DevilsHeart (2 page)

Real, all-consuming love. Now that would be an adventure.

Ugh. Where were these stupid thoughts coming from?

A scream pierced the air. She jumped and whipped around
toward the loch again. The fog swirled, pulling back just enough to allow the
pinkish-orange hues of sunset to filter through and illuminate a small figure
thrashing in the water.

She shoved the pendant into her pocket and threw off her
sweater. She took a deep breath, shoved the rising anxiety down deep into her
stomach, and ran into the loch, slogging through the shallows until she reached
water deep enough to allow her to swim. She dug the balls of her feet into the
rocky base of the loch and shoved off, the icy-cold water threatening to throw
her muscles into complete inaction. But after a few, short strokes, the chill
eased and Leah reached the small child in little time. Grasping him under the
arms from behind, she wrapped one arm around his chest and swam toward the
shallows.

As she planted her feet on the rocks and stood, she lifted
the child up out of the water and his arms encircled her neck. He buried his
cold little face in the crook of her neck, gasping.

“Easy now,” she reassured him as the cold water lapped at
their chins. “I’ve got you.”

He tightened his hold and whimpered. Her heart ached for the
little guy. He must have been terrified. She glanced up as shouts from the
shore reached her. Three women and another small child, all wearing medieval
costumes, watched her with tears streaming down their faces.

Leah smiled with relief and patted him on the back. “He’s
all right. Aren’t you?” She drew her head back to look him in the eye.

His little head popped up from her shoulder and he sniffled
before speaking. None of the words made sense.

“What was that?”

His brown eyes widened. Again he spoke, but it was unlike
any language with which she was familiar.

As she reached the shore, multiple pairs of hands grabbed
the child from her. Eventually he ended up in the arms of a pretty,
brown-haired woman whose warm, cocoa-colored eyes were watery with tears. She
clasped him to her chest, her lips moving as she alternately whispered to the
child and peppered his head with kisses.

One of the other women grabbed Leah’s hand, pressed it
between her own, and repeated an unintelligible phrase over and over. The third
woman approached and draped a woolen blanket around her shoulders.

Leah smiled, assuming they were thanking her, and tucked a
strand of her dripping wet hair behind her ear.

Loud, booming male voices burst forth from the line of trees
just ahead. Four large men who looked like something straight out of fantasy
movie broke through the underbrush and ran toward them with worry etched across
their faces.

Weird. Had she just stumbled upon some medieval reenactment?

The men stopped next to the woman holding the little boy and
the women all spoke at once, gesturing toward Leah with excitement. The man
with the trimmed dark-brown beard and brown, piercing eyes enclosed the woman
and child in his embrace, kissing them both on the head as he held them.

Still, none of their words made sense. But their obvious
relief the little boy was safe and no worse for the wear touched her heart. She
was just thankful she’d been close enough to help. In the time it had taken the
men to arrive, the little boy would probably have drowned if she had not been
there.

The man lifted his eyes to Leah’s and he released his hold
on the woman. He walked toward Leah, his hand resting upon the hilt of the
sword hanging at his side. He stopped just a few feet in front of her and bowed
his head as he spoke in that unintelligible language the women and little boy
had used earlier.

“I’m sorry.” Leah hoped he knew at least a little English.
“But I don’t speak your language.”

What had been an expression of gratefulness faded into a
dark expression as his cheek twitched. “You are English?”

She shook her head, nervousness knotting her stomach at the
strange, negative shift in the man’s demeanor. At least she could speak with
this guy. “No, I’m American.”

The man’s brow knitted together in confusion. He turned
toward his companions who approached from behind. After a brief exchange, he
faced Leah again.

“What is an ‘American’?”

Her mind fell silent. He couldn’t have just asked her what
an American was, could he?

The other three men approached her, taking up positions to
either side of the man with the beard and crossing their arms as they stared at
her. She shifted her gaze to each man in growing apprehension. “You know, the
United States. I’m from across the pond.”

