IntoEternity (32 page)

“I’ve orders to truss you up and gag you if need be, little
imp. This is a special night for Alexander and Lady Augusta and your cousin
doesn’t need any of your foolish antics drawing him from his bed in the wee
hours of the morning. Come. You can keep me company for a while.”

“But what I’ve got to tell him is very important,” Duncan
protested, squirming to free himself, but he couldn’t break the giant’s hold.

“Aye, I’m sure it is but it will have to wait until
Alexander and his lady come down tomorrow,” Davin said. “If they come down at
all.”

“But, Davin. Please. It is really important. Alexander won’t
be mad, I swear it. He’ll understand as soon as I tell him what I heard.”

“Nay, Duncan. Nothing can be that important. I have orders
no one is to disturb Alexander and his lady.”

* * * * *

Michael sat in the great hall, having outlasted all his
drinking buddies. Not such a difficult feat as he never touched liquor himself.
He had sipped watered-down ale throughout the afternoon and evening, preferring
to keep a clear and sober head at all times. He was thankful for his
self-discipline now that he had arrived in the past. His sobriety had saved his
life more than once as he had made his way across the Highlands to Sinclair
Holdings. He noticed his father had the same habit of not imbibing, even though
the older man tried not to draw attention to the fact. Michael apparently had
inherited many of his father’s characteristics and that pleased him. His father
was a good man, a great man, not like a few other Highland lairds he had
chanced to meet on his journey here. Only his habit of staying sober—plus a
little luck—had saved him from being murdered in his sleep several times.

Now that he was finally reunited with his sister he could
quit worrying about her. Her new husband inherited that privilege. He should
have had more faith that Maeve and Hagen would see to her safety when Gusty had
disappeared right there on that city street. The horror he’d felt when she
stepped out in front of a car was something he never wanted to feel again.

He smiled at the memory of her one-liner when she jumped
into his arms at her wedding. Yeah, she would definitely be gunning for him for
not telling her about the whole time-travel thing and their past. He had
protected her as best he could.

The twelfth century was a real eye-opener. He had thoroughly
studied the medieval era, especially England and Scotland, but he had never
guessed just how different reality was compared to what he had read in books.
Even Hagen and Maeve’s tutoring did not prepare him for what he found. In fact
he’d discovered he’d had to rethink a lot of his ideas and principles about living
and dying since arriving here. You learned fast when you had to defend your
life everyday with weapons no more mighty than a sword and knife. Nothing was
as he had expected it to be, except for the costumes and the weapons. With only
his thoughts to keep him company, he stared at the dancing flames of the low-burning
fire until he finally dozed off.

Michael came awake with a start and sat still, listening. A
disturbance across the hall caught his attention, a noise where there should
not have been one. He opened his eyes but a slit, turned his head slightly to
see what the commotion was and who caused it.

What he saw surprised him, as little could these days. As he
watched, his mother made her way around the edge of the body-covered floor
until she got to the front door. An enormous man, who was definitely not his
father, accompanied her, carrying a large bundle over his shoulder. Isabelle
stopped and glanced about the hall but she apparently did not notice she was
being observed. With a few quietly spoken commands she unlatched the heavy
doors and pushed. She and her companion slipped out without a sound, the door
closing quietly behind them.

As soon as the door shut Michael came to his feet. He began
to make his way through the mob of bodies toward the door, anxious to find out
what his mother was up to at this time of the night. Stumbling over a body here
and there, he moved as quickly as he could across the hall. His only major
hindrance was when one very burly fellow, out cold from too much liquor, rolled
his considerable weight into Michael’s leg, wedging his foot between the man’s
great girth and that of another unconscious drunkard who lay nearby. Michael
tried to pull his foot free but it was firmly caught.

The time he wasted trying to free his foot left him far
enough behind his quarry that they were nowhere in sight when he finally did
reach the front steps of the keep. His mother and her large companion had
vanished.

With a curse on his lips, Michael chose to go left toward
the stables in hopes of catching up with the pair once again. The night was
dark and mist rolled down the hillsides, covering the moon and swallowing up
the land and its inhabitants. He squinted toward the road and caught a glimpse
of two horses, their riders bent low as they disappeared around the bend.

