by Diane Darcy
“Canopic jars?”
“Mm hmm. When Egyptians made mummies of corpses, the process required them to remove all the organs. The brain, heart, liver, lungs, stuff like that, and they put them in storage vessels called Canopic jars.”
Ian noticed those around them had stopped eating to stare. Most knew of Egypt—but this. This was telling. She was well-traveled, and no doubt wealthy to have voyaged to such places. “And your grandfather let you play with such items?”
“Well,” she winked at him. “I didn’t let him catch me.”
He bit back a smile. “Hmm. I dinna have any such jars for you to look at, us not keeping wi’ the heathen vision of slicing up our dead, but we’re not completely without foul stories to interest one like yourself. Mind you, ’tis difficult to compete wi’ such grisly practices as pouring your dead into vessels, but I don’t think ye’ll fall to sleep.”
More kinsmen openly stared now as the tables around them quieted.
Samantha chuckled. “Give it your best shot. I’ll try to stay awake.”
“Weel, ’tis said that a baby was purchased from its mother and buried alive under the first wall to hold the devil from this keep.”
Her mouth fell open. “That’s horrible. If anything, wouldn’t that draw the forces of evil to your door?”
“Hmm. Mayhap. ’Tis said several virgins reside within the walls, as well.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Ew.”
Ian smiled. “There were once three horses, perfectly matched, and favorites of the laird. His pride and joy. One stepped into a hole, broke its leg and threw the laird’s only son, breaking his neck and killing him instantly. In a fit of passion, the laird killed all three horses. Remorseful, filled with pain, he killed himself. After the horses rotted, a tree sprang up among their bones, covered with red flowers, and ’tis said they are tears of regret.”
“That’s fascinating, but terrible at the same time. Tell me a good story. A love story.”
“Are ye sure?” he teased. “I’d never figure a girl such as yourself, one who played wi’ the innards of the dead, to care for romance.”
“Then I guess you don’t know me as well as you think.” She spooned some pottage into her mouth.
“Hmm. All right then. Connie, a braw lad, once met a girl by the river. As beautiful a girl as ever did live. He watched her bathing—”
She tore her roll apart and dipped a piece in gravy. “So he was a voyeur.”
“A what?”
“A creepy guy who spies on young girls.”
“You’re takin’ the romance out of this, lass. Do ye wish to hear or d’ye not?”
She rested her elbow on the table, and palmed her chin. “Sorry.”
“So our Connie, gone these twenty-five years or more now—”
“Did he die of a broken heart?”
“Are ye tellin’ the tale or am I?”
“Sorry.”
“He noticed a pelt on the side of the river and realized the girl was a selkie.”
“Really?”
“You ken a selkie?”
“A seal girl?”
“Aye, and he says to himself, Connie my lad, ’tis said selkies make wonderful wives and mothers, and to have such a beauty for a wife would suit me just fine. So he rushed forward, snatched the pelt, and burned it. The girl, a sad lass for the rest of her days, did marry him and act as a good wife should.”
Samantha’s face twisted with disgust. “You call that a romance? It sounds more like a kidnapping and worse to me.”
Those within earshot roared with laughter.
Ian grinned. “Aye, to be sure. Some of the best marriages have started that way. Where else was she to go?”
Samantha’s lips twisted. “If a guy did that to me, I certainly wouldn’t marry him. I’d marry his best friend and let him watch me make his friend happy instead. Very happy.”
Everyone laughed again.
“It’s a failure as a romance. Is that all you’ve got?”
“What about Ewan?” Brecken called out.
Ian nodded. “Ah, a good, romantic tale there. There is a crumbling wall out next to the chapel. One cold winter’s day, Ewan the armorer walked beside it and did stub his frozen toe badly and young Jenny did wrap it. He kissed her and her mother caught them at it, and they were forced to marry and had three children.”
Samantha looked at him stony-eyed. “You’re terrible at this.”
There was more laughter from those nearby.
Ian widened his eyes, trying to hide his amusement in an innocent expression. “’Tis a true story, lass. No one died or was kidnapped. All ended weel.”
