What else did she need? Hadn't Kieran mentioned dogs? She ducked into the kitchen and liberated a few pieces of dried meat as bribes, erring on the side of safety — if she didn't need this many, she could always have them as snacks for the trip. Now it was just a question of making sure her absence from the village wouldn't be noted. She made an idle comment to the publican that she was thinking of going to stay up at the Keep for a few days — and that was that. He knew she was friends with Kieran, and she'd made vague suggestions that her family had friends among the MacClarans. Her alibi was complete.
Bright and early the next day, she packed her stolen rucksack with the supplies she'd accumulated over the last few days. From what she'd been able to gather from asking around, she'd be on the road for almost a day, so she'd brought food that she'd liberated from the pub's kitchen, as well as a thick woolen blanket in case she needed to camp out somewhere. Not the best plan she'd ever made, on the camping front… she just hoped it didn't rain. Or if it did, maybe she could find a shed or a barn or something to camp out in. There were barns everywhere, right? Wasn't this place full of farmers?
She knew she was being reckless, of course. It was hard not to know, with instincts as good as hers. But she didn't care. Kieran had annoyed her more than she'd initially realized with all his condescending claptrap about doing what she was told and being a good little girl… she wasn't going to obediently stay where she was put like some kind of child. She was going to go out into the country, and she was going to steal a bunch of shit, and that was how it was going to be. And if she died of exposure along the way, well… well, hopefully she wouldn't die of exposure along the way. That was what the blanket was for.
Not for the first time, she wished she still had her phone. Some GPS would have been useful. Hell, she'd kill for a regular map… but when she'd asked around about maps, she'd been met with disbelief bordering on contempt. It seemed maps were a little more valuable in the medieval era than they had been in the future. Well, she'd be fine. All she needed were her wits, right?
And so, before the sun had even cleared the horizon, Scarlet set out walking.
The first thing she noticed was how fresh everything smelled. It was funny — traffic smells had been such a constant presence in her life for so long that a world without them just felt… wrong, somehow. She took a few deep breaths as she walked, settling into her pace as she made her way out of town, up the winding cobblestone road that gave way to dirt once she was out of town. The instructions she'd received from the people she'd asked had been very clear — straight up this road, right turn at the Keep, then straight on until the road started snaking along the river. After that, she'd be at the Manor in no time. Scarlet adjusted the pack on her shoulders, pleased by how comfortable it was — it was bearing up remarkably well for a stolen piece of equipment that she assumed hadn't been fitted to a five-foot tall thief.
She was fit enough to make the journey at a decent pace. She was no ultra-runner, or anything — running the distance wasn't going to be an option — but she could be brisk, at least, with the shape she was in. It was important to be strong and fit, as a thief. She made a point of getting her cardio in as regularly as she could, and she had a morning routine of a combination of strength and flexibility exercises, mostly Pilates, though a few came from the hodge-podge of martial arts training she'd been subjected to over her life that she never skipped. It made her weird little room at the inn feel almost like home, in a way, doing her all-too-familiar exercises on the very unfamiliar uneven floor…
The pace of her feet soon lulled her into a pleasantly meditative trance, and she walked for some hours without much thought. Occasionally, she'd be interrupted by the passing of a person on horseback, which always made her feel briefly nervous — what if she was accosted by a highwayman, or something? But everyone she saw was polite enough, either ignoring her completely or raising a hand in a cursory greeting before riding on. Just about everyone was on horseback, with the exception of one cart that was drawn by a donkey with a man walking alongside.
A few of the horsemen were wearing tartan, she noticed, frowning a little. It reminded her of Kieran, whom she'd decided not to think too much about if she could avoid it. The thought of the arrogant shit had a tendency of driving her into an anger spiral, and the weather was too pretty and the countryside too nice to be dealing with that right now. But the tartan the men were wearing… it was the same as the tartan he'd been wearing the last time she'd seen him; she was sure of it. They must be MacClaran men, then. That made sense — she was on the way up to their castle, wasn't she?
