Seducing the Laird (15 page)

Chapter 28

"You are lucky to have such a loving brother," growled Andreu as he lay shuddering in the tiny cottage next to Cairn. Though a cheery fire blazed nearby, it did little to dispel the icy chill in the air.

"You could have stayed at the castle," snapped Cairn, tired of his brother’s grumbling. "I dinna ask you to come along."

"And have you traipsing all over the Scottish countryside alone? Not bloody likely."

"Then stop complaining! Sometimes you are worse than Ivone."

Despite the weather, an amused chuckle forced itself through Andreu’s chattering teeth.

The two brothers had ridden to speak with the MacFies, a neighboring clan, about the upcoming war with Langthorne. Cairn thought the clan would be anxious to match themselves against the despised Lord Gundy, but they had enough problems, dealing with crop failure and frost. They wouldn’t commit their men to war.

Cairn raged at them, reminding the MacFies of ties forged long ago between their clans. He reminded them of their pride and duty to stand together, but it was no use. The MacFies wanted no part in Cairn’s conflict with England. The McPhersons had to fight this war alone.

Their laird had offered the men hospitality for the night, but Cairn stubbornly refused it. Two days had been wasted arguing with the MacFies and Cairn was anxious to return home and make up the lost time.

"I’m sure the farmer is much warmer in the barn," continued Andreu.
"Tucked in with his sheep.
I thought the poor man would soil his pants when he saw us ride up as we did,
covered
in mud and mad as the devil."

"We will be gone soon enough."

The two brothers knew they would someday grow up and become lords, but that future had always seemed far away. Andreu had also been abruptly thrust under the yoke of responsibility. It was tough, but Andreu survived just as he knew Cairn would. They had their wits and they had each other.

"These are hard times for everyone. If the MacFies had come to you with a similar request, you would have given them the same answer."

"Perhaps," Cairn replied. It galled him to have to ask for help and being turned away had not improved his mood. "I hate being helpless! And I am too old to share a bed with my brother!"

"Fine," snapped Andreu, poking his brother in one thickly muscled biceps. "I’m sure Fergus’ fat is a lot more comfortable than you anyway. The thanks I get for helping my family!"

Cairn grabbed a pillow and pushed it over his head to drown out Andreu’s angry muttering. He wished Verena were there. She was unbelievably comfortable with just the right amount of womanly softness. He loved the magical way her breasts filled his hands, the way she responded to his every caress. He could picture her eyes growing unfocused and heavy-lidded as he played with her. If Verena were with him, they would no doubt find ingenious ways to stay warm.

Cairn hadn’t wanted to stay with the MacFies, but that wasn’t the only reason he left so abruptly. He missed her. He missed the taste of her and the feel of her in his arms. Cairn wanted to barricade them in his bedroom and never come out.

"Stop there, you little thief!" came Fergus’ gruff shout from outside. His voice was immediately followed by a loud crash and Fergus’ howl of pain.

The two brothers rushed outside with drawn swords. Did marauders think to attack their small band of warriors? They looked about; scanning the area for the glint of metal or bright colors of livery, but the scene that greeted them caused both men to blink in surprise.

Fergus was hopping up and down on one leg, holding his shin and bellowing curses at the top of his lungs, while a lad of about 13 tried to dodge between the newly awakened soldiers. His head was covered by an oversized, dirty cap and mismatched rags disguised his scrawny limbs.

Cairn had seen that frightened, hungry look in the eyes of many peasants who were caught stealing, and felt sorry for the scamp. If he couldn’t produce a miracle, the boys of his own clan may soon share his fate. Cairn opened his mouth to call off his men, but before he could speak, the boy dived between Fergus’ legs, punching sharply upward with strong, little fists.

Fergus howled again, clutching his groin and crumpling to the ground. Cairn couldn’t let the boy go after a stunt like that.

"Catch him."

