Highlander's Sweet Promises

by Tarah Scott

  But she could scarcely share these thoughts with Pascal. Taking a deep breath, she faced him and said, “We must give Julian the chance to reveal the treachery of the Saluzzo who tried to attack him. Then all will be made right.”

  Pascal’s dark eyes narrowed. “Lord Gray? You trust that scandalous drunkard?”

  “Yes,” Liselle whispered, clenching her fists tightly.

  He snorted, tossing his head a little, and his dark eyes glittered. “I’m not a fool, Liselle. ‘Tis clear the man is more than he seems, but what if some mischief were to befall him this night? Even Le Marin can fall victim to misfortune in a town overrun with Vindictam and Saluzzi.”

  Liselle took an involuntary step back. Pascal knew! Santo Ciélo! But her cousin was proving uncommonly keen of late. “Since when?” she asked in a strangled whisper.

  He knew what she meant and smiled. “Before you, I am certain,” came his reply.

  “Then you must know that he will not fail,” was all she said. What else was there to say?

  They were silent for a time, but as the first rays of sun spilled over the horizon, Pascal began to pace.

  In the dim light, she could just see his face. His expression was strangely withdrawn.

  “The blade isn’t poisoned,” Liselle assured him softly, wondering at his odd mood. “It was the only—“

  “Pah!” Pascal interrupted, becoming animated all at once. “I know that well enough, bábia! You do not have the heart to harm anything, even your most loathsome cousin.”

  For a moment, they stared at one another without words.

  He had changed. Or perhaps they both had. For all of his obnoxious barbs, he had never truly betrayed her and somehow, along the way, Liselle was surprised to discover that she had grown fond of him.

  She smiled then and gave a little laugh. “Most loathsome cousin? Insufferably arrogant and troublesome, to be sure, but … hardly loathed.”

  Pascal’s lip lifted in a warped smile, one that she matched, and then his face grew serious all at once. “How did you find out?” He held out his hand and glanced down at his ring.

  Liselle looked at him and lifted her chin. “You, above all, should know that a member of the Vindictam never betrays the source of their information.”

  He raised an amused brow and then replied softly, “There is something you should know, bábia.”

  Liselle tensed at the gravity in his tone.

  He folded his arms and focused on the ever-brightening sky above them. “The end of Pippa’s tale,” he whispered.

  “I know it well,” Liselle retorted in aggravation. “She died for the love of her Scottish lord. Are you likening—”

  “But she did not,” he interrupted softly.

  Liselle’s lips parted in surprise.

  “Pippa is a da Vilardino, and though the Vindictam ordered her family to kill her for her treason, the da Vilardino do not ever kill their own,” Pascal informed her coolly.

  Liselle could only stare at him in shock.

  Pascal met her gaze with rank amusement. “To all but a handful, she truly is dead. But she changed her name, wed her Scottish lord, and has been known here for many years as the gracious Lady Sutherland—a skilled healer with herbs.”

  Still stunned, Liselle could only look upon him. Pippa’s mastery had been in the art of poison. What irony that she’d turned her wisdom to healing!

  Pascal shaded his eyes with a graceful hand and nodded at the rising sun. “I cannot fathom how this day will end; only that I hope it will end badly for the Saluzzi. But should something happen to … should you need help, you would do well to go to her.”

  Feeling strangely numb, she merely nodded.

  “She will be pleased to see you, because there is one other thing that you should know,” he said softly, searching her face. “Pippa is sister to my mother and to yours.”

  Finding her voice at last, Liselle gasped. “My … aunt?” Pippa the legendary assassin was her aunt?

  “Yes, I have visited Pippa often at my mother’s behest over the years,” Pascal was saying as he glanced around him and shuddered in mock horror. “If you only knew how many times I’ve been forced to suffer this godforsaken country that they even bothered naming ‘Scotland’, then you would truly pity me.”

  And then a clatter of hooves announced the arrival of the Vindictam at last, and Liselle whirled as a party of riders on horses approached. She searched the faces of the men, recognizing Venerio and two others from Fotheringhay and the Abbey, and a fourth whom she did not know. They could only be the Quattuor Gladiis, the Four Swords. Julian and Orazio were not amongst them.

