“Where is the treasure?” repeated Bran in a low growl, his face inches from Core’s. The man was about his same height but had at least a good two stone more muscle than him.
“We are working on translating the texts,” fabricated Core. He needed to think fast before he was caught by Jyne or strangled by Bran. Though he hated the helmet, it was shocking how exposed he felt without it.
“What texts?”
“The scrolls, the ones I stole. They have clues, but it takes time.” Core glanced at the kitchen door, his heart in his throat. She could walk in at any second.
“Give me the monk. I’ll make him work faster.”
“Nay, I need him to think clearer, no’ faster. Ye canna be o’ help in this matter unless yer Latin is better than mine.”
Bran scowled at him. “Where’s that wench o’ yers?”
Core’s blood ran cold. “She’s nothing to you.”
Bran gave him an evil smile. “She’s the only halfway decent thing to look at around here. Ye think ye can keep her all to yerself?”
“I’ll gut anyone who lays a hand on her,” growled Core with a vehemence he had never before experienced.
Bran merely smirked. “Ye can try.”
“Dinna underestimate me. Now let me be about my work.” Core grabbed the helmet from Bran’s grasp and slammed it down on his head. He needed to get away before Bran saw how his words had impacted him. Core glanced again at the kitchen door and, to his relief, saw no trace of Jyne. He attempted to walk away, but Bran held his arm with an iron grasp.
“Wear that helmet as much as ye like, if it makes ye feel stronger, but ye’ll ne’er live up to yer father’s name.” Bran strode off, leaving Core to chew on his words.
Every hour he stayed at Kinoch with these men put Jyne at risk. Core knew he would never be his father, nor did he wish to be, but nobody defied Red Rex. Gaining the same blind obedience from these rough men would be impossible.
Elder matrons began to enter the room, bringing food and drink into the hall. Core’s stomach rumbled. It was going to be torture again, smelling the delicious food and not being able to eat.
Core watched with a smug satisfaction as his men ate and drank. Served them right for not listening to him. All was going according to plan until Jyne herself entered the hall, a bottle of tainted ale in her hand. Men who had not given the elderly serving ladies a second glance turned to look at her, all eyes following her movements through the hall. She was not safe here.
What was she doing here? He had told her to remain out of sight. Was that Cormac or the Fire Lord who had said it? He couldn’t quite remember, but he knew one of them had.
“Get back to yer chamber,” he growled at her when she approached.
She flinched—slightly—but he saw it. He despised himself for making her uncomfortable. She leveled him a glare that told him she agreed with his opinion.
“Ye demanded food and drink. I canna serve ye from the kitchens, can I?” She poured him a healthy amount of the ale she carried. He had no doubt it was tainted heavily with her special potion.
He leaned closer to her and put a hand on her sleeve, speaking in a low voice that reverberated in an ominous fashion from within the helm. “These men dinna ken the meaning o’ restraint. Get back to the kitchens wi’ ye, and dinna put yerself in their company again.”
Her lips parted slightly, and she stared at him, perhaps wondering if he had given her a warning or a threat. It was a little of both.
“Aye,” she whispered.
Cormac watched carefully as she made her way back to the kitchens. One of the men stood up behind her, a leer on his face. Cormac’s empty gut clenched as the man reached out to grab her. Quick as lightning, Core grabbed his sgian dubh, the hidden knife all Highlanders carried, and threw it before the man, sticking it point down in the table between the man and Jyne.
The man stopped and turned back to Core, a look of surprise on his face. Core was not known to start a fight, but he would protect Jyne with everything within him. She had paid for his protection with a kiss, and he would honor it.
Core walked boldly to the man, glad he still wore the monstrous helm, silently daring him to continue. Whether due to intimidation or surprise, the man cursed and sat back down. It was not the deferential respect afforded to his father, but still, it was a retreat.
Smiling at his success, Core retrieved the knife from where it was stuck in the table and replaced it in its hiding place in his boot. He had a win; it was time to withdraw.
“This food tastes like swill! I will not eat it, nor should ye!” Core pounded his fist on a table as he had seen his father do many times. It did not quite resound with the same ferocity, but he was, after all, still learning the ways of being a warlord.
Jyne had reached the door of the kitchen and turned back, scowling at him. It did strange things to him, that glower of hers. He felt warm in odd places. He cleared his throat to focus back on his current role. He was a ruthless warlord.
“I am returning to my chamber, and I’m no’ to be disturbed!” He strode from the great hall and up the stone steps. As soon as he was out of sight, he ran to his chamber, removed the ill-smelling helm, and took a deep breath of fresh air. He shrugged off the large bearskin and the padded arming doublet and changed back into his regular attire.
Brother Luke hardly afforded him a glance. “Even if I keep your unholy secret, she will find out.”
“Not if I can help it.”
“It is wrong to deceive her so.”
“Aye. I’m an evil warlord, ye ken?”
“Are you?” This time, Brother Luke gave him a long, appraising look.
Core sighed. “’Tis what my father wants.”
“And what do you want?”
