She collapsed onto the bed, sweating despite the early winter chill and panting, at a loss to explain the wonderful passion he had awakened within her. She had never before so completely lost control of herself. As she lay in the afterglow of her orgasm she couldn’t help but feel unnerved. No one had ever affected her the way Cairn did.
"What’s wrong? I hope you don’t regret …"
"No," Verena broke in uncomfortably. "It was wonderful."
She looked up to find Cairn watching her intently. Though a light smile played upon his lips she could see the tension still in his body and was aware that though she had gained release, Cairn was still waiting.
"Good," he said in a self-satisfied tone. "You deserve wonderful."
Before Verena could say another word he rose up to cover her body with his. She protested weakly, not knowing if she was ready for another rush of passion, but soon found her body had a mind of its own. It was eager to feel Cairn’s body pressed close to hers.
His hands on her breasts brought her back to the height of passion she had experienced moments before. When he plunged his fingers between her legs she was wet and ready for him. Cairn positioned himself between her legs and slowly entered her. It was shocking to be filled so completely. He stretched her insides in a most peculiar way, but she relished the sensation.
Cairn paused for a moment upon entering and held himself tensely above her. He looked up in surprise when he didn’t move, wondering if she had done something wrong. But the look on Cairn’s face took her breath away. He was waiting for her, giving her a chance to get used to him before continuing. She smiled, pulling Cairn’s head down to place a tender kiss on his lips. Together they began to move.
They were perfect for each other, each sensing the other’s need and responding without instruction. There was a strange symmetry of motion as if they had made love a thousand times. She didn’t know it was possible to be so aware of another person, his breathing and each sound he made. Cairn followed the clues of Verena’s reactions to bring her closer to bliss.
He began slowly, teasing Verena with his languid strokes, but soon Cairn increased his pace until they were both buckling wildly with mindless passion. It wasn’t enough. She could feel her body hungering for that wonderful climax she had felt before and knew he felt the same urgency. This time when Cairn brought her there, he followed her into that blessed oblivion. He collapsed on top of her with a guttural roar, panting and replete.
They stayed motionless for a long time, both hesitant to speak and break the peaceful afterglow. Without thinking she brought her hand up to brush a lock of hair from his brow.
It was several hours later before Cairn left her, when the first rays of dawn crept across her room. His motions were sluggish, as reluctant to leave as she was to see him go. Cairn looked happy now. There was contentment in his eyes that she had put there.
"Tonight?"
Cairn hadn’t made any grand declarations of love, but he wanted her again. Perhaps all men weren’t as fickle as Hadran claimed.
"Tonight," she confirmed. Though the day would find her up to her neck in Gundy’s dirty work, the evening was hers and Cairn’s.
Chapter 21
Since Cairn’s return the castle ladies had retreated to the solar, claiming it as a "woman’s sanctuary" where few outsiders dared to enter. For a woman raised with mostly men Verena knew pitifully little about the sort of activities that went on in such a room. She assumed there was weaving, sewing and gossip, but none of that seemed particularly attractive.
She paused outside to take a fortifying breath. She knew how valuable Lady Ivone could be to her search. According to Roselyn she too had searched for the McPherson treasure and found nothing. If anything the lady could tell her where not to look.
As soon as she knocked a hush fell over the room. Lady Ivone sat comfortably in a large chair surrounded by her ladies like a queen among her courtiers. Trailing across her lap was an exquisite piece of embroidery that she had probably worked on for the past year. She imagined it someday hanging on the castle walls as a testament to her sedentary life.
The lady stopped in mid-sentence, extolling the virtues of carrying a vial of arsenic tied about the neck as a safeguard against the plague, and turned her sharp eyes on her.
"Good morning, Lady Ivone," Verena said respectfully. "Ladies."
Ivone nodded in acknowledgement as if she were greeting a foreign ambassador. She was painfully aware that she had not been invited to sit and decided to see if flattery would work on the impressive woman.
