Perhaps, like the Elphine Queen, this laird was not what he seemed to be. Would a family said to be comprised of sorcerors and thieves not know how to foster trust?
The laird’s youth annoyed him. Murdoch felt they were unfairly matched and did not look forward to any dissent between them.
The men greeted each other, then the laird waited, his expression expectant.
“I have come to Kinfairlie with a complaint from my family.”
“Indeed?” The laird frowned slightly. “You and I are not acquainted. Have I met your family?”
“My brother Duncan is Laird of Seton Manor, a responsibility he assumed upon the demise of my father.” Murdoch noted that the laird seemed to not recognize the name of his family estate. Trick or truth? He could not say. “Before his death, my father attended an auction at Ravensmuir, your sister estate, at which he purchased a religious relic for our chapel.”
A shadow touched the laird’s eyes and he looked out the window. Guilt? Regret? Murdoch’s suspicion pricked at this glimpse of evasiveness.
“As did many,” the laird acknowledged. “My uncle was pleased with the success of that event. He wished to be rid of that legacy in an honest and correct way.”
The comment intrigued Murdoch. “He is pleased no longer?”
The laird grimaced. “Tynan is dead.” He crossed himself and Murdoch did the same.
“Recently?”
The laird surveyed the correspondence before himself, his evasiveness growing. “He died shortly after that auction. I miss his counsel.”
Murdoch could well understand that. Grief could explain the other man’s reaction and he felt a moment’s compassion for this young laird.
But a moment later, that feeling was dismissed.
“Is your family not satisfied with the acquisition?” the laird asked, something in his tone making Murdoch feel he had already guessed Murdoch’s complaint.
“My father was,” Murdoch acknowledged, watching the laird with care. “Indeed, Seton Manor has become accustomed to receiving many pilgrims at Eastertide, when the relic is shown to the congregation. There have been several healings attributed to its powers.”
The laird relaxed slightly. “I am glad to hear of it.”
“You will not be glad to hear the relic has disappeared,” Murdoch said. The laird paled. This was not news to him and Murdoch knew it well.
Murdoch continued, forcing his tone to remain even. “Much less that it has been stolen from my brother’s treasury, a treasury kept both locked and guarded.” Aware he was at the very heart of Kinfairlie and could readily disappear if he insulted the laird, he said what had to be said. “There have been those who recalled the reputation of your family once they heard the tale. I have come in pursuit of the truth.” He arched a brow. “Or the return of the relic. Either will satisfy me.”
“You think I stole it back? Or that my family did?” The laird pretended to be shocked, but he was not entirely so.
“I fear you might know more of its location than you might choose to confess.”
The laird’s eyes flashed. “I do not!”
Murdoch saw no reason to be coy. “Yet you are not surprised by my accusation.”
Their gazes locked and held over the laird’s correspondence. The laird bit off his next words. “That does not make it true.”
“Your denial does not make it false.”
The laird flushed and might have spoken but Murdoch held up one hand. “You should know that Scotland is full of tales of disappearing relics, all bought for good coin from Ravensmuir. I have heard a dozen similar stories on my recent journey south.” The laird paled and sat down heavily. “Rumor abounds that the Lammergeier have returned to their old trade in relics, whether those relics are honestly acquired or no. Rumor abounds of the Lammergeier’s talent with sorcery, and there are suggestions that such dark arts have been used to conjure those relics from their rightful places.”
The laird flushed now in his indignation and his voice rose. “That is not true! As I told you, Tynan is dead, and I have no interest in this trade.”
“Perhaps another of your kin resumes it.”
“No.” The laird spoke flatly, but still he could not look Murdoch in the eye.
Murdoch cleared his throat. “I do not care what other relics have disappeared, or even where they have gone. I do not care if you Lammergeier truly are sorcerors or even the thieves you are reputed to be.” The laird blinked at this but Murdoch let the other man see his determination. “I want only the relic belonging to my family returned to me.”
The laird averted his gaze. “I am sorry that I have no way of doing such a deed.”
Murdoch knew a lie when he heard one. “Yet you do not even ask me what it is.” He paced the width of the room with measured steps. “You do not ask when it disappeared, or how it was secured, or when it last was viewed.” He paused before the laird once more. “You merely deny all knowledge.” He folded his arms across his chest to regard the laird. “There are those who might suggest your manner speaks of guilt.”
“You will not insult me in my own hall!” the laird declared.
“I will let no man steal from my family and live to tell of it!” Murdoch retorted. “I will let no man leave those sworn to my brother’s hand to suffer or starve. I will not see my father’s memory tainted and I will not see injustice endure.” He leaned toward the laird. “I will suffer no such loss for the sake of mere greed.”
The laird looked ill. He pressed his fingertips to his temples. “I do not have it,” he said quietly.
“But I think you know where it is.”
“I do not.”
“Or where it might be.” Murdoch leaned on the laird’s board with his fists. “I invite you to confide in me, or face the consequences.”
There was real fear in the laird’s eyes for a moment then.