* * * * *

Gusty awoke with a start to find herself alone in bed. She
sat up and glanced around. Where was Alexander? Her growling stomach reminded
her that he had promised to fetch something to eat just before she had fallen
asleep. How long had she slept? She stretched her limbs and yawned before
relaxing back on to her pillows, hoping Alexander would return soon. She was
starving.

As the thought of hot, freshly baked bread with butter and
honey filled her mind, a quiet knock sounded at her door. Gusty smiled a
knowing smile and slid from beneath the bedcovers. She grabbed her wrap and
slipped it on as she walked across the room. She opened the door slightly,
looked out and frowned. The hallway lay empty. She had expected to find Alexander
in the corridor, holding a tray loaded with breakfast. Where was he?

As she stepped out into the hallway she kicked something
with her toe. Looking down, she discovered a small rolled-up piece of paper.
She glanced up and down the empty corridor. Who had knocked on her door and
left the scroll? With a sigh she retrieved the paper and took it inside her
room where she quickly broke the seal and read the nearly illegible scribble.
Her heart jumped to her throat and she found it hard to catch her breath. Her
knees buckled under her and she sat down in the middle of the room on the cold
floor. She read and reread the note, unwilling to believe the words.

“This cannot be.” She denied the proof even as she held it
in her hand. “This is but a bad dream.” But the words were there in absolute
black against the stark truth of the white parchment. Within only a matter of
moments she went from being so devastated she wanted to cry to being so angry
she wanted to scream her rage from the rooftop. But she could do neither. She
had no time for hysterics and the letter had instructed her not to tell anyone
about this matter. So she could do no more than fume silently as she prepared
herself for what she must do. There was no time to lose. She didn’t have any
idea when Alexander might return so she dressed quickly and then searched
through her husband’s arsenal of weapons for the one she’d find most useful.
Since she couldn’t even pick up his large claymore she opted for his still-awkward
but smaller skean and a short dagger. She slipped the dagger into the belt she
wore and tucked the sword under her arm. She threw on her heavy cloak and left
the safe haven of her room to take on an evil enemy who had her mother in his
clutches.

The hour was still early and since the revelry had lasted
well into the night there was nobody awake and moving as she made her way out
of the great hall. Even the stable boys were still abed but she had no trouble
securing a mount and she chose the best and fastest available horse. After
struggling for several minutes she finally managed to get a saddle on Caesar. She
then led him outside and mounted before heading out of the courtyard and
through the outer bailey gate. As she rode she congratulated herself on
sneaking away from the castle without anyone noticing.

Duncan had followed Gusty’s every move and as soon as she headed
off he sprang into action. This might very well be the best adventure of his
young life. But first he had to tell his cousin what he had seen. This time no
one would keep him from his purpose. He’d been lectured time and again about
running off alone without telling anyone where he was going. He had sworn to
never do such a foolish thing again so now he would do something Alexander
would be proud of—Duncan would squeal on Gusty.

Alexander returned to the room with enough food for him and
his new wife to break their fast. But as he set the heavy tray on a table near
the bed he noticed the mattress was empty. A quick look around told him Gusty
had gone somewhere and judging by the room’s disarray, she’d left in a hurry.
He turned to leave the chamber to wake the entire castle, if need be, in order to
find his wife, but as he threw open the door he found Duncan standing on the
threshold, hand raised as if he was about to knock.

“It will have to wait, Duncan. I am in a hurry.”

Duncan didn’t move and Alexander gave him his best scowl, which
said better than any words that he expected to be obeyed. Still the child did
not budge.

“What is it then?” Alexander snapped with impatience.
Perhaps if Duncan was given the time to expound on whatever it was he thought
to be important, he would do so quickly and then Alexander could get down to
the serious matter of finding his wife.

“I saw something outside,” Duncan started, drawing his story
out like a good bard.

“Tell me as we walk.”

Alexander started down the corridor, Duncan bouncing
alongside like a yapping dog.

“I was out in the pig pen,” Duncan went on.

Alexander glanced down and noted the child’s filthy clothes
and pungent odor.

“Davin had been looking for me ever since I escaped him
early this morning.”

Alexander bit back a shout of frustration and clenched his
hands to keep from pulling his hair from his skull. If the child didn’t get on
with his tale, Alexander surely would do something violent.

