Sapphire Dream

by Pamela Montgomerie

  “The Cruden Seer.” As he worked, a tiny creature emerged from the wood, one cut at a time. With regret he remembered his other creations that had hung in his cabin were gone now. “Some called her the Cruden Witch. The Earl of Slains wished to ken his death so he could avoid it, aye? She told him.”

  “And she named me as the one who would kill him?”

  “I dinna ken the particulars. I’ve heard it said ye would be the one to destroy him.”

  Brenna’s expression was troubled as she fingered the stone at her neck. “I’m not a killer. I shouldn’t even be here. There has to be a mistake.”

  Her shoulders sagged as her gaze dropped to the half-eaten oatcake in her hand. “I just want to go home.”

  He gazed at her bent head, the fragile curve of her neck and shoulder. Strength, yet so much vulnerability.

  “Do you have a family awaiting ye?” He’d never thought to ask. Never truly wondered despite finding her no virgin. He was a fool.

  “No. No one like that. Just friends and a job.”

  “But you’re happy there?”

  She looked up at him, her eyes clear and sure. “It’s where I belong.”

  Aye, and he knew it well. “Wildcat . . .” His knife stilled and he met her gaze. “Hegarty will want that stone you wear.”

  “Yeah, I know. He tried to take it from me when I was half drugged after he healed my leg.”

  “ ’ Tis your only way home. Ye must not let him take it until he sends ye back.”

  Her gaze sharpened and bore into his. “Do you know where I came from?”

  “No. And I dinna wish to. All I ken is Hegarty can send ye back. Or take ye there himself.”

  Green eyes, dark with shadows, turned toward the landscape. “He’s not going to send me back until I kill the earl, is he?”

  “Mayhap we can convince him to. The prophecy is old. The earl older. He canna live forever, aye? And once he dies the prophecy dies with him. What matter would it make if you are here, or . . . your home?”

  She turned to him, her eyes troubled even as they filled with a warmth that spread through his chest like brandy. A small smile spread across her features.

  “Thanks for helping me, Rourke.”

  Something clenched deep in his chest. He was going to miss her, he realized.

  A raindrop splattered on his arm, then a second. Rourke rose and offered his hand to her. “Come. We must be away.”

  “We’re going to ride in the rain?”

  “Aye. ’Twill hide our tracks.”

  She took his hand, the feel of her soft palm against his somehow right. As if she’d always been by his side. As if she belonged there.

  He shook off the untoward thought and helped her mount. But as he swung into his own saddle, he felt the loss of her at his back and dreaded how much more alone he would feel when she was gone.

  Brenna lay restlessly on the huge length of plaid and stared up at the stars. She was exhausted, every muscle of her body aching from the ride, yet sleep eluded her.

  It had to be past midnight, but without a clock, she had no way of knowing how much of the night had passed. They’d ridden until well into the evening before stopping, but she felt like she’d lain here for hours.

  She swatted at a night bug that was trying to settle on her face and rolled onto her side. Rourke lay beside her, barely an arm’s reach away. His deep, even breathing calmed her. His presence, even in sleep, was comforting.

  With a sigh, she marveled at how dependent upon him she’d become in a mere two days. It was disturbing, really. She knew better than to depend on anyone other than herself, yet she didn’t have a choice here. How could she possibly get along without him? He protected her, fed her, and, hopefully, led her to Hegarty so she could get home. She needed him, but her feelings for the man were becoming a lot more complicated than simple gratitude.

  “Canna sleep?” Rourke’s voice rumbled low, startling her.

  “No.”

  “Is aught amiss?”

  The warm concern in his words wrapped around her. “I’m fine. I’m not used to sleeping on the ground. Do you know, I’ve never slept under the stars like this?”

  “Never?”

  “No. Then again, I’ve never seen them like this. So bright. So many of them.”

  “The stars are the lifeline of a seaman. They’re as familiar to me as the back of my own hand.”

  Brenna smiled. “It’s hard to believe some of them no longer exist.”

