Hannah Howell

by Highland Hearts

  It was perfect. She had been abducted and, it could be claimed, murdered by her abductor. Even if it was guessed that she had died in the heavy pursuit by Thurkettle’s men, her uncle would look innocent. What choice had he?

  “Well?” Revan pressed after letting her think it over for a moment. He was rather bemused by how clearly her changing thoughts reflected in her heart-shaped face. “Ye do have some wealth?”

  “A bit.” She was not sure why, but she was reluctant to tell him just how much she was worth.

  “Now, lass, Thurkettle wouldna trouble himself this much for only ‘a bit.’ ”

  “A few thousand gold riders, a wee bit of land.” To some people thirty could be a few, she told herself, defending her lie.

  “Well, ’tisna as much as I had expected but enough to rouse Thurkettle’s greed.”

  He sensed she had not told him the whole truth but decided not to press. The exact amount did not really matter as long as she accepted the truth. Although still not sure he could fully trust her, he did think she would now be less likely to try and run off. He took out his knife and neatly cut the bonds at her wrists, then resheathed his knife.

  “I am free?” She eyed him with mistrust, wondering if he planned some trick.

  “I think ye will gain little by running away.”

  “Aye, I believe ye may be right.” She stared at her wrists as she gently rubbed them to ease the slight chafing of her bonds. “I seem to have an excess of people trying to end my life.” She glanced at him. “I assume I had best not exclude you just yet.”

  “Ye assume correctly.”

  “Isna it a wee bit stupid to threaten me now that I am free?”

  Shrugging, he tested the porridge. It was ready to eat. “I dinna gain a thing by killing you.” He spooned some of the hearty if plain fare into a wooden bowl, then handed it to her, tossing a spoon on top. “Ye do exactly as I say, and ye will be fine. Thurkettle willna give ye the same chance.”

  Reluctantly admitting to herself that he was right, she tested the food. It was not her favorite fare, but as hungry as she was, it tasted good. However, she silently prayed that if they were going to hide out together for a while, there would be some variety in their menu. If she had to suffer porridge on a day-by-day basis, she was sure she would soon decide her murderous uncle was not so bad after all.

  Her life, she mused as she ate, had gone from bad to wretched in the blink of an eye. The only hope of improvement she had was to reach her father’s family. They would take care of Uncle Thurkettle. And—she glared at Revan—the kidnapping Sir Halyard as well. The problem was, they were many days’ ride away, and there was only Revan’s mount. Worse, she was not certain she could find her way to them unaided. The Comyns were not renowned travelers. It was said that her uncle Silvio Comyn could get lost climbing out of bed. It was an exaggeration, of course, but the truth was, she and her relatives did have a tendency to go the wrong way.

  She had only one real choice. Somehow she had to convince Revan that it was in his best interest to take her to them. Inwardly she sighed. Moses probably had an easier time parting the Red Sea. Revan had kidnapped her and threatened to cut her throat. He would not be eager to meet her kinsmen after that. Still, she decided it never hurt to try. She certainly could not get into any worse trouble.

  “Ye can cease all that plotting,” Revan murmured as he took her empty bowl.

  Startled from her thoughts, she frowned at him. “And who says I am plotting anything?”

  “That sly look that came over your face.” He casually sipped at his wine.

  “Sly look?” she muttered as she helped herself to another drink of his wine.

  “Now that ye are comfortable—”

  “As cozy as a rat in the meal.”

  “We shall talk about your uncle.”

  “What now? I should think we ken all we need to. He wants us dead. Now we ken why he is trying to put me to rest in the cold clay, and I dinna believe ye have yet explained why he wants to kill you. Shall we discuss that?”

  “I ken a few truths about him he would like to keep secret.”

  “Those could fill a book.”

  “Aye? Such as what?”

  “Well, there are a few wives who must pray nightly that he keeps a discreet tongue in his head. He flaunts that weak drop of royal Bruce blood, and the fools believe it. They think it makes him special.” She shook her head in disgust.

