by Lily Baldwin
Sloan’s ear pricked. The man had referred to her as his lady and without anger. Given, she was responsible for killing his brother, Sloan found that rather surprising.
The man continued. “Her skin is dark olive. Her golden eyes gleam. She has ebony hair.” Eyes downcast, he said, “Make no mistake, ye will know her when you see her.”
Sloan swallowed the last of his ale. “He’s talking shite,” he said to anyone who would listen. “No one would offer such a sum for a woman. I don’t care what she’s done. I’ll listen to no more.”
He bid farewell to his friends and gave Mary a pinch at her waist, earning a lighthearted scowl in return. But the moment he cleared the tavern door, he stormed toward the stables. Grabbing his mare by the mane, he swung onto her back in one fluid movement. Maintaining a causal pace, he trotted through the narrow village pathways, nodding to those he passed by, but as soon as he cleared the boundaries of Cariad, he drove his heels into his horse’s flanks and raced all the way back to Sinclair lands.
When he arrived, he passed the stables, pushing his horse to continue on to his laird’s dwelling, chickens and goats scrambling out of his way. He slid to the ground before his horse fully stopped and charged up the stairs. Pushing open the doors, he stormed into the great hall. Hamish sat at the high dais with his father.
Sloan locked eyes with his friend and pointedly held his gaze before he stepped back outside. In no time at all, Hamish joined him in the courtyard.
“Quinn has been false,” Sloan stated flatly.
Hamish’s brows drew together. “Do not make such accusations lightly.”
Sloan shook his head. “Ye ken I would not.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I’ve just returned from Cariad. An English lord paid the people there a visit. He spoke of a murder.” Sloan’s eyes darted left then right, ensuring their continued privacy. “He accused Lady Catarina Ravensworth of murdering her husband, Lord Henry Ravensworth.”
Hamish shrugged, his face growing red with impatience. “’Tis no business of ours. What does this have to do with Quinn?”
Sloan released a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, Hamish. I know Quinn is important to ye. But the nobleman described Lady Ravensworth, and he said we would know her when we saw her. I swear to ye, she and Katie are one and the same.”
Hamish stared hard at Sloan but said nothing. At length, he raked his hand through his hair. “Damn,” he muttered. Then he turned on his heel. “Follow me,” he snapped.
*
Quinn trailed his lips over Catarina’s smooth, soft back, tasting her dark skin. Breathless, she turned over. He feasted on the view of her ripe body. She reached her him. He moved over her, covering her with his warmth. He wanted to fill her. He wanted to make her his, but the din of approaching footsteps penetrated his ardor.
He froze. His hand flew to cover Catarina’s mouth, silencing her question. She stared up at him with wide eyes. He motioned toward the door to signal that he had heard someone drawing near.
“Quinn, ‘tis I.”
It was Hamish. Quinn climbed off of Catarina and quickly pulled on his brais and tunic.
“Quinn,” Hamish called again.
The urgency in his friend’s voice was unmistakable. Quinn waited until Catarina pulled on her tunic before he opened the door. Hamish and Sloan pushed inside. Without a glance in Quinn’s direction, Hamish crossed to stand in front of Catarina.
“Show me yer hands,” Hamish said to her.
Catarina looked at Quinn with questioning eyes. Quinn nodded. “Do as he bids.”
Slowly, she reached out her hands, palms down. Her heart pounded. She looked for reassurance in Hamish’s broad, rugged features, but the usual warmth was absent from his expression. His gaze was hard and cold as he grabbed her hands and turned them over, stroking his thumb across her palm. With a curse under his breath, he turned to face Quinn, holding her palms out for him to see.
“These hands have never known toil,” Hamish said to Quinn.
Quinn stepped forward. “Do not think ill of her, Hamish. Whatever ye’ve heard is not true.”
Hamish crossed his arms over his chest. “Why don’t ye tell me the truth and let me be the judge.”
“Her name is Lady Catarina Ravensworth, wife to the late Lord Henry Ravensworth who was murdered by his brother, Sir Rupert.”
