“Ah…so, your friends even know you want to jump me,” he said.
She started to push away from him in a sudden, indignant fury.
“Get some sleep!” he told her, drawing her down again, smoothing her hair as she rested her cheek against his face.
It was absurd. He’d known her so very short a time. She hadn’t been so much as a figment in his mind just two days ago. And now…
He breathed in her scent and felt her softness, the warmth in his arms. It was almost like forever. He also felt the insane drumming in his groin. Lord, he wanted her. But…not because she woke screaming in the night, having seen his ancestor at the foot of her bed.
“Sleep,” he murmured again.
Later, when she breathed easily against him, her every breath adding torture against his awakened flesh, it was himself he mocked.
“You are an ass!” he whispered aloud.
When daylight came, he left her once again.
Interlude
The bodies had been taken to a mass funeral pyre. It hadn’t been out of a sense of brutality; they were sorry that many a good soldier with a different loyalty could not be returned to his family, could not receive honors and a proper burial. But they knew that, with so much death, flies and maggots would come in droves and the blood would taint the water and the earth. Sickness would soon follow.
The air was ripe. There was nothing so horrible as the smell of burning flesh, but there simply was no choice.
MacNiall’s own men were seeing to their wounded, their own dead and their dying.
But victory had been achieved, and even among the wounded, aye, and the dying, there was a sense of justice and purpose. They had prevailed. Whiskey and beer were flowing freely—the wounded needed it, the victors craved it. Still, in the midst of jubilation, the troops knew discipline, and they celebrated in close-knit ranks.
From somewhere within the many pockets of men came the plaintive notes of a bagpipe. Despite victory, Bruce MacNiall could find no pleasure or solace that night. Secure that his scouts remained on the lookout, that the wounded had been gathered and that the ranks would not break, he went to Angus at last.
“Ye are in charge, man. I’ll be gone but a day or two.”
Angus shook his head. “Ye canna be runnin’ off half-cocked, man. Not on the word of a liar who would see y’be the one hanged!”
“I have to go.”
“Nae, y’do not!” Angus protested. “She waits, as she has always waited. She loves ye, man!”
“Aye, and that be so, she is in danger herself. I must see to her welfare. She canna stay at the castle longer. Thus far, they’ve ignored it. Too far from any place that counts! Fer many years, I’ve been the enemy, they’ve not taken their vengeance ta the homes. Now, with the words Grayson Davis has spoken, I canna be sure!”
“Ye canna go! I’ve a fear deep in me heart. Ye canna do this, Bruce.”
“I must do this. As I must breathe,” he said simply.
He set his arms around Angus, giving him a fierce hug. “Y’re in charge, man. They’d be no other ta know the heart and soul of the men. Keep them safe, keep yerself from harm, Angus!”
He had led his great black warhorse to the copse to speak with Angus, his right-hand man, his fiercest warrior, his dearest friend. He stepped away then and mounted, swinging easily upon the giant stallion. Then he looked down at Angus.
“Ye canna do this!” Angus begged again.
“I can, and I must,” Bruce said. “I wish to God that I dinna feel so urgent a need!”
Before he could swing the stallion around, Ian MacAllistair came hurrying through to the copse.
“Laird MacNiall!”
The fellow appeared stricken.
“Aye, man, what?”
“Three of the prisoners…have escaped.”
“Now how in bluidy hell did that happen?” Angus began in a fury.
“Which men?”
“The Smithson brothers, and Lord Davis. Grayson Davis.”
“He was half-dead already!” Angus roared.
“Ah, but half-dead isn’t dead,” Bruce said.
“How?” Angus roared again, fear in his thunder.
“They were shackled together,” MacAllistair said, shaking his head. “MacIver and others watched them, but the fires were burning, the smell, the bluidy smell, and the smoke! When the wind shifted, they were gone, the lot of them!”
Angus turned to Bruce. “See there, man! Ye canna go.”
