A Warrior's Taking

by Margo Maguire

  Considering he’d likely have drowned without her assistance, he might have shown a bit more tact and courtesy when dealing with her. Even if he was some grand scion of Scotia.

  Nonetheless, he’d diverted Mrs. Pruitt from her evil conclusions about his presence at Ravenfield, and impressed the woman with his importance and superiority at the same time. It made no sense for him to include Sarah and the children in his acceptance of Mrs. Pruitt’s invitation.

  She wondered if Mr. Locke really intended to stay long enough to attend the music soiree.

  Brogan climbed up to a promontory near Ravenfield’s caves and introduced himself to Seana, a dragheen whose shape was that of a female warrior. She held a shield and spear, and did not move when Brogan spoke to her.

  “You know naught of the brìgha-stone?” he asked when the formalities had been observed.

  “No,” Seana replied. “Lord Dubhán did not entrust me with such knowledge.”

  “But you still keep watch over the Ravenfield family?”

  She lowered her brow. “’Tis Colm’s wont to meddle. I have no interest in humans, whether Druzai or Tuath.”

  “What if I tell you that Eilinora has escaped? And that she might come to Ravenfield for the blood stone?”

  “’Tis no concern of mine, Druzai lord. I live for the peace of the dale, of the wind and sky, the clouds overhead. Your mayhem means naught to me.”

  Brogan had never encountered a creature so disinterested in its fellow beings, but left the dragheen to her quietude. He returned to the castle and resumed his search.

  The fortress had once been huge. If Lord Dubhán had been given possession of the brìgha-stone, Brogan was sure it had been for the purpose of keeping it safely hidden until it was needed. Brogan reasoned that Dubhán would have protected the stone with powerful cloaking spells, preventing its loss or destruction, and keeping any sorcerer from locating it with magic. Still, the ancient Druzai lord must have anticipated the stone being needed sometime in the future. Surely he would have left some clue as to its location.

  Taking hold of the shovel, Brogan walked to the stairs that led to the lower levels. Some of them were open to the air, but overgrown with moss and grass. He climbed over rubble and broken walls, seeking more runes, trying to find more of the nested circles, considering the possibility that there might be an overall pattern to the etchings. He considered making a diagram of the ruins and mapping them, marking the places where he’d found runes and crìoch-fàile, noting the words that had been etched and the designs drawn. Mayhap the entire castle and all the symbols were part of a massive puzzle.

  He gave an inward groan, wishing that Merrick had come with him, for his brother was far more proficient at riddles and puzzles, while Brogan’s forte was brute force. He vaulted over a broken-down wall in the southernmost wing and came upon an ancient room that appeared to be a favored playing place for the Barstow girls, with a small table and two chairs set alongside one of the walls, and four small, cracked teacups on it. The younger of the two girls sat alone in a corner, clasping a one-armed doll to her side in a tight hug. The child’s knees were drawn up under her skirts, and her head rested upon them, a perfect picture of despair, oblivious to the brown cat rubbing its head against her legs.

  He set his shovel aside. “What are you doin’ here, lass?”

  She looked up at him, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen.

  “Miss Granger says we must leave Ravenfield.” She sniffed, then laid her head back on her knees. One of her shoes was unbuttoned, and Brogan crouched beside her to fasten it.

  “Why must you leave?” He only asked because their departure might very well affect his search.

  “B-because Papa is dead and Mr. Ridley is coming to live in our house.”

  If there was any logic to her words, Brogan did not follow it. But he understood well the child’s grief over the loss of her father. ’Twould be a long time before the ache of sorrow in his own chest receded. Mayhap he would find some measure of peace once he dealt with Eilinora.

  He would give anything for a sword and a mace and an enemy he could defeat with sheer physical strength. Or a rogue sorcerer against whom he could match power and wits. Instead, he was charged with an impossible task in this mediocre Tuath land where men abandoned their kin and young girls like this one were left to fend for themselves.

