“Where are the children?”
“Sky’s with her nursemaid, and Hunter is with the men in the lists. He’s now a page, the first step toward knighthood. He follows my husband around all day, trains and does whatever Malcolm tells him to do.” True led her to the tall wooden doors leading outside. “It’s a good thing I have help, especially with twins coming. There are definite benefits to marrying into the nobility.”
A pang of longing shot through Erin, and Rob’s image filled her mind. She bit her lip and fought the sudden sting at the back of her eyes. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course. Do you have any idea how great it is to have someone from my time to talk to? I’m hoping we’ll become great friends. Elaine and I are very close, but I hardly ever get to see her. She and her family will be here around Christmas. You’ll love her.” She giggled. “Sorry. What was it you wanted to ask?”
“Your in-laws, are they really as happy together as they seem?” Too revealing? It didn’t matter. She wanted to know.
“They are. William tore Scotland apart to get Lydia back from a rival who kidnapped her. Their story is very romantic. Another tale I’ll share later.” True glanced at her, a speculative glint filling her eyes. “Why do you ask?”
“Rob told me that once a MacKintosh man gives his heart, it’s given for good.” She averted her gaze. “I’m just trying to get the lay of the land.” Judging by True’s knowing grin, she hadn’t fooled her.
True became distracted by the numerous greetings fluttering through the air like sparrows around her. Erin smiled and followed as they made their way to the portcullis. True was wrong. The MacKintosh clan did what she asked because they loved their mistress. She belonged.
They followed a path close to the massive stone wall, and as they continued on, Erin thought about her life. She suddenly realized she’d joined the historical reenactment club because she wanted to feel as if she belonged somewhere, but it was all make-believe. Just like the roles they all played. She had acquaintances, but not close friends. Whenever anyone attempted to get closer, especially men, she’d close up tighter than an oyster about to be shucked. Did she even know how to open up?
True stopped at a cottage made of timber beams and filled with something similar to plaster or stucco. “This is it.” She opened the door and waved Erin through.
The rafters and walls were crowded with drying plants and herbs. A counter-height table had been set in the center of the one room, and a narrow rope bed with a straw mattress took up the space against the wall. A ladder led to a sleeping loft, and a small hearth held two hinged iron hooks for cooking. A variety of baskets, clay pots, utensils and iron cauldrons were neatly arranged in a crude cabinet set into the corner.
“What do you think?” True took a single book down from the mantel over the fireplace. “This is where I developed the recipes for soaps and shampoos.”
“It’s wonderful. I don’t know a lot about homeopathic medicine. Can I see the book?”
“Sure. Take it with you when we return to the keep. You can read through it. It’ll help.”
“Do you know a good source of folic acid? It’s important for expectant mothers.”
“Of course. It’s all in the book, but I make sure we get a lot of leafy greens and peas in our diet, and dried beans.”
“Is it possible to have a frame built for women to hold on to while they’re squatting to push? Gravity is the best thing for labor and delivery. Or maybe a thick rope hanging from the rafters would do.” She studied the pitched timbers above her. “Lying flat in a bed isn’t really the best position to give birth.”
“Consider it done, but most of our women give birth in their homes. You’re going to be busy. I can name about seven women in our village who are in various stages of pregnancy.” She moved to the door. “I’ll take you to the mainland tomorrow, and I’ll introduce you to everyone. Let me show you the rest of the grounds so you can learn your way around.”
For the time being, Erin would force herself to stop worrying about Robley. She had no idea how long she’d be in the fifteenth century or if she’d ever get back home. In the interim, she looked forward to working with the MacKintosh women, and she was grateful for True’s friendship.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Low gray clouds scudded across the sky, and a fine drizzle added to the chill permeating Robley’s bones. He placed his palm on the hilt of the dagger at his waist and took comfort in the familiar weight of a claymore against his back. Both were useless against the fae, but they gave him a sense of security nonetheless. He’d been too long without his weapons.