Sure enough, it wasn't long before the Keep loomed on the horizon. Despite her determination to set a good pace on her way to Weatherby's manor, her pace did falter when she saw it, her eyes widening despite herself. It was a beautiful thing, lurching up into the sky like that, ringed by a protective wall, narrow windows in all its great walls that she could picture archers shooting through… a shiver ran through her spine as she thought of what it would be like to besiege such a castle. Impossible, right? You'd be safe as houses in there. Could even a thief like her get in? You'd have to contend with the outer walls first, and they looked pretty sheer from here… plus they were manned at every few feet by guards, she realized with a twinge of worry — before reminding herself that she had nothing to worry about. She had no intention of robbing this castle. If she was honest, she didn't think she'd be able to.
Well, maybe. If she had more time to think about it… and a decent crew. Shaking her head, she turned and continued down the fork in the road to which she'd been directed, grinning a little. Typical Adams — at the first glimpse of an honest-to-God medieval castle in all its glory, she was already casing the joint.
Well, maybe for her next score. For now… her focus was well and truly on Weatherby.
Chapter 12
The day wore on, and she began to regret thinking that it was always cold in Scotland. The sun was high and the cloud cover, for once, was moderate — as the day got later, she found herself needing to remove the traveling cloak she'd been wearing around her shoulders, gasping in relief as the cooler air hit her arms. At least she knew the cloak was effective… she wouldn't be cold, not walking in a thing like that. After taking a short break to stuff the cloak into her rucksack, she continued on her way, eager to set a decent pace. The road sloped down and across what she was beginning to suspect were the famous moors she'd heard about, vaguely, usually in connection with Scotland — there was a dull purple haze over the surrounding fields, and though her first thought was lavender, she realized that it must be heather.
Beautiful place, in its way. Maybe she could be happy here, she thought, gazing around meditatively. Get off a few good scores, stash enough loot to buy a nice roomy cottage for herself out in the middle of nowhere. Build a chicken coop. Fresh eggs for breakfast every morning, nothing but her and the sky… but she sighed at that, seeing the problem in it immediately. She'd get bored. Even if she could busy herself by learning all the various skills associated with homesteading — and that in itself would be a tall order — she knew that living by herself wouldn't be sustainable in the long term. Within months, she'd be itching for more action, for more drama. She'd take to robbing travelers on the road, or something, just to get the high she needed. No, she'd need a different long-term goal if she was to stay here.
And if she was honest, she hadn't given up on the idea of getting back home. Not yet. Could she steal some medieval artifacts and then tear back home? They'd fetch a fortune, wouldn't they — perfectly preserved, all but brand new… she looked down at the stolen clothes she was wearing with new eyes. Weren't there all kinds of history nerds who'd kill to dissect a piece like this, to figure out exactly what kind of fabric and dye and stuff they'd used? Scarlet resolved that if it did turn out that she could get back home, she'd be loading herself up with as much loot as possible. Maybe she could become the world's first time-traveling thief…
Shaking h
er head with amusement, she almost blundered straight into the river before she realized where she was. The sun was right overhead, telling her it must have been around midday, and she gazed up and down the swiftly flowing river, remembering with a grin the night she'd arrived. To think she'd swum through this river for what must have been a good half-hour, thinking it was carrying her further and further away from the cops… when really, she couldn't have been further from them if she'd tried. And to think she'd thought it had been the same as the river that flowed through Philadelphia. The water was far too clean, for a start.
That reminded her. Smiling, she dropped to her knees beside the river, digging out the waterskin she'd thieved — she'd finished the water she'd brought an hour ago during a brief rest, hoping that she'd be able to refill it at the river. Sure enough, the water was sweet and cold, and she drank her fill before topping up her waterskin as well. That was safe, wasn't it? Did you have to sanitize river water, somehow? Her father had told her something once about water being safe to drink as long as it was free flowing — and the river was certainly that. Well, if it was going to poison her, it was too late to do anything about it now, and she resolved to deal with that problem when she got to it.