  He glanced at the cracked and uneven steps that led below, anxious to continue his search. But he found himself turning back to question Jane instead. “Who is Mr. Ridley?”

  “Papa’s cousin. Ravenfield belongs to him now.”

  “This cousin will no’ allow you to stay?”

  She sniffed loudly. “Miss Granger d-does not think so.”

  Brogan stood, wondering if it was common for Tuath men to turn out their own kin, and what would happen to Sarah and the girls if he did. As it was, this child could not have experienced much joy in her short life.

  Surely she’d known no magic.

  Reaching into his pocket, he slipped one of his coins into his hand and reached for the child’s head. With one easy trick, he produced the coin, seeming to pull it from her ear. Jane’s eyes grew huge and round, and the pain in them receded momentarily.

  “Have you ever found anything in the caves?” he asked. “Besides mouse bones?”

  “Nothing’s down there.”

  “You’re certain, then? No runes on the walls, no buried treasure to be found?”

  “Miss Granger says there is nothing of interest, and made us promise to stay clear of the caves.”

  Which was wise, Brogan reflected. The dark spaces and dangerous holes below were not for little girls.

  “Mayhap you should hie yourself back to the house and see if Miss Granger has a treat for you.” Brogan knew naught of little children, but he knew what would have comforted him had he been a lad in this household. “A bit of bread and…jam would not be amiss.”

  “I don’t want to go away from Ravenfield,” she said, ignoring Brogan’s prod.

  “Mayhap you willna have to.”

  Jane shook her head pitifully, and Brogan felt an odd twinge in his chest. She was small and fragile, and had no one but Sarah Granger to look after her interests. Sarah, who was just as vulnerable as the children.

  Brogan decided that once he had the blood stone in hand and was ready to return to the Astar Columns, he could risk a bit of magic. The females of this household did not deserve to be displaced by a stranger who cared naught for them. When he was on his way back to Coruain with the stone, he would not care if any Odhar managed to trace him through his magic. By then, ’twould be too late for them to interfere with him, and Ravenfield would belong to those who needed it most.

  “Methinks Mr. Ridley will not wish to keep Ravenfield to himself.”

  Jane gathered her cat into her arms and petted its head absently. She looked up at Brogan with hope in her eyes. “You think he will let us stay?”

  “I think you shouldna assume the worst, Miss Jane.”

  Brogan wiped the tears from the little girl’s face with his handkerchief. “I doona suppose Miss Granger will mind if I go exploring?”

  Jane looked doubtful. “She will be cross.”

  He smiled. “I’m willing to risk it, lass.”

  “Where’s Margaret?” Sarah asked Maud. Last she’d seen her, the child was upstairs in the nursery. She was not there now, and Sarah thought she must have left the house while Sarah was entertaining Mrs. Pruitt. “Have you seen her?”

  “I thought she was with Jane.”

  The two women gazed out the window as Jane came across the yard with Brownie scampering after her. She carried her doll and looked as forlorn as Sarah had ever seen her. One of her braids was undone, and her face was dirty. “I wonder if she knows where her sister is.”

  Sarah went outside and met the child, going down on one knee to face her. “Have you seen Margaret?” she asked, keeping the worry from her voice. Though there were many places where Margaret l
iked to play, there were also caves and dangerous cliffs on the property. Sarah had made strict boundaries for the children, and hoped Margaret had abided by the rules.

  Jane shook her head. “I don’t know. She’s angry with me.”

  “Why, love?”

  Jane shrugged and hugged her doll, Henrietta, to her narrow chest. “We had a row and she pushed me down. Then I went to the house in the castle with Henrietta and Brownie and we stayed there while Mr. Locke went into the caves.”

  “Margaret didn’t go down to the caves, did she?”

  Jane shook her head. “Only Mr. Locke.”

  “All right, love,” said Sarah. “Go into the house and stay with Maud. I’m going to look for your sister.”