“Well I was there in the pig pen, trying not to make that
old sow too angry with me, when I noticed something odd.”

“What, Duncan? What was odd?”

“A lady came rushing out of the keep. The sun was not quite
up so I couldn’t see who it was but when she exited the stable and rode by me I
recognized her.”

“Who was it, Duncan?”

“Gusty!” He fairly hooted with laughter as he related the
rest of his tale. “It was Gusty and she rode away on Caesar. I thought you
might want to know that your new wife stole your prized stallion.”

Gusty was so angry she wanted to spit but at the moment her
mouth was as dry as desert air and she had a hard time swallowing past the lump
of fear that threatened to choke her.

How could she have been so stupid? How could she have been
so naïve? Had she learned nothing after spending the past year acquainting
herself with the barbaric behavior of the people of this century? She should
have been more cautious. After all, being kidnapped had become a common
occurrence in her life. Up until now she had been fortunate and had to face
nothing worse from each experience than a few bruises, a little fever and being
locked in her bedchamber.

This time matters were a bit more serious and someone was
out to do her real harm. She shivered at the thought and pushed it away. No
time to turn into a weak, simpering miss and a little too late to worry about
her carelessness. What was done was done. All she could do was pray either her
husband or her father would discover that both she and her mother had gone
missing and would come looking for them. But until then she had to stay strong
and resolute. She reached deep inside for what courage she could find and
wrapped it around her like an invisible shield.

Fear of the unknown plagued her but she fought to focus on
the present. She had to find a way out of this predicament. She refused to let
fear paralyze her. Setting her jaw at a stubborn angle, she schooled her face
into a mask of disinterest, even as her stomach twisted with inner turmoil. The
irony of her situation was not lost on Gusty. She couldn’t believe she had
succumbed to the predicament in which so many storybook heroines found
themselves. Of course in books and movies the hero knew the exact moment to
make an appearance and rescue his true love. Gusty prayed Alexander had come to
realize she was not at the castle and had begun a massive search. She prayed he
would show himself soon and would indeed play a real, live knight-in-shining-armor
to her lady-in-distress.

In her blind rush to save her mother Gusty had not used her
head. As a result she’d ridden right into a trap. In a hurry to follow the
instruction given to her in the ransom note she let her impetuosity lead her
right into an ambush.

As the narrow trail she’d followed passed through a copse of
trees someone had reached down from one of the low-hanging branches and had
literally scooped her off the back of her mount. In the brief struggle that had
ensued she’d lost both her weapons and when she’d opened her mouth to scream,
the ugly giant who held her captive bashed her in the side of her head with his
large fist. She instantly had lost consciousness.

She woke up chained to the wall in a chamber of horrors that
looked as if it were a dungeon scene right out of one of her favorite animated movies.
The only thing missing was the cackling old witch hovering over the pages of an
ancient, crumbling tome of incantations and the black raven that sat at her
elbow while she worked her evil magic.

The unmistakable medieval décor included chains and shackles,
and the smell of death and decay flooded her senses. She was not sure whose
castle dungeon she had landed in but by the looks of it, it had not been used
in a great while. Knowing she was in trouble, she began tugging at the shackles
that held her to the wall.

“Come on, come on,
” she chanted as she twisted and
pulled at the chains.

The cave of a room was wide with a low ceiling, dimly lit by
a few torches placed in sconces at intervals along the walls. The smell of
decayed straw and mold was thick and brought to mind awful, indescribable
things that might be hiding in the shadowy corners. She glanced around, half
expecting to find a decomposed body or two hanging from the walls. She breathed
a sigh of relief when she found none. As her eyes grew accustomed to the poor
lighting she found she was not the only guest being held prisoner here. In the
center of the room next to a wide plank table her mother sat slumped in a
high-backed wooden chair. Isabelle’s arms were drawn back and tied behind her,
her chin sank low on her chest and her eyes were closed. Gusty prayed her
mother was merely unconscious and not badly injured.

“Mother?” she whispered hoarsely.

When she got no response she cleared her throat and raised
her voice a bit.

“Mother! Are you all right? Have they harmed you?”

