It appeared a day like every other.
Even Gronk, his favorite castle dog, behaved as was his wont at this quiet hour of the day. A great wolflike beast with a shaggy black coat and silver eyes, Gronk sprawled before the fire, gnawing a giant meat bone while Marjory’s wee Hercules hopped around him like a flea, begging attention. As always, Gronk ignored the tiny dog. His only acknowledgment of Kendrew’s arrival was a single, quick ear twitch.
Gronk’s bone held priority.
Kendrew understood.
It was good to have a purpose.
His goal was to find out why the hall seemed such a haven of peace when the skin on the back of his neck still prickled so incessantly. He also needed to discover his sister’s whereabouts. A glance around the cavernous, smoke-hazed room—and then another, just to be sure—revealed Lady Norn wasn’t present.
That boded ill.
Her absence meant she was up to something.
But before he could lift a hand and rub his nape, deciding his next move, a cool, feminine voice spoke at his shoulder. “By all the heather, you must’ve enjoyed the revels greatly, returning only now.”
Kendrew whipped around to face his sister. “I’d be enjoying myself still if you hadn’t come creeping up on me out of nowhere.”
Some of his men sniggered. A few shifted on the trestle benches or coughed. Grim, Kendrew’s captain of the guard, was passing and cuffed him on the shoulder. A burly, tough-looking man, Grim was so named because his eyes were the same deep gray as the mist that so often cloaked Nought. Just now, he winked, not breaking stride as he made his way to a table against the far wall.
Kendrew itched to join him.
Grim was his most trusted friend. He was a man who, despite his name, was aye full of laughter and could lift any man’s spirits with a wink and a smile. Kendrew could’ve done with a few of Grim’s more colorful jests, anything to take his mind off a certain tall, well-made beauty with dark eyes and long, blue-black hair.
But he stayed where he was, his gaze fixed on his sister. “No good comes to maids who slink through the shadows.”
He meant that, by God.
Marjory met his stare, cool as ever.
“I’ve been here all along.” Her tone held just enough smugness to fire his temper. “You’d have seen me if you’d looked well. Or have you forgotten”—she tilted her fair head, watching him—“that you’re not the only Mackintosh able to night-walk?”
“Humph.” Kendrew clamped his jaw, unable to argue.
He did chide himself.
He had forgotten that Marjory, like all their blood, could slip about in the shadows, silent and unseen for as long as she desired to remain undetected. Some Mackintoshes, himself in particular, could even pass through a bustling bailey or thronged great hall without a soul taking note. Though, he wouldn’t deny, it was a skill that required much concentration and practice. Night-walking was a gift laid in Nought cradles, a legacy from the clan’s long and mysterious past.
Marjory also possessed the irritating power to make him feel like a wee lad again, a mischievous boy caught doing something he’d been warned to leave alone.
Truth was he’d done just that.
He’d touched the forbidden, even sullying a lady. It scarce mattered that she’d deliberately provoked him, tempting him beyond the limits of any man and not even backing down when he’d made her aware of the danger. All that counted were his actions.
He’d behaved like a beast.
Marjory was eyeing him sharply, as if she knew.
“I wasn’t night-walking.” He looked at her, unable to keep his brows from snapping together. “I was sleeping. Alone on top of Slag’s Mound, if your long-nosed self wants to know.”
“Indeed?” She turned all innocence.
Kendrew saw right through her. “So I said, aye.”
“And have you nothing else to say?” She bent to scoop Hercules into her arms when the little dog bolted up to her. “Perhaps about James Cameron’s request of stones for the memorial cairn?”
“Hah!” Kendrew snatched an ale cup from a passing kinsman and tossed down the frothy brew in one swift gulp. “So that’s what you’re about. Still harping on that string, eh?” He slapped the empty cup on a table, dragged his arm over his mouth. “I’ll no’ be changing my mind and all your needling won’t make me.”
Now more than ever, he wasn’t setting foot on Cameron land again.
