Ciaran found himself as dumbfounded as Red had been only moments ago. He could not seem to look away from those mesmerizing eyes. The hoarse voice sent a thrill of excitement racing through him. It took him a bit to focus. “We should hurry and get what ye came tae get.” He flipped his chin toward the east. “More rain is on the way.”
The spell was broken. Red blinked again and nodded. He reached past Ciaran and took the torch from Ram. Without hesitation he limped toward the bigger part of the ship and climbed inside.
Ram shrugged and followed.
Louisa took up the rear, but she did not even get three feet before she turned and started retching.
Angus was there almost immediately, patting her back and offering up a piece of his plaid as though he were coddling a bairn. His voice was smooth and comforting and so unlike Angus that Ciaran did a double take.
Och! Was this the same man who’d only yesterday shot Hamish in the arse with an arrow for stealing a sip of his mead? Apparently Ciaran wasn’t the only one infatuated by these strangers. Striding over to Angus, he swiped the other torch and immediately spotted the charred remains of people. There were five of them in this area, all in seats.
Red was going around to each of the deceased. It looked as though he were praying or delivering last rites or something. He’d touch the bodies, but every time he caught one of them looking, he quickly snatched his hand back.
Ram asked him if he needed help, and Red declined.
Odd. Ciaran shook his head and headed toward the other part of the ship. He raised the torch and looked around, listening to the rumbling thunder in the distance and the chatter of soft voices behind him. This part of the ship had definitely fared better.
He stepped up onto a violet floor covering, and his feet sank into the plushness. Odd. It was like rushes, but not. He walked farther back between the rows of seats.
The seats were black and each one had an eagle with its wings outstretched embroidered on the backs in a shiny gold thread. It looked like thin metal. Ciaran ran his fingers over the thread. It was not hard, but soft like thread should be. His fingers sank into the seat back with barely any pressure. It was like no padding Ciaran had ever felt. Soft. They spoke of luxury and were plusher than even the finest furniture at Lochwood Castle. Ciaran could not resist. Turning, he took a seat and was engulfed in comfort. Och, but this was fine. Like lying on lamb’s wool. Perhaps he could free the seats and take them home? He stretched out his legs, but there wasn’t much room due to the seat in front of him. However if he removed the seats one by—
What was that? His boot hit something under the seat in front of him.
Ciaran leaned down, raising the torch high so as not to catch the chairs on fire.
A small sparkly slate about ten inches long lay on the ground. Ciaran picked it up. One side had raised blue crystals. The other side was sleek and gray.
His pulse accelerated, and the hair on the back of his neck rose up. He’d seen this before. At Patrick’s cottage. Ciaran had asked Marcus about it once. Marcus had said it was something they’d used to access information back home, and after that he’d never seen the object again. Och, could this thing hold information about the men attacking them? About the building? His mind whirled with the possibilities. He turned it over, looking for a way to use the item. He needed to ask Red how to use it.
“Did you find something?”
Ciaran looked up into Red’s green eyes.
He stood just outside of the tail end of the ship with his hands full of small metal objects.
Ciaran opened his mouth to say yes and to ask Red how to use the slate, but what came out was “Nae.” With an odd thickness clogging his throat, he slid the slate under his kilt and shook his head. “Nae, I have nae found a thing.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“I stand corrected. A blanket on the right man is quite fetching.”
—Timothy on fashion… again.
Ciaran was hiding something. Bannon was sure of it. He glanced over at Ciaran, riding tall in the saddle beside him, and frowned. The man was too handsome. Galaxy help him, Bannon had almost whimpered when he’d taken the torch over to study the other part of the ship and gotten his first good look at Ciaran. Those black eyes had met his, and all Bannon’s pain and suffering had ceased, at least momentarily. He’d stood there for several minutes just staring like a ninny and taking in the perfection that was Ciaran MacKay. Eyes so dark they appeared black, with thick, flawlessly shaped eyebrows—not the meticulously plucked brows perfected by valets, but those created by nature. Nature so exquisite that not even a gifted artist could match its beauty. His chin was strong with a slight cleft, and his cheekbones were high and framed by a fall of ebony hair that glowed with red highlights in the firelight. He had beard shadow on his jaw that should have made him seem rough, but his features were too fine for him to look anything other than classically handsome. He was too good to be true.
