Oliver tucked her arm through his and led her toward the staircase, and she marveled at how he could be so adorable and yet so proper. He was like a cross between a kitten and a doting grandfather.
“That’s part of it surely, as Quinn does what he says he’s going to do.” He waved his hand in front of his nose to prove his point. “But the way he talked about you during our journey, I think it has to be more than that.”
He lapsed into silence as if that would be enough to satisfy her and they were at the bottom of the stairs before she made an impatient whistling noise.
“What did he say?” she asked. She stopped outside the dining hall, the smell of roasted meat tempting her, but not nearly as much as wanting to know what Quinn said about her. Oliver looked unsure. “Oliver, I know I did some terrible things while I was stuck in your time. To say that I feel awful isn’t enough. It’s really an insult to the people I wronged, so the only thing I can do now is try to be different, and better.” She took his hand and pressed it between hers. “I’m so sorry for interfering. I do know Catie liked you. If there’s anything I can do when we find her, I will.”
He smiled, and she saw that he forgave her, the sweet person that he was. “It’s all in the past, as you say.” He laughed at his unintended joke. “It really is in the past, isn’t it? This is so bizarre, what we’re doing.”
She nodded, relieved he didn’t harbor any resentment. “Now, please tell me.”
Inside the dining hall, she made herself a plate with what was left of the breakfast offering. She was delighted to find there was still plenty of good food for her, but she was so hungry, crusts of bread and ham rinds would have been acceptable to her.
“I don’t want to disappoint you,” he said, sitting beside her while she wolfed down her meal. “It wasn’t anything in particular, but he did keep making up reasons to speak of you, and I could tell he was worried when you didn’t show up. So I started making up reasons to speak of you, so that he could have the opportunity. And he always jumped at it.”
“For being so worried about me, he sure didn’t wait very long. Wodge and I followed you the whole journey and were never far behind.”
“Ah, well, he was angry in the beginning,” Oliver said. He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “Wodge, you say? Who was that madman?”
“Just that,” she answered, swallowing a large spoonful of parritch. It could have used raisins, cinnamon and about four teaspoons of sugar, but it filled her stomach quite nicely all the same. “A complete nutter.”
“What was he after?” Oliver asked.
“To kill us, kill all people who travel through time.” She leaned closer and whispered the last part, though only a few stragglers remained in the hall.
“At least we’re well rid of him,” Oliver said, swallowing hard at the reasoning behind Wodge’s murderous intent. Lizzie understood how he felt.
“Are we, though?” she asked urgently, glad to have someone to share her fears with. “I’m fairly sure he was still alive when we left, and he can do it too.”
Their noses were practically touching now, Oliver’s eyes almost crossed with fear. “That’s not completely hypocritical or anything,” he said bitterly.
“I told you, he’s bats. The only thing that would make me more scared of him is if we found out he was a cyborg.” Oliver tilted his head to the side in confusion, and she shook her head briefly. “Never mind. He’s plenty dangerous as he is.”
Quinn stood in the dining hall entry, no less diminished for clutching his bad arm. His brow was furrowed with either pain or irritation or both, and he glowered at them. They quickly tilted away from each other, Oliver looking especially nervous to be found so close to her. She rolled her eyes at him, then jumped up to help Quinn to the table to join their conversation.
He sidestepped her and sat next to Oliver. Oliver offered him an apple that he hadn’t eaten and with a shrug, Quinn bit into it. Lizzie couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth as he crunched through the peel. When he licked away a bit of juice that tried to run down his lip, she had to tug at her bodice to appease the tight feeling in her chest.
“Are ye prepared to leave?” he asked, glaring at them both some more.
“Perhaps we should wait one more day,” Oliver suggested nervously. “You had a rather bad time of it.”
“Rather bad time of it?” Lizzie said. “You were shot at close range. You lost buckets of blood. The physician had to dig the bullet out of your bone! How are you even sitting upright?”
