Laura wound her arms inside his jerkin and around his back. Her fingertips ran along his muscles. He drew her closer, deepened his kiss. She was on fire. A building frenzy excited and alarmed her. She pushed against him, but he wouldn’t release her. He held her fast. The fire built until she flew apart.
He released her lips and held her close, cradling her head on his chest. His heart pounded as hard as hers. For long minutes, he stroked her hair as she regained her composure. How often she’d dreamt of his touch, his kiss. His kiss, his arms were better than she imagined.
“We must find Evan and Angel’s murderer,” she said and moved closer and molded into his side.
“Yes, Evan and Angel. Are you sure you’ve recovered?” His chest rumbled. Jamie smoothed back her hair, then tipped up her chin and kissed her nose.
His soft kisses didn’t hide the worry on his face. How had she not seen his tenderness before? “I’ve never felt better.”
“Me neither. I’ve wanted to kiss you for some time.”
She closed her eyes and reveled in his words. “Mrs. Turner said you stayed with me.”
“I wouldn’t let anyone near you. I watched you battle nightmares and was helpless. All I could do was keep you comfortable. We need to discuss—”
“Yes, but not now. Evan has so little time,” she said.
“We’ll do this together. No more going off on your own. I may have doubts about ghosts, but not about a very real murderer. We need to sort this out before Herbert returns tomorrow. Someone has to speak to Holger. Now.”
Reluctantly, she stepped out of his arms.
He took her elbow and directed her down the stairs.
“While I slept, I dreamt of Evan’s ghost. He indicated we don’t need any more information. We must find the right way to put the pieces together. What have we overlooked?” She stopped mid-way down the stairs.
“Why don’t I like that smile?”
She stared up at him. “What smile?” She forced her smile to be more dazzling.
“The one on your face that tells me I’m not going to like what you’re thinking.”
“I trust you more than anyone.” The action they needed to take was clear to her. Jamie would be her biggest obstacle.
“Yes, but I still don’t like the look in your eye.” His brow wrinkled. She continued down the stairs.
“We have what the murderer wants.” She touched the black pin on her shawl. “All I need to do is have him see it.”
“Oh, no. You’re not going to be bait.” He came to a halt at the bottom, and pulled her around to face him.
Determination locked his features. She had to make him listen, then she could concentrate on persuading him. “Herbert returns tomorrow, there is no other way.”
“He tried to kill you. No, we can leave the pin in the pantry and wait for him to come for it.”
“That’s a good plan if we had a lot of time, but we don’t.”
“I’ll wear the pin.” He held out his hand. She took a step back and placed her hand over the gem. Was he daft?
“You wear it? You’re as big as a tree. He won’t steal it from you. He’ll wait and kill you.”
“We may need to uncover a murderer, but I’ll not allow you to be in danger. You’ve taken too many risks already. We’ll let people know that an item has been found and is locked in Herbert’s desk. I’ll station myself nearby and wait. You and I will find the murdering bastard. I promise.”
“But—”
“Don’t look so miserable. Your attacker knows you have the gem. I’m sure Mrs. Turner will accommodate us and pass along that an item found in the pantry is now in Lord Herbert’s desk. This will keep you out of danger and serves our purpose. While you dine tonight, I’ll keep watch.” He held out his hand.
“What?” She knew what he wanted.
“The pin.” Reluctantly, she took it off and handed it to him.
“Come, I’ll take you for a walk through the market.”
She wouldn’t get much farther with him. Mrs. Turner, while not a gossip, would know whose ear needed to be bent. But she wanted to be involved, not a bystander.
“I agree, but only if I can search for the person with the crooked left pinkie and we still need to speak to Holger.”
“Yes, we’ll speak to Holger and while we go through the market, look for the person with the crooked finger.”
She grinned, quite satisfied. He took her hand and moved on with their little conspiracy.
Jamie stopped long enough to give Mrs. Turner her instructions.
