“And what happens to me if you get caught?”
“I will no get caught,” he assured her.
“Right, “she scoffed. “ Like you didn’t get caught before?”
Gavin’s jaw tensed. “Now it tis my fault?”
“No. I know it’s not your fault.”
“Then what will ye have me do? Just wait for them ta come for us?”
“You said yourself that they don’t know we are here.”
“Aye, for now. But eventually they will find us.”
“How would he even know to look for us. As far as Broderick is concerned we slipped through the mist.”
Gavin knew she had a point but he wanted to get this business over, sooner, rather than later. “I will wait until night fall and have a look then, if that makes ye feel better.”
“All right. But I am going with you.”
“Lass, I said no.” He gave her a stern look, thinking ta put an end ta the conversation once and for all.
“Gavin,” she mimicked his tone. “And I said, yes.”
“Och!” He threw up his hands in the air and stormed out the front door. “Stubborn woman,” he muttered on his way out.
“Where are you going?” She chased after him out the door.
“Ta get some wood.” And with that, he turned on his heel and strode away into the woods.
“Ta get some wood,” she mimicked him as she turned and made her way back into the cottage. She was getting a little sick and tired of his attitude.
“Lass, ye can no come with me,” she grumbled under her breath, mimicking him once more. Well, she had news for him. She was going with him when he got back whether he liked it or not. Now that she made up her mind about that, all she had to do was figure out how.
♦
It was another cold dreary day in Scotland and the gray skies above threatened to pour out buckets of rain at any given moment. Tucking her head back in the door, she looked around for something to occupy herself until Gavin got back. The cottage wasn’t too dirty. She did some quick dusting and straightening up, but unfortunately the stink, although tolerable now, still didn’t dissipate.
Walking outside, she sat down onto the small blanket they had used the night before to eat off of. She wished she at least had a book to read. Instead, she was stuck with only her thoughts for company. “Could of. Would of. Should of,” she grumbled.
That was the story of her life.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
The Past – the Cottage-Greystone Lands
Gavin’s muscled body moved quickly as he sprinted over clumps of grass and rocks, making his way back to Greystone—his home. He lied to his lass, telling her he was off to get wood for the fire, which, he amended, wasn’t a complete fabrication. He had every intention of getting the wood but only after he scouted out the perimeters of the castle again. A fire was burning in his belly from seeing with his own eyes, that blackguard, Broderick, on the battlements of his home acting as though it was his own. Not for long. Ducking down, he made his way to the crest of the hill, hiding from view in the tall grass.
While he waited for nightfall, he couldn’t help but wonder if he were ta go see Shamus if he would help him regain his home from the likes of Broderick but after he thought on it a wee bit longer, he came to the realization that Shamus would have no cause ta put his life on the line for Gavin, nor would he want him to.
Mayhap if Morgan was still with him he would have a chance. His father’s second in Command was a warrior. He could split a skull in two with one hand while gutting a whoreson with the other and still not break a sweat.
A wan smile crossed his face at the remembrance.
Aye, he missed Morgan.
Of its own accord his mind strayed to Alec, Graham, Callum and Muir—he knew if he were ta somehow get word to them that they would help him—but ta what end? What if something happened to them? He couldn’t bear losing anymore of his men.
No.
He couldn’t do that. He would just have ta do it himself—he just wasn’t sure how he was going to accomplish that no small feat himself—yet.
Gavin knew his lands and home like the back of his hand. He also knew the Greystone had many places to sneak into that only he and Morgan knew about. He would have to use one of those passageways to get inside the keep after dark because he couldn’t risk doing it while it was still light; he would surely be discovered. And then everything he sought to accomplish by coming back ta the past would be in vain.
Having his lass here made doing this more difficult. He didn’t know what would happen to her, especially if something happened to him. He would have to keep his wits about him or else they both may end up paying the ultimate price. And that was something he wasn’t willing to risk at this juncture—so he waited.
A cool breeze blew blades of grass over on its side as a lone raven soared heavenward. He watched it for a moment—wondering if it was some kind of sign.
It was quiet—too quiet. Readjusting his position, he hunkered down, looking for anything out of the ordinary surrounding the castle.
What bothered him most was how Broderick got to the men, the ones he had killed. And who were the men that did the foul deed?
They were most likely mercenaries, he thought—but how did he get the coin ta pay them? It occurred to Gavin that either Broderick made some kind of deal with the King— or he made a bargain with the witch in hopes of getting the treasure for himself. But how could he do that when the witch had told Gavin that only a true descendant of Greystone could retrieve the gold?
Unfortunately, in all the thinking and pondering that Gavin was doing, he never once considered a rather simple fact…he was not the only living descendant of Greystone… Callum was also a Grey.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
The Past –-Greystone Dungeon
Callum coughed and another mouthful of blood splattered down on the filth-ridden stones under his feet.
“Och, Callum, are ye still alive?” Muir asked quietly so as not to alert the guards from the cell he was locked inside.
