“Thanks for the reassurance,” Lisa said dryly. She studied the lad for a moment. His gaze was bright and direct, his eyes were old for such a young face.
He sank to the floor beside her. “So, what can I do for ye, lassie,” he asked dejectedly, “if ye haven’t a home and I canna be freeing ye?”
There was one thing he could help her with, she realized, for she certainly wouldn’t ask the illustrious Circenn Brodie this question. “I need to … um … I drank too much water,” she informed him carefully.
A quicksilver grin flashed across his face. “Wait here with ye.” He dashed off up the stairs. When he came back he was carrying a stoneware basin that looked identical to the one she had struck Circenn in the head with last night.
She regarded it uncertainly. “And then what?”
“Why, then ye dump it out a window,” he said, as if she were daft.
Lisa winced. “There is no window in this tower.”
“I’ll dump it for ye,” he said simply, and she realized that this was the way of things. He’d probably dumped hundreds of them in his short life. “Och, but I’ll be giving ye some privacy for the now,” he added, and dashed off again up the stairs.
True to his word, he returned in a few moments and dashed off a third time with the basin.
Lisa sat on the stairs, waiting for the lad to return. Her options were limited: She could foolishly escape the castle and likely die out there, or go back to her room and get as close to her enemy as possible in hopes of finding that flask—which she had to believe was a two-way ticket. It was either that or accept that she was condemned to the fourteenth century forever, and with her mother dying back home, she would sooner die herself than accept that fate.
“Tell me about Circenn Brodie,” she said when the boy returned. He hunkered down on the step beside her.
“What do ye wish to ken?”
Does he kiss all the lassies? “Is he a fair man?”
“None fairer,” the lad assured her.
“As in honorable, not attractive,” Lisa clarified.
He grinned. “I ken what ye meant. The laird is a fair man, he doesna make hasty judgments.”
“Then why were you trying to help me escape?”
Another shrug. “I heard his men speaking last night of killin’ ye. I figured if ye was still breathing this morning I’d be helping ye go free.” His thin face stilled and his eyes grew distant. “Me mam was killed when I was five. I doona like to see a lassie suffer. Ye could be someone’s mam.” Guileless brown eyes sought hers.
Lisa’s heart went out to the motherless boy. She understood all too well the pain of losing a mother. She hoped his “mam” had not suffered long, but had met with a swift and merciful death. She gently brushed his tangled hair back from his forehead. He leaned in to her caress as if he’d been starved for such a touch. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Ye may call me Eirren, but in truth I’d answer to anything from ye,” he said with a flirtatious grin.
She shook her head in mock reproach. “How old are you?”
He cocked an eyebrow and grinned. “Old enough to know yer a bonny lassie. I may not be a man yet, but one day I will, so I better be getting all the practice I can.”
“Incorrigible,” she murmured.
“Nay, just thirteen,” he said easily. “The way I see it, a boy can get away with a lot a man can’t, so I’d best do it all now. What else did ye wish to ken, lassie?”
“Is he married?” What kind of wife could handle a man like him? She could have kicked herself the moment she said it, but then she decided Eirren surely wouldn’t understand her interest.
“Ye wish to tup him?” he asked curiously.
Tup him? Lisa puzzled over that for a moment. “Oh!” she said, as she realized what he meant. “Stop that!” she exclaimed. “You can’t think like that! You’re too young. Tup, indeed.”
He grinned. “I grew up hearing it from the men, how could I not? I haven’t had me a mam in a long time.”
“Well, you need one,” Lisa said softly. “No one should be without a mother.”
“Did he kiss ye?”
“No!” she lied hastily. She ducked her head, bringing a fall of hair forward to hide her blush from the too-perceptive boy.
“Fool he is, then,” Eirren said with his gamin grin. “Well, lassie, ye better be deciding what ye wish to do. If yer not going, yer staying, and if yer staying ye best go back to yer room afore he discovers ye missing. He doesna like rules bein’ broken, and ye escaping yer room would fair give him a fit.” He rose to his feet and dusted off his scabbed knees.