"That is exquisite!" she exclaimed, coming forward to examine Ivone’s embroidery. It truly was a thing of beauty with vividly colored silk threads dancing across her lap in a vibrant masterpiece of animals and artistic flowers. "I have never seen anything like it. Is that a couched stitch?"
Lady Ivone nodded self-assuredly, but she could tell she was delighted by the praise.
"It is a variant of the Bayeux stitch," she explained. "Developed by my father, Olivier de la Marche. You might have heard of our embroidery workshop near Auvergne?"
Verena shook her head like the simple peasant she was supposed to be, though she was well acquainted with Auvergne work. The Duc de Ravenna had commissioned several pieces from there which were unfortunately too distinctive to steal. If she studied there Lady Ivone had the right to be proud.
"It is beautiful."
Ivone smiled and motioned for her to take a seat near her. The other ladies moved aside grudgingly, unsure how to respond to this interloper.
"Have you brought a project?" asked Ivone, glancing at the small basket she carried.
"Just a bit of mending," she replied, holding up the gown she had purposely torn before coming to the solar.
Hadran believed skill with a needle ranked close to skill with a knife. He made her practice needlework endlessly until she could remove the valuable metalwork, silk threads and beads from a garment without damaging it.
She took her time making her stitches small and even under Lady Ivone’s watchful eye. She then turned the seams inside out to finish them with a flat French seam guaranteed not to unravel as the garment was worn and washed in the future. When she finished Lady Ivone quietly examined the garment and then suggested she add a row of embroidery to the sleeves.
As a rule she never embellished her clothing for fear it would be too recognizable, but if Lady Ivone wanted a demonstration of her skills she was happy to oblige. She borrowed some green wool thread and set to work.
"Curse this infernal thread!" exclaimed a rotund lady named Bidonne. Her embroidery had become hopelessly tangled and by the time she painstakingly removed the knot the spun wool thread had stretched too thin to use. She was forced to cut it short (wasting a large chunk of it) and begin again.
"If you kept your threads shorter," admonished Lady Ivone. "You wouldn’t have that problem."
Bidonne lowered her head to hide the embarrassed flush of her cheeks and she quickly stepped in to fill the uncomfortable silence.
"This green is so vibrant," she exclaimed. "I have never seen the like."
"Yes," replied Ivone in a lecturing tone. "The Scottish stock for all its coarseness holds dyes remarkably well. I only use Leominister and Herefordshire wool for my projects, which are outrageously expensive, but worth every penny. Please don’t tell my boys I prefer English wool to theirs!"
The ladies tittered as if Ivone had said something amusing. What would Cairn think of Ivone’s extravagant spending?
"The best wool, of course," continued Ivone. "Comes from the Spanish merinos. My mother gave me a bushel as a wedding present. It came all the way from the Royal Escurial flocks."
Ivone saucily displayed a slender leg covered in fine woolen hose. Even Verena couldn’t help smiling at the display.
"I’ve heard," said Bidonne, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Smuggling merinos is a crime punishable by death!"
"It’s true," confirmed Ivone. "What I wouldn
’t give for a talented smuggler right now!"
Verena glanced up at those words, but Ivone was focused on her work, applying rich, multi-colored shading to a leaf. There was no way Lady Ivone could know about her early escapade, smuggling a merino ewe out of Spain. Unfortunately the valuable newborn didn’t survive its first winter in Langthorne.
"I’m sure Scotland has its own treasures," she replied.
"Like the Old Lord’s treasure?" Bidonne scoffed dismissively. "That is a myth like everything else of value in this awful land."
"We didn’t think so at first," pointed out a dour matron named Marie.
"Did you search for the treasure?" she forced her fingers to move steadily over her work as if the answer barely interested her.
"Did we?" replied Bidonne. "We searched every room in this drafty, old castle and half the countryside. If there was a treasure the old man took the secret to his grave."
She nodded without looking up from her work. For the rest of the morning she skillfully questioned the ladies until she knew exactly where, when and how they searched for the treasure.