Oliver paled at her recap of the grisly event and glanced over at Quinn with wonder in his eyes. Quinn’s face grew even stormier and he tossed the apple core onto the table and stood up, swaying slightly and swearing quietly under his breath.
“As ye can see, I’m fine. It obviously wasna as bad as it may have seemed. We must go at once.” He gripped his arm close to his middle and Lizzie could see he clenched his teeth against the pain.
Her eyes dropped to the bandage at his shoulder and she gasped at the circle of blood that grew larger by the second. She jumped to her feet and raced around the table, not letting him dodge her this time.
“Quinn, you aren’t fine,” she wailed. “You’re bleeding again.”
He scowled and swore some more, then his face crumpled into that of a lost little boy. “There isna time,” he said. “Catie might be all alone.”
Lizzie’s heart ached at his concern for his sister. Oliver got under his good arm to help keep him on his feet and they made their way back to his chamber.
“Your sister is clever and capable, and it’s unlikely that she’s alone.” Lizzie tried to help ease his fears. “She probably found your brother by now, don’t you think?”
He shook his head, too weak to say anything. Oliver struggled to keep him upright and Lizzie noticed with horror how much blood was seeping through his bandage and shirt. She ran down the hall and found a couple of men who looked strong enough to help and pointed urgently at Quinn, who was now going down like a felled tree.
He hit the stone floor with a crumpling thud, out cold, before the men could reach him. Oliver stood by shaking and apologetic about letting him fall, before she yelled for him to find the doctor. As soon as she assured herself that Quinn was alive, she sank into a cross legged position next to him.
“Bloody idiot,” she said, blinking back frightened tears. “Stupid fool.”
His hand found hers and he squeezed, a hint of a smile turning up one corner of his mouth. She wanted to hit him, but only leaned over and quickly pressed her forehead to his, mindful that they were surrounded by others.
“Verra well,” he said, almost too low to hear. “I’ll rest a bit longer.”
His grip on her hand loosened and the physician pushed her out of the way, muttering about it always being one thing or another and confirming her assessment that Quinn was an idiot.
***
Lizzie sat in the hard chair, and blinked to stay awake. She could barely feel her legs anymore and longed to get in the bed with Quinn. He was sound asleep, breathing deeply and evenly, his shoulder freshly washed, stitched and bandaged. The doctor had quite the temper and said if Quinn continued putting his life at risk, he would sooner shoot him again himself than sew him up one more time. He was harried about Bella’s son being so ill, and worried under his breath while he worked, muttering about a quarantine, and all of them possibly being doomed.
“A ray of sunshine, that one,” Oliver said.
Once he was sure Quinn would live to see another day, he left the new chamber Quinn had been assigned, no one wanting to drag him up two flights of stairs to his previous one. Lizzie refused to leave, certain as soon as she did, Quinn would wake up and try traipsing into the forest on his own. She managed to get into a position she didn’t think would cause her spine permanent damage and nodded off for a while, waking up with a start when Quinn groaned and rolled over.
It was early morning. The light of dawn barely lit the room th
rough the small, high window. Quinn opened his eyes, focused on her and looked around the room, seeming alarmed.
“Afraid to be alone with me?” she asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. She swatted his hand away and checked his bandage, then felt his forehead for fever.
“A bit, aye,” he admitted wryly.
She smiled at him, she couldn’t help it. He made her smile even while being grumpy and prudishly pulling the sheet over his bare chest.
“I’m not going to ravage you,” she said, adding childishly, “You wish.”
He edged himself to a sitting position and she hurried to help get a pillow behind his back. He took her hand, then dropped it, then took it again, shaking his head.
“Ah, Lizzie. That’s the thing. I do wish. Ye’re dangerous to me.”
She sat down next to him and when he didn’t shove her off the bed, she rested her free hand on his stomach, searching his eyes for why he would say such a thing. He looked at her for a moment before sighing and closing his eyes.
She waited, one hand on his stomach, the other still in his grasp, her heart speeding up with actual fear. He wasn’t going to give up on them, was he? He had to at least let her fight. Feeling sick with trepidation, she leaned over and pressed her lips lightly against his, wanting to kiss him, but even more wanting him to kiss her.
