Chapter Eighteen

“Malcolm is going to be furious.” Catha whispered the words even though she and Tansy stood outside the door of the inn and presumably Malcolm, still up in his chamber, would not hear. The two women waited anxiously while Lionel, head of Catha’s guard, brought their horses.

“Are you certain he still sleeps?”

“Aye.” Tansy wrapped the shawl more closely around her shoulders. “He is spent.” Also, she’d given him just a wee push to assure he might stay asleep a bit longer. Then she’d kissed his lips and slipped away, wondering if she would ever see him again.

“He will wake soon. And he will come after us.”

“That is why we maun get awa’ out o’ here at once. Where are those horses?”

Ah, Tansy could see Lionel coming with them now. Her empty stomach—for they had not tarried for breakfast—did a slow roll.

Catha went on fretting. “Have you ever seen him ride when he is angry? I have. No one could best him in a race—not even Mercien.”

Catha’s voice broke on the last word, and Tansy shot her a look. She wondered if Catha had ever lain with her love.

Tansy’s body still tingled from her night with Malcolm, while every single moment remained emblazoned on her mind—every touch, each kiss, each caress.

Not that she loved Sir Malcolm. Did she?

The question caused her eyes to grow wide, but she had no time for contemplating mad things. Lionel arrived with the horses, and the other two guardsmen—Reginald and Burt—stepped forward to help her and Catha mount.

From the mare’s back she looked up at the inn and located the window of the chamber where Malcolm slept. It remained dark. Had she used too much magic, or just enough?

She could not fairly say whether she loved the man, but she wanted full well to protect him from falling back into Latham’s hands.

“Swiftly,” she called, “let us ride.”

****

Malcolm woke slowly from a lurid dream, his whole body alive with desire, and lay with his eyes closed for a moment, savoring the sensations. The memories, he corrected himself. For aye, it had all happened. Every tantalizing movement of Tansy’s lips.

Tansy.

His mind cried out for her even as his body echoed the demand. She’d come to his bed, hot and eager. They’d fused together in all the ways a man and woman might. He could still taste her, could virtually feel her beside him, feel himself inside her.

Sweet, wild, and beautiful lass with the willing body and clever mind. One in ten thousand.

He opened his eyes to find the chamber filled with dim gray light. The bed beside him lay empty and cold.

Aye then, she would have gone back to Catha’s chamber. Indecent to find her here, and the two of them not wed.

His spirits sank as the memory of what this day must bring descended on him. Catha. Dun Ballan. Mercien.

How could he entertain even a shred of desire? By all that was holy, he had to endanger one of those he loved best in all the world, to try and save the other. And Tansy…

He could not say, in truth, how he felt about her. But the prospect of being in her company drew him from the bed and had him donning his clothing and weapons hastily. She awaited him below. Why did he tarry here?

But she did not await him below.

His arrival in the main room of the inn brought forth a sleepy landlord, who told him the rest of his party had ridden on.

“What is that you say?” Malcolm felt the blood drain from his head. “When?”

“Och, it maun ha’ been near an hour ago, Sir Knight.”

An hour. Precious time slipping away like sand while he slumbered, dreaming of the lithesome lass with the gleaming eyes. She who had just betrayed him.

Had she planned it all? Had she exhausted him and sent him deep into sleep so she and the others might then depart? What of her promised loyalty? He spoke a curse that made the landlord back off a step.

“My horse. At once.”

“Aye, m’lord. Lad—fetch Master’s horse at once.” The landlord turned to Malcolm, concern now etching his face. “Some ale, m’lord, before you go?”

“Sod that,” Malcolm said rudely and went to await his mount.

****

“So that is Dun Ballan.” For the first time in hours Tansy found herself distracted from thoughts of Malcolm. Indeed, all the day long she’d focused more of her attention back than forward, half expecting to see an angry Malcolm appear on their trail. They’d ridden hard, yet she knew he’d ride harder, spurred by rage.

To be sure, she’d cast a few wee spells in their wake, meant to delay him—naught that would harm him or his mount, that fine beast, but a few downed tree limbs, a confusing twist in the road, and a broken-down cart in his way could not hurt.

Still, she reckoned they had not much time. They should hasten on and insert themselves into Latham’s household. Yet the sight of the keep, a great pile of black stones beneath a brooding gray sky, gave her pause.