“That was the name of one of the men at the tavern,” Sloan said behind him.
Quinn whirled around. “He is here?”
Sloan shook his head. “Not here, but he was less than a league south of here at the village of Cariad. He arrived at the tavern with half a dozen of men and told everyone about Lady Catarina and how she murdered her husband.”
“He lies,” Catarina blurted.
Quinn’s chest tightened at the sight of her fear. “’Tis alright, love.” Then he turned to Hamish. “The accusations against Lady Catarina are false. Rupert’s soul is stained with the blood of his brother. Before Lord Ravensworth had even turned cold, he told Catarina that he would put the blame on her head unless she agreed to be his mistress. I, alone, could intervene. I secreted her and her son away from Ravensworth Castle.”
“Then where is the child?” Hamish said.
“Sir Rupert is now Lord Ravensworth, but only until Catarina’s son comes of age. Then the title and the Ravensworth wealth is his. I have ensured the baby’s safety. That is all anyone need know.”
Hamish looked hard at Quinn for several moments before releasing a long breath. “I believe ye.”
Sloan came forward then. “So do I, but there is something ye both must hear. This Sir Rupert has put an unthinkable price on yer head.” His voice dropped. “A fortune of three-thousand silver marks.”
Quinn heard Catarina’s sharp intake of breath, but he kept his eyes locked with Sloan’s. “Are ye certain?”
Sloan nodded. “I was there, my friend. I warn ye now, after he spoke of that great sum, he had the attention of everyone in the room.”
“Damn it,” Quinn cursed, his mind racing. Then he turned to Catarina. “We’ll have to remain here in this croft.”
Hamish shook his head. “Nay, Quinn. Ye cannot stay here.”
“But why?” Quinn asked. “Do ye not trust yer men?”
“Aye, I trust my men with my life, but my life is not worth three-thousand silver marks.”
Quinn knew that Hamish was right. Such a sum of money could drive any man to betray a friend.
Hamish shook his head. “Ye must trust no one—no one. Do ye ken?”
Quinn nodded. “Where can we go?” He glanced at Catarina. Fear flooded her eyes.
“Avoid all villages, all roads,” Hamish said. “No clan is safe either. Ye’ve only one choice.”
“What is that?” Quinn asked.
Hamish untied the scabbard strapped to his back and gave Quinn his sword. “Ye must take to the wild, to the mountains. And remember—trust no one.”
Chapter Nineteen
They set out from Sinclair territory. Catarina’s heart ached as she waved goodbye to Mary, Aileen, Jennie, and Ruth. Then she glimpsed a little figure low to the ground doing a sideways crawl behind Jennie. A fresh wave of tears tumbled down her cheeks. “Finn woke up as a crab today,” she said to Quinn.
He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “Ye’ll see them again.”
Her chin quivered. “Will I?”
With a final wave, she turned her back to the line of women who stood calling out words of encouragement and promises never to forget her.
Quinn wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “One day, we’ll have to. I told Freya I would return her skiff.”
She smiled through her tears. “There is that.”
He pressed a kiss to her lips. “’Twill be alright,” he said. “We’ll find another cave for ye to decorate.”
She swatted his arm, and he grabbed her, pulling her close. With supplies strapped to their backs, they walked arm in arm toward distant mountain
s.
“We’ll have to cross those,” Quinn said.
Catarina groaned. “Why did we not take horses?”
He shook his head. “They’re too easy to track.”
“Where are we going?”
“Where no one will ever find us.”
“Where is that?” she said.
He shrugged. “We’ll know when get there.”
“You have no idea, do you?”
He smiled down at her. “None at all.”
Rolling moorland stretched out in front of them like a purple ocean swimming with rugged heather. Beyond the easy swelling and sloping earth, mountains and hill ground rose up, stretching in either direction as far as Catarina could see. Who would have thought Lady Ravensworth would climb mountains? She thrust her shoulders back. “I would imagine these are the first of many hills and mountains to come.”
