“Nay,” he said again. “This is nae the kind o’ book ye’ll have in yer library. I’m lookin’ for a ledger. Apparently, it tells exactly what’s goin’ on in this farm that ye’ve been tryin’ so hard to turn me men away from findin’.”
He saw her swallow in a nervous response. So the book did exist, then. He took a step closer to her. “So ye ken the book I mean?”
Cicilia was in the room with him now, but as he got closer, she retreated slightly. Her expression didn’t change, though, as she glared up at him. “Aye, I ken,” she snarled. “An’ I ken ye will nae find it here. I hid it a long, long time ago. Ye’ll have to ask me if there’s anythin’ ye want to ken. Or just wait for me faither to get back, I suppose.”
Alexander smiled tightly. Her spirit was almost as fetching as it was annoying. He moved a little closer again. “Come, Miss Cicilia,” he entreated. “Would it nae be better for us both if ye just fetched the book an’ let me have a look? After all, I’m sure yer faither keeps all his trades goin’ along wi’ the laws o’ the land.”
“Me faither is a better man than any ye’ve ever kent,” Cicilia snapped. She stepped back again, though some of the anger in her eyes was gone. “Dinnae ye even begin to suggest otherwise, I’m warnin’ ye.”
Alexander held up his hands. “I wouldnae dream o’ it,” he assured her. “I just want a look at the workings o’ the farm, that’s all. Unless ye think there’s somethin’ else I should ken about?”
Now she actually smirked. “If there’s somethin’ else ye should ken about that ye dinnae, do ye really think I’d just tell ye?” she asked. “Come, Me Laird. What do ye think o’ me?”
“I think ye’re a smarter lass than ye let on,” he answered. “I think ye’re hidin’ things about the trade workin’s on this farm, an’ I think ye’re hidin’ more than that.”
He was now standing very close to her, her back almost against the wall, towering over her. Her eyes were boring into his. He could feel the heat of her body radiating against his. Yet again, he found himself wondering what it might feel like if he simply took that final step, bringing their bodies together.
Get a hold o’ yerself, Alexander!
His moment of self-doubt must have shown on his face because Cicilia took that split second to make her escape. She pushed him—not hard enough to hurt—and darted under his arm to escape.
Alexander stood for a few seconds, staring at the space she’d been before he gathered his mind enough to turn and follow.
She was already out of the library by the time he left the study enclosure, and he picked up his pace as he chased her. He heard her giggling as she noticed he was chasing her, but it was a giggle with fear laced through it.
Nervous laughter. Why is she so scared?
But he couldn’t let up now. Cicilia, obviously, was going to wherever the book was hidden, intent on protecting it. She was fast, but Alexander had longer legs, and though she was barely far ahead, he had no doubt he would catch her.
He slowed as he realized they’d run straight to where the bedrooms were. The impropriety of entering a woman’s quarters with no chaperone was almost enough to stop him cold in his tracks.
Almost.
But I need that book.
He closed the gap between them as she reached her door, and he stumbled into the room just seconds after she did.
Cicilia was scrambling under her bed, and Alexander dived down beside her. His arms were longer, and he saw the leather-bound ledger deep under the bed and grabbed it before she could reach.
“Nay!” Cicilia called. “Dinnae read it!”
She kicked at him, but he had already extracted himself from under the bed and stood, book aloft. He backed up quickly while she got to her own feet.
Cicilia threw herself at him, grabbing for the book, but though she was healthy, he was more muscular and taller. He held her back with one hand while he balanced the text in the other.
What he saw on the page made his mind reel. There was a full description of recent workings on the farm, perhaps six months old…but there was no mention of Cameron O’Donnel’s name anywhere. In fact, even where C. O’Donnel was signed, it was with distinctly feminine penmanship.
He was right. What he’d suspected was correct. For whatever reason, this young woman—this girl—was running the farm alone.
Where is her faither? Did he die? Is he gone missin’?
And if the former, why had she not reported such a thing? It wasn’t right that a young unmarried girl should be taking on such a burden alone. As he ran his eyes down the list of trades, it was hard to believe just how much illicit activity the O’Donnel farm was getting away with. Was this woman really the mastermind?
He was about to ask her, but a sudden sharp pain in his shin made him yelp and drop both the book and his hold on Cicilia. “Ye witch!” he gasped. “Ye kicked me!”
She ignored him, scrambling for the book, her eyes wide and face pale. As she stood again, her arms clutching it protectively to her chest, she almost seemed to be pleading with him.
But nay. “It’s too late,” Alexander told her. “I ken yer secret. What happened to yer faither, Cicilia?”
To his surprise and discomfort, tears suddenly shone in her eyes, though she blinked them away furiously.
“He died, all right?” she told him angrily. “He died an’ left me wi’ the bairns an’ the farm alone. An’ I will nae let ye take either o’ them from me!”
Alexander felt a surge of guilt at those words, though he knew it was unwarranted. More than anyone, he knew the pain of losing one’s parents. More than anyone, he understood how she must feel to be under such a burden.
