Siren of the Highlands: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highlanders of Cherrythorn)

by Kenna Kendrick

  “Mebbe he was,” Fin countered. “But twas nae for ye tae take his life.”

  The man shrugged slightly. “Tis nae me concern.”

  “Why did ye dae it?” Fin asked. “Did somebody ask ye tae make sure he wouldnae talk t’me?”

  “Not everythin’s aboyt yer.”

  A wry smile tugged the corners of Fin’s mouth upward. The man was quick on his feet. Clever.

  “Who asked ye tae kill the lad?” Fin asked.

  “Maybe yer man asked me ter kill ‘im,” he shrugged again. “Maybe yer man did not want ter gi’ yer de satisfaction’ of takin’ his head off.”

  The man was sitting down so Fin could not tell for certain, but he thought the Irishman looked to be of a similar build to the man he’d seen with Castor in the garden the night before.

  “Why did ye try tae kill the Duke?” Fin asked.

  “Maybe oi d’not like ‘im meself.”

  “He dae something tae ye personally then?”

  The man shrugged languidly. “Maybe.”

  “There’s lots of mebbes with you,” Fin said. “Nothin’s ever certain, eh?”

  The man finally turned and looked at him. “Dare is nathin’ certain in dis life ,” he grinned. “Yer a soldier. Yer should nu dat.”

  “How dae ye ken who I am?”

  “Oi’m a paddy whose profession relies on me knowin’ things.”

  “Guess yer not so good at yer profession then,” Fin said. “If ye were, ye might nae be sittin’ in a cage right now.”

  The man chuckled. “We al’ ‘av aff days.”

  Fin looked around the other cells. Most were empty, but a few held shadowy forms crouched in the corners, cloaked in shadows and misery. He hated the smell down there. Fin always thought it smelled of decay, rotting flesh, and overflowing chamberpots. It was one of the most unpleasant odors he ever smelled.

  “If ye tell me who put ye up tae this, I might be able tae ask for mercy,” Fin said. “I might be able tae keep ye from havin’ yer head taken off.”

  “’ighly unlikely.”

  “I’ve got lots of room to maneuver,” Fin said. “I want the man pullin’ thae strings. If ye can give him tae me, it might be enough tae keep ye from dyin’.”

  “Or, it might be that yer git what yer want, and I still lose me bleedin’ head.”

  “What if I can guarantee it?”

  He chuckled low again. “We both nu it’s the Duke’s decision,” he said. “And I know him a lot better than yer chucker. He’s not a merciful man. Yer cannot guarantee me anythin’. Oi’m not a eejit.”

  Fin sighed. “Then why nae leave this world with a clear conscience?” he countered. “Why no dae the right thing’n tell me who put ye up tae this.”

  “There’s nothin’ I kin chucker t’ leave de warrld wi’ a clear conscience,” he said. “Not now.”

  “Then just dae the right thing’n tell me.”

  A faint smile, cold and cruel, touched his lips. “Pass. But nice try.”

  “Listen--”

  “Naw. Oi’m done blatherin’.”

  Fin sat on the stool and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, staring at the man. He was a tough nut to crack, that was for sure. But Fin did not get the idea he was under any sort of duress. He did not get the idea that this man was, perhaps, having the lives of his family leveraged to get him to carry out this nefarious deed. No, Fin got the idea this man was working as an assassin out of a sense of loyalty. This man was loyal to whoever was pulling the strings, and he would no sooner give them up than he would take his own head off his shoulders.

  That changed things entirely. That this man would willingly go to the headsman’s block rather than give up the name of the man who put him up to an assassination out of a sense of loyalty was not something he had seen coming. But it did give him an idea. Fin leaned even closer to the bars that separated him from the Irishman, studying him very closely.

  “Tell me something,” Fin said. “Was it Castor Welton who put you up to this?”

