She'd bartered for the gypsies' services several days earlier, but, unaware that the laird's betrothed was arriving so soon—more of Nevin's fault for being so close-lipped—she'd not specified the date for Drustan's abduction. She'd planned to use herbs to drug the laird, then lure him to the loch where, helpless, he would be enchanted. Now she had a better idea. She would go to the gypsy camp this very night and instruct them to act immediately, take his betrothed, use her as lure, then enchant them both.
She snatched up her cloak in trembling fingers and hurried to the door. Nevin was still at the castle and would be for several hours if he stayed true to his schedule. Utterly oblivious to danger all around him.
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, clutching the door and steeling her will. It was almost over. Just one more day, brave the gypsy camp one more time, and her son would be safe.
And mayhap, just mayhap, that horrible sucking darkness would finally leave her alone.
* * * * *
The evening Drustan returned, Gwen, Silvan, and Nell, alerted by the guard that rode ahead, waited on the front steps of the castle.
Gwen felt her heart might burst from happiness. Her gaze lingered long on the two magnificent men, talking, clapping each other on the shoulder, and jesting as they dismounted and the stable master led their horses away. She'd had a part in that, she thought, smiling. First goal accomplished. Drustan's brother was safe.
When Drustan reached the bottom step, she flung herself into his arms.
He swung her up into his embrace and kissed her hungrily. By the time he'd finished, she was gasping for air and laughing.
"My turn?" Dageus teased.
"I doona think so," Drustan growled. Then his scowl faded and he smiled at his brother. "By Amergin,'tis like a dream. I still recall standing in her century, mourning you, brother. Have a care with yourself. I never want to suffer that again. I expect you to live a hundred years or more."
"I plan to," Dageus assured him. Then he smiled at Gwen, and she caught her breath. For a moment, she thought him nearly as gorgeous as Drustan. Those lion-like golden eyes of his…
She glanced up at Drustan, who had arched a brow, watching her.
"Oh, come on," Gwen said lightly. "I can't possibly not notice how attractive he is, as much as he looks like you."
Drustan rumbled deep in his throat.
"But I married you," she said pertly.
"Aye, that you did, lass. That she did, Dageus," Drustan said pointedly.
"Doona be getting yourself in a fankle," Dageus said lightly. " 'Tis plain her heart is only for you. If you'll recall, she didn't care for my kiss."
Drustan growled again.
Dageus laughed. " 'Tis thanking you I am, Gwen Cassidy. Drustan tells me he regained his memory when you said the spell. The battle occurred as you predicted. 'Twould seem I owe you my life."
"No," Gwen protested. "I'm happy I could help, and glad you're all right."
"'Tis an old custom. I shall always protect you and yours," he said, his golden eyes glittering. "And there is the small fact that you have made my brother happier than I've ever seen him, so I'm thanking you doubly, lass. Welcome to our family."
Gwen's eyes misted. She was part of a family now. Drustan's arms tightened and he swung her legs up, cradling her. She tipped her head back for another leisurely kiss.
Dageus grinned and shook his head, turning to greet his father. He paused, noticing Silvan's arm about Nell's waist.
Drustan noticed at the same time. His eyes widened and he glanced at Gwen.
She shrugged, smiling. "I don't know what happened, but ever since you left, they've been acting different. It seems they finally admitted their feelings to each other."
Dageus tossed his head back and gave a whoop of joy. He grabbed Nell and kissed her soundly on the mouth. Nell flushed, looking immensely relieved, and Gwen realized she must have been nervous about how Drustan and Dageus might feel about her relationship with their father.
"Stop that," Silvan growled. "Kiss her cheek if you wish, but doona be kissing those lips. They're mine."
Nell's laughter was joyous, and she and Gwen exchanged a purely feminine smile. Possessiveness in tiny doses could be delicious.
Dageus grinned. "So, our dolt of a da has finally opened his eyes."
Silvan looked sheepish.
Dageus plucked Nell up and twirled her around in dizzying circles. " 'Tis long past time you took your seat at our table, Nell."
"I take it this means you approve," Silvan said dryly.
