Breath of Yesterday (The Curse Series) (16 page)

I looked at his shirt. His chest was bloodred.

Red from the wine, or red from blood?

I shrieked, then tripped backward over the bench. I landed in the straw and thrashed wildly on the floor. I didn’t see the barn roof or Kyle’s worried face as he rushed toward us.

I saw something else entirely.

I could feel that the heart underneath my fingers had stopped beating. A single word flashed through my addled brain: betrayal.

I lifted my head and looked into his eyes. A tear, burning hot like melting metal, burned its way down my cheek and fell, unhindered, onto the blood-soaked earth.

Slowly, as if guided by an invisible hand, I pulled the dagger from his chest, unable to take my eyes off his face. Why, Ross? Why? The blood on his lips was his silent response to my sorrowful cry.

My throat burned as I came to. I coughed and spluttered. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I pushed away the bottle someone was holding out to me.

“Stop!” I wheezed, swallowing the rest of the whiskey that had been poured into my mouth.

I found it impossible to get rid of the images of my strange “dream,” even though I was no longer dreaming. Kyle’s friendly face moved into my field of vision, and I immediately felt better. It seemed in his nature to cheer people up.

“Finally, Lady Cameron is back in the land of the living. You know, you should really stay away from wine if it knocks you out after only a few sips,” he suggested with a mischievous grin. Then he helped me to my feet.

Ross was nowhere to be found, and I saw no one else in the barn, either. Shaking, I climbed onto the bench and tried to collect my thoughts.

“Are you well?” Kyle asked with genuine concern.

“Yes, I must have just tripped,” I lied. But nothing was well. Everything was wrong! I couldn’t deny what I had seen. And if the events of the last few months were anything to go by, then this had most certainly not been a dream. It was a
vision
. And, contrary to the couple of times I’d seen those disturbing images before, I now knew what they meant.

I would kill Ross Galbraith.

But why? To keep from passing out again, I took a deep breath. I breathed in, and I breathed out. Why would I do such a thing? I wasn’t a killer. I tried to banish all thoughts from my mind. All that mattered was the air flowing into my lungs. That was what I focused on.

Kyle gently ran his hand up and down my back. As soon as I felt a little better, he helped me get off the bench.

“Come on, lass, let’s get you to bed. I’m sure you will feel better tomorrow.”

When we reached the door to the cottage where I would sleep by Fingal’s bedside, I turned to thank Kyle. What I really wanted to do, though, was tell him how sorry I was that I wouldn’t be able to change his fate.

He took my hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Don’t worry about it, lassie. You’re all right,” he said, stopping me from thanking him and saying all those other words that I would have found so hard to say anyway.

I nodded, and then glanced over my shoulder. Payton was dancing with some blond peasant girl right in the middle of the village square. I couldn’t believe it. That bitch was throwing herself at him! I could see her shamelessly wrapping her arms around his neck. And Payton seemed to be enjoying it! I quickly looked away and discovered Ross standing behind the two of them under a tree, staring right at me. I shivered when our eyes met. Quickly, I pulled the door shut behind me.

C
HAPTER
20

C
ompared to the excitement of the previous few days, the next day went off more or less without a hitch. Fingal was awake but in a foul mood because he was hungry. He only stopped whining when I served him a generous portion of oatcakes.

Now that he was wide awake, it became even clearer that Fingal McLean was a born leader. I saw strength, courage, and firm resolve in his eyes, and while I well remembered Duncan and Dougal’s sarcasm from earlier, this man’s natural authority demanded that he be met with the utmost respect. Compared to Ross’s brothers, he was a different caliber of man altogether. The twins might walk around with big chips on their shoulders, but they only won people’s respect by threatening violence.

After Fingal had taken a few bites, he gave me a friendly look.

“Thank you, lassie. I swear to you—I am famished.”

“You should slow down, sir. Your stomach has been empty for several days, and—”

“Och, nothing!” he replied, munching away happily.

I raised my eyebrows. As far as I was concerned, I couldn’t care less. He was old enough to do as he pleased, and it wasn’t as if I could stop him. So I left him to his meal and turned my attention to my old housedress. Thanks to the fire going in the cottage, the dress was almost dry. I folded it up so I could take it with me.

“And now tell me who you really are. You have healing hands, but the sadness in your eyes makes me unwell.”

He had folded his hands in front of him on the bedcover, and he was looking at me expectantly.