  It wasn’t much, but Fin saw a slight flicker of recognition in the man’s eye and a tightness in his face. It was quick, and just a twitch before the Irishman got himself back under control and smoothed out his features again, but Fin had seen it. It was enough to confirm his suspicions. It was still not proof, but it was confirmation to Fin that he had been right.

  “I’m right, arenae I?” Fin asked. “Castor Welton is the man yer protectin’.”

  “Oi told ye, Oi’m done blatherin’,” he said. “Run along nigh, I’m knackered from listenin’ t’ ye flappin’ yer lips.”

  His sudden tension and the tightness of his body was just further evidence to Fin that the Baron of Elix was the man he was looking for. The man who had tried to kill the Duke and had very nearly killed Gillian. But the problem was, he had no proof. And if he was ever going to bring this all to an end, he needed it badly.

  And to get the evidence and information, Fin knew what he had to do and where he needed to go.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ivy

  “It is almost time, My Lady.”

  Ivy turned to see Brixton standing in the doorway of her bedchamber. After a mostly sleepless night, Ivy was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to lie down and rest. But her brother had announced that they would be returning to Elix with the rising of the sun.

  “Why are we returning home so suddenly?” she asked.

  “The Baron fears for your safety here, My Lady,” Brixton said. “After last night’s attack, he no longer feels comfortable with you beneath this roof.”

  “That is ridiculous,” she said. “Last night’s attack was thwarted if I heard correctly. I am perfectly safe here.”

  Brixton shrugged his broad shoulders. “I am only doing what I have been instructed to do,” he replied. “Now, if you would get yourself ready to travel, I will be right outside this door. The stewards will see to your bags.”

  Brixton stepped out and gently closed the door behind him, leaving Ivy alone with her thoughts. She paced the room, frustrated and angry that once again, she was given no choice in what she did. She had long been tired of having her life dictated to her. But she had no agency and no power to do anything about it, which only frustrated her more. When Castor said jump, all she could do was say “how high?”

  She quickly changed into her riding dress and got herself put together, resenting every moment of it. When she was done, Ivy stormed out of the bedchamber and right past a startled Brixton who turned and had to move quickly to catch up. Ivy charged down the hall, her hands balled into fists at her side, and her jaw clenched.

  “My Lady, stop,” Brixton said as he fell into step beside her. “You need to get yourself ready to travel.”

  “Where is my brother?”

  “He is in his chambers, readying himself to travel,” he replied. “As you should be doing.”

  Ivy ignored him and kept walking. Brixton laid a hand on her arm, but Ivy cut him a fierce, icy glare, and he quickly removed it, looking abashed.

  “I think you are becoming too familiar with me,” she hissed. “I will no longer require your services.”

  “Your brother--”

  “Will find somebody else to watch over me,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “I no longer feel comfortable in your presence. Now leave me alone.”

  Brixton did not leave, though. He kept pace with her as she stormed down the corridor, sending people scurrying out of their way to avoid being run over.

  “My Lady--”

  “I said, get away from me, Brixton,” she roared. “Get away from me right this instant!”

  Brixton’s face colored with anger and embarrassment, but he did as she said, after a fashion. He would no more abandon his duty than disobey his Lord. And Ivy knew that until Castor officially relieved him of that duty - which she would ensure he did - Brixton would continue shadowing her wherever she went. It was just another reminder to her that she had no power or authority
in anything--that her words were empty, and that she had no control over the affairs of her life.

  She barged through the doors of Castor’s bedchamber so hard, they crashed into the stone walls behind them. Castor gave a start, but when he turned around and saw her standing there, he rolled his eyes and sighed.

  “Is such a dramatic entrance necessary, Sister?”

  “My Lord, I had asked her--”

  Ivy rounded on Brixton, her face a mask of fury. “Get out of here,” she hissed. “I told you to leave me alone, so get out of this chamber.”

  Brixton backed up a few steps in the onslaught of her anger. He looked to Castor for instruction apparently, which sent her into another fit of rage. She planted her hands on Brixton’s chest and pushed him backward. Not wanting to lay a hand on her, he retreated until he was standing in the corridor. Ivy grabbed hold of the doors and slammed them in his face before rounding on her brother.