“I’m glad I can help. Before you’re halfway through the market, people will know about the brooch,” Mrs. Turner said. Jamie and Laura were about to leave.
“Mrs. Turner.” The housekeeper gave Laura her attention. “You knew Evan well. Do you know if he had any broken fingers?”
“No, he didn’t have any broken fingers or other bones.”
The early afternoon weather was crisp. She pulled her wool tightly around her. Relieved the handprint wasn’t Evan’s, the problem remained. Whose was it?
There was a subtle difference in her relationship with Jamie, a combination of excitement and adventure. She didn’t want to talk about their kiss. Not because of Evan, although that was a good reason, but rather she wanted the magic to linger. Was his kiss an impulse because she had been ill? Right now, why he kissed her didn’t matter.
“Lord Jamie, can I help you?” the tinker asked.
“Holger, I’m making inquiries into the deaths of Evan and Angel.” Jamie glanced at the man’s hands. No crooked little finger on either one.
Holger pulled his cap off and averted his eyes.
“Bad thing that was. And I thought they were such a loving couple.” The man’s unconvincing sing-song voice struck her as insincere. Laura touched her beads. Cold as the biting breeze.
“Tell me what happened.”
“What happened?” The tinker turned toward Laura and nodded.
The hair on her arms stood and she struggled not to shiver. Jamie must have sensed her discomfort. He stepped in front of her, blocking Holger’s view. She took the opportunity to examine the wares on the wagon and still hear Holger answer Jamie’s questions.
“Thomas said you were in the pantry when he entered with Brian and Jermyn.”
Holger stiffened.
“Yes. It was awful. I went to put a barrel of salt into the pantry. I heard Evan and Angel arguing something fierce. She wasn’t any angel with the words she tossed about. I didn’t want to interrupt them and decided to go back when they were gone. When I returned with Mary, they were both dead.”
“What did they argue about?” Laura, holding a pot of fragrant spices, leaned closer to hear.
“They may have had a lover’s spat. All I heard was noise. She probably accused him of being unfaithful and he denied everything, of course. What else would a woman argue about? I’m sorry I can’t give you more information.” His words sounded unconvincing. Her beads confirmed his words a lie.
“If you remember anything else, make sure you tell me.” Holger nodded and Jamie stepped over to Laura.
“You didn’t want to question him about the argument? With all we know about Evan and Angel, you don’t really think they had a lover’s spat?” Laura asked.
“Not at all. He’s just a man with his prejudices, making assumptions.”
“I overheard several people mention something was found. Mrs. Turner was right. The news is spreading quickly,” Laura said.
“Did you think our murderer would hold up his hand and say the pin belongs to me? No,” he said and snorted.
“We found out that Evan didn’t have any broken fingers. I was sure the handprint on the rag was his. Someone must have seen or heard something.”
“If you’re well enough, I thought we’d walk through the market. Afterward, I’ll take you into the hall, then lock the pin in Herbert’s desk as planned. Hopefully, before supper is over, we’ll capture the murderer, have his f
ull confession and you’ll be able to put Evan to rest.”
Any place he wanted to go was fine with her.
Chapter Nine
Laura sat at the high table while Jamie hid in Herbert’s solar waiting for the murderer. The plan sounded good at the time, now she wasn’t sure.
She pushed her uneaten baked salmon, the second course of the evening meal around her trencher. Her stomach was tied in knots. She had no patience to hold a conversation and avoided everyone.
Laura glanced out the window across the courtyard. Nothing and she didn’t know if that pleased or disappointed her.
Unable to sit still, she fidgeted like a restless child. A quick look around the hall and she found Sonia in the shadows. The girl put a lot of faith in her to help Evan. She bit her lip hard. What was she going to tell Sonia at midnight? What would she tell Evan? The holes in their plan were evident now. What if the murderer didn’t come for the pin? What if Evan was the murderer? Laura couldn’t concede to failure. Not yet.
Laura pushed her plate away. She had picked the salmon apart until it looked like a battle area. Restless, she drummed a dirge on the table. The Maxwell cousin next to her placed her hand over hers to silence her fingers.
