He didn’t need to say more to convince her. He could see her acceptance that not only wouldn’t it take her home, it might kill her—or make her wish she were dead. He understood that Lisa, as sensible as she was, had now acknowledged that she’d been clinging to an impossible hope and would not do so again. If he said it wouldn’t work, that was enough. By trusting her, he had gained her trust.
She sniffed and, to her apparent chagrin, another tear slipped out. She dropped her head forward to hide behind her hair in the way he’d noticed she did when she was uncomfortable or embarrassed.
Circenn moved swiftly, intending to catch the tear upon his finger, kiss it away, then kiss away all her pain and fear, and assure her that he would permit no harm to touch her and would spend his life making things up to her; but she dropped the flask onto the table and turned swiftly.
“Please, leave me alone,” she said and turned away from him.
“Let me comfort you, Lisa,” he entreated.
“Leave me alone.”
For the first time in his life, Circenn felt utterly helpless. Let her grieve, his heart instructed. She would need to grieve, for discovering that the flask didn’t work was tantamount to lowering her mother into a solitary grave. She would grieve her mother as if she’d in truth died that very day. May God forgive me, he prayed. I did not know what I was doing when I cursed that flask. He snatched the flask from the table, tucked it into his sporran, and left the room.
* * *
And that was that, Lisa admitted, curling up on the bed and pulling the curtains tight. In her cozy nest all she lacked was her stuffed Tigger and her mother’s shoulder to cry on, but such comforts would never again be hers. As long as she hadn’t tried the flask, she’d been able to pin all her hopes on it. She’d been astonished by Circenn’s reaction to her confession—she’d glimpsed a kindred moisture in his eyes.
You’re falling, Lisa, her heart said softly, for more than a country.
Good thing, she told her heart acerbically, because it looks like he’s all I’ve got, for now and forever.
She glanced around the curtained bed and snuggled deeper into the covers. The fire made her chamber toasty, and there was a flask of cider wine in a cubbyhole in the headboard. As she took a deep swallow, savoring the spicy, fruity taste, she gave in to her grief. Her mother would die alone and there was nothing Lisa could do to prevent it. She drank and cried until she was too exhausted to do more than roll onto her side and slip into the gentle, wine-induced oblivion of sleep.
All I wanted was to hold her hand when she died was her last thought before dreaming.
* * *
Circenn Brodie stood beside the bed and watched Lisa sleep. He parted the filmy bed curtains and stepped close, dropping his hand to lightly touch her hair. Curled on her side, she’d folded both hands beneath one cheek, like a child. The faded red bill of her bonnet—base ball cap, he reminded himself—was crushed between her hands and a plaid she’d bunched up into a pillow of sorts. She had clearly cried herself to sleep, and it looked as if she had fought a losing battle with her covers. Gently, he eased the plaid away from her neck so she wouldn’t strangle herself with it, then straightened the fabric twisted about her legs. She sighed and snuggled deeper into the soft mattress. Removing the wineskin from where it was nestled close to her side, he winced when he discovered it was empty, although he understood what had driven her to drink it.
She had been seeking oblivion, a quest he’d embarked upon a time or two himself
She was lost. Torn from her home. Stranded in the middle of a century she couldn’t possibly understand.
And it was his fault.
He would marry her, help her adjust, protect her from discovery—and most of all, protect her from Adam Black. One way or another, he promised himself firmly, he would make her smile again and win her heart. She was everything Brude and more. His mother would have loved this woman.
“Sleep with the angels, my Brude queen,” he said softly. But come back. This devil needs you like he’s never needed anything before.
As he turned to leave he spared a last glance over his shoulder. A faint smile curved his lips as he recalled her fascination with whipped cream. He hoped one day she would trust him, desire him enough to allow him to take his spoonful of whipped cream, trail it across her lovely body, and remove the sweet confection with his tongue.
He would heal her. With his love.
And he would never die on her—that he could promise.
