Page 20 of The Story of his Highland Bride (Dancing Through Time #4)

20

“ W hat’s that on yer arm?” Jackson noticed the bruise immediately, indented with bright red crescents.

Eloise tugged her shawl over the injury, turning her face away. “It’s nothing. I tripped and banged my arm against the wardrobe. Silly, really. Should’ve been watching where I was going.” She turned back to him, smiling stiffly. “Enough about me. Tell me everything about this skirmish. I can’t say I really know what a skirmish is.”

“It wasnae one,” Jackson muttered, moving closer to her. “It was little more than a quarrel between farmers, so ye can imagine me irritation. I’m just glad it wasnae anythin’ worse, so I could return to ye sooner than I thought.”

He stooped to kiss her shoulder, as she sat facing the window of his bedchamber. She smiled in the reflection of the pane, but that smile turned to horror as he pushed the shawl back down, revealing the injury she was clearly trying to hide.

“Where did it really come from?” he asked, kissing it.

With a heavy sigh, she peered up at him. “Promise you won’t be cross?”

“I cannae promise that until I hear it, but… I’ll hold me temper,” he replied, his nerves on edge. Who could have caused such a wound, when he had not been away more than a few hours?

“I went to visit the witch by myself. I thought that, if I could ask about my plan, and she gave me good news, I could surprise you with it. But, it was me who got the surprise, and a nasty one at that.” She hesitated. “I crossed paths with the priest. He knew me. Said he’d seen me, so you’re likely right about there being spies in the castle. He might even be one, in disguise. Anyway, I ran, and he tried to catch me, hence the bruised arm, but he came off far, far worse.”

Jackson chewed the inside of his cheek, trying his best to keep the promise he had made moments ago. “How so?”

“I elbowed him in the nose,” she answered, flashing a nervous grin. “I broke it, I think. It sounded like I did.”

In one utterance, Jackson’s ire transformed into a laugh of pure delight, as he pictured Father Hepburn’s shock at being beaten by a woman. “That’s me lass! Och, I could never have that satisfaction, nae unless I wanted chaos in me Clan, but ye did what I’ve been dreamin’ of doin’ for years!”

“So, you’re not angry?” She bit her lower lip, fidgeting.

“I’m mad as a badger that ye went to the cottage without me, but how could I stay furious after hearin’ that? Och, I couldn’ae be prouder of ye!” He rested his hands on her shoulders, and bent his head to kiss her neck, hoping they might spend the hour before dinner enjoying one another.

But, judging by the way Eloise dipped her chin and gazed down into her lap, he guessed she had not told him the entire story.

“What’s the matter?” he asked softly, coming around to the side of the chair. He kneeled down and took hold of her hands, patiently waiting for her to speak.

She swallowed thickly. “The priest was on his way to capture the witch at the cottage. If he managed it, then there’s no one to help me with the stones, and I think I just painted a gigantic target on my back.” Her breath hitched. “Elbowing him felt good, in the moment, but he’s going to kill me for humiliating him like that.”

“Did anyone else see?”

Her brow furrowed. “I think he had other men with him—the path through the woods was heavily trampled—but they weren’t anywhere to be seen when I hit him.”

“He’ll want to keep it that way. Daenae fret, he willnae tell a soul what ye did,” Jackson soothed, but he was not telling the whole truth, either. They both knew it. In one blow, Eloise had gone from being a pawn to try and manipulate Jackson, to becoming Father Hepburn’s primary enemy. He would come for her; it was merely a matter of when.

Standing up, Jackson pulled Eloise to her feet and swept her up into his arms. She squealed in surprise, batting him lightly on the arm as she cried, “What are you doing? Set me down, now!”

“We’ve got too much to do, and this is quicker,” he told her, wielding her out of the door and through the maze of hallways beyond.

They passed a few startled servants on the way, but Jackson could not have cared less. He was tired of pretending that the strange woman who he had found on the road and brought to the castle did not mean something to him. Besides, his grandmother had often said that he needed to be seen with more eligible ladies, so that his Clan would not think him unusual. Finally, he had found a woman who was worth being seen with, and he would not hide her any longer. If he did, it was akin to letting Father Hepburn win.

“Where are we going?” Eloise pleaded to know, as they reached the stables.

“We’re going to venture to those woods, to see if we cannae find our witch,” he replied, in a hushed tone. “I used to think me grandmaither had somethin’ of the witch about her, and if there’s one thing I ken about a woman like me grandmaither, it’s that she wouldn’ae be daft enough to let the likes of Father Hepburn capture her. She’d be a step ahead, too clever for him.”

It was not until he spoke it aloud that he believed it, remembering all of the tales that his mother and grandmother had told him when he was a young boy. In those stories, the heroes and heroines had always been wise and quick-witted, often toying with their enemy for their own amusement. If Irene was anything like the witches of old, she would be well hidden, somewhere not too far from where she was supposed to be, where she could watch Father Hepburn’s frustration when he could not find her.

“I hope you’re right,” Eloise said quietly.

After all, her entire future rested on it, whether he liked it or not.

Claymore plodded into the forest, guided by the lantern that spilled hazy orange light across the undergrowth. Jackson could see the trail that Eloise had spoken of; the tracks and the extent of the flattened grass confirming that a group had walked this way. Indeed, he thanked the heavens that she had only encountered the priest, who had likely stayed back while his holy soldiers went ahead to do the hard work.

