The Renegade's Heart (6 page)

The smaller room on that second floor had
once been shared by Isabella’s brothers. Since the demise of their
parents, Alexander had become laird and now occupied the solar with
his wife, Eleanor. Malcolm and Ross, the younger of the brothers
but both older than Isabella, had left Kinfairlie after Alexander’s
nuptials. Malcolm was heir to Ravensmuir, the ruined sister estate
of Kinfairlie, but had surrendered the seal to Alexander and left
to seek his fortune. Ross had pledged his blade to the Earl of
Buchan and also departed. The room the boys had shared now stood
empty and unused.

The solar was on the third floor, along with
the small chamber where Alexander, Laird of Kinfairlie, kept his
ledgers. There was only one floor above that, filled by a single
room with a sloping roof that had become the treasury when
Eleanor’s inheritance had been delivered to Kinfairlie.

After Murdoch’s departure, Isabella went to
the kitchens to make her posset for Eleanor. She gave every
appearance of being absorbed by her labor as she ground herbs in
the pestle, but in truth, she was reliving Murdoch’s kiss.

Still her lips burned. Still she tingled.
Still her heart had not entirely slowed its pace. Indeed, she had
been lost – with just a single kiss. Perhaps it was simply the
novelty of a first kiss that had made it so potent. Many sensations
dulled with repetition. In addition, she had been surprised by his
caress, which could have heightened her reaction.

Or was it Murdoch himself?

There was only one way to discover the truth.
The very idea of seeing Murdoch again, of kissing Murdoch again,
filled Isabella with agitation of a most pleasurable kind.

Perhaps Murdoch intrigued her because he was
so different from the other men she knew. He was a knight and one
with rare charisma, the combination perhaps of his vividly blue
eyes, his powerful grace, his fleeting smile. He was audacious and
bold, cavalier in a way that made her heart skip. That he would
travel so far to ensure both justice and his brother’s welfare was
the stuff of tales.

Aye, it might be novelty that intrigued
Isabella.

She recalled the way Murdoch had blown her a
kiss. He had a flair that was uncommon, that was for certain. She
closed her eyes and felt his strong arms locked around her, the
heat of his words against her ear. She shivered, but not out of
cold.

His family’s relic was gone and it had been
the hand of the Magdalene.

This was no small token lost. Isabella
recalled how Tynan had let them look upon that very relic and touch
it, but only once when they were small. The bones of the saint’s
hand had been placed in a silver case shaped like a woman’s
forearm, studded with jewels. It looked almost like a glove, but on
the underside, there were panels of clear quartz that let one see
the yellowed bones. The fingers were outspread and Tynan had said
that it was laid upon the sick to heal them.

Could it heal the sick? Isabella had always
wanted to know. She recalled asking Tynan if it were genuine and
being chided by her mother for such impertinence.

Her aunt Rosamunde had laughed.

And Isabella could recall the shadows that
had clouded Tynan’s gaze.

This was why his family trade had troubled
him so. Her honest uncle had not been able to vouch with certainty
for the relics the Lammergeier had traded, bought and sold.
Isabella knew that Tynan had not been able to live with the
possibility that any item was less than its repute or that he could
be – however unwittingly – participating in a deception.

Which was why he had needed to be rid of the
entire store of relics.

It was the one issue over which Tynan and
Rosamunde had disagreed. Indeed, the division began earlier in the
family than that. Avery, Isabella’s great-grandfather, had had two
sons, Merlyn and Gawain, as different in nature as night and day.
Merlyn had abhorred his father’s trade and his son, Tynan, shared
his view. Gawain, in contrast, had been untroubled by any question
of authenticity in the relics he bought and sold, and his adopted
daughter, Rosamunde, had come to share his perspective.

Did the dispute continue? Did one of her own
siblings secretly wish to continue the ancient family trade,
against Tynan and Alexander’s wishes?

Why had Tynan not simply tested the power of
the relics, the way one would test the healing powers of an herb?
Isabella felt a new curiosity about the relics that had once been
housed at Ravensmuir, and a particular desire to see the hand of
the Magdalene again.

