by Arnette Lamb
Smiling innocuously, Duncan said, “You’ve met my son, Mal—”
“Rob Roy,” Malcolm put in.
Duncan wanted to blister the boy. He could hate his name, refuse to answer to it, but not, by God, in front of the emissary of the queen. Vowing to have another talk with his stubborn son, Duncan breathed a sigh of relief when his housekeeper, Mrs. Elliott, bustled into the room.
She glanced at his disguise, humor twinkling in her eyes. Drawing up the skirt of her apron, she buried her pug nose in the cloth and faked a sneeze.
“Welcome to Kildalton Castle, my lady,” said Mrs. Elliott. “I’ve just prepared rooms for you. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to them.”
Thinking of the rooms his guest would occupy, Duncan relaxed. A maze of tunnels in the castle gave him access to every room. The secret passageway outside her chamber would allow him to eavesdrop on her conversations. By pushing aside the panel in the wardrobe, he could enter the room and inspect any correspondence to or from London.
He bowed from the waist. “I’ll say goodnight then.”
Malcolm cradled the unwieldy sword and bounded up the stairs. The scribes and the other lady with an oddly familiar face followed.
To Duncan’s surprise, Lady Miriam slid into a chair by the hearth. “Will you join me, Lord Duncan?”
He glanced at the clock. The need for vengeance thrummed through him. In less than an hour, his men would gather near Hadrian’s Wall. He would lead them across the Border, where they would reclaim a herd of stolen sheep. Would that he could avenge the deaths of his crofters. His conscience plagued him, but he could not take the lives of poor English tenants. He wanted a peaceable end to the violence.
He took the seat facing Lady Miriam. “Can we keep this short?” he whined. “I have a batch of owl feathers to clean.”
Tracing the grain of the wood on the chair arm, she absently said, “How enterprising. ’Tis wonderful to be off that horse.”
He was prepared for rhetoric. “Surely you didn’t ride all the way—” He swallowed the words “from London,” for he wasn’t supposed to know who she was or why she’d come.
Gray eyes fastened on his. “But of course. I simply refused to take another ship so soon. I do love to ride, as does Lady Alexis.”
His curiosity about the lady overrode his need for haste and discretion. “Who is she?” Not batting an eye, she said, “Alexis Southward.”
That caught him off guard. Alexis Southward was the most talked about bastard of the late Charles II and cousin to the queen.
“I was wondering,” his guest continued in a congenial tone, “why there were no soldiers on the battlements when we arrived, and yet just moments ago, at least fifty armed men manned the walls.”
Hell and Hogmanay! That’s why she’d gone outside. The wench was as sneaky as a badger on the prowl. But Duncan Kerr could match her. “I’m sure I don’t know. I shall have to ask that burly fellow who trains them. Perhaps we always have so many guards. No. We are a peaceable people. I’m certain your safety is at the root of it.”
“I see.”
An understatement, for she saw too much. His first instinct was to plead exhaustion and flee. His men awaited. But watching her, so sedate and appealing on the surface, yet conniving and clever beneath, Duncan decided he wanted to play. “I wish I could,” he said on a sigh.
She blinked and glanced at the portrait of Duncan’s father that hung over the hearth. “Could what, my lord?”
He sighed again and adjusted the ridiculous spectacles. “See. I wish I would see even half so well as normal people. I just pray my son’s eyes never grow as weak as mine.”
Her fingers began to strum on the wood. The tick-ticking of her fingernails filled the room. Duncan applauded himself; she wasn’t as composed as she let on.
She caught him staring at her hands. The strumming stopped. “The soldiers who accompanied me will stay the night in your guardhouse. They’ll be returning to London on the morrow.”
She’d accompany those prissy English soldiers, too, if Duncan had his way. “I’m sorry you’ll be leaving so soon.”
“Oh, but I’m not leaving.”
He gasped and drew his hands to his chest. “But we can’t entertain a lady here. That is, we offer shelter to any traveler. ’Tis the Scottish way. But I have my work. You’ll interfere with my schedule.”
“I promise not to disturb you too much.”