She waved a hand. “Whatever. I—”
Young Fergus rushed in, breathless, and charged directly to Ian’s side. “Laird Campbell is at the gates wi’ twenty men demanding entrance.”
Ian considered as everyone quieted. The man was peculiar. He could be here to demand his cattle back. Or mayhap to make peace or to trade for the winter. But with Mad Malcom there truly was no telling. Elbows on the table, he clasped his hands and pressed index fingers against his lips. Finally, he took a breath. “Let Campbell in, invite him to dine, but deny his men entrance. If he willna come alone, turn him away.”
Fergus nodded once and was off.
Janetta and the others scooted down on the bench and Ian had more food brought and set out.
Minutes later, Laird Campbell strode into the room and halted. His white blond hair seemed to glow in the torchlight as his uncanny barely-blue eyes surveyed the room. No one stood and nothing was said. After a slight pause, he headed directly for Ian.
“I’ve come to kill the witch in the tower.”
“Thank you, ’tis neighborly, but she’s long gone.” Ian gestured toward the bench, the food. “Help yourself.”
Malcolm laughed, the sound slightly off. “I jest. Though I did hear tale of a girl wi’ sinful hair.” Malcolm sat next to Ian, glanced about as if to ensure privacy though there was none. “I’m actually here,” he whispered, “to take possession of the crown.”
The hair on the back of Ian’s neck rose. “The crown?”
“The king’s crown. I know you have it.”
Ian forced himself to stay relaxed, but it wasn’t easy. Was there no one who did not know of the prize in his possession? Was knowledge of it being bantered about the country? “Where did you hear such a tale?”
“A fool wandered in from your village wi’ just such an account.”
Samantha leaned forward. “Do you mean Jerry? Do you know Jerry Callahan? Is he with you?”
Campbell turned his gaze onto Samantha and Ian had to resist the urge to block her from view. But he did nothing, not wishing the man to target her out of belief she had importance to him.
Campbell smiled slyly. “I know him.”
“Is he here? Did you bring him?”
“Nay. He’s at Campbell Keep. What know you of him?”
“He’s a friend of mine.”
Malcolm waved a hand, thankfully losing interest. “The Crown of Scotland? Give it to me or I’ll kill you and take it.”
Ian blinked. The man truly was daft.
Quinn glanced around and asked, “What speaks he of?”
Brecken kicked Quinn under the table and the man flinched.
Malcolm laughed. “Your own men dinna know you have it? Interesting. How have you kept it hidden?”
Samantha spoke up. “If Ian really did have the crown, and if you managed to kill him, the crown would be lost forever.”
Laird Campbell glared at Samantha. “Mayhap I will kill you, ere I dinna possess the crown.”
Ian considered throwing the man in the pit. He’d no doubt be doing the Campbells a favor. “Why do ye desire it?” Ian asked.
“So I can rule Scotland as king.”
“Ah.” Ian lifted a brow. “By wearing the crown ye’ll be king?”
“Aye. Of course.”
“I’m going to have to decline your offer,” Ian said. “I
’ll keep what’s mine.”
Malcolm whipped out a blade, and incredulous, Ian grabbed his wrist. Squeezed. The man truly was mad.
Ian’s men rose, several benches toppling backward.
“Hold,” Ian demanded.
Malcolm resisted and ineffectually tried to thrust the blade toward Ian.
Ian squeezed harder, considered breaking the man’s wrist, but resisted. The man was so pitiful, and so obviously sliding into madness, it would feel as if he browbeat the weak. Why didn’t the Campbells take care of the situation? He’d no desire to war with them over a madman.
Finally Campbell moaned and dropped the dagger, which Quinn snatched up. Ian released the man.
Malcolm held his wrist to his chest, massaging it, glaring. “The crown is mine.”
“Return him to his men.”
Brecken rounded the table, stern and unbending for once. “But he threatened ye in yer own home. Threatened the lady. Shouldna we—”
“His men won’t follow him forever. He’s their problem to deal wi’, no’ mine.”
