Highland Wolf (Highland Brides)

by Greiman, Lois

  “Who is the watchdog?” Dagger asked.

  “He is called Theaelo,” she said, turning her attention slowly back to Dagger.

  “Does he talk or just attack on command?”

  “Theaelo considers it a privilege to guard me in silence.”

  Dagger chuckled. “I might feel the same if there are … rewards.”

  She nodded curtly at the compliment. The dust felt cool and soft against her bare feet. “I think we can come to a mutally … rewarding arrangement.”

  “I’ve been known to satisfy.”

  She offered him a pouting smile. “There is satisfaction and there is satisfaction, Lord Dagger.”

  “Indeed,” he said.

  She drew out the golden mermaid.

  For a moment he was absolutely quiet, then, “Lord Crighton will be quite upset.”

  Tara felt as if her heart were about to beat its way free of her chest. She raised her brows slowly. “You know the piece?”

  “I’ve admired it.”

  “And I stole it.”

  Silence again.

  “How?”

  She dropped the mermaid unceremoniously back into her bag and paced a few feet. “Every woman must be allowed her secrets.”

  “But yours are so interesting, Princess. I wonder why you come here.”

  She stopped with the light to her back. It would show her silhouette and little else. “Let us just say that I have no wish to marry a man as doddering as my grandfather.”

  “So they planned to marry ya to an old man?”

  Turning with a jerk, she paced again, angrily now. “I am young!” she said, drawing a fist toward her bosom. It was dyed, pushed high, and well exposed above the drawstring decollete of her simple blouse. “I have needs.”

  “Indeed.”

  She stopped again, giving him a glimpse of her profile in the candlelight before she turned toward him. “And I have talents.”

  Though she wasn’t certain, she thought he held his breath.

  “I am offering you the mermaid as goodwill,” she said simply. “’Tis yours with the agreement that what I bring to you henceforth will be shared half and half.”

  “You steal it, I sell it,” he said simply.

  She lifted her chin a smidgen. “You’ll not find another as good as I.”

  “Have ye, perhaps, heard of a man called the Shadow?”

  Her heart thundered on. “I admit that I only just arrived in this place you call Firthport. I’ve made few acquaintances.”

  “He’s been a thorn in my side.”

  She smiled. “Then let me be a soothing potion.”

  “A tempting potion you make, too. But I’ve found that fools act in haste. Hence, I propose a new proposition. You keep the mermaid for now. I have a mission for you, and if you are successful in that theft, we will be partners. Three parts for me, one part for you.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “No. I will steal what you like, but you will get half and I will get half.”

  He laughed. “As you wish then, and later, we will make more personal terms.”

  She stared into the impenetrable darkness at him, then walked back to Roman and settled a hand on his bare chest. “I enjoy personal,” she purred.

  Chapter 20

  “Ye’ll na even think upon it,” Roman said. The journey home had been long and slow, for they had taken a circuitous course and stopped often to listen. But no one followed them. Still, they’d barely spoken until the door was closed and barred behind them.

  “’Tis the only way,” Tara said, lighting a candle. “I’ve but to steal the bracelet Dagger covets, and the necklace will be ours.”

  Roman gritted his teeth and stormed across the floor to swing her around, but when she lifted her face he saw the aching fatigue clear as sunrise in her eyes.

  “Lass,” he said, worry etched in his voice, “are ye well?”

  “Tired,” she said, her knees buckling.

  Catching her gently, Roman lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. She didn’t object, but lay quietly with her eyes closed and her head pillowed against his bare chest. It was a feeling of such exquisite agony, that for a moment he could not speak.

  “Thank you.” Her breath was feather soft against his skin.

  Roman settled onto the low pallet, still holding her. Letting his own eyes fall closed, he absorbed the feeling that tantalized him. “For what?”

  “For saving my life.”

  He tightened his grip. Terror had been the course of the evening, terror and more terror as he remembered the murder he had seen committed in that same warehouse not many nights before. But she was safe now, at least for a while.

  He drew a deep breath, still trying to relax.

