Wild about the Witch (3 page)

When he’d trained a gun on her and told her she had to go with him, she thought she was instantly doomed, but then they followed Quinn and Oliver along their route to Scotland, and she hoped to escape. Going with Quinn to the Highlands had been the thing she planned to do, and if she could stay alive long enough to get there, if she could find a way to break free from Wodge, she could meet up with them and possibly get home.

Even though Quinn hated her for betraying him, he wouldn’t let her be killed by a maniac. She hoped. That’s all she did the last few days, hope. That, and daydream. Her favorite was meeting up with Quinn and Oliver at last. Quinn would stride forward on his long, muscular legs and knock Wodge’s block clean off. She liked to imagine teeth flying out of his mouth, in grisly, bloody detail. Then, with his boot on Wodge’s unconscious neck, Quinn would gather her into his arms and tell her she was forgiven, he still loved her. Definitely a side effect of no eating or sleeping, and regularly getting hit in the head.

Wodge was an odd duck, having terrifying but fascinating chatty moments. She wanted to get as much information as she could from him, as he’d clearly been traveling all over the ages for some time. She wondered if he started out barmy or if all the time jumping had done it. It was nearing dark on the the first grueling day of their journey that she got him to admit why they were following Quinn.

“I do not hold with witches,” he told her in his posh professor voice, completely at odds with his hodgepodge clothing choices and penchant for casual violence.

“But Quinn isn’t a witch,” she said, at first relieved that it was all a misunderstanding.

She would have bet her life on that. Quinn didn’t hold with witches either, his brother having been lured away to another century by one. He just didn’t have crazed murder tendencies like Wodge did.

“Then why were you going to Scotland?” he asked in an annoying voice that said he knew the answer.

She didn’t know what to say to that, not wanting him to know that Quinn was trying to get to the future to find his sister, hopefully getting her home in the process. “He’s only trying to help me get back to my own time,” she finally admitted. “But I swear, he’s not a witch.” She didn’t say she suspected they were going to find a witch once they reached their destination, a Highland castle.

He merely looked at her pityingly and muttered, “A plight on the world, mucking about with time, using their evil enchantments …”

“You do it,” she said.

“I use portals,” he said disdainfully.

“What if the portals are there because of enchantments?” she asked, earning herself a hard whack across the eye.

She didn’t engage him much in conversation after that, though she was desperate to know when he originally hailed from. She’d asked him outright and he’d just laughed. She really hated him.

Oh, she wanted to see Quinn again. She knew they were close from Wodge’s obsessive tracking them, but hadn’t glimpsed him. They stayed at different inns and she overheard Wodge arguing with himself about hiding in the woods tonight. She imagined being tied to a tree couldn’t be much worse than being tied to a chair in whatever manky inn he chose, and at least it would smell better.

If only she could get close enough to yell out a warning. The closer they got, the more worried she became that Wodge would succeed. The more hungry and tired she got, the less she cared about herself, but maybe she could save Quinn.

“We ought to be there tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder. She made a point not to make eye contact, but nodded. “Lovely weather, yes?”

It was lovely, she had to admit. Breezy, but not yet too cold, and it had only rained on them once during the journey.

“I’m a bit hungry,” she tried, since he seemed in one of his solicitous moods.

She got a drink of water from him the day before when he’d begun spouting Shakespeare. Out of habit, she quoted where he left off, instantly regretting it and fearing a smack, but they actually completed an entire scene from Hamlet, then he gave her a drink.

“That’s a shame,” he said, kicking his horse further ahead and ignoring her.

She no longer thought about jumping off her horse and running. Wodge was fast on his skinny legs and it hadn’t worked the first two times she tried it. He always made sure to choose the most worthless nag available for her when they changed horses, so galloping off was never an option.

She knew they were close, having gone at a relentless pace trying to keep up with Quinn. They’d traveled dangerously late into the nights and pushed the horses to their limits. Whatever was going to happen would happen soon, maybe even tomorrow. She resolved to get some sleep, no matter if it was on the cold, hard ground, and eat roots if she had to, to regain a little strength. She no longer felt confident about surviving this trip to the Highlands, but hoped to punch Wodge one more time.

She smiled to herself, feeling his nose crack under her fist, and that gruesome memory got her through the rest of the day’s ride. She slid off her horse and lay on the ground while he puttered around setting out a bedroll for himself. She would have to huddle under the horse blanket if she wanted any warmth, but her body was so stiff and sore, she didn’t care at the moment to deal with it.

A piece of bread bounced off her arm and landed in the dirt and she practically inhaled it, actually looking around for edible roots or berries. Not that she’d recognize them if they were there. He mixed up some oats with water from his jug and offered her a bit, pouring the soggy slop directly into her hand. Once again she scarfed it down.

“Thanks, Solomon,” she said, not caring if she got slapped.

The few bites had restored her gumption. Let him get close enough, she thought. He ate his oats while staring at her. She stared right back until he finally nodded.

“I’ve come to the conclusion you are a victim in all this,” he said, dabbing at his mouth with a handkerchief.

“That’s awfully astute of you,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He didn’t notice or didn’t care. She hated how he treated her as if she was as insignificant as a beetle he could crush under his boot at any moment. She hated that she was starting to believe it.

“I do not think you had anything to do with your being in the wrong time,” he continued. Oh, he meant a victim of time travel, not of him, the gun-toting kidnapper. She couldn’t work up the energy to roll her eyes. “I do not hold with witches,” he said.

“Yes, I’m aware,” she sighed.

“Excellent. I propose we work together. If you help me, I will get you back to your proper time.”

“That’s a tempting offer, Solomon,” she said, and this time he caught the sarcasm. Instead of a painful blow, he gave her more bread and a smile.