"Oh, aye, we approve," Dageus and Drustan said simultaneously.
When Dageus deposited Nell near Silvan, only Gwen noticed the faint hint of sadness in Dageus's eyes, buried deep behind the golden glitter. She might not have noticed it at all had she not experienced it herself.
It was loneliness.
Where would Dageus MacKeltar, brother to a man who'd been jilted four times—
"You did break the betrothal, didn't you?" She tipped her head back at Drustan, narrowing her eyes.
"Aye, seems Anya didn't care for me calling down a storm during battle," he said, grinning.
—Druid extraordinaire, gorgeous beyond words, find a woman to wed him in all of Alba?
And Dageus knew it, although Drustan hadn't realized it yet.
"Did he make his eyes glow and everything?" she teased, eyeing Dageus thoughtfully.
"It was most impressive," Dageus informed her. "You should have seen him raise his arms to the sky and make quite a performance of it, when in truth it doesn't require much effort—an arrow with the right elements shot into a certain cloud formation."
"Oh, you must tell me," Gwen breathed.
They both laughed, tossing similar manes of silky dark hair.
"I didn't call down a storm. I told her that if she broke our betrothal, she could retain the bride-price to use as a future dowry." He grimaced. "It seems she didn't wish to wed me anyway, she'd been pining for another. She said her da gave her no choice, as they had need of coin."
Oh, Drustan, Gwen thought. Doomed never to be appreciated by the women in his century. And Dageus! There were going to be some serious matchmaking efforts in her future. Where on earth would she find him a wife? she wondered.
Then she wondered no more, for Drustan turned with her in his arms and loped up the stairs into the castle. To make immediate, passionate love to her, she was quite certain, and her entire body quickened with anticipation.
"Wait!" Silvan called after them. "I thought we could dine together as a family."
"Give over, Da. I doubt they'll be leaving the bedchamber till morn," Dageus said dryly.
Silvan sighed, then glanced at Nell. His gaze grew heated.
When Silvan took Nell's hand and hastened her toward the stairs, bidding a good night over his shoulder to his son, Dageus shook his head, smiling faintly, and withdrew a flask of whisky from his sporran.
Dageus sat on the steps for a long time, filled with a strange restlessness that even whisky couldn't mellow, watching the night sky twinkle with a smattering of brilliant stars.
If he felt lonely, in the vastness of things,'twas a feeling to which he'd grown long accustomed.
* * * * *
Gwen welcomed her husband home in a time-honored fashion. They spent the evening in their chamber, where she lovingly bathed the dust of travel from him, then joined him in a fresh bath and showed him how very much she'd missed him.
They lit candles and drew the velvet bedcurtains, alternately making love and stopping to feed each other tidbits from a scrumptious dinner delivered personally by Dageus.
It was clear from the array of foods, Gwen decided, that Dageus had quite the erotic mind, just like his brother. For he'd brought them lovers' food: juicy slices of peaches and plums, baked meat tarts, cheese, and a crusty loaf of bread. He'd also brought honey, with nothing specific to put it on, a thing she'd not understood until Drustan laid her back upon the bed, drizzled a dab on that most fe
minine part of her, then proceeded to show her just how long it could take to lick it off. Thoroughly.
She'd peaked twice beneath his masterful, slightly sticky tongue.
Then there were cherries from the orchard, and she'd eaten a handful while trying her own hand at the honey.
Drustan had lain supine upon the bed for all of two and a half minutes before flipping her over on her back and taking charge of matters. She'd reveled in eroding his control. For such a disciplined man, he certainly came undone in bed. Uninhibited, passionate, his enthusiasm for sex was endless.
She'd fed him slices of roast pig, then given him small drinks of wine from her own lips. And when he'd whispered to her the same base, primitive words back that she'd said to him their first night together in the stones, untamed lust had consumed them both.
They'd rolled across the bed and tumbled to the floor, knocking over tables and candles and setting fire to the lambskin rug. They'd laughed and Drustan had doused it with the cooling bathwater.
