A Rogue's Heart

by Debra Browning

  “Where is he?” she asked.

  “Just in from a hunt. Back there.” He reined the gelding to a halt and helped her down.

  She smoothed her hair and straightened her skirts, then followed the warrior around a small grouping of outbuildings beside the stable. The stench of newly butchered meat assailed her senses and lent the air a tepid closeness.

  Geoffrey was there, kneeling beside the carcass of a red stag, his hands dripping blood. He looked up and cracked a brilliant smile. “Mairi,” he said. “I knew ye’d come.”

  Conall threw his saddle over the black’s sleek back and cinched it tight.

  “Where d’ye think ye’re going?” Rob said.

  “After her.”

  “Fine. I’ll go, too.”

  “And me, as well,” Kip said. He bolted toward Rob’s white gelding.

  Jupiter barked and ran in circles around their mounts.

  “Nay, you won’t,” Conall said. “You’re to stay here.” He eyed Rob. “All of you.”

  “Wait for me!” They turned at the sound of Dora’s voice. She ran toward them with two bundles of what Conall suspected was food. “I’m going, too.”

  “We’re all going,” Dougal said, and waved the rest of the men toward their mounts.

  “Hold!” Conall cried, and his men stopped in their tracks. “None of you are going.” He snatched the sacks of food from Dora’s hands and stowed them in a saddlebag. “I’ll go alone.”

  Rob snorted. “Oh, aye, and be killed the second he sees ye?”

  “Think you so little of my battle skills?”

  “Nay, ’tis just that—”

  “The Symons are nearly a hundred,” Dora said. “’Twould be folly to go alone.”

  Conall made a mental inventory of his weapons—broadsword, two dirks, and a small battle-ax that hung from a loop on his saddle. “’Twould be folly to go otherwise.” He mounted the black.

  “Conall’s right,” Dougal said. “Twenty of us appear and there’s sure to be trouble. A score against a hundred, we’d have no chance. But a lone man under the cover of night…”

  “Exactly.” Conall nudged the black toward the wood.

  Rob grabbed the bridle. “I willna let ye do it, laddie. Besides, how d’ye know that’s where she’s gone?”

  He knew, all right. He knew in his gut Mairi had gone to Symon, and he was rarely wrong about such feelings. He glanced at Dora, and her sober expression confirmed his hunch.

  “She’s there,” he said. “And of all the stupid, headstrong—” He recalled his first day at Loch Drurie when he’d watched Symon kiss her in the lake house. His anger surged, and he pushed the thought from his mind. “The little fool has no idea of the danger she’s in.”

  “That’s the God’s truth,” Dora said. “And ye canna tell her, neither. She’s underestimated Geoffrey from the beginning. I tried to tell her, but naaay…”

  “’Tis settled, then,” he said. “I’ll get her and bring her back.” He turned his mount toward the path.

  Rob vaulted onto the white gelding’s back. “And I’ll go with ye.” Conall frowned. “I’m small. If ’tis stealth and surprise ye’re after, there’s no one better.”

  Dora untethered another horse from the pack and pulled herself onto its back. “And ye canna go without me, neither.”

  This was getting tiresome. “Why the devil not?” Conall said.

  Dora grinned. “Well, how else will ye be able to find the secret entrance to the keep?” She spurred her mount forward.

  “Wait! Dora,” he called after her as she trotted into the wood. “What secret entrance?”

  “Come on,” she called back. “The day’s half-done. I’ll show ye when we get there.”

  Rob goaded his mount into the wood after her.

  Conall held back and met Dougal’s dark, serious eyes. “Did ye send someone to catch up with Harry as I asked?”

  “Aye, and when they reach Monadhliath they’re to beg your brother Gilchrist for a hundred men.”

  “Good.” He should have called for reinforcements earlier. Damn his own stupid pride.

  “Ye could wait till they arrive,” Dougal said. “Then go after her.”

  He could, but he wouldn’t. Gilchrist’s men wouldn’t reach Loch Drurie for another three days and, by God, he’d have Mairi Dunbar home safe by the morrow.

  “Nay,” he said. “There’s no time. Besides, I’ll not march a hundred Chattan onto Symon’s lands. There’s one dead already. Would you have others?”