  “If we see them, how can they not exist?”

  “Time delay. The stars are actually faraway suns with life cycles of their own. Their light takes so long to travel to Earth that they can die and we won’t know about it for thousands, sometimes millions, of years.”

  Silence met her words. The warm feeling of camaraderie slipped away, to be replaced by a cool dread. Why did she tell him something like that? Something that people in this time, without powerful telescopes, couldn’t possibly know?

  “Where did Hegarty find you, Wildcat?” His words were softly spoken, but there was an edge to them that told her clearly that she was spooking him.

  “You told me before that you don’t want to know. You were right. You don’t.”

  He didn’t answer. The silence dragged on, deep and dark as the night as she lay there, her breathing shallow and as silent as his. She wished she could see his face. Read his expression. Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore.

  “Where do you think he pulled me from?”

  His silence stretched for nearly another minute before she heard him sigh. “I dinna ken. Knowing the little troll, he could have gotten ye from anywhere.” The tightness was gone from his voice, leaving him sounding weary. “I know only that women there dress unlike here, wear their hair differently, speak differently. And ye know things, like the stars.”

  She heard him move, as if rolling toward her. “How do ye know these things?”

  Part of her desperately wanted to tell him the truth. But a larger part was terrified.

  She rolled onto her stomach and lifted up on her elbows, feeling as if she stood on the edge of a precipice. “I’m afraid to tell you.”

  She heard him move closer, felt his hand touch her shoulder, then slide down her arm until it rested upon hers. “What frightens ye?”

  “It’s too strange. I don’t want you to think I’m crazy, or . . . or a witch or something. I’m just a woman, Rourke. Maybe the one named in the prophecy, maybe not. I’m just who I am.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I ken that. ’Twas Hegarty’s doing that brought you here. I know I said earlier that I dinna wish to know from whence ye came. But I do. Where have you been, Wildcat?”

  Brenna lowered her head until her forehead rested on the back of his hand. His scent filled her nostrils and she closed her eyes against the powerful longing that swept through her. A longing to be closer to him in every way. She lifted her head and turned toward him in the dark.

  “The future. He brought me from the future.”

  Again that long pause. “What future?”

  “Yours. The Earth’s. Over three hundred years, I think.”

  Slowly, he pulled away. Physically, as his hand slipped from hers, and emotionally. She could almost hear the hair rising on his arms.

  “I shouldn’t have told you.” She sat up, cold congealing in the pit of her stomach. “I knew you weren’t ready to hear it.”

  Still, his silence stretched.

  “Rourke . . .”

  “I . . . must think.” She heard him move. “Three hundred years?”

  Good grief, why had she told him? “More, I think. I came from the year 2009. Isn’t it the late 1600s now? I’ve wanted to ask, but been afraid to.”

  “The year is 1687,” he said stiffly.

  A chill went through her like a knife. She’d known. And yet . . . “How is this possible?”

  “Hegarty.” From the sound of his voice, she knew he’d sat up. “I ken your oddity now. Things have
changed in three hundred years, aye?”

  “More than you can imagine. More than I could ever explain.”

  “Try.”

  She stared into the dark, toward the sound of his voice. How? How could she possibly put her world into terms he could understand.

  “I’m never cold. Never wet unless I want to be, never hungry. If I get sick, there’s usually a cure. I make good money, have a nice place to live, and have no one chasing me or shooting at me. Ever.”

  Even to her own ears, twenty-first-century Baltimore sounded like paradise. What she hadn’t mentioned was the loneliness—a loneliness she hadn’t fully understood until the past few days when it had been strangely absent.

  She heard him rise. “Where are you going?”

  “No’ far. I need to think. Go to sleep, Wildcat.”

  She felt his departure more than heard it, and felt isolation rush back to envelope her. She shouldn’t have told him. He couldn’t handle it—of course, he couldn’t.

  Brenna lay on her back and stared up at the stars, unshed tears burning her eyes. He was a moody man, grumpy and silent, or demanding and dictatorial. But he was also kind. And honorable.