“Nae, Angus, more than ever, I must! God go with ye, lads. Heal the wounded. I’ll be back in a few days’ time!”
He could wait no longer. From their rocky tor, the castle was a day’s ride.
And so he began. Usually he scorned what major roads there were, but this time he rode the night and the darkness bold as brass. By day, he was forced to pause, forced to realize that he would kill his noble mount. And when the light came, once again, he forced himself to care. He was a wanted man, a marked man. A dead man, if his enemies were to see him.
And still, he pushed and pushed. He knew the back ways as no other man could. He could ride them more recklessly, and with his heart ruling his head, he did so.
At first, he prayed to come upon Grayson Davis. There would have been no mercy then.
He thanked God that the man was wounded, and on foot. He could not have reached the castle before him.
Rain hampered him, then cleared. By nightfall, he was nearly home.
Near midnight, the moon rose. It was full and glowing when he reached the last valley and looked up—at the castle.
Beneath the moon, the old stone seemed to glow. There was light, fires that burned to warm those within. All was well, he tried to assure himself. All was well.
The bridge over the moat was up. His men, bless them! They did intend guard against unlikely attack. They kept his vigil for him. By day, all here went about their business, good subjects of the Lord Cromwell’s reign. But night, they were ever watchful, protecting their lady, as befitted her, and their absent laird. He had long ago told his tenants that no working man was to suffer for his allegiance to a distant, running king. They obeyed the laws, Cromwell’s laws. And Cromwell kept care, ruling with a stern but judicial hand, ever wary that the Scots were a fierce lot, ready to rise and turn at any moment. Aye, they’d been beaten, those who honored the king. But they could rise again in mass, and that the governing powers did not want.
In the moonlight, he breathed a sigh. Pray God, it was all right. And pray God that Davis was a liar.
He spurred his horse. Shouting, he rode the distance to the castle, rising them upon the hill to the moat. The lookouts were at their station, and recognized their laird.
With a great cranking sound, the bridge was lowered. He thundered over it. A groom came forward to take his horse; men gathered around. He assured them of his welfare and told them of the victory. Then he begged away, for he would see his lady. The men under stood.
He burst through the front doors and stood in his great hall.
“Annalise! Annalise!” he shouted.
She was there already, standing at the top of the stairs, having heard the drawbridge, he was certain, and…hoping.
She had come running from the master chamber in a gown of white. It flowed about her in elegant swirls. Her delicate features were pale—had she been frightened that it was someone else? Her fingers, long and delicate, were at her throat. Blond hair like the sun at its highest point cascaded around her shoulders, swept down the length of her back.
Eyes bluer than blue were enormous in her face as she looked down at him.
“Annalise!”
He began to take the stairs, two by two. But…there was something wrong, something very, very wrong. He saw it in the way she looked.
And a fury gripped him, deep and terrible.
“Annalise!”
He had her by the shoulders, longing to enwrap her, to kiss the fullness of her lips, bury himself in her, seize her up
, sweep her to their chambers….
“Tell me, before God, that Davis is a liar!” he demanded.
“My laird!” Trembling, her voice a whisper, she fell, shaking, to her knees. “My laird! My dear, dear Bruce…”
He lifted her chin, looking into her eyes.
“Before God, Bruce!” she whispered.
7
Toni awoke early; Bruce was gone. She lay quietly for several moments, wondering if he had merely returned to his own room.
She didn’t think so. Oddly, she was certain that he had left the castle.
Looking at her wristwatch, she saw that it was just eight. Though she wished she had slept longer, she was antsy and anxious to be up. With a groan, she rose and headed into the shower. She hesitated at the connecting door, then tapped lightly and pressed it open. As she had sensed, Bruce wasn’t there.
She showered and dressed, then decided on a cup of coffee. But going down the stairs, she realized that she was resentful. The castle was silent; the others were all managing to sleep.