* * *
“What’s wrong?” Galan asked, taking one look at Circenn’s grim expression as he entered the Greathall.
The laird dropped himself heavily into a chair and picked up a flask of cider wine, absently turning it in his hands.
“Is it Lisa?” Duncan asked swiftly. “What happened? I thought the two of you were … growing closer.”
“I gave her the flask,” Circenn grunted, barely intelligible.
“You what?” Galan roared, leaping from the chair. “You made her like you?”
“Nay.” Circenn waved an impatient hand. “I would never do that. I merely gave it to her so she could see for herself it would not return her to her home.” He paused, then raised his eyes from the floor. “I found out why she wants to return so badly,” he said. Then, haltingly, he told him what Lisa had confided.
“Och, Christ,” Duncan said when he was finished. “This is a fankle. Can you not return her? It is her mother.” Galan murmured his agreement.
Circenn shrugged and spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “I doona know how. The only creature who knows how is Adam—”
“And Adam would kill her,” Duncan finished bitterly.
“Aye.”
Duncan shook his head. “I never knew. She told me that a woman was depending on her, but she wouldn’t tell me more.”
“She told you that?” Circenn snapped.
“Aye.”
Circenn’s lips twitched bitterly. “Well, here I have been offering to be her husband and she didn’t tell me that much.”
“Did you ever ask?” Galan asked softly.
Circenn muttered a curse, uncapped the wine, and started to drink.
ARMAND GRITTED HIS TEETH AND PERMITTED JAMES Comyn to vent his anger, assuring himself that soon the tables would be turned, and then he would revel in crushing the traitorous Scot. He understood the Comyn’s motivations well. Ten years ago, when Robert the Bruce had slain Red John Comyn in Greyfriars Kirk at Dumfries, thereby eliminating the only other real contender for the Scottish crown, the remainder of the Comyn clan had eagerly allied themselves with the English. They were avid to murder any relative of the Bruce they could get their hands on.
“It has been weeks, Berard! And you bring me nothing. No woman, no sacred hallows.”
Armand shrugged. “I have done all I can. The woman has not left her chambers in weeks. She stays holed up there, although I cannot fathom why.”
“Then go in and get her,” Comyn spat. “The war grows fiercer, and the Bruce’s brother Edward has made a foolish wager.”
“What say you?” Armand had heard nothing of this.
“Only last night he made a wager that may win or lose this war. King Edward is most displeased.”
“What wager?” Armand pressed.
“It is not my place to speak of it. Even the Bruce hasn’t received word of it yet, and he will be furious when he hears what his brother has done. It is imperative that we capture the woman. At least then we will have something to appease his temper. You must get her,” Comyn ordered.
“There are guards outside her chambers day and night, James. I must wait until she comes out.” He raised a hand as the Comyn started to argue. “She will have to come out soon.” And while he waited, he would continue to search the castle for the sacred hallows. Thus far he’d managed to search only the north wing; somehow, he had to get into both the laird’s and the lady’s chambers.
“A fortnight, Berard. Any longer and I cannot
assure you I will be able to prevent King Edward from ordering his men to attack.”
“It will be done before a fortnight is up.”
* * *
Lisa rolled over, stretching gingerly. She knew that she would have to leave her bed eventually but hadn’t been able to face it. She sat up slowly, surprised to discover that the painful knot in her chest seemed to have loosened. She glanced around her room as if seeing it for the first time.
She’d been sleeping more than sixteen hours a day and wondered if perhaps the past five years had finally claimed their price. She’d slept and grieved for everything—not just her mother, but the car accident, her father’s death, and the loss of her childhood. She hadn’t let herself feel any of that for five years, and when she’d finally permitted a tiny sliver of pain, all of it had come crashing in and she’d lost herself for a time. She hadn’t realized how much buried anger she held. She suspected that only a bit of it had been released.
But now she had to face the facts: The flask would not return her, Circenn could not curse her back, and this was going to be her life—for the rest of her life.
