The Renegade's Heart

by Claire Delacroix

  The boy flushed.

  The smith watched, his expression inscrutable.

  The man in the cloak eased closer.

  “My master intends to greet the king at Melrose,” the boy said, stammering slightly as he felt his tale unraveling. “He intends to pledge his fealty again and for that, would ensure his steeds are in good health.”

  That would not be for several months, and Isabella might have said as much but she recalled the horse’s rider then.

  “The king!” she exclaimed. She turned to the smith. “This is the steed of the king’s messenger, the one who brought tidings that the king would be at Melrose.”

  The smith nodded vigorous agreement. “You are right, my lady! I knew I had seen the horse before, and that messenger has oft ridden to Kinfairlie. And he was robbed last night of his horse in Kinfairlie’s woods.” He spun on the boy. “Who is your master in truth, lad?”

  The boy’s expression turned to horror. He made to leap for the saddle, but the smith seized the bridle and held fast. The mare shied at the boy’s sudden movement, throwing her head back to whinny. Her reaction proved to Isabella that she did not know the boy and certainly had not been groomed by him. One great hoof lifted and Isabella feared she would rear. The blacksmith whispered to the horse even as her eyes rolled and she bared her teeth.

  The boy fled down Kinfairlie’s main road.

  “Hoy! Thief!” the smith shouted after him. His apprentices dropped their labors to run in the direction of their master’s pointing finger.

  At the smith’s shout, the agitated mare did rear. Her massive hooves pawed at the air as she snapped the bridle free from the blacksmith’s grip. He leapt after her, talking quickly and calmly, but she stamped and shied, nostrils flaring. Further down the road, Hermes snorted and neighed, trying to haul the stable hand back toward the mare. People backed away from those two horses, while the remaining horses fought their bits. In a heartbeat, chaos had erupted around the smith’s forge.

  The boy meanwhile fled down the street, the smith’s apprentices fast on his heels. Did he know Murdoch? Isabella had to have the truth of it from his own lips. She raced after the apprentices, passing the boy who led Hermes.

  Then she froze in realization. The stranger wore a dark cloak, one that flared in the wind.

  Murdoch! Isabella heard a clatter behind her and looked back in time to see that the stranger had shoved the loaded wagon so it rolled into the road, blocking any others who might have followed. He raced toward her and his hood fell back.

  Murdoch’s reckless grin flashed and his eyes danced with merriment, as if this was a great jest. Isabella did not know whether to be relieved that he was hale, or terrified that he was within her brother’s own village. Murdoch showed no hesitation. He snatched the reins from the stable hand’s grip and vaulted on to the back of Hermes in one fluid move. Before Isabella could respond, he had given the stallion his heels and snatched her up by the waist as he rode past.

  “Murdoch!” she said in wonder as he dropped her into his own lap. He locked one arm around her waist, crushing her against his heat and strength. Hermes tossed his head and bolted, his energy finding sudden and welcome release. “You sent back the horse!”

  “It was not mine to keep.” Murdoch grinned. “And she did not walk ten miles without her shoe. Only from Kinfairlie’s forest.”

  Isabella was relieved and her heart warmed that Murdoch had shown a care for the creature that echoed her own.

  “Hold fast, my lady,” he murmured with a wink. “I will see Gavin away safely, but cannot promise the ride will be smooth.”

  Isabella twisted to look at the winding road ahead, saw the boys darting through the crowd, and knew he spoke the truth.

  Hermes galloped down the road with abandon and once he had begun to run, Isabella doubted any man could stop him. He was a large destrier and opinionated about his choices. Murdoch laughed and let the horse have its lead.

  They made a fine pair, indeed, both reckless and enjoying the moment.

  “Do not injure this horse,” Isabella muttered and Murdoch’s arm tightened around her, holding her fast in a way that sent shivers of delight running through her.

  “He is too clever for that,” Murdoch murmured. “I find that he is not the only one in Kinfairlie whose cleverness I come to rely upon.”