What did Ross know of Seton Manor and its
relic? Had he truly visited there with the earl? What had he and
Alexander argued about at the Yule? Ross had departed early,
without saying farewell to any of them, and Alexander was
displeased to even hear his younger brother’s name.

Isabella pursed her lips and ground the herbs
with care, reflecting upon the similarities between Alexander and
Tynan. While Isabella did not doubt that Alexander was innocent in
any theft of the relics sold at Ravensmuir, it was clear to her
that he had not been surprised by the knight’s accusation.

Alexander knew
something
.

And he would never share his knowledge
willingly. Truly, Alexander had become so tedious since assuming
the lairdship. He was consumed with responsibility and duty, when
once he had been the troublemaker in the family. He kept all to
himself, especially now that Eleanor was so ill. Where would he
secure any secrets? Isabella got no further before Elizabeth
appeared suddenly beside her.

“So?” Elizabeth demanded, fairly dancing in
her excitement. “Did you see him? Do you know why he came to
Kinfairlie?”

For once, Isabella was not inclined to
confide in her sister. She felt protective of Murdoch and his
secret and realized Alexander would not be the only one in this
keep to hide knowledge.

“Who?” Isabella asked, feigning
innocence.

Elizabeth poked her. “You know who! The
knight! Is he not most handsome?”

“He looks hale enough.”

Elizabeth scoffed. “More than hale. He is
bold and brave. I can tell by one glimpse of him. He walked ahead
of Anthony in his desire to see Alexander. This is a man who sees
matters resolved.” Elizabeth shivered with delight. “Imagine what
tales he might tell.”

“I cannot guess.”

“Nonsense! What did you learn of him?”

“Me?”

Elizabeth folded her arms across her chest
and leaned against the table beside Isabella, fixing her sister
with a stern look. “You know
everything
that occurs in this
keep. And you did not come down to the hall after me.” She
grimaced. “I should have remained in our chamber, but I had been
sure he would come into the hall. What did you hear?”

“I went to fetch the herbs...”

“No. I was watching for you.” Elizabeth
leaned closer, conviction in her gaze. “You
listened
. You
know why he came. Tell me!” Isabella averted her own gaze, feigning
preoccupation in her herbs. “Did he come for a bride? Which one of
us? What did Alexander say?”

“I do not know,” Isabella said. On one hand,
she did not wish to lie to her sister. On the other, it would be
unkind to encourage any idea that Murdoch had arrived to seek a
wife. She knew her sister well enough that she realized she would
not dissuade Elizabeth of that notion without telling her the
truth.

And the truth was Murdoch’s to share – or
not.

Elizabeth pouted prettily. “If you do not
tell me, then I will tell Alexander what you did.”

“I did nothing!”

“You listened. He will believe me and he will
not be pleased.”

“You are right,” she conceded, trying to
deflect Elizabeth’s interest in another way. “I did try to
listen.”

“Ha!”

“But it seemed unfair to mention as much
because I heard nothing.”

Elizabeth was incredulous. “Nothing?”

Isabella shrugged. “They dropped their voices
too low for me to hear.” She smiled at her sister. “I tried, but it
was to no avail.” She grimaced. “Then I heard Moira so I had to
leave in haste, in case she came out of the solar and caught me
there.”

“Secrets!” Elizabeth said with satisfaction,
surveying the bustle of activity in the kitchens. “Negotiations,
just as I suspected.”

“You cannot be certain,” Isabella said. “It
could have been another matter they discussed.”

“What other matter? He would have come to
Alexander’s courts, had he a complaint, and any less delicate
matter would have been discussed in the hall.” She brightened at a
thought. “Perhaps I can get the truth from Alexander.”

“That is a good idea,” Isabella agreed
mildly. “Perhaps you can. He does favor you.”

Elizabeth nodded. “And he has no right to
keep the truth from us, not if he is arranging our nuptials.” Her
eyes narrowed. “He did as much before with Madeline and
Vivienne.”

“But he pledged not to do so again.”

