The Renegade's Heart (4 page)

The laird flushed now in his indignation and
his voice rose. “That is not true! As I told you, Tynan is dead,
and I have no interest in this trade.”

“Perhaps another of your kin resumes it.”

“No.” The laird spoke flatly, but still he
could not look Murdoch in the eye.

Murdoch cleared his throat. “I do not care
what other relics have disappeared, or even where they have gone. I
do not care if you Lammergeier truly are sorcerors or even the
thieves you are reputed to be.” The laird blinked at this but
Murdoch let the other man see his determination. “I want only the
relic belonging to my family returned to me.”

The laird averted his gaze. “I am sorry that
I have no way of doing such a deed.”

Murdoch knew a lie when he heard one. “Yet
you do not even ask me what it is.” He paced the width of the room
with measured steps. “You do not ask when it disappeared, or how it
was secured, or when it last was viewed.” He paused before the
laird once more. “You merely deny all knowledge.” He folded his
arms across his chest to regard the laird. “There are those who
might suggest your manner speaks of guilt.”

“You will not insult me in my own hall!” the
laird declared.

“I will let no man steal from my family and
live to tell of it!” Murdoch retorted. “I will let no man leave
those sworn to my brother’s hand to suffer or starve. I will not
see my father’s memory tainted and I will not see injustice
endure.” He leaned toward the laird. “I will suffer no such loss
for the sake of mere greed.”

The laird looked ill. He pressed his
fingertips to his temples. “I do not have it,” he said quietly.

“But I think you know where it is.”

“I do not.”

“Or where it might be.” Murdoch leaned on the
laird’s board with his fists. “I invite you to confide in me, or
face the consequences.”

There was real fear in the laird’s eyes for a
moment then.

Murdoch caught the merest glimpse of it,
before the younger man turned his attention to his correspondence
with vigor. He tugged at a piece of vellum trapped beneath
Murdoch’s fist and spoke quickly. “I regret that I can do nothing
to aid you in this quest.”

“Perhaps you might recall some detail in
time,” Murdoch said softly. “I will wait. I can be a most patient
man.”

The laird looked unconvinced of that. “I
think it unlikely, sir, that I shall have such a recollection. So
far as I know, the relic is in your family’s care.” The laird took
a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “And if there is a thief
in your brother’s holding, Murdoch Seton, I cannot be expected to
answer for his crimes.”

“I expect you only to answer for your own,
sir, as all men must do.”

Murdoch saw anger flash in the laird’s eyes,
but he spun to leave. There was nothing to be gained here, not so
long as the laird believed he could deny all knowledge of the theft
and its location. But Murdoch knew when a man obscured the truth,
as this one did, and he had no intention of returning to Duncan
without his rightful prize.

Already Murdoch began to form a plan of how
he might encourage the laird’s memory. It was bold and risky, and
he was already enamored of it.

Murdoch opened the door to a flurry of skirts
and spied the lady Isabella fleeing.

She had listened.

She might know more than her brother would
admit. This alluring maiden with her potent curiosity might be a
useful ally to him.

Though that was not the sole reason Murdoch
gave chase.

* * *

Isabella heard Murdoch’s determined steps
crossing the floor of Alexander’s chamber too late to hide herself.
She turned to flee down the stairs to the hall, knowing Murdoch
would see her, but hoping he would not pursue her.

Even as she had the thought, she knew it to
be a futile hope. A man so filled with determination as Murdoch
would not surrender a chase simply because she ran.

Isabella heard his tread behind her on the
stairs, even as she raced for the second floor. If she could but
get inside the chamber she shared with her sisters, she could bolt
the door against him. She reached the second floor landing, but did
not imagine she was safe. She heard that he again took the stairs
several at a time, his height giving him an advantage. She lunged
for the door to the chamber.

Isabella had just depressed the latch when
Murdoch snatched her up from behind. She might have screamed, but
he wrapped one arm around her, trapping her arms against her body,
and the other over her mouth.

