The Renegade's Heart (14 page)

* * *

Murdoch’s kiss was even more potent the
second time.

Isabella could not believe it.

Even more astonishing, his touch awakened a
hunger within her that she had never guessed she possessed. She
found herself not only opening her mouth to his kiss, but winding
her arms around his neck and arching against his chest. He angled
his head, slanting his mouth over hers with a possessive ease that
thrilled her.

Murdoch meant to make her his own! He was a
knight and a man of honor, just as she had known him to be. He had
sent the mare to the smith, when it would have been easier – and
safer – to ride her away. He had sent Gavin, who was less likely to
be recognized, but he had not abandoned the boy. And he had boldly
drawn the ire of the villagers to himself, using his wits to ensure
that Gavin escaped unscathed. The boy had only done his master’s
bidding, after all, and Isabella admired that Murdoch had protected
his squire.

He was bold and daring, a little reckless,
but honorable.

It would suit her well to be claimed by this
man. Isabella kissed him back, welcoming his ardent embrace, until
Murdoch lifted his head. His eyes fairly glowed as he looked down
at her, and he smiled in that roguish way that made her heart skip.
“My dauntless Isabella,” he murmured, stealing a quick kiss. “Dare
I hope that you have learned something of your brother’s deeds
since last we met?”

The unexpected question sent a chill through
Isabella. She had thought he might make another sweet confession,
but still he asked after her brother.

Surely Murdoch did not make her promises only
because she was of use to him? No, such doubts had no place between
them. She dismissed the idea, refusing to give it any credit. He
simply was a man on a quest, she had pledged to aid him, and he
wanted to know what she had learned. They could not have much time
before they were pursued, and he had need of her tidings.

Oddly, Isabella’s explanation did not please
her as much as such practical reasoning usually did. Unwelcome
doubt lingered.

All the same, she directed him toward the
coast. “There are salt fens just over that ridge. No one goes there
but Eleanor and me.”

“Eleanor?” Murdoch’s eyes narrowed.

“My brother’s wife. She is teaching me about
the healing plants. We went there to gather roots in the fall. But
she is sickened with her second child, and no one else knows how to
walk in the fens. The sand is soft there, and with a mis-step, it
is easy to sink too deeply to continue.”

“Perhaps not the best place for a destrier of
such size as this one.”

Isabella liked that again, he was concerned
for the steed. “I know a place where the footing is solid, yet we
shall be hidden.” She pointed. “Just ahead here, there is a break
in the hill that will make the descent easier for Hermes.”

To her relief, Murdoch followed her
direction, though he glanced back once toward the village. Isabella
did as well, though she saw no real signs of pursuit.

That did not mean there would not be one.

* * *

The salt fens always seemed to be a magical
place to Isabella. They were remote from Kinfairlie village, well
beyond the tilled fields and even beyond those that remained
perpetually in fallow.

She explained to Murdoch as they rode that
the fields of Kinfairlie had been sown with salt once by an
invading army, and Alexander had continued their father’s quest of
gradually reclaiming the land. It took time, though, for the salt
to leech away so that crops could be grown again. Her father’s
scheme had been to set up dykes and flood specified fields
repeatedly for a number of years, then to move them into tillage,
and build dykes in the next allotment.

Snared between those remaining untilled
fields of Kinfairlie and the ocean itself, the salt fens filled a
low flat basin that did not drain overly well. At the far side of
the low land was the sea, and its salt water fed the wetlands. The
last mile to the sea was low and marshy, filled with an abundance
of birds and often shrouded in fog.

But here, tall reeds grew and sound seemed to
disappear. The fens could have been a place out of time. The
previous autumn, when she had come with Eleanor, Isabella had
learned of useful roots that grew in this place. There had been
only the sound of the birds and the rustle of the reeds as the sun
beat down upon the pair of them as they worked.

