Chapter Thirteen
The night was unseasonably warm as Arran paced.
The air was still and the heat of the day lingered, even though the sun had long since disappeared and night had enveloped Skye.
Up here on the battlements of Dun Tabor there was normally a breeze—and in the winter a howling gale that froze your stones if you weren’t careful—but tonight even here he could not escape the heat.
It was barely May and yet it felt like midsummer.
Just another indication that all was not well with his homeland.
Glancing at the position of the stars, he guessed it was somewhere in the small hours of the night.
Around him, Dun Tabor was sleeping, with only the guards who kept constant watch over the castle still awake and vigilant.
Unable to sleep himself, Arran had risen from his bed and joined them.
It had become his habit of late, and these days he was pretty sure he spent as much time walking the battlements as his guards did.
He paused and rested his hands on the rough stone of the wall, gazing out into the darkness. There was little to see except a few candles burning in the village windows and the quick outline of a fox as it darted through the shadows.
He sighed, thumping his fist against the hard stone, thinking over the events of the day.
He had hoped Jenna would fix the magic today.
She had seemed so confident that he’d gone along with her, allowing himself to hope, even though he suspected in his heart that it wouldn’t be as simple as she seemed to think.
He had seen what Jenna was capable of when she’d healed all those people in the infirmary, but he could not deny the sinking sense of disappointment he felt when things hadn’t gone to plan.
And yet, that sense of disappointment paled in comparison to the fear that had washed through him when she’d been tossed across the beach like a piece of flotsam.
After her faint at Bail Nan Cnoc and then learning that the raiders knew of her existence, Arran had been very careful in ensuring her safety.
Jenna herself, though, didn’t seem to share his concern, and she was more than cavalier with her own wellbeing, taking risks and pushing herself beyond what was reasonable.
He wished she would be more careful. The last thing he wanted to do was lose his spellweaver. No, not his spellweaver. Jenna. He didn’t want to lose Jenna.
It made no sense to him, the way this strange woman from the future stirred such feelings in him.
She was here to do a job and when that job was done, she would be gone.
Their arrangement was a simple business transaction, so why did he find himself looking for her whenever he entered a room and longing to hear her voice when she wasn’t around?
He scrubbed a hand through his hair, his thoughts and feelings tangling into a knot he struggled to unpick. No wonder he couldn’t sleep. How could any man be expected to sleep when they were ensnared in the knot of conflicting emotions in which he found himself?
It would be best if he stayed away from the lass. Mal could easily deputize for him. Aye. That’s what he would do. Come the morning he would ride out on patrol and put some distance between himself and Jenna MacFinnan. Maybe that would help to calm the turmoil she caused whenever she was near.
He turned to head down the steps but paused as movement by the gate caught his eye. Squinting, he leaned on the wall to get a better view. A figure was walking along the edge of the courtyard towards the gates, keeping to the shadows.
The hairs on the back of Arran’s neck rose. An intruder! He opened his mouth to bellow a warning, but as the figure darted through a patch of torchlight, the words died in his throat.
It was Jenna.
She paused, glanced around, and then hurried towards the two guards standing on duty in front of the gate. Arran watched, perplexed. What was she doing? Why was she sneaking around the castle at this time of night?
Fully expecting the guards on the gate to stop her, Arran’s mouth dropped open when she walked between them without them so much as glancing in her direction.
What the—? He watched in dumbfounded disbelief as she opened the small postern gate set into the larger gate and let herself out, closing it quietly behind her.
The guards never even so much as moved.
With a snarl, Arran tore down the steps, taking them two at a time, and sprinted across the courtyard. Spotting him barreling towards them, the guards snapped to attention.
“My laird!”
“What the hell was that?” Arran snapped. “Why didnae ye stop her?”
The men glanced at each other. “Stop who, my laird?”
“The spellweaver! She just walked right past ye!”
The guards’ faces paled. “But… we didnae see anyone, my laird.”
Arran let out a string of curses. Damn the woman! Was she trying to get herself killed? Clearly she’d used her magic on the guards. What was she up to now? He’d wring her neck when he got his hands on her!
