How was he going to get in now? He peered at the shore. He could still see it, could make out the rocks where the boat had been wedged, but they were quickly growing smaller. Water splashed up over the side, and he realized the boat was breaching. He had to get it turned around or he'd soon be very wet and very cold.
Thank goodness, there was an oar in the bottom of the boat.
Munro grasped the edge of the boat to lift himself up and the entire board gave way, pushing outward. He gave a cry of shock as the plaster between the plank and the one below it crumbled. A wave swept over the edge of the boat. As it receded, it took the top plank with it.
Ye are nae becoming accident prone?
Elen's words tumbled in his head. No one could be this accident prone. Masts did not just snap off. If they did, a boat didn't then begin to fall apart.
Trying to steady himself, he rose up on his knees. Another wave tumbled over the side and the next plank began to shake. The hardened plaster between the planks, which had seemed dry and waterproof, was now wet and crumbling. Grainy...
Grainy?
He reached out with one finger, scooped up a bit, and brought it to his nose. He smelled pitch... but what was grainy? On a hunch, he brought his finger to his tongue. Immediately recognizing the taste, he spat it out. Salt. Obviously, someone had removed the nails that attached the top planks to the boat's spine and used a mixture of flour, salt, and water to glue the plank into place. The new pitch had only been brushed on to disguise the treachery.
Just then the next rail came free, and though Munro foolishly tried to hold it in place, the cold green sea ripped it from his hand. A wave hit the boat broadside. Suddenly he was tumbling into the frigid sea.
Ye are nae becoming accident prone?
His wife's voice bounced in his head as the dark, icy water closed over him, sucking him downward.
Chapter 25
Elen sat on the edge of a bench in the great hall, scratching behind Camille's ear as she waited, trying not to worry. It was after dark; Munro should have been back by now. She had sent men down at sunset to look for his sails, and they had not been visible. Munro had said he wasn't going far, just beyond the rock jetty.
Where was he?
She tried not to think of the men from Dunblane who had left on simple fishing trips, never to return.
"Ye think some ill fate has become him?" Rosalyn asked from the far end of the bench.
She was supping, as were most of the others in the hall, but Elen didn't have the stomach for it.
Elen glanced at her sister. "Naught has happened to him," she said under her breath. "'Tis dark now. Ye had best finish your meal and go home. Your husband will be worried."
"I wouldn't leave ye like this, sister," Rosalyn said, placing a thick slab of venison on a piece of bread. "Nae with ye being so worried."
Elen jumped up from the bench. "I amnae worried. Munro is quite capable of sailing a fishing boat. He's a good swimmer." In truth, she was greatly worried—worried to the point of panic. Where was he? Why hadn't he come home yet? Why couldn't her men spot his sail from the beach? The possibility he could have drowned tried to inch its way into her head, but she kept shoving it aside. It wasn't possible. She couldn't lose Munro now. Not like this. Not when she finally had come to the conclusion that she loved him, that she'd probably loved him from the day she hauled him off to her oubliette.
Not when she was ready to tell him. It had been on the tip of her tongue to say it when he left today, and now she wished she had.
She paced in front of the hearth, her arms crossed over her chest. Earlier, she had been concerned about the king's messenger. The rider had arrived late this afternoon, bidding Munro to meet the king's daughter at a halfway point between them and Inverness. It would mean crossing the Grampians, where the snow was likely to be deeper, the trail more treacherous. She had been concerned for Munro's safety in making the trip this time of year, but now that worry seemed minor.
"M'lady!" Alexi ran into the great hall, out of breath. "M'lord Rancoff is alive! The boat went down. He nearly died, but he is alive."
Elen's breath caught in her throat and hung there for one long moment. "Thank ye, Jesus," she exhaled, crossing herself. Then she ran for the door. "Where is he?"
Alexi ran ahead. "Coming through the gatehouse."
Elen reached him in the bailey. By the light of the torches of her men escorting him, she could see he was soaking wet, his clothing tattered. Someone had had the good sense to throw a mantle over him, but he was so cold that he was shaking and his skin had a blue tinge to it.