He did fold his arms, abandoning any attempt at maintaining an air of goodwill. “No’ so much as a thimbleful of stone dust will be leaving Nought. I’ve told you why often enough. Cuiridh mi clach ’ad charn. ‘I will carry a stone for you,’ as the wise words go. We both know it means ‘I willnae forget you.’ Not a one of our forebears will be dishonored by seeing stones he trod or rocks from his cairn carried off to grace a memorial on enemy territory.”
The pronouncement made, Kendrew fixed his sister with his most intimidating scowl, determined to glower her—and her infernal gnat of a dog—away from his sight and out of his hall. Leastways until he’d had time to slake his thirst and address his hunger.
His stomach was rumbling, and if he didn’t soon eat, someone would suffer.
Marjory seemed bent on being that person.
“A pity you’re so stubborn.” She shook her head, feigning sympathy. “I vow King Robert will be most grieved when word reaches him that you refused to serve the glen’s peace. He might even be so wrought that he’ll renew his threat to banish us all, then—”
“There is peace in the glen.” Kendrew glanced round the crowded hall, letting his stare challenge anyone to say otherwise. “Every day I refrain from taking my men hallooing through the heather, slashing swords and swinging axes, peace reins in these hills.”
He suspected he’d soon be doing just that if strange men truly were prowling the glen.
But he wouldn’t make a fool of himself by heading out with a war band until he was sure.
“I’m no’ breaking any truce.” The words were his only nod to Marjory’s needling.
A few grunts and mumbles came from the hall’s darker corners. The enthusiastic assent Kendrew hoped for—cheers and many elbows thumping the tabletops—didn’t come. Not a single foot stomp. Nor the clatter of good Mackintosh steel rattling in scabbards.
Even Grim held his tongue. The big man lounged on a trestle bench, his long legs stretched to the fire. He was calmly sipping ale and appeared to be studying the hearth flames. Gronk, the furry traitor, sat next to Grim, surely expecting a treat now that his meat bone was gnawed bare. Grim loved animals and always carried twists of dried meat to feed any dogs who begged a morsel. He slipped one to Gronk now, not taking his eyes off the hearth fire as he fed the dog from the leather pouch at his belt.
Other warriors were equally occupied, their attention elsewhere.
Kendrew frowned, his temper rising.
No one met his eye.
Hercules did, baring his little-dog teeth and snarling deep in his tiny chest.
Marjory shifted him in her arms, not turning a hair herself. “You say the present quiet is peace? The kind that will last once the horrors of the trial by combat fade? If you do, be warned. Everyone in this hall feels differently.”
“Bah.” Kendrew dusted his sleeve. “There isn’t a man here who’d cross me.”
Hercules growled again.
Lady Norn smiled, petting his head. “Your men know what’s at stake.”
“Stoking Cameron’s pride, naught else.” Kendrew jutted his chin, the prickles at his nape now replaced by a nice, angry flush. “I’ll have no part of that. His head is already swelled enough to fill the glen.”
Pleased by his wit, he threw another look over the smoky hall, hoping for his men’s agreement.
Again, no one responded.
Grim was gone, no doubt heading for the kitchens, where a certain plump serving lass supplied him with the dried meat twists for dogs. The wench gave Grim other treats as well, everyo
ne knew.
Gronk prowled past the tightly packed tables, head low and tail swishing as he sought another dog-loving treat-giver among Kendrew’s warriors.
Kendrew might’ve been air.
For all intents and purposes, he was as insubstantial as the rings of smoke curling along the hall’s heavy, age-blackened ceiling rafters. And this was one time he was not night-walking. A man should be noted when he stood in the middle of his own hall.
So he drew himself up to his full height and put back his shoulders. “I’ll no’ surrender to Cameron’s whims.” His voice rang, reaching every corner. “Not this day, nor on the morrow. All he’ll get from me is my sword rammed down his throat. If”—he hooked his thumbs in his sword belt—“I don’t first use my ax to lop off his head.”
His boasts went ignored.
Beside him, Lady Norn folded her hands, standing so straight she might have swallowed a broom. “If you do, you may as well behead us all.”
“Dinnae tempt me, Norn.” Kendrew flushed hot and cold, his annoyance welling. “Men need a little bloodletting now and then. Aught else isn’t natural.”
