by Karey Brown
They are fools, Keer’dra.
I don’t think so. They spoke without realizing I listened in on them. Doubt they bothered lying amongst themselves, Emily mentally retorted, determined to piggyback her deranged mind.
“Lady Emily, I will request the laird answer yer’ questions. ‘Tis past time ye’ should be aware the truth.” Garreck crossed the great hall, his booted foot upon the bottom stair. “Ye’ look ashen, M’lady.”
“You and several others have been very kind to me.” She bit her lower lip to keep from crying. “I don’t care to hear Broc’s fables.” Emily trotted the last few steps, and just about made it to her particular corridor before the magnificently carved front doors slammed open. Broc’s voice filled the hall, growling fiercely in what Emily now recognized as Gaelic, though she only understood a smattering of words. The dirty ones. Like how to say, kiss my ass. This brought on a slight grin. Garreck’s voice was muted, but Emily knew he was cuing in the laird as to what the babbling bitch in the kitchen had been saying. Bellowing of unadulterated fury made her wince. Whatever. Hot bath. Warm clothes. Plot escape. Oh, and little male voice in my head? Either assist with a way outa here, or shut the fuck up! You can thank me later for your first lesson in Pissed Off Female One-oh-One.
Be wary, Keer’dra, your tongue. Irritated Male One-oh-One.
Emily yelped and had the good grace to run the rest of the way to her chambers, slamming the door against haunting laughter.
CHAPTER SIX
A month of Cayman sun abruptly cut short, the disrupted honeymoon was not sitting well with his new spouse. When Chase beckoned, everyone fell into step. Margot would learn.
Emily had disappeared.
Who cared? Good riddance!
It wasn’t that easy. Never had been with Emily. And accident had occurred. Locals coming into town for their biweekly shopping had spotted the mangled car—Chase had recapped endlessly all the sordid particulars until Peter thought he’d go mad with the retelling of Poor Emily tales. Guilt nipped Chase’s heels by day, and tormented his dreams by night. If he hadn’t sent her to Scotland, she’d be home right now, albeit furious over Peter’s deception, but home.
Boo-fucking-hoo.
He and his mother had rolled their eyes during Chase’s latest tirade. Only once, did they dare suggest Chase made too much fuss over baggage like Emily. Volcanic rage had sent Peter and his mother scrambling to other parts of the mansion to lick their wounds from Chase’s attack on their lacking character. His father was overwrought enough as it was without this latest Emily-Catastrophe. How dare Emily do this to them?! And Margot—good Lord! His new wife had boarded a plane for New York, but not before laying down ultimatums. Join her, or stay behind forever, but the woebegones about Emily were never to be mentioned in her presence again.
Peter’s perfect life unraveled.
Two days following Emily’s departure from San Antonio, his father’s silent partner had sold his share of the lucrative real estate firm. Pouring over outdated contracts the two old war buddies signed eons ago, Peter came up empty. Loopholes lacked existence. His fool of a father had trusted his ‘Nam partner to do the right thing, if such a time arose that he wanted out.
Oh, he’d done the right thing. Nathanial Collinsworth had sold his share for a staggering seven figures! Holding partnership in a torte firm, Peter smelled a scam. His father’s real estate firm was a success, but not that much of a success! Worse, Chase had been borrowing against the mortgage and credit cards in order to hold Olivia’s lifestyle afloat. The sale of the Scottish castle was a boon guaranteed to absolve Chase’s debt. The old man’s first mistake had been to trust Screw-Up Emily. Now, their lives were going belly up like fish in dynamite.
Nathanial couldn’t be reached. His housekeeper informed any who called, he traveled with his wife on a long awaited European vacation. Peter tested her overly rehearsed speech by sending a few goons he kept on secret payroll. Torture accomplished little except another death for him to conceal. He drew one conclusion: whomever this buyer, he wanted Nathanial Collinsworth comfortably out of the way. Who had his father infuriated enough to want into his back pocket? An old flame of his mother’s?
And now, attorneys besieged his father; the faceless new partner alleging that annual reports were fraudulent.
