Kilts and Daggers (7 page)

They sat at the table, and Ruairi growled. “My wife is going to kill ye.”

“Donna blame this all on me, my liege. Ye know I'm the better swordsman. Ye could have yielded some time ago. Ye're far too proud, Ruairi.”

“Arse.”

“Aye.”

Their brief solace was interrupted by a wee lass with golden curls. “Ruairi, have you seen Ravenna or Grace?”

“I think they went for a walk. I'm sure they'll be back for the meal.”

Kat sat down in the chair beside Fagan. “I saw you and Ruairi fighting in the bailey.”

“We werenae fighting, lassie. 'Twas only a wee bit of swordplay.”

She lifted a brow. “Why?”

If she'd folded her arms over her chest, Fagan would've sworn he was talking to a smaller version of Grace. “Ruairi and I have to maintain our skills to defend the castle. If we donna practice, we lose our skill and will nae be able to keep the clan safe.”

“But I don't understand. Why would the two of you need to defend the castle? I know you have guards. Don't they do that for you?”

Fagan couldn't help but smile at Kat's innocent questions. He didn't want to give her all the details of what being a Highland captain entailed, but perhaps her curiosity would be satisfied with a bit of the truth. “I am the captain of the Sutherland guard and responsible for protecting Ruairi and this clan. I defend the castle with the guards. Do you understand now?”

She shrugged with indifference like someone else he knew. “I suppose.”

“Where are Torquil and Elizabeth, Katherine?” asked Ruairi.

“Oh, Elizabeth was in her chamber, and Torquil and I were in the library.”

“It makes me proud to see the two of ye getting along. Were ye reading together then?”

“No. After we saw you and Fagan draw swords on each other in the bailey, Torquil and I were practicing swordplay of our own.”

“What do ye mean ye were practicing swordplay of your own?”

“Torquil gave me my own sword and I was defending the castle too.”

“And where did my son get this sword?”

Kat stared at the ceiling and tapped her finger to her lip. “Umm… I think he pulled one of the swords off the wall. Don't worry though. I knew it was far too big for me. Torquil used that sword and gave me one of the daggers.”

The man with the long, black hair stood silently and stared back at Grace. He wore a black tunic and a dark-colored kilt, and he had a large scar over his left eye that traveled down the length of his jaw. Thank goodness he was one of Ruairi's men because she would've been frightened if she'd met him somewhere out on her own. When she repeated her question and asked him again what he was doing there, he turned and disappeared into the trees, but not before she spotted a shiny sword sheathed in a belt at his waist.

“Did you find it? Do you need my help?” asked Ravenna, calling to Grace in the distance.

Grace hesitated and only when she didn't see or hear any further sign of the man did she respond. “No, I found it! I'm coming!” She untangled her skirts from the brush and stepped into the clearing. She approached her sister, tapping the hilt of the dagger in her hand.

“Do you want to try again? I can help you with your stance.”

Grace stood again in front of the target, and then she looked at Ravenna. “Yes, but I need to say something first. I truly don't know how you're ever going to get used to these Highland men. I find them so odd.”

“I've heard enough from you,” Ravenna snapped. “You decided to stay to spend time with us, but all you've managed to do thus far is complain about Ruairi and his clan. He's a Highlander. Yes, he's different from us, Grace, but what did you expect? He's my husband. You're starting to insult me with your harsh words.”

Grace placed her hand on her sister's shoulder. “Oh, Ravenna, I'm sorry. That's not what I meant at all. When I searched for my dagger in the woods, I saw one of Ruairi's guards there. I asked him what he was doing, and the man didn't even have the decency to respond. He just stood there staring at me like a dolt. Granted, the only one of Ruairi's men that I know is Fagan, but even he speaks when you ask him something—well, most of the time anyway.”

Ravenna gazed at the tree line and spoke lightly. “I think that's enough instruction for today. Let's return to the castle. It's time for the noon meal anyway.”

As they walked back to the castle, Grace could have sworn something was troubling Ravenna. Her sister kept stealing a glance at the woods and indiscreetly fingering the hilt of her blade through her skirts, which was a pretty good indication that Grace's instincts were right. Times like these made Grace wonder how Ravenna could've ever been a spy because her sister had seen Angus make his way back to the castle. The wolf was not in the woods, yet Ravenna continued to search for the animal, as if she waited for the beast to spring from the trees and attack her at any moment. And Ravenna didn't believe Grace had what it took to be a spy for the Crown! Grace was confident that she'd be mastering spy craft before her sister knew it.

When they entered the great hall, they both sensed something was wrong because Ruairi scowled, Elizabeth played with the food on her trencher, Fagan was quiet, and Kat and Torquil had their heads bowed.

“What's the matter?” asked Ravenna, taking her seat on the dais.

