"She's dead," Trick said. "What does it matter now?"
"Hamish isn't," Kendra reminded him.
But he didn't want to be reminded. He still didn't know how he felt about his father, and the last thing he wanted was a reason to stick around and find out while the rest of his life remained on hold.
"He could hang, Patrick." The flame wavered, ruffled by Niall's impassioned words. "Or worse. Stealing the Royal plate is treason."
"Treason," Kendra whispered. "Punishable by hanging, drawing, quartering—"
"I know the penalties for treason. But that doesn't change the fact that I must get home. And, hearts wounds, it's been thirty-five years since the crime."
Surely no evidence remained to tie the misdeed to his parents now. John Ferries, the only witness, was dead. These fears were groundless. Emotional rather than logical.
"Trick." She came close, capturing his gaze with hers. "Even should the crime continue undiscovered, King Charles would never regain what his father lost."
He hesitated but a moment, realizing she knew him better than he knew himself. Always it came down to what would be best for Charles Stuart. "Very well," he muttered. "I'll spare a day or two to help find it." That was the most he was willing to delay his return to England. "But let's not go off half-cocked. There may be some clue here of who took it or its whereabouts."
Niall's breath rushed out in relief. "Da may have ideas as well. Maybe someone else knew of the treasure or had a key to the lock. And in any case, he'll want to hear of this loss immediately."
"Go ahead, then, and speak with him. Kendra and I will remain behind to search for clues."
"You know the direction to Duncraven?"
"Aye. Back through the town, then southwest. Be on your way. We'll meet you later and formulate a plan. God willing, one of us will discover something useful in the interim."
Niall gripped him by the shoulders. "I thank you."
"Think nothing of it," Trick mumbled. "We're brothers, aye?"
"Brothers." The younger man kissed him on both cheeks and pressed the lock and key into his hand. He gave Kendra his candle and was off, the trap door banging closed behind him.
Kendra released a long breath. "That was good of you, Trick."
"He didn't leave me much of a choice."
Hearing his voice hitch, she guessed it was the result of brotherly affection. "Why did you hesitate to agree?" she asked, stepping closer.
He trailed his fingers along her arm. "After last night, I'm suddenly wanting to get home and start anew with my lovely wife."
She sensed that wasn't the whole truth. But, very aware they were alone deep in the earth, his words caused her heart to race anyway. "After we help your family, there will still be time for that."
"You can be sure of it." He kissed the tip of her nose, then took the candlestick from her and set it atop the rack, where it bathed the stone chamber with a faint but welcome glow. He set the lock there as well, an unnerving thunk of metal on wood. "Shall we see what we can find?"
"I really don't like it down here."
"We won't be staying long." Another candle blazed to join the two already lit, and Trick set it into a holder and placed it across the chamber. "There now, it's not so eerie after all, is it? Rather cozy, don't you think?"
Was it her imagination, or had his voice taken on a seductive tone? "Well, I don't expect it's haunted if it was your mother's secret place. But I cannot say I care for the decor, either."
"Early Torture isn't your style?" His easy grin made her feel a little better, but his gaze on the manacles had the opposite effect, even more so when the hot look he shot her made her knees go weak.
Memories flooded: The things I say are nothing compared to the things I'll do... There are other ways we can pleasure each other... Look at me, lass...
She shook away the images playing in her head. Knowing the way his mind worked, whatever he was thinking was most likely wicked, and she had no business being intrigued by that. Her brothers had always warned her that her adventurous nature would lead her to nothing but trouble.
"Kendra?" Her gaze snapped to his. She thought he sounded entirely too pleased with himself as his eyes burned a path down her body. "We'd better start looking."
Maybe she was only imagining it all, but the heat pooling in her center...that wasn't her imagination. In a dungeon, for God's sake. She shook herself again. "What are we looking for?"
"Hell if I know. A clue."
