“See? It’s her!” Graham said triumphantly to Adolf, who shrugged. “Where have you been for two years? I searched for you for weeks… I’m so sorry I didn’t find you, Galena, I tried so hard, but you were gone — and then we were on the road for so long… where have you been since then? How did you get here? It was miles away that I lost you —”
“Is it the witches?” Adolf interrupted, sending a chill of dread through Bethany’s chest. “Have the MacClaran witches been taking care of her all this time?”
Her mind raced. It was clear that this band of mercenaries were here to attack the castle, or similar… and she didn’t want to give them any more ammunition to go up against the MacClarans with. This was exactly what Delilah had told her about — suspicions of witchcraft leading to hostility and outright attack. She’d been right, she thought briefly with a flash of smugness — she’d been right to worry about the lights she’d seen. Now she just had to ensure she lived long enough to tell everyone at the castle about it.
“I haven’t met any witches,” she said, playing dumb. Playing dumb usually worked on men — they were always so ready to believe that women weren’t as clever as them, so playing into it was always easy. She imagined that wouldn’t have changed much between the twenty-first century and this medieval era. “I’ve been staying up at the Keep, though, yes. The MacClarans have been nothing but kind to me… I can’t believe that any of them would be witches.” She thought of her little niece and her levitating toy. That was something she would keep to herself well and truly.
But Graham was looking deeply shocked. He and Adolf exchanged thoughtful glances, clearly surprised by what she’d told them. Interesting, that. Had they just assumed that the castle was full of cackling old women on broomsticks, or something? What kind of witchcraft did they believe was going on? The other women had told her about how superstitious and suspicious the locals were about witchcraft, but now she was really beginning to get a sense of what they’d meant.
“She’s definitely addled,” Adolf said with a shrug. “Maybe she struck her head in the river, like you said. Lost her memory.”
“You poor wee thing,” Graham said softly, taking her into his arms again and giving her a tight hug. She didn’t resist. It was good to have an ally among your captors, if indeed she was to be taken captive, so she didn’t want to alienate Graham… and at any rate, the warmth of his body was rather welcome in the cold night air. “But none of that matters now. We’re together again.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, deciding on the spur of the moment to play into his belief that she was his long-lost wife with a serious case of amnesia. “I don’t remember you.”
He looked heartbroken, and she fought down the pang of guilt she felt. “That’s alright,” he said softly. “That’s alright, my dear Galena…”
“I don’t know that name, either,” she said, improvising. “As long as I can remember I’ve been called Bethany…”
If Graham had anything to say about that, he was cut off by the sound of hoofbeats. All three of them looked up, Graham raising the lantern as the hoofbeats approached. Looming out of the darkness came a large white horse with a huge man astride it. He had a cold expression on his rough, scarred face… and a long blond beard, decorated with braids.
“Report,” he said in a hard voice. Bethany could tell without looking that this was a superior officer — both Graham and Adolf had stiffened at his approach, and their posture had improved a few notches, too.
“Sven. We found this woman spying on the camp,” Adolf said, gesturing toward Bethany. “Graham recognized her —”
“She’s not just some woman, she’s my wife,” Graham said sharply, giving Adolf a filthy look. “I thought she drowned two years ago, Sven, but she’s returned to me.”
The huge man on horseback stared down at her, an eyebrow raised. She looked back at him, trying to summon an expression of fear, respect, awe… whatever would make her seem like less of a threat to this man. He narrowed his pale blue eyes, his imposing face suspicious. What was he — some kind of Viking? All he needed was the helmet with the horns and the look would be complete…
“Your wife,” he said slowly, clearly unimpressed. “Your dead wife, who drowned two years ago, just happens to turn up here on the outskirts of our camp, on the eve of an attack on a castle full of witches. I don’t think so.”
“Do you think it’s a trick?” Adolf asked, sounding surprised.
Bethany could feel the tension in Graham’s body — he was standing protectively close to her, and she could feel him bristling at the suggestion that she was some kind of spy. Well, that was exactly what she was… but she was hardly going to tell him that.
“We’re here to kill witches, aren’t we? This is one of their tricks,” Sven said dismissively. “You said you found her here in the trees? She’s spying on us. Gathering information for the MacClarans. She’s either one of them, disguised as your wife, or some hapless local woman who’s been ensorcelled. Either way, bind her hands and bring her with us.”
“But Sven,” Graham protested, and she could hear the strain in his voice — this wasn’t a man who was used to objecting to direct orders from his superiors. “She’s harmless. She’s unarmed… she doesn’t even have any memory of who she is, of who I am…”
“A likely story,” the viking scoffed. “Graham, with your history with these monsters I’d have thought you’d be a little harder to fool like this. Bring her to camp. Matthew will want to interrogate her.”
Graham took a sharp breath in, and Adolf looked a little dismayed, too. Bethany bit her lip. That didn’t sound good. The word ‘interrogate’ rarely went along with good experiences. But Sven wasn’t taking no for an answer.
