The Renegade's Heart

by Claire Delacroix

  Murdoch guided the horse where Isabella indicated, and she liked that he trusted her judgment so readily. “There is a rise, like an island and a cluster of old rocks are hidden there,” she said. “It is almost straight ahead but we must take a circuitous path to it. I will lead Hermes to ensure his footing.”

  Murdoch nodded and halted. He dismounted, then listened for a long moment, his stillness echoing that of the fens. He smiled at her when he reached to lift her from Hermes’ back. His hands fitted around her waist and his gaze locked with hers. They could have been alone in the world and Isabella could not find it in her heart to mind.

  What if there had been only they two? What if she had not feared for her brother’s sense of justice, and Murdoch had not been driven to retrieve his family’s relic? What if there had been only Murdoch and herself, and all the time in Christendom? In this place at this moment, Isabella could imagine that wondrous possibility.

  The solitude of the place seemed to strike Murdoch, as well, for he was not quick to lift his hands from her waist and he spoke in a whisper when she stood before him. “Surely you do not come here alone?” he asked, his concern making Isabella smile. “It is a most strange and solitary place.”

  “Like a secret,” she agreed and he nodded. “I have never been here alone. Only with Eleanor.” She followed his gaze back to the low rise behind them. “We must hide, while we can.”

  Murdoch nodded and she claimed Hermes’ reins to lead the stallion through the reeds, ensuring that the great horse stepped where the ground was solid. To her relief, Hermes did not sink deeply into the sand, and he was tired from his run – thus more biddable. He followed her with rare docility, only his hooves becoming wet.

  Murdoch followed her without question. When she found the hidden rise, a clearing about twenty feet in width, Isabella turned to watch Murdoch. It seemed unreal to her that this place should exist, and the five massive stones that tumbled against each other could have been as old as time. Murdoch’s expression was as awed as hers had undoubtedly been the first time she had found it. As he surveyed the haven, Isabella looked fully upon him.

  He was every bit as well wrought as she recalled, tall and strong and broad of shoulder. Murdoch did not wear his armor any longer, although that dark cloak still floated behind him. He was clothed all in dark cloth, his tabard and chausses nearly as black as his boots and his gloves. He would be one with the shadows in this garb. His arms were folded across his chest and those eyes, those eyes were of the most uncanny sapphire hue.

  “A lost island,” he murmured.

  “But still sound carries well,” Isabella advised him, touching her finger to her lips.

  “It is an excellent place, all the same,” he said with such pleasure that she felt herself blush a bit. He looped Hermes’ reins over his back and the steed wandered, sniffing at the rocks and crannies. He watched the horse for a moment, then appeared to be satisfied that he would stay close. He turned that bright gaze upon Isabella again. “And you found it because you learn the trade of a healer?”

  Isabella smiled. “I do learn it. Eleanor says I have a gift.”

  “How uncommon for a nobleman’s daughter.”

  “To have a gift or to learn this craft?”

  “Both!” Murdoch regarded her as if she were a marvel. “Why would you do such a thing?” He asked as if mystified by her choice, but not condemning it.

  “Because I erred once, and would not do so again.”

  His eyes glinted. “How so?”

  “When Alexander courted Eleanor, I thought to play a jest upon him. You must understand that he was always the prankster of our family, and he had made matches that year for my two older sisters without their consent. We contrived to teach him a lesson when Eleanor came to our gates and had need of a husband.”

  “But?” Murdoch prompted when Isabella fell silent.

  “It was my idea, though Eleanor was agreeable. I thought we would give him a potion that made him sleep, then lock the pair of them in the solar together for the night.”

  “In the morn, he would think he had sampled the lady’s charms...”

  “And would take the course of honor, for that is his nature.”

  “Lady Eleanor was amenable to this?”

  “Indeed she was, although it was much later that we learned the full reason why. At any rate, a healer mixed the brew who was vexed with Alexander.” Isabella swallowed, still embarrassed by her role. “Alexander might have died, had it not been for Eleanor’s intervention. She has skill with herbs. I asked to learn her art, so that I might never unwittingly endanger another again.”