On this day, the reeds looked to be etched
with silver, for there was frost along the length of each leaf. The
shallow water, which would not support the weight of one who
stepped in the wrong place, glittered in the light. The sky was
pewter overhead and the wind was still, seeing that they were in
the lee of that low hill and the wind of late had blown from inland
with uncharacteristic persistence. Isabella did not realize how
much that fey wind at Kinfairlie had troubled her until she and
Murdoch rode down to the silence of the fens.

They were utterly alone. She was keenly aware
of the weight of Murdoch’s hand on her waist, the feel of his
thighs behind hers, his breath in her hair. She tingled in
anticipation of another kiss or even a bolder caress.

Murdoch guided the horse where Isabella
indicated, and she liked that he trusted her judgment so readily.
“There is a rise, like an island and a cluster of old rocks are
hidden there,” she said. “It is almost straight ahead but we must
take a circuitous path to it. I will lead Hermes to ensure his
footing.”

Murdoch nodded and halted. He dismounted,
then listened for a long moment, his stillness echoing that of the
fens. He smiled at her when he reached to lift her from Hermes’
back. His hands fitted around her waist and his gaze locked with
hers. They could have been alone in the world and Isabella could
not find it in her heart to mind.

What if there had been only they two? What if
she had not feared for her brother’s sense of justice, and Murdoch
had not been driven to retrieve his family’s relic? What if there
had been only Murdoch and herself, and all the time in Christendom?
In this place at this moment, Isabella could imagine that wondrous
possibility.

The solitude of the place seemed to strike
Murdoch, as well, for he was not quick to lift his hands from her
waist and he spoke in a whisper when she stood before him. “Surely
you do not come here alone?” he asked, his concern making Isabella
smile. “It is a most strange and solitary place.”

“Like a secret,” she agreed and he nodded. “I
have never been here alone. Only with Eleanor.” She followed his
gaze back to the low rise behind them. “We must hide, while we
can.”

Murdoch nodded and she claimed Hermes’ reins
to lead the stallion through the reeds, ensuring that the great
horse stepped where the ground was solid. To her relief, Hermes did
not sink deeply into the sand, and he was tired from his run – thus
more biddable. He followed her with rare docility, only his hooves
becoming wet.

Murdoch followed her without question. When
she found the hidden rise, a clearing about twenty feet in width,
Isabella turned to watch Murdoch. It seemed unreal to her that this
place should exist, and the five massive stones that tumbled
against each other could have been as old as time. Murdoch’s
expression was as awed as hers had undoubtedly been the first time
she had found it. As he surveyed the haven, Isabella looked fully
upon him.

He was every bit as well wrought as she
recalled, tall and strong and broad of shoulder. Murdoch did not
wear his armor any longer, although that dark cloak still floated
behind him. He was clothed all in dark cloth, his tabard and
chausses nearly as black as his boots and his gloves. He would be
one with the shadows in this garb. His arms were folded across his
chest and those eyes, those eyes were of the most uncanny sapphire
hue.

“A lost island,” he murmured.

“But still sound carries well,” Isabella
advised him, touching her finger to her lips.

“It is an excellent place, all the same,” he
said with such pleasure that she felt herself blush a bit. He
looped Hermes’ reins over his back and the steed wandered, sniffing
at the rocks and crannies. He watched the horse for a moment, then
appeared to be satisfied that he would stay close. He turned that
bright gaze upon Isabella again. “And you found it because you
learn the trade of a healer?”

Isabella smiled. “I do learn it. Eleanor says
I have a gift.”

“How uncommon for a nobleman’s daughter.”

“To have a gift or to learn this craft?”

“Both!” Murdoch regarded her as if she were a
marvel. “Why would you do such a thing?” He asked as if mystified
by her choice, but not condemning it.

“Because I erred once, and would not do so
again.”

His eyes glinted. “How so?”

“When Alexander courted Eleanor, I thought to
play a jest upon him. You must understand that he was always the
prankster of our family, and he had made matches that year for my
two older sisters without their consent. We contrived to teach him
a lesson when Eleanor came to our gates and had need of a
husband.”

“But?” Murdoch prompted when Isabella fell
silent.

