The Prince and I (4 page)

“I dinna know,” Widow Reeves answered thoughtfully. “He pays well, I hear. Verrah well. And it has been a hard year fer e’eryone.”

Murian sent Widow Reeves a black look, and Ian knew the truth of the widow’s words troubled the lass.

“Ha’ some patience,” Ian said. “There’s naught we can do until the earl loosens his grip.”

“If only Spencer knew what a horrid man his half-brother has become.” Murian fidgeted with the edge of her shawl. “I’ve written the duke time and again, but he never answers. My letters are not reaching him.” She sighed. “If I wish his help, I’ll have to wait for his return.”

“
If
he returns,” Ian said, refusing to soften his words even when Murian sent him a horrified look. “Surely ye realize Loudan hopes his half-brother will get killed. It could happen, fer the duke’s a brae one, always in the thick of things.”

“ ’Twould be to our benefit were Spencer less brave and would come home. I need him more every day.” She caught Ian’s concerned look and forced a smile. “But I’d be better served wishing for the sun to stop shining than to wish he would stop rushing to the front of every war. ’Tis in his blood.”

“And yers, too, lass.” They rounded the final bend, the village slowly coming into view. “I’ve ne’er met a more— Bloody hell!”

Murian’s heart sank into her heels.

“Och no!” Widow Reeves’s voice cracked in shock.

The smoke they’d seen had come from the inn. The entire front of the building was blackened, the door half burned from the hinges, the windows broken. A large black hole in the center of the roof over the main taproom trailed smoke into the air, thick black smudges outlining the windows.

Ian’s heavy brows knit, his mouth a slash of bitter-
ness. “I hope no one was injured.”

“Aye,” Widow Reeves agreed fervently.

“We were here just last week, too.” Murian looked at
the other buildings—some cottages, a blacksmith shop, a small stable. The village was tiny, far from the main roads, which was why they traded here. They’d thought they were safe from Loudan’s men this far from Row-
allen. And that the villagers would be safe, too.

Is this because of us? Please, God, don’t let it be so.

They pulled up before the inn, and Murian noticed curtains flickering in a few of the houses. “No one is coming oot to greet us.” Her throat was tight, as pained as her thoughts.

Ian said in a grim tone, “I know, lass. It dinna look guid.”

Widow Reeves placed her hand over Murian’s and squeezed. “Perhaps ’twas just a kitchen fire.”

“Nay. It started in the main taproom. You can see it from the hole in the roof.” Ian stopped the cart and jumped down to tie the horse. “Wait here.” He went to the inn and stuck his head into the half-charred doorway, calling out a greeting before disappearing inside.

Murian gathered her cloak and hopped down from the cart.

“Lass, ye shouldna—” the widow began, but Murian was already hurrying inside the inn.

The walls were blackened with soot, the floors a mess of ash and water, and a ceiling beam lay tilted across the hallway. She paused at the door to the taproom. Ian stood in the center, kicking at a broken, half-burned chair. He scowled on seeing her. “Ye should ha’ stayed in the cart.”

“I must know what happened.”

His bushy red brows locked over his nose, but with a grimace, he yelled, “MacPhee!”

No one answered.

“MacPhee!” Ian bellowed.

From the back of the inn came a testy reply. “Hold yer horses, will ye? I was in the pantry!” There was a noise from the hallway and then the landlord appeared, stepping gingerly through the mess.

MacPhee was a huge, bald man, his face red on a normal day, and doubly so today. He looked slightly sunburned, one cheek redder than the other, his clothes soot-streaked, his britches and sleeves bearing holes from where hot ash had landed upon him.

He came to a sudden stop on seeing Ian, his gaze flickering to Murian and then away.

Murian saw the answer in the innkeeper’s eyes. “Loudan.”

The innkeeper rubbed his neck, suddenly looking far older than his years. “I suppose ye’ll find oot whether I tell ye or no’. His men arrived yesterday afternoon. They knew ye’d been here before, and tha’ we’d bought some goods fra’ ye. They demanded to know where ye were. I told them I dinna know—though I wouldna ha’ told the bastards e’en if I did.”

“The louts,” Ian growled.

“Aye. Anyway, they tol’ us we were no’ to trade wi’ ye anymore, and I refused—as did e’eryone else in the village.”

Murian could only shake her head, her heart heavy. “You shouldna have risked so much for me.”