  “I want him out of my life,” she seethed.

  “You need a guardian watching over you,” Castor replied. “Now more than ever, it seems, with all of these assassins running amok.”

  “I refuse to have Brixton watch over me any longer. I want him removed.”

  Castor waved her off. “Fine, fine,” he said. “I will find somebody else to assume the honor of guarding you.”

  “Now, Castor. Today,” she spat. “He is too familiar with me. He put his hands on me. I will not tolerate it any longer.”

  He arched an eyebrow at her. “Brixton is the most honorable and proper man I have ever met,” he said. “If he put his hand on you, then you are probably mistaking his intentions.”

  Ivy clenched her jaw and had to resist the urge to throw something heavy at her brother. The way he dismissed her concerns out of hand was just another example of how little regard he had for her. It not only angered her, but it hurt her as well. It hurt that he would not take her seriously. That he would disregard her concerns and make decisions for her, rather than consult her about them.

  Even their father would do her the courtesy of talking to her about a situation before he ultimately made the decision. Her words may not have swayed him from deciding one way or the other, but they sometimes did give him pause. At the very least, she could feel comfortable that he took her feelings into account.

  But not Castor. No, Castor made all of the decisions and did not give a single whit about how she might feel. And she was well tired of it.

  “I am your sister, Castor,” she growled. “My feelings should matter to you. And I am telling you that Brixton makes me feel uncomfortable--”

  “Fine, fine,” he cut her off irritably. “I’ll have somebody take Brixton’s place if it makes you happy.”

  “Good. Thank you,” she replied. “Now, why are we leaving today? And so early? I thought--”

  “I have business to attend to at home,” he said. “It is time for us to go. We cannot do anything for the Duke now anyway. We are just getting in the way.”

  At that moment, Ivy realized why they were leaving. Castor knew, especially in light of another attempted assassination, they would not be allowed to see Duke Hamilton. He would never know they were there, and so Castor would be unable to impress him with his concern and the fact that they had traveled from Elix to check on him in person.

  To Castor, there was no advantage to be gained by lingering here. Ivy knew that was what it always came down to as far as Castor was concerned - whether or not there was anything in it for him. Whether there was a benefit in something for him or not. But Ivy was not ready to leave York just yet. She wanted to stay.

  “I would like to stay, Castor.”

  “Out of the question,” he said. “It is my job to protect you, and I cannot do that with you here and me back in Elix.”

  “So, leave a guard with me,” she replied. “Somebody to watch over me.”

  He shook his head firmly. “Absolutely not. You will return to Elix with me.”

  “Castor--”

  “I have already said no, Ivy,” he snapped. “You will not be staying behind. It is not safe for you here as last night’s attack proves. No, I will not risk anything happening to you.”

  She pursed her lips. “It almost sounds like you care, Brother.”

  He gave her a pained sigh. “I do care about you, Ivy.”

  “Then let me stay at York.”

  “No,” he replied. “Why are you so obsessed with staying here?”

  Ivy felt her stomach lurch, and she fought mightily to keep the flush from reaching her cheeks. She sniffed haughtily and gave him a nearly contemptuous glare.

  “There are many things still I have not gotten in the market,” she said. “I plan on spending time picking up those items we cannot get in Elix.”

  He rolled his eyes at her. “You would put your life in jeopardy to spend the day in the market?”

  “They are things I cannot get back home, Castor.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, and Ivy started to believe he was giving serious consideration to her request. But then a wide, wolfish smile crossed his face, and he nodded as if he’d come to some realization inside his own mind.

  “This is not about the market at all, is it, dear Sister?” he grinned.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “This is about the Scotsman,” he crowed. “You want to stay here to be close to him.”

  Ivy found herself unable to hold back the flood of heat from her face any longer and knew her cheeks were turning a bright shade of scarlet. She hated that her brother had intuited her true motivations. But she realized she should have expected it. Castor was a smart man and far cleverer than most believed. He disguised it well. So well, that Ivy had walked into his trap.

