Her wrist was caught from behind in a vise like grip.
“My lord?” said the bluecoat leader close at her back.
The earl looked up, his eyes watering, his wig askew, a vicious twist to his mouth. “Get me my sword. And hold her!”
Brenna got a fleeting sense of satisfaction at the earl’s voice, now a good two octaves higher than a minute ago. He’d remember her, all right. For a day or two.
The knife was yanked from her fist and once more she was strung between two guards while a third brought a wicked-looking sword and handed it to the injured earl.
If there was any good news, it was that she’d apparently avoided the raping. She’d never really expected to come out of this alive, despite the prophecy. Her poor father was going to mourn her bitterly.
And Rourke. What would happen to her pirate once her head was rolling on the ground? Would his follow? Was there any chance the earl might let him go?
Her heart broke for him, crumbling beneath the weight of her love and sorrow. She glanced over her shoulder to where he lay, needing to see him one more time. But as her gaze skimmed his beloved face, she caught a flicker in his cheek, a muscle tensing.
She swung her gaze quickly forward, her pulse suddenly pounding a whole new rhythm. He was awake.
The earl came to stand before her, the candelabra at his back wreathing his head in flame as if he were, indeed, the devil’s disciple. Slowly, he lifted his sword over his head . . . over her head . . . and she knew he meant to cleave her in two.
Her heart thudded. Was Rourke awake enough to know what was happening? Could he escape while they killed her?
Her answer came flying through the air to bury itself to the hilt in the Earl of Slain’s forehead. For the space of two heartbeats, a stunned silence blanketed the room, then the earl crashed backward into the candelabra and all hell broke loose.
Brenna’s gaolers released her, one to rush toward the earl, who was quickly going up in flames, the other to pull his sword and turn on her rescuer.
Rourke.
Metal rang as he battled with two bluecoats. Somehow, while they’d all thought he was unconscious, he’d managed to free himself from the bindings. Where he’d gotten the sword, she didn’t know and didn’t care.
The other guards were more concerned with dousing the flames that now engulfed the earl, carrying him to a hell she hoped would never release him. The guards tried to cover him with the rug that draped the table, but the rug caught and they had to leap away.
The fire.
Suddenly she remembered the tour guide. Castle Stour burned in the year 1687. This year. This night.
“Get out!” Brenna yelled. “The whole castle’s going up in flames.”
Amazingly, most of the guards—used to following orders—followed hers. They took off for the door without a backward glance at their charbroiling lord. Only the bluecoat leader remained, battling Rourke, but she fully trusted the pirate to win. He didn’t need her help this time. And she had something she had to do.
Grabbing up her knife where it had fallen on the floor, she ran for the earl’s bedchamber, where the naked girl sobbed, her wrists tied to one of the bedposts.
“The earl’s dead,” Brenna told her. “I’m getting you out of here.” The poor kid hadn’t been as lucky as Brenna at fifteen.
As the ropes finally parted beneath her blade, Rourke burst into the door.
“Wildcat!”
Brenna grabbed the earl’s nightshirt and shoved it at the girl. “Hold it to your nose until we get through the smoke, then you can put it on.” She ran to Rourke and threw her arms around him. “He’s dead.”
“Aye.” Rourke pressed a quick, hard kiss to her hair, then pulled her and the girl across the burning room. At the doorway, the girl paused to don the nightshirt while Brenna stared at the flames that were destroying her enemy.
As the three raced down the now empty passage she glanced at Rourke. “I thought I was supposed to be the one to kill him.” Shouts and screams echoed up from the lower levels of the castle as the occupants fled. Only one room was on fire, but in a castle like this, with the floors made of wood, the entire structure would be gutted by morning and all within knew it.
She and Rourke would have no trouble getting out. There would be no one left to keep them here. And no reason.
Rourke grabbed her hand and held tight. “The prophecy said ye were to be the earl’s destruction, aye? Not that ye would be the one to kill him.”
Brenna reached back and grabbed the girl’s hand in turn, in a strange way feeling as if she had hold of herself at that age. In one hand she held her past, in the other, her future.