“Forgive me, Cousin. I’m a bit distracted this eve.” Laura put her hands into her lap and twisted her linen handkerchief.
What had she and Jamie overlooked? Evan was adamant no more information was needed. She went over every piece of information again and again without any answer.
“Lady Laura, you seem anxious this evening.” Her Maxwell cousin gave her a scathing stare. Laura followed her stare. Her rebellious fingers once again tapped.
Laura returned her hand to her lap and glanced toward the window, again.
“Mrs. Turner, is there any more ale?” her cousin asked, holding an empty pitcher.
Mrs. Turner was behind her struggling to keep hold of a platter of meat.
“I’ll fill the ale pitcher,” The housekeeper had enough to do, besides she had a hard time sitting still.
“No, you needn’t go. I’ll send one of the girls,” said Mrs. Turner.
“You and your staff have enough to contend with this evening.” Laura was halfway to the kitchen corridor.
“Bring the pitcher to the kitchen. They’ll know what to do.” Mrs. Turner gave her a wide smile. “Take care on your way. Crates are stacked in the hallway. The passage is narrow.”
Laura took the pitcher and hurried out of the room. She sidestepped around servants rushing out with hot food and others returning with empty platters. The passageway was choked with people and crates. She navigated the narrow path that passed the stairs to the well and reached the kitchen.
“More ale is needed,” she said as someone took the pitcher without a word. No time for pleasantries.
The kitchen was controlled chaos. One cook carved a roast, while another rushed to remove fowl from a spit. Seasoned vegetables were moved to a serving platter. A cauldron hung in the fireplace, bubbling with an aromatic stew. She breathed in the aromas, but nothing enticed her appetite.
Out of the noise and bustling servants, a baby toddled toward the stairs in tears. Laura moved fast to bar the child’s way.
“Where are you going?” Laura spoke softly, trying to calm the child. “The steps are not safe.”
Laura picked up the little girl. Drool ran down her chin, and she quieted. Pudgy baby fingers touched the shiny gems of Laura’s necklace.
“She’s cutting teeth and is a bit out of sorts,” a woman said, handing a platter of vegetables to another servant and hurried to Laura.
“Not to worry,” Laura said to the anxious mother.
“See, Mummy’s here.” The baby unexpectedly dove toward her mother without letting go of Laura’s necklace. The woman tried to pry the child’s hand loose, but with a final tug snapped the delicate chain.
The baby pointed to the beads and laughed as they slid down Laura’s bodice and bounced on the floor.
Laura scrambled to keep the beads from falling. Only able to catch two, she put them in her pocket, then listened in horror as the remaining six scattered across the floor.
Consequences. Lose a bead, lose something precious, Lisbeth warned. She pushed aside the warning. Frozen in place, a cold chill ran up her back. Jamie was most precious to her.
Lose him. How? His love? His life? Now wasn’t the time to panic. She took a steadying breath. Recapture the six remaining beads and all will be well.
“Don’t move.” She held her arms out and brought activity to a halt. “I must find six beads.”
A squire came rushing into the hall. “Stay back.” Her shout stopped the poor boy where he stood.
“Here, m’lady.” A servant handed her a purple bead.
“I found another, here by the wall.” Another gave her a bead. Two. She found a third close by. She tucked those into her pocket. That left three still missing. She searched the floor.
“Here, m’lady. Maybe this will make the bead sparkle.” One of the girls gave her a candle.
She methodically went over the floor. Her skirt swished as she turned near the top of the steps.
“Careful, m’lady,” the woman holding the child shouted.
But her warning came too late. Pinging echoed down the steps as one-by-one three beads cascaded to the bottom.
“I’ll bring them to you,” the baby’s mother said. “I need to bring up a pitcher of water.”
“No. You can’t go down with the baby. I’ll bring you the water.” She raised the candle and started down the narrow spiral staircase.
