Dreamer (Highland Treasure Trilogy)

by McGoldrick, May

  Discovering where the younger woman went those nights had become an obsession with Catherine. But for some reason, telling her husband or asking Jean or the other serving women about Susan’s habits was something that she could not bring herself to do.

  Of all the inhabitants of Balvenie Castle, Susan MacIntyre was the one person that Catherine had not been able to befriend. And as far as Catherine was concerned, this failure had not been for a lack of trying.

  There was an aloofness in the younger woman that Catherine had at first attributed to her displacement as acting mistress of Balvenie Castle, to being told that she was not to be the chosen wife of the earl, to seeing someone else move in and take her place. But Catherine’s opinion had since changed.

  There was something else. A mystery that she could not quite piece together. Susan was distant, true. But she also lived in a dream world that Catherine knew she herself sometimes inhabited. Susan was silent but not hostile toward Catherine--the woman who had robbed her of her rightful place.

  In return, Catherine did not carry a grudge at having all her attempts of companionship rejected by the younger woman. But at the same time, she couldn’t stop herself from wondering what it was that drove Susan down through a trap door in the middle of the night.

  Recognizing the sound of the same door rising on its hinges, Catherine waited in the shadows for her turn. But this time, rather than giving up the chase and turning back to her own chamber, she moved on in pursuit. Touching her husband’s dagger at her belt for comfort, she waited a few moments before easing open the trap door. Taking Athol’s weapon had been a parting thought, one that she had hoped would give her some feeling of security against the unknown that lay ahead.

  There was a rude ladder beneath the trap door, and as she stepped down into the musty passage, Catherine slowly lowered the door behind her. It was pitch black in the tunnel, and at the bottom of the ladder, she found by feeling with her hands that the narrow passage went in one direction only. A footfall ahead drew her attention, and she moved carefully through the darkness.

  A feeling of excitement sent a chill down her back, and Catherine wrapped her cloak more tightly around her. This was so much like the days of her past when she and her sisters would set off to do mischief in the middle of the night. What a fearless bunch they had been as a group! How much easier this all would be if they had not had to separate.

  That helped nothing, she thought. Focusing her mind’s eye on her goal, Catherine pushed such melancholy thoughts from her mind.

  Using her hands to guide her, she pushed on, not daring to slow down for fear of getting lost should the tunnel branch off and she should lose contact with the woman before her. She could still hear Susan’s occasional footstep, or her kicking of a stray pebble on the passage floor. The passage, though, had done nothing but go straight ahead, and she prayed for continued good luck.

  For what seemed like a millennium, she followed. How long it had taken to carve this tunnel through the rocky terrain on which Balvenie Castle sat, Catherine could not even guess. The thought only flickered through her mind though, for she had other, more pressing matters at hand. As she groped along, she couldn’t help but wonder if this chase would lead to anything.

  Suddenly, the passage dipped sharply downward, and a few moments later, she heard sounds of Susan--directly in front of her--obviously struggling through some opening. From the distance they had traveled, she guessed that they must be far beyond the curtain wall of the castle. But on the other hand, she thought, trying to recall which direction the tunnel had gone once she’d climbed down from the secret door, they might have gone only as far as the orchards or the gardens in the opposite direction. Either way, Catherine was fairly certain that they must be outside of the castle.

  Waiting until all sounds of Susan had receded into the darkness, Catherine again moved forward in pursuit, only to have her progress immediately arrested by a wall of stone.

  From the time she’d stepped past the trap door, the feel of the walls had made her think that these passages were older than Balvenie itself. But this barrier appeared to have been intended to block the tunnel.

  Knowing that the other woman had passed through the barrier made Catherine even more determined to find the way out. Feeling with her hands along the rough stone blocks, she could find no opening. The ceiling of the tunnel seemed to be high, though, for as high as she reached, she could not reach the top. Finding a narrow foothold on one wall of the tunnel, Catherine hoisted herself up and grabbed for the barrier.

