Reckless Scotland

by Vane, Victoria

  Regardless, she’d remained kind and toiled as hard as the rest of the Frasers over the years to earn a place for her, Will, and Geordie. She spoke to plenty of the clan. Or at least, the ones who spoke to her.

  Unbothered by his censure, she shrugged. “I suppose I do not share your quick wit and glib tongue.”

  He snorted. “You’re not lacking wit, that’s for sure. ’Tis just that you prefer to keep to yourself.”

  Nora frowned at his words. Mayhap, the statement rang true. Not that she preferred solitude, but she’d chosen to keep the details of their lives private for their own protection. Did others in the clan find her such a distant person?

  The commander bounded up the steps, taking two at a time. She and Will rushed after the man, following him to the second level and down the tapestry-lined hall.

  Will nudged her shoulder to gain her attention. “I meant no offense, Nora. But I’m sure you must understand why ’tis in our best interests for me to stay informed as well. I try to look after us, too. ’Tis my job to protect you as well.”

  Warmed by his words, she clasped his wrist and squeezed. “I know.”

  Midway down the passageway, the commander paused to rap thrice on a chamber door, thereby ending her and Will’s hushed discussion.

  “’Tis Symon. I bring word of Liam.”

  In the next breath, the heavy door swung wide open and a solid wall of man filled the space in between. If Nora thought Symon cut a menacing form, then Laird MacGregor was downright terrifying.

  Many of the clan claimed the MacGregor was not a man to trifle with. Before, she might’ve scoffed at the notion. In the man’s presence, however, she barely suppressed a shudder.

  A dark scowl twisted the man’s harsh countenance, drawing attention to the angry scar carved down the length of his face and neck. His unnerving, pale blue eyes narrowed on her and her brother. It took every scrap of courage Nora possessed not to grab Will by the nape of the neck and retreat below stairs.

  “Frasers,” Symon offered by way of explanation.

  Uncaring, the MacGregor demanded in a sharp bark, “What of my cousin?”

  The deep rumble of the laird’s voice trembled through Nora, straight down to her toes.

  Will dipped his head with a bow. “My lord.”

  The MacGregor’s icy stare slid from his commander to Will, who swallowed hard under the man’s close scrutiny.

  Will shifted from foot to foot. “Kenneth and his men have taken Liam to the dungeons.”

  “The dungeons?” MacGregor’s bellow shook the rafters overhead.

  Nora flinched and latched on to one of Will’s hands, digging her nails into his skin. Swallowing the lump in throat, she rushed to explain, “They believed he poisoned Laird Fraser, my lord.”

  “What?” The MacGregor’s roar was deafening. “Liam had naught to do with the wretched mess.”

  Nora sought to appease the large man’s outrage. “My brother and I know that, my lord. ’Tis why we’ve sought you out. Neither of us believes he’s to blame any more than you. Besides…”

  Both men stared at her, their intense gazes burned straight through to her conscience, urging her to speak the truth.

  When she failed to respond quickly enough, the laird prodded. “Besides what, lass?”

  Nora inwardly cursed. What the devil was she to say now? ’Twas not as if she could tell the laird she’d laid his cousin out for the night after his obscene behavior. And with Liam’s past, she doubted MacGregor would believe his cousin merely slept upon the floor.

  Not to mention, how else would the clan believe Liam innocent if she did not confess? Word would spread like wildfire through the clan, but what was she to do? Allow Liam to remain in the dungeons simply because she hesitated to open her mouth and risk her reputation? Blast what the clan might think of her. She’d deal with the consequences later.

  Heaving a deep breath, she spoke the truth, or at least, a half-truth. “Liam spent the eve in my cottage. With me.”

  Chapter Five

  A gaunt rat shook his furry head then scurried over the soiled stones in the dark, dank chamber holding Liam prisoner. The vermin wedged through a gap in the far corner between the fortified walls. Not that he blamed the rat; he’d escape the accursed cell, too, if possible. Between the stench of soured hay and stagnant air, the confining walls closed in around him. He leaned his sore head back to rest against the filthy, chilled stone and closed his good eye. The other had almost swollen shut.

