Then, a hint of contempt flashed on his features. He was mad, for certain, but the old Randall was in there, watching and waiting for the opportune moment to emerge.
I was sure of it.
“They tell me things,” he whispered, leaning forward and grabbing the edges of the two boats, his knuckles turning white from the force he exerted upon the wood. “About you. And Sam.” His head rolled to the side, his attention narrowing in on my wife.
Growling, I leaned forward, blocking her with my arm.
Randall contemplated Mark. “But nothing about you,” he muttered, surprised. “I guess you aren’t important enough.”
Mark blinked, taken aback, thrown off by the comment.
Chortling, Randall ran his hand through his hair, attempting to smooth it.
Uncomfortable, the three of us watched him, quiet.
“You’re mad,” Samantha finally said. “Truly.”
Falling silent, Randall scowled at her. A beat passed and then he grinned, shaking a finger at her. “Mad, no. Enlightened, Sammy. I have seen the light of the gods and it was a terrifyingly wonderful glow. The plans they have . . .” His lips curled, like he was a hungry animal, picking at its prey. “I suppose you will have to wait and see how.”
“You’ll be dead before any of your plots come to fruition,” she answered, unsettled.
He shrugged. “They won’t allow it,” he whispered. “They have chosen me. As they chose you.”
“Enough,” I repeated unnerved by the focus and crazy way in which he was acting.
“You know I speak the truth.” Focusing on me, he cackled, the sound low and controlled. “You have seen for yourself, how the gods have graced her. Conversed with her. Chosen her to fulfil their designs. They sent her through time.” His expression darkened. “To me! They sent her to me, but you stole her from me on that beach, the very moment she appeared!”
Suddenly, he launched himself forward, his fingers extended, ready to dig into me.
Shoving Sam to the side, I rose to meet him, hissing as he gouged my arm. He kicked and clawed at me, drawing blood in several places.
Grabbing him by the cuff of his shirt, I wrestled with him, slapped repeatedly by his stump of an arm as I struggled to keep him from Samantha. “I said enough!” I roared, tossing him over the edge and into the water.
Angered, I pulled Sam to her feet, checking her for bruises. “Sorry I pushed ye,” I muttered, glancing to Randall as he surfaced and treaded the water, sputtering.
“I wasn’t hurt,” she replied, brushing me off. “He’s cut your face, though.” She touched the stinging scratch, frowning. Then, fuming at the rat in the water, she shook her head. “You should have killed him,” she muttered under her breath.
“People are looking,” I replied, motioning toward the shore, where a group of about five were gathered, watching curiously as we drifted by. “We’ve already drawn more attention than I wanted.”
Sighing, she sat. “I can’t wait until we never have to deal with Randall again.”
“Ye and me both, lass.” Leaning over the edge, I grabbed his arm, hauling him into the boat.
Knocking roughly on the wooden door, I hunched my shoulders against the rain, droplets dripping of the edges of my hat. Samantha stood in front of me, huddled in her cloak, her teeth chattering. Carefully, I drew her closer to me, offering her the warmth of my own cloak as well, wrapping the ends around her.
“Are you s-s-sure Mark can handle Randall on his own?” she asked, her teeth chattering.
“Aye,” I responded, despite not believing that in the slightest. “They’ll be fine. If the worst should occur, he can give Randall the vitriol.”
She nodded, pressing against me, her form shaking slightly.
Raising my fist, I banged on the door again, cursing as I glanced across the city street. “Ye’ll freeze to death before the healer opens the door at this rate,” I growled.
“Maybe she’s b-b-busy.”
The door cracked open, a small child peering at the both of us, eyes narrowed.
“What do ye want?” The lad spoke in his native tongue, distrust covering his features.
“We were told a healer lives here,” I answered, speaking Gaelic as well.
“Aye, one does. What business do ye have with my Gran?”
Grinning, I admired the boy’s attitude. He couldn’t have been more than nine, yet he guarded his door like a dog its dinner.
“My wife needs tending.” Nudging Sam forward, I smiled comfortably. “She’s not been well this past week.”