In the kitchen, she put on a large pot of coffee, thinking that she’d leave it for whoever stumbled down next. The coffee had barely brewed when she heard a thunderous banging that made her jump a mile. She realized instantly that it was only the front door. Apparently the laird of the castle had remembered to lock the door when he left.
She hurried to the door and threw it open. The constable, looking quite nice and casual in jeans and knit sweater, was standing there. “Morning, Miss Fraser. Is Bruce around?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Jonathan Tavish sighed. “His car isn’t about, but after the drive up, I thought I should give it a try.”
“Can I help you with anything?” she asked.
He shook his head and frowned slightly, looking concerned. “Everything is all right, eh?”
“Fine, thank you. It’s going well. Bruce has actually been very decent.”
He remained at the door. She hesitated.
“I just made coffee. Would you like some?”
“Actually, that would be wonderful.”
“Come in, please.”
He followed her to the kitchen and took a seat at the table. Just then David came in, yawning, scratching cheeks with a sign of morning shadow. He stopped short, seeing the constable.
“Ah, morning!” he said.
“Good morning,” Jonathan said.
David stared at Toni. “Is…there anything wrong?”
“No, the constable was just looking for Bruce, but he’s…” She shrugged. “He’s off somewhere.”
“Ah.” David grinned. “Well, Constable, excuse my appearance.”
“Call me Jonathan, please, and I’m the one interruptin’ here.”
Toni set out the coffee, sugar and cream. “I’ll grab some scones,” David told her.
“Thanks,” she murmured. Actually, the last thing she wanted this morning was a guest for breakfast.
“Well, Jonathan,” David said, stirring his own coffee, “it seems we will be around for a bit.”
“Aye?” Jonathan seemed surprised.
“Our host has agreed to let us make up some of what we’ve spent,” Toni explained.
“Ah,” Jonathan murmured. “Well, then, that’s fine.”
“Good morning!” Gina called cheerfully, strolling into the kitchen, dressed in a robe, as well. She, too, stopped short at the sight of Jonathan. “Hi! Is…anything wrong?”
Jonathan smiled, shaking his head. “No, not at all.”
“He stopped by to see Bruce,” David explained this time.
“Who isn’t here,” Toni added.
“Ah, I see.”
“Well, I’ve just heard you’ll be around a bit,” Jonathan said.
“Yes, isn’t it great!” Gina said cheerfully. “Bruce has been wonderful, really. Not just tolerating us, but helping us!”
“I admit to being surprised,” Jonathan said. “But then, as you’re aware, he comes and goes as he pleases, sometimes on a whim.” He shook his head ruefully. “In deed, when I saw you all about town, I was surprised that he’d rented out the castle, but I honestly couldn’t have said that he hadn’t done so. Strange situation, though, eh? And a bit of a frightening one. In this day and age of computers and machines, some awful things can happen. We had a young woman a few years back who was in dire trouble, indeed. Someone stole her pass port, and with it, her identity. Before it was all straightened out, she was wanted for a bank robbery in Cannes!”
“Identity theft!” David said, nodding sagely. “I wonder if…if that’s what happened!”
“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” Jonathan assured them.
“I hope!” Gina said. She smiled. “Bruce really has been great. All he’s asked is that we make sure to stay out of the forest. He’s so concerned about what’s been going on in Scotland—the women disappearing and being murdered,” she murmured. “I’m afraid that, in the States, we’re far too accustomed to such horrible things happening. When it’s not right in your own back yard, well…”
Jonathan was staring at them strangely, looking a little ashen.
“What is it?” Toni asked.
“He asked you to stay out of the forest, did he now?”
“Yes. Why, is there something bad in the woods?” David asked.
“I’d have thought that y’d ’ave known,” he said softly.
“Known what?” Gina demanded.
“You see, the bodies of the murdered lasses were found in Tillingham Forest.” He grimaced. “Not quite the backyard, but…close enough,” he ended softly.
