Amber (Jewel Trilogy, Book 3)

by Royal, Lauren

  "When the coronation finally took place, it wasn't the traditional Scots one that had been planned, but an elaborate religious ceremony instead. A Church of England ritual. The people were aghast to learn such Popishness and blasphemy had taken place in a Scottish kirk."

  Apparently listening more than she'd guessed, Trick grimaced. "I expect they were angry as hell."

  The older man nodded. "His actions incited a rebellion that eventually led to his end. But I get ahead of myself." He wetted his papery lips. "After the coronation, his last scheduled stop was at nearby Falkland Palace. All the local nobles were invited, and your mother went, of course, along with her family. Every able-bodied commoner was drafted to help with the banquet, myself among them, although I wasn't even Niall's age yet."

  "Did the banquet go badly?" Kendra asked, pulling her fingers from Trick's.

  "Not at all. We all thought it a roaring success, the entertainment more impressive than any we'd ever seen. But by then Charles had tired of Scotland—no doubt as much as we had tired of him—and at three the next morning, he woke the household and announced that he'd decided to leave immediately. Everyone at Falkland scrambled to ready his belongings for travel."

  "What sorts of belongings?" Kendra asked as Trick reached over and took her hand again, resting it on his lap and trapping it there with his own hand on top. Neither Niall nor Hamish seemed to notice, but, scandalized, she couldn't help thinking what was beneath that fabric under her hand.

  Nothing.

  "You wouldn't have believed what he'd brought along," Hamish was saying, his gaze glazed with memory. "My eyes boggled, they did. Besides clothing and furnishings fit for a palace—he slept in his own Royal bed—King Charles traveled with his household goods, personal treasures, jewelry, and his entire kitchen including the Royal plate. Half a ton of silver and gold. Not for him to be eating off plain Scottish dishes or drinking from plain Scottish cups. It was this we were ordered to help pack for his return to London."

  Beneath Kendra's hand, Trick stirred, and her palm tingled. "I-it must have taken you all night."

  "The smells of the banquet still hung in the air, and we had but a few hours to get it done. Charles couldn't wait to leave. At first light, he set out. On the journey up they had crossed the River Forth by the bridge at Stirling, but this day the king was too impatient to take the long way around. His men found three boats to cross the firth from Burntisland to Leith and loaded two of them with as much as they possibly could. When it wouldn't all fit, Charles insisted the rest be loaded anyway, till everything was aboard and the vessels rode low in the water."

  Trick frowned and shifted, draping an arm around Kendra's shoulders. "Were you there to see it?"

  "Nay, but I've heard stories. It was storming something awful, that I do remember. The wind blew stronger and the waves tossed the boats as they piled the treasure chests aboard. King Charles was rowed to the third vessel while his domestics and servants went with his goods. Twenty-five people on one of those boats...but only two lived to tell the tale."

  "Oh, no," Kendra said. "What happened?"

  "The rest of them ended up at the bottom of the Firth of Forth, along with the treasure. Safe aboard another boat, Charles could see the vessel founder and sink, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Nothing anyone could do to save any of those lives."

  A chilling vision. Kendra leaned against Trick's side, taking comfort from his warmth. "Charles must have been furious."

  "Aye, that he was. Folk claimed the sinking was an act of God to avenge his religious misdeeds, but he decided that witches were responsible and rounded up people to punish. It was injustice of this sort that led to our siding with the Roundheads in the Civil War, wrong though we were to do so."

  Trick's fingers traced lazy circles on Kendra's shoulder, and her free hand fisted in her lap. The one on his lap felt hot against the wool. Keeping her face passive, she nodded at Hamish. "Were the chests ever recovered?"

  "Nay, lass, for the Forth is cold and deep. They lie there to this day."

  He briefly closed his eyes. Eyes that looked familiar, Kendra thought and wondered why.

  "But the treasure," he said when he opened them, "is not in those chests."

  Trick's hand stilled on her shoulder. "Pardon?"

