The Prince and I (11 page)

She grinned. “Och, I would have enjoyed that.”

Her grin was so instant and spontaneous that he found himself returning it. “
Da
, I would have, too. But since then, I’ve come to learn several things about you and your little band here, and now I’m not sure why I was so determined to find you. Perhaps it is because I, too, have no love for the earl.”

“So we are together in our dislike of Loudan.”

“Dislike, distrust—he concerns me.” Max wondered how much he should tell her. Not much—some secrets weren’t his to tell. But it would not hurt to share Tata Natasha’s predicament. “Loudan won something from
my grandmother in a game of chance and will not return it.”

Her brows lowered. “So . . . history repeats itself.”

“What history?”

At his question, her lashes lowered to conceal her expression. “It is a long story. Too long.”

Max found himself wishing she’d trust him. To ease the moment, he traced a hand over the cushion of his chair. “I must say, you have excellent taste in décor. Did you take all of this from Loudan?”

“No. And yes.” Her lips quirked. “I dinna steal them, if that is what you mean; they were mine to take. I was lady of Rowallen Castle until my husband’s death.” She ran the comb through her hair yet again, the wild curls fighting the ivory teeth. “There is no harm in telling you why we are hiding in the woods. Robert Muir was my husband. Rowallen was—is—his. It has been in the Muir family for centuries.”

“How did the earl end up with the castle?” he asked, though he already knew. For some reason he wished to hear the tale from her lips.

“My guardian, the Duke of Spencer, arranged my marriage to Lord Robert Muir.”

He raised his brows. “I know the duke. He is a brave soldier.”

“He would be honored you think so. After I married Robert, Spencer left for the war. A year and a half ago, while I was visiting my parents’ graves in Edinburgh, Robert had some unexpected visitors at the castle—Loudan and two of his so-called friends.”

“So you husband did not invite him?”

“I dinna think so. As far as I know, they’d never met. Besides, had he expected guests, Robert would have asked me to stay. I know he would have.” The comb lay still in her hand, a faraway expression on her face. “The housekeeper was present when Loudan and his men arrived unexpectedly. She said Robert was most unhappy to see them, for he’d planned on spending the next few days with his man of business. But he was a gracious host and invited them to spend the night. He had the housekeeper ready three rooms, and ordered a grand dinner. That night there was much whiskey served, and someone suggested a card game.”

“The servants saw all of that?”

“Yes, but very little else. Something happened during that card game. The earl claims Robert got caught up in the excitement and wagered Rowallen and her lands.”

“You don’t believe he would do that.”

“Nay. He would never have done such a thing. After the game Loudan offered to allow Robert to play one more hand in an attempt to win back all he’d lost. According to the earl, Robert cheated and was caught. Harsh words were exchanged and a challenge was issued.” She looked at the ivory comb in her hand. “The servants heard raised voices, so there was definitely an argument of some sort. But Robert told them nothing. He stormed off to bed and refused to speak to anyone. The next morning, as the servants were riding, they heard gunshots in the garden. Loudan was standing over Robert’s body. There were two guns, one in the earl’s hand, and one on the ground near Robert.”

“A duel.”

“So Loudan would have everyone believe. He told the servants the castle was now his, his friends corroborated his story, and off he went to Edinburgh to file his claim.”

“You fought him on this, I assume.”

“Every way I could. As soon as I returned home and found out all that had happened, I visited the local justice of the peace. He went to Edinburgh but could do nothing. Loudan is too well connected, his story confirmed by his handpicked witnesses. . . .” She shrugged. “There was nothing I could do.”

“So he took the castle.” He watched her face. “And the people with you here are all from Rowallen?”

She nodded. “Loudan ordered everyone to leave. Some had families they could go to, or other employment opportunities. I wrote dozens of letters of reference. But some had nowhere to go—like me. Ian knew of these cottages. They’re forgotten; I don’t think even Robert knew of them, and he kept meticulous records.” She sighed and lifted the comb to her hair once more. “And so we are here.”

“When did this happen?”

“A little over a year ago.”

