Page 84 of Dark Victory

He laughed and pushed her down onto the bed.

Tabby cried out, seizing his hair, pulling his face forward. As she kissed him, he drove deep.

THE CHILD’S CHOKED SOBBING awoke her.

Tabby jerked upright. The sun was high and bright, pouring through the closed shutters of the windows. For one moment, she didn’t move, recalling every impossible, frenzied detail of last night.

She had surrendered to Macleod with more than her body last night. She flushed. She’d been the insatiable one. And it had been wilder and more intense than ever—perhaps because of their differences, their war. He’d been so triumphant and he’d let her know, repeatedly, who was in control and who had won. But she hadn’t minded, oh, no.

In fact, she’d been so insatiable that she’d forgotten to steal his keys when they’d finally calmed. She’d fallen asleep, not even thinking about Coinneach.

She had missed the perfect opportunity to steal those keys, and she didn’t know how she felt about that—just as she wasn’t at all certain how she felt about giving in to him last night. It was late in the morning, a new day. She probably shouldn’t have succumbed to him last night, but she had. Had their truce only applied to last night? She wouldn’t mind a rational debate in the broad light of day. Maybe making love last night could be turned into an opportunity to discuss their differences.

Tabby slowly got up, opening the shutters. Outside, it was a magnificent day, the skies azure and cloudless. The ridges to the southeast were thick with forests, and glittered as bright as emeralds in the sun. Now what? she wondered. Last night, he had wanted sex and he’d gotten it. The problem was, she had no regrets, not on that score. But what she did regret was his ignoring her express wishes and refusing to discuss Coinneach and his Fate.

And then she heard the soft childish crying, again.

Alarmed, Tabby went to the door and flung it open, expecting to find a small child there. But the hall was empty.

Tabby hesitated, uncertain. Was her mind playing tricks on her? First she had dreamed about a crying child, and now, she’d heard him. Except no child was nearby.

Or was she sensing a child who was somewhere else, the way she’d sensed Macleod as a boy on the beach? Suddenly she heard the child crying again.

Very concerned, she lifted her skirts and started down the hall. The sound seemed to increase slightly in volume, as if she’d find that small girl or boy weeping on the stairs. But when she reached the narrow staircase, it was empty.

She tensed. Last night, the spirit had not made an appearance. Tabby did not know what that meant, but she was certain it was the lull before a huge storm.

And her mind was playing tricks on her now. She was certain that someone—or something—was behind those tricks. Was it Criosaidh, Coinneach’s mother? What about that spirit from An Tùir-Tara? Was it involved in this mischief?

Tabby started downstairs. Peigi was cleaning up the hall with two other women. “Did you hear a child crying?”

Peigi shrugged. “Maybe ’twas young Seonaidh. He was here a moment ago.”

Tabby did not know who Seonaidh was, and she found herself going to the front doors of the hall, which she pushed open. There were several little children playing in the bailey, but no one was crying and they were too far away for her to have heard any one of them. As she watched them tossing stones at a stake, she heard the child again.

And he or she was closer.

Tabby stepped outside, wide-eyed, scanning the bailey, the crying louder now. She saw two toddlers with their mothers, the women leading a pair of milk cows, but she did not espy a crying child. I am being enchanted, she thought uneasily.

But the sound shifted, and her concern escalated. She glanced up at the ramparts, starting for the stairs leading to them. Then she realized that the child was in the arched gateway, leading to the drawbridge. The drawbridge was down, but that did not seem unusual so early in the day. She hurried to the gated entrance of the stronghold.

Tabby paused inside the dark, cold tunnel, searching the shadows there. No child was present, but he or she was crying harder now. Suddenly she worried that the child was in the cellars below.

“Lady?”

She turned. It was the handsome young Highlander who had been on watch yesterday. “Do you hear that?”

“I dinna ken…I dinna speak…English,” he said haltingly.

The crying had stopped. Tabby strained to hear. As she did, the child began to cry again, but this time, most definitely from outside the keep. Over the drawbridge and past the moat, she saw the rutted road she and Macleod had climbed up to the stronghold the other day. Beyond the road, the forests seemed thick and impenetrable, the kind of wilderness that did not exist in her time. Between the forests and where she stood, no child was in sight.

The young Highlander spoke abruptly to her. Tabby did not have to understand Gaelic to know that he was telling her not to leave the keep. She ignored him, vaguely aware that she was enchanted and this was treachery, but too worried about the child now to think clearly. She had to find this child. There was simply no choice.

She rushed through the arched gateway and across the drawbridge. The crying became louder. The child was terrified.

The young man shouted at her.

Tabby lifted her skirts and ran toward the road. The sound of the crying shifted. Tabby veered off the dirt. The child screamed as if it was being murdered. Tabby ran harder, branches scraping her face, her breasts. And then there was a shocking silence.