CHAPTER FOURTEEN #2
She had surrendered to Macleod with more than her body last night.
She flushed. She’d been the insatiable one.
And it had been wilder and more intense than ever—perhaps because of their differences, their war.
He’d been so triumphant and he’d let her know, repeatedly, who was in control and who had won. But she hadn’t minded, oh, no.
In fact, she’d been so insatiable that she’d forgotten to steal his keys when they’d finally calmed. She’d fallen asleep, not even thinking about Coinneach.
She had missed the perfect opportunity to steal those keys, and she didn’t know how she felt about that—just as she wasn’t at all certain how she felt about giving in to him last night.
It was late in the morning, a new day. She probably shouldn’t have succumbed to him last night, but she had.
Had their truce only applied to last night?
She wouldn’t mind a rational debate in the broad light of day.
Maybe making love last night could be turned into an opportunity to discuss their differences.
Tabby slowly got up, opening the shutters.
Outside, it was a magnificent day, the skies azure and cloudless.
The ridges to the southeast were thick with forests, and glittered as bright as emeralds in the sun.
Now what? she wondered. Last night, he had wanted sex and he’d gotten it.
The problem was, she had no regrets, not on that score.
But what she did regret was his ignoring her express wishes and refusing to discuss Coinneach and his Fate.
And then she heard the soft childish crying, again.
Alarmed, Tabby went to the door and flung it open, expecting to find a small child there. But the hall was empty.
Tabby hesitated, uncertain. Was her mind playing tricks on her? First she had dreamed about a crying child, and now, she’d heard him. Except no child was nearby.
Or was she sensing a child who was somewhere else, the way she’d sensed Macleod as a boy on the beach? Suddenly she heard the child crying again.
Very concerned, she lifted her skirts and started down the hall. The sound seemed to increase slightly in volume, as if she’d find that small girl or boy weeping on the stairs. But when she reached the narrow staircase, it was empty.
She tensed. Last night, the spirit had not made an appearance. Tabby did not know what that meant, but she was certain it was the lull before a huge storm.
And her mind was playing tricks on her now. She was certain that someone—or something—was behind those tricks. Was it Criosaidh, Coinneach’s mother? What about that spirit from An Tùir-Tara? Was it involved in this mischief?
Tabby started downstairs. Peigi was cleaning up the hall with two other women. “Did you hear a child crying?”
Peigi shrugged. “Maybe ’twas young Seonaidh. He was here a moment ago.”
Tabby did not know who Seonaidh was, and she found herself going to the front doors of the hall, which she pushed open.
There were several little children playing in the bailey, but no one was crying and they were too far away for her to have heard any one of them.
As she watched them tossing stones at a stake, she heard the child again.
And he or she was closer.
Tabby stepped outside, wide-eyed, scanning the bailey, the crying louder now. She saw two toddlers with their mothers, the women leading a pair of milk cows, but she did not espy a crying child. I am being enchanted, she thought uneasily.
But the sound shifted, and her concern escalated.
She glanced up at the ramparts, starting for the stairs leading to them.
Then she realized that the child was in the arched gateway, leading to the drawbridge.
The drawbridge was down, but that did not seem unusual so early in the day.
She hurried to the gated entrance of the stronghold.
Tabby paused inside the dark, cold tunnel, searching the shadows there. No child was present, but he or she was crying harder now. Suddenly she worried that the child was in the cellars below.
“Lady?”
She turned. It was the handsome young Highlander who had been on watch yesterday. “Do you hear that?”
“I dinna ken…I dinna speak…English,” he said haltingly.
The crying had stopped. Tabby strained to hear.
As she did, the child began to cry again, but this time, most definitely from outside the keep.
Over the drawbridge and past the moat, she saw the rutted road she and Macleod had climbed up to the stronghold the other day.
Beyond the road, the forests seemed thick and impenetrable, the kind of wilderness that did not exist in her time.
Between the forests and where she stood, no child was in sight.
The young Highlander spoke abruptly to her.
Tabby did not have to understand Gaelic to know that he was telling her not to leave the keep.
She ignored him, vaguely aware that she was enchanted and this was treachery, but too worried about the child now to think clearly.
She had to find this child. There was simply no choice.
She rushed through the arched gateway and across the drawbridge. The crying became louder. The child was terrified.
