Taming a Wild Scot: A Claimed by the Highlander Novel (11 page)

He tilted his head and looked at her. “He took you at your word?”

“More or less.” Ana found it hard to concentrate with Niall’s unclothed body an arm’s reach away—her gaze constantly strayed from his face, drifting downward. He had the rangy, rippling sinews of a large wolf. Not an ounce of softness to be found.
Anywhere
. “Do you have another lèine?”

“Talk will not hold the constable off for long,” Niall said. “He’ll be back. You must search the steward’s rooms today.”

She blinked. “Today?”

“You are promised to return to the manor for the evening meal, are you not?”

“’Twill not be so easy as you suggest,” she said. “The king arrives unexpectedly in two days time and preparations for his visit are under way. The manor is abuzz with people. ’Twill be impossible to enter the steward’s chambers without notice.”

“King Alexander stops here?”

She nodded. “Just for the night.”

“Then we’ve no choice—we must act swiftly. With the king will come his personal guard. It will be doubly difficult to move about once they arrive.” He raked back the long dark strands of his hair, the honed muscles of his arm flexing.

Ana thrust her hands behind her back. No matter how tempting, she would not touch. “Perhaps we should wait until after they’ve departed.”

“Nay.” He crossed to his bag, which lay next to the bed, and dug through the contents. “Time is short. I cannot wait. You will do it this eve, while most are enjoying their supper.”

Ana was silent as Niall tugged a dove gray lèine over his body and pinned a darkly hued brat over his shoulders. She struggled to find some argument that might sway him. She had no talent for sneaking about. “If I knew what information you seek, perhaps I could find an alternative way to acquire it.”

“I told you—I seek a particular notation. There’s no other way to discover it, save to ask the steward’s permission to peruse his records, which I am loath to do.”

“And what notation is worth such a risky endeavor?”

He lifted his head and pinned her gaze with his. “The date a gold and ruby necklace was delivered into the baron’s hands.”

“A necklace?” Disappointment dropped like a stone in her belly. For some reason, she’d imagined his motivations were loftier.

“A very unique necklace.”

“Of course.” No matter how
unique
a necklace it was, his pursuit of it still made him a treasure seeker, not the chivalrous defender of hapless young women she wanted him to be. “And what will you do once you have verified this notation exists?”

“Leave.”

“Leave Duthes? Without the necklace?”

He frowned. “Do not concern yourself with my actions. Concentrate on your own.”

Ana stared at his handsome face and his fully clothed body. While she would not label the intimate moments they’d shared a mistake—they’d been far too enjoyable for that—there was no question she’d crossed a line from which it would be nigh on impossible to retreat. Having thrilled once to the delights of his flesh pressed against hers, her body now hungered for it again. Memories of every exquisite touch and taste plagued her thoughts. Resisting him would be incredibly difficult.

Unless he was gone . . .

She drew in a tight, painful breath.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

Niall frowned. The haste with which she’d changed her mind had been positively unseemly. Almost as if she was eager to be rid of him. Yet she cared for him; he was convinced of that. But he couldn’t argue with her decision—getting inside the steward’s chambers was paramount.

“Perfect,” he said crisply. “Let’s away, then. The sooner ’tis done, the sooner you can have your freedom.”

With a hand to the small of her back, he escorted Ana down the lane.

As they approached the manor, excitement over the king’s impending visit was palpable. Preparations were under way everywhere they looked—people scurrying to sweep the grounds, clean the midden, and hang new banners. Soldiers were polishing their armor and their weapons. The stables were mucked, barrels were rolled behind the kirk, and the cook had set up tables in the close to lay out his growing collection of baked goods. Pages were scrubbing the outer walls of the dovecote. The laundresses were hanging clean linens on ropes strung between the manor house and stables. An equal mix of broad smiles and worried frowns decorated their faces.

It was pandemonium.

The volume of people moving about the keep would make their task much more challenging, but Niall could not summon any rancor. A visit by the king was an unimagined opportunity. If he could gain the evidence he needed tonight, he could approach the king on his arrival and prove his brother’s innocence. Niall’s family would be avenged.

The nightmare might finally be over.

Niall held the heavy oak door open so Ana could pass. Everything hinged on the steward’s records. He could only pray they held the information he needed.

Inside the manor, the rushes had been raked from the floors and the bared wood planking was being vigorously scrubbed. Women were beating the dust from the tapestries on the walls, and men were replacing every candle stub with a long, fresh taper. A handful of servants polished the baron’s silverware to a mirror shine, and several more were sweeping cobwebs from the corners. Lads with armloads of wood and lasses piled high with linens scurried in every direction.