Only a year. And yet she has managed to pull herself together enough to become a nuisance to the earl.
“So that is what you mean by history repeating itself—my grandmother lost something in a card game, and so did your husband.”

“Aye.” Her gaze was thoughtful. “Loudan has a pattern. After Robert’s death I made inquiries; our relatives are not the only ones to lose prized possessions
to the earl. In Edinburgh last year, he played the Earl of Argyll and won the man’s best stallion. Later, the cards were found to have been marked. Loudan accused the earl of perfidy.”

“But Argyll lost the game.”

“Exactly. And I know Argyll; he’s an honorable man and would never cheat. I think Loudan accused Argyll as a way to keep attention off himself. There are other instances, too, where Loudan won prestigious items in card games. What’s odd is that he rarely plays. But when he does . . .” She lifted her brows.

“So the earl cheated my grandmother.”

“I’d wager my last piece of silver. He never plays unless there is something valuable to be won. And he never loses when he plays.”

Just listening to Murian’s story infuriated him.
Damn that man. Who could be so heartless?

“And he has done more than take possession of the castle,” Murian continued. “The Muirs had been in possession of Rowallen since the thirteenth century. Now, Loudan refuses to allow anyone to say the family name, even the servants. He removed the family crest from the castle wall, a crest that had been there since the fifteenth century. He was going to destroy the castle ledgers, but the vicar took them and stored with the parish records.” She scowled darkly. “The blackguard is trying to purge the family’s ties with the castle entirely.”

“Is it working?”

A satisfied smile curved her lips and made him think of a cat with a bowl of cream. “Nay, ’tis not so easy as he wishes. The people know Rowallen; they remember
and love Robert and his family. The locals willna’ forget he was cheated of his birthright and shot like a dog in his own garden.” Her voice quavered and she snapped her lips closed.

He could feel her pain, see it in the flash of her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

She managed a tight, quick shrug. “It is what it is.” She pulled the comb through her hair, her movements jerky with fury.

Max found himself fascinated with the stubbornness of her curls. With each stroke, the curls would straighten, but the second the comb was free, her hair sprang back into a wild morass of gold and red. He wondered what it would feel like to sink his hands into such glorious thickness and—

Silver eyes locked on him. “I have answered your questions, but you havena explained why you are here.”

Her lilting voice made him yearn to hear more. “I came to get my chickens back.”

She laughed, low and husky, her sadness dissipating like the mist before the sun. “You’ll have to talk to Ian aboot that.” Her smile faded a bit. “ ’Tis sometimes a challenge, feeding so many people.”

“How many are you?”

“Twenty-two. We were doing well enough, trading with the local villages for what we canna produce. Then the earl began threatening everyone who did so.”

He’d seen evidence of that himself.
Damn Loudan
’s black heart.
“The earl has much to answer for.”

“Aye. When Spencer returns from the war, Loudan will be dethroned. All we have to do is survive until then.”

“You’ll make it. You’re plenty strong enough to win over a weak-kneed weasel like Loudan.”

Their eyes met, and the air about them swirled with the flickering heat from the fire, scented with her lavender soap, and lay between them, heavy with questions and curiosity.

He was here, and now he knew her full story. He’d accomplished what he’d wanted—but he found himself loath to leave. She intrigued him, so bold and unbowed despite having lost a husband and her way of life, banished from a sumptuous castle to a lowly crofter’s hut in the thick of the woods. Any one of those blows would be devastating to many, yet she sat with her head up, so vibrant he felt he could warm his hands on the heat of her soul. “It seems we have a common enemy, we two. We should help one another.”

Her gaze narrowed. “How so?”

“You know the castle well.”

“Aye. Many of us here do.”

“If I cannot make the earl see reason about the item my grandmother lost to him, I may need to find it myself.”

“I see.” Her gaze flickered to his mouth.

It was like a touch, that glance, and sent his searching gaze to her mouth, so plump and ripe, ready for a kiss. His body hummed in response and he had to fight back the desire to drag her into his lap.

“What did your grandmother lose?”

