Cairn hadn’t wanted to stay with the MacFies, but that wasn’t the only reason he left so abruptly. He missed her. He missed the taste of her and the feel of her in his arms. Cairn wanted to barricade them in his bedroom and never come out.
"Stop there, you little thief!" came Fergus’ gruff shout from outside. His voice was immediately followed by a loud crash and Fergus’ howl of pain.
The two brothers rushed outside with drawn swords. Did marauders think to attack their small band of warriors? They looked about; scanning the area for the glint of metal or bright colors of livery, but the scene that greeted them caused both men to blink in surprise.
Fergus was hopping up and down on one leg, holding his shin and bellowing curses at the top of his lungs, while a lad of about 13 tried to dodge between the newly awakened soldiers. His head was covered by an oversized, dirty cap and mismatched rags disguised his scrawny limbs.
Cairn had seen that frightened, hungry look in the eyes of many peasants who were caught stealing, and felt sorry for the scamp. If he couldn’t produce a miracle, the boys of his own clan may soon share his fate. Cairn opened his mouth to call off his men, but before he could speak, the boy dived between Fergus’ legs, punching sharply upward with strong, little fists.
Fergus howled again, clutching his groin and crumpling to the ground. Cairn couldn’t let the boy go after a stunt like that.
"Catch him."
The other men took up the chase, trying to corral the boy. He was fast and agile, ducking under an old workbench, climbing up and leaping off a large wagon. The lad was remarkably coordinated, as if he was taught his skills by a master. There was a definite strategy to his moves as he dove between the soldiers, expertly positioning the men so they couldn’t surround him. The blows that he delivered with his tiny fists were always on target, catching the soldiers in sensitive areas like the groin, the kidneys, and behind the knees. Several times he almost escaped, but someone always managed to cut him off before he could go far.
"Are you going to let this brat best you?" shouted Andreu, obviously enjoying the spectacle.
The lad crouched down and swung his leg in an arc, catching Fergus’ ankle and sending him flat on his back in a large puddle of mud. Fergus sat there for a moment, inhaling huge gulps of air, and then an amazing thing happened. The most infectious grin lit Fergus’ features. He leaned back his head and laughed until his great belly shook with mirth, and tears were streaming from his eyes.
"Milord, we should have him train us on the practice field," said Fergus, when he could speak again. The others joined in his laughter and the contest soon became a game. The men would laugh uproariously as the lad evaded capture. It was nice to have a moment of fun to ease the stress.
Their mirth came to an abrupt end, however, when the youth finally saw his chance and tried to run past the two brothers. Andrew and Cairn had been calmly watching the spectacle, but when the lad came near, Cairn reached out and caught the boy by the arms.
"That’s enough!" said Cairn sternly. "Tell me why you are here."
"He is a thief, milord," spoke up Fergus, when the lad didn’t answer. "I caught him sneaking around the barn."
"Search him."
The lad submitted to their rough search, finally realizing there was no escape. They found only a knife hidden on his small frame, but the haunted look didn’t leave his eyes.
"Who taught you to fight?" Andreu wanted to know. After a moment, the lad tore his gaze from Cairn’s impressive bulk and answered.
"I taught meeself."
Fergus scoffed, ineffectually wiping mud from his wet bottom.
"There aren’t many grown men that can best me, and you took on all of us."
"You fight like knights," the boy answered simply.
From the time Cairn was born, he was carefully groomed for knighthood. He had trained extensively in various forms of combat and weaponry until he was legendary on a battlefield. This youth’s disdain was perplexing.
"What is wrong with the way we fight?"
The boy bit his lip, clearly unwilling to volunteer anymore information.
"What is your name? Where is your family?"
It was clear there would be no more information from him without resorting to heavy-handed persuasion. The moon peeked hesitantly from behind a cloud bank, illuminating a patchwork of old bruises on his face and neck. This lad had learned to fight by necessity, perhaps for his very life. What kind of parents would allow their child to come to such a state? Did he have parents at all?