“I could get you back to the moment you left. No one would even know you’d gone. This last year here would be yours alone, and no one would be the wiser.”

That did tempt her. It was worse than a blow to the head and in her weakened state, the thought that this could all just be a memory made her dizzy.

“You’re lying,” she said.

He shook his head placidly, not the least offended by her disbelief. She knew then that he could do it, just as he said. She could get her life back. In fact, she never would have lost it. She could walk back downstairs at Belmary House and find Trent—

She dug her fingers into the dirt and caught her breath. She didn’t want to find Trent, or start up the endless rounds of auditions of her old life. She wanted to find Quinn and make things up to him. Nothing was more clear to her than that.

But the last time they were together, he could barely look at her, he was so disgusted by her behavior. What if she stayed here and it was all a waste of time?

“Okay, Wodge. Just tell me what to do.” She tiredly leaned against a tree as he smiled at her again and gave her more food.

As the train sped toward Scotland, Catie relaxed into the window seat, entranced by everything that whizzed by outside. No one sat next to her and the older lady across from her barely nodded before sticking round things in her ears and concentrating on a flat tablet with moving pictures on it. Catie longed to get a closer look at it, but didn’t dare, remembering Lord Ashford’s warning not to speak to anyone. But he’d told her to get something to eat, so when a girl about her age walked past with her arms laden with goods, she took a chance and asked her where she got it.

“Shop in the next coach,” she said, hardly glancing at her.

Catie didn’t understand what Lord Ashford was so worried about. The people here didn’t seem to give a hoot about her. She made her way toward the shop, quivering with excitement to feel the train’s smooth movement under her feet. She found she didn’t need to hang onto the seats at all and entered the shop with a delighted grin smeared all over her face. The train, the shop, the shop in the train. It was all so wondrous.

She didn’t know where to begin. Nothing looked like food straight off, and she picked up different packages to read the ingredients, finally choosing a ham sandwich, a bright red package of something called Doritos, an apple and a bottle of pink lemonade, because it looked so pretty.

“Free biscuit with the sandwich, miss,” the elderly gentleman told her, pointing to a display. She took one off the top and got her wad of bills out of her pocket, nervously waiting for the total and hoping she wouldn’t make too much of a fool of herself.

Merciful heavens, it was expensive! Lord Ashford had warned her not to make a fuss but she couldn’t help gasping when the man told her the amount. She handed him a ten pound note and frowned at the change. She certainly wasn’t rich in this time and prayed she’d have enough for the taxi she was supposed to take once she got to Inverness. At least the biscuit was free.

After she got her lunch out of all its packaging and slippery wrappers, she quite enjoyed it all, especially the lemonade. It had been late at night when she’d left her own time, mid-morning when she’d arrived in this one. Worn out from all the excitement and lulled by the hum of the train, she let her head rest against the cool window and closed her eyes, sure that she was too nervous to sleep, but wanting to rest a bit.

“Inverness, miss.” A man gently shook her shoulder and moved on down the row.

Catie yelped and jumped up, realizing the train had stopped and the passengers were filing out. She was in Scotland once more.

On the platform, she stood and absorbed the familiar accents. It felt like she’d been in England forever, not just a month. That was where the familiarity ended however, as she got jostled along on the tide of arrivals. The sky was dark, but everything was brightly lit with electric lights. According to the map Lord Ashford gave her, circling both Inverness and her final destination, she still looked to be terribly far away. But seeing how far down London was on the map, and the fact that it was still the same day, lifted her spirits considerably. If she stopped sitting around worrying, perhaps she’d be at Castle on Hill before morning.

Having to ignore Lord Ashford’s warning again, she asked someone how to find a taxi, and was pointed to a neat row of them. The first two she asked wouldn’t drive that far, but third time lucky, and she had just enough money for the fare.

The driver kept asking her questions like where she was from and who she was visiting and she answered as politely as she could without encouraging further conversation.

“Ye’re the first lass your age I’ve seen who wasna attached to some device or other,” he said amiably.

“Yes, sir,” she agreed, not having any idea what he was talking about.

It sounded sinister, though. Did she need to be attached to a device to survive in this time? He seemed surprised but not overly concerned. She kept her eyes trained out the window, hoping he’d stop talking to her. She was scared she’d somehow give it away that she didn’t belong, though she didn’t know how anyone could guess such a farfetched thing just by her ignorance. If anything, she could just plead sheltered farm life as she’d done in London.

Once they left the busy streets of Inverness, the roads were darker and nearly empty so late at night as it was. Her nerves jumped around uncomfortably when she saw a sign welcoming them to Castle on Hill, and a few minutes later the driver pulled into a well-lit round driveway.

“Here ye are, lass.”

She gripped the door handle. They were in front of an inn, and she could see a restaurant and several other shops surrounding it, all closed for the night. It was too dark in the car to study her map, but this couldn’t possibly be right. Where was Castle Glen? Surely Castle on Hill meant just that? She didn’t know enough about this area, their clans always being at odds with one another, but she knew this wasn’t where she needed to be.

The driver cleared his throat. It was late, and she knew he had to drive all the way back to Inverness. She was lucky he’d taken her this far at all.

“I, er, needed to go to the castle,” she said, looking at the inn and not wanting to leave the car. “Is there still a castle around here?”

He chuckled. “Aye, it’s twenty or thirty minutes from here, but it willna be open at this hour. Ye’ll need to visit it tomorrow. The inn there will have information about the tours.”

“Please sir, that’s where I need to go. My brother lives there.” After she paid him, she wouldn’t have any money left to get a room for the night. Twenty or thirty minutes in these impossibly fast cars would be hours on foot.