  "You must understand, the people were angry well before the witch hunt. After the banquet, your mother stole from her chamber and met me in the storeroom along with Rhona and Gregor—the four of us were best of friends, even then. The Yeoman of the Buttery had been charged with packing the kitchen, which included the Royal plate. John Ferries was his name. Shorthanded, he was, and willing to accept whatever help he could find. So we helped."

  He fell silent.

  Trick reached for his goblet. Niall put a hand over his father's atop the coverlet. "Tell them how you helped, Da."

  Hamish sighed. "First we helped get John Ferries drunk. Then we helped fill the chests, but not with gold and silver plate..." He drew a long breath, a dramatic pause. "With rocks."

  Trick choked on a sip of his spirits. "Rocks?" he repeated incredulously.

  "Aye." Shifting on the bed, Hamish looked less than proud of what he'd done. "The treasure we spirited away. Poor John Ferries' body washed up on shore shortly thereafter, so the secret remained between the four of us. The Royal plate remains hidden to this day."

  "Where?" Kendra breathed.

  "If you're willing, I'll send Niall to show you. First thing tomorrow."

  Trick failed to see the point. Intriguing as the story might be, he was planning to leave for home tomorrow. He needed to complete the king's mission. And make a fresh start with Kendra.

  He gave her hand in his lap an experimental squeeze, smiling to himself when the pulse at her wrist sped up. "It's an interesting tale, but what does this have to do with my mother's summons?"

  "She hoped—we hoped—that you'd return the treasure to its rightful owner. King Charles II."

  Disappointment scraped a raw place inside him. His mother hadn't been wishing for a reconciliation. Like his father, she'd wanted only to use him for her own ends.

  "They never sold even one piece," Niall put in, a transparent attempt to make light of his parents' wrongdoing. "It's all been locked away in twenty-three chests for thirty-five years."

  Hamish nodded. "You must believe me, we didn't take it to enrich ourselves. It was a prank, an act of revenge. We were young enough—angry enough—to risk such folly. And although we were fortunate in that our rocks sank and were never discovered, the misdeed has preyed on our minds ever since."

  It would, Trick supposed. But the fate of his mother's soul was in God's hands now, and he wasn't responsible for unburdening this old man's conscience.

  Without Hamish, perhaps Elspeth would have come to love her husband, or at least learned to live with him, and Trick would have had a family. He owed this old man nothing.

  Hamish took a long, bracing sip from Niall's cup. "Charles was beheaded—he paid for his actions. His son is a better man, a better king. We don't want the treasure—we never did. But your mother feared that if we returned it, we'd face arrest. So she was hoping you'd do it for us. You have the king's ear, and he trusts you—"

  "How would you know that?"

  "Do you think your mother wouldn't keep watch on you the best she could? We—she hired people to report to her. If ever you'd really needed her, Patrick, she'd have been there."

  He had really needed her. The times he'd been left alone in a school in France, and the other times, the endless years he'd worked as little more than a slave for his father's unlawful business.

  But the past was done. He'd long ago accepted the hand he'd been dealt, and more pressing matters required his attention.

  King Charles deserved the Royal treasure, and God knew he needed it. The poor man was reduced to selling titles to make expenses. Even now, his ambassadors roamed the country with blank forms for anyone wanting and willing to pay for a baronetcy. Regard
less of whether this ill old man deserved Trick's loyalty, his monarch did.

  Charles. His life these days seemed to be reduced to serving Charles.

  "I'll do it," he said with a resigned sigh. "Show me the chests tomorrow, and I'll find a way to get them home."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  "If I'm going to lug this treasure home," Trick muttered on the way down the stairs, "I need to make plans."

  Behind him in the dark, narrow turret, Kendra sighed. All the sensual feelings between them seemed to have vanished into thin air. She a put a hand on his shoulder. "What is it you have to do? Maybe I can help."

  "I must see these twenty-three chests and decide how many extra vehicles I'll need to transport them, how many additional guards I must hire. And what am I going to do with it all during overnight stops? We'll attract attention traveling through the country with an entourage worthy of royalty. The treasure will need to be protected around the clock."

  "We'll work it out," she soothed. "Let's see the treasure first, then we'll deal with the logistics."

