Knight Errant: A Highland Passage Novel (2 page)

Her hand twitched from the reflex to shake hands, but he already held her hand—right below his mouth. He lowered her hand and released it on its own recognizance—his assumption surely being that she wouldn’t reach for his collar and pull him against her to see if his lips felt as good on her mouth as they had on her hand. That was the bitterness talking. What better way to vent her anger with Jack than by proving that she didn’t need him by throwing herself at the next guy who talked her down off a ledge?

“Mistress Quinn, may I escort you somewhere?”

Violet looked quizzically at him. To say he was strange was the least of it. He sounded Scottish, which wasn't all that unusual. After all, people traveled. But he was wearing what looked like a doublet, trunk hose, and over-the-knee leather boots. It wasn’t a bad look, actually. It gave him a sort of Elizabethan punk rock vibe that was a far cry from the khaki and pale pinpoint-oxford palette preferred by the men who peppered her typical day. But still, something wasn’t quite right. They were only an hour away from New York City. With as much time as she spent in the city, how had she missed this new fashion? Oh, well, what did she know? It wasn't as though she spent her days in the Garment District. She was an accountant in her company's White Plains office. When she went to the city, it was usually to take in a play. The theater district had far more tourists than New Yorkers, so she had clearly just missed a new fashion trend. She made a mental note to pick up a couple of magazines to catch up.

As for his hair, it was long and unkempt—whipped by the wind. She wanted to smooth it back down, every last brown-black strand, because underneath all that hair were gray eyes that were gentle and warm—and still staring at her. She nearly apologized again but stopped herself.
Don't make it worse.
Yet how could it be any worse? She'd already found her boyfriend in bed with someone else, had a panic attack on the face of a cliff, and now she was alone with a strangely dressed man—and all before lunch. Although, he had just saved her life, and he was—if she were interested in that sort of thing at the moment, which she was not—striking, in a tall, dark, and brooding way.

“Where are you bound? I will see you there safely.” He grasped the reins of a horse tethered nearby—a horse that she had failed to notice while fixating on him. How had she not noticed a horse?

“Well, I seem to be lost. If you would just point me in the direction of Farmers Mills Road?”

“Farmers Mills—” He squinted and looked off to the distance.

“Road. Yes.”

He shrugged. “I'm sorry. I dinnae ken where that is.”

He glanced about, and Violet followed suit. Nothing looked as it should. She had grown up in Putnam County, New York. She and her friends had explored most of the hiking paths within thirty miles, so she ought to know where she was. She did not.

“I can take you back into the city, if you like.”

“The city? No, thank you, I'm fine. Thanks for rescuing me.” She smiled, but it faded under the shade of his stature. Why he fixed his eyes on hers, she didn’t understand—but she didn’t complain, either. If she were in need of a rebound guy, he would do. But she wasn’t. No, that was the last thing that she needed. What she needed was to go home, spend some time alone, and plan a restful vacation.

Just as she was getting used to his gaze, he looked away. “Well, I’ll not leave you here.”

“Why not?”

“Because it wouldnae be right.” Without asking again, he took her hand and guided her toward the horse.

Violet wasn’t one to take orders, nor had he given any. He seemed to assume she would ride with him. Violet took stock. What choice did she have? She was lost and on foot, while he had a horse and he knew where he was. The stone chamber was near Fahnestock Park, so there was a good chance she was lost somewhere in its sixteen thousand acres of state parkland. So her choices were to wander alone and wind up eating bugs and the wrong kinds of plants for survival, only to die or, best-case scenario, vomit her entrails out—or she could allow a stranger to take her to safety. That was her most sensible option. He had done nothing but help her. Not only did she feel safe with him, but he had an uncanny way of making whatever he said seem like the right thing to do. She wouldn’t call what she felt trust—because Jack had ruined that for her—but since Robert had brought her to safety, she supposed she could defer to his judgment this once. So she climbed onto the horse, then he mounted behind her.

They followed a path by the water, which Violet assumed was one of the many reservoirs in Putnam County that supplied drinking water for New York City. Before long, they rounded a bend, bringing into view a walled city across the water, which she could now see was, in fact, a river. It was too narrow to be the Hudson River. She didn’t recognize the location or the stone bridge spanning the water. She looked about and was forced to admit with unsettling certainty that she was, indeed, lost.

