Sarah Gabriel (17 page)

“This is a fairy crystal, handed through my family for generations,” she answered. “I’ve got a touch of fairy blood in me, and…a hand for the magic now and then.” Her eyes sparkled, their moonlight gray enchanting.

“I could almost believe that, Miss MacCarran, if I believed in fairies and such.” He took up the reins. “Hold tight. And try to resist your unrelenting urge to be shut of me.”

He turned the horse toward the Perth road, and was glad to see that Kate wrapped her arms around his waist without protest.

She rode dozing in his arms, giving him the sort of trust he wished he could earn from her when she was awake. Supporting her with one arm, he slowed the horse beside the road and sat watching the dawn turn from cool pink to brilliant fire over the ridge of the mountains.

He often felt grateful for such things—the rising sun, the breath in his body. He knew how quickly it could vanish, and he had built a shell around himself to protect against such loss.

Lately, most particularly when he was with Kate, he sensed that shell beginning to shift and crack. He felt a warm burst of gratitude, of emotion, in his chest. He had felt that only since he had met Kate MacCarran.

For too long he had allowed himself only safe feelings, emotions he could control. Since this fey and lovely girl had walked into his life, that had changed. He knew that now. And if it continued, the gates that shielded him would crack.

Either he would then face his old hurt—or he would find that it had healed and he could be reborn, in a way. He did not know what might happen, nor could he guess if Kate was a permanent part of that. But he knew she had a kind of magic indeed.

All his careful resistance had fallen by the wayside now, for he realized that he was succumbing more than any other man ever could. He had gone the fool for Katie Hell. And he did not mind so much as he thought he might.

He pressed his cheek against her hair, kissed her head, allowed himself that—no one to see, no one to know. He held her quietly and watched the new day birth out of the old.

Kate stirred, half sat, looked about sleepily. “Oh, it’s lovely,” she said, looking at the sky.

“Aye,” Alec murmured, and urged the horse forward.

T
he bed beneath her sagged, but no more so than her spirit. Seated in the upstairs room at the inn, Kate gazed out the window at a sunny sky, heathered hills, and trees blazing with autumn. She wanted to be out there, on her way to Duncrieff. Instead, she was locked in his room, with a couple of guards posted outside.

Alec Fraser was taking no chances that she might try to escape again—or so he had told her when he had left her there earlier that day. Before departing, he had found two old women to sit outside her room and make sure she stayed put inside.

“I am not so foolish as to post a male guard outside your door,” he had told her when he had returned to
the room to fetch his canvas bag. “I’m concerned about Jack, and I’m going to ride out looking for him. It’s best I leave you here, where you can be confined. Old Mrs. MacLennan and her sister will act as your chaperones. They’re not very talkative,” he had said, opening the door while Kate gaped at him in disbelief. “They fear you’ll try to cast a spell on them.”

“Why?” she had demanded, jumping up from the bed to rush toward the door.

“I have no idea,” he said lightly, and closed the door, but not before her shoe, yanked off and thrown at him, narrowly missed his head. Then she heard the turn of the key in the lock and his footsteps on the stairs.

Kate was not sure what explanation Alec had given either of the old ladies, but when they had delivered luncheon to her shortly afterward, they both gaped at her in silence, deposited the tray, and scuttled out with scarcely a word. Again the key turned, and she was alone.

At least she was free of shackles, and she had her crystal pendant back in her own keeping. After closely examining the lock, and seeing through the keyhole the two old ladies perched on chairs in the corridor—one of them sending such dark scowls toward the door that Kate was certain she was the only one in danger of a nasty spell—that she had finally decided just to spend some time resting. The past week had been exhausting.

Later, awake and refreshed after a long nap, she heard a male voice outside her door, but it did not belong to Alec, nor was it the gravelly tones of the old lady with the dark scowl.

She went to the door and tapped on the wood. “Hello!”

“Aye?” the man answered. It was a young voice, a bit quavery and quite pleasant. “What can I do for ye, Mrs. Fraser?”

“Who’s there?” She pressed her hands to the door. “Where are the old—where is old Mrs. MacLennan?”

“
Och
, the ladies were weary, ’twas a long time for them to sit here, so I offered to watch the door for a bit. I understand you’re not to leave. Are you sick? By the way, I’m Davey, Jean’s brother.”

“Oh! No, I’m not sick at all. I feel quite well. And I’m pleased to meet you, Davey MacLennan.” Kate smiled to herself. Oh, she thought, Alec Fraser would regret leaving her this day.

“And you, Mrs. Fraser.” His voice had not yet settled into its masculine resonance. “What d’ye need, Mistress? Would ye like some food or drink?”

“That would be lovely, Davey, thank you.”

“Yer husband says ye’re no’ to be let out of there, no matter what.”

“We had a silly spat, my husband and I…I’m sure it’s fine if I come out now.”

