Page 7 of Darach

Charlotte didn’t touch him as she walked with him along the trail from the spring toward the stronghold. Instead she tucked her arms around her middle and kept staring at everything they passed. She stopped only when she saw the first curtain wall, and then stared at the four towers.

“Is that… That’s a castle,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Aye. The stronghold belongs to my clan, the MacRoss.” Not for the first time he wished he could lie. “’Tis called Dun Lasair.”

“This isn’t Glendon. There’s nothing like this in Toronto.” She gave him a wild-eyed look. “You tell me where I am, right now.”

It broke his heart to hear the terror in her voice again. “You’ve come to Scotland, lass.”

“No. No.” She shuffled back, caught her heel on a root and abruptly collapsed on the ground. Covering her face with trembling hands, she hunched over and uttered a low wail.

“Charlotte.” He hurried over to her.

“I can’t do this. I can’t.” She shook her head as he crouched down beside her. “I can’t go crazy now on top of everything else.”

“You’re sane.” Darach put one hand on her back to steady her. “My lady, look at me. I swear to you, all you see, ’tis real. I’m real.”

“I saw how I would die. Maybe I did.” She clutched his arm, tears streaming down her face. “You’d tell me if I’m dead, wouldn’t you? If this is what’s after life? If he chopped me up in that alley like Zoey?”

Darach didn’t know who or what Zoey was, but the tremors now racking her had grown so violent they made her teeth chatter. “You yet live, lass, I swear to you. You escaped him. You’re safe now. He cannae come after you.”

She gripped his shoulder, and tucked her face against his neck. “Please, could you hold me for just a minute?”

Few women ever cared to come this close to Darach, much less cuddle against him as Charlotte did. Carefully he put his arms around her and rubbed her back with his hands, hoping that taking such a liberty would give her some comfort. He pressed his cheek atop her head, silently marveling at how good it was to hold her as if she belonged to him.

At last she sighed, and her breath whispered against his skin like a caress. “I’m sorry, Mister MacRoss.”

“’Tis Darach,” he murmured against her pale hair. “And you neednae beg my pardon.”

She lifted her head. “Darach, I don’t think I can walk anymore.”

“If I may carry you, then?” When she nodded he tucked an arm under her knees and lifted her, settling her against his chest before he walked quickly to the back gates.

The guards on duty stared at him as if their eyes might pop out of their heads before they raised the portcullis.

“Summon the laird to my chamber at once,” Darach told them before he strode across the walkway to the second wall’s arch, and then across the lists and into the garrison hall, where the first of the night patrols stood arming themselves, and gaped at the sight of Charlotte in his arms.

“You found the Fire sword, Chieftain?” Mathe, his lead patroller, asked as he lumbered over to him, glancing to where it was hung from his belt. Although it was near summer he wore a heavy fur cloak against the cold night wind. “Och, who should hurt such a beauty? ’Twas a Carack?”

“No, lad. She brought back the sword to us. Take a patrol to my bathing spring, and look for anything amiss.” Darach went around him and started up the stairs.

Charlotte looked up at him, her pale lashes fluttering for a moment. “You’re a chieftain?”

“Aye, ’tis my rank.” He wondered if she knew anything about Scotland or his time. “I’m second to the laird.”

“Oh.” She glanced over his shoulder. “That man looked like a bear.”

“Mathe cannae tolerate cold, so he dons furs atop his tartan.” He realized she must be taking in everything she saw, and yet didn’t seem afraid. “Forgive me. ’Tis much you dinnae ken.”

“That’s an understatement.” She rested her cheek against his shoulder and closed her eyes. “I’m so tired.”

Inside his chamber he carried her to the hearth, placing her on her feet before adding wood to the flames. Her garments, which resembled what Emery Parker had worn when she had come to the clan, still dripped water onto the floor. He reached for her coat first, easing her arms out of it before kneeling to remove her shoes. Carrying the coat to the rack where he hung his own clothes when wet, he draped it and placed her shoes close to the coals where they would dry without burning. When he turned around he saw Charlotte pulling her sodden sweater over her head.

Darach immediately looked away. “I shall find something dry for you to wear, my lady.”

“I’d appreciate that, thank you.” She began to unfasten the light blue trews she wore.

Fetching his softest tunic from his trunk, a linen to dry herself, and a warm blanket to wrap around her, Darach came back to the hearth. By then all she still wore was a near-transparent shift that had been cut off at her waist, a band beneath it over her breasts, and a tiny pair of drawers that barely covered her sex. Even her startling height hadn’t prepared him for the shock of seeing such long, elegant limbs and full curves; the very shape of her made his mouth go dry.