Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides) Page 9

  But long ago, by his grandfather’s fire, he had learned not to believe illusions. Ninja created illusions. They did not believe them. Even a bastard child must learn that.

  Dugald pressed the thoughts from his mind and refocused.

  The Rogue, the Flame, Fiona the healer, and Laird Forbes were all now present. Rarely had a foursome held more power… or more loyalty. And that was not counting Boden Blackblade or his wife Sara, who fostered the child, and therefore owned the allegiance, of the duke of Rosenhurst.

  Aye, the powers of the Highlands were gathering like a summer storm. If Dugald had the wits of a hare, he would do his job and retreat before the tempest overtook him.

  But…his glance skimmed to Shona where she laughed with her cousins.

  True, she caused an inordinate amount of trouble.

  Maybe he should have let Hadwin and Stanford fight over her, but Hadwin had a perpetually misplaced pleat at the back of his plaid that spoke of a hidden knife. It was a strange thing for such a good-natured practical joker, and there was something about gushing blood at a meal that disturbed Dugald. It had seemed like nothing more than practical good sense to numb Stanford’s arm with an herbed needle and curtail any more trouble. Dugald hadn’t done it for Shona. Nay, she was spoiled and vain.

  Still…

  She had doused herself in a cold river in a wild attempt to do her father one small favor. She dared besmirch her reputation by fostering a bedraggled waif, and she had been ridiculously patient with the annoying Lord Halwart.

  Would a murderess do any of those things?

  Chapter 6

  “I feared ye might not be coming, Rachel,” Shona said.

  The solar was lit with a trio of candles set high on a three-pronged iron stand which cast sleepy shadows over the upholstered couch where two of the three women sat.

  “The games begin tomorrow,” Rachel commented, “and I did not wish to miss seeing the men make fools of themselves over ye. By the by, who was that likely looking fellow near the door of the great hall when I arrived?”

  “He is called Dugald the Dragon,” Sara said, turning her gaze to where Shona sat on the floor.

  “The dragon, aye?” Rachel laughed. “And is he so clever and alluring as the name suggests?”

  “Aye,” Shona agreed sarcastically. Even her cousin’s much missed presence could not keep her from feeling grumpy when that dark-haired cur was mentioned. “He is as alluring as a boil on my a…”

  Shona glanced at the three children who had long ago fallen asleep on the floor, Kelvin with his red hair tousled, Maggie beside her hound, and wee Thomas, no more than three years of age. “As a boil on my ankle,” she finished poorly.

  “Oh? And why is that? He looked to be quite dashing,” Rachel said.

  “Aye, I’d like to dash him on the head,” Shona muttered.

  Rachel’s brows rose questioningly. “What was that?”

  “I believe she said she’d like to dash him on the head,” Sara replied.

  “Our Shona? Surely not. Never have I met a lass who gloried in men’s attention more than she.

  Can ye shed some light on this, Sunshine?”

  Sara laughed, at both the use of her old nickname and Rachel’s shocked demeanor. “All I know is that on the night of my arrival I found Shona in some disarray…”

  “Disarray? With our Shona, that might mean anything from a missing button to unleashed Bedlam.”

  “In actuality, it was a torn bodice and a pale-faced suitor slumped over his saddle and fleeing for his life.”

  “Ahh. I can only assume Pale Face was not one Dugald the Dragon.”

  “Nay, indeed. In fact—”

  “In truth,” Shona interrupted irritably, “this tale is not all that entertaining.”

  “I beg to differ,” said Rachel. “In fact what, Sara?”

  “In fact, Dugald was the one without a plaid and calling at her window well after dark.”

  “Without a plaid?”

  “It seems he lent his to Shona.”

  “Truly?”

  There was an evil twinkle in Sara’s eye. It really wasn’t fair that everyone thought her so sweet, for in truth she had a nasty side which was evidenced even now by her glee over Shona’s misfortune.

  After all, things just happened to Shona. She couldn’t help it. And it was hardly just that her cousins, who were supposed to care for her, would feel such joy over her misadventures.

  “I would not lie about something so serious,” Sara said.

