“Evil men with evil intentions.”
Serena’s heart sank. “What would anyone want with me?”
Alice’s blue eyes peered into the cup. “I canna see that. But I can tell that the struggle will be difficult. Ye’ll need all the help ye can get to overcome it.”
Serena pulled away. Inside her, reason warred with fear. Silently, she argued that there was no such thing as seeing into the future. But she was far from home, and her father was embroiled in a battle to stop a nation from turning against itself. Doubt crept in.
“Is my father in peril?”
Uncertainly, Alice shook her head. “I see a sword or an arrow. But I canna tell if it be man or woman ’tis pointed at.” Alice put her hand on Serena’s. “But here’s a good portent. Love awaits ye. And where there’s love, evil flees.”
“Love? From whom?”
“A good man, I see. He has the mark on him.”
Her thoughts flew to Malcolm. “Mark? What mark?”
“Here,” Alice said, pointing to a glob. “See the horse’s head? That signifies yer man. An’ see above its head? ’Tis the mark of a cross. It means that sacrifice is not unknown to him. ’Tis a good man that has that mark. And there’s a crown nearby. That means he’s a man with a title.”
It was not Malcolm after all. Serena couldn’t ignore the feeling of disappointment. She tried to convince herself to be pleased by the prediction. In her future lay a nobleman who was also a
noble man.
And though she was attracted to Malcolm—he was a fine-looking man, after all—the idea that she’d find love with such a rough and common person was absurd.
And yet she couldn’t ignore that unwelcome feeling that tugged at her heart. Regret.
“Ye’re a fortunate woman,” said Alice. “When ye find him, cleave to him.”
“I will,” she said cheerlessly. “Thank you.” Serena stood, and then helped the pregnant Alice to her feet. She bid the woman outside the tent a good day, and wandered back toward the field.
Alice’s words weighed heavily upon Serena. She found herself dissecting and deliberating the predictions Alice had made, wondering at the shadowy man in her future who was
not
Malcolm.
Finally, in utter self-mockery, she shook her head free of the misplaced importance. Serena was no ignorant, unsophisticated peasant who would easily succumb to a fortune-teller’s musings. She was an educated, cosmopolitan woman who well understood the charlatanism of fortune-telling. Alice and her friend were probably snickering to themselves that
they
had just taken a small fortune off
her.
No doubt Alice “foretold” the same thing to all who were gullible enough to listen—a hint of danger and a promise of a prince’s love for young ladies; a prediction of virility, long life, and monetary success for the men. Serena was disgusted with herself for giving it any credence whatsoever.
Before she knew it, her distracted wandering had led her onto unfamiliar grounds. Here, there was another competition happening. Men stood in a circle watching two men with wooden swords swing at each other. At first glance, the clacking noise of the counterfeit weapons gave the scene the appearance of actors rehearsing for a play … until their blood and bruises convinced her it was all too real.
One of the men didn’t parry quickly enough, and his opponent’s wooden sword hit him across the forehead—hard. The blow spun the man’s head, sending him sprawling to the ground.
A shout erupted from the circle, and the winner raised his arms in triumph. The loser stood up on shaky legs, a gash across his forehead bleeding.
Serena was horrified. This was nothing like the other games, which tested strength, speed, and balance. This game was all about might, violence, and brutality.
She turned to leave, but the heel of her slipper got caught in the mud. Losing her balance, she fell to her knees.
She swore under her breath. Awkwardly, she clambered back to her feet. Her shoes were now fully covered in mud, which also streaked the front of her beautiful yellow dress. She tried to wipe the smudges away, but the muck on her palms only spread the stains even more.
“Damn and blast!” she cried out.
A voice came from behind her. “That’s no way for a lady to talk.”
Anger coiled within her. She spun around to give the disrespectful man a piece of her mind, but was met with a frightening sight. Twelve kilted men, bloodied and bruised, stood in front of her.
Her eyes drifted from man to man. Never before had she faced a gang of such dangerous-looking men. She felt like a gazelle cornered by a pride of lions.
“I beg your pardon?”
“And well ye should,” said Brandubh McCullough, “and that of every other Scottish child who goes hungry so ye could dress like a bloody queen.”
“Who are you?”
“My name will mean nothing on yer ears. But yer name, Miss Marsh, is like venom in ours.”
Fear gave her voice a distorted edge. “How do you know my name?”
“I know who ye are. And I know who yer father is.
The Crown’s marionette. A nanny for hire sent to mollify the unruly Scots with a sweet from the king’s table.”
Serena had no idea who the man was, but his rage against her father seemed to transcend all reason. The skirl of bagpipes, loud and shrill, would surely drown out her screams. She turned to walk away.
“Where d’ye think ye’re going?” he growled as he grabbed her by the wrist. “I’m not through talking with ye.”
“Let me go!” she cried, twisting her wrist in his unyielding grasp. Dozens of horrible visions of rape flashed across her mind.
“Come here. I’ve a message ye can take home to yer father!”
She screamed, her heart willing for Malcolm. If only she hadn’t walked away from him. If only he were there right behind her.
A rock whizzed over Serena and clocked the man on the side of his head. He turned around, cradling his wound, but he never released his hold on Serena.
The next few seconds were a blur of motion. Malcolm ran out of the trees, barreling into one surprised man. As he fell backward, Malcolm rolled over him, and kicked another man’s feet from under him. He jumped up and swung a clenched fist at a third. The burly man ducked, and swung at Malcolm. The blow caught Malcolm on the cheek, but he returned a punch to the man’s face. Just then, one of them jumped on Malcolm from the back, immobilizing his arms. The burly man landed two punches on Malcolm’s face and one in his gut, making him gasp for breath. When he came in for a fourth, Malcolm kicked the man in the stomach, sending him reeling. Deftly, he stomped on the foot of the one who held him captive, but he refused to let go. So Malcolm tossed his head back into the
man’s face, breaking his nose. He grabbed the man who’d fallen to the ground, lifting him by his hair, and then twisted his arm high behind his back. From the waistband of his kilt, he slid out a dagger and held it to the man’s testicles.
