“He does?” asked Bridget, feeling sorry now for the nasty trick she’d played on Caleb involving the Highland Chronicles. But then again, he was the one to start it by sneaking around, writing himself into the book.
As soon as they left, Bridget hurried over and stuck the book into her bag along with the quill and the bottle of ink. Her father was asleep on the bed and she needed to get away and think. She’d seen the lairds competing today in preparation for the finals that started tomorrow. The king had instructed her father to record the events, so she needed to write something about the contestants in the book before King Robert arrived.
Placing a kiss on her father’s forehead, she left the room, heading for the graveyard where she could record the events in private.
* * *
Caleb headed for the back of the castle with his bag over his shoulder and his pine marten in his arms. “I ken ye need to snoop around, Slink,” he told the animal. “But with so many people at the castle, I’m afraid ye’re goin’ to get trampled. We’ll go to the graveyard where no one will be. There, ye can nose around to yer heart’s content.”
When they reached the graveyard, he put the pine marten on the ground. Removing the bag from over his shoulder, he dropped it, and sat down next to it. Looking for his flask of Mountain Magic, he stuck his hand into the bag.
“What’s this?” he asked, pulling out the item to inspect it. “This looks like the chronicler’s bottle of ink,” he said. “Damn, I hope the ink didna spill into my bag.”
Peering inside the bag, he realized there was no ink in there at all. Picking up the bottle again, he saw that there was no cap. Reaching out, he stuck his finger into the bottle to find that there was no ink in the bottle at all. The inside of the jar was painted black to make it look like it was full.
“God’s bones, what is goin’ on here?” he asked aloud.
His pine marten busied itself climbing over the gravestones. Caleb saw a flash of red from his peripheral vision and realized there was someone at the far side of the graveyard, sitting with their back up against one of the headstones.
“Odd,” he said, wondering who would be here instead of at the festivities. He got up and silently snuck up on them. When he peered over the headstone, he was surprised to see Bridget and shocked because she was writing in the Highland Chronicles! He hoped to hell she wasn’t writing more nasty lies about him. “What are ye doin’?” he shouted, stepping around the stone and making his presence known.
“Och!” she shrieked, spilling the ink on the page, and grabbing for the bottle to steady it. She looked up and fear washed across her face. “Caleb?”
“Aye, it’s me, lass.
“Ye made me spill the ink!” she spat. “Why are ye spyin’ on me?”
“I’m no’ spyin’ on ye. I came to let Slink root around the graveyard. And if ye’re so worried about spilled ink, why dinna ye try this bottle instead?” He tossed the fake bottle of ink atop the open book. “Oh, wait, ye canna use that because it’s no’ real, is it? It’s only used to deceive everyone, the way ye deceived me by writin’ lies about me in that book.”
“Caleb, this isna what ye think,” she said, standing up with the book in hand.
“And what would I be thinkin’?” he asked her. “That ye are out to ruin the MacKeefe name? Because it sure seems that way to me.”
“Nay. I’m no’ tryin’ to do that. Ye dinna understand at all.”
“Oh, I think I understand. For some reason, ye hate me and refuse to have yer faither mention me in the Highland Chronicles. And since I mentioned myself by writin’ in the book, ye now want me to suffer. Well, I canna let ye continue this doitit game.”
“Doitit game? I’m no’ the one who started it.”
“What are ye writin’ about me now?” He stretched his neck, trying to see the page.
“No’ everythin’ is about ye, Caleb MacKeefe, even if ye think it is. I’m no’ writin’ anythin’ that concerns ye.” She hid the pages against her chest.
“I dinna believe ye.” He snatched the book away from her and looked down at the page to read whatever lies she’d concocted about him now. But to his surprise, it had nothing to do with him, just as she’d told him. Instead, she’d been writing about the competing lairds and talking about the preliminary rounds earlier, as well as each of the laird’s weak and strong points. “It’s no’ about me,” he said, still staring at the page in confusion.
“I told ye that! Now give me the book back.” She pulled it out of his grasp.
