kitchen, once again, close at hand. Food was simply lying about. He found a bag, emptied it, and stuffed familiar foods inside. Bread, apples, the bananas he’d seen and wanted to try, and more. He opened the cold food storage and found meats and cheeses and what looked to be bottled wine. As soon as he’d filled his sack, he hurried outside.
She was still there. Rather than untie her, he hauled her, pack and all, over his shoulder and headed down the road. He found another field, settled her next to some bushes that hid them from the path, and removed her gag.
He opened the bag and proceeded to eat. The food was wondrous. Never had he eaten food so fine in his life. The drink tasted of apples. After he’d eaten his fill, he sliced a bit of cheese. “Would ye care for some?”
“Will you untie me?”
“I could feed ye.”
“No, thanks.”
He shrugged, finished the cheese, belched, and then wrapped his plaid around himself and lay down. Her shivering kept him awake, and he wished he’d stolen a blanket. He finally sat up, set his weapons aside, and pulled her toward him. He untied her hands and wrapped her within his plaid, lay them both down, and buried his face in her cloud of hair.
She went completely stiff.
“I’ll not molest yer person, if that’s what worries ye.”
She slowly relaxed.
He drifted off to sleep, his arms tight about her. Good food and a soft, clean-smelling woman. He was feeling more himself by the moment.
He would most likely kill her in the morning.
~~~
Lissa lay still for a long while, absorbing the warmth of his body. The guy was a furnace. If she wasn’t so afraid, she might actually enjoy the feel of masculine strength wrapped around her for the first time in…well…forever.
Earlier, he’d said he’d kill people in her stead, but hadn’t harmed her. She hoped he hadn’t harmed anyone at her bed and breakfast. She hadn’t heard anything.
That was good, right?
And she did appreciate him telling her he wasn’t about to molest her. She actually believed him. Perhaps she was just fooling herself in a haze of hysteria; but whatever his delusion, he seemed to truly believe it.
She slowly exhaled. She’d just had to go to the visitors center and announce she was related to Bonnie Prince Charlie, didn’t she?
She wasn’t even sure if it was true. In her opinion, it was more of a family legend than anything else.
How was she to know someone would find that bit of family lore extremely offensive?
She lay still for a long while listening to the guy breathe. When she was convinced he was asleep, she tried to creep out from under his plaid. She slowly turned left and right to loosen it, but escape seemed impossible. He’d wrapped it in such a way that she might as well have been inside a tight sleeping bag.
Neat trick, that.
At least she was warmish—heated everywhere he touched her and chilled where he didn’t. The man really did put off a lot of heat. With her feet still tied, she couldn’t really do much; so she tried inching her way to the top, as it was a sleeping bag, but his arms tightened.
“Stay still, lass. If ye irritate me, I may kill ye now, instead of on the morrow.”
Kill her?
She inhaled. So he’d meant it earlier?
She went limp, despairing. “Why are you doing this?”
He didn’t answer.
She still didn’t understand why he cared so much, but she needed to tell him she wasn’t related to Bonnie Prince Charlie in any way, shape, or form. Just because her dad believed it, didn’t make it true. She’d always thought it fanciful; and okay, a little fun to be connected to long ago royalty.
Never again. If she got out of this, she’d deny any such relation to her dying breath.
She lay quiet, trying to logic the whole thing out. Could the man be on drugs? If he was, that might be a good thing. He might wake in the morning and not even remember the night before, let alone who she was. Her spirits lifted a bit.
He’d certainly had the munchies. Didn’t that go hand in hand with drug use?
Besides being kidnapped, the weirdest thing was she could clearly remember seeing him earlier outside the visitors center. She’d thought him a ghost, or a hologram, but now here he was, larger than life and more real than anyone she’d ever met.
She’d wait a few more minutes, then try and escape again. At this point, what did she have to lose? She’d just wait a bit longer…close her eyes and snuggle close to his heat…
She was out before she’d finished the thought.
~~~
As dawn broke, Gareth woke slowly. He’d slept, but not the empty, dreamless sleep of the dead. This time it was a mortal sleep—revitalization and replenishment. He’d not experienced the like in hundreds of years and barely remembered the wonder of it.
Grinning, he yawned and stretched to the best of his ability, bound as he was to the girl.