Chase obsessed. Find Emily. What happened to the castle? What happened to Emily? He would not file bankruptcy! It would ruin him. Olivia was already meeting with her own lawyers. Having smelled a burning ship, she threatened divorce. Chase stood to lose everything!
Peter had made calls, contacted several travel agencies both here and abroad, and spent hours on the nightmare information superhighway of the World Wide Web.
Castle MacLarrin did not exist.
Never had.
A myth. “Part of stories,” one museum curator laughed, his dentures clacking before adding, “Like King Arthur legends; questionable truths, vaguer details.”
Peter choked the BMW’s steering wheel. Too bad it isn’t Emily’s throat!
The company card had only been charged towing fees. The insurance company was being billed the rest. How could a woman, who had left the country with nothing more than her purse, arrive in a foreign country and not need to purchase a change of clothes? Toiletries? Even the Bed & Breakfast hadn’t seen her. She’d never checked in! Investigators placed her time of accident several hours after her arrival into Scotland. So, where the hell was she? Authorities hinted the car wreck could have been staged. The amount of blood on the steering wheel, and the numerous footprints surrounding the car indicated an accomplice. Peter agreed. If someone had come upon an accident with that much blood involved, Emily, by now, would have been located in one of the few hospitals, even as a Jane Doe. No such person existed. The most that local doctors had seen, either private practice or the main hospital had been cuts and scrapes, several flues and even one hand severed in a farming accident. None recognized the photo he’d faxed to his Scotland Yard contact. He had his own reasons for suspecting why Emily would pull a stunt like this, though it far exceeded what I thought the dimwit capable of.
His gardener had found her engagement ring on the lawn, glittering in the noon sun. Solved the mystery of why my front door stood wide open. Peter grinned. Had I known she was listening to Margot and I laughing at her, I’d have adlibbed even more. Still, when I get my hands on her, she won’t be returning with her precious virginity intact. Small price to pay for what I’ve been enduring lately. Bitch is going to be in for quite a surprise, when I wrap my hands around her throat this time. Unlike last time, little Emily, you won’t escape what I have planned for you. And now, his father demanded he fly to Scotland. Find Emily. Locate Castle MacLarrin. Give apologies and secure the sale. Start talking money, Chase had ordered. Everyone understands money.
Peter wondered the point in finding Emily. It wasn’t like anyone was going to miss her, in respect to family. She had none. Then it hit. So preposterous, it tantalized his senses. She was already missing. If he somehow found her, he could hole up for a week, and savor the lesson he envisioned teaching her. A slow feral smile devoured his otherwise handsome Romanesque features. He’d be back in the states for ages before they found her remains.
Worked before.
* * * * *
Emily submerged deeper. She kinda missed O’Shay’s company, but better for that little perv to remain napping on her bed. Odd, how everyone catapulted after Aedan. Had to be his cat. Maybe it causes grief, and he’s been warned? A bare wet shoulder shrugged, lashes fluttering closed as the hot water lapped her chin. Right now, her main concern lay in making sure hair didn’t sprout from her chest from the strong scotch she drank while soaking her chilled body. Every drink, she winced. It’s like drinking fire.
You are to sip whiskey, Keer’dra, not wallow in it.
“It has a bite. Much like the one I’d like to take out of you. Get out of my head!”
Male laughter echoed as it faded. Great. Now I’m
answering myself. But his voice wasn’t the only echo in her head. Every word she’d overheard earlier outside the kitchen played over and over in her mind. Over and over, it became as maddening as ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall. And she was helpless to cease the horrific chant.
Aunsgar her uncle? Oh, wait, once upon a time he was her uncle. Was she adopted? Elf? He certainly didn’t resemble any of her images of Santa’s helpers, and somehow, she couldn’t picture him or Urkani making shoes for everyone by morning’s first light. A fit of giggles erupted over this last vision. Maybe ‘Elf’ was a Scottish slur for ‘hot babe’. More giggles. He is nice to look upon. Very angelic, minus wings. Not really my type, but sexy, to be sure. Emily sat up so abruptly, water sloshed over the sides, sogging the beautiful rug.
His hair, and that of his forever-present guards is as white as my own. Okay, maybe it doesn’t glow like mine, still . . . they wear it nearly as long as mine. Right down to their very nice derrieres. Hmmmm. Immortals. Picts.