  Murdoch smiled, admiration in his eyes. “There are not many who take a lesson so well.”

  Isabella was unable to hold his gaze. “I like it better than embroidery.”

  “You do not like to embroider?” He took a step closer and she was achingly aware of him.

  She shrugged. “I do it well, but it seems that there are more important deeds to do.”

  He smiled, looking wicked and unpredictable. “You could wed and have sons.”

  “Nothing says I will not.” Isabella chose to meet his gaze anew.

  Murdoch regarded her with a warmth that made her simmer deep inside. His voice dropped low and Isabella could not fully catch her breath beneath his intense scrutiny. He stepped closer and lifted a tendril of her hair, twining it around his gloved finger. The copper of her hair gleamed against the black leather, and she fancied for a moment that she was tethered to him.

  She thought of Elizabeth’s ribbons in that moment and wondered.

  “No, nothing says you will not,” he murmured, fingering that tendril of her hair. She hoped he would kiss her again, believed he would, then realized she had to tell him what she had learned first.

  “Alexander knew of the thefts,” she said. “I found the evidence. But if he could name the thief, he would see justice served.”

  Murdoch’s gaze brightened. “You found what evidence?”

  “I read his correspondence this morn. And I checked the treasury. There is nothing there that should not be there. Alexander keeps all items of value in one place or the other, so he does not have the relics.”

  Murdoch’s smile broadened and Isabella’s heart clenched. “I did not realize than any man’s correspondence could be viewed by another, much less that his treasury could be inventoried. Surely these treasures are secured?”

  “I took the keys, of course. I did not keep them.”

  Murdoch chuckled. “I took the horse but did not keep it. Again, we have much in common, my Isabella.”

  His light words made her fear for his welfare once again. “But you have stolen from the king’s own messenger...” Isabella fell silent when Murdoch laid that finger across her lips. She stared at him and could have lost herself in his gaze.

  “What if I told you that I kept none of the spoils?” he whispered, leaning down so that his forehead nearly touched hers. “What if I told you that the coins cast by my boy were those of the messenger, given unto the people of Kinfairlie village for their pleasure?” His voice dropped lower yet and Isabella felt her desire for his kiss burn with new vigor. “What if I told you, my lady Isabella, that I mean no harm other than to prompt your brother’s reluctant memory?”

  Isabella could not draw a breath. “It does not matter. He will see you scarred for this deed, regardless of your intent.”

  Murdoch regarded her with curiosity. “Is this the root of it? Do you care so much for my welfare?” His reaction annoyed Isabella.

  “Why should I not care for your welfare? Or do you tell me that you do not care for my welfare, that I am merely of use to you?”

  Once she had given voice to her fear, she could not take back the words. She saw the surprise in Murdoch’s eyes, but disliked that he did not deny the charge.

  Surely she was mistaken?

  Surely he would tell her as much, if so.

  When he said nothing, Isabella pivoted. She
would have walked away from him, this infuriating man with his confidence and his beguiling voice, but Murdoch caught her shoulders in his hands. She felt him lean down and closed her eyes at the surety of his grip upon her.

  “I do not mock you,” Murdoch murmured with quiet heat. “You are most unexpected, my Isabella, and I am utterly beguiled.” He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “I am humbled that you have a care for my welfare, and do not imagine that I do not fear for yours.”

  The sincerity in his tone brought tears to her eyes. Isabella swallowed and lifted her hand to cover his. He entwined their fingers then, holding her tightly before him. “Prove it to me,” she whispered, wanting some token from him.

  “How? Ask of me what you will.”

  Isabella turned in his embrace, meeting his gaze with new confidence. “Pledge that you will not rob any travelers in Kinfairlie’s forest.”

  Murdoch frowned. “But...”