  “But—”

  “I’ll not engage the alliance in a war over this. Iain would have my head. Besides, ’tis my fault John is dead.” He met the steely gazes of his men, one by one. “Mine alone.”

  He thought it best not to tell them of his true suspicions. They were proud men, and fearless. If they had but an inkling the explosion was Symon’s doing, he wouldn’t be able to stop them from taking their vengeance.

  Dougal nodded. “And ’twould no’ be just the Symons. As soon as Fraser heard we were in it…well, ’twould be a nasty affair.”

  “Exactly.” Dougal was smart for his years. “I’m off, then.” He turned to Kip, who waited patiently with Jupiter for instructions. “Kip, I want you to stay here and help Dougal.”

  “But I—”

  “Keep Jupiter with you, and do exactly as Dougal says, do you hear?”

  “But I want to come with you.”

  He leaned down and whispered into Kip’s ear, “Dougal’s a scout, not a warrior. He’ll need a good man to help him keep watch over the new docks. ’Twould be a big favor to me if you stayed and helped him.”

  Kip glanced at Dougal, then the docks, and finally he smiled. “All right, then. I’ll do it.” Jupiter barked and wagged his thick tail. “Jupiter can stand watch with me.”

  “Aye, that’s the spirit.” He shot Dougal a loaded look, and the scout nodded. Conall didn’t have to worry; Dougal wouldn’t let Kip out of his sight until they returned.

  He kicked lightly, and the black shot forward into the wood. Dougal raised a hand in farewell. If all went well, they’d be back before dawn tomorrow.

  Conall shook his head and swore under his breath. “Mairi Dunbar, you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

  “That she is.” Dora’s mount sprang from a thicket on his left, nearly unseating him.

  “Christ, woman, dinna sneak up on me like that!”

  “We was just waitin’ for ye,” Rob said as he flanked him on the right.

  “Let’s ride.” He spurred the black into a gallop, and his comrades’ answering hoofbeats sounded behind him.

  Hours later, they climbed out of the highland wood onto a long, low ridge. Dora bade them stop before the summit and tether their mounts in a dense copse.

  “We should go on foot from here,” she said. “And we’ll have to wait till nightfall if ye dinna wish to be seen.”

  “Are we near, then?” Conall asked.

  “Aye. No more than a league.” She nodded toward the summit. “Falmar Castle rests in a valley just beyond this ridge.”

  “Can we no’ ride farther?” Rob asked.

  “No’ without being seen. Unless ye want to go around and approach from the north. There’s a craggy knob o’ shale that juts out just before the keep.”

  “We’ll have to wait until nightfall all the same. We might as well go around, and tether our mounts closer.”

  They agreed and were about to remount when something on the ground caught Conall’s eye. He stooped and picked it up.

  “What’s that?” Rob said.

  “Dunno, but it seems familiar.” He turned the tortoiseshell comb over in his hand. Sunlight glinted fiery copper off the single strand of hair caught in its teeth.

  “’Tis Mairi’s,” Dora said. “She must have dropped it.”

  “So she did come this way,” Rob said.

  Conall’s hand closed over the comb. He told himself he was going after her simply to make certain she was safe.
Any man in his position would do the same. After all, they had a bargain, one that the Chattan depended on, and he’d not allow Symon to jeopardize that. He’d not allow Symon to touch her. By God, if he had…

  “D’ye care that much for her, then?” Rob’s question jolted him from his stupor.

  “Care for whom? What do you mean?”

  “Mairi. Ye fear for her. I can see it in your eyes.”

  Dora saw it, too. He ignored them both and his own confused emotions, untethered the black and vaulted into the saddle. “Come on. Let’s find that craggy knob of shale.”

  The days were short now and, for once, Conall was grateful for the early sunset. Dora led them north back into the wood, then west again, and as daylight waned they came upon a black craggy promontory, dividing the thinning forest from whatever it was that lay on the other side.

  “This is it,” Dora said, and dismounted. She tied her borrowed steed to a larch.

  Conall and Rob did the same. They left their mounts and began to scale the rocky, broken outcrop. Loose scree and twilight made for unsteady footing. They used their hands in places to negotiate what looked like an ancient trail.