  “I must say I rather wish I had arrived earlier,” Rachel commented. “To be here to see Dragon Dugald at the window.”

  Shona bristled. “If ye find him so appealing, Cousin, mayhap ye should pursue him yourself. He is quite a catch. Or so he seems to think.”

  The room was utterly quiet, and then her cousins laughed out loud.

  “It is not like her to get so prickly,” Rachel said.

  “Indeed not. Could it be there is something about this Dugald that our dear cousin has failed to mention.”

  “Mayhap.”

  “And mayhap ye should quit talking about me as if I’m not in the room,” Shona snapped.

  They laughed again. Why in the world had she been so anxious to see them? Shona wondered.

  They were an irritating duo and always had been.

  “Perhaps we should change the subject,” Sara said. “We might provoke her to violence. I hear she’s been continuing her swordsmanship lessons.”

  “And dunna ye forget it,” Shona grumbled.

  “Aye, should we vex her too greatly, we may find a half score of smitten swains threatening our existence.”

  “I fear my Boden might be amongst the first,” Sara said, but Shona snorted.

  “If I had to exist on your Boden’s paltry attention, my poor pride would wither to dust in less than a day’s span.”

  “In truth, I think this noble young fellow would be the first to her rescue,” Rachel said, glancing at Kelvin’s slumbering figure. He had fallen asleep wrapped in a blanket on the floor some hours before. “Never have I seen such devotion in one so young. So ye are fostering a lad, Cousin?”

  Shona glanced at Kelvin. His hair, bright as her own flame-torched tresses, had fallen over his brow, making him look even younger than usual. Fondness and unfamiliar maternal feelings flooded her. He had gained weight since she had taken him under her wing, but still he looked too thin, all half bare legs and gangly arms. His lips were slightly parted, exposing the gap left by the loss of both front teeth.

  The castle was quiet. At this late hour, only the three cousins remained awake.

  “Fostering would seem the wrong word.” Shona smiled at the lad and easily forgot her cousins’

  baiting. “For it implies I have some control over him.”

  “I think ye underestimate yourself there,” Sara said. “The lad would jump through fire for ye.”

  “Whose child is he?”

  “In truth, I have no idea. I found him in Edinburgh.”

  “In an orphan’s house?”

  “Nay, in my pocket. He was trying to filch some coin.”

  “Another Liam,” Rachel said wryly.

  Sara laughed, and reaching over the edge of the couch, gently stroked the golden hair of her adopted daughter who slept some inches away. Her hound, a gift from their cousin, Roman, opened his eyes. They gleamed an eerie yellow in the candlelight, but he did not move, as if he were snared by the tiny fingers wrapped in his fur.

  “Sleep, Dog,” Sara murmured. “There is naught amiss.”

  “Dog?” Shona said. “It seems ye could think of a better name for such a handsome creature.”

  “They are trying to convince us that he is a dog and not the wolf he appears to be,” Rachel said.

  “Just as Liam tries to act like a gentleman instead of like the scoundrel he is.”

  “Ye are forever too hard on him, Rachel,” Sara said, drawing her hand away from the reed-slim girl she had called he
r own for the past three years. “Liam has much good in him.”

  “Truly? And where might I find it?”

  Sara shook her head and Shona sighed as she gazed at Kelvin.

  “Does Liam know the lad has taken his place in your heart?” Rachel asked. “Or is he still searching for some way to gain from the boy’s misfortune?”

  “You’re being ridiculous,” Shona said. “Liam barely met the boy. They spoke for only a few minutes on our way to Stirling.”

  “I’m certain that will pose no problem whatsoever for Liam,” Rachel said. “Mayhap he’ll proclaim the child his very own. I dunna think he has ever completely forsaken the idea of wedding one of ye. Or mayhap he hopes to marry ye both.”

  Sara laughed. “Ye forget that I am already wed.”

  Rachel flipped a narrow hand impatiently. “Tis no more than a small inconvenience for a man of Liam’s…scruples. Besides, it could be he plans to make your Sir Blackblade disappear in a puff of blue smoke and a bit of mumbo jumbo.”

