The Daring Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series)

by Carmen Caine

  Peeking through a dirty window, he watched her slip behind a bedraggled curtain hanging in the back.

  He glanced about and lifted his lip in disgust.

  The air reeked of urine and filth. There was no sign of the butcher. Stepping inside, he took one look at the rickety staircase and knew he’d never be able to reach the top without announcing his presence to all.

  But it was a simple enough matter to solve.

  Returning outside, he quickly scaled the back wall and approached the windows from the roof. But it was only a slightly better solution. The ancient tiles cracked and shattered beneath his feet.

  And then he heard Liselle’s distinct voice followed by a man’s hacking cough. And leaning over the edge of the roof, he peered through the top of the window to see her kneeling before a pitiable figure of a man lying on a straw pallet.

  “And take another, bón pare,” Liselle was saying as she dipped a silver spoon into a wooden bowl of what appeared to be gruel.

  The clatter of hooves sounded on the street below, and Julian drew back a little as a company of royal guards galloped by, escorting several men dressed in the livery of the House of York. They were clearly headed towards the castle.

  By the time he peered through the window once again, Liselle had moved, blocking his view of the man as she leaned forward to lift his head and press a cup to his lips.

  “’Tis barley water sweetened with honey,” she murmured encouragingly. “It will give you strength.”

  Julian lifted a curious brow even as his eyes dipped over her seductive curves. His gaze strayed to the curve of her neck as she once more began to spoon gruel into the sick man’s mouth.

  Aye, her neck called for a man’s kiss.

  And then the man on the pallet lifted a feeble hand and said in a weak voice, “You have returned, àngiolìna!”

  Julian’s eyes widened in alarm as he instantly recognized Dolfin’s voice. The man was supposed to have travelled to the Cambuskenneth Abbey! How was it that he’d ended up here?

  “You must leave this place at once. You cannot stay, bón pare,” Liselle was saying. “It is too dangerous. You will be found.”

  “My weary old bones cannot travel, cara,” Dolfin answered with a shaky laugh.

  “Would you rather die a traitor’s death?” she asked with a firm shake of her head. “I will arrange for someone to take you from here. You must go with him, and you must leave this night!”

  And then rising gracefully to her feet, she dipped a respectful curtsey and sailed through the doorway, heading back down the creaking steps.

  Julian didn’t hesitate.

  Dropping through the window, he landed lightly on his feet, and in a moment was kneeling at Dolfin’s side.

  “How do you feel, Istruttore?” he asked without preamble, laying an uneasy hand upon the old man’s sweating brow. Had she poisoned him?

  Dolfin was clearly surprised to see him, but he managed a weak, welcoming smile. On his thin, unshaven face, it looked almost ghoulish.

  “You are well, caro!” he croaked.

  “Aye! And why would I not be?” Julian asked grimly, frowning in concern. “How long have ye been ill? And why are ye here? Did I not tell ye to travel to Cambuskenneth? Why did ye come here?”

  “So many questions,” Dolfin’s voice trembled as he struggled to prop himself up on an unsteady elbow. And then he knit his brows. “What did you ask?”

  Julian eyed him in concern. The man was confused and frail, but he didn’t appear to be poisoned. “Dinna fash yourself over it,” Julian muttered under his breath. “I’ll see ye safe myself and right quickly.”

  Dolfin reached out and patted his hand. “My strength is returning, thanks to yon àngiolìna. You just missed her, caro.”

  Julian grunted. He could hardly tell the man that the lass was a Vindictam assassin.

  “I must leave this place—” Dolfin began, before a fierce bout of coughing consumed him.

  “Aye, of that there is no doubt,” Julian murmured with a stern brow. “Tarry a moment more, Istruttore. I will find help right quickly.”

  It didn’t take him long, and soon enough, Julian found himself standing in the center of the road, waving a relieved farewell to Dolfin, who was safely tucked beneath a plaid in the back of a friar’s cart. The friar was a trusted friend and had vowed to see Dolfin safely to the monks of Cambuskenneth Abbey. Aye, the good brothers would see the old man properly tended to.

