Highland Enchantment (Highland Brides) (13 page)

"For one who is supposed to be gifted, you show a surprising lack of gifts," Liam said.

She lifted her chin. "Just because I do not believe in your toy, Liam?"

"Tis not mine, and tis not a toy. Do not underestimate it or its mission."

"Its mission?" she scoffed, but the amulet felt strangely warm in her palm. Almost as if it pulsed inside her fist.

"It has been sent to protect you." He paused. "As have I."

"Sent! By whom?"

He shrugged, but his eyes were intense. "God?"

"God!"

"You do believe in God, do you not, Rachel?"

"Of course I—"

"Then you think He is not capable of imbuing this thing with power?"

"He is capable of anything."

"Then might He not have sent it to protect you? Might He not have sent me?"

Rachel shook her head. It was all foolishness. Of that much she was certain. Liam had had no way of knowing she would pass through the village of Rainich at precisely the time he was being pummeled by an angry husband. And if
he
had no way of knowing, a piece of metal and stone certainly did not.

And yet...

"I do not care if you believe," Liam said, "but I will not have you risk yourself. I will take you where you wish to go, but not as the Lady of the Forbes. For I've no wish to see her die, no matter how she bedevils me."

She watched him for a moment, trying to sort things out in her mind. But there was no hope. So she turned toward the stream, her thoughts churning as quickly as the waves. Beneath the surface, a small fish streaked downstream.

"So you've been sent to protect me?" she asked.

"Maybe." His tone was wary and sounded more like the Liam of old.

"Then you'd best fetch me something to eat."

"Perhaps you think I can conjure up a feast from thin air?"

She turned back. "Maybe I should ask Dragonheart."

He snorted. "Laugh if you like."

"I am not laughing. Surely if the amulet is so powerful, you and it together could gather us a meal. Here." She slipped it from her neck and handed it toward him. "Prove its powers," she said.

But Liam backed jerkily away. "Nay."

"Why ever not?" she asked, frustration rolling through her. "Why do you fear it, if is naught but good?"

"Tis not mine. Tis yers. For now," he insisted, but she laughed.

"Since when has ownership mattered to Liam the Irishman? Take it," she said, and stepped toward him.

"Nay!" he barked.

She jumped at his anger.

"Put it away. Wear it against your skin."

"What is wrong with you?" Rachel whispered.

"Tis naught wrong with me. The dragon was not meant for me. That is all."

"Not meant for you? What do you mean by that? How do you know?"

"I know," he said and brushed past her. "Now you'd best start a fire. I've a lady's meal to fetch."

They dined on trout and stream water. Lacking a pot to boil it in, they skewered the three fishes and roasted them over the small fire Rachel had nurtured into life.

Not sated but no longer ravenous, Liam returned his spangle to his cape for future use as a fishhook.

"And you cast aspersions on my purchase," he .said, standing up and turning quickly to let the garment wrap dramatically about his legs.

"You look like the devil in a bad festival play," she said, snuffing out their cooking fire.

"The devil indeed. I am Martin the Magnificent, and you'd be wise not to forget it."

Rising, she began to gather their small store of supplies. Every item was precious. "You are as magnificent as I am a lad," she said.

"Truly? And me, I thought your disguise less than spectacular."

"Tis what I meant."

"With a bit of effort I believe you could make me a decent assistant," he said, leading the way through the forest. "But you'll have to learn to act the part of a man."

"I can be obnoxious, overbearing, and philandering?"

"Nay. I said you'd have to
act."

She made a face, but he didn't turn around to appreciate it.

For the remainder of the afternoon, they traveled north by northeast, walking down the road when all seemed safe, hurrying into the woods on the few occasions when noises worried them. And all the time Liam made suggestions on how to act the lad.

By dusk, Rachel was too tired to care and too hungry to think. They'd found nothing to eat for many hours, and the streams they'd crossed had given up no more trout.

"We'd best stop for the night," Liam suggested. "I'll try fishing again."

Rachel nodded, but just when she was about to step into the woods, she stopped. "Did you hear something?"

