Wild about the Witch (2 page)

Lord Ashford took her face in his hands and forced her to look back at the estate. “An alarm,” he said, pointing at the monster-free grounds. “To alert the authorities of intruders. Harmless in itself.” He dropped easily to the ground and helped her down.

Catie let loose with a string of swear words that would have made her brother Quinn blush, and he was a connoisseur of curses.

“Ye said there would be a noise,” she said, brushing away her tears. “A noise is one thing. That was all the demons of hell being set free.”

She ignored his shocked look at her tirade and walked ahead of him, trying to regain her dignity. The street Belmary House was on in her time was completely different from the street she walked along now, so much so that she wondered for a split second if the house might have moved locations as well as through time.

A vehicle raced past her down the street with a roaring whoosh and Lord Ashford hurried to catch up with her as she stood and gawked after the shiny red thing that rolled along on its wheels without horses.

“That’s an automobile,” he told her proudly. “Cars. Amazing things.”

“It was so fast,” she said, stepping back in alarm as another one zipped by.

“Oh, that’s not nearly as fast as they can go,” he said. He took her arm and guided her along the sidewalk. She almost forgot he was under a time constraint. She could have stood and watched the automobiles go by for much longer. “Guess how long it will take you to get to Scotland in this time.”

He seemed excited about his little game. His mood had lightened considerably since they cleared the Belmary House wall. She wondered what his connection to the place was, what his time was. His manner of dress was different from her own time, and from the one they were currently in, something she learned as soon as they turned off the tree-lined lane into a bustling thoroughfare.

So many people, so many shops, signs, blinking lights and cars—  and the sounds. It was loud in the London she’d left behind, but it had been clomping hooves and wagon wheels, human voices, occasional bells and the clang of tools. Some of the sounds she picked out of the cacophony she didn’t even have words for. She stopped and turned her head every which way.

“Give it a minute. You’ll get used to it,” he said, keeping a comforting grip on her elbow.

She pulled him over to a large shop window and peered in at the jewelry display. Finally, something that hadn’t changed. Sparkly jewels had made it through the years.

“Look at the lights,” she said in a hushed voice, in awe of the silver strands of fairy lights that were woven in between the displays, winking on and off.

“They’re electric,” he said. “Everything’s electric now. It’s not just light, it can make things move.”

“What is it?” she asked, noticing that pretty much everything was lit up, and lots of things were moving.

“I haven’t the foggiest. Come along, we need to get you a rail ticket.”

“Two days,” she said, trotting along beside him, becoming accustomed to her trousers and rather liking how quickly she could move in them.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked.

They stopped at a corner and he pointed out the crossing system so she didn’t get squished by a car. She loved it here. A blinking light told her what to do.

“London to Scotland on the train. Ye wanted me to guess.” She smiled, having guessed outrageously short so he could stop being so smug about knowing everything.

It didn’t work and he looked more smug than ever. “Eight hours,” he crowed. “And only so long because you’re going so far north.”

“Ye’re lying. It isna possible.”

“You’ll see for yourself when you arrive there tonight.”

“How do ye not love this time?” Catie asked, smiling at a handsome young man who caught her eye as they waited at another corner. Lord Ashford noticed and squeezed her elbow.

“Miss Ferguson, this is important,” he said, shaking her a little so she gave him her full attention. “Do not engage with anyone from this time, do you understand me? Not until you find your brother. It’s dangerous. The people are … forward. They may get the wrong impression and take liberties.”

The intensity in his look scared her and she nodded, refraining from making eye contact with anyone, even though she kept surreptitiously checking out everyone’s clothes.

At the train station, her enthusiasm wavered. The crowd on the street was nothing compared to the crush trying to buy tickets and board trains. And the trains themselves, long, sleek, roaring monsters that seemed to disappear and reappear before her eyes, they went so fast.

She stayed close to Lord Ashford as he bought her a ticket to Inverness, a book, and a map. He led her to a bench and explained the map to her, then the money.

