Dreamer (Highland Treasure Trilogy)

by McGoldrick, May

  “But there is nothing that can be done! I tried to make Adam understand that Athol is not the devil that he thinks him to be. As you did tonight, I tried to tell him that the earl did not know of their kinship. But without any way of bringing out the truth of their past...it was just impossible.”

  “Based on the little information that we each have,” Catherine said, “perhaps there are questions that can be answered now.”

  Susan’s eyes bore her conviction when she spoke the words. “Adam is not evil. His anger comes from suffering. From pain that he truly believes was caused by John Stewart.”

  “But how could he intentionally cause harm to someone that he didn’t even know existed?”

  “Aye!” Susan whispered. “‘Tis impossible. But how can we change anything?”

  “We can...and we will...because now ‘tis the two of us,” Catherine said with conviction. “I know we cannot change the past, Susan, but we have the power to fashion the future. That is our only chance. The future must belong to us.”

  Together, they moved past their escorts and into the darkness.

  CHAPTER 18

  Once he’d questioned the English monks--and gained nothing by it--John Stewart became a raving terror.

  The stables and its inhabitants were his next targets and, with every stable hand trailing in his wake, Athol personally counted every stallion, mare, gelding, and mule. None were missing. The warriors and the porter’s lads who tended the gates were questioned individually. A little past sundown, the portcullis had been lowered, the great oak and iron gates shut, and no one had gone either in or out since then.

  Torches flared, lighting the courtyards as warriors and serving folk moved to and fro, and every kitchen, cellar, and storeroom was searched. Athol was everywhere, but to no avail. Catherine was nowhere to be found.

  By the time he met Auld Mab at the entrance to the Great Hall, he was feeling the tug of panic on his nerves, but he set his jaw and forced down the steely taste in his mouth. The old woman, too, had disappointing news. The serving folk had gone through every room in the castle--except the dowager’s chambers and his own. There was no trace of her.

  As he turned away, he felt a pressure building within him. He wanted to shout, lash out, pound something into powder. And he would, too. The next person who brought him bad news.

  He whirled, facing a dozen men and women.

  “Search everything again!” he shouted. “Find her.”

  Storming up the stairwell to the second floor, he felt the sharp edges of fear clawing at his insides. Where she had disappeared to he couldn’t even guess. If she’d run off to Elgin again, he’d personally flay her alive. But his worst fear lay in the possibility that she had actually been the victim of foul play. What if there were more like Roy Sykes living under his roof? What if they had seized upon Catherine’s adventurous nature and lured her some way out of the keep.

  But how?

  Knowing that he would leave no stone unturned, Athol shouted for Tosh, ordering him to send four parties of warriors out into the night to search the village and the glen and the surrounding hills for some trace of her. Moments later, the sound of horses and men could be heard moving out of the courtyard through the low, arched gate.

  If this were any castle but Balvenie, Athol knew he would be concerned about secret passages and subterranean tunnels. He knew well enough that nearby Ironcross Castle was riddled with them. He’d nearly lost his life in one. But it was not the case here.

  His family had taken possession of the castle years ago, when the Black Douglases had been whipped so badly at Arkinholm. The fear of the rebellious Douglases trying to take the castle back had haunted the minds of that first Stewart earl of Athol, and the man had not hesitated to torture and bribe the former inhabitants’ serving folk until he knew every possible weakness in the castle. It had not taken long to block up the three tunnels that led under the curtain walls.

  But there was no way Catherine would even think of searching out such things. There was no way she would even know of the three old trap doors that lay hidden around the keep. What woman in her right mind would follow a tunnel to nowhere?

  Nay! he thought, shaking his head. Even if she had found a trap door, what good would it do her? She wouldn’t be foolish enough to step into a moldering dark passage. It would serve no purpose. There could be no way out for her there.

  She was a stubborn woman, true. But she was hardly one to waste her time.

  But still, he thought, climbing the stairwell for the hundredth time, he could not simply stand and wait. The sky in the east had already taken on a grayish hue, and soon the sun would push up past the wooded hills to the east.

  There was one other thing he still had to do. He’d considered going up and questioning his mother before. He knew from Auld Mab that the dowager was awake and concerned.

  He should go see her, he decided with a frown. Tosh had told him of Catherine taking the ailing woman out into the gardens. And he’d also heard that Lady Anne appeared to be no worse after the afternoon of fresh air in his wife’s company. In fact, Auld Mab had confided, the dowager had seemed, as a result, to be in as good a mood as she’d seen her in months.

  He would go and talk to his mother. He could at least ask her if she was privy to anything that might be brewing in Catherine Percy’s pretty head.

  It was curious how the dowager seemed to be taking a liking to Catherine. His mother had never been very cordial with any of the women he’d known. But though he found the growing affection between them refreshing, he still found himself at odds with his mother. She knew more than she was telling about Adam of the Glen, and her silence was beginning to wear on him.

  Nay. He hadn’t the patience for Lady Anne right now, certainly not with the reproaches she was sure to heap upon his head. He’d deserve them all, of course, but he didn’t have time for them now. More than likely, Lady Anne would have no answer that would be of any use to him, but she would be ruthless in her censure of everything that he’d done to prove himself unworthy of his wife’s affection.