Glancing skyward, he guessed the hour to be midmorning. They had indeed made good time. Still, every day he spent traveling was one fewer day he had to avert the disaster ahead. He and the seven men he’d chosen from the MacKintosh garrison had ridden hard to reach Inverness, barely stopping to rest. For certes, they’d even eaten their oatcakes and jerky while in the saddle. He ran his hand over two and a half days’ worth of stubble, relieved that they hadn’t encountered any trouble on the road as he’d expected. The castle was finally within their sights.
“Do ye want me tae go with you tae the old crone’s cottage, Rob?” Angus brought his mount up to ride beside him.
Giselle was no more a crone than Angus was fae, no matter how much his companion wished to pretend otherwise. Superstitious to the core, the older warrior refused to refer to Giselle as anything other than human, as if doing so might precipitate more trouble. “Nay. I appreciate the offer, but I must do this alone.” Rob shook his head. “I dinna want to risk anyone else’s involvement.”
He’d told Angus and Galen the entire tale. They were men he trusted with his life, as they could trust him with theirs. “Let the castellan know of our arrival, and make sure the men are fed. Have Galen see our horses are well cared for. I dinna plan to linger any longer than necessary.”
Angus’s obvious relief that he didn’t have to face the ancient one brought a wry grin to Rob’s face. If only he had possessed the same reluctance to begin with, he wouldn’t be facing death in a month’s time. Och, but he also would not have met Erin.
Never far from his thoughts, Erin’s image filled his mind, and he wondered what she might be doing at this very moment. More than likely she’d already sought out all the women in their clan who were breeding. He imagined her growing large with their bairn, and the longing for her, for a family of his own, nearly knocked him off his horse. If just once he’d have the luxury of holding her in his arms and making love to her all through the night, he’d be content. He spurred his gelding into a canter. The sooner he confronted Giselle, the sooner he could return to Erin.
At least his love was safely ensconced within the bosom of his family. His uncle and cousin would not let any harm come to her, and his parents would soon arrive. True had welcomed Erin with open arms, and he had a feeling the two would become close. Having another lass from the twenty-first century in the keep, especially a midwife, would be a boon to True. They reached the portcullis, and Robley dismounted, handing his reins to Galen. “Angus has command.”
“Are ye sure ye dinna want us to accompany ye?” Galen dismounted and faced him, his stance wide. “I’m willing, Rob.”
“Nay.” He let his glance rest on each of the seven men in his company. “Spend some time in the lists, if you’ve a mind to. No dallying this eve, though. You need your rest, for we’ll ride home at first light.” He straightened his shoulders. “I’ll return to the keep anon. I’ve no reason to fear Giselle. All I mean to do is talk to her. I’ll see you for the evening meal at the very latest.”
He nodded his farewell and started out on the road through the village. What could he say to Giselle that would not raise her ire? Best approach the matter with the utmost humility. Be honest and tell her exactly what had transpired since last he saw her. Ask, nay, beg for her help rather than dema
nd it. Aye, ’twould be wise to humble himself.
The chill, damp day was best spent indoors, and he encountered few villagers. Working through what he would say, he soon found himself on the same path he’d taken a mere four months past.
Damp leaves and fallen pine needles muffled his footsteps. A crow cawed from the branch of a rowan, taking off for the next tree as if leading him on his way. Or mayhap to issue a warning. Rob inhaled deeply, taking in the calming tang of pine and yew laced with the loamy smell of autumn’s decaying vegetation.
He scanned the area when he came to the edge of the clearing. Everything was as it should be, yet somehow desolate. Giselle’s cottage stood neatly in the center of the toft, only this time, no fowl foraged. The shutters were tightly closed, and not even a wisp of smoke escaped from the chimney. Dread settled in his chest like a stone at the bottom of a scullery maid’s pail.
Mayhap Giselle had gone visiting, or tended the sick somewhere in the outlying vicinity. He’d acted the thief once before—or the fool, as it were—mayhap he should again. Aye, a fool and a thief, he’d sneak in, find the pensieve and be on his way home to Loch Moigh before Giselle returned. Determination coursed through him. He meant to take back the thing that had caused him so much grief.