  Liselle took a deep breath and willed herself to remain calm.

  “Nicolo will bring Lord Gray,” Venerio informed her as he handed her the reins of a black horse. “And I have spoken with the Saluzzi. They swear Orazio will be there. Shall we ride to meet Antonio?”

  Liselle hesitated, eyeing the members of the Vindictam who watched her intently from under their stern, expressive brows, but she knew that she had no choice.

  “Yes, let us ride with haste,” she said, thankful that her voice sounded strong and sure.

  As she mounted her horse, a crow flapped overhead to land on the city wall nearby, and as its harsh caw scolded them, a shiver ran down her spine.

  “Santo Ciélo! It is an omen of death,” she said.

  “Yes, cara,” Pascal agreed from her side. “But not ours.”

  * * *

  He truly loved her. He knew that now. The ache in his heart at the mere thought of losing her was already too much to bear.

  Clearly, there was little good in being that undone over a lass, but just as clearly, there was no way to prevent it now. ‘Twas too late.

  He loved her.

  Aye, she was complicated, mysterious, and unpredictable—a highly trained mistress of deceit. And he wanted her to be nothing else.

  “I love ye, lass," the whisper escaped him.

  There was a time that he’d believed those words would never pass his lips. Now he wanted to hold her close and to tell her such for the rest of his life.

  But first he had to secure her safety and freedom.

  Julian slipped through Edinburgh’s narrow wynds in the chill night air. Already, the sky was graying in the east. Dawn would arrive soon.

  He knew he would pick up Orazio’s trail at the shop of the Venetian salt merchants.

  Keeping to the shadows, he made his way past the Mercat Cross to a tall, elegant house; unique, in that it was roofed with imported clay tiles. A wrought iron sign depicting a Venetian gondola beneath a spoon of salt proclaimed the place to be the domain of the salt merchants. He eyed the building with wry amusement. Aye, most likely, the entire house was crawling with the Vindictam, ruthless assassins masquerading as simple salt-traders amongst the unwary masses of Edinburgh.

  Low voices sounded from the close behind him, and darting under a shadowed archway, Julian watched as a man in a black cloak rushed past him to pound on the door of the house.

  It was opened almost immediately.

  Voices rose. Emotions were high.

  Clearly, something was afoot.

  Moving under the cover of darkness, Julian slipped closer, just in time to hear the man inform the occupants of the house that Orazio was now in the safekeeping of the Saluzzi.

  Julian arched a brow.

  As the door was slammed in the Saluzzo’s face, the man laughed and hurried away, with Julian close upon his heel. Fishing a length of gray cording from his sporran, he began to weave a Turk’s head knot as he followed the man through the winding streets of Edinburgh to the other side of the city.

  As dawn arrived, the Saluzzo paused before a narrow house near the city gates, and casting a quick glance over his shoulder, knocked on the door and slipped inside.

  Julian paused to study the house, seeking entry.

  He could see shadows moving before the windows. Clearly, men were on guard.

  Cocki
ng a brow at the roof, he grinned and several minutes later, he stood upon the lead tiles to pry the shutters of an attic window open, and vaulted inside.

  Julian squinted as his eyes adjusted to the darkness surrounding him.

  He stood in a storeroom filled with bags and wooden crates resting on boards spanning the rafters. Voices came from the floor near the far wall.

  Moving carefully across the beams, he silently crouched to peer down through the cracks in the wattle and daub ceiling that afforded him a view into the room below.

  There were three men in the chamber.

  The thick-browed Saluzzo from Fotheringhay sat at a table cluttered with candles while a man who could almost be his twin stood by his side. A third man paced by the window, but as he moved to the table the candlelight reflected upon his face.

  It was Orazio.

  And as he began to speak, Julian strained forward to hear their conversation.

  “Antonio will discover your treachery,” Orazio was saying. “He will demand your heads for such a betrayal to your own kind!”

