Having watched him this past month, she’d noted there was something about his stride, about the way his booted feet met the earth. Long ago Mala had been falsely accused of stealing another woman’s husband, which led to her banishment from the tribe, but she’d not forgotten her people. Nor had she forgotten their graceful walk. Like the Romany, this man’s gait was unmistakable, an inherent trait of the culture. Even if she was wrong about his step—which she wasn’t—there was still the way he handled his horse, crooning to it ever so softly, treating the huge black stallion as though it were a sweet young maid.
Not fooled by the Raven’s menacing facade, Mala’s grin grew wider. “Aye, you are the one. And you, my Gypsy friend, will be her savior.”
Withdrawing from the window, Mala quietly returned to Kristiana’s side, more than certain her plan would work.
13
At sunrise a tired Logan and Sebastian were relieved of their watch. As the pair rode back to the castle the thwarted Richard Black secretly followed. Having tethered his horse a distance away, the man had perched midway up a nearby oak, scrutinizing the Raven and the Fox from midnight to dawn. To his astonishment, the men had kept to their posts the night through. Certain they had anticipated Edward’s having them spied upon, Richard conceded there would be other nights. The legendary duo was bound to make a mistake, and Richard intended to be there when it happened.
Also at sunrise, just as fiery fingers of light shot above the horizon, Kristiana began her labor. As Mala tended her mistress Penelope kept watch by the open window. Finally, after nearly three quarters of an hour, the weary riders entered the gate into the lower bailey. The shutters pulled to, she turned from her vantage point and caught Mala’s attention. “He comes.”
“Who comes?” Kristiana asked, a birth pang at last having subsided.
Mala smiled. “Your child comes. Before the day is through he will be here.”
“Or she, Mala,” Kristiana said, a weak smile claiming her lips. “It is equally possible it might be a girl.”
“You are right.” Mala rose from the side of the bed. “Penelope will stay with you. I must get fresh water and some herbs to ease the pain. Rest, child. I’ll return soon.”
Another contraction gripped her. Left breathless from the hard stitch, Kristiana simply nodded her acknowledgment.
After Mala left the room, its door secured behind her, she took the corridor to the stairs and descended the narrow, winding steps to the kitchen. Out the portal she went, heading toward the stables housed beneath the barracks.
Their horses handed over to a sleepy-eyed stable boy, Logan and Sebastian stepped to a wooden trough. “Too bad we couldn’t achieve our plan,” Sebastian muttered as he leaned forward. Cupped hands splashed clean water onto his face. He rose, a big hand wiping the excess moisture from his beard. “I’d have enjoyed trouncin’ the knavish bastard.”
“Aye,” Logan agreed, knowing his friend referred to Richard Black. A rope-handled wooden bucket plunged into the water. Withdrawing it, Logan intended to take it to his quarters, where he could bathe in private. “But after yesterday’s altercation we must remain on our best behavior.”
The big man shrugged. “I suppose ye are right.” Sebastian’s blue eyes twinkled with merriment; a low chuckle escaped his throat. “Besides, by his own stupidity he nearly wounded himself.”
Remembering the sudden clatter of bare branches that had sounded behind the two as they had stood watch, Logan grinned. “Undoubtedly he dozed off. Unfortunate, though, that he caught himself before he hit the ground.”
“Next time, perhaps, he’ll pick a taller tree. With a stroke of luck, when he dozes again he’ll break his fool neck.” Sebastian’s stomach sent forth a great rumble. “It is time I break the fast. Will ye be wantin’ to join me in the hall?”
“Soon.” Logan swung the bucket away from the edge of the trough where it had rested. “First I shall bathe.”
As Sebastian strode toward the hall Logan struck a course for his quarters. Three steps from the outside door he was overtaken by Mala. “It is most urgent I speak with you,” she said, slipping between him and the weathered portal leading to his apartment.
“I am weary, woman,” Logan responded with a rasp. “Cannot it wait until later?”
Mala took a defensive stance. “No. You are the only one who can help my mistress. She is in danger. And so is your heir.”