It was barely a heartbeat, but felt like an eternity before he reached up and slid his hand behind her neck and into her hair. His mouth met hers, his tongue gently touching her bottom lip so that she melted against him with a happy sigh. She slid her hand up to his chest, but then changed her mind and slid it back down, wanting what was beneath the sheet. He reached behind her to begin pulling at her laces.
“It’s borrowed,” she said, pulling aside the covers. “You can’t rip this one.”
“Maybe just keep it on, then” he told her, pulling at her leg. She swung it over his hips and straddled him, trying to lift her skirts while still kissing him.
A sharp knock sounded on the door and it immediately swung open. Bella’s husband Pietro stood in the doorway, eyes flying wide with mortified shock.
“I’m verra sorry,” he said, and began to back out.
Lizzie squeaked and jumped off the bed, hauling the covers back up over Quinn. She straightened her hair and gown and fanned her burning face.
“No, please, it’s fine,” she said, noticing Pietro’s red-rimmed eyes and overall haggard appearance. Her stomach plummeted. “Is it the baby?” she asked, fearing the worst.
“Callum lives,” he said, leaning against the foot post of the bed. “But he’s no better.” Pietro turned to her, completely uncaring whatever state she’d been in a minute before. His only concern was clearly for his child. “Ye know we dinna have the proper medicine for something like this.” She nodded, taking his arm and helping him to the uncomfortable chair she’d sat in all night. “I’d go myself, but I canna risk being unable to return. I canna leave Bella and the children.” His voice broke and he put his face in his hands.
“Pietro, what is it? What can we do for ye?” Quinn asked, struggling to get out of bed. Lizzie pressed her hand into his chest to keep him down. Pietro only shook his head back and forth, a broken sob escaping his lips. Quinn looked at her as if remembering something. “Earlier, yesterday was it? Ye said the scarlet fever wasna dangerous anymore in your time.”
She nodded. “Better medicine.” She realized what Pietro was trying to ask. “Pietro, we can bring it back. You don’t have to risk going yourself. We’ll bring back heaps of antibiotics and vitamins, whatever we can.”
Pietro looked up with such gratitude, that if she’d had any qualms about her rash offer, they disappeared. These people were Quinn’s friends, they would be her friends one day. And she could never let a child suffer.
“Ye dinna think we’d be tampering with history?” Pietro asked.
“Bugger history,” Lizzie said.
Pietro gaped at her, but Quinn once again tried to get out of bed. “Ye heard the lass. There’s no time like the present when one is buggering history.”
Once again, Lizzie clapped her hand on his chest to keep him down, then used both hands and all her strength, but he still rose up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He groaned and clutched his arm.
“You were unconscious at the time, but the physician said if you endangered yourself with stupidity, he’d shoot you again before he patched you back up. So lay the hell down.”
Pietro stood up. “Ye canna know how grateful I am for this,” he said, patting at his sporran before reaching inside. His drawn face flushed with embarrassment for a moment. “I did suspect ye would offer,” he said, nodding first to Quinn and then turning to Lizzie. He had some small round objects in his hand. “If ye would give these to Piper, she’ll pass them along to my parents.”
Lizzie looked down at the miniature painted portraits. “Piper?” she asked.
“Aye, she owns the property in the future— your present day. I used to work for her as stable master, and she knows my family I left behind.” He pointed to the largest miniature. It featured a strawberry blond boy of about six who had a determined look and intense eyes. “This here is Reid. He’s as stubborn as Bella. In fact, he alarms even her sometimes with his opinions.”
Lizzie took the portrait and carefully memorized everything he told her. The next picture was of a toddler, with fat rosy cheeks and vibrant green eyes. Where the oldest boy was a combination of Bella and Pietro in looks, this lad was the spitting image of Pietro.
