“He had two blades,” Keenan said (4 page)

Mari drew her hand back to her skirts. “You dress like the English, but you are not,” she said in broken Gaelic.

“Aye.”

He answered Mari, but his eyes remained on Serena. Had he lied before? Could he read her thoughts? By the Earth Mother, she hoped not. Serena rubbed her hands down her thighs through her skirts. Her skin still felt hot as if branded by his hard body during her slide to the ground.

“Perhaps from the mountains of the west,” Mari said again in Gaelic.

“Woman, it is dangerous to speak the ancient tongue here,” he said in English. “Ye best be careful.”

Mari nodded and switched to English. “We traveled there several years ago, near the ocean.”

“My home is Kylkern, near the sea,” the man said.

Mari nodded. “Yes, yes, Kylkern Castle. I remember your laird well, the proud Angus Maclean. He was quite generous to us and allowed us to entertain. I would have you send him the kind wishes of King Will and the Faw tribe.”

“He is dead,” the man said swiftly, his eyes taking in all three of them.

“I am sorry for the loss of such a great man,” Mari said, bowing her head slightly. “Then I send along the kind wishes to the new chief of the Macleans, who is...?”

“You,” Serena said in a near whisper. Mari looked up.

The Maclean turned toward the fire and scanned the small crowd. His face caught the glow of orange light on half of his strong features. The shadows turned his features sharp, predatory, battle hungry. Serena tucked her other hand under Mari’s arm.

He half spoke to her and half to the fire. “Nay, Lachlan Maclean is laird.” Mari’s grip on her arm tightened. Surprise and concern radiated from Mari. Serena never guessed wrong.

The warrior continued to scan the area around the fire. Boisterous laughter came from one of the tables set up on the other side. He reached into his pocket and produced a small bag of coins which he tossed to William.

“For yer trouble,” he said and then looked at Serena, “and for yer performance.” His eyes searched hers one last time and then turned to Mari. “Yer pardon,” he said quickly and bowed. “But I must find my companion.”

Mari nodded her thanks.

“Yes,” Serena said before she thought better of it. “Find him, he will be in need of you,” she said. “I felt death when he touched me.”

Keenan Maclean’s eyes pivoted towards her. Sharp angles of firelight and moonlight cut across his face. Without a word he turned and jogged toward the laughter on the other edge of the fire.

“William,” Ephram, one of the tribe’s young men, called near the fire where he waved him over.

“I have work to do.” William raised his hand to his friend. “Go inside, Àngelas,” he said in his best imitation of King Will. Then he turned to leave them.

“William.” Serena stopped him by resting her bare hand on his arm. Her stomach clenched.

“Àngelas?”

She shook her head. “Something feels terribly wrong, dark. I’m afraid for you,” she said.

He would take her warning seriously. He knew her powers. Unfortunately he also knew how she often caused more problems by trying to stop fate.

William frowned but then smiled softly at her. “I will be extra careful tonight.”

With his promise, Serena hoped the sickening in her belly would mellow, but it didn’t. She watched him saunter off toward his friends.

Mari waited until they ducked through the door into the tented room of their covered wagon before the questions began to pop quickly into Serena’s head. Mari sat down across from Serena and gave her daughter a tin cup of watered-down wine.

“Keenan Maclean, from Kylkern,” Mari said.

Serena nodded, “I know, but only because it came from his lips.” She took two gulps of the sweet drink and tried to force the thought of his sensual lips away. She ran her fingers over her forehead, rubbing at the ache she felt coming, and pulled the strand of painted glass jewels off. She looked up into the wise eyes that searched her. “I could not read his thoughts at all.”

“How unusual.” Mari sipped some of the wine.

“But you could?” Serena asked and Mari nodded slightly.

“Just some. My gift is not like yours, Àngelas.”

“Hmmph, my gift abandoned me.”

“Only with him?”

Serena nodded in response and took a drink. She turned to look closely at her mother. “Is he dark? Some sort of wizard or demon able to block his thoughts from me?” The thought sent prickles of fear up her neck to her scalp. Could a demon have found her?