“Milord, I am a prisoner. If you don’t like my eyes, then perhaps you should let me go,” I suggested.

His roaring laughter made me cringe.

“Delightful! Truly delightful, lassie.”

Fingal was a good-looking man, and the laughter making his eyes twinkle was contagious. I couldn’t stop a smile from twitching around the edges of my mouth. The way he was calling me “lassie” made it almost sound like a pet name a father would give to his daughter.

“All right, then,
prisoner
. How about you start by telling me your name so I know who to thank for treating my injuries.”

“My name is Samantha Camer—”

“Yes, yes. Cameron, I see that. But I wonder why I’ve never heard of you before. Trust me, Samantha, for years I have made it a habit to know my enemies better than my friends. And, even though going by your face you could be the child of Isobel and Tomas Cameron, you don’t seem to be. You are too old. They have not been married that long. Besides, you wouldn’t be wearing a simple dress like that if you were the laird’s child.” He pointed at the neatly folded dress and gave me a questioning look.

I picked at my fingernails, not knowing what to say. This man had only been awake for a few hours, and already he was seeing right through my disguise—or whatever you want to call this makeshift identity I had created for myself.

What should I say? I actually was Isobel and Tomas’s direct descendant, but there were at least ten generations between us. Why I would show such a close physical resemblance to my ancestors, I did not know.

Because I didn’t respond, Fingal nodded good-naturedly.

“Very well, Samantha Cameron. I will return to this topic a little later since it seems we will be enjoying each other’s company for quite some time. And now go check on my useless sons who are no doubt sleeping off their hangovers. Ask them when they intend to take me to Burragh. I am an old man, and I want to die in my home.”

“You’re not going to die, sir. You’re a lot better already. The fever has broken,” I reassured him.

He shooed me to the door, grumbling: “Oh, I know, but these little scoundrels don’t seem to know that. Let them worry a bit about their old father. Go now. I need to take a piss, and unless you want to watch, you had better do what I tell you.”

I slipped out the door and shook my head, thinking about Payton’s dad. I liked him. He had a sense of humor, and he was boisterous and alert at the same time. Spending more time with him should prove interesting.

The cold early-morning air blew under my skirts, and I rubbed my arms. Before long, we would get the first night of frost. By that time, I hoped, I’d be back in my own era, watching a movie in my favorite yoga pants while eating microwave popcorn. Anything but the old
Highlander
movies, I thought. If these people here only knew what they were missing…

“Madain mhath,”
Kyle greeted me, wishing me a good morning. “Is he still alive?” he asked, nodding toward the cottage door.

I smiled as always when Kyle looked at me. He was such a breath of fresh air.

“Yes, he’s alive, but he wants that to be our little secret. I wouldn’t be surprised if he burst out wailing and whining as soon as you enter the cottage.”

Kyle chuckled. “Yes, that sounds like him. But don’t worry! I will offer him a generous dose of sympathy and try to cheer him up with this.” He held up one of the smoked sausages from the previous night and then walked past me toward his father’s cottage.

I headed off in the direction of the stables. If the men were preparing for our departure, that was where I would find them. I ran into Sean. Literally. I turned a corner and bumped right into him, banging my knee into his shin.

“Ouch, sorry!” I said, massaging my knee.

“
Thoir an aire!
Careful! Easy does it,” he cautioned. “If you want to get up close with me, all you have to do is ask.” He gave me a teasing wink, and much to my embarrassment, I blushed. How did he always manage to come up with a clever line to flirt with a girl, no matter the situation? Ryan Baker, my high school’s Prince Charming—and a former major crush of mine—still had a lot to learn.

I ignored Sean’s remark so I wouldn’t embarrass myself again in the same way I had embarrassed myself in the presence of heartbreaker Ryan.

“Your father wants to know when we’re leaving.”

“We’re ready. As soon as Ross is done strapping the oxen to the cart, we will head out. Payton and Blair already left. A villager spotted redcoats in the area, and we should try to avoid them if possible.”

“Redcoats? Why?”

I racked my brain, but I had never paid enough attention in history class. What was the story again between the English and the Scots?

Did this have anything to do with the uprising Payton had mentioned on our first day together? Didn’t that happen in 1745? But Vanora would speak her curse in 1740, five years prior, banning the McLeans to a life without emotions. I was absolutely certain that this day hadn’t come yet.

“Because they’re redcoats.” Sean winked at me. “Camerons and Sassenachs can all go jump in the lake together, if you know what I mean. I hope you will forgive me.”