Core shook his head. “Ye dinna understand. What my father wants is what will happen.” Core took a breath and blew it out. He did not wish to think on these things, but he was a practical lad, and he knew his fate. “I may be able to hold him off for a while, but eventually I will become like him, or he will kill me. There is no other option.”
Eleven
Whether he was a warlord pretending to be a rebel or a rebel pretending to be a warlord was getting a little confused in his mind. Either way, Cormac wanted to return to the kitchens to witness what would happen to his men. Spending more time with the lovely Jyne was an added benefit.
He opened the shutters and climbed several stories down the ivy-covered tower. He had been sneaking in and out of places for most of his life. While some men stood their ground in a fight, he preferred to disappear when things became difficult. Picking locks and scaling down walls was second nature to him now.
He was down the tower in mere seconds and around to the kitchens, striding into the back door with a certain confidence. Jyne rushed up to him directly in a manner he liked quite a bit.
“All the men drank from their mugs o’ tainted ale, but I dinna ken if that Fire Lord drank his. He’s gone up to his solar and doesna want to be disturbed.” A little crease formed on her brow between her bright blue eyes.
“How soon will the sleeping draft take effect?” Core asked.
“I made it extra strong. They should be slumbering soon. But what if the warlord should return? He will find his sleeping men and take vengeance out on us.” She looked around at the elders and children helping in the kitchen, clearly concerned for their welfare.
“Dinna worry so. Take some food and drink. I warrant the warlord went to his chamber because he was beginning to feel the effects of yer potion. I doubt verra much we shall see him for hours.” Cormac was very confident in this.
They sat at an old oak table and broke bread together. Cormac found goblets of wine for both of them and some food for a meal. It had been long since he had filled his belly, so he ate hungrily of the bread and the hearty stew before him. Jyne must have
been reassured by his confidence, for the little crease on her forehead disappeared, and she began to eat and drink with him.
He liked this, sharing a meal with her. He could almost block out the sound of his men carousing in the great room next to them. She was a beautiful lass. She must have been thinking of other things when she’d gotten herself dressed this morn, for her veil was not securely fastened, causing her long, straight blond hair to fall out before her. The color of those errant strands was like gold. He longed to reach out and touch it. She absently brushed a lock of hair behind her ear with a careless finger, causing him to pause in his eating. Her blue eyes sparkled at him, and he noticed those blue eyes had flecks of hazel green.
A disturbance erupted in the dining hall, and one of the elderly matrons ran back into the kitchen.
“What is the matter?” cried Jyne, rising to her feet. “Are they no’ getting tired?”
The woman placed a hand over her bosom, her eyes wide. “Nay, they’re getting randy!”
“Pardon?”
“I had two o’ the men say they thought I was a vision o’ loveliness. Three done laughed so hard, they fell from their benches, and four others started a brawl o’er the right way to eat stew. They’ve gone mad, they have!” The matron threw her hands up in the air.
Before Core could make any sense of this, another elderly clanswoman, with thinning gray hair and a large goiter, shrieked as she scrambled back into the kitchen.
“What happened to ye?” asked Jyne. She ran to the elderly woman and helped her to sit on the bench she had just vacated.
“I dinna ken they’re about. One man dropped to his knees and began to recite poetry, or at least something like it. A few others started dancing, wi’ no music—wi’ each other! Another one demanded my hand in marriage. To me! What sort o’ mean-spirited shenanigans are these hooligans up to?”
Jyne’s face was one of complete loss. “Is this some sort o’ game?” she asked Core.
“If it is, ’tis unknown to me.” Cormac had seen quite a bit of rough play from his father’s men, but he had never heard of anything like that.
Core and Jyne peeked inside the great hall and were astounded at what they saw. Several of the men were having a heated argument as to which of the elderly servers was more beautiful. Some were dancing to no music. Some were running around the room, batting at the air, as if trying to catch invisible fairies. Others were fighting while laughing hysterically. Jyne and Core stared at each other.
“Why are they acting this way?” Jyne met his eye. He realized they were standing very close as they peeked into the hall. Her beautiful blue eyes widened, and she flushed, her cheeks a rosy hue. Her lips were the color of pale pink rose petals and appeared so soft and inviting, he wished to lean in for just one taste. She was beautiful. Truly beautiful.
“I dinna ken.” He had to remind himself to answer her question. It was the truth. He had never seen the men act in such a manner.
“Oh!” Jyne suddenly gasped. “The potion. It must have made them mad.”
Core couldn’t help but laugh. “Ye made them all act like fools? Och, I wish my father was here to see it!”
“Who is yer father?” she asked, turning her innocent blue eyes to him.
He realized in a flash he had made a slip. “No one. Just he would think it amusing, is all,” he said hastily. “Will the potion make them tired or just mad as imps?”
Jyne slapped a hand to her forehead. “Och, I’m a dunderhead, I am. Too much ale wi’ it can make a man lose his senses.”
“Ye gave my men something to make them witless?”
“Well I… It wasn’t what I intended… Wait, yer men?” She raised an eyebrow at him, and he knew he was in trouble.
“My men? I…I have no men.” He attempted nonchalance. It was not a natural state.
The little furrow between her brows reappeared. “But I thought I heard ye say—”
He kissed her.