“Why are ye writin’ these things in the book when yer faither already recorded the information earlier. I saw him doin’ it.”
She didn’t say anything. Instead, she closed up the book and slipped it back into her bag.
A flash of a vision shot through Caleb’s head. Hadn’t Bridget told him that her father had been injured and couldn’t grasp things in his right hand and that he’d learned to write with his left hand instead? He remembered distinctively seeing Brigham using his right hand earlier today writing in the chronicles. Then he looked down to the fake bottle of ink still on the ground, and everything became clear.
“God’s eyes, lassie! Yer faither is no’ the one writin’ the chronicles . . . ye are!”
“Ye ruined everythin’, Caleb MacKeefe!” she spat, loading the rest of her things into the bag. She looked angrier than he’d ever seen her, and like she was going to cry.
“I ruined everythin’?” he asked. “Ye were the one to do that, lass. What will the king say when he finds out he’s been made a fool of, just like me? What will everyone say when they discover that the King’s Chronicler is really a woman?”
“Ye canna say a word about this,” she warned him. “Ye keep yer mouth shut about this, Caleb MacKeefe, do ye hear me?”
Suddenly, Caleb realized he was in a very powerful position. He chuckled to himself for ending up in this position. He could ask for anything right now, and she would have to give it.
“What’s so funny?” she snapped.
“If ye want me to remain quiet, it’s goin’ to cost ye.”
“Cost me?” Her eyes opened wide in surprise and then those beautiful, blue orbs became dark and cloudy. “What is it ye want?” she ground out.
“Well, first off, we’ll start with the entry about me in the book.”
“I’ll cut that page out. I swear I will,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Guid,” he said, rubbing his chin in thought. “And then ye’ll write somethin’ about me in the book, but it’ll be guid, kind, and heroic. It’ll make me revered in the king’s eyes, and it will bring honor to the MacKeefe name.”
“Oh, so ye want me to lie again?” She raised her chin and waited for his answer.
“No’ lie. Just say . . . guid things about me. Things that will put my name on the tongues of people for years to come. Things that will make me a legend and cause my name to go down in history.”
“Nay. I refuse to do that!”
“Then I’ll tell everyone yer dirty little secret.”
“Ye will no’!” She lowered her chin. “If ye do that, my faither will be killed and I’ll be imprisoned or possibly executed as well. Ye ken that no lassie can ever hold such a position. It is no’ allowed.”
“Now is a fine time to think of that.”
“Caleb, I beg ye. Keep this a secret. Please.” The turmoil on her face softened a spot in his heart. Caleb would never want harm to come to Bridget or her father. He wouldn’t expose her secret for anything, but she didn’t need to know that right now.
“I will keep yer secret if ye redeem yerself by writin’ somethin’ guid about me in the book.”
“Ye’re no’ goin’ to drop this bluidy idea, are ye?”
“It’s a few simple phrases added to the book about me, and the auld ones removed. Ye do that and I’ll keep yer secret. Is it a deal or no’?” He held out his hand to shake hers. Her eyes dropped down to look at it.
“Ye’d really let m
y faither die, and risk that I might be imprisoned or possibly tortured or even killed?”
“Ye’d really let everyone think I’m a fool, just because I wrote in that book?” He answered her question with one of his own.
“A fool?” she asked. “Ye did that all by yerself. Ye didna need my help for it.”
“Do we have a deal or no’?” He continued to hold out his hand.
“Fine!” she slapped her hand in his, intending to shake it. But instead, he pulled her close and pressed his mouth up against hers in a passionate kiss. She pulled away and held her hand to her mouth, staring at him. “What was that for?”
“I thought the deal was important enough to be sealed with a kiss.”
Her face seemed flushed and she looked to the ground shyly.
“Caleb? Caleb are ye in there?” came Logan’s voice from the edge of the graveyard. “The king is arrivin’ soon and Storm wants all the MacKeefes there to greet him.”
“I’ll be right there,” Caleb called over his shoulder. Once more, he looked back at Bridget. “Dinna forget . . . we have a deal.”