  And only when Dolfin and the friar had rolled out of sight, did Julian turn back towards the castle, pondering the strange turn of events along the way.

  Liselle’s deed was an odd one. She had no cause to aid a man her brother sought to kill. Unless it was part of some devious scheme he had yet to uncover.

  * * *

  Liselle hurried back to the castle, planning to find Julian at once to warn him of Dolfin’s dire circumstances and perhaps gain a measure of his trust along the way. The feeble old man filled her heart with pity. How could Orazio even think to kill him?

  Frowning, she had just stepped out of a narrow close when a red roan reared before her, and she immediately fell back, her instinct unsheathing her stiletto in an instant.

  “Do you recognize me?” a man’s voice asked harshly.

  Startled, she glanced up into the face of the thick-browed Saluzzo from Fotheringhay, the man she had injured. Santo Ciélo! Why had the man accosted her? Was it vengeance?

  “Should I know your face?” Liselle asked haughtily, holding her head high even as she gripped her stiletto tighter.

  The man threw back his head with a short bark of laughter. “You know well who I am, you foolish woman! You may think you’ve outwitted me and prevented this war, but you are sorely mistaken! I and my brother will see this truce broken and the Saluzzi honor restored! We shall free the Saluzzi from the spell you’ve cast over them!”

  “War?” Liselle repeated, feigning ignorance as she stalled for time. Santo Ciélo! How had the man found her out?

  The man rolled his eyes and glanced away in disgust before turning back to laugh, a hard, cruel laugh. “I’ll not let Antonio uphold this truce! I and my brother will prevail. We shall open Antonio’s eyes and make him see the treachery of the Vindictam at last!”

  Liselle fell back a step. The name of Antonio Saluzzo was a fearsome one. Unlike the Vindictam who kept their ruling elite shrouded in secrecy, the Saluzzi made their leader known to all.

  “You make little sense!” she whispered, feeling suddenly ill. She had rekindled a war! “I have done nothing—”

  “My brother saw you in Fotheringhay,” the man replied, his squinty eyes narrowing into slits. “Antonio demands retribution for your attack, but my blade cries for your blood! Even now he wastes his time discussing with the Vindictam a fitting punishment for you. But there will be no justice for me until I see a river of your blood flowing down the street!”

  “You are un demònio!” Liselle said through white lips. The man was clearly consumed by hatred, almost to the verge of madness.

  “Mayhap I am!” The thick-browed man’s eyes glittered with contempt. “Know you that I’ll be watching your every move, and I only hope that you will fail, because then I will see what I truly want. Your blood upon my blade!”

  Liselle’s head snapped back.

  With that, the rogue Saluzzo wheeled his horse around and galloped away, but at the last moment suddenly leaned back to hurl a slim blade directly at her.

  Arms of steel banded about Liselle’s waist, pulling her back to safety, but not entirely quick enough. The blade grazed the side of her neck, leaving a wide scratch, but she scarcely felt the pain.

  She sheathed her stiletto. The man was already out of range, and within seconds, out of sight.

  “Diàmbarne!” Liselle cursed under her breath, shaken.

  And then, she turned upon her rescuer, and her lips parted in surprise.

  It was Julian.

  He was looking at the scratch upon
her neck, and his brows furrowed as he wiped the blood away with his thumb.

  “I dinna care for the sight of your blood, lass,” he murmured.

  But she scarcely heard his words. Her mind raced over what the Saluzzo had said. Antonio Saluzzo was even now discussing retribution? Was the man here in Edinburgh?

  “What cause did he have to attack ye?” Julian asked, his brows knitting with worry. “Is this about Dolfin?”

  Pain lanced through her heart upon hearing Dolfin’s name on his lips yet again. She could hear the disapproval in his voice. Would he even believe her that she had planned to seek him out in order to aid the old man?

  “Dolfin—” she began, but then a party of Yorkist horsemen clattered through the streets towards them, led by the Earl of Angus, the Red Douglas.