  Over the past couple of days, they’d developed a bond of some kind. A friendship, maybe even something more, something steeped in an attraction like nothing she’d ever felt.

  With a spurt of painful anger at herself, she flung one arm across her eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid. If her erratic childhood had taught her anything, it was that developing bonds with anyone was only going to get her hurt. Sooner or later, they always left.

  The worst part was, this time she’d done it to herself. With a single, ill-placed truth, she’d turned herself into a freak in his eyes. And lost her only chance of having a real friend in this world. Of having a true friend at all.

  NINE

  The sun was low in the evening sky the next day when Rourke spotted a familiar sight ahead, sending dread snaking through his belly. High atop a steep rise, a fairy ring overlooked the burn he and Brenna had been following most of the day. Two stones stood upright amongst their fallen companions, silhouetted against the orange sunset.

  A chill ran down his spine. He knew this place. He’d been here once before, as a lad. The night his parents died. Memories rushed over him, bitter and painful. It was only the beginning. For the sight meant they were not far from Monymusk . . . and Picktillum Castle. A half-morning’s ride at most.

  The thought wound around his chest until he thought he would suffocate. It was all he could do not to turn his horse and ride back to the sea as fast as the animal would take him. He would sign aboard another ship. With his reputation, he’d soon be captaining someone’s ship even if not his own.

  But even as dread and thoughts of flight filled his mind, his gaze turned to Brenna. How could he leave her to them?

  Nay, he could not. He’d take her with him. They’d sail the seas together, her fighting off the crews with her clever hands while he struck down the rest with his sword.

  He grimaced. Mayhap not the best of plans.

  His gaze returned to the fairy stones as a hard shudder went through him. Until he found Hegarty, he could go nowhere but forward. Hegarty must send her back . . . to her time. She would never be safe here. And he wanted that for her. To be safe. Happy.

  “A stone circle,” Brenna breathed. She turned to him, pleasure lighting her eyes. “I’ve always wanted to see one.”

  “Ye’ve heard of them?”

  “I’ve seen photos.”

  “Photos?” The word sounded strange on his tongue.

  She gave a small grimace. “Paintings . . . sort of.”

  But he knew she was speaking of something from the future he wouldn’t understand. The future. Three hundred years. He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time, as he had on and off all day. She was the same woman he’d dived into the sea after. But though his mind reminded him, his skin rose with chill bumps.

  He shouldn’t be surprised, not when Hegarty was involved. Nothing the wee scamp did should have the power to startle him anymore.

  Even so. Three hundred years in the future.

  “Can we go up there and walk through it?”

  At Brenna’s question, his gaze caught sight of the smile that danced at the edges of her mouth. Warmth spread through his chest, chasing away the chill, reminding him she was still his bonnie companion.

  A companion who would not be with him much longer if he had his way. If Hegarty agreed to send her back to her own time.

  The thought caused a hollowness in his heart that surprised him. He gazed at her as she awaited his reply, taking in the smudge of coal dust on her cheek that she’d missed when she rinsed her face, and the small, angry red welt that cupped her jaw. Her eyes glowed with strength and life, her ripe mouth tilted in that smallest of smiles. A smile he suddenly longed to see bloom.

  “Would ye like to make camp by the stones for the night? We’ll ride into Monymusk on the morrow.”

  The smile that broke over Brenna’s face exceeded his fiercest wishes, stealing the breath from his body. Her green eyes sparkled, her lush mouth curving to reveal white, perfect teeth.

  The need to pull her into his arms and cover that mouth with his own knocked him back even as her smile drew him in, pulling him like the strongest of whirlpools. A whirlpool he would gladly sacrifice himself to.

  With a start, he realized he was smiling himself.

  “I swear, I am so ready to get off this horse,” Brenna said. “I’m never going to walk straight again.”

  A chuckle escaped his throat, sounding odd to his ears.