Now that Bannon was no longer distracted by the rugged beauty of the man, he remembered the surprised expression on Ciaran’s face. Yes, he was definitely hiding something, and Bannon was going to find out what it was.
Bannon didn’t trust him. Actually he didn’t trust any of them, but especially not Ciaran. The man was too… something… everything. He made Bannon feel almost protected and secure. He made Bannon want to trust him, and that couldn’t be good. No one was that nice. Who planned to rescue strangers when they were so outnumbered? The man was either insane or he had an ulterior motive. At this point, as Ciaran was leading them up a mountain during an impending storm, Bannon wasn’t entirely sure which, but he was leaning toward ulterior motive.
They’d left the crash site, with the rain chasing them to Ciaran’s home, but there was no sign of the dastardly MacLeans. Ciaran rode to the side and slightly in front of Bannon. Louie rode a few feet behind Bannon, talking to the Highlander that Ciaran had called Angus, and Ramsey was bringing up the rear.
Fatigue began to weigh on Bannon, but he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep. His body ached too much, and his mind? Well, it wasn’t liable to settle for at least a year or two. “So, Ciaran, why don’t you like the MacLeans? I mean other than the fact that they are barbarians.”
Ciaran slowed his horse to draw even with Bannon and match his pace. For several moments he didn’t speak but tilted his head as though he was thinking. “They dinna join my clan in fighting our enemy, and I now have reason tae believe they are in league with that enemy.”
“And who is your enemy?”
Ciaran shrugged. “I dinna ken. I was hoping ye could tell us. They are outsiders, like ye.” He too pronounced the word as ootsiders, only on him the term sounded charming rather than an expletive.
“Whoa, wait a minute. Louie and I aren’t your enemy. I told you. We are just here because of the crash. We were on our way somewhere else.”
“Where? What is this planet ye were going tae called? What planet are ye from?”
Now it was Bannon’s turn to hesitate. He’d spent the last fifteen minutes discreetly trying to collect every piece of evidence that could identify the diplomatic party as Regelens. He’d taken the crew’s name tags as well as anything that showed their rank or connection to the IN. He strongly suspected the outsiders the MacLeans had referred to, and the enemy Ciaran spoke of, was the IN. So Bannon had thought it best to get rid of anything that could link him and Louie to the IN. But there was no hope for disguising Captain Kindros’s crew’s identity forever, because all IN members had implanted dog tags. There was no way for Bannon to find the tags on the charred…. Bile rose into his throat, making him swallow hard. Egads, just thinking about the bodies…. Nope. He glanced up at the cloudy sky and took a deep breath. He couldn’t think about it.
After a few seconds, he realized Ciaran was still waiting for an answer, so he gave him a partial one. “Englor. We were going to planet Englor to, er, visit a friend.”
A soft feminine chuckle sounded behind him as Louie rode up
on his left. She grinned at him, then looked past him at Ciaran. “He caused a huge scandal and nearly ruined an innocent man and was forced to visit his friend.”
Bannon glared at her. Why did she always have to be such a tattletale? She made it sound worse than it was. He gave her a pointed look. Don’t give too much away, he cautioned with his eyes.
She rolled hers, then gave him a look equally as pointed. Relax, the look seemed to say. Then she whispered, “You have to give info to get info. Give a little bit of trust to get a little bit of trust.”
Damn her, she was probably right. Bannon sighed and looked back at Ciaran. Fine, he’d give just a tiny bit. “The man I tried to ruin wasn’t even there, so there was no almost about it. Besides, if my parents had listened to me in the first place, I wouldn’t have had to go to such lengths. I told them that Griff was not right for my brother and that they needed to call the engagement off. I even told them my brother was in love with someone else.”