"Munro," she cried, fully intending to throw her arms around him and cover his cold face with kisses.
But as he lifted his gaze to meet hers, something in the look in his eyes made her stop short. "Munro," she said again, quieter this time.
"Upstairs," he growled in a voice so low that it reverberated in her head.
She stared at him. He was angry with her, furious, and she had no idea what the source of his anger was. Her men stared at him. At her.
"Did ye hear me?" he barked, pointing a finger. "I wish to see ye upstairs, wife."
Without argument, she turned on her heel and headed for the tower house. "Bring up hot water for a bath," she ordered the closest clansman. "Food and warm drink for m'lord Rancoff."
Elen climbed the tower stairs, Munro's heavy footsteps echoing behind her. What was wrong? She waited until she reached the inside of their chamber to turn to him.
"Munro," she breathed. "What happened? Did the boat overturn?"
He slammed the door shut behind him and stalked toward her. "What have ye done, ye conniving, cold-hearted bitch?" He did not shout. Shouting would have been better.
She could not take her gaze from his, his words biting her to the quick. "I dinnae understand," she said. "What are ye talking about?"
"Are ye suddenly prone to accidents?" he mimicked cruelly. He stopped an arm's length from her. "Nay, I am not prone to accidents. Only prone to attempts on my life, it seems."
"Someone has tried to kill ye?" she breathed.
"Nae someone." He ripped the mantle off his shoulders. "My wife."
Elen felt as numb as if it were she who had washed up on the shore. "Munro, 'tisnae true. I love ye. I wouldnae try to—"
"Ye love me?" He began to strip off his wet clothing.
She had never seen Munro like this, so angry, so bitter. He made her afraid.
"Ye love me?" he repeated. "Well, isn't that convenient, that ye would love me now, now that ye have been caught, ye deceitful witch."
Tears sprang in Elen's eyes. She did love him. She did. She could feel her heart tearing. "Nay." She shook her head. "'Tisnae true. Who has filled your head with these lies?"
"Tell me the truth." He sat on the edge of the bed, naked but for his boots and stockings. "When ye realized ye were trapped, that ye couldnae get out of the marriage, ye simply pretended to accept your fate. Those nights when ye welcomed me into your arms—'twas all a ruse."
She shook her head, too shocked to speak. A lump rose to lodge in her throat.
"The arrow was meant for me, wasn't it? 'Twas no reaver, but one of your clansmen who shot at me. Only he missed and hit the lad. Did ye feel the least bit guilty about that?"
"Munro, please, ye must listen to me."
"Nay." He jerked off a soggy boot and threw it at her.
She jumped out of its way.
"Accident prone, eh? A loose stone on the step, a torch that has conveniently burnt out when ye know I head for the cellars. And the rock, that was clever. Had it fallen and crushed me to death after one of your men knocked the scaffolding out from under me, who would have suspected? 'Twas merely an accident." He shrugged his shoulders. "A pity Rancoff died at such an early age and under such tragic circumstances." His tone dripped with sarcasm. "But the boat. The boat was the cleverest of all, my sweet. And ye were so quick! When I wasnae crushed by the tumbling wall, ye sent your men to cut the ma
st and rig the hull. Very clever, indeed—removing the nails on the planks, mortaring them with salt and flour, and then covering it with a thin layer of pitch so I couldnae see it."
"Someone sabotaged your boat?" she managed. "But... how..."
"Ye understand these lands will be forfeit, don't ye?" He threw his other boot.
Someone knocked on the door.
"A minute," Munro shouted, his voice so loud, so savage that Elen cringed.
"What are ye talking about?" she whispered, wiping at her eyes. "What do ye mean my lands are forfeit?"
"The agreement with Robert stood only as long as ye were loyal to him and to me, remember? That means when I speak with the king, the agreement will be revoked. 'Twill be my land whether ye live or die, Elen of Dunblane. Mine to sell if I wish."
Elen felt as if she was suffocating. Lost. She didn't know what to say, how to right this terrible wrong, how to convince him there had been a terrible mistake. If someone was truly trying to kill him, it was not her.
