The Rogue

by Sandy Blair

  Ian laughed and heads turned. They always did. As big and brawn as Angus himself, Ian’s laugh sounded like thunder. “I had heard ye were on the hunt.”

  Good God, did every soul in the realm know what he was about? “And what are ye doing here?” Angus asked. “Last I heard, ye were breaking virgin hearts in every alcove ye could find in Edinburgh Castle.”

  “Aye, and in the attic as well, but unfortunately Albany tired of losing the competition for the fairest lasses, and sent me on this damn mission.”

  “What mission?”

  Ian threw an arm around Angus’s shoulder and leaned toward his ear. “Not here.”

  Angus nodded. Politics and intrigue were Ian’s bread and butter. The dirtier the better, and the less said in public the better, as well. When Ian tried to guide him to a far corner, Angus remained rooted. “I’m sorry, Ian, but now isna the time. I have to find Birdi.”

  “Birdi, huh?” Deep dimples slowly formed on either side of the scoundrel’s mouth as he studied Angus’s visage. “I’ll come with ye then. I need meet her.”

  As they stepped into the chilled night, Ian said, “Start at the beginning. How did ye come by this lass?”

  Knowing Ian was discreet if naught else and needing a sane head to fathom what he no longer could, Angus muttered, “This insanity all started with a wager. I was...

  Chapter 13

  Her heart breaking, Birdi squatted on the gravel that skirted Loch Lomond, wrapped her arms about her knees, and hunched her shoulders against the biting wind. With wet cheeks stinging, she stared into the glossy blackness lapping the shore before her.

  ‘Twould be easy. Just step in and end it all. No more pain, no more worrying about food for another winter. No more loneliness.

  But could she drown? She’d been a swimmer since birth without a soul teaching her how.

  She heaved a shuddering sigh. Mayhap ‘twas not the best of ideas. She’d likely bob to the surface like an apple in a wash bucket. But she couldn’t keep going on like this day after day, year after year, filled with such angst and pain. Seeing loathing—or worse, indifference—for her in others’ eyes. Against her will, her mind conjured up Angus as he sat across from her at the table, and her heart again felt his pulling back—his putting up a wall of restraint—and her tears spilled.

  Not since her first encounter with Lady MacArthur—when Birdi had gone to the castle shortly after her mother’s death seeking comfort and aid—had she felt such pain as she did now, had she realized how truly odd she was.

  “Oh, Angus, why had ye not shut me out before I’d grown so fond of ye?”

  “Fond of him are you?”

  “Ack!” Birdi jump and fell backward, her arms flailing over the water.

  A stranger—as tall and brawn as her Angus—reached out and grabbed her by the waist. He hauled her close, restraining her clawing hands. “Easy now, lass. I mean ye nay harm.”

  The clouds chose that moment to part, and moonlight lit the face of the man crushing Birdi to his chest. Her breath caught and her mouth fell open. Never in her life had she seen such a glorious countenance. The man appeared to be made of or, golden headed and golden skinned.

  “I’m Angus’s friend, and ye must be the lost Birdi.”

  Made mute by such an astonishing sight, she could only blink like an owl in response. She wasn’t lost, she wanted to tell him—not in the usual sense, at least. And he kenned Angus?

  “I’m Ian MacKay, knight of girth and sword, defender of the faithful, and most definitely at ye service.” He smiled, displaying deep dimples, and slowly shifted his gaze from her face to her chest, where it lingered for some unfathomable reason.

  She swallowed to clear the thickness that had suddenly taken root in her throat. “Umm...I’m Birdi.”

  He loosened his hold on her, but kept one hand at her waist. “‘Tis indeed a pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Birdi.” He then guided her toward a before-unseen boulder. “Sit and tell me why such a lovely lass is sitting here in the dark fashing over my thoughtless friend.”

  Birdi twisted her fingers in her lap. “He isna thoughtless, not in the least. He’s verra kind. He’s just...he...ah, sheet.”

  MacKay, to her shock, reared back and roared. His thunderous laugh echoed across the water as if before a gale. So astounding was it, she expected lightning to follow.

  As he gained control of himself, he chuckled, “Ah, my friend has chosen well.” He then squatted on his haunches before her and took one of her hands in a huge calloused paw. Holding it gently, as if her hand were a fragile egg, he said, “Now tell me what all this greeting and fashing is about. I might be able to help. I’ve known yer querulous and stubborn man the better part of my life.”