Elizabeth’s lips twisted. “It has been too
long and he has been preoccupied of late.”

“Eleanor’s condition gives him
concern...”

“It is more than that,” Elizabeth insisted.
“Alexander has a secret and I can guess what it is. I mean to know
what fate he has chosen for us.” Elizabeth hastened away with
purpose in her step.

Isabella heated the milk for Eleanor’s posset
and considered what her sister had said. Alexander
had
been
distracted of late, and until this day, Isabella had attributed it
to concern over Eleanor’s condition. What if there was more at
root? Perhaps Alexander knew of the thefts but did not know who was
responsible, for he did naught to set the matter to rights. He
could not know for certain that Ross was involved, for she knew
that he would not spare his brother for a crime. Alexander’s
concern with justice meant that he would never have been able to
stand aside while a crime continued.

It made sense that the mystery was
established but its solution was not.

Isabella had to find a way to get into
Alexander’s chamber without being observed. There he kept his
ledgers and his correspondence, and there she would find any
evidence that had been committed to vellum.

For the simple fact was that if Isabella
could discover some detail of import to Murdoch, if she could help
him to see his family’s relic restored or even tell him that it
would not be found at Kinfairlie, she would have cause to seek him
out.

It was all in the interest of ensuring
justice, of course.

And surely, it was the notion of sneaking
into Alexander’s chamber that made her heart skip – not the
prospect of seeing Murdoch once more.

* * *

Chapter
Three

“You are suspicious,” Stewart said when they
had ridden clear of Kinfairlie’s village. “Does that mean you have
found the relic, or its location?”

Murdoch shook his head, wondering what the
older man would think of his plan. “No, but I think the laird knows
more than he would tell. Look at his holding.”

“It is affluent and appears to be
well-administered.”

“But what is the source of his coin?” Murdoch
asked. “The mill is small. There is no port. There are no bridges
or main roads or tolls. There are few goats or pigs, enough for the
villagers but not enough to sell. He cannot be selling wool
fleeces, for there are not enough sheep. The fields are well
tended, but there cannot be sufficient yield to sell, not with so
many souls in the keep and village to be fed. There is no religious
institution.”

There was only one road that approached
Kinfairlie, and it led from the village through a large forest,
winding like a ribbon through the shadows. Stewart and Murdoch had
been accompanied by two squires on their trip south, at Duncan’s
insistence, but on this day, they had left Gavin and Hamish hidden
in the forest.

Stewart looked around with a frown.
“Ravensmuir?” he suggested, naming the once powerful holding that
was linked to Kinfairlie.

“Lies in ruins,” Murdoch said, gesturing to
the distant shadow of that keep. It perched on the lip of the coast
like a specter in the distance, apparently tumbling into the sea.
“And all the land between here and there lies unplowed.” He leaned
closer to the older man. “Whence comes his coin, Stewart? How can
the children in his village be so plump and the garb of all be so
well tended?”

Stewart pursed his lips. “They are said to
breed horses, fine black stallions.”

“How many can there be to sell each year?
With but one glimpse, I saw that his hall was full of fighting men
– and mercenaries work for hard coin.” Murdoch sighed, discontent
with the evidence before his eyes.

“He could have married a woman of means.”

“Or he could have secretly returned to his
family’s ancient trade, with the assistance of his brother.”

“I will wager then that your interview with
him did not progress so well,” Stewart said.

“He said it was not his concern, that so far
as he knew the relic remained in my family’s possession.” Murdoch
slanted a glance at his companion, knowing that this next comment
would not be well-received. “He said if there was a thief at Seton
Manor, it was not his concern.”

“Villain!” Stewart said with heat. “To turn
the accusation back on the accuser is evasive at best. I will guess
that is not the whole of it.”

“He lies.” Murdoch scanned the silhouetted
trees ahead, seeking some sign of the boys. The trees of the forest
were barren in the winter light, but the shadows were very
dark.

Too dark.

The wind had turned colder, as well.

When he saw the shadows light with golden
fireflies, Murdoch felt dread slither down his spine.

They were not fireflies, not in January. He
feared he knew what they were.