  “Are we going to try to ride up there?” She eyed the steep incline.

  “The horses need watering, as do we. We’ll dismount below.”

  They rode the short distance to the hill, then dismounted and walked the horses to the water’s edge. Brenna’s first steps were indeed stiff and ungainly, but as he watched, her graceful movements slowly returned.

  The need to touch her again, to taste the beauty of her smile, was becoming a physical ache. He thirsted for her like a man too long without water, but she wasn’t open to his advances. She’d made that painfully clear.

  Running his hand over his mouth, he scanned the horizon in every direction. A distant croft. Open moors and rolling heath. There had been no sign of Cutter or the earl’s men since they’d left the burning town. He might have taken heart that they’d truly lost them, except for one thing. Hegarty’s missive had been opened when Rourke received it, the seal broken. Someone had read it before he did, and he didn’t think it was Mr. Baker. He feared it was Cutter. Which meant Cutter likely knew they were on their way to Monymusk and might well be waiting for them there.

  As he pulled some soft grass with which to rub down the horses, his gaze returned to Brenna. He watched as she dipped her hands in the water, lifting them to cool her face. Suddenly he remembered the gift he’d purchased for her earlier. They’d stopped midday at a small croft and bought a round of cheese, some salt beef, and a pair of hard-cooked eggs for their meals. Then he’d taken the crofter aside and made a small additional purchase he’d not shown Brenna.

  With sweet anticipation, he fetched it from the plaid.

  “Wildcat. You might be wanting this, lass.” When she glanced at him, he tossed the small ball to her.

  She caught it with ease, her expression curious. Suddenly her eyes widened and she gasped with delight. “Soap!” She gifted him with a smile of such pleasure he felt his heart contract under the pressure.

  “Did you find this?” she asked.

  “I purchased it. I thought it might please you.”

  “You thought right.” She grinned. “I think I love you, Pirate.” Then she whirled toward the water and dipped her hands in.

  He watched her, unable to move. I think I love you, Pirate. The words meant naught and were merely an expression of deep gratitude. He didn’t want them to mean anything.

  Yet th
e simple words warmed him as little ever had.

  With an oath, he turned back to the horses, damning himself for a fool for letting a woman disturb his mind so. With every smile, every word, every courageous act, he felt as if he were being spun around until he could no longer tell up from down.

  He had to find Hegarty, and soon, or he’d find his determination to be rid of her wavering. He’d wake one morning to find himself embroiled in the prophecy, leading an ill-fated charge against the earl’s entire army.

  Nay, he would not be so foolish.

  Not even for a green-eyed sea nymph.

  The man was an enigma.

  Brenna sat on one of the fallen rocks in the stone circle, chewing the last bites of her dinner while Rourke whittled his piece of wood a few yards away. The stones were huge and ancient, though she had to use her imagination to call it a circle. Time and weather had knocked all but two to the ground, reducing what had once been a circle to little more than a pile of pick up sticks.

  Rourke’s knife strokes were smooth and even. The resulting sound calmed the tension that had ridden her ever since she’d told him where she was really from. She’d fallen asleep before he returned last night and had not woken again until morning.

  He’d said no more about her origins and was acting as if nothing had happened. As if he was determined to ignore the truth. But he was brooding. He’d spoken little the entire day, and that only when necessary.

  And yet, he’d bought her soap. Just when she thought she was figuring him out, she realized she didn’t really understand him at all. All she knew was she wanted him to accept her. To not be spooked by her. His gift of the soap seemed to indicate he wasn’t. Not too spooked, anyway.

  She rose and walked over to the rock where he carved and sat down beside him to watch. All day, she’d kept her distance, wanting to give him time to come to terms with her. Now that she thought maybe he had, she longed to breech the gap, if only a little.

  As his strong, capable hands formed a small crude head a vague memory teased her mind. “I used to know someone who whittled. I vaguely remember watching him make little animals, kind of like your birds.” She watched his clever movements form wings and a tail. “Will it fly?”