Alexander knew something.
And he would never share his knowledge willingly. Truly, Alexander had become so tedious since assuming the lairdship. He was consumed with responsibility and duty, when once he had been the troublemaker in the family. He kept all to himself, especially now that Eleanor was so ill. Where would he secure any secrets? Isabella got no further before Elizabeth appeared suddenly beside her.
“So?” Elizabeth demanded, fairly dancing in her excitement. “Did you see him? Do you know why he came to Kinfairlie?”
For once, Isabella was not inclined to confide in her sister. She felt protective of Murdoch and his secret and realized Alexander would not be the only one in this keep to hide knowledge.
“Who?” Isabella asked, feigning innocence.
Elizabeth poked her. “You know who! The knight! Is he not most handsome?”
“He looks hale enough.”
Elizabeth scoffed. “More than hale. He is bold and brave. I can tell by one glimpse of him. He walked ahead of Anthony in his desire to see Alexander. This is a man who sees matters resolved.” Elizabeth shivered with delight. “Imagine what tales he might tell.”
“I cannot guess.”
“Nonsense! What did you learn of him?”
“Me?”
Elizabeth folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the table beside Isabella, fixing her sister with a stern look. “You know everything that occurs in this keep. And you did not come down to the hall after me.” She grimaced. “I should have remained in our chamber, but I had been sure he would come into the hall. What did you hear?”
“I went to fetch the herbs...”
“No. I was watching for you.” Elizabeth leaned closer, conviction in her gaze. “You listened. You know why he came. Tell me!” Isabella averted her own gaze, feigning preoccupation in her herbs. “Did he come for a bride? Which one of us? What did Alexander say?”
“I do not know,” Isabella said. On one hand, she did not wish to lie to her sister. On the other, it would be unkind to encourage any idea that Murdoch had arrived to seek a wife. She knew her sister well enough that she realized she would not dissuade Elizabeth of that notion without telling her the truth.
And the truth was Murdoch’s to share – or not.
Elizabeth pouted prettily. “If you do not tell me, then I will tell Alexander what you did.”
“I did nothing!”
“You listened. He will believe me and he will not be pleased.”
“You are right,” she conceded, trying to deflect Elizabeth’s interest in another way. “I did try to listen.”
“Ha!”
“But it seemed unfair to mention as much because I heard nothing.”
Elizabeth was incredulous. “Nothing?”
Isabella shrugged. “They dropped their voices too low for me to hear.” She smiled at her sister. “I tried, but it was to no avail.” She grimaced. “Then I heard Moira so I had to leave in haste, in case she came out of the solar and caught me there.”
“Secrets!” Elizabeth said with satisfaction, surveying the bustle of activity in the kitchens. “Negotiations, just as I suspected.”
“You cannot be certain,” Isabella said. “It could have been another matter they discussed.”
“What other matter? He would have come to Alexander’s courts, had he a complaint, and any less delicate matter would have been discussed in the hall.” She brightened at a thought. “Perhaps I can get the truth from Alexander.”
“That is a good idea,” Isabella agreed mildly. “Perhaps you can. He does favor you.”
Elizabeth nodded. “And he has no right to keep the truth from us, not if he is arranging our nuptials.” Her eyes narrowed. “He did as much before with Madeline and Vivienne.”
“But he pledged not to do so again.”
Elizabeth’s lips twisted. “It has been too long and he has been preoccupied of late.”
“Eleanor’s condition gives him concern...”
“It is more than that,” Elizabeth insisted. “Alexander has a secret and I can guess what it is. I mean to know what fate he has chosen for us.” Elizabeth hastened away with purpose in her step.
Isabella heated the milk for Eleanor’s posset and considered what her sister had said. Alexander had been distracted of late, and until this day, Isabella had attributed it to concern over Eleanor’s condition. What if there was more at root? Perhaps Alexander knew of the thefts but did not know who was responsible, for he did naught to set the matter to rights. He could not know for certain that Ross was involved, for she knew that he would not spare his brother for a crime. Alexander’s concern with justice meant that he would never have been able to stand aside while a crime continued.
It made sense that the mystery was established but its solution was not.
Isabella had to find a way to get into Alexander’s chamber without being observed. There he kept his ledgers and his correspondence, and there she would find any evidence that had been committed to vellum.
For the simple fact was that if Isabella could discover some detail of import to Murdoch, if she could help him to see his family’s relic restored or even tell him that it would not be found at Kinfairlie, she would have cause to seek him out.
It was all in the interest of ensuring justice, of course.
And surely, it was the notion of sneaking into Alexander’s chamber that made her heart skip – not the prospect of seeing Murdoch once more.
* * *
Chapter Three
“You are suspicious,” Stewart said when they had ridden clear of Kinfairlie’s village. “Does that mean you have found the relic, or its location?”
Murdoch shook his head, wondering what the older man would think of his plan. “No, but I think the laird knows more than he would tell. Look at his holding.”
“It is affluent and appears to be well-administered.”
