Touch Of Enchantment Part 20

"Consider the task done. As soon as his wh.o.r.e fled the castle this morning, I antic.i.p.ated his reaction and dispatched archers to every border. Neither of them will pa.s.s alive."

"B-b-but that was not our agreement." The man's voice trembled with rising hysteria. "The woman was not to be harmed. She was to be delivered to my master along with your daughter."

"I'll not have my daughter transported to her new household with a common wh.o.r.e. 'Twould reflect poorly on me. After he's planted his brat in Lyssandra's womb, your master can find himself another doxy."

"But you sworea!"

Lyssandra knew she had no more time to listen to the men quarrel. She had to go. Had to take her steed and warn Tabitha and Colin that they were riding into a trap. Before it was too late.

She began to back away from the door one step at a time, terrified the sodden squelch of her slippers would alert the men to her presence. She had nearly reached the last pillar, where she might dare to turn and flee, when a ruthless hand shot out and clamped itself over her mouth, m.u.f.fling her startled scream.

Colin drew his mount to a halt at the crest of the hill and squinted through the pouring rain. Although he was soaked to the bone, he'd grown numb to the rain's chill and deaf to the sullen growls of thunder many leagues ago. All of his senses were focused on finding Tabitha's trail.

A trail that seemed to wander in befuddled circles until a gully swollen with rain would wash it away, leaving him as helpless as he'd been before. While picking his way through a grove of trees, he had found traces of crushed leaves and bent branches, indicating that she might have already taken a tumble. But to his keen relief, her broken body had been nowhere in sight. A pair of muddy hoofprints too deep to belong to a riderless horse had rea.s.sured him that she'd simply dragged herself back up on the horse and kept going.

"Probably cursing my name all the while," he murmured, feeling a wistful smile tug at his lips.

He was at least heartened to learn she hadn't yet made it to the southern border of MacDuff's land. That lay just ahead and he hoped if he waited at the top of this hill, he might be able to cut her off before she did. The hill gave him a clean sweep of the valley below, with nothing to mar his view but the rain dripping from his lashes and a dense stand of birches.

The storm seemed to be worsening instead of abating. Thunder cracked like a whip and the wind set up a banshee's howl. Colin shook off a s.h.i.+ver and crossed himself. There were some who believed the banshee's wail warned of death to come, but he had always preferred to entrust his fate into the hands of G.o.d.

That faith was rewarded when a cloaked and hooded figure came cantering into view, riding straight for MacDuff's border. He squinted against the rain, but even from that distance, he would have almost sworn the sleek beast was Lyssandra's steed. Colin's heart soared. Once he had Tabitha in his arms again, he would never let her go.

He could not have said what drew his eye to the stand of birches in that moment. It could have been the ghost of a hunch or simply a calculated movement where there should have been nothing but silvery leaves trembling in the wind. A bony finger of dread tickled his nape.

A lone man crouched among the bracken at the foot of the tallest tree, his dark green tunic and hose making him nearly indistinguishable from the glossy leaves.

He reached behind him with methodical precision and drew a feathered arrow from the quiver strapped to his back.

Colin drew his sword, reflexes honed in six years of battle making it possible for him to move when he should have been paralyzed with horror.

When he drove his spurs into the stallion's flanks, the figure cantering through the meadow below was halfway across the valley floor, a vulnerable target to any a.s.sa.s.sin. Sword in hand, Colin went flying down the hill, racing the storm, racing death, racing time itself. With eerie clarity, a flash of lightning illuminated the bowman, forcing Colin to watch him nock his arrow and draw back the bowstring until it trembled with tension. The man waited, patient enough to choose the precise moment when he could best drive the feathered shaft through his victim's heart.

Dear G.o.d in heaven, he wasn't going to make it. Colin acknowledged his failure with a mighty roar, but a deafening crack of thunder drowned out his warning.

He drew back his sword just as the bowman let fly his arrow.

His aim was true. The rider lurched, then went spinning off the horse, arms flung outward in supplication.

