Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Lass!” Catha seized Tansy with both hands and shook her. “You canna’ fall apart on me now.”

“But he—”

“Perhaps you did no’ hear what you thought you heard. Come.”

They went on more swiftly now, as the commotion downstairs increased.

Tansy sought to reason it out. “But if they called for the dispenser—”

“Hush!”

The activity below seemed to have drained the rest of the keep of its occupants. When the back stairs opened at their feet, they were silent and deserted. Catha towed Tansy down, past the open doorway of the kitchen where female servants had gathered and stood gossiping, and thence through a twisting corridor to a doorway, where she paused.

“’Twill be bright daylight out there,” she cautioned Tansy. “We will easily be seen. Are you prepared to slip into the water? We canna’ tarry.”

“Aye.” But Tansy did not feel certain. Part of her wanted to go back and see whether Latham yet lived—if she’d slain a man, however deserving. Part of her feared the water almost as much as capture. Part of her had always feared deep water. Yet her choices were few.

She whispered a spell as Catha eased the door open and peered out. “Jesu! ’Tis a meeting place for the guards. Many of them are gone, and the loch lies just beyond. How fast can you run?”

“Fast.” Of that, Tansy felt certain.

“Then there is no use in stealth. When I bid you, run.”

“Aye.” But the word lodged in Tansy’s throat even as sunlight blinded her eyes. Catha towed her out the door, breathing the word into her ear rather than shouting:

“Run.”

Sudden shouting came from behind them, a sharp hue and cry accompanied by more pounding footsteps. They were seen! Tansy beat Catha to the water—no need of a fortress wall here—where she balked like a recalcitrant pony.

The water, cold and green, lay edged with jagged rocks, past which she must leap to save her skin. Her heart wanted to jump; her feet remained rooted to the soil.

Voices roared behind them, and Catha seized her arm again.

“Jump!”

Catha leaped, pulling Tansy with her. To avoid the waiting rocks, Tansy jumped with all her strength. They hit the water and—

For several moments, Tansy’s mind lost all comprehension. Cold and terror stole the capacity for rational thought. She plunged deep into the greenness, took a breath of it, and started to drown.

She felt Catha’s hand pulling at her skirts, towing her in the other direction. They broke the surface into chilly air, and she choked as water spilled out of her.

“Och, Jesu!”

Somehow Catha began to stroke, towing Tansy’s nearly dead weight, struggling and straining. None of the guards, whom Tansy could just see when she rolled her eyes, jumped in after them. But their voices followed, some calling orders, and Catha groaned.

“Help me, Tansy. They mean to cut us off at the shore.”

Tansy, galvanized, began to flail and splash. She could see men hurrying around to the place toward which Catha towed her.

She gasped, “Leave me. Save yourself.”

“I will no’.” Catha’s face, white from the cold, appeared before Tansy’s eyes, blue gaze beseeching. “Do no’ ask it of me.”

“But they—” Tansy foundered and almost went under; Catha hauled her up again.

“You maun live for Malcolm, as I maun for Mercien. Do you no’ wish to see him again? Touch him, kiss him?”

“Aye.”

“Then help me. Gi’ them a push.”

“What?”

“Use your strength—your true strength.”

Weak, terrified, and drained by the cold, Tansy considered it.

The men on the shore began to shout, “Witch! Drown, witch!”

They commenced throwing stones, one of which narrowly missed Catha. A shout came from the wooden bridge, and the stones stopped flying.

Tansy knew then—Latham lived still.

“Come. Big breath.”

Catha towed Tansy under the water and off on another tangent. Tansy’s ears filled with icy water, her nostrils with the scent of the loch which, to her, smelled like death. Her lungs wanted to burst. She was dying.

They surfaced farther down the shore in the shelter of a snag that reared up out of the water. Tansy, gasping for breath, imagined they had but moments.

“Out.” Catha thrust Tansy upward with inhuman strength. Tansy scrabbled for a hold on the shore, thrashing her wet skirts wildly and listening for any hint of discovery.

“Here, help me!”

With a grunt, Tansy hauled Catha from the water. The cold air bit at her, and she shivered violently.

“Away. Run.”

No other words passed between them for some time. They’d surfaced adjacent to a stand of trees, and Catha led the way, twisting and twining between the trunks. Tansy could hear no sounds of pursuit, could hear nothing for the breath rushing in her lungs. Even the snapping of twigs underfoot became lost.

At last Catha dragged her to a halt and hissed, “Listen.”

Tansy, gasping, strove to hold her breath. “Are we awa’? Are we safe?” She could scarcely believe it.

But Catha gave a sharp shake of her head. “They come.”

“I canna’ hear—”

“Whisht!” Catha stared into Tansy’s face, her eyes full of terror. “Run!”

****

The pressure provided by Catha’s hand on the back of Tansy’s neck pressed her face into the damp ground. It had started raining some time ago, adding to the misery of their flight, and Tansy suspected that made them easier to track.

Now afternoon drew on—night would soon fall. Tansy hoped if they could defy capture till then she might call the dark to cover them. But their pursuers followed mere steps behind, among the trees.

She might hold her breath but couldn’t halt the deep shudders that shook her body, prompted by the cold. Suddenly she felt convinced they would be caught—knew it to her toes.

But Catha eased down on top of her, pressing her farther into the wet ground and keeping her still.

“This way!”

She could hear the men calling to one another, then the approaching thunder of their footsteps, the jingle of their weapons. She heard them push through the copse in which she and Catha had gone to ground, the snapping of twigs, and she heard their breath, hoarse and labored as her own.

“There!”

All her blood ran cold—colder than before—though little heat remained in her body. Spent, she had no time to pray or cast a spell before Catha’s weight flew off her, and hard hands hauled her up after.

Two of Latham’s guards, both obviously enraged, were swiftly joined by two more, who came hurrying after—not the man himself, thank all that was holy.

Not yet.

Catha gasped and began to exclaim. “Take your hands from me! How dare you manhandle me this way? Do you no’ ken I am betrothed to your master?”

“Aye,” returned the man who held her, Tansy having been collared by the second guard. “And that is why I dare no’ leave go of you, lady. ’Tis worth the skin o’ my back.”

Catha exchanged a wild look with Tansy. She no longer looked like the composed, immaculate woman Tansy had first met—face and hands smeared with mud, skirts filthy, soiled blonde hair hanging down.

She lowered her voice and said to the guard, “Let us go, and I will mak’ it worth your while. All of you. Accompany us awa’ to Castle Gunn. I ha’ great wealth and will mak’ something o’ you.”

The man eyed Tansy. “And this one, lady? Master do say she be a witch.”

Catha’s gaze touched Tansy’s again before she declared bravely, “She comes wi’ us or we do no’ go.”

The man shook his head. “The land be rife wi’ witches just now. Master will ken what to do wi’ this one. Careful wi’ her now, Archie, that she does no’ cast her eye on you.”

The brute holding Tansy tightened his grip painfully and cinched her higher, causing her to lose what little breath remained in her body, and making it impossible to reach for her magic.

“I ken fine,” the man grunted. “The wee bitch will do no harm to me.”