  She looked up at the sparkle of his blue eyes and her heart thumped in a most painful way. Her gaze dropped to his lips, to that dangerous smile, and Isabella yearned for another kiss.

  “In time, my lady,” Murdoch whispered, evidently reading her thoughts. “First matters first.”

  It was purely for her own safety that Isabella wrapped an arm around Murdoch’s waist.

  Or so she would insist to Alexander later.

  * * *

  Chapter Six

  Gavin was quick, but so were the apprentices.

  And Murdoch quickly realized that they knew Kinfairlie village as Gavin did not.

  Still the boy used his advantage well. Gavin reached the main square and flung a barrel at the closest of the smith’s apprentices. That boy was flattened by the impact, though the second leapt over the barrel to continue the chase across the square.

  Murdoch coaxed the stallion to gallop after them. It leapt over apprentice and barrel with powerful ease, snorting and tossing its head as it ran after the boys. Villagers took one look and retreated into their homes, which was by far the safer option. Isabella, to Murdoch’s pride, did not cower but held fast and watched avidly.

  Gavin pushed carts and tipped bins of grain as he fled across the square, trying to obstruct the other boys. The stallion was a marvel – as black as ebony and more powerful than any horse Murdoch had ever ridden, it reacted instinctively and needed no guidance. It leapt every obstacle with enviable grace, and seemed to enjoy the run as much as Murdoch did.

  Just before the chapel, Gavin grabbed the pillar that held an awning over the cart of the alewife. The fabric awning fell, and she shouted in dismay that it dipped into her ale. Patrons surged forward to help and the smith’s boy had his path obstructed. Hermes pivoted and turned back, cantering in the square in frustration. Murdoch spied the crowd from the smith’s forge surging down that road toward them.

  Isabella smiled.

  “Tell me,” Murdoch murmured in her ear, pulling her more tightly against himself.

  She cast him a defiant glance. “I should not aid renegades and thieves.”

  “But you are the captive of a renegade and, surely, in fear for your very life.” Isabella glanced up in obvious surprise, but Murdoch grinned. “No one need know that you are safer with me than anywhere else.”

  Her expression softened as she held his gaze, then she swallowed. “He has taken the right path around the chapel. The baker always has a line in the morning, and his shop is in that lane. Your boy will not get through there quickly.”

  The other apprentice raced down the lane to the left of the chapel, evidently knowing the same thing.

  “See? The paths meet ahead, but the smith’s boy will reach the intersection first.”

  Murdoch turned Hermes to gallop down the lane the apprentice had taken and Isabella caught her breath. “It is too narrow!” she complained but Hermes was already racing down it.

  It was a narrow passage, plus one with pots and sacks on either side. Murdoch let the reins go slack, giving Hermes full freedom to choose as he must. Isabella stared at him in horror, but Murdoch tightened his legs around the horse and grabbed two fistfuls of the horse’s loose mane, locking the lady within his embrace. She took one look at his choice, then entwined her hands in the stallion’s mane as well.

  Meanwhile, the smith’s boy evidently heard the horse approaching. He turned back to look, then his eyes widened in terror. He leapt into an open doorway in the nick of time and a woman screamed within that abode. Hermes thundered past the doorway and Murdoch caught a glimpse of the astonishment on the apprentice’s face.

  Murdoch c
huckled. “This is a magnificent steed. Perhaps I should keep him.”

  “You will be gutted before your own eyes, should you steal a steed of this ilk.” Isabella said, her tone suddenly cross. “Have you no care for your own welfare?”

  Murdoch laughed. “Have you a care for my welfare, my lady?”

  “My brother hunts you on this day – and you would provoke him further!”

  Murdoch leaned closer, murmuring against her ear, and felt her shiver. “But he has not caught me yet, has he?” He liked the sign that he was not the only one with heat in his veins when they were together. And truly, it warmed more than his body to know that Isabella feared for his welfare.

  “I pray to God that he does not,” she contented herself with saying and Murdoch found himself smiling.