The thick glass gave him a magnified view of her cleavage. Flawless, satiny skin rose and fell enticingly. Poor vision, he decided, had its advantages. So did he at the moment. But the instant she confessed her purpose and stated her intentions, he would better know how to deal with her. “Who will escort you home?” he said. “You can’t travel alone. ’Tis too dangerous.”
“I know.” She smiled much too sweetly. “I saw the burned farm … and the graves.”
What the devil had she been doing so far off the road? If she knew people had died, what else did she know? Those calculating eyes stayed fixed on his, but Duncan wasn’t about to reveal the sorrow he felt for the crofters. “The sheep can be replaced.” And avenged. “My steward will take care of the matter.”
Her fine eyebrows shot up. “You buried sheep in those graves? Ah, I see. And you blistered your hands in the doing.”
He felt as if he were picking his way through a bramble bush. One slip, and he’d feel the prick of her thorns. Vowing to outsmart her, he said, “They were good, sturdy animals that never did any harm. Not as smart as fish, though. Now you take a Scottish salmon. You can’t fool them with just any lure. But when they take the bait…” He showed her his injured palms. “They’ll make you pay the price.”
Her eyes stayed fixed on his hands. “Do you always plant crosses on the graves of slaughtered sheep?”
She thought she had him. Scratching his wig, he said, “I couldn’t say for certain. To hazard a guess, I’d say they were valuable animals. People get attached to them, I suppose. Like I get attached to my fish. Did I tell you about the sunny trout I caught last May Day? Weighed almost two stone. People came from as far away as Carlisle to see it. Mrs. Elliott served it with a cream sauce that was simply divine.”
“No. You didn’t tell me about the fish. But if you would,” she said slowly, concisely, “please tell me who burned out the crofters. For my own safety, of course.”
Safety? She persisted and lied with a skill even the duchess of Perth would envy. “’Twas my neighbor to the south. He’s responsible. What a bother he is. Why, a fortnight ago he poached my finest peacocks. Stay away from him.”
“That would be Aubrey Townsend.”
If she knew the name, she knew the particulars. Why didn’t she just come out and say why she was here? He wasn’t about to ask. Let her think him more interested in fishing than feuding.
“I believe,” she went on, “that he’s also called Baron Sinclair.”
Duncan couldn’t stop his lip from curling in revulsion. “Baron Sin he’s called on this side of the wall. A lady like you shouldn’t go anywhere near him. So you see, you’re better off departing with the cavalry.”
Her gaze didn’t falter. “What do they call you?”
He fought the urge to squirm like a guilty schoolboy. Dredging up a sweet smile of his own, he said, “Most often they call me—‘my lord.’ Unless, of course, they’ve come for one of my prize fishing lures. Then they’ve been known to call me a genius. I make the best lures in Scotland.”
“I’m certain you do, my lord.” She folded her arms at her waist, which pushed her enticing breasts above the square neckline of her stylish riding habit. The single ruby she wore on a thin gold chain disappeared in the folds of her cleavage. “Will you retaliate? Will you punish Baron Sinclair?” she asked.
Duncan’s skin grew warm. “Me?” he squeaked, his mind on the hidden ruby. “Can you truly see me bounding over the Border, sword in hand? Besides, my son would never part with the family blade.”
“Y
es, of course,” she said, suspicion on her lovely features.
He wanted to pick her apart like a clock and see what made her mind tick. But he couldn’t afford so pleasant a challenge. She had to see him as the innocent victim. Then she had to go. Straightaway. So did he.
Faking a yawn, he stretched out his arms and got to his feet. “Pardon me, but it’s well past my bedtime. I’ve had a trying day of sharpening hooks and writing in my journal. There’s still my owl feathers.”
She rose. “Then forgive me for detaining you, my lord. We do, after all, have plenty of time to chat.”
Duncan stopped so fast he almost tripped on his own feet. “I don’t understand.”
“You will, I assure you.”
Shocked, Duncan realized that he’d woefully underestimated his adversary. Sinclair had applied to the queen, and she’d sent her prized settler of international squabbles. The clever red-haired wench had managed to dismiss her guard and entrench herself in his household—indefinitely. “What about the cavalry? You can’t wander about without an escort.”