“No offense, Lady Murian, but ’twas no’ just fer ye.
We willna ha’ a bloody Sassenach telling us wha’ we can and canna do, especially after wha’ he did to Lord Robert.” MacPhee cast a quick glance at Murian and then said, “ ’Twas all o’er in a moment. The earl’s guards forced their way inside my inn, threw chairs into a pile, set them afire, and left, sayin’ they’d be back. We tried to put oot the flames, but it flared oop somethin’ awful.” He looked around the room, disbelief on his face. “This inn belonged to me father, and me father’s father before him. And now . . .” He pressed his lips together, his eyes watering.

Murian took a step forward. “MacPhee, I’m so sorry. I—”

“Lass, please!” He forced a smile. “ ’Tis no’ yer fault, but the earl’s, damn his black soul.”

“Aye,” Ian agreed in a heavy voice. “He’s a blight on the land, he is.”

The innkeeper’s red-rimmed gaze flickered to the road and then back, his voice quavering as he said, “I’m sorry to say it, me lady, but I dinna think ye should be here. They said they’d come back, and if they find ye . . .” MacPhee’s face grew grim.

“Lady Murian!” Widow Reeves stood in the doorway. Her wide gaze took in the blackened, charred room as she said, “Men are comin’. Ye can see them through the trees.”

Loudan’s men!
Heart in her throat, Murian hurried to the charred hole of the window. Still at a distance, flashing through the forest, she could just make out a stream of red uniforms. “ ’Tis not Loudan, but the prince and his men.”

“The prince?” Ian came to look over her shoulder. “Bloody hell, wha’ is he doin’ here?”

“Wha’ prince?” MacPhee asked, looking confused.

As Ian answered him, Murian watched the progress of their visitors. Their pace was leisurely, so they didn’t seem to be on a mission. Why were they here, this far from Rowallen?

She bit her lip, trying to ignore the flicker of excitement that hummed through her. He fascinated her, this prince with green eyes and a master’s arm with a sword. But why he was visiting Loudan—for she didn’t believe his tale of admiring the earl. The earl had high societal aspirations, and she strongly suspected that was why he’d gone to such lengths to possess Rowallen: to gain a suitable perch to lord it over the countryside. It hadn’t worked, because once word had spread of how the earl had come to possess the castle, the local gentry had refused to attend any of the earl’s events. But having a prince as a guest could well change that.

She scowled, though she couldn’t blame the locals. There was something about a real-life prince that stirred one’s curiosity, especially when the prince looked so . . . princely. There was no other word for it, and it irritated her how often she’d thought about him since their encounter.

Widow Reeves came to stand with Murian. “We should go.”

Murian nodded and followed Widow Reeves outside to the cart, Ian following behind.

He untied the horses. “Lass, we’ll never make it oot
of town in this slow cart before the prince and his men reach us. We canna let the prince see ye.”

“Why no’?” Widow Reeves asked.

Ian climbed into his seat, the cart tilting as his weight settled. “The prince has seen the lass’s face. He thinks our Robin is a ‘he,’ but if he sees her again, he might realize his mistake. Tha’ is no’ information I’d want him to pass on to Loudan.”

“Aye.” Murian tugged her hood over her bonnet. “I’ll leave the two of you to drive the cart oot of town, while I cut through the woods.”

“Hold!” MacPhee hurried from his inn. “Ye had something ye wished to sell, did ye no’?”

Widow Reeves pointed to the basket on the seat of the cart. “Some jams and wha’ no’, bu’ we’ll find somewhere else to sell them. The earl’s men—”

“I’ll no’ let those miserable spalpeens tell me wha’ to do! I’ll buy it all, the whole basket.”

Widow Reeves turned pink with pleasure. “All of it? Are ye sure—”

“Of course he’s sure,” Ian said testily. “If ye’re goin’ to sell yer wares, do it. We’ve no’ much time.” He turned to Murian. “Go whilst ye can.”

“I’ll take the path behind the barn. It runs into the cart path after the bend near the stream.”

“I’ll meet ye there.” Ian scowled. “I dinna like this, but we’ve no choice. Stay hidden, lass. Take no chances, ye hear?”

She nodded and, with a wave of her hand, hurried toward the barn, glad to make her escape. Still, a small
part of her wished she might see the prince and that he would recognize her. It would be sweet to see his expression when he realized he’d been bested by a woman.

One day, Prince. One day.