The hair rose on the back of Logan’s neck; he tensed. Eyeing Kristiana’s nurse, he considered whether her words were merely a ploy so he might reveal his true identity. “What is this prattle?” he asked, pretending ignorance. “I have no heir.” He smiled roguishly. “At least not that I’m aware of.”
Mala’s fists met her hips. “She cries for you each night, thinking you are dead. Your child is in her belly and will be born this day. She has suffered much in order to protect it, and she is certain to suffer more once it has passed from her. Should the babe have your coloring—black hair and golden eyes—Edward will see the truth. It will be killed.”
A lie! he thought. A short laugh erupted from his throat. “You are insane, woman. Step aside and let me enter.”
Mala stood her ground and blocked the door. “You deny her now, but you will soon regret it.”
“Take yourself from me, Gypsy woman. The child you speak of belongs to MacHugh. I have no interest in it.”
Mala’s fingers caught hold of the thong tied around her neck. She drew the leather pouch from inside her tunic, freeing it from where it had rested between her aged breasts. “It cannot be MacHugh’s, for he has not touched her.” A sprinkling of herbs fell onto her palm, then she thrust her hand forward. “See for yourself.”
Through the slits in the mask golden eyes inspected the mixture of leaves and crushed berries. He recognized them at once; his gaze skittered to the Gypsy woman’s face.
“I had to protect her, so his wine has been laced with my potion since well before their marriage. You see the herbs. You know their effect, and you know that because of them he is not truly a man. Although he believes otherwise—for in his deluded mind he is certain he has bedded her once—the child is not his. He is impotent, and because of it he strikes out at my mistress. He blames her for his lack of arousal. He thinks she’s a witch, a sorceress who has robbed him of his manhood. Have you not seen the way he abuses her, both physically and verbally? Do you not understand why he does it?”
Once he’d been fully convinced that Kristiana had betrayed him, but now Logan found himself racked with indecision. The woman lies, he insisted silently, not wanting to let go of his anger or his desire for revenge. If he did, he was sure to feel the pain. Not just his, but Kristiana’s as well. By wallowing in his own misery he had helped foster hers. “You talk in riddles, woman. I know nothing of what you say.”
“Then you, Balo, her Gypsy lover, will lose all you once cherished. After the truth is known Kristiana will die, as will your babe.”
Stunned, Logan watched as the woman spat at his feet, then marched off across the yard. Under his mask his brows knitted with confusion. How many times had he seen Kristiana motion for Mala to bring wine to MacHugh? How many times had he noticed how the Gypsy woman had exchanged flagons, setting one down to draw up another, a reassuring look having passed between her mistress and herself once MacHugh’s quaich had been filled? He’d watched while Kristiana had stood silently by as Edward repeatedly cursed her, continually belittled her, constantly raised his hand in rage, his angry blows seldom meeting her face. After witnessing the first such violent act Logan had managed to cause some sort of diversion, drawing MacHugh’s attention away from the object of his fury, whereupon she would escape from under his brutal fist. But when he was unable to stop the sudden impact, which had been only once or twice, she had withstood its force, taking it fully, her hands always protecting her stomach.
Your child is in her belly and will be born this day. She has suffered much in order to protect it, and she is certain to suffe
r more once it has passed from her…. After the truth is known Kristiana will die, as will your babe.
In the depths of his mind, Logan heard those words over and over again. For an instant his heart stopped; his breath locked in his lungs. Feeling as though he’d been kicked hard in the gut, Logan was deluged by the truth. Dear God! The child was his, not Edward’s! She had not betrayed him. Just the opposite. For in his sanctimonious desire for revenge it was he who had betrayed her.
Eyelids crimped over a tortured gaze. Kristiana, forgive me! his agonized heart cried.
He tossed the bucket aside and spun around to see Mala entering the door nearest the kitchen. “Hold!” he shouted in full voice. Fortunately, no one noticed his error save Kristiana’s nurse. He loped to the woman’s side, then the pair found a secluded spot. “What is it you need from me?” he asked urgently.
