The Daring Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series)

by Carmen Caine

  Liselle stood before the wooden tub, and for a brief moment, he caught the sensuous curve of her hip in the dim light as she sank into the steam rising invitingly from the water.

  Grimly, he took a deep breath and prepared to shut the door. Aye, he’d wait until she was done. Her honey-colored tresses gleaming in the firelight made his pulse leap a bit too wildly.

  And then there was a splash, and she lifted her leg out of the water, and rubbing a dark spot upon her ankle, she gasped in a strangled whisper, “Forever branded! Forever marked! Eternità!”

  It was the desperation in her tone that propelled him forward. It was enough to make a man’s heart break. And enough to dispel any lustful thought he might have had. Concerned only with her welfare, he entered the chamber, and shutting the door behind him, crossed the room in three long strides.

  He heard Liselle’s horrified gasp, and from the corner of his eye, he saw her jerk her foot back into the water and sink down into the tub so only her eyes peered over the edge.

  But he strode first to the fire and only when he’d kicked it back into life with his booted foot did he turn to catch Liselle’s eye. Never breaking her gaze, he advanced to kneel on one knee beside the tub.

  Ignoring the sounds of her protests bubbling from under the water, he plunged his hand into the tub, and firmly grasping her submerged foot, pulled it out.

  In the bright firelight, he could see a black tattoo of a viper gracing her slender ankle.

  She twisted her foot but to no avail. His grip was strong.

  The mark was a finely wrought one. He could see the fine scales of the snake and its venomous tongue curving around her flesh.

  And then Liselle rose up enough out of the water to say, “Leave! At once! Pascal would strike you dead without question if he saw you now!”

  But he paid little heed to her warning.

  Curious, he rose to sit on the edge of the tub, and gripping her ankle even tighter, he drew it across his knee and rubbed his thumb along her skin.

  “This mark. What is it?” he asked in a soft rumble.

  For a moment, he didn’t think she would answer, but then her alto voice replied, “Something that is death for you to see.”

  His quizzical gray eyes met hers.

  Jerking her foot free, she immersed it quickly. “I am not free, as you are,” she said bitterly. I am forever cursed, marked as an assassin.”

  Sorrow washed over him. Then it was true. The lass truly was an assassin.

  And then she turned her head away to plead again, “Please, leave.”

  “Nay, I’ll not go,” Julian swore with deep intent. Nay, he’d not let this lass be used in games of power. She was more than a tool for the Vindictam. “Tell me how ye might be freed from this curse, lass. ‘Tis clear that it is your wish, aye?”

  Her hazel eyes dilated, and for a moment, he thought he saw the glitter of tears in them, but when she spoke, her voice was strong and harsh. “I cannot leave, Lord Gray.”

  “And why canna ye leave, lass?” he asked tenderly, his voice sounding thick to his own ears.

  She drew her brows into a line and remained silent.

  He couldn’t fault the lass for her loyalty. Aye, he respected it. But, mayhap if she understood that he already knew some of her secrets, she might reveal more. “Tell me more of the Vindictam and the Electus, lass,” he said.

  “Those are words that you may not know!” she gasped, horrified.

  “Yet, I know them,” he said gently.

  Her face was suffused with fear and dismay. “These are unspeakable secrets, secrets that I cannot betray! Already, I have revealed far too much,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Already, you know too much. They will not allow you to live.”

  Sliding his hand along the rim of the tub, he chuckled and replied lightly, “Then what’s the harm of knowing more if I’m a dead man even now?”

  “I do not jest, Lord Gray,” she replied with a firm scowl. “And if you are gentleman, you would leave me to my privacy at once!”

  Her eyes were large in the dim light, and then with a bitter twist of her lip, she said, “I would that I had never left La Serenìsima. Life was simple then, living for the promise of the future. Had I known then …” Her voice trailed away. And then she turned on him suddenly and said, “Leave. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I’ll not be leaving, lass,” he said, rising to his feet and walking to the window. He opened the shutters a crack. The clouds had fled to reveal the face of the moon, lighting up the castle grounds. “I’ll fix my eyes upon the moon long enough for ye to make yourself decent, Lady Gray.”

