The Renegade's Heart (11 page)

Roland crowed Annelise’s name as Vera led him
into the chamber, saving Isabella from making a reply. Annelise
laughed as she went to scoop their nephew into her arms. She spun
around and Roland held out his arms, squealing with pleasure at the
ride she gave him. Elizabeth complained anew about the noise and
Isabella left with a mumbled excuse.

She found Eleanor in the corridor leaning on
Moira’s arm. That lady thanked her again for her aid, but declined
another posset as yet. “Come to the hall with us,” Eleanor invited.
“I intend to sit by the fire and catch up with all the tidings I
have missed. Come join us while we await Alexander’s return.”

This was the last deed Isabella wished to do,
but she could hardly decline. “I suppose I should collect my
needlework,” she said, trying to not sound impatient.

“That is an excellent notion!” Eleanor paused
on the summit of the stairs and glanced back. “Isabella, could you
bring my embroidery to the hall? I shall work upon it there.”

An excuse to enter the solar alone! It was
precisely the opportunity Isabella required. She tried to hide her
impatience. “Of course!”

“You will sit by the fire,” Moira insisted to
Eleanor. “With furs over your lap, and you shall not rise until
midday. Should you desire any thing, you will tell me and I will
fetch it for you. Are we understood?”

“Who is mistress and who is maid?” Eleanor
teased.

Moira flushed. “You must ensure that you do
not strain yourself, my lady,” she continued. “You have only to
tell me what you wish to see done, or what you desire to have
brought to you, and I shall see that it is so.”

“I know it well, Moira. You are kind to me
always. Let us get down to the hall for it is cool here.”

The pair began to descend the stairs, Eleanor
leaning more heavily on the maid’s arm than was her custom.

Meanwhile, Moira continued. “’Tis the laird’s
second son you bear, I will wager, and ’tis my responsibility to do
my best to ensure he comes shouting into the day, just as Roland
did, as hale and as hearty as a babe might be.”

“It might be a girl, Moira, this time being
so different from the last.”

“It is boys as make the trouble, my lady, you
shall see...”

Eleanor and Moira disappeared, the maid’s
voice fading.

Isabella pivoted and fled up the stairs. She
was in the solar in moments, the key to Alexander’s chamber
retrieved from the small chest beside the curtained bed. She
flicked the needle from Eleanor’s embroidery on to the floor and
kicked it into the darkness of the corner. On silent feet, she
crossed the hall on that floor, turned the key in the lock and
slipped into Alexander’s chamber.

She had not much time.

* * *

Chapter
Five

Gavin held his hand over the snout of the
messenger’s horse, ensuring that he and the steed were well hidden
in the forest’s shadows. He watched Murdoch walk toward the
village. The Laird of Kinfairlie’s hunting party galloped toward
the forest, the mare in Gavin’s care stamping at the sight of
them.

The Laird of Kinfairlie did precisely as his
lord Murdoch had promised. Gavin was awed by his master’s ability
to anticipate the choice of another.

And he stood tall with this responsibility.
He had never anticipated such adventure when he had been chosen to
accompany his laird’s brother, and indeed, he found his lord
Murdoch’s tactics thrilling. Although Stewart disapproved, this was
like a great game. The messenger had been terrified the night
before, but he had not been injured. And lord Murdoch would ensure
the horse was not just shoed but returned. Coin jingled in Gavin’s
purse, and his heart pounded that he was entrusted with a deed
worthy of a tale.

Gavin watched the hunting party enter the
woods. The dogs barked, scattering into the undergrowth, their
keepers whistling to drive them on. One headed toward the hidden
squire and Gavin’s eyes rounded. The horse shook her head, but he
held fast. They could not be discovered before they began!

A loud clear whistle called off the dog, much
to Gavin’s relief. The hound turned and raced noisily through the
brush to join its fellows.

Lord Murdoch had disappeared within
Kinfairlie village.

The party continued deep into the forest, the
sounds of their passage becoming muted with distance.

It was time.

