Their master's smile slowly faded. "So how did Colin cajole you into providing him with these luxuries? He never lacked for charm, you know, even as a lad. He stole my own sister's heart away from me with nothing more than a grubby fistful of weeds. Did he bribe you? Offer you some bauble he acquired in the Holy Land?"
The men exchanged another panicked glance, knowing their very survival depended on their answer. "'Twas not our doing, but theirs, my lord." He traced a cross on his mail hauberk with a trembling finger. "We were naught but the victims of some dark enchantment."
Brisbane's upper lip curled in an ominous sneer. "I'm warning you. I've already heard enough superstitious drivel for one day. Ravenshaw may be sickeningly pious, but he's no saint. He can't work miracles or conjure roasted chickens out of thin air." Disgusted by their blithering, Brisbane turned and marched from the cell.
"Not Sir Colin, but her," one of them called after him. "We believe she's the one who did all this."
"Aye," blurted out the other, clearing his throat when his voice cracked with terror. "The woman."
"The woman?" Brisbane slowly pivoted on his heel in the doorway. "The woman," he repeated, frowning.
The woman who had appeared out of nowhere. The woman who had dared to taunt him with no visible fear of retaliation. The woman who had clutched the strange amulet she wore as if it possessed the power to grant her most passionate desire.
He fingered his chin thoughtfully. He'd always been inclined to dismiss such nonsense. After all, he wouldn't have hesitated to barter his soul for personal gain and Satan had never bothered to approach him.
Yet the woman had touched the amulet and Sir Orrick had fallen beneath Colin's lance as if struck by an invisible foe.
Heartened by the flush of delight slowly spreading over their master's face, one of the guards asked, "Shall we rouse the rest of the garrison to rejoin the hunt, my lord?"
"Aye," said the other. "The witch must be captured and put to death. We'd hoped you might allow us to captain the expedition as reward for our discovery." The two men stood shoulder to shoulder, all but panting with eagerness.
Brisbane shook his head. "'Twould never do to allow these two simpletons to rush from the dungeon, braying about witches and stirring his villeins to panic."
He favored them with a benevolent smile. "You mustn't be so greedy. You should always remember that virtue is its own reward."
Still smiling, he slammed the door in their stunned faces. Ignoring their hoarse cries, he bolted the door behind him, leaving them to rot along with the old man's corpse.
He strode through the dank corridors, nearly chortling aloud at the delicious irony. His only virtue was patience, but he possessed it in abundance when it served his needs. Patience enough to call off his own dogs and give the toothsome bitch ample time to tear out Colin's heart.
The godly fool would never knowingly consort with a witch. If this woman was truly a daughter of Satan, Colin's alliance with her could very well cost him something he valued even more highly than his life – his immortal soul.
"What are you doing?" Tabitha whispered.
"Praying," Colin replied without opening his eyes.
She sighed and withdrew to the opposite side of the campfire. Colin had been on his knees for nearly an hour, head bowed and hands clasped before him. She'd had ample opportunity to study him in the flickering firelight. Although his posture appeared to be penitent, his expression was as unrelenting as ever, its fierceness softened only by the silky, dark crescents of his lashes resting against his cheeks.
An inhuman screech pierced the night. Tabitha shivered and drew her ragged pajama top tighter around her. She almost regretted offering Brisbane's cloak to the shirtless knight. But as a breeze caught the woolen folds of the garment, whipping them back to reveal the swarthy expanse of his chest, she remembered that she'd made the gesture more for her protection than his own.
She averted her eyes with a disdainful sniff. She'd never had much taste for beefcake. She'd always preferred cerebral men. Men content to admire her mind, not her body. Men so intimidated by her father's wealth and her own frigid reputation that they would never presume to do more than shake her hand at her door, much less steal a tender kiss in a moment of weakness.
She jumped as a predatory scream was followed by a choked gurgle, as if the voice of some small, helpless creature had been forever silenced. Colin's horse whickered uneasily. Lucy glanced up from the feast of fish Colin had speared in a nearby stream and roasted over the fire, then went back to devouring the flaky white morsels with a feline shrug.