Putting their heads together, Mala told Logan of her plan. As her thoughts unfolded, issued to him in rapid Romani, Logan frowned. “I cannot risk her staying in the castle,” he replied in the same tongue; then he saw Mala’s smile. Upon realizing she’d purposely used the language of their people in order to substantiate his identity, a smile crossed his own lips. “You are a wise woman, Mala. Apparently, though, you doubted your own intuition.”
“There was no doubt. But only a fool thinks himself infallible. You’ve simply affirmed my judgment was sound.”
“Since your suspicions have been validated, I now tell you true: I fear what might happen. I must take her from here, and take her now.”
“You risk too much should you try. Besides, she is in labor. She cannot ride, nor can she walk. No, you will do as I have planned. Otherwise you will all die.”
“But she’s suffered enough.”
“She is strong, and Edward is not stupid. For him to believe it, her grief must be genuine.” Mala’s fingers rubbed her forehead. “Now the problem remains how to get the babe from the castle.”
Logan’s thoughts warred with themselves. He’d withheld his true identity when they’d first met. Then, using the ruse of rejection, he’d deceived her again in order to trap Liza. Now, under the guise of the Raven, he’d misled her a third time. But to deceive her yet a fourth—especially this way—seemed more than heartless. It was bound to destroy her. But Mala was right. Were they to try to escape now, they’d all die in the attempt.
“There is a secret passageway,” he said. “Not even Edward knows of it—at least, I don’t think he does.” When Logan was a boy, before Edward had come to Muircairn Castle, Henry Chandler had shown it to him. Until now he’d put it from his mind. He told Mala of its location and how to enter it. His words finished, he heeded her look of surprise. “I’ll explain my knowledge later. I cannot be gone from the castle yard. It will arouse too much suspicion. So when the deed is done, signal me through the window. I’ll meet you at the entrance in the alcove. I’ll get the babe to the village and, hopefully, to a wet nurse.”
A failed memory of a long-ago tale about a young boy—half Gypsy, half Scot—slowly worked its way upward through her mind. Having nearly forgotten the story—which, like the wandering bands themselves, had made its way from camp to camp, kumpania to kumpania—Mala was convinced the man who stood before her now and that youth from the past were one and the same. She tilted her head. “The marauders—they are your men,” she stated, now knowing who he truly was. “You came here to reclaim not only Kristiana, but your birthright as well.”
“Aye.”
“But when you saw her you began to doubt her loyalty, her love.”
“Aye, I did,” he admitted, “and I am now suffering for my misjudgment. After all I’ve put her through these past several weeks, I’m certain she will never forgive me.”
“Trust in her. Although she thinks you’re dead, she has never stopped loving you. And no matter what your sins against her might be, she will gladly excuse them once she sees you are alive.”
“Were it only that simple, Mala. I’d do—”
Voices rose upward coming from the direction of the hall. Several of Edward’s men had exited the wide doors, headed for the barracks. Their stomachs full, they now sought sleep.
“I must go,” Mala said, not wanting to be seen with the Raven. “Watch for my signal. Though it might prove more difficult for Kristiana, pray it is given after nightfall.”
“Aye, I will.” His hand gently clasped her arm. “Care for her, Mala. Make certain nothing happens to her.” He gazed at the sky a moment. “I love her,” he said, the hoarseness in his voice genuine. “I could not bear to live without her.”
“She will be kept safe. That I promise you.”
As Logan watched, Mala slipped through the door. After a moment he strode toward the entry of the great hall. Passing through the doors, he sought Sebastian’s side and quietly relayed the news, along with Mala’s plan.
Unable to suppress his glee, Sebastian draped his arm around Logan’s shoulders. Several quick tugs brought the younger man closer to him. “I knew if ye would only open yer eyes, ye would finally see the truth of it.”
“Aye, my friend. But my blindness has nearly wrought destruction.” A short curse hissed through his lips. “How could I have been such a fool?”
“’Tis easy where love is concerned,” Sebastian said with understanding. “But do not belabor yerself with the knowledge that ye acted unwisely. Ye need to keep a clear head to make sure yer lady and babe are kept safe.”
