The Prince and I (17 page)

Perhaps this will help remove the rest.
He captured her lips, gently but insistently, teasing them until she opened to him like a flower before a summer rain.

She tasted of sunshine and innocence, and his body
ached for her touch. He swept her against him, lifting her from her feet, all gentleness gone as he devoured her sweetness, kissing her until she gasped against his lips. “Max, please—”

A noise arose outside. Voices raised, the jangle of a horse’s bridle.

Max ignored it, trailing kisses down her cheek, to her neck—but Murian went still.

She placed a hand on his chest. “We’ve a visitor. Did all of your men come with you?”

He sighed and straightened, covering her hand with his own. “
Nyet.
I left Demidor and Raeff at Rowallen to await a courier who is to arrive today.”

Her gaze went to the window. “Do you think that’s one of them?”

“Perhaps. But do not worry. If they need us, they will come and get us. You may not have noticed, but no one seems shy about interrupting us.”

She stepped away, pulling her hand free. “I’m not teasing, Max. We are hidden in the woods for a reason. You saw what Loudan did to the villages that assisted us. He would burn our houses, cut loose our stock, dump our food stores into the stream, and leave us to starve and freeze.”

“If Loudan or any of his men had arrived, you’d have heard pistol shots. All of my men are armed, and they’ve been told to be on the ready. But nothing will soothe your fears until you see for yourself. Come. Get your cloak.” He tugged on his gloves and retrieved his coat and muffler, while she hurried to fetch her cloak.

She swung it around her shoulders and reached the door before him.

He caught her hand as she reached for the door. “When you know who has come, and are no longer concerned, may we return here? I am not finished talking to you.”

“Talking, eh?” Her lips quirked, and she said with a wry smile, “Good, for I am not done talking to you, either.”

He moved his hand from hers and opened the door. “After you, my lady.”

She went outside, Max following. He closed the door behind him and looked down the road. “Ah, it is Demidor. The courier must have come early.” Max turned to Murian. “See? We could still be talking.”

Her lips quirked, but she didn’t yield. “Go see what he wants.”

He sighed as if much put-upon. “Fine. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Murian watched Max stride up the street. As soon as Demidor saw him, the younger man hurried forward, and the two exchanged words. At one point, Max glanced at Murian before answering a comment from his guard.

The look sparked hope.
He’s had news that will help us. I’m sure of it.

The younger man withdrew a packet from his coat and handed it to Max.

A prick of snow touched Murian’s cheek. Surprised, she glanced up but could see no more. The sky, though,
was solid gray. It would start within the next day or two. She could taste it.

When she looked back at Max, Demidor was leading his horse to the stable while Max was tucking the missive into his coat as he returned to her.

“What’s happened?” she asked as soon as he was near enough to hear.

Max shook his head against the worry in her eyes. “
Nyet.
It is good news. Demidor overheard the earl tell some of the other guests that the singer he has been trying to bribe into visiting Rowallen has confirmed.”

Her eyes flashed with instant excitement and a twinge of jealousy hit Max, an uneasy truth settling over him. He’d never thought of himself as spoiled. Though being a prince brought many benefits, he’d always kept his way of life plain, leaving behind the trappings of wealth and privilege when he could. When he camped with his men, it wasn’t in a luxurious tent with gold-trimmed furnishings, which he’d seen done many times by other noblemen, including his father and brothers. Nor did Max trade on his position and name to gain favors in court, or for the attention of women.

He made his own way, based solely on his efforts on and off the battlefield. Or so he’d thought until he’d met Murian. For the last few weeks, he’d done nothing but think about kissing her again, tasting her again, touching her again. Now, after finally winning some ground from her villagers, who had a maddening tendency to protect their mistress as if she were a national
treasure and they an elite troop of guards, it nipped at him that she could so quickly move her attention from him to her desire to win Rowallen.

It was maddening—and as his patience evaporated, so did his reluctance to use his title to his benefit. After days of frustration, he would have gladly issued a royal decree in order to spend some time alone with Murian.

The entire situation made him realize how rarely he had to fight for such things. When he saw a woman he thought he might enjoy, he wooed her and he won. Always. Yet this woman, her mind consumed by righting an injustice, surrounded by a small village of people who loved and needed her, seemed impervious to him.

Wooing her presented a unique challenge. If he wanted her complete attention, he would have to help her find that damned journal. Perhaps once she’d realized that objective, she would be free to enjoy what time they had left.