He shepherded Ana through the great hall and up the stairs. At the door to Lady Elayne’s chambers, he paused. “Visit with the baroness briefly, then excuse yourself. I’ll determine which room belongs to the steward.”

Ana nodded.

Then she entered, leaving Niall to his task. Had he thought to track the steward’s movements earlier, locating the right room would have been easy. But regret was a fruitless emotion. He’d have to do it the usual way—by spying.

In truth, finding the right room was the least of their problems. Getting into the room without drawing notice was a far more ambitious endeavor.

Niall leaned against the stone wall, folded his arms over his chest, and adopted the bored mien of a man waiting. When a rosy-cheeked maid with a mop and a bucket shuffled past, he followed. She entered the room two doors down, and as the door swung open, he peered inside. A huge chamber with a platform bed, currently being tidied and rearranged. Probably for a guest. Possibly even the king himself.

Definitely not the steward’s room.

It took the arrival and departure of five more servants for Niall to make a decision. Two rooms had not been entered—the small one at the end of the hall and a larger one immediately beside Lady Elayne’s chambers. The steward was a senior retainer deserving of a well-appointed room, but he was not a noble. He would not have a gaggle of personal attendants. The smaller room was the most likely candidate.

Now to figure out how to get in.

Niall glanced around. Near the top of the stairs, a gillie was oiling the hinges on the doors. Farther down the hall, another fellow was repairing a door latch. A distraction of some sort was in order.

But what?

L
ady Elayne was not well.

The young woman sat in a chair before the fire, her skin white as the snowflakes drifting past the window, her eyes dark with distress. “I’ve not been able to eat anything since morn. Nothing stays in my belly. Not even the soup. My only blessing has been that I did not empty my spleen in the great hall.”

“You’ve simply overtaxed yourself,” Ana reassured her. “A little rest and your belly will settle.”

“But I can’t rest. Not now. Not with the king’s arrival imminent.”

“You must do what’s best for the bairn, Your Ladyship.” Ana offered Elayne her arm. “Come. Take to your bed for a short while.”

“Nay,” said Elayne, waving her off. “I cannot. This is my husband’s moment to shine. I need only be strong for two days, and then I can rest. Help me remain on my feet these next two days and you’ll have my eternal gratitude.”

Bébinn looked up from the tapestry she was mending. “You are an inspiration, Your Ladyship.”

The young baroness smiled at her handmaiden. “I only do what I must.”

With a shake of her head, Ana acknowledged defeat. “This is against my better judgment, but if you insist on carrying on, I recommend drinking plenty of well water and taking a seat as frequently as you can. Cease chasing down the cook and the ale wife and the laundresses. Set up a table in the great hall and have them come to you. Have one of the baron’s pages record your thoughts on the removes and wines that will be served at each meal, and have Bébinn fetch the spices from the larder. Continue to consume the broth, even if your belly rebels—some meager portion might remain and offer you strength.”

Elayne nodded. “I can do all that.”

“If you must walk, have Bébinn escort you. If you feel light-headed at any time, sit.”

The baroness took the advice meekly. “I will.”

Still not satisfied, but unable to summon an argument that might sway the noblewoman to take better care, Ana added, “This eve, I’ll fetch a manchet from the kitchen for you to nibble on. With any luck, ’twill calm the heave in your belly.”

At the word
heave
, Elayne turned a shade of green.

Bébinn set aside her stitchery and grabbed the pail next to the chair. She lifted it to Elayne’s lap and brushed the young woman’s hair back. An instant later, the baroness was retching into the bucket.

Ana wet a cloth in the ewer of water standing on the side table and washed the young woman’s face. “Slow, deep breaths, now. There’s a good lass.”

“Sometimes, I wish I were dead,” moaned Elayne, slumping back in her chair.

“Hush, Your Ladyship,” Bébinn said sharply. “Such words are an invitation to the devil. The Lord gave us life and to deny that gift is to deny Him.”

“He tries me sorely with this illness, He does.”

“Then prove yourself worthy of his challenge.” Bébinn jabbed a needle threaded with bright green floss through the coarse weave of the tapestry. “Be firm in your devotion now, and you will be rewarded in the afterlife.”

A lecture on sanctity did not hold great appeal for Ana, so she took advantage of a brief lull between comments and said to the baroness, “I’ll fetch your bread.”

She nodded. “Bring it to me in the great hall. I will attend my lord husband at the high table for supper.”

Ana left the two women to their discussion and ducked into the corridor.

Niall was waiting for her, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, the arrogant tilt of his head more reminiscent of a lord than a farmer. He straightened. “Ready?”

