by Diane Darcy
“Likewise. I thought they’d burned you.” He teared up. Sniffed. Pressed a hand to his forehead. “Are...are you going to leave me here? Because of how I left you? And how I treated you at work?”
Samantha shook her head. “If I get out of this, you’re going with me. That’s always been the plan. I would never leave without you.”
He sobbed once, put a fist to his mouth, and nodded.
Malcolm slapped Jerry on the back of his head, sending him off balance, but he managed to catch himself. “Doona stand so close. I dinna wish the witch to have her familiar.”
Jerry staggered back.
Samantha seethed at this treatment. “Stop being a jerk. And I’m not a witch.”
Malcolm turned his eerie blue eyes on her. “You’d better be.” For the first time his tone held real menace. He let go of her, grabbed Jerry by the neck, and shook him. “Ask her.”
“Do you...do you have the crown?” Jerry stammered. “Or know where it is?”
She shook her head.
At that, Malcolm rushed forward to yell in her face. “Liar! I desire that crown, and I want it now. I know of your powers and you will conjure a spell and retrieve it forthwith.”
Samantha didn’t shrink back, but she wanted to. Insultingly, she wiped at her face, instinctively knowing that showing weakness before this man would be a mistake. “What do you want it for?”
Malcolm backhanded Jerry in the chest, and puffed up his own.
“When...” Jerry swallowed. “When he puts the crown on his head, he will be King of Scotland.”
Samantha’s mouth parted. “Ah. Gotcha.” The man was all-the-way crazy. Good to know.
Malcolm shoved her. “Get started. Get me the crown, or burn.” He pointed at the woodpile.
She barely retained her balance. “Okay. All right, already. Give me a minute to think.”
The man watched her as if he expected her to pull it out of thin air. Maybe he did. She glanced at the woodpile. Ian couldn’t be that far behind. He would follow, she was sure of that. Pretty sure. Where had he gone earlier? Would Tori find him in time?
She drew in a shaky breath. Would others come for her if he couldn’t be found? What she had to do now was stall.
~~~
Ian and his heavily armed men rode fast. Surely they couldn’t be that far behind the Campbells? He was confident they’d taken her to Campbell Keep, and not out in the middle of nowhere. Not hidden where he couldn’t find her. What would be the point?
Riders had obviously passed this way recently. There was no way to tell who, though, and that’s what had him sweating. He thought about Marshall, and how he must have felt when they’d taken Gillian, and had a bit more sympathy for the guy.
A very little bit.
At least Gillian hadn’t been captured by a bloody madman.
When Tori had found him, it had taken a while to get the tale from the hysterical girl. He’d retrieved the wretched crown, once more letting everyone know where he’d spent the morning hiding it, blast it. He’d gathered his weapons, and followed. If he had to, he’d give up the crown and recover it later. And hope the king didn’t get wind of the tale.
Above all, he would find her. Then he’d kill Campbell. The minute he arrived, he’d challenge the unbalanced lunatic who dared abduct his lady.
For the part Willie played, he could stay with the Campbells forever. That should be punishment enough.
Tension knotted his shoulders and ran down his spine. When had Samantha come to mean so much to him? If they’d hurt her...he couldn’t think on that now. It would weaken him when he must be at his strongest.
He would get her back. And when he did, he would convince her, once and for all, to stay with him forever.
~~~
“I could really use a potty break right about now.”
Mad Malcolm’s brows crashed together. “Aye?”
“I need to pee.”
He made a Scottish noise of disgust deep in his throat. “So pee.”
She made to move away and was stopped. So much for her ploy to run away. “A little privacy?”
“You have none.”
“Ah. Well, I’m really quite hungry.”
“I dinna care! You’re not giving me anything. I think Jerry a better conjurer than you. You are both liars!”