  “That wasna the sort of secret I was thinking of.”

  “Nay? Well, mayhaps ye should tell me exactly what ye are interested in. Ye tell me what ye think ye have, and I will tell you if I ken aught that will confirm or deny it.”

  “Will you?” He watched her closely as he added another stick to the fire. “Why should I believe that? Ye would be betraying kinsmen.”

  “True. Most of the time ye would have to torture me to madness to make me do such a thing. But this collection of kinsmen is determined to murder me. I believe that cuts all bonds. Only a fool offers blind loyalty to a man who wants to kill her.”

  “And ye are no fool.”

  “Not all the time. So, what do ye think ye ken that could make Uncle so determined to put you in the ground?”

  Revan thought over his answer. There seemed little reason to keep secrets. She was in as much danger as he was, and he did not think her so stupid as to believe she could make some bargain with Thurkettle. He just hoped he was not acting in response to a huge pair of rich brown eyes, eyes that pulled at the truth, demanding his honesty. Silently he promised himself that in future he would be very careful about looking into those eyes of hers.

  “I believe he is dabbling in many illegal activities,” he finally answered.

  “Hell’s fire, I thought ye were meaning to tell me something I didna ken for myself.”

  “Ye ken he is doing something illegal?” He decided her skill with sarcasm was not only good but could grow very irritating.

  “My uncle? I should be very surprised if he wasna. Exactly what do ye think he is dabbling in?”

  “Treason. He plots with the Black Douglases against James the Second.” He found the shock that transformed her face somewhat reassuring.

  Tess nearly choked on her wine. She had guessed at her uncle’s criminal nature a long time ago, but she had never thought her uncle into any serious treachery. Treason against their king? She shook her head. Surely her uncle could not be such a fool, would not taint their family with such a black crime. But then, she thought as she struggled to subdue her shock, Fergus Thurkettle was clearly trying to kill her and Revan. He was also, suddenly and inexplicably, closely entangled with the Black Douglases, who had openly defied the king.

  “Are ye certain about that?” she found herself forced to ask.

  “Aye, very certain. I but needed some more proof, a few facts.”

  “Proof and facts?” She looked at him in slight surprise. “Ah, so that is why ye were slathering over the regal Brenda.”

  “I wasna slathering,” he snapped, then sighed, ruefully admitting to himself that he had come close a time or two. “I did think I could gain a little information from her, something that might lead me to the proof I sought.”

  “Well, ye didna ken the queen Brenda very well, then.”

  “She was a bit duller of wit than I had expected.”

  “Nay. A lot sharper. Whate’er old Fergus is doing, his royal daughter kens all about it.”

  He sighed as he set his wineskin aside. “I wondered about that whilst I was dangling from the wall in the dungeons.” He had been taken for a fool, and it annoyed him.

  “Brenda is a sly one,” Tess said. “One too many questions from you, and she would grow suspicious.”

  “And probably kept Thurkettle informed of every step I took,” he muttered.

  “There is no ‘probably’ about it.”

  “Ye dinna need to rub salt in my wounds.”

  “No need to be so thrice-cursed ill-tempered over the matter. Men,”
she grumbled, shaking her head. “Show them auburn curls, big blue eyes, and a couple of other very big things, and their brains turn to warm gruel and leak right out their ears.”

  There was some painful truth in that, Revan thought, but he fought to ignore it. “Are ye planning to tell me more about your uncle?”

  “I canna be certain I have much to tell. I always kenned he wasna a good man, but I canna say I was witness to anything that carried the taint of treason.” She rubbed her forehead with one hand as she tried to think, but exhaustion was gaining on her, clouding her thoughts. “Mayhaps ye should have asked me earlier. I begin to have difficulty recalling my own name.”

  She did look tired, he thought and reined in his suspicions. He was feeling rather weary himself. There would be time enough after they had both rested to press her for information.

  “Ye can lie down where ye are,” he said as he started to bank the fire. “We can talk in the morning.”