Ciaran seemed to think about it for a moment. He turned his head a little in contemplation, as if Bannon were some sort of enigma. It was a look Bannon had always associated with older people, probably because older people always looked at him like that, but he suspected Ciaran was about his age. Ciaran turned his body a little and lifted his leg from the stirrup as if stretching out his leg. “They dinna listen tae ye?”
Bannon’s gaze honed in on Ciaran’s thick, muscled thigh, peeking out from under the blanket he wore. Galaxy, he was tall—almost seven foot. Or maybe his legs just looked that long because of the blanket? If it would inch up just a little farther…. Ugh! He was supposed to be fishing for information, not ogling the… enemy? Blast, what had he asked? Oh, right! “They never do.”
“So as usual, he took matters into his own hands and ended up ruining himself,” Louie said with an abundance of smugness.
Bannon glared at her. She made it sound like he did it on purpose.
“I did not ruin myself. I… well, I had no idea that footman was going to mistake me for my brother’s fiancé and kiss me right when Lady Philips walked in. And it certainly wasn’t my fault that the man was a good kisser. I was stunned into kissing him back. It doesn’t matter now anyway. I’m going to turn over a whole new leaf. No more scandals.” He’d made himself a promise that if he survived…. And here he was, so he meant to stick to it.
Ciaran stopped stretching his leg out and went perfectly still. His body stiffened up a little.
Uh-oh. Bannon realized his blunder too late. He’d forgotten about Payton’s warning that not everyone on other planets, including Englor, approved of homosexuality. Galaxy help him, he’d never even thought not to say that. He’d just opened his mouth and stuck both his highly polished—well, not so highly polished now—Hessians into his big mouth, and he couldn’t even blame Timothy this time. So much for not giving too much away. His pulse sped up, and his brain sifted through explanations and ways to retract his statement.
“What I meant was—”
“How exactly is that saving ye brother?” Angus asked, riding up on the other side of Louie.
Aware of Ciaran watching him, even though he was looking at Angus, Bannon hesitated, trying to measure his words. “My brother was engaged to someone he didn’t love. Or perhaps I should say he was in love with someone else, so I set things up to try and get him out of the engagement. If his fiancé was caught kissing someone else, then Blai—he could easily break the engagement and no one would think ill of him.”
“And kissing a man would ruin this person?” Ciaran asked.
“Uh, well, I suppose kissing anyone could technically ruin someone’s reputation, especially if that person were engaged or underage. However, a footman was all I had to work with, so….”
“Are you underage?”
Bannon blinked. “I… um… no.”
Ciaran nodded, then put his foot back in the stirrup. “If kissing men ruined a person, I’d have been completely destroyed years ago.” He heeled his horse and took the lead, leaving Bannon staring at his broad back.
Oh boy! Maybe we should try seducing information from him, Timothy whispered.
Bannon rolled his eyes, but his body seemed to like that idea. It tingled in places he should be too tired and too achy to feel, and it seemed completely unaware of the fact that they did not trust Ciaran.
We’re doomed!
He and Timothy were in perfect agreement.
§ § § §
At the awed gasps behind him, Ciaran stared up at the portcullis of Lochwood Castle with a sense of pride. No matter where he’d been, he’d always loved coming home, and tonight was no exception. But tonight he felt an extra thrill riding through the gates, knowing what an impressive sight it was. Why impressing Red made him feel good, he didn’t know or want to examine too closely. He turned to peek over his shoulder. Hmmm… perhaps impressed wasnae quite the right word.
Red stared at the keep with his mouth ajar. His green eyes tracked back and forth, but Ciaran wondered how much he was truly seeing. He looked… horrified. But how could that be? Lochwood Castle was the finest fortress this side of the Creagach River. Probably Red had never seen a castle so fine and was dazzled beyond words.
Red made a strangled sound in his throat, and his face paled more. “Louie?” he squeaked.
“I see it.” If possible, Louisa was paler than Red, but her expression didn’t change. She had a pleasant smile on her face, but her eyelashes fluttered as she blinked repeatedly.
“Am I missing something?” Ciaran asked.
They both shook their heads.