And when she finally slept—spooned, her back to his front—with Drustan's arms around her, her last thought was heaven. She'd found heaven in the Highlands of Scotland.
* * *
Chapter 24
"Mmm." Gwen sighed contentedly. She'd been having a marvelous dream in which Drustan was waking her by making love to her. Dimly, the realization penetrated—at the same moment he did—that it was no dream.
She gasped as, still spooned, he slipped into her from behind.
"Oh, God," she breathed as he increased the tempo. Deeper, harder, faster. He thrust into her, his arms wrapped tightly around her, and nipped the skin at the base of her neck. When he rolled her nipples between his fingers, she arched back against him, meeting his every thrust until they peaked in perfect harmony.
"Gwen, my love," he whispered.
When, later, he'd gone to fetch breakfast, intent on serving her in bed, she lay back, a silly smile plastered on her face.
Life was so good.
* * * * *
Whistling a cheery tune, Drustan balanced a tray laden with kippers and plump sausages, tatties and clootie dumplings, peaches and porridge, on his arm as he fumbled with the door. All had been prepared by Nell herself, all tasted by Robert.
Despite the fact that the threat loomed some distance yet in the future, he was taking no chances with his wife.
"Sustenance is here, and you're going to need it, love," he announced, pushing the door open.
The velvet bedcurtains were tied back, revealing a tangle of coverlets and linens, but the bed was empty. He glanced about the room, puzzled. He'd been gone a scant half hour, gathering food. Where had she gone? A quick visit to the garderobe? He had a delicious morning planned: a leisurely breakfast, a leisurely bath for his wife, who must be aching from so much bed play. More lovemaking only if she was able, if not, he would massage scented oils into her skin and gently minister to her tender limbs.
A chill of foreboding kissed his spine as he eyed the empty bed. Dropping the tray on a table near the door, he walked swiftly through the boudoir and into the Silver Chamber.
She wasn't there.
He pivoted and stalked back to his chamber.
Only then did he see the parchment propped on the table near the fire. His hands shook as he snatched it up and read it.
Come to the clearing by the wee loch if ye value her life. Alone, or the lass dies.
"Nay!" he roared, crushing the parchment in his fist. 'Tis too soon, his mind protested. He wasn't supposed to be enchanted for nearly a fortnight! He hadn't even given the guards instructions to triple the watches and scour the countryside!
"By Amergin," he whispered hoarsely, "we've changed things somehow." By preventing Dageus's death, they must have altered the way subsequent events would unfold. His mind raced furiously. Who was behind it all? It made no sense to him. And what might the enemy want with Gwen?
"To get to me," he muttered grimly. They hadn't drugged him this time. Rather—because Gwen was there—she'd been used as bait.
Frantically, he crammed his feet into his boots and grabbed his leather bands, strapping them on. In the Greathall, he stuffed blade after blade into the slits as he raced to the garrison.
Alone, my arse, he thought.
I'll walk in alone, while my men sneak up behind them and destroy every last one of the bastards who took my woman.
* * * * *
Besseta cowered behind the lofty oak, watching the gypsies prepare to work the spell she'd commissioned. They'd painted a large crimson circle upon the ground. Runes she did not recognize marked the perimeter—dark gypsy magic, she thought, shivering.
The moment Nevin had departed for his morning stroll to the castle, she'd hastened from the cottage and crept through the forest. She was determined to see the deed done with her own eyes. Only then would she believe her son safe.
She narrowed her eyes, peering at her enemy—Drustan's betrothed, who'd been plucked straight from his bed, she was fair certain, for the lass wore naught but a sheer nightrail. Soon the laird himself would arrive, the gypsies would enchant him and take him far away, to be interred underground, and her worries would be over. The gypsies had demanded extra coin to enchant the woman as well, forcing Besseta to pilfer from Nevin's charity box. But no transgression was too great to save her son.
* * * * *
A few yards away Nevin watched his mother with a heavy heart. For some time, she'd been worsening, her moods growing increasingly erratic, her eyes too bright. She watched him ceaselessly as if she feared a bolt of lightning might strike him at any moment. He'd done all he could to allay her fears that Drustan MacKeltar might harm him, but to no avail. She was lost in terrible imaginings.
