Highlander's Sweet Promises

by Tarah Scott

  Julian grimaced.

  He’d never hear what they were saying from his current position on the roof. He needed to get closer, and judging by the attention lavished upon the ring, it would be useful to get a better glimpse of that as well.

  But first, he had to create a diversion.

  An inspection of his surroundings afforded only one viable option. Swine. Fat sows with multitudes of piglets squealed and rooted in their market pen scarce ten feet away from Pascal and his whispering companions.

  Crossing back over the roof, Julian dropped to land softly on the stones. Quickly, he drew the cowl over his face once more, and catching the ear of the nearest ragamuffin, he whispered his request.

  Upon seeing the coin, the lad’s mouth spread into a wide toothy grin, and the bargain was promptly sealed with a handshake.

  In less than a minute’s time, the swine were free and mayhem ensued.

  Piglets scattered in all directions. And to Julian’s delight, a particularly large sow charged the two men, effectively driving a wedge between them and Liselle’s cousin.

  Pleased, Julian tossed the ragamuffin his earned coin and swiftly stepped into the street. Piglets wove around his feet as he advanced on Pascal, and it was with some small measure of amusement that he collided directly into him to send him sprawling into the mud.

  Alarmed, Pascal’s two companions surged forward as Julian watched, etching their faces into his memory. They were distinctive enough, boney and sharp-featured, with eyes like hawks.

  But before they could navigate through the squealing piglets to reach him, Julian had grasped Pascal’s hand. With a gruff-voiced “Forgive me, my child”, he hefted the slim youth to his feet, taking the opportunity to study the signet ring from beneath his cowl.

  The ring was unusual. The symbol carved on its gold surface was one he wouldn’t forget easily, a bold ‘V’ entwined with a crown and a sword.

  And then Pascal was snatching his hand free, but his tone was respectful enough as he replied, “’Tis no fault of yours, father.”

  “Bless you, my son,” Julian grunted, and with a hobbling step, headed back to the market square, keenly aware of Pascal’s riveting gaze observing his every move.

  Aye, the lad was suspicious of him. Likely, he’d send one of his men to investigate.

  Quickening his step, Julian ducked into the back of a weaver’s shop. Discarding the monk’s robe, he straightened his plaid and strolled through the place, past the startled weaver measuring ells of cloth, and out the front door. He then casually leaned against the sun-warmed wall next to a basket of wooden spindles and unspun wool, looking to all the world as if he’d been standing there for hours.

  Casting a quick glance around, he spied Pascal standing alone in front of the churchyard; his men were nowhere to be seen.

  Julian grinned.

  No doubt, they were looking for the clumsy priest. And almost as if on cue, one of Pascal’s men burst through the door beside him.

  “What’s the hurry, aye?” Julian asked him in amusement.

  The man eyed him suspiciously.

  With a careless shrug, Julian turned away to survey the women in the market crowd. And spying a particularly comely lass nearby, he gave a piercing whistle and raised his hand to hail her, “Come hither for a wee kiss, ye bonny blue-eyed maid!”

  The maiden glanced his way and smiled.

  The suspicion on the face of Pascal’s grim-faced companion disappeared. Assuming an arrogant stance, he asked Julian instead, “Have you seen a priest pass through here?”

  Julian hid a smile. “Aye,” he replied in a distracted tone, waving his hand in the opposite direction. “A cowled priest just entered yonder inn, methinks.”

  The man bolted towards the place scarcely before the words had left his mouth. Julian shook his head with a wicked smile. It was unlikely the fool would find a priest at the inn, but perhaps he’d find a wild goose being served for supper.

  Stretching and taking a deep breath, Julian decided it was time he’d returned to the castle. He’d learned enough of Pascal’s doings for now. Aye, the lad was an enigma, as was his bonny cousin, Liselle, but he wasn’t yet certain if the Saluzzi and the Vindictam, along with Pascal’s distinctive ring, truly had anything to do with him or Scotland’s affairs.

  Of more pressing concern was the army headed north, its exact size, and procuring documented proof of Albany’s betrayal.

