The Renegade's Heart (13 page)

The smith flicked a warning glance at
her.

The boy’s eyes widened. “My master heard that
the smith of Kinfairlie was the best...”

“I have no dispute with that,” Isabella said,
“only with the treatment of the steed. No man of merit sees a steed
injured by choice. She should have been tended at the closest
forge, lest she suffer a greater injury. She could have been lamed,
being ridden ten miles in this state!”

The boy flushed.

The smith watched, his expression
inscrutable.

The man in the cloak eased closer.

“My master intends to greet the king at
Melrose,” the boy said, stammering slightly as he felt his tale
unraveling. “He intends to pledge his fealty again and for that,
would ensure his steeds are in good health.”

That would not be for several months, and
Isabella might have said as much but she recalled the horse’s rider
then.

“The king!” she exclaimed. She turned to the
smith. “This is the steed of the king’s messenger, the one who
brought tidings that the king would be at Melrose.”

The smith nodded vigorous agreement. “You are
right, my lady! I knew I had seen the horse before, and that
messenger has oft ridden to Kinfairlie. And he was robbed last
night of his horse in Kinfairlie’s woods.” He spun on the boy. “Who
is your master in truth, lad?”

The boy’s expression turned to horror. He
made to leap for the saddle, but the smith seized the bridle and
held fast. The mare shied at the boy’s sudden movement, throwing
her head back to whinny. Her reaction proved to Isabella that she
did not know the boy and certainly had not been groomed by him. One
great hoof lifted and Isabella feared she would rear. The
blacksmith whispered to the horse even as her eyes rolled and she
bared her teeth.

The boy fled down Kinfairlie’s main road.

“Hoy! Thief!” the smith shouted after him.
His apprentices dropped their labors to run in the direction of
their master’s pointing finger.

At the smith’s shout, the agitated mare did
rear. Her massive hooves pawed at the air as she snapped the bridle
free from the blacksmith’s grip. He leapt after her, talking
quickly and calmly, but she stamped and shied, nostrils flaring.
Further down the road, Hermes snorted and neighed, trying to haul
the stable hand back toward the mare. People backed away from those
two horses, while the remaining horses fought their bits. In a
heartbeat, chaos had erupted around the smith’s forge.

The boy meanwhile fled down the street, the
smith’s apprentices fast on his heels. Did he know Murdoch?
Isabella had to have the truth of it from his own lips. She raced
after the apprentices, passing the boy who led Hermes.

Then she froze in realization. The stranger
wore a dark cloak, one that flared in the wind.

Murdoch! Isabella heard a clatter behind her
and looked back in time to see that the stranger had shoved the
loaded wagon so it rolled into the road, blocking any others who
might have followed. He raced toward her and his hood fell
back.

Murdoch’s reckless grin flashed and his eyes
danced with merriment, as if this was a great jest. Isabella did
not know whether to be relieved that he was hale, or terrified that
he was within her brother’s own village. Murdoch showed no
hesitation. He snatched the reins from the stable hand’s grip and
vaulted on to the back of Hermes in one fluid move. Before Isabella
could respond, he had given the stallion his heels and snatched her
up by the waist as he rode past.

“Murdoch!” she said in wonder as he dropped
her into his own lap. He locked one arm around her waist, crushing
her against his heat and strength. Hermes tossed his head and
bolted, his energy finding sudden and welcome release. “You sent
back the horse!”

“It was not mine to keep.” Murdoch grinned.
“And she did not walk ten miles without her shoe. Only from
Kinfairlie’s forest.”

Isabella was relieved and her heart warmed
that Murdoch had shown a care for the creature that echoed her
own.

“Hold fast, my lady,” he murmured with a
wink. “I will see Gavin away safely, but cannot promise the ride
will be smooth.”

Isabella twisted to look at the winding road
ahead, saw the boys darting through the crowd, and knew he spoke
the truth.

Hermes galloped down the road with abandon
and once he had begun to run, Isabella doubted any man could stop
him. He was a large destrier and opinionated about his choices.
Murdoch laughed and let the horse have its lead.

They made a fine pair, indeed, both reckless
and enjoying the moment.