  And as the man hailed Julian, Liselle slipped from his grasp.

  She did not have the time to listen to the red-haired blustering earl, nor could she afford to be overheard by anyone discussing Dolfin. Such things had a way of finding the ears of the Vindictam.

  The old man was safely hidden at the butcher’s house for the moment. And with the Vindictam and the Saluzzi discussing retribution, the old salt spy was most likely far from their minds. She had to find Pascal, and she had to find him quickly. Mayhap he would know the truth of the matter.

  Hurrying back to the castle, she looked everywhere for her cousin, but he was nowhere to be found.

  Finally, she left a message upon his desk, and wiping the sweat from her brow, exited his chamber and tiptoed through the passageways of Edinburgh Castle as silent as a wraith. Òsti, but she found the situation almost unbearable, nothing like she had imagined it would be when she’d dreamt of receiving the tongue on her viper tattoo. Becoming an assassin had all seemed so dazzling then. She sorely needed to calm herself. Mayhap she would ask the maids to draw a lavender bath.

  But first, she must leave word for Julian, for Le Marin, concerning Dolfin’s location.

  It didn’t take long to find Julian’s chamber, but the door was locked. Slipping a long hairpin from her netted hair, she used it to pick the lock of his door and quickly slipped inside.

  The room was empty.

  A ripple of disappointment coursed through her, a ripple that was met by a chagrined twist of her lip. What had she secretly expected? That the man would be waiting to sweep her into his arms and claim her lips with a passionate and unending kiss?

  Putting her hand to her chest, she rolled her eyes at her thoughts.

  How could she think of such things with such weighty matters to deal with? Blowing a strand of hair away from her cheek, she eyed his desk.

  She’d leave him a message and then she’d have her lavender bath. Moving to his desk, she rifled through a stack of books, searching for parchment and a quill, but her search proved fruitless.

  With a sigh, she prepared to quit the place when her gaze fell upon the canopied bed, a massive creation with crimson-velvet curtains and a matching counterpane that all at once summoned her memories of Sarlat and their first meeting.

  He was a handsome man. The way his cheek creased when he grinned, and the fiercely honed muscles of his chest made her pulse quicken. Santo Ciélo, the man was seduction itself!

  As if in a dream, she moved to his bed and absently traced a finger down the length of his bedcover. Mayhap she should return later, when he would be lying in it. She shivered at the thought.

  It was then that she felt a blade against her throat.

  She froze, startled that she hadn’t heard a thing.

  And then Julian’s silken burr whispered into her ear, “And have ye come to slit my throat whilst I sleep? Ye should have waited until dark, ye wee devil.”

  As the heat of his breath traveled down her neck, Liselle jerked uncontrollably.

  The movement caused the tip of his blade to almost prick her flesh.

  “Sweet Mary!” he swore, withdrawing the weapon at once.

  But she scarcely heard him as his words finally registered. Have ye come to slit my throat? A pang of despair stabbed her heart, and for the first time, she saw her family as a curse. Julian would never trust her.

  She moved as if to step away, but he caught her about the waist and pulled her close against his chest.

  Disheartened, she said, “I merely came to give you tidings!”

  “Aye?” his voice sounded coarse.

  “Dolfin is ill and in danger,” she replied, heartsick. “If you truly care for the man, move him to safety—”

  And then, his scorching lips grazed the back of her neck, gently kissing her neck wound, and she fell abruptly silent, stunned.

  He stood closely behind her. She could feel every inch of him.

  “Lady Gray,” he groaned, softly nuzzling the back of her ear.

  A thread of fire raced down Liselle’s spine.

  And then he moved back, drawing her with him. “Yon bed is too tempting a thing in your presence, ye wee minx,” he said as he twirled her in his arms. Leaning close, his cheek creased in a smile as he added, “Though we are wed, aye?”

  Liselle swallowed, speechless. His lips were close, too close. And his lashes were exceptionally long and dark. Her finger twitched with the temptation of touching them.

  They stood there, breathing hard.