He slowly traversed one side of the room while she paced the other. Gingerly touching the cold instruments of torture worked well to dispel inappropriate feelings. The blackened metal felt evil beneath her fingers, the air thick and heavy with age, not to mention horrific tales.
When he let out a little hoot of discovery, she jumped.
"Footprints," he said.
She joined him, crouching down. "What do these tell us? They could be your mother's, or Hamish's, or even our own. No telling if they're hours old or years."
"But they're concentrated around where a chest once sat, see? As though people were recently here, trying to lift something heavy. And here, this deep line in the dirt. They used a board or something as a lever."
"One set of small prints and three larger ones. Yes, I see." She looked up. "But whose?"
He shrugged. "Just information to bring back to Hamish. Maybe it will jog an idea. Let's see what else we can find."
Half an hour's careful search revealed more footprints clustered around where other chests had sat, and little else. A scrap of dark fabric that Trick pocketed, a curved shard of cheap broken glass. It could have lain there for centuries, for all they knew.
He sighed. "Let's go up. We may find more clues outdoors."
It was a relief to ascend the stairs and see daylight once again.
"More of the same footprints." Breathing deep of the fresh air, Kendra followed the marks. "And wheel tracks," she called. "Here, leading out of the woods. How did we miss this before?"
"We weren't looking." He hurried over to see for himself. "I'll be damned. Multiple tracks from the same vehicle. Many of them. I'm guessing the chests were carted away one at a time."
"Southeast," she agreed. "Around the town. And then where?"
Trick lifted a shoulder. "Shall we go find out?"
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
They mounted their horses and headed through the woods, following the ruts. Once clear of the ruins, the trees grew dense, providing reason for the chests to have been carted out singly. A larger cart wouldn't have made it through.
At the forest's edge, the tracks stopped.
"They loaded them on a wagon here," Kendra said.
"Two wagons. No, three, or maybe four. Look." Wider-set tracks turned south and continued. "Shall we see where they went?"
The tracks were easy enough to follow, leading Trick to believe they'd missed the thieves by not more than hours. Clouds were gathering again, and the trail would soon be washed away. But for now, the air was warm, the day bright as only a Scottish summer afternoon could be.
The colors seemed more brilliant here, slopes of blues and purples, the land's harsh contours brought out by shadow and sun. Rabbits scurried in the underbrush, and a flock of swallows soared overhead. Scotland was beautiful, and Trick had missed it in a way he hadn't realized till now, stuck in the confines of the dingy gray castle.
"What happened back there?" Kendra asked quietly.
"Hmm?"
"With Niall."
"Oh. That." Warmth crept up his neck, his memories of the incident childish at best. "I'm not sure. But it won't happen again."
"It will."
"Nay, it won't. I'm not usually as volatile as you've seen me..." His voice trailed off, because he didn't know how to explain it. The longer he stayed at his crumbling childhood home, the more confused he seemed to get.
He'd learned his early years hadn't been as he remembered—or as the duke had later caused him to remember. His world had ti
lted on its axis. And though he'd found family, they were too new, too unfamiliar, to possibly lean on yet.
Which left him his wife. He needed her more than he'd like to admit.
Thank God she was here. He gave her a wavery smile, and her lips curved in return. He wanted to kiss them. Hell, he always wanted to kiss them. "I just need to become accustomed to having family. It won't happen again."
"It will," she insisted. "He's your brother."
"Exactly, and so he deserves my best. I'll apologize for disbelieving him, and from now on I need to be more patient. He looks a man, but he's yet a lad, and I must remember that."
"No." Her laugh rang over the hillside, and her smile would lift the most morose man's mood. Sweet Mary, he was lucky to have her. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Trick. This is the way brothers are. Families are. We don't give each other our best, I'm afraid, but more often our worst. We slide into comfort and forget ourselves. It's the hugs after the battles that make it worthwhile."
A concept so unfamiliar it bordered on incomprehensible. It had been so very long since he could reliably expect a hug from anyone, let alone someone he'd hurt.