  The risks she had undertaken were immense. It seemed there were a thousand things he should reprimand her for. But she felt so soft and light in his arms, so fine and delicate. Still, those characteristics only made his worry deeper.

  “Ye did na need ta be so bold, lass,” he said, remembering her sharp staccato voice, her flirting, her hand, warm, but softly trembling as she had stroked his chest for all to see.

  It had been a strange sensation, mixed with equal amounts of eroticism and terror.

  She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “My apologies,” she said softly. “I fear Salina is not a subtle character.”

  Roman frowned into her eyes. “But ye are na Salina.”

  “Aye, I am,” she said. ‘There is a part of me that is her and a part of her that is me.”

  “I fear tonight ye were all her. And bold enough to age me fifty years.”

  She smiled, a soft tender smile that Salina would never wear, and reached out to run a single finger gently along the raised vein in his right hand. “Boldness covers fear. ‘Tis a tiresome thing holding back the drowning terror.” She shivered a little. “The evil in that place was too thick to let me breathe. But you…” Her gaze met his. “I think you have no fear, Scotsman.”

  Images of Albert lunging toward Tara stabbed through Roman’s mind. Terror welled up again, but he pushed it back and touched her face. Her skin was velvety soft, but her dark, false hair felt coarse against his fingers. He pushed it aside, then eased the kerchief and wig from her head.

  Her golden hair was confined with pins. He released them one by one, massaged her scalp, and watched her eyes fall closed again. He knew the moment sleep took her. Her lips parted slightly and her breath was kitten-soft against his skin. His chest ached with that light contact.

  “I do fear,” he whispered into the quiet. “I fear losing ye.”

  Roman awoke with a start. Daylight shone through the wooden shutters. What had he heard? Tara stirred in his arms. He glanced at her, set his hand on his dirk, and rose quickly to his feet.

  “’Tis me. Liam,” came a voice from outside.

  Roman unbarred the door and the boy slipped inside.

  He was no more than thirteen years of age. Lean and gangly, he grinned at Tara, then flitted his gaze to Roman. His dark eyes hurried up and down before settling on Roman’s pierced and hooked ear. “I knew when ya decided to go fishing you’d hook a big one,” he said and laughed.

  Roman noticed Tara’s blush, but she covered it quickly.

  “You followed Dagger?” she asked.

  “Aye, I followed him,” said Liam, “but I lost him. ‘E ‘ad a ‘orse, a fine dark steed. Fleet as I am, I fear the ‘orse was the faster.”

  “What direction did he go?”

  “North, up Cartway.”

  “Cartway,” Tara mused. She had begun to pace, her fair brows pulled low over her eyes. “Who is he?”

  Liam shrugged his shoulders. “‘E’s a murderin’ thief with a ring of murderin’ thieves that surround ‘im. Do ya need ta know more?”

  She paced again, then shook her head. “No. You’re right. All I need to do is steal the bracelet as Dagger requested.”

  Liam paced to the hearth. There was a small loaf of bread ther
e, which he took and consumed with astounding speed.

  “How far did ye follow Dagger?” Roman asked.

  “Till me lungs gave out,” said the boy.

  “Did he turn, slow down?”

  “Nay.” Liam scowled. “‘Tis sorry I am ta disappoint ya, Tara.”

  “‘Tis no matter,” she said. “‘Twould have made little difference if I could resite his family tree and entire history. We know what we know and will have to be especially careful because of it.”

  Roman considered saying again that she would not go through with this theft, but there seemed little point, so he stood in silent thought.

  “Twas a thrill to watch ya work,” Liam said. “Wouldn’t a never knowed ya weren’t Rom. Me …” He shook his head. The bread was long gone. He reached into his pocket now to draw out a coin and roll it with silvery quickness between his fingers. “I can do the light-hands work. But won’t never be anyone ta compare ta your acting.”

  Pure admiration shone in Liam’s eyes. Or did it? Was there, perhaps, a touch of envy? Roman wondered. Why did Tara trust this boy so when she trusted none other?

  “Where were ye that ye could see so well?” asked Roman quietly.

