Highland Enchantment (Highland Brides) (28 page)

"You do not covet me for your own?" she asked, and sitting back on her haunches, skimmed her fingers over the bulging curve of her chest. "Not at all?"

"Nay!"

She shrugged, but the movement was difficult. She must be insane. "What a relief it is to know I am perfectly safe with you. I thought maybe after we..." She paused, her mind spinning for a word for what they had shared. "After we made love." She swallowed, knowing she should have chosen words that were crass, but finding herself unable to do so. "I thought afterward, you would be inclined to think I should be yours alone."

His teeth were gritted. She could tell by the taut muscles that showed through the dark skin of his jaw.

"But since you are unconcerned, I see no reason we cannot do it again." Leaning closer, she brushed her lips across his.

"You have no idea what you're dealing with," Liam growled, and grabbed her wrist.

She speared him with her gaze. "Don't I?"

"Nay."

"I thought I was dealing with a man." She meant to say the words caustically, but they didn't come out as intended, for he was too close, his eyes too entrancing. "A man, alone since childhood, yet able to survive by his wits alone. A man of goodness—"

"Nay!" he snapped, and leapt for the door.

In an instant, he was outside.

"We will be gone in minutes." Marta's voice was just audible from beside the wagon. "Twould be safest if you stayed inside, laddie."

"Nay," Liam said, his tone rusty. "Twould not."

True to Marta's words, they left the village in collected haste. Though no explanations were made, Liam wondered if old Marta too had felt the crushing evil, for they didn't stop for many hours, and when they did, it was only to eat, rest the horses for a bit, and move on again.

The afternoon wore slowly away. Liam stopped the mare's restless movement some distance ahead of the wagons. Atop a bouldered hillock, he stared over Lachlan's head at the world beyond.

What was he to do? Maybe it was no longer safe to keep Rachel with the Gypsy band. But surely it was no safer for them alone.

The questions nagged him, burning his mind, until finally, restive and frustrated, he slipped off the mare's back, leaving Lachlan to ride alone. The road dipped into a wide, sheltered glen and back up. Miles slipped beneath Liam's feet. The shadows grew longer.

From the wagon, came the women's hushed voices. Off in the distance a pipet called. The cart horses trudged along, Liam trudged with them, his mind gnawing at his thoughts. Had Davin recognized something familiar about Rachel? Would he follow them? And what of Warwick? Where was he? How long would they have before they were found? The worry turned to a weight, crushing him like a ponderous sack of feed, seeming to slow his feet, to muddle his thinking.

"Where's Lachlan?" Catriona's voice broke through his sweaty haze, and suddenly his heart was pounding.

Where
was
Lachlan?

But now he heard the mare's hoofbeats from up ahead. She turned the bend, trotting toward them. But her back was bare.

Panic broke over Liam like a wild wave.

"Rachel!" He yelled her name, but it was too late, for a man stood in the road ahead, a man who held a knife to the boy's throat. And beside him, not thirty yards away, a dark-robed figure watched.

"Liam." The voice reached for him, raspy harsh, spoken from the depths of a nightmare too hideous to contemplate. "I wondered if you would be here."

"Warwick!" Panic squeezed Liam's throat like a tight fist. It couldn't be. He couldn't have survived the fire.

"Nay. I am not a ghost." Warwick chuckled, but the sound held no humor and issued from beneath the dark hood that shadowed his face. "Did you not know, lad? I am immortal, or soon will be, once I have the dragon."

The words chilled Liam like a damp wind, but he couldn't fail, not now. "What dragon?" He forced the words from between frozen lips, but there was little purpose, for Warwick only laughed.

"The dragon worn by the woman of the Forbes."

"There is no Forbes here."

"Your mother should have taught you better than to lie, lad. I am disappointed. But tis not yer fault, I suspect. A boy needs a father to teach him right from wrong."

Sweat dampened Liam's palms, though he felt strangely cold. "There is no Forbes here," he repeated, and speared his gaze on the sorcerer. He would not glance at Rachel. He would not. But in his mind, he willed her to slip from the wagon and into the woods. If she possessed a wee bit of the gift twas said she had, maybe she could read his thoughts.

