by Tarah Scott
All at once, she was angry. No, she was furious!
Tossing her head, she retorted, “You know so little, bábio!”
Anger reflected in his gray eyes as he snorted in response. “Do I? What cause could ye possibly have to harm an old man?” he challenged in a disparaging tone. “Have ye no heart?”
Of all things, how could he ask her that when she was already struggling with that thought herself?
Raising her chin in defiance, she retorted, “Some things cannot be questioned.” And then bitter words followed, words she hadn’t even realized she had been thinking. “Did I choose the family I was born to, Lord Gray? What choice do I have?”
Suddenly, he caught her arm, and pulling her close once again, dropped his head to whisper into her ear, “Nay, but ye have a choice now, Lady Gray. Let Dolfin go. Dinna aid Pascal in his unholy quest!”
In spite of her fury, her pulse leapt at his touch and his nearness. Once again, her gaze dropped to his collarbone and the skin of his exposed chest.
Òsti! But how could she feel anger and attraction all at once? Gritting her teeth, she reminded herself aloud in a choked voice, “There is no bond greater than blood loyalty!”
“Nay, ‘tis not so!” Julian murmured, his lips lightly brushing her ear. “What of the bonds between a man and a woman?”
A shiver rippled down her spine at his words.
But then he abruptly stepped back. “Ach, I should send ye straight back to Venice myself, lass! Aye, that’s what I’ll do, and I’ll do it right quickly!”
Without meeting her gaze, he brought his fingers to his lips and let out a piercing whistle.
A short distance away, the gray mare lifted her head to look back at him. Stems of grass protruded from her cheeks. And then flicking an ear, she cantered back to stop in front of Julian, stamping her foot in a soft whicker of greeting.
“Aye, ye wee lassie, ’tis right glad I am to see ye!” Julian murmured as he gave her withers a fond pat.
Liselle watched him numbly. How could she think of the bonds between a man and a woman? As a di Franco, an assassin of the Vindictam, she could not think of such things. It was a forbiddingly dangerous thing to do. Her loyalty was to the Magno Duce first.
No. She should focus on the matter at hand. And that matter was escape.
“And where is your horse?” Julian was asking, turning upon her.
Her lips were dry, but she managed to shrug and wave to where the carts had disappeared over the horizon. She’d only helped herself to his horse after someone had taken hers.
“Aye then,” he grunted, patting his horse fondly on the withers.
Liselle eyed the gray mare sourly. Just like Julian, even his horse had secrets. Had she known the mare had been trained, she never would have taken her.
And she never would have been caught.
“Then ye’ll be riding with me, lass,” Julian said then. His voice was low.
Before she could even respond, he’d tossed her into the saddle and swung himself up behind to clinch a tight arm about her waist. And then digging his heel into the mare’s side, he guided her out of the village of Channelkirk and headed north.
Neither spoke.
Liselle knew she should be thinking only of escape, but how could she? She could only hear Julian’s voice continuously playing in her mind.
What of the bonds between a man and a woman?
What of them?
He had no such bond with her! Cà de dìa! It was foolish to dwell upon such words. A man such as he clearly meant nothing by them!
She knew she should escape. She had to return before Albany’s men found her missing. Santo Ciélo! But how could she evade the arm of steel banded around her waist, especially when she knew that she truly didn’t want to escape at all!
Grimacing, she eyed the broad, sloping meadows and gentle hills with shallow burns winding their way through the heather. She was riding in the opposite direction of where she needed to go, and no doubt, Albany’s men still thought her lying ill in her chamber at Thirlstane castle, a league from Channelkirk.
The day was waning, and her thoughts were still in a quandary when they crested the top of a hill, and Julian sharply pulled rein.
Following his gaze, Liselle spied a group of horsemen rapidly approaching from the west. But as a gust of wind unfurled a green and white banner emblazoned with a battle-axe, Julian laughed.
Urging his mare forward, he lifted his arm and let out a whoop of greeting. “A MacLean! A MacLean!”