“He said ye’re no’ to go even downstairs. Says ye’re a bit of a wildcat, and we’re to keep an eye over ye ’til he returns.”

“Oh, Davey. That’s not really necessary.”

“He was quite firm aboot it, Mistress.”

“Oh,” she said tentatively. “Do you know where he is?”

“He left a while ago, riding out, and hasna come back. He said ye shouldna come down to the public room for any reason, wi’ the dragoons down there.
Worried aboot his wee bride near soldiers, I suppose.”

“I see,” she said, oddly touched to think that Alec might have had her safety in mind after all.

“He has a temper indeed,” Davey said, “for he was arguing wi’ two soldiers. These dragoons came stormin’ in and accusin’ him o’ hiding something—”

“Davey,” she said urgently, “what are you talking about?”

“Them dragoons said they’d arrested two braw Highlanders today wi’ some guns they shouldna be carrying,” Davey said.

“Weapons that should have been confiscated?” She held her breath, palm flattened to her chest.

“I dinna think they meant the auld, rusty bits that Highlandmen turn over to the army, swearin’ they have no more weapons when they do,” Davey went on, referring to common Highland practice, “but fine, shiny flintlocks o’ Spanish make. Fine enough to make the Englishers mad, hey.”

“Spanish! Did they say who these Highlanders were?”

“Nah, just that they were men from the western hills, which describes much o’ the Highlands, to my mind. Then the dragoon said they would send troops into the hills to look for others with the same arms, which they shouldna have. He said that Captain Fraser might know more about these than he’d let on and that he shouldna protect those that had the Spanish pistols.”

“Oh, no,” she said, distress mounting. “What did Captain Fraser…my husband…say then?”

“He was angry. I saw it ’round him like steam, but he
were calm enough. Said ’twas so much kerfuffle and he knew nothing about it. Then he went off to find his ghillie, who may have come to harm along the road. Rode off like a hellhound, did Fraser.”

Kate nodded to herself, breath coming anxiously. Someone else knew of the missing Spanish cache and was using the weaponry, and the government troops were after him in force. And Alec Fraser, she suspected, wanted her to tell him what she knew because he meant to stop this or even protect the Highlanders who had found the weapons.

But why? Frowning, she leaned her head against the door.

Davey tapped on the wood. “Mistress? Ye’re quiet.”

“I’m just…Davey, could you fetch me some food? I am hungry, and thirsty, too.”

This might be her only chance to get free of this place and run to Duncrieff to warn her brother. If her kinsmen had found out what Cameron tried to tell her, two of them might be the men who had just been arrested.

“Sure, I’ll bring you summat. We’ve hot chocolate drink, too, Jeanie made a pot not long ago. Would ye like some?”

“I would love some,” she said, distracted by her thoughts.

“It’s Fraser’s Fancy Cocoa,” he said, sounding pleased.

“I’m sure it is,” she answered. “Thank you, Davey. You’re a gentleman.”

“Thank ye. I’ll be back. Ye’ll be safe alone for a few minutes, Mistress?”

“How could I get past a locked door?” she asked sweetly.

Davey laughed in agreement, and she heard his footsteps pounding down the steps. Then she dropped to her knees to examine the lock once more, peering through the keyhole.

She could see the shadowed upper hallway, and at a certain angle, a gleam of light from below, where she also could hear the sounds of men laughing in the tavern. Someone called for another ale, and she heard Jeanie call out an answer.

The mechanism of key and handle was simple enough, but she had nothing at all with which to try the lock. She wished she had saved the fork from the night before. Hearing footsteps, she stepped back. A key was inserted from the other side, and the door swung open.

A lanky youth with a wild shock of rust red hair stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He carried a covered dish in one hand and a cup in the other. He smiled, his fair skin blushing, his brown eyes sparkling.

“
Och
, Mistress Fraser,” he said. “You’re younger than I thought. And…bonny.”

“You’re bonny yourself,” she answered, accepting the cup of cocoa. “Thank you so much.”

“
Och
,” he sputtered. He held out the covered dish nervously, almost dropping it. He was clumsy as a colt, stepping on his own big boot, lurching forward to catch the dish as it toppled.

She scooped it out of his hands before it hit the floor.
“Thank you,” she said, and set it carefully on a small table.

“I’m sorry you must be in here, Mistress,” Davey said. “Perhaps Captain Fraser doesna appreciate his Highland bride.”

“I’m sure he does. We’ll clear this spat up soon enough,” she said brightly.

“I’m Highland, too,” Davey said. “I’m for Jamie o’er the water m’self, Mistress, though I darena say it around here.”

“I understand. And it’s so nice to have a brave Scottish lad to look after me in this place.”

“
Och
, aye.” He watched her earnestly, with an innocence and guile that reminded her of a puppy. His big brown eyes lowered, then lifted as he looked at her and blushed even deeper.