She brushed a curl away, leaving a plaster smudge across her cheek. “When does the singer arrive?”

“Soon.” He removed his glove. “Hold still.” He brushed her cheek with his fingertips.

Her eyes flew to his, surprise on her face. Puffs of icy breath rolled from her plump lips, moist and warm, her eyes shimmering with surprise and . . . excitement? God, he wished they were still in Widow Atchison’s cottage, so he could capture those lips with his.

As if she could read his thoughts, her lashes dropped and she retreated behind the fortifications she was all too quick to throw up.

“Hold,” he ordered.

Her gaze narrowed, but she held still. Max brushed her cheek again, this time for the mere pleasure of the touch. “You had plaster on your face. It is gone.”

“Thank you.” The wind whipped anew and she tugged her hood, shivering as her cloak danced about her. “We should talk aboot the singer.”

“Yes, we should. Shall we retire to Widow Atchison’s cottage?”

“Nay. Mine would be best.”

He thought of the huge bed gracing one corner of her cottage. “Fine.” He captured her elbow and walked with her toward her cottage. “We have much to plan—”

“Och, there’s Ian.” She stood on her tiptoes. “
Ian!
”

The giant was pushing a wheelbarrow filled with stone down the street, but at her shout, he turned their way. He came to a stop in front of Murian, red-faced and puffing. “Aye?”

“The prince has word about the singer coming to Rowallen. We must discuss how to make the best use of this opportunity.”

“Here now, lassie, ye dinna need to be sneakin’ back into the castle. ’Twas a disaster last time, and ’tis bound to be the same this—”

“Ian, I am cold. The wind is blowing. I’m going to discuss this in my cottage, so either come there, or do not be heard.” She turned on her heel and marched up the street, leaving both Max and Ian behind.

Ian puffed out his cheeks. “She seems a bit oot of sorts.”

“She’s determined to find that journal. Perhaps more than is good for her.”

“Aye. So I’ve thought fer some time. Weel, I suppose we’d best go and talk wi’ her. If we dinna, she’ll go on some wild ploy wi’oot tellin’ us a blasted thing.”

“You’re right.” Max sighed. “It might take the two of us to keep her out of trouble.” He led the way, wistfully eyeing Widow Atchison’s empty cottage as he went.

 Chapter 13 

Max opened the door for Ian, then followed the older man inside.

“I’ll close it.” Will Scarlae followed them inside, and then shut the door with a decided bang.

“Wha’ are ye doin’ here?” Ian hung his coat on a peg by the door. “Ye’re supposed to be pickin’ oop the broken boards and wha’ no’.”

“Widow Reeves said ’twould be best to do it at the end of the day. So I thought I’d join ye here and help.” Will narrowed his gaze. “Ye are plannin’ somethin’, are ye no’?”

“Aye, we are.” Murian tucked her mittens into her cloak pocket before she hung it on the screen at the far end of the room. “Ian, he can stay. It canna be a bad thing to have another brain thinking through our plans.”

Will looked pleased as punch as he hung his coat over the back of a chair, then sat stiffly, as if ready to be presented with a daunting task.

Ian sat across from the youth, his chair creaking in protest. “We shouldna’ be talkin’ in front of the lad.”

“Nonsense,” Murian said. “Will wants the castle back as much as we do; ’twas his home.”

“Humph.” Ian didn’t look convinced. “Will, mayhap ye should tell the prince how ye were captured by the earl’s men no’ a month ago.”

A dull red colored the youth’s face. “So I was,” he said boldly. “But I know the castle weel and wi’ the help of a chambermaid, I escaped.”

“Ian, let the lad be.” Murian sent them both a hard look as she crossed to stand before the fire. “ ’Tis time we expected more of him.”

Ian didn’t look as if he agreed the least bit, but Will sent her a grateful look. “Thank ye, me lady. I’ll do ye proud, I will.”

“I’m sure you will. So listen well; the prince has brought us news.”

Will nodded and Max, looking at him closely, realized he wasn’t as young as he’d thought. Judging from Will’s slight build and sullen air, Max had thought him sixteen or seventeen. On closer inspection, Will looked to be in his mid-twenties. Max had men under his command who’d successfully led troops at Will’s age, though he couldn’t begin to imagine that of this weak-chinned lad.

“Will knows the castle top to bottom.” Murian put another log on the fire and then took a seat nearby, holding her booted feet toward the warmth. “He grew up at Rowallen and could be of great help.”