He studied her, eyebrows raising, and then nodded, slowly. “Very well. Bring her in.” Stepping to the side, he opened the door wide, glancing into the rainy street with distrust and trepidation.
We entered, myself squinting in the dark as the door slammed shut behind us. A large fire burned in the hearth, a barrel of peat logs resting beside the blaze. Herbs dried on the mantle, several different mortars and pestles set between the plants. In the corner, a bed sat, made nicely with a pallet visible beneath it. On the other side of the room, a wooden table and bench resided, covered in foliage and jars of salves. It was there the old woman sat, her form bent over a mixture she was stirring.
A shawl laid across her shoulders, her gray tresses twisted into a bun. Her dress was plain and threadbare, the apron covering it smeared with different stains. Wrinkled hands searched across the table, touching each thing carefully before she decided on what she wanted. I realized she was blind, her touch her darkened source of vision, the knowledge making the protectiveness of her grandson more sensible.
“Seanmháthair,” I entreated softly, removing my hat and passing it to the boy with Sam’s cloak. Continuing to speak in the language of my people, I addressed her further. “Will ye assist my wife?”
“What ails her?” Her voice was gruff and gravely, the tone low and carrying in the dark.
“I know not. Her stomach pains her, but she craves food. When she eats, she becomes sickly.”
Her ear turned toward us, blank eyes staring forward. Haltingly, she rose, motioning for Samantha.
“Come here, child,” she requested, surprising me by doing so in English. “I will see what I may do for ye.”
Obediently, Sam crossed to her, taking her hand.
The old woman sucked in a breath, beaming as she patted her fingers. “Ye’ve had quite the adventure, dearie,” she mused.
Confused, Sam glanced at me. “What do you mean?” she asked.
The healer chuckled. “Nothing. I have a touch of the sight, is all. One of the Uncommon People. I see ye overcoming many struggles.” She frowned, her brow wrinkling, and was silent.
Apprehensive, I remained by the door. The man I’d asked to point us in the direction of a healer failed to mention this one was a witch. Not that I expected her to help any less because of the fact, but the knowledge made me uneasy. Witches were disliked by The Order and my family—they were not to be trusted.
However, examining the grandmother, there was a stirring of peace inside me. I wondered if it was a spell of calmness she’d cast on me, or if I simply recognized a good soul when our paths crossed.
“Yer sickness comes from within,” she explained slowly. “And I sense a pain inside. But, it is healing, which is good. Tell me, have ye lost a child?”
Sam paled.
“I did,” she replied quietly. “Some time ago. I’m moving on as best I can.”
“And move on ye shall.” The old woman laughed, a sparkle entering her vacant gaze. “For yer sickness is caused by another wee one, growing inside ye at this very moment.”
I froze. Sam had assured me that wasn’t the case. However, I couldn’t stop the thread of hope springing into being inside me. To be a father to a living child . . . despite the horrors I faced now, being blessed as such was a boon I desperately needed.
Sam snickered, unbelieving. “No, I’m afraid you’re wrong. I’m not pregnant.”
“And what makes ye
so certain?” The woman released her, going to her table and caressing the items she’d collected there.
“I take supplements to make sure I can’t conceive,” Sam said simply. Then, blushing, she grimaced at the young boy at the door. Lowering her voice, she inched closer, causing me to lean forward, attempting to listen.
“I haven’t missed my . . . you know.” She gestured to her abdomen. “I bled almost three weeks ago.”
“Some bleeding can occur at the start.” The old witch shrugged. “Believe ye me, I have made no mistake. I felt the life within ye as soon as I took yer hand. The sight is not wrong, dearie.”
Sam chuckled, though it was more strained than amused this time. “Trust me. There is no way I can be pregnant.”
Clicking her tongue, the healer faced us once more. “If ye refuse to have faith in me now, ye will accept soon enough I am right. Ask the entire city if ye like. I have never given a wrong diagnosis.”
Stressed, Sam peered at me, her expression asking for help.