“Buy yourself some food on the train. It’s going to seem expensive, but don’t fuss about it. When you get to Inverness, hire a taxi. There will be signs to guide you.” He paused and counted out the strange bills. “I hope it’s enough.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat and clutched her paperback book and ticket. What if it wasn’t enough money? What if she couldn’t find Lachlan? More and scarier questions jostled their way to the forefront. What if she never got back to her own time? This place was a lark, but could she stay here on her own, for the rest of her life? She suddenly understood what Miss Burnet must have gone through when she found herself transported through time, and was forced to feel some empathy for her.

Lord Ashford seemed to read her thoughts from her rapidly growing look of panic. “It’s difficult to reach me. You may end up regretting this choice you made.” He paused and looked down at her. Not unkindly, but she definitely felt his censure as he reminded her this was all her own doing. “You can return to Belmary House and ask for Miss Saito. If she’s still there, she’ll try to get a message to me, and I will try to find you a means back to your time.”

“That’s a lot of ifs and trying, Lord Ashford,” she said, trying to sound teasing. She lifted her chin and took a deep breath, her resolve coming back to her.

“Ye’ll be fine, lass,” he said, his faint brogue getting stronger as he tapped her under the chin. With a last glance at his pocket watch, he smiled at her. “Don’t miss your train, don’t talk to anyone, and good luck, my dear.”

Quinn Ferguson paced restlessly in front of the inn where he’d spent a sleepless, tormented night. His baby half-sister was alone in some terrible future. Having figured out their brother Lachlan was still alive, and consequently realizing he, Quinn, had been keeping the truth from her, she took matters into her own hands and went after him.

Her wicked moods made sense to him now. He’d thought at first she was having trouble adjusting to her newly discovered status of extremely wealthy heiress and all the attention that brought upon her, but now he knew she must have been plotting for several weeks. The wee brat. He couldn’t wait to see her again. First he’d hug her fiercely, then set to wringing her neck.

He stopped pacing and looked down the street for any sign of Lizzie. He’d said in no uncertain terms that he would leave at first light, and if that scheming opportunist thought he’d wait a moment past, she was wrong.

He didn’t know who he was angrier with, or who was more at fault for this predicament, himself or Lizzie. He was still too upset to be rational and pushed aside his own culpability, placing it all squarely on that self-seeking spinster. Damn it if he didn’t want to find a reason to forgive her, though. No, that wouldn’t do. She’d tried to sell his sister to a debt-riddled member of the nobility, as if a title could ever be compensation for Catie’s happiness.

His heat level was good and high when Oliver Cliffstone rode up on a fine and fast looking horse, two groomsmen riding behind him on equally fine animals. The groomsmen dismounted and one of them handed his reins to Quinn with a bow. Quinn took them automatically, scowling at the English lad who purported to be in love with Catie. At least he wasn’t a lord of anything. Oliver’s boots hit the ground and he turned and smiled at Quinn, eager to help.

“I’ve brought my best horses,” he said. “We’ll make excellent time.”

Quinn sighed, and feeling bad about it, punched Oliver in the nose, feeling the bone crack under his knuckles. Oliver yelped and leaned over, clutching his face.

“I told ye,” Quinn said defensively.

“Yes, but I didn’t think you would really do it,” Oliver garbled through the blood that poured from his nose.

Quinn handed him a handkerchief, and motioned for the groom to get something bigger and more absorbent. “Now ye know I mean what I say,” Quinn told him. “Will ye still be riding with me to Scotland?”

He fully expected the lad to take his horses and go home, but to his surprise, Oliver nodded vigorously, sending blood drops flying.

“It will take more than that to stop me,” he said.

“Good lad.” Quinn clapped him on the back, wondering why this one hadn’t been given more consideration in the campaign for Catie’s heart and riches.