  “It has nothing to do with Fin,” she snapped.

  “Oh, so it’s Fin, now is it?” he said with a laugh. “I had noticed you two seemed to be rather… friendly.”

  She rolled her eyes. “He is a nice man. And he is not the reason I desire to remain at York.”

  It was, but Ivy was not about to give voice to that fact. The truth was, she wanted to get to know Fin better. He had piqued her interest in ways very few men ever had. But unlike the others, he had held her interest and did not eventually display some horrid personality defect that caused her to back away from them. She was not saying he did not have one hidden somewhere down deep in those layers of his, but she had not seen any trace of it yet. And so, she remained intrigued by him.

  Not that she was about to let Castor know any such thing. He would never stop needling her about it, nor would he ever let her within fifty leagues of Fin again. Ivy knew the last thing she should do if she wanted to keep seeing the Scotsman, would be to make her brother believe her disinterest was genuine.

  “He is boorish. A lout. He is nice, as I said, but he is also not somebody I can carry on an intelligent conversation with,” she replied. “And you know how much I value conversation.”

  “Yes, Sister. I know how much you love to talk,” he said. “But it matters not. You will not remain at York. You are coming home to Elix with me. Now, you can either sit your horse, or I can tie you up and sling you over the flanks. It is your choice, Ivy.”

  The profound sting of disappointment at the idea of not seeing Fin again was second only to the sharp spike of anger that flared inside of her. With her eyes narrowed and her hands balled into fists at her sides, Ivy glared hard at her brother.

  “Castor, I--”

  “This is not up for discussion, Ivy,” he said. “Go and get yourself ready. We are leaving.”

  The anger bubbling up inside of her was dark, and it was deep. But she knew that if she refused, he would order his men to bind her and throw her over the back of his horse. She had seen him do similar things before. Not to her, but to others. She turned and stormed out of his bedchamber, but instead of turning back to her own quarters, she strode down the corridor in the opposite direction.

  “My Lady,” Brixton called to
her.

  She felt a slight pinch of guilt over the way she had treated the old soldier. He had meant no harm, but he had caught her in a terrible mood, and she had lashed out at him. While it was true that she knew his affection for her was more than was proper - and most definitely not reciprocated - she also knew that he was harmless. Ivy knew that Brixton would never do anything to harm her. It would not only be an affront to her honor, but to his as well. And if there was one thing she knew about Brixton from all their years together, he held her honor in higher esteem than his own.

  But that did not mean she wanted him trailing after her everywhere she went. It did not mean she wanted him looming over her like some malevolent spirit. She most certainly did not want his never-asked-for advice about her life. And right now, she did not want him following her. She did not want him anywhere around her. Not because she found him objectionable, but because she did not want him seeing where she was going.

  Ivy cut sharply around the next corner and found herself in a corridor filled with people. The household staff, as well as the Duke’s personal guard, were thick in the hallway, some of them on their way to or fro, others milling about talking to one another. It was perfect for what she had in mind.

  Ivy took a glance behind her and saw Brixton turning the corner, a cross look on his face. A mischievous grin pulling at the corners of her mouth, she took off at a run, nimbly weaving her way around and through the throng of people. She heard Brixton calling after her, his voice tight and angry. A laugh burst from her throat as she ran, drawing strange and outraged looks from those she passed and bumped into.

  Ivy turned another corner and quickly darted into a room with an open door, pulling it behind her, leaving it open just a crack. It was dark and smelled of dusty disuse, which told her it was probably a storeroom of some kind. She quickly pressed her eye to the crack in the door, and a few moments later, saw Brixton pass her at a run. She gave it another moment before bursting out of the room and running back the way she’d come, giggling the entire way.

  Ivy made her way through the labyrinth of corridors until she came to the door she had set out to find. Clearing her throat and straightening her back, she squared her shoulders, pushed the door open, and stepped into Fin’s office.