"You can't risk Rhiannon learning the truth," Orrin corrected.
Camden paused before saying slowly. "It's too dangerous for any of them to know the truth. I will not allow the bishop to use any of my people as his puppets. Knowing nothing makes them innocent." Camden frowned. "If our last meeting with the bishop was any indication of events to come, the man will scrutinize every detail of our lives until he finds what he wants."
"What does he want?"
"The Charm Stone."
"And Lady Violet? Why did he want her almost as badly as the Stone?" Orrin asked.
"Did I hear someone mention Lady Violet's name?"
Both men turned, drawing their swords more out of habit than necessity. Camden's sword pointed at the Bishop Berwick's heart. Orrin's aimed for his gut. One sword poised to kill, the other to cause suffering. Which outcome did the man deserve more?
"Lord Lockhart. You've certainly outdone yourself," the bishop said as he frowned down at the weapons pressed against his pristine robes. "You found your niece in record time. Anger and grief usually spur men to accomplish great deeds."
"What do you want, Berwick?" Camden asked, his sword steady.
"You wound me, Lockhart." The bishop's frown increased. "I've come to make certain that little girl has come to no harm." With a gloved hand, he pushed the tip of Camden's blade away from his heart. He scowled at Orrin. "Would both of you cease this attack? I am no threat to you."
Camden sheathed his curved weapon. Orrin followed his example. But he remained close, and Camden could see the twitch in his hand as it hovered over the hilt of his sword. "I repeat. What do you want?"
"I've come to make you an offer. My dear mother would be most happy to take charge of your niece. She will instruct her properly in the ways of a noble lady."
The bishop's gaze moved to the orchard where Violet and Thomas had just finished their lesson for the day. They headed directly for them. For a moment, Camden wished he'd never encouraged Thomas to take his niece out for a ride. Even with a full contingent of warriors nearby the outdoors seemed suddenly too vast, and his niece too vulnerable with this man nearby.
"She stays with me," Camden said with icy precision.
"Then perhaps I may send my mother to you? She can train both your niece and your other young charge."
"We have no need of your help."
The bishop frowned. "Oh? But I know all about Rhiannon Ruthven. What I don't understand is why you trust her, the spawn of a family of traitors, rather than me, a holy man?"
Camden's surprise vanished. His own experience with holy men might color his perspective, but at this moment he did prefer Rhiannon's help to that of the bishop's. And this bishop obviously had connections inside his castle. Only someone who lived inside these walls would have access to information about his niece and Rhiannon. "Rhiannon will teach Lady Violet all she needs to know."
Thomas led Violet up the slope to where he and the bishop stood. With each step, Camden's worry increased. He had to keep Violet away from this man.
The bishop's eye brightened as the young girl approached. "Think of Lady Violet, not yourself."
"She is my first priority." Camden moved to stand beside his niece's horse. He caught the reins, holding them with a firm hand. Caution flared. His men filled in the space around them. They stood with their bodies tense, as though sensing Camden's tension.
"And what about the Ruthven woman?" The bishop's gaze strayed from Violet to the keep. "Perhaps a little repentance might do her good if she is to take charge of something so precious."
Unease passed through Camden. The bishop wasn't after Violet. Not this afternoon, anyway. Nay, he wanted to speak to Rhiannon. That was the true reason for his visit.
"Does she know you are here? Did she ask you to come?" Camden felt his body tighten as he once again questioned Rhiannon's motives for coming to his home.
"Nay," the bishop replied. "It is the shepherd who must find a sheep who has left the flock."
"There are no lost sheep here. The woman is ill. I wouldn't advise seeing her." He lied. But something inside him warned him not to give the bishop access to Rhiannon.
"You cannot dismiss me, Lockhart. I serve the people, all people. She might want me to stay."
"I asked you to leave." He didn't think, merely reacted — a survival skill that had seen him through his days in the Holy Land. He drew his sword. The rasp of steel filled the air as his men drew their weapons. "Or shall I force you?"