“You need a bath,” she informed him, deciding that if she had anything to say about it while she was there, he’d have a mother of sorts.
“Aye, and there are some things I dinna miss about me mam being gone at all,” Eirren said cheerfully. “Come on with ye. I see ye’ve decided to stay in the cave with the bear, which isna all bad; his growl is much worse than his bite, once ye get him to relax.”
Lisa smiled as she followed him from the stairwell. Young Eirren saw far too much for her comfort, but he might prove a useful ally for that very reason. Scampering about like a busy mouse, the inquisitive lad probably knew every nook and cranny of the castle. She would do well to cultivate his company, surreptitiously of course. As if he’d read her thoughts, Eirren spoke, as he gently pushed her back in her room. “Doona be telling the laird about me, lassie. He willna like me speaking with ye. It must be a secret between only two. I ken ye wouldna wish to get me in trouble, would ye now?” He held her gaze.
“Our secret,” Lisa agreed.
CIRCENN SMACKED DUNCAN’S THIGH WITH THE FLAT OF his blade. “Pay attention, Douglas,” he growled. “Distraction will kill a man in battle.”
Duncan shook his head and frowned as he counted off five paces and faced Circenn. “Sorry, but I thought I saw a child dart into the bothy behind the keep.”
“Most likely that young serving lass Floria, who scarce reaches my ribs,” Circenn said. “You know no children are permitted at Dunnottar.”
“If so, it was a bloody small lass.” Duncan leveled his sword with a smooth flick of his muscled forearm. “And although you and Galan think I like ’em all, I doona like ’em that young.”
Their swords met in a clash of steel that sent sparks cartwheeling into the mist as dawn broke over Dunnottar. Dimly visible beyond damp low-hanging clouds, the sun bobbed on the shimmering horizon of the ocean, and the mist that had blown in with the night tide began to steam off slowly.
“Come, Douglas, fight me,” Circenn goaded. Duncan had trained with Circenn since youth and was one of the few men who could hold his own in battle against him, for a short time, at least; then Circenn’s superior strength and endurance finished him.
Parry and thrust, feint and spin. The two performed an ancient warrior’s dance around the courtyard until suddenly Duncan penetrated Circenn’s protective stance, the tip of his blade resting at the laird’s throat.
The circle of knights flinched collectively as Circenn froze, his gaze fixed not on Duncan’s blade but high on the east face of the keep.
“She is walking calamity. The lass is absolutely without wits, I vow it,” Circenn said. He released a string of curses that caused even Duncan to raise a brow.
All eyes turned to the east where a slender woman clung to the stone wall, fifty feet above the ground. Knotted linens flapped in the breeze, dangling a dozen feet beneath her. It was obvious what she was doing, dropping down the dozen feet to the window beneath hers, preparing to enter it.
“Why does she not simply use the door, milord?” one of the Templars asked.
“I locked it,” Circenn muttered.
Duncan lowered his sword and cursed. “I should have known I didn’t beat you fairly.”
“Who is she?” another knight asked. “And what manner of dress is she wearing? It is as if she has naught a stitch on. You can see the separate curves of her … er …
”
“Yes, who is she, milord?” a half-dozen knights echoed.
Circenn’s eyes never strayed from the slim figure descending the wall with no small degree of finesse. Clad in those strange trousers, one could indeed see every inch of her shapely derriere as her long legs stretched to find a toehold. He’d been holding his breath since the moment the flicker of linen had caught his eye. Now he expelled it in a gusty sigh. “I was not supposed to reveal her,” he lied swiftly, meeting Duncan’s gaze with a silent warning. He was momentarily appalled at how easily the lie had sprung to his lips. See, he berated himself, break one rule and they all go to hell. “She is cousin to the Bruce and I have been entrusted with her keeping. You will protect her as you would fight for Robert himself. Apparently she cares little for being secured. I suppose we may have to give her run of the keep.” With those words, he thrust his sword into his scabbard and stalked off into the ruin.