The horsemen altered course at once, and shortly thereafter, they were surrounded by fierce highland warriors clad in full battle gear. The jingling of bits mixed with the chorus of their echoes of “A MacLean!”
“Well met, cousin!” the leader of the highlanders called, breaking away from the others to advance on a magnificent black charger. He was a young, lean man, broad-shouldered and with hair as fair as Julian’s.
Julian met him halfway to clasp forearms in a fond greeting.
“It’s been too long, Ewan MacLean!” Julian laughed as he held his young kinsman at arm’s length and subjected him to a measuring look. “Ach, but ye’ve grown since I’ve seen ye last, lad!”
“Then ‘tis been too long since we’ve met, cousin! I havena grown in a twelvemonth or more!” His cousin laughed with an easy grace of one accustomed to command. But even as his white teeth flashed in humor, one could see a distinct glimmer of some deeply buried pain in the depths of his blue eyes.
“What is it, Ewan?” Julian asked in sudden concern. “What of the earl and your mother?”
“There’s naught to alarm ye, Julian. My parents are well,” Ewan assured, glancing momentarily away before asking in turn, “And how fares my mother’s sister?”
Julian hesitated a moment, clearly somewhat troubled, but he gave a snort of laughter all the same. “My mother is as she always is, sending weekly missives that demand my presence in Huntly to fulfill my duties as its lord.”
“Aye and ye should,” Ewan replied, clearly not finding the concept amusing. With a polite dip of his strong chin towards Liselle, he asked, “And is this your lady?”
Liselle felt Julian’s chest heave behind her as her mouth opened in protest.
“Most certainly not!” she retorted.
“Sweet Mary, no!” he swore through clenched teeth at the same time.
Ewan raised a mild brow.
“’Tis too long a tale to speak of now,” Julian replied tersely as his arm reflexively tightened about Liselle’s waist. “But tell me, lad, what brings ye so far from Mull? Surely, Cameron’s call-to-arms couldna have reached ye this swiftly!”
“Cameron’s called at last, aye?” Ewan repeated, looking only faintly surprised.
With a grim set of his jaw, he raised an arm and ordered his men to make camp near a small copse of birches at the base of the hill. And as the men thundered away, he turned back to say, “We’ll journey no farther this day. Join us. I would fain know more of what I ride into on the morrow. And ‘twill soon be too dark a night and too treacherous a ride to tax a lady’s strength, aye?”
“A lady, perhaps,” Julian grunted in a perverse tone. “But ye know not of whom ye speak, lad.”
Liselle turned enough to send him a scathing smile.
“Ach now, cousin!” Ewan chided mildly. For a moment, his sharp eyes swept curiously over Liselle’s tunic and leggings. But he didn’t mention them, and assuming a polite smile, he turned the head of his charger and cantered down the hill to his men.
“Ach, the lad’s lost his sense of humor!” Julian clucked under his breath. “What ill has befallen him?” He remained where he was a moment, shaking his head and then followed.
Guiding the mare into the camp, Julian hailed a grizzled man with a jagged scar across his face and dismounted to exchange loud and exuberant greetings.
“And what ails Ewan?” Julian asked once their voices had settled.
“Ach, ‘tis nae good, Julian!” T
he man turned his head and spat to the side. “The lad’s nae been the same since the battle at Tobermory. We lost too many men to MacDonald’s bastard, Aonghas! Aye, the lad saw too much, he did.”
Julian frowned. “Ach, ye never mentioned it afore! Ye said only that he’d turned fearsome in battle—”
“Aye, and I’ve no doubt he’ll soon become the most renowned warrior in all of Scotland,” the man cut in, wiping the grime from his scarred face. “But at what cost, Julian? He’s nae the same as he was. He had the heart of a poet, he did.” Shaking his head, he moved away.
Julian stood there a moment and then reached up to pluck Liselle out of the saddle. Bending close, he placed his cheek directly against hers and warned in a whisper, “I’ll have none of your tricks, lass. Dinna even think of escaping, aye?”
Liselle didn’t answer. Instead, she fluttered her lashes and gave him a sickeningly sweet and devious smile.