“Bind her hands, I said,” he said sharply, tossing a rope to Adolf. With a vaguely apologetic look to both Graham and Bethany, the brown-haired man began tying her hands in front of her. She tensed her wrists to make them as thick as possible — you never knew when a millimeter or two of give in a rope would come in handy. “Witches use their hands and their tongues to do mischief. Gag her.”
She opened her mouth to protest — but before she could, a rag had been stuffed into her mouth and rope used to bind it there. She chewed on it irritably, trying to look as miserable and hapless as possible, aware that Graham was seething at the way she was being treated. It wasn’t hard to look frightened… she just had to let the growing anxiety in her chest show on her face. Like it or not, she was in a lot of trouble here… and what was worse, nobody at the castle even knew she was missing.
How was she going to get out of this one?
Chapter 10
Sven, the huge man on the horse, rode ahead of them, and Graham and Adolf walked at her side. They were heading straight down the hill toward the camp, where she could now see all the torches and campfires that she’d spotted from her window. Her estimation had been pretty accurate — there were a few dozen men here at least, and from the way they spoke, it seemed that more were on the way to join them. It sounded like the forces being amassed were going to outnumber the people in the castle. Worry gnawed at her stomach… nobody in the castle knew that this force was being amassed, and there was no way of getting word back to them. What if they were taken unawares? What would happen to her sister, to her niece, to all the people she’d met and liked so far if this band of mercenaries was able to take control of the castle? Nothing good, she knew that much. Nothing good could come of that.
She’d just have to do everything she could to prevent that, she decided, leaning hard on the steely resolve she’d developed over her years in the military. She knew something about being taken captive — it had been one of the scarier parts of her training, but she’d dedicated herself to it the same way she’d dedicated herself to the rest of the training. She could hold up under pressure. After all, help would come eventually — she took solace in the knowledge that people in the castle would miss her when she wasn’t at dinner, would go looking
for her in her room, and hopefully make the connection between the campsite she’d suggested needed investigating, and her sudden disappearance.
God, Delilah was going to be furious with her when she saw her again. Was it too late to escape and sneak back to the castle and never say a word about any of this? Probably, she thought with a creeping sense of dismay. Still, if she got an opportunity to escape, she’d take it. They hadn’t taken her phone or her gun from her yet — those were valuable tools she could use to help her. So was Graham’s clear softness toward her. He thought she was his long lost wife. She wasn’t, of course... but she was hardly going to tell him that. Not if she could use it to her advantage. A little cruel, perhaps, but this was a matter of survival, and she’d exploit a grieving widower if it meant keeping herself alive.
She could feel the appraising eyes of men on her as they rode through the camp, and she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead. The leering comments were unpleasant, but nothing new, and though Graham bristled at every fresh insult, she kept her gaze down. With a gag in her mouth, she wasn’t able to respond anyway... besides, it was almost a good thing to get Graham riled up in defense of her. It helped to have someone on her side. It might make the difference between escaping and staying captured… if she played her cards right.
Sven dismounted his horse when they reached the center of the camp. Here, there was a big campfire, with a few men sitting around it. Sitting closest to the fire, drinking from a glass bottle of what she assumed was wine, was a huge, bear-like man with armor that looked a lot better than what the men around him were wearing. He had black hair and dark brown eyes, as well as a shaggy beard that hid most of his face, and when he got to his feet, Bethany couldn’t help catching her breath. He was enormous — taller even than Graham and Adolf, and taller too than Sven. Bethany wasn’t a short woman, but she was dwarfed by these guys. Still — she had plenty of tools at her disposal that didn’t rely on size.
“What’s this, then?” he growled, scrutinizing her. “Have you brought an entertainer into camp for the lads?”
A rabble of laughter went up from the men sitting around the fire, clearly curious about Bethany’s presence here. The man’s accent wasn’t Scottish — she narrowed her eyes, trying to place it. English, she thought — and upper class, too, from what she knew of English accents. The armor was clearly expensive, too, as was the sword at his hip. Who was this guy? What was he doing with a gang of mercenaries?
“We caught her on the outskirts of camp, spying,” Sven said, gesturing to her. “We gagged and bound her, just in case she’s one of the MacClaran witches.”
An ugly looked passed over the face of the burly man, and he moved closer to her, narrowing his dark eyes as he scrutinized her face. “A spy, eh? One of the MacClaran witches, is that right?”
Bethany couldn’t help it — she glanced up at Graham. He was staring down at her, clearly worried about her, and when she met his eyes he looked up, a fresh look of determination on his face.
“Matthew, this is my wife Galena,” he said. “I thought I’d lost her years ago, but this is her. I’d swear it.”
“Then why’s she bound and gagged?” Matthew asked, his eyes moving to Sven and irritation clearly building on his features. “I’d thank you for a straight answer.”
“We’re not sure,” Sven said, shooting Graham a dark look. “Graham says she’s the spitting image of his wife, but why would his wife be here, spying on us? Much more likely it’s a trick from the witches, I’d say.”
“Let’s see what she has to say for herself,” Matthew said, reaching one rough hand out to yank the gag out of her mouth. She spat, the taste of the rag still unpleasant on her tongue and looked up at her captor.
“Are you in charge of this camp?” she asked, not letting her voice shake.