The bishop cast a furious glance at him before turning to hustle through the outer bailey. "You are treading on dangerous ground, milord."
"Danger has been my life," Camden replied, striding toward the gate with his men. Once the bishop left, Camden ordered the portcullis lowered and the gate closed, and to remain that way unless he himself granted entrance.
Only when the two heavy planks of wood slid into place did Camden feel the winds of dusk that blew crisp and cold on his face.
He needed that cold to focus his thoughts. He was the new laird of the Lockhart clan whether he liked it or not. With that position came certain responsibilities. The first and foremost, keeping his clan safe from anyone and anything that could harm them.
Could the bishop truly be the threat he seemed? A holy man? Camden frowned at his thoughts. Shaykh Haashim had been a threat for seven years. Never would he allow any member of his clan to suffer as they had at the hands of a holy man.
Camden slammed the door on his memories. He clutched the curved sword that was ever-present at his side. He was no longer a slave. He could protect his people from the invading English, from the bishop, or anyone else. Grasping the comfort the thought brought, he shifted his gaze to the sky now turning from a hazy pink to a pearlescent gray mixed with heavy dark clouds. There would be snow tonight.
He watched as Thomas escorted Violet inside and Orrin dismissed the men. When that task was complete, Orrin joined Camden near the gate.
"The man is a lunatic."
"That may be true, but he's one lunatic we will likely see again. He might claim to want to help with Lady Violet's training, but I am certain he has an ulterior motive." Camden said. "Whatever we do, we must keep my niece safe."
"The two of us along with your army will be all the protection she needs." Orrin's face took on a look Camden had seen so many times before — the look that dared anyone to prove him wrong. It was that look, and his fighting skills that had kept him alive during their captivity.
Camden's thoughts moved away from the bishop and turned to Rhiannon. Was she the insider who had delivered information about Violet to the bishop? "I'm not so certain my army is all that is needed here."
"You think the bishop has that much power?"
Camden nodded. "Aye. We both know the power that lies behind a holy man."
Orrin's brow darkened as he, too, battled memories of their past together. "Then what are we to do?"
"We need to lure the bishop into exposing his true plans before anyone else is harmed," Camden said as darkly as the clouds billowing overhead.
Orrin met his gaze. "What will you do?"
"I need to speak with our new nursemaid. There is a connection between her and the bishop. I need to find out that connection and decide once and for all if she can be trusted."
Camden strode into the castle and up the stairs. At the door of Rhiannon's bedchamber, he dismissed Hamish and Travis, then entered the room after a brief warning knock. "Rhiannon, we must talk."
She lay upon the bed above the coverlet, asleep. He moved silently to her side and gazed down at her, seething with frustration. He should wake her up. He had every right to do so. And yet he hesitated.
Candlelight flickered over her pale blonde hair and stroked the silken smoothness of her cheeks and neck. She lay curled on her side, her cheek buried in the pillow, her pink lips slightly parted. All thoughts of finding the truth about her connection to Bishop Berwick faded as a different emotion took its place.
Desi
re.
Wanting hardened every muscle of his body as he gazed at the soft shadows that the long lashes cast upon the curve of her cheeks. The long exposed column of her neck led down to the fullness of her breasts as they rose and fell against the bodice of her gray gown with each breath.
Just beneath the fabric of her gown he could make out her hardened nipples. The thought of stroking the sensitive buds sent his heart thudding against his ribs.
He bent closer, until the soft scent of lavender filled his senses. His blood pounded in his veins and the quickening in his loins hardened to an almost unbearable force. Why not wake her and take from her what he could? He had every right to take anything he wanted from his enemy. His own father had taught him that rape and pillaging were the rewards of overcoming one's enemy in times of war. He had pillaged many wealthy enemies in the Holy Land, but had never resorted to rape … yet.