  Kenneth’s words had left him suspended in a state of disbelief. How the devil had Fraser been poisoned? And who the hell would dare? Then, for Fraser’s commander to blame him, of all people, frustrated Liam beyond understanding.

  By the Saints’ hairy toes, he’d only just learned of his relation to Fraser the eve prior, but ’twas hardly a reason to plot to murder the man. No matter how infuriating the revelation.

  Granted, his mother’s betrayal cut deeper than he cared to admit. Even in the light of day, the open wound throbbed with a smarting sting. To worsen matters, an uncomfortable pressure clutched his chest in a tight vise, wringing the breath from his lungs.

  After his cruel words last eve, what must she think of him? Had his mother believed him capable of such a heinous deed? Had she ordered Kenneth to lock him away in the dungeons?

  The foul odor in the musty, confining chamber filled his nose as a climbing sense of apprehension twisted his stomach in knots. A multitude of unanswered question hurtled through his head, setting his teeth on edge. He lifted his head to stare at the row of heavy iron bars holding him imprisoned. By the looks of things, he’d not find the answers anytime soon.

  ’Twas evident someone else strongly opposed Fraser’s decision to hand over the clan as much as Liam. What if the villain sought to harm his mother as well? He growled in frustration. Christ, he needed to speak to her straight away.

  But how the hell was he to break free?

  He’d attempted everything short of trading his soul to reason with Kenneth, but the vexing man scoffed at his every word. The sodding arse relished locking him away deep in the bowels of the earth. When, precisely, he’d wronged the man was a mystery to Liam, but Kenneth’s disdain bled through his scathing glare.

  Muffled shouts wound down the tunnels from above, drowning out the faint drips of water to reach Liam’s ears. He sprang to feet and moved the few short steps to the iron bars. Grabbing ahold of the cool metal, he pressed his face between the obstructions to catch sight of who approached. As the commotion drew near and the voices distinct, he sent up a quick, silent prayer of thanks.

  “Where the hell’s my cousin?”

  Despite the precariousness of his situation, Liam grinned at the fury in Calum’s tone. At times, he may annoy his cousin for the sheer sport of it, but there was not another person alive who he trusted more with his life.

  In the next few moments, Calum and Symon stormed into view and paused in front of Liam’s cell. His cousin’s furious gaze darted a quick glance over him before turning his rage on the Fraser commander, who rushed down the tunnel after them with two of his men.

  “What the hell’s the meaning of this?” Calum fumed. “Release him at once.”

  In a bold display, Kenneth moved in between Calum and the iron bars holding Liam captive. “Never,” he spat. “He tried to murder my laird, and you would have me set him free?”

  Calum shifted his stance, leaning in closer to the commander’s face. Between clenched teeth, he gritted out, “He had naught to do with this, and you know it.”

  A lethal edge overlaid the grated words. The close confines of the low-lying tunnel pressed in around them, and the stale air grew stifling as tensions mounted. For once, Liam restrained his insolent tongue while he viewed the exchange with unease. Neither man bared a sign of forfeiting their positions. Both held firm, their fixed stares unyielding.

  Kenneth lifted his chin in direct challenge. “I know no such thing.” He flapped his arm to indicate the t
wo guards behind him. “We heard him with the laird. Hell, the entire hall did! If that’s not enough to prove his guilt, then give me a reason to release him.”

  Liam inwardly cursed his carelessness. He’d given no thought to anyone in the hall hearing his argument in the solar. In the future, he’d take better care to keep the details of his personal affairs private.

  Jaw clenched taut, Calum gritted through bared teeth, “The woman he bedded last eve. ’Tis reason enough.”

  Liam’s lips parted in surprise. Woman he bedded? He’d been well into his cups but, most assuredly, he would’ve recalled that. He remembered the blonde serving wench from the hall, but he rejected her brazen offer and earned the woman’s ire in the process. Surely, the bold woman had not boasted of such a ridiculous claim.

  His cousin gripped the pommel of the sword sheathed at his side. “Now, open the damned door or I shall not be as forgiving if I have to say so again.”