  The steed galloped into the smaller square that marked the intersection of the two lanes behind the chapel, Murdoch halting Hermes with a flourish so that the stallion faced down the path Gavin had taken. The boy came racing into the square, grinned at Murdoch, then ducked beneath the horse to keep on running. Hermes snorted and stamped but held his ground.

  Those from the smith’s forge surged up the lane, hesitating when they saw Murdoch on Hermes and holding Isabella apparently captive.

  Several villagers came out of their homes, one of them raising his voice. “What goes on here?” His cry brought his neighbors to their doors and windows.

  “A thief!” cried the apprentice. “The thief of the messenger’s horse.”

  “And what of this one?” roared another man. “He steals the laird’s own horse and seizes the lady Isabella.”

  “We seek only justice from Kinfairlie,” Murdoch said. “The justice of a stolen relic returned to its rightful owner. Should you know the truth of it, you have but to tell me.”

  “And who might you be?” bellowed one.

  “I am Murdoch Seton.” Murdoch smiled. “And should you seek me out with such tidings, I guarantee you will find me.”

  “You are a fool,” Isabella muttered.

  Murdoch only laughed. The crowd surged forward, anger driving them closer. Hermes pranced in his impatience to run.

  “And I am no thief!” Gavin shouted from the other side of the small square. “For I no longer have any spoils!”

  With that, he flung a handful of coins into the square, just as Murdoch had instructed him. The silver danced and spun, scattering across the beaten earth. The villagers dove for the money, even as the crowd from the smith’s lunged for the small square.

  There was congestion and chaos immediately, sufficient that Gavin fled without anyone noticing him. Murdoch turned Hermes, then gave the stallion his heels. The horse raced for the town’s perimeter, villagers scrambling out of his path. Murdoch saw Gavin leap into the ditch beside the road, waving gaily before he ducked into the hedgerows and disappeared.

  The boy was quick. And none would note him now.

  Murdoch clicked his teeth to Hermes, tugging the horse in the opposite direction from Kinfairlie’s forest, toward the coast. “And we shall go this way,” he said, urging the horse to run. The beast did exactly that, leaping over the small stone boundary that marked the edge of the village.

  The crowd burst from the village and clustered at the wall in consultation. Ultimately they would give chase, Murdoch knew, deciding that retrieving the laird’s horse and his sister were more important than catching a young boy.

  Isabella looked over Murdoch’s shoulder and he saw her bite her lip. “He is your squire?”

  Murdoch nodded. “Gavin is his name.”

  “He runs for the forest,” she said, glancing up at him. “While all pursue you. Is this as you planned?”

  “Not precisely,” Murdoch admitted, realizing that all had gone far better than he had hoped. He had never expected to have Isabella to himself again, much less so soon, and he could not find fault with the situation. He smiled at her. “I had hoped that he would not be questioned, but I come to see, my lady, that when in Kinfairlie, I must allow for your quick tongue.”

  “Me?” Isabella flushed as he watched.

  “You recognized the horse and were unafraid to say as much.”

  “I did not mean to make trouble for you...”

  “No. You meant to see justice served in the end, just as I do, which is why we understand each other so well.” Murdoch looked down into the clear green of her eyes and let his voice fall low. “Are we two of a kind, my Isabella?”

  The lady flushed, her gaze dropping to his lips, even as she caught her breath. “I am not your Isabella,” she insisted, her words breathless. He heard the desire in her voice and was surprised to feel an answering desire within himself.

  “Yet,” Murdoch murmured. He spoke on impulse, but knew truth when he heard it. He would make this lady his own. Murdoch watched surprise dawn in Isabella’s eyes at his assertion.

  When she smiled up at him, clearly at ease with the notion, Murdoch did the only thing he could have done under the circumstance.

  He bent and kissed her thoroughly.

  * * *

  Murdoch’s kiss was even more potent the second time.

  Isabella could not believe it.

  Even more astonishing, his touch awakened a hunger within her that she had never guessed she possessed. She found herself not only opening her mouth to his kiss, but winding her arms around his neck and arching against his chest. He angled his head, slanting his mouth over hers with a possessive ease that thrilled her.