  Nodding, she yanked off her boots and neatly stood them by her hat. She settled herself as comfortably as she could on the thin bedding, tugging the blanket over her and turning her back to the fire. Despite all the trouble she was in, she knew sleep would come quickly. It was just weighting her body when she felt Revan slip under the blanket and lay down beside her. Wide-eyed with shock, suddenly alert, she turned to stare at his broad back.

  “What are ye doing?” she squeaked.

  “Going to sleep.”

  “Ye canna sleep here.”

  “ ’Tis the only place to sleep there is. Wheesht, I am too weary to bother with some fool lass’s outrage. I am also too weary to be any threat to any female. So ye can just calm yourself down and go to sleep.”

  For a brief moment she gave serious thought to continuing the argument, then turned her back to him. He was fully dressed, and she knew he was telling the truth about being tired. She also suspected he meant to keep a close eye on her until he was more sure of her motives. As she closed her eyes, she decided she was also simply too tired to bother with propriety at the moment.

  Revan heard her breathing soften and knew she was asleep. He knew he would soon join her, his body aching with exhaustion. For now he felt they were safe, safe enough to rest up and gain some much needed strength for the dangerous days that stretched out ahead of them.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Well, now that ye have rested, washed, and broken your fast, we can talk.” Revan crouched by the fire and poured himself some wine, trying to ignore the way the girl glared at him.

  That proved impossible. Since she had awoken, her sullenness had been unrelenting. He had thought a good night’s rest would soften her mood, make her see that they were uneasy allies, not enemies. Instead, she continued to regard him as though he were something nasty she had stepped in and could not scrape off of her boots. It was really beginning to annoy him.

  “Tess, I think ’twould be greatly to your benefit to aid me.”

  “Oh, aye? As it was to my benefit to spring ye from my uncle’s dungeon?”

  She saw his eyes narrow and knew that in this vulnerable situation she ought to tread more warily, just as she knew she would not. When she had awoken, she had slowly studied her surroundings, thought about the situation she was in, and gotten mad. She planned to stay mad, no amount of self-scolding cooling her temper. Although she knew he was not fully to blame for her predicament, he had had a hand in it. He was also there, big as life, a ready target for her frustration-bred fury.

  “I am sorry about that, but I didna have much choice. And it looks to me as if ye escaped that keep just in time. Perhaps ye should be thanking me. Dinna forget how your uncle’s men were aiming for you as much as me.”

  “I willna forget that for a minute. Neither will I forget that ye have given him the perfect way to murder me without suffering any consequences!”

  He winced at the truth of that, then scowled because it was not the whole truth. “If he is so willing to grab at this chance, then ye canna truly claim ye were safe there. He was obviously thinking about it, might even have tried to kill you a few times ere now. Ye simply failed to see it.”

  Tess opened her mouth to snarl an answer, then snapped it shut. She felt her anger slowly slip away. The logic of Revan’s words could not be fought, especially since their validity had already been proved. Sighing, she refilled her battered tin cup with watered-down wine.

  “I saw it. Well, I saw it clearly only yesterday.”

  “So, he has tried to kill you?” He found her abrupt change in mood a little unsettling but was glad to see those huge brown eyes grow soft again.

  “Aye, he has. I thought they were accidents, although something about them made me uneasy at the time. I pushed such thoughts aside. After all, he is my uncle. Blood family. I can think of three times he may have been—well, probably was—behind what happened. He saw a chance and grasped it.”

  “ ’Tis quite possible. Do ye have other family?”

  “More than most would want. Why?”

  “How can your uncle think he will get what wealth ye have? Have ye willed it to him?”

  “Nay, never. ’Twas my mother’s, put aside by her father and added to by mine. Her father wanted her to have some of her own money. Grandfather Thurkettle never ceased to think of it as ‘when’ not ‘if ’ she left my father. The money and land was to come to me next. She died and Grandfather Thurkettle controlled it, then he died—”

  “And Thurkettle took control.”

  “Aye, I fear so. He ruled it until my eighteenth birthday.”