With a cry of inhuman anguish, Colin plunged his blade through the a.s.sa.s.sin's chest, pinning him to the trunk of the birch meant to serve as his s.h.i.+eld. The force of the blow dragged Colin off the stallion's back. He crashed to the ground, doubling over in agony as if it had been his own heart that had stopped beating in that moment.

Chapter 24.

When Colin staggered from the birch copse to find Tabitha sitting in the rain, cradling the fallen rider across her lap, he dropped to his knees, no longer able to stand. He might have remained thus forever, frozen in shock and wonder, if she hadn't lifted her head and cast him a beseeching look. Tears trickled down her cheeks, mingling with the rain.

He crept closer. His brain was slowly beginning to thaw and as he reached to draw the hood from the motionless figure, he feared a river of dark curls might spill from its confines.

But it was Chauncey who lay across Tabitha's lap, the squire's ruddy face pale now in death. She brushed a lock of hair from his sightless eyes with a bloodstained hand.

"I was just over that rise when I heard him coming. I think he was coming to warn me." Her voice was soft and halting and after too many nights spent on blood-drenched battlefields, Colin recognized the stress of shock. He ached to touch her, but knew the best thing he could do was to just let her talk. "I got tired of going in circles and falling off the horse, you see, so I decided to walk him for a while. It really wasn't his fault. He's a very nice horse, just not too fond of thunder."

Colin glanced up to find the sorrel standing patiently a few feet away, ignoring the snorting attempts of Lyssandra's steed to win his attention.

Although the arrow protruding from Chauncey's back forced Tabitha to hold him awkwardly, she still managed to rock him in her arms. "I made him bring me to MacDuff's castle, you know. He begged me to stay at the cottage and obey you, but I thought it would all just be a grand adventure. A game. I didn't realize we were playing for keeps. If I had, he might be alive. Now he'll never argue with his mother again or have mock sword fights with his friends or kiss a pretty milkmaid or a" "

"Tabithaa" Colin longed to take her burden of guilt and anguish upon his own broad shoulders, but knew it was one she would insist on bearing all alone.

As her gaze locked on his chest, Colin could hardly stand to see the pathetic spark of hope that lit her eyes. "The amulet, Colin! Give me the amulet!"

He drew the chain over his head and dropped the emerald into her outstretched hand. He could have told her that some magic could only be performed by the deft hand of G.o.d, but feared she must discover that for herself.

She screwed her eyes shut, her lips moving in a fierce litany. When she finally opened them several moments later, fresh tears clung to her lashes and Chauncey's body still lay limp across her lap. "I wished. I wished with all my heart that he would breathe again. What good is magic if it won't make your wishes come true?"

Bitterness darkened her eyes as she drew back her arm and flung the amulet as far as it would go.

When Colin gently took Chauncey's limp body from her arms, she did not protest, but simply sat with her mouth pressed to her knee, rocking in the rain.

When Tabitha finally climbed to her feet an eternity later, she felt as if she were waking from a daze. The rain had softened to a misty shower, gentle enough to heal the ugly gashes left by the storm. Colin was nowhere in sight, but she could hear the rhythmic clack of rock against rock somewhere in the nearby woods.

She followed the sound, pus.h.i.+ng aside a cedar bough to find him placing stones on top of a shallow grave. She could tell by his mud-streaked arms and dirt-encrusted fingernails that even without tools, he'd managed to dig some kind of hollow in the saturated soil.

He wept without shame or apology, without sobs or even a change in expression, just an endless river of tears coursing down his cheeks. Realizing how selfish she had been to wallow in her own grief without once thinking of his, Tabitha began to gather stones in her skirt. They worked side by side until the homely grave was covered, then sank to the ground, muddy and ex Colin scrubbed at his eyes, leaving streaks of dirt. " 'Twas as if I were burying them all. My father. Blythe. Regan. Even my very own mother, who's been dead since I was naught more than a wee lad."

Tabitha leaned her head against his shoulder. "Most men would crumble under the weight of so much loss."