Tabitha's fearful gaze searched the shadows cast by the ancient trees. By night, the forest primeval appeared more cursed than enchanted. She'd never had a problem embracing the survival-of-the-fittest theory in the safety of her cozy penthouse. But here in this alien time and place, it was too easy to imagine a fearsome dragon prowling the night, looking to make a meal of some poor succulent virgin.
She edged nearer to Colin, desperate for some human comfort, even that of her own voice. "Who are you praying for?"
He opened one eye to glower at her, before dismissing her by closing it again. "My enemies."
Even a devout cynic such as herself had to be impressed. "How very noble of you."
"I'm praying that God will deliver them into my hands so I can destroy them."
"Oh." Tabitha was somewhat taken aback. "So you're an Old Testament kind of guy, eh?"
A long-suffering sigh escaped him. "Perhaps I should be praying for the patience of Job."
"Sorry," she muttered. "I didn't mean to interrupt."
Both of his eyes flew open, their suspicious gleam reignited. "You're not a heretic, are you? We burn heretics, you know."
"Oh, no," she said hastily, inching away from the fire. "I prefer to think of myself as sort of an Emersonian transcendentalist."
He didn't seem to know what to make of that so he simply rose to tether his grazing horse to a nearby tree.
"Does he have a name?" Tabitha asked, watching Colin stroke the stallion's velvety nose, his rough hands gentled by affection.
"Nay, my lady. Chargers die by the thousands in battle and 'tis a wee bit harder to bid farewell to a creature with a name. Most mothers don't even name their bairns until they're of an age where they're likely to survive."
Listening to the wind sigh through the creaking boughs, Tabitha was chilled anew by the fragility of life in this era. Colin's profile was pensive and she wondered if he was thinking of the infant sister he'd never known. Would the child be remembered by name or simply forgotten as if she'd never existed? Her own sense of urgency mounted. She had to find a way home. If she didn't, she might never learn if her own parents were dead or alive.
An owl hooted overhead, startling her anew. "Are you sure we're safe here? How do you know Brisbane's men won't find us?"
Colin squatted to throw another handful of sticks on the fire. "We've crossed the border into Scotland, lass." He flashed her a less than pious grin that made her heart do an odd little flip. "Roger's men couldn't find their arses with a map in these hills."
Tabitha nibbled on her bottom lip to hide a smile. Sir Colin certainly wasn't a man to mince words. "When I asked Brisbane why the two of you hated each other, he told me I should ask his sister."
Colin's grin faded. Although his eyes reflected the leaping flames, their utter absence of expression chilled her. " 'Twould be an amazing feat considering Regan's been dead for nigh on seven years."
Tabitha frowned. "How did she die?"
"I killed her."
Tabitha weaved imperceptibly beneath the blow, then waited for him to elaborate. Waited for him to explain how his horse had accidentally trampled the poor girl while she was picking wildflowers in a meadow. Or how she'd tumbled out a tower window while waving good-bye to him.
Colin just sat there, letting her twist in the wind.
"Well, how did you kill her? Did you push her off a cliff? Chop her into piece
s with your sword? Poison her with hemlock? If we're going to be spending the night out here in the middle of nowhere, I'd really like to know your preferred method of murder."
The dangerous glint in Colin's eyes warned her that he wasn't oblivious to her sarcasm. But when he spoke, his voice was as dispassionate as if he were recounting a tragedy that had happened long ago to another man. "Roger, Regan, and I were childhood friends. I was young and foolish. Regan was sweet and willing. When we were both seventeen, I got her with child. She begged me to marry her, but I'd been promised to another since I was a lad. Breaking the betrothal contract would mean war for my father. I hadn't the courage to defy his wishes until 'twas too late. When I finally went to the cottage where we trysted to tell Regan I would make her my wife, I found her hanging from the rafters, my unborn child dead in her womb." He shrugged. " Tis simple enough. Regan loved me. I killed her."
"She killed herself," Tabitha said softly, refusing to yield before his fierce gaze. "It's not fair for her brother to blame you for her death and it's not fair for you to blame yourself."