“Er, Ciaran, do you have electricity and computers?” Red asked, looking everywhere but at Ciaran.
Now it was Ciaran’s turn to look befuddled. “I dinna ken what those things are.” Did those things have anything to do with the object he’d confiscated? Guilt stabbed at him at the thought of the slate hidden in Ram’s saddlebag. He should tell Red about the slate and ask about it, but something held him back. No matter how attracted he was to Red, Ciaran had to be certain what side of things Red was on. The survival of his people depended on it. He hadn’t planned on taking over the clan so soon, but he was determined to do his father’s memory proud.
Red swallowed so hard, his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Okay.” He chuckled nervously and nodded. “This is okay. It’s lovely. I’d love to, er, draw it. Wouldn’t you, Louie?”
Louisa continued to blink.
They rode under the shadows of the inner gate as the clank and groan of the outer gates closed behind them. The sound grated on Ciaran, even if it did mean safety. It was a testament to how dire things had gotten since he took over as laird. Before the attacks, they’d left the gates open at night.
The guards gave Red and Louisa odd, assessing looks, and Ciaran nodded in greeting at the people he passed. The castle was asleep this time of night, with only the guards on duty milling about, so they made it to the courtyard without passing any civilians. Ciaran had half expected a council member or two to set upon him as soon as he cleared the gates, but apparently his luck had held, because there were no elderly tyrants waiting for him. Only his aunt stood in the courtyard, and Guid God! What had she done to her hair?
When he had left this morning, her hair had been a very ordinary shade of graying blond. Now it was a brilliant royal purple. Ciaran squinted to make certain he was actually seeing things correctly. The firelight could play tricks on a fellow after so long in the dark, but… yes, he was seeing things correctly. A grin tugged at his lips. This wasn’t nearly as bad as the time she’d accidentally shaved off her eyebrows.
Aunt Agatha smiled as she caught sight of him but stayed on the keep’s front steps. She wore an equally colorful frock of bright green, and her hands, folded in front of her, matched. She’d stained them and part of the floor in her cottage in the process of dyeing her dress the day before, which was probably where she got the idea to do her hair.
Beside her stood Ian, Ciaran’s younger brother. Ian l
ooked on the verge of outright laughter, until he caught sight of Red and Louisa, and then his face hardened. His dark eyes narrowed, and he quickly searched the rest of the group. If he’d had a sword, he’d have no doubt pulled it. Which was one of the reasons Ciaran had yet to commission one from the blacksmith for the thirteen-year-old. The other reason was suspiciously absent.
Ciaran searched the surrounding area for his ward, but he did not see Fiona anywhere. She should be asleep, as should his brother and his aunt, but he didn’t hold out much hope for that.
He stopped Horace a few yards from the front steps and climbed down.
Red drew up next to him, followed by Louisa, Angus, and Ram.
Slumping in the saddle, Red still gazed up at the castle. The way his chin tilted up was quite fetching. He had a proud chin and strong cheekbones with just a hint of beard shadow. Not enough to make him scruffy, but enough to gleam in the torchlight from each side of the front door. It was nearly invisible and no doubt as red as his hair.
Staring, transfixed, Ciaran wondered when was the last time he’d found a man so attractive.
Red’s full lips parted, and Ciaran’s gaze honed in on the split at the bottom corner with crusted blood. Egads! Shaking himself from his musing, Ciaran rounded Horace and went to Red’s side as Angus did the same with Louisa. He needed to have someone see to his guests. No doubt they wanted a warm meal and a good night’s sleep, but first he needed to see their wounds tended. He reached up toward Red. “Let me help ye down.”
Shaking his head, Red finally looked away from the keep. His green eyes met Ciaran’s, and awareness sparked between them, tingling Ciaran in the chest.
Och, but he wanted to kiss that poor abused lip better. Which was a very bad idea. Red was merely passing through, and no way was Ciaran going to get involved with an outsider. He had too much responsibility as it was—adding a relationship to that just wasn’t an option. “Red?” Ciaran touched his thigh.
My Highland Laird: Sci-Regency Book 5 Page 7