The Highlander Who Stole Christmas - Eliza Knight Page 0,14
candle high, revealing weapons that hung on the plastered walls with crude hooks. “And when others realized what I was doing here, they’ve brought me more.”
A claymore, distinctly a rebel weapon, and above it a musket with a bayonet on the end—dragoon. Here at odds for eternity. They’d at least been cleaned before being put on display.
“Been a few times now. I take the wagon with me.” She moved about the room, showing broken arrow shafts, a bow with the string snapped.
An English sword, and another claymore. Sarah studied every weapon for signs of familiarity.
“Is the battlefield close to here?” Sarah asked. If so, she’d ask Thane to take her when the weather dissipated. She wanted to pay respects to the place where her brother had died.
“Och, nay,” Carried fluttered her hand as if it weren’t a big deal. “Several days ride in the wagon.” Her voice had taken on a somber tone. “So many were lost in the battle. This is my shrine to their memory.”
Sarah suppressed a shudder as her eyes caught on a Highland cap, the white rosette cockade stained red with blood.
“Did ye lose someone close to ye?” Sarah asked. It was increasingly difficult to conceal her emotions from Carrie, and she was glad for the shadows in the room that hid her expression.
“Aye.” But Carrie did not expound on that, and Sarah was afraid of delving too deep.
Afraid she might reveal something about herself and Thane. “I’m verra sorry for your loss,” she managed.
Carrie made a non-committal sound but did not return the sentiment. “I’ll leave the two of ye alone to mourn. I just ask ye close the door on your way out.”
“We will.” Sarah took the candleholder from Carrie and stood in the center of the room for several moments before she lifted it high to reveal more of the walls.
Swords, shields, spurs. A pair of roughly used boots. The sleeve of a jacket, the pattern distinctly plaid, and beside it, the sleeve of one that was red. More examples of the battle that waged between two factions. On the floor, beside a table full of coins, rings, and fragments of metal, were two cannonballs. She’d been told that was how Jon had died, torn apart by the blast of a cannon.
Tears came to her eyes, and Sarah wrenched herself away from seeing anymore, running smack into Thane. His arms were around her instantly, holding her tight. His warmth was a comfort she needed. Wanted to bury herself inside.
“This is…” She couldn’t even finish her sentence to say how awful the room made her feel.
“Aye,” was all he murmured in return, stroking her hair.
Thane took the candle from her, setting it down on the table before she lit his coat on fire.
“This is no’ a Chamber of Sorrow,” Sarah said. “This is a Chamber of Horrors.”
“Do ye want me to destroy it?”
Sarah shook her head, leaning back to look up at him. It felt so good to be in his arms that she didn’t want to move away. His face was shadowed like hers, but she could see that he was not jesting.
“As much as I want to say aye, if ye did, we’d both likely be killed. Or cursed.”
“Possibly.” He tilted his head. “We might be able to escape quickly. The lad out back seemed eager to please.”
Sarah smiled. Some of her sorrow ebbed with his teasing. “I’m no’ willing to risk your life for a petty thing. But before we leave, I might come in here and steal something. Maybe all of the dragoon items, so no one can mourn them.”
“Oh, a thief. Ye have no’ mentioned before that ye have the skill.”
She shrugged, enjoying the sensation of their arms around each other, and neither seemed inclined to withdraw. “I grew up with three brothers. I learned a few things to survive.”
“Do ye recognize anything in here?” He maneuvered them toward the table, his arm still around her waist.
Sarah examined the rings, touching the various items, imagining who the owners might be. Thankfully, nothing struck her as familiar. “I dinna. What about ye?”
“Nothing,” he said quietly.
Sarah glanced up at him. “How many did ye lose?”
“Nearly half our men in the battle. A dozen or more in the retreat. More that were routed out as rebels after.” He swallowed hard enough that she could see the lump bob in his throat. “We’ll rebuild.”
Goodness, they’d lost so many. They were a smaller clan to begin with. But his note of hope filled her