Teresa Medeiros (31 page)

She blinked hopefully at him. “Is one more socially acceptable than the other?”

He rose and began to pace in the opposite direction. “ ’Tis not a matter of acceptance, but of convenience. Witches must be burned at the stake. I can just lock you away in a convent with all the other madwomen.”

She shook her head in dismay. “I was afraid you’d take this badly. That’s why I didn’t tell you sooner.”

He spun around on his heel to gape at her. “Badly?” His voice rose to a roar. “Badly? You tell me you’ve journeyed to this place from seven hundred years in the future—”

“Seven hundred and sixty-six,” she gently corrected.

His glare could have scorched grass. “—
seven hundred and sixty-six years
in the future and just expect me to believe such an absurd tale.”

“Brent Vondervan was a boy I had a crush on in the fourth grade. A sandwich is a hunk of meat positioned between two pieces of sliced bread. A psychotherapist offers counseling services for mental or emotional disturbances. An orthodontist uses a variety of plastic and metal appliances to straighten crooked teeth. Room service is how you order food in an expensive hotel. The atrocious song was ‘Your Cheatin’ Heart,’ written and recorded by Mr. Hank Williams, Sr., in Nashville, Tennessee, in 1953 and you’re supposed to sing it through
your nose or it wouldn’t sound like authentic country music.”

Colin sat down on the log again, so hard he almost tumbled off the other side. “ ’Tis true, is it not?” he said hoarsely. “You’re not of this time, but of another. You do not belong here.”

Tabitha had never expected him to look so stricken. She knelt between his knees, resting her hands on his thighs, and gazed tenderly up at him. “I belong wherever you are.”

“But your parents …? If they’re still alive, they must feel you belong with them.”

She lowered her eyes, disquieted by his concern. “My mother’s a hopeless romantic. If she were here at this moment, I’m sure she would tell me to follow my heart, even if it led me away from her.”

“And your father?”

She laughed. “He’d probably punch you in the nose. He still tends to think of me as Daddy’s little girl.”

“He sounds like a fine man.” Colin tipped her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Will you be able to live with the uncertainty? With never knowing if they’re somewhere in the future missing you, mourning you as you might have mourned them if they had never been found?”

The answer didn’t come as readily to her lips as she had hoped, but fortunately Colin was distracted by the thunder of approaching hoofbeats. As the horse slowed to a walk, passing dangerously close to their hiding place, they scrambled behind a gnarled oak, fearing they were being stalked by another of MacDuff’s assassins. Colin gripped the hilt of his sword, but the tension in his arm relaxed when a melodious feminine voice was followed by a sardonic Gallic growl.

“If you had taken the right fork as I suggested instead of the left one, we could have been here an hour ago.”

“You’re a worse nag than this wretched horse. Curb your saucy tongue, wench, or I’ll curb it for you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Silence greeted this ominous challenge. Colin drew Tabitha toward a break in the bushes. “We’d best make sure they’re not killing each other. As you well know, Arjon and Lyssandra have never borne any great fondness toward one another.”

Colin’s jaw dropped as they emerged from the tunnel of bracken to find his best friend and his fiancée locked in a passionate embrace. A bored-looking horse stood a few feet away, lazily swishing his tail.

Tabitha nudged Colin. “Just think what they might be doing if they were fond of each other.”

At the sound of her voice, Arjon and Lyssandra broke away from their kiss with a guilty start. Lyssandra’s creamy cheeks were flushed with rose, her eyes luminous. Tabitha knew the look only too well. Her own face had probably mirrored it only minutes before. She bit back a smile as she noted the way Lyssandra squared her delicate chin and boldly met their gazes, the way Arjon’s arm moved to shield his lady fair.

“Ah, here’s your betrothed now,” he said. “You may challenge me to a joust if you wish, Ravenshaw, but I must have her.”

Edging even closer to Arjon, Lyssandra blinked prettily at Colin, who still hadn’t recovered from his daze. “ ’Twas never my intention to break your heart, sir. But now that I’ve finally found my true love, I can only pray that you’ll find the courage to press on.”

