Just Wait For Me (Highland Gardens Book 3) (7 page)

’Twas best the children traveled with them. Stephen didn’t
ken how he’d keep his hands off Jillian during the journey otherwise. He wanted
her in a way he’d never wanted another woman. If it wasn’t for Calyn, he’d beg
Jillian to stay in this time with him or he’d force the faerie knoll to take
them both to her future place.

The three lads faded into the wood while he and Jillian
loaded the horses, the
bairns’
ability to disappear without sound
unnerving. The other two children were bursting with excitement, eager for an
adventure.

Stephen placed his hands on Jillian’s waist and lifted her
onto the roan horse. Duff found a tree stump and mounted his horse.

“Keita, do you want to ride with me or Jillian?”

The wee lass stuck her thumb in her mouth.

“How about you start out with Jillian and when she grows
tired you can ride with me?”

Keita nodded, and he lifted and placed her in front of
Jillian.

He was about to mount his horse when an unsettling sensation
came over him, as if he’d forgotten something important. “I will return
shortly. Must retrieve something from the caves.”

Carefully traversing the cliff ledge, hopeful his leg
wouldn’t give out, he wondered what he could have forgotten that made the back
of his neck itch. He strode through the outer cavern, through the tunnels, to
the kitchen. One of the Gray Women, the one with timeless emerald eyes, sat at
the table.

“Good morrow, good sister,” he greeted.

She inclined her head, and he glanced around, searching for
whatever drew him back to the caves.

“These are what you seek.” She pointed to two leather
sheaths on the table from which she removed two short, ornate knives etched
with flowers. Each handle decorated with small emeralds matching the one in his
claymore.

“I dinnae understand.” He picked one up, measuring its heft
and balance. “’Tis too light for my hand, too beautiful, but I thank you just
the same.”

“Foolish lad. They are for your lady-love.”

He stiffened. “Calyn does not deserve such a generous gift.
Nor can I afford such.”

“These are not for Calyn but Jillian. And they are a gift
from me and my sisters.”

The air whished from Stephen’s lungs, and he staggered back
a step. What did this woman ken? Was she a seer?

“Dinnae look so startled. You ken you have fallen in love
with the lass.”

“But I am handfasted to Calyn.”

“Though your future is not yet set in stone, ’tis unlikely
you will share it with that unfaithful wench.”

“But—”

“The tips are dusted with fae magic. See Jillian learns to
use them.”

Moisture blurred his eyes, making him blink. When his vision
cleared, the woman had gone, leaving behind the exquisite knives.

Taking one of the B&B’s horses for meandering trail
rides in the forest behind the
Whispering Pines Inn
in Anderson Creek
was nothing like riding cross-country in the wilds of Scotland 1513. Jillian
shifted her weight in the saddle, trying not to wake Keita, who snuggled on her
lap. Because of the children, Stephen’s healing leg, and her inexperience, they
halted every couple of hours to rest, eat a snack, and take care of personal
needs. With the days getting shorter, Stephen had said they would stop early
afternoon since they had much to do before nightfall. When they finally halted
for the day, Jillian had sore muscles she’d never known existed.

Stephen limped over. Even he suffered from the arduous
activity. He collected the sleeping Keita. “You must be tired, too. I will come
back and help you dismount once I have settled her on the bedroll.”

“No need. I can get myself down.” Or so she thought until
her jelly legs gave out and she crumbled to the ground in an aching mess. She
hauled herself up while Duff slid from his horse, also wobbling when he hit the
dirt.

“I am hungry,” the boy whined.

Jillian’s stomach growled in commiseration, but several
tasks needed accomplishing first. “After we set camp.”

The lad groaned, but he and Keita helped with the chores.
After packs were unloaded and horses cared for, Stephen made a small fire, and
Duff heated oatcakes. Jillian hadn’t thought she’d ever wish for pre-packaged
backpacking meals, but she did now.

After the sparse meal was finished and the extra food and
cooking gear stowed, Stephen dropped onto the blanket beside her. “I have a
gift for you from the Gray Women.”

“For me? Really?” Her eyes widened. “I can’t imagine why
they’d give me a present.”

His impassive expression made her feel jittery. Her fingers
trembled. He placed a tied roll of deerskin between them then released the knot
and spread the leather flat to display two sheaths containing ornate handled
knives.

She locked gazes with Stephen. “What are these for?”

“Protection.”

“I don’t know how to use them. Even if I did, I don’t think
I could.”

Stephen unsheathed one of the knives and held it out to her.
“Take it.”