M
ax raised his hand as he turned his horse into the small village, and the line of men behind him immediately came to a halt. For the last few days, he and his men had systematically searched for the highwaymen who’d held them up, but to no avail.

Yet.

Orlov pulled up his horse beside Max. “It looks as if there has been a mishap to this village, much like the other three villages we’ve visited over the last few days.”

“I wonder if they’ll have the same story to tell?”

“That nothing happened? That one of the few buildings they use for commerce has been razed, but for no reason anyone knows?” Concern darkened Orlov’s face. “They lie. While our search for this thief has not been successful, it has brought us another mystery.”

“A big one. Someone has gone through this forest and systematically reduced the local villages to ashes, and at Loudan’s orders, or so it seems to me. His guards ride out each day, and each day there is a new fire.”

“As we are Loudan’s guests, no one will tell us anything. They fear retribution.” Orlov looked disgusted. “Why would he do this to his own people?”

“I don’t know—yet. There is a large man by the inn. You, Demidor, and I will speak with him. Have Pahlen and Golovin catch up to that cart that just pulled away and see what those people might know. Have the rest of
the men knock on doors and try to find out what happened. Offer coins, and leave a few even if the villagers offer no help. Everyone we’ve seen thus far appears to be in need. It is the least we can do.”

“
Da
, General.”

Max urged his mount down the path into the village. As he reached the smoldering inn, the woman in the cart seat turned and looked over her shoulder toward the woods. She only looked for a second, her face creased as if in worry, and then just as quickly, she turned back around, hunkering down. Max’s gaze moved from her to the man at her side.
Such a large man, too, like a giant—

His gaze narrowed. He turned in the direction the woman had looked. For a moment, he saw nothing but large trees, half-withered shrubbery, and a swath of brown leaves. Nothing of interest.

But as he started to turn back, a flicker of movement caught his attention. He stood up in his stirrups and just caught sight of a figure disappearing into the woods, a greenish cloak blending with the late-fall foliage.

“What is it?” Orlov asked, dismounting beside Max.

“I don’t yet know.” Max climbed down and handed Orlov his reins. “Talk to the innkeeper, and do not let those two in the cart get away. I’ll be back.”

Orlov nodded and called out orders to the other soldiers.

Max headed toward the woods, catching sight of a faint path that wasn’t evident from the main road. As he entered the trees he slowed his gait, walking softly and avoiding crisp leaves and noisy branches that might alert his prey.

It took him only a moment to catch up to her, for she’d not had much of a head start. She hurried down the path, apparently confident she’d made good her escape, as each step crunched on dead leaves and fallen sticks. As the path bent around a large oak, the sunshine lit the hood and shoulders of her cloak and he caught sight of a thick red curl that clung to her shoulder.
Red hair, tall, slender, strides as if every step had a purpose—Finally, I have found you.

 Chapter 4 

Murian shivered as a chilly breeze ruffled her hood and tugged at her skirts, her mind on the prince. He intrigued her—it was rare that she’d been bested in a sword fight, but then, not many men still adhered to what was now considered an antiquated way of fighting. Spencer had often lamented that improvements in the accuracy of pistols and rifles had turned many men from the older and, to him, more honorable ways of warfare. She had to agree that a person’s true mettle showed during a fight by blade. And judging from the prince’s performance, he was a foe to be respected.

She glanced back over her shoulder, wondering if Ian and Widow Reeves had made it out of town before the prince and his men arrived. Hearing nothing but the rustle of the trees and her own footfalls, and hurried on.

She had much more to think about than a visiting prince. Besides the worrying issue of supplies, the crofter’s cottages were far from ready for bad weather. Her people had the skills to make repairs—Widow Brodie was good with a hammer and saw and had made
chests for each of her five boys, while Widow MacCrae, who wove the loveliest of lace, had also replaced the crumbling chinking on one wall of her cottage using a recipe she’d gotten from a groom at Rowallen. And while helping Ian build a stone fence for their animals when they’d first moved to the village, Murian had learned enough to help repair some of the chimneys.

A low branch hung over the path, and she ducked to avoid it. As she straightened, her hood was yanked from her head. She turned to untangle it from the branch—and found herself facing a wall of red wool.

And not just any wool, but fine red wool adorned with large gold buttons.

Oh no.
She gulped, her heart thudding hard as she slowly, ever so slowly, looked up. Her gaze traveled over a broad chest, to a firm chin, and then to eyes the deepest of green.

