by L. L. Muir
The other Muir sister shook her head and smiled. Her entire face was a waterfall of wrinkles. “She is bringing…a dragon.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Isobelle’s entire body shook as they neared Castle Ross just after midday. Her horse grew skittish as she could no longer control the trembling that increased with each step that brought her closer.
Home.
James insisted she see Castle Ross before moving on to where Monty, Morna, and Ivar awaited her. She would have one last chance to touch the place of her nightly dreams before it was tucked back in with the rest of her memories. But that’s all she’d dreamt of for nearly two years—one more chance to see it. A wish about to be granted. She could ask for no more than that.
What would they say at the gate?
“Let me do the speaking, lass.” James gave her a wink and urged his horse to the fore. When they reached the gate, a man waved to James, and before a word was said, the painfully familiar barrier swung open. He looked over his shoulder as they neared the inner bailey. “Ewan must have told them to watch for me, aye?”
Ewan. She was about to see Ewan!
They dismounted before the stables and she hurried inside to hide herself in the dimly lit out building. Gaspar joined her. James sent the stable lad to fetch his laird, then stood just inside the wide doorway. She’d kept the hood of her cloak far forward to hide her face, but now pushed it back a bit and peeked through a gap in the boards.
She thought the stable lad looked a great deal like Orie, the Smithy’s son, the one whose confession had been her doom. And she dearly wished she could show herself to the lad and share her secret—that she hadn’t died in the tomb after all—in case he thought himself to blame for her death.
Poor Orie. She’d thought about him often.
The number of men on the walls were double what she remembered. The bailey was full to bursting with folks she didn’t ken. It was not unlike the crowd when Scots from other clans had come to view her witch trial.
Two large shadows entered the stable, but she looked away before she might be recognized.
“Laird Ross,” James said quietly, “may I present Signore Gaspar Dragotti, and his companion, uh…uh…”
Isobelle turned and found a finer dressed version of the cousin who’d nearly drowned her in spirits when she’d escaped her tomb.
“Ewan!” She rushed forward and jumped into the outstretched arms of the new laird. “Oh, Ewan! Ye look so fine!”
“Isobelle,” he whispered. “Odin kens I would be pleased to see you on any day, but…”
She pushed out of his embrace and gave him a good frown. “Oh? Do tell, cousin.”
He rolled his eyes and scooped her up again. “Doona be frowning at me first thing, Izzy. I was about to say that the chieftains of a dozen clans are in our home just now, and if it were another day, ye could have had free rein of the place. But now, no. The Gordon sent his wee son, Cinead, so there is at least one bastard who will recognize ye, if yer seen.”
He peeked over her shoulder and his eyes flew wide. Then he dropped her like she carried the Black Death and stepped back.
Isobelle turned to find a too-innocent Gaspar standing with his hands behind his back.
“Be nice,” she whispered.
“I am.” Gaspar and Ewan said it in unison and James laughed.
Ewan held out his hand. “Gaspar? Italian, are ye?”
“No. English.” And he folded his arms without looking at Ewan’s open hand.
Ewan turned a nasty look at Isobelle like she’d brought an Englishman just to vex him.
“He’s mine, Ewan. Ye’ll be nice to him. If ye must, tell yerself he’s The Pope for all I care. I’m keepin’ him.”
She grabbed her dragon by the arm and dragged him to her, then she pulled his head down until their lips met, giving him a kiss that was sure to make her cousin uncomfortable. Once that was accomplished, she growled against his lips.
“Shake his hand, Dragon. Or I’ll have ye kept in the dungeon for a time, aye?”
Gaspar’s hand shot past her toward the scraggly cousin. Then he grinned while Ewan tried to shut his mouth.
“I’m keeping her. Just so you know it.”
Ewan sighed, then shook the offered hand. “Just as bossy as e’er ye were, Izzy. And where is our Ossian, then?”
Isobelle opened her mouth to explain, but Gaspar stopped her with a hand on her arm. He took a shaky breath and looked into her eyes. “I hired Ossian as a crossbowman…and sent him to the New World…so I might get my hands on Isobelle.”