“Do not injure this horse,” Isabella muttered
and Murdoch’s arm tightened around her, holding her fast in a way
that sent shivers of delight running through her.

“He is too clever for that,” Murdoch
murmured. “I find that he is not the only one in Kinfairlie whose
cleverness I come to rely upon.”

She looked up at the sparkle of his blue eyes
and her heart thumped in a most painful way. Her gaze dropped to
his lips, to that dangerous smile, and Isabella yearned for another
kiss.

“In time, my lady,” Murdoch whispered,
evidently reading her thoughts. “First matters first.”

It was purely for her own safety that
Isabella wrapped an arm around Murdoch’s waist.

Or so she would insist to Alexander
later.

* * *

Chapter
Six

Gavin was quick, but so were the
apprentices.

And Murdoch quickly realized that they knew
Kinfairlie village as Gavin did not.

Still the boy used his advantage well. Gavin
reached the main square and flung a barrel at the closest of the
smith’s apprentices. That boy was flattened by the impact, though
the second leapt over the barrel to continue the chase across the
square.

Murdoch coaxed the stallion to gallop after
them. It leapt over apprentice and barrel with powerful ease,
snorting and tossing its head as it ran after the boys. Villagers
took one look and retreated into their homes, which was by far the
safer option. Isabella, to Murdoch’s pride, did not cower but held
fast and watched avidly.

Gavin pushed carts and tipped bins of grain
as he fled across the square, trying to obstruct the other boys.
The stallion was a marvel – as black as ebony and more powerful
than any horse Murdoch had ever ridden, it reacted instinctively
and needed no guidance. It leapt every obstacle with enviable
grace, and seemed to enjoy the run as much as Murdoch did.

Just before the chapel, Gavin grabbed the
pillar that held an awning over the cart of the alewife. The fabric
awning fell, and she shouted in dismay that it dipped into her ale.
Patrons surged forward to help and the smith’s boy had his path
obstructed. Hermes pivoted and turned back, cantering in the square
in frustration. Murdoch spied the crowd from the smith’s forge
surging down that road toward them.

Isabella smiled.

“Tell me,” Murdoch murmured in her ear,
pulling her more tightly against himself.

She cast him a defiant glance. “I should not
aid renegades and thieves.”

“But you are the captive of a renegade and,
surely, in fear for your very life.” Isabella glanced up in obvious
surprise, but Murdoch grinned. “No one need know that you are safer
with me than anywhere else.”

Her expression softened as she held his gaze,
then she swallowed. “He has taken the right path around the chapel.
The baker always has a line in the morning, and his shop is in that
lane. Your boy will not get through there quickly.”

The other apprentice raced down the lane to
the left of the chapel, evidently knowing the same thing.

“See? The paths meet ahead, but the smith’s
boy will reach the intersection first.”

Murdoch turned Hermes to gallop down the lane
the apprentice had taken and Isabella caught her breath. “It is too
narrow!” she complained but Hermes was already racing down it.

It
was
a narrow passage, plus one with
pots and sacks on either side. Murdoch let the reins go slack,
giving Hermes full freedom to choose as he must. Isabella stared at
him in horror, but Murdoch tightened his legs around the horse and
grabbed two fistfuls of the horse’s loose mane, locking the lady
within his embrace. She took one look at his choice, then entwined
her hands in the stallion’s mane as well.

Meanwhile, the smith’s boy evidently heard
the horse approaching. He turned back to look, then his eyes
widened in terror. He leapt into an open doorway in the nick of
time and a woman screamed within that abode. Hermes thundered past
the doorway and Murdoch caught a glimpse of the astonishment on the
apprentice’s face.

Murdoch chuckled. “This is a magnificent
steed. Perhaps I should keep him.”

“You will be gutted before your own eyes,
should you steal a steed of this ilk.” Isabella said, her tone
suddenly cross. “Have you no care for your own welfare?”

Murdoch laughed. “Have you a care for my
welfare, my lady?”

“My brother hunts you on this day – and you
would provoke him further!”