Samantha didn’t like the sound of that. She wanted to distract him, not disillusion him. “No, I am a great and powerful seer.” That reminded her of the Wizard of Oz. What had Glinda the good witch told Dorothy? The power is in her? Well if Samantha was going to get out of this alive she’d better find some of that power in a hurry. Too bad she couldn’t sing—but even if she could, she didn’t think a rendition of Follow the Yellow Brick Road would get her out of this. “I’ve been very patient with you, but if you don’t let me go, I’ll cast a spell on the lot of you.”
Malcolm looked excited by the prospect. “Show me.”
Great. He wasn’t supposed to call her on it. She wracked her brain and tried to remember a good witch spell. Maybe Shakespeare’s Macbeth could help her out. If she could remember any of it.
She cleared her throat. “Um...double, double, toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.” She couldn’t remember any more from the witches. Oh, wait. “By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.”
She drew in a breath. “What’s done cannot be undone. Out, out brief candle. Fair is foul, and foul is fair, hover through fog and filthy air. Out, damned spot! Out, I say! To sleep, perchance to dream. I’ll get you, my pretties.” Oh wait, that was The Wizard of Oz again.
Malcolm looked up at her, more confused than impressed. Finally he shook his head. “’Tis not working. Perhaps if I burn you and drink your ashes, I can take your powers for myself. Ha ha. Ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha!” He ceased laughing just as quickly as he’d started. “Tie her up.”
Samantha raised her hands, palms forward. “No wait. I think I have it. If you’ll just give me a little more time.”
Malcolm smirked. “Time is up.”
“I thought you wanted the crown. If I’m dead, The MacGregor won’t give it to you.”
Malcolm shrugged. “We shall see.” The man had the attention span and planning ability of a child.
Two burly, sour-smelling men seized her, hauled her into the woodpile, and, when bucking and tugging didn’t free her, she kicked at the wood, making wood and straw fly into the crowd.
“And her feet.” Malcolm ordered.
She kicked and cursed but within minutes she was tied tight to the beam, hands behind her, legs bound.
Not again. Something akin to a panic attack started low in her belly and clawed its way upward.
“Stack the wood.”
About ten people rushed forward to do just that.
Samantha, her breath escalating, felt herself panicking.
Jerry rushed to Malcolm and threw himself to his knees. “Please don’t do this. I’m begging you. She is powerful. I swear it. You just have to give her a chance. You can’t rush greatness—”
Malcolm shoved Jerry to the ground. He walked back and forth in front of her, smiling, as if surveying his handiwork, as people scrambled to get out of his path.
“I am great. The blood of warriors runs in my veins. Royalty, as well. When the crown is mine, and when I display my great weapon,” he patted a small bag that hung from his waist, “Then all will fall before me. As soon as I have the crown—”
Sheesh. Yada, yada, yada. Samantha stopped listening, took a breath, and interrupted the guy. “You force me to reveal myself. I am a great and powerful witch!” She felt a little silly saying it, bound as she was, but she had to work with what she had.
Malcolm stopped, a look of triumph on his face. “Aye?”
“Yes. And as you force me to reveal myself, I will now predict the future.” Where the heck was Ian?
“There will be a ninth crusade.”
That seemed to spark little interest in Malcolm or in
anyone.
“Edward the 1st of England will invade Scotland.”
Blank stares. “Who?” someone in the crowd asked.
“I’m predicting the future here. Sheesh, have some respect, or at least a little imagination.” She paused. “Okay, there will be a battle at Stirling Bridge.”
She detected zero interest.
“The Knights Templar will be rounded up and murdered by Philip of France. There will be a battle at Bannockburn.”
No one seemed to care.
“Come on, guys. This is important. Robert the Bruce will restore Scotland’s independence.”
They looked around at each other.
She sighed. “The Black Death will ravage Europe and kill half of the population.”
That seemed to get their attention. Eyes widened as they looked at each other. The words Black Death were whispered about.
“The bible’s going to be translated. Then you can all read it for yourselves.”