He rose from the bed. "Of course, that was the whole idea from the beginning, wasn't it? Had I died in one of those unfortunate accidents, the land simply would have reverted back to ye, wouldn't it? Ye would have your precious land, and I would be permanently removed."
She took a step toward him, hurt, angry that he would accuse her of such betrayal. "Munro, please. Ye have to listen to me—"
"I willnae listen to anything ye have to say," he boomed. "Nae ever again!" He grasped the doorknob and ripped it open.
"Food and hot drink, m'lord," Alexi said, trembling with fear.
Munro yanked the tray from his hand and slammed the door shut with his heel. He walked to a table, dropped the tray with a clatter, and went to the bed to pull off a blanket to wrap himself in.
Elen slid into a chair, her body feeling so heavy she was not certain she could hold herself up any longer. She could not believe this could be happening. Of course she had not tried to kill her husband.
But if she hadn't, who had?
* * *
"Ye imbecilic turd," Rosalyn hissed in the darkness. "How hard is it to drown a man in the December sea?"
Finley just stood there in the dark corridor. "Who would have thought he could swim that far?" he said quietly.
Rosalyn tightened her mantle around her shoulders angrily. It was too late to go home in the unpredictable weather. She would have to stay the night in her old bedchamber, and she was not happy about it.
"So now what do we do?" she snapped. "Obviously, he suspects something. I couldnae make out his words from the stairwell, but he wasnae pleased." She eyed Finley, a plan already forming in her head. "Fortunately for us, he thinks it's my sister, but how long will that last before his suspicions turn in another direction?"
Under her scrutiny, Finley seemed to shrink against the wall.
"I nae know what we should do, but we must do something quickly. God's breath, kill them both!" She gestured angrily.
"Nay. Nay," Finley breathed. "Ye promised she wouldnae be hurt. Ye promised I could stay with her."
She stared at the pathetic little man in front of her.
Rosalyn did not understand why Finley loved Elen so much. Never once had Elen tossed him even a moment's affection. Not like Rosalyn. Not like Rosalyn had for years.
"Nay," Rosalyn said. "We will nae kill her so long as she cooperates once her husband is gone and the lands are in my Cerdic's name. She willnae be so uppity then, will she?" She lifted a shoulder. "Perhaps then she will even have a little for ye, my friend."
Rosalyn took a deep breath, once again setting her mind in the direction of her brother-in-law's demise. "Ye said the king's messenger arrived bidding Munro come for this chit."
"Aye."
She lifted her hands. "So 'tis simple enough. Munro rides to do the king's bidding. We send two men after him to kill him and whoever rides with him. His party will never reach the king's party and 'twill be a terrible tragedy."
"But who will I send? I came upon that outlaw by accident. He is long gone south now with his other comrades."
Rosalyn thought a moment. "The two brothers, Banoff and John, they are loyal to Dunblane, nay?"
He nodded, watching her in the darkness. She knew he liked her. Loved her even, at least for what she could do for him, how she could make him feel, and she liked that power she held over him. "Simply go to the two blunderpates and tell them their mistress bids them kill her husband."
Finley blinked. "They will do it?"
"Of course they'll do it! They practically kiss the ground she treads upon."
"And ye dinnae think ye should give them the order, rather than I?"
Rosalyn laughed low in her throat. "They wouldnae believe me." She took a step closer and smoothed his shirt with her hand. "But ye, ye are the faithful steward. Loyal until the sun ceases to shine. They would take your word as if it were God's."
Finley bit down on his lower lip. "And then it will be over? Be done?" His voice quivered.
Rosalyn ran her hand over his chest seductively. "Then it will be done. Cerdic will be the laird of Rancoff and ye, my friend, will have both the Burnard lasses at your beck and call."
There was a sound in the corridor and Rosalyn released him. "Now go. Be done with the matter. Seeing as how the king has clicked his fingers, Munro may well ride at dawn."
Rosalyn walked away, leaving Finley in the darkness and thinking how much she was going to enjoy being Lady Rancoff.