Even those words failed to stir his men.
Kendrew glared at them, half wondering if he’d walked into the wrong hall.
Yet this was Nought.
The men were his own, even if most of them were applying themselves to their bread and cheese with gusto, pretending not to have heard him. Some scratched sudden itches or hid behind their ale cups. Silence came from those with their heads on the tables, though one or two suddenly emitted such loud, fluting snores that he was almost of a mind to jab them with the pointy end of his sword, just to prove they were awake.
And men called him a scoundrel.
He was to be pitied, he was.
That was the way of it.
“You speak of James Cameron’s whims.” Marjory lowered Hercules to the rush-strewn floor and straightened, smoothing her skirts. “Because of you, he’s relinquishing his plan to erect a memorial cairn with—”
“Hah!” Kendrew slapped his thigh, his good humor restored. “Like as not, thon cross-grained seaweed-eater Alasdair MacDonald threatened to take back his Blackshore stones on hearing that I’d no’ be sending any from Nought.”
“He’d never do that.” Marjory’s tone was cool. Her cheekbones washed pink. “The MacDonald is a man of honor. He and Laird Cameron are agreed to—”
“Agreed, are they?” Kendrew’s levity vanished. “How would you know what those two cravens are planning?”
Marjory’s chin went up. “They aren’t cravens. And there will be a memorial at Castle Haven. But now, because of your refusal to send stones, the cairn will be built of rock from Cameron and MacDonald land.”
“By thunder!” Kendrew stared at her. “You opened Cameron’s letter.”
She didn’t deny it.
Half disbelieving, Kendrew looked on as Marjory extracted the parchment from a silk purse hidden in the folds of her gown. She held out the scroll, showing that the seal was broken. A snarling dog could still be seen in the cracked red wax, his image stamped deep and true.
It was clearly Cameron’s missive.
The beast was Skald, the ferocious dog that also graced the Cameron banner and had done so for centuries.
Kendrew frowned. His sister’s defiance didn’t surprise him at all.
“Here, it was meant for you.” She wriggled the parchment at him, causing the broken seal to jangle on its dangling, red silk ribbon.
In the flickering torchlight, the scroll minded Kendrew of a writhing snake. But he took the epistle, annoyed that just touching something from Castle Haven made some deep, dark part of himself wonder if he was about to be struck down by a thunderbolt.
Marjory lifted a brow, giving him the horrible notion that she’d read his mind.
“She’s a bold lassie, our Norn,” a deep voice called from a nearby table, breaking the men’s quiet.
The man sounded proud. As if the far-famed Lady Norn hadn’t just snapped a seal, but faced down an army of helmed and jeering spearmen.
Several other warriors chuckled, but most held their tongues.
The silent men were wise, for they knew the peril of Kendrew’s Berserker fury.
The others…
Kendrew tossed a scowl at the chucklers, quickly ending their mirth.
“So you did read the letter.” He turned back to Marjory.
“Someone had to.” She didn’t blink. “Be glad I did. You’d have put us all at risk otherwise. You can’t allow things to remain as they stand. It won’t do for the other two glen clans to erect their own memorial.”
“Why not?” Kendrew rather liked the idea.
He also took pleasure in irritating the buggers.
“Because”—Marjory paused as Gronk sidled up to them and dropped onto his haunches with a gusty, big-dog sigh, indicating he’d been unsuccessful in finding treat-givers—“King Robert is sure to hear that the memorial cairn is missing Nought stones. He’ll know why and before we know it, we’ll have his Lowlanders loose in the glen again. And this time they’ll come to tame you.”
Kendrew snorted, not about to answer such nonsense.
His sister took a breath. “Or worse, they’ll come to haul us all to the Isle of Lewis, as they threatened last time if we didn’t hold our peace.”
“Pah! You go too far, Norn.” Kendrew reached down to rub Gronk’s ears. “King Robert is an intelligent man. He’ll know my keeping away from Camerons and MacDonalds is more than honoring a truce.” He straightened, folding his arms. “I dinnae need to send stones to Castle Haven to prove aught.”
“You should send them because it’s right.”