  “I believe he already tried that,” Sara said. “Boden was not amused.”

  “Tis not Liam’s way to give up, though,” Rachel countered. “It could well be that he still hopes to whisk the two of his ‘wee lasses’ away to his castle.”

  “He has a castle now?” Shona asked, warming to the conversation. Rachel’s annoyance over Liam was always amusing, and it was especially so after their talk of Dugald. What a treat it was to torment Cousin Rachel after they had done the same to her. “And here I thought he was just a wandering magician and an occasional acrobat.”

  “Most probably he has several castles,” Rachel said, rising to her feet to pace the room. Talk of the Irishman always made her agitated. “I fully expect him someday to proclaim himself the firstborn son of the king.”

  “Which king might ye be referring to?” Sara asked. “Since our own is only seven years old, that parentage seems a bit suspect.”

  “The truth rarely stands in his way,” Rachel said, then turned toward the children, took a deep breath, and seemed to relax. “What bonny babes.” But after a moment she scowled as if seized by some strange thought. She turned her bright amethyst eyes slowly toward Shona. Their gazes met. “Tis strange, isn’t it that the base born are no less lovely than those who think themselves quite noble?”

  The hair prickled eerily on the back of Shona’s neck. She loved Rachel dearly, but she could be spooky sometimes. Twas oft said, and sometimes by herself, that Rachel had inherited the sight from her mother.

  “Aye,” Shona said, careful to keep her tone casual. “Aye, tis strange indeed.” She turned toward the night-blackened window, but still she could feel Rachel’s gaze on her.

  “So ye saw our young king safely to Blackburn Castle,” Rachel said.

  “Aye.” Shona cleared her throat. “Tis true. I left him in the care of the Hawk.”

  “But still ye worry for him,” Sara said softly.

  Shona turned toward her. “I grew quite fond of him during my time at Stirling.”

  “Tis said he is somewhat spoiled and wayward,” Sara declared.

  “Mayhap our Shona feels a kinship with him, then,” Rachel quipped.

  Shona made an evil face. “He may be little more than an orphan, and therefore desires our sympathy, but at least he does not have to endure his cousins’ barbed tongues.” She sobered. “He is hardly more than a babe and cares little for affairs of the state.”

  “A babe, mayhap,” Sara said. “But our king nonetheless.”

  “Aye,” Shona sighed. “But it should not be so. His shoulders are not broad enough for the burden placed upon them. Have ye heard of the attempts on his life?”

  “I hoped they were but rumors.”

  “They are far more than rumors,” Shona said, her voice low. “I was there during the first attempt. The poison that killed his guard was meant for him. Since then there have been two other attempts, and there will be more, of that I am certain. In fact—” A whisper of a noise disturbed her concentration. “What was that?”

  “What?” Rachel asked.

  “That noise.”

  “I heard nothing,” Sara said, but Shona gripped Dragonheart and stared silently at the door. It stood open, and though no sound now disturbed her peace, the noise had come from just outside the solar.

  Quiet as nightfall, she slipped across the room and out into the hall.

  Something moved in the darkness, something no more defined than a shadow. But she could feel its life. Heart pounding, Shona flew down the passageway, but already the shadow was gone, had disappeared into nothing.

  She returned more slowly and closed the door behind her.

  “What was amiss?” Rachel asked.

  “There was someone listening to our conversation,” Shona said.

  “To us? Why?”

  Shona stared at the door, still listening, still alert. Why indeed?

  Morning came quickly. Surprisingly, breakfast passed without mishap, and finally the assemblage roamed from the hall and outside to a broad open field where the first of the Highland games would take place.

  Shona spread a woolen on the ground and watched as Sara urged her children onto it. Thomas, the foster son of a distant duke, waddled quickly onto the plaid and plopped down. But Margaret delayed. Even now, after being in Sara’s care for some years, she rarely talked. Perhaps her past experiences with people made her more comfortable with her animals—her silver gray hound, her weasel, which was forever close at hand, and any of a dozen other creatures that she nurtured in the folds of her gown.

  “Come hither, Maggie mine,” Sara said.