“Across the pond?” He lifted his eyes up past her shoulder
to the mountains just behind. “You are a Ruthven? But the Ruthvens do not speak
English.”

Leah hesitated, blinking several times in mystification. Was
he talking about the loch behind her? “No, the ocean,” she corrected, pointing
in the opposite direction.

He rubbed his beard as he stared at her. “But there is
nothing past the ocean. Who is your family?”

The uneasiness in her gut intensified. Since when did
reenactors refuse to break character in an emergency? “My last name is Gunn.”

His eyes widened with recognition. “From up north near
Thurso?”

She arched her eyebrows in surprise. “Well, that’s where my
grandfather was from, but, like I said, I’m American.”

A flash of exasperation flew across his features. “What is
your name?”

“Leah.”

“Are you alone here?”

She shifted her eyes from the men over to the women and
children just behind them. Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t quite put
her finger on it. “Yes. I rented a house just up the hill.”

He turned toward a man with dark-blond hair to his right and
spoke. The man shook his head and shrugged.

“There is no dwelling upon this small loch.”

“I was just there.”

The women and children moved forward, eying her with
curiosity. The man she had been speaking with patted the head of the
dark-haired little girl who grabbed his black tunic. He smiled down at her.

All right, maybe this guy wasn’t so bad. He was gentle and
affectionate with the girl just as he had been with the woman and boy earlier.
“Come with me and I’ll show you.”

He nodded and tucked the girl’s hair behind her ear. He
motioned to the blond man to follow him. Leah pointed out the path up to the
cabin and fell into step behind them, glancing over her shoulder now and then
just to make certain no one snuck up behind her.

Wait. Where was her sweater? She paused along the shore to
search for it.

“What is it, lass?”

“My sweater.” She had dropped it before diving into the
loch.

“Sweater? What is that?”

Leah glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, resisting
the urge to sigh her annoyance. Yeah, yeah. The word sweater originated in the
nineteenth century and wouldn’t have been used in the medieval era.
Whatever.
“It’s like a shirt or a coat, but knitted out of yarn. Mine is a cream color.”

He nodded and called the other men over as well to join her
in her search.

After several minutes, the man approached her empty-handed.
“I am sorry, lass, but it appears to not be here.”

She hated giving up but nodded. It must have gotten dragged
into the loch as she ran and became so waterlogged it sank or something. It
wouldn’t have just disappeared into thin air.

The man started up the pathway leading up the hill and into
the woods again. She fell into step behind him and thanked him for helping her
to look for her sweater.

Her water-soaked jeans tightened across her thighs, chilling
her skin as the cool, late summer breeze chased her. With every step deeper and
deeper into the woods, however, disquieting thoughts plagued her. The trees
somehow seemed older, the foliage denser, the path more rugged. A chill raced
down her spine and she pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

A strange warmth from her front pocket seeped into her right
hip. She reached inside and her fingers wrapped around the pendant the old lady
had given to her. It heated her palm and then chilled.

The dark-haired man stopped as he reached a clearing. “Is
this the spot, lass?”

She stepped out from the trees, her hand brushing along a
large stone. The mottled-gray color tugged at something within her memory. She
lifted her eyes and froze as the two men stared back at her in earnest with
nothing but a line of trees about twenty feet behind them.

The cabin was gone.

She stumbled toward the rock and braced against it. The
cabin was right there just a half-hour ago. The rock and general terrain seemed
accurate, but maybe she’d been confused. Maybe she’d led them the wrong way.

“As you can see, there is no house here, Leah.” The
dark-haired man crossed his arms as he stopped within a few feet of her.

“This has to be the place. I was just here. But then I went
down to the loch and met this old woman. And she…”

The stone warmed in her hand again. She opened her fingers,
allowing it to rest upon her upturned palm, and it glowed for a brief second.
As soon as she gasped, the light dulled.