No interest. Back to the plague then. “But only half of the population will be able to read it because the others will be dead from the Black Death.” She said it in a scary tone.
She looked at Jerry and shrugged.
“Go on,” Jerry encouraged. “Tell them more.”
She milked Jack the Ripper for a while, couldn’t interest anyone in the battle on Culloden Moor or the Renaissance. She could tell almost the precise moment Malcolm’s confusion turned to boredom.
She remembered the advice from her boss to make them laugh. They didn’t seem too interested in history, but if she get them laughing, supposedly she’d have them all in the palm of her hand. She wracked her brain, and tried to remember jokes from the late night comics she’d heard. If only her mind weren’t completely blank where jokes were concerned.
Wait a minute. She did have something...
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ian’s stomach felt hollow, sick.
But at least the trail had widened, allowing them to ride hard again. He couldn’t remember traveling ever taking such a wretched length of time. The longer this dragged out, the more tense and frantic he became.
Why did Malcolm want her? To exact revenge? To possess the crown? Or to possess her?
Ian teeth clenched and he considered all she’d told him—her talk of this future point in time she’d come from. Insanity, of course, and yet it would explain much. She was so different. She seemed to come from nowhere. She knew things she should not.
Or was she simply a spy, and mayhap Malcolm knew more about her than he’d let on? Wouldn’t spying explain her presence? Was it not much more probable?
The ride seemed endless, longer than ever before, and doubts and questions arose as they rode ever closer to Campbell land. What if she escaped her captors? Where would she go? Could he lose her forever? He should have insisted she answer his questions until he’d believed she told the truth.
Why hadn’t he?
Because Samantha was like a flame to him, leaving him craving the light after all the darkness, and he’d take whatever she’d give. Her hair, her laughter, the way she looked at him, her curious nature, her wild stories—his chest twisted with emotion. He’d never felt like this about another. She was his. He’d earned her. If not for him, she would not be alive. He wished to find her, protect her, keep her, and it slowly killed him to not know that she was safe.
If she was a spy, or from some future point, he’d keep her anyway. His by right and might.
She could make a life with him. Marry him. Having her whisked away, knowing her to be in very real danger made one point very clear. He did not wish to live without her. The thought of losing her in any way was... it was unacceptable.
He urged his horse on. She’d best be alive, else he’d deliver merciless revenge.
~~~
Ten minutes later, she was still going strong. “Knock-knock.”
“Who’s there?” The crowd yelled, already smiling again.
“Witch.”
“Witch who?”
“Which one of you is going to untie me and let me go?”
The crowd exploded with laughter. Too bad she wasn’t joking that time.
She felt like a standup comic with some really bad jokes that for reasons unknown to her, worked. Mad Malcolm was laughing as hard as anyone, his face upturned as he waited for more. After only two remembered funny stories, she’d had to resort to the knock-knock jokes, but it was keeping everyone, especially Malcolm, well entertained. Too bad she was running out of material. And too bad he didn’t want her as court jester.
“Iva.” Jerry threw out, trying to help her.
She smiled her gratitude. “Knock-knock.”
“Who’s there.”
“Iva.”
“Iva who?”
“Iva sore hand from knocking.”
More laughter.
She released a shaky breath and tried to think of another. Jerry shrugged helplessly then stammered out, “Romeo and Juliet!”
Yes. Of course. Back to Shakespeare. It worked for The Bard, it could work for her too. “Two households, both alike in dignity,” Um... how did it go exactly? “In the city of Verona. Two foes lived. And a pair of star crossed lovers.” Ugh. Apparently she was no Shakespeare. She gulped in air. “So here’s the thing. There were these two, young, star-crossed lovers who fell desperately in love. And you aren’t going to believe what happened to them.”
“What?” the crowd, now used to participating, yelled back.
Fifteen minutes later, two men ran out of the forest to the edge of the crowd. “MacGregor’s been spotted! He’s coming fast!”