Murdoch caught the merest glimpse of it, before the younger man turned his attention to his correspondence with vigor. He tugged at a piece of vellum trapped beneath Murdoch’s fist and spoke quickly. “I regret that I can do nothing to aid you in this quest.”
“Perhaps you might recall some detail in time,” Murdoch said softly. “I will wait. I can be a most patient man.”
The laird looked unconvinced of that. “I think it unlikely, sir, that I shall have such a recollection. So far as I know, the relic is in your family’s care.” The laird took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “And if there is a thief in your brother’s holding, Murdoch Seton, I cannot be expected to answer for his crimes.”
“I expect you only to answer for your own, sir, as all men must do.”
Murdoch saw anger flash in the laird’s eyes, but he spun to leave. There was nothing to be gained here, not so long as the laird believed he could deny all knowledge of the theft and its location. But Murdoch knew when a man obscured the truth, as this one did, and he had no intention of returning to Duncan without his rightful prize.
Already Murdoch began to form a plan of how he might encourage the laird’s memory. It was bold and risky, and he was already enamored of it.
Murdoch opened the door to a flurry of skirts and spied the lady Isabella fleeing.
She had listened.
She might know more than her brother would admit. This alluring maiden with her potent curiosity might be a useful ally to him.
Though that was not the sole reason Murdoch gave chase.
* * *
Isabella heard Murdoch’s determined steps crossing the floor of Alexander’s chamber too late to hide herself. She turned to flee down the stairs to the hall, knowing Murdoch would see her, but hoping he would not pursue her.
Even as she had the thought, she knew it to be a futile hope. A man so filled with determination as Murdoch would not surrender a chase simply because she ran.
Isabella heard his tread behind her on the stairs, even as she raced for the second floor. If she could but get inside the chamber she shared with her sisters,
she could bolt the door against him. She reached the second floor landing, but did not imagine she was safe. She heard that he again took the stairs several at a time, his height giving him an advantage. She lunged for the door to the chamber.
Isabella had just depressed the latch when Murdoch snatched her up from behind. She might have screamed, but he wrapped one arm around her, trapping her arms against her body, and the other over her mouth.
Isabella struggled, but managed to make no difference in her situation. His audacity was outrageous! He held her captive against his body and, in one fluid motion, carried her into her own chamber. He shut the door behind them with his weight and leaned back against it as Isabella struggled. Her fury redoubled that he should assault her in her own home.
His grip upon her was strong and sure, but he did not hurt her. Isabella was keenly aware of his strength – and her comparative weakness. He was muscled and masculine, the hard power of his body making her tingle with unwelcome awareness.
“If you scream,” he murmured in her ear, his breath making her shiver. “It will be your reputation that suffers, not mine.”
Isabella seethed at the truth of that. She wanted to kick him in a place that would ensure he treated her with more respect. He wrapped one leg around her knees, as if he anticipated her intent as soon as she had the thought.
“I want only to know what you know,” he continued quietly.
She shook her head, for she knew nothing of any disappearing relics.
“Another liar in this nest,” he muttered and she struggled against him with new vigor.
Her outrage seemed to intrigue him. “Pledge that you will not scream or run,” he murmured. “I would make a wager with you, Lady Isabella.”
Isabella struggled with force.
He chuckled softly. “Pledge your silence and I will release you.”
That alone was worth the bargain. Isabella nodded and Murdoch released her as promised, remaining with his back against the door and his arms folded across his chest. Isabella put distance between them, trying to wipe the taste of his leather gloves from her mouth. He watched her with obvious amusement.
And something else, something that heated his gaze and made her heart skip.
Isabella looked around the chamber, but she knew the only other possibility for escape was the window.
And it was a long drop to the ground.
There was nary a weapon to be had either, for Isabella did not count her eating knife or any of the embroidery needles as suitably lethal. She glanced back to find Murdoch smiling at her, as if he had followed her thoughts.
She straightened and spoke with low heat. “How dare you come here and insult my family...”
“I dare because a crime has been committed,” he said, interrupting her smoothly. “I am not the first, and I will not be the last.”
“My brother is not a thief,” she insisted.
He arched a dark brow. “He is a liar.”
Isabella looked away, for she had the same sense. She had heard it in Alexander’s voice, in the tone of his replies. What did he know of this trouble?
Murdoch did not miss that hint of her thoughts, and Isabella could have cursed the man for being so observant. In a heartbeat, he was directly before her, his fingertips beneath her chin. He compelled her to meet his gaze, even as she felt his heat and smelled his skin. An unfamiliar but beguiling heat unfurled in Isabella, an awareness that she stood within a hand span of an attractive — if annoying — man.
“Who does Alexander protect?” Murdoch whispered even as Isabella’s heart raced.
“You should not be in this chamber,” she said. “You should not touch me. You should not...”
Murdoch slid his thumb over her lips, the caress silencing Isabella instantly. “I am not interested in what I should do.” Isabella swallowed and he watched her avidly, a heat dawning in his eyes. “I will go when some soul tells me the truth. Why not you?”