* * *
"Please dinnae go like this," Elen said, fighting tears. She wished now that she had not told Munro of the king's message. She should have postponed telling him until she had figured what was happening, who was trying to kill Munro and why. "If someone is trying to kill ye, it could be dangerous," she said.
"I will take my chances," he snapped, strapping his belt around his waist. "And I will be away from ye, my dear wife."
Elen paced the floor in her nightdress. She had not slept much the night before, though he had slept surprisingly well after barring their door. The night before, he had said he did not worry about her stabbing him in his sleep. That would be too obvious a death. He said if she managed to kill him with her own hands, Robert and his men would come down upon her, and she would lose her blessed Dunblane. That would not be a logical move, and of course everyone knew the Burnards were pragmatists.
"Munro, ye are nae thinking clearly. Ye are tired. Your bones must ache from the swim. Please dinnae go today."
"Oh, I go today." He shot her an evil glance. "For if I nae go, I fear I will wrap my fingers around your throat and strangle ye to death. As for your men who will follow me and try to kill me"—he lifted a broad shoulder that seemed massive—"I will have to take my chances, and they theirs."
"At least take some of your own men," she said.
He shook his head. "Right now I want nae part of anyone."
He threw his mantle over his shoulders, grabbed a saddlebag off the bed, and strode toward the door. There he stopped, but he did not turn to her. "Ye have betrayed me, Elen," he said softly. "Worse, ye have broken my heart."
Elen wanted to go after him. Wanted to follow him down the steps and shout at him. Instead, she sank to her knees on the floor and cried as she had never cried in all her days.
* * *
Elen did not know how long she lay on the cold floor, how long her tears flowed. But finally, when the tears were spent and her head pounded, she rose. Wiping her eyes, she walked to the window, trying to see in the direction Munro had gone. She could not believe he had ridden off toward the mountains without a single man to protect him. The mountains were dangerous enough under ordinary circumstances, but if someone was trying to kill him...
She considered going after him herself, but decided against it. He would be gone four to five days. If she stayed here and talked to her men, she would have time to figure out what was happening. And her first interview would be with young Cerdic; after all, he had the most to gain, did he not?
With a plan in motion, her spirits lifted. She loved Munro. She knew that now, and she could not let this come between them. She would not.
But there was still the matter of Munro's safety. She had to protect him, even if he was not willing to protect himself.
She walked to her door and opened it. In the corridor, Alexi sat on his pallet, looking scared and confused.
He jumped up. "M'lady."
"Go find Finley and Donald. Tell them to pack bags and weapons. Once they are packed, they are to come to me for instruction."
The lad bobbed his head and took off down the steps.
She smiled for the first time since last night when Munro had walked out of the sea. She would send Finley and Donald to keep an eye on Munro from a distance. The two men would not let anyone harm her husband, for if there was one thing she knew, it was that she could count on their loyalty.
Chapter 26
After giving Finley and Donald instructions and seeing them off, Elen marched back up the tower stairs and entered her sister's bedchamber without knocking. "Rosalyn!"
Rosalyn opened her eyes sleepily. "Elen?" She squinted, took one look at her sister, and fell back on her pillow. "What is all this racket about? Can ye not see I am faying to sleep?"
"Get up," Elen said, walking to the window. She pulled open the heavy drapes to let in the winter light.
"God's bones, what do ye want?" Rosalyn pulled a blanket over her head.
"Is your husband trying to kill mine?" Elen asked, striding back to the bed.
Rosalyn lowered the blanket a little to peer up at Elen. "What?"
"Ye heard me! Save me the ride to Rancoff Castle to strangle the mon myself. Is Cerdic trying to kill Munro so he might inherit Rancoff?"
Rosalyn giggled, pushing up on both elbows. "Cerdic plotting to kill Rancoff? Dear sister, my husband barely has the verve and forethought to rise from the bed in the morning and find the piss pot." She fell onto her back again in a fit of giggles. "Cerdic plotting, indeed. The only plotting Cerdic does is the plotting to get me upon my knees before him." She kicked her dainty feet beneath the blankets, amused by her cleverness.
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