Choosing the Highlander (30 page)

Ah. At the gathering, Ruthven had accused Constance of wearing a hag stone. Legend warned that to some, such stones could be lucky. To others, they would bring curses. Like Constance, Wilhelm didn’t put much stock in magic, but he did not deny that forces of good and evil worked among mortals for their own purposes. He didn’t doubt that this “witch’s stone” had played a part in the magic Constance had experienced. It certainly would have played a part in her arrest. Any woman caught wearing a hag stone would be presumed a witch and treated accordingly.

Could Constance have been spared her ill treatment at Ruthven’s hands if her sister had never visited that shop? Mayhap. But mayhap she never would have come here at all without it.

“He said if she made a wish at sunrise on the solstice, fate might grant it.” Constance continued her story. “There was some business about a pure heart.” She made a scoffing noise, but there was humor in it. “I’ve never really believed in spells and wishes and magic. But I’m starting to. I think.”

Her story fascinated him near to the point of speechlessness. To think, his wife’s presence in his life came down to a wish made by her twin, a hag stone, and a solstice. Which of the factors were vital? All of them? Or mayhap none? Mayhap fate would have brought Constance to him without the help of her sister and the objects of lore. He would like to think that their souls had called to each other through time and that no matter the trappings, they would have found each other eventually.

But what if he’d come within a hair’s breadth of never meeting her?

He forced a casual tone. “Hard no’ to believe in magic when you’ve been subject to it, aye?”

“Exactly. At a certain point, it becomes more logical to accept it than to continue denying the possibility of its existence.”

“You mentioned your sister made a wish,” he said, hoping she would tell him what the wish had been. Had Leslie hoped for her sister’s wealth, good health, or long life?”

“Leslie wished that I would know love. She wanted me to be happy.” Her eyes shiny, she held his gaze. “I think her wish came true.”

#

Connie had expected Inverness to have changed a lot in five hundred years, but she hadn’t expected not to recognize a single feature. When Wilhelm announced well after dark that they’d arrived in the city, she’d blinked and tried to match the sights around her to what she’d seen briefly before the hike with Leslie.

True, she’d spent precious little time in the city. The cab Leslie had taken to meet her at the airport had shuttled her quickly to their bed and breakfast, and they’d biked out of the city nearly as quickly the morning of their hike. Both excursions had occurred during the dark night hours, as did this one. Logic suggested she might recognize something, a land feature, a prominent old structure, but no. Nothing registered as
same.
 

Gone were the twin towers of St. Andrew’s Cathedral on the western bank of the River Ness, spotlights highlighting their cubical shape. Missing on the other side of the river was the sandstone Inverness Castle. Absent were the modern buildings dotted among the older stone row houses and the spires of churches that had made the skyline so wonderfully eclectic.

Even the River Ness seemed different. The absence of city lights reflecting off its inky surface made it difficult to decipher water from shore. The result was an unsettling sensation that the river sent black tendrils into the city, between the buildings and into the streets.

As they rode, she kept searching for some familiar landmark. As far as she could tell, the only architectural feature of note was a single stone tower with a thatched roof to the north. As she and Wilhelm made their way to the town center, the tower grew closer.

“Is that where we’re going?” she asked. She kept her voice quiet. It seemed the right thing to do. Every so often, she would spot a horse and cart on the side of the street or a person coming or going from one of the buildings, but the streets were largely free from traffic.

“That is the citadel,” Wilhelm said. “We are looking for an inn I’ve been to before that is near the tower. We’ll meet my father’s second there. Kenrick. He’ll advise us.” His confident voice carried in the night.

How oddly quiet a medieval city was compared to a modern city. There were so few sounds to compete with the human voice, only hoof beats and the creaking of boats docked in the river. As the streets grew broader and the light from inhabited dwellings more frequent, the noise multiplied. Fiddle music tempted her to tap her fingers on the reins, and the murmur of conversation bubbled from inside a place that must be a tavern.

Honesty plodded along, his neck low and sweaty. The horses had walked far today. She and Wilhelm had pushed them, eager to get to Inverness. The horses, Wilhelm had assured her, would be pampered in the next few days. He planned to buy them private stalls and daily attention from a stable boy during their stay.