Mari considered it but then shook her head. “Perhaps some darkness, but not a demon. He…seemed…” She hesitated and tilted her head to the side. “Sad, I think. I heard the sad skirl of their ancient pipes when I touched him.”

Serena took a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing away from panic. “Why couldn’t I hear them?”

Serena felt Mari’s concern, but the woman kept her voice light. “I don’t know. I will meditate on it.”

Serena sat back against the bedroll. An itch in her mind tickled at the base of her ears. She rubbed at them and pulled the earrings from her lobes. Goosebumps rose on her bare arms, and she ran her hands down them.

Mari’s worry came through her mind, and she leaned forward to rub Serena’s arms briskly.

“Pain comes,” Serena said. “Betrayal, fear.”

“So you feel this darkness too?”

Serena nodded. “But I think it involves the Highlander’s companion. The one named Gerard.”

Mari laid her weathered hand on Serena’s knee. “Reach out to it, child. Gently so as not to open the gates you hold back. A crack to see the darkness.”

“You want me to look?” Serena asked. How many times had her duy told her to shut her mind or ignore the warnings, to allow fate’s song to play out? And now she asked her to seek out the darkness.

Mari’s brow furrowed deeply, and she clenched her calloused hands. “The stars speak to me of treachery.” She paused and looked deeply into Serena’s eyes. “This darkness stalks us, our family.”

“William,” Serena said and stood. She grabbed her wool cloak and wrapped it around herself. She ducked out the small door and stood at the top of the steps. The rhythm of the faire was familiar, normal, as were the muted sounds of the forest around their caravan. She didn’t see Keenan Maclean or Gerard. Her eyes moved around the fire. No William.

Serena washed a cleansing breath through her chest and closed her eyes. The walls she held around herself were hardly a burden to her now after years of training to control what she allowed herself to see. Mari had guided her, with common sense, a duy’s love, and the ancient knowledge passed down through her maternal line.

Serena envisioned a stone wall that reached up to the tallest trees and encircled. The stone was rough granite with stars sprinkled within it. The stars had been in her first wall when she had created it as a young girl, and she had kept it. Using her internal compass, Serena felt for the direction of the darkness. Through the wall she felt its slick presence. She focused on the rocks on the outside of the wall.

A small fissure glowed along a jagged path between the granite stones. Serena narrowed her thoughts into a thread and squeezed through the tiny crack. Out through the cooling night her thread darted into shadows, between trees, past the crackling fires of the tribe, past the merriment in the faire’s center. Her mind flew, a single thread intent on only one destination, the darkness that itched.

Through zigs and zags, she came upon the bridge that crossed the creek not far from the faire. “Where are you?” Her mind searched for the cause of her worry, it searched for William. The woods stood silent in the moon-washed darkness, watching, smelling the predator lurking. Serena saw Gerard stumbling, catching himself on the wooden rail. Would he fall in? Was that the darkness? No, it was human darkness, swollen with deceit, full of purpose and perfidy.

Serena’s thread hovered over Gerard as the man gurgled and wretched over the side of the brook. Wiping his frothy mouth, he turned to see another man lunge from the shadows. Serena tried to yell a warning, but Gerard’s mind was too befuddled to be receptive. Few could hear her thoughts, and only when they were open to her voice.

The man was larger than Gerard, poorly dressed, a local brute. In one quick movement, he stabbed Gerard through the abdomen. Serena breathed hard, her silent scream useless. She must concentrate to keep her thread. She pulsed against the sight of such blood spreading like dark wine through white linen between his splayed fingers. Gerard sank to his knees. The rough man looked back over his shoulder and nodded. Serena sent her quivering thread to the other end of the bridge.

A man and woman stood in the shadows, their clothes well cut, costly. “Run! Go back!” she mentally yelled to them. Should she break the thread and run for help? The images were so clear that Serena knew that what she observed was happening now. There was no time to run to them.

Serena watched as the couple came forward. Instead of recoiling, the man handed the killer a bag of coins and motioned for him to drop the knife near the body. The thug dropped the knife, grabbed the bag and hurried off into the woods.

Serena watched as the gentleman pulled a rolled paper from Gerard’s inner jacket. The petite blond woman tucked it into a small satchel and turned to leave.