  Birdi stared into the stranger’s now solemn, wide-set eyes and something deep within her broke.

  In a rush of stammered words, in a flood of tears, she spilled out her greatest fears regarding Angus MacDougall. She told the stranger how he’d found her, how she’d feared him until he’d saved her in the river, about the accidental handfasting, how he’d held her and kissed her, about the babe she’d had to give up, and how now she felt certain she’d lost Angus. All in one heaving breathe.

  She then fell silent, shuddered, and waited. For what she didn’t ken; all was beyond hope, of that she was certain.

  Ian MacKay silently studied Birdi MacDougall. He’d already heard Angus’s version of events—seriously abridged, he now realized—as they’d left the inn together. When they’d entered the croft and not found Birdi, his friend had panicked. They’d split up—Angus taking the back hills, he the loch shore—to hunt for her.

  He’d not been the least surprised when Angus’s Birdi spewed forth so much information. Women instinctively did the moment he offered comfort. ‘Twas apparently his gift. And now, having heard her version of events he decided he’d never in all his twenty-nine years ever met such woman.

  Without affectation, she’d held nothing back as she told her tale of woe, though a good part he hadn’t quite understood—likely due to her racing, breathless delivery—but she hadn’t tried to engage his sympathy, and hadn’t dissembled, placing the blame on his friend. She had, in fact, taken all the blame onto herself, though why she had he certainly couldn’t imagine—from what he could garner, his friend was behaving like an idiot—but one thing was quite clear. This incredibly beautiful woman was heart and soul, head over heels, in love with Angus MacDougall.

  The lucky bastard.

  And he could help her. He had the skills. After all, he wasn’t called “The Thief” by disgruntled men the breadth and length of Scotland for naught.

  And he had the time. He wasn’t in any great hurry to find out whether the rumors about the Campbell were true— whether his friend was in fact in league with the Sassenach king, as Albany suspected. He blew out a breath.

  Mayhap, if he did do this good deed for Angus’s ladywife, he too might be blessed with a woman so guileless and pure of heart someday. He snorted. He should live so long.

  His decision made, he smiled the smile that made half the lasses in Scotland quake at the sight of him. “Well now, Birdi, I can see yer side and where ye might need a wee bit of help to set MacDougall’s head and heart on the right path.” He patted her hand, noting with surprise her calluses. Ah, she isna afraid of hard work. More the better. Donaliegh would need such a chatelaine. Last he saw it, the castle keep was bordering on ruin. But before he could help her, he had to extract a promise from her. “Will ye trust me to work in yer and Angus’s best interest? And promise not to misconstrue my intent by what I might say or do to bring yer MacDougall to heel?” He didn’t fear he’d steal her heart from his friend—she loved the fool beyond measure—but feared his upcoming antics could raise her ire. Something that he suspected from her straight-backed pose and unflinching gaze, he’d be wise to avoid.

  She sniffed as she thought his request over. After a bit she said, “Aye, I promise, but ye willna harm him.” Her uniqu
e pale eyes narrowed as she leaned toward him. “Should he come to harm—”

  “Whoa, Birdi.” He’d been right. Her fragile beauty hid a spitfire, not some fear-filled featherbrain despite her atrocious name. “I promise, dear lady, he’ll come to no harm, though he may wish me dead before I’m through.”

  She gave that some thought, then asked, “What do you need me to do?”

  He smiled. “Just be yerself.”

  Birdi nodded. As she pulled her hand from his, he heard Angus MacDougall growl, “I see ye found her.”

  Ian winked at Birdi, rose, and offered her his hand. As she came to her feet, the Thief asked his friend, “MacDougall, have ye ever known me not to find the fairest and most fulsome woman in town?”

  Chapter 14

  Angus growled deep in his throat. “Nay, I’ve not.” Which was precisely what had his nerves on edge.

  Congratulating himself on his restraint, Angus gently took Birdi’s hand from Ian’s arm and placed it on his own. With an eye on Ian he asked Birdi, “Are ye all right, lass?”

  “Aye, just cold.”

  He pulled Birdi closer and saw that her cheeks were damp and her extraordinary long lashes spiked. “Ye’ve been greeting.” He spun toward Ian. “What have ye done to her?”