Still no answer. Gusty tried several more times but her
mother did not stir from her stupor. She was either injured seriously or she
had been drugged—Gusty refused to consider her mother might be dead.

Turning her head, she examined the chains that held her
wrists to the iron rings in the wall behind her, hoping she could squeeze her
hands free of them if she pulled hard enough. But as she made the effort the
heavy wooden door across the room flew open and a short white-haired woman
entered the room. The ugly giant who had snatched Gusty from the back of her
horse followed close on the old lady’s heels but it was the woman who captured Gusty’s
full attention. She gasped and the two people turned toward her.

At first Gusty thought she might be seeing things. The woman
looked like a slightly older version of her own mother. She glanced at the
unconscious woman tied to the chair in the middle of the room and then back at
the newcomer. Her eyes widened as she realized this must be the infamous
Imogen, Malcolm Sinclair’s wife. She remembered Maeve and Hagen telling her
about her father’s wife but why hadn’t anyone bothered to mention that the
woman was still alive or that she might be carrying a giant grudge. As she
stared at the small white-haired woman she marveled at the uncanny resemblance
between the two sisters. They could have been twins! Though Isabelle MacKay had
maintained her looks as she grew older, holding on to a head of lovely black
locks colored with a few white strands at her temples. Imogen had not fared as
well. The only black hair she had was the stripe that colored the center of her
head.

Even from across the room Gusty saw the cruelty that masked
the older woman’s face. Clearly life had not been kind to her. The harsh lines
and hollows of her face told a tale of hardship and bitterness. As Imogen moved
closer, Gusty found herself staring into pale-green, unscrupulous eyes. It
chilled her to the bone to be the recipient of the hatred radiating from the
woman’s steady gaze. Gusty could not suppress the shiver that coursed down her
spine. Pure evil surrounded this woman like a dark aurora and when Imogen
turned her vicious smile and malicious gaze on Gusty, she had the urge to cross
herself to ward off that evil.

“My my, aren’t you the pretty one. Almost as pretty as I was
when I was your age. I saw you yesterday. I was there at your wedding
celebration. But you are even lovelier up close than you appeared from a
distance.”

Her soft words did not ring with sincerity. They were cold
and spoken as if she’d uttered a hate-filled curse.

“What is it that you want?” Gusty managed to choke out,
ignoring the compliment that was no compliment. The words held a threat of some
kind and she knew she was not going to like what came next.

“You mean, my sweet bastard, you do not know?”

Whether the woman’s look of shock was real or feigned Gusty
could not tell. But when Imogen threw back her head and a cackle of laughter
burst from her throat, Gusty’s blood ran cold. The laugh held a deep, dry,
rusty timbre, the kind of sound a crazed witch might make in a horror movie.

“Did you hear that, Kermit?” The witch turned and shouted at
her ugly bald helper.

The giant’s expression had not changed. His cold black eyes
never strayed from Gusty’s face. The cackling laughter stopped abruptly and
Imogen’s face fell back into its mask of icy hatred. She turned to the table in
the center of the room and stopped in front of Isabelle. With cruel hands Imogen
roughly grabbed a fistful of the unconscious woman’s hair. She jerked Isabelle’s
head up and back at an impossible angle, turning her so Gusty could see both sisters’
countenances.

“Look at us!” Imogen shouted. “What do you see, little
bastard? Do you not see the resemblance between us? We are sisters, after all.”

Gusty looked but she could not bring herself to answer. Even
with the evidence clear before her eyes she found it hard to believe this
creature was related to her mother in any way.

She did take a good look at her mother, however, and saw the
reason why Isabelle was still unconscious. The whole left side of her face was
one big bruise, colored in shades of black, blue and purple. Obviously she’d
suffered a nasty bashing. Blood dripped from a cut on her lip and a small gash
to her forehead had slowed to a trickle.

“It would seem your whore of a mother has failed to
introduce you to the rest of her family. I am your mother’s dear sister. I am
your father’s only wife. I am Imogen Sinclair, Lady Sinclair.” The corner of
her lip curled up as if she found the words distasteful.

Imogen let Isabelle’s head flop back down onto her chest. Gusty
gasped in outrage. How could someone treat their own sister so badly? Imogen
cast Gusty a malevolent glare.