  “Then so be it!” the thick-browed Saluzzo growled. “If it comes to that, then Antonio has outlived his usefulness. Mayhap it is time for a new leader of the Saluzzi to rise! A new leader like myself, who is not afraid to spill the blood of the Vindictam!”

  “Shall we begin with yours, Orazio?” the other Saluzzo asked with a hissing laugh.

  There was a rasp of a blade.

  Julian acted at once.

  Shoving his booted foot through the wattle and daub, he dropped between the rafters.

  His first action was to kick the table over, pinning the seated Saluzzo against the wall and knocking the man’s head sharply back, rendered him unconscious. He then disabled the second man by kicking him hard behind the knee and striking his head in quick succession. With a gasp, his victim sank to the floor, joining his companion in oblivion.

  And then Julian heard the rasp of a blade leaving its sheath, and spinning, he artfully dodged Orazio’s stiletto as it flew past his head in a surprisingly close miss.

  Leaping onto the side of the table, Julian vaulted over Orazio, and a moment later, had the man’s head securely locked in his forearm.

  “Do not think to harm me,” Julian said, tightening his grip. “I am not your enemy!”

  “Lord Gray!” Orazio wheezed.

  “Aye, ‘tis time ye knew me by my other name,” Julian interrupted grimly. Releasing his chokehold, he shoved Orazio forward. And pulling the Saluzzi belt from his sporran, he slapped it onto the table before dropping the Turk’s head knot upon it.

  Orazio stared at the Turk’s head and then turned white.

  A series of expressions crossed his face. Astonishment. Horror. Disbelief. And after what seemed like ages, his lips formed the words: “Le Marin!”

  “Aye, I am Le Marin,” Julian acknowledged sharply and pointed to the belt. “But we’ve little time to discuss it. Liselle is in danger, and I’ll see her safe this very day. This belt provides proof that the Saluzzi have betrayed ye. These men seek to kill the Electus. Ye’ve no cause to take your sister’s life for the honor of a traitor!”

  Orazio’s eyes widened in shock, and then grabbing the belt, he quickly wrapped it around a candlestick and scanned the incriminating words.

  “Diàmbarne!” he cursed, slapping the flats of his hands upon the table. “It is as I feared! These men are mad!”

  “The identity of the Electus is safe for now,” Julian inserted quietly. “And I’ll see that it remains so … if ye set Liselle free.”

  Orazio’s jaw dropped open. “Dare you to extort the Vindictam?” he asked, astonished.

  “Aye, I dare!” Julian responded passionately. And boldly meeting Orazio’s penetrating gaze, he added, “I love the lass and I’ve every intention of wedding her forthwith—”

  It was too much for the man. In a flash, Orazio had drawn another stiletto from his belt and lunged forward with a roar.

  Sidestepping him, Julian twisted his arm back and wrenched the blade free of his grasp. “Liselle loves ye,” he said between clenched teeth. “And I place what she loves above my own desires.”

  “And your own desires would be to slay me?” Orazio grated as he broke free of Julian’s grip.

  “I wouldna slay a man for personal cause nor for coin,” Julian hissed. “I seek only to protect my country!”

  “As do I,” Orazio growled in reply. “And I have the courage to do what is necessary!”

  Their gazes locked and their chests heaved, but then suddenly, one of the men on the floor groaned and sat up.

  Orazio laughed. It was a cold, chilling laugh.

  Moving to crouch next to the man nursing his sore jaw, Orazio clamped a hard hand down upon his shoulder.

  “Can you tell me what attracts a swarm of flies, Lord Gray?” he asked in a deadly voice as he glanced at Julian from over his shoulder.

  Julian arched a curious brow.

  Turning back to the man, Orazio’s lip lifted in a sneer. “Is it not something that gives off a rotten stench?”

  The man had only a moment to frown in confusion before Orazio’s fist connected with the Saluzzo’s jaw. Dropping back onto the floor, the man went unconscious once more.

  “I must be gone from here,” Orazio said, grabbing the belt. “I have words that must be said to Antonio!”

  “Then I’ll be coming with ye,” Julian inserted in a voice threaded with steel. Stripping the belt from Orazio’s grasp and stuffed it back into his sporran. “I’ll be keeping this until I have what I want.”