Matthew chuckled. “Plucky little thing. Yes, these are my men. Matthew Willows, at your service,” he said, a cruel twist of his mouth indicating that the words weren’t earnest. “Previously Sir Matthew Willows, of course, but that title was stripped from me — as would my life have been, if not for my brother. You’d know all about him.”
She blinked at him, taken aback by that last. Why on earth would she know anything about this man’s brother? He waggled a finger at her.
“Oh, she’s clever. Playing dumb, very good. Friar Willows, my brother. Brutally murdered by the MacClarans? Ringing any bells? Oh, no matter.” He grabbed her by the wrist unexpectedly, yanking her forwards — she heard Graham stifle a protest as she stumbled. “Come along, little lady. Let’s chat in a more… intimate venue.”
Graham and Sven followed — she looked over her shoulder as Adolf settled down at the fire, a worried look on his face. She knew that kind of man well. A good enough man, in his way, but not interested in interfering with what the higher-ups thought was the right course of action. Not an ally she could rely on to get her out of here… unlike Graham, who was clearly very concerned for her safety. Matthew dragged her into a decent-sized tent, big enough for the three of them to stand in. There were even a few chairs, battered but functional, and it was into one of these that he pushed her. She sat with her bound hands in her lap, trying to look unassuming.
“Now. Let’s get to the bottom of all this, shall we? Who on earth are you?”
She took a deep breath. It was time to get creative. Drawing on what Graham had said about her, she spoke quickly, letting her voice shake with fear to cover up any uncertainty in her story. “My name’s Bethany. I don’t have many memories before the last two years… I always thought I’d been injured, or something. I was taken in by the MacClarans and cared for...”
“And what exactly were you doing spying on my men?”
That was a very good question. She took a deep breath. “I was curious. I saw the lights from my room last night and I didn’t know what they were… so I came down to have a look.”
“Well, you’re in trouble now, aren’t you?” Matthew said, raising an eyebrow. He was effortlessly menacing… her apprehension was only half feigned as he approached her, looming over her as he fixed her with a thoughtful stare. “But if you know the castle well, you might be useful to us….”
“Matthew, please. This is Galena — she’s my wife —” Graham was fighting to keep his voice under control.
Matthew stared at him for a long moment — then, completely without warning, he turned and struck Bethany hard across the face. The blow disoriented her completely and she couldn’t suppress a cry of pain. Graham shouted and started forward — but Sven grabbed him by the arm, hauling him back effortlessly with a low murmur of warning. Matthew was grinning, an ugly look on his face.
“You just remember who’s in charge here, alright?” he warned Graham.
The blond man was clearly fighting to maintain control over himself — she could see the rage burning in his eyes, the way his whole body was bound up with tension, the way he yanked his arm out of Sven’s grip.
“This woman’s my prisoner. That means she belongs to me, and I’ll treat her however I please. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Graham whispered, but Bethany could tell he was still furious about it.
Could she provoke a fight between these two, and perhaps use the resulting chaos as cover to make her escape? No — not with Sven there to restrain him. And besides… if this was really the commander of the camp, it was possible she could get some useful information about just what was happening here. What was being planned against the MacClarans… how many men he had, just how serious this threat was, and why he was so interested in attacking them in the first place. He’d said something about the MacClarans murdering his brother… that didn’t seem like something the clan would do.
“First things first,” Matthew said, once he was satisfied that Graham had calmed down. “Search her.” Graham started forward — but Matthew clicked his tongue. “Not you. Don’t trust you to be thorough. Sven?”
She gritted her teeth as the huge Viking pulled her
to her feet and roughly began to search her. Sure enough, he found her phone — she’d slipped it into the pocket of her dress, and he peered down at it before handing it to Matthew. Thank god neither of them had any idea how to use a phone — if they’d been able to figure out she’d been taking photos of the camp, she’d be lost. But they had no idea what they were looking at.
He kept searching… and though she’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, he pulled the gun out of her dress, too. The men stared at that, clearly curious about it… she was grateful that there was no live ammunition in the chamber, and that the safety switch was on. With any luck, they’d dismiss it as a strange oddity.
“What are these devices?” Matthew demanded, getting closer to her again and waggling the gun in her face. “Tools of witchcraft, I’d wager.”
Shit. She hadn’t thought of that. Of course they’d assume that anything they weren’t familiar with was witchcraft… she thought ruefully of what Karin had said about the accusations of witchcraft that had sprung from her own knowledge of modern medicine. Witchcraft was a useful scapegoat for anything these people didn’t happen to understand. But how could she explain a gun, a mobile phone, in a way that didn’t incriminate her? The truth was out of the question. If time travel wasn’t witchcraft, nothing was.
So she improvised. “I found those,” she lied, her eyes wide. “I thought they might have belonged to you all, actually. Blacksmithing tools, or something.” Did that sound convincing? She could only hope so. Matthew’s eyes were narrowing, and she could see that he was considering striking her again. Well, let him. She could take a beating if she needed to. And the more he hit her, the more Graham would be likely to snap and attack him.… and the enemy of her enemy was her friend.
Highlander Avenged: A Scottish Time Travel Romance Page 8