John.
Looking about her, though, she could see that her husband’s warriors would be forced to fight their way up a rain-soaked hillside. By taking shelter against the jagged rocks of the bluff, her captors had strategically eliminated any chance of anyone approaching them from behind. It would certainly only be a moment before one of the brigands spotted the advancing rescuers. To her left, by the line of trees, the outlaws’ horses were becoming restless, and she saw some of the huddled blankets stir.
Catherine’s mind raced. She had to think more like her youngest sister, Adrianne. In all their years of growing up, Adrianne had been the most courageous of the three. The one who from a young age had insisted on arming herself and learning the strategies and techniques of battle by hiding in the hayloft and watching their father in the courtyard, training his men for the possibility of war. Laura and Catherine had always teased her that, as a woman, she would never need protection--but would instead provide it for some lucky man.
Always be prepared. Examine your opponent carefully for possible strengths and weaknesses. Try to think like him. See his advantage. Take steps to diminish his power if you can--before the first blow is delivered.
Catherine turned her head and whispered directions to Susan.
Quickly, she scanned the group of outlaws once more. The two leaders had positioned themselves closest to the two women. There was no doubt in Catherine’s mind that, in the event of an open attack, these brutes would not hesitate to use her and Susan as human shields or as a means of forcing her husband to lay down his weapon. Well, that would not happen if she had anything to say about it.
Taking a deep breath, she nodded to Susan.
“‘Tis time!” she whispered.
*****
Elgin Cathedral’s ancient crypt must have been a lively place that night, for the two women’s piercing screams were surely loud enough to wake the dead, and Athol was certain the two could be heard at least that far.
His men were ready, waiting only for his signal to rush the renegades. The brigands outnumbered his men, and he knew they would never reach them before the alarm was raised, but John Stewart would die before he let these pestilent dogs take his wife another step.
He felt Adam’s firm hand on his shoulder.
“‘Tis a distraction,” the earl said with certainty, watching the renegades leap up from their places around the fire and race toward the bluff.
By St. Andrew, at least he hoped it was. Even from this distance, Athol could see the snake dangling by its tail from Catherine’s hand, writhing and hissing menacingly at her.
“I know,” Adam replied. “I saw her pull the snake from beneath the blanket.”
In a moment, the entire band had formed a half-circle around the screaming women. Athol paused not an instant longer.
“Now!”
Running close to the ground, Athol, Adam, and the rest quickly closed the distance between themselves and the noisy group of outlaws.
Catherine and Susan’s diversion was indeed more valuable than he could ever have imagined. With the two women’s incessant caterwauling and with the viper’s unsuccessful attempts at striking anyone toward whom Catherine swung the creature, Athol and his men were on the brigands before they even knew they were under attack.
With the fury of two avenging angels, the brothers fell on the necks of their adversaries, swords arcing through the night rain and carving a bloody path toward the two women.
Though they were outnumbered at least two to one, the element of surprise quickly evened the odds. Fighting side by side, the two brothers hacked their way toward their women, who had at the onset of their attack moved swiftly toward a wounded Tosh and were now standing over him. Catherine still waved the snake around them, and Athol and Adam showed no mercy on the band of thugs.
The wind howled as the battle continued. The blood spilled on both sides, mixing with the falling rain and churning the earth into a blackened mud. Then, one of the leaders broke away from the bloody fray and rushed toward the women, his fingerless hand outstretched. As Catherine held the creature up, the snake struck out at his hand, stopping him in his tracks. He stood there for a moment, but then the stunned look suddenly gave way to one of intense pain. Clutching his hand, the man turned and ran screaming into the night.
Almost as if by magic, that signaled an end to the outlaws’ resistance, and in a few moments, it was over.
With the surviving renegades subdued, John moved to see to Tosh. In a moment, he realized that Catherine was no longer near him. Looking about in a flash of panic, he quickly calmed down as he saw her standing a bit farther along the bluff, gently tossing the viper to the ground by a pile of rocks. As he watched her, the rain stopped.
