The Wellspring (Kaitlyn and the Highlander #12) - Diana Knightley Page 0,86
mid-step. “Who on earth would kidnap the king?”
“Padraig Stuart.”
She took a deep breath. Then she jabbed her finger at the air angrily at me and Fraoch. “Why did you bring these two? Why not Magnus?”
“They’re here because I’ve asked them to accompany me. We rescued Magnus and he’s having heart issues. He’s not well. We are the diplomatic committee asking you to please come to the—”
She turned on him jutting a finger at his chest. “One thing ye must ken about me, Colonel Quentin. I daena care tae be summoned by a committee. I am tae be addressed by my peers, only.”
“Yes, of course, Lady Mairead, but um…” He searched for words.
“I am desperate tae get the art away from this brutal onslaught of war. They will blow it tae pieces and not cry a bit as they are barbarians. Brutal barbarians. I need more people tae help. Tis necessary that ye do your part.” She spread her arms causing the draping of her sleeves to spread wide, looking very dramatic. “This art is about tae be lost tae the history of the world.”
Quentin said, “Sure, of course, what can we do?”
Three soldiers walked by carrying a large painting draped in cloth. It distracted Lady Mairead for a moment. “Which one is it?”
“The big one with the scribbles, Lady Mairead.”
“Well, be careful with it!”
She muttered, “Follow me to the loading bay.” And again we were rushing through the museum.
A young man in a rumpled suit rushed up, highlighted through our flashlight beams. He performed a frantic little bow. “Lady Mairead,” His voice echoed around the cavernous halls. “The bombs are very close.” His hand shook as he patted his slicked back hair.
Lady Mairead said, “Dezzy, we ken there is a war at our doorstep, dost ye hae anything helpful tae say on it, or should ye go away tae save the collection?”
“Excuse me, Lady Mairead, my apologies…” He bowed again, then apologized for bowing. Lady Mairead’s eyes went wide with exasperation.
“Dezzy, hae ye seen the painting, The Dancer, is it loaded in the bay, ready tae go?”
“Oh um, yes Lady Mairead, of course, Lady Mairead. I am sure of it.” He looked left and right nervously. “Um…”
“And what of the Michelangelo?”
“It is already in the loading bay.”
“Good, we are close tae leaving.”
As we raced through to the back storage rooms, the pools of light from our flashlights bounced as we ran, our footsteps echoing through the building, passing soldiers who were carrying art from the galleries to the bays at the back of the building. Lady Mairead asked Dezzy, “Where is the Damien Hirst, dost ye hae it?”
“It was moved already. The Pollock is there as well.”
“Good, good.”
Quentin ran beside Lady Mairead and Dezzy.
Fraoch said, under his voice, to me, “What are we doin’?”
“I think we’re helping to move some art.”
“Seems unimportant,” said Fraoch as we pulled up in front of a giant pile of art. He said, “Och, tis a tremendous load.”
Quentin said, “Lady Mairead, it will take you twenty men to jump with this much—”
“Tis a good thing I have ye and Fraoch then, ye came just in time.”
Dezzy, using a clipboard, made checkmarks down the side of a paper then passed it to Lady Mairead. She looked down the list and up at the pile and back down at the list.
“We must jump.”
Soldiers rushed up with two more paintings. “Is that the Klimt and the Van Gogh?”
“Yes, Your Highness.” From beyond the woods we could hear sirens and explosions, gunfire and blasts.
Quentin asked, “Is that all of it? We need to move.”
“Aye, this is all I can take right now, everything that is most important.”
Hammond raced around the building toward us with eight soldiers behind him, they were carrying two antique chests and one armored box. “I brought you the vessels, Your Highness.” He ordered the men to load the chests on the pile.
“Hammond, I need the soldiers tae guard the museum as we leave, protect what is left of the art, Hammond. Daena let the monsters take all this art from the earth. Twould be a grave tragedy.”
“Yes, Your Highness, you have the DaVinci? The Picassos?”
“Yes, I have the most valuable.” Her eyes darted around the pile, she yelled, “Dezzy? Do I have the Warhol? The print he made of me?”
“No, Your Highness, it has not been brought yet.”
“Hammond, guard the museum with your life.”
“Yes, Your Highness, always.”
Quentin asked, “Where are the vessels?”
“There.” She shone her flashlights on two wooden crates in the middle of the