  Deciding that he was fretting about the wrong thing at the wrong time, Athol reversed his direction and started back down toward the storerooms. Unlikely as it seemed that Catherine could be in one of the tunnels, he wasn’t about to let any possibility slip past him. Calling for torches as he passed the Great Hall, he continued his descent. He would do a personal inspection of all three trap doors and the tunnels leading from them.

  And God help her if he found her there.

  ****

  Sir Arthur Courtenay eyed the two renegade Scots standing before him in their outlandish Highland gear. He knew that these cutthroats could be trusted to carry out his instructions, but he would as soon hang them as look at them.

  Standing before the hearth of the ramshackle manor house he’d taken possession of, the king’s Deputy Lieutenant continued to bark out his instructions in terms so specific that they could not fail to understand him. Before he was finished, though, the approach of one of his own officers from outside drew his attention.

  “He is arrived, m’lord, as you said he would.” The soldier cast a look of disdain in the direction of the Highlanders.

  “Did you stop him?”

  “Aye, m’lord. He’s in the stable yard, and a mite upset over us handling him as we have.”

  “I don’t care how you handle him. Just keep him out. What did he say?”

  “He said nothing until we closed ranks on him. Then he started spouting off that your lordship can’t be searching out the maps without him. He ‘insists,’ m’lord, to know what’s been found.”

  “Did you tell him ‘tis no longer his business to be involving himself in the king’s concerns?”

  “Aye, that I did, m’lord, and the lads are enjoying the ruckus he’s making. He’s demanding to see you right away.”

  The king’s deputy rose slowly to his feet and glared at the man. “Well, tell the monk to go to hell, for the king no
longer has any use for his useless carcass.”

  “I tried to be insulting, m’lord, but he...”

  “You have other means, Captain!”

  “Aye, m’lord, but he’s a priest, and the men--”

  “If the filthy swine curses you, then kick his teeth out, but keep him out of here.”

  The officer nodded as he turned and strode out of the hall. The Deputy Lieutenant turned to the two waiting men.

  “Use whatever deceit you must. Hire as many hands as you need, if you must take her by force. But bring her back to me. Do you understand?”

  The two soldiers nodded confidently in response.

  “With good horses, we’ll have the lass here inside of a fortnight,” one said as they turned to go.

  Once he was alone, Sir Arthur moved away from the fire and gazed with disgust at the roughly sketched map that lay beside a small open box on the table. Finding this had been the last straw. The haughty bitches had buried the box in the midden heap of this very house.

  He stared at it, his face growing paler as his fury grew. The new map clearly pointed out the next stop on this endless chase. There, a bright red ‘X’ sat in the burying ground of his own ancestors at his manor house in the south of Yorkshire.

  Indeed, this was the last straw. Well, he wasn’t going to travel to the south of Yorkshire. He wasn’t going to the south of anywhere. By the devil, he was through letting those three wenches lead him around by the cock.

  Sir Arthur Courtenay turned and stared into the fire. It was time for those Percy bitches to pay.

  *****

  John Stewart’s inspection of the first two trap doors and the tunnels beneath them turned up nothing. Now, moving across the courtyard, he paused as Tosh and his men rode in through the low, arched gate. Dawn was just breaking gray and cold, and a steady rain was beginning to fall. Athol did not even notice.

  “Nothing, m’lord!” The veteran warrior leaped from his horse. “The hills are as quiet as can be. There are no fresh tracks of anyone around the castle that we could see. But I do not know how she--”

  “How about the village? Any new faces? Anything?”

  “We searched, m’lord. And we checked every crofter’s hut and hovel for leagues in every direction! ‘Tis as if she just disappeared from the face of the earth!”

  John Stewart stared at his man, suddenly conscious of the blood pulsing in his temples. It was as if his heart were crying out in pain, and he didn’t know which way to turn next. Unlike his wife, he was not a religious man. But, by the saints, just about then, even he could see the value of reaching out in his need. Silently, he sent a plea up to the heavens.

  “I will question my mother.” He spoke the words almost to himself. What other options remained? he wondered. He climbed the steps and entered the Great Hall.

  “Perhaps I should alert Mistress Susan to prepare the dowager first.”

  Tosh’s words had merit. The last thing he needed to do now was to frighten his mother with the news that Catherine simply could not be found.

  “Aye. Go on. I still have one more thing that I need to check on. Tell Susan I’ll be with the dowager in her chamber presently.”

  As Tosh moved off, Athol turned to the now empty Great Hall, and his mind was immediately flooded with images of the recent past. Of the first time he’d seen her here, searching for food. Of the first time he’d escorted his wife into this Hall. Of her beautiful face, accepting the proffered oaths of fealty from his people. It was almost too much for him, and he strode quickly to the stairwell.

  In a few moments, he was standing by her door. In his mind’s eye he could see them both, making love by the window, and he found himself engulfed by the vision of her bewitching smile. Of those midnight blue eyes that had cast a spell over his heart. Of her goddess-like body that drove him to madness.