He dragged his mind back to the present. “I do not know. I think she is too embarrassed to tell me. My grandmother is much older and frailer than she’d have the world believe. But whatever she lost, the earl is holding it
for ransom. I believe what he really wants is not money, but an elderly grand duchess forced to dance to his tune.”

Murian scowled. “Blackguard! To torment an old lady so.”

“Indeed. It weighs upon her.”

“I’m surprised you dinna just challenge him.”

He hesitated. “I will if I must, but there must be less violent ways to retrieve this object.”

She wondered at his hesitation. But so far, she thought he’d been telling her the truth. He was chivalrous, and he obviously cared deeply for his grandmother. Behind the handsome charm, behind the scars and the lines etched by life, she saw purpose, determination, and character.

She didn’t know if Max had shared the whole truth of his purpose here, but her instincts told her that his intentions were pure. “If I can help you with my knowledge of the castle, I will.”

“Thank you.” He leaned back, his broad shoulders eclipsing most of the settee. “Perhaps I can do the same. What are you searching for that you must sneak inside Rowallen dressed as a plump spinster with a sweet tooth?”

“My husband’s journal. In it, I believe he wrote the truth about the card game and the duel. If I find it, and present it to the courts in Edinburgh, Rowallen willna longer belong to the earl. I can return her to the people who love her.”

The prince nodded thoughtfully. “I would like to see Loudan’s face when you reclaim your castle. I take it you looked for this journal during Miss MacLeod’s spectacular diversion?”

She grimaced. “I couldna; Loudan now has guards in every hall, and several posted outside his bedchamber. But I
know
that blasted thing must be there. That room is the only one we haven’t searched.”

“How do you know the earl has not already found this journal and destroyed it?”

“Because he does everything he can to keep us oot. Why would he bother, unless he fears I’ll find what he canna?”

The prince nodded thoughtfully. “You have thought this through.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to do so. You should know that neither of our objectives will be easy. Some of the earl’s guards dress like footmen, some as grooms. It is difficult to know who is truly a servant and who is more dangerous.”

“They bother me not. You will need another social event in order to slip in and search,
nyet
?”

“It would make things much easier.”

“I will find out what the earl has planned.” Max hesitated, and then said, “He’s mentioned he’s trying to schedule an opera singer, and that he will once again open the doors of the castle to the locals. But I don’t know when.”

“Once we find out, we will plan our search.” She held out her hand. “We have a deal, then. We are partners.”

He took her hand in his. The women he normally met had pale, soft, white hands. Colorless hands, he decided, admiring the strength in hers. He ran his thumb over the callus on one of her fingers. “From drawing your bow, I think?”

She flushed, but nodded.

“And this one . . .” He traced a finger over her palm, where another callus rested. “A shovel?”

“An ax.” She curled her hand closed. “I am verrah good at splitting firewood.”

He’d wager she was. She was also good at heating his blood until all he could think about was how her lips would feel under his. He lifted her hand, uncurled her fingers, and pressed a kiss to each callus.

She watched him, her eyes smoky and dark, her lips parted. Each press of his lips to her skin made her take in a small, sharp breath. She wet her lips and tugged at her hand. “You shouldna be doing that.”

“
Da
. I should be doing this, instead.” He slid his hand under her long silken hair, pulled her closer, and kissed her. He’d wanted to do this ever since the day he’d cut the kerchief off her face and realized she was a beautiful, bold woman.

The second their lips met, it was as if a fire had exploded into flames. They kissed, consumed, and devoured as they wildly embraced.

Max plundered her mouth with all of the passion she’d ignited in him time and again. He pulled her into his lap and let his hands roam over her, up her back and shoulders, feeling the firmness of her curves, the sheer femininity of her form. She arched against him, her mouth opening to his seeking tongue, her legs parting as she did so, unconsciously echoing his own thoughts. She was lush and sensual, her hands as active as his own, his passion matched stroke for stroke. He slipped a hand from her waist to—

Suddenly, dogs started barking.

She broke the kiss and looked toward the door.

There was a loud shout, and then another. A bell started clanging insistently.