At the door, Circenn glanced over his shoulder at Duncan with another warning look that threatened grave repercussions if Duncan didn’t support his story and protect the lass. The look on Duncan’s face made him feel two inches tall. His friend and trusted adviser was gazing at him with astonishment, as if a stranger had taken over the laird of Brodie’s body. Duncan shook his head and his expression clearly said, What the hell are you doing? Have you lost your mind?
As Circenn entered the tower and took the stairs two at a time, he decided he very possibly had.
* * *
Lisa kicked her feet and gently swung herself into the window, exhaling a sigh of relief. With her daddy’s encouragement she’d taken extracurricular tumbling and rappelling through junior high and high school. Although this climb hadn’t looked too difficult, it certainly had been unnerving dangling above the courtyard, praying her knots would hold. She’d hoped the mist would take longer to burn off, and when the sun had begun to steam away the thick clouds she’d hurried, aware that the fighters below would have a clear view at any moment—if they looked up.
But Lisa was counting on the fact that people rarely looked up; the vast majority kept their gaze fixed firmly on the ground or on some nonexistent point in the sea of people surging down the city sidewalks. Only Lisa and some of the homeless people scanned the sky, watching the clouds break and scuttle. Dreamer, her father had teased. Only dreamers watch the sky. You’re a romantic, Lisa. Are you waiting for a winged horse to break through the clouds carrying your prince on his back?
After Eirren had left, she’d waited in her room for Circenn Brodie to come, and when he didn’t appear she’d grown increasingly restless. She needed to find the flask, and with her door bolted from the outside, she didn’t have many options. She’d looked out the window and discovered another one a dozen feet below it. She’d quickly decided to have a look around while it was possible.
And if he caught her? She didn’t care. The lord of the castle needed to know that she was not the kind of woman who would sit about waiting for his decisions, abiding his control. She’d considered her situation thoroughly, and yes, it appeared that she was truly in the fourteenth century. And yes, she had a mother who was dying in the twenty-first. She couldn’t escape the castle, but she needed to assert herself as an innocent woman who was due a modicum of respect, and whom Circenn should help return to her time. Doing nothing was simply not an option. The only way she’d ever been able to cope with the difficulties in her life had been to meet them head-on, eyes open, mind working to achieve resolution.
She shoved aside the tapestry and leaped down from the windowsill. Her boots hit the floor with a soft thud just as he burst through the door.
“What an idiotic, insensible, stupid thing to do!”
“It was not stupid,” she snapped, harboring a special hatred for that word. “It was a perfectly calculated and well-thought-out risk. Don’t even start. If you hadn’t locked me in, I wouldn’t have been forced to do it.”
He crossed the room swiftly and grabbed her. “Do you realize you could have fallen?” he roared.
She drew herself up to her full height, her back ramrod straight. “Of course I do. That’s why I knotted the linens together. For heaven’s sake, it was only a dozen feet.”
“And the wind could have snatched you off at any moment. While it may only be a dozen feet from window to window, it is a fifty-foot fall to the ground. Even my men wouldn’t do something so stupid.”
“It wasn’t stupid,” she repeated evenly. “It was an intelligent exercise of my skills. Where I come from I’ve done it before, and besides, I had no way of knowing whether you planned to feed me today or talk to me or listen to the fact that I desperately need to get back home. And while we’re on the subject of idiocy—is lunging at each other with sharp swords any less stupid? I saw what you were doing down there.”
“We train,” he said, lowering his voice with obvious effort. “We prepare for war.” If the man clenched his teeth any harder, his jaw would lock, she decided.
“And war is a particularly intelligent venture, is it not? I’m merely battling for my rights and trying to return home. I have a life, you know. I have responsibilities at home.”
He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut and regarded her for a moment. “What exactly are those responsibilities?” he asked finally, very softly.
Very softly from this man made her nervous, as did his hands on her waist, as did his moving so near that his breath fanned her face as she stared up at him. She felt suddenly cowed. Damn the man for having such an impact. She was not going to cry her heart out to this wall of warrior.
She took a deep breath and willed herself to calm down. “I know this is not the best situation for you but it’s not for me either. How would you feel if you were suddenly yanked from your time, thrown somewhere else, and held captive? Wouldn’t you do everything in your power to get your life back? To return to your homeland and win your battle for freedom?”