“It was my idea, though Eleanor was
agreeable. I thought we would give him a potion that made him
sleep, then lock the pair of them in the solar together for the
night.”

“In the morn, he would think he had sampled
the lady’s charms...”

“And would take the course of honor, for that
is his nature.”

“Lady Eleanor was amenable to this?”

“Indeed she was, although it was much later
that we learned the full reason why. At any rate, a healer mixed
the brew who was vexed with Alexander.” Isabella swallowed, still
embarrassed by her role. “Alexander might have died, had it not
been for Eleanor’s intervention. She has skill with herbs. I asked
to learn her art, so that I might never unwittingly endanger
another again.”

Murdoch smiled, admiration in his eyes.
“There are not many who take a lesson so well.”

Isabella was unable to hold his gaze. “I like
it better than embroidery.”

“You do not like to embroider?” He took a
step closer and she was achingly aware of him.

She shrugged. “I do it well, but it seems
that there are more important deeds to do.”

He smiled, looking wicked and unpredictable.
“You could wed and have sons.”

“Nothing says I will not.” Isabella chose to
meet his gaze anew.

Murdoch regarded her with a warmth that made
her simmer deep inside. His voice dropped low and Isabella could
not fully catch her breath beneath his intense scrutiny. He stepped
closer and lifted a tendril of her hair, twining it around his
gloved finger. The copper of her hair gleamed against the black
leather, and she fancied for a moment that she was tethered to
him.

She thought of Elizabeth’s ribbons in that
moment and wondered.

“No, nothing says you will not,” he murmured,
fingering that tendril of her hair. She hoped he would kiss her
again, believed he would, then realized she had to tell him what
she had learned first.

“Alexander knew of the thefts,” she said. “I
found the evidence. But if he could name the thief, he would see
justice served.”

Murdoch’s gaze brightened. “You found
what
evidence?”

“I read his correspondence this morn. And I
checked the treasury. There is nothing there that should not be
there. Alexander keeps all items of value in one place or the
other, so he does not have the relics.”

Murdoch’s smile broadened and Isabella’s
heart clenched. “I did not realize than any man’s correspondence
could be viewed by another, much less that his treasury could be
inventoried. Surely these treasures are secured?”

“I took the keys, of course. I did not keep
them.”

Murdoch chuckled. “I took the horse but did
not keep it. Again, we have much in common, my Isabella.”

His light words made her fear for his welfare
once again. “But you have stolen from the king’s own messenger...”
Isabella fell silent when Murdoch laid that finger across her lips.
She stared at him and could have lost herself in his gaze.

“What if I told you that I kept none of the
spoils?” he whispered, leaning down so that his forehead nearly
touched hers. “What if I told you that the coins cast by my boy
were those of the messenger, given unto the people of Kinfairlie
village for their pleasure?” His voice dropped lower yet and
Isabella felt her desire for his kiss burn with new vigor. “What if
I told you, my lady Isabella, that I mean no harm other than to
prompt your brother’s reluctant memory?”

Isabella could not draw a breath. “It does
not matter. He will see you scarred for this deed, regardless of
your intent.”

Murdoch regarded her with curiosity. “Is this
the root of it? Do you care so much for my welfare?” His reaction
annoyed Isabella.

“Why should I not care for your welfare? Or
do you tell me that you do not care for my welfare, that I am
merely of use to you?”

Once she had given voice to her fear, she
could not take back the words. She saw the surprise in Murdoch’s
eyes, but disliked that he did not deny the charge.

Surely she was mistaken?

Surely he would tell her as much, if so.

When he said nothing, Isabella pivoted. She
would have walked away from him, this infuriating man with his
confidence and his beguiling voice, but Murdoch caught her
shoulders in his hands. She felt him lean down and closed her eyes
at the surety of his grip upon her.

“I do not mock you,” Murdoch murmured with
quiet heat. “You are most unexpected, my Isabella, and I am utterly
beguiled.” He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “I am humbled
that you have a care for my welfare, and do not imagine that I do
not fear for yours.”