The prince had the cold, clipped beauty of a hawk, his jawline sharp, his nose aquiline, his gaze piercing—every line masculine and commanding, including his scars.

The moonlight had softened them, but in the brightness of the late afternoon sun, they were plainly visible. An angry red scar cut one eyebrow in half, skipping his lid only to catch the bold cheek beneath it. Another scar, older and white, marked his upper lip, and there were two more on his chin and jaw. But his scars didn’t alter the masculine line of his mouth, nor did they soften the firmness of his jaw, nor detract from the long lashes that framed his green eyes.

He was extraordinarily beautiful.

A shiver traveled over her, an instant, heated reaction that weakened her knees and tripped her heart.
It’
s fear,
she told herself.
Fear that he will reveal me to Loudan.

Besides, she wasn’t even certain he recognized her. She could tell little from his expression, which was politely inquisitive, and little else.

“You seem to be in a hurry.” His voice was like dark, creamy honey.

Surely if he’d recognized me, he’d have said something.
She forced herself to smile politely. “I am walking home, and it is growing late.”

He glanced at the sinking sun. “I hope your home is close. Sadly, I am lost and do not know my way. Do you think you might help me?”

She examined his expression more closely and saw no spark of recognition.
It was dark that night, and there was only one lantern.
She relaxed a bit. “Where are you staying, that you are lost?”

“Rowallen Castle. My men and I were hunting. We stopped at a village, and I saw a hare. I followed him into the woods and now—” He shook his head and laughed a little. “That is what I get for not paying attention.”

That seemed possible. She rapidly reviewed her options. She supposed she could run off and leave him here. Though he might be faster, she knew these woods well, and with some planning and a dash of luck, she could get away. But what would that achieve?

A better plan would be to allow him to accompany
her at least a small way, and—if she were subtle—find out what he knew.
Perhaps I will discover what is happening at Rowallen.

She nodded at the path ahead. “This runs into a trail. If you find it and go north, it will take you to the main road that leads to Rowallen. It will be much quicker than the road you were upon.”

“Ah. Problem solved.”

“Yes, but the trail isna well marked. Perhaps I should walk with you a bit, and show you the way. Once you see where it joins the main trail, you can return and show your men.”

“Very good. Show me this trail.”

She turned and walked on, the prince falling into step beside her. For a few moments, they walked in silence. He held back branches that barred their path, and placed a hand on her elbow when they had to scramble over some rocks.

All in all, it was rather pleasant having a companion near her own age. She snuck a glance at his profile. He was far too handsome for his own good. And for hers.

“I hope your home is close,” he said. “It is not safe after dark. There are brigands in the woods.”

She fought a grin. “Och, yes. Everyone is talking aboot them.”

“They are evil creatures. Dirty, malodorous—you would not wish to meet them in the middle of the night.”

Her smile disappeared. “I’m sorry . . . did you say they were
malodorous
?”

He curled his nose. “I had an encounter with them a
few days ago and cannot get the stench from my nostrils.”

What a ridiculous accusation! But she couldn’t say anything without admitting she was one of them. She said through tight lips, “I doubt the brigands will pay any attention to me. They willna expect me to have anything worth taking, so I’ll be safe.”

“That, I cannot believe.” His gaze flickered over her. “You’re an attractive woman, and these men were the lowest forms of thieves I’ve ever met—brutal, barbaric, and vicious.”

She ducked under a low branch, fighting to keep the outrage from her voice. “They canna be too vicious. They’ve harmed no one.”

“They are animals. Despite my grandmother’s pleading, they demanded her basket of food.” He scowled, his expression stern. “What sort of person takes food from a hungry, frail old woman?”

When he put it that way, it did sound rather horrible. She felt guilty for having enjoyed the roasted chicken quite so much. “Perhaps they were hungry themselves. It is coming onto winter, and a longer, colder fall we’ve never had.”

“I doubt it. They were all very fat.”

She came to a complete halt. “
Fat?
”

“
Da
. With huge bellies and dirty hands.” He bent to remove a burr from the side of his boot. “They were incompetent, too. Obviously very new at their profession. Amateurs, really.”

Amateurs?
Murian’s back could get no stiffer.

The prince straightened, dropping the burr to the
ground. “But that’s no surprise, considering the leader of this band. He was—how you say . . . ?” He patted his arm. “No strength. Like a sick kitten.”