Nay. ’Twas not the thing itself but becoming embroiled with the fae that was causing him grief, and he had none but himself to blame.
The closer he got to the cottage, the heavier the dread within him grew. His very limbs wore the weight like a mantle of lead. By the time he reached her door, he could scarce move his hand. He labored just to breathe, and lifting his feet took all his strength. A chill wracked him to the very marrow of his bones. Trembling, he struggled to swipe away the sweat running into his eyes, causing them to sting. “By the saints, ’tis unnatural,” he muttered, and blinked. No doubt Giselle had laid some sort of warding magic over the place, and the spell assailed him from within and without.
More crows gathered in the boughs of the trees bordering the clearing. Cawing, several took flight, circling above his head. A few dove at him. He swung his arms and ducked. “Bloody hell!”
His life depended upon returning the silver platter. If the faerie warrior didn’t kill him, the spell Giselle had laid over the grounds might. Either way, he had no choice but to try and force his way through whatever this was. Mustering all the will he could, he lifted the latch to her door. It opened easily enough, but crossing the threshold was nearly impossible. No matter how hard he tried, his legs would not carry him forward. He gripped the inside lintel with both hands and strained with all his might to drag himself across the threshold. ’Twas like passing through partially dried mud, but finally he broke through.
Gasping for breath, he pressed himself against the wall, leaned his head back and scrubbed his face with both hands. His lungs worked like a bellows, and his heart hammered so hard that his ears rang, competing with the cacophony of the crows. He blinked the sting from his eyes and surveyed the dim interior. His spirits plummeted even further.
Empty. Naught but the old scarred furniture stood before him. Gone were the vegetables and plants hanging from the rafters, the dishes upon the shelf, the wooden box she’d placed upon the table. Even the hearth had been cleared. Not a single ash remained to give testimony to Giselle’s presence. No baskets or personal belongings of any kind were to be found anywhere. It was as if she’d never lived there at all, yet ’twas still eerily clean of dust and cobwebs.
Despair swallowed him whole as he faced the unwelcome truth: Giselle had left, and she’d taken the pensieve with her. What now? How was he supposed to find Giselle when she could jump through time, return to the faerie realm where no mortal could follow, or travel anywhere in the world her fancy took her?
Hopelessness tugged him down the wall until he landed on the wood-plank floor. He brought his knees up, propped his elbows upon them and buried his face in his arms. Anguish and regret—the most fearful of all enemies—drew him closer and closer to the black abyss waiting to drag him into its depths.
Tears and sweat filled his eyes. How would he face Erin? She would know the truth. Aye, he would reek of it. He could not protect her, nor could he save himself. How could he expect her to give her heart to such a fool as he? He blew out a shuddering breath. An entire se’nnight wasted, and for naught.
The raucous cawing from without roused him from the well of misery into which he’d fallen. On hands and knees he crawled out of the cottage. The door slammed behind him, raising the flesh on his arms and the back of his neck. Forcing himself to stand, he placed one foot before the other, heading for the path toward the keep—the chorus of scolding crows urging him onward. Were they wards as well, doing Giselle’s bidding? One swooped down from its perch, aiming for his face. Rob ducked, covering his head with his arms as the foul bird pecked at him.
Another swooped, and another. Soon the entire murder circled him, driving him down the path and away from their mistress’s dwelling. He offered no resistance and hurried toward the village. As suddenly as the attack began, it ended. Still, the harsh scolding continued until he was well away. He stopped and rested his hands upon his knees, sucking in several cleansing breaths. Each time his lungs filled, a portion of the heaviness and despair lifted from his soul. His limbs lightened.
Surely the hopelessness had been part of Giselle’s spell. ’Twas not in him to concede to defeat. He had not an inkling what to do next or where to turn, but as long as he drew breath, he had no intention of giving up.