"I could almost believe you, lad," Warwick said, his tone patient as he turned his head toward the wagons. "For she does not appear to be the lady my spies described. Indeed, she is quite clever, for her own guards did not recognize her." He chuckled. "I have been following the hulking northerner for some time, for I knew he would find her eventually."

"So Davin is your man," Liam whispered.

"You underestimate me. I do not need to own the man to use him. Indeed, it was quite a simple task to make you think the fellow on the ferry was her guard. But you felt my presence too soon. Yer powers are strong, lad, untrained, but strong. Twas me you felt on the river and me in the village, and I felt the dragon. I knew she had it even before—"

"Let the lad go." Marta's words echoed through the gathering darkness. She had stepped down from the wagon and leaned heavily upon her staff.

Warwick turned his attention to her, his face almost visible for an instant beneath his cowl.

"Who are you, old woman?"

"They call me Marta." She stepped forward. "And I say to let me grandson free before tis too late for you."

"Marta." He raised his head. "I have heard of you."

"Aye!" barked the old woman. "And all you have heard is true. You do not wish to tangle with me, Dark One."

"You know me?"

"I know you by your stench. Loose the child!"

"Send out the Forbes."

Liam streaked his gaze to Rachel, praying she would flee, but she remained as she was, frozen on the wagon seat.

"There is no Forbes here," Marta said. "Only me own granddaughters, and I will not see them with the devil."

"You are far out of your depth, old woman," Warwick hissed. "Not only do I know the Forbes, I have caused her to be here."

Liam caught his breath. Warwick stabbed him with his eyes. "So you did not suspect?"

Liam felt hot, probing fingers in his mind, and then Warwick laughed. "She did not tell you. All this time you risked your life to protect her, and she did not deign to tell you that she goes to tend Scotland's young king?"

"The king!" Marta snapped.

"It seems his mind was failing." Liam could hear the twisted smile in the old man's voice. "He was deranged, seeing things that were not there, as if someone was tampering with his mind. Indeed, some thought him quite mad. Thus, they sent for the woman to heal him."

Terror spurred through Liam. Warwick had toyed with King James's mind, knowing Rachel would be called forth to see to him. Warwick had known all along she would come. He had only to await an opportunity to waylay her.

There was no hope.

"So I have more power than you knew. Aye, lad," the wizard hissed: "More power than you can imagine."

It was exactly what Liam had been thinking.

"I have had a long while to learn of the dragon," Warwick said. "Aye, I have learned." He nodded with one shallow movement of his cowl. "I knew it would come to her. There is some bond there, some unearthly bond between the amulet and the Highland women. Aye, I learned that some years ago when it was bound to the others. This dark-haired wench is the only one of the three who had not yet worn it, not yet felt its protection. Twas a simple task to threaten the king. I knew she would come, and once she was beyond her father's protection..." He shrugged, the movement almost casual. "There is nothing that can stop me now."

There was no hope, Liam thought frantically.

"True," Warwick intoned. "Unless you join me. Send the woman to me."

"Nay," Liam said, but the word was as significant as a sigh.

"I can take her," Warwick said. "I could kill you all, but I have always felt sentimental toward you, lad. And as for you, old woman." His gaze flitted to Marta. "The Forbes is not your own. Give her to me and I will let your lad go. Refuse, and..." He nodded toward the man that held Lachlan.

The knife sliced across the boy's throat.

Catriona screamed. Lachlan's knees buckled, but he remained standing. A droplet of blood slicked along the blade and onto the boy's tunic. But only a scratch showed across his neck.

"The next slice—"

"I am here!" Rachel said.

"Nay!" Liam gasped, but she was already beside the cart horse, her hand clenched in the animal's mane. "Nay." He turned his panicked gaze back to the wizard. "She doesn't have the dragon."

"Indeed?" Warwick did not turn his attention from Rachel. "Then where is it, Liam?"

"I have it."

The laughter was ugly, echoing through the woods like a banshee's wail. "It seems I believed that once before. It cost me dearly," he said, and threw back his hood.

Rachel gasped. Liam felt his heart clench in his chest.

The old man had no face. Instead, he had a patchwork of parchment scars stretched tight over angular bones. His hair grew in patches between the deserts of his scars, and from two hollow graves, his opaque eyes glared.