Gavin swung into the saddle. He took a deep
breath, then he touched his heels to the mare’s flanks. The horse
leapt through the brush with an enthusiasm that nearly unseated
him. The mare erupted from the forest and began to gallop for the
road.

She must know this village. She must know
that she would be well-treated in Kinfairlie’s stables. That
reassured Gavin that he might not come to such a dire end in
Kinfairlie. With an effort, he slowed the mare to a walk and eyed
the smoke from the smith’s forge.

Lord Murdoch would be there. All would come
right.

* * *

Isabella leaned back against the heavy wooden
door as she surveyed Alexander’s chamber. There was a veritable
stack of ledgers and she guessed these were the records of
Kinfairlie’s accounts over the years. She despaired at the sheer
volume of them. It would take her months to look through them
all!

She had only moments.

Isabella had to choose. She stepped toward
the table Alexander used to work upon those ledgers, choosing where
to start. There were several quills and vials of ink, as well as a
bowl for the ink when he intended to write. The bowl was clean and
dry. There was a small knife for sharpening quills, a fat candle
and store of sealing wax. Alexander’s signet ring, of course, was
on his finger.

Mindful of the window, Isabella sat in her
brother’s chair and ran her hands along the edge of the table. She
knew not what she sought precisely, much less where it might be.
She could not imagine that the truth was hidden in the ledgers of
account – or if it was, it would be well buried.

Her gaze fell upon a small chest on the floor
to her right. She bent and opened it, for it was unlocked.

It was filled with scrolls of vellum and
parchment, of the kind that messengers brought to their portal. The
seals were broken on the missives and they were less tightly furled
than once they had been. Some had ribbons affixed with the seal and
several looked as if they had been handled repeatedly. Isabella
unrolled one such on the desk, holding it flat with her hands. The
last paragraph of the missive snared her eye.

“
Though I may risk much in reminding you
of old tales, still I do. The Lammergeier have long been said to be
sorcerors and even thieves, and the disappearance of this relic –
fairly purchased from your family – from a most secure treasury
persuades me of the unnatural nature of this theft. I am not the
sole one to have made such conclusion, nor am I the only victim of
this very same crime. I bid you, my lord, in all fairness, to
return the relic that is rightfully our possession.”

This missive was signed from a laird whose
holding was near Inverness.

Isabella had been right. Alexander had not
been surprised, for he had heard the accusation before.

She quickly worked through the missives in
the trunk and discovered no less than ten with similar content. Had
Alexander contrived these thefts? She could not believe it, though
she could understand the vexation of those who had outlaid coin for
the relics. She created a mental list of the relics that were
missing, for she was more accustomed to remembering lists than
committing them to expensive parchment or vellum.

Who had taken the relics, if not
Alexander?

What had Ross brought home at the Yule? A
small trunk. Isabella recalled it well. It had been bound with
leather straps. She scanned the chamber but did not see it there.
Had he taken it with him, or left it here?

Where might it be, if he had entrusted it to
Alexander?

There had been another key in the trunk in
the solar, a large brass one. Isabella knew it was the key to the
treasury, kept on the highest floor of Kinfairlie’s tower. If
Alexander had the relics, surely he would secure them there, where
none other than he and Anthony went. Even if he held that trunk in
trust for Ross, perhaps unaware of its contents, it might well be
there.

Isabella returned the missives to the trunk,
ensuring that all looked undisturbed. She went to the door again,
pressing her ear against the portal to listen.

Silence.

It would not last in this hall.

Isabella had to seize opportunity when she
found it.

* * *

It was cursed cold in the treasury, even
though the windows were barricaded against the wind. Isabella
couldn’t recall there ever having been a fire set in a brazier in
this room, and she swore there was frost on the lock.

It was shadowed, as well. Though there were
three large window openings, they had been barricaded with wooden
planks and little light was admitted to the chamber as a result.
Isabella supposed the wood might block other things, as well. Snow
and rain, not to mention the Fae who were supposed to come through
one of them. Vivienne had adored that old tale of the one window in
this chamber being a portal to the realm of the Fae.

