At three in the morning, the man Paris had watching Abraham's house rode into the castle and Ian went upstairs to appraise him of it. Paris dressed quickly and went down to greet the messenger. As he poured him a large measure of whisky to combat the cold night ride, he asked, "Are things beginning to move at last?"
"Aye, milord. Near on midnight a shipment of gold was transferred from the bank to Abrahams's house."
"I'll go and see McCabe at once. If I leave now, I'll be in Edinburgh at first light."
"Do you want me to ride back with you, milord?" asked his man, downing the whisky.
"No, you've done well and earned your rest." He turned to Ian. "Walk with me to the stables. I should-be back by midday. We'll be taking the Sea Witch out tomorrow. I want you and Troy to make sure her sails are sound and her rigging intact."
Troy rode into the stables, and Ian said, "Speak of the devil."
Paris raised an eyebrow. "Are you just getting home? Where the hell have you been?"
Troy grinned. "Tantallon, if you must know."
"Tantallon? Again?" asked Paris impatiently.
Troy asked, "Where are you off to?"
"Edinburgh. Events are moving forward. Take charge while I'm gone. Stick close to the castle and keep an eye on Tabrizia for me." Suddenly, a chilling suspicion crossed Paris's mind. "Good God, you're not bedding Margaret, are you?"
The grin left Troy's face. "What the hell business is that of yours?" he demanded aggressively.
"I'll tell you what business it is of mine, you stupid young fool. She's trying to get with child to produce an heir to the earldom. Magnus would marry her in a minute, and I could wave good-bye to the title and Tantallon Castle. I wouldn't oblige her in bed, so she's trying another Cockburn."
As Paris exposed the little intrigue to the light of day, Troy saw clearly how he had been duped. He paled at the thought that it might already be too late. He'd lain with her half a dozen times in the past week. "I never thought," choked Troy lamely
"That's because your bloody brains are all in your cock!" Then he relented and added in a more brotherly tone, "Don't worry about it, our Margaret Merrylegs is likely barren, anyway."
Dawn was breaking over the city as he arrived. He went directly to the town house for a fresh horse and a meal, then presented himself at McCabe's law office. "You will be receiving a communique from Abrahams. Tell him his wife is being held in England. The exchange will take place tomorrow: Just inland from famous Brotherston's Hole, where the sea spouts up through blowholes, is an inn. it's a well-known place called The Haven. His young bride will be waiting there. Warn him to put a guard on the gold; I don't want the coffers arriving empty."
"This concludes our business, Lord Cockburn. Join me in a drink before you depart. I offer a toast for a profitable conclusion before I bid you goodbye."
"Not good-bye, merely au revoir, as I shall need your services again soon."
He didn't stop at his favorite tavern on this trip but headed straight back to the castle. He had an important decision to make, and he didn't need a brain fogged with brandy fumes. In order for his plan to go smoothly in securing the gold, he needed another man he could trust implicitly to lead the men. A great fear filled his heart as he thought of Troy and how close he'd come to death two years ago when the Gordons had raided and set their villages afire. The wound Troy had taken was well healed, of course, but it had been a close call. He felt responsible for Troy's close call and would rather cut off his own arm than deliberately expose him to danger again. He knew Ian was more than capable of leading the men, but he also knew if he passed over Troy and chose Ian for the dangerous job, his brother would never forgive him; not in this life. What it boiled down to was the grim fact that he had no choice.
At the stables, he gave his horse a good rubdown, then went in search of Troy. He smiled and said, "Tomorrow's the day, but I can't pull it off without you."
"I can't wait," Troy responded immediately.
"Come, let's go down to the men's quarters. You'll need to pick at least ten good men. Here's the plan. The gold leaves in a wagon tomorrow morning. They think they are to deliver it to an inn close to the English border. It's a trap, of course. The law will be all over the place, ready to arrest us. The gold will have to head south along High Street, past the tollbooth. Just past the Salt Tron on the outskirts of Edinburgh is Balantine's Distillery."