"Dear God," Rachel whispered, her knuckles whitening in the horse's mane.

"So even revolting to the renowned healer," Warwick rasped. "Or shall I call you the lady saint?"

"I can help you," Rachel murmured.

The laughter was hollow. "Aye, you can. Give me the dragon."

She lifted her hand to her chest, clutching the amulet. "Will you let my friends go?" Her voice was a whisper.

"Of course. I will let you all go."

Rachel shook her head. "You lie," she said softly. "Dragonheart is bound to me. You will not allow that to continue."

Silence ruled the woods.

Warwick watched her for a moment then nodded shallowly "So you have your mother's gift. I wondered. Still, I fear it will do you no good, for my own skills are far beyond yours. And so you have a choice to make. Tis your life or the lad's, and you are a healer."

Rachel stepped forward.

"Nay!" Liam shrieked, and lunged for her. But in that instant Rory grabbed his arms from behind.

"So she is not your wife," the Rom growled. "But the boy
is
Catriona's kin."

"Rachel!" Liam yelled, fighting to get free. She turned toward him, her face pale in the darkness, but in a moment she stepped forward again. "Nay!" he screamed, but she was nearly there, nearly within the wizard's reach.

"Bear!" Catriona yelled.

The beast rose from the shadows with a roar, snatched Lachlan's captor in his powerful jaws, and flung him aside. Others leapt forward, but the bear turned with the agility of a cat. The closest one fell like a fly beneath his gigantic paw.

Lachlan spurted toward the wagons.

"Run Rachel!" Liam yelled.

She turned toward him and in that moment he knew the truth. She would not leave without him.

"Balls!" he rasped, and jerking his head backward, slammed it into Rory's face.

Bone crunched against his skull, but he only cared that he was free. Scrambling out of the Rom's reach, he flew toward Rachel, grabbed her hand, and yanked her into the woods.

Bear roared.

A man screamed, but the sound was truncated, chopped off in the middle.

"Leave them!" Warwick shrieked.

Branches slapped against Liam's face. Nettles tore at his clothes. His own panicked breathing blurred his concentration, but still, from behind him, he heard the tromping of a half dozen running feet.

"Faster!" His voice was no more than a hiss in the darkness.

Rachel tripped, nearly falling. He jerked her back up, and they were running again, streaking hand in hand through the darkness.

Forever flew behind them. They raced through the woods, gasping for breath, praying for life.

Turning and running and turning again until finally Liam slowed to a walk.

"Have we lost them?"

She didn't answer, and when he glanced back, her eyes looked too large to be real, great amethyst pools of fear. Dirt streaked her face, and hollows of fatigue showed beneath her eyes.

"We'll rest for—'"

The snap of a twig froze him to silence, and suddenly Liam felt Warwick's evil like a tangible force. Despair washed over him. They could not outrun their enemies' horses. But neither could they give up. Desperation speared through him like a hot lance.

"Come!" They stumbled back into a rim, but they would not go far. There! The hollow of a tree, hidden by dried bracken and craggy boulders. "Get in."

"Nay!"

"Get in!" he snapped, planning frantically. He still had the black powder Marta had given him.

If he were clever, she could yet survive. "I can escape better without you. I will lead them away."

"Tis suicide for you," she whispered.

"I will lead them away, and when they are gone, you will find safety."

"Hide with me." She clawed at his sleeve, but he grabbed her arms.

"You will not die! Do you hear me, Rachel! You will not die!" he rasped, and pushed her inside. The bracken closed firmly behind her. Even from a few inches away, he couldn't see her.

He stumbled away, praying as he ran.

Their pursuers were riding single file and stopped dead in their tracks when they saw him standing in their path.

"Look what we've found?" said the closest man, and lifted his bow.

"Nay!" Warwick commanded. "Don't kill him."

"Nay indeed," Liam agreed. He dredged up a cocky smile and stepped forward, prayers running through his soul like weary chants. "For I have something you may want."

"You have the dragon?" Warwick rasped, his tone reverent.

"Aye, I have it."

"Show me."

"Certainly," Liam agreed, and putting his hand to his neck, acted as if he were pulling a chain from beneath his tunic as he stepped forward.