Medieval Ever After (113 page)

It wasn’t until he’d accompanied Kennedy to a negotiation with Warren to arrange for Loch Doon’s protection that he’d become a spy. He could practically smell money coming off Warren in that first meeting. He’d managed to get word to him that he could provide information on the castle in exchange for a small slice of Warren’s wealth. Warren, like Kennedy, had been all too willing to part with his gold.

Warren took a breath, trying to calm himself. “You said he was suspicious. Does he suspect you work for me?”

“I doubt he’s gotten that far, though I wasn’t able to make contact with one of your teams of scouts a couple weeks ago. It’s possible he found out about them.”

Warren cursed. “Their bodies were found in the Galloway forest a few days ago by another scout. I feared for all three of you when they didn’t return with your latest report.”

“I always manage to get by,” Malcolm said coolly.

“Yes, you seem to have an unusual skill at staying alive to collect your payment,” Warren said sourly.

Sensing a shift in Warren’s mood, Malcolm quickly took charge of the conversation.

“I have much to tell you, and I think you’ll be pleased, my lord,” he said in his most earnest and eager voice.

“Out with it,” Warren said crossly, settling back onto the propped-up pillows behind him.

“The Sinclairs are gathering at Loch Doon.”

Malcolm paused to let that settle in. Just as he’d hoped, Warren sat up quickly, alert and sharp-eyed all of a sudden.

“How many?”

“The Laird, his brother and cousin, and their wives. I hear they are having a wedding celebration.”

Warren’s lips curled back into something between a smile and a snarl.

“When?”

“Soon. A matter of days, probably.”

“Wedding celebration,” Warren muttered bitterly. “More likely they are plotting something.”

“That’s why I came here to tell you,” Malcolm said deferentially. What was it about that obsequious tone that lulled powerful men into thinking they owned him? Malcolm suppressed a sneer of his own. No one owned him. Not the Scottish, not the English, not Kennedy or Sinclair or Warren, though he was happy to lighten any purse he could.

Warren suddenly threw back the coverlet and leapt to his feet. He began pacing the floor with his head down in nothing but his sleeping gown. Malcolm bit his tongue to keep from laughing.

“Their wives are coming, you say?”

“Aye.”

Warren’s face was taut with concentration. Something about the women being there intrigued him.

Suddenly, another piece of information floated to Malcolm’s mind.

“There’s something else you may find useful,” he said carefully. “Though sharing it with you will come at great risk for me.”

Warren halted in his pacing and rounded on Malcolm.

“Let me guess. The risk will be eased with more coin?”

Malcolm pretended to contemplate the question for a long moment.

“Perhaps a few extra pieces of gold would help me find safe passage somewhere once this is all over.”

Warren took a step toward him, and he tensed.

“Risk is strange, isn’t it, Malcolm?” Warren said with deadly calm. “On the one hand, you risk your safety in telling me what you know, or so you say.”

He took another step forward, and Malcolm involuntarily stepped back.

“On the other hand, though, your health is in great danger the longer you go without speaking.”

He’d pushed his luck too far. As eager as Warren was for his information, the man was unpredictable and ruthless. Warren towered over him, just as Sinclair had done. Malcolm had no choice but to fall back on his helpless act, as usual.

“You have been more than generous with me, my lord,” he said pleadingly. “I only beg safe harbor from you.”

Warren lingered intimidatingly for another moment then smiled, but it didn’t touch his hazel eyes.

“If you can make yourself useful, you can stay at Dunbraes for the time being. Now, out with it, man.”

“Kennedy’s daughter often ventures into the Galloway forest,” Malcolm said quickly. “She used to go alone, but now Sinclair accompanies her.”

Warren’s eyes sparkled in the low light. “Just the two of them? No men-at-arms to guard them?”

“Aye, just the two of them.”

“Very good,” Warren said, but he spoke more to himself than Malcolm.

He resumed his pacing, and after a moment he waved Malcolm away as if he was nothing more than a midge.

Malcolm quietly let himself out of the chamber, then made his way back to the castle’s hall, where several dozen soldiers slept on bedrolls laid out on the ground.

Malcolm allowed himself a deep, relieved breath. Kennedy had been easier than a child to handle, but Warren was far more difficult—and dangerous. He still had Sinclair’s gold tucked out of sight, which could go a long way in getting him safely out of the fray. It was hard to walk away from an opportunity to make another coin, but Malcolm could sense that it was past time he made himself scarce.

Despite Warren’s offer of—temporary—safe harbor, he would leave Dunbraes after a few hours of sleep, a hot meal, and Warren’s last payment for his report. Perhaps he would travel along the Borderlands in search of either Englishmen or Scotsmen in need of information, a watchful eye, or a simpering manservant. Or perhaps he would travel into England and see how far his knowledge of Scotland could take him. Either way, he would never return to Dunure, Loch Doon, or Dunbraes. It was simply too dangerous, and as he always told himself, he couldn’t make another coin if his throat was slit.