“Don’t trouble yourself about my safety. ’Tis all arranged, I assure you. You have owl feathers to clean, and I—well, I shan’t bore you with my affairs.”
When he didn’t move, she held out her arm. “We can walk up together and you can show me my room.”
He took her arm when he wanted to wring her neck. Surely in all of Christendom there couldn’t be a more wily, tenacious female than the incorruptible Miriam MacDonald. Why couldn’t she have been open to bribery like the other emissaries? Duncan Kerr would have to deal with her, but tonight his schedule was full. The Border Lord had a pressing engagement with revenge.
Once in her chamber, Miriam leaned against the heavy oaken door. Iron studs and metal bands pressed into her back, yet she was keenly aware of the shuffling footfalls as the earl retreated to his own room.
Conversing for an hour with him had drained her, as if she’d spent an evening mediating an argument between a Jew and a Christian on the validity of Jesus Christ.
“Leave it be for the night, Miriam, else you’ll never get to sleep.” Alexis had donned her gown and robe. Her dark hair lay in a thick plait over her shoulder. She shook the wrinkles from Miriam’s night rail, then laid it over the bed. “Come, I’ll help you undress.”
After a fortnight of primitive camps and poorly furnished inns, the bed looked inviting. Miriam couldn’t resist touching the plump feather mattress or sighing with relief at the thought of sleeping in comfort. “You’re right, of course.”
She removed her hat, jacket, and blouse. Alexis stepped behind her and started to work on the lacings of her stays.
“Where are the twins?” Miriam asked, pulling the pins from her hair.
“Beyond my room.” She pointed to an opened door. “Which is through there.”
To the left of the portal stood an enormous vanity in Jacobean mahogany, a lighted, twelve-hour candle on top; to the right of the door, next to the hearth, stood a spotless cheval glass and a native basket overflowing with fragrant dried heather and gorse.
Two massive wardrobes and a washstand, complete with fancy soap and thick towels, filled the opposite wall. A bank of velvet draped windows lined the outside wall. An assortment of nubby woolen rugs, each bearing a blazing sun, the symbol of the Kerr clan, dotted the stone floor.
Her last mission had entailed months spent amid the pomp and circumstance of European nobility. Miriam embraced the cozy comfort of this Scottish castle.
Once free of her chemise and stockings, she slipped the gown over her head and sat down on the vanity stool. Alexis began her nightly ritual of brushing Miriam’s hair.
“That feels wonderful,” she said, her scalp tingling from the drag of the boar bristles.
“Hum. A bath would be heaven, but ’tis too late to inconvenience the staff.” Yawning, Alexis separated Miriam’s hair and began to braid it.
Miriam glanced at the candle. Her fatigue vanished.
“What is it?” said Alexis.
Miriam slid the candle closer. In the mirror, her gaze met Alexis’s. “This wick has been burning for two hours. We arrived only an hour ago. Don’t you find that intriguing? Look at the room. Lady’s soap, the clean linens. He knew we were coming. But how? He left the impression that we were merely travelers.”
Alexis squeezed her eyes shut, creating a fine web of wrinkles. On a groan, she said, “I thought you were done for the night. Besides, country castles always offer shelter to travelers. Haven’t you heard of Scottish hospitality?”
Miriam stared at the telltale candle. “Of course I have.”
“Then who’s to say that candle hasn’t been lighted before tonight?”
“Me, that’s who. The coincidence is too great. Remember the housekeeper said she’d just prepared these rooms.”
“Oh, Miriam.” Alexis shook the brush. “Given enough time, you could find a flaw in the Ten Commandments.”
Undeterred, Miriam said, “I know this—several things about the earl and his household are not what they seem.”
“All right.” Alexis pitched the brush onto the vanity. “But if we’re going to pick apart this poor sod, I insist we do it by the fire.”
Contrite, Miriam said, “I’m sorry. Let’s just say goodnight. You’re cold and tired, and I’m—”
“Mistaken.” Alexis chuckled without humor. “I’m wide awake, and as anxious as a beggar on Alms Day.” She pulled Miriam to her feet. Although shorter than Miriam by half a head, and almost twice her age, Alexis had a grip like steel. “But if I didn’t insist that you sleep at least once a day, your head would never touch a pillow. When you do retire, you never sleep the night through.” A maternal smile, full of love and understanding, glowed on her face.