Arjon narrowed his eyes at his friend, struggling to send a frantic message, but Colin was not receiving. He
might have stood frozen there forever with his mouth hanging open if Tabitha hadn’t jabbed him in the side.

He coughed, then cleared his throat as if to strangle back a disbelieving laugh. Only Tabitha was near enough to see the sparkle of amusement in his eyes. “ ’Twill be a lonely struggle, lass, but I suppose my shattered heart will mend. In time.
Lots
of time,” he added gruffly. He strode across the clearing and pumped Arjon’s hand.

“Congratulations, my friend. You’ve won one of the fairest hearts in all of Scotland.” Arjon grimaced as he gave the bones an extra squeeze. “If you ever break it, you’ll answer to me.”

The Norman snatched his hand back and clapped it over his own heart. “Have no fear! My heartbreaking days are over. I never realized it until I held her squirming in my arms while she tried to bite me and I had to kiss her to muffle her shrieks, but I was only biding my time until the brat grew into a woman.”

Lyssandra fluttered her eyelashes at him. “All the woman you’ll ever need.”

“My precise sentiments,” replied Arjon, all but cooing.

Tabitha rolled her eyes. “I thought the two of you despised each other.”

“What choice did I have?” Arjon asked. “I might have yearned for Lyssa in my most secret heart, but I knew she belonged to Colin and could never be mine.”

“So he labored diligently to make me hate him—putting spiders in my bed, using my dolls for archery practice, calling me dreadful names.”

Arjon pressed a fervent kiss to her knuckles. “Consider them endearments, my adorable little shrew.”

It was Colin’s turn to roll his eyes. “What are the two of you doing out here?”

“Looking for you,” Arjon replied. He exchanged a glance with Lyssandra. “It seems Brisbane and the MacDuff are in league. They have been for quite some time.”

Colin’s face went deathly still. “How long?”

There was no way for Arjon to soften the blow. “Since before the siege. Lyssa overheard her father and Brisbane’s man discussing their plans to be rid of you and divide your holdings among themselves. The MacDuff had already signed a betrothal contract, giving Lyssa into Roger’s hands.”

Lyssandra placed her hand on Colin’s arm. “I knew naught of his treachery, Colin, I swear it. I pray you’ll believe me.”

Tabitha had never loved him more than she did at that moment when he gently covered Lyssandra’s hand with his own, even managing a strained smile. “Of course, I believe you. ’Tis you who were wronged even more than I. Your father’s betrayal must have cut you to the heart.”

She nodded, brushing a tear from her cheek. “He said the most vile things.”

Arjon gathered her into his arms, the tenderness in his touch assuring Tabitha that his conversion to monogamy was sincere. “If I hadn’t intercepted her in the corridor outside her father’s solar, the foolhardy lass would have ridden out all by herself to warn you about the MacDuff’s assassins.”

Tabitha glanced nervously around, every shadow suddenly a menace. “How many are there?”

Arjon rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, his grin cold. “Three less than there were before.”

“Make it four,” Colin said.

Arjon frowned. “We sent Chauncey this way on Lyssandra’s steed. Have you seen him?”

Colin nodded grimly. “Seen him and buried him. He took an arrow meant for Tabitha.”

They shared a moment of somber silence mourning the courageous boy before Lyssandra turned her puzzled gaze on Tabitha. “Brisbane’s man said his master wanted you alive. He seemed very distressed when my father informed him that you were also to die. ’Twas almost as if he feared for his own life if he failed to bring you back.”

Tabitha exchanged a troubled look with Colin. Brisbane’s personal attention was certainly not something she cared to attract. “Do you think he might suspect …?”

Colin nodded. “ ’Tis a possibility. Roger always was a canny wretch.”

He strode to the edge of the clearing and stood with his back to them, hands on hips. Tabitha ached to go to him, but knew he needed some room to absorb all that he’d learned in so short a time.

Arjon was not as comfortable with Colin’s brooding silence as she was. “If you’re resolved to go after Brisbane, I think it’s safe to venture we can no longer rely on the MacDuff for reinforcements.”

Colin swung around to face him. “You should take Lyssa and go before the MacDuff realizes you’re gone. As far away from here as you dare. This is not your fight.”