“You’re right, friend. I can lambaste myself for my stupidity later. Come. While I search out the lower entry to the passageway you shall keep watch in the yard.”
Sebastian rose from the bench. “Done.”
Ignited with fiery anger, Logan’s gaze fell upon Edward. It cut like a swift sword across the man’s face, then met the center of MacHugh’s chest. A cold heart dwelled within the cavity beyond, and Logan vowed he’d soon separate the frigid thing from the insidious bastard who owned it.
At the pledge his hatred of his stepbrother renewed itself. It grew, becoming a hundred times greater than it had ever been. Burning anger resided in Logan because of Edward’s treachery and Henry Chandler’s subsequent death. Yet that hot rage was icy compared to the flaming fury that would descend upon Edward were anything to happen to Kristiana or to Logan’s child. With one last penetrating look Logan came away from the table, then he and Sebastian quit the hall.
Slipping unnoticed through one of the several posterns, Logan carefully made his way down the steep, rocky slope along the base of the outer wall. Unerringly he found the lower entry to the passageway. It was hidden behind a bush that over the years had grown to enormous proportions. Nudging his way behind a thick tangle of branches, he set his shoulder against the stone portal and pressed his weight fully into it. Slowly the ancient door gave way.
As he entered the dank interior a moldy stench filled his nostrils. He shuddered at the smell. Light from the outside world illuminated an old torch; a keg stood near his foot, a thick coating of dust overlying the oil inside it. The head of the torch plunged into the keg, then Logan struck a tinder, the torch flamed to life. The door shoved to behind him, and he slowly made his way up the narrow stone steps, fighting cobwebs as he went. A rat squealed loudly when he kicked it aside as his foot met the landing. A low-roofed tunnel, its walls and ceiling shored up by time-worn timbers, lay ahead of him, and Logan stooped, making his way through it. The thing ran beneath the outer yard and under the lower bailey; then, as it encountered the castle proper, another set of stairs wended their way up toward the apartments above.
At the top of the steps he held his breath and prayed. His fist hit the lever, and the stone-fronted door scraped free. Logan stepped through the opening into the small alcove, where he peered around the corners to see no one was about; relief washed through him. He shut the door; then, grabbing hold of the ornate lion’s head at its side, he twisted it to the right. The door opened anew. After trying it several times Logan promptly disappeared back into the
passageway.
Finding his way down the stairs, he exited the lower entry and made his way up to the courtyard. Slipping back through the gate, he instantly came face-to-face with Richard Black.
“You left the hall in haste,” the man said, eyeing the Raven closely. “Though your companion insisted you’d gone to your quarters, I see he was mistaken. What business did you have outside the castle gate?”
Searching for a reply, a tense Logan found one. He smiled at Richard. “My haste was due to a call of nature. Unfortunately, I found the garderobe was otherwise occupied. Not wanting to leave my waste in the middle of the bailey, where someone like you could easily step in it, I decided to seek a private spot in the wood. I just made it, too. Would you like me to show you the evidence?”
Richard frowned. “That won’t be necessary”—he waved the Raven ahead of him—“but I will escort you to your chamber.”
“Alas,” Logan rasped, walking ahead of the man, “I am not going to my chamber. There is work for me to do.”
As Richard followed he watched the Raven make his way toward the Fox. After they’d met, both men took up their swords, then set themselves to work. Finding a secluded corner, he scrutinized the pair. At first he thought it strange the men chose to sharpen their blades instead of seeking sleep. But then he realized that nothing the Raven and the Fox did actually effected surprise. If they could go without sleep, so would he. And to that end, Richard also kept watch.
“I couldn’t keep the blackguard from goin’ in search of ye—not without givin’ us away. When I saw ye come through that gate I feared ye were doomed,” Sebastian said, carefully working the sharpening stone over his blade. “What excuse did ye give him for yer absence?” At Logan’s reply Sebastian guffawed. Then, when his mirth had settled, he stated: “I feel a beady pair of eyes upon us.”
Deeper Than Roses Page 27