Connie patted Honesty. “A little farther and you’ll have a nice rest.” To Wilhelm she said, “I’ll be relieved when this is all behind us.”

“Aye, lass. So shall I. So shall I.”

With the citadel looming to their right, Wilhelm led the way under a stone arch and into a courtyard formed by the walls of three separate buildings. One was a wooden structure attached to the citadel, like an addition built on as the need for more space arose. From so close to the tower, she could make out spikes jutting from its second story, as if daring intruders to attempt to scale the wall.

Another side of the courtyard was made up of a three-story building she assumed was the inn. The open windows of the lower level let out the sounds of raucous banter and sent light angling over the cobblestones.

The third wall of the courtyard was a bare two-stories of brick, probably the rear of a row of shops that fronted a neighboring street. An alley between the inn and the bare wall was strewn with straw. It must lead to stables that served the inn.

By daylight, the little courtyard might be quaint, but by night, the jagged shadows left her feeling uneasy.

Wilhelm drew Justice to a stop. “Here we are.” He dismounted and helped her down in the way that had become automatic for them. He held her like that for a minute, his armor a shield in front of her, Honesty a wall of safety behind her.

He cupped her head and spoke low into her ear. “Wait here with the horses. I doona like the sound of the party inside. I’ll rent our room and hire a stable boy, then meet you here and bring you in a back way.”

“Be careful.” The warning came naturally. A wife’s worrying instinct, perhaps?

He positioned her between Justice and Honesty, effectively hiding her from sight from anyone who might happen by on the street. With a soft kiss on her lips, he left her to go inside.

The laughter from the inn’s lower floor swelled when he opened the door. In the relative quiet once the door closed, a voice came from the direction of the bare wall.

“Good evening,
Madame.
”

She started. Peeking around Justice, she saw she’d been mistaken. It wasn’t a bare wall. Rather, there was a lone door, maybe the back entrance to one of the shops. She must have missed it when it had been closed, but now, with the door open and letting light into the courtyard, she could see it clear as day.

A man stood on the threshold, keeping the door open with one arm, a man she hadn’t been certain was real—until now. Leslie’s shopkeeper.

Chapter 26

“It’s you,” Connie stated, forgetting her faux British accent.

The intimate feel of the square allowed for a conversational volume. Since there didn’t appear many places for a person to hide themselves, the risk of someone eavesdropping and catching her foreign dialect was minimal. Still, she would be more careful.

“
Oui,”
the shopkeeper replied, a twinkle in his onyx eyes. “I am me. This much I know to be true.” He was dressed slightly more pedestrian than the last time she’d seen him. Instead of ethereal silk, he wore black, high-waisted trousers and a shirt with a flouncy jabot and cuffs.

His presence unnerved her. It also reassured her. She stepped out from between the horses. “Is this where your shop is located, then?”

“One of the locales,
oui.
”

“Why—” She licked her lips. “Why are you here? Now, I mean? Is everything all right with Leslie?”

“An astute query,
Madame
. As far as I know, your dear sister is safe. It is you I have come to see tonight. Come in,
s
'
il vous plaît
. I’ve prepared tea for you. You must be famished after your journey.” He motioned into his shop.

She glanced toward the inn. “Wilhelm will be out any minute. He would miss me. I’ll come by after we’ve settled the horses.” She wouldn’t leave her husband wondering where she’d gone.

His expression grew tense. “I’m afraid that will not do. It must be now. This very minute.”

“I can’t. I won’t give him cause to worry. He has enough on his mind.”

“This is more true than you know. It pleases me to see the choice you’ve made,
Madame
Murray. But I regret to inform you that if you do not enter my shop forthwith, all will be lost.”

She blinked. “All will be lost? What do you mean?” She had to raise her voice to be heard over a ruckus inside the inn. It sounded like a brawl had broken out.
Oh, no. Wilhelm!
 

She rushed toward the door of the inn.

“But no! If you wish to help him, you must come to me. Now!”

