Her mother’s sobs echoed in Brianna’s mind. “The earl didn’t deserve her loyalty,” she said in a wooden voice. “But I never expected anything less of her regardless.”
The earl, Brianna’s father.
The words soured in her thoughts. Was it possible someone else had fathered her? She looked down at the letters and her heart crushed into her stomach. Could she have had a father who loved her? Who cared for her, respected her?
Why had her mother stayed? Why had they not started the life the marquis promised her?
The swell of emotion in her throat warned of looming tears. Tears she would not have Colin see. She forced the darkness of her thoughts deep into her mind to mull over later. When she was alone.
She rose from the seat and tucked the letters into a drawer in her desk. “Enough of the letters for now.”
Colin’s eyes followed her hands. “I hope this hasna been too difficult for ye.”
Brianna forced a smile. “It is the past, and the past cannot be changed. Let us look toward the future instead.”
She reached into the drawer, lifted out the saffron-dyed leine and tucked it behind her back. The final stitch had been completed just before she’d discovered Marie in the market. Her fingers squeezed the fabric she had pored over for painstaking accuracy, suddenly grateful she had not thrown it in the fire as temptation had demanded.
She approached Colin, and a sudden wave of nervousness fluttered through her. Would he like it? Would it fit?
Brianna approached the sunny cushioned windowsill where Colin sat and kept her hands tucked behind her back, the leine hidden from view. “I made something for you.”
He pulled back in surprise. “Ye made something for me?” A grin lit his face.
She mentally measured the length of his arms. Had she miscalculated? Would he even be able to get it over his head?
She brought the leine from behind her back and held it out to him.
He lifted the fabric from her hands. “Ye sewed this?” He looked up at her, his gaze earnest. “For me?”
Brianna nodded. “Every Highland laird has a saffron shirt. Angus isn’t the Highlands, but I figured you’d need one all the same.”
He tugged his plain, white leine off and cast it aside, his muscles flexing with each subtle shift of his body. The golden fabric slipped over his head and Brianna held her breath. Would it fit?
Colin thrust his arms through sleeves that reached his wrists perfectly. He laughed and rubbed his hand along the front of the shirt, his eyes gleaming. “This is the finest leine I’ve ever owned. Made all the finer by my bonny wife’s own hand.”
The rich gold-yellow highlighted the striking auburn of his hair and drew her attention to his intensely green eyes. As much as she hated sewing, the shirt had come out exactly as she’d envisioned.
Colin’s strong hands caught her waist and drew her to him. “Ye sew beautifully, Brianna.”
Her cheeks warmed with pleasure. “Don’t tell anyone lest they expect it of me more often.”
“Yer secret’s safe with me.” He winked down at her and bent her backward. His strong hands braced the center of her back and gave her the confidence to know he wouldn’t drop her.
“Thank ye, wife,” he said earnestly. “I know what this cost ye.”
His warm lips swept against hers, and the trepidation firing through her veins thrummed to the eager pulse of desire.
Someone cleared their throat in the doorway, interrupting the intimate moment. “Laird?”
Jonathan stood just outside the room, his gaze averted toward the floor.
“What is it, Jonathan?”
“Alec just rode in. You said you wanted to be notified immediately of his return.”
Brianna touched Colin’s chest. “Marie.”
Colin nodded. “Forgive me. I must go.”
She caught his hand. “Take all the time you need.”
He nodded and disappeared from the room with a shadow of regret lingering in his gaze.
Alec asking around town after Marie’s whereabouts would get nowhere, not while he wore a kilt. No Lowlander would soften beneath the hardness of his stare.
Brianna, however, knew several merchants she met with regularly who might offer assistance. The cost of running Edzell was substantial, and being a frequent customer would ensure their cooperation.
The guards had been difficult to trick the previous day. She knew they would not fall for the story about working with the cook again. In light of Marie’s abduction, they would be all the more suspicious. Fortunately for her, she knew the hidden door through the bathhouse. The guards would not dare follow her in, and she would be able to slip away.
While Colin and Alec were busy with questions leading nowhere, she would conduct her own investigation.
Marie would be found.
• • •
One look at Alec’s flushed face and Colin knew his old friend did not carry good news. He quickened his pace to where Alec stalked out of the stables.
“What did ye learn?” Colin asked.
Alec raked his hand through his black hair and did not slow as Colin fell into step beside him. “I learned the people in the village are as daft as they are unhelpful.”
Damn. “So ye found nothing to help us then?”
“Did I no just say that?” He glared at several soldiers who strode past at a leisurely pace. Their backs snapped straight and their steps hastened.
Doubtless, he had displayed the same level of patience and warmth with the townsfolk. Colin pinched his whiskered chin between his fingers. Perhaps sending Alec to town had been a poor choice.
“Did ye no find anything else in her room?” Colin led the way into the castle and toward his solar, a path more routine than he cared to admit.
“I dinna get much of a chance. Lindsay’s carriage came as I started to look around.”
Colin’s heart quickened. “Did the men get out?” He’d secured the room before leaving, but he had not set it to rights.
