by Sarah Hoss
“He’s weary, aye? Take good care of him.” Hamish ruffled the boy’s dark-brown hair as he nodded and turned away.
“Aye, sir.” The boy started to walk away, then stopped. “Sir?”
Hamish turned around. “What do ye need?”
“Nuttin’, sir. Tis only that the Murdock man was here not two days past, asking’ around about ye. I only thought ye should know.”
He walked back to the boy and fished in his sporran for a coin. He flipped it in the air, then handed it over. “I thank ye.”
Hamish headed for the keep. As third in command of the Guards behind his brother, he needed to speak to the chief about his trip. Once inside, he took the stairs two at a time and made for his brother, James’s, room. He didn’t yet have a room at the castle as his title was new. He wanted to clean up and change into fresh clothes before presenting himself.
He still had his home out among the heather, near his brother, Alexander, and his sister, Margaret. He was established there and it was where he preferred to stay. Tonight, after he talked to the chief, he would ride for home and stay a few days.
He loved it there. The peace and quiet was a God-send. Being with the men and training with them was enjoyable, too, but the constant activity and noise of the castle wasn’t something he wanted to be around all the time.
He stood for a moment out in the hall, the path only lit by candle sconces that decorated the walls every six feet. He leaned back against the shadows and stared at the floor. The Murdock brothers still plagued his thoughts. He didn’t relish killing another man, even in war, but to have the situation go down as it had gnawed at him. Self-defense didn’t make the situation any easier, but knowing the past he’d had with the brothers, Cluny had readily believed him.
He slapped at the wall, then proceeded toward the chief’s quarters. He needed to give a report regarding his patrol. Half-way to the chief’s study, he stopped. A sound so faint he couldn’t quite make it out, yet something about it made the hair at the back of his neck prickle.
He listened, straining to catch the noise again. But there was only silence until—
Screaming.
Someone was yelling.
Something was wrong . . . verra, verra wrong.
He spun on his heels and flew down the stairs, his feet only touching every third step. He couldn’t shake the feeling of doom. Most likely, the arsonist had struck again. He prayed no one was hurt.
The further down the stairs he got, the more he understood. There was a fire. Damn. Someone’s field was ablaze and they needed every available hand to help put out the flames before it reached the house. Everyone grabbed an available bucket, bowl, or whatever else could hold water. Women took blankets and dunked them in water. Hamish searched the grounds for the Guards and found that they had already started organizing the detail. There had been a discussion about who could be burning down people’s fields and homes. Word was that a neighboring clan was bent on destruction. They had to find them; this would be the fifth field.
Hamish stopped in his tracks and grabbed the arm of the person nearest him. “Where is the fire?”
The man stilled, his face registering who spoke to him. “Tis yours, Captain.” The man tried to pull away at the same time Hamish let him go and he stumbled backward. His heart gripped tight in his chest, his breathing stilled as he took in the news. Muttering an oath under his breath, he ran as fast as his legs could carry him.
Margaret!
Was she still at his house? God, let her be in the fields with her husband or home tending to her children. He should have taken the pregnant cow to his sister’s farm instead of allowing her to come to his home, but she had insisted. In payment for her troubles, he’d promised to let them have the calf. He hated to leave at such a critical time, but duty had called and he’d had to go.
He ran out of the keep and straight for his horse. The young boy was still grooming Sabastian. Grabbing a hold of his mane, he swung up onto his back, causing the young boy to jump, then he took off for home, not taking the time to gather saddle or reins.
His horse’s hooves pounded the earth, sending chunks of dirt flying in the air as he made his way across the bailey. Jumping the three-foot-high rock wall, his destrier landed, causing Hamish to grip tighter with his thighs. They weaved in and out of the trees. A small branch flicked his cheek and it brought tears to his eyes. He grimaced at the sting but paid no more attention to it. The only thought on his mind was Margaret. Please, doona let her be there.
He barely registered the sound of his clansmen as they followed behind him. The moment he broke through the woods and came into the clearing, he pulled Sabastian’s mane but didn’t wait for the horse to halt before jumping from his back. The horse shied away, snorting.
The fire had already taken out his crops and now licked at the house. Flames hugged the left side and came around the front, creeping toward the front door. The smell of burning wood and hay was overwhelming. Thick smoke littered the air, making it impossible to see the blue of the sky.
The windows were open and the curtains billowed out, flapping against the wind and the flames. A spark took hold and they instantly were alight with fire. The boards of his home fought against the intrusion, but once the curtains caught, the wood gave in.
Hamish cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed, “Margaret!”
He had no idea if she was inside and not knowing scared him to death. The barn sat off to the side of the house, away from the field, and remained untouched by the flames. He ran there first. He threw open the doors and searched up and down the center aisle, leaning into each stall to look for her. After checking the place completely, he spun in a circle. He opened and closed his fists several times. He could hear the roar of the fire and the sound of his clansman as they gathered near the house. He had to see for himself that she wasn’t in there. He had to make sure she was safe.