Toni, Gina and David stared at one another. “Both bodies?” murmured Gina.
“Indeed.”
“But the girls weren’t from here,” Toni said.
“No, they were not. And…well, they were a different sort than yourselves,” he assured her. “Still, not a bad idea to stay out of the forest, as Bruce said.”
“I’ll stay out of it all right,” Gina said.
Jonathan still looked uncomfortable.
“There’s something more,” Toni said, her tone determined as she watched him.
“Well, I can see why it makes Bruce so uncomfortable. Y’see, it was he that found one of the poor lasses.”
Hell, it was bloody early, Thayer thought. Eleven o’clock. Well, bloody early for him to start drinking, any way.
Fuck it. He’d already been awake for hours. He’d left himself right after he’d seen Bruce pull away from the castle, and that had been hours ago now. Early? No, plenty late enough.
“Aye, give me a pint, luv,” he said to the barmaid. He’d come for the Sunday roast, or so he had thought. But he wasn’t hungry, he’d discovered, once he’d chosen the Silver Crow, a dark, somewhat aging pub in Stirling. Most pubs in Stirling were aging, he determined with wry humor. But then…this one was struggling, he thought. It was very dark within, the floors needed to be swept and the tables all carried a thin layer of grease. And there was but the one harried barmaid, and a number of locals, demanding better service.
There was much about Stirling to be admired. It was a beautiful city, with progressive people and an air of the present. And the huge castle welcomed visitors from all over. Fairly recent improvements had made the place quite charming, in truth. Mannequins in period costume, all going about their period business, displayed some of history’s darkest moments along with some of the finest.
“We were damned bloody, bloody bastards, through it all!” he muttered.
“Pardon?” the barmaid said.
“Nothing, luv, just talking to myself.”
He smiled. At least the barmaid was attractive. She was in a little black halter shirt, and wore black shorts, as well. The way they hugged her rear end didn’t leave much to the imagination. And what they did was mighty graphic.
Maybe that’s how this place was surviving. Dingy lighting and dirty floors were okay if a bloke could have himself that kind of a view.
>
He looked around. The tables were mostly empty; the bar was full. Aye, folks around here came for the view.
His stomach growled. He’d taken off that morning without a bite to eat, aware that the great laird of the castle had vacated it early, as well. Hell, it seemed the man needed to escape his own place. But then again, it appeared he’d escaped it often enough in the past. Thayer looked at his hands. Raw. They’d put work into it, all right. He hadn’t realized how much work there’d be when he agreed to their mad scheme. But the piano bars of Glasgow hadn’t been quite a dream fulfilled. He’d had a few pounds and, under his circumstances, given his habits, thought why the hell not. There had been so many very interesting directions in which to take the idea.
“Think I’ll have me a wee bite to eat,” he told the barmaid.
She flashed him a smile. She was young, and still had a kind of innocence about her—despite the shorts.
“Good. The roast is not so bad, really, sir,” she said.
Sir. He liked that.
He took a seat in the back, unnoticed by the rest of the clientele. A few moments later, the barmaid came over. She smiled at him again. Why, bless her, she was flirting. She kept flashing him something of a blush and something of an invitation as she laid out silver, a napkin, salt and pepper. He mused over his own assets. He wasn’t bad-looking, really. He even had a look of his American cousin about him, since his hair was a tawny color—full and rich and all there, thank you very much! His features were not badly assembled, and he had some decent height, too, though he’d often rued the fact that his shoulders were never really going to fill out—not like those on Ryan or the great Bruce.
Pity that he had so many of the same characteristics as Toni. The night he’d met her—she with all her unbound enthusiasm to have actually found a family member!—he’d been smitten. Those deep blue eyes were something else entirely on Toni. She’d been electric, with her slim, natural elegance and her total vitality. She’d made him quicken all over. But he’d realized soon enough that she’d wanted a cousin. What he’d wanted, what he’d needed… The barmaid’s shorts came to mind again.