Loosening his plaid, he leaned up on one elbow to watch her sleep. She truly was beautiful. Everything about her was honey-colored in dawn’s light. Her hair, the curve of her cheek, the soft-looking skin on her neck. All but her pink-kissed l
ips, the upper of which dipped sharply in the middle, the lower plumped out and curved, as if begging to be kissed.
He exhaled harshly. Where had that thought come from?
How was he supposed to kill her while thinking such things? He shouldn’t be watching her sleep. If he had to kill her, he didn’t want to remember her face. But with the warm heat of her pressed against him, her softness, he was having a difficult time remembering why she had to die. The longer he studied her beautiful face, slack with sleep, yet with a furrow in her brow that admitted to worry, he felt his heart softening.
He blew out another harsh breath.
He should’ve killed her last night.
He grabbed her by the shoulder and shook her.
She startled, and again, he didn’t care for the deepening worry in her face. It brought out protective instincts he shouldn’t be feeling.
They both sat up, facing each other. He yanked his plaid out from under her, wrapped himself in it, and started in with questions. “What is yer full name?”
She glanced around, as if unsure where she was, before despair sank into her expression.
He didn’t like that either. It made him want to curl her close and keep her safeguarded against trouble. “Yer name, lass.”
“I told you last night. Lissa Stuart. It’s Lissa Marie Stuart.”
“Ah, ha!” He lifted a finger in the air. “Named for The Young Pretender’s mother no doubt. Ye dinnae deny it then? It’s a Stuart ye are? And who are your parents? Where are they? Why aren’t they with you?”
Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Uh…I’m 26 years old. Why would they be?”
“Are ye married, then?” He didn’t know why, but he didn’t like that thought at all.
“No.”
He let out a breath and scowled. “Then why wouldn’t yer parents be with you?” He knew things had changed over the years, had witnessed goings on at the visitors center that confused him, but some things should never change. Unmarried daughters ought to remain protected by their parents.
Everyone knew that.
Still, the fact she was here, unguarded, worked in his favor. “Tell me where to find your parents.”
Her lips firmed, a mulish expression settling over her features. “Why would you want to know?”
“I will ask the questions and ye will answer without argument.”
Her gaze dropped for a moment, then she lifted a shoulder. “They live in America so I can’t imagine their names would mean anything to you.”
“Their names.”
“Fred and Ginger Rogers. Um… I mean Stuart.”
“’Tis obvious yer lyin’ to me, lass. And I dinnae care for liars, not at all.”
Whatever she saw in his expression had her shrinking back. “I won’t tell you their names. You can ask me forever, but I won’t say a word.”
He wanted to be irritated, but couldn’t help admire her loyalty. “What does your father do for work?”
She looked wary for a moment, and then shrugged again. She started to unpick the bindings around her ankles. “Dad is in local politics. It’s a good fit for him, and mom’s a schoolteacher.”
“I hate office-bearers.”
She didn’t respond.
“Rogues and ne’er-do-wells the lot of them. I suppose he’s easy to look upon?”
Her brows furrowed. “Are you asking if he’s good-looking? I guess so, for a man his age, anyway.”
Gareth’s mouth tightened. “Doaty bampots, and wastrels the lot of them.”
Her chin lifted. “It’s actually a good fit for Dad. He really cares about people. And somebody has to do the job.”
He considered her stubborn expression. “Aye, nevertheless, a tutor is a good profession for a woman. Perhaps such an honorable wife would keep him in line.”
“I’m so glad you approve.” She said the words mildly, but he could sense the underlying sarcasm. He let it go. “Why did your parents let you come here alone?”
“I haven’t lived at home for a long time. I work for a Hollywood movie producer in California. I’m here on assignment.”
“What do you do for this man?”
“I research history, I take pictures, I let him know what people used to wear, some of the words they would use, how they lived, things like that. I also research the politics of the time.”
He scowled at her. “For what purpose would your employer need such information?”
“I told you. He makes movies.”
He didn’t want her to think him unschooled, not with her mother a tutor, so he nodded. “I have seen movies before. Some of the guards watch them at night on their little devices.”
“Guards?” Her brow arched. “You have guards where you live?”
He scowled. “I’ve said I will ask the questions.”
“Sorry. May I at least ask what your favorite movies are?”
“John Wayne is a favorite among most of us.”
She smiled. “Everyone likes the Duke.”