Bloody hell, I’ll show him how strong I am!
She wished she had her rapier with her now. “I heard a verrah different story aboot this thief. I heard he was quite the fighter and handled his rapier like a master.” Because she
had
, damn it.

“Hardly. I beat him well and good.” He smirked, making her want to box his ears. “I barely nicked him, and he squealed like a stuck pig.”

I didn’t squeal! Not once!
She fisted her hands in a futile effort to keep her temper.

The prince continued, “It was over quickly, of course. Battles with such lackwits usually are. After flashing his tiny sword, he begged for mercy.”

“
Begged
?” Her voice cracked on the word.

“
Da
. He almost wept in happiness when I allowed him to leave unscathed. Well, except for his ear. I cut it off, you know.”

“You dinna,” she said firmly.

“
Da
, I did. One cut and . . .” He waved his hand, slicing through the air. “Gone.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t keep this ear and make a purse of it,” she said furiously, failing to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

The prince looked surprised. “Who would want a purse made from the ear of a malodorous coward?”

She didn’t trust herself to speak.

The prince seemed unaware of her fury, pursing his lips for a moment before saying, “But perhaps you are
right, and it is safe for you to travel at night. Such a thief is not to be feared.”

She couldn’t believe she was listening to such—
drivel
!
Damn it, I planned that raid and it went very well! Well . . . it did until
he
complicated things.
She sniffed. “I dare say you’ve experience in those things—holding up coaches and such, so that your opinion has merit.”

“Experience? As a common thief?
Nyet
. Of course not.”

“Well, there you have it. You canna judge them, then.” She turned on her heel and marched down the path.

He was beside her in a second. “I may have never planned a paltry holdup, but I have planned many battles and faced many adversaries—and all successfully, too.”

“Those are not the same.”

“They are more similar than you might think.” His gaze narrowed and he added in an arrogantly certain voice, “But as you’ve had experience in neither, you would not know.”

Words burned behind her lips, and she walked faster to channel her anger away from her tongue. Her feet hitting the earth harder with each step, she said in a polite, frosty tone, “And yet even an inexperienced person such as myself canna help but notice that these—what did you call them?—inexperienced and amateur thieves won the day. They say you handed over a fortune in gold.”

“They did not win the day. I took pity on them and gave them a few paltry baubles, and sent them on their way.”

Braggart! Liar! Arrogant pig prince
!
She had to count to ten before she could speak. “The tales being passed about the villages are quite different. They say the thieves gained a significant amount of coins, as well as Her Grace’s rings.”

“And my grandmother’s supper,” he added. “My Tata Natasha missed the food more than her rings, for she was very hungry, and it was hours before we reached Rowallen.”

“Hours?”

“
Da
. We had to calm the horses, find the lost lanterns—such things as that. And waiting for supper is not easy for an old woman.”

Muriel’s heart sank, her anger dissipating. They’d never meant anyone to suffer. Perhaps they shouldn’t have taken the basket of food, but she’d been thinking how welcome it would be to the children, who were tired of stew and turnips—

The prince captured her elbow and pulled her to a stop.

Surprised, she looked up at him.

He brushed her cheek with his fingertips, and in his eyes she saw understanding. This man knew responsibility. How decisions could have repercussions one couldn’t expect. How the weight of one’s decisions could press down, making it difficult to breathe.

“Ah,
dorogaya moya
, do not look like that. If you’d known my grandmother was hungry, you would have left the basket. I know it.”

The sympathy in his voice soothed the ache of
uncertainty in her heart. “Truly, I dinna know, or I’d have—”

His eyes glinted.

She clamped her lips together and yanked her hand free. “You knew! You knew all along!”

“
Da
. The other night, I saw your face quite clearly.” He brushed a finger across her cheek, sending waves of shivers up her back, his eyes darkening. “I would never forget it.”

She found it hard to swallow. “And now, you will tell Loudan.”

The prince’s hand dropped back to his side. “Never. I only said he was a friend of mine to irritate you.”

Aha!
When he’d spoken so highly of the earl during the fight, she’d thought then that the prince had been shamming; it was gratifying to be proven right. “The earl dinna have friends. Only sycophants.”

“So I’ve noticed. I’d never met him before I reached Rowallen.” The prince’s gaze brushed over her face. “By the bye, you and your band light up like firepots whenever the earl is mentioned. It is a weakness.”