“The cart is ready, and we can go,” said Ross, interrupting this strange moment.

My skin crawled as I looked at him in the early-morning light. He smiled, but it didn’t get through to me because all I could see were his eyes as I’d seen them in my dream. Eyes that had lost their spark.

For the life of me, I couldn’t imagine what might possibly go wrong enough for me to attack and kill him.

Except for our initial encounter, Ross had been nothing but nice to me. I liked him. I even pitied him a little. The way everyone treated him wasn’t right. So why would I do such an awful thing? I could never kill anyone, I was sure of that. But that vision…

Completely engrossed in thought, I went through the motions of all the tasks I had been assigned. It was only after we’d been traveling for a good while that I remembered that I no longer carried a weapon. It
was
as Payton had said: I wouldn’t kill anyone any time soon.

What a relief. Satisfied, I turned my head toward the coach box, and when Ross smiled at me over his shoulder, I smiled back.

C
HAPTER
21

T
he castle gates were open. Several people who were out and about on the streets greeted us as we approached on the narrow path leading up to Castle Burragh. That day’s sun had not dissipated the thin veil of mist, so with every yard that we advanced, we saw the dark and gloomy stronghold rise, bit by bit, through the fog. The oxcart rattled through the open portcullis whose sharp iron tips loomed menacingly overhead. The horses’ hooves clattered over the dry, trampled-down clay ground, and a handful of chickens scattered when the oxen politely offered to stomp right over them.

Ross directed the cart toward the castle keep, which—contrary to the outer walls whose only openings were the narrow arrow loops—offered a number of neat-looking stained-glass windows. Wooden wall-walks encircled the castle two rows deep so the building could easily be defended in every direction.

To my left, I saw a pointed archway leading into another courtyard, where a horse was just being shod. A young apprentice held the horse’s foot while an overweight, grunting blacksmith fitted the iron shoe.

Even though I had been to this place before, everything seemed strange and unfamiliar. The castle yard seemed bigger than on the day the taxicab had brought me here. The hustle and bustle took away the dreariness of the gray stone walls and distracted from some corners that, in my present-day life, I would have found unpleasant and fairly run-down.

Still, it was like coming home, probably because we had finally come to the end of this long and rain-soaked journey. And perhaps it also had something to do with the handsome Scot who was just then walking down the stairs.

I had been missing his company all day. Since Payton and Blair hadn’t returned to our posse, Sean had taken that to mean that the English redcoats posed no threat. This in turn had meant that we could take the direct route and reach the castle faster.

As Payton walked toward us, I felt like a groupie at a rock concert unable to take my eyes off my idol for even a second. He must have taken a nice long bath, because his hair was wet and his skin was slightly reddened from a shave.

He called for a stable boy, handing him the bridle and ordering him to unyoke and take care of the oxen. Then he walked around to the back of the cart to help me off before offering his father a hand. Fingal was unwilling to show any signs of weakness in front of his people, so he climbed down and walked over to the castle keep by himself, with his head held high and his teeth clenched.

“You seem to have worked miracles with Father. He is as grumpy as he’s ever been,” Payton noted. He led me to the courtyard and, in the opposite direction, halfway around the castle keep.

“Yes, he’s doing much better today. I redressed his wound earlier. The inflammation is going down, and the edges have started closing up,” I reported. He led me through several stone arches and down several steps. The smell of garbage and wastewater was getting stronger.

Besides the two of us, nobody else was around in this part of the castle. The outer wall ran very close along the living area and just about blocked out the sky and the sun.

“Where are we going?” I asked. My voice echoed against the walls and sounded ghostly.

Payton didn’t say a word, and I assumed that he hadn’t heard me, which was why I repeated my question.

“Listen, Sam. This wasn’t my decision. I even put in a good word for you, but I couldn’t get Blair to change his mind.”

He looked at me, visibly embarrassed and obviously unhappy about his task.

“Where are we going?” I whispered, suddenly feeling very cold.

“It’s not going to be for long, and I promise you will want for nothing.”

“Where are you taking me?” I screamed, backing away from him. He was scaring me, but there was no possibility of escape after he grabbed my lower arm with a vise-like grip.

“To the dungeon, Sam. I’m taking you to the dungeon.”

“No!”

Desperately, I tried to tear away from him, to free myself from his grip.

The
dungeon!
The word alone triggered a panic attack. The dread was suffocating me, and I could barely breathe. I lashed out, flailing my arms, with everything that I had.