“We than ye for yer service, Seanmháthair,” I stressed quickly, searching for a way to appease my wife. “Is there anything ye can give her to aid the sickness, in the meantime?”
The woman smiled, revealing a small jar hidden in her apron. “This tea will ease the aches and discomfort of her body. It is safe to drink a healthy dose of, should you wish.”
She placed the glass container in Sam’s palm and closed her fingers around it. “Ye’ll be yerself before ye know it.”
“Thank you.” Sam replied, grateful but stressed all at once.
“It was my pleasure.”
She turned to me then, her brow furrowing. “Ye’ll need something more, for yer journey. Come here, man. Let me look at ye.”
Pausing, I raised an eyebrow, not understanding how she could look at me if she was blind. All the same, I went to her side, allowing her to touch me.
Her hands traveled up my arms, over my shoulders, across my neck, and onto my face. She paused there, biting her lower lip, her fingers exploring the planes until she came to my eyes, placing her thumbs on the lids as I closed them.
Muttering imperceptibly, she applied pressure, water suddenly coating my sockets.
Stepping away, I blinked, caught off guard. A beautiful, young woman in a blue dress, stood in the grandmother’s place. Long, white locks curled to her waist, and eyes that were a startling amount like my father’s stared back at me.
Rubbing my brow, I looked again, finding the old grandmother waiting there, expectantly.
“What was that?” I asked her.
“A gift,” she responded coolly. “To use when ye have need of it.”
Looking at Sam, I watched as she shrugged, apparently having not seen what I had.
“Ye will need to travel to the Hill of Tara,” the old crone continued, sitting on her bench and pulling the concoction she’d been making toward her.
“Excuse me?” Bewildered, I jumped slightly as I caught sight of the little boy. He was somewhat impish now, with pointed ears and sharp teeth barely visible beneath his lips.
“The spirits are calling ye home, are they not?”
My attention immediately drew back to her. “How did ye know that?” I asked weakly, my mouth going dry.
She grinned knowingly, mixing her ingredients together slowly.
Blinking, I imagined I saw the young woman in her place once more, the image causing my nerves to jump to full alert.
“What are ye?” I demanded. “What have ye done to me?”
“Tristan.” Concerned, Samantha moved to my side, taking my hand. “Let’s go,” she urged.
Glancing her way, I saw the fear and uncertainty she was displaying. It calmed me, pointing me in the direction to go.
“We thank ye,” I offered, stiffly. “Have a good evening.”
“Ye must stand on the stone and declare yourself,” she continued, ignoring my farewell. “They will not be able to come with ye if ye don’t. They haven’t been invited. Ye must take them in yerself and ye won’t be able to do that unless ye accept what ye are.”
Frozen, I watched as she continued to work. She knew I was going to the Otherworld, and that I wanted to take others with me. She was aware I’d conversed with spirits—that I had a mission to fulfill.
I was fairly certain she’d given me magic sight when she’d touched me. If that were the case, the woman before me was no witch and the boy who claimed to be her grandson was not of this world. The revelation made my skin crawl, my mind refusing to accept I was in the presence of fairies once more.
A defense I hadn’t realized I’d cultivated slammed into place, mentally. The last fairy I’d seen had taken my brother and destroyed my life as I knew it. There would be no trusting the creatures, no matter how helpful or inviting they were.
Glancing at Sam, gathering she knew none of what I was coming to accept, I felt the urge to whisk her away from harm. At the same time, such peace and happiness filled me. The witch, or fairy, or whoever she was would have spoken true.
We’d another child on the way, one of the daughters Rachel promised was coming when we met in the spirit world.
“Ye are a smart man. That will do ye well.” The old witch looked in my direction. “Handsome, too, if touch is any indication. Take yer wife and be well. I’ve done all I can for the pair of ye.”
Swallowing hard, I nodded. “I thank ye.”
“Yes, thank you,” Sam repeated, grasping me tightly.
The boy brought her cloak and my hat, offering them to the both of us with a smile. Again, I noticed his pointed ears and sharp teeth.