The other men took up the chase, trying to corral the boy. He was fast and agile, ducking under an old workbench, climbing up and leaping off a large wagon. The lad was remarkably coordinated, as if he was taught his skills by a master. There was a definite strategy to his moves as he dove between the soldiers, expertly positioning the men so they couldn’t surround him. The blows that he delivered with his tiny fists were always on target, catching the soldiers in sensitive areas like the groin, the kidneys, and behind the knees. Several times he almost escaped, but someone always managed to cut him off before he could go far.

"Are you going to let this brat best you?" shouted Andreu, obviously enjoying the spectacle.

The lad crouched down and swung his leg in an arc, catching Fergus’ ankle and sending him flat on his back in a large puddle of mud. Fergus sat there for a moment, inhaling huge gulps of air, and then an amazing thing happened. The most infectious grin lit Fergus’ features. He leaned back his head and laughed until his great belly shook with mirth, and tears were streaming from his eyes.

"Milord, we should have him train us on the practice field," said Fergus, when he could speak again. The others joined in his laughter and the contest soon became a game. The men would laugh uproariously as the lad evaded capture. It was nice to have a moment of fun to ease the stress.

Their mirth came to an abrupt end, however, when the youth finally saw his chance and tried to run past the two brothers. Andrew and Cairn had been calmly watching the spectacle, but when the lad came near, Cairn reached out and caught the boy by the arms.

"That’s enough!" said Cairn sternly. "Tell me why you are here."

"He is a thief, milord," spoke up Fergus, when the lad didn’t answer. "I caught him sneaking around the barn."

"Search him."

The lad submitted to their rough search, finally realizing there was no escape. They found only a knife hidden on his small frame, but the haunted look didn’t leave his eyes.

"Who taught you to fight?" Andreu wanted to know. After a moment, the lad tore his gaze from Cairn’s impressive bulk and answered.

"I taught meeself."

Fergus scoffed, ineffectually wiping mud from his wet bottom.

"There aren’t many grown men that can best me, and you took on all of us."

"You fight like knights," the boy answered simply.

From the time Cairn was born, he was carefully groomed for knighthood. He had trained extensively in various forms of combat and weaponry until he was legendary on a battlefield. This youth’s disdain was perplexing.

"What is wrong with the way we fight?"

The boy bit his lip, clearly unwilling to volunteer anymore information.

"What is your name? Where is your family?"

It was clear there would be no more information from him without resorting to heavy-handed persuasion. The moon peeked hesitantly from behind a cloud bank, illuminating a patchwork of old bruises on his face and neck. This lad had learned to fight by necessity, perhaps for his very life. What kind of parents would allow their child to come to such a state? Did he have parents at all?

He stared defiantly into Cairn’s eyes and something softened within him. The boy’s passion and fearful determination reminded him of Verena. She had worn a similar expression when they first met in Langthorne.

"Thieves must be punished," announced Cairn evenly. Though his lower lip began to tremble, the boy refused to cower. "You have also injured my men and must atone for your actions. Fergus, make sure he does not run away. I’ll deal with him in the morning."

Chapter 29

Verena stepped through the darkened archway leading to the McPherson family crypt. She traveled down a steep, winding staircase at the back of the church, trailing her fingers along the icy stones for balance.

Protective gargoyles had been carved into the corners of the ceiling, but the light from her candle gave them a ghoulish appearance. Above her, Verena could hear the boys from the village singing mass. The music echoing off the high rafters gave the setting an ethereal mood.

She drew her cloak closer about her as she traversed the large room.
Around her lay stone effigies of Cairn’s deceased family.
She stared into the smoothly carved faces, wondering how accurate the artists had been. Did Cairn know the exact location where his body would someday come to rest?

She stared intently at the face of Cairn’s father. What manner of man was he? Did Cairn cry at his father’s funeral, or had he composed himself with the quiet dignity he showed at the funeral of his clansmen?

She heard the soft thud of feet descending the spiral stairs behind her. Soon Father Simon’s voluminous cassock came into view. He smiled at her, not surprised to find her wandering alone in the dark and icy crypt.