  In all due haste, she hurried through the yard and headed toward the path that led up to the fells, meeting Mr. Locke as he came out of the ruins. He’d tossed his jacket across one shoulder and held it in place with his finger. He wore no collar, and the top buttons of his shirt were open, showing a soft indentation at the base of his neck. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, exposing the thick sinews of his forearms.

  Sarah’s entire body flushed at the memory of the strength of those arms when he’d caught her beneath him. She ignored her inappropriate and untimely reaction, aware that such men had more interest in the Mrs. Pruitts of the land than the penniless Sarah Grangers. “Mr. Locke, have you seen Margaret?”

  He glanced back toward the ruins. “No. Only Jane.”

  “Yes, she told me she saw you. But—”

  “Her sister is missing?”

  Sarah had already gathered her skirts to go up the path when she nodded. “It’ll be dark soon. I need to find her.” As she started walking, she heard him mutter quietly behind her.

  “No need to concern yourself, Mr. Locke. If you go back to the house, Maud will have your supper for you.”

  “I’ll go with you.” He tossed his coat, sending it to rest upon a shrub along the path, then took Sarah’s elbow, surprising her. No man had ever gone out of his way to assist her.

  She extricated her arm, discomfited by his firm grasp. No doubt he’d only offered to accompany her due to a gentlemanly obligation to assist a woman in need. Sarah cautioned herself not to read anything more into his simple offer of assistance.

  Indeed, she preferred to make the hike up the fell without his haughty company. “There’s no need for you to trouble yourself.”

  “The cliffs—”

  “They’re not to go near them.”

  “Then where? Are there any other houses nearby?”

  “No. Only a small country cottage a mile or so from our house. It belongs to Mrs. Hartwell, a widow who lives in Craggleton, but it’s empty now.” They moved quickly up the path toward Squire Crowell’s property. It was a steep, rocky course, with dense forest on either side, and Sarah did not like to think of Margaret up here all alone after dark. She’d been upset enough to lose track of time.

  “The cottage is abandoned?”

  “Yes. But it’s locked. Margaret wouldn’t be able to go inside.”

  “Then where would she go?”

  “Up this way, toward the squire’s house. There’s a tree she likes to climb.”

  He raised a brow. “You’re speaking of Margaret? The tidy one?”

  “It’s a big tree. Before her father went away, he nailed steps to its trunk so that she could climb it.” Sarah was sure this must be where Margaret had gone. The child felt closest to her father there, and with the day’s upset, she would seek such comfort.

  “I see,” said Mr. Locke, and Sarah felt his gaze on her. “You don’t think she’s just gone to pass the time.”

  Sarah swallowed back a fresh surge of distress. “I should tell you since our…situation…is likely to affect you, too.” And the money he’d already paid.

  “About Mr. Ridley?”

  Sarah nodded. “Jane told you?”

  “Aye. The cousin.”

  “I understand he’ll be coming in the next day or two, to take possession of the house. And the property. He might not want you poking about the ruins anymore.”

  His brows creased, and he gave a slight shake of his head. “I doona understand English law. How does it allow a stranger to evict the rightful owner of a house?”

  “I don’t understand it, either.” Sarah wondered if the law was so very different in Scotland. “The house is entailed…the solicitor told me it means that Margaret and Jane cannot inherit.”

  “It doesna make sense. How long have their family been Ravenfield people?” He took Sarah’s hand to guide her over a stretch in the path that was crisscrossed by thick roots, and the pulsing warmth of his body shot through her.

  He was only being gentlemanly, obviously aware of her worry over Margaret, but such courtesy was utterly new to Sarah.

  She removed her hand from his grasp. There was no point in getting too accustomed to his touch. “There have been many generations of Barstows at Ravenfield. Centuries of them.”

  “You should have worn sturdier shoes, Miss Granger.” Her concern about Margaret radiated from her body. Brogan did not think she would rest easy until she saw the little lass safely at home, so he did not try to reassure her. He distracted her instead.

  “My sturdy shoes have not yet dried after their excursion into the sea, Mr. Locke.”