Arjon grinned. “You know I never could resist a lost cause. How do you think I ended up on Crusade?” He sobered. “If it’s your fight, my friend, ’tis mine as well.”

“And mine,” Lyssandra added, stepping forward.

Colin surveyed them for a long moment before nodding. “This cause may not be as lost as you think. I have one weapon Brisbane can never match.”

Tabitha stood rooted to the forest floor as Colin approached.
He reached into his tunic and unfurled a delicate chain he’d obviously made a painstaking effort to find and repair while she was napping. She was less mesmerized by the emerald’s gleam than by the tender glow in his eyes as he lowered the chain over her head until the amulet came to rest against her heart.

Arjon arched a skeptical eyebrow. “And what would that weapon be?”

Colin grazed her cheek with a kiss as he turned her to face them. “The most beautiful witch in all of Christendom.”

CHAPTER
25

W
hen Colin and Tabitha came riding into the courtyard at Castle Raven, they were greeted by stunned silence and disbelieving stares. As if the shock of their laird having his arm firmly around the waist of a confessed witch he’d vowed to burn wasn’t enough, Colin’s betrothed rode on the horse behind them, practically perched in Sir Arjon’s lap.

His people stood frozen in dumb astonishment until Jenny squirmed out of her mother’s grip and came pelting across the cobblestones. “Lady Tabby! Lady Tabby!” Tabitha slid off the horse just as the little girl flung herself into her arms. “See, Mama,” she said, beaming as she pressed her cheek to Tabitha’s, “I told you the nice witch would come back!”

Magwyn swaggered forward, hands on hips. “Aye, and a bonny sight she is. For a ghost.”

Tabitha’s first instinct was to recoil from the woman’s withering sarcasm, but she and Colin had agreed that if she was ever to be truly accepted by his people, it would have to be by choice, not decree. She could almost feel the warmth of his love like a hand at her back, gently propelling her forward.

Gripping Jenny’s small hand for courage, she faced
Magwyn. She could tell from the way the others hung back that this one woman’s rejection or acceptance would decide her fate.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not a ghost because your laird decided not to burn me.”

“But you are a witch.”

“I am.” Her bold confession stirred a nervous refrain of murmurs. “But I don’t worship Satan and I’ve never, to my knowledge, used my powers for evil. Nor do I plan to.”

Magwyn’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Tabitha would have almost sworn the woman wanted to believe her. But she knew she was battling a lifetime of superstition and fear. If she’d grown up in a world as dangerous and capricious as theirs, she might have preferred to blame her own bad luck on black cats or evil spirits.

As Magwyn pondered her words, help came from an unexpected quarter. In full princess mode, Lyssandra wiggled out of Arjon’s arms and flung herself from the horse.

She seized Tabitha’s other hand and stamped her dainty foot. “Whatever her temperament might be, Lady Tabitha is my friend. And if any one of you dares to speak ill of her, they’ll answer to me!”

Arjon applauded. “Huzzah, my sweet!”

Colin’s people shuffled their feet and avoided each other’s eyes as if shamed by the girl’s passionate defense. All except for Arjon’s blond doxy, who’d been glaring daggers at Lyssandra while the rest of them gaped at Tabitha.

“That one must be a witch, too,” she said in a stage whisper loud enough to be heard back on Broadway. “I think we should burn the both of them.”

“Hush, Nessa,” Magwyn said sharply. “You’ve no right to sharpen your claws on Sir Arjon’s lady when
you’ve already lured one of Iselda’s sons into your bed since he’s been gone.”

The girl subsided with a sulky pout while Iselda rolled her eyes and one of the more strapping boys blushed to the roots of his hair.

Despite her defense of Lyssandra, Magwyn’s expression remained so unrelenting that Tabitha feared the worst. “Come here, Jenny.” Shooting Tabitha an uncertain glance, the little girl obeyed her mother. Although Magwyn’s jaw was rigid, she stroked the little girl’s cropped curls with a gentleness that bordered on reverence. “Whatever you may be, you gave my daughter back her smile, her voice, even her life. Perhaps what you speak is the truth. Perhaps it matters naught what power a woman possesses, but only how she chooses to wield it.”