He cupped her throat and turned her face toward him, a fierce light in his eyes. "Never have I known a grief so keen as when I thought it was you who had gone down beneath that arrow. Even when, for an instant, I believed it to be Lyssa lying dead in your arms, all I could feel was relief because it was not you."

If his confession hadn't taken her breath away, she might have scolded him for daring to voice such a terrible thing. As it was, she could only gaze helplessly up at him until he closed her eyes by kissing each eyelid in turn.

As his seeking lips melted against her own, he swept her up in his arms. He carried her through the forest and laid her down on a bed of ferns, the sky their only canopy. Tabitha knew she should be scandalized by the clumsy haste with which they tugged at each other's clothes, but she was as eager as he was to feel the misty rain against her skin. To let it wash away the dirt and blood and taint of death.

She understood now why Colin's people had been so quick to seize the joy of the moment. In a world without prenatal care or vaccinations or policemen or antibiotics, any moment might very well be their last. Although it felt as if the imprints Colin made on her flesh would be branded into her skin forever, she knew they, like the moments they shared, would be only too fleeting.

They mourned Chauncey's death, yet celebrated life in its most fundamental essence. They didn't just offer each other comfort, but an affirmation, unspeakably tender, unspeakably primal. Casting her inhibitions to the wind, Tabitha lowered her head and wors.h.i.+ped him with her mouth, delighting in the dark power and pa.s.sion of the mysterious union. He tangled his hands in her hair and groaned her name as if it were his most fervent prayer.

When his body trembled on the brink of explosion, he drew her lips to his and thrust his tongue in her mouth, kissing her as if he could go on forever. She rubbed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his chest with kittenish abandon, marveling because this magnificent man with his stubborn chin and golden tiger eyes was hers for the taking.

Take him she did, slipping astride him with more grace than she'd ever exhibited in ballet cla.s.s. Her entire body quivered with delight as his big hands framed her hips, driving her down until she contained the rigid length and breadth of him deep inside of her.

This time there was no pain, only pleasure. A pleasure so poignant and intense it brought fresh tears to her eyes. But these tears were cleansing, and even as Colin kissed them away, she was beginning to move until everything melted to insignificance except the sinuous friction of their flesh.

But Colin still remembered to reach between them, to stroke that tender bud above where their bodies were joined until shudder after shudder of exquisite rapture racked her.

As his own roar of ecstasy echoed through the forest, she threw back her head in exultation. She, Tabitha Lennox, who had kept her training wheels on her bike until she was twelve, had dared to ride a dragon.

When Tabitha awoke, she was lying stark naked on a bed of ferns. She shaded her eyes against the sun, trying to gauge how long she'd slept. Beads of rain still sparkled like diamonds on every leaf and blade of gra.s.s. She sat up and fumbled around for her discarded gown, feeling like some sort of wanton fairy enchanted by a mortal. She wryly shook her head, thinking the opposite must be true. No man with Colin's stamina could be completely mortal.

She found her damp gown hanging on a nearby branch. She dragged it on, but it wasn't until her fingers brushed her breastbone that she remembered flinging the amulet into the mist. A pang of regret stabbed her.

Worthless or not, the amulet might very well be the only heirloom she would ever receive from her mother.

"I trust you enjoyed your nap?"

She whirled around to find Colin emerging from the sun-dappled shadows of the forest. The suggestive quirk of his lips might not have made her heart beat faster if the memory of all the delicious things those lips had done to her hadn't been so fresh. With his tousled hair and bearded jaw, he looked extremely s.e.xy. And dangerous. Especially since he was wiping blood from the blade of the sword in his hand with what used to be her slip.

She knew she ought to be disturbed by the evidence of bloodshed, but instead felt a rush of savage satisfaction. "By any chance, did that blood once belong to Brisbane's man?"

He sheathed the weapon, his expression grim. "Not Brisbane's man. MacDuff's."

Frowning, Tabitha hugged back a s.h.i.+ver. "I don't understand. Why would MacDuff try to kill me?"

Colin shrugged. "Perhaps because he suspected 'twas you I loved instead of his daughter."

The hush within Tabitha was so quiet, even the birds seemed to stop singing. "What did you say?"