“I know the back hallways better than anyone, e’en Lady Murian.”

“By all means, then, let him stay.” Max crossed to the fire and leaned against the mantel. He wished for
the warmth, but also the proximity of Murian, who sat not two feet from him. The log she’d added to the fire blazed, turning her hair into copper and gold.

“Wha’ aboot this singer?” Ian asked, his voice rough with impatience.

Max pulled his gaze from Murian. “The famous opera singer, Madame Dufond, performs at Rowallen on Tuesday.”

“In four days,” Murian said.

“
Da
. There will be a dinner, followed by a performance.”

Murian leaned forward. “Is he inviting the local gentry?”

“Invitations were sent this morning; one of my men saw them.”

Murian was clearly pleased. “So ’tis set then.” Deep in thought, she worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

A warmth rushed through Max that had nothing to do with the fire. To cover it, he asked, “What do you know of how the guards are posted?”

“A little.” Murian held her hands toward the flames. “If Loudan is inviting more than a dozen or more people, he’ll double the footmen in the foyer and station more at every doorway. He does that every time he has a party.”

“Those are no’ footmen,” Will said, rubbing his cheekbone as if remembering a pain.

“Some of them are,” Murian said. “You can easily tell the difference, though.”

“Aye,” Ian agreed. “The guards are brutes and make the footmen look like wee willies.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Max said drily. “What else do you know of the guards?”

“They’re no’ from around here, so they often get lost once they leave the castle.” Ian stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Whene’er Loudan has guests, he adds a ring of guards ootside the castle.”

“That’s in addition to the guards riding the grounds,” Murian said. “He’s predictable, in some ways.” She absently tucked an escaped strand of hair behind one ear. “Which is good for us.”

Max wondered what Murian’s untamed hair portended between the sheets. Would she be extra passionate? More inclined to wildness and—

Ian cleared his throat, long and loud.

Max found the giant’s gaze on him, the dark red brows tightly knit. Max merely shrugged.

Murian, deep in thought, tapped her fingers on the arms of her chair. “Loudan will use the blue salon for the performance, for ’tis the nicest in the castle and holds a good number of guests. I’ll don my disguise, as I did for the dance. Then, while everyone is listening—”

“Nyet!”

“Nay!”

Max and Ian snapped their no’s at the same time, and Ian said, “ ’Tis too dangerous, lass. Ye took a chance last time. This time, let me or someone else take the risk.”

“I’ll do it,” Will offered.

Murian shook her head. “I know what the journal looks like, and no one knows the master chamber better than I do.”

“Ye’ll get caught,” Ian said.

“I wasna caught last time. Loudan looked straight at me and dinna know me at all.”

“Your disguise was masterful,” Max agreed. “But Ian is right: this event will be different than the dance, and a simple disguise won’t work.”

A stubborn line tightened her jaw. “Why not?”

“At a dance people mill about, moving from room to room, in dim candlelight. It’s easy to disappear under such circumstances. A singer, though, will draw everyone to one room. All of the guests will be seated in one place, with many candelabras lit to brighten the performance. It will be much harder to escape notice.”

Her chin firmed, and after a tense moment, she said in a tight voice. “Then what do you suggest?”

Will leaned forward eagerly. “Let me do the searchin’, me lady! I can go in dressed as a footman and no one will know—”

“Where’s yer haid, boy,” Ian growled. “They know ye already, so one look at ye and we’d be done.”

“I could wear a disguise like her ladyship did,” Will said hotly. “And don a uniform like the other footmen.”

“And do ye think the other footmen—who are guards—would no’ notice a new face standin’ there amongst them, lookin’ like the biggest lump on a log?”

Will flushed, sinking into his chair. “I was just tryin’ to help.”

“Ye hadna thought of anything, fra’ wha’ I can tell.” Ian sighed heavily. “So. We know there’s to be an event, wi’ a lot of comin’ and goin’ at the castle. Where does tha’ leave us?”

Murian answered, “Perhaps it wouldna make sense to go in disguised. I’m not sure how else to approach it.”

Max toyed with the idea of not saying anything, on the faint hope that Murian would decide it too dangerous to go near the castle, but the stubborn line of her jaw told him that such hope was in vain.

He sighed. “If you must go, my men and I will meet you inside Rowallen, clear the guards, and escort you to the bedchamber.” At least then she’d be protected.

Her eyes gleamed. “Can you do that?”