“Don’t want to.” She shook her head, lips pressed tight into
a frown.

“Take it,” he repeated, his tone firm. She hesitated, but
finally gripped the handle. “Be careful of the sharp tip. ’Tis coated with
faerie dust.”

She rolled her eyes. She couldn’t help it. Even though she’d
started to believe in magic, faerie dust seemed over the top. “Now what?” she
asked. “I feel squeamish just holding a weapon.”

He ignored the complaint and stood. Grasping her left hand,
he hauled her up beside him. “I stuffed moss into a cloth and hung it on that
tree trunk to use as a practice target. Since you accepted the blade with your
right hand that must be your dominant side. I will train you to throw from the
right.”

“I can’t do this.”

“You can. We need you to ken how to handle the knives. If
something happens to me, if I am injured or killed, you will need to protect
yourself and the children.”

“I’m not sure.” Now was a fine time to wish she’d gone to
martial arts classes with her brother years ago.

Stephen grasped her arm with a firm grip. “I have faith in
you. You can learn to throw.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.” Stephen’s encouraging smile did funny things to her
insides. He believed in her. She could see the confidence in his gorgeous blue
eyes. He made her want to believe, too. It was a new experience having a man
show faith in her. She hoped she wouldn’t disappoint.

He grasped the second knife. “They have good balance.”

Keita and Duff sat on a nearby log to watch. Jillian tilted
the knife in her hand from side to side as Stephen had done, unsure what she
was supposed to feel. The blade was beautiful, etched with flowers, and from
the handle glinted several small emeralds. The knives should be displayed as
works of art, not used as weapons.

“Since the handle is heavier than the blade, you will need
to throw from the blade. Grasp it like this.” Stephen demonstrated.

She attempted to hold the knife as directed.

“Not exactly. Here, let me help.” He dropped the knife he
held onto the blanket then stepped in close from behind, placing a hand on her
left hip. He leaned in tight, hard chest pressed against her back. He smelled
good—of fresh air and woodland. She felt the definition of each of his muscles
and had to suppress a sigh. He grasped her right wrist, and her pulse spiked.
“Loosen your grip, lass. Aye, like that.”

Easy for him to say. His breath whished over her ear,
causing delicious shivers to spread. Her breasts felt heavy, nipples beaded.
She wanted to forget the knife and spin around and kiss him. But the children
were watching. And she wasn’t sure Stephen wanted her advances. He’d kept a
metaphorical distance between them for the past few days. Until now.

“Plant your right foot like so…” He released her hand and
gripped her thigh. Ripples of sensation tingled up her leg, making her sex
clench. Making her needy. Making her want to reach back and take Stephen into
her hand. He seemed unaffected. “Point your toes toward the target. Good. You
will throw the knife, following through with your back foot to provide more
power.”

She released the knife. The effort fell short of its mark.
Stephen stepped away, taking his warmth with him, yet leaving her hot and
bothered.

“Let me demonstrate.” He grabbed the knife from the blanket,
stressed each step as he went through the motions, and threw. The knife sailed
through the air in a blur. The blade imbedded in the target with a twang.

The children clapped.

“Easy for you,” Jillian groused.

“You can master knife throwing, too.” He retrieved the
blades and handed her one. “Now, move through the steps with me.”

“Okay.” Though she’d rather have him up close and personal
again.

“The trick is to get the knife to tumble, blade over handle,
so it doesn’t bounce off the target but enters soft flesh.”

“I don’t think I can throw a knife at a real person.”

“What if one of the
bairns
is threatened?”

Jillian glanced at the children and frowned. Brow furrowed
tight. He knew her weakness. She would do anything required to protect the kids
or protect Stephen. “Okay, I’ll try.”

“That is a good lass.”

He moved her closer to the target. She threw again. She kept
at it until her arm ached with the repetitive motion, but not once did she hit
the mark. One more throw. If she missed the target, she was giving up. She
repeated the steps and threw. The weapon fell way short of the target again.

“Grrr. Told you I couldn’t do this.”

Stephen chuckled. “Have faith. We will practice each afternoon
after we make camp and finish our eve’n meal.”

“If you think we must.”

“I do.” He kissed the tip of her nose.

Stephen didn’t ken why he’d planted the impulsive kiss on
Jillian. Her bemused smile tore at his resolve to keep her at a distance. Being
close to her and inhaling her feminine scent while instructing her near made
him forget the need to temper his desire. ’Twas proving difficult to stay
detached from the lass.

Jillian dropped onto the log next to the
bairns
.
Moisture pricked the back of Stephen’s eyes. These three were becoming
important to him. He wished he could keep them.