“Aye, they went in and came out with worried looks on their faces. Ye already knew it wasna Lindsay’s men who took Marie. Their reactions confirm that.” His large shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It isna more than ye already know. But dinna worry—we’ll find her.”
“Of course we will,” Colin said. He didn’t sound any more confident than he felt, a feeling wholly uncommon and unsettling.
At least Brianna was safe.
• • •
The alley between two filthy buildings stretched before Brianna in cluttered chaos. Sunlight did not dare touch the soiled ground and left piles of refuse shrouded in darkness.
A woman emerged from an unseen door, her hood pulled low over her head. She paused and slid a small green bottle into the folds of a dress that held the glossy sheen of expensive silk.
She turned in the opposite direction and departed, her steps hurried. The alley was empty. Now was Brianna’s chance.
She darted around haphazard stacks of rubbish, her feet slipping and sucking in the muck. The hem of her dress was heavy with stains of the soiled streets. This would mark the last time she forgot her pattens.
The doorknob was hot in her hands, and an unnamed odor clogged her nostrils. She forced her breath through her mouth and pulled at the heavy door. After the second attempt, it opened into black nothingness.
Brianna plunged into the unknown, her heartbeat erratic against her ribs. The door slammed shut behind her.
Perhaps not black nothingness. A single candle flickered its feeble light throughout the small space. The cheap tallow sputtered thick, acrid smoke that settled around the room in a noxious fog. The meager flame reflected off shelves of bottles, like a wall of distorted mirrors.
“Another fine lady.” The words rasped through the darkness, taking her aback.
A man edged into the dim light, his black hair and smooth skin marking a distinct difference from his aged voice. His lips pulled back in a grin stretched to ghoulish proportions b
y the shadows. “Do you want someone to fall in love with you?” The smile did not leave his lips as his eyes widened. “Or is there a baby you wish to rid yourself of?”
Brianna lifted her chin. She would not allow this man to sense her fear. “Neither. I seek information on men recently arrived in town. Frenchmen.”
His hand glided palm-up toward the stocked shelves. One fingernail was long and filed to a sharp point. “As you can see, I sell dreams. I do not provide information.”
The response was not unexpected. She lifted a small purse between them. “Perhaps you do today.”
His sharpened nail dragged across his chin and filled the silence with the hollow scrape of it upon his flesh. “Perhaps I do indeed.”
She pulled the purse out of his reach. “The other merchants said you know of all people who enter and leave.”
His gaze did not follow the coin as expected, but bore down upon her, pressing her soul. Her spine tingled with a cold chill.
“The Frenchmen you seek are most unusual. I would caution my lady from approaching their master.”
Doubt flitted through Brianna. If the man before her deemed the Frenchman unusual, what sort of man was he? She shoved aside her reservations and met his wild gaze. “I didn’t ask your counsel, I seek information.” She forced a note of defiance into her tone.
The pointed nail tapped against his chin. “Then perhaps I should caution him against you.” His whooshing exhale bordered on a chuckle. “Very well, what is it you wish to know?”
• • •
Colin let the solar’s solid door click shut behind him, a glorious sound that marked his freedom.
He could not spend another minute in that chamber. The odor of books and potted ink robbed him of air, of life. Of precious time he could use to find Marie.
Alec still combed the outskirts of town, but something in Colin’s gut told him the efforts would be fruitless. If only Marie had left some sort of clue.
“Laird, a word if you please.”
Colin turned to see the young pastor striding toward him.
“There’s a boy outside who wishes to see you.” Thomas said and extended his hand. “He bade me give you this.”
Resting against his palm was the plain dagger with the leather handle. The gift he’d given the boy at Marie’s flat.
“Where is he?” Colin demanded, grasping the dagger.
“At the front gate,” Thomas said. “Shall I tell him you’ll be down?”
“No need. I’ll go myself. Thank ye, Thomas.”
He sprinted from the castle to Edzell’s entrance, where the boy stood staring open-mouthed around him. His eyes shone bright with excitement.
“Did ye find out more information?” Colin asked. He held the dagger out to the lad, returning what was his.
The boy tucked the blade into his belt and nodded. “I think I know where she is—a manor off the main street where they hold market.”
Colin looked toward town. The castle was situated close enough that they could arrive in half an hour, significantly less than that if they ran. Assembling his horse and a team of men, however, would take too long. Marie’s life was at stake and every moment was precious.
He ran his fingers across the hilt of his sword, reassurance for their protection. “Take me to her.”
The boy took off down the road without further encouragement. Together they dashed down the narrow path and into the crowded streets.
“Just up ahead,” the boy shouted over his shoulder and darted into one of the many alleys.
He was still several steps ahead. The smack of his bare feet in the mud echoed off either side of the stone buildings and kept Colin abreast of his location.
Alarm raised the hairs on Colin’s arm. Something was wrong.
A hard object crashed into his side with a ferocity wholly unexpected. He clamped the hilt of his sword in his fist, but his actions were slow, clumsy. His head swam with pain.
He roared through it and turned toward a tall, thick man who evaded Colin’s blade with awkward jerks. The heat of another body plastered against Colin’s back, arms clinging to his neck.