  She didn’t hesitate.

  He could hear the soft lap of water as she exited the tub, and then the rustle of clothing. ‘Twas strange. He would have thought such a circumstance would have filled him with lusty thoughts, but instead, he was only consumed with worry over Liselle’s safety. He didn’t stop to think exactly what that might mean.

  “You should fear Pascal,” her voice filtered through the darkened chamber.

  Turning, he spied her standing in the shaft of moonlight falling from the window. She looked magnificent in a simple blue gown with sleeves that swept almost to her knees, her long hair twisting down her back in shimmering waves of silk.

  “I’ve never once run from the face of fear, lass,” he assured, his cheek creasing into a wry grin. “Come with me.” He held out his hand.

  “It is not so simple, Lord Gray.” Her laugh was bitter. “For the women of the Vindictam, there is no way out. One of us tried to leave once. Pippa.”

  “Pippa?” he repeated the name curiously.

  Her eyes took on a distant look. Floating to his side, her voice dropped into a low storyteller’s whisper. “Pippa was an assassin of the Vindictam, Lord Gray. Her knowledge of herbs was exceeded by no one. She was unmatched in both beauty and the art of poison. And she was greatly revered and respected by all, but even she had to pay the ultimate price when she fell in love with the man she had sworn to slay.” Her eyes took on a distant look.

  “And?” Julian prompted when she did not continue.

  She shook her head a little, as if shaking herself awake, and then she turned her face up towards the moon and closed her long lashes. “A nobleman. A Scottish nobleman was to die by her hand, but she refused. A trap was laid for her. Her lover was betrayed and imprisoned. She rescued him and lost her life for it, but not before she’d enacted vengeance. Painting poison upon her lips, she kissed each corrupt lord and won her lover’s freedom, leaving a legendary trail of bodies along the way.”

  “If her lips were as beckoning as ye claim, then ‘twas not a bad way to die,” Julian inserted lightly as she lapsed into silence once again.

  Liselle frowned. “In the Vindictam, the women are the assassins, Lord Gray. We are raised from birth to kill, and once we have the tongue ...” She paused a moment, and then lifting the hem of her skirt, pointed to her ankle. “Once we have the tongue upon our mark, there is no room for failure, my lord. If we fail, we become the hunted. Hunted by our very own brothers, if need be.”

  A cold chill washed over Julian. Could it be true? The women of the Vindictam? At once, an image of Nicoletta fled across his mind. The Scottish Court had harbored an assassin for many years.

  “An unusually cruel fate, Lady Gray,” was all he could think to say.

  She turned to him then and grasped his shoulder earnestly. “Should they discover you know this, they will hunt you down. You must leave. Leave at once! Go very far away from here!”

  Her eyes held an unmistakable plea, stunning eyes that seemed to devour him. He saw many things there. Fear. Desire. Despair.

  Gently, he closed his hand over hers. “Then come with me, lass,” he said, surprising himself with the genuineness of his request. Aye, he could think of nothing he wanted more than to have her at his side throughout the years.

  “I … may not,” she said with a hiss of indrawn breath.

  “Ma
y not, or will not?” Julian questioned, searching her face. “What aren’t ye telling me, lass?”

  “I may not choose …” she began, but then grimaced and said instead, “What does it matter? You are now a dead man. You know too much, Lord Gray.”

  “So ye insist upon telling me, lass,” he replied with a shrug. Catching her by the wrist, he pulled her close and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Come with me. I’ll see that ye willna be harmed.”

  With a snort, she placed her hands upon his chest and pushed him away. “Even Le Marin is no match for the Vindictam. Go before you are found here.”

  “And your tongue?” he asked, indicating her ankle. “If ye fail in assassinating Dolfin, what then?”

  She glanced at him sharply, and her eyes widened in surprise for a moment, but then she replied, “I have not been chartered to kill him, my lord—”

  There was a knock on the door.

  Jerking back in alarm, Liselle gasped. “You must go! It must be Pascal!”