“Of course. We’ll need to study the layout of the grounds around Rowallen and decide which entryway would be the safest.”

“We already know that,” she said. “There’s a rise on the west side of the castle. It’s easy to hide on that ridge and then slip in under dark. Isna it, Ian?”

Ian sighed but grunted an agreement.

Max asked him, “How many times have you slipped into the castle?”

Ian stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Two dozen times. Mayhap more.”

Max whistled silently.

Ian shrugged. “In the beginning, Loudan dinna have so many guards. No’ like now. And it’s gotten e’en worse since the earl realized we’d been in and oot of Rowallen wi’oot his knowing.”

Max cut a glance at Will, who instantly flushed. “Aye,” the young man agreed. “The earl doubled the guards after I was caught.”

“How did you get in before there were so many guards?” Max asked.

Murian grinned. “Easy. We’d hold up the earl’s guests on their way to Rowallen.”

Ian said, “The earl would get furious and send his guards into the woods to find us, which they ne’er did, as none of them are fra’ this area.”

“I daresay you led them on a merry chase.”

“Aye.” Ian looked a bit smug. “We’d let them see us, ride ahead, and then hide whilst they thundered past. After they were weel gone, we’d circle behind them and ride directly to Rowallen. It worked weel, until Will was taken. After tha’, there were too many guards fer us to slip past.”

Max had to admire their spirit. So far, he hadn’t met a single person in this small hamlet who didn’t have the heart of a lion, especially their leader. He eyed Murian now. “So you must reach Loudan’s bedchamber.”

She nodded. “It has to be there.”

He glanced past her to Ian, whose face showed doubt.
So you are not as certain as your mistress as to the whereabouts of this journal.

Max picked up the fire iron and stirred the logs. “I’ll need to walk the castle, have my men draw a layout of the grounds, do a head count of the enemy forces, test the—”

“I can tell you all you wish to know,” Murian said in an impatient voice. “We dinna need your men to do more than stand guard, and, if we’re discovered, keep the earl’s men at bay until we escape.”

“
Nyet
. That will not work.”

“Why not?”

“Because neither I nor my men can be involved in a direct engagement with the earl or his men.”

Three pairs of eyes bored into Max.

He explained, “Since I am a prince, everything I do is representative of Oxenburg, whether I wish it to be or not. If my men and I were to attack the earl or his men in his own castle, it could be construed as an act of aggression. It could politically embarrass my country—I cannot do it.”

“I see.”

He caught the deep disappointment in Murian’s gaze. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t assist you. I’ve no issue with misleading Loudan or his men, or helping you reach the master bedchamber for your search.” He gave her a wolfish grin. “I only have an issue with getting caught.”

“As do I,” Murian said, looking relieved.

“Then we’re set. If you do this—”

“
When
I do this,” she corrected him.

“When
we
do this, my men and I will assist you in every way possible. Loudan is hiding something that belongs to my family, too. I must recover that object, and it would be better if the earl never realized it was gone from his possession until after my men and I escort my grandmother from the castle.”

“Aye. Of course.” Her gaze was shadowed. “If we find the journal and your grandmother’s lost item, you . . . all of you will leave?”

“
Da
. I must escort my grandmother back to Oxenburg, and then I have obligations to fulfill.”

“Of course.” She managed a smile, but it was every bit as tight as Max’s chest felt. He’d been upset to only have a few weeks left, but now . . .
Only days?

“Wha’ part am I to take?” Will asked eagerly.

Max pursed his lips. “If Will knows the castle, then perhaps he should be the one to search—”

“Nay,” Murian said.

“ ’Twill be easier to explain his presence than yours.”

Will brightened.

“He’s never seen the journal,” Murian said in a firm tone. “I have. Therefore I am the only one who can do this.”

“Nonsense. You can describe it to him.”

“Nay.” Her voice rose slightly. “ ’Tis mine to find, not his.”

“ ’Twould be safer if—”

“
Nay.
” She leaned forward, her hands tight on the arms of her chair. “ ’Twould only be safer for
me
. Not for anyone else.”

He realized that her objection wasn’t that she mistrusted the lad, but that she refused to place him in harm’s way.

“I see.” Far better than he wanted. He pushed away from the mantel. “Fortunately, we have several days to find the safest way to do this, and the stealthiest.”

Her silver gaze searched his face. Whatever she saw must have reassured her, for she nodded. “Thank you. And I vow we will find whatever the grand duchess lost to Loudan, too.”