by Lily Baldwin
He sat up straight and rose to his feet. In a flash, he was in front of her reaching down and scooped her into his arms. “There is no place I would rather be than by yer side,” he said, looking her hard in the eye. “Never doubt that.” He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her slowly. He pulled just a breath away, his lips still grazing hers. “I love ye,” he whispered.
Warmth coursed through her. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you.” She pressed a kiss to his lips. “I love you. I love you, and I will never tire of telling you so.”
“I will never let ye,” he said, his voice husky as he carried her into the woods.
“Where are we going?”
“Swimming.”
She arched a brow at him. “Are you going to conjure a spring?”
“I don’t have to. We’re not far from water.”
“How can you tell?”
He stopped walking. “Hush,” he said gently. “And listen.”
At first, she heard nothing, but then she closed her eyes and quieted her soul. A hum reached her ears. “It sounds like distant thunder.”
He smiled and shook his head. “Ye’ll see.”
“How do you know what is ahead? You have never been here.”
“Ye’ll see,” he said again, his smile growing wider.
He set her on her feet, and they pushed through the trees. The rumbling grew louder. Catarina followed Quinn, crouching to pass under a large, broken limb. Ruffling leaves and snapping branches added to the din that roared, seemingly from every direction.
Quinn turned to look at her. “Close your eyes.”
She did as he bade, reaching out a tentative hand.
“Duck yer head,” she heard him say. She bent very low not knowing how far to duck. He chuckled and she laughed, knowing she must have hunkered down significantly more than was necessary. When she straightened, she felt the sun’s warmth on her face and the air felt cooler.
“Where did the trees go?” she said.
His arms circled her waist from behind. “Find out for yerself. Open yer eyes.”
She gasped the instant her lids lifted. The forest floor dropped off into a large, round pool, and cascading off jagged cliffs, was a churning waterfall, which crashed into the surface of the pool. Mist hung heavy, cooling the air. She carefully stepped closer to the edge and peered down. A rainbow shot out of the gushing water, arching through the mist. Her mouth watered with thirst at the sight, and her body longed to be beneath the waterfall, the tumbling water cooling and cleansing her aching limbs.
“Is it fair to assume that Lady Ravensworth cannot swim?” Quinn said, coming to stand alongside her.
She smiled. “Though I wish it were otherwise at this moment. Yes, that is a very fair assumption.”
He swooped her into his arms. “Then ye’ll just have to hold on.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and screamed as he leapt off the edge.
The frigid water stabbed her skin as they sank to the bottom. For a moment, fear made her heart pound as she clung to Quinn. But then he pushed off the ground, and they shot to the surface. She sputtered and sucked air into her lungs.
“The water is freezing,” she cried.
“Aye, but ‘tis wet,” Quinn said.
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “How do we stay afloat?”
“By kicking my legs,” he answered. “If I stop—”
“No,” she squealed as they started to sink. “Keep kicking!”
“Come here,” he said, laying back onto the water’s surface, pulling her on top of him. She could feel his legs paddling beneath her. They started to move toward the side of the pool. She reached out and grabbed hold of the side, supporting her own weight. Her neck bent back as she scanned the high ridge. Her teeth chattered. “How do we get out?” she asked, shifting her gaze to look at Quinn. Black hair clung to his face. Water beaded off his long, dark lashes. He smiled and warmth flooded her stomach despite the chill.
“We’ll climb, of course. But first…” He pushed away from the side and glided across the surface toward the waterfall. She wished she could follow and decided then that she wanted to add swimming to her list of new talents. He reached the tumbling waterfall and shot underneath.
Laughter tore from her lips as she watched him turn his face up to the pelting water, and then he disappeared. She narrowed her eyes to see through the crystal sheet, but he was gone. Her heart quickened as she inched along the side of the pool, her fingertips gripping the narrow ledges carved into the rock.
“Quinn,” she shouted. “Quinn!”
And then suddenly, he broke the surface of the water in front of her.