He stared defiantly into Cairn’s eyes and something softened within him. The boy’s passion and fearful determination reminded him of Verena. She had worn a similar expression when they first met in Langthorne.
"Thieves must be punished," announced Cairn evenly. Though his lower lip began to tremble, the boy refused to cower. "You have also injured my men and must atone for your actions. Fergus, make sure he does not run away. I’ll deal with him in the morning."
Chapter 29
Verena stepped through the darkened archway leading to the McPherson family crypt. She traveled down a steep, winding staircase at the back of the church, trailing her fingers along the icy stones for balance.
Protective gargoyles had been carved into the corners of the ceiling, but the light from her candle gave them a ghoulish appearance. Above her, Verena could hear the boys from the village singing mass. The music echoing off the high rafters gave the setting an ethereal mood.
She drew her cloak closer about her as she traversed the large room. Around her lay stone effigies of Cairn’s deceased family. She stared into the smoothly carved faces, wondering how accurate the artists had been. Did Cairn know the exact location where his body would someday come to rest?
She stared intently at the face of Cairn’s father. What manner of man was he? Did Cairn cry at his father’s funeral, or had he composed himself with the quiet dignity he showed at the funeral of his clansmen?
She heard the soft thud of feet descending the spiral stairs behind her. Soon Father Simon’s voluminous cassock came into view. He smiled at her, not surprised to find her wandering alone in the dark and icy crypt.
"I thought I saw someone enter here," he said brightly. "The echo makes this an excellent place to listen to the holy choir."
She smiled as if that was exactly why she had come down here. In truth, she was hoping to have a few moments alone with Simon, to question him on his relationship with the Old Lord.
"It was heavenly," she agreed.
"Of course I have never experienced it. I am always up there with the choir, but … Is something troubling you, my child?"
"I wanted to be alone for a while. Coming to Scotland was an abrupt change for me."
Simon nodded, but his eyes sparkled with curiosity.
"I am always available should you need to talk."
"Thank you. Everyone has been so kind, despite my origins, but I am worried about the clan. How will the McPhersons survive this winter?"
"That is not for me to say," replied Father Simon, lifting his eyes heavenward. She knew the doomed clan would need a miracle to survive—a miracle or a fortune in silver.
"I noticed the McPhersons are very pious folk."
"It is not unusual for people to seek comfort with the church during times of strife. Is that not why you are here?"
Verena turned back to look at the face of Cairn’s father. She was drawn to touch the stone sculpture, to trace the lines so similar to Cairn’s. Where had the treasure gone when the Old Lord died? Why didn’t he pass on the secret to Lady Ivone or Cairn?
"He looks so peaceful," she said as she studied the effigy. "I supposed I wanted to absorb some of that peace."
"Angus McPherson was a surprisingly gentle man, despite his genealogy."
"What do you mean?"
"I’m sure you’ve heard of Cairn’s grandfather, the Old Lord? Many still fear that he will rise from the grave."
Father Simon shook his head at
the foolishness of peasants.
"Did you know the Old Lord?"
"Aye, but not very well. He had little interest in religion, but in his son I found a surprisingly agile mind. Angus had so many questions about things I had never thought to consider, questions that could be deemed sacrilege by some.
"It couldn’t have been easy growing up with the Old Lord as a father. There were so many secrets whispered about what went on in the castle. The Old Lord certainly didn’t confide in me. Several times I saw strange bruises on Angus’ face and hands, but he bore them stoically—much too stoically for a young man.
"I counseled him as best as I could, but in the end I think he just came for the company. There were times when he looked so sad."
Father Simon shook himself, embarrassed to find he was rambling.
"It has been a long time since anyone asked about Angus," he said in chagrin.
She touched his arm, offering silent comfort to the priest. It was obvious he cared deeply about Angus and it pained him that he was unable to help his friend.
"Surely his wives brought him some comfort," she ventured.