  Rob reached the summit first. “So, Conall laddie,” he whispered down to them, “how determined are ye to get her back?”

  He was damned determined.

  He grunted and pulled himself up the last few feet onto a flat rock. Falmar Castle lay below them to the south. They looked out across the murky, fetid water surrounding the keep.

  “Good God,” he breathed, and swallowed hard against the sick feeling rising in his gullet.

  “Oh, aye,” Dora said, and eyed him apprehensively. “I forgot to tell ye—there’s a moat.”

  Chapter Eleven

  He had expected her.

  That, and his far too casual attitude, fueled Mairi’s suspicions.

  “Won’t ye sit?” Geoffrey said, and indicated an upholstered bench by the window.

  Mairi ignored him and continued to study the finely appointed chamber. She’d been in this part of Falmar Castle only once before, some years ago when she was a girl.

  A pine bed, heaped with furs and plaids, rested opposite the hearth. The walls were adorned with all manner of weaponry. That was handy. If what she suspected were true, she might wish to slit his throat later.

  “D’ye like this chamber?” Geoffrey said. “The view from the window spans the whole of my valley.”

  “I’ve no’ come to see the view.” She met his gaze and held it. “A man is dead.”

  “What?” The surprise on his face seemed so genuine, it unnerved her for a moment. “When did this happen?”

  “Last night. My father’s house was blown to bits.” She paused to watch his reaction.

  “What in God’s—”

  “Fireworks.”

  His blue eyes widened. They reminded her of a child’s. “An accident?”

  She snorted. “So it appears. But I’m no’ so certain. Kip acquired some fire sticks last eve from Tang.”

  “Ah. They can be dangerous if no’ used properly.” Geoffrey grasped her shoulders gently and affected the most sickly sweet of expressions. “Thank Christ ye’re all right. I dinna know what I’d have done had ye—”

  “A man is dead.” She shrugged his hands away, and they floated lamely to his sides.

  “But Mairi, we should thank Christ only Mackintosh was killed.”

  A chill curled along her spine. “Mackintosh? Ye mean Conall?”

  “Aye. ’Tis a pity, but these things happen.” He read her astonishment before she had the presence of mind to hide it, and quickly grasped her arms. “He’s dead, is he no’?”

  Mairi’s thoughts raced. “’Tis your doing,” she said finally. “Let go of me!” She wrenched out of his grasp and turned to the window.

  “Mairi, what d’ye mean? How could it be?”

  She felt his breath on her hair and her pulse quickened. Perhaps she’d been a fool to come alone, after all. She’d never said who’d been killed, yet Geoffrey expected it had been Conall.

  She whirled on him. “Where’s Tang? He was there in the wood this morn, above my father’s house.”

  Geoffrey frowned.

  “He gave Kip the fire sticks. He was there last night. Where is he?”

  “I…I know not. I’ve no’ seen him today.”

  He was telling the truth. Had he seen Tang, he would know Conall was alive and well. Tang would have seen the Chattan sleeping in the camp this morning from his vantage point above the house. She didn’t know what to believe.

  “Ye were hunting, last night and this morn.” She wrinkled her nose at the lingering odor of blood on his person. “Where?”

  “Why, north, where I always hunt. ’Tis where the best game is, ye know that.”

  He was lying. She knew it, felt it, and yet…

  “Mairi,” he said, and took her hand. “Why on earth would I do such a terrible thing?”

  She shot him a look that said she knew very well why.

  “Lass, d’ye think I’m a complete fool?” He ran a finger lazily along her palm. She allowed it, though she knew not why. “D’ye think I’d kill a man aligned with so powerful a clan as the Chattan?”

  He had a point. Still…

  “Did he harm ye, Mairi?”

  “Conall?” She drew her hand from his and turned away so he would not see the heat rising in her face. She knew what Geoffrey meant by harm.

  Conall hadn’t, yet he could have.

  “Nay,” she said. “’Tis no’ like that between us.”

  “I’m relieved to hear it.” He turned her toward him. “Because if anything had—oh, Mairi, ye must let me help ye now.”