  "My head aches just thinking about it."

  "Perhaps it would be best to dispatch a messenger to Charles. He could send a contingent of soldiers to escort the goods."

  "And wait here, twiddling my thumbs, for three weeks or more until the soldiers arrive? I think not."

  They arrived downstairs to find that the dancing had ended and the trestle tables were back in place. Torches had been lit on the walls to augment the light from the iron chandeliers, and women bustled about, setting out all the dishes they'd brought for the draidgie supper.

  Trick handed Kendra a trencher from a stack on the end of a table, then took one for himself. The food smelled delicious, but he was in a devil of a mood, and the offerings he piled on his platter didn't seem to help any.

  Odd, he was, for a man, she thought as she chose a piece of spice cake and a wedge of lemon tart. Her brothers had never failed to be cheered by a hearty plate of food.

  Niall waved them over to join him at an empty table, filling two more goblets with ale from a pitcher. They'd no sooner settled themselves than Annag and Duncan dragged her young ones over to take the remaining seats.

  "What did Da want with you?" Annag demanded, waving a girl onto the bench and plopping a runny-nosed toddler beside her.

  Niall filled another goblet for her. "Nothing of your concern."

  Duncan sat, lowering his trencher to the table with a thud. "Did he not tell you of a new will, then?" he asked in a voice pitched to sound casual.

  "Nay," Trick said flatly. He cut a hunk of mutton with more vigor than was necessary.

  "Here, Alastair." Annag shoved a dish of hoch-poch in front of another of her children, a boy who seemed to have a sneer to match hers. "Are you certain there was no mention of a will?"

  "Aye." Niall reached for some bread. "And Da seems to be gaining strength. So whatever it is you're hoping to gain upon his death, you shouldn't be expecting it anytime soon."

  Kendra found Annag's affronted look less than convincing. "I'm not wanting Da to die, you eejit."

  "But now that he's shown up, a duke and all"—Duncan slanted a none-too-friendly glance at Trick before focusing back on Niall—"you won't be needing any of Da's paltry holdings. With a new brother to provide for you."

  Niall's mouth opened and closed like a salmon out of water.

  Kendra saw Trick's jaw set before he pointed his knife at Duncan. "What makes you so certain I'm willing to provide for Niall? I'd lay odds your father didn't jump to such a conclusion."

  Duncan sipped from his ever-present whisky, glaring over the rim. "What do you know of our father?"

  "Enough to suspect he wouldn't readily cut his youngest son out of his will." Trick met Duncan's glare with one of his own. "His favorite son."

  Sensing violence about to erupt, Kendra bit the inside of her cheek. "Can we not all be civil?"

  Annag turned with a huff, her gaze narrowing with disdain on Kendra's low neckline. "You stay out of this."

  "You'll address my wife with respect," Trick said through gritted teeth. If Annag had been a man, he'd have been on her, Kendra thought, drawing the shawl tighter to cover the front of her gown. As it was, she sensed he was barely holding himself in check.

  When Annag's son started crying, Duncan's face turned red to match. "Who needs this trouble?" he barked at Niall, half-rising to his feet. "Ever since they've gotten here"—he waved an angry hand at Trick and Kendra—"I cannot have a word with you without them sticking in their noses. Keep them out of our family business, or else—"

  "Or else what?" Niall stood, his fists clenched at his sides. "I'm grown now, aye? You cannot beat me up anymore. I'll floor you in a minute."

  It was no idle threat. Niall topped the older man by a good four inches, and his youthful frame was hard and honed, while Duncan's was softened by sloth and drink.

  Apparently not as dim-witted as he was surly, Duncan sat back down. "Just keep them away," he growled. "Both of them."

  "They're family as much as you," Niall shot back. "My family."

  Annag aimed a pointed look at Duncan. "Blood will tell."

  "Blood will run if you don't back off," Trick said darkly. His knife clattered to his trencher, and, as he stood, his hand went to the hilt of his sword.

  Clutching the shawl closed in front, Kendra rose. "Have we not seen enough violence here tonight?" Evidence still remained of the earlier brawl. "Come, Trick. I know where I'm not wanted."