He nodded. “To be sure.”
She cleared her throat and strode forward with purpose. “Let us get on with it then.”
Quinn smiled. “That’s my determined lass.”
They stayed clear of roads. That first night, she was so tired that she fell asleep almost the moment her eyelids closed. The next day more of the same. By the fourth day, her feet pained her, and her legs screamed with fatigue.
She followed closely behind Quinn, his tall frame and wide back shielding her from snagging branches and bramble. But every now and again, her foot caught on a root and down she fell.
Always, Quinn was at her side in a flash, brows drawn with concern. “Are ye hurt?”
When next she fell and his question came, she shook her head. The fall itself had not worsened the pain she already felt.
“Why are ye crying then,” he said, gently wiping her tears.
She hid her face in her hands and said, “I am sore and so very tired and dirtier than I have ever been.” She pulled her hands away. “Forgive me for complaining, but my dress clings to my back with wetness. I am drenched in my own sweat.”
Quinn smiled and brushed a dirty strand of hair from her face. “My brave, lass. There are plenty of women out there, and men for that matter, who would have given up by now.”
She looked at him, her heart full of gratitude. “I have never met a man like you before. You never make me feel beholden to you, even though I owe you everything. And more than that, you never make me feel foolish.”
He cupped her cheeks. “Ye’re mistaken, Catarina, for ‘tis I who am beholden to ye.”
Then he lifted the front of his tunic to his nose and inhaled the instant before he started to sputter and cough. “I’ve never been so rank.” Then he leaned against the tree and held her eyes in a loving and steady gaze. “If it is alright with ye, I’d like to stop sooner than later and have a bath and a rest?”
She smiled so wide it made her face ache. “If that is your wish.” Then she sighed and sat back, her limbs useless. A sideways smile was all she could muster. “Look at us,” she said, shaking her head. “What a mess. You must regret the moment you first saw Ravensworth castle.”
He sat up straight and rose to his feet. In a flash, he was in front of her reaching down and scooped her into his arms. “There is no place I would rather be than by yer side,” he said, looking her hard in the eye. “Never doubt that.” He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her slowly. He pulled just a breath away, his lips still grazing hers. “I love ye,” he whispered.
Warmth coursed through her. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you.” She pressed a kiss to his lips. “I love you. I love you, and I will never tire of telling you so.”
“I will never let ye,” he said, his voice husky as he carried her into the woods.
“Where are we going?”
“Swimming.”
She arched a brow at him. “Are you going to conjure a spring?”
“I don’t need to. We’re not far from water.”
“How can you tell?”
He stopped walking. “Hush,” he said gently. “And listen.”
At first, she heard nothing, but then she closed her eyes and quieted her soul. A hum reached her ears. “It sounds like distant thunder.”
He smiled and shook his head. “Ye’ll see.”
“How do you know what is ahead? You have never been here.”
“Ye’ll see,” he said again, his smile growing wider.
He set her on her feet, and they pushed through the trees. The rumbling grew louder. Catarina followed Quinn, crouching to pass under a large, broken limb. Ruffling leaves and snapping branches added to the din that roared, seeming to come from every direction.
Quinn turned to look at her. “Close your eyes.”
She did as he bade, reaching out a tentative hand.
“Duck yer head,” she heard him say. She bent very low not knowing how far to duck. He chuckled and she laughed, knowing she must have hunkered down significantly more than was necessary. When she straightened, she felt the sun’s warmth on her face and the air felt cooler.
“Where did the trees go?” she said.
His arms circled her waist from behind. “Find out for yerself. Open yer eyes.”
She gasped the instant her lids lifted. The forest floor dropped off into a large, round pool, and cascading off jagged cliffs, was a churning waterfall, which crashed into the surface of the pool. Mist hung heavy, cooling the air. She carefully stepped closer to the edge and peered down. A rainbow shot out of the gushing water, arching through the mist. Her mouth watered with thirst at the sight, and her body ached to be beneath the waterfall, the tumbling water cooling and cleansing her aching limbs.