She turned and he let his loving gaze wash over her. He knew that he would never satiate the unquenchable thirst he had for the sight of her. He knew that in a millennium, he could never tell her how much he loved her.
But he would try.
He couldn’t help but laugh at the way she ran back to him. Her hug was fierce--her voice joyful--her tears the sweetest nectar he’d ever tasted. And John Stewart, for the first time in his life, tore down the barriers around his heart and whispered softly in her ear.
“I love you, Catherine Percy Stewart. And I swear for as long as I live, I will strive to save you from yourself.”
She drew back and gave him her prettiest scowl. “And what do you mean by that? Nothing that happened here was--”
“I said, I love you, Cat!”
He watched the way her magical eyes rounded--her full lips parting to say something but then saying nothing. The way her perfect face shone with the warmest glow he could ever imagine existing this side of heaven.
He leaned down to kiss her lips, but she pulled back slightly. “What did you say?”
“I love you, Cat. I have for a long time. ‘Tis just that I’ve been so ignorant...about so many things. Why, I...”
She kissed him with all the passion in her soul, and John Stewart was the one left breathless a moment later, standing and staring vacantly at his wife.
“You were saying?” she cooed mischievously.
“I was saying?” he replied vaguely.
“So, now ‘tis you who are forgetting your words.”
Rather than denying it, he lifted her off the ground and hugged her slender body tightly against his.
“And I suppose this kind of persuasion is something else that you plan to steal from me.”
He quieted her words with another kiss. “Aye, I can steal...nay, I will learn whatever I can from my perfect wife.”
She nestled against him contentedly, but only for a moment, before her gaze darted to Tosh, who was sitting up, woozy but clearly conscious, against the wall of the bluff.
“Oh!” she blurted out, trying to break away. “Tosh! Did you see him?”
“Aye, I checked on him while you were sending your slithery friend on his way.” He held onto her hand and they made their way past the bound prisoners huddled together on the ground. “He has a good lump on the side of his head, but as far as his wound, the bleeding has stopped. He’s had worse. You do not get a face like his tending sheep. He’ll be back to his old self in a few days, though I do not know that he’ll survive the knowledge that he spent the entire battle under the protection of the lasses he was supposed to be protecting!”
“I saw Adam of the Glen.”
“Aye, ‘twas my brother, indeed, fighting beside me.” Athol’s smile disappeared as he turned a sharp glance on Catherine. “But how is it, wife, that you recognized him?”
She patted his arm soothingly. “‘Tis a long story, my love. And one that I’ll be happy to give you in elaborate detail, once we are in dry clothes and sheltered somewhere.”
Just then, Athol saw Adam come up from the horses with a very bright-faced Susan on his arm. Looking at the protective way that Adam had wrapped his arm around Susan, Athol frowned and then shrugged. “I can see that the
re is something else, as well, about which you’ll need to be enlightening me.”
“In good time, husband. I promise you, there will not be a secret left between us when I’m done telling you all I know, including the reason why these gentlemen wanted to kidnap me and take me back to England.” Catherine again patted him gently on his arm and whispered. “But if you’d like to keep my company, I’m going to go and fuss over some of your wounded men.”
Together, they moved to a group of warriors by the fire. Thankfully, none of his men had been seriously injured, and in a moment, she was busy wrapping slashed arms and shoulders as Athol looked on.
“‘Twas the most amazing thing, John,” she said. “You were not here, but I swear I could sense you coming through the night...”
She continued to talk, but John Stewart, the fourth earl of Athol, found himself drifting off into a land of dreams. To a place where the sky was blue, and the bounty of the Scottish earth reflected the happiness in his life. He saw himself walking through a glen with Catherine on his arm. She shone with the brightness of the sun. She was holding his hand against her swelling belly, acquainting him with their bairn.