She froze in place, torn. Should she trust the shopkeeper who seemed to have some kind of finger on the pulse of the supernatural or should she go inside the inn to see what the commotion was about? If Wilhelm was in trouble, she needed to be there for him. But the shopkeeper’s entreaty resonated with her at a gut level.

Before she could make up her mind, the door to the inn burst open. She was so close she had to jump back or get hit.

Back plastered against the outer wall, heart hammering, she watched a dozen shouting men spill out of the inn. In the center, they carried a man by his arms and legs. Wilhelm!

His helm and armor were gone, and his face was bruised. He’d been disarmed. With a grunt, he twisted to put his eyes on the horses, where he had left her. Not finding her, his eyes widened. He began looking all around, gaze stuttering over the shopkeeper before moving on.

While he searched, he renewed his struggles only to be clouted over the head with a club-like weapon.

She clapped her hands over her mouth to stop herself from screaming.

His eyes fluttered. Weakly struggling, he looked barely conscious.

Please, don’t hit him again.
 

A short, rotund man barked out commands. “Bind him. Quickly. Not so fierce now, are you, Murray? Without your pea-brained cousin to start your fires and fight by your side?”

She recognized that self-satisfied tone. Ruthven.

“Imagine my delight when I intercepted the message to your sire. Saved me a great deal of time by spelling out precisely where you intended to go.” He stalked in a circle around his captive, and his weasel-like face split with a grin from ear to ear. “Where’s your witch, Murray? Or did you use her and discard her? Do you have more sense than your daft sire, I wonder, or did you try to marry the wretched she-spy?”

That vile man was taunting her husband. He was talking about
her.
 

She flattened herself to the wall, hoping to blend in with the shadows and not draw notice.
What do I do? How do I fix this?
 

“Hurry.” The shopkeeper’s voice entered her ear as if he stood beside her.

Her gaze jumped to his shop.

He stretched out a hand to her. The voice had been his, but nothing but magic could explain her hearing it the way she just had.

The doorframe wavered the way a mirage does when it begins to fade.

“It is now or never,
Madame.
” She heard the voice again even though his mouth didn’t move.

Every inch of her being longed to run to Wilhelm, but what could she do to help him? He was severely outnumbered. If she threw herself into the fray, she’d be captured too. What good would she be to him then?

But she would have to run past the mob of men to reach the shopkeeper.

“Have faith,” whispered the voice in her ear.

Man and shop faded more. Behind them, she saw the stone of the row houses as if no doorway would exist there in a few seconds.

She didn’t think. She ran. Fast as she could. Her feet pounded the cobble stones step after step until she squeezed past the shopkeeper.

“No Lass!” Wilhelm’s roar filled her ears as the door slammed shut behind her. He hadn’t looked strong enough to shout so loudly. Had the sight of her running away given him a second wind?

Immediately, she regretted her decision. She turned to reassure Wilhelm, to reassure herself he was still fighting, still alive, but where the door had been a moment ago was a solid wall. She slapped her palms against it.

“Let me go back!” She beat on the wall until her hands throbbed, then she beat some more. “Let me go! I need to help him!” She strained to listen for Wilhelm’s voice again, but no sound from the courtyard penetrated into the shop.

“You
are
helping him.”

“How? How is this helping? That bastard Ruthven has him. How will I contact his clan? What are they going to do to him?” She wheeled on the shopkeeper.

He appeared unruffled. “Come, mademoiselle, I have a fresh pot of tea.”

“To hell with tea. I’ll drink tea when Wilhelm is safe.”

“I do not believe I have introduced myself. Bastien Gravois at your service.” He pronounced it in the French way,
Bas-tay-ON Grahv-Wah.
After a brief bow at the waist, he leaned an elbow on a glass curio case, looking utterly at ease.

She wanted to shake him until he understood the seriousness of this situation.

Never mind. She would find a way out of here without his help.

The shop was wider than it had appeared from the street. Tall shelving made three aisles along the length and glass cases set off one section of the room. A seemingly unrelated collection of objects hung on the walls, like a gilt mirror, a feathered ceremonial mask, various creatures frozen in display cubes, and—heavens, was that a birdcage filled with shrunken heads?