“It looks an evil place,” she said to Catha.

“It is an evil place, if it holds Mercien in chains.” Catha’s expression turned uncommonly grim. “And if ’tis anything like its master.”

“Have you been here before, Mistress Catha?”

“I have once or twice, by invitation and in my father’s company. I believe Latham wished to impress us. All such invitations ceased when my father sold me into marriage.”

“Latham wanted you even then? But you were no more than a wee girl.”

“He wanted my father’s lands. Father chose to send me to another. So you see, things might ha’ been still worse than what I endured. All, Mistress Tansy, is known by degrees. Latham is a cruel man with a devious mind. Ruthless. Never turn your back on him. And do no’ let him ken you love Malcolm.”

“I—”

“Do no’ spend your breath trying to deny it. I saw your expression when you came from his chamber this dawn. Latham hates him and will hurt you for that reason—as we ha’ learned. Hold your secret close to your breast, even as I will hold mine.”

Tansy nodded.

“Then, mistress, if you are ready, let us move on.”

Tansy cast one more look over her shoulder before nudging her mare forward with her knees.

The keep loomed over them as they approached. Situated offshore on a scrap of island in a loch, it might be reached only via a wooden bridge guarded by a black tower, from which men immediately emerged. Lionel pushed forward to meet them.

“Good day,” he called.

Perhaps not an auspicious beginning, Tansy thought. The day, which had never been fine, had now nearly passed. Dark settled in from the surrounding hills.

Latham’s guards raked her and Catha with their gazes and glared at Catha’s men. Tansy’s inner sense sat up and began to howl. Nay, perhaps this had not been a good idea.

“State your business,” said the man on the right, not bothering to lower his sword. Looking up at the tower, Tansy saw the head of an arrow piercing the narrow slit between the stones. “Dun Ballan is closed.”

Aye, and looked it.

Lionel, appearing perturbed, persisted. “I ha’ here the Lady Catha of Castle Gunn come to call upon Donald Latham. Kindly tell your master she has come.”

“Be off wi’ you,” said the man callously. “After nightfall, no one comes or goes.”

Tansy’s heart fell. If they were forced to wait for morning, Malcolm would catch them up. And then how would she be able to protect him?

Catha nudged her horse forward. “Kindly tell Master Latham I am here, unless you wish to lose the skin of your back.”

The two men exchanged glances. One of them held up a hand, signaling the tower, before pelting away with his armor rattling.

Tansy, unable to prevent herself, turned in the saddle and looked back the way they’d come. In the moments they’d wasted suing for entry, night had indeed fallen. She doubted she would be able to see Malcolm now, in any case.

He might be just there, watching them. His anger might bring him forward, and the guard in the tower might well release his shot. Malcolm might fall.

Despair assailed her at the thought. For an instant she could not breathe.

Then Catha, returned to her side, nudged her. “Best say a prayer; that man returns.”

So swiftly? Tansy spun about to see the guard, well winded, jogging toward them.

“Let them pass,” he called to his fellows. “At once!”

Relief and terror combined to drench Tansy with hot and cold. She did not want to enter this place. Some deep and primordial instinct within told her to flee even as her heart rejoiced: Malcolm at least would not be able to follow them in.

Catha, head high, moved forward. Lionel followed, only to be halted by the breathless guard.

“Nay—only the women.”

“Eh?” Lionel balked, hand on his sword. “Unacceptable. I am Mistress MacGunn’s escort. Where she goes, so go I.”

“Only the women, or I am to turn you all awa’.”

Catha raised her gaze to the pile of black stones of which Dun Ballan had been built. Mercien lay there: Tansy could almost hear her thinking the words. So close to him, how could she leave?

“Mistress.” Lionel engaged her attention. “I beg you at least wait for morning.”

“Another night?” Catha whispered. More torment for Mercien. She turned to Tansy. “I will go. You do no’ need to come wi’ me.”

“But we ha’ a plan,” Tansy protested in a whisper, far weaker than she liked.

“Aye, but you need no’ risk your safety.”

How could she let Catha face this terrible place alone? Without Tansy’s particular abilities, she might never emerge again.

Once more she glanced behind and whispered not a prayer but a wee spell.

“Keep him safe.”

And then she rode forward at Catha’s side, into the darkness.