The second leg of the journey felt like it wore on for longer than the first. Knowing she was over halfway there made her impatient, and she tried to accelerate her pace, rapidly running out of breath as she did. It seemed like a waste of time to stop for lunch, so she ate as she walked, gnawing on some of the dried meat she'd taken from the kitchen, then polishing off a couple of hard, round apples for dessert. Well, at least she was eating reasonably healthy. Her father would be pleased.
Finally, when it felt like her feet were just about to drop off, and the sun was beginning to head toward the horizon in a way that was making her worry that she should have stopped at the most recent little farmhouse she saw along the road, the manor came into view. At first, she didn't realize what it was — her mind had been a thousand miles away, and the sight of a huge, sheer wall looming up ahead of her was confronting. But then she realized that beyond that wall, perched atop a low hill, was an enormous house. This was no humble farmhouse like the ones she'd been walking past — this was no cramped little cottage or townhouse like the ones in the village she'd been staying in. No. This was the kind of manor that looked like it belonged in a Pride and Prejudice remake.
This had to be Weatherby Manor. There was no way it wasn't. And as she looked into the sky to see the sun just beginning to scrape the horizon, she grinned, realizing that she'd timed it just right. Dusk was the best time to case a joint — the light was low, which made visibility worse for guards, but not so low that she couldn't get a good view of windows and doors that might be susceptible to an interloper. But first of all, she had to deal with the walls. Actually — no. First of all, she needed to get changed.
Grateful that it was at least a little cooler now that the sun was setting, Scarlet ducked into the trees that stood by the road, all of the tiredness from the day's walking suddenly evaporating at the giddy hit of adrenaline she'd felt when first laying eyes upon her mark. God, it had been too long since she'd been on a job like this. A week of laying low? No way. Not for her. This was what she lived for — the thrill of the case. With her dark clothes on, she stashed her rucksack in the trees, too, save for some fistfuls of meat that remained, bribes for any dogs she might run into. It seemed that trees all but surrounded the estate, which she was grateful for — she made a quick circuit of the walls, scanning them closely as she went. They weren't quite like the castle walls. No guards stationed atop them — they didn't seem broad enough for that — but they were tall and formidable, and it became rapidly clear that the place was well guarded. She counted four patrols of guards — three patrols of two, and one of a man on his lonesome. Staying in one place, she timed the patrols, missing her watch as she counted in her head — they were about ten minutes apart. That was more than enough time for her. Positioning herself on the very far side of the manor, she waited for a patrol to go by — and once the guards' retreating backs were gone around the wall, she hurried forward, building momentum as she took a running leap at the wall. Could she make it?
Yes! With a soft grunt, she felt her hands grip the top of the wall as her legs scrabbled for purchase. She'd always been a good jumper — it made up for her short frame, though she'd never be a basketball pro. She pulled herself nimbly up onto the wall, scanning the manor grounds from her vantage point for a precious second — she didn't want to stay up here too long in case she was spotted, but it was a good opportunity to get the lay of the lands. A beautiful garden, clearly well-tended — but nobody about in it right now, save for a couple of gardeners working some distance away. Good. Easy. She slid down the wall and landed amongst some bushes, even managing to avoid crushing any plant life. Good. No need to let anyone know she was here… with any luck, they wouldn't realize they'd been infiltrated until her thefts were discovered. And if she was careful, that wouldn't be until she was back in the village. Covering your tracks was an essential part of thief work — at least, it was if you wanted a long-term career.
And time travel or no time travel, Scarlet Adams fully intended on a long career.
She stole up through the garden, keeping a sharp ear out for any unexpected visitors — but it seemed that the interior of the walls was completely free of guards. Silly, really, especially with those enormous gaps in the patrols… did they really think nobody could jump over the walls? Complacent of them, especially in an era without automatic alarms or cameras… she'd had to consciously stop herself from factoring technology into her approach, a little embarrassed by how easy it all was. She was going to be an amazing thief. It was like playing a video game on the hardest difficulty for years and years, then suddenly swapping over to easy.