He then saw himself holding her high in the air, her beautiful face and silky hair cascading around them, the sun gleaming through the ebony locks. And then, tumbling into the soft grasses and heather, they held one another--their tender lovemaking a sign of the longing, the affection, the love that would last as long as the Highlands itself.
Her voice came softly through the vision.
“You’re daydreaming!”
He smiled into Catherine’s midnight blue eyes.
“Aye.”
*****
The oak door of the cell swung open heavily, and the man hurriedly stepped into the dark chamber.
“Get up, monk! Get up!” The Deputy Lieutenant moved toward the huddled body of his prisoner. The man was clearly broken. “I’ve decided to have mercy on you and give you another chance to serve the king.”
A low, hoarse chuckle escaped the monk’s throat, quickly becoming a rumbling cough.
Sir Arthur gave a hard kick to the man’s lanky body, doubling the monk over in pain and eliciting more hacking coughs. Removing the man’s shackles, he cuffed the cleric behind the ear and backed away, tossing them to the side.
“Get up!”
“You had the abbot killed.” The monk pushed himself up and looked toward the Deputy Lieutenant. “You were a fool not to believe him when he said he knew nothing about the Treasure of Tiberius.”
“I still say he lied. You are all in this together--all you monks! You’re all liars. You’re all filthy buggers and liars.”
“And you are as good as dead.” The monk announced, slowly pulling himself onto his knees, moving even more slowly to his feet. “I heard the jailers talking. I’ve even spoken with them. They said that word went immediately to the king. They said that men from the king have arrived this very day.”
“I know nothing of this nonsense.” At the sound of some commotion down the hall, the Deputy Lieutenant glanced nervously in the direction of the open door. “Those men were impostors! Court idlers. I take my orders only from King Henry himself. We’re going. Move.”
“But you know, now, that the abbot was an uncle to Anne Boleyn--the king’s new wife. Did he neglect to tell you that? Did these ‘idlers’ tell you, before you killed them, that the king has ordered your head on a pike for killing a member of his wife’s own family?”
“The fool could have talked!” Courtenay blurted out. “He simply refused to say anything of the treasure.”
“What treasure is that? the king might ask,” the monk taunted. His eyes were burning black slits. “I can hear him now. ‘Whom have you been serving, Sir Arthur, since we have not heard so much as a whisper about any treasure? Tell us, lackey, what you’ve been up to and what is this fortune you kill our uncle for.”
The sound of shouts could be heard in the manor yard.
“Move your lying carcass, monk! We are leaving now!”
The monk raised himself to his full height and turned fully toward the king’s deputy. In the darkness of the cell, all Sir Arthur could see for a moment was a light burning in the depths of the man’s eyes, like a light shining at the bottom of a grave. Courtenay’s mouth fell open.
“You are finished, Sir Arthur. This is the end. The last map, the one you tried to keep from me, pointed you to your final resting place. You were just too stupid to understand the power--the force of Tiberius.”
The king’s deputy shoved hard at the man to move him along. But surprisingly, despite the days of torture he had undergone, the monk didn’t move an inch.
“Get moving!” he snarled. “My men will be bringing Catherine Percy back to England any day now, and between you and me and what we force her to tell us, we will need no king--no country. We’ll be rich enough to buy our own kingdom. We--”
As the dagger pierced the wall of his chest, the Deputy Lieutenant dropped his head and stared with a look of sick surprise at the hilt of dagger protruding from his doublet. As he looked, a dark colored stain, almost black on the deep green velvet, began to spread out in a widening circle down over his belly. Sir Arthur choked, sputtered, and looked up into the face of death.
“How...why?”
“I told you this was the end!” the monk whispered. “They have always been with me. ‘Twas easier still to gain my freedom once your treachery to the king became known. Your own men gave me the dagger, Sir Arthur. They’ll plead that they killed you in an attempt to save the king’s messengers.”