"His first wife, perhaps. That was Cairn’s mother. She was a sweet girl with a competent head on her shoulders. You remind me a bit of her actually. I could tell Angus was exceedingly fond of her, but she died in childbirth with their second child and took the babe with her. Poor girl.
"You are smart, lass," continued the priest. "And you must know how the clan feels about Lady Ivone. She never embraced lowland life, even after living with us for years. Women must maintain a sense of propriety, must act with humility, decorum, compassion, obedience and restraint. There are divine laws that must be obeyed for the safety of your immortal souls."
She glanced away, knowing where the conversation was heading. After her speaking with Owen she wouldn’t be surprised if the whole clan knew she had become Cairn’s leman.
"I do not mean to preach," he continued kindly. "I do enough of that at the pulpit. But I have found that most people know the difference between right and wrong. They just need a little encouragement to set them on the right path. Think about your life and your future. And if you ever need to talk, my door is always open."
Verena thanked the priest as she hastily backed out of the crypt. It was difficult to stay focused on her assignment with the priest’s gentle chatter. Just as she reached the stairs she paused and turned back.
"Father," she said curiously. "Why wasn’t the Old Lord buried here? Didn’t he want to be close to his family?"
Father Simon shrugged as he reached down to brush some dust from Angus’ face.
"The Old Lord wasn’t close to anyone on this earth. After he was excommunicated he preferred to be buried in a pagan mound like his barbarian cousins to the north."
Chapter 30
Verena’s pensive mood followed her back to the castle. Cairn had led a small contingent of men west a few days ago, but hadn’t told her where he was going or why. She surmised it was to solicit aid from the neighboring clans, but was perturbed that he hadn’t told her the details. Was she so far beneath his notice that he didn’t feel the need to inform her, or did Cairn wish to protect her from the reality of his clan’s condition?
A village boy running errands for the kitchens informed her that Cairn had returned and was discussing his new armor with the blacksmith. She shook off her doubts and ran to meet him.
"I’ve found a few places that need work," said Cairn, as he painfully rotated his shoulder. She entered the blacksmith’s workshop in time to see the nasty bruise left by the metal uncomfortably rubbing his skin. His favorite suit had been stolen in Langthorne, so Cairn had to make do with an older set.
"I know some herbs that will help," she suggested. "I can make a compress for you."
"I would like that."
Cairn’s gaze held Verena’s and she felt herself blush all the way to her toes. He had used the soft tone usually reserved for her bedchamber. She wished they were there now. She wanted to rip off his clothes and show Cairn how much she missed him. How had her longing for this man become so desperate? Each time he held her felt new and precious. It must be because their time together was drawing to an end. Cairn was a decent fellow, and a spectacular lover. Of course she would miss him when she left. It was nothing more than that.
"Were the barbarians entertaining?" asked Lady Ivone from the doorway.
"They’re Scotsmen," protested Cairn.
"And supposedly your allies," Andreu added.
Gundy would no doubt be pleased to hear Cairn had failed to gain the support of the other clans. Did he have operatives at work in other households making sure this scheme succeeded?
Lady Ivone came forward to see Cairn’s injuries, tsking and shaking her head.
"These are from my replacement armor. It needs to be re-fitted."
"If you had a proper squire," she insisted. "This wouldn’t have happened. These straps were too tight."
Verena held her tongue as Ivone complained about the incompetence of their servants. She knew the lad that helped Cairn strap on his armor. He was the son of the blacksmith and probably knew more about armor than most knights. She looked quickly at the blacksmith and found his lips compressed into a tight line.
"The straps were fine," Cairn replied. "It is the fit that needs adjustment—which is to be expected with new armor. I should not have worn it so long on its first fitting."
"I want you boys to come to the solar after you’ve washed the horse filth off and see the new doublets I’m making for you. I scrounged up some silk thread that I’m using to couch a phoenix and …"
"You can embroider with wool," broke in Cairn. "If you found silk thread, you should have brought it to me."