"Don't we own half that distillery with Magnus?" asked Troy.
"Clever lad. I believe we do!" Paris grinned. "You and your men will await the wagon at the distillery. It will have armed guards with it, maybe only two, but possibly as many as six. Dispose of the guards, load the wagon with kegs of whisky atop the gold, turn it about so it's heading north. Go back through Edinburgh straight through to the port of Leith. I've got the easy part. I'll be waiting at Leith with the ship."
Troy's grin widened as he realized most of the danger would be his. "Consider it done!"
"I want you well armed, Troy. All your men will need pistols as well as their dirks."
"You are worrying already. I won't bungle it, you know."
After the men had been briefed to Paris's satisfaction, he went up to the solarium. It was a lovely room with large windows that allowed the afternoon sun to illuminate the brilliant oranges and yellows of the wall tapestries. Because it was harvest time, the mantel of the fireplace was decorated with a sheaf of wheat and branches cut from an oak tree, displaying its autumn-colored leaves and hard little acorns.
Tabrizia and Alexandria sat on stools making little corncob dolls for the children who would come to the harvest festival at the end of the week.
Paris swept Tabrizia with a look that examined her from head to foot. "Are you well today?" he asked with some concern.
She lifted her eyes to his and blushed with shame as she remembered how he had cleansed her the night before. "I'm fine today. I want to... thank you, milord." Her eyes lowered, and her lashes touched her cheeks. She was also remembering how gentle and tender he had been to her, and the pity the tale of his faithless wife had evoked. She knew her feelings for Paris were deepening. If she let her heart have its way, she would love him. If she was honest with herself, it was only duty she felt toward her husband in Edinburgh. Maxwell Abrahams was only a kind stranger, while this man was a familiar presence, though a most disturbing one. Yet she had exchanged vows before God with the other man and knew she had no choice but to return to him and be the obedient wife he wanted. A sigh escaped her lips.
Paris heard and looked at her hungrily. How could such a mere wisp of a girl affect him the way she did? The longing he felt for her grew stronger each time he laid eyes upon her, but what he wanted more than anything was for her to feel the same. He wanted her to respond to him from her heart. He wanted to see her eyes light with pleasure when he approached her. "I'm taking the Sea Witch out tomorrow. Would you like to sail with me?"
She threw up her defenses immediately. "I wouldn't like to do anything with you," she said in a cool voice, and moved away. His eyes clouded and darkened as he stared at her back.
"I'll come," offered Alexandria eagerly, eyes sparkling.
"I wasn't addressing you, Alexandria, as you well know. When I'm in need of your company, I shall issue an invitation." When he saw the hurt his words caused his-sister, he softened it with, "I'm only going to Leith."
Tabrizia caught her breath. Leith was Edinburgh's port. She could easily walk to Edinburgh, if she got to Leith. Now she had somehow to erase the rebuff she had just given Paris. She turned to him and said softly, "I'm sorry, Milord, it must be the effects of last night. Perhaps the sea air would do me good."
He leaned close and whispered, "I'll forgive you if you let me remove your stitches."
She blushed vividly and stammered, "Mrs. Hall did that for me."
He chuckled. "You take everything I say so seriously."
"Were you serious about taking me aboard?"
"We sail on the early tide. Wear s
omething warm. I'm not expecting bad weather, but the Atlantic can be unbelievably brisk."
As the sun was setting, Tabrizia went out on the battlements. She was filled with thoughts for what the morrow would bring. She saw herself in her mind's eye, slipping from the huge ship onto the quayside. She would hide until darkness could cover her movements, then go straight down Leith Wynd to Edinburgh. The sky was turning a vivid purple over the mountains. The fragrance of the heather wafted on the first evening breeze, and she knew she would miss this place achingly. She was relieved to see Shannon come riding in, for she would be able to retrieve her dark velvet cloak for tomorrow's voyage. After supper, when she asked for the cloak, Shannon begged its use for one more night.
"I promise I'll leave it on the oaken chest in the solarium, so you can retrieve it at first light. I'll also lend you my fur muff, if you promise not to let the wind carry it overboard."