“Sweet Jesus,” gasped the man. “Don’t do it.”
“Ye’re wasting yer breath on me,” rasped Malcolm into his ear. “Plead with yer friend over there to let the girl go.”
“Brandubh, do as the man says,” he said, panic warbling his voice.
Malcolm’s eyes homed in on Brandubh’s. There was a fierceness to them that shocked Serena, and she desperately hoped it had the same effect on her captor.
Brandubh made no movement, save to squeeze his hold on Serena.
“What’s it to be, friend?” said Malcolm. “I’ll trade ye this man’s ballocks for the girl. And by the look of things, ye’d better hurry. They’re shrinking so fast there’ll be nothing left to cut off.”
“Hold on, man,” Brandubh said. “Ye don’t have the way of it. I mean her no harm. Do ye know who this girl is? It’s her da who’s bringing with him England’s decrees that Scotland will be yoked forever with the new taxes. We’ve got a message for him as well.”
“She’s got nothing to do with yer quarrel. Let her go.” The corners of Brandubh’s mouth turned down as he squeezed Serena’s arms. “Ye’re making a lot of demands for one in so compromised a position.”
“I’ll no’ ask again. Ye can walk away from the girl, or you can limp away from the girl.”
Brandubh’s eyes narrowed on Malcolm’s kilt. “What clan are ye? Ah, ye’re
slaighteur,
aren’t ye?”
A thundercloud passed across Malcolm’s face.
“Aye, ye are. I always wondered if I’d ever run into
yer kind. No wonder ye won’t take a stand with yer own countrymen. A coward bastard from a coward clan.”
Serena’s breath came in rough gasps. Malcolm tightened his grip on the dagger. The man he held captive cringed.
“Come along, man,” said Brandubh. “There are hundreds of our countrymen about. Our
patriotic
countrymen. A single call, and ye’re done for.”
“That may be, friend. But this man will pay for my defeat with his balls.”
The man was sweating profusely. “For the love of God, Brandubh. Let her go.”
Slowly, Brandubh trained his gaze on Serena. “Tell yer father that Scotland is tired of hearing English commands. Tell him that her children are weary of being given promises instead of food. Tell him that the next time we have to state our grievances, ’twill be with claymores and muskets in our hands.” Brandubh let her go.
Malcolm waited until Serena was behind him. Then he released the man’s arm and shoved him forward.
“If ye lay hold of this woman just once more,” he said, pointing his dagger at Brandubh, “the last pleasant thing ye’ll feel is the gentle whisper on yer hair from my blade before it slices yer ear clean off.”
Malcolm didn’t sheath his weapon until they were out of the clearing and back into the competition field. “Are ye all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said.
“Are ye sure?” Worry was etched all over his face.
“Quite sure,” she replied, her fear finally ebbing now that she was with him.
He looked her all over, as if to reassure himself. “Yer dress. It’s stained. Did they make ye kneel before them? Oh, my God. They didn’t—”
She put his hand on his arm. “I fell over. They didn’t hurt me.”
“Ye’re certain?”
She smiled. “I’m fine.” Truth be told, she was more than fine. The look of genuine concern on his face, and the heroic way in which he’d come to her rescue, made her feel exuberant.
Relief washed over his face. She could almost kiss him for that. Seemed her little lesson brought out the side of him she wanted to see.
“Come along,” he said, tugging her by the arm. “We’re leaving.”
“Where’s Zoe?”
“Waiting in the carriage.
As I told her to.
”
It was hard to keep up with his long stride. She had to practically trot to keep pace. He didn’t seem to be escorting her as much as hauling her.
And he didn’t slow down until they had reached the carriage. As he said, Zoe was already inside the coach, and her young face peeked out from the open carriage window.
“Where did you go, Serena?” asked Zoe.
“To the fortune-teller’s.”
“Without me?” she cried petulantly.
“Without the both of us, apparently.” Malcolm pulled Serena away from the carriage door. “Ye … up onto the roof. I want a word in private.”
Serena seldom rode on the seats atop the town coach, even though they were designed for riding in fine weather. But Malcolm gave her no other option. He climbed up after her and barked a command at the driver. In a trice the carriage pitched forward, and they were off at full gallop.
He took the seat next to Serena. Even through his sun-kissed complexion, Malcolm’s bruised cheek began
to color ferociously. He hugged his side, where the burly man had swung a meaty fist into his gut.
“Thank you, Mr. Slayter. I don’t know what would have happened—”
His anger cut her sentence off. “Why did ye walk away from me?”
She had no intention of confessing her jealousy over him. “That doesn’t matter.”
“It bloody well does matter! ‘One rule,’ I said. ‘Never leave my sight,’ I said. And what did ye do?”
She stiffened. “Then your sight wasn’t on me, was it?” The fierceness intensified in his eyes. “Ye put yer own life in danger. To say nothing of mine!”
Serena crossed her arms defensively. “No one asked you to intercede.”
“Ye’re willful, disobedient, foolhardy, inconsiderate—”
“Don’t vent your spleen on me.”
“—and it’s high time ye learned a lesson.” He seized her by the arm and yanked her across his lap.
She fell facedown, her hips folded over a muscled, kilted thigh. Stunned, she tried to lift herself up, but a hand on her back held her down fast.
Her modesty and pride were at once outraged, and she opened her mouth to speak the anger that surged within her. But before she could utter a sound, another noise reached her ears that chased away all words.