She glanced at the gillie repairing a latch two doors down. “Nay.”

“The door you want is at the very end of the hall,” he said quietly.

“I cannot do it,” she responded. “Not while someone is watching.” Frankly, she was a bit relieved. This inauspicious adventure went against her every instinct.

“His eyes will be elsewhere in a moment,” Niall assured her. “Just walk toward the steward’s door.”

“Now?”

He nodded.

Ana took a hesitant step. What did she have to fear? Walking the hall was hardly a crime. And if the gillie made note of her presence, what did it matter? She was not about to steal anything—just read a few notes. She took another, firmer step. If she got to the end of the corridor and the gillie’s eyes were still upon her, she’d simply turn around and come back, citing a cramp in her leg and the need to walk it out.

Her shoulders straightened.

She could do this.

Adding a slight hobble to her gait and rubbing her leg for effect, Ana ambled down the corridor. How Niall would draw the gillie’s attention was a mystery. One she didn’t care to solve. She kept her gaze locked on the door in front of her and kept walking.

Five paces from the door, the mystery solved itself.

A warbling coo and the mad beat of wings echoed off the walls of the corridor, and then something swept across the top of her head. Ana screamed and flung her hands up to ward off the pigeon trapped at the end of the hall with her. The bird flew frantically from wall to wall, desperately trying to find an exit.

The gillie ran toward her, shooing. “Away wie ya, ya barmy bird.”

As Ana remained half-crouched in front of the steward’s door, the gillie waved his arms and sent the bird flying in the opposite direction. He followed the bird down the corridor, shouting down the stairs to his fellow workers to fetch a broom. Niall used his great size to block the corridor once the bird had flown past him.

He tossed her a meaningful look, then returned to the pigeon chase.

Ana opened the door and slipped inside.

The room was small, only a narrow gap of wood floor visible between the bed on one side and the desk and chest on the other. A faded tapestry hung above the desk—a bucolic scene involving rolling hills of heather, grass, and sheep. There was no fireplace, but heat radiated from the rear wall, suggesting the flue from the hearth in the great hall rose up directly behind it.

Eager to complete her task and retreat, she set to work.

The desk to start, obviously. It was piled high with stacks of parchment. She pulled the stool from beneath the desk and sat. The first pile appeared to be taxation accounts—the entries were individual names accompanied by a number of shillings or goods delivered in lieu. She put that stack aside. The next tower of pages proved more interesting. A lengthy list of items, mostly foodstuffs, with two columns labeled
In
and
Out
.

Ana ran her finger down the
In
column. No dates. Just quantities. She flipped through the pages to be certain none of them included dates, then put that stack aside, too. It seemed doubtful she’d find notice of a necklace buried amid the inventory of apples, corn, and flour. More likely, the steward kept separate records for the items stored in the baron’s coffers.

She sifted through the remaining parchment sheaves, but found nothing.

Frowning, she swiveled on the stool. Where else might Eadgar store such a record?

In the chest? She lifted the brass-hinged lid and dug quickly through the contents. A collection of lèines, tunics, and hose, but no parchment. Under the bed? She dove to her knees and peered beneath the bed frame. A fat hairy spider waiting patiently for prey and a forgotten slipper, but no records.

Still on her knees, she slowly spun around.

Her eyes widened as she spotted the chair beside the door. It had arms with handholds, a beautifully carved backrest, and a smooth, crescent-shaped seat—a birthing chair. An odd item to find in the possession of the steward, to be sure. As the healer, it would be better placed in
her
possession. Or at least given to Lady Elayne. Nonetheless, it was not what she was searching for this eve.

Her gaze moved on, stopping at the lumpy heather-filled mattress. She’d hidden a thing or two under her mattress in the past. Might not the steward do the same?

She scooted to the bed and slid her hands beneath the mattress. Sure enough, her hands met several sheets of stiff parchment. She smiled.

•   •   •

Catching the pigeon Niall let loose inside the manor took an amusing amount of time. Only after they ceased chasing the bird, and one of the pages tasked with caring for the birds coaxed it from the rafters, were they able to remove it to the dovecote. All the while, Niall kept lookout for the steward.

Fortunately, Eadgar was very busy with preparations for the king’s arrival. Niall glimpsed him twice, jogging from one household crisis to another, keys jangling at his hip.

Ana had been in the steward’s room for nigh on ten minutes when Niall saw Eadgar for the third time. Niall was chatting up the gillie who’d been repairing the door latch, keeping the lad occupied, when the steward swept by them, his tunic sodden and reeking of midden. He was headed for his room.

“Eadgar,” Niall called, hoping to stall him.