"Oh, I couldn't take your muff," protested Tabrizia.
"Of course you must. Your hands would freeze otherwise," Shannon pointed out.
"How do you know Johnny Raven will meet you tonight?" asked Tabby hesitantly.
Shannon smiled in her slow, secret way. "He comes every night, whether I can meet him or not. When the snow flies, the gypsies move south. They follow the seasons, so I won't see him again until next summer."
In bed, Paris's thoughts strayed upward as they did every night. He had to exercise a will of iron not to climb the staircase that led to his heart's desire. She responded to him best when he kept a small, polite distance between them. He frowned when he recalled how eager she had been for the voyage once she learned their destination was Leith. So again she was going to try to escape him. His body shifted about in the feather-bed until his back found the exact spot it wanted. He lifted his hands behind his head and concentrated on Tabrizia. He smiled to himself as he realized he was enjoying this game they played. He was the hunter, she the prey. He circled her so widely, never closing in to take the prize, savoring every movement of the dance that led to possession.
Above, in her bed, Tabrizia heard the familiar thud of The Mangler as she collapsed against the outside of her chamber door. Damn, why had she let herself become attached to the beast? Her thoughts went from the dog to its master, whom she had heard moving around below her. Her heart skipped a beat. God, if she didn't go tomorrow, she would never be able to tear herself away from him.
The moment she stepped aboard the Sea Witch, Tabrizia experienced a strong déjà vu. The shifting deck beneath her feet, the creaking of the vessel and the cries of the circling terns as they moved out on the tide came rushing back as though they were preserved in the amber of eternal memory. As she turned her head to the voice shouting the orders, the wind whipped her hood away and wreaked havoc with the tumbling mass of red curls. The ship's rail, with the thick rope running along its edge, seemed almost familiar to her senses, as if she had sailed on a ship before. She couldn't resist taking her hand from the fur muff and tracing the rough surface with her finger. A voice close to her ear whispered strongly, "I can tell you are a sensuous creature by the way you breathe in the salt tang as if it were the elixir of life."
As she turned to him, her hair blew back from the perfectly proportioned heart that was her face. He pulled up her hood to tuck in the long, errant tresses, and a sensation of deja vu swept over them both, making them feel it had happened exactly so in another century, as though they had always been together throughout eternity. She swayed toward him. He bent his head, his lips claiming what had always been and always would be his. With a tremendous effort she managed to pull away before she drowned. He excused himself so he could set the sails with his own hands for the short run north.
When he returned to her side, she had regained her composure, and he was content to let her keep a small, cool distance between them. "There is just time to give you a quick tour belowdecks, before we change directions and head west. We'll come back up on deck in time to see Tantallon Castle before we turn into the Firth.of Forth."
The Sea Witch was richly appointed. Polished red mahogany and brass gleamed everywhere. The captain's cabin was lavishly decorated in an Eastern manner. A priceless Oriental carpet set off inlaid Chinese lacquered cabinets. The bed was low to the floor with black, raw silk covers, embroidered. with golden dragons and pagodas. Copper braziers filled with glowing coals warmed the air, which seemed to be scented with sandalwood. In answer to her upraised eyebrows, he admitted, "All plundered from a China clipper that sailed across my gunsights once."
"Do you always take what you fancy?" she demanded.
"Always," he snapped wolfishly, and the blood rose up and stained her cheeks, so intimate was the atmosphere in the cabin.
He moved toward a kettle steaming over a spirit lamp to mix brandy and sugar with the boiling water. "Here, take this up on deck with you: The weather is bracing today."
Back at the rail, she sipped the fiery liquid gratefully.
"Look there, it's Tantallon. We are too far out for you to get a good look. On the way back we will sail in closer to shore so you can see it better."
Her eyelashes quickly veiled her eyes, lest he read in them that she did not intend to make the return trip. She was relieved that he was called away to pilot the ship into the Firth of Forth, and warmed herself with the brandy. She looked up to see the Sea Witch's mainsheet squared, her topsails filled, as the ship came about with the wind.