Ivone had concentrated her search in the abandoned chambers that used to belong to her father-in-law. From their descriptions She knew they had been less than thorough, looking in only the most obvious places like behind furniture and storage rooms. To them if the treasure was not in plain sight it didn’t exist. Verena would have to conduct a more detailed search of the Old Lord’s chambers.
Chapter 22
Cairn paced the floor as he mulled over his steward’s disturbing news. They met in the chambers he had appropriated as his own since the true master suite was housed in the closed section of the castle where his grandfather had lived. Although large, Cairn’s chamber was not big enough to bring comfort to his restless feet.
"We cannot fight Gundy," repeated the steward. "We don’t even have the funds to replace your armor—and shouldn’t do that until after the next harvest."
Cairn growled in frustration. Things were never this bad while his father, Angus, was alive. During his father’s long illness, the truth of their finances was hidden from him. Cairn should have been here years ago, learning to take over the clan, but Lady Ivone had struggled to maintain an illusion of wealth. Even now any visitor might see only the fine tapestries and never notice the haggard faces of the peasantry.
Perhaps it was pride that had kept Cairn’s father from divulging the truth of their downward-spiraling finances. He had made an effort to rouse himself out of bed during each of Cairn’s visits, masking his pain from his son. His pride when Cairn showed him the spoils of a newly conquered battlefield or tournament suggested everything was right with the world.
Lord Angus had foreseen the coming strife between Scotland and England and sent his only son away to be squired in France. He wanted to spare his son the dangers of a border war. Now in the aftermath of a bloody upheaval Scotland was trying desperately to heal and Cairn found himself the unexpected and unprepared savior of his people.
•
Earlier when Cairn questioned Lady Ivone about the bewildering state of affairs, she had cried tears of genuine sorrow, claiming Angus forbade her from revealing the truth. He didn’t want to spoil Cairn’s adolescence with such troubles. Now, when faced with ruin Cairn saw the accusing looks of his clansmen. Regardless of his ignorance Cairn didn’t blame them for believing they had been abandoned. He hoped it wasn’t too late to make things right.
"What can we do?" asked Cairn wearily. "How do we get through this?"
"Most of the animals will have to be slaughtered as they will not survive the winter. Our wool might fetch higher prices abroad, but I’m not sure we can wait that long. We need every grain from our harvest and more which means we will have to buy seed for planting. I think it is time to ask your brother for aid—and pray."
Cairn winced as he realized the truth of the steward’s words. He hated begging even to his brother. Andreu had his own troubles in France, but he wouldn’t allow Cairn’s people to starve. The McPherson clan was lucky to have such a friend.
"Your grandfather had a knack for materializing wealth the moment it was needed."
Cairn raised an eyebrow. That was the first positive remark he had heard about the Old Lord. Most only whispered about him in fearful tones.
"Yes. It is a shame I haven’t his talent for attracting lucrative familiars."
"Those are just stories. Even your stepmother searched for the treasure after he died."
"I would think Lady Ivone would have more sense than that," replied Cairn dismissively.
"Many people still believe in the treasure. I know we could use some of it right now."
Cairn turned to look at the man in surprise. Surely he didn’t believe the stories. It was ludicrous to even contemplate evil spirits and haunted silver, but finding the treasure would certainly solve many of his problems.
"Lady Ivone searched for it?"
"Aye, milord," replied the steward. "It was one of the first things she did when your father became ill. She soon gave up though. No one can stand to be in the Old Lord’s wing for long."
Did Ivone have reason to believe the treasure was real? Cairn didn’t believe in the supernatural, but if there was a chance the treasure did exist he owed it to his people to look.
"I’ll need the keys to that wing."
Chapter 23
Verena hated castles ever since she was caught in a siege two years ago. They were large and spooky and usually haunted. Once inside it was often difficult to escape. She much preferred the outdoors where she could disappear in an instant and forage off the land.
