Touch Of Enchantment Part 19

When Colin turned, his resolute expression doused it. "Give me your charm, la.s.s. I'll not have you rus.h.i.+ng off on some daft quest to confront Brisbane. I've no need to hide behind a woman's skirts."

Tabitha was shaken that he'd read her half-formed intentions so accurately. "If you marry Lyssandra so her father will fight on your side, that's exactly what you'll be doing."

Colin refused to be diverted. He advanced on her, holding out his hand. "I'll not let you put yourself in peril again. Brisbane is a dangerous man."

Tabitha held up the amulet. "And with this, I'm a dangerous woman."

"More dangerous to yourself than anyone else. Whether you choose to spend your life with me," he faltered and had to swallow hard before continuing, "or with some other man, I want it to be a long and prosperous one. Which is why I intend to keep your charm until your temper has had time to cool."

His fist closed around the chain, warning her that this time he wouldn't tolerate her refusal.

Her whisper was choked by the threat of tears. "I trusted you enough to give you the amulet once before. Can't you trust me enough to let me keep it?"

Although regret clouded his eyes, his only reply was to snap the fragile gold chain, catching the emerald in his hand.

Then the door slammed and he was gone, leaving Tabitha to sink to her knees and bury her face in the bedclothes.

Tabitha hurried across the deserted courtyard, checking over her shoulder for signs of pursuit. Other than the yellow hound who dogged her heels for a few steps before growing bored and loping away, no one at Castle MacDuff seemed to care that she was leaving. The eastern horizon was slowly melting from black to gray and the rising wind smelled of rain, a scent as timeless and unmistakable as the fragrance of Colin's skin.

She once again wore Magwyn's battered gown, but she still felt strangely naked. She touched the hollow of her breastbone, missing the weight of her mother's amulet. But she refused to let Colin's stubbornness stop her from giving him a wedding gift that would guarantee years of peace for both him and his unborn children.

She, Tabitha Lennox, who had once called a security guard to come kill a spider in her bathroom, was off to confront a homicidal maniac on behalf of the man she loved. She might not have the amulet to focus her magic, but she had plenty of twenty-first-century know-how and her own powerful, if somewhat erratic, talents to fall back on.

Lifting her skirt, she stepped over a heap of squires snoring off the effects of last night's merriment. She had hoped to find Chauncey among them, but feared he was off wooing that milkmaid of his. She glanced over her shoulder again, but the shadow she thought she saw flitting across the courtyard must have only been a swallow or a bat.

As she slipped into the stables, the horses welcomed her with sleepy whickers. The musty smell of hay tickled her nose, making her pinch back a sneeze. She moved from stall to stall, searching for a familiar face. But the face that emerged as a caped figure glided out of the shadows and pushed back its hood was not the one she would have chosen.

Lyssandra was no less lovely with her cheeks streaked with tears and violet smudges beneath her eyes. She didn't say a word, simply hugged herself and gazed at Tabitha in sullen accusation.

To Tabitha's relief, she spotted Chauncey's even-tempered sorrel in the very next stall. "Good morning, Lyssandra," she said brightly, throwing open the stall and dragging a saddle down from its wooden peg. "I really must be getting back to Gotham. If you'll just tell my cousin a" "

"He is not your cousin."

Lowering the saddle, Tabitha slowly turned to face Lyssandra. She owed her at least that much. "How did you know?"

"Because I heard him yelling at you last night." A scornful smile curved her lips. "He never yells at me. He always treats me with the most unfailing courtesy."

"I know what you think you heard. But nothing happened between the two of us last night."

"Only because you sent him away."

Tabitha wanted to deny it, but she had nothing left to offer this kind and generous girl but the truth. "He's still going to marry you, you know. As soon as you turn eighteen." She nearly choked on the words, but managed to get them out. "He'll be a good husband."

