The Renegade's Heart (10 page)

Isabella crossed her arms, her expression
both impatience and skeptical. “And what has the spriggan Darg to
tell us this time? Or is it invisible ribbons that you see, knotted
together in the sky?”

That Isabella should mock the ribbons made
Elizabeth reconsider the notion of confiding in her. “I thought you
might be interested, since the matter concerns you, but I see that
I was mistaken. If you mean to make a jest of my tale, then I shall
not burden you with it.” She would have returned to the hall and
let her sister worry about the tidings she was missing, but
Isabella did not move from the portal.

“Wait a moment. What concerns me?”

“Why should I tell you?”

Isabella smiled. “Because you are desperate
to tell someone and I am here.”

“But you do not believe me!”

“Perhaps the tale will change my mind.”

Elizabeth doubted that, but she did think it
was fair to warn her sister.

To her own surprise, Elizabeth found herself
modifying the tale somewhat in the telling. She was not inclined to
lie, but did not want to speak of the king. “It is Darg,” she said,
which was partly true. “Since the collapse of Ravensmuir, I thought
the creature departed for good.”

“But?”

“But on this night, I heard Darg muttering
when the messenger appeared.”

“Muttering about what?”

“About thieves and strangers invading.” To
her surprise, Elizabeth could not remember the precise verse. She
could only think of the Fae king’s dark gaze.

Isabella shrugged. “Surely the battles of the
Fae are not ours, if they even exist.”

“Surely they are,” Elizabeth retorted and
found herself telling an outright lie. “For Darg knotted your
ribbon in fury.” She gasped and clapped her hand over her
mouth.

Isabella evidently took her response as a
sign that she had broken some pledge to say nothing. “My ribbon?
The ones you see binding each of us to our true loves?”

Elizabeth stared at the floor. What had
seized her tongue? “Aye, I said the matter concerned you.”

“If you saw a ribbon of mine, you must have
seen it bound to another.” Isabella’s eyes shone with curiosity.
“Whose ribbon was it? Who is the man in question?”

“I do not know. I saw only that his ribbon
trailed into the darkness beyond the hall. Your ribbon is copper
and his is as black as soot. It might once have been purple, but it
is rotted and dark.”

“Where is he?”

“I do not know.” Elizabeth shrugged before
Isabella’s skeptical gaze.

“That is not much information. Perhaps the
ribbon is not real.” Isabella smiled, something in her manner
adding to Elizabeth’s conviction that her sister was concealing
some detail from her. “Come to bed and let’s be warm together.”

“I thought you meant to continue up the
stairs.” Elizabeth heard her own suspicion.

“Why would you think such a thing?”

“Because you were halfway up those
stairs.”

Isabella’s smile faded. She was a terrible
liar, which meant she
was
hiding some matter. “You were
mistaken,” she said, turning her back on Elizabeth. “I was
not.”

Liar, liar.

But Elizabeth could play by the same rules.
Indeed, Isabella’s refusal to confide in Elizabeth made it seem
perfectly reasonable to keep the visit of the Fae king to
herself.

Never mind his words.

One day, beauteous Elizabeth, you will come
to me.

Elizabeth shivered in delight long after she
was huddled abed with Isabella. She would go to the king with his
wondrous dark eyes. And then what? She was certain adventure and
romance would ensue.

And she could scarce wait.

* * *

“He does just as you said he would, my lord,”
Gavin whispered with admiration. “How did you guess what the Laird
of Kinfairlie would do?”

It was morning and Murdoch crouched in the
shadows of the forest with the boy, holding the bridle of the
messenger’s horse. A fine chestnut mare, the horse had thrown a
shoe in the exchange the night before and was limping badly. She
had need of a blacksmith’s skill, and Murdoch would not leave her
in pain.

Which meant the horse could not flee the
laird’s hunting party with Stewart and Hamish. She had to go to
Kinfairlie village, as that was the closest blacksmith. It would
have been cruel to do otherwise.

Murdoch and Gavin stood together at the
perimeter of the forest. Even from here, they could see the
activity in the bailey of Kinfairlie’s tower as the laird mustered
his hunting party. Murdoch wished he had a glass to see their
numbers better, but in truth, it mattered little. Stewart and
Hamish had already fled with the horses – save this one – and would
be well away before the laird’s party even entered the forest.