Serena breathed, focusing again so as not to scatter her energy. If the thread collapsed, she would plunge back behind her granite wall.

What was happening? Who were they? Serena reached out with her sharpest powers. Anxiety clung to the woman, but purpose held her resolve. The man felt relief.

William burst from the trees, startling the two. The man pulled out a gun.

“No,” Serena screamed at William. “No!”

The shot tore through William and shattered Serena’s concentration. The scene dissolved and she fell backwards into the arms of Mari. Chiriklò chirped wildly and fluttered around her as she regained her bearings.

“Duy, they’ve shot Shoshòy,” Serena cried and wiped at her tears. “Find King Will, I’m going to help him, he’s on the bridge.” She jumped down out of the wagon, nearly twisting her foot in the slippery mud.

“Chiriklò, fly to William.” The bird shot through the darkness, and Serena ran after him.

Chapter 2

Keenan Maclean knelt over Gerard, loosened the man’s cravat and pressed against his neck.

“Bloody hell.” He checked Gerard’s pockets. Empty. “Bloody, blathering hell,” he cursed and stood up. He’d failed to keep the bastard alive, the only Jacobite supporter that had King George’s ear. And the damn letter was missing. How could he have failed so terribly? He had allowed the gypsy woman to distract him from his duty.

A bird screeched near the fallen Rom at the other end of the bridge. In the moonlight, Keenan watched the tiny bird hop from one end of the man to the other, tilting its head in the disjointed manner birds do.

Keenan looked up as padded feet slapped across the boards of the bridge. “Now what?” he grumbled. And there she was, the woman from the faire. She ran across the bridge and threw herself on the Rom man. She draped across him, her long hair flowing along his length like a plaid.

Keenan’s frown deepened. Was the man her lover? As she turned the man’s face upward, Keenan saw that it was the Rom who had called her his sister. What did he have to do with Gerard’s death?

Keenan walked over and knelt down next to her. “Serena?”

She looked up at him and wiped her nose against the back of her glove. Tears stained her cheeks. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

They worked together to open her brother’s jacket. Blood seeped from a hole in his shoulder.

“He’s been shot, please help me,” she whispered.

The jolt that shot through Keenan was nearly a physical pain, her anguish so raw, her helplessness so devastatingly sincere. All the sorrow in the wretched world seemed reflected in her breathless words. He had felt sorrow before, seen the anguish in the world. But her simple plea tore like sharp teeth into him.

His eyes stared back into hers, promising more than words could pronounce. “I will help ye.”

She nodded and looked back down where blood continued to seep from the Rom boy’s shoulder.

Several Rom men ran up behind them, speaking low in the Romany language. Keenan finished pulling William’s jacket carefully from his shoulders. Serena ripped the scarf that was tied to her waist, balled it up and pushed it gently against the hole. From the small amount of blood, Keenan knew that the shot was lodged in the muscle and dammed much of the bleeding. It must be removed eventually, but right now loss of blood was the first concern.

Serena tied the sash tightly around the wound. She seemed to know what to do. Had she saved many from pistol shots? Her gloved hands shook and slipped as she tied the knots. A dark slickness covered them, and she tried to wipe them on the boards near her.

She swayed slightly on her heels, and Keenan nudged her hands aside. “Let me,” he said.

She sat back and pulled off her blood soaked gloves and tucked them in her waistband. When Keenan finished, he grasped her elbow beneath her cloak to help her stand. She flinched at his touch but didn’t pull away.

One of the men from her tribe stepped forward. Keenan held her hand out to the man, but he avoided it. Instead, he stiffly pulled her against his side.

Keenan crouched before Serena’s brother and glanced at the woman. “Ye called him William?”

She nodded.

“Yer brother?”

She sniffed loudly and nodded again.

Keenan carefully checked William’s pockets. A few coins, tinkled together but nothing more. Keenan looked around and spotted Gerard’s coin purse next to William along with a bloodied knife. But the papers were nowhere. What would a gypsy want with the letter anyway?

The gun lying near the body must have shot William, but where had Gerard found the gun? It wasn’t his. When Gerard had started drinking heavily, Keenan took his firearm from him so he wouldn’t shoot anyone or himself. Keenan probably should have let the idiot keep his weapon, another failure on his part.