He nodded. “Just so. About your parents—”
“You’re like a dog with a bone. I’m not going to introduce you to my parents, and no I don’t live with them, and no I won’t tell you their names.”
“What is your village called?”
“Um… Hollywood.”
“And are your family nearby?”
“No. They live hundreds of miles away, and you’ll never find them. I live with my best friend.”
“Another girl?”
She nodded, and the bindings on her feet came loose.
He couldn’t help scowling again. “D’yer neighbors watch out for you? Are you part of a clan?”
She laughed. “In Hollywood? That would be a no. In fact, I don’t even really know any of my neighbors.”
“How could you not know your neighbors?”
She shook her legs out in front of her. “None of us ever talk to each other. Most of them have small dogs they talk to instead. And most of them are actually pretty snobbish.”
“Perhaps they know your father is in politics.”
She rolled blue eyes, and her exasperation, her more relaxed attitude, appealed to him on a level he didn’t understand. He only knew he found it hard to look away.
“It sounds a strange place. ’Tis for the best you’ve come here.”
She stiffened again. “Why? So you can kill me?” Her words held a bravado he’d heard frequently on the battlefield, a mixture of fear and hard-won defiance.
He tried to reach for his anger again—his killing anger—but it wouldn’t come. The thought of her protecting her parents, rather than the other way around, living with another young girl, surrounded by neighbors who would only speak to their dogs, saddened him. Mayhap she’d been punished by life enough.
“You have no man of your own? No prospect of children?” That, he could sympathize with.
“I’m sure I’ll marry someday.”
“But ye said you were twenty and six.”
“So? What’s your point? I’m not exactly dog meat.”
He tried to hide his pity. How could she find such a man when she sat in a home surrounded by people who wouldn’t speak to her.
“In the meantime, I’m considering getting a small dog of my own.”
He shook his head. “’Tis just sad, lass.”
“You don’t care for pets?”
“Well, ye yerself remind me of a kitten. Mayhap I could come to appreciate such a pet.”
She scowled. “I’m no pet.”
Amusement tilted his lips. “My apologies, kitten. ’Tis just your wee claws come out unexpectedly, so the comparison is inevitable.”
“What do you want of me?”
His amusement faded away. What was he doing, sitting here and teasing the pretty lass? She was a Stuart, and he’d best not forget it.
His task to kill her seemed a reasonable undertaking yesterday, but ridiculous today. She was female and without family support. Stuart or no, she needed protection.
She certainly wasn’t getting it from that reprehensible father of hers. Now, were he here, he’d no doubt deserve a knife in the gut.
So no, he couldn’t kill the lass.
How to get his revenge, then?
All of this, becoming mortal again, breathing again, becoming flesh and blood, had scrambled his brains.
What had the witch said? He had but a few days in which to complete a task. A noble deed. Killing a Stuart would be considered a noble deed, but if he couldn’t kill the girl, what was he to do?
His mind wasn’t clear. And until it was, until he could make decisions, one thing he did know for sure. He wasn’t ready to let go of the girl.
“What do I want of ye?”
She nodded.
“Why, I want to keep you, lass. Until such time as I’m pleased to let you go.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Lissa rolled over, shot to her feet, and lurched away. The prickling sensation had eased, but her legs weren’t quite in working order.
He easily caught her, and when she hit out at him, grasped her hands and seemed amused by her efforts. “Would ye care for some food? ’Tis time to break your fast, and you must be hungry by now.”
Breakfast? Didn’t he realize they were fighting? She was anyway, and maybe for her life. She wrenched a hand away, fisted it, and hit his chest with the side.
He laughed.
And why not? It was pretty much a girly hit. She wilted, letting him hold up her weight. “Just tell me what you want.”
Not visibly fazed, he seemed to think about it for a moment. “A good question. I’ve a good deed to perform, but I’d prefer to find my kin first. I want to go to Inverdeem and see who’s still there, see who’s still left.”
“If you want to do a good deed just let me go!”
His grip tightened on her arms. “Perhaps I shouldn’t be so quick to show leniency toward ye.”
She swallowed and stood up straight. “So…you haven’t been home in a while?”
“Nae, but I’ve a mind to see what happened to my sister. I want to know if she married, if she had children, if there is anyone left of our blood. I want to know what happened to my parents. How they lived and died. I want these questions answered.”