by C. A. Szarek
Duncan said they’d be stopping to question the local clans that had active ports and ships, again. The same had yielded nothing the day before.
The trackers that’d stayed out that first night had come back empty-handed, no leads.
Three days later hasn’t changed nothin’.
Jules still didn’t get what the big deal was. Bree had said she wanted to go to Ireland. She hadn’t gotten the feel for anything other than the chick’s honest desire for home. As a cop, Jules was usually pretty good at reading people. If the Irish woman had had mal-intent, she’d masked it well.
Jules sat like some sad third wheel—or more like seventh—when Xander, Duncan, and Alex kissed their wives enthusiastically before leaving the table.
Hugh’s face wouldn’t stop haunting her, no matter how much it pissed her off.
“C’mon, Jules.” Claire tugged on her sleeve. “We got stuff to get done.”
A few hours later, Jules could’ve collapsed on her feet. Even though she’d seen it three times now, it was no less exhausting. Claire’s day-to-day was filled with household chores—even though the MacLeods had servants.
She’d helped her sister whack dust from two huge tapestries that normally hung in the great hall. Duncan and Alex had dragged them out to the courtyard and hung them so the women could work.
Jules had pictured Hugh’s face with every loud smack, so the outlet of aggression was pretty awesome, even though it wore her out.
Next, she’d helped spread rushes on the floor of the great hall—Claire said they did that once a week—and it’d taken five women to cover the vast space quickly.
She’d watched Claire and Alana consult with the women heading to the market to buy food for the household—there were a lot of mouths to feed.
Evidently, they always sent at least two guards with them, but because their best soldiers were out searching for Bree, two younger guys met them in the kitchen. They were probably late teens, but still tall, broad MacLeods. The younger of the two had bright red hair and blushed every time his blue eyes met Jules’ gaze.
Alana was the lady of the castle, since she was married to Alex, but Jules got the impression that she and Claire—and Janet for that matter—all ran the place together. It was eye-opening to see her sister in a take-charge position, and Jules’ admiration of her shot up more. Seventeenth century or not, her baby sister had found her niche.
“I need a break,” Jules confessed when she and Claire made their way back into the great hall.
Alana had forced Janet to rest, and fussed her upstairs about ten minutes before. The princess said the dark-haired beauty wouldn’t get into bed unless she had an escort, so she’d gone with her.
“That’s fine. I’m gonna run to check on Lach in the nursery. He and Lexi should be napping. Meet you in the solar?”
“Does that mean I can relax?”
“Sure, I’ll teach you how to embroider.” Claire’s lips rippled as if she was fighting a smile. “Or we can talk about the Laird MacDonald. Again.”
Jules smirked and chose to ignore her sister’s dig about the Hugh. “Well, you’re wearing a skirt and you did housework all morning—for the third morning in a row. I figure that rounds out your domestication quite nicely, lil’ sis.”
“Not that I’d ever admit to the likes of you.” Her sister winked when Jules laughed.
“You kinda just did.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Claire grinned.
“See ya in a bit.”
Her sister nodded, lifted her skirts, and jogged up the stairs.
Jules leaned back for a full body stretch, pushing her arms so wide her muscles protested. But she felt good. Even the mention of her barbarian hadn’t dampened her spirits. She and Claire had—unfortunately—discussed the man too many times over the last three days. Her sister had accused Jules of being obsessed with him.
Am. Not.
She’d never admitted to kissing him, but Claire’s green gaze was too knowing. Her sister saw right through her.
Dammit.
“Are ye well, lass?” A female voice asked.
“I am. Thanks for asking.” Jules crossed the distance to the wide hearth, returning Mairi’s smile.
“Verra glad ta see ye wit’ Lady Claire.”
She met a pair of kind brown eyes. “I’m glad to be here, too.” The truth of her statement hit when the words exited her mouth. Despite how she’d gotten to 1675, Jules wouldn’t trade the time with Claire and her new family for anything.
The older woman stirred the contents of a giant black kettle over the largest hearth. Jules didn’t ask what it was.