  Her fingers caught on the edge of an opening. A toehold on the barrier itself allowed her to pull herself up to the level of the opening. It was small, barely wide enough for her shoulders to pass through. In an instant, however, Catherine had wriggled her way into the tiny passageway, and after several yards, the opening widened, and she found that she was able to get to her hands and knees.

  She halted when she heard a noise behind her. Ceasing to breathe, she tried to look back, but could see only darkness. Catherine looked forward again, certain that whatever lay ahead, Susan was there. And then she heard the noise again. A small scrape--the sound of metal against stone somewhere behind her. A man’s grunt. Catherine’s hand slowly reached down, wrapping around the handle of the dirk at her belt.

  Could someone have followed her in the same way she had followed Susan? she wondered.

  All of a sudden, the vulnerability of her situation hit her hard, and hastily Catherine scrambled forward in the tunnel. How could she protect herself in such a confined space? As far as she knew, she had no enemy. But it wasn’t very long ago that Roy Sykes had disappeared from Balvenie Castle. Some had said that he’d feared the earl’s wrath and had left before he could be punished for helping Catherine and Brother Bartholomew depart for Elgin. Others said that he’d always been a suspicious fellow and most likely had left to join the ranks of outlaws who had banded together under Adam of the Glen.

  Either way, as far as Catherine was concerned, facing an opponent in this narrow tunnel presented real danger, and she pressed forward with little concern about the sounds of her own progress.

  Catherine could feel a breath of cool air on her face, and soon realized that the passage was again becoming smaller. She paused for a moment, listening. She could hear nothing behind her, but that did little to make her feel safe. Again crawling forward on her belly, she pushed on until her hands suddenly met with solid rock. Panic seized her for a moment, but her hands--searching for some opening--found a small hole by her shoulder, and she crawled through.

  In a moment, the tight sides of the passage opened up and she knew she was in a larger space. Standing up carefully, she had the sense of being in a cave of some sort, and listened for any sign of Susan. There was nothing.

  It was not difficult deciding which way to go. Turning her face in the direction of the fresh air, Catherine started forward carefully through the darkness.

  She didn’t see what was coming until she was already entangled in the tough thorny briars covering the entrance to the cave. Swallowing her scream of surprise and then her cry of pain, she struggled wildly for a moment before realizing the futility of such an act.

  The long thorns were already embedded in her cloak and her dress, and she could feel the sharp barbs digging into her face. Taking a calming breath, Catherine tried to minimize the damage and extricate herself from the tangle.

  The briars were thick and treacherous, but she soon freed herself from the sharp barbs. Stepping back, she tried to feel for some opening, but the passage again appeared blocked. She listened again for some sound, either ahead or behind her, but she could hear nothing.

  When they were children, Catherine and her sisters had once had a secret place where they had played. It too was a place surrounded by briars, the long thorns protecting them. There, within the confines of the intricate web of branches, they had built an imaginary home where Laura could constantly engage in plans of improvement while Adrianne had swu
ng a stick sword about, chafing for the opportunity to conquer distant lands. Catherine still recalled the way they had needed to crawl along the ground beneath the thorns...

  She dropped to her knees. Sure enough, there was an opening, and the cool night air swept back her hair as she crawled through.

  Emerging on the other side, Catherine stood and looked about her. There was a damp chill in the air, and she pulled the cloak tightly around her. She was standing in a wide, rocky ditch, and the briars behind her formed a kind of hedge. There was no sign of Susan. Cautiously, Catherine crossed to the far side of the trench and climbed the steep wall until her face was even with the top.

  Not far down the hillside from the ditch, a cluster of small cottages huddled against the slope. The few windows were dark, though wisps of smoke could be seen coming from the smoke holes in the sod roofs. The glen lay below, and she turned to look back up the hill. The castle loomed black and ominous in the distance, and she was surprised at how far the tunnel had taken her from the curtain walls. Not far from the trench, clumps of scraggly young trees pointed toward the dark forest groves that covered the top of the east ridge of the glen, and Catherine decided that Susan must have gone that way.