  “Ah. The rescue. Have I thanked you for that?”

  “I don’t believe so, although—as my mother used to say—it’s never too late.”

  “And your gown? I suppose it was ruined by the brine. I will see that it’s replaced.”

  “It was only my everyday dress, Mr. Locke. I laundered it today, and it will continue to serve me well.”

  The path climbed steadily upward, an easy trek, but he took her arm once again. He enjoyed the touch of her cool, soft skin. And he’d been right…his touch did cause goose bumps.

  She did not pull away this time. “You know you were the inspiration for Mrs. Pruitt’s soiree.”

  Aye, and he could only hope he would not be present for it. “I thought I handled her masterfully.”

  Walking close beside him, Sarah shook her head. “You definitely roused her interest.”

  “That was my intention. She was easily impressed, was she no’?”

  Sarah gave him a puzzled look, then laughed, the sound of her mirth sluicing through him to ease the deep ache that had settled between his ribs since losing his father. “She was much too easy for a man of your skills.”

  “My skills?”

  She blushed deeply then, and he was tempted to mention it to her again, to see the color deepen. But then she might accuse him of using his skills on her. “What skills would those be, Miss Granger?”

  She licked her lips, and Brogan reminded himself that he only wanted to engage in a bit of innocent flirtation to prepare her for the Pruitt party. He did not care to encourage any particular interest in him, but merely to show her how to engage in some friendly repartee.

  “Well…you obviously know how to charm women, Mr. Locke. Maud thinks the world of you, and Mrs. Pruitt is holding a soiree to introduce you to all her friends.”

  “But what about you, Miss Granger. Have I charmed you?” he asked, surprisingly distracted by the movement of her mouth.

  “’Tis a ridiculous question,” she said, hurrying up the hill ahead of him. “There hasn’t been a gentleman in my entire life who has wanted to charm me.”

  Chapter 5

  Sarah loved the forest. In the late afternoon sunlight, the leaves often gave the appearance of a mist in the hills. In some directions, the play of light made the leaves look like lace. She liked to stop and listen to the ancient limbs creak as they shifted in the earth, and feel the cool breeze on her skin. But this time, she hardly noticed anything but the path beneath her feet.

  Mr. Locke was flirting with her.

  He’d been friendly with Maud and the children, flirtatious and attentive with Mrs. Pruitt. Yet he’d been nothing but diffic
ult with Sarah, grudgingly answering her questions and making her feel cornered in her own home. Until now.

  She pressed one hand to her cheek and felt the heat that seemed to spring up much too often when she was in the man’s presence. She did not understand him, nor could she fathom that he was trying to charm her as he’d done with Mrs. Pruitt.

  Not even the most ordinary men in the parish had found her appealing…neither would a rich, handsome visitor from Scotland who clearly thought a great deal of his own worth. Fortunately, she was not so susceptible to his charms. He could play at seduction all he liked, but Sarah was not his for the taking.

  Nothing had changed. She still had the children to think of, and when Mr. Locke left Ravenfield, she would have to deal with Mr. Ridley. Alone, as always.

  She hiked to the peak of the hill, went through the old gate in the fence, and hurried on toward Margaret’s tree. Very soon, Sarah was able to see two small feet dangling from one of the branches.

  “Margaret!” Relieved to see her unharmed, Sarah picked up her pace and started to run toward the tree, ignoring the heavy footsteps behind her.

  She reached Margaret, who had already started down the steps made for her by her father. The child’s face was drawn and pale, and wet. She looked as though she’d been weeping for hours.

  Sarah lifted her from the step and drew her into her arms, giving her a tight hug. “You’re shaking, Margaret. I promise you all will be well, love. I’ll take care of you.”

  “Miss Granger, he’s here!”

  Sarah pulled away slightly to glance back at Mr. Locke. “Yes, Mr. Locke was good enough to accompany me—”

  “No!” Margaret wailed. “Mr. Ridley! He’s come!”