Colin's lips curved in that tender half smile she could never resist. "I love you."

Horrified, she clapped a hand over his mouth. "Don't say that. Please don't say that." She freed his mouth and backed away from him, wringing her hands. "Oh, dear Lord, what have I done now?"

He eyed her askance, thoroughly bemused by her odd behavior. "Why are you so distressed, la.s.s? You've done naught but win my heart."

"Steal it, more likely!" She paced around him in a frantic circle. "Don't you realize what I've done? I must have been talking in my sleep. I've wished you would love me almost from the first moment I saw you, but I never spoke the words out loud, I swear it." She paused long enough to check his brow for fever. "Oh, you poor thing. I'm so sorry."

Colin laughed aloud. "Contrary to what you may believe, my lady, you've cast no spell upon me. At least not the kind you think."

"Why, of course I have. Oh, no," she muttered. "What if you start acting like Brent Vondervan did in the fourth grade when my mother cast a love spell on him? I guess you can't offer me peanut b.u.t.ter sandwiches from your lunch box, but you might stop bossing me around and being grumpy and growling at me." She shuddered. "I won't be able to stand it if you're polite."

He caught her by the wrist, stilling her aimless flight, and forced her to look at him. "Is it truly so inconceivable that I would love you?"

She nodded. "I'm shy and clumsy and always blurt out the wrong thing in social situations. I babble when I'm nervous. I hog the blankets because I've always slept alone. I eat too much ice cream when I'm depressed. And when I'm PMS, I'm a real witch." She grimaced. "Well, really cranky anyway. I hate to exercise and I never remember to screw the lid back on the toothpaste tube after I brush." He still didn't look convinced so she added, "And I'm entirely too tall." She swallowed, finding it more and more difficult to squeeze words past the lump in her throat. "How could you love me?"

He framed her face between his hands, searching her features as if to etch them upon his memory. His soft chuckle was belied by the somber glow in his eyes. "How could I not?"

"Oha" The sigh escaped her on a breath of pure happiness, but Colin was there to capture it with his tips.

"Tabitha?" he murmured between kisses.

"Yes," she whispered, clinging to his brawny shoulders to keep from melting all over him.

"Who is this Brent fellow? And what is a peanut sandwitch? And a psychodontist and an orthotherapist? Why would one want to service a room and who in G.o.d's name taught you that atrocious song you sang last night a" the one that made you sound like you were braying through your nose?"

Tabitha drew back to look at him, realizing the time of reckoning had come. "You've been much more attentive than I realized."

He nodded. "I don't understand much of what you say, but I do remember it."

She reluctantly extracted herself from his arms and gestured to a fallen log. "Maybe you should sit down."

He obliged her, eyeing her somewhat warily. Tabitha paced the clearing, trying to find the best way to begin. Her mother had always taught her that if she ever got lost, she should go back to the place where she had last seen herself.

So she did.

She took Colin back to that snowy New York night when she'd accidentally wandered so far from home. Although too nervous to meet his gaze directly, she would steal a glance at him every now and then to find him listening intently to her rambling tale, his face carefully blank. She suspected she'd had that precise look on her own face when she'd viewed her mother's video and first learned of the amulet's existence. He even managed a polite nod at pivotal points in her story.

"So you see," she finished, smiling brightly at him, "my so-called 'supernatural' powers are probably nothing more than the result of a hyperdeveloped sense or a mutated gene. The amulet was nothing more than a positronic conduit designed to enhance them. Doesn't that make you feel better?"

He sat in silence for so long that Tabitha started to fidget. Then he dragged a hand through his hair, rumpling it beyond repair. "Indeed, my lady, you've truly set my heart at ease. I'm not in love with a witch. I'm in love with a lunatic."

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 a" "

"Seven hundred and sixty-six," she gently corrected.

His glare could have scorched gra.s.s. " a" 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 hoa.r.s.ely. "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 parentsa? 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, pa.s.sing dangerously close to their hiding place, they scrambled behind a gnarled oak, fearing they were being stalked by another of MacDuff's a.s.sa.s.sins. 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."