“Oh, I willna forget,” she promised him. Her tongue shot out and touched her lips, making him think she enjoyed the kiss. He certainly did.
“Slink, where are ye? We need to go,” Caleb called out, anxious to read Bridget’s next words about him, because he was sure now that they were going to be good.
Chapter 10
“The king’s messenger arrived with a missive sayin’ King Robert willna arrive until the morrow now,” Logan told Caleb as they sat at a table in the great hall with tankards of ale clutched in their hands. While most of the visitors and competitors were outside on this sunny day, there were servants bustling about still making preparations for the king’s arrival.
The great hall was decorated with fresh flowers and long, colorful banners. The dais was set with a silk table covering, and brass platters with goblets made of silver. Caleb had taken a walk through the kitchen earlier, and spied the peacock and venison that would be prepared and served once the king arrived.
“Mmph,” said Caleb, not really listening. He was watching Bridget talking to Wren and his sister, Trea, across the great hall. Her father wasn’t with them and he wondered why not.
“The preliminary competitions went well today, dinna ye agree?” asked Logan. “Although, it was odd how many of the competitors ended up having random accidents. Highly unexpected.”
“Uh huh.” Caleb continued to drink, his eyes never leaving the girl.
“They’ve managed to narrow it down to the top six lairds who will be in the finals tomorrow,” continued Logan. “Storm is among them, of course. I swear he’s goin’ to win again this year. That will make three times in a row. Or will it be four? I canna keep track.”
“Whatever ye say.”
“Bluidy hell, Caleb, what’s the matter with ye?” asked Logan. His wolf was on the floor under the table, since some of the women were frightened of it. Slink crawled around the top of the trestle table, eating scraps that had been left from the last meal. “Why so glum? Ye act like ye’ve lost yer best friend.”
“Best friend,” he mumbled, clutching his tankard, still staring across the room.
“What are ye lookin’ at?” Logan turned around to see Bridget. “Och, I should have kent. Ye’re longin’ to wrap yer rock-hard arms around the chronicler’s daughter.”
“She made a fool out of me, Logan. I should hate her for it but, somehow, I dinna.”
“Aye, yer brathairs told me what was written about ye in the book.” He grinned. “Somehow, I dinna remember ye writin’ those exact words when ye added yerself to the chronicles.”
“I didna, and ye ken it. She changed my words and made me look like a fool.”
“I canna say that ye didna deserve it.”
“Whether I deserve it or no’ doesna matter. It still doesna make what she did right.”
“What are ye goin’ to do about it?” Logan reached over and took a bone off the table and threw it to his wolf. “If I ken ye, ye’re goin’ to want to change what’s written and have somethin’ better said about ye.”
“Oh, she is goin’ to do that,” he said with a nod. “She’s goin’ to write somethin’ guid in the book about me next.”
“How did ye get her to agree to that?”
“I’m keepin’ her secret, that’s how.”
“What secret?” asked Logan.
“I canna tell ye.” Caleb swirled the rest of the liquid in his cup, wishing he could. But somehow, it didn’t seem right after he’d promised her he wouldn’t tell a soul.
“Blethers, what does that mean, Caleb? We’re friends. We dinna keep secrets from each other. Ye can tell me.”
“I want to tell ye, but I dinna think I should.” Caleb got up and picked up Slink.
“Bridget’s got ye mesmerized, Caleb. I’ve never seen ye this infatuated with a lass before. Have ye taken her yet?”
“Taken her?” Caleb’s head snapped up. “She doesna even seem to like it when I kiss her.”
“Hah!” Logan downed the contents of his tankard. “My advice to ye is to take her on the shore or in a field of flowers like I did with Rhoswen.”
“Egads, Logan, dinna tell me how and where to bed a lass! I dinna need yer help with that!”
“I’m no’,” said Logan with a scowl. “I was talkin’ about takin’ her on a walk near the water or in a field of flowers. But now I can see what’s on yer mind, and ye’ve got it bad.”