“ ’Twas his obsession with ye that killed him, ye ken?”
Brenna felt the weight of twenty years lift from her shoulders and laughed. “Now you tell me.”
Malcolm met them halfway down the sea path. His gaze flew to hers. “I was coming to find you.”
“He’d dead, Malcolm,” Brenna told him.
Her brother nodded silently, but as he turned to lead the way back down, his teeth flashed in the moonlight in a feral grin. He led them to where Hamilton and her father sat on the rocks on the tiny beach watching the flames slowly consume Castle Stour.
“She did it!” Malcolm crowed. “My own sister killed the Earl of Slains.” He grabbed her up and swung her around, laughing.
“Actually, Rourke’s the one who killed him.”
The moment Malcolm set her down, her father enfolded her in his strong arms and held her so tightly and so long, she was pretty sure he wasn’t ever going to let her go.
Finally, he began to sway and she helped him sit back down on the rock. But he pulled her down beside him and kept hold of her hand as if afraid she’d disappear on him again.
Malcolm took the girl aside and gently questioned her about her family and where she belonged.
Hamilton came to Brenna and hugged her hard, his face wreathed in grins. “Ye did it, lass. Ye fulfilled the prophecy, and brilliantly, too.” He sat at her feet in the sand. “I wish to know everything, aye? What happened in there?”
Malcolm and the girl joined them and she told the tale, all watching her with rapt attention.
All but Rourke.
He stood alone, the night’s breeze toying with his hair as he watched, not the burning castle, but the sea. As if he were already plotting his escape.
Her joy and relief at their unparalleled success dimmed with the sudden and overwhelming dread of his leaving.
She wrapped up her story, then gave her father a quick peck on the cheek and rose. “I’ll be right back.”
Rourke smiled down at her as she joined him, then turned back to the sea, making no move to touch her. Her heart squeezed painfully. In the passage to the dungeons, he’d said he loved her. Had he meant it? Or had he been intentionally distracting her so he could slip away?
“Will you be leaving soon?” Brenna asked, afraid to hear his answer.
“Aye. I am needed.”
Tears burned her eyes and she was suddenly glad for the dark. The jubilation she’d felt only moments before washed out, leaving a bruising pressure in her chest. She had her answer.
How can I live without him?
She would. She had to. And it wasn’t like he’d be leaving her alone. She had a family and a home, now. He knew where to find her if he ever wanted to see her.
The pain sharpened. Tears slid down her cheeks.
“Will you be able to round up your old crew, or will you have to find another one?”
He reached for her, sliding his hand beneath her hair. “I’m not going back to sea, Wildcat. I’m returning to Picktillum to take up the reins of responsibility my uncle would pass to me.”
The constriction in her chest eased. He’d be close. A couple days’ ride. Even if he didn’t offer to visit her, there would be nothing stopping her from visiting him.
“That’s great,” she said sincerely.
“Aye, I’m
not certain. I dinna ken what kind of viscount I’ll be.”
“You’ll make a wonderful viscount, Rourke. And you’ve got your uncle there to guide you. He’s a good man.” She dashed the tears from her cheeks under the pretense of brushing her hair out of her face, but the move didn’t fool him.
“Wildcat.” His voice contained a soft ache as he turned her to face him. “Yer crying.”
“I’m happy.” She tried to laugh, but choked on the sound. The tears only slid faster.
“What’s the matter, lass? Are ye hurt? Did that bastard . . . ?”
“No.” She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t want him to know how painfully her heart was breaking, but she couldn’t seem to stop the tears.
His thumb brushed across her wet cheek. “Brenna? Tell me what ails ye, lass.”
She slid her arms around him and pressed her face to his chest. “I don’t want you to go.”
His hands didn’t go around her, but instead tightened on her shoulders as his body went ramrod straight. Her heart shattered in her chest. He didn’t want her.
Humiliated, she released him and tried to push away, but his hands gripped her shoulders tight, holding her in place.
“Wildcat.”
She looked up into his face and her breath caught at the look in his eyes.