Isobelle reacted to the news without much thought. She simply pulled back and threw her fist into the man’s jaw. How dare he wait so long to confess such a thing?
Gaspar stumbled back, but James was there to catch him.
Ewan showed a lairdly amount of patience and manners by allowing the Englishman to get his balance before he dealt his own blow to the same abused jaw. Then he turned to Isobelle. “Instead of shaking his hand, I should have cut it off!”
James stood watch again while Isobelle and Ewan sat in a pile of fresh hay and waited for the dragon to stir.
“I’ll let Monty give ye the particulars, but I will tell ye that yer brother saw the error of his ways, ye might say, and helped Morna get free of her Gordon husband. Cinead believes Morna threw herself into the sea and drowned. But she was verra much alive when last I saw her.”
Gaspar woke with a start and she put a hand to his chest to reassure him.
Ewan grinned. “While ye slept, ye English bastard, we cut off those hands ye were speaking about.”
Horrified, Gaspar lifted his hands, wiggled his fingers, then sighed in relief. Ewan got to his feet laughing, then offered to pull the other man to his feet as well.
Gaspar grinned, then took Ewan’s hand. But instead of Gaspar rising, Ewan was pulled forward and with an Italian boot applied to his middle, he was tossed over, onto his back in the hay.
James helped Isobelle stand, then rolled his eyes at the other two. “One of the witches is coming, Laird Ross.”
Gaspar jumped to his feet and crossed himself. Ewan nodded, as if he thought crossing himself was a grand idea, and copied the movement.
Isobelle rolled her eyes, then took Gaspar’s hand in hers. “I havena forgiven ye fer sendin’ Ossian away, mind, but ye look as if ye might faint.”
A figure slipped through the doorway and uncovered its head. It was Mhairi, and Isobelle would have gone to her and given her a hearty greeting if Gaspar’s fingers hadn’t squeezed hers so securely.
Mhairi waited for her eyes to adjust to the shadows, then hurried to join them. She looked worried when she recognized Isobelle.
“We saw a dragon,” she whispered.
Isobelle laughed. “Mhairi Muir, Gaspar Dragotti.” She nodded at each in turn. “My dragon.”
Mhairi smiled broadly. “That’s fine. That’s fine. I didna think we could fit a dragon into the tomb…”
Isobelle stiffened at the mention of the infernal thing. “What do you mean?”
Mhairi looked at James, then at Ewan. Both men looked sheepishly at their boots.
“Weel, now. This is a fine mess. And with no time to explain. The chieftains are restless, Ewan. They’ll not wait on ye much longer. And we canna leave her standing about, aye?”
James frowned, “Why do they wait?”
“For Ewan’s weddin’ to begin, of course.”
Ewan grimaced. “There was hardly time… Ye dinna ken her, Isobelle. And ye canna be introduced, aye?”
“He’s right.” Mhairi tugged on Ewan’s arm. “Go on and get marrit. Then meet us below for a proper fare thee well.”
Ewan kissed Isobelle on the cheek and hurried away. Then Isobelle turned to Mhairi, dread filling her limbs until she couldn’t feel them any longer. “Mhairi? What do ye mean, below?”
“Now, dinna fash. We’ll send ye off to be with Montgomery and Morna in no time at all.” The woman gave her a wink.
“Oh? And will ye promise before God that me brother and sister yet live?”
Mhairi looked taken aback by the question, then smiled. “Oh, aye. They live. And where they live is a wondrous place. Ye’ll be quite happy, I assure ye.”
Gaspar put his arm around Isobelle’s shoulders and gave Mhairi a look he may have given many a woman accused of witchcraft. “Just where does her family reside?”
The woman started to speak, but James waved her off. “They now live where I call home,” he said.
“And where is that?”
James grinned and gave Isobelle a wink before turning back to Gaspar. “Why, in the New World.”
Gaspar choked and sputtered, but Isobelle wasn’t worried. That wink had given James away. His winks were a bit less frightening than those from the witches.
She tilted her head and stared at the big man through narrowed eyes. “Ye must be jesting, James. There is something ye havena told us.”