They spoke for a while, then she said a polite good bye and sprinted up the stairwell to join her sister in the solar. The room was bright and warm as usual, and Claire was alone inside.
Her sister leaned over a small table, pouring mead into three glasses. There was a plate of bread and cheese there also, and Jules stomach growled. All the hard work had made her hungry. She hadn’t seen her sister bring the food up, but she was glad it was there. She wouldn’t complain, even though she’d never been a fan of eating chunks of cheese.
“Where’s Alana?” Jules asked.
“With Janet still. Said she would come as soon as Janet falls asleep.”
“Ah, good. What about the kiddos?”
“Mairi said they’d just fallen asleep.” Claire smiled and looked up from her task, clay pitcher still in hand.
“Mairi?”
“Yeah, she was with the kids.”
“Do you have more than one Mairi?”
“No, why?”
“She couldn’t be with the kids, then.” Jules frowned.
Claire straightened. “What are you talking about?”
“I just saw her. I mean, I was having a conversation with her. She was still in the great hall when I came upstairs, stirring something in a big pot. I assumed she’d be a while. Sure looked to be in the middle of something.”
“What do you mean? She’s in the nursery, with Lexi and Lachlan.”
Jules cocked her head to one side as alarm crept up from her gut. “She can’t be in two places at once, little sister.”
Something’s wrong.
Claire dropped the pitcher. It shattered at their feet. Mead shot out all directions, but Jules didn’t pay attention to the scent of fermented honey filling the air.
Alex appeared in the doorway of the solar, a screaming red-faced baby girl in his arms. He was shirtless and covered in sweat, like he’d come in from the bailey. “Have ye seen Alana?” he asked, trying to comfort his daughter.
“No,” Jules said.
“Lachlan,” Claire breathed.
“What?” the laird asked.
Her sister rushed past Alex, who was having no luck at all with Lexi.
“The nursery, Alex. Were you just in the nursery?” Jules demanded.
“Nay. Came in from outside. Duncan and Xander did so as well. Why?”
“How did you get Lexi?”
“She blinked into my arms.”
Her heart plummeted to her stomach and Jules just knew. Claire had said her niece always found her dad when she was upset. Even the tiny kiddo knew. “Shit,” Jules spat.
Alex arched a dark eyebrow, but moved out of her way so she could rush after Claire. The laird came too, but his daughter’s cries didn’t quiet as they went.
Claire was crumpled by Lachlan’s empty crib, tears streaming down her cheeks. There was no one else in the nursery. “He’s gone.”
Jules ran to her sister, enfolding her into a hug.
Alex cursed savagely, already hollering for his brother, father and Xander.
Jules was glad they hadn’t gone out with any of the search parties. They’d all been sparring out in the bailey with the remaining men.
“Alex. Bridei took my son,” Claire wailed.
The laird didn’t contradict her.
Iain and Xander tore into the nursery, both looking confused.
; Alana appeared next, and Lexi blinked from her father to her mother.
Seeing the magic again and knowing what it was didn’t make Jules feel any better. Tremors chased each other down her spine and she held her sister against her, rubbing Claire’s back.
Nothing she whispered comforted her sister.
How Claire was so sure the Irish woman was the reason her son was missing, Jules couldn’t bring herself to question aloud. Alex seemed to believe it without a doubt, too.
Jules hollered at herself to be a cop about all this, but she was too busy comforting her sister. That was her first priority. Finding her nephew would come next, very soon.
Duncan was last into the room, his expression demanding to know what was going on, though he didn’t speak yet.
Claire tugged away from Jules and rushed to her husband. “Bridei took our baby! Duncan, she took him!”
Duncan caught her up, plastering her to his broad chest. “How?” His angry demand made Lexi cry louder, despite the fact Alana now held her daughter.
“Magic,” Jules breathed.
Xander nodded, brandishing a fist. “I agree, lass. It’s all over the room.”
“A masking spell.” Alana frowned, rocking Lexi with more vigor.
