The Bedeviled Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series) (9 page)

Sitting back down, Cameron slid a long finger along the crease of the parchment, breaking the wax seal. It was a letter from one of the stewards of his holdings stating that a certain Lady Elsa MacRae was now his ward. The newly-made heiress had recently lost her father in a border skirmish and had fled her tiny castle in order to seek his justice and protection.

He tossed the letter back onto the table and murmured, “I’ll send a man to see to her protection straightway.”

“Ah, but the lady is already here.” Julian set the tankard down and wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. “She delivered the message herself. And, if I might add, she has the look of a woman on the hunt for a husband.”

Cameron raised a brow. “Then, as my ward, it is my duty to find her one.”

They fell silent then, each lost in his own musings, and it was not long before Cameron’s thoughts returned yet again to Kate. He missed her already. Her presence alone made his heart light. And it was nigh impossible to think of curses for long when in her company. Her lips were far too distracting.

“I dinna like the way ye look at me, Cameron.” Julian lifted a wary brow, his mouth shifting into a suspicious smile. “I’ve no inclination to wed your ward!”

Cameron’s lips twitched in amusement at that. Recognizing Julian’s unspoken apology, he replied in a lighter tone. “‘Twould be an uncommonly cruel fate for the both of ye.”

Julian grinned and stretched. “Aye, there is not a lass walking this Earth who could ensnare me into marriage,” he swore good-naturedly, but then his face grew serious as he abruptly switched subjects. “I’ll do what ye ask and look into the doings of Thomas Cochrane. Already, I dinna like what I see.”

“Aye,” Cameron tapped a finger thoughtfully on the table. “He has changed. He’s up to some devilry concerning the king’s brothers, of that I am certain. And if he has the backing of a noble then I fear for Scotland herself.”

“And he dresses overly rich, even for the favorite of the king.” Julian snorted. “His wardrobe is worth a king’s ransom. I have no doubt the path of his coin will lead us to his supporters.”

At that, they mused on possible supporters and their motives for a time, but Cameron still found it difficult to concentrate with images of Kate dancing in his head.

Chapter Four - Eight Shillings a Year!

Kate left the Brass Unicorn Inn with a spring in her step.

The strong presence of the man was overwhelming, and the air of intrigue about him made her heart flutter, but she knew she shouldn’t associate with an outlaw.

Why couldn’t she walk away?

Saving him from a life a crime was a feeble excuse. Few people changed. And if truth be told, when she was with him, she quickly forgot such noble thoughts in favor of admiring the man and his chiseled lips.

Ach, his chiseled lips made her blush.

Hurrying through the streets of Stirling, she made her way to the almshouse, continuing to war with herself.

Why couldn’t she remember he was an outlaw? A cutpurse! And the fellow at the inn was clearly disreputable as well. He was dressed far too fine to be an honest commoner. Cameron must be involved with a band of them.

The thought was a dismal one, for it meant he was likely entrenched in his misguided ways. And only tales portrayed thieves as heroes. Aye, the Englishman hero, Robyn Hode, had given alms to the poor, but he was the only outlaw known to have done such a thing. The rest were brigands preying upon their victims.

With a sinking heart, she knew she must resolve to avoid the man.

‘Twas best that way.

Depressed, she charged down the lane and turned toward the almshouse only to stop abruptly in surprise.

The warm glow of many candles flooded through the windows. A cartload of slate roof tiles stood to one side. New timber stretched across the gaps in the roof, and several men were climbing down, apparently just finishing their work for the day.

The cheerful hubbub of voices, laughing and singing, emanated from within the almshouse, as in stunned amazement, Kate slowly stepped over the threshold.

A crackling fire blazed upon the hearth with a large cauldron bubbling over the dancing flames, releasing the delicious aroma of what smelled like mutton stew. Several monks distributed wooden bowls and blankets to those gathered around.

“Kate!” exclaimed a voice. Donald, the young lad from the Thistle and the Pig, rushed forward to tug her arm. His peaked face split into a wide grin. “We’ve a benefactress now! She’s hired us to fix the almshouse!”

Kate laughed as everyone babbled at once, but it only took a few moments to piece the story together. A noble highland lady had decided to fund the almshouse as her private charity. She had hired the able-bodied to repair the building, establish a kitchen, and tend a garden on the plot of land she had purchased a short distance away. She had also bestowed a yearly stipend to the monks from
Cambuskenneth Abbey
to manage the effort.

“And her name is Kate!” The young Donald laughed, still tugging her sleeve. “Lady Kate!”

Kate blinked sudden, grateful tears from her eyes. “Aye, ‘tis a fine name for a lady!” She laughed with him, grabbing his spindly arm and twirling him around. “I’m honored to share her name!”

After spending some time with them, and after convincing the monks to bring eggs, herbs, and a higher quality blanket on the morrow, she quit the almshouse with a pleased smile upon her face.

Aye, she was grateful to Lady Kate for her charity, and she’d personally see that the monks properly tended the almshouse on the lady’s behalf. “Aye, maybe one day I’ll meet her and let her know another Kate saw it done aright!” Kate mused aloud, smiling at the thought.

A gentle breeze, perfumed with the flowers of spring, ruffled her hair as she made her way back to Maura’s cottage.

And once again, in spite of her resolutions otherwise, her thoughts wandered to Cameron.

Ach, wasn’t the man worth saving? If she
could
guide him from his wicked ways, ‘twould not only benefit them both but society as well.

Torn, she pushed open the door and entered.

The main room was dark, indicating that Maura had not yet returned. She expelled a silent breath of relief. The soft glow of firelight poured from the back room, and she tiptoed inside to find her father sleeping.