Emily squinted. Once, when she thought to steal a moment of solitude, a rarity with so many males forever present, she sought refuge high in a tower overlooking miles of horizon. Solace was not to be found. Broc too had come looking for the same peace.
“Hey, new tattoo?” Blue crescent moon adorned his cheek.
“Always had it.”
“No, no it definitely wasn’t there yesterday.”
“Because you only see with your eyes,” he’d grumbled.
“Uh, well, gee guy, you have me there. Hey, newsflash. I only hear with my ears too.”
Disgusted, he’d snorted before trotting down the winding stone stairwell made up of at least ten thousand steep worn steps . . . well, it certainly had felt like ten thousand steps when she’d gasped and hacked like an asthmatic, nearly ascending the last handful on her knees. No way was she giving chase down that death trap. Today, his body art had been missing. She’d even made it a point to open her eyes good and wide when they’d passed in the corridor. He’d caught her meaning. He’d glared before slamming a door in her face. Dick. Powerful issues, that one. One would have thought she’d discovered he wore crotchless panties. Emily giggled, swilled more scotch and laughed outright over her current vision of Broc prancing in purple panties. Scotch became velvety. She gulped more. What detail had she nearly remembered by envisioning Aunsgar as a wingless angel? Ah, forget it. Makes my head spin, trying to remember. Soothing hot water encouraged her to resume reclining, whiskey blanketing her innards with warm fuzzies. Just a few more minutes of shut-eye, and then she’d towel off and head for the hearth before numbing again. Authors forgot one thing in their historicals: castles forever had freezing drafts, and stone floors never warmed. Her fingers were pruning, but she’d never had the luxury of such a gigantic tub where she could stretch to her full length. Pfff, because I’m just so towering at five-foot-three. Emily’s eyelids grew heavy. Just a few . . . more minutes . . .
Cold surrounded her. Unlike anything she’d ever experienced, it penetrated all the way through her bones. Shuddering, she looked down, and saw her own hand gently cupping a frost covered blue rose. Petals folded in on themselves, huddled against icy weather. Her chest pained her . . . desolation.
Broc loved another.
Odd she would have knowledge of something so private; odder still, she should care to the point of grieving. The dream shifted. She stood in a large room surrounded by numerous people, very medieval people. No, something wrong with that analogy. It was as if they were actually from an era long before medieval. They were draped in heavy furs over leather type leggings and drank from horns and wooden tankards. The men here looked barbaric. The women too wore leggings, others opted for heavy wool-looking gowns. Everyone’s mode of dress, peculiar. Aunsgar nodded to her, though he seemed different. Very different. His gaze narrowed, watching her intently. He said something to Urkani, the commander taking interest in her, his eyes soft, caressing. Just as quickly, he hardened his countenance. Chatter ceased when everyone noticed her presence, an uncomfortable silence following her as she trailed a young man, knowing his name to be Owen. Broc turned, scowling at them both. Shocking! Even in her dream, he was displeased by her presence. His clothing too was strange, yet familiar. Shirtless, snug legging, leather yet not, and hand sewn boots just over his knees. Dark blue body art covered his torso, crescent moon again on his cheek. Reignsfeugh sauntered closer to the laird, swirly tattoos encompassing his massive shoulders. Garreck paled, nervously eyeing the laird. Too young to feel the shift in atmosphere, even though she grappled his paint-stained tunic, Owen pulled free, bounding towards Broc like an eager puppy. Settling his burden down, the eager-to-please lad removed the oilskin.
Broc stiffened.
Surrounding occupants shuffled. Titters and whispers hummed like summer insects. Following his lead, the clan glared. One woman, dressed in gowns of velvet and fur, saddled closer to Broc, lacing her arm around his, splaying her other hand possessively on his bare chest. Jealousy and resentment coursed through Emily. He lowered his head, placing his ear next to the woman’s whisper. He laughed and squeezed her to him.
“Take it from mi’ sight,” he commanded in a vicious whisper, nostrils flaring with fury.