“Sam! Stop! Calm down, please. I will do what I can so you can get out of here as quickly as possible, but right now you have to obey,” he implored. “If the guards see you resisting, they will put you in chains. So please, in the name of God, calm down and trust me!”

He pressed to his chest so there wasn’t enough room for me to punch him.

“No! No, I can’t! Payton, please,” I pleaded. “Please, Payton, I beg of you, let me go. I’m not your enemy! I love you! I’m only here so I can save you! But I can’t save your life if you lock me up. This is not making any sense right now, I know, I know, but…please, for the love that I feel for you, just let me go. Please, please, don’t do this to me.”

My words were gushing out of my mouth so fast that I could barely understand them. I sounded choked, tearful. And I was very close to seizing up in a panicked fit. Rats, rusty chains hanging from walls, rigid iron bars, and torture. Those were the things I associated with a dungeon. I was painting them all in vivid detail before my mind’s eye.

I already felt the cold, unyielding chains on my wrists, chafing my skin and making me easy prey for all the rats that would come out during the deepest, darkest hours of the night to finish me off. It was a nightmare. The garish images in my mind wouldn’t go away, and Payton’s reassurances did nothing to lessen my horror.

No light, no air, and no means of escape. I fought relentlessly. Payton would have to knock me out cold to get me to come with him. Nothing could make me go with him, nothing!

“Please, Payton, please! Let go of me, please.”

As if he hadn’t heard me, he said, “Sam! Stop! You’re making no sense, and you’re only making it worse!”

He shook me and turned his head, surprised to hear the sound of boots coming nearer.

“Great! You’ve alerted the guards! There’s nothing I can do for you now,” he railed, expertly avoiding my attempts to kick him in the shins.

Two men, real giants, filled the narrow passageway almost entirely with their bodies as they stormed toward us. While still holding on to me, Payton pushed me behind his back and lifted a hand in greeting.

“Is that woman troubling you?” the guards asked as they drew closer. They seemed prepared to bend me to their will by force, if necessary. I realized the hopelessness of my situation and gave up. There was only one thing worse than ending up in the dungeon, and that was ending up
injured
in the dungeon.

“No, she’s not. I don’t need you. Go back to your posts,” Payton said.

The sentry with the bulky neck of a bull shook his head and said, “Not possible.”

“We have orders to come and get the prisoner,” the other explained. His breath stunk, and I inched closer to Payton. The dungeon almost lost its horror as I tried to imagine the kinds of awful surprises that might await me in the presence of those two monsters.

“Says who?” Payton barked.

“McLean. He wants to see her in his study,” Mr. Stinky-Mouth replied.

I raised my head and got up on tiptoes to get a better look.

“McLean? Who, Fingal? I mean, the laird?” I asked.

The men didn’t seem in the habit of answering to a woman, and they stared at me in disbelief. Even Payton turned around to me, eyebrows flared.

“Of course my father. Who else do you think would be authorized to revoke Blair’s orders?”

“I don’t give a hoot who has what authorization, and why. As long as you take me away from here as quickly as possible,” I replied, wresting my arm free.

The sentries pulled out their broadswords.

“Leave it, men. I am the laird’s son, and I will deliver her personally.”

The guards gave a doubtful nod, but they obediently put away their swords and turned back. Payton waited only for a short while after their footsteps faded away before turning to me and snarling. “You stupid, stupid woman! Are you out of your mind? Don’t you know what men such as these do to prisoners who resist? They won’t ask a lot of questions before kicking your teeth in! Is that what you want? I’m sure your smile won’t be half as bewitching without those pretty teeth of yours.”

His words made me flinch. He was truly furious. I couldn’t tell whether it was because of my behavior or because he had been worried about me. My money was on the latter, though. In a pacifying gesture, I reached for his hand.

“That’s not what I wanted. But I can’t go to the dungeon. I just can’t. Please, you can’t allow it.”

“It’s not up to me,” he replied brusquely.

“Payton, please. Be honest with yourself. You kissed me, you took me with you on your horse, and you just defended me in front of those guys. You care about me, I can see that. So please, don’t allow them to lock me up in the dungeon.”

He took a step back.

“You are mistaken about the things you seem to believe. Besides, it doesn’t matter anyway. On my honor, Sam, I swore an oath to my father when I was twelve years old, to follow him and to accept his word as the law. Nobody cares about what I want when it comes to important issues. So you see, you can stop your false declarations of love, because I really can’t help you.”