“He does what my father would have done,”
Murdoch said, stifling a bit of admiration for this young laird. He
could have dispatched some mercenary from his household to fulfill
this task, and Murdoch respected that the laird led the party
himself. “Understand that it is the obligation of a laird to defend
all those beneath his hand, from any threat.”

“And he thinks us a threat, sir?”

“Indeed. That is my intent.”

The dark-haired squire frowned. “So, is he a
good laird, then, sir?”

“He appears to be good at fulfilling some of
his responsibilities. That does not mean that he is not a thief, or
that he does not shelter a thief.” Murdoch turned from the boy, and
listened. The forest was already silent. Stewart and Hamish had
flung bloody scraps behind them from the rabbits they had eaten the
day before, in order to distract the dogs.

He did not like dividing his party but this
horse could not be ridden far, and Stewart might have to ride both
far and fast.

Murdoch still had mixed feelings about
letting Gavin perform this errand, although he knew Stewart’s
counsel was good. He would have preferred to have taken the horse
to Kinfairlie village himself and sent the boy with Stewart. But
Stewart was right: the boy would likely be chastised if caught, and
released. Even if he were imprisoned, Murdoch and Stewart would
rescue him. If Murdoch were captured, however, his fate would
undoubtedly be worse and rescue might prove impossible.

Still, he could not leave the boy alone to
fulfill this quest. Though Stewart disapproved, Murdoch had
insisted upon this chosen course as a compromise.

“Will Hamish and Stewart be safe, my
lord?”

Murdoch smiled for Gavin. “They will be well
enough. Stewart is cunning when the need calls for it. We shall see
them late this night or on the morrow, just as planned, although
they will have led the laird on a merry chase by then.”

Gavin nodded and licked his lips. “Is it
right what we do, sir?”

“Is it right that Seton Manor’s relic is
stolen and that those who abide there will go hungry this spring,
all because of that thief?”

“No, my lord.”

“Then we choose the lesser of two evils in
order to serve the greater good.”

Gavin grinned. “I liked when we surprised the
messenger. ’Twas a bold deed, like those done by knights in old
tales.”

The boy’s enthusiasm pricked at Murdoch’s
conscience and he changed the subject to the matter at hand. “Wait
for them to be deep in the forest,” he advised, lowering his voice.
“I want to ensure that they do not see your departure from this
point. Then take the steed directly to the blacksmith. You see the
smoke rising there, just to the right of the keep’s tower?”

“Aye, sir.”

“That will be the blacksmith’s forge, for it
is the hottest fire in the village. See? The smoke is nigh
white.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Do not let her run for she will only injure
herself. Walk.”

Gavin’s lips set with resolve. “Aye, my
lord.”

“You are small enough as yet that she can
bear your weight and it will be faster if you ride. The sooner she
is in the smith’s care and you are away, the better.”

Gavin nodded, his gaze fixed on
Kinfairlie.

“Confess as little as you can, leave as much
coin as you must, and flee, leaving the horse in the blacksmith’s
care. We must trust his honesty that it will be returned to the
messenger.” Murdoch smiled at the boy and ruffled his hair. “I know
you can run faster than a hare, Gavin, and on this day you may have
to.”

The boy straightened, a glint of
determination lighting in his eye. “And you will be there, sir,
should anything go awry.”

“I will be there. I will ensure that you
escape, one way or the other.”

“You will not risk your own welfare, my
lord?”

“I will risk what I must.” Murdoch squeezed
the boy’s shoulder and smiled encouragement. “Can you do this
task?.”

Gavin nodded, his grip tightening on the
steed’s reins. Murdoch slipped through the forest toward the road,
ignoring the whispers of the Fae on all sides. He tugged his cloak
tightly around himself, savored the weight of the dagger hidden in
his boot, and felt naked without his armor and sword. It was all
hidden away, the better to let him pass as an innocent peasant.

He felt better, though, to be away from the
forest. Every step he took toward Kinfairlie seemed to make him
more himself again, to rekindle his old audacity and boldness. The
Elphine Queen and her threats seemed to be no more than a foul
dream, one scattered and forgotten by morning’s light. He was
filled with anticipation.