She rose from the bed, rubbing her neck to ease the kinks. She had no idea how long it had been since she’d bathed. Disgusted with her protracted inertia, she moved to the door. While closeted in her room, she’d been dimly aware that men were posted outside in the corridor. She’d never spoken to them, had merely accepted the food they handed in through the door and picked at it listlessly.
She fumbled with the handle and pulled the door open.
Circenn crashed in and hit the floor. He rolled smoothly onto his back and sprang to his feet, hand on his sword, looking dazed. She realized he must have been sitting on the floor, leaning back against it, and when she’d opened it she’d taken him by surprise. He blinked several times, as if he’d fallen asleep in that position and been awakened abruptly. She was startled and touched: Had he been outside her room all this time?
He gazed down at her and they regarded each other silently. There were dark circles under his dark eyes, his face was lined with fatigue and worry, and the look he gave her was so tender and self-effacing that it made her catch her breath.
“A bath,” she said softly. “Might I have a bath?”
His smile was slow to form, but dazzling when it did. “Absolutely, lass. Wait right here. Doona move. I’ll see to the preparation myself.” He rushed out to fulfill her request.
* * *
“She wants a bath,” Circenn bellowed, barreling into the Greathall. He’d been waiting weeks for some spark of life. That she was aware of her body again meant she was slowly retreating from the dark place within, where she’d languished so long. He roared for the maids, who came at a run.
“Have hot water drawn immediately. And a meal. Send her all the tempting food you can find. And wine. Clothing! She must have clean clothing as well. See to my lady. She wants a bath!”
He smiled. By Dagda, the day was looking brighter already.
* * *
The last person Lisa would have imagined might slip into her chambers while she was bathing was Eirren. She’d indulged in a two-second fantasy that Circenn might come in uninvited, with seduction on his mind, but had quickly squashed that thought, obviously a leftover from the historical romances she’d devoured in lieu of a social life. Things like that didn’t really happen. What really happened was that small, mischievous children invaded. “What are you doing in here, Eirren?” She swished her hands in the water, trying to whisk up more bubbles to cover her breasts. When that failed, she placed her wash cloth atop them.
The rascal grinned broadly, waggling his brows in a comically lecherous expression.
“I didn’t even hear you open the door.” She sank lower in the tub.
“Ye were too engrossed in yer bath, lassie. I even knocked,” he lied. He moved swiftly to the hearth near Lisa.
“I hardly think this is appropriate,” she said. Then she regarded him thoughtfully “On second thought, it’s perfectly appropriate. You may use my bath when I’m done, and we’ll finally get you clean.”
Eirren grinned puckishly. “In order to do that, ye’ll have to be gettin’ out. For my first look at a naked lass, I’d even consent to washin’ meself. For a look at ye, I’d wash twice. Behind me ears, even.”
His grin faded as he took a seat on the stone base of the hearth. “Are ye feelin’ better, lassie? Ye’ve been in here a long time. I couldna help but hear grim gossip.”
Lisa was touched. “You were worried about me, weren’t you? That’s why you came today.”
“Aye, I was,” Eirren muttered. “And I dinna like it a bit. I overheard the men sayin’ ye really are from another time and ye discovered ye can never return.” He looked at her questioningly.
“That is so,” Lisa said sadly.
“Will ye be givin’ up on life, lassie?”
Lisa glanced at him sharply. “Sometimes you seem far older than thirteen, Eirren.”
He shrugged his bony shoulders. “Tis the way of this world. Children doona stay children long. We see too much.”
Lisa felt a flash of longing to shield his eyes, to ensure he never again glimpsed anything a child shouldn’t see. Then she caught him trying to peek beneath the water line. “Stop that!” She splashed water at him.
He laughed and wiped his face gamely. “‘Tis natural. I’m a lad. But I’ll be lookin’ out yon window if it makes ye feel better.”
She smiled, watching him lift his chin and turn his face toward the window, making quite a production of it. He was such a melodramatic boy.
“Will ye be wedding the laird?” he asked after a moment.