  “What happens then?”

  “ ’Tis all mine. Only two short days ago my uncle no longer held the reins.”

  “Two days—” He stared at her in shock. “Ye are eighteen?”

  The total disbelief in his voice struck her as somewhat insulting. “Aye, I am eighteen. How old did ye think I was?” Even as she asked the question, she was not sure she wanted to know the answer.

  “Your clothes . . .” He waved his hand to indicate her baggy male attire. “I thought ye but a girlchild playing about or the like. Why, in God’s good name, is a lass of your years wearing a man’s clothes?”

  The rather disgusted look in his blue-gray eyes stung. “I was mucking about in the stables, Sir Halyard, doing various other chores that are apt to make one just a wee bit dirty. I have but two gowns. One plain and one a wee bit less plain. I canna afford to ruin them.”

  Suddenly she was painfully conscious of her shabby attire. He was such a beautiful man, and she looked like some ragamuffin. Then she stiffened with pride. After all, he had given her no warning that she was about to take a trip with a gentleman. She could hardly be expected to appear at her best on the off chance that some beautiful man would get chained up in her uncle’s dungeon, then drag her off into the night.

  Revan knew that he had insulted her, and he almost apologized. Then he recalled what she had just said, and his thoughts were quickly diverted.

  “Why only two gowns? What about that money?”

  “I told you—my uncle held the purse strings.”

  “Aye, but from the little I ken of such matters, he would be allowed to draw expenses from the fund, coin he would need to house, clothe, and educate you, or the like. Did he have complete control?”

  “Nay. There are two lawyers as well who try to keep an eye on it. He would have to tell them if he needed to have some coin and why. Grandfather Thurkettle didna fully trust his son, and there are some restraints upon my uncle. I suppose Uncle felt it was too much to bother with.” Even as she said it, she doubted the truth of that.

  Before she averted her gaze, Revan read her sudden doubt in the expression on her face. He bit back the words he had been about to say. There was no doubt in his mind that Thurkettle would have bled her inheritance of every penny he could. If he was allowed expenses, he would have claimed them. That she would gain no benefit from those claims was hardly surprising. Revan knew her thoughts were just now taking the same route as his
. He would not rub salt in her wounds.

  He was beginning to think of her more as an innocent victim than as one of Thurkettle’s conspirators. Telling himself to cling to his cynicism and mistrust did nothing to change that. It did make him wonder what she could know about her uncle’s activities. There was a good chance she would know little or nothing.

  Edging a little closer to her, he asked, “Do ye remember what I said your uncle was involved in?”

  Trying not to dwell on what a blind fool she had been—as well as a slight bout of self-pity over how poorly she had been treated—Tess decided to concentrate on what Revan wanted to know. “Aye, treason against James the Second. ’Tis hard to forget such a crime. Yet, what makes ye so certain my uncle is involved?”

  “He has become too well entangled in the Black Douglases’ webs not to be. Unfortunately, while all I see and hear points to his guilt, naught touches him.”

  “Ah, and ye thought touching Brenda would help.”

  “Do ye think we can forget Brenda?” he said sharply.

  “All right, all right. Ye dinna need to get into a black humor.”

  “I am not in a black humor,” he snapped.

  “Nay, of course not. Exactly what is your interest in all of this?” Quickly thinking over all that had happened, she was not sure she ought to trust him any farther than she could throw him. “How do I ken your interest isna born of a need to stop one of your own from gaining too favored a place amongst the Black Douglases?”

  Her suggestion infuriated him, but he forced himself to gain some control over his flare of temper. She had good reason to be suspicious. Considering all that she had gone through and discovered in the past day, it was only natural that she would be wary of everyone—at least for a while.

  Then he wondered how much it would be prudent to tell her. A moment later he realized his only choice was the whole truth. Anything less would undoubtedly add to her suspicions and then to his own troubles by making her more foe than friend.

  “I have been keeping a close watch upon the Black Douglases and your uncle for months. I am a knight in the service of James the Second, here at his request.”