Brecken and Quinn grabbed Laird Campbell.
“Wait.” Malcolm twisted his head. “Let everyone here know that Ian MacGregor holds The Crown of Scotland. ’Tis worth a fortune. Any who brings it to me will be handsomely rewarded.” His eyes met Ian’s. “Now let’s see you hide it as all these prying eyes watch your every move.”
Irritation rose within Ian and he considered the pit once more. He didn’t need this sort of vexation. He watched as Quinn and Brecken wrestled the man from the hall with Dugald following. He’d like to silence the fool, but he was barmy, and Ian didn’t fight with the daft.
He looked around at the interested faces. Heard the whispers start and wondered if hiding the piece in the chapel was such a good idea, after all. Samantha hadn’t known of the spot, but that didn’t mean others did not.
Blast it, he was going to have the move the bothersome thing, wasn’t he? He sighed long and loud as he considered his options. Leave it? Move it? Return it?
He drummed his fingers on the table. Deliberated. Took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He might as well take it back to the king now that everyone knew of it.
Before the tale reached His Majesty’s ears.
~~~
The next day excitement rose high among everyone as Ian, Samantha, and his men readied themselves to attend the tournament at Stirling. Servants rushed to and fro, fetching and sorting, as they finished loading a couple of pack horses with food and ale for the journey. The men and lads to accompany Ian gossiped and prattled, their spirits high.
Ian sighed, trying to stem annoyance. He wished he shared in their anticipation. He didn’t want to go, but ‘twas not as if he had a choice. Everyone not only knew of the crown, they now knew its exact location, for ‘twas wrapped and packed on the back of Dugald’s horse, as the man himself stood watch.
Ian grimaced as he tightened the cinch on his saddle. He’d overreacted. When he’d come out the window of the chapel the night before, crown in hand, trying to decide whether or not to replace it, two boys had run off, no doubt to spread the tale.
He was usually a bit more canny.
This was Samantha’s fault for digging it up. No one would have ever found it if not for her. And no doubt, she’d be the first he had to watch.
Hands on hips, he glanced upon horses at the ready. Quinn and ten others had already mounted. Quinn watched Brecken whisper excitedly to Tori as she smiled and gazed into his eyes, nodding. Beth bustled about giving the men last-minute instructions and double-checking they’d all the supplies they’d need. Janetta fussed and, when she approached Brecken, Tori ran off.
Samantha stood beside her mount. She wore a new dress, brown in color, and sturdy for travel. Her hair shone with a definite purple hue in the sunlight, but unlike the red, would likely not get her burned alive. Beth had assured Ian that Samantha was properly outfitted, no doubt with some of his father’s wife’s altered clothing. He well knew they couldn’t appear before the king without respectable attire. His Majesty would deem such behavior an insult.
He’d considered leaving Samantha behind, but Dugald was the only one he’d trust to keep her safe in his absence, and he needed Dugald with him.
He walked over to talk to his friend. “Ready?”
Dugald studied his fingernails. “As ever.”
“The king...he’s going to be difficult. But I havna signed on to joust, so....”
Dugald’s mouth quirked in one of his rare half-smiles. “Willna matter. If the king bids you fight for him, ye’ll fight.”
Aye, true enough, and aught he could do about it. He sighed, long and loud. “I’ll bring my banner just in case.”
Dugald’s grin widened in genuine amusement. “Aye. And your fighting sword...just in case. And ye might as well bring your helmet, and armor. And more weapons. Just in case.”
Ian shot him a filthy look, then turned and headed for the doors of the keep.
Dugald called after him. “It looks like rain.”
Biting off a curse, Ian kicked a rock out of his way, and the rare sound of Dugald’s laughter followed him.
~~~
Later that night, after a hard day of travel, Samantha lay inside Ian’s tent, wrapped in a blanket, another folded beneath her, head on a small pillow. As she was the only woman present, he’d insisted she share with him and Dugald.
Like she would object.