Lady Ivone scoffed at the idea. "My sons are of noble blood. They deserve to have silk on their garments."
"While people go hungry?"
This was a group preparing itself for a hard winter, but Ivone was unconcerned with their plight. It was no wonder the clan didn’t accept her as one of their own.
Even without her preliminary reports, she could see the evidence of crop failure. It was in Gertrude’s never-ending quest for cheaper food alternatives, and the lean, stubborn faces of the clan.
Andreu’s hand on Cairn’s arm checked his anger. Cairn had worked hard to create an image of solidarity. It wouldn’t do to have this dispute in front of his clan.
"Do not leap to conclusions," he warned. "You still have a very loving brother with resources of his own. In fact, I think it’s time I returned to France. I will be back before you miss me."
…with more men and supplies to last the winter, Verena silently finished. Lord Gundy knew about the McPhersons’ close ties to France. He must know Cairn would have his brother’s support. That must be why he was growing impatient. Gundy needed the treasure before Andreu returned with reinforcements. She had expected him to leave days ago, but he hesitated. With Gundy expected any day, Andreu was loath to abandon his brother—even to gather more supplies.
Verena shook her head, tired of imagining intrigues. Deciding to withdraw from the family meeting, she left in search of medicines. She stepped outside and made her way to the castle entrance, but soon she heard a commotion ahead.
Jon, the youngest member of Hadran’s team, came flying out of the kitchens with a loaf of dark bread clutched in one hand. A furious Fergus chased after him, shouting obscenities and clutching his side. From the stiff way he was running, Jon’s fast little fists must have caught Fergus in the kidneys.
An overloaded hay wagon clamored into the courtyard, cutting off Jon’s escape. He swerved around it, abruptly changing directions. Jon ran full speed around the stables, looking for a place to hide, and barreled into Verena.
They fell together and Verena, who had fallen on her still-injured shoulder, was momentarily blinded by pain. The boy pummeled her in desperation to get to his feet.
"Jon," whispered Verena through clenched teeth. "It’s me."
The boy stilled, finally recognizing the female beneath him.
"I’m sorry! I didn’t …"
"Enough!"
Cairn suddenly appeared, grabbing Jon by the scruff of the neck and lifting him high into the air. He shook him as if Cairn meant to snap Jon’s head from his shoulders.
"S’wounds! You will drive me to murder!"
"Truly milord, he didn’t see me."
Verena hastily climbed to her feet to prove that she was not injured. Unfortunately she was still disoriented from the fall and had to grab the wall to keep from swooning. Cairn dumped the boy unceremoniously in the mud, but before he could scramble away, Fergus captured him in an iron grip.
"Did he hurt you?"
"Nay. It was an accident, and he already apologized."
"This boy is a demon!" growled Fergus. "I ought to take a switch to his backside."
"What has he done?" she questioned.
"We discovered him last night trying to steal from our camp."
If Gundy was as anxious to find the treasure as Owen claimed, it was not surprising that Jon was called in to assist the other agents. It wasn’t like him to be caught spying, but Jon was young and they had all made mistakes in the past.
"The poor thing. Where is your mother?"
Verena made a show of checking the boy for injuries and made a point to reveal each of the bruises left by Owen during their last vigorous training session. Taking the hint, Jon put on his most miserable face, and even made his eyes fill up with tears.
"I don’t have a mother."
"Neither do I. Are you hungry?"
Jon hesitated, staring at Verena as if she were an angel sent to deliver him from the scourge of the world. They had used this routine many times in the past and found most people couldn’t turn their backs on a reformed orphan, particularly one with Jon’s angelic face.
Hesitantly, as if to a wild animal, she reached out her hand and Jon fearfully took it. Verena turned anxious eyes on Cairn and he nodded his approval. Still holding his hand, she led a decidedly sheepish Jon into the kitchens.
Seducing the Laird Page 13
