She sank to the floor and closed her eyes, forcing herself to think of Catherine, to imagine what she was doing, how sick with worry she was, how alone. Lisa remained crouched on the floor, brutally forcing herself back to reality until she felt tears sting her eyes.
And then she rose, determined to take control of things for once and for all.
* * *
CHAPTER 18
lisa pressed back into the deep stone arch of the doorway, scarcely daring to breathe. Her feet were numb and cramped from huddling on the chilly floor. She tightened her fingers around the hilt of the knife she'd filched from the kitchen. It was a lethal blade, razor sharp, as wide as her palm and at least twelve inches long. It would serve nicely to demonstrate her point. She was through biding her time and trying patiently to find the flask. She was going to get back to the future—now.
Watching him plan her wedding gown had been the final straw: Circenn had accepted that she was going to be here forever—worse, she had started to accept it as well. Concealing the knife in the folds of her gown, she'd slipped up to the second floor and hidden in the shadows of a doorway diagonal to Circenn's chambers, waiting for him to come up to change for dinner, as he did every night. She conceded that if she hadn't had an ill mother, she might well have embraced this experience. In her century, there were no men who could begin to compare to the masculine splendor of Circenn Brodie. But Catherine needed her and would always come first.
The staircase creaked faintly and she tensed. Peeking around the corner of the doorway she glimpsed Circenn gliding silently down the hallway. For such a large man he certainly moved quietly. In a moment, his back was to her. He inserted the key in the lock and she realized the time was upon her. She would obtain the flask, no matter whom she had to go through to get it. No more passive, bewildered, susceptible-to-seduction Lisa.
She surged from her hiding place, pressed the tip of the blade to his back, directly in line with his heart, and commanded, "Move. In the door. Now." Placing her other hand at the small of his back, she pushed him forward.
His spine went rigid beneath her palm.
"Now, I said. Get in the room."
Circenn kicked the door open and entered the chamber.
"Stop," she ordered. "Do not turn around."
"I saw you spying in the Greathall, lass," he said easily. "If you doona like the gold silk, you needn't get so fussy about it. You may select your own gown. It was not my intention to offend you with my choice."
"Don't be obtuse. You know that's not what I'm upset about," she hissed. "The flask, Brodie. Now. Get it." She pressed the tip of the blade harder against his back to illustrate her resolve, and bit her lip when a drop of blood blossomed below his shoulder blade, spreading on the white linen of his shirt. She wished desperately that she could see his face. Was it dark with fury? Was he amused at her tenacity, or foolishly underestimating her resolve?
He sighed heavily. "For what purpose do you wish my flask? Are you in truth the traitor we feared?"
"No! I want to go home. I have no desire for your flask, I only need it to take me back."
"You still believe the flask will return you?"
"It brought me here—"
"I have explained to you—"
"All you've said is that it isn't the flask's power, but you won't tell me what it can do. Do you expect me to trust your word? Why should I?"
"I would not lie to you, lass. But I see that you will not believe me. Had I known you still harbored this foolish hope, I would have obliged you sooner." He pivoted so swiftly that she fumbled, but recovered and jabbed the tip of the knife into his chest. More blood blossomed as the lethally sharpened blade slipped through his shirt as if it were butter.
"Careful with that thing, lass. Unless it pleases you to ruin my shirts."
"Don't move and I won't have to cut you," she snapped.
He dropped his hands to his side. "I must move to collect the flask."
"I'll follow you."
"Nay, you will not. I will not take you to my lair."
"I am the one with the knife," she reminded him. "And it currently rests above your heart."
If he moved, she didn't see it. All she knew was that one moment she had the knife at his chest, and the next it was gone.
She blinked, trying to bring the room back into focus.
The blade was flush against her throat.
Her eyes flared wide and she gasped. "How did you do that?"
"You cannot control me, lass. No one can," he said wearily. "If I give to you, it is because I choose to give to you. And, Lisa, I would choose to give you everything, if you would but permit."