“Aye!” Imogen ground out through her teeth. “The great
Malcolm Sinclair is my husband!” She drew nearer to Gusty and on a breath of a
whisper added, “At least he was my husband until your mother got her claws into
him! He is a weak man when it comes to my sweet sister. I cannot wait to see
the expression on his face when he finds out I have disposed of his whore and
the bastard he spawned off her!”

Ripples of fear and revulsion raced through Gusty’s body.
The woman was certifiable and no doubt quite capable of doing just what she
claimed. It looked as if any rescue Gusty hoped for would not come in time to
save her or Isabelle. She cursed her stupidity once again for not going to
Alexander or her father when she had first received the ransom note for her
mother. There was a good chance no one would ever find out what happened to
them. That was her bigger regret at the moment. She was not sorry she had come,
even though she was unable to do more. There was no way she would have left her
mother alone to deal with this maniacal creature.

“Kermit, go and get our other guest. I would like these two
fine ladies to witness the punishment I have in store for them.”

Without a word the ugly, bald-headed giant turned, his black
cloak swirling about his legs as he made for the door.

“My apprentice will return shortly and then we will begin.”

Imogen moved to the long table, a large portion of which was
bare except for leather straps fastened to the wooden planks along the sides,
and iron manacles bolted into one end and chains fastened to the other. A bona
fide medieval torture device and no doubt Imogen planned to use it in dealing
with her “guests”.

Gusty watched Imogen arrange several thick candles around a
large, crumbling book. She lit the wicks and then began to slowly turn the
pages, studying them carefully.

“Ah, this recitation was one of my best endeavors.” She
hummed and muttered as she continued to scan the page. “And this verse reverses
the first spell, how curious.” She paused for a long moment while she ran her
index finger down the page, momentarily distracted. “Aye, it was one of my best
endeavors,” she repeated louder. She glanced over at Gusty. “This spell brought
you to me in the first place.” She smiled evilly. “Did those two imbeciles,
Hagen and Maeve, ever figure out how you came to be here before they were ready
to call you back?”

“It was you?” Gusty could not hide her surprise.

“Aye, it was my magic, not theirs. Those two old fools were
dragging their feet. I became impatient with their weak-minded sorcery and made
my own plans. Spies are easy to hire when you offer enough gold. Hagen was
careless and in a drunken stupor he let slip where he had hidden you. No one believed
him of course. Who would? Black magic is frowned upon in this age and witches
are often burned at the stake. But my apprentice knew what to listen for and he
brought the information to me immediately.

“Aye. Hagen bragged about a time corridor that could be
traveled with the right incantation. They thought their magic was stronger than
mine.” A cackle escaped her throat, as if she found her tale amusing. “I proved
them wrong! Aye, I waited and I watched. I knew eventually they would lead me
to Malcolm’s bastard child.

“Even though they are quite clever—I have to admit they had
the book hidden in the most unlikely place—I did eventually find it. And I used
it. The fools waited too long to make their move and I cast the spell and
brought you back. Unfortunately I did not know how to control your entry but
now that makes no difference. You are here! And I will destroy you and your
whore of a mother. Revenge will be mine and it will taste so sweet! Malcolm
Sinclair will suffer for the rest of his life for all the wrongs he incurred with
his betrayal! He ruined my life and now I will ruin his!”

Gusty listened to the ravings of her insane aunt and knew if
she and her mother were to survive, she needed to do something to distract the
woman. She must play for more time. She prayed with all her heart Alexander had
somehow figured out what happened to her and looked for her even now. He was
their only hope.

“My father loves my mother. He told me how he got stuck with
you as a wife because your father betrayed him. He was tricked into marrying
you, the older MacKay daughter. You were foisted off on him because your father
could get no other man to offer for you. Your father, my grandfather, lied so
he could get you off his hands.” Gusty knew she played with fire but she really
had no other choice. If she was going to die, she would have her say before it
happened.

“Nay! You lie! Malcolm wanted me as his wife. Father
promised me so. But once that whore I called sister cast her spell over him, he
turned from me and never accepted me as a real wife. For that you will all pay.
I will see Malcolm Sinclair brought to his knees a broken man when he hears of
your deaths. I will destroy you all with this sweet revenge.”