  As she crossed the ground toward the trees, the sounds of restless sheep and the sporadic lowing of a cow drifted up the hill. She was not far from the first stand of trees when the clouds covered the half moon and the going became nearly impossible.

  “I can’t believe I’ve done this,” she muttered under her breath, looking up at where the moon had been. “You can’t see a thi...”

  The hand clamped roughly over her mouth, and Catherine never had even a chance to cry out. The attacker was big, and she grabbed for the dagger at her belt as he threw her violently onto the heather-covered hillside. He shoved her face into the earth, and she could feel his weight on her and her dirk pinned beneath her. A second assailant yanked at her hair, and as she opened her mouth to scream, the villain stuffed a filthy rag in her mouth. They were strong, and Catherine panicked as she felt a leather thong bind her hands behind her.

  “Well, Jock,” one growled as he jerked her to her feet, “won’t the master be pleased to have this bonny bird.”

  *****

  At the sounds of some distant commotion, John Stewart was out of bed and at the door of his chamber in an instant. Pulling his shirt over his head and yanking open the door into his outer chamber, he was immediately confronted by Tosh.

  “There was a fire in the keep, m’lord. But ‘tis already under control. With the exception of a singed blanket or two, and some smoke, it appears that everything was spared.”

  Athol quickly wrapped his kilt around his waist. “Do you know how it started?”

  “Nay, m’lord. There’s no telling. But my guess is that one of the servants dropped a taper going through the old section of the keep. The whole thing was under control before I even got there.”

  “Wait for me, I want to see it.” Having so many of his crofters’ buildings burned by Adam of the Glen was making Athol very suspicious when it came to fire. Turning back to his bedchamber, though, he wanted first to put Catherine’s mind at ease regarding the incident.

  Pushing the door shut in his warrior’s face, Athol came to an abrupt stop at the sight of his empty bed.

  “By the devil,” he muttered, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. “Why am I not surprised?”

  No matter what he said--no matter how passionate their lovemaking had been--he always found her gone in the morning, having stolen off at some time during the night to her own drafty little chamber. This seemed to be a last shred of the independence that she appeared so stubborn about relinquishing. Well, he thought, considering how agreeable she’d become, perhaps it was foolishness to allow something so little to rile him so much.

  Turning around and stalking past Tosh in the outer chamber, Athol grumbled over his shoulder. “So where exactly was the fire?”

  “‘Twas in the upstairs corridor of the old section, m’lord. Just outside of the chamber given to Lady Catherine when she arrived.”

  Athol turned sharply to his man. “The fire was near her chamber? Are you certain no one was hurt?”

  “No one, m’lord! In fact, the English monk who got there first managed to put out most of the flames while shouting for help.”

  Breaking into a run, John Stewart raced up the stairwell and along the corridors into the old section of the keep, cursing himself for being such a fool. How could he let her remain there, when she could have been sleeping safely in his arms? And because of the recklessness of some sleepy servant, she could have been hurt!

  There was a pall of smoke hanging as low as his head in the corridor outside Catherine’s door, and Athol pushed through the crowd of warriors and serving folk. They had already begun to clean up the mess, and burned rushes lay in a pile beside a badly scorched blanket. Nodding to his old steward and the servants who were carefully sweeping the blackened cinders from the oak floor, the earl pushed open the door and walked in. But the room lay vacant. The bed untouched. Her belongings hung on pegs in the same orderly fashion as always. The smell of smoke was comparatively faint in here.

  Stepping immediately out, Athol turned to Jean, who stood eyeing the rushes with a perplexed look on her face.

  “Where is Lady Catherine, Jean?”

  “Not here, m’lord.” The serving woman looked suddenly concerned. “We thought--beg your pardon--we thought she was with you.”

  “Was she here when the fire broke out?”