"Nay, I... Wait." He held up one hand. "Horses. Coming from behind."

She nodded, still listening to the quick clop of approaching hoofbeats.

Liam put his hand to her back, but she delayed, her attention pinned on the road behind.

"I've no time to lose, Liam. Maybe these travelers could help us."

"Is that what you think?" His tone was tight.

"What?"

"Do you think they are folk of good heart?"

"How could I know?"

"You do not know. You just feel," he said. "Concentrate on the sound of the hooves."

She stared at him, but his eyes were turned down the road behind them.

"Do you feel evil?" he asked.

"Nay, I don't—"

"Neither do I." He exhaled softly. "Tis not the sorcerer, I think. So what to do? Risk the encounter or risk starvation?"

She didn't understand his gibberish about the evil, but if the truth be told she didn't want to. She only wanted to be safely at her journey's end, to complete her mission, to know all was well.

"I say we greet them," she said.

Liam delayed a moment, glanced down the road, and then nodded.

In only a short while, the riders topped the hill behind them and came on. Finally, the front man held up his hand and slowed his mount to a walk.

"Ho," he called cautiously through the dimming light. "Who goes there?"

Through the distance and the gathering darkness, they could see little enough. But Liam absorbed as much as he could. They were eight men, all wearing plaids that showed broad knees and powerful thighs. They rode white horses and upon each man's head was a conical helmet of sorts.

"Tis naught but two lads in need of some assistance," Liam called back, making certain his Scottish burr was heavy.

The front man said something to his fellows, who spread out slightly to peer into the woods.

"You are alone?"

"Aye. Alone with no weapons and no food."

The group came on, but slowly now, until finally they were only a short distance away. Rachel studied them in the dimming light. They did the same.

"You are English?" the nearest man asked, scanning their attire.

"Nay," Liam said, "We be a pair of Scots. We were but traveling back to our homeland when we were set upon by brigands."

"They left your fancy clothes, I see."

"Nay, they left us with naught but our lives. We had to labor for the garments we wear."

"Labor? What kind of labor do you?"

"We be entertainers."

The stout Scotsman shifted in his saddle and glanced pointedly at Rachel then shifted his gaze back to Liam. "And what do you do?"

Liam canted his head and spread his hands. "Give us a meal and a place safe by your fire and we'll show you."

"But after the meal, twill be too late to refuse payment if we don't like your entertaining."

Liam shrugged. "I didn't think a Munro would fret over a little gamble."

The Scot straightened slightly, studying Liam more closely. "How do you know I'm a Munro?"

"You look to be the sort that eats his meat raw."

Silence filled the place. Rachel turned wide eyes on Liam, ready to bolt for the woods. But Munro threw back his head and guffawed his mirth to the heavens.

"You got balls, lad. I'll say that for you," he said, and flicked his gaze over Rachel. "We planned on riding on till we reach the monastery. But my appetite is piqued now. We'll have our meal here. Come along, we've plenty of raw meat to spare."

To Rachel's relief, they didn't actually eat their meat raw. In fact, they honed a good hot fire, dragged a few stout logs around it, and set to roasting small pieces of venison on spits placed over the flame. As the meat cooked, the men introduced themselves. But the intoxicating aromas made it difficult to concentrate on names.

Rachel sat on the thin end of a log and tried to be patient until the meat was cooked and her hunger slaked. Finally, the meal was ready and she was given her share. The meat was stringy and tough, but she was far past caring. Still, it was soon clear that her appetite did not compare to that of the Munros. Sated and sleepy, she had time to consider these strangers. Stashed away as she was on the end of a log with Liam between her and the man who called himself Calum Munro, she had time to think.

Oh, yes. She'd heard of the Munros. Though she hadn't recognized them on sight, she knew their reputation. They were Scotsmen from the far north. Mercenaries hired out to the highest bidder when their own laird had no use for them. She wondered what brought them this far south, and if they'd go to the bother of killing two traveling entertainers if they didn't like the show.

"Well," said Calum. "I think tis time for that entertainment. What is it you lads do?"

"Come, Jamie," Liam said, standing up. "Tis time to impress our good hosts."

