by Eliza Knight
Blair frowned at the downright rude accusations. Was her cousin trying to get back at her for what she’d suggested could happen to Aurora? The two of them needed a healthy measure of reality.
Blair stared down at the bottle in her hand that seemed to signify in that moment the difference between an uptight and prudish miss, and a jovial, teasing enchantress.
Aislinn was ignoring her now. Apparently having made up her mind that Blair would not go through with it, she was sitting down to unlace her boots. Blair was certain she was doing it to delay their time here in order to torment her all the more. Because while she’d relented in leaving Aurora in the arms of a guard, Aislinn had to know that Blair would never leave her cousin alone and unprotected outside the walls and quite alone.
Frustration and the same burning heat of anger she’d felt earlier in the day burned through her. How had she allowed herself to get into this situation where she felt so out of control? So at a loss for words and actions?
This was ridiculous. Blair was not this person. She wanted to have fun, aye, but not at the cost of what sending out a plea for rescue would bring to her family. Bringing war to her clan, to the people she cared, about was an experience she didn’t care to visit again. With Aislinn’s eyes averted, Blair uncorked the bottle and pulled out the rolled parchment. She tucked it up her sleeve, then recorked the bottle, her cousin none the wiser.
Her cousins didn’t need to know who she was. They only wanted to know she was willing to take as many reckless risks as they were. So be it. Besides, it was Aurora herself who’d said pretend.
“All right,” Blair said, a little too loudly, to gain her cousin’s attention.
As predicted, Aislinn’s head jerked up, her fingers still on her laces, mouth forming a little “O,” her eyes reflecting the moonlight.
Blair closed her eyes, wrenched back her arm and threw the bottle as far as she possibly could—which didn’t end up being very far. The plunk of the jar hitting the water, and a small spray after, reached her from what could only be a couple dozen feet away. Perhaps that was fate’s way of letting her know that even if she had left the missive inside, the jar would just wash up on this shore, and she’d never have to worry about it again.
But then, a swift wind picked up, causing the water in the firth to swirl in the moonlight, and the bottle drifted ever speedily away until she could see it no longer. Thank goodness she’d had the foresight to send it empty.
“Saints preserve me,” Blair whispered, touching her hand to her chest. She let out a long breath of relief.
Beside her, Aislinn giggled, relaced her books and leapt to her feet. She grabbed for Blair’s hand, her warm fingers clashing against the cold of Blair’s.
“Ye did it. Now we wait and see.” Aislinn’s voice was filled with mirth and a bit of surprise.
Despite the bottle being empty, it was oddly freeing that Blair had tossed it into the firth’s depths. Almost as if she were releasing herself from the grasp of her cousin’s overbearing attempts to influence her. Perhaps now, Aurora and Aislinn would no longer feel the need to treat her as their lost cause. At least she could hope.
They ran back to the castle. Aislinn grabbed her sister’s arm and tugged her out of the embrace of the knight, because if their fathers or brothers saw what was going on, they would take him to the stocks.
The guard called out after them, begging Aurora for her name, but they only laughed and kept on running. Blair wasn’t sure if she was rushing away from the impression she’d just given her cousins of who she was, or the fear of the danger she’d come so close to causing if her missive had ever seen the light of day. What she was certain of, was that she was hurrying toward her chamber and away from being caught having snuck out of the castle in the middle of the night.
This was the most reckless thing she’d ever done by far, and if her father found out, he’d have her hide.
Ha! Her family wouldn’t believe it even if presented with the truth.
A rush of something hot and cold at the same time stormed inside her.
Back safely inside the keep, her cousins gone off to their own rooms, Blair tugged the rolled parchment from her sleeve and tossed it into the fire. She kicked off her boots, tucked them safely into the wardrobe with her cloak and then snuggled deep within her blankets, trying to warm up her limbs.
But no matter how much she rubbed at her chilled arms and legs, the rush of all that had happened continued to tunnel through her body, causing her to shiver and lie awake for the better part of the night.