“Mayhap ye’re right,” said Caleb with a frustrated sigh. He headed across the room toward Bridget, needing to do something to get the girl to like him. He didn’t want to be rejected, and especially not by a bonnie lassie who he couldn’t stop thinking about day and night.
* * *
“Thank ye,” said Bridget, slipping a small bottle of liquid herbs into her bag that Wren handed her. Bridget had been talking to Wren and Trea about her father’s health. She had brought him food earlier but he had still been having hallucinations. So she’d given him more of the tincture and he was sleeping once again.
“Brathair,” said Trea as Caleb walked up to join them. “I finally met the girl ye’ve been talkin’ about for months.”
“Trea, what’s goin’ on?” asked Caleb, looking at them suspiciously.
“It’s nothin’,” said Bridget. “Why do ye ask?”
“I saw Lady Wren give ye somethin’,” he told her, his eyes going to her bag. The man didn’t miss a thing. And although he was already privy to the fact that she was writing the chronicles, she didn’t want to tell him what bad shape her father was really in.
“If you’ll excuse us,” said Wren. “Caleb’s sister, Finnea, is waiting for us to help finish making the wreath that will be placed on the winner’s head tomorrow.”
“Aye, we should go.” Trea reached over and kissed her brother on the cheek before they walked away.
“Are ye busy, lass?” asked Caleb.
“What do ye mean?” Bridget didn’t look at him when she spoke, so Caleb figured she was still sore about what happened earlier.
“I was hopin’ we could take a ride down to the river since it is such a bonnie day.”
“I really shouldna leave my faither.”
“Where is yer faither? I didna see him at the meal. Is somethin’ wrong?”
“Nay. He’s just no’ feelin’ well. He’s in our chamber sleepin’.”
“Then ye dinna need to stay here, unless ye plan on watchin’ him sleep.”
“Nay, I dinna plan on that,” she said, realizing her father wouldn’t awake for hours. She could see Caleb was trying to make amends, and she honestly felt bad for what happened earlier. “I suppose a quick ride to the river to cool off my feet wouldna be a bad idea.”
“Guid. Then, shall we go retrieve our horses from the stables?” He held out his arm to escort her. His pine marten popped its head out of the bag and it all looked so sweet that she couldn’t refuse him.
“To the stables,” she said, holding on to his arm as they left the great hall.
Ten minutes later, they were riding out of the castle and it was just what Bridget needed. The sun shone down brightly and the summer breeze blew against her face, relaxing her and making her troubles seem far away. Reaching up, she pulled the ribbon loose that held back her hair, reaching back to unwind the braid that had trailed down her back. With her hair loose and not having to watch after her father as she rode, she felt free and playful. She hadn’t felt this way since she was a child.
“Bridget, slow down. What’s the hurry?” shouted Caleb from behind her.
“I’ll race ye,” she said, taking off on her horse at a run before he had the chance to object. She managed to stay just ahead of him, and when they reached the river, she stopped her horse, giggling like a child. “I bet ye didna think a girl could ride so fast.”
“Nay, ye surprised me.” He dismounted and hurried over, holding out his arms and she eagerly accepted his assistance. When he lowered her to the ground, his hands lingered at her waist. She could feel the warmth of his hands on her body and she liked it. “Where did ye learn to do that?” he asked her.
“I taught myself to ride when I was just a child.” She looked up at him and her body stirred. The sun shone on his face making him look even more handsome than before. The darkness of his eyes that she thought were black, lightened and she could see brown specks in them now. His shoulder-length hair lifted in the breeze. Brown-black waves and even some small curls fell across his face. She felt comfortable being so close him, and found herself wanting to kiss him again.
He was looking at her mouth so she bravely took the chance, standing on her tiptoes and brushing her lips against his. His arms slid around her and he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss and making her inner core come to life.
“Mmmm,” he said with his mouth still against hers, making a buzzing sensation that tickled. It made her giggle. “And where did ye learn to kiss like that?”
Highland Spy: Highland Chronicles Series - Book 4 Page 9