  The concern in his face chiseled away at her confidence. What if it was an accident, after all?

  “Your docks are built, the trade will come. I can help ye with it—I must help ye. Your father would have wished it so.”

  She bristled. “Aye, of that I’ve no doubt. But I need no help, Geoffrey, from you or anyone.”

  “Come now.” He touched her face, and she batted his hand away.

  “Kip might have been killed last night. Did ye ever think o’ that?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Ye havena even asked about him.”

  “Mairi,” he said, and affected that annoying smile again. “I’m certain the boy is fine, or ye wouldna be here. Besides, we’ll have children of our own one day, sons proud to bear the name Symon. No’ like that orphaned ragamuffin.”

  Blood heated her face to near molten temperatures. For a split second she considered hefting a battle-ax from the wall over the hearth and cleaving his head in two.

  She bolted toward the door. Geoffrey grabbed her arm and yanked her backward, nearly off her feet.

  “Mairi,” he said between gritted teeth, “ye had many chances to come to me willing. Now ye’re finally here, and here ye’ll stay.”

  She’d never truly feared him before, though most of their encounters had been on her land, not his. A chilling apprehension gripped her now, and she fought to maintain her composure.

  “N-nay, I won’t.”

  He pulled her toward the bed, fumbled open a wooden box that sat on the night table, and drew forth a length of shimmering black cord.

  “Aye,” he said, and slid closer. “Ye will.”

  Night settled on Falmar Castle like a dark bird of prey, swallowing it whole and digesting it in its midnight gloom. The churr of a nightjar raised the hairs on Conall’s neck. ’Twas time.

  He divested himself of his weapons, unbelted his plaid and let it slide from his body. “I’m going in.”

  Rob scrambled down from his vantage point on the craggy ridge overlooking Falmar’s moat and the land bridge that spanned it. “Ye should wait another hour or so,” he said. “She may come out on her own.”

  “Nay,” Dora said. “Mairi would ne’er rest at Falmar past dark. Something’s amiss.”

  “He keeps her,” Conall said, a
s he tied the tails of his shirt between his legs. He donned his weapons and started over the ridge top.

  “I can go with ye,” Dora called after him. “I’m a good swimmer, and I know the castle as well as any.”

  He looked back at her in the dark. “Nay, stay here with Rob. And remember, if I’m not back before sunrise, ride to Loch Drurie and wait there for Gilchrist and his men. My brother will know what to do.”

  “I dinna like this,” Rob said. “Ye willna change your mind?”

  He laughed. “Have you ever known me to do so?”

  “Nay, ye thickheaded lout.”

  “Remember what I told ye,” Dora said. “About the hatch.”

  “Aye, I’ll find it—and I’ll bring her back.” Before they could say more, he scrambled down the opposite side of the ridge toward the black, stinking water.

  Falmar rose up out of it, a smooth, nearly windowless citadel. Torchlights blazed in the village below the keep and from the cottages ringing the bailey. But the keep itself was dark, save for a pale-copper glow illuminating one of the few windows on this, the north side.

  There were no sentries. Symon didn’t need them. ’Twas impossible to breach the keep from this direction, unless one knew of the secret hatch Mairi Dunbar had used as a child.

  He stared across the inky water toward the spot where Dora had said he’d find it. The stench was near overpowering. He drew a shallow breath and his stomach roiled.

  “Bloody hell,” he breathed, and dipped a toe. Christ, the water was freezing. When he did find Mairi, he had a mind to take her over his knee and wallop her backside till it shone.

  The thought stirred him in a way that was completely inappropriate given his current situation. He adjusted his shirt over his groin. Aye, well, there was one way to cure it…

  He jumped.

  The shock of the frigid water sucked the breath out of him. He flailed for a moment under the foul, greasy water, his weapons knocking him about, then shot to the surface the way Kip had taught him, and gulped in air.

  “I’ll kill her,” he choked, and began to swim across the reeking pond.

  He glanced at the bridge, and though ’twas lit, no one was about. A repeat of the morning’s mist would have been most welcome, but the night was clear, the stars brilliant. The only thing in his favor was the absence of the moon. ’Twould rise in an hour or so. He kicked faster.