Rachel prepared to stand up, but just as she did so, Calum rose to his feet. The log held down by his great weight teetered, tossing her off balance. She careened toward the fire, but Munro snagged her arm just in time and drew her back with a chuckle.

"Whoa there, Jamie lad. Maybe you'd best do this job alone, Martin. I fear you've been starving your young assistant too long. Why not let the boy sit on that soft moss over yonder for a spell?"

Rachel glanced at Liam. He nodded to her, and she gratefully pulled from Calum's ham-fisted grip to find the spot indicated, off to the side and just out of the firelight's glow.

"I'll need something to throw," Liam said. "Something... ahh, there it be," he sighed, and stepping toward the fire, snatched three burning branches from the flame. In an instant he had them spinning in the air. Flame arched through the night sky like a continuous circle of fire. The men, already mesmerized, watched in slack-jawed wonder.

Rachel settled back. Overjoyed to have the Munros' attention firmly entrenched somewhere else, she allowed herself to relax a mite.

"God's teeth," one of the men rasped. "Tis a wonder he has not burnt off his hands long ago."

"Not atall," Liam said with a laugh. "Tis no great feat. I'll bet you a copper I can do the same with four."

"Nay."

"Aye," he insisted. "Toss another in."

One of the Munros strode up to the fire and tugged at a branch. The log it was attached to moved perceptibly.

"Not that big lugger,” Liam objected. "There, that piece there."

Another stick was wrenched from the fire. One end aflame, it flared in the night, lighting the warrior's face.

"Toss it toward me chest."

He did so with no warning, but somehow Liam managed to catch it. It spun into orbit with the others. The men grunted their approval.

"Not bad."

Rachel jumped at the sound of Calum's voice at her elbow. When she turned, he was already settling down beside her, his dark eyes aglow, and his bearded face shadowed.

"I didn't mean to startle you."

"Nay," she said, but dared not utter more, for although her voice was low for a woman's, she had no wish to test her masculinity with this bullish Munro.

"A copper says I can handle another," Liam called.

The Munros rumbled among themselves, then one stood up to tug an additional branch from the fire. He intentionally tried to make Liam miss this time, but the Irishman dipped, snatched it out of the air, and sent it flying.

The men hooted and laughed, appreciative of his talent and quickness.

Calum chuckled. "This Martin may indeed be magnificent."

Rachel said nothing, but tilted her head to give him a better view of the brim of her broad hat.

His closeness made her nervous, and she hoped he could not get too clear a look at her face—or any other part of her anatomy that might give him a clue to her gender.

"Do you not think so?"

She realized abruptly that he'd asked her a question. She cleared her throat and pitched her voice low. "What?"

"Do you find him magnificent?'

What kind of question was that? Rachel wondered.

"Tis not so great of feat," Liam said to his appreciative audience. "Had I me knives here, I'd show you a real trick."

"I've a knife," one of the warriors said.

"Nay." Liam chuckled. The sound was nervous. "I would not ask you for it."

"You said you could use it," one of the others argued.

"That's with my own knives," Liam murmured, his tone hesitant. It was that note of uncertainty that drew Rachel's attention, for Liam only acted unsure when he was not—when he was certain of whatever devious deed he was planning, such as putting frogs in her pallets or stealing her hair ribbons.

The thought of stealing hair ribbons from the Munros, however, didn't seem such a good idea to her. But still, if he was planning something, she'd best cooperate.

She told herself to match his performance, to try to look nervous then realized she hardly had to worry on that account, for the hairs on the back of her neck were standing up like the bristles on a boar's back. "There be times he thinks too highly of himself," she said, remembering Munro's question and making certain her voice was gruff, her gaze pinned nervously on Liam as though she feared he might fail.

"But do you think him magnificent?" Calum asked again.

Rachel shifted her gaze warily to him. "Aye," she began, but suddenly Calum was atop her, crushing her to the earth, one hand slapped across her mouth, the other kneading her breast through the weight of her doublet.

"And I find
you
magnificent!" he rasped. "The most magnificent 'lad' I've ever seen."