A pounding crept up the back of his head as Keenan looked between the two men. What an ass he’d been to let his guard down. Without Gerard and his letter, his brother’s cause would require months to rebuild. He shook his head in disgust at himself.

“William didn’t take his money and didn’t kill him,” Serena said firmly as she wiped another scarf along her nose.

Keenan threw the purse of coins at her feet as he stood. The loud thump caused a stir amongst the Rom gathered.

Serena spoke to the people around her. “William didn’t take the coins. It was the others,” she insisted as she waved her hands toward the other end of the bridge and looked back at Keenan. Frantic appeal bled from her eyes. “The man threw your friend’s coin purse on William after he shot him. Because William saw him, and his woman paying off Gerard’s murderer, some local ruffian.” The words flew desperately out of her. Several Rom backed away, disappearing into the shadows.

“What man and woman? What murderer?” Keenan grabbed her arms.

“Out of the way, you filthy Rom,” a rotund man huffed across the bridge with two men behind him. They held guns and were sloppily dressed as local authority. The remaining people backed up to allow them into the scene.

The marshal glanced at the bodies. “What crime goes on here?”

“Gerard Grant has been stabbed, killed,” Keenan said.

“And my brother has been shot. He is bleeding.” Serena pulled away from Keenan to squat back down at William’s head. She smoothed his black hair from his face.

The marshal pointed to the weapons each man had. “Looks like the Rom picked his purse and they fought a bit. The gentleman was gutted but got off a shot before he died. Thieving Rom.” The marshal spat on the ground near William’s foot.

“That’s not what happened,” Serena shouted.

“And how would you know that, little miss? Or were you in on it?” The marshal leered at her. “I saw you dance with the Rom people. You might not look like them, but you travel with them.”

Keenan saw her wide eyes, her trembling hands. She didn’t look like someone who would aid her brother in thievery. But times were hard for the poor. Maybe they only meant to take the money, and the boy ended up defending himself. But again, Gerard had nothing to defend himself with. The details didn’t make sense. He needed to question Serena about what she saw. But how could she have seen others if she wasn’t involved? He had left her back at the wagon moments before coming upon Gerard.

The marshal motioned to the two soldiers with him. “Bring the Rom and his woman.”

“No.” Serena bent down to cradle William’s head.

“She’s not involved,” Keenan Maclean said above her. Whether she was or not, he didn’t want her dragged off by these men.

“And what would you be knowing about this, Scot?” the marshal said with transparent contempt.

Keenan stood to his full height and stared the shoddy man in his black eyes. “I do ken that Gerard Grant is a close friend of the king and was my associate.”

The marshal grunted and turned to his two henchmen. “We’ll take the Rom boy to Newgate with the other prisoners next week. For now lock him up at Leeds Gaol. Leave the woman.”

“But he’s still bleeding,” Serena protested as the two filthy men walked toward her.

“He’ll probably hang or die of gaol fever anyway,” the marshal retorted. “Best let him die tonight.”

Keenan watched a shudder run through the lass. She was about to say more, when an older Rom man walked across the bridge toward them with a majesty that commanded the others to part. He placed his hand on Serena’s shoulder and whispered something to her. She shook her head but he nodded stiffly. Anguish dampened her face. It was as if her spirit crumpled before him. She turned while the elderly man spoke with authority in Romany to the remaining people.

Two men from the Rom group moved past the guards and picked William up gently. They rested him across the marshal’s horse. Keenan watched Serena flinch with each movement of her brother, even though her back remained turned against the scene. It was as if she felt his pain.

Keenan had heard of “The Traveling People” and had even seen some at Kylkern. Their ways were so different from the ways of the Scottish people that their differences seemed like magic. The woman before him hardly seemed to control powerful magic. Nor did she look like the sensual creature who had lured him to the fire. Now, she seemed more like a desolate child.

“What should we do with the other one?” the marshal asked him. “If he’s a friend of the court, we should send him there.”