Unfortunately the only things to forage in the Old Lord’s wing were cobwebs and spiders. The rats didn’t seem to mind. She could hear them scurrying about in the dark, burrowing nests into long-forgotten furniture. The scrape of rodent claws surrounded her, staying just outside the reach of her tiny light.
If only Lady Ivone had given her more practical information. No matter what Bidonne said it was hard to imagine such delicate ladies venturing down here. She found several forgotten storerooms that hadn’t been opened in ages, filled with rotting furniture and other useless artifacts she couldn’t begin to name.
Several doors were locked and since she had not yet gotten her lock picking set from Owen nor stolen the steward’s keys, she moved on. Today she merely wanted to familiarize herself with the castle layout and make a list of the materials she would need for a more thorough search.
It was easy to imagine the Old Lord walking through these passages. Many rooms looked like they hadn’t been disturbed in decades. She could feel his presence as if the Old Lord were watching from the darkness. She heard a footstep behind her and spun around, but the passage was empty.
"Is someone there?" she called. The only answer was the ominous scratch of rodent claws.
The next door was unlocked and Verena pushed it aside. She had to lean into it with her entire body to coax the rusted hinges to move. They did so grudgingly with a loud groan she was sure could be heard as far away as the village. She would have to obtain a small vial of oil for the hinges on her next visit.
She stepped into the room, ignoring the thick cobwebs that trailed like silken fingers along her skin. This room was mostly empty except for unidentifiable refuse piled on the floor. Verena turned back the way she came. It was another dead end.
She wasn’t expecting the treasure to be lying on the floor—not after so many had searched this place. The Old Lord’s suite should give her insights into his character and suggest where else she might look.
She frowned as she reached the end of the passage and came across yet another locked door. This one was in much better shape, made from an expensive imported wood. Iron spikes were located along the wall where luxurious tapestries once graced the corridor and sconces were left on either side of the door for torches. This room was located at the farthest corner from the castle entrance in its strongest and most defensible wall. Her instin
cts told her something valuable was behind this door. It was a shame she would have to wait until Owen contacted her to find out what was there.
Stealing the steward’s keys was expedient, but dangerous. It would be foolish to needlessly put herself at risk while there were many other places to search. She would look elsewhere and return with the proper tools.
"Why are you here?" asked an imperious voice behind her.
Verena jumped, screeching as if Satan himself had materialized in the corridor. Her candle clattered on the floor, plunging her into darkness as she reached for her knife.
"Damn it, woman!" Cairn exclaimed, clutching his ears as her screams echoed off the walls. "Calm down. ‘Tis I, Cairn."
She disguised her instinctual fighting crouch by fumbling about on the ground for her candle, ignoring the disgusting debris lining the floor. Her fingers brushed against something warm and furry and she quickly snatched her hand back.
"I … I’m sorry milord," she said in her most timid voice. "You startled me."
"Why are you here?"
Cairn unshielded his candle and Verena immediately wiped dirty fingers on her woolen gown, holding back a shudder.
Why was he down here? Cairn certainly had not been following her all afternoon. He must have his own reasons for wandering about the Old Lord’s chambers. Perhaps he had discovered new information on the whereabouts of the treasure.
"You will think I am silly," she replied, touching her wick to Cairn’s to relight it. "I have heard so much about your grandfather and I am sleeping directly above his old chambers. I suppose I was curious."
"You should not wander about alone in the dark."
"I am not afraid."
"Perhaps you should be."
There was something in his tone, a slight inflection in Cairn’s speech that let her know he didn’t refer to the Old Lord’s wing. The sensual rumble of his voice made her palms sweat despite the damp of the corridor.
Cairn’s huge frame blocked the only exit. He stepped forward to close the distance between them and her breathing came faster. She felt the strange magnetic pull that bound them and unconsciously swayed toward him. One hand came up to cup her chin, gently brushing the nape of her neck. Her eyes drifted shut, enjoying the soft pressure of his massage.
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