He rolled his body forward, but the person held on and smothered his face with their hand. Something wet pressed to his nose. Noxious.
He shoved the hand away, but the odor remained.
Heavy. Everything felt heavy.
The boy crouched behind a pile of trash, his hand gripping the dagger.
No.
Colin’s thick tongue prevented his cry.
The boy must flee.
Colin swiped a leaden hand.
Tired. So tired.
Couldn’t call.
The alley darkened, and Colin’s world went black.
Chapter Thirty-One
Murmuring voices faded in and out, twisting Colin’s subconscious and conscious into a dizzying mix of unstable reality. The words grew louder. More rapid. Not English. He squinted an eye open and nausea rolled through him. His head sagged forward and forced his gaze on his own lap. He was sitting in a chair.
Yellow walls and polished hardwood floors spun through his vision. His stomach tightened. He was going to be sick on that hardwood floor.
The hurried talking hummed around him. Goading him. He clenched his hands to strengthen his stomach. His hands were behind his back, and something jutted into his armpits. Something hard.
He was a prisoner.
By the French?
Marie.
He shifted, keeping his movements slight to avoid drawing attention. Rope bound his wrists. He twisted his hand back and forth. Slack rope.
Who did they think they were dealing with?
Awareness tingled along the right side of his body, and a shadow obscured the slowly clearing haze. One quick jerk of Colin’s hands and his fist was free. He threw a blind punch and connected with something soft that grunted and swore in French.
Colin pulled his left arm free from the back of the chair. Blood returned to his limbs with a stinging rush, as if he were being jabbed with a thousand needles. The man he’d punched lay on the ground with a purple face, hands cupping his genitals. Colin grimaced and glanced behind him. There had been two voices.
The room stretched long and narrow and housed a table that ran the length of the floor. Aside from a wooden hutch and several dozen chairs, the room appeared empty. Had the other man left and he did not hear it?
He turned his attention to the man who now struggled to his knees. Colin might have crouched down beside him if the room would stop spinning.
“Ye have Marie D’Abigne,” Colin said in his rough French.
The man’s face crumpled in pain. “What?”
A slight scuff sounded behind him, like the whisper of a curtain against the floor. Colin’s body tensed, but he turned too slowly.
Something caught him around the neck and shoved him backward. The left side of his face pressed hard against the wall and left him blind to his attacker.
“You are laird of Edzell Castle?” Disbelief laced the hiss of French.
If Colin weren’t preoccupied with trying to live, he might have been offended by the Frenchman’s implication.
Colin’s hands shot out between them and shoved. The pressure released from his neck, and he was free. His captor staggered back in a clatter of shoes slipping across slick, hard floor. Colin’s muscles fired with the need to fight back. He braced his feet and stared down at the alarmed gaze of his opponent.
The Frenchman pushed aside a curtain of long black curls and righted his frilly blue silk jacket. He did not move again to attack. “You are not what I was expecting,” he said.
Colin rubbed the tender skin of his neck and eyed the man’s thin frame. The hit had felt like it should have come from a man twice his size. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
The man did not smile.
“I have your woman.” His lips pulled back in a sneer. “Your spy. She is in this house. If I do not return within the hour, they will
slit her throat. Do you understand?”
Before Colin could answer, the man’s long fingers gripped the back of a chair and tugged it free from the row. “Sit. I want to ask you questions.”
Colin did not sit. Not until he got his own answers. “Where is the boy?”
“The boy wielding the Highland dagger too fine for his station? The boy who has been asking questions about my whereabouts? The boy thrust into a fight he is too young to understand?” The muscles of the Frenchmen’s neck stood out from beneath his lace collar.
Guilt fueled the anger roaring through Colin. “I dinna ask for an upbraiding. I asked his location.”
“Upstairs with your spy.” He shook his head. “And you need an ‘upbraiding’ if you think a child is the right soldier to send into battle.”
Colin clamped his teeth together so hard he thought they might shatter. He’d meant to encourage the lad, to make him feel brave. He certainly hadn’t meant to place him in danger.
A white hand lined with unexpected calluses indicated the empty chair. “Now sit.”
Colin bit back his argument. No matter what it took, he would see Marie and the boy safe. Even if it meant bending to the Frenchman’s will. A little. He lowered himself to the hard seat.
“That’s better. With your cooperation, everyone will be safely released.” The Frenchman propped an elbow on his knee and leaned forward. “Tell me about your involvement with Signore Capra.”
Colin blinked once. Twice. Whatever horrendous poison they’d shoved against his nose had obviously affected his hearing. Or maybe it was the two times he had taken a solid hit in one day. Regardless, none of it worked in his favor.
The man leaned even further forward until he practically lay across his own lap. His thick curls spilled over the seat of the chair and dangled toward the floor. “Signore Baldessar Capra.” His gazed raked down Colin’s face. “And Simon Marius.”
Colin studied the hard glint in the man’s eyes. Was he insane? If so, the impending fight would be all the more difficult. “Are these men Marie knows?” Colin asked.
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