“Aye, Muir, I am. Mayhap for not much longer if I keep losing all me blood.”
Muir pulled at his restraints to no avail. The metal reverberated on the stones and sent jarring ripples down his arms. At least he could still feel them, so that was something, he supposed. Giving up, he took out his frustration on Callum. “If ye would have stayed put, like Alec and Graham instructed until they got back, we would no be in this mess.”
“I did no tell ye ta come with me,” Callum wheezed.
“How could I not? Ye are like a sister ta me.”
Callum would have laughed but it hurt too bad. He was sure some of his ribs were broke.
“Hold on, Callum,” Muir said worriedly when his friend didn’t respond to his barb. Straining his eyes, he tried to see through the gloom. “Our laird will come back for us. I am sure of it.”
“I hope ye are right, Muir.” Callum shut his eyes against the pain and let the darkness take hold once more.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
The Past – the Cottage- Greystone Lands
Paige had to go back inside the stink pit, because it had started to rain. She kept the door open and stomped around the cabin, venting her anger and frustration at Gavin’s earlier desertion. Men were such nincompoops. She could have helped him too.
Fine.
Maybe she wouldn’t have been that much help but at least she wouldn’t be worried sick, like she was now. “Dangit!” She stomped down and her foot kept going as part of the floor broke away.
“Ohhhh Shiiiit!” Arms flailing, she grabbed hold of the table to stop from falling into the big hole that now resided in the middle of the floor.
Carefully, she braced most of her weight on the table and pulled her foot back up.
On the off chance the rest of the floor was going to give way, she shakil
y maneuvered around the table to the other side.
“That was close,” she said, panting with exertion. “Too damn close.” Heart pounding, she leaned forward to see what damage she had done.
There was a good-sized hole in the floor and that wouldn’t have normally bothered her too much…well… besides almost falling into it.
A stream of cold air blew upward, lifting her hair.
“What the hell is that?”
Turns out it wasn’t a thing, but rather, a who, or on second look, it was more than one who. And those who’s, had apparently been dead for some time since most of the skin was now gone and more bone was left in its place.
“EEK!” She covered her eyes with her hands and peeked out from between her fingers. Like that would help vanquish the disgusting sight that was now ingrained in her mind for probably the rest of her life.
A putrid, nasty odor filled the air. Much worse than before, an accompaniment of sorts to the grossness in front of her now. Using her shirt, she covered her mouth and nose. It wasn’t easy since she still kept hold of the table in a death grip comparable to Gavin’s on her dash while he was riding in her car. Her knuckles were even turning white.
“Why me?” She squeezed her eyes shut but that didn’t help her predicament at the moment, in the least.
“Deep breaths…” She tried the yoga approach. That lasted all of one breath—she nearly asphyxiated herself inside her shirt.
Coughing, she jerked her nose out and immediately gagged. “God…why me?”
Hot tears sprang to her eyes and clouded her vision. She didn’t know why she was asking him that—she knew the reason. And it was her own fault. Had she not been stomping around the cabin like a lunatic, her damn foot wouldn’t have broken through the floorboards and more importantly, she wouldn’t be seeing the remnants of corpses because of it.
“Get a grip, Paige.” Fine. She already had a pretty tight grip on the table but her words were meant to be less literal and more metaphorical.
She tried not to look in the hole, but it was hard since it was blocking her way out. The cabin or cottage, she didn’t care which, was on the small side, anyway. One of the chairs was pushed away from the table where Gavin had been sitting earlier. Seeing it there made her mad all over again, that Gavin had left her. If he hadn’t, she wouldn’t be in this mess. Yep. Guilty as charged. She was going all in on the blame game. She was a master at it, really. She played this game many times before and had pretty much learned to tank it in her favor whenever life served up steaming piles of crap instead of what she wanted from life.
Lifting her foot, she tried to hook it around the leg to pull it closer for some kind of support. Of course, she wasn’t thinking clearly at the moment. It wasn’t like a game of musical chairs. Once she was on the chair, what would stop her, and the chair, from falling into the damn hole. It reminded her of one of the sinkholes she had seen on the news, once, back home. An entire house fell right into one, taking the occupants of the house with it. She shuddered from the grim recollection.
It took three tries before she was able to drag the chair a bit closer. Holding her breath, she made a light leap for it. She grabbed hold of the chair—, which was nothing short of a miracle, since she was not athletic in the least. Then she quickly realized holding her breath wasn’t a conducive way to get from one place to another. She swayed from lack of air and almost fell into the hole, anyway. Again, she wasn’t thinking clearly. It may have had something to do with the God-awful stink coming from the hole, or the simple fact that the hole was there in the first place. It didn’t make any reasonable sense, but it was there, just the same, right in front of her.
This time, when she made a jump for the only part of the floor that looked like it wasn’t going to cave in, she didn’t hold her breath. The momentum of said jump carried her all the way to the fireplace. She gripped hold of the mantel, standing on her tiptoes, hoping like hell the rest of the place didn’t cave in on her in the process. There were three holes in the ceiling. She didn’t mind them the night before because Gavin was there, but now that she was alone, she gave them a look of disdain. Not to mention the giant black buzzard that had taken up residence in one and was looking at her like she was something it might want to peck on for a snack. Another buzzard flew up on the roof and stuck its head in one of the holes.
