Warrior’s Redemption (12 page)

“Dinna fash yerself over it. We’ll find some use for you.”

No “probably” to it. Definitely. Her fist actually ached just thinking about it.

Their conversation ended, they rode for some time in silence while Dani fumed.

“It’s true, then, you come from seven hundred years in the future?”

After such a long silence, the question seemed to wing in out of left field. “Yes.” Freaking-scary true.

“In that case, perhaps we could take advantage of yer knowledge to aid my people. You can tell me if we need to prepare for the English to invade again, or if Edward will be satisfied with having his man sit on our throne.”

It took a minute for Dani to realize what he was asking. He wanted the history of his country. At least, what to her would be history. To him it would be foreknowledge.

And that, somehow, didn’t feel right. Her aunt Jean had always cautioned about people who knew just enough to get them in trouble. This seemed like a perfect moment for that adage. The idea that she might
be responsible for somehow changing what was to come rattled her.

Fortunately, at least to her way of thinking, she didn’t know all that much.

“Who’s your king right now?”

“John Balliol sits on the throne of Scotland.”

Not ringing any bells. Good. She could be honest in her response.

“I’m guessing you’re in for more changes.” Everything she’d ever read certainly pointed to it. “But, in fairness, pretty much all I know about the history of Scotland I learned off the trivia notes printed on the napkins in the diner where I worked.” She’d actually learned a lot of useless information off those napkins.

“What are these napkins of which you speak?” He’d reined in his horse, once again waiting for her to catch up, a spark of curiosity in his expression.

“They’re paper things that people use to wipe their hands and mouths on when they eat.”

“Paper . . .” He repeated the word, his brows drawn together in confusion. “And this paper is . . . ?”

“Paper.” Dani struggled to find a good explanation. “Like what you write on, or like they print books on. You know, paper.”

“Parchment, you mean?”

“Like parchment, I guess,” she agreed. Unbelievable. She was so far out of time, they didn’t even have paper, for crying out loud.

“This I find hard to believe. Parchment is too costly for wiping one’s face and hands.” He shook his head from side to side, in obvious rejection of her information
as he set off again ahead of her. “How careless the people of your time must be to waste in such a manner.”

She couldn’t help but smile at Malcolm’s back. If he thought using napkins to clean your hands and face was wasteful, she couldn’t help but wonder what he would think of toilet paper.

T
HE SUN, BLESSEDLY
warm on this day, hung high in the sky by the time Malcolm reined in his horse to wait for Dani to reach his side. One look at his face told her something was wrong.

“What is it?”

“Riders approach.” He pointed ahead of them. “You’ll stay behind me, aye? And if there’s trouble, you’ll break for the trees and follow a straight line toward the setting sun, riding as hard as you can. You’re no to turn back or slow for anything.”

She stared into the distance, squinting to make out the tiny figures.

“You expect trouble? There’s only two of them. Maybe I could help.”

She wasn’t completely worthless if it came down to it. All she’d need was a weapon of some sort—a branch, a rock. Surely there was something on the ground she could find.

“You’ll stay behind me, Danielle. Out of harm’s way. The course I’ve set will lead you straight to the gates of Castle MacGahan if need be. I’ll no brook yer arguments on this point.”

Ride away and let the bad guys chase her down? Not freaking likely. Dani shook her head but said nothing; Malcolm’s attention was already focused on the little figures in the distance. No, she’d feel safer staying right here with him and taking her chances.

Malcolm pushed back the fur he wore, allowing it to pool on the saddle behind him, revealing a sword and scabbard strapped to his back. His hand briefly caressed the hilt, a move Dani would bet was more instinct than conscious movement. He looked back at her and held out a knife he’d pulled from the belt he wore at his waist.

“Take this.”

Dani accepted his offer, grateful to have something to concentrate on other than the approaching men. The knife was small, but it looked wickedly sharp. Sharp enough to do some real damage.

She only hoped she didn’t have to test that theory.

As Malcolm had instructed, Dani dropped back behind him, but tried to keep no more than a horse-length between them. Everything she’d ever known about fighting said you didn’t get separated from your partner. You closed ranks. Kept your backs together. Of course, all she knew came from books and movies. Scripted and well choreographed.