“The treasure...treasu...” Arthur clung to the man’s arm as he sagged to the floor.
“There was never a treasure for you, Courtenay. While the Treasure of Tiberius was in our possession, we worked for centuries to protect its secrets from the likes of you. And we’ll continue until the Second Coming, if we must, to find it again and keep it safe from man’s evil and from the greed that drives him to it.” The monk pushed the king’s deputy to the floor and drew out the bloody dagger. He looked directly into the man’s grimacing face. “You have little time left. Prepare your answers, sinner. The lies that you use on your king in this world will not fool the King of the next.”
Stepping around the twitching body of the dying man, the monk moved to the open door where he saw a tall soldier approaching the cell.
“‘Tis done.” Handing him the dagger, the cleric grasped the soldier’s arm and spoke in a low voice to him as they moved off down the corridor.
With Sir Arthur Courtenay, the king’s Deputy Lieutenant dead, and with the treasure still out of their reach, the monk knew he would need another like him to aid in the search. Perhaps, though, not someone quite so greedy.
He sensed already that his efforts in the Highlands would prove fruitless. Though his fellow monks had followed Catherine Percy into hiding, he knew that their emotional ties to her were great. No doubt, their loyalty toward the young woman and their devotion to the pursuit of the Treasure of Tiberius were in conflict. Otherwise, they would have returned by now.
But he had no doubt that Courtenay was mad, thinking that his own men could steal Catherine Percy from a castle and a powerful husband in the Highlands. Nay, capturing or even questioning Catherine Percy was probably no longer a viable option.
But there were still Laura and Adrianne, still unmarried and still quite vulnerable. Aye! There were still many opportunities left.
He would simply need to be more vigilant!
CHAPTER 24
Joanna MacInnes Kerr knew that her grandmother’s death was near. The old woman had awakened one night and told her that the angel of death was standing by the window. After suffering through the deaths of a husband and her three sons, Lady Agnes MacInnes was ready, at last, to join them in the next world.
Her grandmother had also told Joanna that she had a single dying wish. Almost a year ago, she’d asked a favor of their friend, the diplomat Ambrose Macpherson. She’
d asked the Highlander to go to the king, and then to England. She’d asked him to use whatever method he must to negotiate the freedom of a man in prison there. A man named Adam Stewart.
Her dying wish was to see Adam Stewart once before she died.
When Joanna had sent a letter to her friend John Stewart, the earl of Athol, asking for his assistance in locating the man, she had not even wanted to guess what lay behind her grandmother’s wish. The dying woman had asked, and that was enough for Joanna.
Now, leading the giant, grim-visaged Highlander in the bloodstained clothes through the winding halls of Ironcross Castle, Joanna felt a bit hesitant about her decision.
He’d arrived here with Athol and the earl’s new wife, Catherine, and with Susan MacIntyre. He’d been introduced as Athol’s half-brother. That alone had been enough to astound the master and mistress of Ironcross Castle, since--for as long as Joanna had known the family--she’d never heard even a whisper of another brother.
But there had been no opportunity for pursuing the matter. Athol, also bloody from their skirmish with outlaws on their way to Ironcross, had begun to show her husband Gavin a wound on his forearm that was sure to form a handsome scar. But as her husband had gravely started with his questions about the brigands, and about the well-being of the two women, Joanna had simply led Adam Stewart from the Great Hall. Her grandmother would not wait much longer.
Although Joanna would have liked to pretend that her grandmother’s illness was the same as those imagined ailments of the past few years, she knew that the old woman’s time in this world was running short. Stepping into the newer south wing of the castle, into the area where, through her husband’s efforts, a massive renovation had taken place nearly eight years earlier, Joanna shot a glance to the side, covertly studying Adam Stewart.
He was tall and handsome, with many features that called for comparison to the earl of Athol’s looks. But beyond his appearance, Joanna could sense a distinct agitation, a tension that seemed to have grown since they left the Great Hall.
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