“Treason,” she whispered. “They name ye a Jacobite trying to renew the Cause.” More of the article came to mind. “Ye must deny all associations with the Bishop of Rochester, the Earl of Sunderland, and, most importantly, Christopher Layer. Sunderland died in April, but the others I mentioned and even more will soon be arrested.” She prayed he not only believed her, but also wouldn’t throw her and Robbie into the dungeon for such outlandish tales. “Some will be exiled. Others will share yer fate.”
Teague didn’t speak, just stared off into space, dumbstruck by her prophecy.
After easing free of his hold, she backed off the bed, aching for him to say something. Anything. She needed to know where she stood. She regretted burning her clothes. Maybe she could’ve somehow disguised herself to be a man.
Her throat ached with the need to sob. Clothes were the least of her regrets right now. She didn’t want to leave. Teague would be so hard to forget.
“I am not a witch,” she said, deciding to put it out there. “And neither is Robbie. So I beg ye not to think ill of him.”
“What?” He pivoted his trancelike stare to her.
“Dinna hurt Robbie, and I am not a witch. Neither of us is.”
Her charming seducer of moments ago had disappeared. Teague rose from the bed without taking his narrow-eyed stare from her. “I would never hurt Robbie.” His detached tone made her worry that his words were a lie.
Without a doubt, once again, she had made the wrong choice. Her first thoughtless act, the decision to join him in his bed, suddenly didn’t seem so bad.
She backed away a few more steps, clutching the neckline of her shift. “Thank ye for yer kindness to him. I will trust ye to keep yer word.”
He finally blinked and looked at her as though seeing her for the first time. “I willna hurt ye either, Mila. Ye should know that by now.” He took another step toward her, turmoil churning in his dark eyes. “Can the things ye see be altered?”
“I dinna ken,” she answered softly. “I hope so.”
A cold scowl hardened his features. He slowly bowed his head. “Aye,” he rasped, with an absent-minded nod. “I hope so as well.” With a long, hurried stride, he left the room without another word.
Grissa entered, carrying the breakfast tray and walking sideways as she watched him go. “Mistress?”
Mila sank into a nearby chair and dropped her head into her hands. Teague had said she and Robbie were safe, but had the distraught man even known what he was saying? He was obviously in shock. Whether because he didn’t believe her or maybe because he did, it was hard to say.
The maid set the food on a large, round table beside the far window, then pulled a chair over to it. “Come eat, mistress. Ye dinna look well at all.”
Mila ignored the girl. Instead, she rose and moved to the nearest window overlooking some sort of garden. “Where is Robbie? Do ye know?” She had to warn him about what she had done.
Grissa came to her and gently guided her back to the table. “I dinna ken where the lad has gone to, but I will go and find him. Come now. Ye must eat. I fear ye will fall ill.”
“I need to talk to him. As quick as possible.” She stared at the elaborate spread of parritch, toasty brown bannocks, crocks of butter and honey, and small dishes of jams. Even a platter of meats and cheeses. “I canna eat until I speak with Robbie.”
The concerned maid sidled toward the door while casting worried glances her way. Poor Grissa was obviously torn between leaving and staying. “Ye stay right there and enjoy yer tea whilst I fetch him myself. Ye can manage a few sips, aye? See the honey there? It’s right tasty in the tea. Try it.”
Mila picked up the delicate porcelain bowl of the steaming beverage and cupped it between her hands. That seemed to appease Grissa enough to make her leave. As soon as the girl closed the door, Mila set the cup back on the table and sagged back in the chair. What would become of Robbie and her? All because she had played the odds and lost.
Perhaps she should pack some things while she waited for Robbie. She chewed the corner of her lip, replaying Teague’s reaction and studying it closer. He had said they both were safe, but his tone lacked conviction. Could be he was still in shock. Or could be because he was just saying it to throw her off guard until he decided on what to do with them.
That decided it. She hurried to the bed, stripped off the linens, and spread them on the floor beside the table.
During her frantic piling of items into the middle of the sheets, Robbie burst through the door. “What’s wrong? Grissa said to get up here fast as I could.”
“I told him.” She glanced around the room, wishing she had something to store water in. If only they hadn’t been forced to abandon their backpacks. Their thermoses and water bottles would have come in handy.
“Told him what?”
“When and how he dies.” She wrapped the bannocks in a kerchief and packed them.
“Ye didwhat?” He grabbed hold of her arm. “Mi! Be still and talk!”
She eyed the fifteen-year-old then dropped her head in shame. He was old enough to hear it all. “After several glasses of port, I went to Teague’s room. We shared quite a bit of whisky and then…more.”
“What exactly do ye mean bymore?”