  Ian huffed. “MacDougall, open yer eyes. She was greeting when I found her. She wasn’t greeting when you found her.”

  Unable to argue with that bit of truth, Angus felt a pang of guilt. Birdi had been upset when she’d left the croft. The moment he got her indoors again, he’d discover why. As he turned toward the croft, he saw Birdi cast a wary glance over her shoulder at his friend. Good. Apparently, her inability to see clearly had made her immune to Ian’s impressive countenance and charms. Thank God.

  To Ian he said, “Thank ye for finding her. I’m sure ye have pressing business to attend, so I’ll bid ye good night now.”

  Instead of saying good night, Ian responded, “Actually I’ve naught to do at present.”

  Birdi, to Angus’s consternation, asked, “Have ye supped, sir?”

  Ian grinned at her. “Nay, my lady, I’ve not.”

  “Then join us. We’ve more than enough.” Birdi looked up at Angus. “He’s yer friend so ‘tis only fitting, aye?”

  What could he say? No? Let the idiot find his own food. “Aye, Birdi, ‘tis fitting.” Knowing but not caring that he sounded reticent—for his friend’s presence would delay his finding out why Birdi had been sitting in the cold crying—he grumbled, “Come on then.”

  Had Angus not heard Ian’s laugh echoing off the loch moments ago, he’d still be out scouring the hills for Birdi. When had the man planned to call him and let him know he’d found Birdi? After he’d worked his wily ways around her? He wouldn’t have put it past the bastard.

  Angus hurried Birdi across the roadway, pushed open Kelsea Fraser’s croft door, and settled Birdi in a chair before the table. After retrieving a blanket and wrapping it about her, he threw more peat on the fire. “Are ye warming, lass?”

  Birdi, her brow furrowed for some reason, looked up at him. “Aye.”

  The croft felt unaccountably tight to Angus as Ian took a place opposite Birdi at the table.

  He distributed a fish pie to each of them.

  Angus poked a hole in his pie, no mean effort, and took a bite. Fraiser’s warning that his Kelsea’s pies were best “eaten hot” hadn’t been spoken in jest. Now cold, they tasted like charred embers. He jabbed his pie as he watched, through narrowed eyes, Birdi’s expression shift from surprise to delight as she listened to Ian’s story of the current court jester.

  His appetite gone, Angus pushed the remains on his trencher aside. “What business are ye on for Albany?”

  Ian cast a quick glance at Birdi as he pushed his own trencher away. “‘Tis better not spoken—”

  “Fear not. My ladywife neither kens nor cares of whom ye speak.”

  Ian thought on that a moment, then said, “I’m on my way to Dunberg. Albany suspects the Campbell of conspiring with the Sassenach to our south. Apparently, two agents were caught just this side of the border carrying detailed sketches of Edinburgh Castle’s battlements and those of Sterling’s.” He hesitated, looked at Birdi for a moment, then turned his attention back to Angus. “After many hours...uhmm, below-stairs, one agent finally made mention of Dunstaffnage before he...passed.”

  Birdi frowned. “The poor man died?”

  “Aye.”

  Angus, his gaze on Ian, murmured, “The water there is verra bad, lass. Flux is common.”

  Birdi nodded sagely. “Then you should tell them to boil the water, particularly if the cows come to it.”

  She then finished off her fish pie in two quick bites, patted her stomach, and sighed contentedly. When she looked up and found both men staring at her, she smiled. “The pies are very fine, nay?”

  Eyes averted, Ian and Angus reached for the bread and mumbled, “Aye, verra.” That was enough. They both started laughing.

  Birdi huffed. “What may I ask do ye find so humorous?”

  Both muttered, “Nothing,” and reached for their ale.

  Birdi then mumbled, “Minnie was right,” and began licking her fingers.

  Not trusting himself to continue watching her and not laugh again, Angus said, “I have difficulty believing the Campbell is involved in such treachery.”

  The Campbell had once been father-by-marriage to Duncan, Angus’s liege lord. Allies, the MacDougalls had fought shoulder to shoulder with the Campbells.

  Ian downed his ale. “Nor I, but what Albany wants investigated, I investigate.”

  Her third pie finished, Birdi asked, “Who is Albany?”