The man’s eyebrows arched in a mixture of wonder and
suspicion as he made the sign of the cross. Had he seen it glowing too?

“May I, lass?”

She nodded and he lifted the pendant from her hand. He held
it up before him, twisting it around as he studied it.

“Did the old woman give this to you?”

She swallowed the fear creeping up her throat and nodded.

His lips thinned with tension and a glint of knowledge
flashed in his eyes. “You have no family here? Not even up in Thurso?”

“No. I am just a visitor.”

A wisp of sympathy passed across his features as the
trepidation eased from his shoulders. “You saved my son. Come with me and I
will find a place for you.”

Her eyes widened. “What are you talking about? I’m sure the
house is here somewhere. I must have led you the wrong way.”

He held up his hand as though to command her silence and,
much to her annoyance, it worked. She bit her lower lip.

“You need help, Leah. Let me repay you. Rest assured you
will be taken care of if you come with me.”

Her stomach churned. This was all too weird. Was she missing
something? “Who are you exactly?”

He enclosed the stone in his fist and clasped his hands
behind his back. “I am David, Mormaer of Carron.”

Mormaer?

She’d been fascinated by Scottish history for most of her
life, especially the medieval period. Early in the Middle Ages, a Scottish
mormaer was most likely the Gaelic equivalent of what the English called an
earl. As such, if this man were a mormaer, he would control a vast amount of
territory, answering only to the king.

But that wasn’t possible. First of all, no one used that
title any longer and, second…

Second, nothing. She crossed her arms in front of her chest.
She would not let this weirdo reenactor, who couldn’t bother to break character
long enough to even utter the word “sweater”, suggest she’d lost her mind.
“Look, I’m happy to have helped your little boy, but I don’t need rescuing. I’m
sure the house is here somewhere.”

David pressed his lips together and nodded. “Well, then,
lass, I wish you luck. Know I am forever indebted to you and am always at your
assistance. You only need to send word.” He stretched his arm out and opened
his palm for her to take the amber stone. “Here. You will eventually need
this.”

He crooked his finger at his friend who shook his head in
seeming disbelief as they passed her and stepped back onto the trail.

Panicked, Leah gripped the stone in her hand and stared
after the men. “Wait!”

David turned, his eyebrows raised.

“What do you mean I’ll eventually need this?”

He gave her a sympathetic smile. “You are on Graham land,
lass. Everyone knows about that old witch and her stones.”

Witch? Stones?
She resisted the urge to roll her
eyes. This whole medieval fantasy bit was getting old. “You’re telling me this
stone is the reason my house is no longer here?”

He shrugged. “Either that or you are a wee bit daft and what
I should be doing is delivering you to the convent on the other side of the
loch so the sisters there may care for you until your family arrives.”

If anyone was the crazy nut job, it was this guy. She loved
history too, but he was taking it to a whole new level of obsession. And there
was no way in hell she was going anywhere with these people. They could be part
of some crazed cult. “I am not insane.”

David crossed his arms and perched one black-leather-clad
foot upon a rock at the side of the pathway. “You do not strike me as daft, no.
But I can conceive of no other explanation. Either you have been the victim of
black magic or you are touched in the head.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but then her gaze was drawn
back to his boots. Like the old woman’s earlier, they struck her as handmade. A
simple leather sole covered the bottom and several laces wrapped around his
ankle. They bore a striking resemblance to those in the historic costume books
she would check out from the library when she was a kid.

This guy was hardcore. He probably had made the shoes
himself in his spare time between his work as a computer programmer and
traveling to reenactment gigs. She gave him credit for his unwavering
dedication to his hobby.

But right now she needed help. Not a weekend of playing the
part of a medieval maiden in distress with a bunch of crazy strangers until
they deemed it was time to return to the real world. “Would you please drop the
act for just one minute? I promise I won’t tell any of your reenactor friends
you broke character. I need to talk to the twenty-first century David right
now.”