“Keeping Blood Drinker sheathed is all the righting I’m willing to do.” Kendrew spoke firm, his words final.
Cameron and MacDonald could build a bridge to the moon with stones from their own territories. As long as he wasn’t troubled, it was no matter to him, save that he was glad to have done with such foolery. Perhaps now there’d be no more Castle Haven couriers darkening his door at all hours, bringing letters he had no intention of reading, then requiring sustenance before they took their leave.
No reason for him to see Lady Isobel Cameron.
He should be joyous.
Instead, his heart lurched. And his reaction unsettled him so much that he stepped around his sister, marched across the hall, and threw the scroll into the hearth fire. Only when the edges had blackened and nothing but ash remained did he stride back to Marjory.
His step was light now, satisfaction coursing through his veins.
The odd sense of something amiss was gone.
“That was not wise.” Marjory narrowed her eyes as he approached, showing her displeasure.
Kendrew flashed a smile, just to annoy her. “Wise men aren’t known for enjoying life.”
“And you are?”
“At the moment I am, aye.” He rocked back on his heels, feeling himself again for the first time since he’d entered his hall.
“There are ways a man can take his pleasure without burning other men’s words.”
“Thon was what I think of James Cameron and his bellyaching for stones.” Dusting his hands, he kept his smile in place. “I’ll be posting an extra guard or two out by the Rodan Stone. Any Cameron courier who seeks to pester me with more such fool missives will be turned away before he can penetrate our territory.”
He might also send Grim, trusting him and no one else to also watch for a certain raven-haired Cameron female.
She’d already proven she made her own rules.
So he’d have to show her that he was a master at breaking them.
But before he could head for the high table to relish the prospect, thunder sounded in the distance and rain began hissing against the ledges of the hall’s narrow, high-set windows. The wind rose and several of the wall torches sputtered, spewing ash and smoke. Kendrew frowned, chills once again rippling along his spine. Beside him, Gro
nk leaped to his feet, his hackles also rising.
Kendrew eyed his dog, the beast’s ill ease fueling his own.
“See?” Marjory cast a glance at him. “Even Thor is displeased by your stubbornness.”
“He’ll be more annoyed by women who dinnae ken when to hold their tongues.” Kendrew was sure of that. He touched his hammer amulet all the same, certain as well that it wouldn’t hurt to show reverence.
The odd sense of something being not quite right was back, the hall seeming a shade darker, and cold, almost as if a great shadow had swept inside, blotting the light and chasing all warmth.
Kendrew ran his thumb over the heavy gold of his Thor’s hammer. If the gods in Norse Asgard were indeed wroth, it wouldn’t be with him.
But as soon as he lowered his hand, the hall door flew open and several of his warriors burst in from the storm. Patrol guardsmen, they carried swords and spears. Their faces were as dark as the weather, their long hair and braided beards wild and wind-tangled.
Grim was with them, looking equally shaken.
And it was Grim who closed the door and hurried toward Kendrew as the other guardsmen sheathed their swords and propped their long spears in a corner.
“Odin’s balls!” Kendrew sprinted forward, meeting his friend halfway. “What’s happened?”
“One of the cairns was disturbed.” Grim dashed raindrops from his brow. “I was heading for the kitchens when the patrol guards pounded up the cliff stair. They were out by the farthest bounds of the dreagan stones when they heard a great rumbling and then the sound of falling rock.” He glanced over his shoulder at the guardsmen, then back to Kendrew. “They said the ground shook and—”
“A dreagan cairn has been damaged?” Marjory joined them, all rapt attention.
Grim nodded. “So it would seem, my lady. The guards—”
“Thunder rumbles and stones are aye falling hereabouts.” Kendrew’s head was beginning to pound again. “The earth is also known to shake at times. Or”—he glanced at the guardsmen, still in the entry—“did the men see anyone around the dreagan cairn?”
“They saw no one.” Grim glanced at the guards, who all shook their heads, confirming his statement. “The cairn was split in two, its stones fanning out to both sides, littering the ground all around. One or two of the men think only a dreagan breaking free could’ve caused such damage.”
Temptation of a Highland Scoundrel Page 10