The big man sighed. “Aye. There is. But I dinna want you to fret as yer bound to do. Ye see, the way to Montgomery and Morna… The way leads through yer tomb, lass.”
That numbness in her limbs came up to fill her head and the stable went dark, as if someone had doused the sun.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Gaspar didn’t know these people. There was little reason to trust them, especially when the person that led the rest around by their noses was a self-proclaimed witch. But he trusted James, and the big Scot vowed on his honor that he had, indeed, come to Castle Ross through this passage. And although Gaspar believed there was yet some secret with which they could not entrust him, he would be patient.
In truth, the witches were his only worry. But since the one didn’t seem to be overly concerned with him, he ceased fretting over her. He would remain vigilant, of course, but once they were away from this place where Isobelle might be recognized, they could rest their minds. Besides, it hadn’t mattered where they came to roost, as long as he and Isobelle were together. If her brother’s home did not make Isobelle happy, they would simply move on. Together.
Isobelle’s hand trembled in his as they hurried through the kitchens. The cooks and maids were far too busy to pay them much attention. Just beyond the heavy steam and the savory smells of hot meat, there was a wide stairway that led down. The steps were lit by a lone torch at the bottom.
James stood at the top of the steps and gestured for Gaspar to precede him.
“Isobelle Ross!” The strange voice came from behind.
Gaspar urged Isobelle to go on without him, then turned to see who had spoken. A diminutive man came from the kitchens, his face red with outrage. “Let me pass!” he demanded. “I am Cinead, son of The Gordon and I demand you let me pass!”
“Oh?” James arched his brow at the little tyrant. “Only a son? And why do you spy upon The Ross’s stores?”
Cinead raised a short finger. “I saw her! Ye canna deny it! Isobelle Ross is here!”
James laughed with glee. “Of course, she is here. Her ghost is always here. And on wedding days, she makes herself seen as well as heard. In fact, she attended yer sister’s wedding to Montgomery Ross, did she not?”
The little man sneered. “There was no wedding, and ye ken it. But now I see it was not a ghost, but the woman herself who haunts the place. Now let me pass!” He was a bold man to be so small and speak to a man four times his size. He turned his finger on Gaspar. “Ye held her hand coming through the kitchens.”
Gaspar lifted his hands in mock horror, much as he had when Ewan had told him they’d been cut off while he’d slept in the hay. “She held my hand? But why would she do such a thing. I’m English!”
The little man’s eyes flashed as he glimpsed the bottom of the stairs. “And low, here she is!”
Gaspar turned and found Isobelle dancing about just beyond the last step. She hummed a dissonant tune and swung her skirts from side to side.
“The kirk will hear of this,” Gordon hissed.
“I see nothing,” said James, then he looked suspiciously at Gordon’s son. “Do ye feel quite well?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Do not pretend—”
“Where is she?” Gaspar demanded. “What does she look like?”
The little fellow pointed and rolled his eyes. “That is Isobelle. I would ken her anywhere.”
“I see nothing,” Gaspar whispered to James. “Perhaps he has been drinking all day.”
“Ye!” Isobelle stopped dancing and gathered her skirts as if she might run up the steps. “Ye drove me Morna to her death! Murderer!”
Gaspar was grateful Isobelle whispered her rantings. If others came to the stairs, they could not continue to deny her presence.
The Gordon man screeched and drew a dagger from his belt, then pushed Gaspar off balance and slipped between him and James. Gaspar jumped down the steps to stop him. Isobelle danced away down the hall, laughing, but moving quickly just the same.
Gaspar got hold of the other man’s plaid sash and was able to slow him at least, and when the man surged forward to escape his grasp, the sash came free and the little man flew forward. He grunted when he hit the dirt floor, then stilled.
Gaspar warily turned the man onto his back and found the handle of the little dagger sticking at an odd angle out of his left side.
The man grinned up at him. “Ye see? She is real. Why else would ye fly to her aid?”
Voices approached from the stairway, and he and James exchanged an anxious look. Then together they dragged the little man down a corridor, out of sight of the stairs.
“What shall we do with him?” James asked.