And with that, he started walking, pushing me ahead of him. We went back the same way we had come and back into the castle yard. Past the blacksmith whose anvil was now deserted, and back into the castle keep. We traversed a dark hallway and made straight for a set of double doors. The standoffish expression on Payton’s face stopped me from saying anything. Because he wasn’t in the mood to hear the only thing that I could have said. No, I wasn’t wrong. He had felt
something
!

We knocked, Fingal’s voice asked us to come in, and we entered his chambers.

“Father, you sent for the prisoner?”

Fingal was leaning against the open stained-glass windows, looking down into the castle yard. Slowly, he turned around to face us.

“That’s right,
mo bailaich
. Blair wanted to make provisions, but he’s not acquainted with what I want. So before I decide what”—he nodded in my direction—“we’re going to do with you before Cathal’s arrival, I wish to find out a bit more. I find ye intriguing, lassie. Which is why I suggest we all wash the travel dust off our bodies, sit down to a nice meal in the Great Hall, and afterward you will take a look at my injury together with Nanny MacMillan.”

Fingal walked over to his desk, reached for a thick, leather-bound book, and slid it into an empty space on the bookshelf behind his desk. “Two healers are better than one. It is thanks to you that I’m on the path to recovery. Which is why I might not allow you to walk around unattended. But I will treat you as a—shall we say—
special guest
. You will take care of my injury, and in return I will allow you to move around freely.”

He studied my face. “Do you accept?”

I could barely believe what he had proposed. Quickly, so as to not give him enough time to reconsider, I nodded.

“Yes, sure, I—”

“Very well,” he said, and walked around the desk toward us. “Payton, leave us alone for a moment, if you would.”

With that, he shooed his son from the study and closed the door behind him before turning his full attention to me.

“What—?”

“Silence! I have just made it very clear that everyone here is to treat you like a guest in my home. This means much more than merely my protection. In return you will swear an oath to me, because I do not want a traitor living under my roof.”

He planted himself in front of me, as tall as his sons and towering above me. I only reached up to his chin, and so I was forced to tilt my head back so I could look him in the eye. He grabbed my hand.

“Will you swear this oath to me?”

I swallowed hard. An oath? What exactly was that, an oath? Like a promise? A contract? Whatever it was, I was ready to swear it just so I wouldn’t have to turn on my heel and return to the dungeon.

“What kind of an oath?” I croaked, because it’s all fun and games until you have to
sell your soul
.

“You swear by your blood to not raise a weapon against me and mine. You swear to not betray me and mine, and to not bring malice onto my house. You swear on your life to follow my orders for as long as this agreement shall be in effect,” he demanded. And it felt like he could see all the way to the bottom of my soul.

I was afraid he would see how little importance I attached to this oath and how quickly I might be ready to break such a vow and defy his orders just so I could get back to my own century. I closed my eyes to keep my deep, dark secrets to myself, and licked my lips so the lie would pass with greater ease.

“I swear,” I whispered, only to cringe half a moment later. I pulled back my arm and stared at the blood collecting in the palm of my hand. A straight cut ran from there to my wrist.

In horror I stared at the dagger in Fingal’s hand. He dipped the blood-smeared tip into a goblet of wine. He pulled the knife out clean and stuck it back in his belt. Then he took a sip from the goblet.

“To blood, sweet and red as this wine.
Slàinte mhath
.”

He handed the goblet to me with a white linen cloth that reminded me of the napkin in Alison’s kitchen. Carefully, he draped the cloth over the throbbing slash on my hand. Tiny, delicate flowers were embroidered on the napkin’s edges. And just like at the Learys’ home, I couldn’t stop myself from running my finger over the embroidery. My finger followed the most conspicuous thread. It was a bold and vibrant red and the highlight of the entire image, outshining the prettiest of all the flowers with its intense radiance. I blinked and gasped when I spotted it: a faulty stitch. I almost dropped the cloth.

Fingal looked at me expectantly. Quickly, I closed my fist around the linen cloth, reached for the silver goblet with a trembling hand, and raised it to my lips.

A short while later, I came to on the way to my newly assigned bedchamber. Payton was talking, but I wasn’t really listening. Why wouldn’t that metallic taste of blood in my mouth go away? It was as if I were holding a penny under my tongue with its coppery taste overpowering all other senses. My hand burned, even though the cut had stopped bleeding by now.