“They’re nae here anymore,” Jackson told her, tightening his grip around her waist as she swayed to Claymore’s uneven rhythm. “There are tracks retreatin’ as well as arrivin’, so they must’ve given up when night fell.”

She twisted her head to look at him. “Can you see any signs of anyone being dragged, or a woman’s footprints?”

“There are too many to tell,” he admitted, wishing he could ease her worries.

Claymore pressed on for a while, as Jackson swung the lantern in an arc, trying to spot the cottage that Old Joan had spoken about.

A few minutes later, it appeared out of the trees, and Jackson’s heart sank and leaped at the same time. It had been burned to the ground, leaving only smoldering ashes and broken stacks of slate and stone. Of course, the sight did not bode well for its inhabitant, and he would certainly do his best to save her, but if the witch was not here, perhaps that meant Eloise would have to stay.

I can think of somethin’, he told himself. I could take her to the north of the territory, to that bothy by the loch. And then what… visit her whenever I can? It would never be enough.

“I kenned ye’d come,” a voice slithered out of the dark, wrapping around Jackson’s chest like a serpent. “Ye, Lass, ye came before. I’m pleased ye ran, for I was too occupied with savin’ meself to spare much thought for ye, and it wouldn’ae have pleased the Old Gods if ye’d fallen into a priest’s hands.”

Jackson shoved his lantern toward the sound, just as a silhouette weaved between the trees, coming closer. The witch, Irene, was younger than he had expected—no older than forty or so. Or, perhaps, it was a spell of some kind, cast to make her look that way. She had long, dark hair that fell past her hips, and sharp gray eyes that did not seem to take kindly to Jackson’s presence.

“I thought of you,” Eloise said suddenly. “I hoped you’d made it out alive. In fact, I kept wondering if I was a giant coward for not running in the opposite direction, to come to your aid.”

The witch smiled, and her gray eyes twinkled. “Me cottage was surrounded, but I thank ye for yer thoughts of me.”

She walked right up to Claymore, who nudged her palm in a display of affection that Jackson had never seen from his horse before. Not with anyone but him, anyway.

If he trusts ye, I have nay reason nae to, Jackson mused, relaxing a little. Claymore was an excellent judge of character.

“We’ve come to ask about the stones at Clava Cairns,” Eloise continued, “but if you’re too busy, we can come back another time. Or, we could help you find somewhere safe to stay, if that would be of use to you?”

The witch chuckled. “I’m content among the trees and the creatures, Lass. The Old Gods provide all I need, so daenae worry for me.” She stepped around to the side of the horse and reached for Eloise’s hand. “Tell me, what is it yer heart desires with the stones of Clava Cairns? Are ye here to ask me how ye might return, or how ye might remain? Neither will be easy, but the easiest path is always that which is guided by yer heart.”

“I… wish to return,” Eloise answered, faltering a little. It did not go unnoticed by Jackson: his heart aching at the sound of her hesitation.

The witch bowed her head and pressed Eloise’s hand to her chest. “The stones are a wheel, turning like the hands of a clock. Even I daenae ken their hours, for only the Gods ken that earthly secret.” She sucked in a deep breath. “Yer hour will come when the starlings summon ye. When they appear, the doorway will open, but ye mustnae linger, for it closes when the next hour strikes.”

“You can’t give me any idea at all when that might be?” Eloise urged, as Jackson held his breath. Just how long did they have?

The witch peered up at Eloise, still smiling her eerie smile. “Before midwinter is all I can say.”

“Oh… midwinter.” Eloise nodded slowly, glancing back at Jackson with a look of excitement that he did not understand. “We have at least a fortnight, maybe more!”

He frowned. “Nay, lass, we daenae. Midwinter is a week from now, and if it is before that day, then—” He trailed off, pained by the crestfallen expression upon her face.

“It wasn’t even December when I left,” Eloise protested, turning to the witch. “I thought I arrived on the same day I departed.”

The witch shrugged. “The wheel doesnae tick the way we mortals might think. It ticks to its own design. If this is when ye were sent through the doorway, this is when ye were meant to be sent through…” she paused, “nor can I tell ye what day it might be when ye return, so daenae ask. All I can tell ye is ye must do as ye did when ye came, and all will be restored to how it was, as if ye were never here.”

As if ye were never here? Those words jarred Jackson, his hold tightening around Eloise’s waist. If she had to return to her time in order to save her life, he could just about bear that, but if she left and they forgot one another—that was not the promise he had made to her.

“I trust ye ken what a starling is?” The witch addressed Eloise, who nodded slowly.

“All too well. Why couldn’t it be an owl or a crow—something less terrifying?”

The witch arched an eyebrow. “Ye’d rather face a band of owls? I can tell ye’ve never actually seen an owl, else ye’d ken how foolish that is. Starlings harbor the magic of the old ways. I daenae ken what else to tell ye.”

“Well, thank you,” Eloise said quietly. “I guess I’ll… uh… wait for the starlings and go to the Cairns, when the time comes.”

The witch chuckled. “Daenae sound too happy about it.”

“I’m just absorbing it all,” Eloise explained, her voice tight. “Really, thank you. When Father Hepburn said he was coming to catch you, I thought I’d be stuck here indefinitely.”

With a curious smile, the witch tilted her head to one side. “And ye’re certain that isnae what yer heart might secretly, or nae so secretly, want?”

“Thank you for your guidance,” was all Eloise said, ignoring the question, and leaving Jackson’s unanswered.

What did Eloise want? And with Father Hepburn’s threat looming over them both, did what they wanted really matter?