He frowned at the direction of his thoughts. This was no war — only a battle between himself and Rhiannon Ruthven. And despite the fact he wanted to be the victor, he did not want her to yield to him because he had forced her.
Nay, he would prefer a slow surrender, one willingly given. With an effort, he straightened and backed away from the bed. He would wait to speak with her until the morning, just as he would wait to take from her everything she unwittingly offered.
He blew out the candle. Aye, he would wait until the time was right.
Death was all around him. Blood turned Jerusalem's rocky sand into a slick bog. Men who continued to fight found it difficult to find purchase and feared falling among those who were slain by the sword or trampled by horses.
Camden spilled his own share of blood. He fought back to back with Orrin in the way of their countrymen, startling the Moors who attacked. And that brief hesitation was all it took to find their advantage.
They would not die. They would know injury and pain, but neither of them would leave this world surrounded by strangers. He did not think about that during battle. All thoughts centered on a cold, calculating way to kill the man before him, hold on to his fierce determination, and cripple his enemy's offense.
He would return home in just three years.
Home. Scotland. Freedom.
Camden startled awake. Another dream. He'd had them more regularly of late. Ever since the Stone had come back into his life. He knew it wasn't the Stone itself that caused his memories to return. It was what it represented — a link to his past — to the Holy Lands, and his capture, and the holy man, Shaykh Haashim.
Forcing the memories back into the recesses of his mind, he tossed his bedcovers back and got out of bed. He dressed quickly, watching the golden glow of light that seeped beneath his door. He knew the source of light came from Rhiannon's room across the hall. Thoughts of her stirred his blood once more, tempting him. Until he remembered his decision to make her come to him, to drive her to a need so fierce she would capitulate of her own will. That day would come. Sooner rather than later, if he had anything to say about it.
As the first rays of dawn streaked across the sky, Camden left his bedchamber to pace the battlements and try to assuage his growing lust. The crisp morning air would do him good and clear his senses before he accused Rhiannon of any treachery.
Fresh snowflakes settled on his head and his shoulders as he stepped outside. Snow continued to fall as it had all night. Camden gazed out across his land. Snow blanketed everything for as far as his eye could see.
Pink streaks of dawn mixed with yellow and red, filling the sky with color. A sense of peacefulness settled over him.
Until he saw the tracks.
Marring the newly fallen snow, were two sets of footprints, one leading away from the castle, the other returning. The bishop's spy? Camden moved down the battlements, closer to the tracks, wondering where they had originated. He needed to know that information before he followed where they went.
On the north wall of the castle, the wind picked up and the flurries of snow forced him to slow his steps. He proceeded with as much haste as he dared.
Then he saw the rope. A thick jute rope encircled one of the crenellations, to dangle down the entire length of the castle's outer wall. He picked the rope up, the coarse texture prickly against the flat of his palm. The rope, while sturdy, was not strong enough to support the weight of many of his warriors.
His thoughts drifted to Rhiannon once more. Had she left the castle during the night to meet with the bishop somewhere? Was the light behind her door a decoy to make him think she was within the room while she'd been engaged elsewhere?
He drew his sword and slashed easily through the coarse fibers, sending the rope plummeting down into the snow. He would not make it easy for whoever had used the rope to do so again.
He sheathed his weapon, then headed for his keep. This constant doubt about Rhiannon had to end. An inner turmoil had consumed him since the moment she'd stepped inside his home. He'd never felt anything like this before, alternating between revulsion and desire.
Camden scowled at the scenery he had moments before found breathtaking. He had to find a way to resolve his feelings and put an end to his doubts.
One way or another, he would have his answers this very day.
Rhiannon led Violet belowstairs and into the great hall for their morning meal. Her two hulking companions would not deter her from her plans. She had nothing to hide from Lord Lockhart.
This morning, she wanted Violet to familiarize herself with the castle and its people. She hoped they would be more accepting of the little girl than they had been of Rhiannon.