He seemed solid, had plenty of money, and clearly loved her. He remembered Lizzie saying he was too young, not ready to settle, but it was probably more along the lines of Oliver’s mother not offering her a reward for forwarding the relationship. He glanced to the east. The sun was rising, they needed to be on their way.

“Mount up again,” Quinn said. “Just keep your head tilted back and ye’ll be fine.”

“But what about Miss Burnett?” he asked, his eyes owlish and nervous over the rag he pressed to his face.

“She’s late,” Quinn said gruffly.

Hadn’t he just proven that he meant what he said? No matter that Lizzie was desperate to get back to her own time, and leaving her here was consigning her to being miserable for the rest of her days. Part of him, the mean bastard part, felt a bit of satisfaction at that. She’d caused him plenty of misery. The other part of him, the idiot part, adjusted his saddle more slowly than usual.

“It’s only just dawn. We should wait for her. I can’t think what would keep her from this.”

Quinn raised a brow at him. Awfully confident for having just taken a fist to the face. “Ye know so verra much about Miss Burnet now, do ye?” he asked.

Quinn thought about telling him about Lizzie’s part in keeping Oliver from being a serious contender, but it seemed petty. Oliver turned redder than his blood soaked rag and shook his head, grimacing in pain at the sudden movement.

“Er, certainly not. But she seemed that way last night. Determined to be here this morning, that is.” Oliver looked at him hopefully. “Perhaps you might explain exactly what is going on?”

“Ye’ll probably think me mad if I tried,” Quinn said. “Best ye know that ye might not be home for a while.”

“Whatever it takes,” Oliver said, still not getting back into the saddle. “Of course, Catie’s safety is the first concern, but I can’t help but be a bit worried about Miss Burnet. When I dropped her off last night, she did seem quite desperate.”

Quinn swore and paced a step, realized he still held the reins and jerked to a stop. He couldn’t think standing still, and remembering Lizzie’s tear streaked face the night before didn’t help align his scrambled thoughts. He knew, even better than the sympathetic Oliver, how badly Lizzie wanted and needed to go with them.

She’d begged him to forgive her and give her a chance to explain. Did he even want to hear what she had to say? His sister’s future had been nothing more than a transaction to her, while she waited to get back to her own time. And what had he been? A distraction.

He adjusted the girth, which didn’t need either loosening or tightening. Ah, but what a lovely distraction it had been. She made him laugh and caused a fire to burn within him that no woman had ever done before. It had to have been difficult for her, being torn from all she knew, to adjust and adapt. It made him wonder what parts of her he’d fallen in love with were real.

The little cracks of understanding that had opened were filled with fresh anger when he recalled his awkward, heartfelt avowal of love. He’d asked her to come back to the farm with him, and foolishly believed she’d wanted to go, when all the while she’d been scheming.

Lizzie Burnet had survived well enough in this time before she met him, she’d have to go on surviving without him. He shoved aside his guilt and worry, as the needles of her betrayal jabbed at him. Pulling himself into the saddle, he turned his dark gaze on Oliver.

“I’m leaving. If ye choose to follow or not, it makes no difference to me.”

Lizzie Burnet was hungry. She had a madman with a gun randomly hitting her whenever he got annoyed at something, hadn’t had more than a few hours sleep in the past four days, and her escape attempts kept failing. She shouldn’t have been worried about food, but she felt pretty strongly that Solomon Wodge, that asshole nutjob time traveler, was going to kill her, and she didn’t want to die on an empty stomach.

She put her hands on her waist and tried to stretch a little in the saddle, without calling Wodge’s attention to her. He’d been muttering to himself and poring over a ragged spiral bound notebook he kept tucked away in his waistcoat pocket, and thankfully ignored her for the last several miles.

Her dress hung loosely at her sides, having ditched her corset at the first disgusting inn they’d stayed at. She didn’t want to die wearing a corset, either. She stared daggers at the back of Wodge’s head, not wanting to die at all. Strange waves of resolve sometimes washed over her during their stealthy, exhausting trip to Scotland, and she got one now, so began planning another escape attempt.