Isabella struggled, but managed to make no
difference in her situation. His audacity was outrageous! He held
her captive against his body and, in one fluid motion, carried her
into her own chamber. He shut the door behind them with his weight
and leaned back against it as Isabella struggled. Her fury
redoubled that he should assault her in her own home.

His grip upon her was strong and sure, but he
did not hurt her. Isabella was keenly aware of his strength – and
her comparative weakness. He was muscled and masculine, the hard
power of his body making her tingle with unwelcome awareness.

“If you scream,” he murmured in her ear, his
breath making her shiver. “It will be your reputation that suffers,
not mine.”

Isabella seethed at the truth of that. She
wanted to kick him in a place that would ensure he treated her with
more respect. He wrapped one leg around her knees, as if he
anticipated her intent as soon as she had the thought.

“I want only to know what you know,” he
continued quietly.

She shook her head, for she knew nothing of
any disappearing relics.

“Another liar in this nest,” he muttered and
she struggled against him with new vigor.

Her outrage seemed to intrigue him. “Pledge
that you will not scream or run,” he murmured. “I would make a
wager with you, Lady Isabella.”

Isabella struggled with force.

He chuckled softly. “Pledge your silence and
I will release you.”

That alone was worth the bargain. Isabella
nodded and Murdoch released her as promised, remaining with his
back against the door and his arms folded across his chest.
Isabella put distance between them, trying to wipe the taste of his
leather gloves from her mouth. He watched her with obvious
amusement.

And something else, something that heated his
gaze and made her heart skip.

Isabella looked around the chamber, but she
knew the only other possibility for escape was the window.

And it was a long drop to the ground.

There was nary a weapon to be had either, for
Isabella did not count her eating knife or any of the embroidery
needles as suitably lethal. She glanced back to find Murdoch
smiling at her, as if he had followed her thoughts.

She straightened and spoke with low heat.
“How dare you come here and insult my family...”

“I dare because a crime has been committed,”
he said, interrupting her smoothly. “I am not the first, and I will
not be the last.”

“My brother is not a thief,” she
insisted.

He arched a dark brow. “He is a liar.”

Isabella looked away, for she had the same
sense. She had heard it in Alexander’s voice, in the tone of his
replies. What did he know of this trouble?

Murdoch did not miss that hint of her
thoughts, and Isabella could have cursed the man for being so
observant. In a heartbeat, he was directly before her, his
fingertips beneath her chin. He compelled her to meet his gaze,
even as she felt his heat and smelled his skin. An unfamiliar but
beguiling heat unfurled in Isabella, an awareness that she stood
within a hand span of an attractive — if annoying — man.

“Who does Alexander protect?” Murdoch
whispered even as Isabella’s heart raced.

“You should not be in this chamber,” she
said. “You should not touch me. You should not...”

Murdoch slid his thumb over her lips, the
caress silencing Isabella instantly. “I am not interested in what I
should
do.” Isabella swallowed and he watched her avidly, a
heat dawning in his eyes. “I will go when some soul tells me the
truth. Why not you?”

Isabella gritted her teeth and glared at him,
moving away from the press of his thumb. “I cannot tell you a truth
I do not know.”

“Yet,” he said, biting off the word. “I will
make you another wager, Lady Isabella. Tell me what you learn, find
the thief or the relic, and I shall leave your brother and his
holding alone.”

“You will leave now at any rate.”

Murdoch smiled and she yearned to damage his
confidence.

“I have nothing to tell you of my brother or
my family, and indeed, you go too far in expecting that I take any
such wager. I will not betray my own kin!”

“Despite my brother’s loss?” He frowned and
she had the sense that he was driven by a need to correct a wrong.
“Despite your own curiosity?” He arched a brow and Isabella looked
away.

“Nothing says my brother is responsible,” she
said, her words falling in haste. “You have no true evidence.”

“Save the fact that the relic was discovered
to be missing immediately after Ross Lammergeier visited Seton
Manor.” Murdoch’s voice turned husky and his eyes were bright.