He nodded toward the city. “That's Perth.”

“Perth?”

They stopped outside the city gate, where he let her down off the horse to go on her way.

He eyed her, frowning for a moment. “Have you someplace to stay?”

Violet gave him a sharp look. “I'll be fine.” He hesitated, unconvinced, but she lifted her chin and dismissed him with a curt, “Thank you.”

“Very well then.” His eyes softened. “I shall bid you farewell.”

Violet was already beginning to lose the power to think under his gaze, but when he did that hand-kissing thing again, he finished her off. All she could do was emit a garbled mess of breathlessness that would have to do for a good-bye.

He rode away looking tall and sinewy—just how she liked them. Just like Jack.

“And look how well that worked out,” she reminded herself.

She watched him until a third person brushed past her on their way into the city, and she started to walk.
“I shall bid you farewell?” Who says that?

THE GLEANERS

T
here was no city named Perth near Violet’s home. The only place walled-in like this was the nearby Greenhaven Prison, but this wall was different. Instead of cement, it was made up of stones, like the medieval stone walls she had seen around old castles in Scotland. She fell into step with a stream of people passing through the main gate. Apparently there was some sort of Renaissance Faire going on. She hoped that, once inside, she might find a phone or someone willing to offer directions. She had already asked a few people, but they looked her up and down, crossed themselves, and walked away without saying a word. They could stare all they wanted, but they were the ones who looked as if they had leapt off the canvas of Millet's
The Gleaners
. She shrugged off their reactions and went on her way.

As she walked down the High Street, she had no goal in mind, but she felt sure she would find her way home just by walking until something looked familiar. A low murmur grew to a din as a crowd rounded a corner and moved steadily toward her. It looked as though they were reenacting a mob of angry villagers. All they needed were some torches. She wanted to laugh, but they looked awfully serious—a point that was driven home the closer they came. No, they weren’t joking. For reasons she couldn’t fathom, they were coming straight for her. She had to get out of their way, so she plastered herself to the wall of a shop, but the mob spanned the street from wall to wall. A door opened, and a firm hand grasped her wrist and yanked her into a shop. The door closed as quickly as it had opened.

With no explanation, she was pulled toward the back of the shop, where a thin ribbon of light from a shuttered window revealed her cliff rescuer. “Robert?”

Looking past her toward the front, he said, “Are you mad?”

“No, I'm lost.”

“Aye, that much is clear.”

“I thought I'd ask someone for directions.”

He eyed her strangely.

“Look, I know it's a foreign concept to men, but I—” A loud thud at the front door startled her into silence.

Robert glanced toward the door but ignored it and returned his gaze to her.

Violet said, “The thing is, I don't know where I am.”

He studied her, his brow creased. “Where were you before we met?”

“In the cave.”

“And before that?”

Violet met his intense gaze, which made her lose her trust in him, although she couldn’t say why. Perhaps it was because Jack had had the same sort of intensity when she first met him. She’d later realized that the riveted look that made women blush was no more than a parlor trick—one that had worked on her.

Instead of answering, she said, “Where were you?”

“I was at the bottom of the hill when I looked up and saw you.”

A man called from the rear of the building, “Robert, we'd best leave before it's too late.”

Still grasping her wrist, Robert peered deeply into her eyes then turned and led her through the back door of the shop, where a monk waited with two horses.

“Henry, Mistress Quinn is coming with us.”

Henry leaned closer to Robert and lowered his voice. “'Tis a bad idea, and you ken it.”

“We cannae leave her here alone.”

Henry opened his mouth to speak, but seeing Robert's narrowing eyes, he shook his head instead. He glanced toward the creaking front door. It would give way to the crowd before long. “We've no time to argue.”

Violet stepped closer to the arguing men. “Excuse me, but shouldn't I have a say?”

Robert met her determined expression with one of his own. “I'll not leave you here. You dinnae even ken where you are.”

Before she could answer, the crowd broke through the door.