“Darkness is upon us.” His voice sounded gruff so he cleared
his throat. “Duff and I will alternate keeping watch.”

The lad perked up at the announcement, eager to help.

“I can take a turn,” Jillian offered, but exhaustion
surrounded her eyes.

“Nae need.”

“You require sleep more than I do since you are still
healing from your wounds.”

“Mayhap another night. For now, Duff and I will see the task
done. Come, lad, let us walk the perimeter of camp to ensure all is secure and
plan our defense.”

They checked on the horses then found a raised spot from
which they could observe anyone approaching the small campsite.

“Can I take the first watch?” Duff pleaded.

“Aye. I will stay with you. Wake me when you grow tired.”
Stephen hunkered down on a scattering of pine needles, huddling into his
plaide
for warmth. Duff did the same, but kept a sharp eye. Stephen gave the lad his
trust and slept. Duff shook him awake near dawn.

Stephen cracked his neck with a twist. “You should have
awakened me sooner. You will be too tired to ride.”

The lad shrugged then yawned.

“Go. Join Jillian and Keita. Get some sleep.” Stephen sent
the lad off. When the sun rose over the horizon, he tended the horses and
rekindled the fire.

The previous night, Jillian had found a leaf-strewn spot
close to the fire to cushion the large bedroll. She and the children were
cuddled under several
plaides
and her strange future cloth. He scratched
the itch at the back of his neck and pursed his lips. Though the silver cloth
provided extra warmth ’twould be best to destroy the thing before a zealous
stranger saw it and mistook it as the work of Satan.

Stephen sighed. He’d need to speak to Jillian when she woke
and convince her of such. She wouldn’t be happy to give up another possession.

* * *

How dare Prince Dugaid interfere? With fae horses, Jillian
and Stephen would travel the far distance to Castle Lachlan and the
Sithichean
Sluaigh
in half the normal time.

Caitrina wanted them to spend more time together not less.
They needed a chance to fall in love.

Caitrina shed the glamour of a Gray Woman, smooth skin
replacing that of the wrinkled hag. Thick auburn hair replaced stringy gray.
Drab garments disappeared, and she ran a sensitive touch over the much
preferred, gauzy, green silk dress that molded to her tall, slender frame. She
retrieved a gold brooch intricately crafted with thistle designs and amethyst
gemstones from a hidden pocket and secured it at the shoulder of the green and
purple tartan sash, interwoven with shimmering golden threads, draping the
gown.

She fisted her hands, allowing free rein to her anger,
almost missing the subtle change of vibration tainting the air. Evil skulked
nearby. Not the darkest evil of hell yet evil just the same. Fading into
invisibility, she traversed chambers and passages to the land-side mouth of the
caves opening high on the hill. She caught the scent and followed the foul
smell.

Dammit! Maclay stalked the three lost
bairns
—Blaney,
Mack, and Cam. What would he want with the lads?

Malcolm Maclay hesitated behind a broad oak. The three
misshapen lads scurried through the wood, making nary a sound. Yet Malcolm was
known as a gifted tracker and able to move as silently. He easily followed
their serpentine wanderings.

Caitrina hovered behind him. Should she intervene? She’d
need be careful and not interfere with freewill.

“Damn eerie place,” he muttered and rubbed the back of his
neck, darting a glance over a shoulder. “Have the lost
bairns
stolen a
bauble from the Gray Women? Mayhap, I can snatch the trinket to use in trade.”

The man was in desperate need of resources. Of that she was
sure.

Malcolm stalked to the next large tree. She stayed with him.
Protection magic hummed over her skin.
Oonagh
. The
bairns
must
have hidden something of import for the Queen of the Fae to conceal it within
spell magic.
Jillian’s things?

Why would the queen protect Jillian’s things?

The rustle of brush brought her attention back to the
bairns
.
First one lad, then the second, lunged into a tight thicket of bushes and small
trees. The third—the pudgy
bairn
with the deformed right hand—used his
left to drag a fir bough over their tracks. Then he, too, disappeared from
sight.

“There it is!” Malcolm snickered. “The changelings
hidey-hole.”

He glanced at the branches above. ’Twould be the perfect
place from which to wait for the
bairns
to head off again. Although the
tree leaves had long ago fallen, chances were slim the lads would notice
Malcolm high up in the branches. He climbed the tree and secured a spot at the
crook of a fat limb, enfolded his upper body within the excess drape of his
plaide
for warmth against the chill breeze, and watched.

She would wait, too. Caitrina settled on another branch.