Ruairi took a drink from his tankard. His face was clouded with anger. “I think your sister and my son are now getting along too well. I donna know which is worse—Katherine giving chase to Torquil or having the two of them spar with each other in the library.”

“Whatever do you mean?” When Ruairi took too long to respond, Ravenna looked at Kat for an explanation.

Ruairi cleared his throat. “Somebody saw Fagan and me in the bailey and decided to have a wee bit of sport.” He shook his head. “While I practiced swordplay with the captain of my guard, Torquil practiced swordplay with your sister in the library. My son pulled a sword from the wall and gave Katherine a dagger to wield.”

Grace couldn't stay the giggle that escaped her. When Ruairi's eyes met hers, she turned to Kat. “Kat, you know better than that, and you're not to take something without permission.”

Kat folded her arms across her chest. “I didn't need to ask permission. Torquil gave it to me.”

“And my son should've known better. One of ye could have been hurt.”

“Aye, Da,” said Torquil in an appeasing tone.

Ravenna gave Grace a knowing look, and Grace knew her sister had the same thought. They remembered when their father used to scold them for playing with his set of daggers in the study. Granted, no one was ever hurt, but getting into mischief had to be something that ran in the Walsingham family.

“I'm certain they meant no harm, Ruairi. They'll never do it again,” said Grace. “Isn't that right, Kat and Torquil?”

The children both nodded at the same time. Grace had just turned back to her meal when she heard Ravenna whisper to Ruairi.
“Na bi fada.”

He looked over his shoulder and then back to his wife. “And where would I be going, lass?”

A heavy sigh escaped Ravenna. “That's not what I was trying to say. I'm never going to learn the Gaelic language.” She lowered her voice again. “I need to talk with you.”

“I'm finished with my meal. Do ye want to go to my study?”

Ravenna grabbed a biscuit from the table, stood, and turned to Grace. “I'll see you and the girls later.”

Grace briefly wondered if that was secret code for her sister and brother-in-law to disappear and enjoy their nightly ritual in the middle of day. Grace closed her eyes and shuddered at the thought, pondering if Daniel would ever expect her to do such a thing.

“I'm finished too,” said Kat.

As Torquil and Kat stepped away from the table, Grace grabbed her sister's arm. “Be sure to stay away from sharp weapons on the walls.”

“We know, Grace.”

When Grace turned slightly, she caught Fagan staring at her. Her heart thumped erratically, but she managed to regard him with impassive coldness. She had to. She needed to shut out any awareness of him. The man had a way of muddling her thoughts every time he crossed her mind. She cleared her throat, pretending to be unaffected.

“You should've come with Ravenna and me, Elizabeth. I'm getting better with my aim.”

Elizabeth lifted her eyes from her trencher. “Yes, I really should've taken a walk today, but I do find it hard to believe you've improved your aim so quickly. Where did you practice?”

“We set up a target in the field. Why?”

Elizabeth's eyes sparkled. “At least you weren't anywhere near the gardens. The poor blooms would've never survived your attempts for sure.”

Fagan chuckled, but Grace didn't pay him any heed. “I can't wait to see how you do when Ravenna shows you how to wield a blade.”

“I'm certain your sister will become more skillful, the more she practices, and one day be as skilled as Ravenna.”

“One can always hope,” said Elizabeth.

Grace barely heard Elizabeth's words because she was too stunned by Fagan's. This was the first time she could remember the man actually paying her a compliment instead of pulling some snappish remark out of his mental arsenal to use against her. She knew she shouldn't get too used to this type of behavior because the more she thought he was nothing more than a Scottish rogue, the easier her feelings were to control.

* * *

Elizabeth stood. “Pray excuse me.”

“And me as well, Mister Murray.”

If Fagan wasn't watching Grace, he would have missed the momentary look of discomfort that crossed her face when she jumped to her feet as though her English arse was afire. Elizabeth had already walked away from the table, and he grabbed Grace's wrist as she turned.

“There ye go again walking away,
bhana-phrionnsa
.” He lowered his voice. “I would think by now that ye'd call me Fagan. Didnae we discuss this?”

She looked down at his restraining hand. “Be thankful I don't call you something much worse. Now please let go of my arm before somebody sees us.” When he released her, she paused. “I see your men follow your example.”

He lifted a brow. “What do ye mean?”

“Always around when you don't want them to be. If you're going to keep that wild dog out in the woods, perhaps you could learn to place him on a leash.”

“Donna tell me ye're afraid of Angus too.”

“Angus? No, Ravenna is the only one who harbors that fear. I'm talking about your guard who seems to be at a loss for words. Perhaps someone should help him find his tongue because apparently he's lost it.”