  He paused and took a breath by her closed door. What could ever replace the way her soul had opened up to him from the day they’d met, giving him glimpses of her innermost thoughts?

  But even in her absence, he still could sense her around him. He could feel her and that tortured him even more, because he could not find her. This, he thought sadly, is what it is to be haunted.

  Resting a hand on her door, he gazed at the ledge across the corridor, wishing her here. The sky was gray beyond it, and he called with his heart and his soul for her to come back to him. Once again, to be a part of him. To stay forever and ever by his side.

  “Catherine!” Involuntarily, he pushed at her door and it swung open easily on its hinges.

  He didn’t have to look into the darkness, nor even step in, to know that she was back.

  “Catherine!”

  “I am here, John.”

  Her voice came quietly out of the darkness of her chamber. At that moment, he was quite certain he had never heard a sound so magical.

  Suddenly, he was at her side, enveloping her in his arms, drawing her so tightly to him that they were molded as one.

  “Catherine.”

  Her body was shaking. Her mouth was as greedy as his, and as their lips met, all his prayers were answered in an instant. And while his mouth tried to punish and yet find relief, his hands searched, caressing her body, making sure that she was not harmed. Making sure that she was real.

  He clutched her fiercely to him and whispered in her ear. “Catherine! Where were you?”

  “Hush! Just hold me.”

  Her mind was troubled. He could feel her concerns pounding inside his own head.

  Seating himself on the bed and gathering her on his lap, Athol just held her as she’d asked. She was not the only one who wanted to be held. He, too, needed her embrace. He still could not believe that she was real. That, indeed, his wife had returned.

  Only a moment of silence passed, but in that moment the realization struck him that he knew would change him forever--without her, he was not complete. He was only whole with her beside him. She was his wife as he was her husband. Catherine possessed him, possessed his love, possessed his very soul.

  “Catherine!” he said at last. He could still hear the concern in his voice, but he was much calmer now. “Where were you, lass?”

  “I...I had to come back to my room.”

  Athol’s spine stiffened. He could feel a shadow darken the space between them. The incompleteness of her statement, her unspoken words, made the answer a lie. He pushed her away from his chest and tried to look into her eyes in the darkness of the room. He had been through too much tonight to be able to stomach any more games. She shivered slightly and held on to his arm.

  “You left my bed, but you didn’t return here. Catherine, what is this all about? Where did you go?”

  The sound of steps coming to a sudden stop by the open door of her chamber startled them both, and Athol leaped up, turning his anger on the intruder. Tosh stood with a lighted taper in the doorway. The initial look of shock on the warrior’s face quickly turned to concern as he stared at his laird’s wife. Athol whirled and looked at Catherine.

  “By St. Andrew!” he exploded. “What is this?”

  She was a mess. A scratched and bloody mess. Shouting at his man to bring in the light, he placed her on the edge of the bed and ordered Tosh to fetch Jean.

  Kneeling before her and turning her face toward the light, he tried to get a better look at the source of the blood.

  “‘Tis nothing!” she said softly. “Just a bit of carelessness...a briar bush...”

  They were scratch marks, indeed. Running his hand through her soft mane of hair, he found thorns from briar bushes still tangled in her tresses.

  “Where did you disappear to? I searched every inch...”

  The sudden appearance of her serving woman with more light stopped Athol’s questions. Stepping back from the bed, he watched observantly as Jean began fussing over her mistress. A moment later, another serving woman appeared with an ewer of water.

  Going to the window, Athol pulled open the shutter and glanced around t
he chamber. These walls were solid stone. The iron-barred window offered no escape, either.

  One of the kitchen workers arrived and quickly began to build up the fire. Her gaze, too, flitted about the room, collecting information to report to the castle’s inhabitants.

  “Leave the rest of the wood. Out you go,” he ordered, shooing her out the door. Catherine was watching him as Jean dabbed gently at her face. He moved around the chamber. Spotting her cloak on a small settle beside the hearth, John walked toward it and studied it closely. The garment was caked with dirt, and the thick wool cloth had thorns and pulls in the material, attesting to her confessed encounter with a briar bush. But there were no briars inside the castle, that much he knew.

  As he picked up the cloak, his gaze fell on his own dirk lying beneath the garment. Picking up the weapon, he turned it in his hand. He looked up and found Catherine’s eyes on him.

  However hard he tried to be angry--knowing that she was holding back, that she was not trusting him with something of the gravest importance--still, all he could see in her eyes were tenderness and affection for him. And that was enough to undo him, for his own emotions were raw and far too close to surface.

  Going to the door, he stepped out. Tosh was there with a number of others.

  “Go and tell Susan to put my mother and the household at ease. Find Auld Mab, as well.”

  Without another word, Athol strode back into the chamber and crossed to the window. Jean had finished doctoring Catherine’s face and was taking clean clothing out of the wooden chest. As she prepared to dress his wife, Athol moved to the hearth and crouched before it, building up the fire himself.

  More than anything else right now, he wanted to gather Catherine in his arms and carry her to his own chamber where he would assail her first with questions before making love to her. Somehow, he needed to release some of this madness that roared in his veins, and he was uncertain which one of those two things would work best. But he would wait, knowing that first of all, she must be tended to.