Silently kneeling by his side, she cradled her chin on her knees and stared at his pale face.

His breathing had improved dramatically, and there was a bit of color on his cheeks.

Aye, he would likely recover now.

Tears of relief threatened, but she scowled, brushing them away in annoyance. She had little time for tears, even happy ones.

The Chamberlain had ordered her to report to Stirling’s Great Hall before the sunrise. She tossed her faded plaid in front of the hearth and settled down to sleep, but it was nigh impossible. So much had happened in the past few days. Since meeting Cameron in the alehouse, the evil in her world had unraveled at an extraordinarily rapid pace. Such rare good fortune was astounding.

And Cameron.

How could she not think of the man?

Gradually, her eyes grew heavy as she again and again relived the memory of his chiseled lips upon hers. But her last conscience thought, before she fell into a deep slumber, was the one hoping he had eaten all of the meat pie and the hare stew. It was decadent to waste such fine food.

It seemed like only a moment had passed before she heard the cocks crowing.

Rubbing her eyes, Kate rose, shook out her plaid, and fanned the coals of the fire into life. As the flames licked the peat, she set the small room in order, humming a little tune and surveying her father’s sleeping figure with satisfaction.

He was much stronger. Perhaps even his eyes would heal!

If she could only travel to the Pilgrim’s Well at St. Fillans, she had heard in the almshouse that the water was healing to the eyes. She sighed. It was not far, only in Dunfermline, but it might as well be in France. She could not think of how to get there.

Her father’s voice startled her. “I can tend myself, lass. Be off with ye, afore ye try the Chamberlain’s wrath!”

“Ach, but I haven’t made your gruel yet, and—” Kate protested.

“I’m blind, my wee bairn, not helpless! And I’ve gained such strength these past two days!” He demonstrated by swinging his thin legs over the edge of the straw pallet. “Hie off with ye, now!”

Grinning widely, Kate kissed him a farewell before slipping into the main cottage room where Maura rose sleepily from her bed.

“Ye canna wear that tattered dress!” The woman swept her with a critical eye. “Not at Stirling Castle!”

“’
Tis all I have,” Kate replied, drawing back but raising her chin stubbornly. “The Chamberlain said naught of it!”

Growling, Maura opened the wooden chest next to her bed and searched a moment before drawing out a suitable brown dress. Tossing it at Kate, she snapped, “Ye can pay me next week. I’ll not have my reputation ruined by the likes of ye! I canna let myself be seen in the company of a ragamuffin!”

Not knowing whether to be grateful or insulted, Kate quickly slipped into the dress as Maura made ready. Neither spoke as they left the cottage a short time later, hurrying through the dark streets to the castle high above them.

The sun had just painted the sky a faint pink when Kate stepped into Castle Stirling’s Great Hall, her heart beating wildly with excitement. Looking around in awe, she spied a cluster of women huddled in front of a wide fireplace and hurrying to join them, gave a cheerful greeting, “And a braw day to ye all!”

The women eyed her, curious.

Several smiled.

One timidly replied, “And the same to ye, lass.”

“Are ye waiting for the Chamberlain as well?” Kate asked, drawing her plaid closer about her shoulders and eyeing the Great Hall with wonder.

It was mostly dark, but what she could see was beyond magnificent. The kings’ high table stood on a dais, rising high above the other tables lining the length of the chamber. Neat rows of ornate, carved chairs with velvet cushions lined the walls bedecked with fine tapestries of unicorns. Suits of armor graced each entrance, casting ominous shadows in the flickering firelight.

As Kate surveyed the place in awe, she found her gaze drawn to several dark forms huddled on the floor. Squinting, she peered closer. Apparently, some of the servants had fallen asleep there the night before. She frowned, wondering why they had not yet risen.

“They’ll pay for their folly,” someone murmured, noting the direction of her scrutiny.

Kate pursed her lips. “Can we not wake them?” she asked. “’Tis an act of kindness.”

The women eyed her suspiciously.

After a tense moment of silence, Kate made up her mind. Straightening her plaid, she marched over to the sleeping servants.

In the dim light, she could barely make out three men, snoring on their backs. Prodding them with her shoe, she flapped her plaid and hissed, “Away with ye now! The Chamberlain’s to be here soon!”

One of the men stirred and looked around sleepily before shouting at the others. Scrambling to their feet, they bolted out of the hall without a backward glance.

Pleased, Kate smoothed her skirt and moved to join the others only to find the Chamberlain already there, watching her with a scowl.

The Chamberlain of the Great Hall was a gray-haired, lean man with a bulbous nose and penetrating green eyes. Dressed in a fine blue plaid and leather boots, he looked very distinguished.

Kate hurriedly returned to the fireplace under his skewering gaze.

“Your name?” He asked, scowling.

“Kate Ferguson, sir.” She dipped a quick curtsey.

“A Ferguson!” The man’s brows drew into line of displeasure as he pointed at the cluster of women. “Heed me well, all of ye! Ye do as I order, and if ye don’t, ye’ll pay for it. Kate, ye can serve as a warning to all. Ye’ll spend this day mucking the stables with the lads!”

Kate frowned. She hadn’t disobeyed the man. He hadn’t even been there, but she knew better than to point that out to him.

Several of the women smirked in her direction.

“The rest of ye can work to set the hall to rights!” The Chamberlain eyed them critically. “Ye’ll bring the peat, set the tables, and fill the salt cellars. Ye’ll keep your heads uncovered at all times. All of ye are to be gone afore the nobles arrive. Ye aren’t fit to be seen! Ach, what a poor lot!”