“Be careful, m’lady. Take care, the steps are not all the same height and are difficult. Stay close to the inner wall. The footing is best there.” The baby let out a cry, punctuating her mother’s concern.
Light from the main level diminished and the shadows deepened the farther she descended into the lower level of Caerlaverock. The small circle of light from the candle pushed against the darkness and lit her way.
Deep in solid rock, the dampness of the lower level along with the chill created a slick icy film on the stones steps. Laura hugged the wall, and, with care, picked her way down. She had gone down a dozen or more steps, and tried to see what was below. Nothing. The inky blackness yawned before her and brought her to a halt. She peered behind her and made out a dim flicker of light.
Consequences. She should have been satisfied with staying with her Maxwell cousin. A deep breath and she went on. She stepped onto the next stair and her foot slid out from under her. Laura reached out and grasped at the edges of the stone wall, searching for anything to cling to.
She found her footing. A tumble down these steps would be fatal. She said a small prayer of thanks. Stay to the inside. She moved tentatively and continued down until she came to the bottom.
Laura raised her candle high. An unlit torch was in a bracket next to the well room door to her left. She touched her lit candle to the torch which sizzled, then flared to life. Relieved with more light, she searched the floor. A purple agate bead twinkled in front of her. Encouraged, she picked it up. Six.
The other two beads couldn’t be far. The well room door was ajar, held in place by a crate. At the far end a passageway went deeper under the castle to the dungeons and storage rooms.
She searched every inch of the floor, but found nothing. The beads had to be there. She straightened up and glanced toward the upper floor. Or had only one bead fallen down the stairs? Tired and frustrated, she leaned against the crate. It moved a few inches, pushing back the heavy well-room door. Startled, she looked down. Half-way underneath the door, the seventh bead gleamed.
Laura searched across the room to the passageway and realized she was at the lower end of the room. The bead couldn’t roll in that direction. She turned to the well room. Perhaps the bead bounced its way inside.
Holding the candle in front of her, she entered the small room. The well, level with the floor, was in the middle of the room covered with a woo
den board. That was a relief.
Rows of buckets and pitchers lined the wall. Ropes curled neatly on the floor. One full pitcher waited to be brought to the kitchen.
A glint of light caught her eye. The last bead had rolled next to the well. She set down the candle, picked up the bead, then took the others out of her pocket and counted. Satisfied she had all she returned them to her pocket. Eager to return upstairs, she picked up the heavy pitcher, splashing water down the skirt of her gown.
A chill crossed her shoulders, and she froze. Someone’s eyes were on her.
“Jamie? I was just getting some water.”
“Lady Laura. Are you here alone?”
“Holger, is that you?”
Get out, a warning voice echoed in her head. The urgency to leave grew stronger. A sheer black fright swept through her. She bolted for the door, not bothering with the candle.
He blocked most of the doorway. She took a breath to control her pounding heart and squeezed past him.
The heavy pitcher began to slip out of her hands. Holger caught the water jar, but not before water spilled and doused his shirt, plastering it to his chest. The torch flared, and an outline of a leather pouch exposing a raised engraving of an angel.
Holger glanced at his shirt. Slowly, he lifted his head, his face set with a wicked grin.
Laura pushed past him. “Get out, get out, get out,” the voice shouted in her head. The pitcher smashed to the floor. She rushed through the puddle tugging at her heavy wet skirt. Between icy steps and her skirt twisted at her feet, she struggled with her footing as she hurried up the first few steps.
The tinker grabbed her arm. He dragged her down and swung her around to face him.
“Give me what’s mine.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have anything of yours.” She pulled her arm away and stepped closer. With all her heart, she prayed challenging him, as she did with Bryce’s men would work with Holger.
Holger held his ground.
“How dare you touch me?” Her scream bounced off the stone walls. She doubted anyone would hear her. Perhaps, if she was gone too long, Mrs. Turner would send someone after her. If the woman realized she was gone.
The Highlander’s English Woman (The Stelton Legacy) Page 11