  The small girl approached finally, her dark eyes wide. “Did ye need something, Mum?” she asked in her quiet voice.

  “Aye. I missed…Dog,” Sara said, smiling into Margaret’s eyes.

  The girl’s expression couldn’t quite be described as a smile. It was something more subtle. “He misses ye, too,” she murmured, and sat down close by her mother’s side.

  “Will Boden be running in the footraces?” Rachel asked as she sat down beside Shona.

  “I dunna think so,” Sara said.

  “Whyever not?”

  “It seems he believes the competition might be quite fierce.”

  “Tis only a footrace,” Shona said.

  “Aye, but there is talk that the winner will share a trencher with ye this eventide.”

  “I’ve heard nothing about this.”

  Rachel laughed. “Do ye think the prize gets a choice of whom it is rewarded to?”

  “And what of ye?” Sara asked, irritated despite herself. A lass liked to be sought after, but if the truth be known, this was becoming somewhat tiresome. “Why are ye not on the marriage block? Ye are, after all, older than I.”

  “Me?” Rachel motioned to herself. “The truth is, Cousin, I give Father no reason to want to be rid of me.”

  “Da is not trying to—”

  “Shh,” Rachel said, watching as Roderic and Flanna, resplendent in their ceremonial garb, stepped forward to address the assemblage. “I think your parents are about to give ye away to the highest bidder.”

  “Really, Rachel, ye are too cruel,” Sara said, but in a moment she laughed.

  “I dunna know why I missed either of ye,” Shona mumbled.

  “My Lady Flanna and I welcome ye all to Dun Ard,” Roderic began, shushing the crowd with his raised voice. “In these days of unrest, tis good to know our friends and kinsmen can band together in times of merriment as well as in times of need. But today let us not dwell on the troubles of our Scotland. Today is for pleasures of every sort, for feasting, and—”

  “Get on with the races,” someone shouted, sloshing ale over the brim of his mug, “so we can get back to the drinking.”

  Roderic laughed. “Spoken like a true MacGregor,” he quipped. Folks chuckled. “But I canna argue. Let us begin the races without delay. It has been decided that there will be nine different courses.”

  He wen
t on to explain the distance and path of each. The prospective runners paced, some shaking their legs and setting their plaids to waggling as they warmed up.

  “What prize for the winner?” someone yelled. The voice sounded quite gleeful and suspiciously like Sara’s husband, Shona thought.

  “I say the winner shares a meal with the fair Shona,” Hadwin suggested, his voice loud. He was a muscular fellow and quite cocky, despite his short stature.

  “Very well, then.” Roderic said. “The winner shall share a trencher with the maid of his choice, unless there are objections.”

  A refusal would surely be unseemly, Shona thought, and remained mute with the rest of the crowd.

  “Tis agreed, then, Hadwin,” her father said. “If ye win the most heats, ye may share a trencher with my daughter.” He paused. A spark of mischief gleamed in his eyes. “And if ye survive the evening, ye will be allowed to compete in the games tomorrow.”

  There was general laughter.

  Roderic joined her a moment later, still grinning as he and Flanna settled on the blanket behind her.

  Shona turned to scowl at him.

  “Ye would not wish me to send a braw young man into battle without warning him of the consequences, would ye?” he asked.

  “I have not killed a single one yet,” she muttered.

  Roderic threw back his head and laughed.

  “Mayhap that dubious good news would warn them better,” said Flanna. “But tell me, Husband, why is the Rogue not competing? Long ago I heard a rumor that he could outrun a horse for a hundred paces.”

  Roderic leaned close to his wife’s ear. “Since my marriage I save my energies for more important duties.”

  “Hush,” she said, glancing toward Shona, then, “Whom do ye favor amongst our bonny visitors?”

  Shona scanned the gathering of runners. William glanced her way and nodded gallantly. She smiled in return then hurried her gaze away. Hadwin of Nairn was strutting around in circles and Stanford was standing, hands on his hips, glaring at the shorter fellow. A couple dozen other men did the same sorts of things, but amongst the lot, Dugald Kinnaird could not be seen.