  Heading back to the castle, he had just neared the gate when he heard Liselle’s distinct throaty voice.

  “But it’s not worth buying, even for the cutting of bread, good sir!” she said in a slightly outraged tone.

  Julian paused.

  Liselle stood before a craggy-faced man in front of a blacksmith’s forge, squinting at a dagger driven deep into the wooden lid of a rain barrel. A thick strand of her hair had escaped her jeweled hairnet to fall forward and frame her face with a spiraling curl.

  “You haggle worse than a fishwife, my lady.” The blacksmith gave a rough laugh. “A finer blade you’ll not see in Fotheringhay! I stake my life on it!”

  “Then you will not live to see the sun set,” Liselle responded with amusement. “I would see your finer wares.”

  Julian raised a curious brow. The lass and her kin only grew more interesting by the moment. Most likely, she knew of Pascal’s doings. And since she was standing only a few feet from him, mayhap it would be worth a few minutes to dally with her a wee bit and charm answers from her pouting lips.

  Brandishing his smile like a weapon, he stepped forward. “May I be of assistance, fair maid?”

  Liselle glanced up in surprise. And the responding delight in her hazel eyes was unmistakable. “Well met, Lord Gray!” she greeted him warmly.

  Julian’s pulse leapt a little. But he grimaced the moment he became aware of it. He’d do well to remind himself that the lass was a source of information and naught else.

  Joining her side, he grasped the dagger and yanked it free to heft it in his hand. Although it was polished brightly with a sharp edge and solid leather-corded hilt, it was clearly of inferior quality and would not endure much use. Recalling the skillful way she’d maneuvered his own knives against him, it should not have been surprising that the lass could tell a good dagger from a bad one, but still he couldn’t help but glance at her in bewildered admiration.

  And then turning to address the craggy-faced blacksmith, he tossed the weapon to him, “The lady is right. ‘Tis a trinket, not a real dagger. And though I dinna know what cause she has to arm herself, surely, ye have finer wares to show?”

  “Well then,” the man grunted in mild irritation. “Give me a moment. I might have another.” Grumbling, he disappeared into the shop.

  Julian’s cheek creased into a grin as he glanced down at Liselle.

  “I thank you for your assistance, Lord Gray,” she purred sweetly, yet there was a decidedly wicked glint in her eyes. But then, casting a quick glance over her shoulder, she suddenly swore, “Orponón!”

  Following her gaze, Julian caught only a brief glimpse of Pascal striding their way before Liselle caught his wrist, and pulling him into the blacksmith’s shop, shoved him out of view.

  “And who—” he began, but she silenced him with a swift jab in the ribs and then clamped her hand firmly over his mouth.

  “Not a sound!” she whispered, holding a warning finger up to her lips.

  So the wee lass sought to hide him from her cousin, did she? But even as he wondered why, her presence invaded his thoughts and he became aware of just how close she was pressed against him. He felt the beating of her heart against his chest. And as the light perfume of her hair teased his nostrils, all other thoughts fled, save the temptation of burying his face in the wealth of her honey-colored tresses.

  Slowly, he lifted his hand and twisted the escaped curl around his finger.

  Liselle froze.

  A genuine spark of desire rippled through him, and as he looked deeply into her amber-
colored eyes, he was certain he saw in them an answering flicker.

  He didn’t know how long he stood there, pressed close with his fingers entwined in her hair, but suddenly his reason returned, and he let his hand drop.

  Aye, how could he forget, even for a moment, that the lass was of the most devious kind? He sought information from her, nothing more. And while he’d never encountered a lass more bewitching he knew it was never more important to remind himself—repeatedly—that she was treacherous.

  Swallowing hard, he pulled himself away and broke the spell.

  It was not a moment too soon.

  He had been dangerously close to kissing her.

  Taking a deep breath, he recovered enough to grin down at her with a roguish lift of his brow. “Evading your cousin, are ye?”

  “Cousin?” she repeated, glancing sideways at him in surprise. “How did you know that man was Pascal?”