"Aye." Bitterness darkened Lyssandra's eyes, making her look less like a girl than a woman. "He'll kiss me on the cheek and bring me sweetmeats for supper. He'll rock my children in his arms and praise my handling of the castle accounts. But when he gazes out the window on a moonlit night, 'twill be you he's thinking of."

Tabitha shook her head, blinking back tears. "He'll forget me."

"I pray to G.o.d so." Then as if ashamed of her fierce declaration, she whispered, "Where will you go?"

Tabitha wasn't sure how to answer that question. By abandoning the amulet, she might very well be risking her only way back to the twenty-first century. But if she returned to this place and saw Colin's face again, she might lose her will to leave him. She might end up living in that Highland castle, forced to love him only in shadow instead of suns.h.i.+ne. She might grow old and bitter while she waited for him to leave this woman's side and come to hers.

Knowing that could never be enough for any of them, she said softly, "I'll go far away from here. So far he'll never find me."

Satisfied with her answer, Lyssandra pointed to a sleek gray horse in a nearby stall. "You can take my steed if you want. Colin gave him to me on my tenth birthday. He's gentle, but as fast as the wind."

Tabitha nervously eyed the elegant beast. "No, thank you. I'd rather take Chauncey's horse. At least he's familiar with me." She hoisted the saddle on the sorrel's back, determined to go before her courage faltered.

After watching her fumble with the leather straps for several seconds, Lyssandra stepped in and tightened the girth with a few expert jerks.

As Tabitha led the horse through the stable doors, the girl trailed behind her. Squinting against the brisk wind, Tabitha searched the horizon, realizing she didn't have the faintest idea how to get where she needed to go. She would have wished herself to Brisbane's castle, but given the unpredictable outcome of her wishes without the amulet to temper them, she feared landing in his dungeon or on one of those deadly spikes capping his castle walls.

She shuddered. "I have some unfinished business to take care of. I don't suppose you could point me toward England?"

Lyssandra's brow puckered in a frown. She pointed left, then right, then left again. Before Tabitha could mount, the girl pulled off her cloak and thrust it at her. "The sky bodes ill for your journey."

Tabitha wrapped the warm woolen cloak around her, and clambered into the saddle. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was facing the horse's head instead of his swis.h.i.+ng tail. As she drew the hood up over her hair, the first raindrops began to fall.

Lyssandra gripped her ankle. "Take care, my lady." From the girl's troubled expression, Tabitha sensed she was sincere.

She wanted to smile, but all she could manage was a fierce nod. "And you take care of him."

She didn't wait to hear Lyssandra's response. As Chauncey's sorrel cantered across the drawbridge, she glanced back only once to find the girl still standing by the stables, growing smaller with every hoofbeat. Then she turned her face toward the future, thankful for a wind strong enough to s.n.a.t.c.h her tears before they could fall.

Chapter 23.

"It appears the wages of sin is the sleep of the dead." At that dour p.r.o.nouncement, Colin pried open Lone eye to find Arjon standing over his bed, grinning impishly down at him.

He groaned and burrowed his head beneath the feather pillow. "'Tis punishment enough that G.o.d would send a fiend such as you to torment me."

"Ah, but friend or fiend remains to be seen."

Tossing the pillow at Arjon, Colin sat up. The sudden motion nearly undid him. He squeezed his skull between his palms in a vain attempt to make it stop throbbing. "Would you please go tell MacDuff's priest to stop ringing those d.a.m.nable bells?"

The Norman c.o.c.ked his head to the side, listening intently. " 'Tis naught but the tolling of your conscience, I fear." Each chiding cluck of his tongue sounded like the clash of a cymbal to Colin's ears. "Oh, how the mighty are fallen!"

Colin swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing as a lance of pain shot through his head. "You may gloat all you like, but please refrain from quoting scripture at me. 'Tis most unsettling coming from those lascivious lips of yours."

"And there you go insulting me when I've come to take pity on your tarnished soul." Arjon pressed a mug into his hands.