Edan swiped a hand over his face in frustration.
The dungeon was lit by several flaming torches, but still the darkness left shadows along the cell housing the men suspected of murdering his brother.
The four accused were ragged and bruised, having put up quite a fight when they were seized by the Rose men as they dined at Connor’s table, nearly a fortnight before. Their leine shirts were stained with their dried blood. Their plaids, the colors muted beyond recognition with filth, lay in heaps on the floor where they’d made themselves makeshift beds, the pins removed to keep from using them as weapons.
From what Edan had been told, these four prisoners had been invited to dine after a feat of heroism on the road outside the castle. Her ladyship had been out for a ride with a guard and her maid when they were intercepted on the road by a trio of outlaws, their faces painted blue.
Her guard had tried to fight them off but was losing badly until these four had shown up. No one knew where they’d come from.
Connor had seen them as heroes and awarded them a warm dinner and beds for the night—until he’d fallen dead in his own stew. Now, it was suspected they’d been part of a trap set for the lady, in order to gain entry to the castle and the laird.
Edan had been questioning the men in the dungeon for what felt like hours and barely gotten anywhere with them. Bloody stubborn fools. He could not entice them to widen their traps, even with the promise of a warm meal. The most he’d gleaned from their tight lips was their claim to hailing from Ross lands—knowledge that did not surprise Edan in the least.
The Ross men had plagued the country for years and didn’t seem in any hurry to quit.
Edan had been at Stirling several months prior when Liam Sutherland, son of the infamous Magnus Sutherland, had brought a captured Ughtred Ross to their king. The idiot and his wife, Ina, were still imprisoned in the castle’s dungeon awaiting execution.
With them still alive, the Ross clansmen who had not aligned themselves with Sutherland were doing just about anything they could to regain power, and possibly break their leaders out of Stirling’s dungeon. One reckless attempt had already been made by Ughtred’s brother—a plan that had been thwarted rather quickly by Liam’s own wife, Lady Cora.
That was about the extent of what Edan knew about the Ross clan and their wayward plans to allow Sassenachs to take over the country.
But why had his brother been a target?
Had Connor gotten in the way of some plan of attack? Had he thwarted them somehow, and so they’d felt the need to take his life with the elaborate ruse of saving his lady? None of it was making sense.
What a massive load of horse manure that was. Edan clenched his fists at his sides and resisted the urge to beat the lot of them bloody. Then his anger shifted toward Liam Sutherland—why hadn’t he dealt with these unruly traitors before they’d been able to kill his brother?
Aye, Liam held some of the blame for this. After all, the king had tasked him with taking care of the bastards. Even now, he was residing at their castle, acting as laird to their people.
A bitter taste soured Edan’s tongue. To hell with the lot of them. What use were they to him? What use were they to anyone, save misery? This was the Highlands of Scotland, and he too was a laird. He was judge, jury and executioner. Perhaps it was time he laid down his decision and be done with it.
“’Haps ye’ll all face execution the same day as your treacherous leader
s.” Edan scowled, already imagining the weight of his sword in hand as he brought it down upon their necks, exacting vengeance for his brother on behalf of the whole clan.
Then his people would know they could trust him because he would have put to rest the men who’d betrayed them, killed their leader, put them all in the situation they now found themselves.
Edan would be recognized as a worthy adversary. No longer would they have to rely on word alone, stories told around campfires from men who may have fought beside him in the king’s army. They would know him as a powerful leader, one that would give no mercy to anyone who’d wronged them.
And yet, he scowled, because putting these devils to death would still leave the unanswered question—who’d put them up to it?
“Or what,” one of them scoffed, “rot here in your dungeon? If ye wouldna mind, I’ll take my execution now.”
They were goading him, seeing how far they could push, and if he’d break. Edan worked hard to keep himself calm when all he wanted to do was lash out.