  “The lad introduced himself,” he explained with a chuckle. “He seems an interesting fellow. Reminds me of the sort who can make a man disappear or find one who doesna want to be found.” He studied her face for any sign of a reaction.

  Liselle’s brows tangled into a frown, and her voice took on a somber cast as she replied, “‘Tis true, my lord, that is why for your sake, I pray you’re a man of many skills. My cousin will not take it kindly when he finds you’ve been following me.”

  Julian tilted his head to the side. He hadn’t expected such a gloomy response. And before he knew it, he was once again standing close, cupping her cheek with his hand and wondering what he could do to wipe the sorrow from her brow.

  Ach, he scowled at himself.

  Did he have no willpower at all?

  Clenching his jaw, he backed away once again, and excusing himself with a bow, quit the place as fast as he could.

  * * *

  Liselle watched Julian stride away in the direction of the castle. The man became more of a distraction every time they met. How could any woman resist his charm?

  She stared after him for a moment, biting her lip.

  And then she rolled her eyes at herself. She was no swooning maid! No, she was an assassin, or would soon be one!

  She had mysteries to unravel, and the strange doings of her contemptuous cousin to decipher.

  There was no time in her life for one Lord Julian Gray.

  Gathering her skirts, she set off towards the castle, picking her way through the mire as raindrops once again rippled the puddles. Cold mud oozed into her shoe and she grimaced. Venice was never so cold and miserable!

  A strong wave of homesickness rose to overwhelm her. It was amusing, in a strange way. She’d spent her entire life attempting to escape La Serenìsima. And now that she had, in less than a month, she found herself pining for the canals, piazzas, and masquerades.

  Snorting at herself in derision, she squared her shoulders, marched across the drawbridge, and into the castle.

  Once in her chamber, she kicked off her muddied shoes and lit the tapers. And then with a slow, almost ritualistic precision, she laid out her collection of knives upon the table.

  Blades were her specialty. She was talented, and her aim was extraordinary. For her, there was nothing more exhilarating than to hit a target dead on. And she found throwing knives relaxing; it offered her clarity of mind.

  With a smile, she held one of the bone-handled stilettos up to the candlelight in admiration. The blade was sharp and the balance keen.

  And then with a quick flick of her wrist, she sent the slim weapon flying through the air.

  It made a satisfying thud as it struck the center of the door.

  Nodding in approval, she picked up the next blade and raised her hand when a sharp series of raps sounded on the other side of the door.

  Liselle gritted her teeth. Only Pascal knocked in that manner.

  “Òsti, I’ve naught to say, Pascal,” she said pointedly, taking aim once again.

  “But I have enough words for us both, bábia!” came his muffled, sarcastic response.

  Liselle hesitated, but she knew that if she didn’t let him in, he’d most likely spend the rest of the night causing a commotion outside her chamber. With a growl of exasperation, she stalked to the door and slammed the latch back.

  Her tall cousin slouched against the wall with folded arms. “Your games with Lord Gray end this day,” he stated with a dark look.

  The mere mention of Julian’s name elicited a wealth of conflicting emotions, and the memory of his muscular chest made Liselle’s lips curve in a delightfully wicked smile. The smile hastily disappeared under Pascal’s disapproving glare.

  Entering the chamber, he kicked the door shut behind him.

  “Why, whatever do you mean, cuxìn caro?” Liselle asked sweetly, assuming an innocent expression.

  Shoving her aside, he strode to the table and ran a finger over her collection of knives.

  “There’s not a tongue in this castle that isn’t wagging over your doings with the man in the kitchens last night,” he said, picking up a large blade and twirling it through his fingers. “Did you really think I’d not discover that you drugged him? Is he such a danger to your heart that you seek to hide and protect him from me? I am not blind, bábia!”

  Liselle drew back in surprise. Her cousin was proving to be anything but blind! What could she possibly say? She had sought to hide Julian from Pascal to keep him safe! And maybe even protect her heart in doing so.

  “Mayhap I should eliminate him after all,” her cousin drawled, “Mayhap then you could focus on your task of finding Dolfin and free me from this mockery of a country.” He waved his hand in an all-encompassing gesture and heaved a great sigh. “And to think I found the French wine lacking! I am convinced that the English merely bottle their pig swill and are too dense to know better!”

