The Pendulum (2 page)

Despite the pain, she narrowed her eyes on her rescuer.

"Sir
Scar-let
." She slurred the insult.

Amusement glinted in his green eyes.

"Airin!"

Airin tore her gaze from the Scarlet Knight and stared at the older man running toward them. He halted at the door, grasped the doorjamb on each side and leaned into the room.

He pivoted to face her, and demanded, "What have you done?"

She flashed a lopsided smile. "Hello, Father."

The pain wasn't so bad now, she thought, and swooned.

* * * *

The Pendulum

by Tarah Scott

Airin shifted against her bed pillows. "Gone?" She gave her father a quizzical look.

He snatched the fragment of purple velvet from the night table and tossed it onto the bed beside her. Shadowed hills and valleys leapt to life on the fabric's surface and she wished she could disappear in the beautiful landscape. She lifted her gaze. Light from two newly lit candles sitting on the far edge of the night table reflected in her father's amber eyes.

"When did I steal the brooch?" she asked. "I arrived but an hour ago and have since been surrounded by you and
your
servants."

"I heard your cross words to the maid," he replied in clipped tones. "Your dear Cerdwin is not here only because you sneaked back home like a rat instead of sending word of your arrival. Until she returns, you will not abuse the other maids."

"I can return home when I please."

"Costly curtains burned to a cinder, a blackened bedchamber, and your dress. For God's sake, Airin, your dress was on fire."

"'Tis only the sleeve that was singed. Cerdwin can repair the fabric."

"Do not toy with me, Daughter."

Anger flashed. "Toy with you? You sell me to the first man willing to pay your price and say I toy with you."

Hard eyes blazed back. "I could not sell you for a single gold piece."

She laughed. "Yet I cannot toss a stone without hitting a suitor."

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Her father's mouth thinned. "You are a beautiful woman, Airin, but your tongue can cut metal. Thank God I have coin to buy you a husband."

Airin straightened. "Give my dowry to whomever you like."

She eased back against the pillows, sorry she had given her throbbing head such a painful lurch. She would find the knave who'd hit her and return the favor in kind. "I will not marry,"

she swore.

Her father gave her an appraising look. "Now you will not marry? Yesterday, you would not marry until the bastard who killed your sister hung."

Airin looked away. Her lovely sister Madeline cut down in the prime of life. How had Airin so misread her sister's unhappiness in those last days? Airin knew she grieved over not bearing a child, but she hadn't considered the possibility Madeline was being abused. When the hangman's noose squeezed the last breath from the man who had married then killed Madeline, Airin would witness his entrance into Hell without flinching.

"You have said he will not hang," she reminded her father.

"You will live up to your part of the marriage bargain."

She gave a mocking laugh. "Your hand is not well played, Father. The brooch is missing. Without that, I need not marry."

When she told her father she would marry the man who found her grandmother's lost brooch, she thought herself safe. Every eligible man would set out in search of a brooch that could not be traced. By the time her suitors returned empty handed, she would have her brother-in-law's head.

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However, her father had taken no action—until she left for the lowlands—and she was no closer to proving the Earl of Bothwell's guilt.

"You agreed to marry the man who found the brooch," her father said.

She shrugged. "We have no proof 'twas my great grandmother's brooch."

"I examined the brooch. It is hers."

She sent him a withering glare. "You have an interest in seeing me wed."

Sir Douglas Keith, the Earl of Arbothnott, regarded her with eyes that brought back softer memories of childhood.

"Aye," he replied. "'Tis no sin for a father to wish his daughter well cared for."

"Well cared for?" She snorted. "You have given me to a butcher."

"Sir Deryll is a man of war. A man of honor."