“Stop the bleeding as best we can.” Gaspar knelt over the little body and took hold of the blade’s handle. The man hissed as the dagger slipped from his body.
“A shallow entry,” Gaspar announced. “He will live.”
Isobelle stood behind James where the Gordon man couldn’t see her. Gaspar shook his head slightly and she disappeared again. Mhairi came forward with a basket of herbs and strips of cloth.
“Weel, now,” she said cheerfully. “What have we here? Laird Gordon’s son getting into mischief? I saw what happened, of course.” She tisked. “A bit light in the head, are ye, Cinead Gordon? To go and attack the big man just because he has the same red hair that our Isobelle once had? And ye accused him of being Isobelle herself?” She shook her head, tisking again. “What will yer father say, I wonder. He’ll wish to ken his son isna right in the head, I’m certain. So he can tend after ye carefully, aye? He favors ye so, does he not? Surely he’ll be most gentle.”
Cinead glowered at the woman even as she cleansed his wound and dressed it. It didn’t take long.
“Yer a witch,” he hissed. “The kirk shall hear about ye, and those who keep ye.”
Gaspar couldn’t hold his tongue any longer.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Gaspar Dragotti, Special Investigator to The Patriarch of Venice and Special Investigator for The Church. I have found no witches at Castle Ross, only a man who believes he has seen the dead. Indeed, that warrants an investigation. Though I was hoping to be on my way…”
If Cinead Gordon understood nothing else, he realized that they would all stand together against him.
“I would return to the hall now,” he grumbled.
“Here now. What is amiss here?” Ewan entered the corridor and frowned down on the wounded man. “Gordon? What has happened here? And why are ye in me cellars?”
Gaspar lifted a brow and waited for Cinead to make whatever claim he dared.
“I slipped on the stair, Ross. And landed on me own dagger, ‘tis all.”
Gaspar inclined his head and the fellow relaxed a bit, though he was not a happy man.
“Daniel!” Ewan shouted and his man came running. “Help Gordon here to the hall.”
“Aye, Laird.” The young man lifted Cinead’s arm to help him rise, but the man was far too short to get a shoulder under. “By yer leave,” he finally said, t
hen picked the man up in his arms like a baby. They all bit their lips to keep from laughing as the red-faced Gordon was carried away.
Gaspar found Isobelle shaking like a dry leaf in a winter wind, cowering against the wall further down the corridor. Gaspar hurried to her and pulled her up into his arms. He held her until the trembling eased. Then he spoke low against the top of her head.
“We will not go, if you do not wish it.”
She nodded into his chest, then took a breath and shook her head instead. “I wish to go. I wish to see my family again. I will do whatever it requires to travel there, as long as ye’re with me.”
James laughed. “The journey will not last as long as ye might think.”
She reached over and touched James’ arm. “Will ye come along with us, then? To show us the way?”
James grimaced, then nodded reluctantly.
“We have our sacrifice, sister.”
Gaspar looked up to find the witch and her twin standing farther down the corridor. One carried a small torch.
“What do you mean?” he demanded. “What is to be sacrificed?”
They laughed. “Not what ye think, Dragon,” said one. “The passage requires both love and sacrifice. There is love aplenty, I see, but James will sacrifice many an adventure, I think, to go along.”
Her sister nodded. “Not to fear, giant. Ye may return to us yet. We canna say.”
James tipped his head to one side. “Ye canna say? Or ye doona ken?”
The sisters laughed. “We canna say.”
James grinned broadly and rubbed his hands together. “Weel then. Yer brother awaits, Isobelle.”
Gaspar tried not to think of Monty and Morna as just more people who will soon vie for Isobelle’s attention. That, in a way, was a sacrifice on his part.
Ewan took Isobelle’s hand and pulled her away. “Me bride awaits, as well, Isobelle. I must let ye go.” Then he gave a list of messages he wanted relayed to her brother. “And give Morna a kiss. And Jillian—that will make Monty sore, so dinna ferget to do it, aye?”
“Who is Jillian?”
Ewan laughed. “Jillian is the faery lass. Did James not tell ye the tale?”