  Kenneth’s cheeks burned crimson and his chest rose and fell. At last, he reluctantly surrendered to Calum’s unsettling stare and tugged the key from a pouch along his waist to toss at his cousin. With a parting glare aimed at Liam, Kenneth spun in his buckskin boots and stormed from the dim, narrow passage with his men in tow.

  Calum wasted no time thrusting the key in the lock and twisting. He swung the heavy iron gate wide.

  Symon stepped around them, nodding to Liam as he passed. “Laird, I’ll let Lady Arabella and Lady Mairi know he’s safe and sound.”

  “Aye, a sound notion,” Calum agreed. “The pair has, no doubt, worn a hole in the floor with all their blasted pacing.”

  Once Symon retreated through the sloping tunnel for a set of crude steps leading up to the entrance, Liam ducked his head to step out of his short-lived prison. These few, long hours were enough for him to appreciate his freedom. He ignored his cousin’s pinpointed stare.

  Calum did not mince words. “What the hell mess have you gotten yourself into now?”

  Liam scrubbed a hand over the itchy whiskers along his jaw. “For once, Cousin, I swear ’tis not of my own doing.” Though the old boar ran a close second to his commander as Liam’s least favorite person at present, honest concern for the man prompted him to inquire. “How’s Fraser?”

  “Ailing something fierce, but he’s alive.” Calum motioned to the stairs. “Come, let’s leave this foul place. The smell’s wretched.”

  He would hear no complaint from Liam. Anxious to leave the somber dirt and stone behind him, he started up the tunnel with his cousin at his side.

  “How’s my mother?”

  “Beside herself with worry, but grateful her husband draws breath. She’ll be pleased to learn her son has been located.”

  He glanced at Calum. “She did not know I was here?”

  “Nay.” The other man shook his head. “No one knew where you’d taken off to. I thought you might’ve saddled your horse and headed for home.”

  Precisely his plan until Kenneth intercepted him. Relieved his mother had naught to do with his imprisonment, he breathed a small sigh. “What the devil happened?”

  “After you quit the hall, Elena and Fraser rejoined the banquet. ’Twas much later in the night when he complained of an ache in his head and stomach. No one thought much of it until he turned as white as snow. Arabella suggested he retire for the eve, but the man could barely stand on his own two feet. Your mother suspected something was amiss. Symon and I all but carried Fraser to his chambers. Elena managed to get one of her potions down his throat which made him purge the contents of his stomach. The poor man spent the remainder of the night and early morn retching into a bucket.”

  Liam pitied Fraser. No one deserved such a fate on the eve of their wedding. As he and his cousin mounted the steps, their shoulders brushed from the close quarters.

  Calum continued, “’Tis a boon your mother was quick to act. No doubt, she spared his life. ’Twas not long before word spread round the keep, and then the accusations started. After everyone in the hall heard you in the solar…”

  Aye, and he could kick himself for his careless behavior. Liam rubbed circles over his aching temple. “Look, Cousin. I vow I would never—”

  “Damnation, Liam.” The back of Calum’s hand slapped against Liam’s chest, halting him in his tracks. “In truth, do you think I would not believe you?”

  Liam peered at the few remaining stairs left to climb. He lifted a shoulder. “It would seem everyone else believes so. I mean, I would not bl—”

  A swift cuff to the back of his sore skull stole the rest of his words. He jerked his head up to scowl at his cousin in the dim passage. “What the hell was that for?”

  “You daft arse.” Calum growled in annoyance. “Saints, we’ve known each other all our lives. I know you better than anyone. Stop wallowing in your hurt feelings with your mother and Fraser. We’ve no time for any of that nonsense. We need to find who the hell did this to Fraser and why they intended for you to shoulder the blame.”

  “’Tis evident someone who was not pleased with Fraser’s decision.” Liam snorted. “Probably that whoreson, Kenneth.”

  Calum grunted. “After that encounter, I’m beginning to wonder myself.” Climbing the last steps, he unlatched the entryway door. “Symon spent most of the morn questioning the kitchen maids, but to no avail. No one saw a thing. I took the liberty of arranging a taster for any fare or drink that passes through Fraser’s chambers.”