Airin's heart stirred.
Sir Deryll
. So the Scarlet Knight was, indeed, her childhood hero. Her mind tumbled through memories of raven hair, eyes as green as the clearest emerald, and Deryll pulling her from the lock when Iain MacNab threw her in. Deryll gave her a turquoise ribbon the year he left. The village had gathered to wish God speed to the men called into King Robert's service. Bernadette Hay cried when Deryll left, but it was her, Airin, to whom he bestowed his last smile. She had discerned none of that boy in the man who had pulled her from the fire.

"Butcher," she repeated. "Well named
Scarlet
for the blood he has shed. I have heard of his exploits." Her heart pounded 15

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at recollection of how Nan, one of her father's tenants, had told of a cousin who barely escaped with her life when the Scarlet Knight slaughtered a village that gave aid to the English.

"Stories," her father replied. "The loser names the victor butcher. So named was Robert the Bruce."

"I will not wed a murderer."

A knock sounded.

"Enter," Airin called, glad for a reprieve. The night had not gone as planned.

The door opened and her co-conspirator, the young minstrel Perry, hurried into the room. He halted a few feet from the bed when his gaze fell on Douglas.

Perry glanced from him to Airin. "I—" His gaze dropped.

"You have heard of my adventures?" she asked gently.

He looked at her.

Airin wondered once again at the young man's shyness. A shame some of the fire in his shoulder length red hair had not seeped into his spirit. "I am well." From the corner of her eye, she saw her father's mouth thin. "I am fatigued, however,"

she said. "'Tis late. Rest. I shall see you in the morning."

He cast a sideways glance at Douglas, then nodded and left her alone with her father.

"You prefer that pup of a musician who calls himself a man?" he demanded without preamble.

"By the saints, Father. Credit me with some intelligence. I have no more interest in Perry than I do the Scarlet Knight."

But she thanked God for the minstrel. It was his message that had informed her of her father's underhanded dealings.

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"You will," Douglas said. "For the knight is to be your husband."

"Produce the
true
brooch, and I will comply."

"Airin—"

Another rap sounded, and the door opened to reveal her brother-in-law, Jason, Earl of Bothwell. Airin's heart beat in unison with the sudden jig the candlelight did in response to the disturbance of air from the hallway. She met Jason's gaze. Three months had passed since their last meeting. That had been the first she'd seen of him since her sister's body was found dashed upon the rocks of Weir cliffs.

Her father stood. "Jason." He started forward, hand extended.

The earl stepped forward and clasped his hand. "Douglas,"

he said, then returned his attention to Airin. "You look pale.

Are you unwell?"

"Fatigued, my lord." She furrowed her brow. "'Tis late.

Why have you come?"

"To see you."

"Me?" she blurted before she could stop herself. She gave a little laugh. "I cannot guess why."

"No?"

Airin looked at her father. "Father, what does this mean?"

Douglas kept his eyes on Jason. "I would ask the same."

Jason turned to him. "I loved Madeline, but I must return to my life. I must ... she did not give me children."

Airin gasped.

Jason fixed his gaze on her. "You
are
unwell."

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She shook her head. "You know full well, my lord,
I
have not finished grieving for my sister."

"You are a woman. I would expect nothing less."

Airin bit her lip.
As I would expect nothing less than
cowardice from a killer of women.

"What business have you here?" Douglas asked.

Jason did not take his eyes off Airin. "The business of claiming my new bride."

Her cry was cut off by a familiar deep voice behind Jason,

"Lord Bothwell."

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Airin caught sight of raven colored hair behind her brother-in-law. Jason turned and she stared into Deryll Chishom's eyes. A tiny thrill rippled through her. Her gaze dropped to the chest that was broader than the boy's had been. The thrill peaked at the recollection of those warm, firm muscles as he'd carried her. She lifted her gaze, her attention snagging on the light scar that crossed from cheek to mouth. Joy and sadness melded into a thin ache of sorrow. Her childhood hero was dead.

"Chisholm," Jason's dry acknowledgement broke her reverie.

Deryll stepped inside the doorway and regarded him.

"What is your claim on my betrothed?"