“I’ll take care of the body,” Keenan answered briskly and looked over at the sprawled figure of Gerard. He wanted to see if there were any clues on the body. Gerard had no loyal family, and he was too dangerous to have many friends. Keenan had found him tolerable as long as he didn’t have to spend too much time with him. King George, on the other hand, found him witty and clever. They had become friends, elevating Gerard to worth. And now he was dead and the letter signed by George describing how he planned to take over Scotland was missing. Lachlan would scream to the rafters in fury.

Keenan wrapped Gerard’s body in a fringed blanket he bought hastily from one of the Rom onlookers. His and Gerard’s horses were tethered closer to the faire. He watched Serena walk slowly after the marshal’s horse. “She’s bloody daft,” he cursed. She could be attacked and raped, or worse.

From the trees came the older woman, Serena’s mother. She looked directly at him as she led his and Gerard’s horses from the shadows.

“She will need you.” The old woman’s eyes glistened. “We can do naught for my boy tonight. But you...Please...” she let the word hang there for a moment and handed the reins to him. She turned away without waiting to see whether he would obey her command.

Keenan watched her limp slowly away as if hopelessness tugged at her feet. The elderly man who had spoken with authority wrapped his arm around her, and they walked back under the trees. The others melted quickly into the forest. Keenan noticed Gerard’s bag of coins where he had thrown it at Serena’s feet, untouched. Not one of them had touched it.

Keenan rummaged through Gerard’s pockets once more, turning him over this way and that. Nothing.

A fierce chirping caught his attention. Now what? The little blue sparrow hopped on the ground before him. It took several hops in the direction Serena had walked and then cocked its head back. Then it fluttered up and around him.

“Odd wee thing.” He dodged the winged beast. “Are ye ordering me after her?” He had questions to ask and he wanted to feel her touch him again. He wanted to smell the freshness in her hair. Keenan grunted at the absurdity of his thoughts. “A dead patriot, a missing letter, a ruined mission, and I’m thinking about a lass.” The sparrow chirped loudly as it circled his head. “And I’m taking orders from a bird,” he said as he hefted Gerard’s body over his shoulder and glanced around. Keenan looked down at Gerard. “Ye’ll keep,” he said and laid Gerard down into a hidden gully beside the bridge. “Ye won’t get any worse than ye are now.”

Keenan mounted his chestnut charger and wheeled around. “I’ll be back for ye.” He left Gerard’s horse tied nearby. He would return to take the body to one of Gerard’s associates to send on to his family.

With a slight pressure of his heel, his horse shot off into the darkness. It didn’t take long to spot Serena as she jogged along the dark road. As his horse thundered, she stepped off into the shadows. “At least ye ken enough to hide,” he mumbled and slowed to a walk.

“I’ll take ye to Leeds,” he spoke into the darkness.

He heard pebbles sliding under her feet as she climbed up the small bank out of the shadows. Her glassy, tear-washed eyes turned up to his. Her hair twisted wild around her shoulders, nearly to her hips. She said nothing, just looked up at him.

“I said I would help ye.” He put his hand down.

She hesitated before placing a small hand in his. He hoisted her up and pressed his heels into the side of the horse.

They rode along the moon-soaked road. She smelled of sweet spices, cinnamon and autumn apples. Keenan wet his suddenly dry lips. She would taste as delicious as she smelled. Her warmth penetrated into his chest, coiling down into his body. So soft, so lush, her body moved against him with the rhythm of the horse. He grumbled low and shifted in his saddle. When would they reach the blasted jailhouse?

Like most small town jailhouses, Leeds Gaol looked to be only one level. Its crumbling façade of brick squatted heavily on the small plot of grass, its rear pushed up against the woods. The muted glow of torchlight radiated from within the front entrance. All other windows were dark, but Serena could feel the pain and hopelessness bleeding from the structure, emanating from the occupants.

Serena flinched as the men dropped William off the horse, feeling the pain his unconscious body registered. She could detect the emptiness of his mind, only the pain remained. Serena breathed deeply and erected the wall. She must keep her reason in order to help him. The heat emanating from the warrior behind her distracted her enough.
Focus.

Serena tried to jump down but slipped haltingly down the side of the horse. Like master, like horse, huge. She ran over to William and brushed back his hair. He was pale, so pale.