He murmured a soft prayer of thanks to God for guiding him. He'd awakened with a niggling foreboding, and rather than immediately striking out for the castle, he'd lingered behind the cottage. Sure enough, moments later, his mother had slipped out, wild-eyed, her hair mussed, half-dressed, pulling her cloak tightly about her.
When she'd scurried off, he'd followed at a distance. She'd crept to the edge of the forest, where it opened into a circular clearing at the edge of the small loch. Now he watched, deeply uneasy. What was his mother doing? What involvement had she in gypsy affairs, and what strange designs were etched upon the sod?
He scanned the clearing, stiffening when a small group of gypsies moved apart and one broke away from the rest, carrying a bound woman toward the crimson circle. It was the wee blond lass Nevin had seen about the castle of late. When the gypsy briefly glanced in his direction, Nevin ducked deeper into the brush, deeper into the shadows of the forest.
What ominous events transpired? Why did his mother lurk here, and why was a woman from the castle bound? What terrible things had Besseta gotten herself ensnared in?
Smoothing his robes, he reminded himself that he was a man of God, and as such had a duty to work in His name despite his slight stature and mild nature. Whatever was about to happen, it was clear no good might come of it. It was his responsibility to put a stop to it before someone was harmed. He began to step forth from his hidden vantage, but no sooner did he stand than Drustan MacKeltar, mounted on a snorting black stallion, burst into the clearing. He vaulted from his horse and, unsheathing his sword, stalked toward the gypsy carrying the lass.
"Release her," Drustan roared savagely in a voice that sounded like a thousand voices. His silvery eyes blazed incandescently. 'Twas no normal voice, Nevin realized, but a voice of power.
Nevin ducked back again, blinking.
The gypsy carrying the blond lass dropped her as if burned and backed away toward the loch. The lass tumbled and rolled across the rocky sod, stopping a few yards from where Nevin stood.
And that was when all hell broke loose.
* * * * *
Besseta keened low and long as chaos erupted in the clearing. She wiped clammy palms on her skirt and watched in horror as mounted guards burst from the forest.<
br />
The gypsies, hemmed in by the loch at their back and guards on all sides, reached for their weapons.
Wrong, wrong, it was all going wrong!
She inched from the cover of the forest, creeping unnoticed in the tumult, toward the wagon that had been brought to cart off the laird's slumbering body.
The gypsies were aiming their crossbows.
The guards were raising shields and swinging swords.
Men were going to die and blood was going to flaw,
Besseta thought, grateful that Nevin was safely in the castle working on his chapel. Mayhap rather than being enchanted, Drustan MacKeltar would be killed in battle. Not by her hand at all. Mayhap.
But mayhap was too weak a possibility to ensure her son's safety.
I will not harm the MacKeltar, she'd promised Nevin, and she was a woman of her word. If a son couldn't trust his mother's word, what could he rely upon?
She'd carefully planned the enchantment so that not one hair on the laird's head would be harmed. But now all her cautious plans were going awry. She had no choice but to try another option to save her son. If she could not remove Drustan MacKeltar before he wed his lady—well, she'd made no promises about that lady. And that lady was currently forgotten as the battle raged around her bound body.
Lying on the ground, she may or may not get trampled by the horses. May or may not get struck by a stray arrow.
Besseta was quite finished taking chances. If Drustan survived the battle, Besseta had to make certain there was no woman for him to wed.
She narrowed her eyes, watching the lass struggle with her bonds, and inched nearer the wagon.
With trembling hands, she plucked up a tightly strung crossbow and, summoning every ounce of her strength, leveled it at the lass.
* * * * *
Nevin's eyes widened in horror. His mother, his own mother would do murder! She was truly lost in her madness! Thou shah not kill!
"Nay!" he roared, plunging from the brush.
Besseta heard him and started. Her hand slipped on the cord.
"Nay! Mother!" Running, he catapulted himself through the air to shield the bound lass, and stumbled, landing sideways atop her. "Naaaa—"
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