Her body tensed. “Do not disappear like that,” she said.
He pressed a kiss to her lips. “Ye won’t believe what I’ve found.” He pulled her onto his chest again and kicked them toward the fall. She reached out her hand and interrupted the flow.
“Hold yer breath,” he said.
She filled her lungs and closed her eyes. Water showered upon her head, roaring in her ears, but an instant later, they were on the other side. It was dark and cool, and rising up from the surface of the water was the low entrance to a cave.
“There isn’t room to stand, but we’ll be able to stretch out and rest without fear of discovery,” Quinn said.
She smiled eagerly. “Help me inside,” she said.
The cave was deep and narrow with moist patches of moss lining the floor and sides.
“I’m going to fetch what supplies we’ll need and conceal those we can do without.” He started to pass through the wall of water, but then he stopped and smiled at her. “Stay here,” he said with a wink.
“Very funny,” she called after him as he passed from sight through the ever moving, crystal door.
Chapter Twenty
Black, writhing shadows with mouths straining wide charged at Rupert. He scurried back, collapsing against a tangled thorn bush. The jagged branches entwined his arms and legs, holding him prisoner. The more he struggled, the deeper the spikes tore his flesh. He cried out. Ripples of hot pain shot through his body, and then he froze. The ground at his feet shook and split, tearing a deep chasm from which shadowy phantoms rose up, wailing and shrieking. Icy breath, which stank of death, caressed his face, their cavernous mouths opening, sucking him down into the black void. He tunneled toward darkness, chunks of flesh tearing off his bones, and then the world was ablaze in white fire. He jerked awake. He was in his own bed in his chambers at Ravensworth. His heart pounded in his ears as relief washed over him. He felt his body, a crazed laugh escaping his lips when his fingers touched, smooth, unblemished skin. He pulled back his blanket but paused. His iron hand was gone, but the new one was not his own. It was smaller, smoother. He scurried from bed, wobbling on legs that were longer and slimmer than they should be. Crossing the room, he stood before the mantle and looked at his reflection.
“You will never be me, Rupert.”
“No!” he shrieked again and again at Henry’s face smiling back at him.
“Rupert!”
Stephen’s face came into focus, forcing the demons to retreat. Panting, Rupert grabbed Stephen’s tunic. “Help me. They are coming for me.”
“No one is coming,” Stephen said, his eyes wide. “You were dreaming again.”
Rupert froze. Still gripping tight to Stephen’s tunic, he scanned the room.
“It was naught but a dream,” Stephen said, his voice meant to soothe.
Rupert released his grip and sat up with a jerk. “Where am I?”
“Caithness, at the Village of Gobag mhòr,” Stephen said, backing away.
Rupert remembered then, all of it. Catarina’s flight. The frustration of their fruitless hunt. His hands covered his face. He wiped the torment from his eyes. “Bring me beer.”
Rupert pushed off his blanket. It was no wonder he slept poorly. He was parched. After a short while, a serving girl arrived, carrying a tray laden with bread and meat and
a pitcher of beer. Behind her, two men carried a large tub. And behind them, several more servants followed, each carrying buckets of hot water.
He wrinkled his nose at the food. “Take it away,” he said. Then he sank into the steaming water and downed his beer just as Stephen entered.
“You need to eat,” Stephen said.
Rupert refilled his cup, dismissing his brother’s concern with a flick of his hand.
Stephen looked as though he might try to insist, but then he shook his head, clearly thinking better of it. Instead, he took a seat on the other side of the room. “An informant came forward this morning. He claimed to have seen Catarina.”
Rupert jolted upright. Water sloshed on the floor. “Here, in Gobag mhòr?”
“He claimed to have seen her several days ago, heading toward the mountains of Caithness. The description he gave led me to believe it was she.”
Rupert climbed from the tub. “Fool,” he bit at Stephen. “Why would you order me a bath when we are so close? Go. Ready the horses.”
Stephen shook his head. “I took the men and scoured the surrounding countryside while you slept. I even met with the laird of Clan Sinclair, but he had heard of no such reports.”