Once he returned to the keep, he found the four men he trusted most. They sat at the table eating their midday meal. Gareth and his brother Galen, Angus and Ian were all seasoned, blooded warriors who had been with their garrison since the day Rob had earned his spurs. Angus even further back, for he remembered training with the older man when he was but a lad. Rob took a seat and poured himself a goblet of ale. Angus cut him a generous slice of cold fowl, placed it on a slice of bread and handed it to him. Rob’s stomach rumbled in anticipation. “My thanks.” He needed a new plan, a new direction and action. After a few bites of his meal, he said, “She was no’ there. Giselle’s cottage was completely empty.”
Gareth wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “What now?”
“On the morrow, we split into groups of two or three. Each group will take a different direction, and we’ll search the surrounding villages for her whereabouts.” She could be anywhere and in any century. Their search may be futile, but he needed to do something or he’d go mad.
“Humph.” Angus shook his head. “Nay, lad. Ye must return to Moigh Hall.”
“Nay, I—”
“What if one of the lads uncovers news of the old crone’s whereabouts? If ye are scouring the countryside as well, how will they find ye tae let ye know?”
“Aye, Rob.” Galen sent him a pointed stare. “Best return home where we can send word. Besides, yer parents will want to lay eyes upon ye, aye? They thought ye dead.”
As much as he needed to act, what they said made sense. “All right,” he capitulated. “Pair up, and decide amongst yourselves which villages you’ll search. Angus, go with the least experienced pair.”
“Nay, lad.” The older man crossed his arms in front of him and shook his head. “Ye ken ’tis folly tae travel the roads alone. I’ll stick close to ye.” Angus arched a brow. “Malcolm will have my ballocks if I let aught befall ye.”
Robley snorted. “’Tis a comforting thought, Angus.” He rose from his place. “I’m going to find a bath and a bed. Wake me for the evening meal.” There was naught else he could do, and exhaustion dragged at his limbs and muddled his thoughts. Mayhap he’d come up with a better plan once he was rested.
Heavyhearted, Rob crested the hill overlooking Loch Moigh. Angus drew his mount up beside him. Late afternoon and already the sun had begun its descent. His gut twisted. Each day nearer to the winter solstice brought him closer to the
end of his life. He shook off his morose thoughts. Mayhap something would come of their search after all, and he’d find Giselle before the fae warrior’s return.
“Your parents will have arrived, lad.” Angus shifted in his saddle, placing a gnarled hand on Rob’s shoulder. “Take heart. A solution will be found, and all will be well.”
“Humph.” Robley started his horse down the hill, a mixture of anticipation and reticence chasing through him. Erin would be upset with him for leaving her without word, yet he could hardly wait to lay eyes upon her. He wanted her in his arms more than he wanted food or rest.
He wasn’t eager to face his parents. His uncle would’ve told them the tale. His father’s disappointment would be difficult to bear, and his mother would wring her hands with worry. He rubbed at the ache in his chest as they entered the village. They turned their horses over to the stable master, and Rob ordered the guard not to sound the horn signaling their return. He couldn’t face a crowd gathering to witness his homecoming.
He and Angus made their way to the ferry. Days of travel in the damp November chill had taken its toll—that and his failure had brought him to the edge of total exhaustion.
“Welcome back, milord,” Arlen greeted, bobbing his head. “I took yer da and ma tae the island just yesterday. I ken they be eager tae see thee.”
“My thanks, Arlen. How does your family fare?”
“Och, couldn’t be better.” Arlen gave him a gap-toothed grin. “My lass and her man couldn’t be any happier tae ha’ a midwife sae close, since she’s breeding.”
Rob’s Adam’s apple bobbed at the mention of his lass. “Erin has been to see her?”
“Och, aye. Lady True brought her tae the village but her second day here. Went ’round tae all the houses she did, and met with each and every family. Me own wife says she spoke of naught but ‘wellness checks’ and the importance of ‘prenatal care,’ whatever that might be.” He chuckled as he untied the ferry from its moors. “Seems a dedicated lass, and comely too. The entire village is talking ’bout her. We’re grateful tae ye for wresting her away from the Sutherlands, milord.”
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