It was the only thing he could think to do. The only thing he wanted to do. He was drawn to her by a power he could not deny. He embraced her and allowed his lips to melt onto hers. He did not have much experience in kissing, but he pulled her closer and deepened the kiss, waiting for the inevitable slap. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him and returning his ardor with a passion that lit an explosion within him. He did not care that his men were making fools of themselves next door. He did not care if the entire kitchen staff could see them. He had to kiss her.
Finally, she pulled away, her breath coming quick and fast. “I…I…” She glanced around, noting that everyone in the kitchen was staring at them. “Och, I fear ye are also under its spell. Ye must have drunk the tainted ale.”
He was not under any such spell, for he had drunk wine, not ale, and his feelings for her had begun the moment he had pulled her from the bog. She could not be unaware of how he felt about her. Did she truly think he was under the influence of the potion, or was she trying to give a plausible rationale for the kiss to those in the kitchen? He was not familiar enough with the workings of the feminine mind to know. He hesitated for a moment but felt it best to agree with her. “Aye, it would seem so. Is there an antidote?” He fervently hoped not.
She shook her head. “It will wear off in time.”
He nodded and turned to spy once more on the commotion in the great hall. At least the kiss had distracted her enough from remembering what he had said. He also was having difficulty attending to what he ought; instead, he was thinking of situations where he could kiss her again.
“I wish I knew what I did. I’ve ne’er seen a potion so powerful,” commented Jyne.
“It must be, for those bastards to start spouting poetry.”
Her eyes sparkled, and mischief tweaked up the corners of her mouth. He wanted to kiss that mouth again. “It should not be long now. They should fall asleep soon. At least, I hope so. I wish Isabelle was here.”
“Isabelle?”
“She is my brother’s wife and a skilled healer.”
Cormac shrugged. “I’m sure it will be fine.” He peeked once more into the great hall. Already, some of the men were laid out on the benches or curled up on the floor. “Look, I think it is taking effect.”
“Truly?” Jyne moved to enter the great hall, but he put a hand to stay her.
“If those men are randy due to yer potion, I hate to think o’ what they might do for a right lovely lass. Might throw them into apoplexy or start a riot.”
“Right lovely?” She spoke the words softly, looking up at him through long lashes.
Something of a chill, but a whole lot warmer, coursed through him. He cleared his throat. “No’ safe for ye out there.”
“If ye say so.” She gave him a wide-eyed smile.
His mind went blank for a moment. He smiled in return.
Core glanced out into the great hall where Dubh was reciting a sonnet, or at least he was trying to. It started with poetry and ended as a dirty limerick.
One matron returned from the hall with a smile. “I got four offers of marriage and five offers of something I canna say in polite company,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
“Mayhap we can step outside to discuss what is to be done now?” asked Core, wishing to have a more private audience with Jyne without the bustle of the kitchen workers.
Jyne nodded, and he followed her out the side door into the sunlight of a fine spring day. The sun caught the gilded strands of her long hair, turning them to pure gold. He stared, transfixed, before remembering himself.
“Do ye wish to drag them to the storeroom?” asked Core, not particularly relishing the onerous task. His back still ached from the exertion of saving her guard last night.
Jyne sighed. “Aye, but I am worried about the Fire Lord. I am almost certain he dinna drink the ale. How could he, wi’ the
helmet on? He could return from his chamber at any time. If he finds us carting his sleeping comrades into a storeroom, what then?”
“He would attack, no doubt.”
“Och, I hate to think all this trouble was for naught, but I do not wish to give him any excuse to make trouble for these people or for us.”
Core nodded in agreement. His plan would work better if his men were not locked in a storeroom. “Will they return to normal when they wake up?”
“Aye, the potion does not last long. Like all illusions, it will eventually dissipate.” She turned her face to the sun, her skin bathing in the golden rays.
“Good. Verra good.” He did not know exactly what to say. He wanted to kiss her again. He needed to kiss her again. He wished to say something along the lines of be quiet and kiss me, which, potion or no potion, could hardly be an appealing enticement toward romance.
“Ye’re verra good.” He leaned down to kiss her, but at the last moment had a rush of conscience that prevented him from doing anything more than brushing his lips against her cheek. “Forgive me.”
“I understand. The potion.” Her eyes were wide, like bottomless blue orbs. She pushed a wisp of hair behind her ear again with a delicate finger. She had an ethereal, otherworldly quality, so much so that if she suddenly sprouted wings and flew off like a fairy, he would hardly have been surprised.
“Nay, ye must ken I drank none o’ yer brew, yet I have surely been bewitched.” Her eyes met his; her face was unreadable, her lips slightly parted. She was irresistible. He drew her into his embrace and kissed her, expecting her to pull away. Instead, she pressed her lips against his, kissing him with a sweet passion he thought he would never experience. Her arms wrapped around him, her fingers threading through his hair, and he could not resist. He held her close. She might be petite of frame, yet no one had held him more in their power.
When the kiss finally ended, it took a moment or two to open his eyes once more, forcing himself to come back to earth.
My Highland Rebel Page 9