Colin scowled down into the foul-smelling concoction. "What manner of poison is this?"

"No poison, but an antidote to that venom you quaffed last night."

Shooting him a skeptical glare, Colin downed the murky contents of the mug, then shuddered. The stuff cleared some of the fog from his head, but did nothing to relieve the bitter taste in his mouth. A bitterness caused less by too much strong drink than by the caustic words he and Tabitha had exchanged.

"Tabithaa" he murmured, overcome by a wave of heartsickness.

Prodded by a hazy memory, he reached beneath his pillow to find a tangled chain. He unfurled its tarnished length until an emerald twirled before his eyes, mocking their bleariness with its undaunted sparkle.

By taking the charm, he had thought only to protect Tabitha from herself. But he could still see the unshed tears glistening in her eyes when she had all but begged him to trust her. He feared he had broken her heart as carelessly as he had broken the delicate chain.

He vaguely remembered stumbling back to his chamber after their quarrel, thinking to drown his misery in a fresh flagon of ale. But the words they'd spoken still haunted him, echoing with the ring of finality.

"Have you seen her?" he asked Arjon.

Arjon sighed. "You have more pressing problems than your lady fair. At this very moment, the MacDuff is in council with that viper of Brisbane's. They've been locked away for nearly an hour and after that touching little performance you and Tabitha gave in the hall last night, I'd wager 'tis not the price of hay nor the crown's exorbitant taxes they're discussing."

Colin blinked up at him. "Were we so obvious?"

"You'd have had to have been as blinded by love as MacDuff's witless daughter not to notice."

"Lyssa," Colin whispered, pa.s.sing a hand over his eyes. "Christ, I never wanted to hurt her."

"So don't."

Colin had never seen the even-tempered Norman angry before, but he would have almost sworn it was fury simmering in his friend's eyes.

"Go to the MacDuff now and cast yourself upon his mercy. Despite all his boasting and bullying, he was always fond of you. Tell him Tabitha was naught more than a casual indiscretion, both regretted and repented. Then make Lyssa your wife. Today. Before you break her silly heart."

Colin had pa.s.sed out in his hose so there was nothing for him to do but grab a clean tunic from his knapsack and draw on his boots and spurs. He tied a knot in the chain of Tabitha's charm before dropping it over his head.

"Now there's a good lad. We'll make a husband of you yet." Arjon leaned against the doorjamb. His smile had returned, although its edge was sharper than usual.

It faded altogether when he saw Colin's determined expression. "I must speak with Tabitha first. I fear I wounded her sorely last night." Buckling on his sword, he started for the door.

"She's gone," Arjon said flatly.

Colin slowly lifted his head, praying the clamor in it had affected his hearing.

Arjon nodded. "She rode out at dawn. I saw her from my window."

Colin measured out each word as if it would be his last. "And you didn't awaken me?"

His friend's face crumpled into a plea, although for understanding or forgiveness Colin could not have said. "Let her go," he whispered fiercely. "Please."

"I can't," Colin bit off through clenched teeth before shoving past his friend as if he weren't even there.

Colin took the winding stairs three at a time, bursting out of the castle only to be buffeted back by a gust of wind and rain. The storm raged in earnest now, rumbling its displeasure and hurtling angry bolts of lightning through the boiling clouds. It made him half mad to think of Tabitha out there somewhere, lost and alone without even her charm to protect her.

He started for the stables, praying Chauncey or some other squire had recovered from last night's revelry enough to have noted the direction she had taken. Rain sheeted across the cobblestones, blinding him. He didn't see the small figure huddled beneath the stable's dripping eaves until he was almost upon her. She was soaked to the skin and her teeth were chattering.

He squatted beside her and gently peeled a sodden strand of hair from her cheek. "Lyssa, what in G.o.d's name are you doing out here?"

Her dark eyes were haunted, her lashes damp with tears. "I let her go. I knew it was going to storm, but I let her go anyway. I was glad she was going. I prayed she would never come back."