Lisa’s brows lifted as she pondered that. A shiver skittered up her spine. She could not return home. This was her life. What would Catherine want her to make of it? Lisa knew the answer to that. Catherine would have fussed and cosseted and dressed Lisa in the finest wedding gown, pushed her into bed with the brawny Highlander, and hovered outside the door to ascertain that Lisa made appropriately satisfied honeymoon sounds.
“I do believe I will,” she said slowly, trying to accustom herself to the thought.
Eirren clapped his hands and beamed at her. “Ye willna regret it.”
Lisa’s eyes narrowed astutely. “Do you have a special interest in this, Eirren?”
“I merely wish to be seein’ a lassie happy.”
“That’s not all of it,” Lisa said. “Confess. You like the laird, don’t you? You admire him and you think he needs to get married, don’t you?”
Eirren nodded, his eyes bright. “I suppose I have a fondness for him.”
Probably because his own father didn’t have much time for him, she thought. Circenn Brodie would be easy for a lad to worship. “Hand me my towel, Eirren,” Lisa ordered. She would get the filthy boy in the bath if she had to parade around nude to do it. Someone needed to take responsibility for him, treat him to tender arms and loving discipline.
With an arch glance, he picked up her towel and, with an exaggerated swing of his arm, flung it far across the room to land on the bed. “Get it yerself.”
She gave him her most forbidding you-will-obey-me-little-boy-or-die glance. They waged a battle with their glares—his challenging, hers promising divine retribution—until with a gamin grin he leaped to his feet, slipped behind her, and was gone. She didn’t even hear the door open and close.
She sighed and leaned her head back against the tub, admitting that she hadn’t really wanted to leave the warm, soapy water anyway. “I’ll get you for this, Eirren,” she vowed. “You will have a bath before the week is out.”
She wasn’t certain but she thought she heard a soft tinkle of laughter outside the door.
* * *
The sun was shining, Lisa observed with pleasure. After bathing, she had slipped on a clean gown but forgone slippers. While the maids had removed her bath water, she’d flung open the window and realized that spring had graced the countryside while she??
?d grieved. She’d felt a fierce need to venture outside, to feel the sun, to savor the birdsong, to connect with what was to be her world. God, she needed to get out of her room. It was suffocating after so long.
She strolled the courtyard at a leisurely pace, curling her bare toes in the lush green grass. Following the perimeter wall of the castle, she was acutely aware of the curious gazes of the guards in the high towers. They watched her intently, and she suspected that Circenn had instructed them not to let her slip from their sight. Rather than feeling guarded or trapped, she found it comforting. While finishing her bath she’d realized that she’d been lucky; things could have been much worse. She might have been dumped through time into the keep of a true barbarian, who would have abused her, turned her out, or simply killed her.
She skirted a small grove of trees and paused, captivated by a clear reflecting pool encircled by smooth white rocks and cornered by four massive standing stones with Pict inscriptions. Lured by history, she trailed her fingertips over the engravings. A lovely stone bench squatted in a small copse before an unusual mound of earth that was about twenty feet long and a dozen feet wide. It was nearly as tall as she was, and the grass on it was a brilliant green, thicker and lusher than the rest of the lawn. Her toes ached to touch it. She stood regarding it, wondering what it was. A medieval burial mound?
“It is a fairy mound. A shian,” Circenn said, moving behind her. He placed his hand on her waist and inhaled the clean fragrance of her freshly washed hair.
Lisa tipped back her head and smiled.
“It is said that if you circle the mound seven times and spill your blood upon the peak, the Queen of the Fairies may appear and grant you a wish. I cannot guess how many young lads and lasses have pricked their fingers here. Old, tall tales—this land is full of them. Most likely some prior kin once emptied the chamber pots here. It would explain how thick and green the grass is.” He dropped a kiss on her hair, wrapping his arms around her from behind. “I glimpsed you from the window and thought I might seek a word with you. How are you, lass?” he asked gently.