He chuckled when he handed it to her. “Wee Callum,” he said. “This one will probably make my mum burst into tears, as he looks so like me at that age. Will ye tell Piper not to mention the illness? I dinna want her to be fearful for things she canna change or help.” Lizzie nodded and blinked back her own tears, remembering the child’s listless appearance, so unlike the healthy baby in the portrait.
“And last but not least, our wee princess, Freya.” He held up an intricately framed miniature of a dark-haired cherub, with tiny bow lips and green eyes that looked out at the world as if she knew exactly what she wanted, even at six months of age. “Bella chose her name. At first I thought it fanciful, but it seems to suit her.” Finally Pietro handed her a sealed letter and wearily rubbed his eyes.
“Rest assured we shall pass them along,” Quinn said, taking advantage of Lizzie’s distraction over the portraits to sit up unhindered. His bandage unraveled at the shoulder and he quickly tried to tuck it back in.
“There’s no we in this, Quinn.” She jumped to see what fresh damage he might have inflicted.
“Well, I’ll just tell Bella the news and let ye sort it,” Pietro said, giving Quinn a commiserative look, clearly not wanting to be in the room anymore.
Lizzie thought he was a wise man, because if Quinn kept insisting on getting out of bed, things were going to get unpleasant. Gathering all her patience, she told Pietro she would speak to Bella before she left and promised to take good care of the miniatures. As soon as the door shut behind him, she whirled on Quinn.
“Listen to reason,” she said, grappling his arms to keep him from standing. He merely took her by the waist and set her aside. “Please, Quinn. Please.” Her voice broke on the final plea and he sighed and sat back down.
“Lizzie, ye dinna understand the full consequence of what’s at stake here,” he said.
“Certainly I do. Your friend’s child is in danger, possibly everyone who lives in the castle if there’s an outbreak.”
“Aye, there’s that,” he said. “But there’s more besides. Pietro and Bella are direct ancestors of someone my brother is verra fond of. If this child dies and something happens to her as a result, he willna be happy.”
“I think your brother would put your safety ahead of his own desires,” she said.
His lip quirked up and he made a small sound in his throat. “Ye dinna know my brother.” She put her hands on her hips and looked down her nose at h
im. He smiled and reached for her. “I like when ye look at me like a disgruntled chaperone.”
She stepped into his arms and smoothed his hair away from his face, still frowning at him. “Well, you’re being unaccountably naughty.” She kissed his forehead. “I couldn’t stand it if you got hurt again. Or worse.”
He raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. “Is that so?”
She tipped his chin up and leaned down to kiss him, forgetting why she was mad at him. “Yes,” she said.
He let his lips linger against hers before answering. “But ye see how important it is, aye?”
“Indeed. But you will not be going. Oliver and I will go on our own.”
He dropped his hands from her side, wincing in pain at the sudden movement. “That’s impossible,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked, stepping away from him. “How do you think we got here? You were out cold, bleeding all over the forest. Oliver did the spell by himself.”
He laughed harshly. “That proves my point better than it does your own.”
“How so?”
He waved his hand at the room they were in. “Take a look about ye,” he thundered. “Do ye see any of the marvels of your own time? He did it wrong.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, as ideas swirled in her head. “Maybe he didn’t do it wrong, though. Maybe we came to this time because we were supposed to. To help little Callum.”
Quinn put his legs back on the bed and lay down. “It makes my head hurt,” he said. “And I dinna want to be left behind like an invalid.” He turned to her and pouted and she struggled not to laugh.
“Oh, Quinn.” She pulled the sheet up over him and tucked it in at his sides. “I think I’m right. I think we’ll end up where we need to end up. And most importantly, you won’t bleed to death in the woods. You’re quite big, you know. Neither Oliver nor I could budge you.”
He looked at her darkly but all the fight seemed to be out of him. “Dinna leave without saying goodbye.”
She shook her head. She could never leave without seeing him again, to have something to hold onto until she made it back. Having him stay behind scared her, because she felt safer with him around, but it was also a lifeline, in case she got lost and confused in her own time and had trouble getting back. She squeezed his hand and ran out to find Oliver and make the necessary preparations.
Wild about the Witch Page 9