  They glared at one another yet again, but this time it did not last long. With a curt nod, Julian sprinted down the stairs and out into the streets. Orazio fell into step beside him, matching him stride for stride.

  They had scarcely arrived at the Salt Merchants’ shop when they were met by several men on horseback gathered before the door.

  “Magno Duce!” one of them gasped. “Liselle has taken the Electus as hostage to the Saluzzi in Linlithgow!”

  With a curse upon his lips, Julian grabbed the nearest man by the belt and pulled him down from his horse. Ignoring the man’s protests, he vaulted into the saddle.

  “The Electus?” Orazio replied in astonishment. “The Electus is here? In Scotland?”

  “Aye, ye know the Electus intimately,” Julian informed him. “And if ye wish him to survive, follow me now with haste!”

  Orazio did not have to be told twice, and moments later, he was galloping at Julian’s side, headed for the city gates.

  At full speed, Julian left the city of Edinburgh behind him, riding low over the neck of the horse as he streaked towards the royal burgh of Linlithgow with Orazio and his men close behind him.

  Dark clouds rushed across the morning sky as they rode through the soft rolling hills of the lowlands, across rivers and burns, and around hamlets and kirks.

  He knew right well where they were headed. The secretive brotherhood of the Carmelites farmed the land near Linlithgow Palace. And Julian was quite familiar with the secret passageways running beneath the fields near the friary. He’d hidden there on more than one occasion himself.

  A few miles shy of Linlithgow, the clouds above their heads unleashed a torrent of rain that slowed their progress. Thunder raged across the sky, frightening the horses as they slipped in the mud.

  Cursing under his breath, Julian urged his horse on.

  It was almost noon when they finally galloped down the grassy hillside, past the formidable towers of Linlithgow Palace and across the empty fields to the Carmelite friary nearby.

  Maintaining a breakneck pace until he had reached the line of trees on the far end of the field near the friary, Julian pulled his mount up short, its sides heaving and its muzzle lathered with foam.

  “There!” Julian said, pointing to a small mark of a “V” carved in the trunk of a tree. “The mark of the Electus! Pascal was safe then, at least until this point.”

  Shock registered
upon Orazio’s face.

  “Aye,” Julian said, “Your young cousin has been harboring a secret, Orazio.”

  But the man could say nothing in response, so great was his surprise.

  And then dismounting, Julian led them through the trees to a small hillock where a granite ledge thick with moss and lichen covered a gaping maw leading into darkness.

  It was the entrance to the catacombs of the Carmelite monks.

  Julian frowned.

  The monks were not ones to leave the place unguarded. Peering into the dark hole, he listened for any sound, but only heard the light patter of the rain striking the leaves above their heads. Making up his mind, he unsheathed his dirk, and motioning the others to follow, led them into the gloomy network of hiding places and escape tunnels.

  The passageway was arched, made of hand-hewn stone, and ran straight ahead for quite some time before veering sharply to the left to branch in several directions. Pausing to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness, Julian was about to step forward when a torch moved in the blackness ahead.

  Silently, he altered course and they crept forward, following the torch until the distinct buzz of voices could be heard, and rounding a corner, he could see the torchlight reflecting off of a barrel-vaulted ceiling.

  They had arrived at the secret meeting chamber, the largest room in the catacombs. Torches burned in iron sconces embedded upon the wall, and at the far side stood a large doorway with stairs winding upwards into the darkness.

  Moving closer, Julian peered from the shadows to see the place filled with monks and men in dark cloaks sitting at a long wooden table. Around the neck of each, monk and man alike, hung a length of wooden beads.

  “The monks are Saluzzi!” Orazio whispered in shock from his side.

  Julian arched a surprised brow. Was Scotland crawling with foreign assassins? Ach, he’d have to tell Cameron. Something must be done!

  It was then that he spied Pascal a short distance away, leaning against the wall and observing the men in the center of the room intently.

  And at his side stood Liselle.

  Even in the dim light of the chamber, he could see that she was worried.