Resisting the urge to strike at him, I covered Sam and rushed her into the rain.
The door slammed shut behind us, the mystical duo retreating into their hiding place.
“You can’t seriously be telling me you believe her.” Sam laughed, sitting on the bed and folding her arms. Her wet hair dripped down her back, her face red from the cold. “I’m not pregnant, Tristan. You can’t bleed and have a baby at the same time. It’s not possible.”
“You agreed it could happen, right at the start,” I argued. “And I’m telling ye, that was no regular healer we saw!”
“I know, she was a witch. That doesn’t make her right!”
Groaning in frustration, I flopped beside her. “Why are ye so reluctant to accept what ails ye has such a simple cause?”
“Why are you so ready to agree I’m pregnant again?” There was an edge to her voice that made me look at her in surprise. “I can’t be doing this now! Not when we’re handling Randall and running from The Order!” She cradled her face, shaking her head. “It’s not supposed to happen like this. I’m not ready!”
She peeked at me with tear-filled eyes. “I can’t bring another baby into danger with me, only to lose it along the way. We were supposed to finish this and then have children, when they can be safe.”
“Samantha.” Sitting, I pulled her into my arms, letting her bury herself in my shirt. “Ye aren’t going to lose this one, love.”
“You don’t know that,” she responded fiercely, her voice muffled against me. “Something could be wrong with me. Rachel said there was nothing we could have done to save her. What if my body can’t bear children? I can’t handle going through another miscarriage, Tristan.”
“Ye won’t.” Sighing, I rested my chin on her. “Rachel also claimed to have sisters waiting to join us. The first is ready to make her appearance, no matter how unprepared we are. She is coming. I think somewhere inside yerself, ye know it to be true.”
She silently denied me, her tears soaking my shirt.
“Ye have all the signs,” I continued, gently coaxing her toward acceptance. “The sickness and aversion to smells. Ye were complaining I reeked of fish each night we were in Paris. Ye are not one to cry so often either, love, but here ye are, wetting my shirt. Don’t do yerself such a disservice by insisting ye cannot do it. Ye are managing the task as we speak!”
She sobbe
d harder, twisting the cloth in her tight clutches nervously, her body trembling as she released what I recognized as fear for the life of the child inside her. She may have suspected she was carrying it for a while, but refused to accept it because of what happened with the last.
“I will protect ye,” I reminded her. “Ye trust me to do so?”
She nodded, sniffling.
“No harm will come to ye, so long as I am with ye. I swear it on my father’s grave, lass.” It was as much a promise to myself as it was to her. She’d suffered in the past because I wasn’t able to protect her. She wouldn’t let me go to the Otherworld alone, especially after this revelation. She’d be coming along, and our child with her, trusting I’d remain true to my vow. I had to make sure she survived this journey unscathed and the child was born healthy.
I couldn’t let William MacDonald hang me for my crimes, either. I’d not leave my wife and child to fend for themselves in this world.
Slowly, I began formulating a plan. The pieces fell together in a haze, perhaps not fitting completely perfect, but I was pleased with the idea all the same. Hopefully, if it went as I hoped, I’d walk away from this ordeal with my head held high.
“What if I’m a terrible mother?” Mournful, Sam hiccupped, her tears subsiding. “I couldn’t save Rachel.” She touched her stomach, gently. “Who’s to say I won’t make the same mistakes?”
“Ye can’t live in the past, lass.” Chuckling, I realized the irony of what I’d uttered. “Well, not yer own, personal past. But, this is yer future, love. The only way ye’re going to discover if ye can do it or not is to try.”
She giggled, wiping her tears away. “I guess you’re right. I’m just so scared, Tristan. Having Randall nearby makes it worse.”
I glanced toward the door to the bedroom. I’d sent Mark and the bastard away as soon as we arrived, ordering them to eat downstairs in the main part of the house. Thankfully, neither of them objected, accepting the distressed expressions on our faces as reason enough to vacate the space.
Stolen Away : A Time Travel Romance (The Swept Away Saga Book 4) Page 21
