Mary Robb - Down the Rabbit Hole

He closed a hand over hers. “I am honored.”

Walking ahead, Hamish said something before punching Ian in the arm.

Colin’s stepbrother swore good-naturedly before returning the blow to his friend’s shoulder, sending the taller man bumping against the wall.

Hamish was still rubbing a hand over the tender spot as they entered a room lined with rough wooden tables and benches. Several young women were dashing about, setting out platters piled high with slices of meat and joints of fowl. In the middle of the room stood old Maura, calling out orders and chastising any server who happened to move too slowly.

When the group of men entered, Maura called out a greeting before disappearing. Minutes later she appeared alongside a tall blue crane, its beady eyes unblinking, its head making jerking movements as it walked stiff-legged toward their host.

Beth blinked and the tall bird turned into a stick-thin woman in a long white apron, her dark hair pulled into a severe bun at the back of her head.

“Ah, Mistress MacKay.” Colin stopped, and his entire company paused at either side of a long table. “What have you prepared for my guests this morrow?”

“Fowl, m’laird. And yer favorite, warm bread puddin’.”

Beth watched as Colin’s face creased into a smile, which completely transformed him from stern warrior to dangerously handsome rogue. She couldn’t decide which one intrigued her more. She was prepared to stand toe-to-toe with the warrior. The rogue, on the other hand, presented a much greater problem. She couldn’t imagine any weapon she could use against that heart-melting smile.

“You do know how to please me, Mistress MacKay.”

“And have, since ye were a wee bairn, m’laird.”

Laughing, Colin walked to the head of the table and indicated a wooden bench to his right. He remained standing until Beth and his guests were seated.

Old Maura hurried over to ask, “Will ye have ale or mead, m’lady?”

Recalling her dream, Beth quickly discarded the idea of blood-red mead. “Ale, I believe, Maura.” She noted with a sense of unease that her host had been right when he’d warned her that she would be the only female in the room, except for those who were serving the men. “Why are the other women not here, Maura?”

The old woman whispered, “’Tis too early for highborn ladies. They prefer to break their fast in their rooms, and then allow servants to help them prepare for the day.”

“I see.” Beth glanced around. “Will they mind that I’ve joined their men?”

The old woman gave a mirthless laugh. “They’ll not give you a thought, m’lady.”

The men seated around the table were too eager making plans for the test of skills to even acknowledge the presence of a lone woman in their midst. She could have been invisible for all the interest they paid her.

“Where will we hold the contest, Ian?” one of them asked.

Colin’s stepbrother was quick to respond. “In the high meadow.”

“So far? Just below Stag’s Head Peak?” Hamish raised a brow. “We dare not tarry up there, or we could encounter the Beast.”

Ian sent him a chilling look, and in that moment he became a sly, cunning fox, his eyes alight with sudden knowledge. “The forests around the high meadow are lush with game this time of year. ’Twill be an easy matter for the lads to scare up enough quail and pheasants to make the contest interesting.”

Another man spoke up. “If the lads are busy shaking the bushes for game, we’ll be scattered in every direction. Who’s to fetch our game as we take it down?”

The fox merely smiled, as though anticipating the argument. “We’re all honorable men. We need no judge riding alongside us to keep a tally of the kill.” He turned to his brother. “Unless you’ve a better idea?”

Colin shrugged. “Murdoch has a right to question. We’ll send as many lads as we can spare to retrieve the dead game when the contest is over. Since every man here has his own distinct feathers affixed to his arrows, it will be an easy matter to see who brought down the most.”

The fox’s eyes glittered. “There. The laird has spoken. Eat up, lads. Then we will make haste to the high meadow.”

“And if we’re delayed until darkness?” Hamish persisted.

The fox shot a meaningful glance at the others. “I’ll send some lasses from the village to hold yer hand and help ye forget yer fear, coward.”

The others around the table burst into gales of teasing laughter, and Hamish ducked his head, while the fox transformed from animal to human.

Beth had watched and listened in silence, too stunned by the quick transformation of Ian into both fox and man to pay close attention to his words. Either she was completely losing her mind, or she’d landed in a place that was both magical and dangerous. And for now, she would cling to the hope that, though she felt completely lucid, something otherworldly had taken over her life. Though a contest between warriors interested her not in the least, she felt a tingle at the base of her skull. She tried to recall the words from that frightening dream. Hadn’t they mentioned Stag’s Head Peak? Or was she merely inviting drama that didn’t exist?

While the others enjoyed their fine meal, Beth vowed to herself to pay close attention, for there was evil in this place. And magic. Or else, she was going completely mad.

* * *

Beth stood on the balcony of her room and watched Colin Gordon walking the garden path below. Since he was alone, it seemed the perfect opportunity to try her luck with him yet again.

Snatching up the hem of her skirt, she hurried across the room and down the stairs.

Once outside, she paused a moment to catch her breath before walking quickly toward the figure moving along the pathway.

“Would you mind some company?”

At her words, the figure paused before turning. His head was bent, his hands behind his back. A man, it seemed, with much on his mind. But once he spotted her, he forced a smile to his lips.

“My lady Campbell. I’d be pleased for your company.”

She flushed at his courtliness. “I know I’m intruding on your privacy, but I’d like to discuss the terms of the sale, if you’re willing to listen.”

Distracted, he merely nodded before starting along the stone pathway, with Beth doing her best to keep up.

“Connifer-Goldrich would like to offer you . . .”

He paused, placing a hand on her arm to halt her words. “I know not this name.”

For the space of a heartbeat, she couldn’t find her voice. Her entire being was concentrated on the flood of heat radiating from his touch to every part of her body.

She stepped back, away from the heat, and waited for her heart to settle.

“I work for them. I’m here to present their offer for”—she swept a hand to indicate the lovely view before them—“all of this.”

“They desire my gardens?”

She smiled. “And all that goes along with them. Your lodge. Your land. These glorious hills. The lake.”

“Aye. The land. The hills. The loch.” His smile was gone. “The Campbells have always wanted what is mine. ’Tis not for sale, at any price.”

“But . . .”

He was already several steps ahead of her. She moved quickly to match his pace.

He never once stopped to admire the lovely roses in full bloom or the birds fluttering their wings around the sculpture of a goddess in the center of a fountain. He strode straight and sure on the stone pathways between the hedgerows.

But as she struggled to keep up, Beth found herself enchanted by the view. The fragrance of roses hung heavy in the air. The sound of water flowing from the sculptured fountain was a balm to her troubled soul.

“I can understand why you would be loath to consider selling all this. Now that I’m here, I think it may be the loveliest place on earth.”