  And then he crushed her to his chest and buried his face in her hair. Inhaling deeply, he tilted her head back and proceeded to kiss his way down the side of her neck and along her collarbone, leaving a trail of burning skin.

  A soft moan escaped her lips.

  His chest rumbled, and catching her earlobe in his teeth, he sucked the tip. And as he licked the sensitive skin of her neck, the fires of passion burst between them.

  Desperately, her lips sought his, and he obliged her at once. And as his tongue plundered her mouth, she was held captive in breathless wonder in a kiss as raw and powerful as the man himself.

  With her shaking knees threatening to give way, she dug her fingers into his arms to steady herself. Locking an arm about her waist, his other hand dropped to caress the swell of her hips.

  She had no idea how long she stood there, lost in the torment of his kiss, before he abruptly tore away, breathing fast and ragged.

  Entwining her hair around his finger, the corner of his mouth lifted in a sensual smile. “I dinna know where ‘tis we’re headed with this, lass,” he murmured, trailing his thumb down her jawline and slowly over her bottom lip.

  She looked up at him, a little dazed.

  He seemed quite dazed himself, and he swallowed several times before he stepped back and said gruffly, “Ach, ye’d best leave afore I’m tempted to claim more than those sweet lips.”

  Liselle’s breath caught in her throat as an expression crossed his face, an expression of unbridled lust that she knew matched her own.

  But then he spoke again. “Ye’ve no cause to concern yourself over Dolfin. I’ve already seen him safe.”

  Dolfin.

  The man’s name shattered the mood as the weight of her situation came crashing down upon her all at once. Suddenly, she wanted to be gone, and gathering her skirts, she pushed past him, and without a backward glance ran out of the chamber.

  Chapter Fifteen – The Tattoo

  Seeking to cool his heated blood, Julian stepped out into the frigid evening air. Storm clouds continued to gather overhead, threatening rain. Taking to the castle walls, he let his thoughts wander over Liselle, over her puzzling actions and what role she might be playing in the Vindictam’s plots. But most of all, he thought about her sensuous kisses.

  Time passed.

  It began to drizzle, but the rain would not last long. Already, he could see the break in the clouds illuminated by the light of the moon.

  After a time, he found himself staring up at the window of Liselle’s chamber. Her shutters were open, and she was pacing back and forth, clearly upset.

  He frowned, wondering at the cause of her agitation, and then knowing it really
wasn’t a good excuse—but seizing it anyway—he entered the stone building. And taking the steps two at a time, he arrived at her door.

  It was locked.

  He’d just decided to turn away when he heard the approach of a grumbling woman.

  “Find peace, aye?” the woman was muttering under her breath. “What daft fool could find peace from sitting in a tub of water, aye? Foreigners! I swear, these foreigners and their foreign ways will make my bones auld afore their time!”

  Slopping two buckets of hot water down before Liselle’s door, the woman gave it a vicious knock. But as the door opened, her cantankerous scowl switched at once into a meek smile.

  “Yer water, my lady,” she said, bobbing a cheerful curtsey. “And if it please ye, the laddies are bringing ye more as we speak.”

  Raising his brow, Julian peered from the shadows as the woman pushed her way into the chamber, swinging the door wide open.

  Liselle stood nearby, a frown creasing her brow and with her hands tightly clenched. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to reach out and to fold her into a comforting embrace–to whisper into her hair that he’d handle whatever it was that caused her to fret.

  And then several lads appeared, lugging more buckets, and after quite a few mumblings and more than one complaint, they filled the tub before the maid shepherded the lot out of the chamber and back down the stairs.

  The door clicked shut, and silence reigned once more.

  Hesitantly, Julian laid his hand on the latch again.

  This time, it was unlocked.

  He hesitated. As Le Marin, he would scarcely barge into a lady’s chamber under such circumstances. But with Liselle, much had passed between them. Mayhap it was time she knew that she could trust him to aid her.

  With a strong desire to protect her washing over him, he silently lifted the latch and peered inside.

  The chamber was dark, illuminated only by the dull orange glow of the fire. The fragrant scent of lavender filled the air.