"I thought I saw someone enter here," he said brightly. "The echo makes this an excellent place to listen to the holy choir."

She smiled as if that was exactly why she had come down here. In truth, she was hoping to have a few moments alone with Simon, to question him on his relationship with the Old Lord.

"It was heavenly," she agreed.

"Of course I have never experienced it. I am always up there with the choir, but … Is something troubling you, my child?"

"I wanted to be alone for a while. Coming to Scotland was an abrupt change for me."

Simon nodded, but his eyes sparkled with curiosity.

"I am always available should you need to talk."

"Thank you. Everyone has been so kind, despite my origins, but I am worried about the clan. How will the McPhersons survive this winter?"

"That is not for me to say," replied Father Simon, lifting his eyes heavenward. She knew the doomed clan would need a miracle to survive—a miracle or a fortune in silver.

"I noticed the McPhersons are very pious folk."

"It is not unusual for people to seek comfort with the church during times of strife. Is that not why you are here?"

Verena turned back to look at the face of Cairn’s father. She was drawn to touch the stone sculpture, to trace the lines so similar to Cairn’s. Where had the treasure gone when the Old Lord died? Why didn’t he pass on the secret to Lady Ivone or Cairn?

"He looks so peaceful," she said as she studied the effigy. "I supposed I wanted to absorb some of that peace."

"Angus McPherson was a surprisingly gentle man, despite his genealogy."

"What do you mean?"

"I’m sure you’ve heard of Cairn’s grandfather, the Old Lord? Many still fear that he will rise from the grave."

Father Simon shook his head at the foolishness of peasants.

"Did you know the Old Lord?"

"Aye, but not very well.
He had little interest in religion, but in his son I found a surprisingly agile mind. Angus had so many questions about things I had never thought to consider, questions that could be deemed sacrilege by some.

"It couldn’t have been easy growing up with the Old Lord as a father. There were so many secrets whispered about what went on in the castle. The Old Lord certainly didn’t confide in me. Several times I saw strange bruises on Angus’ face and hands, but he bore them stoically—much too stoically for a young man.

"I counseled him as best as I could, but in the end I think he just came for the company. There were times when he looked so sad."

Father Simon shook himself, embarrassed to find he was rambling.

"It has been a long time since anyone asked about Angus," he said in chagrin.

She touched his arm, offering silent comfort to the priest. It was obvious he cared deeply about Angus and it pained him that he was unable to help his friend.

"Surely his wives brought him some comfort," she ventured.

"His first wife, perhaps.
That was Cairn’s mother. She was a sweet girl with a competent head on her shoulders. You remind me a bit of her actually. I could tell Angus was exceedingly fond of her, but she died in childbirth with their second child and took the babe with her.
Poor girl.

"You are smart, lass," continued the priest. "And you must know how the clan feels about Lady Ivone. She never embraced lowland life, even after living with us for years. Women must maintain a sense of propriety, must act with humility, decorum, compassion, obedience and restraint. There are divine laws that must be obeyed for the safety of your immortal souls."

She glanced away, knowing where the conversation was heading. After her speaking with Owen she wouldn’t be surprised if the whole clan knew she had become Cairn’s leman.

"I do not mean to preach," he continued kindly. "I do enough of that at the pulpit. But I have found that most people know the difference between right and wrong. They just need a little encouragement to set them on the right path. Think about your life and your future. And if you ever need to talk, my door is always open."

Verena thanked the priest as she hastily backed out of the crypt. It was difficult to stay focused on her assignment with the priest’s gentle chatter. Just as she reached the stairs she paused and turned back.

"Father," she said curiously. "Why wasn’t the Old Lord buried here? Didn’t he want to be close to his family?"

Father Simon shrugged as he reached down to brush some dust from Angus’ face.

"The Old Lord wasn’t close to anyone on this earth. After he was excommunicated he preferred to be buried in a pagan mound like his barbarian cousins to the north."