Sapphire Dream (18 page)

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Authors: Pamela Montgomerie

BOOK: Sapphire Dream
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The sun was low in the evening sky the next day when Rourke spotted a familiar sight ahead, sending dread snaking through his belly. High atop a steep rise, a fairy ring overlooked the burn he and Brenna had been following most of the day. Two stones stood upright amongst their fallen companions, silhouetted against the orange sunset.
A chill ran down his spine. He knew this place. He’d been here once before, as a lad. The night his parents died. Memories rushed over him, bitter and painful. It was only the beginning. For the sight meant they were not far from Monymusk . . . and Picktillum Castle. A half-morning’s ride at most.
The thought wound around his chest until he thought he would suffocate. It was all he could do not to turn his horse and ride back to the sea as fast as the animal would take him. He would sign aboard another ship. With his reputation, he’d soon be captaining
someone’s
ship even if not his own.
But even as dread and thoughts of flight filled his mind, his gaze turned to Brenna. How could he leave her to them?
Nay, he could not. He’d take her with him. They’d sail the seas together, her fighting off the crews with her clever hands while he struck down the rest with his sword.
He grimaced.
Mayhap not the best of plans
.
His gaze returned to the fairy stones as a hard shudder went through him. Until he found Hegarty, he could go nowhere but forward. Hegarty must send her back . . . to her time. She would never be safe here. And he wanted that for her. To be safe. Happy.
“A stone circle,” Brenna breathed. She turned to him, pleasure lighting her eyes. “I’ve always wanted to see one.”
“Ye’ve heard of them?”
“I’ve seen photos.”
“Photos?” The word sounded strange on his tongue.
She gave a small grimace. “Paintings . . . sort of.”
But he knew she was speaking of something from the future he wouldn’t understand.
The future.
Three hundred years. He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time, as he had on and off all day. She was the same woman he’d dived into the sea after. But though his mind reminded him, his skin rose with chill bumps.
He shouldn’t be surprised, not when Hegarty was involved. Nothing the wee scamp did should have the power to startle him anymore.
Even so.
Three hundred years in the future.
“Can we go up there and walk through it?”
At Brenna’s question, his gaze caught sight of the smile that danced at the edges of her mouth. Warmth spread through his chest, chasing away the chill, reminding him she was still his bonnie companion.
A companion who would not be with him much longer if he had his way.
If
Hegarty agreed to send her back to her own time.
The thought caused a hollowness in his heart that surprised him. He gazed at her as she awaited his reply, taking in the smudge of coal dust on her cheek that she’d missed when she rinsed her face, and the small, angry red welt that cupped her jaw. Her eyes glowed with strength and life, her ripe mouth tilted in that smallest of smiles. A smile he suddenly longed to see bloom.
“Would ye like to make camp by the stones for the night? We’ll ride into Monymusk on the morrow.”
The smile that broke over Brenna’s face exceeded his fiercest wishes, stealing the breath from his body. Her green eyes sparkled, her lush mouth curving to reveal white, perfect teeth.
The need to pull her into his arms and cover that mouth with his own knocked him back even as her smile drew him in, pulling him like the strongest of whirlpools. A whirlpool he would gladly sacrifice himself to.
With a start, he realized he was smiling himself.
“I swear, I am
so
ready to get off this horse,” Brenna said. “I’m never going to walk straight again.”
A chuckle escaped his throat, sounding odd to his ears.
“Are we going to try to ride up there?” She eyed the steep incline.
“The horses need watering, as do we. We’ll dismount below.”
They rode the short distance to the hill, then dismounted and walked the horses to the water’s edge. Brenna’s first steps were indeed stiff and ungainly, but as he watched, her graceful movements slowly returned.
The need to touch her again, to taste the beauty of her smile, was becoming a physical ache. He thirsted for her like a man too long without water, but she wasn’t open to his advances. She’d made that painfully clear.
Running his hand over his mouth, he scanned the horizon in every direction. A distant croft. Open moors and rolling heath. There had been no sign of Cutter or the earl’s men since they’d left the burning town. He might have taken heart that they’d truly lost them, except for one thing. Hegarty’s missive had been opened when Rourke received it, the seal broken. Someone had read it before he did, and he didn’t think it was Mr. Baker. He feared it was Cutter. Which meant Cutter likely knew they were on their way to Monymusk and might well be waiting for them there.
As he pulled some soft grass with which to rub down the horses, his gaze returned to Brenna. He watched as she dipped her hands in the water, lifting them to cool her face. Suddenly he remembered the gift he’d purchased for her earlier. They’d stopped midday at a small croft and bought a round of cheese, some salt beef, and a pair of hard-cooked eggs for their meals. Then he’d taken the crofter aside and made a small additional purchase he’d not shown Brenna.
With sweet anticipation, he fetched it from the plaid.
“Wildcat. You might be wanting this, lass.” When she glanced at him, he tossed the small ball to her.
She caught it with ease, her expression curious. Suddenly her eyes widened and she gasped with delight. “Soap!” She gifted him with a smile of such pleasure he felt his heart contract under the pressure.
“Did you find this?” she asked.
“I purchased it. I thought it might please you.”
“You thought right.” She grinned. “I think I love you, Pirate.” Then she whirled toward the water and dipped her hands in.
He watched her, unable to move.
I think I love you, Pirate.
The words meant naught and were merely an expression of deep gratitude. He didn’t
want
them to mean anything.
Yet the simple words warmed him as little ever had.
With an oath, he turned back to the horses, damning himself for a fool for letting a woman disturb his mind so. With every smile, every word, every courageous act, he felt as if he were being spun around until he could no longer tell up from down.
He had to find Hegarty, and soon, or he’d find his determination to be rid of her wavering. He’d wake one morning to find himself embroiled in the prophecy, leading an ill-fated charge against the earl’s entire army.
Nay, he would not be so foolish.
Not even for a green-eyed sea nymph.
 