His jaw relaxed as he pondered her words. “You behave like a warrior,” he said grudgingly. “Aye, I would do everything in my power to return.”
“Then you can’t blame me for trying. Or for being here, or for complicating your life. I’m the one whose life has been messed up. At least you still understand where you are. You still have your friends and family. You still have security. All I know is that I must get back home.”
He was quiet for what seemed an interminable time, looking into her eyes. She could feel tension emanating from his body as he studied her, and she realized that this fourteenth-century warrior was struggling as hard as she was to figure out what to do next.
“You frightened me, lass. I thought you would fall. Doona climb my walls again, eh? I will find a way to give you some small freedom within the keep. I trust you were not trying to escape the keep itself; you are obviously intelligent enough to see you have no place to go. But doona climb my walls,” he repeated. Then he rubbed his jaw, looking suddenly weary. “I am unable to send you back home, lass, I told you the truth about that last night. There’s something else you should know as well. The conversation you overheard before you attacked me last night was correct: I did swear an oath to kill whoever arrived with my flask.”
Lisa swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. He had come to kill her last night. Would he have slipped in stealthily and slit her throat if she hadn’t been awake and ambushed him first?
He looked directly into her eyes. “But I have made the decision to temporarily refrain from fulfilling my oath. That is not an easy thing for a warrior to do. We hold our vows sacred.”
“Oh, how gracious of you,” she said dryly. “So you don’t plan to kill me today, but you might just decide to tomorrow. Am I supposed to find that reassuring?”
“There are valid reasons why I swore my oath. And aye, you should be grateful that I am letting you live for the now.”
She would take what she could get. It wasn’t as if she had much to bargain with. “What possible threat could I be to you? Why would you swear an oath to ki
ll a person you didn’t even know?” But even as she asked, she knew the answer to her question—whatever was in the flask was immensely valuable. Perhaps it was a tool to travel through time; that would certainly explain why people were casting curses upon it and willing to kill for it. Hadn’t he snatched it from her the moment she’d arrived?
“My reasons doona concern you.”
“I think they do concern me, when your reasons determine whether I live or die.” She knew that oaths were sacred to knights of yore. He had nothing to lose by killing her. She was a woman lost in time; no one would miss her. Keeping her alive created a liability for him, and what would prevent him from suddenly changing his mind and honoring his vow? She would not be able to stand living day to day, always wondering if this would be the day he killed her. She needed to gain insight into how this warrior thought so that she could plan a defense. “Why did you decide to break your oath?”
“Temporarily,” he corrected stiffly. “I did not break the oath, I merely have not filled it. Yet.”
“Temporarily,” she conceded. A ruthless murderer would not have bothered to have this conversation with her, which meant he had reservations about killing her. Once she knew what they were, she would exploit them to her advantage. “So, why? Is it because I’m a woman?” If that was the case, she resolved, she would be as feminine as possible from this moment on. She would drip vulnerability, bat her eyelashes, and ooze helplessness while doing everything in her power to steal the flask back and regain the upper hand.
“That is what I thought at first, but nay, it is because I doona know if you are guilty of anything. I have no problem killing a traitor, but I have not yet taken an innocent life and I doona wish to start now. But, Lisa, should I discover you are guilty of anything, no matter how small the transgression …” He trailed off, but his point was perfectly clear.
Lisa closed her eyes. So, he intended to watch her, study her, before he decided whether he would kill her. But she didn’t have time to be studied and watched. Her mother needed her now. Time was of the essence, and if she didn’t find a way back soon, she might lose Catherine without getting to say good-bye, and there was much she needed to say to her mother still. She’d been so obsessed with earning enough money to make ends meet, and with maintaining a cheerful smile on her face to keep her mom’s spirits up, that somehow they had quit talking. Both mother and daughter had retreated into cautious pleasantries because the reality was too painful. But Lisa had always thought there would be time, a few special hours, maybe a week, in which she stopped going to work, incurred more debt, and did what she most wanted—stayed at home with Catherine, holding her hand and talking until the very end.
The Highlander Series 7-Book Bundle Page 67