His legs pumped with all their might, carrying him toward the house. Someone tried to stop him, but he brushed past them and leapt through the blanket of smoke in the doorway. Overcome with the amount of smoke in the house, he coughed. Not able to catch his breath, he placed his shirt over his mouth and nose. His eyes watered and he blinked trying to focus. Standing in the center of the room, he spun in a circle, searching. As he started to turn away, he saw her. His sister was lying on the floor near the bed. The shelf that hung on the wall had fallen and a box that sat on the shelf lay broken on the ground around her feet. Her head lay near the edge of the bed and blood trickled down her forehead.
As he rushed to her, the flames reached the blankets and her dress. Taking hold, they began to burn like kindling. He bent to her just as the corner of the ceiling caved in. He jumped back, paralyzed for a moment, then ran to her again, taking hold of the edge of her dress. Flames grabbed his fingers and he let go shaking his hand. More ceiling fell around him and just as he started to reach for her a third time, he began to feel dizzy. He took deep breaths trying to recover, but to no avail. He swayed and reached out to steady himself, only finding a wall of smoke. His hand pushed through and he fell.
“Margaret . . .” was the last thing his hoarse voice whispered before darkness took him.
Chapter 3
Olde City, Pennsylvania.
October 31, 2012
The plush leather chair Gillian sat in stuck to her skin and made a funny noise as she adjusted herself, folding her feet up under her. She rocked slowly back and forth, detaching her skin from the chair, then stilled and stared at nothing in particular on the wall in front of her. The phone rang, causing her to jump and scream.
She hit the speaker button.
“Gillian, are you there?”
“Tara?”
“Of course it’s me. Are you all right?”
She picked up the handset and turned it on. “Yah, I’m fine. Why?
” Gillian’s brows furrowed.
“Gillian Meadows, the rule has always been to text each other when we get home and last night you never did. I was worried about you.”
Guilt washed through her. Fuck. “I’m sorry, Tara, really. When I finally made it home, I was so tired that I actually fell asleep in my chair.”
There was silence on the other end. Gillian sighed. She wanted to tell her friend what had happened but she couldn’t muster the right words to begin. She turned to glance at the large decorative clock that hung on the wall behind her.
She rose and walked into the kitchen to get a drink. Caffeine, that was what she needed. She reached into the fridge and grabbed a can of soda and an apple, then sat down at the kitchen table.
She spun the apple, trying to decide how she should tell Tara about her ordeal. Her mind begged her to tell but she didn’t want to freak her out.
“Also, my phone died after calling a cab.” She took a drink. “Let me make it up to you by taking you to supper tonight.”
“It’s a deal.”
“I only have one request. We go into the city.”
Tara raised an eyebrow and looked at Gillian. “Remind me to let you upset me more often.” The sign, Antonio’s, was mounted on the front of the restaurant. The newspaper had it listed as the number one spot in town.
They were led to a small table for two. Gillian brushed her hand over the silk linen, wiping away invisible lint. The place was elegant and the owners had put a lot of money into it. She raised her eyebrows a few times, then laughed. It felt good to have a moment of normalcy after a night of complete craziness.
Dinner went slow since neither woman was in a hurry to be anywhere in particular. They enjoyed the food and laughed their way through two hours of conversation.
She ran her tongue over the front of her teeth and stared at Tara for a moment, then finally blurted,
“I have something to tell you about why I didn’t call last night.”
Tara finished the sip of wine she was taking and set the glass down with a sly smile. Slapping her hand lightly on the table, she said, “I knew you were hiding something from me. I can read you like a two dollar hooker.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re easy.”
She shook her head. “Okay, well, anyways, last night when I left the bar, I walked up and down the street to get a cab. On my way back to the bar, I was near the alley and I saw a guy shoot his girlfriend.”
After she’d told the whole story, Tara leaned forward in her chair. “What the hell? Did you call the police?”
“No, my phone died. But the cab driver did because his window was shot out.”
Tara reached out and held her hand. “Are you all right, sweetie?”
“I will be.”
When the waitress came close to their table, Gillian gestured to get her attention. “May we have our check, please?”
“Certainly, I’ll be right back.”
As Gillian’s eyes roamed the restaurant, Tara began to talk about a new neighbor who had moved into the house next to hers. Gillian fingered the end of her braid, letting the soft strands of her hair slide back and forth over her skin.
After the check was delivered, and they’d finished their wine, they stood to leave. Scooting her chair back, she accidently bumped the table and it rocked. Settling it, she glanced up to find Tara when her heart dropped to the floor. All of the blood rushed from her head and she felt as if she might faint.
It couldn’t be him.
The man from the alley was walking around the room greeting customers.