This, on the other hand, was real.

Tension knotted in her stomach as they continued forward, each step on their path carrying them directly toward confrontation with the mounted figures.

Only when the riders drew close enough to see their faces did Malcolm seem to relax his guard. Patrick
led out in front, followed by a younger man Dani hadn’t seen before.

“Thank Freya!” Patrick pulled his animal to a stop in front of them. “What happened to you? Even the Elf was worried when you dinna return.”

“Faerie,” Dani muttered under her breath, completely ignored by both men.

“We delayed too long at the circle and lost our light. Spent the night in one of the high country shepherds’ huts. Any word of Eric?”

Patrick opened his mouth to answer but stilled as the younger man arrived.

“Where have you been, Colm? The whole castle was in a tizzy last night. And who’s this?” The new arrival jerked his head toward her, his face riddled with curiosity.

“This is our guest, Lady Danielle. She’ll be staying with us for a time, under my protection. Lady Danielle?” He turned his head toward her, his expression unreadable. “This is my brother Dermid.”

Another brother. This one she never would have guessed belonged to the same family. While Patrick and Malcolm were obviously related, this young man looked nothing like either of them. Somewhere in his late teens, he was the exact opposite of his brothers. A soft, fair-haired cherub bookended by two hard, dark-haired devils.

Genetics in action.

Their parents must have been an interesting match, a pairing of light and dark, much as she and Malcolm would be.

Not that
that
was ever going to happen.

Suddenly uncomfortable, she straightened in her saddle to find three sets of eyes turned on her.

With all three staring her direction, she discovered the one feature that betrayed the blood connection between them—their eyes. Each a blue so oddly deep in hue that if she were in her own time, she’d have sworn they all wore the same colored contact lenses.

“Is that where you’ve been, then? Off to collect her?” Dermid’s head swiveled between Malcolm and Patrick. “Why dinna you tell me that was the case, Paddy? You ken I was worried, did you no?”

Patrick shrugged, his face returning to its usual emotionless mask. “It’s Colm’s place to tell you what he will of his own personal business, no mine.”

“Personal, is it?” Dermid looked past Patrick, fixing his gaze on her again. “Am I to be the last to learn yer bringing home the woman who’s to be our new sister?”

Sister? Surely he didn’t think that she and Malcolm . . .

“Hold on there a minute.”

“Mind yer manners, lad!” Malcolm snapped, cutting off anything else she might have said. “The good lady is to be a guest in my home. I expect you to treat her as such, no to badger her with yer blether. Is that clear?”

“But . . .” Dermid’s face hardened into a stubborn frown, as if he intended to pursue the discussion in spite of Malcolm’s rebuke.

“Best you ride on ahead, lad,” Patrick intervened,
likely preventing an argument. “Carry word to those who wait at the castle that we’ve found our laird.”

“But I’ve no had a chance to speak with Colm for any length since I arrived.” Dermid’s expression quickly flickered from stubborn frown to innocent distress. “And I’ve certainly no had a chance to acquaint myself with her.”

Patrick held firm. “You claimed you want to be one of the men defending Castle MacGahan, did you no? A soldier in our ranks? If yer to find yer place here, Dermid, you’d best be about following orders when they’re given. Without question.”

Distress morphed to anger, and with a snap of his reins to his horse’s rump, Dermid galloped back in the direction from which he and Patrick had traveled.

“You ken I’ve no desire to risk our brother’s life to the ways of soldier, aye?” Malcolm set his horse in motion, holding it to a walk even as spoke over his shoulder. “And I’ll certainly no have him take his first battle against Torquil’s men. He’s too young.”

Patrick drew his mount up beside his brother’s. “Need I remind you, we’ve call for every man who can wield a weapon? And our brother is years beyond what either of us was when we left for our first battles.”

Dani dropped back behind the two of them, not wanting to eavesdrop on their conversation. It wasn’t her fault they spoke so loudly she could hear everything.

Almost everything.

She moved a little closer.

“I want him kept out of this, Paddy. All of it. I task you with that responsibility.”