 
The man was an enigma.
Brenna sat on one of the fallen rocks in the stone circle, chewing the last bites of her dinner while Rourke whittled his piece of wood a few yards away. The stones were huge and ancient, though she had to use her imagination to call it a circle. Time and weather had knocked all but two to the ground, reducing what had once been a circle to little more than a pile of pick up sticks.
Rourke’s knife strokes were smooth and even. The resulting sound calmed the tension that had ridden her ever since she’d told him where she was really from. She’d fallen asleep before he returned last night and had not woken again until morning.
He’d said no more about her origins and was acting as if nothing had happened. As if he was determined to ignore the truth. But he was brooding. He’d spoken little the entire day, and that only when necessary.
And yet, he’d bought her soap. Just when she thought she was figuring him out, she realized she didn’t really understand him at all. All she knew was she wanted him to accept her. To not be spooked by her. His gift of the soap seemed to indicate he wasn’t. Not too spooked, anyway.
She rose and walked over to the rock where he carved and sat down beside him to watch. All day, she’d kept her distance, wanting to give him time to come to terms with her. Now that she thought maybe he had, she longed to breech the gap, if only a little.
As his strong, capable hands formed a small crude head a vague memory teased her mind. “I used to know someone who whittled. I vaguely remember watching him make little animals, kind of like your birds.” She watched his clever movements form wings and a tail. “Will it fly?”
He met her gaze, his expression sardonic. “’Tis no’ real, Wildcat.”
Brenna gave him a wry smile. “So I noticed. But it doesn’t have to be alive to fly. If it’s made to catch the air, it’ll soar when you throw it.”
He gave her a look that was a mixture of disbelief and keen interest. “Things fly in your time.”
It was a statement, not a question. She searched his expression for signs that he was disconcerted by her comment—or by her—but saw nothing to warn her to keep silent and move away. So she did neither.
“Yes, things fly. But they have engines. Power to make them soar. Sometimes, though, small objects will sail on the air if they’re made right. I used to make paper airplanes when I was in school. I have no idea if a small wooden bird could be made to soar.”
His pale eyes sparkled with intellect and excitement. “Shall we find out?”
Brenna laughed, as much with relief that he really seemed to be accepting her as by the pleasure in his eyes. “Why not?”
A huge weight lifted from her shoulders. Finally, she could talk with him freely about the things she knew and had done. Though maybe she’d wait awhile before she told him about space travel. Or MTV.
She looked at the small bird nestled in the palm of his hand.
“Flatten the bottoms of the wings, but keep the tops rounded.” She met his gaze. “I don’t know a lot about flight, but I do know that much.” She’d taken so much for granted. Airplanes flew because . . . they just did. Who cared about the details so long as your flight arrived on time,
with
your luggage?
He scraped the underside of the wings flat, then handed the carving to her. “Show me what to do.”
The little bird was small and light, but solid. Would it fly without a propeller or rubber band? Or a turboprop jet engine? She knew paper airplanes, how to make them, how to launch them. Wooden birds were virgin territory.
One way to find out.
She held the bird as if she were launching a paper airplane, intensely aware of Rourke’s eyes upon her.
“Here goes nothing.” She gave the crude little bird a good throw and watched as it arced up, rolled, and dove toward the earth in an unfortunate imitation of a rock landing on the hard ground with a snap.
“Oh no.” She hurried over to find the little bird lying at an angle, its wing broken, held together by only a weaving of wood splinters.
Rourke came up beside her.
“I guess it was too heavy to fly after all.” She reached for the broken little bird.
“Leave it.”
“But—”
“
Leave it.
”
Brenna cringed at the coldness of his tone. She glanced at him in disbelief, but he was already turning away.
“Pirate . . .
Rourke
. I’m sorry.”
He ignored her and started down the hill toward the stream, his back stiff with anger.
Brenna stared after him, totally confused. It wasn’t like she’d
meant
to break his toy. Surely he knew that.
She watched from the stone circle as he came to a stop by the water’s edge, his arms across his chest. A conqueror surveying his land. But this conqueror’s shoulders were a little too tense, his head a little too low.
As if he’d lost his prized possession and not simply one of a hundred birds he’d carved.
Except he’d lost those birds.
All
of them. Along with his entire ship. His gold. All his possessions.

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