But this is nae a lairdship. It’s a farm, and she’s just a lass.
“Give me the book, Cicilia,” he said slowly, patiently, using her name without an honorific for the first time. He wanted her to know he was being friendly, wanted her to trust him. “I’m nae gonnae take yer siblings away from ye, but the farm—”
“Me farm,” Cicilia insisted. “An’ I’m doin’ a better job than any man ye could hand it off to, I’m tellin’ ye. Are ye nae gettin’ all the taxes and land payments on time? Am I nae supplyin’ half the clan wi’ meat an’ food?”
“Aye, an’ nae only our clan. I’ve kent for years that yer faither has been makin’ illegal trades wi’ our enemy clans. An’ now it’s still goin’ on, an’ here you are, a lass, buried up to yer neck in illicit exchanges!” Alexander protested.
She actually stomped her foot in frustration, and it made her entire body shake, drawing Alexander’s eyes once more to her impressive curves. He had to quickly bite back a smile. It wouldn’t do for Cicilia to see him amused at how adorable her anger seemed to him. “Me bein’ a lass has naught to do wi’ anythin’, an’ ye should be ashamed o’ thinkin’ so. The trades I’m makin’ may be illicit, but me an’ me faither both kent what was best for the farm an’ for the clan. Ye bein’ stubborn fixes naught!”
Alexander sighed deeply. Her spirit was admirable, but he was beginning to feel like they were going in circles. “Cicilia, give me the ledger,” he insisted. “I’ll have a look at what’s goin’ on, an’ then—”
But before he could finish, a spark shone in Cicilia’s eye, and suddenly, the book was sailing over his shoulder. He whirled, following its path, and saw the twins standing just outside the door.
Jamie jumped and caught the book while Annys cheered.
“Go!” Cicilia called to them. “Quick as ye can. Hide it wherever ye like, an’ dinnae tell anybody!”
The twins nodded seriously and ran off while Alexander gaped after them. When they were gone, he turned and stared at Cicilia, who was staring back at him with her bottom lip out and defiance on her face.
“Are you quite serious?” he asked, his voice dripping with anger and sarcasm. Cicilia didn’t need to see the slight smirk threatening to break out on his lips at the audacity of the siblings’ teamwork. Nor did she need to know how the twin�
��s earnestness was softening him in ways he didn’t understand.
“Very serious,” she replied, standing in that distracting way again with her arms folded under her breasts. Because she was wearing a man’s shirt, pushing up her chest resulted in a strain at the buttons, and Alexander tried to hold onto his anger and keep his eyes somewhere, anywhere else.
Unfortunately, her height meant that he was always looking down at her. He couldn’t stare into her strange, obstinate face without also taking in her body.
It was very distracting for a young man who had long since put aside such things, especially when she nervously chewed on her bottom lip, showing some vulnerability hiding just beneath her bravado.
What would happen if he touched her? What would happen if he channeled his frustration on her lips, her neck, her freckled skin? What if, instead of trying to understand this impossible woman, he gave up and let their bodies communicate instead?
Aye, an’ now she is nae the only one strainin’ at her buttons, ye pillock.
He turned away from her abruptly, not wanting her to glimpse the sudden hardness against his trews. Alexander couldn’t think of a single thing more embarrassing right now than letting this aggravating woman know how his body desired her, especially when he was trying to be furious.
Nay. I’m nae ‘tryin’ to be’. I am furious. I am the Laird an’ this is me land!
“I’m goin’ to bed,” he growled. “Come the morrow, I want that book, do ye understand me?”
From behind him, too politely so that it sounded more like mockery, Cicilia said, “I understand perfectly. But ye’ll need to talk to the twins if it’s the book ye’re after. Goodnight, Laird.”
Alexander almost turned to her again. Almost. Instead, he stomped off, out of her room, down the corridor to the place where he slept.
He wasn’t going to bother trying to find the children, not now. He’d only known them for a short time, but it was already long enough to know that the children would not be found if they didn’t want to be.
The little ones liked him, for whatever reason. They wanted to play games with him. Perhaps he’d challenge them to another game tomorrow, in exchange for information on the book. Either way, they’d come to him, eventually.
He felt sorry for them, really. Two bairns who’d never known their own mother, and lost their father so recently. Caught up in a secret so important that they couldn’t even publicly mourn. Yes, they were wild, but given everything, it would have been more surprising if they were angelic.
They are nae the problem. Nay, that’s the older sister. That woman may be the death o’ me.
When sleep finally beckoned, it was troubled, broken. Alexander’s dreams were confused and kept waking him in a hot, flustered mess. Some were good, some were bad, but all of them focused on a shapely body, an errant strand of black amongst vibrant red, and a too-clever pair of green-gold eyes.
Chapter 10
Sunt Lacrimae Rerum
There Are Tears For Things
Cicilia knew something was wrong before her eyes had even fluttered open. It was still dark outside, but a hard knot in her stomach had awoken her from a pleasant dream about a mysterious dark stranger sweeping her off her feet.