She seated the girl at the head table, thankful the lord and master of the castle was nowhere in sight, then went to dish them each a bowl of boiled oats and cream. She sweetened Violet's with honey before returning to the table.
"Mistress Rhiannon, why is everyone staring at me?" Violet asked as she hunched down in her chair, conscious of the gazes upon her.
Those gazes were most likely directed at Rhiannon and filled with the same repugnance she had received yesterday. Rhiannon straighten her shoulders. Violet need not suffer because of her. "Because you are the lady of a great castle, these people look to you for guidance and support." She sat beside Violet.
Violet's brow furrowed in consideration. "But I'm only a little girl."
"But you won't always be, and they realize that. Now sit up straight and show them how a lady breaks her morning fast."
Rhiannon smiled when Violet did as instructed. She looked every bit the young mistress in her new blue gown. It hadn't been easy, but Rhiannon had managed to clean the ale stains from Violet's dress during the night, drying it before the fire in her room. This morning the young girl seemed more at ease than she had been in days. Violet had slept through the night, her nightmares gone for the moment.
As she ate, Rhiannon peered at the others in the hall from beneath her lashes. The women glared at her, as she had expected. Well, no matter. Lord Lockhart had given her the freedom to teach Violet what she thought necessary whether they approved or not. Today's lessons would be about the responsibility Violet had to the people around her.
That they would receive Violet's assistance without further trouble did not look promising, as long as Rhiannon was near, but she needed to guide the little girl. For how else would Violet learn?
Rhiannon had just taken another spoonful of oats, when the door to the great hall swung open, and a blast of cold air heralded Lord Lockhart's arrival.
His gaze shot directly to her. The cacophony of voices and laughter in the hall suddenly silenced. A warning not unlike the keen of a pipe went off in her head.
Rhiannon smoothed the creases from her dress with trembling fingers as he stalked toward her, his mouth pressed into a firm line. Her pulse gave a nervous leap when he stopped before her.
"Good morrow," he said with cool civility. "You will come with me."
"But Lady Violet—"
"Mistress Faulkner will attend her today." As if on cue, the ch
atelaine appeared at his side.
The two burly warriors he'd assigned to watch her every move stepped forward. "Shall we prepare to escort you?"
Lord Lockhart shook his head. "Stay and protect Lady Violet. I'll take care of Rhiannon." He thrust a long, fur cloak at her. "Put this on. We'll be going outside."
"Why outside?" Rhiannon stood and accepted the cloak.
"To follow the trail of a traitor."
The coolness of his gaze suggested he meant her. Her stomach felt as if she'd been punched.
When she did nothing, he tugged the cloak from her grasp, tossed it about her shoulders, then with a tight grasp on her arm, nearly dragged her out the door. At the bottom of the steps outside, he had one horse waiting.
He mounted. "Give me your hand," he demanded. Of its own accord, her hand lifted, his fingers closed around it, and suddenly she was hauled up to sit in front of him atop the beast. Arms like bands of steel encircled her, and his warmth cradled her back.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll find out soon enough," he replied, turning the horse toward the gate. With a signal of his hand, the mighty wooden gates parted and the portcullis rose. Without explanation, he headed across the drawbridge, then turned the beast north.
Snow covered the world around them, silencing everything except the sound of their breathing. Tendrils of steam generated by their warm breath rose into the air to vanish a moment later.
They followed the outer wall of the castle for a distance until Lord Lockhart brought the horse to a stop in front of a rope partially buried in the snow. "Do you know anything about this rope?" His voice filled with suspicion.
"You sound as if you expect me to," she replied, tucking her hands more deeply inside of her cloak in an effort to ward off the chill from outside as well as within.
"A straight answer, please." He leaned forward to stare into her face, his blue eyes as frosty as the world around them. "Did you use this rope to escape the castle last night to meet up with Bishop Berwick?"
"Nay." She drew a sharp breath. What heinous things did he think her capable of? "Why would I do such a thing?"
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