Julian didn’t miss the insincerity. “Sweet Mary!” he growled, “But ye’d best heed my words!”
And then dropping his hand to the small of her back, he pushed her toward Ewan kneeling before a pile of sticks and dry leaves. As they watched, he struck a flint and the fire caught and crackled into life, spitting sparks. And as several men set about fashioning a roasting spit, a few others began to pluck several large fowl they had apparently hunted earlier in the day.
“My lady.” Ewan smiled at Liselle and indicated with a sweep of his hand a plaid spread upon the ground. “Pray, sit and rest.”
Nodding her thanks, Liselle took the proffered seat and watched as Julian settled nearby to stretch out his long legs.
“So, what brings ye from Mull, lad?” he asked in a conversational tone.
Ewan grimaced. “Another battle brewing against the rebel MacDonalds,” he answered shortly.
There was something in the way he said the name MacDonald that made the hair stand on the back of Liselle’s neck.
Julian expelled a breath, and his eyes flashed briefly in sympathy. “Ach, Ewan. Not again. I’d hoped Ruan MacLeod had quelled those malcontents in the matter of his wee sister, Merry.”
At that, Ewan’s strong jaw clenched, and drawing his lips in a grim line, he vowed, “We’ll see their wickedness purged, once and for all. Aye, the pain they afflicted on that wee innocent lassie still haunts me to this day, cousin.” But then, he dipped his head ruefully to Liselle. “Forgive my dark words this night, my lady.”
“There’s naught to forgive, my lord,” Liselle answered quietly.
They began to speak of other things, and as the savory smell of meat filled the air to mix with their soft Scottish burrs, Liselle was suddenly struck by the peace of the place.
The sun hung low in the sky to bathe the heather-covered hills and clumps of gorse in a warm red light. Already, the trees cast long shadows over the camp.
Soon, it would be dark.
She closed her eyes as a sudden cooling wind swirled the leaves above her head.
Men laughed as they dumped their saddles on the ground, resting their heads upon them as pillows and sharing spirits from small metal flasks. As several of them began to sing, she wondered what it would be like to live such a life.
Could she simply leave the Vindictam, the only life she had ever known?
Did she have a choice?
Caught in a strange fantasy, she stared into the flames, mesmerized by the burning embers, and let her thoughts wander a time before drawing back in disgust with herself.
Òsti! Pascal was right! She was a fool, a bábia! No one lived a life of calm evenings promising only stillness and rest! And she had no choice, no unbreakable bond with Julian.
She was an assassin for the Vindictam.
And it was long past the time for her to steal a horse and return to Thirlstane before her absence was discovered.
Julian had moved to have words with the scar-faced man on the other side of the fire. He wasn’t even looking in her direction.
Liselle inched back.
He didn’t react.
She waited several moments, studying his strong profile. Santo Ciélo! The man was enticing, but she could no longer afford such diversions.
It was time to leave.
The moon had just risen and the stars were bright, providing sufficient light for riding. If she hurried, she could be in Thirlstane within a few hours.
Assuming a bashful air precisely calculated to disarm the mountain of a man sitting next to her, she shyly murmured that she required a moment of privacy to tend to her lady-needs, and at his gallant bow, quickly stepped outside the circle of firelight.
She didn’t waste a moment, knowing that Julian would not be fooled long.
Darting under the birch trees, she made her way to the grazing horses nearby.
With the highlanders using their saddles as pillows, she’d have to ride a horse bareback. It was not a particularly appealing prospect, but she was an excellent rider.
Grabbing the closest horse by its halter, she’d taken only a step when a heavy hand fell down hard upon her shoulder.
Instinct enabled her to lash out with a sharp kick, striking her assailant soundly upon the knee.
It was Julian.
“By the Virgin!” he swore, cursing at the impact. And then grabbing her about the waist, he tipped her over his shoulder to toss her upon her back.
She landed with a grunt in the bristly undergrowth.
He towered over her a moment before dropping to straddle her hips and grin. “Heaven have mercy, but it seems I’ve stumbled upon an imp from Hades!”