“Is that how Claire thought she saw—and talked to—Mairi?” Jules asked.
“Aye, that would do it,” Xander said.
Claire whimpered.
Duncan squeezed her in a tighter embrace, but Claire hadn’t stopped crying any more than her niece.
Can Lexi feel the magic, too?
Angus spilled into the nursery. “Mother, Father! I had a vision.”
All the adults froze.
The baby girl disappeared again, only to pop into her brother’s arms. Damn good thing the kid looked ready for her. He held her in his arms, rocking her like their mother had.
Lexi stopped crying.
“Angus-lad, tell us,” Xander urged.
“The halfling lass—she’s runnin’ on tha beach wit’ my cousin.”
“Rally the men. Mount up, now!” Alex barked.
“She’s taking him into the Fae Realm,” Alana breathed. She had her palm on her son’s forearm.
She didn’t say so, but Jules got the impression she could see—and feel—what the kid had.
“But why?” Claire wailed.
“My brethren killed her lover. They’ll kill Lachlan, too. Bairn or not, he’s human. They will sense him immediately.” Xander said.
“No!” Her sister’s scream was even more anguished.
Jules’ heart thundered as she reached for police professionalism, trying to forget that the child missing was her nephew. Or that Xander had said the little guy’s life was in danger. “I hate that eye-for-an-eye shit. Let’s get this bitch.”
If anyone was offended by her language, they didn’t show it as they rushed from the room together.
Chapter Twelve
The wind rustled Dubh’s mane and Hugh’s loose hair alike as they sat high on the ridge. He should just go home. He had no business watching the MacLeod stronghold, even if he was on his own lands and too far away to see anything of consequence. He couldn’t look away, as if her honey locks would appear at any moment. She’d shake her head and glare at him with those beautiful green eyes.
What’re you going to do, if so?
It’d been three days…the three longest days he could remember having to endure.
He chided himself again and again. Still, he didn’t head home.
His stallion hoofed the sandy grass at his feet, shifting his step and giving a low neigh.
“What is it, laddie?” Hugh asked. He patted Dubh’s dark neck, whispering to him to calm. It was unlike his horse to be skittish.
Dubh tossed his head.
Hugh cocked his head to one side as the cool air carried a cry to his ears.
A bairn?
He leaned forward on Dubh’s back, listening harder. The cry became louder, as if a wee one was coming toward him.
Hugh urged his horse to turn, nudging Dubh slowly forward. If a child was lost, he would see him or her shortly. There were not many places to hide, despite the hillside.
But whose child?
There were no homes nearby, and none of the MacDonalds that resided remotely closely to where he was had one so young. He knew his people well, down to the last clansman.
He heard a woman’s voice before he saw her. Her accent wasn’t Scottish, but neither was it odd like his foundling’s. She sounded as if she was trying to sooth the fussy bairn.
“Who goes there?” Hugh called, hand on the hilt of his claymore. They were on his lands, after all.
The lass froze when she saw him. She did indeed have a bairn in her arms, but the lad was not a wee infant. He was propped on her hip, his dark hair a mess of curls.
When he noticed Hugh, the laddie squalled even louder, his young face red, tears running down his cheeks.
Hugh’s spine prickled as the lass’s dark eyes widened.
Something’s wrong.
“My laird.” She inclined her head and attempted to bend at the waist, clutching him closer.
The baby yowled.
“Somethin’ wrong with yer wee one?” Hugh straightened and forced his voice even.
She shook her head. “He’s fussy s’all, this fine day.” The lass whispered to the lad, and plastered on a fake smile for Hugh.
Irish.
The lass was Irish.
The bairn shook his little head and pushed away from the woman, howling even louder.
Hugh narrowed his eyes. “What’s his name?”
She shifted on her feet, bouncing him up and down. “He’s named for his father.”
She’s lying. His gut shouted it. Hugh swung his leg over Dubh’s back and dismounted.
Her eyes went even wider and she took a step backwards as he towered over her.