  Liam nodded, pleased with his cousin’s foresight to think ahead. “Saints, what the devil am I to do with the clan? Especially since they believe I’ve poisoned their damned laird.”

  “I know not, but you’re going to have to think of something fast to earn their trust. I’d rather not run Kenneth through if he tries to lock you away again, or worse.”

  “Earn their trust?” Liam scoffed at the ridiculous statement. “I did not do a blasted thing to lose it in the first place.”

  “You’re a clever sort.” Calum pushed open the door and welcoming sunlight streamed inside. “Make sure the clan knows of the woman, for a start. She can vouch for you. Then, ’tis up to you to find a way to gain the clan’s trust.”

  “Because that shall be no trouble,” Liam remarked dryly. He stepped outside the darkened passageway, squinting his eyes against the brightness of the midday sun. “And what damned woman? You cannot mean the blonde serving maid from the hall?”

  The two of them lifted the heavy beam to bar the dungeon entrance, dropping the thick wood in iron brackets with a solid thump.

  Calum cut him a sideways stare. “Saints, Liam, how many women were there last eve?”

  The accusation piqued his irritation. “There were no damned women at all.”

  His cousin snorted. “Well, a certain dark-haired female came to your aid. Tall and slim. Venora’s her name, I believe.”

  Oh Saints, nay. Anyone but that accursed female. Liam spat out a curse. “Nora?”

  “Aye, she and her brother, the young man with the limp, sought out Symon in the hall and demanded to speak with me.” A smile lifted the corners of his cousin’s mouth. “I’ll admit, I was a bit surprised. She’s different from your other women.”

  Other women? Saints, his cousin spoke as if he bedded a female every blasted eve. ’Twas a lot fewer and much further in between if the truth was known. As for Nora, what the hell was the lass playing at? “I vow to you, I did not bed the woman.”

  “She admitted you spent the eve in her cottage.” Calum narrowed his gaze. “Why else would she claim such?”

  “Who the devil knows?” Truly, ’twas confounding. “’Tis true, I spent the eve on her cottage floor, but naught else. I swear it.”

  “Well, she claims you were with her and, for the moment, that’s the only thing keeping you from rotting away in the dungeons until we find who’s truly to blame for this wretched mess.”

  Christ, Liam suspected Nora was naught but trouble from the beginning, but her omission of facts merely confirmed his thou
ghts. Why would she make such a bold admission? Especially after she’d all but pushed him out of her cottage with her rude behavior. Hell, he should denounce the claim out of sheer spite, but his cousin had a point. At least for the time being, her confession spared him an undesirable seat in the foul dungeons and, for that, he was grateful.

  Good manners dictated he should pay the lass a visit to express his appreciation. Though, he hardly wished to deal with more of her scathing side eyes and frosty glowers. On the other hand, he supposed annoying the woman had its merits.

  Sucking in breath after breath of fresh, crisp air, he ran a hand over his dirty hair and lifted his face toward the sun. The heat warmed his damp clothes and soaked into his chilled skin.

  “By the Saints, Liam,” Calum exclaimed. “I cannot believe you let that arse best you.”

  Nonplussed, he faced his cousin. “Who?”

  “Kenneth.” Calum pointed to Liam’s swollen eye.

  Instead of answering, he gazed past the outer courtyard to a patch of rolling green pasture. A few hours’ ride east of MacGregor lands, the terrain was much the same—fertile soils and grazing meadows with a stretch of dense forest to the west.

  With the annual wool harvest a sennight away, several of the clansmen secured wattle-fenced pens to hold the sheep flocks. Every woolen beast from one end of the holding to the opposite required a good shear before the arrival of the warmer summer season. Half the yield would clothe the clan, while the other half went to the burgh market in Inverness to trade with the Flanders merchants. The coin would fill Fraser coffers and carry the clan through another year.

  Afterward, the fields needed tilling and seeds planted to ensure a bountiful harvest throughout the summer months and into fall. As well as repairs to structures after weathering winter. He may have no wish to run a keep, but he understood what was vital for a clan to survive and prosper. With Fraser ailing, the clan could do with added support.

  Christ, why was he even thinking of such matters to begin with? ’Twas hardly his concern.