And even though she could make no sense of
his assertion, Isabella knew Murdoch was utterly convinced of its
truth.

* * *

Chapter
Two

“Ross? At your brother’s home?” Isabella
could make no sense of this. “But why?”

“He was in the service of the Earl of Buchan
a year past, was he not?”

Isabella caught her breath and looked
away.

“How much do you know about your brother,
Ross, my lady — and his intent?”

Isabella was seventh–born of her eight
siblings, while Ross was fifth. Both of her older brothers, Malcolm
and Ross, had left Kinfairlie after Alexander’s wedding. Ross had
been home at the Yule just recently passed. She knew he had argued
with Alexander and left quietly, but she did not know the source of
their argument.

Was this it?

She realized that Murdoch was watching her
avidly and tried to hide her suspicions, even guessing it was too
late. “Coincidence!” she protested. “You have no proof. The thief
could be anyone! Why suspect my kin?”

A fleeting smile touched his firm lips and
Isabella could not help but watch. Murdoch counted off the reasons
on his fingers even as he strode around her. His voice was
beguiling in itself, deep and quiet, compelling in a way that made
Isabella’s mouth go dry. “Because it was bought from your uncle in
the first place. Because it would not be unlikely for any man to
regret the surrender of a successful venture, and later wish to
return to it. Because it disappeared at the same time your brother
Ross was in our hall.”

Each step he took compelled Isabella to take
a quarter turn, in order to ensure that she could see his face. She
watched him keenly, waiting for some hint of doubt but there was
none. His brow was dark, his gaze intent. He was utterly convinced
that he was right.

But was he?

She knew that Alexander had lied.

Why?

Would it be so fearsome to make a wager with
this knight?

It might, in fact, be right to do so.

As she thought, he continued in that melodic
low tone. “Because the easiest place to find relics to sell would
be to collect them from one’s former clients. Because your kin have
long been said to be thieves, as well as merchants of religious
relics.”

Murdoch stopped directly before her and
touched his thumb. “Because the relic at Seton Manor was secured in
a locked treasury with no less than three guards. Its disappearance
was nearly an impossible feat – for mere mortals. Who better to
spirit it away than the sorcerors the Lammergeier are reputed to
be?”

Isabella shook her head. “Innuendo, not
fact.”

“Fact will come.”

“No.” Isabella frowned. “Alexander would not
do this thing.” She held up a finger when Murdoch might have
protested. “And Alexander would dispatch no other man to do it in
his stead. I know my brother.”

“You know he lies, too.” Murdoch’s gaze never
swerved from her when she swallowed. Isabella nodded. “What about
Ross?”

Isabella sighed and bit her lip. “I do not
know.”

“Has he been home?”

“He was here at the Yule.” She saw the gleam
of satisfaction in Murdoch’s eyes and hastened to defend her
brother. “I do not know where the relic is!”

“I wager you have the wits to find out.”

His words reminded Isabella of his comment to
Alexander. She regarded him warily. “What will you do?”

His smile flashed, making him look like an
unpredictable rogue. “I shall prompt your brother’s memory.”

“But how?”

“You shall see.”

Isabella folded her arms across her chest.
“Even if I did seek the truth, nothing says I will confide any such
discovery in you.”

Murdoch’s eyes twinkled with sudden vigor.
“Then I shall have to win you to my cause, my Isabella,” he
whispered, his voice a throaty purr.

“I am not your...”

Before she could finish, Murdoch closed the
distance between them, bent and captured her lips with his own.

* * *

Murdoch kissed Isabella because he could not
have done otherwise.

It was true he had initially thought it would
be useful to win her favor. A curious maiden within Kinfairlie’s
walls could aid greatly in his quest for the truth. But with each
passing moment in her company, the notion of an alliance grew in
appeal because of the lady herself. He liked the fire in her eyes,
the way she defended her family, her honesty in admitting that she
also believed her brother had not been entirely truthful. He liked
that she was keen of wit, that she was unafraid of the truth and
suspected that combination would be good at unearthing it.