  He was loath to leave her presence, there was still so much to say.

  “Liselle?” Pascal’s distinctive tone filtered through the wooden door.

  Planting a soft kiss on the back of her hand, Julian briefly folded Liselle in his arms, and then throwing the shutters open wide, he promised, “I will return. This isna’ over, lass. Not at all.”

  And then without waiting for a reply, he swung his booted feet over the window ledge, and finding a purchase for his toes, climbed down far enough to drop safely onto the ground below.

  Over his head, he could hear her speaking with Pascal for only a moment before the door slammed shut.

  With a muffled oath, he sprinted for cover, heading for the chapel. Aye, he’d follow the lad. As Electus, Pascal was a key to be used.

  And as he waited, bits and pieces of Liselle’s conversation played through his mind.

  The lass was trapped. Nay, she was enslaved. A victim. A victim who could be forced to kill his mentor, Dolfin. And if she failed to escape her charter … he refused to finish the thought. He had to find a way to save them both.

  He waited for a time, but Pascal did not appear.

  And when he finally went in search of him, he found no sign of the lad. It was as if he’d never been there at all.

  Disconcerted, Julian returned to the chapel and positioned himself near the window with a good view of Liselle’s chamber. Propping his booted feet on the back of a chair, he settled in for a long night.

  Dawn arrived, and with it came the English army.

  As Gloucester’s men covered the heath outside of Edinburgh, any support that Albany had gained evaporated in an instant. He was left with no choice but to reconcile and concede the throne to James with a public declaration of brotherly love and kindness.

  But Julian wasn’t interested in royal politics.

  He sought Liselle. He had to find a way to aid the lass.

  He found her in the company of Kate and her ladies as they sat in the morning sun, taking up their needles to embroider upon bits of silk. And for a time, he watched her from under his brows.

  How could he truly set her free? And if he were to set her free, what then?

  Different possibilities whirled through his mind, most of them centered upon whisking her away to Castle Huntly, to be held safely in his arms. But then Cameron’s deep voice shattered his concentration.

  “Albany’s not entirely daft,” the earl observed as his lips crooked into a smile. “Now he sees that his plans for the throne have unraveled.”

  “Then he’s switched sides?” Julian asked, clearing his mind of Liselle—at least for the moment. “And Gloucester?”

  “We’ll surrender Castle Berwick to the English,” Cameron replied, the slight twist of his lip revealing his annoyance. “And forfeit Princess Cecily’s betrothal. We’ll repay what coin we’ve received for her dowry to Edward, and then ‘twill be the end of this mad affair.”

  “Albany won't stop.” Julian arched a brow riddled with disdain. “He'll only have enough when his mouth is filled with earth from his own grave. The man doesna know the meaning of loyalty. I’m sure this is no more than a mere pause between acts in a play, a play that will soon see him trying to seize the throne again.”

  “Mayhap,” Cameron agreed readily enough, but then his voice adopted a humorous tone. “But at the moment, lad, I’m far more curious over another matter.”

  “Aye?” Julian grunted.

  Cameron’s dark eyes sparkled with amusement. “Why do I find ye spying on your wee wife?”

  Julian drew back sharply.

  And then Cameron reached over to clap him on the shoulder and laugh. “Aye then, I’ve a truce to finish, lad. But we’ll speak soon. There’s a tale here that I must know.” And then with a cordial nod, he excused himself.

  Drawing his brows into a line, Julian turned back to Liselle.

  But she was gone.

  * * *

  Begging a headache as an excuse, Liselle left the company of the countess and returned to her chamber. She was scarce in the frame of mind to push a needle through cloth.

  The evening before, she had told Pascal of the Saluzzo’s venomous words.

  Her cousin had responded with a blasé shrug and the comment that if the man started a war, then he would rejoice. Frankly, he had seemed disappointed that only a few of the Saluzzi were obsessed with breaking the truce.

  But then, what had she expected from Pascal?

  And after making her swear, once again, not to mention the matter to Orazio, he had slipped away into the darkness.