We were dancin’ in a ballroom, like proper ladies an’ gentlemen. An’ then it was just him an’ me, pressed up together, so close I couldn’ae tell where I ended and he started.
It was a surprisingly sensual dream, and one she’d rather have spent more time in, at least that she could have removed the disguising mask from the tall suitor’s face. She had a nagging feeling that the gentle kiss he’d placed on her neck was a warning—or maybe a welcoming?
Her sleep-fogged brain couldn’t work it out, and even that was banished at her instinctual reaction to the wrongness in the air.
She probably imagined it. Perhaps she should just lay down and go back to sleep. Maybe her dark stranger would be waiting for her, ready to—
Then she heard the soft, broken sobbing from just outside her bedroom and wondered if she’d ever sleep again. It was Annys and Jamie both, she knew that from the bottom of her heart. She’d only heard them sobbing in this exact way, so quiet and broken she could barely make it out, when they’d realized precisely what it meant that their father was dead.
What could o’ broken their heart in such a way now?
Cicilia didn’t bother dressing. She slid out of bed and into her house shoes, grabbing only her bed robe to wrap around her nightdress, and hurried to the open window.
It was hard to make anything out in the darkness before sunrise, but she could see the two dark shapes that were her siblings curled up as one next to the large pigpen. Inside the enclosure, there was no movement. None at all.
Cicilia shivered, though it was not cold. She turned from the window and rushed out of her bedroom and downstairs, stopping only to light a lantern to carry out with her.
It was quiet, eerily so, when she walked outside. There was no sound but the noise of the sobbing. There weren’t even the snorts and huffs of sleeping animals or the squeaking of the rats in the hay. So she held up the lantern and followed the sounds of the twins’ cries, pacing ever so slowly. She felt as though she was in some sort of ghost story. Could a monster await?
Dinnae be so fanciful, Cicilia. Dinnae be ridiculous. Ye’re a grown woman.
She turned the corner to the side of the pigpen and lifted the torch higher, spilling its light over the huddled twins.
“Annys? Jamie?” she whispered. It felt like if she tried to talk any louder, something horrible would happen. She took a tentative step forward and stared in shock at the pair of them.
Both twins were pale as the moon, their faces screwed up in pain as they clung to each other, drenched in mud and tears and—
God above, is that blood?!
She nearly dropped the lantern in her rush to get to them, and placed it down as she knelt at their side, grabbing Annys by the shoulders. “Annie, sweetheart, mo leanbh, what’s happenin’? Are ye hurt? Jamie, are ye? Who’s blood is that?”
Both twins looked at her, one pair of brown and one pair of green eyes streaked with raw red and shining with agony. As one, the children burst into tears once more.
She tried to talk to them, but they just cried harder, breathing so heavily that Cicilia was half-afraid they’d bring themselves to unconsciousness. Her very blood was cold now, horrified by imagining what her poor little brother and sister may have seen to have them in such a space.
With a tremulous hand, Jamie pointed behind her.
Cicilia lifted the torch and got to her feet, heart in her throat as she turned. As the light poured over the special pen where the twins kept their pet, she saw at last what had them in such a state. Acrid vomit threatened to burn her throat as she stumbled backward, and her hands flew to her mouth as tears scalded her own eyes.
Bacon wasn’t only dead, he had been mutilated. The pig’s throat was slit, so deep that his head was half-severed, and there was blood…everywhere. There were slashes and cuts all over the poor animal’s body.
He had not just been killed. He had been tortured. Cicilia did not like to imagine the pain the poor creature had endured before he had finally succumbed to his wounds.
Who could do such a thing to the bairns’ beloved pet? Who could do such a thing to anythin’ livin’?
She was shaking, but she retreated from the body, determined to calm her siblings down, get them inside and bathed, and solve the mystery of the pig’s murder later. But as she turned, her torch lit the nearby sheep pen and stopped her in her tracks.
She could only see two of them in this light, but there they lay, their wool matted with blood, their legs at odd angles.
In a daze, she walked further away, to check on the larger pig pen, the cowshed, the goats, the chickens, and geese. While the cows and the birds slept peacefully and would wake with the sun, the others were not so lucky. Everywhere Cicilia looked, there was more blood, more bodies.
Everywhere she looked, there was more slaughter.
More death.
Pale and shaking, she headed back to the twins at last. The sun was beginning to rise now, bringing dawn light over the grisly scene of the farm’s massacre. And as she approached the cowering children, the lantern now extinct, she saw something she hadn’t noticed before. On the fence, scrawled in the blood of poor Bacon, were four words.
‘Consider this a warning.’
And that was when she began to scream.
Alexander woke before the sunrise to the sound of a woman’s screams. His eyes shot open, and he jumped out of bed, shoving on shoes and rushing outside immediately. For the first time in his life, he did not bother to dress beyond his nightclothes or even make sure he was less disheveled.
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