“I’ll not give ye the pleasure of an easy death.” Edan pinned the man with a mighty glower, his fingers itching to be around the traitor’s throat. “Tell me who put ye up to poisoning my brother, and I’ll see your death done swiftly.”
“Och, nay, ye fool.” The whoreson spit on the ground only a few inches from Edan’s boot. “We’ll tell ye nothing. If ye want the truth, ye must agree to letting us go free first.”
Edan ground his teeth, fighting the need to cut these men down, and his desire to know the truth of who was behind their design. Was it worth setting these bastards free so he could go after the man, or woman, truly responsible? The mastermind behind their murderous plot?
The muscle over his eye twitched, causing an ache to spread through his skull, pulsing in a line over his scar. He gritted his teeth, keeping his hands flexed at his sides and refusing the impulse to rub the painful mark.
In a voice so tight it came out a growl, he said, “Tell me, and I will consider it.”
The men eyed each other, realizing this was the best offer they would get if they wanted a chance to live at all. They seemed to have a private, silent conversation, proof they’d schemed together for a long time.
Then boldly, the man who’d taken up speaking jutted his jaw forward and said, “’Twas Liam Sutherland. Now that he has Ross lands in his power, he plans to conquer every inch of land along the firth, whether by marriage or by war. Greedy bastard.” He spit again for emphasis, only this time, rather than landing a few inches from Edan’s boot—it hit him square in the center of his bare knee.
Without hesitation, Edan swung his fist and connected it with the man’s jaw. Pure rage, at having been spit on and with the lie this man was willing to utter in order to save himself and his disgusting friends, erupted through him.
“Ye lie,” Edan bellowed. “And for that lie, ye’ll die tomorrow.”
He turned his back on them and marched toward the lowered ladder deep in the dungeon where two of his men waited on either side.
The men all protested at once.
“I swear to ye, my laird, we tell the truth, ’twas Liam Sutherland.”
“We heard him ourselves. He issued us the orders, and we but complied to keep our heads.”
“He has our families held hostage, our wives and daughters. We had no choice if we wanted to save them.”
Their words bounced hollowly off Liam’s back. “And look what good that did ye,” he tossed over his shoulder.
The largest of the four men kneeling on the dungeon floor started to cry like a bairn, big fat angry tears streaking down his cheeks. He scooted forward on his grubby knees, the hem of his shirt getting caught beneath. He blubbered and held out his hands in resignation.
“Please, I have a family. A wife about to birth our firstborn any day now, and I’ve been so worried. I swear to ye, we dinna lie.”
The pain in Edan’s head only grew until his lucky eye started to blur, as it did in times of stress. How could they possibly be telling the truth? Liam Sutherland was the most loyal warrior he’d ever met. And, aye, Edan was furious that Liam could have allowed these pustules to roam the land, but that did not make him a killer. Liam was deemed one of the greatest warriors in all of Scotland. How could a man like that decide that power and greed were more important than order and alliances? Edan just couldn’t fathom it.
Taking the lands along the firth by force would be frowned upon by the king. Indeed, his newfound Ross lands and lairdship could be stripped from him. Why would Liam risk that? Or had the king agreed to the plan?
Edan’s brows knitted even tighter together, and he was in danger of lashing out again. To think that his own king might be behind his brother’s attack sent a shiver of revulsion running through him. Nay. Nay. Bloody nay.
“Lies,” he said through clenched teeth. He turned his back on the men again and shouted orders to the guard, “No food or water until they are ready to tell the truth.”
He’d stay their execution and hope that a hungry belly and a tongue dying of thirst would get their mouths moving in a more truthful direction.
Out of the dungeon, head pounding, he exited the castle with determined strides. Edan wanted nothing more than to call his men into the bailey for an impromptu training session in order to work out the fury in his blood. Alas, he was stopped by the housekeeper. She wrung her hands and her brows screwed up in worry.
“The lady’s father, Laird Guinn has arrived to collect his daughter.”