She was exhausted, a bit damp, and needed to warm up and sleep. She’d planned to talk to Ian about the crown, but he hadn’t moved in the last ten minutes and she didn’t have the heart, or the will, to wake him. He lay beside her, Dugald sleeping by their feet. Or at least where their feet would be. Samantha was curled in a ball trying to stay warm. She suspected Ian did the same.
Tomorrow they’d have another long day of travel to their destination. She wouldn’t let him avoid her again, and would talk to him during the journey.
She tried to still the chattering of her teeth. What she wouldn’t give for a car right about now. With a heater. And a well-paved road to drive it on. And a Hilton. The drive from Edinburgh to Inverdeem had only taken two hours. From Inverdeem to Stirling the ride would be shorter. She was now qualified to say that travel by car beat travel by horse any day of the week.
Not that she wasn’t used to roughing it. She’d tented it often enough on excavations. But with super nice tents that guarded against rain and wind. And lovely sleeping bags that kept her nice and warm. And air mattresses. Even in bad weather she was used to being cozy, warm, snug, and having a light source. And an iPad with occasional Internet.
She sighed.
It was pitch black. Ropes and rocks strategically held down the edges of the loudly flapping tent, but it really wasn’t too bad. It was medieval Scotland, after all. She suspected Ian was used to travel and this was a comfortable set up for the time. It could have been worse. After traveling in the drizzle, she was just glad to be semi-warm and mostly dry.
She wished she had the nerve to snuggle closer to Ian. Maybe he was a light sleeper...but maybe he wasn’t. She shivered, taking turns placing a foot on her opposite leg in an attempt to warm them.
Dugald started to snore.
She heard Ian roll over; almost like the sound was a signal he’d been waiting for. “Are you cold, lass?” he whispered.
“It’s not too bad.” She whispered back. When he didn’t say anything else, she brought up the subject that had been on her mind all day. “Ian, what are your plans for the crown?”
He made a noise in his throat. “It matters not to you. Ye’ll never have it.”
She didn’t like the sounds of that. She’d considered that if Ian gave up the crown, as she suspected he was intending, chances were she’d never see it again. If she could just steal it from him, put it on, then perhaps she’d travel back to her own time and could drive to Campbell land, put it on again, and fetch Jerry. The plan seemed silly and whimsical, but it was all she
had for the moment. She should have looked harder for it when she’d had the chance. “Where’s it been hidden this whole time?”
“Under the altar.”
“But you knew that I knew about that spot!”
He chuckled. “Mayhap I reckoned you’d not check a second time.”
She exhaled a tremulous breath, could tell he was grinning in the darkness, and couldn’t help it, she snickered. She really liked this guy. It would be difficult to leave him behind. Especially knowing someone was out to kill him. Could she talk him into going with her? Maybe. She’d cross that bridge when she came to it. “Can’t you just let me use it? I’ll give it back after, I swear.”
He sighed. “And when you disappear wi’ it? What do I give to the king when he asks? It’s been placed in my care and I’ll not forfeit it. Not even for you.”
That seemed to imply she was somehow special and she was suddenly very aware of him lying not two feet from her. “You don’t really believe I’ll disappear with it. Why not just let me hold it?” She shivered again.
“Be glad ’tis such a balmy summer’s night. In the winter, ’tis dreadful.”
“Way to change the subject.”
He chuckled.
“Have you traveled much in winter?”
“A fair bit. I try not to whenever possible.”
She heard him move. “What of you?” His voice came from slightly above, as if he leaned on his elbow, facing her. His presence, closer now, made her heart speed, and set off a craving for his touch.
“Where I’m from, travel is about the same year round. We have vehicles with heaters to keep us warm.”
“The king has a warmer in one of his carriages.”
She smiled. “Man’s first car heater?”
He scooted closer to her. “Eh?”
Her heart thumped harder. “Nothing.”
She stretched her legs to try and ease some of the aches in her backside and she groaned.
He chuckled. “A bit saddle sore are ye?”
“A little. The cold is worse.”
“Give me your hands.”
She held out her hands and he engulfed them in his. “Oh, you’re so warm. That isn’t fair.”