  Liselle tossed her head. She’d dealt with Pascal her entire life. She did not fear him.

  Especially when she knew of his secret doings.

  “If you suffer so, cuxìn caro, I’m sure you can find your way home,” she said with a false smile.

  “One would think I could, bábia,” he agreed easily enough before adding in a biting tone, “I have escorted you home in disgrace oft enough, have I not?”

  And then locking his dark eyes on hers, he sent the large blade flying across the room to embed itself next to her stiletto with a loud thwack.

  With an even sweeter smile than before, she continued in a voice that dripped honey, “And who are you to demand anything? You, who have dealings with the Saluzzi and other members of the Vindictam in the shadows, behind Orazio’s back.”

  She could tell by the way he stood there, silent and still, that she had stumbled upon a secret he had wished to keep. How fortunate she had followed him!

  Moving to the door, she yanked the knives out and returned to the table, her face still brandishing a smile.

  “How observant of you,” Pascal murmured with a strange gleam in his dark eyes. “I would that you knew so much of Dolfin.”

  Liselle scowled, and raising her wrist, took aim.

  And then Pascal’s lip curled into a smirk. “Focus on your task, bábia! Cease following me and cease your games of seduction with Lord Gray, or Orazio will be sure to send you back home on the first ship he can find! And by yourself! I’ll not be your donkey again!”

  But at the mention of her brother’s name, Liselle tensed, and the stiletto flew wild to bounce off the stones next to the door. “Orazio?” she asked, “Is he here? Have you had word? Were those men messengers—”

  Pascal’s response was immediate. “Forget you ever saw them, bábia,” he ordered in a tone of authority that she had never heard before. But then he shrugged and pretended to brush a speck of dust off his sleeve as he added nonchalantly, “And if you do not, I shall relish the opportunity to inform your brother that you prefer to spend your evenings disrobing Lord Julian Gray rather than to follow orders.”

  Liselle rolled her eyes, but she was q
uick to respond with a threat of her own. “Do not even think of it, bábio. If such words were to fall from your lips, Orazio just might hear of your harsh words to the Saluzzo in the marketplace.”

  They stood there, glaring at one another, and then Pascal threw his head back in a scornful laugh. “Fine then, dally with him as you may, Liselle. A drunken fool is a fitting match for you, I must admit.”

  “Basta! Enough of this dithering!” Liselle snapped. Returning to the door, she wrenched it open and ordered, “You may leave now! Go! Marcìa via! Put wings upon your feet!”

  To her surprise, he stalked past her straightway, but on reaching the threshold, he paused to peer down at her and say with a disdainful twist of his lip, “If you thought of Dolfin even half as much as you do of Lord Julian Gray, you would have found the old man by now!”

  “Did you say Lord Gray?” Liselle gasped, drawing her hands to her mouth as if shocked. And then she reminded him harshly, “I forbid his name to cross your lips! Remember well, or else I might find myself inadvertently speaking of your visitors, fair cousin!” With a scowl, she jiggled the door handle.

  Pascal’s fine nostrils flared. “Then seal your lips, bábia. You’ve been naught but a thorn in my side from the start!”

  Liselle gritted her teeth in a fake smile, a smile he matched with one even more false.

  And then Pascal turned to leave, but he had taken only a step before he paused and asked as an afterthought, “In your prowling about the village, did you see a cowled monk?”

  “Many!” she retorted. “Which one?”

  He hesitated and then cursing under his breath, strode away.

  With a burst of temper, Liselle kicked the door shut and leaned against it. Santo Ciélo, but Pascal was difficult to deal with!

  After a time, her temper cooled to be replaced by a perplexed feeling of unease.

  She never would have imagined Pascal could be so easily blackmailed. It was disturbing. What could possibly be the secret he protected so dearly? She had not known the two men that had met him, but for certain she’d recognized the distinctive greeting. But why had they kissed Pascal’s hand? No one had ever kissed Orazio’s hand.