He tiptoed around the snoring soldiers sprawled out in the great hall, looking for a place to lie down. Eventually, he settled himself as close to the large hearth as possible, squeezing his narrow shoulders between two large soldiers. Within moments, he fell into a deep, untroubled sleep.

HIGHLANDER’S RECKONING

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Rona took the
stone stairs leading up to the top of the curtain wall two at a time. They’d just received word from one of the boatmen who’d arrived from the village that Garrick Sinclair and his wife were on their way.

At the top of the wall, she could barely make out a speck against the churning loch waves. Another storm was blowing in from the west, but it promised rain rather than snow. Rona doubted it made much difference to Daniel’s brother and sister-in-law at the moment, however. They were likely getting tossed violently in the wind-roiled loch waters, despite the fact that they were traveling in one of the village’s larger, barge-like boats.

A warm hand suddenly slipped under her cloak to press against the small of her back. She nearly jumped at Daniel’s silent approach. Instead, she managed to shoot him a wobbly smile.

“Excited to meet them?” he said, coming to stand behind her. He wrapped his arms around her so that she leaned back into his chest.

She nodded silently.

“Nervous?”

She let out a breath and nodded again. But it was more than just her girlish fears that his family wouldn’t like or accept her. She remained motionless, but it was hard to accept Daniel’s touches when she knew there was something going on that he wasn’t telling her.

Apparently she wasn’t good at disguising her frustration, though.

“What is it?” he asked, tensing his arms around her.

“We should be at the docks to greet them,” she said, slipping from his embrace. Before she could get a foot on the stairs, however, he captured her wrist.

She turned to look back at him, her hair whipping around her face. His eyes were as stormy as the sky behind him.

“I know I am being…withholding,” he said quietly. “And I know I am jeopardizing your trust in me. But I’m only doing it to protect you.”

Though his voice was soft, his words held a hard, commanding edge.

“Like I was protecting you from my falconry?” she said coolly.

“Rona, I—”

“I can’t force you to open up to me,” she cut in tightly. She tugged away from his grasp, but he held fast. He brought her hand up to his mouth and wordlessly placed a searing kiss between her knuckles. Despite her frustration with him, the feel of his lips sent tendrils of heat into her belly. How could he have that effect on her? How could she be angry with him and long to have him take control of her body at the same time?

He released her hand, and the tendrils of heat faded. She turned and hurried down the stairs, out through the raised portcullis, and to the docks before he could confuse her further with his cryptic words, searing eyes, and intoxicating touch.

Wind-whipped waves smacked the wooden dock. The speck of the boat had drawn much closer, and Rona could now make out a splash of red plaid on board. As the two figures standing at the boat’s prow grew larger and more distinct, Daniel came to stand next to her.

Finally, the boat bumped into the dock, and a giant Highlander jumped onto the wooden boardwalk. He quickly turned to his companion, a woman, and lifted her out after him. Both turned to Rona and Daniel, and she finally got a good look at them.

The man—Garrick—looked eerily like Daniel. He wore the same garb as Daniel, his red kilt belted over a white shirt, though Garrick also wore a leather vest studded here and there with metal. She guessed this was as close as these Sinclair men came to wearing armor. He had a bow and quiver full of arrows slung over one shoulder, as well as a sword on his hip. The bow was unlike any she had seen before. It was shorter and strangely curved, not at all like the longbows most men used.

Though Daniel was one of the tallest, most muscular and honed men she’d ever seen, Garrick rivaled him in height and breadth of shoulders. Rona was used to being of a height with many men, but these two towered over her.

Garrick’s hair was pulled back in a queue at his neck, though the wind had pulled some of it loose. His face was firm and unreadable. Rona met his eyes, which were steely gray, and she had to root her feet to the dock to prevent herself from stepping backward.

But suddenly a wide smile transformed the fierce-looking warrior’s face, and all at once he looked younger and less terrifying.

“Brother!” Garrick shouted and slammed into Daniel in a brutal hug. Both men laughed and pounded each other on the back heartily.

This gave Rona a chance to gaze shyly at the woman, Jossalyn.

She was stunning. Golden blonde wisps of hair whipped around her flawless features. She was shorter than Rona, though a normal height for a woman, and built delicately. She wore simple clothes, yet she stood with a quiet assurance and confidence.

Jossalyn’s emerald green eyes fell on her.

“You must be Rona!”

The woman closed the distance between them and without preamble, she embraced Rona in a tight hug.

Rona stood stiffly, thrown off-guard by the woman’s warmth. Jossalyn pulled back a little, and unfettered happiness shone in her eyes.

“I’m so glad to meet you,
sister
,” she said.

Daniel had warned Rona that Jossalyn was English, but her accent still surprised her.

“A-and I you,” Rona stuttered. Her stomach sank even as her heart pinched. This woman was so warm and kind and beautiful, whereas Rona was awkward and hard-edged. She swallowed. This was only the first in what was sure to be a long string of reminders about her shortcomings.