She took up the cup of chocolate and sipped. It was hot and thick, though quite bitter, with very little sweetening added to it. She could barely swallow it, but did her best.

“Thank you, Davey.” She knew she had him—she could tell by the wide, limpid gaze, the slight droop of his lower lip, the hot flush in his skin. He was really very young, and she felt a small qualm, not wanting to mislead him.

This had happened before, with young men especially. She need only smile, say something friendly, and they swam in like fish to the bait. She rather liked the lonely puppyish sorts and was kind to them; she avoided other types—men with an edge to them and no need for affection and men who wanted only to sat
isfy their sexual hunger. She could charm them, too, with a look or a tilt of the head, but she kept away because of the risk. Francis Grant had been one of those, but she had gotten free of him.

Alec was neither yearning nor needy, and she found his solitariness and restraint compelling. But she would not think of him now, she told herself.

She smiled at Davey MacLennan and saw him blink. He was the adoring sort, an easy snare, so very young. She glanced away, almost asked him to leave, wanting to let him loose gracefully. She knew how easily lads his age fell, how easily they felt foolish. But with Davey to watch her, she had a real chance to slip away from the inn.

Touching the stone at her throat, she smiled at him.

“Go ahead and eat, Mistress,” he said. “You look pale. The food is verra good, I had some of the stew earlier.”

She smiled again and sat on the bed, the only seat in the room besides one simple wooden chair. Davey went red to the roots of his carroty hair when she chose the bed. Uncovering the dish, she broke off a bit of the steaming pie with her fingers and ate it quickly, dipped her fingers for a little more, then licked her fingertips and looked at him. He watched her with a strange expression, as if he had turned to a half-wit.

“It’s very good,” she said, “but there’s too much for me. Will you finish the rest?”

“I canna. I should go.” He stepped back toward the door and put his hand on the doorknob.

“Oh, Davey.” She sighed. “I could use some fresh air. Will you walk outside with me?”

“Captain Fraser would have me head if ye left this room.”

“He won’t be angry at me when he returns, I’m sure. And I do so want to apologize as soon as I see him. I’d like to wait for him outside.”

“He’d like that,” Davey said, watching as Kate dabbed her lips with the linen napkin he had handed her with the dish.

She stood. “You go downstairs, then, Davey. I do not want to get you into trouble. I’ll remember you for a kind friend.”

He hesitated. “I could finish the pie.”

“If you like.” She handed him the dish, and he began to scoop his way eagerly through the remaining food.

A glance through the window showed her that it was late, nearly sunset. She did not have much time. Alec would be back.

“Thank heaven!” she said, turning away from the window. “I just saw my husband returning!” She felt awful about that, for she had not seen him. And she liked Davey.

“He did say he’d return by end o’ day. I’d better go.” Davey paused. “But if ye’d like to greet him, I suppose I could walk ye outside, if he’s just there on the road.”

“That would be so kind.” She picked up her plaid shawl and wrapped it around her, then went to the door, rising on tiptoe to kiss the tall lad’s cheek. “You are a true friend.”

“I am?” he asked, and opened the door for her as Kate hurried past him and down the stairs.

Halting his horse along the road, Alec sat and stared in disbelief as Kate crossed the road away from the inn, boldly and openly. She had not even waited for cover of darkness. Stunned, he simply watched as she headed in the same direction as last night. The little vixen had not bothered to vary her route, he noticed.

Shaking his head, he lifted the reins, urging the mare to a fast canter. He would have to go after her. The temptation to just let her go flashed through his mind—but he could not. She knew something about those Spanish weapons, he was sure, and he had to find out what.

He watched her for another moment. Well, at least if he lost track of her this time, he would know where to find her—with the MacCarrans. Some inquiry, here and there, would lead him straight to the glen and castle where her kinsmen no doubt waited for her.

Frowning, he thought about what sort of kinsmen would let the lass face the sort of risks Kate had taken. But until she trusted him with more information in that regard, he should not make judgments.

But he had to go after her. He urged his horse forward.

He had ridden as far as the next large town to find some trace of Jack and inquire about recent arrests. Aye, he was told at an inn there, two Highlanders had been taken near Edinburgh and whisked off to the castle. One of them was said to be a MacCarran.

Somehow he had expected that. Riding on, he had
searched for sight or news of Jack MacDonald without success. Finally, on his way back to MacLennan’s Changehouse, he had found the man himself at a private estate no more than two hours east of MacLennan’s.

First Alec assured himself that Jack was fine: the chaise had collapsed in a ditch and Jack had taken a bad knock to the head, finding help and hospitality nearby but neglecting to send word, which was only typical of him. After securing Jack’s earnest promise to follow quickly, Alec had started back to the changehouse, anxious to return. He knew he had left Kate too long under makeshift guard.