Jason's gaze riveted onto Douglas. "Betrothed?"

"Sir Deryll fulfilled the condition Airin set for marriage," her father replied.

Jason's brow shot up. "The brooch?" He swung his gaze back to Deryll. "Where is this brooch?"

"In your coffers, or at the bottom of the loch into which you threw it," Deryll replied mildly.

Jason eyes flashed, but her father cut in before the earl could reply. "Only an hour ago, the brooch was stolen."

There was an odd note in her father's voice, but Airin had no time to contemplate the meaning before the earl said,

"Stolen?" He gave a single shake of his head. "That is unfortunate."

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"For the thief," Deryll said.

"You caught him?"

Deryll leaned against the doorjamb. "I will."

"Then you do not have this ... brooch. That will make it difficult to compare with my brooch."

Airin gasped.

"Not at all difficult," Deryll said. "I know the brooch's every detail. Once I see yours, I will confirm it is mine."

Jason threw his head back and laughed. "By God, you have bullocks. Everything I have heard about you is true."

Dread tingled the back of Airin's neck. Her brother-in-law was too confident.

"Harold," Jason called.

A servant appeared behind Deryll. He paused and glanced up at Deryll, who seemed oblivious to his presence. Airin stifled an urge to laugh. The rogue knew the servant wished to enter, but purposely refused to move. Harold turned sideways, pressed his back against the doorjamb, and slid past Deryll with barely an inch to spare. Airin ducked her head. By the saints, mayhap the bloodthirsty knight killed opponents by causing them to die laughing.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted the red satin pouch Harold held and her head snapped up. The servant stopped before Jason, handed him the pouch, then backed away. Jason loosened the pouch's drawstring, upended the bag over her bed, and shook the contents free. All amusement vanished as she stared at a silver brooch identical to the one she had tried to steal

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She picked it, turned it over, and examined the back. A small but deep scratch marred the lower right edge where the links widened. Airin rubbed a finger across the scratch. Rough bits of metal caught at her thumb. She turned the brooch over and studied the two curls that butted. As with the Scarlet Knight's brooch, one was a fraction smaller than the other.

Airin looked up at Jason, the man who had killed her sister. Despite her bravado, she feared she would be unable to bring him to justice. She shifted her gaze to the man she had determined as a child to marry. He had been twenty when he left, she but twelve. Not one missive had passed between them. As a girl, she had been hurt; as a woman, she understood the dream had been hers, not his.

Only six months had passed since her sister's death. Since Jason would be forced to allow a six-month betrothal in order to satisfy the mourning period, she would have time to prove him guilty of murder.

"'Tis my great grandmother's brooch," she said.

* * * *

"I shall care for you as I did your sister," Jason said. He stopped beside the bed and grasped her hand.

Warm hands. She had expected fingers of ice. He raised her hand to his lips and she thought of her sister's ghost roaming Beaton Hall. It mattered not that Airin would now wander those corridors alongside her; she awakened many a 21

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night in Huntley Castle to Madeline's demand for recompense.

Being betrothed to Jason would place her in his home—and his bed, if need be—where she would find proof of his guilt.

And lose all hope of Deryll ever wanting you
, an inner voice whispered. Airin startled. Where had that come from?

Deryll pushed past Jason, drawing her attention onto him.

The earl tensed, then released her as the knight thrust out a hand. Airin pursed her lips, but placed the brooch in his palm.

Her fingers brushed his and a tingle spread through her. She jerked her hand back before realizing it.

Deryll gave her a curious look, then scrutinized the brooch.

He ran a finger over the scratch. "'Tis newly formed."

Jason's jaw tightened.

"Nay, my lord," Airin said. "It is just as my great grandmother described."

His gaze slid onto her and, for the first time, Airin detected surprise in the darkening of his eyes. "Is it?" he asked.

She nodded.

Deryll looked at her father. "This is my brooch."

"Craven whoreson!" Jason exploded. "I have—"