Colin slowly withdrew his hand, intensifying her s.h.i.+vers. "Which way?"

"South, I think. She asked me to point her toward England."

"England?" He frowned.

"She said she had some unfinished business to take care of. And then she was going far away. So far you'd never find her."

"Dear G.o.d," Colin breathed, realization dawning.

He had rejected Tabitha's offer of help and robbed her of her precious charm, yet she'd still gone off to confront Brisbane on her own. He cursed himself for not antic.i.p.ating this. After all, he'd seen her reckless courage firsthand, seen her stand off Roger's men and snarling dogs with a sword she could barely lift.

"I offered her my steeda"

"Your steed!" Colin s.n.a.t.c.hed Lyssandra up by the shoulders, giving her a harsh shake. "Sweet Christ, the la.s.s is the clumsiest rider I've ever seen. If the horse makes one misstep, she'll fall off and break her fool neck."

Before Lyssandra could stutter an explanation, he was gone, plunging into the stables and reappearing with one muscular leg already thrown over his stallion's back. Horse and rider raced across the courtyard and down the drawbridge, the rumble of their hoofbeats drowned out by a sharp clap of thunder.

"Oh, dear G.o.d, what have I done?" Lyssandra stood in the pouring rain, feeling as wretched as she'd ever felt in her sheltered life. "Papa," she finally whispered, cheered by a faint surge of hope. "Papa will know what to do."

Lyssandra crept through the marble-pillared corridor outside her papa's solar, only too aware that she was leaving muddy puddles on his imported tiles with every step. Although there were many grand rooms in the castle, the solar was the grandest of all. Behind that gilded door lay the most precious of her father's treasures a" his illuminated ma.n.u.scripts, jeweled chalices, and chests full of gold and silver plate. She'd spent countless hours as a child playing at his feet while he tallied the coins gathered by his tax collectors or polished some new trinket to a brilliant s.h.i.+ne.

She splayed her hand against the door, but hesitated when it was only partly ajar, trying to make her teeth stop chattering. Her papa had never approved of any display of weakness.

Before she could paste on a brave smile, someone within the room said, "There goes the d.a.m.n fool now."

Lyssandra frowned. She could almost hear the sneer in the unfamiliar voice.

"What did I tell you? He's like a hound after a b.i.t.c.h in heat. He was all but sniffing under her skirts last night in the hall."

She recognized her papa's voice, yet its smug cadences sounded more foreign than the stranger's. A chill that had nothing to do with her wet clothes p.r.i.c.kled down her spine.

Suddenly she wanted to back away, to flee to the haven of her bedchamber. To burrow beneath her blankets and pretend she was still the little girl who was going to grow up and marry Sir Colin of Ravenshaw someday. But when she heard her father speak again, she knew the time for pretending was done.

"I can't believe the fool thought I'd let my only daughter wed a penniless laird living in a burned-out ruin. Since G.o.d in his infinite idiocy provided me no sons, Lyssandra is all I have to barter. She's not much, I'll admit, but she can at least turn up her heels to earn me a powerful ally in my old age."

Lyssandra cupped a hand over her mouth, praying she would not be ill.

She heard the sharp scratch of a nib on parchment.

"There," her father said. "Once the ink is dry on this betrothal contract, you may take her away with my blessing. I'm sure she'll make your master a charming and biddable wife."

"And very grateful he will be," replied the fawning stranger. "Not just for accepting his humble suit, but for taking care of the other unpleasantness. As you learned when you agreed to remove your household to Castle Arran for the spring, Lord Brisbane can be very generous to his allies."

"Generous indeed. Once Ravenshaw is dead, your master and I plan to split his holdings between us. The castle might be in ruins, but the land is fertile and ripe for the plucking." Her papa chuckled. "At least the b.a.s.t.a.r.d spared me the untidiness of murdering him in his bed. Bloodstains can be the very devil to remove."

"How will you finish him then?"