Samantha wilted in relief, glad to be done with the Capulets and Montagues. She doubted anyone would have recognized them in her hands anyway.
Malcolm let out a whoop of excitement, then took off. He stopped, turned back, and said, “Hurry! Burn her.”
“Seriously?” Her temper flared. “After all that? Burn me?”
But he was no longer listening, his face alight with a gleeful madness as he faced the trees.
~~~
“Burn her?” Ian’s jaw tightened as disbelief roared through him. After the long ride, not knowing if he’d even find Samantha at the end of it, hearing those words incensed him and he checked the urge to knock Campbell to the ground.
No one moved.
His teeth clenched hard. “Burn her?” Feeling dangerous, Ian glared down at Malcolm. The man was truly insane to command such in his hearing. Ian dismounted. Brecken, Dugald, and Quinn landed on the ground behind him.
Samantha was tied to a stake, again, firewood surrounding her, but at least she was still alive.
Malcolm laughed and bowed slightly. “Welcome to Campbell Keep.”
Ian glanced around. Campbell had far more men than he’d anticipated, and unarmed villagers stood about. He did not wish to kill innocents.
“Let the girl go.”
Malcolm stepped back. “Mm. No.”
“Then fight me for her life, and the lives of those who will die if we battle this day.”
Malcolm smiled. “The winner gets the witch? I accept.”
Ian removed his sword. The man truly was insane if he thought he had a chance of winning against him.
Malcolm turned. “Clear the area before the witch. I desire her to see my triumph.”
“But ye said to burn her,” Willie protested.
Ian’s mouth tightened. Before he could say anything, Malcolm turned in a circle his arms outstretched. “Now! I want her to watch.”
Willie grunted in disgust, but everyone shifted back and Ian could see Samantha was tightly bound inside the woodpile, but he couldn’t tell if she’d been hurt. “Are you injured, lass?”
She shook her head. “A little nervous about my location, and stray embers, but otherwise I’m fine. My hands stopped hurting after they went numb, so the quicker you can end this, the better.”
He smiled at her sass. Bowed. “As my lady desires.”
He turned to face Malcolm, who still didn’t have a sword. He narrowed his eyes. “Do ye need me to supply you wi’ a weapon?”
Malcolm, eyes gleaming with passion, a huge smile animating his face, lifted his cupped hand and opened it. A small bit of metal dangled from a fine chain attached to an overlarge ring on his finger. “I already have one.”
Ian stared at the guy. Did the man mean to clutch a bit of metal and fight with his fists? “Truly? You wish to fight me hand to hand?” Not that swordplay against the man would last either, but using fists against this under-trained weakling seemed ridiculous.
Malcolm laughed. He clutched the bit of metal once more and pressed his thumb into his fingers. A brilliant red light shot from the base of his hand, into the dirt, as unnatural as demon fire and twice as sharp.
Ian stilled as the crowd gasped. When the beam landed in the dirt in front of him, he jumped backward and tried to avoid the red line that pooled into a small circle by his feet. The darkening sky emphasized the color of hellfire.
Mad Malcolm laughed long and loud. “And you thought I dinna have a weapon.” He cackled again and danced the beam closer to Ian, forcing his retreat once more.
Disbelieving, Ian looked from the beam spreading into a small circle at his feet to the man holding it and chills broke out on his entire body as fear crawled up his spine. “What wickedness is this?”
Malcolm laughed and when Ian made to walk around the beam, pointed it into the grass in front of him, blocking his progress, then making him back up as he raised the ray to the tips of Ian’s boots.
“’Tis a laser beam. Powerful magic. The male witch learned it from the female. Wi’ this weapon in my arsenal, none can defeat me. Now, hand over the crown that I might take my rightful place among kings.” Malcolm laughed again, while Ian lifted his gaze from the beam to look at Samantha...who tried to stifle laughter?
Ian’s brows drew together. “What magic is this? Are you truly a witch then?”
Samantha shook her head and started laughing out loud.