  “The Duke of Albany is our rightful king’s uncle,” Ian told her.

  “Ah. You should tell him to boil his water as well.”

  Ian frowned at Angus and arched a brow in question.

  Wanting to say, “Aye, she truly is this naïve, and ye’d best keep yer dimples and friggin’ hands to yeself,” Angus shrugged. “So how long do ye have to get to Dunstaffnage and back?” The sooner the Thief of Hearts was away from Birdi the better.

  “As long as I can possibly take.” Ian refilled their tankards. “I’ve no stomach for anything that stinks of personal enmity.”

  “How so?”

  “The Campbell is not the only one who’s been questioning Albany’s delay in ransoming our wee king out of Sassenach hands, but he is one of the loudest. Too, no one but Albany’s man heard any mention of Dunstaffnage before the execut—ill man died. I find that rather convenient.”

  “Aye, ‘tis.”

  If war was pending, then the sooner Duncan learned of it, the sooner stores could be laid in at Blackstone, and the sooner the sept could prepare. Angus didn’t need another pressing reason to hurry this bride-quest along, but there it was.

  Birdi yawned broadly and pushed back her chair. “If ye’ll pardon me, I’m verra tired. Sir MacKay—”

  Ian rose and took Birdi’s hand in his. As he placed a kiss on her knuckles, he murmured, “Good night, my lady, and please call me Ian.”

  Blushing—her gaze on her hand where he’d kissed her— Birdi murmured, “Uhmm, Ian, please feel free to make yerself comfortable before the hearth this night.” To Angus she said, “I’ll sleep next to the wall.”

  Made speechless by her invitation to Ian without so much as a by-yer-leave from him, Angus gaped after Birdi’s lithe form as she glided the eight feet to the bed where she dove under the covers. A moment later a naked arm poked out and her tunic flew the length of the bed and landed on the floor. Merciful Mother. She was naked as a newborn jay...and in a room with two burly men she barely kenned!

  The woman needed a keeper.

  As she settled on her side, her back to them, Angus hissed, “Shit.”

  “Not what I was thinking, but I do envy yer dilemma.”

  Growling, Angus slowly turned, his eyes narrowing. Ian, grinning, nodded toward the table, indicating Angus take a
seat. In a whisper, he said, “A hard choice, my friend; sleep by me or that luscious bit.”

  Angus, gut churning, heaved a sigh as he settled in the chair Birdi had vacated. “Take a care.”

  “Ack, ye wound me.”

  Angus snorted. “Have ye given any thought to where I might find the Shame clan?” If anyone knew them it would be Ian. An agent of the king—or better put, Albany—Ian had spent the last five years within the halls of power.

  “Aye, but I can’t recall ever hearing of them. Mayhap her sire was Sassenach. Shame sounds like something they’d choose.”

  “Humph.” Not what he needed to hear. If she was indeed English, then he had but two choices. Bring her back to her glen, which didn’t set well, what with the Macarthur there, or bring her home to Blackstone, and he couldn’t imagine his bride taking that well.

  “Then do ye happen to know the location of a sacred well?”

  Ian took a swig of ale before saying, “Aye.”

  Hope surging, Angus straightened. “Where?”

  “South of Kelso.”

  “God’s teeth, man, ‘tis on the other side of the realm. I meant one that’s close at hand.”

  Ian shrugged, “There’s the one in the hills above Drasmoor, in the place we romped as lads. Remember? Those about call it the Glen of Tears.”

  His friend was referring to a spring within MacDougall territory, days away and miles from Beal Castle. “There are none closer?”

  Ian shrugged. “There may well be, but I don’t recall such.” After a moment he leaned forward and whispered, “Tell me the truth. Is she really as...innocent as she appears?”

  Angus snorted. “More than ye’ll ever know.” A great deal more.

  “Then yer Birdi is most unusual.” Ian leaned back, rubbed his jaw, his gaze speculative as he studied Birdi’s back. “Aye, and in a most decidedly refreshing way.”

  Fists clenched, Angus leaned forward, “Ye’ll be keeping yer charms to yerself, if ye ken what’s good for ye. I’ll not see her hurt.”

  “Friend, ye remind me of that dog in the manger. Ye canna eat the hay, ye dinna even want to lie in it, but ye’ll not let the cow have it. Why is that?”