Emily saw herself transferring belongings into a solitary solar. Aunsgar called from the door, softly knocking. He was unable to coax entrance. A fortnight of self-imposed solitude, she emerged. She was brought up short by the presence of Urkani. He’d been standing guard. In past times, they had forever quarreled.
“Say but a word and I will end his miserable life, and that of his whore.”
She smiled her gratitude. “With but a word, I can end all their miserable lives.” She leaned closer, dropping her voice. “Making it as if they never existed.” She snapped her finger for emphasis. Punishing cruel villagers would be delightful, but pointless. Ignorance followed strong leadership, Broc being very powerful, very dominating. Again, Emily saw herself grieving over winter-dying roses, her breath billowing in front of her.
“Are you a goddess?” Little Maira asked, trotting back when Emily squealed, whirled, and found herself looking down at a small girl.
“No, I’m just as you,” her borrowed voice answered. She offered a gentle smile to her skittish visitor. “You frightened me.”
“My kerna says you can do great magic, like the goddess Danu and like Penarin and you might turn my sister, Na’Dryn, into a tree nymph to make her go away.”
“Unfortunately, use of my magic is forbidden until our Elders grant me otherwise, and it’s Pen-dar-in,” Emily corrected. “Turning your sister into a tree nymph would be too kind.”
“If you use your magic, will you be yelled at? My kerna yells. She yells at me to be like my sister.” Maira wrinkled her nose, her cherub lips squinching. “I do not want to be like my sister. She and our chief squeal in the byre like the animals . . . “
Maira was too naïve to observe heartache engulfing Emily over the child’s innocent revelations.
“ . . . if I had great magic, I would use it all the time. I would make those mean Lumynari stop burning villages and I would make my hair longer like yours, and I would make Prince Aunsgar see me and I would have a horse and I would make animals talk to me but mostly I would make Prince Aunsgar talk to me and walk with me in front of every person who says I am ugly and dance with me around the fire but he would not be allowed to dance with my sister because she says mean things and I do not want her to hurt Prince Aunsgar’s feelings.” Maira gulped air.
Emily burst out laughing. “And I thought I was the only one who talked in run-on sentences when nervous.”
“Run-on?”
“Nothing. Long hair forever tangles in the low branches of your forests, and itches my neck during summers. Now,” she smiled down at her new little friend. “Tell me about Aunsgar.”
“He is verra handsome. Na’Dryn says he will never marry me because I will never grow taller than a tree stump.”
Emily’s bo
rrowed mind squelched vicious spells that could shrink the troublesome, beautiful, and very loved by Broc, Na’Dryn into nothing more than a dung heap. Emily would seriously like to hold onto that spell.
“This is only your sixth winter. You aren’t finished growing.”
“Do you think he will be my husband?”
“There is always a chance.”
“He is tall and his shoulders are not as big as mi’ da’s, but he has pretty hair. Da says a man does not want pretty hair, he wants big shoulders.”
“Pretty hair?” a silky voice asked.
Startled, both females inhaled sharply. Wide-eyed, Maira stared up at Aunsgar. The prince grinned ruefully down at her. Slipping longbow from his shoulder, he dropped down, mindless of cold wet snow seeping through the knees of his leggings. For her own part, Emily could not stop staring at his ears. Definitely Elf. Yet, the person she piggybacked lacked surprise.
“You wish me for husband?”
The child nodded, her dark eyes wide, her cheeks reddening and not from the cold.
“So be it.”
“You will have me?”
“I give my word.”
“Aunsgar, be careful your jests.”
“I do not jest. Her name has been whispered many times by Sister Wind.”
Aurelia snorted. “Troublesome fickle woman, that one. Be wary any words she breathes.”
Aunsgar’s eyes glittered. “Ready to reveal her vision to your during our journey here?”
“I have forgotten it.” Both knew she lied. Aunsgar chose to study the child instead of prying into his niece’s private thoughts.
“I will need you a bit taller, for walking on my knees would be most painful.” His smile made both their hearts warm. “I will wait until you are grown, asking your decision then.”
Aurelia lovingly caressed the small girl’s head. “You will have much to learn, becoming the wife of an Elf, and marrying Aunsgar will make you a princess. Much better than the position your sister now holds.”