Rupert clenched his fists. “Damnation,” he cursed. Then he whirled around and grabbed Stephen’s tunic and jerked him close. “What of Nicholas?”
Stephen pressed his lips together, not meeting Rupert’s gaze.
“What of Nicholas?” he snarled again.
Stephen winced. “He did not report seeing a baby.”
He pushed Stephen away. “Where is Nicholas?” he thundered. Then he whirled around. “She killed Henry. Who’s to say she did not kill Nicholas as well.”
Stephen’s arms stiffened, and his hands locked in tight fists. “You are wrong, Rupert. Catarina would never harm Nicholas.”
Rupert shoved his finger in Stephen’s face. “A woman so depraved that she could kill her own husband, her lord and master, would think nothing of destroying his heir.”
“No,” Stephen blustered, backing away.
Rupert stared hard into Stephen’s wide, horrified eyes. “Then where is Nicholas?” he said, his voice deadly soft.
Stephen sagged. “I don’t know,” he said, his eyes downcast.
“Ready the men. We will take to the mountains.”
Stephen opened the door, but just as he was about to shut it Rupert called out, “Make sure Jasper does not to feed the dogs. He’s made them soft and lazy.”
Stephen turned. “How can they track her without food in their bellies?”
“I will not feed failure. Do not give them so much as a dry bone until they have picked up her scent. I will take the hand off any man I see feed them.”
“They are liable to turn against us if ye starve them,” Stephen warned.
Rupert scoffed. “I’d like to see them try.”
Chapter Twenty One
Water tumbled in a rush of color and sound in front of the cave entrance. The music of the waterfall concealed their hideaway, shielding their love. Quinn pressed a kiss to Catarina’s brow. She had fallen asleep with her head resting in the crook of his arm. He softly grazed her cheek with his finger. She had become so very dear to him. Surrounded by the roar of the rushing water and enclosed deep within a stone belly, he felt as if he had, at last, found a place where they could truly disappear. He pulled the Sinclair plaid higher about her shoulders. Summer’s heat could not reach their small cavern, which was cool and damp. Her eyelids fluttered, and her arm circled around his neck, a soft smile playing at her lips.
“I love you,” she whispered.
His heart soared. Never had he imagined a creature more exquisite. She was so strong and yet so achingly vulnerable. He pulled her close, wishing there was a way to keep her in his arms, forever shielded from harm. “I love ye,” he whispered before playfully nibbling her ear. Then he pressed his lips to the velvety skin of her neck. Easing his body over hers, his kisses became more ardent, trailing across her shoulders then lower to the swell of her bare, full breasts. Her dusky rose nipples stood like rigid peaks, begging to be taken into his mouth and savored. She arched her back and dug her hands into his hair when his lips surrounded first one hard nub and then the other. His body throbbed with need, fueling the strength of his hand which coursed down her torso, gripping her waist possessively before sweeping over her hips and stroking her smooth, soft thighs. She moaned, drawing his eyes to her face. Her black, silken hair fanned out beneath her. His own hunger was mirrored in her amber eyes, her lids half closed with wanting.
“My body is on fire for you,” she breathed.
Her words stripped away his control. A growl escaped his lips. He kissed her with all of his passion, all of his love. His hand parted her thighs, and he settled himself between her legs and slowly entered her. Filling her, he held himself still, savoring her heat.
“Quinn,” she cried out as though in pain. Her face winced with need. The pang of her nails, digging into his shoulders, triggered his hips as he thrust deep inside of her again and again; until, at last, they rose together toward bliss.
He lay on top of her while she clung to him, both still reveling in their euphoric pleasure. The sound of their ragged breathing competed with the roar of the waterfall. Then another sound found his ears. He froze.
“What is it?” Catarina said.
He pressed a finger to his lips to signal for her to stay quiet. For three days, he had listened to the waterfall. Its sound was constant and unchanging, a comfort in its forceful regularity. He held his breath and waited. And then the intruding note rang out above the din of the fall.