His shield slipped for an elusive instant, giving her a glimpse of old wounds and bittersweet regrets. " Tis unfortunate, my lady, that absolution isn't yours to grant." He stretched out on the ground, rolling into the cloak. "We'd best get some sleep. We'll proceed to my castle on the morrow."
Tabitha was alarmed by a new thought. "Won't your castle be the first place Brisbane comes looking for you?"
His eyes drifted shut, but a ruthless smirk flirted with his lips. "God willing."
Tabitha reclined on her side and pillowed her head on her hands. The fire crackled and snapped, creating a disarming aura of intimacy.
"Why did you come back for me?" she asked softly, finally daring to ask the other question that had haunted her since their wild flight from Brisbane's castle.
Colin's hesitation was nearly imperceptible. "Because honor demanded it."
"Oh, of course. Honor."
His words left her feeling cold. She eyed the woolen cloak, hoping his precious honor would goad him into offering it back to her. Although it was the heart of summer, a fallow chill still clung to the forest floor.
His contented snores ended her hopes. Sighing, she drew Lucy's warm, furry body into her arms. Before she could even close her eyes, the kitten had squirmed out of her grip and sauntered boldly over to Sir Colin. The little minx slipped between the folds of the cloak and curled into a ball against his bare chest. Her purr was audible over the crackle of the campfire, and Tabitha remembered how blissfully she had slept in that exact spot the previous night.
"Traitor," she whispered, fervently hoping that she was jealous of the man and not the cat.
Colin squatted beside the fire to drape the cloak over the woman's sleeping form. She'd curled in on herself and, despite her uncommon height, looked small and disturbingly vulnerable. Exhaustion had stripped her of her curious bravado. With her lips turned downward in a sad little bow and violet smudging the pale skin beneath her eyes, she looked lost in some fundamental way – like a child wandering alone in a strange and dangerous wood.
A wayward lock of hair had fallen across her eyes. He brushed it away, sifting its feathery softness through his fingertips. She nestled into the cloak and turned her face toward his touch, inadvertently grazing his wrist with her lips. Colin jerked his hand back, pricked by the reminder that she was no child, but a woman grown, ripe with all the perils and delights of her fickle sex.
It seemed a lifetime since he'd allowed himself to stroke a lass's hair or draw her into his arms when she shivered. An eternity since he'd felt the alluring softness of a woman's body against him.
Or beneath him.
He scowled, betrayed by the swift and devastating surge of lust in his groin. He'd never encountered a woman quite like this one. Regan had been sketched in ethereal shades of primrose and silver, easy to capture, yet impossible to hold. She'd flowed like summer rain through his hands until she was no more.
But this woman was no wraith to vanish before his eyes. She was warm and vibrant and solid to the touch.
He'd grown accustomed to looming over ladies who kept their heads meekly bowed and their hands cupped over their mouths to hide their shy smiles and crooked teeth.
But throughout the grueling day, he had only to turn his head and Tabitha was there, her pearly teeth flashing, her parted lips a breath away from his own.
Was it any wonder he hadn't been able to resist kissing her in the cavern? That he'd yearned to discover if she tasted as intoxicating as she smelled – like sunshine and honeyed mead on a hot summer day? But that brief sip had only betrayed him by whetting his thirst.
He muttered an oath, then shot a silent prayer skyward, begging his Lord's pardon for blaspheming.
In the brothels of Egypt, he'd encountered a multitude of women schooled in the arts of pleasure. Their pouting ruby lips and khollined eyes had promised erotic delights beyond any mere mortal's imaginings. He'd seen stalwart knights break marriage oaths and risk eternal damnation for the fleeting privilege of being tangled in their jasmine-scented hair for one night of ecstasy.
Yet this odd woman with her bold speech and hacked-off hair stirred him as those exotic beauties never had.
He reached for a corner of the cloak, surprised to find his hand unsteady. He had no further reason to resist temptation. His crusade was done, his vow fulfilled, his penance paid. She would make no protest if he drew back the cloak and covered her body with his own. He would not be the first stranger to seek release between her milky thighs, nor would he be the last. Mummers were known for passing their women around like flagons of wine, sampling their sweetness until each had drunk their fill.