“Stand aside!” he snapped, pushing past the guards. He grabbed the handle of the postern gate and yanked it open.
“My laird!” one the guards cried. “Wait and we’ll form a company to accompany ye!”
“No,” he replied. “Go back to yer posts. I willnae be long.”
Before they could reply, he pulled the gate shut behind him and stepped out onto the road.
There was no moon and the darkness was almost absolute, with only the faint starlight to light the night.
He paused, letting his eyes adjust, and the outline of the village and landscape beyond slowly came into view.
There was no sign of Jenna.
Biting back a curse, he knelt and examined the mud. It did not take long to find her footprints, but to his surprise they did not lead down the road but rather cut around the outside of the keep and turned across country—in the same direction in which the anchor stone lay.
She’d been withdrawn when they’d returned to Dun Tabor, and had spent the rest of the day sequestered in the library, studying the texts Merrick had dug out for her. She’d retired early from the evening meal, taking one of the books up to her room, saying she’d wanted to study it some more.
Had she really been hatching a plan to sneak out and return to the stone alone? What was she thinking? Had she not listened to a word he’d said to her? Did she not realize how dangerous it was to go wandering the wilds alone? Reckless, headstrong, stubborn woman!
He broke into a jog in the direction she’d taken, stopping every now and then to check he was still following her footprints. She couldn’t have gotten far so that it wouldn’t take long to catch up and when he did, he’d be giving her a piece of his mind she wouldn’t forget in a hurry.
But Arran didn’t catch her as quickly as he’d imagined.
Even though she was traveling in the dark, through a landscape she was unused to, she seemed to be moving far more quickly than Arran would have expected, as though she knew exactly where she was headed and was sprinting for all she was worth. Was she using magic to aid her flight?
Arran didn’t know but he did know that he had to find her and bring her back before some calamity befell her.
Yet try as he might, Arran was unable to gain on her.
He ran as fast as he dared through the darkness, moving more quickly now that he was sure of her destination, but he caught no sign of her on the trail ahead.
By the time he reached the rise that they’d climbed earlier, his lungs were on fire and sweat was pouring down his forehead, plastering his hair to the sides of his face.
He staggered to the top of the rise above the beach and leaned on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
The tide was out and the anchor stone rose up from its spot on the beach like an accusing finger. Jenna was on her knees in front of it and her voice floated to him through the darkness. She seemed to be arguing with it.
“Look, if this is gonna work, I’m going to need your help. And it’s no good staring at me like that, all moody and brooding, because I’m not going to fall for it. We both know you want me to fix you, so how about you give me a break, huh?”
Arran stepped forward and a piece of driftwood snapped beneath his boot.
Jenna spun around. “Who’s there? Come out right now! I’ve got a gun and I’m not afraid to use it!”
She did not have a gun—muskets and wheellocks were a rarity in the Isles—but Arran had to admire her spirit. He walked towards her, holding his hands out to either side.
“It’s me, lass.”
Her eyes widened and damn him if he didn’t feel an involuntary little clench in his gut. Relief flashed across her lovely features and for a fleeting instant she looked as pleased to see him as he was to see her.
“Arran! What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here? What are ye doing here, woman? What in God’s name possessed ye to come out here alone in the middle of the night? Have ye lost yer senses?”
“I haven’t lost anything,” she snapped back, that familiar look of defiance flashing across her features. “And I think it’s pretty obvious why I’ve come out here, isn’t it?” She gestured at the stone rising behind her as though he might have missed it.
Arran scowled, crossing his arms. “I seem to recall us having a conversation about the dangers of this place and I also seem to recall ye agreeing to not go anywhere without an escort. Or did I dream that?”
She flushed. “A conversation was it? It was more of a lecture from where I was standing! I remember you laying down the law and expecting me to go along with it!”
“Aye, I expect ye to go along with my orders when they are designed to keep ye safe!” What was wrong with her? Did she not realize what could have gone wrong? Anger flashed through him. “Dear God, woman! Do ye have any idea the danger ye have put yerself in?”
Her eyes flashed in the gloom. “I can take care of myself!”