“But what is the source of his coin?” Murdoch asked. “The mill is small. There is no port. There are no bridges or main roads or tolls. There are few goats or pigs, enough for the villagers but not enough to sell. He cannot be selling wool fleeces, for there are not enough sheep. The fields are well tended, but there cannot be sufficient yield to sell, not with so many souls in the keep and village to be fed. There is no religious institution.”
There was only one road that approached Kinfairlie, and it led from the village through a large forest, winding like a ribbon through the shadows. Stewart and Murdoch had been accompanied by two squires on their trip south, at Duncan’s insistence, but on this day, they had left Gavin and Hamish hidden in the forest.
Stewart looked around with a frown. “Ravensmuir?” he suggested, naming the once powerful holding that was linked to Kinfairlie.
“Lies in ruins,” Murdoch said, gesturing to the distant shadow of that keep. It perched on the lip of the coast like a specter in the distance, apparently tumbling into the sea. “And all the land between here and there lies unplowed.” He leaned closer to the older man. “Whence comes his coin, Stewart? How can the children in his village be so plump and the garb of all be so well tended?”
Stewart pursed his lips. “They are said to breed horses, fine black stallions.”
“How many can there be to sell each year? With but one glimpse, I saw that his hall was full of fighting men – and mercenaries work for hard coin.” Murdoch sighed, discontent with the evidence before his eyes.
“He could have married a woman of means.”
“Or he could have secretly returned to his family’s ancient trade, with the assistance of his brother.”
“I will wager then that your interview with him did not progress so well,” Stewart said.
“He said it was not his concern, that so far as he knew the relic remained in my family’s possession.” Murdoch slanted a glance at his companion, knowing that this next comment would not be well-received. “He said if there was a thief at Seton Manor, it was not his concern.”
�
��Villain!” Stewart said with heat. “To turn the accusation back on the accuser is evasive at best. I will guess that is not the whole of it.”
“He lies.” Murdoch scanned the silhouetted trees ahead, seeking some sign of the boys. The trees of the forest were barren in the winter light, but the shadows were very dark.
Too dark.
The wind had turned colder, as well.
When he saw the shadows light with golden fireflies, Murdoch felt dread slither down his spine.
They were not fireflies, not in January. He feared he knew what they were.
“His sister agrees with me,” he said to Stewart, fighting his dismay.
“His sister?”
“The maiden at the window. The curious one.”
Stewart frowned. “She is young, a damsel of age to wed.”
“Indeed, she is. I am more concerned that she is curious, and that she lives within Kinfairlie’s keep.”
Stewart eyed Murdoch. “Did you encourage any notion she had of your intentions?”
Murdoch made light of the matter, for he was not prepared to confide in Stewart. “I but stole a kiss, when the opportunity presented itself. She is welcome to make whatsoever conclusions she desires.”
Stewart shook his head with force. “No, this is a matter between men. Leave the maiden be, for no good can come of it. This is not the daughter of a miller or an ale maker, one who has welcomed any number of men with her affections and will not suffer for any repercussions...”
Murdoch silenced the older man with a glance. “I will do whatsoever is necessary to see Duncan’s rightful property returned. Her brother lies so openly that even she acknowledges it.”
Stewart was not convinced. “I do not like that you involve her. Great ill could come to her, should her brother learn that she acts against him in his own home. What did you ask her to do?”
“I made her a wager, that should she discover the truth or the relic, I should leave her brother’s holding.” Murdoch smiled, for it was true. “It is much the same offer I made to the laird.”
“I would wager that he thought you already intended to leave.”
Murdoch grinned. “One cannot answer for a man’s assumptions.”
Stewart exhaled noisily, his disapproval clear. “What of those of a maiden? One kiss is little enough, but you would be wise to leave the matter at that.”
“She admitted already to me that her brother Ross had been here at the Yule.”
“So, he did leave the service of the Earl of Buchan. Where did he go?”
“It matters not if he left his spoils here.”
“You have no proof, lad. This is not a matter that can be resolved with recklessness...”
“Ah, but, Stewart, I believe it is. I have a plan to encourage the laird’s memory,” Murdoch said as they approached the forest. “Should it succeed, the maiden need do nothing.”
Stewart was still wary. “What plan is this?”
“He lies. I believe he needs encouragement to share what he knows. Whether he is himself guilty or defends another is of no import.”
“And how will you encourage his confidence?”
“We give every appearance of leaving on this day, but we will not. We will remain hidden in Kinfairlie’s forest, and we will guard the road to the keep. We will relieve any travelers upon this road of their valuables and read any messages they bear, although we shall ensure that none are injured.”
“How does theft encourage the return of stolen goods?” Stewart demanded.
“Is it theft if we donate all we gain to the people of Kinfairlie? I see it as alms or perhaps a loan.”
Stewart shook his head. “The laird will not see it such. He will see you hunted and maimed for any such crime...”
“And he will have to catch me first,” Murdoch said, his tone hard. “Are you with me in this, Stewart, or would you return to Seton Manor with nothing to show for your quest?”
“You were never so reckless before.” Stewart looked hard at Murdoch. “Where were you, lad? Why did you not return home? It is clear that you could not have had a wound like that the earl insisted you had sustained, for it would have lamed you had you survived. When did you become a man so enamored of falsehood and deceit?”