As they sailed closer to Leith, other vessels became visible. The traffic was heavy, the tall masts too numerous to count. Tabby was fascinated with the bustling port. Sights she had never seen before captured her imagination. The smells were as varied as the sights, with the catch of the fishing boats predominating. When the Sea Witch launched a large rowing boat and the men crowded into it, she feared they would row in for supplies and leave the ship out in the harbor, but with the help of ropes and lines, they tugged the huge vessel into a berth at the dockside. She watched the anchor lowered, the sails furled up, the ropes coiled about stanchions, the gangplank put down.
Paris walked down the ramp onto the dock but seemed to wait there without moving off. She watched him, waiting for just one moment when she could steal away. The wait seemed endless, but in less than an hour, the supplies Paris had been waiting for arrived. When his men started to carry barrels on board, he reboarded the ship to supervise the stowing. Then the men loaded some heavy-looking crates, and while everyone was busy, she slipped silently down the gangplank, stepped onto the quayside and immediately came face-to-face with Troy. He hoisted her over his shoulder like a ditty bag and leaped up the gangplank.
She kicked and screamed with all her might, pummeling her tight little fists into his back furiously. She felt cheated, thwarted and totally ineffectual against these Cockburns. She felt so angry and so helpless, she began to cry, the tears flooding her eyes, the sobs causing great gulps and gasps as she cursed her fate. Her heart sank, and she cursed herself for not using enough caution.
"Permission to come -aboard, Captain?" Troy shouted happily.
"Permission granted; Mr. Cockburn;" commanded Paris formally,
"Where shall I stow this last piece, Captain?"
"I don't want the baggage," he answered coldly. "Let the crew have her."
The color drained from her face. "No... please..." she cried.
Paris gently lifted her from Troy's arms. "Lassie, I'm just plaguing ye." He grinned at Troy as if he hadn't seen him in years, and Troy grinned back. They obviously shared some knowledge that made them deliriously happy. Troy looked at the supplies they had loaded, and then back to Tabrizia. "Who was it said you couldn't have your cake and eat it, too?" He laughed.
Paris set her in a sheltered corner atop a thick coil of rope, and tactfully left her to dry her eyes. She resigned herself to the fact that she would be returning to Cockburnspath. Was she truly sad or was she happy that she was returning to his captivity, her escape plan so easily thwarted? Her thoughts were all introsp
ective, so she didn't notice anything unusual in the way Paris and Troy were acting.
On the short run home, Paris came to stand beside Tabrizia. He was elated. His plan had worked smoothly. He had the gold and he had the girl. It lacked only one thing to be perfect. He needed her to capitulate, to accept her fate willingly. He gave her an odd look that mingled pain and pleasure. She thought he was going to speak, but he caught back the words, and a deep scowl darkened his features. He spun on his heels and, with swift, angry strides, joined his men. She was bewildered. She didn't know what he wanted of her, but she felt that without saying one word, she had displeased him. It was best to keep out of his way when he was in one of his angry moods.
Shannon had to restrain herself from going down to the ship. She had sighted the sails an hour past as she stood atop the Lady Tower. Paris hadn't divulged his plans to her, but she was shrewd enough to know he'd try to get the gold without giving up the prize.
Tabrizia came in first, disheveled and windblown from the invigorating day at sea. "Thank you for the muff, Shannon. My escape into Leith was unsuccessful. It seems I fail at everything I attempt."
Shannon smiled sympathetically at the miserable girl. "You'll have to put up with us for a while longer, I'm afraid."
When Paris came into the solarium, his face was so impassive that Shannon learned nothing. But the moment Troy appeared, his face split with a wide, triumphant grin, she knew they had pulled it off.
They waited until Tabrizia went up to her chamber; then Paris gave the thumbs-up sign to Shannon, who ran toward her brothers like a ten-year-old. They threw their arms about each other and laughed until the tears rolled down their cheeks.
Wild Hearts Page 13