  She curtsied to Niall but ignored his siblings as she took Trick by his sword hand and led him away. He allowed himself to be dragged, although not before fixing Hamish's older children with a murderous glare.

  That was exactly what Kendra was afraid of—murder. Trick was a highwayman, after all, accustomed to violence, and she'd never seen him this incensed.

  Wanting to get as far from Annag and Duncan as possible, she led him out the door and around to the garden. The whole long way he didn't say a word, but as they stepped into his mother's wonderland of little model castles, she felt him begin to relax.

  Night had nearly fallen, and the branches overhead were black silhouettes against the dark gray sky. In silence they walked up the long avenue of trees and back, up then back again. The crunch of their footsteps on the gravel seemed lost within the sounds of rushing wind and rustling leaves. Trick's grip softened on her hand, and his breathing settled; his gait became looser.

  A light mist began to fall, and in mute agreement, they headed back inside.

  The door shut behind them, blocking the rain and the noisy wind. In the tunnel that led through the thick stone wall, Trick stopped and put his hands on her shoulders. Illuminated by the torches that lit the entry, his eyes searched her face. Kendra gazed back, wondering what he was looking for.

  "I don't like those two," she said quietly. "I wouldn't put anything past them. I don't know what Hamish has to bequeath to his children, but I suspect they'd go to any lengths necessary to see it ends up in their hands. All of it."

  Trick shrugged, moving closer, backing her up until she felt the wall, hard against her spine. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "They're powerless, and they know it. They speak from desperation." He skimmed his knuckles across her cheek. "Don't worry your pretty head about them, leannan."

  Leannan. It sounded different now that she knew what it meant. "My head is more than pretty," she retorted, not immune to his scent and the sudden spark that lit his eyes.

  He nodded slowly. "Aye, that it is." The wind had blown much of her hair loose from the bun, and he tucked it behind her ears, one side and then the other. He glanced into the great hall, sending a quelling glare to some poor soul who dared to look their way. Then, shielding her body from view with his larger one, he lowered his lips to hers.

  The kiss was long and gentle, reawakening the stirrings in her belly that had started in Hamish's chamber. Her hands moved to clasp him by the hips; then her fingers worked down to the kilt
's hem and edged underneath.

  "Hmm." With a low laugh, he swept both her hands into one of his, then raised them above her head and pressed her against the chilly stone. In contrast, his body felt so warm along the length of hers. And his mouth this time was harder and hot, hungry, his tongue demanding. She itched to touch him, but his hand tightened and she couldn't, and it was strange what she felt, the twinge of frustration mixed with the heady thrill of the kiss.

  He pulled back and cocked a brow. "That'll teach you to take advantage of a man in a skirt."

  "Will it?" she asked. Nervously intrigued, she glanced up to their three hands.

  His own gaze followed, and his laugh this time was short and amused as he released her wrists. "Seeing as it's taken you five weeks to come to my bed, I reckon I'll give you a few years before I go hunting for a way to keep those hands tied up and both of mine free."

  "Tied up?" she wondered breathlessly. He was always so outrageous.

  "Scarves, a pair of cravats"—he glanced down—"maybe a tartan sash?" His expression going from playful to meditative, he met her eyes. "Later, leannan. Much later for that, I think."

  She blushed furiously, not at all as put off by that mental image as she thought she should be. Then his mouth claimed hers again, gentle once more, and she wrapped her arms around him, no longer thinking of that or anything while she gloried in his kiss.

  As he drew back, a delicious shudder rippled through her. She knew for sure it would happen tonight.

  "Are you cold, lass?"

  "Maybe a bit." Nervous and excited and backed against the cold stone wall. But the stones were more than cold. "There's something about this place..."

  He put a palm to the wall and leaned his weight on it. "What?"

  "I...well, I'm just not comfortable here." She tried to look away, but he captured her chin in his free hand, forcing her gaze to his. "Throughout my childhood," she said, "marooned in exile on the Continent, parentless with no home to call my own, I never felt as out of place as I do here in this castle."