But Colin hesitated, his reluctance even more inexplicable than his lust. Her innocent slumber might be naught but another cunning illusion like the forgiveness she'd offered him, yet he was loath to disturb it. He surprised himself by gently tucking the cloak around her and retreating to his own side of the fire. Perhaps its flames would serve to remind him that a passion that burned too hot could bring destruction as well as pleasure.
Chapter 10
When Tabitha awoke the next morning, the fire had died to ash and the knight was gone. She scrambled to her feet in a blind panic, throwing aside the cloak that enveloped her. A gauzy mist enshrouded the clearing, giving it all the welcoming charm of a graveyard at midnight on Halloween. The pearly light drifting through the interwoven branches made it impossible to tell if it was dawn or noon.
A sleek head loomed out of the mist.
Tabitha clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a scream before collapsing to her knees in relief. Sir Colin might abandon her, but she knew from the gentle way he handled the animal that he would never forsake his horse.
The stallion surveyed her with limpid brown eyes before lowering his head to a clump of moss. While Tabitha was fingering the woolen folds of the cloak, wondering how it had come to be wrapped around her with such care, Lucy toddled over to butt her in the thigh.
She scratched beneath the kitten's chin, mocking Colin's burr. "Did Prince Surly abandon ye? Or has he gone on a quest fer a saucer o' cream and a box o' Tender Vittles fer his wee lassie?"
With the morning hush came a startling realization. For the first time since arriving in this wretched century, she was alone. Her heartbeat quickened. If she squandered this opportunity, there was no telling when or if the wary Scot would grant her another moment of privacy with the amulet.
She drew the emerald from her shirt. It made her nervous just to look at it, she'd grown so accustomed to bungling her every wish. She took one last look around the clearing, wondering what Colin would think when he returned to find her gone.
"Good riddance, most likely," she whispered, ignoring a pang of regret. Perhaps for the first time in their lives, her parents needed her. A man like Colin never would.
Before she could lose her nerve, she snatched Lucy to her chest, gripped the amulet, and cl
osed her eyes. "I wish…" She drew in a deep breath before blurting out, "I wish I were home."
A whisper of a breeze tickled her cheek. She opened one eye. The mist, the clearing, the grazing stallion all remained. She stole a quick glance around to make sure Colin hadn't returned to watch her make an idiot of herself. But her only audience, aside from the horse and kitten, was the gnarled trees that looked suspiciously like the ones that had hurled the apples at Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz.
Thankful her mother couldn't see her at that moment, Tabitha rose to her feet, clicked the heels of her chipmunk slippers together three times in quick succession, and mumbled, "There's no place like home. There's no place like home."
"I'll not argue the sentiment, lass. Tis a noble one indeed."
Tabitha's eyes flew open. Colin was leaning against a nearby tree, his amber-flecked eyes glittering with amusement. Drops of water beaded in the midnight-black of his chest hair, glistening like diamonds. With his damp hair slicked back from his face and the stubble shading his jaw darkening to a true beard, he looked more like a rapacious pirate than a noble knight.
Tabitha blushed and stammered, "I was p-p-practicing a dance." To reinforce her fib, she shuffled her way through a clumsy soft shoe routine, ignoring Lucy's violent squirming. "If I'm to find work with another troupe of mummers, I need to develop a new act."
Colin pushed himself away from the tree and closed the distance between them. "I wouldn't take up storytelling if I were you because you're nearly as wretched a liar as you are a mummer."
Oh, God, he knew, Tabitha thought. He knew she was just some pathetic no-talent enchantress from the twenty-first century. Lucy wiggled out of her grip and darted for freedom, but Tabitha stood her ground, even when Colin gently pried open her fingers to reveal the amulet.
"You stole it, did you not?"
"What?"
He nodded toward the emerald. "The necklace. You stole it. Tis why the mummers cast you out. They're too dependent on the goodwill of the nobles to tolerate petty thievery among their ranks. Did they punish you by chopping off your hair in that atrocious manner?"