Gillian coughed. “Tara, who is that man?”
Her friend searched the room until she saw him. “From what I remember reading in the paper, he’s the owner. His name is Mr. Antonio Salvator.”
Gillian’s heart pounded in her chest, the sound thumping in her ears. It was definitely time to get out of there. Would he remember her? She knew that in a thousand years, she would never forget his face.
His black hair was slicked back, broad shoulders stretched his gray jacket a little too tightly, and a black shirt was unbuttoned to reveal a hairless, well-built chest. Black tailored slacks dusted the top of expensive Italian shoes. When he stretched out his hand to greet a customer, a gold wrist watch sparkled in the candlelight.
She remembered everything about him; could tell anyone about the laugh lines around his eyes. How could a man, who’d brutally murdered without a moment’s hesitation, laugh so easily?
She remembered the tiny mole near his right ear, his almost perfect white teeth, and the complete look of hatred that seared into her soul.
Funny, she’d been so scared and so focused on the man, she couldn’t remember one thing about the woman except her voice. That scream had haunted her dreams last night.
“Tara, we need to leave, now!” She grabbed her friend’s arm. “I’ll explain when we get to the car.”
When Gillian glanced back up, her eyes locked with Antonio’s. Fear sucked the breath out of her and she watched as his expression went from appreciation to recognition.
Only one question remained. Would she and Tara get out of the restaurant alive?
Her heart beat heavy within her chest. Her thumb ran across her nails. She couldn’t let Tara know of the danger they were in. At all cost, she would keep her friend safe.
His eyes never left Gillian’s. A deep, penetrating glare. The icy look she received let her know that he remembered her very well. One of his hands reached into his pants pocket and stayed there. It was a casual gesture on his part. He betrayed nothing. A brief nod in her direction was all she received.
They stood in place for what seemed like forever; her feet felt like lead. When she left, would he follow?
“Gillian?”
She felt Tara tug on her sleeve and it took all her willpower to turn her gaze away from the man who now had a name.
“Are you all right?” Tara’s eyebrows furrowed with concern.
Gillian smiled and bumped Tara’s arm with her elbow. “Yah, I’m fine.”
“That guy is staring at you so intensely, it’s kind of creepy.” Tara swung her head around, gesturing toward the dark-haired stranger.
Gillian turned her attention back to Tara and stared her down. When Tara’s eyebrows raised and her eyes got big, she slowly nodded. “You ready to go?” They walked toward the front door of the restaurant and all the while, Gillian could feel the man’s stare drilling into her back. Before she exited the building, she dared to glance back one more time. His eyes still followed her, as he spoke to another man. The shorter gentleman focused his gaze on her, nodded, then passed through the kitchen doors.
A shiver of dread worked its way down her spine and the hair prickled at the base of her neck. This wasn’t good.
Tara flagged down a cab and waited on the curb with the door open.
“Tara, I want you to go on home.”
“What? No, come on. We can go together back to my place.” Tara’s eyes pleaded.
“I can’t.”
The smile faded from her best friend’s face, quickly replaced by anger. “Please come with me.”
Gillian nervously glanced around, sure that she would be followed.
Would he grab her?
In spite of all these witnesses?
Salvator had said he would find her.
He wasn’t about to let her go so easily.
“Gillian—”
“Damn it! Please, just listen to me. Go home! I can’t put you in danger.” Gillian pushed on her shoulder, shoving her into the cab as she told the driver to go. Then she turned and spotted the short man. He wasn’t alone. They were watching her. Her breathing came faster, her pulse quickened, and she started walking
. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw they were right behind her.
The minion hollered, “We only want to speak to you.”
Yah, right. “Bite me.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
The chase was on.
Gillian took off running, weaving in and out of pedestrians on the street. Darting around two lovers making a spectacle of themselves. Her mind worked overtime, grasping for a plan. Cars honked in aggravation, a mother and daughter passed her talking about high school, and the air smelled of the roadside vendor’s hotdogs. Everything was normal all around her, while her own life was spinning out of control.
How silly she was to think that a small town girl could fit in and find her way in a big city. She was so naïve. Hadn’t her parents told her to take precautions? She should have let Anthony walk her to the curb or let Tara call her a cab.
Glancing at her watch, she tripped over a crack in the sidewalk, stumbling into a man in front of her.
“I’m sorry.”
“Watch where you’re going, lady.” The man scowled down his nose at her, making Gillian shrink back. No concern for her wellbeing, he was just offended that she had bumped into him. Where was the chivalry? She knew where it was, and her mother’s favorite saying came back to her. Chivalry isn’t dead, Gilly, it just isn’t required. If she ever had a son, it would be the first thing she taught him.
Scooting around the man, she peered back over her shoulder as she moved further down the sidewalk. She dodged couples holding hands, an elderly man walking his dog, and two teenage kids on their skateboards.