The touch of his thighs threatened to send a strong ripple of desire raging through her, but she could not let herself think such thoughts. Diàmbarne! She was an assassin of the Vindictam and she must escape!
He stayed there a moment, looming over her. The moonlight was bright enough to illuminate his stern brows, but his eyes were masked in shadows.
And then he rose to his feet, and she leapt to hers, striking out once more.
With lightning-quick reflexes, he caught her ankle in his strong hand and gave it a vicious twist.
Gasping, she fell back again into the heather and gorse, scratching the palms of her hands.
“Ruffian!” She scowled. For a drunk and scandalous lord, Julian Gray was exceptionally quick to react.
“By the Virgin, ye are a wicked wench!” Julian swore. “I’m of a mind to tie ye up and leave ye here!”
She grimaced. Her attempt to break herself free by brute force had failed miserably. Clearly, it was time to try another tactic.
“And you would abandon a woman?” she asked, adopting a low, pleading tone as she permitted her voice to waver, just a little.
She didn’t fool him for a moment.
Julian snorted. “A woman? No. But a devil, yes,” he exclaimed, yanking her to her feet and pinning her wrists roughly behind her back.
The movement had the effect of pushing her breasts tightly against his chest, and Liselle’s breath hitched at the unexpectedly intimate contact. Suddenly, it was difficult to focus once again.
His face was easier to see now in the dim glow of the moon. His mouth was set in a grim line, but he didn’t seem particularly angry. And then he abruptly lowered his face to hers.
Liselle could feel his hot breath upon her lips, and her every sense tingled. Would he kiss her again? She held her own breath expectantly.
And then Julian whispered, “Ach, I’ll see ye off on the first ship I can find!”
Disappointment flooded through her. And even though she had heard those words so many times in her life, they never failed to anger her. “You have no power to send me anywhere!” she snapped, with a haughty lift of her chin.
“Oh?” he challenged, cocking a brow.
They stared at each other, breathing hard.
And then to her surprise, he looped his strong arm about her waist and heaved her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.
Striding boldly back to camp,
his strong voice roared above the highlanders’ raucous songs, “Do ye have some kind of sack, Ewan?”
Laughter met this query, along with a few comments.
“Aye, ‘tis a wee abduction, then!”
“So ‘tis love, aye, Julian lad?”
As Julian moved forward, Ewan blocked his way, his fair brows drawn together in alarm.
“Sack?” he repeated with a stern jaw.
“Aye! I’m putting her in it!” Julian bellowed in response and brushed him aside. “I dinna trust the lass!”
“Ach now, Julian!” Ewan protested, shocked. “’Tis no way to treat a lady!”
“Ye know not of whom ye speak!” Julian grated, tipping Liselle over his shoulder to plop her down in front of the fire. And placing his hand upon the top of her head in an aggravated gesture, he informed the highlanders, “This lass lives only to conspire and delve in continuous treachery! Dinna trust her!”
Liselle had only time to send him an injured look before he grabbed her wrist once again and pulled her to where he’d propped his saddle against the trunk of a slender birch.
“Aye, then. I’ll tie ye like a beast!” he grumbled, drawing a length of gray cord from one of his saddle bags. “Sweet Mary, but ye must eat only mules! How else could ye be so stubborn?”
But she scarcely heard him.
She was staring at the gray cord as a sudden image leapt into her stunned mind. She’d seen that gray cord before. It was unique, fine of make, yet strong, and the most distinct shade of gray. There had been a great length of it in his chamber at Sarlat.
But more importantly, the picture in her mind was not of that. No, in her mind’s eye, she saw a gray Turk’s head knot resting in her brother’s hand.
And then she knew.
Santo Ciélo! But it had been plain for all to see!
Catching her breath in awe, she looked up into Julian’s eyes and accused in wonder, “You are Le Marin!”
11
the lauder bridge trap
Julian’s eyes dropped to the gray cord in his hands and then back to Liselle in appreciation. There was little reason to deny it. He’d scarcely bothered to play a drunken and scandalous nobleman in her presence.