The wee one screamed louder, his chubby cheeks apple-red. When he struggled in the woman’s arms, something fell at their feet.
Hugh looked down at the same time she gasped.
MacLeod tartan.
When their gazes collided, the Irishwoman whimpered.
“Who does the bairn belong to?”
“Mine. He is mine.”
“Nay. Ye doona’ even know his name.” Hugh made a grab for her but she scooted away. “Give the lad ta me, and I will return him ta the MacLeods. If ye leave now, I’ll tell them I found ‘im on the hillside.”
The woman snarled. “He. Is. Mine.”
Hugh rushed forward and the woman screamed. The bairn cried out, but he was able to get his hands on him. He pinned the lad to his chest, praying he wasn’t hurting him.
The lass gave a yell of rage, and threw something to the ground. A puff of black smoke filled the air.
He coughed, shielding the child’s face against his chest, but the laddie coughed, too. Hugh was dizzy as the air started to clear, but planted his boots in the grass so he wouldn’t fall over or drop the bairn.
The woman had disappeared.
“Magic?” Hugh whispered. He blinked to clear his vision, searching the perimeter, but wasn’t able to locate the child-thief.
He sighed, and met the lad’s gaze. Big blue eyes regarded him, tears streaking round cheeks, but he wasn’t crying any longer. He clutched Hugh’s tunic with two tiny fists.
“Laddie? Are ye well?” An unmanly tremor shot down his spine.
What do I know about bairns?
This one didn’t look old enough to speak, so the question was foolish at best.
Hugh wiped the tears from his face, and the child smiled. For some reason, Juliette flashed into his mind, but he ignored how his heart skipped.
“Let’s get ye home.”
He was just as much of a stranger as the woman had been—he’d bet his favorite sword she’d stolen him—yet the lad seemed content in his arms, as if he knew Hugh meant him no harm. He might have no love for the rival clan, but he’d never hurt a c
hild. Even a MacLeod.
“Who do ye belong to?” Hugh asked as he climbed onto Dubh’s back, the lad nestled against his chest.
Both his rivals—Alex and Duncan MacLeod—were married, so he could belong to either one. Maybe their sister? She too was wed now.
Or perhaps another clansman all together. He had the look of a MacLeod, even without the scrap of tartan. Dark hair and sapphire eyes.
But somehow his flawless little face reminded Hugh of Juliette. Perhaps her sister’s son? If so, the wee one did belong to Duncan MacLeod after all.
The lad cooed in Hugh’s arms, giving life to words of nonsense, and he had to smile. He shook his head. He’d no use for bairns, but this one was adorable.
Hugh frowned when memories of his wife—and what he’d lost—entered his mind. He fought the urge to crush his eyes shut and banished her name. Refused to think about the child they’d lost. What he would look like now. The lad would be ten.
“Nay!” His shout made the tiny child in his arms jump.
Blue eyes misted over and he sucked on his bottom lip. Sniffled.
“Sorry, lad. Doona’ fret. I’m takin’ ye home.” He rubbed the child’s back until he settled again, resting his head against Hugh’s shoulder.
Unfamiliar tenderness unfolded from his gut and crept up. He locked his jaw and fought emotions he had no use for.
Bairns are to be protected.
Hugh gathered him closer, trying to ignore the warm little body against his chest. This wee one was not his own, never would be.
After losing his wife and their bairn, he’d never planned on another. Refused his father’s demands to marry again and provide a MacDonald heir, up to the day his da had finally passed away. He’d made an empty promise to the man on his deathbed—that he would marry again.
He’d probably rot in hell for lying.
Sweet Brenna was certainly in heaven. Holding their child for eternity.
Hugh startled on Dubh’s back as her name floated into his mind.
Nay.
Don’t think of her.
Or remember the fear in her brown eyes the night they’d married. Hugh had been as gentle with her as he could manage. He’d been a fumbling lad of twenty, and she a lass of only six and ten.
He’d only had one previous lover at the time, and she’d been innocent.