Lost in thought, he was caught by surprise when Chaucer balked at the edge of a river. Kendra tugged on Pandora's reins. "Look, the tracks disappear. Shall we cross?"
There was no bridge in sight. The water didn't look too deep—waist high, he guessed, at most—but he eyed her long skirts and the sun overhead. "The day is getting away from us. Let's take what we've found back to Hamish and Niall. They may have an idea where the thieves were headed."
"I left my cloak in the dungeon."
"We also didn't lock up. We'll follow the tracks back. I'm not certain how to return from here, anyway."
Kendra's heart felt light as they rode back. She'd heard a warmth in Trick's voice that made her feel perhaps he was finally opening up. When she smiled over at him, he smiled back, raking her from head to toe with those amber eyes. A glimmer in them assured her that he liked what he saw, and her body reacted immediately.
How many more hours until they could sneak up to their chamber at Duncraven tonight? She'd never thought she'd look forward to anything in that gloomy place, but they had five long weeks to make up for.
Back at the ruins, she tethered Pandora and followed Trick into the dungeon, shivering a bit as she descended the narrow, cold staircase in the slanting light of the open trapdoor.
He turned to her at the bottom. "You're not still frightened, are you?"
"Maybe. A little." The candles had all guttered out. She hurried to get her cloak from the manacle on the wall.
He blocked her path and grabbed her around the middle, leaning to give her a kiss.
Just like that, her fear melted away. As his mouth slanted over hers, a dizzying cloud of his sandalwood scent surrounded her, overwhelming the dungeon's mustiness and reminding her of what she'd been thinking earlier. Her senses spun wildly, and before she knew what was happening, he'd lifted her by the waist.
"Oof! What are you doing?"
His only answer was a raised brow as he walked forward, then sat her in the open cage, letting her legs dangle out where the door hung loose. He gave the ugly black thing a push to start it swinging.
The metal felt cold beneath her skirts, and the swinging chain made an awful grating noise. Holding tight to the opening, she gave a shaky laugh.
He grinned. "See? It's not scary down here at all. Not with the sunlight and the company. And it must not have been scary to my mother, either, considering it was her special place."
Trying to be a good sport, Kendra reached her toes to push off again. The chain moaned a protest. "I can imagine her coming here to think," she told him, swaying to and fro. "The way you go to the cottage at Amberley."
He hesitated, then nodded his head. "Aye, just like that."
Pleased that he'd admitted as much, she pressed for more. "You write there, don't you?"
"Sometimes." He gave the cage another shove, sending the chain to its screeching song.
"I wonder if your mother wrote here?"
"I never saw her write anything other than letters. But I'd lay odds she came here with Hamish when they were younger—and not to write." He pushed her again, flashing a grin or a leer, she wasn't sure which. "Aye, I can picture them here, all right. I bet they came here to secretly make love."
A little tingle started in the pit of her stomach. "Make love? In here?"
"It's private enough." He cocked a brow. "I was conceived here. I can feel it."
"That's ridiculous." But intrigued, she looked around. "There's no bed."
"What makes you think we need a bed?"
"W-we?" Her fingers clenched the iron bars. "You cannot be serious. I cannot imagine—"
With his hands on the bars that flanked her head, he stilled the cage. "Ah, lassie, it's not really so hard to imagine." His wicked smile drew her attention to that tiny, charming chip on his tooth, and he took advantage, reaching down to flip up her skirts.
"Trick! What—" He was fumbling with the laces on his breeches. "Oh, my God."
"This would be easier in that kilt," he muttered.
And suddenly she had no problem imagining at all. In fact, her imagination was becoming reality. Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart began to hammer in her chest.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Kendra watched, riveted, as Trick ripped the lacing from its holes and stuffed it into his pocket. The front of his breeches gaped open.
"Oh, my God." She gripped the iron bars even tighter. "You cannot think—"
"Aye, now that you mention it, I am having trouble thinking." Tossing his hair from his face, he stepped close, a lethal look in his eye with a grin to match. "My head feels a bit light."