Murdoch leaned closer, murmuring against her
ear, and felt her shiver. “But he has not caught me yet, has he?”
He liked the sign that he was not the only one with heat in his
veins when they were together. And truly, it warmed more than his
body to know that Isabella feared for his welfare.

“I pray to God that he does not,” she
contented herself with saying and Murdoch found himself
smiling.

The steed galloped into the smaller square
that marked the intersection of the two lanes behind the chapel,
Murdoch halting Hermes with a flourish so that the stallion faced
down the path Gavin had taken. The boy came racing into the square,
grinned at Murdoch, then ducked beneath the horse to keep on
running. Hermes snorted and stamped but held his ground.

Those from the smith’s forge surged up the
lane, hesitating when they saw Murdoch on Hermes and holding
Isabella apparently captive.

Several villagers came out of their homes,
one of them raising his voice. “What goes on here?” His cry brought
his neighbors to their doors and windows.

“A thief!” cried the apprentice. “The thief
of the messenger’s horse.”

“And what of this one?” roared another man.
“He steals the laird’s own horse and seizes the lady Isabella.”

“We seek only justice from Kinfairlie,”
Murdoch said. “The justice of a stolen relic returned to its
rightful owner. Should you know the truth of it, you have but to
tell me.”

“And who might you be?” bellowed one.

“I am Murdoch Seton.” Murdoch smiled. “And
should you seek me out with such tidings, I guarantee you will find
me.”

“You are a fool,” Isabella muttered.

Murdoch only laughed. The crowd surged
forward, anger driving them closer. Hermes pranced in his
impatience to run.

“And I am no thief!” Gavin shouted from the
other side of the small square. “For I no longer have any
spoils!”

With that, he flung a handful of coins into
the square, just as Murdoch had instructed him. The silver danced
and spun, scattering across the beaten earth. The villagers dove
for the money, even as the crowd from the smith’s lunged for the
small square.

There was congestion and chaos immediately,
sufficient that Gavin fled without anyone noticing him. Murdoch
turned Hermes, then gave the stallion his heels. The horse raced
for the town’s perimeter, villagers scrambling out of his path.
Murdoch saw Gavin leap into the ditch beside the road, waving gaily
before he ducked into the hedgerows and disappeared.

The boy was quick. And none would note him
now.

Murdoch clicked his teeth to Hermes, tugging
the horse in the opposite direction from Kinfairlie’s forest,
toward the coast. “And we shall go this way,” he said, urging the
horse to run. The beast did exactly that, leaping over the small
stone boundary that marked the edge of the village.

The crowd burst from the village and
clustered at the wall in consultation. Ultimately they would give
chase, Murdoch knew, deciding that retrieving the laird’s horse and
his sister were more important than catching a young boy.

Isabella looked over Murdoch’s shoulder and
he saw her bite her lip. “He is your squire?”

Murdoch nodded. “Gavin is his name.”

“He runs for the forest,” she said, glancing
up at him. “While all pursue you. Is this as you planned?”

“Not precisely,” Murdoch admitted, realizing
that all had gone far better than he had hoped. He had never
expected to have Isabella to himself again, much less so soon, and
he could not find fault with the situation. He smiled at her. “I
had hoped that he would not be questioned, but I come to see, my
lady, that when in Kinfairlie, I must allow for your quick
tongue.”

“Me?” Isabella flushed as he watched.

“You recognized the horse and were unafraid
to say as much.”

“I did not mean to make trouble for
you...”

“No. You meant to see justice served in the
end, just as I do, which is why we understand each other so well.”
Murdoch looked down into the clear green of her eyes and let his
voice fall low. “Are we two of a kind, my Isabella?”

The lady flushed, her gaze dropping to his
lips, even as she caught her breath. “I am not your Isabella,” she
insisted, her words breathless. He heard the desire in her voice
and was surprised to feel an answering desire within himself.

“Yet,” Murdoch murmured. He spoke on impulse,
but knew truth when he heard it. He would make this lady his own.
Murdoch watched surprise dawn in Isabella’s eyes at his
assertion.

When she smiled up at him, clearly at ease
with the notion, Murdoch did the only thing he could have done
under the circumstance.

He bent and kissed her thoroughly.