Murdoch strode down the road, emerging from
the forest’s shadow just as the laird’s hunting party left
Kinfairlie village. He could have waited and remained unseen, but
he wanted the laird to have the chance to see him. He wanted to
taunt the man, to test his mettle, to leave a hint.

It was reckless, but Murdoch had no taste for
the safe choice.

The horses were urged to a gallop, the steeds
so clearly welcoming the chance to run that Murdoch halted to
watch. They were beautiful creatures, well bred and well tended.
Their coats were glossy and their manes were thick. The dogs raced
ahead of the horses, barking, and the pennants rippled in the wind.
The laird himself took the lead, and Murdoch belatedly recalled his
supposed station.

He stepped off the road, into the ditch, and
bowed his head as the party passed. Within the shadows of his hood,
he smiled, though, for the Laird of Kinfairlie would not find the
prey he sought within Kinfairlie’s forest.

He would never look within his own
village.

Which might give Murdoch a welcome
opportunity to seek out the lady Isabella once again.

* * *

It was cold when Isabella rose, but she was
unable to sleep or feign sleep any longer. There was a fresh
blanket of snow on the ground. That wicked wind had gathered
strength during the night and now it whistled through the crannies
in Kinfairlie’s tower. The sky was overcast, but it was too cold to
snow more.

Elizabeth burrowed beneath the covers,
grumbling some complaint as Isabella left.

Isabella watched as Alexander mustered his
hunting party in the bailey below, fighting her concern for
Murdoch. She had laid awake half the night with worry, trying to
calculate how she could visit Alexander’s chamber of ledgers.

And now time slid away. At least two dozen
armed men prepared to ride out with Alexander, their expressions as
determined as that of their laird, and there were hunting dogs, as
well. Surely Murdoch would not be captured? Or if he was, surely he
would repent at the sign of Alexander’s resolve to see justice
done.

Isabella wished she could have been more
convinced of that. What little she had seen of Murdoch persuaded
her that he would do what he believed to be right, independent of
possible consequences. He had done this apurpose to provoke
Alexander – and it had worked. Had he anticipated as much? Had he a
greater scheme?

And where was the relic?

Maybe she could beg Alexander to offer
clemency to Murdoch, after he was captured. The trouble was that
she had need of evidence and her family was cursedly numerous. The
key to Alexander’s chamber was in the solar, and with Eleanor abed,
there was no chance of retrieving it unobserved. Even once she had
the key, she had to enter Alexander’s chamber of records without
another being aware of what she did. With this foul wind, all
seemed determined to remain in the hall and huddle together.

In the bailey below, Alexander swung into his
saddle and donned his helm. He gave directions to his party, then
shouted a command. The men turned their horses as one, a hunting
horn was blown, and the entire party cantered through the gates of
the keep. Isabella saw them ride through Kinfairlie village, the
villagers cheering their laird on to triumph. Once past the village
walls, the horses began to gallop along the road that wound toward
Kinfairlie forest. The dogs were loosed and ran ahead of the
horses.

Where was Murdoch? Would he be safe? Isabella
could not tolerate the uncertainty.

“They shall hunt the villain to the ground,”
Annelise said from behind her with surprising satisfaction.
Isabella jumped, for she had not realized that her sister was
awake. Annelise laid a hand on Isabella’s shoulder and smiled. “You
need not fear for our safety. Alexander will see us defended.”

Isabella turned to stare out the window
again, not wanting to correct her sister’s assumption. She had to
get into Alexander’s chamber while her brother was away. It was the
sole chance. She watched the hunting party flow along the road
toward Kinfairlie’s forest, pennants snapping and dogs barking.

A lone peasant, his dark cloak wrapped
tightly around his body, had only just emerged from the forest.
Evidently he walked to Kinfairlie village, but the sight of
Alexander’s party made him halt. He stepped into the ditch to let
the laird’s party pass, holding his hood around his face against
the clutch of the wind. He turned to watch their passage into the
forest, doubtless in awe of the splendor of the party. When
Alexander’s party disappeared into the woods, he continued to
trudge toward Kinfairlie village, the hem of his dark cloak
flicking in the wind.