Fagan shook his head, confused. “My guard? What the hell…er, what are ye talking about?”

She sighed in exasperation. “Your guard in the woods. When my dagger landed in the brush, the man stood there gaping at me. I asked him what he was doing, and he didn't even respond. He could've at least warned me he was standing there. He startled me.”

“What did he look like?”

“I don't know. He looked like a Highlander. He had long hair, wore a kilt, and had a large sword. Frankly, all of you look the same to me.”

“Grace…”

“I told you. I don't—wait a moment. He did have a large scar over his left eye. Do you know him?”

Fagan stood. “I'll have a conversation with him. And Grace, I donna want ye or Ravenna going near the forest again until I've had a chance to speak with my man. Are my words clear?”

“Yes, of course.”

He watched her walk away and was relieved she heeded his command because he had no idea who this man was. Memories of the past flooded him, but he knew the Gordon was dead. What concerned him more was the fact that every time one weed was cut down, two more rose up to take its place.

Fagan walked hurriedly and approached Ruairi's study. The door was closed, and he knocked once. “Ruairi…”

“Cò leis sibh?” Who are you with?

“I am alone,” said Fagan.

“Come.”

Fagan opened the door and shut it behind him. He'd lost count of the endless times he'd met with Ruairi behind the closed doors of this room. Celebrations, mourning, battle plans, and getting into their cups—there wasn't much they hadn't already done. Although there was nothing unusual about Ruairi sitting behind his desk, Ravenna sat in the chair across from her husband with a troubled expression on her face.

“I need to talk with ye. Grace said there was a man in—”

“I know. Ravenna told me.”

“Please tell me you didn't tell my sister the man was not a Sutherland guard.”

Fagan sat in the chair beside Ravenna. “Of course nae. I'm nae daft.”

“Grace didnae give my wife any description of the man. Did she say anything else to ye?”

“Other than the fact that we Highlanders look all alike… She said the man had a large scar over his left eye. Nay one comes to mind, but I told her that I knew him so she doesnae worry upon it.”

Ruairi rubbed his chin, and his eyes darted back and forth between Fagan and Ravenna. “Do ye think she's certain of what she saw?”

“Yes, my sister does not lie.”

“I didnae say that she does, but I need to be certain of what or who she saw. God's teeth. Who the hell would encroach on my lands again?” His lips thinned with irritation.

By the way Ruairi asked the question, Fagan didn't think his friend had expected a response. “Do ye want me to increase the guard along the border?”

“Aye. Advise the men about what little we know and have them keep a watchful eye. I'm also going to send a missive to Ian. After our brush with the Gordon, I will nae leave anything to chance.”

“Fagan, please don't mention any of this to my sisters, Grace in particular. For some reason, she's bound and determined to take my place and work for the king. Up until now, she's been quite harmless in her pursuit, albeit somewhat annoying. If she discovers the guard was not one of ours, I'm afraid she'll do something rash and search for the man herself. That kind of thinking is dangerous. You can understand why I can't let her believe she's capable of undertaking such a task.”

Fagan knew his mouth was tight and grim. At first, he might have been taken aback by Ravenna's words, but he knew now that Grace would be foolhardy enough to pursue something like that. He couldn't imagine her being a spy for the English. Her actions were reckless, careless, and she'd surely get herself killed. “When was the idea planted that she wanted to be a spy for the Crown?”

Ravenna sighed. “Shortly after she found out I served the king. I thought perhaps her innocent questions were only a passing fancy, but now that I've seen how eager she is to learn, it worries me. Uncle Walter and I have tried to deter her, but—”

“I wouldnae worry overmuch. I donna think she would ever close her mouth long enough to accomplish the task. Furthermore, she's to be wed. What does her betrothed think?”

“Daniel doesn't know. She wanted to keep it a secret from him. The same as I did from my sisters.”

“Aye, that would be a fine marriage filled with naught but lies and distrust between them.” When Ruairi lifted a brow, Fagan added, “I will nae say anything about the man.”

“'Tis but another day in the Highlands, lass. I donna want ye to think about this. Fagan and my men will find out if anything is afoot.” Ruairi's eyes gave Ravenna a firm warning. “But ye arenae to do anything. Ye are nay longer a spy. Ye've retired from service, remember? Ye are now my wife, Lady Sutherland.”

Fagan stood. “I'll leave ye and speak to the men.”

* * *

When Grace spotted the guards, she stepped back, placing her rump against the stone wall in the bailey. Perhaps she was thinking about this the wrong way. If she was going to search for the guard who was in the woods, she should follow Ravenna's advice. Her sister had always told her to blend into her surroundings, and Grace was the sister-in-law of the laird. No one would think it odd that she was in the bailey. Besides, it wasn't as if she needed to follow the man. She only needed to find him.