Robert hoisted her onto his horse. “Here's your choice: if you want to live, come with us. If not, stay here.”

The din of the crowd convinced her he might have a point. Henry grumbled about how this would slow them down, but Robert ignored him and leapt up behind Violet.

As they rode, Robert leaned over, scooped up some clothes draped over some bushes to dry, and handed them to Violet. “Hold these.”

Violet took them and said, “Why?”

“You can put them on later.”

“Why?”

“Look at yourself. Dressed like that, not to mention your strange speech, you'll be tried as a harlot or a witch.”

Violet smirked. “Sure, John Proctor.” When he failed to share her amusement, she said, “Look, thanks for the ride, but I can walk from here.”

“I've no doubt.” He made no effort to slow down. They emerged from the wynd ahead of the crowd but just barely, and made it through the Highgate, trailing behind Henry.

“You can let me down now.”

His arms remained firmly about her as he leaned down and spoke close to her ear, “You must trust me.”

“Last time someone said that, I shouldn’t have.”

“Did I not get you down the cliff safely?”

“Yes, but this is different.”

“Aye, it's more dangerous. Look behind us.”

Violet turned to see a crowd on foot heading toward them. “Are they following us?”

“Nay, lass, but they may as well be, for it looks like they’re headed where we are.”

“And where’s that?”

“Ahead, to Blackfriars Monastery.” Once there, Robert dismounted and helped Violet down, and he left Henry with the horses. “Stay close, and do as I say.” Robert took Violet's hand and led her to a door where a tall, sturdy monk with graying hair waited for them.

“Brother Thomas, this is Violet.”

The monk’s gray eyes settled on Violet for only a moment, then he gave Robert a questioning look. He started to speak, but Henry joined them, and Brother Thomas stopped.

Brother Thomas handed Henry a bundle. “John Knox has exhorted his people to cast down the idols of the kirk. I’ve gathered the most valuable ones here. Take them to the Sinclairs in Roslin for safekeeping.” His speech made it clear that he wasn’t from Scotland.

Henry nodded and went back outside.

When Henry was gone, Robert said, “Violet has come from the cave.”

The two shared a knowing look, and Brother Thomas lifted an archer’s quiver. But instead of arrows, it held a rolled up length of linen. Thomas glanced sideways at Violet and spoke cryptically. “We once spoke of how this day might come.”

A dark look came into Robert’s eyes.

Brother Thomas put the quiver in Robert’s hands. “Guard this as you would your own life, for it may be more precious. Its secrets will be lost if you fail in your mission.”

Robert nodded gravely and slung the strap diagonally over his chest so the quiver hung over his back alongside his own arrow-filled quiver. He turned to Brother Thomas. “They’ll be here soon. Will you not come with us?”

“I’ve a hidden room here where I’ll be safe.” The monk clasped Robert’s hand in both of his. “I’ll not see you again.”

Robert’s brow furrowed as he clenched his jaw and reluctantly nodded. “I dinnae ken how to thank you.”

“To see the man you’ve become is enough thanks for me.” Brother Thomas gave Robert’s shoulder a firm grip then released him.

Robert turned to Violet. “Come, lass.”

She started to follow him, but Brother Thomas put his hand on her arm. “Take care of him.”

Violet wasn’t sure how to respond. She began to protest and explain how things were, but something stopped her. Perhaps it was the warm light in the older man’s eyes. “I will,” she replied.

As they rode away, Robert said, “He was like a father to me.”

Behind them, the mob of reformers arrived and began to loot Blackfriars Monastery.

The three rode in silence until Henry looked back and called to Robert, “Do you see them?”

“Aye.”

Violet looked back and saw two horsemen in black gaining on them.

Robert circled her waist and pulled her back against him. “Stay close against me so I can shield you.”

“Shield me?”

An arrow flew past them. As Robert urged his horse on, something fell from the bundle tied to Henry's saddle. Henry pulled on the reins.

Robert cried, “What are you doing?”

Henry ignored Robert's cry and went back for a jeweled chalice that had fallen.

Robert wrapped Violet’s hand around the hilt of a dirk. “Hold this tightly and be ready to use it.”