Page 9 of Seductive Scot
“I’ll pay you thrice the coin in that bag if you do.”
“Lady Deirdre,” someone said behind her.
She whirled around to find the castle priest, Father Michael, standing there. She dipped into an immediate curtsy, praying Algien did not hear them and come out into the passage. “Father Michael.”
“I’ve been looking for ye.”
“Ye have?” She stepped closer to the priest so he might lower his voice.
“Aye. The baron wishes me to hear yer confession nightly before the two of ye wed. So come.”
“Now?” she blurted.
“Aye,” he said, scowling at her. “Unless ye wish me to proceed into the great hall and tell the baron that ye refuse.”
“Nay, Father,” she said hastily and grabbed his arm, giving a longing glance toward the direction of the garden. If she could make confession quickly, perhaps she could still escape before Algien was finished in the great hall.
Once they were settled in the small chapel, Father Michael had her kneel. “Ye may proceed, child,” he said in a bored tone.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” she began and started a litany of miscellaneous things she thought would appease and bore him further, but he kept demanding more. Finally, when her knees were aching from kneeling, she asked, “Father, what is it ye want from me?”
He arched his eyebrows. “A true confession would be a good start,” he replied, his tone admonishing.
Heat burned her cheeks. “I betrayed my sister,” she whispered, and before the priest could reply, shouting resounded from outside the chapel. Without waiting for permission from Father Michael, she scrambled to her feet, ran to open the chapel door, and stared in shock at the courtyard. Warriors flooded the space, swords raised as if for battle.
She stepped into the dark, snowy night and straight into the path of a man running. “What’s happening?”
He looked at her with wild eyes. “Get to safety, my lady,” was all he said before racing away. Fear squeezed her chest as she swept her gaze around the chaotic courtyard. Were they under attack? If so, by whom? And where was safety to be found? Certainly not here. Without a second thought, she turned toward the garden. Father Michael shouted her name from behind her, but she did not look back. Instead, she increased her pace, her side pinching and her breath coming out in white puffs.
The falling snow set a chill to her skin and started to dampen her hair, but the cold was nothing compared to the icy fear lodged in her heart. She had to get to Grace, Shona, and Maggie before it was too late. With that in mind, she moved as quickly as she could away from the courtyard and toward the pebbled path that led to the gardens where she would climb the wall to escape into the thick woods. Never mind that the wall was frighteningly high and the forest was no place to venture alone. She had no choice.
Chapter Four
The surest thing there is is we are riders,
And though none too successful at it, guiders,
Through everything presented, land and tide
And now the very air, of what we ride.
~ Robert Frost, “Riders”
The Present
2020
New Orleans, Louisiana
Reikart wasn’t the hugging sort. Well, not anymore. Actually, technically, he thought as he embraced his cousin Jeremy, he’d never been the touchy-feely sort with anyone other than his immediate family, which in his mind would not have included his cousin. But holding someone to convey how he felt about them—other than to share the messageLet’s have sex—had made him uncomfortable since Amanda’s death. Yet here he was, submitting to the goodbye hug Jeremy had forced on him.
When Jeremy finally released him, his cousin stepped toward Ian, who thrust out a hand while giving Reikart a sidelong “this is how you avoid a mushy man-embrace” look. But Jeremy was having none of that. He sidestepped Ian’s hand and enfolded Ian in his arms. By the time Jeremy let Ian go, Reikart was sure by the annoyed expression on Ian’s face that his brother wanted to punch their cousin.
Reikart and Ian exchanged a knowing glance and worked in perfect unity to move Jeremy out the front door of the family home and onto the torchlit walkway. A car inched past on St. Charles Avenue. It was likely a reporter looking for a photo opportunity. He was trying to imagine what the headline might be when all four of them were gone:The Vanishing McCaim Brothers? A Family Lost?Hopefully, if that happened, Jeremy would do the damage control they’d talked about, which included feeding the reporters appropriate alibis.
“When are you guys going to try the time-traveling chant again?” Jeremy asked in the same blasé tone he’d used to report the McCaim Shipping stock numbers for three straight years.
In that moment, Reikart was completely sure they’d made the right decision in telling Jeremy about everything they’d discovered in their dad’s locked office the night they’d gone there after his heart attack. Jeremy’s head had to be reeling with all he had learned in the last four days. Six hours a day they had huddled in Dad’s office laying out the truth to him and then planning for when he and Ian would try the chant again, as well as the possibility that none of them—neither their mom, Rhys, Greyson, Reikart, nor Ian—would ever return to this time. During all of it, Jeremy had not run screaming from them once.