The young man shouted at her.
Tabby lifted her skirts and ran toward the road. The sound of the crying shifted. Tabby veered off the dirt. The child screamed as if it was being murdered. Tabby ran harder, branches scraping her face, her breasts. And then there was a shocking silence.
She halted, confused, panting hard. The fog lifted and she stilled, shocked.
She had just been lured away from Blayde with powerful magic. There was no child!
For her senses had returned, as clear and as acute as ever.
“Highlander,” she cried, turning. And she did not know where she was.
Huge, towering pines surrounded her. She was in the forest, where it was dark with shadow and brush.
She could barely see the sky through the canopy of boughs above her—and she could not see Blayde.
Comprehension stabbed through her. She was lost.
Branches rustled, snapped.
More comprehension came. She was not alone.
Alarmed, Tabby fought the sudden fear. The calm that always preceded evil came. Becoming still, she put a protective spell on herself, finally turning to the sound.
Five darkly cloaked figures emerged from the forest, their appearance shocking. They were adolescent boys, all fair in complexion, with black, empty eyes. They were obviously medieval boys. As Tabby was surrounded, the comprehension was even more stunning now.
There were sub gangs burning witches in 1298, too.
They began to smile, their expressions evil, approaching.
Tabby turned to run.
Her heart thundered as her arms were seized from behind. She struggled but it was futile and she was dragged back. She heard someone else approaching, but she was pushed hard to the ground. She cried out, landing on the rough ground on her hands and knees, her face. They wanted to hurt her.
How far would they go?
The possessed always had unnatural strength, and she did not have the power to escape them, she thought, carefully getting to her hands and knees. Begging would accomplish nothing. Evil did not know the meaning of mercy.
“Bind her and start the fire.”
Tabby cried out at the sound of Kristin Lafarge’s voice. She was dragged to her feet and she whirled, incredulous. Kristin was striding into the small glade, grinning at her maliciously, her eyes overly bright. She was clad in medieval Highland garb.
Tabby’s hands were jerked behind her and tied with rough rope. Her fear vanished and calm descended. “You enchanted me.”
“Yes, I did. Hello, Tabitha.” Kristin approached, clearly relishing the moment.
Tabby straightened, ignoring the pain of the cord. “Are you from this time or my time?”
Kristin touched her cheek lightly with her nails. “I’m hardly a medieval woman. Do I appear to be?”
She didn’t have the slightest trace of a Scot brogue, Tabby thought. “You could pass for a Highland woman in those clothes.”
“I have relations at Melvaig.”
“Are you a MacDougall?” Tabby asked swiftly. Everything was tied to An Tùir-Tara, she thought.
“You ask too many questions. And how are your relations, dear?”
Tabby went still. “What?”
Kristin grinned. “How is your warrior-bitch sister? I wonder.”
The calm vanished. Icy fear returned. “If you have hurt her, I will kill you.”
Kristin laughed. “And how will you do that? Fire, arise,” she said smoothly.
Tabby heard the flames crackle and she whirled. The boys had gathered up a huge amount of brush and a fire instantly blazed in the center of the glade. Fear slithered through her. “What did you do to Sam?”
“Sam survived my magic, but she probably still has a tummy ache.”
Sam was okay, Tabby thought, relieved. She reached out for the calm and it came swiftly to her.
“What do you want? Why did you follow me into the past?” And then she wondered at the coincidence—two evil things had followed her into the past from New York City.
“Wait a minute. Was it you at the Met? Did you try to get into my loft? Did you attack me the other night in Macleod’s chamber? ”
“I wish I had that kind of power. Unfortunately, I have to be present to use my magic on you.”
Tabby began to shake. She believed her. Not because of what she had said, but because this woman did not have the same imprint of evil as the woman from An Tùir-Tara. Kristin was a diluted version, somehow. “How are you related to An Tùir-Tara?” she demanded.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Kristin’s pleasant smile and demeanor vanished. “I was there.”
Tabby stared, surprised. “And I’m going to be there, too, aren’t I?” She didn’t know how she knew. Or maybe she did—all those emotions were just too intense not to belong to her.
Kristin grinned. “Hmm, how shall I answer? No, you will be there…Wait! Yes, you were there.”