“I will not speak of it, Stewart.”
“Perhaps it is best you did not see your father again,” the older man muttered. “It would have killed him to have seen his favored son become an untrustworthy rogue.”
Murdoch eyed those fireflies and realized they were more numerous than he had imagined. Their golden light reflected on the snow, like a thousand flames on a thousand candles. The Elphine Queen had followed him.
What would she demand of him?
How much time did he have?
He realized that Stewart yet awaited his answer. “I will see Duncan’s property restored, if it is the last deed I do. Surely that vow has merit to you?”
“I do not like it.” The older man exhaled mightily, looking troubled. He shook a finger at Murdoch. “No one shall be injured. No blood shall be shed, be it of man or horse. And if any deed must be done that is illegal, the boys shall not lift a hand to do it. You know that they would do any deed for you. I would have your pledge that you will not ask that of them.”
“I will not.” Murdoch agreed. “Then, we are in agreement.”
“No,” Stewart said with vigor. “We are not in agreement. I merely cede to your command as I see that you will not be swayed. It is possible that I can save you from your own folly, and truly, your father would have wished me to attempt as much.” He sighed. “I know not what I shall tell the boys of this, for they have the notion that knighthood is filled with honor, not banditry.”
“Do they not know the merit of the greater good?” Murdoch asked, his tone sharp.
Stewart considered him anew. “Where were you? What so embittered the honorable man I once knew?”
“I will not speak of it,” Murdoch said again. He felt the older man studying him, so gestured to the forest and lightened his tone. Though he was certain of what his companion would say, he had to ask. “How strange there should be fireflies in January. Perhaps this is evidence of the sorcery said to be practiced by the Lammergeier family.”
Stewart looked at the forest, then back at Murdoch. The change in his expression said more than his words. He could not see them. They were Fae. “Truly you have need of a meal, my lord. There are no fireflies in winter.”
“What of the lights?”
“I see no lights. Time it is to have some bread in our bellies, that is what I see. Where are those boys? Hamish! Gavin!” Stewart rode onward, shouting when the silhouettes of their two young squires separated from the forest shadows.
Stewart gave orders to the boys before he had even dismounted, sending them in haste to gather a meal and set a fire. They scurried, and Murdoch wondered which of them was more terrified of the gruff older man. Stewart led the way from the path, riding deeper into the forest.
Murdoch followed, a trickle of cold sweat sliding down his back. Kinfairlie and the kiss of Isabella seemed a thousand miles behind him as the fireflies swarmed around him, flying around him with frantic speed. Murdoch swallowed and kept his eyes open. They circled his head in a dizzying blur, their light bright enough to make him wince.
With proximity, the truth was inescapable. They were Fae. Tiny Fae with golden wings, Fae who laughed and chased each other, filling the air with the swish of their wings and the tinkle of their merriment. One landed on his gloved hand and smiled up at him, as if in recognition of a fellow spirit. It knew Murdoch could see it, for it laughed at his horror.
The tiny golden Fae marched toward Murdoch’s cuff, its wings fluttering as it kept its balance. It bent and tugged back the leather, then stabbed a pine needle into his flesh. It laughed before it flew away.
A laugh filled with malice.
Dread coiled in Murdoch’s spine.
He tugged back the cuff of that glove with sp
eed. To his horror, there was a blue swirl on the back of his wrist, like a vine that sprouted upon his skin. It emanated from the point where the pine needle had stabbed him, for there was a single drop of blood there.
The marks were those made by the dwarf, the ones he had not believed to be real.
Murdoch heard a woman’s low laughter.
He recognized that laugh.
He turned and spied the silhouette of the Elphine Queen in the distant shadows of the forest. It could be no other woman, not with those dark wings stretched high over her head, that black hair running over her shoulders like an onyx river, and the dozens of small red sprites fluttering around her.
She had followed him.
She beckoned and he saw the golden glow of her court behind her. He would not willingly step into that place again. Murdoch rode on, striving to ignore her but unable to keep himself from stealing glances her way. He would know her scheme.
Although he could guess it well enough.
When she began to stride toward him, he knew he could not flee. She was beside him in an instant, covering the distance in a blink of an eye.
She ran her cold fingers over his knee, leaving a trail of icicles on his chausses. “Hail, lover,” she murmured. “Well met.”
Murdoch studiously avoided her gaze, knowing that he had been lost the first time because he had looked into her eyes. “I thought our ways had parted,” he managed to whisper.
She laughed. “You offered me any thing in exchange for your return to the mortal realm,” she reminded him. Murdoch would have continued to stare straight ahead, but she pulled something from her skirts. She displayed it to him, and he stared in horror.
It was a crystal orb, as clear as a dewdrop but larger than his fist. And within that clear sphere was a heart, pulsing red with blood. It could have been torn from the breast of a stag, given its size, but it would not have continued to beat as it did. Murdoch could not look away from her prize, so gruesome and yet beautiful as well.
The Renegade's Heart Page 5