  Jean bit her lip and then shook her head. “In fact, after the monk, I was the first to arrive here. Though I didn’t need to be told, he made sure I knocked at the mistress’s door. By then the fire was out, but he wanted to be sure that Lady Catherine knew everything was fine and she was in no danger. But she wasn’t there, m’lord. Are ye telling me...?”

  Athol couldn’t keep the worry from his voice as he turned to Auld Mab, who had just pushed through the throng. “Is Lady Catherine with the dowager, Mab?”

  The ancient woman shook her head. “Nay, m’lord. Your mother sent me to check on the commotion. I’ve not seen hide nor hair of your wife.”

  The crowd opened a path for him as the earl of Athol moved quickly down the corridor. Tosh was at his heels. His commands were sharp, though he himself could hear the note of concern in his voice.

  “Gather every one of the men. I want this place turned upside down until you find Lady Catherine. Make sure no one opened the gates for her. And if anyone gave her a mule and sent her on her merry way, I want his tongue nailed to the stable wall.” He whirled and glared at his man. “I do not care what it takes, I want her found. And I want you to send the English monks to me in the Great Hall. I want to make sure there is nothing else that I should know.”

  With a curt nod, Tosh ran ahead as Athol moved to the long thin window. With a sharp curse, he smashed a fist against the wall. He was so worried about her that he couldn’t even think. His mind...and his heart...were no more than a jumble of fears. Never in his whole life had he ever felt so vulnerable to the outside world.

  By St. Andrew, he vowed, after he’d found her, he would chain her to his bed if that was the only way he could keep her safe. Whatever it took, he would convince her. He would even pour out his heart to make her understand what worrying about her did to him.

  When he’d taken Catherine Percy as a wife, Athol had never imagined he could be plagued with such thoughts. How could he ever have known that loving her could become an obsession--that keeping her safe would become the greatest challenge of his life!

  CHAPTER 17

  Although the auburn-haired Adam of the Glen was broader in build than her husband, he was not as tall as Athol, and he was not even close to being as handsome. Still, though, the resemblance was stunning. To Catherine’s thinking, there could be no doubt that they were indeed brothers.

  After being captured by the two brutes, she’d been blindfolded and w
alked a long way. Not long after beginning the trek, she been able to work the gag out of her mouth, but whether her captors noticed it or not, she had no idea. Either way, she made no attempt to cry out, and thankfully they made no effort to replace it.

  They’d climbed into the hills that she guessed lay to the east of the castle, and then the smell of pine and the feel of needles beneath her feet told her that they were traveling through a thick wood. Up hills and down they’d walked, until suddenly the ground became jagged with rock, and they’d started down a tortuously steep path filled with loose gravel. As they’d passed again into some woods, the air took on a smell that created in Catherine’s mind a vision of the abandoned, water-filled stone quarry where she and her sisters had played and learned to swim as children. The sound of falling water reached her ear from somewhere nearby.

  In a few moments she was startled at the sensation of being lifted up as the three of them splashed across a small brook. Woods again, and then the smell of a campfire, and then the voices of more rough men, surprised and questioning as she was led past a crackling fire and shoved without ceremony onto the ground.

  It wasn’t long until the leader had returned to the encampment, and when he’d yanked the blindfold from her eyes, Catherine had stared into the face of a man clearly weighing his options. She even sensed a hint of puzzlement in his eyes as he frowned at her. Two men, obviously the ones who brought her, stood nearby, gloating until one ventured to speak.

  “‘Twas a good night’s work, master, wouldn’t ye say?”

  “Aye, Ren,” the leader replied vaguely, rubbing his chin with a huge hand. He waved Ren off when the outlaw began to speak again. “Let me think a moment.”

  Without another word, Adam of the Glen began to pace back and forth between Catherine and the fire. But Catherine, soon tiring of the man’s brooding silence and his dizzying march, turned her attention to the sorry-looking group gathered about. Despite their Highland dress and their rough handling of her, most of them looked no different than the many farmers she’d known in her life. Clearly, from their curious stares, they saw her as a great prize, and all of them were expectantly awaiting their leader’s next move.