The steward halted and turned, a dark scowl on his face. “You’d be a fool to utter another word, lad. At this moment, I don’t care if the roof is collapsing over our heads. I’m going to peel these wretched garments off, wash the shite from my face, and don clean clothing. Only then will I consider your request. Is that clear?”

“Aye.” Very clear.

The steward stalked to his chamber, threw open the door with a crash, and stepped inside.

There was no opportunity to warn Ana.

•   •   •

Ana had her nose between the pages of a fascinating list of valuables currently owned by the baron when she heard the stomp of boots on the wood planking outside the door. She thrust the sheaf back beneath the mattress and rose to her feet.

The door swung open with such force that it hit the wall with a loud bang.

Eadgar marched into the room, but drew up short when he spied her.

“What are you doing here?” he snarled.

The stench rolling off him was thick and sour and near unbearable. Ana’s nose wrinkled. “My apologies for not consulting with you before entering, Eadgar. I must have temporarily lost my head. But when I heard the description of this chair from one of the maids, I had to see it for myself.” She pointed to the birthing chair.

His scowl did not ease. “You stole into my room to view a piece of furniture?”

“Aye. Such an item would be a godsend for the Lady Elayne when her time comes.”

The dark look became confusion. “Why?”

“’Tis a birthing chair,” she explained, trailing her fingers over the thistle pattern carved into the backrest. “And a lovely one at that. I’ve never seen its equal.”

The confusion cleared. “Ah. ’Twas a gift to the baron from Laird Leslie. We had no idea of its purpose.”

“May I take it, then?”

He nodded.

Ana hoisted the chair and backed out of the room, giving him as wide a berth as the room would allow. He really did reek. “The Lady Elayne and I thank you mostly profusely, Eadgar. I’ll leave you to you ablutions.”

His scowl returned and he slammed the door behind her.

•   •   •

Niall took the chair from Ana. “Well?”

“I found one notation that might be of interest,” she said, as they descended the stairs to the great hall. “A gold and ruby necklace was delivered to Baron Duthes on the seventh of December.”

“Roughly a fortnight after I freed Aiden from Lochurkie.” The timing was right. As was the description. Niall lifted the chair over his head to avoid colliding with a bevy of servants carrying platters of food and piles of trenchers for the evening meal. “Any mention of who delivered it?”

“I’ve not the time to discuss this now. I’m very tardy fetching Lady Elayne’s bread.”

He shouldered open the heavy door to the manor and allowed Ana to pass. “How long would it take to say aye or nay?”

“The answer is more complicated than that.” She headed across the courtyard to the kitchen. They paused at the entrance, brought up short by a wave of sticky heat. Repairs were furiously under way inside. The sounds of hammers and saws mingled with the shouts of the cook and his bakers, who had reclaimed the ovens. The cook’s two apprentices were adding glaze to a salmon subtlety, while gillies loaded up a dozen tureens with vegetable pottage and sent pairs of sturdy pages on their way with the food. Younger pages were handed large baskets of barley and rye bread.

“Don’t be contrary. Tell me what you found.”

She stopped and confronted him, hands on her hips. “I’m not contrary.
You
are impatient. Go home. I’ll meet you there after the supper.”

Niall frowned. Allowing an hour to waste away did not sit well—not with his brother’s fate hanging in the balance—but a proper discussion would be difficult with so many ears listening. Reluctantly, he nodded. “Have one of the pages accompany you home.”

“Pages do not escort servants.” Catching the look in his eye, she added hastily, “I’ll find someone else.” Then her attention turned to the bread table, piled high with rounds and loaves of every shape and size.

“Lass?”

Ana glanced at him, one brow arched.

“You did well.”

She smiled, then dove into the crowd.

•   •   •

Ana hunted high and low for a manchet of white bread. With the king arriving soon, numerous fine breads would be on the menu, but there were none in sight. She could have asked the bakers, but they looked sweaty and disgruntled after a very long day of work.

Unfortunately, too, her hunt was hindered by distraction.

She could not stop thinking about what she’d discovered in the steward’s records—not only had the necklace Niall sought arrived in Duthes on the very same day that she arrived, according to the notation,
she
had delivered it. An outright lie, but how was she to dispute ink on parchment? Written by one of the most highly respected men in the barony?

What was she to tell Niall?

Not the truth, that was for certain. The bitter twist to his lips when he asked if the notation identified the courier did not bode well. Although she did not know what importance the necklace held for him, any association between it and her would surely taint her in his eyes. He already questioned her knowledge of poisons. Yes, he might see reason and accept that any one of the persons traveling with the merchant caravan could have brought the necklace. But what if he did not?