  Liselle scowled.

  If only Orazio were here, he would know what needed to be done.

  Frustrated, she struck her palm against the stones. And then falling back upon years of habit, she channeled her frustration into action. Slipping her bone-handled stiletto from her sleeve, she took aim. The stiletto flew through the air, hitting the chamber door, dead center.

  Marching across the room, she yanked the slim weapon free and targeted the beam above the window.

  Again, her aim was true. And again. And again. But each time she heard the thud of the blade striking home, her frustration only grew.

  Lord Gray was dangerous to her peace of mind! Come with me! How dare he say that to her. She could never do so. The Vindictam would never allow it. She had behaved so foolishly of late, spending far too much time dreaming of his kisses and the touch of his skin on hers.

  And Orazio! How could he expect her to kill an old man? The thought was abhorrent. She had to find some way of keeping Dolfin out of harm’s reach for good, before Orazio appeared again to give her the final order.

  Santo Ciélo! Why couldn’t her brother simply let the old man be? He would die a natural death soon enough.

  She could only hope that her next target would be someone clearly evil, a far more palatable proposition.

  And then a sudden knock on the heavy wooden door shattered her thoughts. Sliding her stiletto into its hidden sheath, she opened the door and gasped.

  It was Orazio.

  Flinging her arms around her laughing brother’s neck, Liselle cried out in a mixture of relief and delight.

  “Let me see you, cara mia!” Orazio finally ordered, stepping back to hold her at arm’s length as his noble face took on a stern look. Peering down at her along his angular nose, he asked, “Are you well? Where is your color? Have you been ill?”

  His lip twisted, and she could tell he wasn’t pleased with her appearance, but she was so thrilled to see him that she brushed his concern aside and instead asked for news of Nicoletta and the rest of the family.

  For a time, Orazio humored her requests as he folded his ebony-hooded cloak and brushed the lint off of his black-velvet doublet. And then seating himself in a chair, he stretched out his fine leather boots and let out a whistle.

  Liselle blinked in surprise as the door opened once again to reveal Pascal upon the threshold.

  Clad in a white,
long-sleeved muslin shirt with black hose and a wide leather belt, her angelic cousin stared down at her through half-closed lids. “Good day, bábia.”

  “Bábio.” Liselle frowned in response.

  Gracefully propping the door open with his foot, he leaned back into the hall and reappeared with a covered cage.

  Liselle’s heart stood still.

  Pigeons.

  “Your time has come, bábia,” Pascal muttered in overt disapproval as he pushed past her to set the cage upon the writing desk.

  Liselle held her breath. Her time to kill had come at last. But strangely, she felt only apprehension and despair. There was none of the eager enthusiasm that she had long dreamt would accompany the moment.

  Woodenly, she turned to face Orazio.

  Her brother watched her closely as he drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. His eyes, always so warm and welcoming, were now cold and hard as he said, “You know that you cannot fail.”

  Liselle’s mouth went dry, but she managed to nod all the same.

  Could she kill an old man? She had spent her whole life preparing for it. She stared into her brother’s eyes. She had always wanted his approval and acknowledgment of her skills.

  There was truly no choice for her in this. She would have to kill Dolfin.

  Orazio straightened his black doublet with calm authority and began, “A di Franco does not shy away from duty. You will not fail. I have faith in you.”

  “Pah!” Pascal inserted darkly. “She is not a killer. How many times must I tell you not to do this? She does not have the heart to truly be one of us.”

  Orazio’s eyes merely flicked at him before falling back expectantly upon Liselle. “Then are you ready to receive your orders, sorèlina?” he asked.

  What could she do? Numbly, she unsheathed her stiletto and nicked the tip of her finger. And as a single drop fell from it, she whispered the expected vow: “My life is yours to command. I am Vindictam. I am revenge.”

  Suddenly, Orazio caught her chin and held it still to search her face. “I fear for you, but I have no choice, cara sorèlina,” he said in an almost desperate tone. “I have been told that you spilled Saluzzi blood on behalf of Lord Julian Gray.”