“Is it fair to assume that Lady Ravensworth cannot swim?” Quinn said, coming to stand alongside her.
She smiled. “Though I wish it were otherwise at this moment. Yes, that is a very fair assumption.”
He swooped her into his arms. “Then ye’ll just have to hold on.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and screamed as he leapt off the edge.
The frigid water stabbed her skin as they sank to the bottom. For a moment, fear made her heart pound as she clung to Quinn. But then he pushed off the ground, and they shot to the surface. She sputtered and sucked air into her lungs.
“The water is freezing,” she cried.
“Aye, but ‘tis wet,” Quinn said.
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “How do we stay afloat?”
“My kicking legs,” he answered. “If I stop—”
“No,” she squealed as they started to sink. “Keep kicking!”
“Come here,” he said, laying back onto the water’s surface, pulling her on top of him. She could feel his legs paddling beneath her. They started to move toward the side of the pool. She reached out and grabbed hold of the side, supporting her own weight. Her neck bent back as she scanned the high ridge. Her teeth chattered. “How do we get out?” she asked, shifting her gaze to look at Quinn. Black hair clung to his face. Water beaded off his long, dark lashes. He smiled and warmth flooded her stomach despite the chill.
“We’ll climb, of course. But first…” He pushed away from the side and glided across the surface toward the waterfall. She wished she could follow and decided then that she wanted to add swimming to her list of new talents. He reached the tumbling waterfall and shot underneath.
Laughter tore from her lips as she watched him turn his face up to the pelting water, and then he disappeared. She narrowed her eyes to see through the crystal sheet, but he was gone. Her heart quickened as she inched along the side of the pool, her fingertips gripping the narrow ledges carved into the rock.
“Quinn,” she shouted. “Quinn!”
And then suddenly, he broke the surface of the water in front of her.
Her body tensed. “Do not disappear like that,” she said.
He pressed a kiss to her lips. “Ye won’t believe what I’ve found.” He pulled her onto his chest again and kicked them toward the fall. She reached out her hand and interrupted the flow.
&n
bsp; “Hold yer breath,” he said.
She filled her lungs and closed her eyes. Water showered upon her head, roaring in her ears, but an instant later, they were on the other side. It was dark and cool, and rising up from the surface of the water was the low entrance to a cave.
“There isn’t room to stand, but we’ll be able to stretch out and rest without fear of discovery,” Quinn said.
She smiled eagerly. “Help me inside,” she said.
The cave was deep and narrow with moist patches of moss lining the floor and sides.
“I’m going to fetch what supplies we’ll need and conceal those we can do without.” He started to pass through the wall of water, but then he stopped and smiled at her. “Stay here,” he said with a wink.
“Very funny,” she called after him as he passed from sight through the ever moving, crystal door.
Chapter Twenty
Black, writhing shadows with mouths straining wide charged at Rupert. He scurried back, collapsing against a tangled thorn bush. The jagged branches entwined around his arms and legs, holding him prisoner. The more he struggled, the deeper the spikes tore his flesh. He cried out. Ripples of hot pain shot through his body, and then he froze. The ground at his feet shook and split, tearing a deep chasm from which shadowy phantoms rose up, wailing and shrieking. Icy breath, which stank of death, caressed his face, their cavernous mouths opening, sucking him down into the black void. He tunneled toward darkness, chunks of flesh tearing off his bones, and then the world was ablaze in white fire. He jerked awake. He was in his own bed in his chambers at Ravensworth. His heart pounded his ears as relief washed over him. He felt his body, a crazed laughed escaping his lips when his fingers grazed, smooth, unblemished skin. He pulled back his blanket but paused. His iron hand was gone, but the new one was not his own. It was smaller, smoother. He scurried from bed, wobbling on legs that were longer and slimmer than they should be. Crossing the room, he stood before the mantle and looked at his reflection.
“You will never be me, Rupert.”