Isabella gritted her teeth and glared at him, moving away from the press of his thumb. “I cannot tell you a truth I do not know.”
“Yet,” he said, biting off the word. “I will make you another wager, Lady Isabella. Tell me what you learn, find the thief or the relic, and I shall leave your brother and his holding alone.”
“You will leave now at any rate.”
Murdoch smiled and she yearned to damage his confidence.
“I have nothing to tell you of my brother or my family, and indeed, you go too far in expecting that I take any such wager. I will not betray my own kin!”
“Despite my brother’s loss?” He frowned and she had the sense that he was driven by a need to correct a wrong. “Despite your own curiosity?” He arched a brow and Isabella looked away.
“Nothing says my brother is responsible,” she said, her words falling in haste. “You have no true evidence.”
“Save the fact that the relic was discovered to be missing immediately after Ross Lammergeier visited Seton Manor.” Murdoch’s voice turned husky and his eyes were bright.
And even though she could make no sense of his assertion, Isabella knew Murdoch was utterly convinced of its truth.
* * *
Chapter Two
“Ross? At your brother’s home?” Isabella could make no sense of this. “But why?”
“He was in the service of the Earl of Buchan a year past, was he not?”
Isabella caught her breath and looked away.
“How much do you know about your brother, Ross, my lady — and his intent?”
Isabella was seventh–born of her eight siblings, while Ross was fifth. Both of her older brothers, Malcolm and Ross, had left Kinfairlie after Alexander’s wedding. Ross had been home at the Yule just recently passed. She knew he had argued with Alexander and left quietly, but she did not know the source of their argument.
Was this it?
She realized that Murdoch was watching her avidly and tried to hide her suspicions, even guessing it was too late. “Coincidence!” she protested. “You have no proof. The thief could be anyone! Why suspect my kin?”
A fleeting smile touched his firm lips and Isabella could not help but watch. Murdoch counted off the reasons on his fingers even as he strode around her. His voice was beguiling in itself, deep and quiet, compelling in a way that made Isabella’s mouth go dry. “Because it was bought from your uncle in the first place. Because it would not be unlikely for any man to regret the surrender of a successful venture, and later wish to return to it. Because it disappeared at the same time your brother Ross was in our hall.”
Each step he took compelled Isabella to take a quarter turn, in order to ensure that she could see his face. She watched him keenly, waiting for some hint of doubt but there was none. His brow was dark, his gaze intent. He was utterly convinced that he was right.
But was he?
She knew that Alexander had lied.
Why?
Would it be so fearsome to make a wager with this knight?
It might, in fact, be right to do so.
As she thought, he continued in that melodic low tone. “Because the easiest place to find relics to sell would be to collect them from one’s former clients. Because your kin have long been said to be thieves, as well as merchants of religious relics.”
Murdoch stopped directly before her and touched his thumb. “Because the relic at Seton Manor was secured in a locked treasury with no less than three guards. Its disappearance was nearly an impossible feat – for mere mortals. Who better to spirit it away than the sorcerors the Lammergeier are reputed to be?”
Isabella shook her head. “Innuendo, not fact.”
“Fact will come.”
“No.” Isabella frowned. “Alexander would not do this thing.” She held up a finger when Murdoch might have protested. “And Alexander would dispatch no other man to do it in his stead. I know my brother.”
“You know he lies, too.” Murdoch’s gaze never swerved from her when she swallowed. Isabella nodded. �
��What about Ross?”
Isabella sighed and bit her lip. “I do not know.”
“Has he been home?”
“He was here at the Yule.” She saw the gleam of satisfaction in Murdoch’s eyes and hastened to defend her brother. “I do not know where the relic is!”
“I wager you have the wits to find out.”
His words reminded Isabella of his comment to Alexander. She regarded him warily. “What will you do?”
His smile flashed, making him look like an unpredictable rogue. “I shall prompt your brother’s memory.”
“But how?”
“You shall see.”
Isabella folded her arms across her chest. “Even if I did seek the truth, nothing says I will confide any such discovery in you.”
Murdoch’s eyes twinkled with sudden vigor. “Then I shall have to win you to my cause, my Isabella,” he whispered, his voice a throaty purr.
“I am not your...”
Before she could finish, Murdoch closed the distance between them, bent and captured her lips with his own.
* * *
Murdoch kissed Isabella because he could not have done otherwise.
It was true he had initially thought it would be useful to win her favor. A curious maiden within Kinfairlie’s walls could aid greatly in his quest for the truth. But with each passing moment in her company, the notion of an alliance grew in appeal because of the lady herself. He liked the fire in her eyes, the way she defended her family, her honesty in admitting that she also believed her brother had not been entirely truthful. He liked that she was keen of wit, that she was unafraid of the truth and suspected that combination would be good at unearthing it.
Isabella was fearless and outspoken, curious and beautiful. Had it been another woman who might have become his chosen spy, Murdoch might not have been so determined to win her agreement with a kiss.
The Renegade's Heart Page 3