His eyes, illuminated by moonlight, shone with love. He pulled her hard against him and kissed her, the kiss at once tender and fierce.
A hard clearing of a throat behind her had Rourke lifting his head and growling. “Leave us, Hamilton.”
“You’ll be asking for her hand, then?”
“Aye.”
Brenna gasped, her gaze flying to Rourke’s. He glared at Hamilton, then turned to her, cupping her face in his hands, looking suddenly unsure.
“I’m not worthy of ye, Wildcat, but I love you more than life itself. You’ve given me back my soul and made my empty heart beat again. All I want from life, all I want, is you. Marry me, Brenna, and I vow to make you happy.”
Tears ran down her cheeks, unchecked, her heart overflowing with joy.
“I love you, Rourke. There’s nothing I want more than to be your wife. But . . . you’re a viscount.” She winced. “I’m not exactly that kind of a lady.”
“Then you’ll be whatever kind ye choose. And if ever again you have a need to go a-warring, I’ll not hold ye back, aye? I’ll fight by yer side.” His thumb stroked her cheek. “But I’m hoping you’ll be more content to teach our bairns to fly paper birds off the parapets.”
Rourke grinned, making her laugh as joy tumbled through her, unconstrained. Her two worlds would always, in small ways, be intertwined. But it was here that she’d always belonged. Here she’d found love, both old and new.
Here that she’d finally found home.
EPILOGUE
The great hall of Picktillum Castle glowed with a thousand candles. The wedding feast had lasted half the day and now well into the evening, but the celebration was only starting to wind down.
Sitting at the high table beside her new husband, Brenna grinned, happier than she’d ever been in her life. The feast had been a spectacular success, all the more gratifying since she herself had planned it. The remnants of elaborate desserts still sat on the long tables, the revel ers too full to complete the final, delicious course.
She might be a viscountess now, and the lady of the castle, but the kitchens were hers. At least until she had little ones taking up too much of her time. It was too soon to be sure—there were no neat little pregnancy tests in the seventeenth century, but Brenna thought the first wee ’un might be making an appearance a bit before his or her parents’ nine-month anniversary. She couldn’t wait to tell Rourke.
She turned to look up at him, her chest aching with love. He met her gaze, his pale eyes shining with adoration, a wicked smile curving his mouth as he leaned forward and kissed her long and slowly until her heart spun wildly.
Cheers erupted around them and they pulled apart, laughing.
Rourke rose, pulling her up beside him. Her father met her gaze with laughter in his eyes and she smiled at him, her heart full of love. He looked years younger than he had in the earl’s dungeon that night, having healed quickly and regained his strength under the watchful, and very loving, eyes of his two children. In a single short month, they’d become a family again.
“Come, Kinross,” Rourke’s uncle James said. “There’s a wee surprise awaiting you in the lass’s bedchamber. We’ve arranged for you to be traveling for a few days.”
Traveling? Brenna looked at Rourke, but his eyes shared her confusion. This wasn’t the twenty-first century. It wasn’t like they could surprise them with a pair of plane tickets to the Bahamas or something.
Her father grinned. “Aye, and ye’ll be leaving this eve, so ye’d best get to your chamber, eh?”
Rourke laughed huskily. “Aye, we’ll be seeing her chamber, but we’ll no’ be traveling this eve, I assure you.”
James shooed them away from the dais. “Off wi’ ye then.”
Rourke met her gaze and shrugged, then pulled her, laughing, through the great hall as hoots and whistles followed them. They barely made it to the top of the stairs before Rourke pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard.
Brenna giggled and slapped at his chest. “The room, Pirate. No ravishing on the stairs.”
With a grin, he grabbed her hand and rushed her to the door of her chambers. They stumbled into the room and fell into one another’s arms. As his tongue swept into her mouth, someone cleared his throat behind her.
Rourke leaped back, reaching for his weapon, then froze. “Hegarty!”
Brenna whirled to face the little man, who was standing at the foot of her bed in a wholly anachronistic T-shirt. Hard Rock Cafe Edinburgh, it read.