Then again, she couldn't afford to get complacent. Technology or no technology, if they caught her here, it wouldn't be good for her. She had to make sure that she took full advantage of the lack of surveillance and got in and out without detection. So, she crept closer to the house with renewed caution, keeping a close eye on the pathways through the garden. She knew that nobody lived at the Weatherby manor except Lord Weatherby himself — and, of course, his army of staff. It was the staff she had to worry about, not the Lord. They were the ones who were most likely to chance upon her. But she had experience moving unseen. And worst-case scenario, she wasn't bad at hand-to-hand combat. So long as she wasn't surprised by too many staff members, she should be okay to knock one or two out.
Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that, though. She didn't like the idea of hurting servants. They weren't the ones she was there to steal from.
She crept up to a door that stood open on the patio, taking a long moment to listen for any sounds of noise from within. When nothing but silence met her, she slipped inside… and stared around in wonder at what she saw.
The manor was straight out of a historical drama — but somehow, the colors were even more vivid than she'd expected. She found herself in a formal dining room, with an enormous table lovingly set out for a meal — a dozen places were set, but her sharp eye picked out that eleven of the settings hadn't been moved in quite some time, with a fine patina of dust covering the knives and forks. Mostly for show, then. Lord Weatherby wasn't much of an entertainer. She eyed the cutlery for a while — it definitely looked like silver, and cutlery was always a good bet for resale value — but she couldn't risk arousing suspicion by disturbing the place settings. There was a low side table beyond the table, and she tugged open the top drawer, grinning as she realized that fingerprints, too, weren't anything she needed to worry about. Sure enough — spare cutlery. She stashed a few pieces into the extra pockets she'd sewed on the interior of the dark jacket she was wearing.
But as she moved through the house, she began to revise her plan on the fly. She'd intended to steal a few things and be done with it… but the more she saw, the more she knew that there was far m
ore potential here than just a couple of quick scores. She took a few things, of course, stashing them in her pockets, but as she explored, steering clear of the side of the house that seemed to house the kitchen, she realized that what she was really doing was casing the joint. Taking notes about which larger items she might want to come back for… with a bit more planning, and maybe even a bit more manpower. Surely there were shady types she could hire… the Scottish hated the English, right? Maybe that would be payment enough — knowing that they'd screwed over Lord Weatherby. She hid a smile as she continued through room after room of splendid furniture, enormous paintings, every inch of every decorative table and cabinet decorated with trinkets and ornaments.
Were these all Weatherby's, she wondered as she liberated a rather ornate-looking golden paperweight, stashing it in her rapidly filling pockets? Would he really notice that any of it was missing? She was taking care to move things around to disguise the holes she was leaving, but when she looked back, she could barely tell that anything had been taken. The man just had so much stuff. Scarlet felt an old flare of anger as she thought of the good people in the village, the men and women who had so close to nothing that even a couple of copper coins for an ale at the pub was an expenditure they had to think carefully about… these were the people she always avoided stealing from, and if any of them ever challenged her at cards, she made sure they ended up in a draw. How could Weatherby live here with all this wealth, alone?
Still, she couldn't afford to get bogged down in class consciousness right now… especially not within a political system that she barely understood — was it feudalism? Was that what this was? Were people technically serfs, or would that come later? — Right now, she just needed to finish casing the joint… then to get the hell out of here. She had more than a few pieces that she knew would sell for a pretty penny back in town, and she'd deliberately taken things that weren't especially distinctive, so nobody would know where they were from. With any luck, Weatherby wouldn't even know he'd been robbed. Something about that needled at her though, made her itch to steal something a bit bigger. Men like Weatherby ought to know that they'd been robbed.
Highlander Guarded: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander In Time Book 10) Page 8