“You ken it’ll no be easy. Dermid’s curiosity is no small thing. Already he questions the activity at the keep. His groomsman acts like a deerhound on scent.”

“Bollocks,” Malcolm swore, lifting a hand to the bridge of his nose. “Then we need a way to put both him and Dermid off the scent.”

“A distraction.” Patrick nodded to himself as if considering the idea.

None of her business. This was most certainly a conversation she should stay out of. And yet, they were both missing the obvious.

“What about me?”

Malcolm glanced over his shoulder, irritation evident. “We’ll find a spot for you, lass. I’ve told you that already. You’ve no need to fash yerself over it. We’ve time to figure out what useful skill you have.”

Oh, good lord. Arrogant one-track alpha brain on display. If it weren’t for the both of them trying to keep their younger brother safe, she wouldn’t even bother.

But they were and, grudgingly, she admired that.

“I don’t mean what to do with me, Malcolm. I mean what about using me as the distraction you need? Your brother already thinks there’s something going on between us. What if you were to let him continue to think that, without ever actually confirming it? You wouldn’t be lying to him, but it would give him a mystery to search out to keep him busy. Perhaps he’d
even suspect the activity at the castle was because I’ve arrived.”

“She’s a good point,” Patrick conceded. “Give him a trail to follow. A trail we don’t mind having him pursue.”

“Since there’s naught there to hurt him. Aye.” Malcolm nodded, a corner of his mouth lifting in what threatened to be a grin before it faded away. “It could work. Do you think Elesyria would go along with us in it? There’s no a need to burden him with the knowledge that the Magical Folk have had a hand in any of this.”

“You leave the Elf to me.” Patrick’s face broke into a full-fledged grin. “I can deal with her.”

“It’s settled then.” Malcolm slapped his brother on the back and urged his mount into a trot.

Dani didn’t bother to correct Patrick’s misuse of Elf versus Faerie this time. She was too busy wondering what she’d just gotten herself into.

So that was what she’d “do” in this time. She’d be a fiancée. Sort of. A mystery fiancée.

Apparently, she’d discovered a useful skill all by herself.

E
RIC HAS RETURNED
.”

Three simple words that sent a chill to the depths of Malcolm’s soul.

Patrick’s expression gave no hint as to whether his captain of the guards carried good tidings or ill.

“He awaits you in the stables. I’ve informed him of the need for discretion in this matter.” A simple cough and Patrick almost imperceptibly tilted his head toward the entrance doors of the great hall.

Malcolm traced the direction his brother indicated, spotting the object of Patrick’s interest immediately. Their younger brother stood just inside the room, back to the wall, his groomsman a shadow at his side. Dermid’s gaze scanned the great hall, reminding Malcolm of a hawk in search of prey.

It was Dermid’s presence here that forced his need for caution. If it were to come to war with his elder brother, Torquil, he would not have Dermid involved. He would not put his younger brother’s safety in jeopardy.

“Best you go before he makes his way to yer table and yer forced to come up with some excuse for leaving.”

“Aye. It’s as you . . .”

Whatever he’d intended to say, the very thought
itself diffused into the air around him. His feet refused to move, the wisdom of his brother’s words lost in the vision stepping through the door and into the great hall.

Danielle.
Vision
was hardly a strong enough word. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders like a golden waterfall of curls, framing her face. She lifted her chin, and he could almost swear he felt her determination as her gaze swept the room, stopping when her eyes met his.

For an instant it was as if his heart beat against his chest in a wild attempt to escape his body before the connection was broken and they both looked away.

One deep, shaky breath brought the self-control he had briefly lost and, with it, the ability to rationalize his response to his guest.

More likely the discomfort he felt could be directly attributed to the Faerie at Dani’s side. He wouldn’t put it past Elesyria to try casting some sort of Faerie Magic over him. But he wouldn’t so easily fall prey to any such attack from her.

“Colm?”

Patrick’s hand on his shoulder brought him fully back.

“I go now to see to Eric and hear what word the MacKilyn has sent. You make sure Dermid disna follow me, aye? And keep watch over what passes between our brother and my . . . intended.”