  Liam rolled the coin again. It flashed between his fingers only to suddenly appear in the other hand seemingly by magic and without conscious thought. “I was on the roof. By the by, ya done a fair job of acting yourself, Scotch. The silent Rom, all muscle and balls.” He laughed. “What ya gonna do now, Tara?”

  She paced and bit her lip. “I’ve little choice but to steal Harrington’s bracelet as he asked.”

  “Nay. Tis too dangerous,” Roman said. “We’ll find some other way.”

  “What other way?” asked Tara.

  Roman turned toward her. Fear for her making his stomach churn. “Any other way.”

  ‘There is little time remaining,” she said. “And we’re so close. We’ve but to steal Harrington’s bracelet, take it to Dagger, and find out where he stashed the necklace.”

  “So simple,” Roman said, “if ye dunna mind dying.”

  The room fell quiet.

  “And do ye, lass?”

  “I’ve no wish to die.”

  “And I’ve na wish ta let ye,” Roman said.

  “You do not hold my life in your hands, Scotsman,” she said. “You may look the part of the bare-chested protector, but I’ve been surviving alone for a good many years. And I’ll not have you telling me how to live my life now.”

  Anger slowly flooded over Roman. “Ye’ll na go,” he said.

  She lifted her chin at him. “Oh, I’ll go. I’ll have the bracelet. And if you’re too stubborn to take it, ‘tis fine with me. I’m certain I can think of something else to do with it.”

  “Ye’ll na—” Roman began, but Liam’s words intersected his own.

  “Mayhap Scotch is right, Tara. ‘Tis dangerous, even for you.”

  Tara turned her gaze to Liam’s. Roman narrowed his eyes and wondered what passed between them. Something unsaid. Something merely understood.

  Tara sighed. “Let us consider it then. Mayhap we’ll think up a better plan. What do we know of Dagger thus far?”

  “’Tis said ‘e killed James,” Liam said softly.

  “I’ve heard as much,” she said.

  “Old Bertram the Hand was there when they pulled the fence from the firth.”

  “First Cork and now James,” Tara murmured. “Must Bertram watch all the old masters die?”

  “‘E says you’re the master now,” Liam said.

  Roman watched her turn her face toward the lad. They were immersed in their own world. A world of crime and intrigue. He had no part in that world. He was a barrister, a diplomat. And yet, somehow their worlds had become enmeshed. Her life had entwined with his own, and suddenly he had no wish to live without her, no matter what world she lived in.

  “If James was a master at redistributing stolen goods, why would Dagger have him killed instead of employing his expertise?” Roman asked.

  “James was more than a fence,” Tara said. “He was a legend. Thieves would come from as far away as Rome to sell their goods. But he got a good deal of business from here in Firthport.”

  “A bloke could enter in his back door one day and James would sell it out the front of ‘is shop the next.”

  “And the magistrate did nothing to interfere with his dealings?” Roman asked.

  Liam shrugged. “‘E didn’t steal it, ‘e only bought it, and there was plenty a times when the former owners was just ‘appy ta get their goods back. They didn’t care ‘ow it was done.”

  Roman scowled. The entire situation went against everything he stood for, but he was out of his element now. “So why did Dagger kill James?”

  “Dagger must have his own system for distributing stolen goods,” Tara said.

  “Or mayhap finding out ‘oo the Shadow was was more important than fencing goods,” Liam said.

  “What do ye mean by that?” Roman asked, dread seeping over him.

  “That’s why ‘e took auld James. Cause ‘e knew the old fence was one of the few that knowed about the Shadow.”

  Roman felt his stomach pitch. “So he might know—”

  “If he knew I was the Shadow, I’d be dead now,” Tara said. Her tone was flippant, but her eyes… “They learned that I was associated with the Shadow, but James must have…” Her voice broke. She turned away. “He must have died before they could force him to identify me.”