Miriam hugged her, bussed her satiny cheek, then pulled her to the hearth. Seated cross-legged on a rug like young girls defying a nanny’s curfew, they faced each other. Miriam related the story of the sudden appearance of the armed guards on the walls.
“I wondered why you went outside. I thought you might be fetching Verbatim from the kennel.”
“No, but I’ll manage to move her in here tomorrow.”
Humor sprung from Alexis’s lips. “Remember the time in Rouen, when the duke of Burgundy planted a spy under your bed?”
Miriam laughed, too. “Poor fellow. Instead of gleaning information from me on the bride’s dowry, he took one look at Verbatim and babbled on for hours about the concessions the duke was willing to make for his son.”
“You won a few more from him, as I recall.”
Pride infused Miriam. “A woman needs more than pretty promises from a courting swain.”
“I have every confidence in you, my dear.”
“Good. Now that I’ve met the earl I think I’ll need it.”
A horse nickered. Miriam jumped up, ran to the window, and pulled back the drape. A cloud passed over the quarter moon, throwing a blanket of darkness over the yard.
Alexis joined her. “What do you see? ’Tis black as a Cornish cave down there.”
Miriam peered into the gloom. Below lay a walled courtyard or garden. She pressed her cheek to the cool glass. A shadow moved. “There,” she whispered, pointing to a moving shadow.
“I don’t see anything.”
Squinting, her foot tapping as she waited for the moonlight to return, Miriam tried to follow the progress of the darkened shape. Was it a person or merely the night breeze rustling the bushes in the courtyard? She strained until her eyes ached but she couldn’t see enough to make a decision.
Clouds continued to shroud the moon, but she knew as surely as the sun would rise tomorrow that she’d seen a man slipping from the castle.
“If someone was there, he’s gone now,” said Alexis, pulling Miriam back to the hearth. “’Twas probably a maid sneaking out for a tryst with a stableboy.”
“What time is it?” Miriam asked.
“Just past ten o’clock.”
M
iriam paced the floor, trying to piece together the information.
“All right,” said Alexis. “Tell me everything.”
Like an anchor tethered to her thoughts, the contradictions about the earl and his household pulled at Miriam. She relayed each one. By the time she finished, the candle was another hour shorter.
Alexis slapped her thigh. “Well, I agree that your observations are enough to make a saint seem circumspect. But I think you should take your time. You don’t want to move too fast.”
“True.” Miriam turned her palm up. “Tomorrow I must tell him who I am and why I’m here. Now. Honestly, Lexie. Tell me what you think of him.”
Propping an elbow on her knee, Alexis rested her chin on her hand. “In spite of what you said, I think he’s adorable. Don’t squinch your face up like that. You’ll wrinkle before you’re thirty.”
“Heaven forbid I should wrinkle.”
“If you weren’t so determined to give your heart to a doer of gallant deeds, you might see something appealing in the earl. He’s better than a fat ambassador who speaks fluent German.”
“I intend to rule my own life and live it in Bath.”
“But you’d like it better if Sir Lancelot were there.”
Miriam groaned. “Could we please concern ourselves with the earl of Kildalton?”
Alexis laughed. “That boy of his. What’s his name? Rob Roy.” She rolled her eyes. “Have you ever seen a child who needed a mother so?”
“Never mind the boy. There’s something about the earl, Lexie. He looks like a bumbling idiot, but I see a confidence or power in him.”
“Sometimes I wonder,” said Alexis, staring into the fire, “how a woman with so little intimate experience with men can be so observant. Alas, I find him intriguing, too.”
Immensely flattered, Miriam stretched and fought off a yawn, “I’ll talk to him first thing in the morning.”
Alexis got to her feet. “First thing?”
“You can sleep until nine.”
Smiling, Alexis said, “You’ll thank yourself.”
Knowing too well how much Alexis hated rising early, Miriam said, “Yes, I will. Let’s just hope it all goes as planned tomorrow.”