  Isabella put a fingertip over his lips to silence him. “If my brother truly held the relic, your ploy might succeed. But he does not, and he does not know of the perpetrator. All you achieve is to make yourself a hunted man.” His gaze brightened and she had to avert her own, so suddenly aware was she that she stood within his embrace. “I would not see you injured, not for any price.”

  “Then I pledge it to you,” Murdoch said, his voice low with conviction. Isabella glanced up with welcome surprise, for she had not been sure he would do any such thing. “What choice have I when you ask it of me?”

  Isabella gasped and smiled. Murdoch’s gaze danced over her, then he bent and brushed his lips across hers. That single caress left Isabella tingling. Her body hummed like the string of a bow after the arrow had been fired, and she could not think as clearly as she might have liked. The sensation was so pleasurable that she only wanted more.

  “You are not the only one beguiled, Murdoch,” she admitted, her voice uncommonly husky, and his fingers tightened around hers. “There is one last place I would look to ensure that the relics are not within Kinfairlie’s bounds,” she said quickly. “The crypt in the chapel in the village is the only other place the relics could be secured. I was going there when Gavin brought back the horse.”

  “With the bell tower?”

  Isabella nodded. “I will check the crypt but if the relics are not there, then Alexander does not have them.”

  “Still there remains the question of who he might protect.”

  “I cannot believe that if he knew the thief, he would not see that person brought to justice.” She turned to look up at Murdoch, only to find his expression thoughtful.

  “Even if it was your brother Ross?”

  “Even so,” Isabella said with conviction. “My father instilled a love of justice in all of us.”

  Murdoch nodded and frowned. “Where does Kinfairlie get its coin?”

  “The usual sources. Taxes and tithes, fees to the court for justice.” Isabella shrugged. “Why?

  “How has your brother so much of it? Kinfairlie is blessed with affluence, yet has no port, no tolls, no sheep. I cannot reconcile that affluence with its assets.”

  Isabella pursed her lips. “You think he has a hidden source of revenue,” she guessed and Murdoch nodded. “I could check his ledgers.”

  “It might not be listed. A wily man would not leave such evidence.”

  Isabella bit her lip. She knew Alexander was not wily. “We do have a fair in the autumn and Eleanor had quite an inheritance. I think it might be honestly gained.”

  “I would be certain of it,” Murdoch said with heat.

  Isabella smiled at him. “Then I will check again.”

  His eyes narrowed. “How much do you risk in this? Would your brother beat you if you were discovered? You must pledge to me that you will not take any chances, my Isabella.”

  “But you take risks all the time!”

  “That is different. I have little to lose and much to gain.”

  Isabella did not fully understand that. “Alexander shouts when he is vexed. He has never struck a one of us and he never will.”

  Murdoch nodded. “And he defends his holding as my father would have done. That does not mean, though, that he has not been deceived.” He bent and brushed his lips across hers once again, lingering over the touch. Such a fleeting kiss was not enough, not now. She wanted to kiss him fully and deeply – if not more.

  Isabella found herself leaning against Murdoch’s chest, placing her hands on his shoulders, stretching to her toes. Her lips parted in anticipation as Murdoch drew her closer, his eyes darkening with intent.

  “My lady, you light a fire that might not be easily dampened,” he whispered, as if to warn her. Isabella did not care. She could see the heat in his eyes and feel his desire against her belly. She knew he wanted her, yet he did not force himself upon her. Indeed, he halted to ensure that she knew what she chose.

  Because he was precisely the manner of man she had believed him to be. He might tease her. He might be more daring than most. He might take risks and he might challenge authority. But his heart was true and his love of justice was as sure as her own.

  And he would be her knight.

  For Isabella was fully aware of what she chose. She stretched to her toes, slid her hands around Murdoch’s neck and kissed him fully.

  She felt Murdoch’s surprise, for he was motionless for a heartbeat. Then his hand slid up her throat, his fingers locking behind her nape to hold her close. His other arm wound around her waist, lifting her against him, crushing her against his chest as he deepened his kiss.