Chapter 4
One month later
* * *
“Come on, Cousin. Everyone will be doing it!” Aislinn flopped herself down on Blair’s bed.
What everyone was doing was dancing around the fire tomorrow night. In the morning, the lassies would be rolling around in dew. Blair did not want to have anything to do with either activity. She’d only ever been an observer in the past, too busy trying to make sure Greer wasn’t lured away by some shepherd feeling the need to sow his wild oats. It really was quite shocking to her sometimes that she was the baby in the family, when so much of her time was spent acting the opposite.
In fact, she was ready to return home to Dunrobin, but her father had gone off to meet with the king, and Liam had remained behind here at Ross Castle to deal with his new clan, in case in his absence they forgot who their new laird was. Since Lady Aliah and Lady Arbella had remained, Blair was stuck here, too. Which meant she currently did not see a way to escape her cousins, unless she could somehow disappear.
That was not likely to happen. Aurora and Aislinn were running wild and trying to drag Blair into their many schemes. Aunt Aliah was ragged from having to thwart most of their plans, and as of last night, she’d threatened to toss them both into convents very far away from each other after someone let spill that they’d seen them sneak out of the keep. Thank goodness, Blair hadn’t been looped into any schemes again, not since the first time a month before.
Those two headed for a convent was probably a good idea.
“At least help us weave our flower crowns,” Aislinn said.
With a great sigh, Blair felt her resistance wearing thin. There really was no harm in participating in traditional clan activities, was there? “All right, I’ll help with the crowns, but nothing else. I dinna want to dance. I’m tired.”
Tired of her cousins.
She felt horrible for even thinking it, but they were driving her up a wall, and she honestly wished she could hide from them under her bed.
“Tired? How do ye know ye’ll be tired tomorrow already?”
“Intuition.”
Aislinn shrugged and scooted off the bed. “We’ll see. Aurora is waiting for us in the great hall.”
Blair had barely been able to think, let alone do any of the things she enjoyed. Too much of her time was spent avoiding everyone in hope of avoiding her cousins. She’d not gotten to spend as much time with her new sister-by-marriage, Cora, as she’d wanted to because the twins
were always there, causing mischief or talking too loudly. Blair was deathly afraid they would blurt out what the three of them had done in the middle of the night with the message in a bottle.
The last thing she needed was her mother threatening to send her off to a convent, too.
Down in the great hall, Liam’s wife was with Aurora, as were her aunt and her mother. They all smiled at her and Aislinn’s approach, though a small worried wrinkle marred her mother’s brow. No doubt, she was wondering what had changed Blair’s mind about being involved with the festivities she’d so far been removed from. Flowers and boughs hung on the doors, mantle and every other surface for the festivities that would take place the following day to celebrate the coming of spring. The rushes had been replaced and strewn with sweet smelling herbs, and every other surface had been scrubbed, giving the hall a refreshing and inviting fragrance that reminded Blair of home.
With the five golden-haired beauties beside each other, Blair felt more out of place with her dark locks. If she didn’t look so much like her Aunt Heather, her father’s sister, she might think she’d been found on the moors and brought into the fold as one of their own. Clearly dark hair was in their blood, and she just so happened to be cursed with it. Self-consciously, she touched her hair and wished it were cold enough outside to warrant a hood, but alas, with the coming of May on the morrow, spring was in full bloom.
The women rose from where they perched on benches.
“Let the gathering commence,” her mother said, referring to their need to head outside and pick flowers for the crowns.
Cora slipped her arm through Blair’s and started to lead the women from the castle. Her touch was slight and warm, and her smile inviting.
“I’m glad you decided to come down,” she said in her smooth, soft English accent. “We’ve not gotten a chance to really get to know each other.”
Blair smiled, glad that her sister-by-marriage felt the same way. Behind them, her two cousins were chattering away, and their mother was hushing them. Lady Arbella was whispering soothing words to her harried sister.