“Shoo!” She waved her hands to make them fly away—she lost her balance and fell backward off the edge of the hearth.
“OH, MY GOD!” Frozen, she waited for the Exorcist cabin with corpses under the floorboards to swallow her alive at any moment…but nothing happened.
“It’s good. I’m good,” she told herself. She tried the deep breath thing again and nearly threw up. Coughing, she jerked her shirt back over her face and gingerly, albeit quickly, tiptoed her way to the door. Once she was there, she bolted through in a dead run outside and right into a hard-unyielding object.
A bright flash of white stole her sight and she promptly passed out.
♦
The longer Gavin stayed hidden, the more unsettled he became. He had a terrible feeling something was about to happen and that something, he was sure, was nothing good. He had the same feeling the day he awoke to find his men dead and it was the same feeling he had when his father died and the day his mother died before that.
He shook his head, trying to keep his wits about him and not drift back into some forgotten memory. He had never given much credence to what the witch had told him so long ago about his family being cursed, but now, he couldn’t help but wonder if she had been right in her grim prediction. Was he cursed? He thought he might be. Everyone he had ever cared for died. Surely that must be an omen of sorts. And if it was, what did it mean for him? Was he going to die as well? Sooner, rather than later? Or was something foul going to befall the rest of the people he cared for? Including his lass?
Frustrated with the lack of answers to his many questions, Gavin scrubbed his hands over his face and then dropped them back to his sides, coming to a decision. He would go back to the cottage and see what his lass had gotten into whilst he was gone and then come back later, after dark. There was nothing to be done here now, anyway. He probably shouldn’t have come here in the first place but he wanted to see what he was up against. It didn’t do any good, of course. He knew just as little now as he had when he arrived. In other words, he wasted his day.
Turning around, he made the long trek back to the cottage, never once noticing that he was being followed.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
The Past – the Cottage-Greystone Lands
The sky had a turned a dark gray, almost black with the first showings of night when Gavin climbed the last hill before the cottage. He couldn’t help but wonder again what his lass had gotten into.
Thinking of seeing her, even if she was in a temper for his desertion earlier, brought one of his rare smiles to his face. Life, since he met his lass, he acknowledged to himself while making his way down the hill, was surely not boring—he would give her that.
However, the closer he came to the cottage the more unnerved he became. Something wasn’t right. Going with his gut, he took off in a dead run the rest of the way.
“Lass,” he called, pushing the door open.
“Gah.” He covered his nose with his hand and stepped through the opening onto what was left of the floor.
“Lass?” A surge of fear shot through him and his innards twisted in knots. He felt sick. Leaning forward, he looked in the hole and then immediately jerked back.
A body was lying in the hole, not his lass, but one that had been long dead. Then he spotted another and another. Hot bile rose in his throat at the sight and for some reason, his mind went immediately to Angus. What was left of him after the rats ate their fill. The thought of his friend dying in such a painful way made his innards twist even more.
“Lass,” he called out, louder.
Still he heard nothing.
<
br /> A shiver of unease swept over him—an inner warning of sorts. Normally Gavin would have paid heed to such a warning, but his worry for his lass had taken precedence over his self-preservation.
Something slammed into the side of his head. His vison blurred and stars danced before his eyes. Struggling to stay upright and keep his wits about him at the same time, he shook his head.
His vision cleared.
A man stood in front of him, one he had never seen before and he was smiling at Gavin like he was his long-lost friend. His blood pumped harder.
“What are ye about,” Gavin said, reaching for his sword. But it wasn’t on his side like it normally would have been and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember why it was not there now.
The man’s smile grew, as if he knew what Gavin was reaching for. “Are ye looking for this, Laird?” He scathed the word and held his sword aloft, almost in a taunting way.
Gavin was having a hard time keeping his wits about him. Warm blood seeped down the side of his face, dripping steadily on the floor from the blow he had received only moments before. He shook his head, trying to clear his blurry vision. The man kept fading in and out of focus. “Aye, I am.”
“Well, what are ye waiting for? Come and take it.” The man flipped the sword around and held out the handle. Then he added, “If ye can.”
Gavin had enough sense not to reach for the sword, even though his fingers itched ta do just that. “Nay, I am good,” he said, flitting his unfocused gaze around the area ta see how many others might about. But he did no see anyone else. Still, he was wary ta make any sudden movements.
“Och, Laird,” he scathed. “Are ye going ta deprive me of a bit o’ sport, then?”
Sport his arse, he thought. By the look on the man’s face, Gavin could tell that if he did try ta take the sword—the blackguard in front of him now would flip it back around and shove it into his gut, or worse, his heart. “I am no in the mood.”
Lost in the Highlands, Volume Two Page 33
