He gave a quick shake of his head. “Hold your tongue, woman. I’ll not listen to your feeble protestations of weakness, for I’ve had a taste of your strength. Know this. Whatever fate the lad suffers, so shall you. If he lives, I give you my word, I will return you to your people unharmed. If he dies, you will never see your home again, for you will join him in death. You’d be wise to heed this warning. My justice will be swift and sure.”
Allegra shivered as the wind whipped her hair and stung her eyes. She could feel the darkness closing around her, chilling her blood. Could almost taste the bitterness that lay like a festering wound around this man’s heart.
She was in the clutches of a madman. And she feared that regardless of the fate of this man’s son, she was already doomed.
Merrick looked down at the woman in his arms. Now that sleep had finally claimed her, he was free to study her without her knowledge.
The bruise that had marred her temple was already fading, though just hours ago she’d had a lump the size of a hen’s egg.
She didn’t look like a witch. In fact, if he didn’t know about her, he would think her a high-born woman. She was a rare beauty, with that unblemished skin lightly bronzed by sunlight, and hair the color of flame. When first he’d seen her working in her garden, her hair had been neatly plaited in a fat braid that fell below her waist. Now her encounter with the stormy loch had tossed her hair into wild disarray. It spilled around her like a veil, skimming the backs of his hands like wisps of finest silk.
Her gown was still damp, clinging to her body like a second skin. It was woven of exotic cloth that seemed more suitable for royalty. His gaze was drawn to the opening at her neckline, and the darkened cleft between high, firm breasts. The rush of heat to his loins caught him by surprise. Since Catherine, no woman had caused him even the slightest interest. But then, he told himself, this wasn’t a woman. She was a witch. It was only natural that she would try to ensnare him in one of her spells.
His fingers tightened on the reins and he nudged his horse into a run. Let the witch sleep if she chose. As for him, he was driven by but one desire. To get her to his fortress as quickly as possible.
As the horse’s hooves beat a steady tattoo along the rock-strewn forest trail, he whispered one thought like a litany.
Please. Let me be in time to save Hamish.
The loss of Catherine had been painful enough. Without his son, he would prefer death to the life of unending pain he knew would be his.
Allegra awoke to the sound of shouting. She glanced around in confusion, trying to make sense of the many strange sights. The Highland meadow looked much like the one in her Mystical Kingdom. Fields of heather waving in the breeze. To one side a waterfall spilling down hundreds of feet into a rushing stream. In the distance, tidy little cottages, and in the fields, flocks of sheep grazing on hillsides. But here were so many people. Men on horseback, others driving teams pulling wagons filled with hay and grain. Women staring down from upper windows, or glancing up from their chores as they wielded buckets and brooms, often with chubby infants at their hips. Children chasing each other around in fields, many of them pausing to stare at the man and woman as they passed.
“What is this place?”
“The village is called Berkshire. My home is Berkshire Castle.” He pointed, and Allegra could see the turrets in the distance.
“A castle. Are you a lord?”
“I am.” He spoke the words abruptly, as though they were distasteful to him. “Lord Merrick MacAndrew.”
As they made their way through the village Allegra could see the people watching. But though they seemed respectful enough, they held their silence. No one called or waved. There were no greetings exchanged between the lord and his people.
Was their silence due to the fact that they shared his fear for the life of his son? Or was there more going on here?
She sensed one emotion stronger than the others among these strangers. Fear. Of her? Or of their lord?
Puzzled, Allegra sat up straighter as they approached the place Merrick MacAndrew called home. Berkshire Castle was a natural fortification, built high on a hilly piece of land, making a secret approach impossible. With its back to the mountain, there was but a single way to enter the portals.
As they drew closer, Allegra thought it an imposing structure, with its high towers and guards posted at the gates. Once they were inside the courtyard, a pack of dogs set up a ferocious barking. As Merrick stepped down from his steed they circled his feet, tails wagging, tongues lolling. He reached up and lifted Allegra from the back of the horse. Seeing the way she shrank from them, he issued a sharp command and they fell silent.
Gingerly she reached down to touch the ruff of a dog’s neck, but quickly stepped back when it bared its fangs and snarled.
Even the dogs, it seemed, were ill-tempered here in this place.
“M’lord.” The door opened and the housekeeper stepped out. “Praise heaven, you’re alive. The rumors have been…” She stopped, then tried again. “I see you’ve brought…” She stared at Allegra as if seeing a ghost.
“I’ve brought the healer.” To Allegra he said, “Mistress MacDonald is housekeeper here at Berkshire Castle.”
Under other circumstances, the sight of the old woman would have brought a smile to Allegra’s lips, for she was no bigger than a child. The hem of her dress brushed the ground. The apron encircled her tiny waist two or three times, and was held in place by an enormous sash.
Merrick’s tone was abrupt. “Is there news of Hamish?”
The old woman shook her head sadly.
Merrick closed a hand around Allegra’s wrist. “There’s no need to prepare a chamber for this woman. Until my son recovers, she will not be allowed to leave his side.” His tone fell, for Allegra’s ears alone. “Don’t bother with any of your tricks, woman, for you’ll never be out of my sight.”
The housekeeper paled and backed away as they started toward her. When Allegra walked past her the old woman crossed herself and grasped the door for support.
Once inside, Allegra had a quick impression of soaring ceilings and great wooden stairs. Of tapestries lining the walls, and hundreds of candles blazing in chandeliers overhead. A dark space filled with gloom that no light seemed to penetrate. The oppression of this place weighed heavily on her.
There was no time to look around or sort through the source of the darkness, as Merrick kept a tight hold on her wrist, hauling her quickly up the stairs and along a hallway until he opened a door to a chamber.
Once they were inside a servant looked startled before making a quick bow and slipping away, leaving Merrick and his captive staring at the pale figure in the bed.
“This is my son, Hamish. He took a fall and later became feverish. Since then, he hasn’t left his bed. Heal him.”
Instead of obeying, she merely looked down at the lad. So pale. So still. “How long ago did this happen?”
Merrick shrugged. “A week. Perhaps two.”
Allegra arched a brow. “So long. And where were you, my lord?”
His scowl deepened. “On the field of battle. Dispatching invaders. When I returned home and learned of this, I vowed to find someone who could save him. Now do it.”
They both looked up at the sound of hurried footsteps. A tall, sandy-haired man paused on the threshold. His eyes widened in surprise. “Merrick? Cousin, the servants told me you were back.” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Don’t tell me you actually reached the Mystical Kingdom and lived to tell about it?”
“I’ll tell you everything later, Mordred. Right now I must see to the healer.”
Another man lumbered through the doorway and stood gaping