  He was less gentle than he had been before, but Isabella did not mind. This was honest and true, passion that could not be denied. Isabella closed her eyes, dizzy at the rush of sensation. She twined her fingers into his hair and met him touch for touch, echoing his every move.

  With her participation, Murdoch’s kiss became more demanding, more ardent, more intoxicating. They created heat together and Isabella only wanted to experience more. She kissed him back, trusting his navigation of what was new and wondrous to her.

  * * *

  Murdoch knew he should not kiss a maiden as he kissed Isabella. He knew that she was innocent, and he knew he took advantage of her trust. His intentions were good, but the lady’s passion swept those intentions aside.

  He loved how her eyes sparkled and her hair always worked its way loose of her braid. He liked how clever she was and he admired that she learned the healing arts – no small goal for any woman. He loved that she gave to those around her and took her responsibilities seriously, yet she would defy convention to see justice served. He liked the way she laughed and the array of freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. Never had a woman enchanted him so quickly, and Murdoch yearned to know all about her. Indeed, he wanted to go to her brother, to pledge his intent and offer for her hand.

  Murdoch knew he should step away from the temptation Isabella offered, send her home to Kinfairlie’s keep, and act as the man his father had taught him to be. He should never have carried Isabella away from the village, but he could not resist her.

  He had no power to deny her kiss.

  And he wanted to see her find her pleasure. Indeed, he could have justified it as a reward for all she had done for him, a sensory gift that he could give to her. He would give to her, but he would not take what was not his to claim.

  Not until he knew that he would survive.

  The press of Isabella’s sweet curves against him made his flesh heat and the chill in his chest vanish. Her passion in itself was irresistible, a lure that drew him like a moth to the flame.

  She was alive and vital and mortal.

  Murdoch found his hand curved around her breast, caressing the shape of it. Isabella moaned when he slid his palm over her nipple, so he did it again, teasing her nipple to a taut peak through the layers of cloth. She gasped, then pulled him closer, slanting her mouth across his in perfect echo of how he had claimed her with a kiss. Her desire took his o
wn to a fever pitch, and her innocence made him want to teach her all he knew.

  Slowly.

  Even as his body demanded speed.

  Murdoch was undoing the laces at the sides of her kirtle before he knew what he was about, wanting to feel her bare skin beneath his hands. He broke their kiss and slid his hands beneath the heavy wool of the kirtle. There was only the sheer fabric of her chemise between his hands and her smooth skin, and it was far too much of an obstacle. Murdoch held her gaze as he let his hands glide over her smooth strength, finally halting to cup those breasts again. She was all smoothness and silk, fair and wondrous and perfect.

  Her lips parted and she whispered his name, but she did not pull away.

  Murdoch was both humbled and aroused by her trust. He smiled down at her as he held her close and caressed her breast with one hand. He rolled her nipple between his index finger and thumb, teasing it to a point. Isabella caught her breath and stared at him in wonder, her lips red and soft, her eyes wide and full of stars. She flushed and his awareness that this was all new to her made it new for him.

  He wanted to see her nude, her hair unbound and her lips curved in a welcoming smile. He wanted to have her in the forest, on a cloak, on a pallet before the fire, in the darkness and in the sunlight. He wanted to watch her gasp and to hold her close as the release washed over her body. He wanted to see Isabella find her pleasure a thousand times in a thousand different ways.

  He wanted to embark on that quest immediately.

  She whispered his name again and swallowed. Her nipple was tight and hard, a sign of her responsiveness. His maiden was not shy, for she did not draw away from pleasure, merely sought its increase. She touched his jaw with her fingertips, watching as her hands eased over his ears and into his hair.

  “Oh, Murdoch,” she whispered, her voice husky.

  Murdoch could not resist her. He bent and kissed Isabella deeply, welcoming her passion. When she sighed and surrendered to his touch, he knew he could wait no longer. He broke his kiss and swept her loosened kirtle aside, then bent to take that tight peak in his mouth. She gasped when his mouth locked over her, then moaned with pleasure as he suckled her.