She did not dare fetch a lantern and risk
discovery, much less waste the time. Fortunately, her eyes were
adjusting to the shadows. The treasury appeared to be fairly well
organized, likely the labor of Anthony. Chests of coin were stacked
to one side, gold sorted from silver, the chests clearly old
themselves. Much of this Isabella remembered as Eleanor’s
inheritance and she knew it was not relevant to her
investigation.

Isabella moved into the room and stirred a
cloud of dust from the floor. It swirled around her and tickled her
nose, though she fought the urge to sneeze. She moved through the
room as quickly as possible, her nose twitching as she looked.
There was an assortment of goblets and platters, all of which
needed to be polished, but most of which were pieces Isabella
recalled from her childhood. She found a small box containing
jewelry her mother had worn, touched the pearls with a fingertip
and replaced the box in its place with care. There were some
lengths of fine cloth, all wrapped with care and set against the
wall farthest from the barricaded windows.

Beyond that, there was only a small
collection of trunks that held potential. Not a one of them looked
like the one Ross had possessed in December. Several of the missing
relics had been in jeweled reliquaries, including the one Murdoch
sought. Isabella was certain she could spot any of the items on her
mental list. She crouched down before the trunks and began to
examine their contents. Flipping the lids open launched more clouds
of dust and she held her breath as she worked.

In the end, the only thing that gave Isabella
pause in her hunt was a collection of teeth secured in a small
velvet sack. For a moment, she’d believed she’d discovered a relic
of import, until she unfurled the note also tucked into the
sack.

It was a list of the names of her and her
siblings, in their mother’s hand. There were dates beside each
name. Isabella realized with surprise that she held the baby teeth
of herself and her siblings. She grimaced and put them back in the
sack, securing them in their hiding place once more. She surveyed
the treasury one last time and knew there was nothing to be
found.

If the thief was at Kinfairlie, he or she was
more clever than this. Where else could items of value be
secured?

The crypt in Kinfairlie’s chapel.

Isabella moved too quickly across the room in
her haste and kicked up another cloud of dust. This time, she could
not help but sneeze.

And sneeze three times in succession.

She held her breath, her heart pounding. It
was then that she heard a stair outside the door squeak in
complaint.

“For the love of God! Where is that girl?”
Moira muttered and Isabella knew she would soon be discovered. The
stairs creaked as the maid climbed to the third floor. “My lady
waits for her embroidery and she waits for no good reason! What is
Isabella doing?”

What would she say? What would she do?
Isabella spun around and spied her mother’s sewing box, a lovely
small box carved of ivory. She seized it, knowing it was full of
fine needles and left the treasury locked behind her.

She was halfway down the stairs to the third
floor when she feigned surprise at the sight of Moira.

“What are you doing?” the maid demanded, her
eyes narrowed.

Isabella presented the needle case. “I could
not find Eleanor’s needle, so I thought perhaps she should use my
mother’s. It would be fitting for the Lady of Kinfairlie.”

Moira inhaled. “It would be fitting for the
Laird of Kinfairlie to make such a gift.”

“Oh, I am certain Alexander would not mind.
And it is so pretty! I thought it might cheer Eleanor.” Isabella
pushed the case into Moira’s hand and the older woman admired it
openly.

“’Tis a lovely piece,” she admitted, then her
gaze fell on the key in Isabella’s hand. “How did you get the
key?”

“It was in the solar, just as it always
is.”

Moira pursed her lips. “I tell you, my lady
Isabella, and I tell you with all respect, that in a hall of this
size, it is folly for any soul to invite herself to the treasury,
even the sister of the laird himself. I know you thought only of my
lady and it was your intent to be generous, but had another
discovered you here, the matter might not have concluded well.” She
held out the needle case. “As ’tis, I cannot see that you can give
this to my lady without revealing your deed. I say return it to its
place, and suggest to your brother that he make the gift of it to
his lady wife as if you have only just recalled its existence.”