She took a step toward him, a strange sensation traveling down her spine. “You’ve been there.”
“Och, aye.” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “’Tis a bonnie place, to be sure.”
“Wildcat.” Rourke’s hand cupped her shoulder, his sudden tension leaching into her.
She looked up to find his smile gone, a bleakness in his eyes. “What’s the matter, Rourke?”
Rourke’s pale gaze bore into hers. “If ye wish him to take ye back, I’ll understand. ’Tis a wondrous place ye left.”
Brenna’s heart clenched at the fear she saw in his eyes. Fear that she would leave him.
She pulled his hand from her shoulder and kissed it, never looking away from his eyes. “Yes, there were wonderful things about that time, but I was lonely there. It was never where I belonged. And the only place I ever want to be from now on is at your side.”
“Aye, I just thought . . .” He pulled her hard against him. “Christ, I couldna lose ye now.”
Hegarty grinned, dancing from one foot to the other. “Ye were always meant for one another. Even the prophecy said so.”
Rourke released her slowly. “The prophecy said only that Brenna Cameron would destroy the Earl of Slains.”
“Och, aye. More or less.”
“More or less,” Rourke murmured. She felt the tension go through him. “Tell me exactly what it said, Heg.”
Hegarty stilled. “When asked when he would die, the seer told Slains that Alex Cameron’s young daughter, Brenna, would be his destruction with the aid of her pirate paramour.”
Brenna’s gaze flew to Rourke’s, her eyes wide. “Pirate paramour?” A giggle got away from her.
Rourke’s puzzled gaze stayed fixed on Hegarty. “But . . . she couldna have meant me. I’d never have left Scotland, never become a . . . sailor . . . if the earl hadn’t come after Brenna, destroying my family.”
Hegarty nodded. “Aye. ’Twas meant to be, Pup. All of it. And you were involved from the beginning, though ’twas a few years before I realized the pirate must be you.”
Rourke stood there for long seconds as if letting the words sink in. Then he pulled her close as a shudder tore through him, and she se
nsed he’d released the last lingering bit of guilt over his parents’ deaths.
Slowly he straightened, pulling away from her even as he looped his arm around her shoulders. “And what mischief are ye about this eve, ye wee blighter?”
Hegarty chuckled. “Well, now, I been thinking of a fittin’ gift to give ye on yer nuptials, Pup.” He looked at Brenna. “Did yer da not tell ye?”
She gaped at him. “They know you’re here?”
“Och, aye.” He cackled at the looks on their faces. “Three days, they said. And only if I go with ye. Canna have anyone gettin’ lost this time.”
Brenna felt her eyes grow wide and her chest tighten with excitement. “The future?”
“Aye.” He nodded to Rourke. “I couldna send ye before, Pup, but I’ll make up for it now. And I be thinkin’ your lassie wouldna mind a visit back.”
Rourke had gone still as stone. She looked up to see both trepidation and excitement sparkling in his eyes.
“But . . . I thought the stone couldna send three.”
Hegarty waved a hand in the air. “Och, it couldna. Then. Old Inghinn has a way with the magic, aye?” His eyes glittered good-naturedly even as he motioned them with impatience. “Come. Yer room’s awaitin’ ye in the finest establishment in Aberdeen along wi’ a few other things ye’ll be needin’.”
Brenna began to laugh, her happiness too great to contain. “How . . . ?”
“A wee bit o’ gold in the right hands will get ye what ye desire in any century, lassie. Now come on.”
He grabbed each of their arms even as they clung to one another. Brenna looked up at Rourke’s pale, but excited face and grinned.
“Pirate, this is going to blow you away.”
He bent and kissed her hair. “Wildcat, ye canna ken how much I love you.”
But she could. She felt it deep inside, twisting and braiding with the love she felt for him, creating a ribbon of such steel that nothing would ever tear them apart. She pressed against him and laughed as the sapphire around Hegarty’s neck began to glow.
FOUR DAYS LATER
Hegarty dropped the sapphire into Old Inghinn’s aged hand.
Sapphire Dream Page 28