  Roman gritted his teeth. “Are ye saying Dagger tortured James ta find out who ye were? And now ye’re playing about with—”

  “Playing about!” She snapped the words at him. The worry in her eyes was no longer hidden, but was mingled with anger and frustration. “Mayhap this is a game to you, Scotsman. But ‘tis not to me. ‘Tis deadly serious. I am not a barrister who can fall back on the law to save me. In fact, ‘tis the law that would do me most harm. I am not the son of a lord. There is nothing holding you here. At any time you can hie yourself back to your homeland and forget Firthport ever existed. But this is my own place in the world.”

  Roman remained absolutely still for several moments before finally speaking. “There may have been a time when I was above begging, lass. But ‘tis na longer true. Please,” he said softly, “dunna follow this course. We will find another way to free David MacAulay.”

  “I can scale the walls of Harrington House,” she said quietly. “I can get the bracelet.”

  “’Tis said old man ‘arrington is guarding ‘is daughter well,” Liam said. “‘Tis said ‘e ‘as ‘ired men to make certain she stays put.”

  Tara was silent for a moment, but then she shrugged. “I’ve fooled guards before.”

  “And what if ‘e recognizes you?” Liam asked.

  Tara turned quickly toward the lad.

  “What do ye mean, recognizes her?” Roman asked.

  For a moment, she only stared at Liam, but finally she spoke. “Liam has long feared that someone would recognize me as the Shadow. But the Shadow is dead.”

  Roman watched her carefully, considering every word. But if there was more to this situation than what she admitted, he could not tell. “Then let the Shadow lie in peace,” he said softly. “As ye said, I am a diplomat, a barrister—there is another way for me ta achieve me ends.”

  Tara caught his gaze and smiled gently. “I suppose I should be happy to forgo this job.” She shrugged. “All right, Scotsman, ‘tis for you to think up a better plan.”

  “You’ll not try for the bracelet?” Liam asked, his tone dubious.

  Tara laughed. “Despite what you may think, I have no wish to stand in line beside MacAulay for the hangman’s noose.”

  Liam exhaled noisily, then flipped the coin between his fingers again. “‘Tis glad I am to hear that, Tara, for you’ve still to tell me ‘ow you stole the mermaid.”

  “You’re far too young to know,” Tara said.

  ‘Then I’ll take my leave,” Liam said, �
�and try to grow up faster.”

  “Grow up any faster, lad, and you’ll be a gaffer before you’ve grown your first whisker,” Tara replied. Again, her tone was flippant, but she reached out and touched the boy’s hand, and for a moment, it tarried there. “Take care, Liam.”

  “I shall, but I will also learn what I can about the Dagger,” he said.

  The door closed noiselessly behind him.

  The room fell into silence.

  “Then ye’ll na steal the bracelet?” Roman asked, watching her back.

  She turned with the elegant grace of a flower in the wind. Her golden hair flowed like silken waves about her shoulders and her teeth looked snowy white against her darkened skin. “If I did not know better, I would say that you don’t trust me, Scotsman.”

  He scowled at her. “I dunna. And for good reason.”

  She approached him with swaying hips, her colorful skirt sweeping her ankles. “Then I vow, I will not steal the bracelet until we have considered all options.”

  Her arms slipped about his waist. They were slim arms, but strong and resilient, like the woman he loved.

  Terror coiled in Roman’s gut. “Who are ye now, lass, Salina or Tara O’Flynn.”

  She laughed. “Mayhap I am both.”

  He watched her eyes. They were the crystalline blue of an angel’s. But he must not be misled. “And mayhap ye are all Salina this day,” he said.

  She shook her head and lifted her skirts.

  Her ankles were narrow and fine, her calves slim and shapely. But just below the knee he could see the delineation where the walnut stain stopped and the pale skin began.

  “You see, I am part of each,” she said. “But I had best return to myself before it is too late and the dye will not be undone. Then who knows, mayhap I will be Salina forever and every man I see will be scurrying for cover.”

  “I did not see Dagger running for cover,” Roman said, scowling as she turned away.

  She fanned up the fire with quick efficiency, swung the water kettle over the blaze, then glanced over her shoulder at him.

  “In fact, methinks he was more than interested,” Roman added.

  Straightening, Tara lifted three lemons from a wooden bowl on her small table, and glanced at him again. “‘Twas my hope to … distract him, Scotsman.”