“We must go,” he said, sitting up and grabbing his tunic. He gathered their clothes into a bundle in one hand and grabbed his sword in the other.
“I will be back straightaway,” he said, before diving through the waterfall. After swimming to the side and climbing the rocks to the top, he piled their belongings alongside a mound of dirt, which marked where he had buried their other supplies. Then he went back for Catarina. Holding her against his chest, he swam with one arm to the side and then helped her climb to the top.
“Hurry and dress,” he said.
She lifted her dripping kirtle. “Everything is wet.”
He snatched it from her hands and wrung it out before giving it back to her. “Put it on,” he said, his voice stern. Then he did the same to her tunic before he helped her pull it over her head. She jumped when the intruding noise rang out with piercing clarity in the absence of the waterfall’s power.
Eyes wide, Catarina said, “What is that?”
“Dogs,” he said bitterly. “They have bloodhounds and no doubt something that carries yer scent. We have to run and try to throw them off, or I fear all is lost.” He did not wish to frighten her, but he also needed her to understand the danger they were in. “We cannot delay,” he said. After she put on her slippers, he grabbed her hand and headed deeper into the woods, following the river that fed the waterfall.
“Why do we not run through the river,” Catarina said breathlessly behind him. “Surely they will lose our scent in the water.”
“We are faster on land. Right now we want to put as much distance between us as we can.” He knew the water offered little protection. Bloodhounds could track a scent even through water, but he did not wish to frighten her any more than she already was. She cried out behind him, and he caught her just before she hit the ground.
“I tripped on a root,” she said. Already he could tell she tired.
“Forgive the indignity of this,” he said before picking her up and tossing her over his shoulder. He trudged into the river. It swirled in a rush about his knees. He stayed course in the water for several minutes before he headed back up on land. He broke into a sprint. Her stomach jarred against his shoulder. She would undoubtedly bruise from his efforts, but bruising was preferable to capture, which she clearly understood, for she grunted but did not complain.
The baying of dogs once more reached his ears. They were closer, much closer.
“Damn,” he cursed. He crossed back into the river, splashing through and then out to the other side.
“Nay,” a man shouted ahead of him.
Quinn stopped in his tracks, looking for the source of the voice. Then a Highlander in a ragged-looking plaid—the pattern of which he did not recognize—jumped down from a large oak just ahead of Quinn.
“Who are ye?” Quinn barked, putting Catarina on her feet and stepping in front of her like a shield.
The man held his hands out as if he was addressing a spooked horse. “My name is Thomas Monroe from the Clan Monroe. My father is laird of my clan. I mean ye no harm.”
“What were ye doing up that tree,” Quinn said, narrowing his eyes on the poorly dressed man.
“I heard the dogs coming. I thought they were coming for me.”
Again the dogs sounded their persistent call.
“God’s bones,” Thomas swore. “I don’t care who they’re coming for. I’m not getting caught, and if ye’ve any sense ye’ll follow me.”
“Why should I trust ye?” Quinn said, still shielding Catarina from view.
“Because,” Thomas said. “Ye’re on my father’s land. I know where to go.”
Quinn hesitated for a moment, but the urging of the dogs spurred him forward. He picked up Catarina to keep her scent off the ground and followed on the heels of the Highlander.
Chapter Twenty Two
Catarina nibbled the meat off the leg bone of a rabbit while she considered Thomas’s question. He sat across from her, his long, sandy blond hair hung past his shoulders. Freckles dotted his nose, and his pale green eyes crinkled when he smiled. Although terribly thin for a young man of his age, she guessed he had as many as eighteen or nineteen years. She would know for certain when it was her turn to ask him a question. As for now, she still had yet to answer his. He had asked what her favorite food was. She doubted peacock pie was often enjoyed by peasants, and so she was searching her mind for an appropriate answer. Then she reached for a bannock that she had made herself and had her answer. She smiled. “Here is my favorite.” Then she took a bite.