  Murdoch meant to make her his own! He was a knight and a man of honor, just as she had known him to be. He had sent the mare to the smith, when it would have been easier – and safer – to ride her away. He had sent Gavin, who was less likely to be recognized, but he had not abandoned the boy. And he had boldly drawn the ire of the villagers to himself, using his wits to ensure that Gavin escaped unscathed. The boy had only done his master’s bidding, after all, and Isabella admired that Murdoch had protected his squire.

  He was bold and daring, a little reckless, but honorable.

  It would suit her well to be claimed by this man. Isabella kissed him back, welcoming his ardent embrace, until Murdoch lifted his head. His eyes fairly glowed as he looked down at her, and he smiled in that roguish way that made her heart skip. “My dauntless Isabella,” he murmured, stealing a quick kiss. “Dare I hope that you have learned something of your brother’s deeds since last we met?”

  The unexpected question sent a chill through Isabella. She had thought he might make another sweet confession, but still he asked after her brother.

  Surely Murdoch did not make her promises only because she was of use to him? No, such doubts had no place between them. She dismissed the idea, refusing to give it any credit. He simply was a man on a quest, she had pledged to aid him, and he wanted to know what she had learned. They could not have much time before they were pursued, and he had need of her tidings.

  Oddly, Isabella’s explanation did not please her as much as such practical reasoning usually did. Unwelcome doubt lingered.

  All the same, she directed him toward the coast. “There are salt fens just over that ridge. No one goes there but Eleanor and me.”

  “Eleanor?” Murdoch’s eyes narrowed.

  “My brother’s wife. She is teaching me about the healing plants. We went there to gather roots in the fall. But she is sickened with her second child, and no one else knows how to walk in the fens. The sand is soft there, and with a mis-step, it is easy to sink too deeply to continue.”

  “Perhaps not the best place for a destrier of such size as this one.”

  Isabella liked that again, he was concerned for the steed. “I know a place where the footing is solid, yet we shall be hidden.” She pointed. “Just ahead here, there is a break in the hill that will make the descent easier for Hermes.”

  To her relief, Murdoch followed her direction, though he glanced back once toward the village. Isabella did as well, though she saw no real signs of pursuit.

/>   That did not mean there would not be one.

  * * *

  The salt fens always seemed to be a magical place to Isabella. They were remote from Kinfairlie village, well beyond the tilled fields and even beyond those that remained perpetually in fallow.

  She explained to Murdoch as they rode that the fields of Kinfairlie had been sown with salt once by an invading army, and Alexander had continued their father’s quest of gradually reclaiming the land. It took time, though, for the salt to leech away so that crops could be grown again. Her father’s scheme had been to set up dykes and flood specified fields repeatedly for a number of years, then to move them into tillage, and build dykes in the next allotment.

  Snared between those remaining untilled fields of Kinfairlie and the ocean itself, the salt fens filled a low flat basin that did not drain overly well. At the far side of the low land was the sea, and its salt water fed the wetlands. The last mile to the sea was low and marshy, filled with an abundance of birds and often shrouded in fog.

  But here, tall reeds grew and sound seemed to disappear. The fens could have been a place out of time. The previous autumn, when she had come with Eleanor, Isabella had learned of useful roots that grew in this place. There had been only the sound of the birds and the rustle of the reeds as the sun beat down upon the pair of them as they worked.

  On this day, the reeds looked to be etched with silver, for there was frost along the length of each leaf. The shallow water, which would not support the weight of one who stepped in the wrong place, glittered in the light. The sky was pewter overhead and the wind was still, seeing that they were in the lee of that low hill and the wind of late had blown from inland with uncharacteristic persistence. Isabella did not realize how much that fey wind at Kinfairlie had troubled her until she and Murdoch rode down to the silence of the fens.

  They were utterly alone. She was keenly aware of the weight of Murdoch’s hand on her waist, the feel of his thighs behind hers, his breath in her hair. She tingled in anticipation of another kiss or even a bolder caress.