"Oh, my—"
Cutting off her words, his mouth came down on hers. Hot and frantic, his tongue delved inside immediately, and all at once, her head felt light, too. His hands spread her knees, and he stepped between them, pressing close. His warmth teased hers, and a shimmer of melting sensation rippled every nerve in her body.
Just like that, she wanted him inside. Part of her had been waiting for this from the moment he'd given her that lust-threaded look the first time they were down here. The saner part of her had gone into hiding.
He kissed her chin, her throat, the broad expanse of her cleavage exposed in the yellow gown's low neckline. Down below, she strained against him. "Oh, my God." She wiggled forward, wanting him, craving him. She needed him to fill her. "Now, Trick. Please."
With a low groan, he shoved his hips closer, and the cage swung away.
Suddenly bereft, she hung there in space—such a loss, the heat of his body. When the cage swung back, she released the bars to grip him tightly.
"Hell, leannan, this won't work."
"It has to." A fire burned inside her—how instantly it had flamed! She hadn't known it could happen so fast. She wrapped her legs around him, straining closer, a hot ache in the place she wanted him to be.
As her hands roamed his back, she groaned, irked to find so much clothing covering his body. A surcoat, a shirt, a cravat around his neck where her lips wanted to nip. "Your skin," she whispered, nipping his earlobe instead. "I want to touch you."
She tugged at the knot at his throat, managing to loosen it, ripping at the laces beneath. But the placket wouldn't allow enough access to make her happy, so she tugged the shirt out of his breeches in the back, slipping her hands up underneath.
"Jesus, lass." He rocked his hips closer again.
And the cage moved right out from under her.
The forward force of her body made him stumble back, but he managed not to drop her or fall. She clung to him, arms and legs wrapped tight.
"Hang on," he grated out. Capturing her mouth in a kiss, he walked forward, every movement an exquisite friction in that small unclothed area where her body met his. By the time he sat her on the rack, she was gasping for breath. He eased her onto her back
and made to climb up—but the ancient, rickety contraption shuddered beneath them.
At the ominous sound of cracking wood, she twisted and jumped off, having to rip her skirt free of a large splinter. She frantically glanced around. Once this space had been filled with nice, solid chests, but now nothing was left to support them.
"The floor is dirt," she moaned.
"Easy, lass." Reaching for her, he raised a devilish brow. "We've no need to lie down." His hands warm on her shoulders, he backed her up until she was flush against the wall.
She couldn't envision how it would work, but she didn't care, so long as they could finish what they'd started. And when he took her mouth in a heated kiss, thoughts fled her head entirely. As the caress deepened, she raised her arms, intending to wrap them around his neck—and one of her hands hit an unhinged manacle.
At the muted thud, they both looked up, their ragged breathing the only sounds in the deserted dungeon. The expression in his eyes made her heart leap, made her remember him holding her hands above her head in the tunnel at Duncraven. Watching for his reaction, she wriggled her wrist into the open oval.
"Nay." His hungry gaze went down to her raised breasts, then back up, darting between the manacles on either side of her head.
Her own gaze followed.
"Nay," he said again. A more frustrated laugh she'd never heard. "It may be every man's fantasy, but you're not ready for that, leannan."
She was burning for him, and never in her life had she imagined herself fulfilling a man's fantasy. "Please," she whispered. She wrapped her free arm around his neck but left her other hand half-cuffed as she went to her toes for another kiss.
The kiss deepened, and she could feel his heart pounding against her breasts, her own blood rushing to match the wild cadence. "Please," she repeated against his lips.
A soft murmur vibrated from his body into hers, a sound of capitulation mixed with unbridled lust that made her knees threaten to buckle under her.
Lifting his head, he locked his gaze on hers. "Do you trust me, leannan?" His amber eyes fluttered closed and then opened, burning into hers, the most fervent, forthright gaze she'd ever seen. "Do you trust me?"
Amber (Jewel Trilogy, Book 3) Page 22