by Paula Quinn
“When I first opened m’ eyes,” he said, watching Murdoch cut across the room to get them drinks, “I thought I was in hell. I was stabbed in the back and left fer dead.”
“Where?”
“This occurred in Linavar, m’ lord.”
“Ah, that makes sense,” Murdoch said, bringing Cailean his cup. “After my fool of a son had their cherished leader killed, they took revenge of you.”
He knew, then, that Duncan had had Seth Menzie killed. Temperance and Gram had likely told him.
“No one from Linavar did this,” Cailean continued, sipping his wine. It felt good and warm going down. “I suffered a number of fevers after infection had set into m’ wounds. If no’ fer the care I received from the people there, I would have died. They saved m’ life.”
“Any idea who stabbed you, then?”
“I know only that m’ attacker stole m’ horse.”
Edward’s eyes fastened on him from his heavy chair. “Duncan found your horse.”
Cailean nodded. “Aye, and he had Seth Menzie killed so that he could take his daughter.”
Cailean suspected this was difficult to hear about any son. Murdoch was quiet for a while, contemplating it all, no doubt.
“Duncan did in fact bring Menzie’s daughter and mother here and asked me to agree to marriage between him and the girl.”
“Did ye agree?” Cailean fought to remember to breathe steadily while he waited.
“Not yet,” Murdoch answered. “Though it would secure my good relations with Linavar.”
Cailean smirked, heart pounding. “Good relations when their dead leader’s daughter is forced to wed his murderer? Ye’ll be fortunate if their crops yield a single carrot.”
Murdoch’s eyes narrowed on him. “What do you suggest?”
Murdoch liked him. He was one of probably only a few men in the castle who did. Cailean prayed the lord would agree to his request and save the lives of most of his men. “Let me return Miss Menzie and her grandmother to Linavar so she can wed a man with whom the people will be happy.”
Another thing she would hate him for, but Cailean was sure she’d rather wed Deware than Duncan. He also knew she’d never wed him once she found out he was the Black Rider who’d nodded.
“You care so much about my crops?” Murdoch asked him with a dubious quirk of his thick brow.
“Nae,” Cailean replied. “Yer coffers. How will I get paid if yer coffers are empty?”
That seemed to mollify the lord for a time.
“So,” he said after another moment. “You think Duncan stabbed you in Linavar.”
“Aye, he’d wanted to linger after Menzie was killed and I threatened to do him harm if he did.”
“Well, ’tis good that one of you had some sense,” Murdoch said, and stared for a moment at the chair Cailean was sitting in. “No matter what he’s done, I will handle it. Do you hear me? I like you, Grant.” Murdoch leaned back in his chair and stared into the flames of the hearth. “Pour me a another drink.”
Cailean did as he was asked. He knew Murdoch liked him. He’d use it to his advantage.
“I’m not a fool,” the lord sighed, sounding older than Cailean had ever heard him. “I know what kind of man Duncan is. I’m aware of some of the things he’s guilty of doing. He terrorizes Linavar. He killed their leader, a man I considered a friend.”
Cailean nodded and handed him his drink.
Edward accepted it and smiled at him. “You’re a good man, Cailean. You’re more just than Duncan, and a better warrior. Sometimes I wish I could leave all this to you.”
Cailean shook his head, then dipped his chin to his chest. “I dinna want it.”
“Precisely why you should have it.” Edward swigged his drink, then set down the cup.
“Nae,” Cailean said more sternly. “I willna take a man’s inheritance while he yet lives.”
The lord stared at him while Cailean rose from his chair. He knew exactly what his hired Highland mercenary meant, so he gripped Cailean’s wrist before he turned to leave. “Don’t kill him.”
Cailean swallowed, bowed his head, and stepped back. “I’d like to tend m’ wound.”
“Go.” Edward motioned with his chin toward the door.
Cailean left the solar and then walked on toward the hall. He didn’t hurry, for the time was growing nearer when the terrible truth would be revealed.
Temperance had never been in Lyon’s Ridge’s great hall before. Her father had visited many times in the past but he’d never taken her along. Edward Murdoch had always had Black Riders in his service. Most were not the same men who served him today, but they were still all crass and hard.
Temperance hated that Gram was here seated among them.
She was surprised and worried when she saw Patrick among the men. Was Cailean here too? William? She hoped not. The men who filled this hall looked as if they’d been killing men for years. They were rough and rowdy and a few were already throwing punches over a few of the lasses serving their brew.
“You look like a frightened bird,” Duncan said, seated across from her at the table and looking quite pleased with himself. “Wide-eyed and skittish in the midst of a flock of ravens.”
“I happen to like ravens,” she told him, meeting his dark gaze. “These are more like vultures.”
“Aye,” he agreed, looking around him, “you’re correct. They do look like—Is that MacGregor? What the hell is he doing back here?”
Gram, sitting beside her, hadn’t said much since they’d entered the hall. Temperance guessed the poor dear was tired from filling Edward Murdoch’s ears with things he hadn’t known, such as how his son had killed hers.
“Mr. Murdoch?” Now she spoke up, her unpatched eye piercing both of his. “Tell me something.”
He gave her his attention, his black widow’s peak accentuating his high forehead and arched brow. “What is it?”
“What is it that has made ye so vile?”
Temperance looked at him, also waiting for his answer.
“Never mind.” Gram held up her weathered hands and rose to her feet. “I don’t truly care. I’d like a nap, and if I must remain here until ye are firmly put in yer place, please see to a room fer me.”
“Old woman, you forget yourself,” Duncan warned. Temperance kept her eye on him. If he made a move to hurt Gram, she’d kill him with the knife she’d taken from Gram’s kitchen, now hidden in the folds of her dress. She didn’t care about getting out alive if Gram perished.
“’Tis ye who fergets, young Murdoch.” Gram didn’t back down. “When yer father found out who I was, he guaranteed my safety. Ye are vile, but not so big a fool. Or am I mistaken?”
Temperance fingered the handle of her kitchen knife, but Duncan’s impotent glare was no threat.
“You!” he shouted to a lass somewhere over Temperance’s head. “Marion! Bring this crone to a room!”
Marion? Temperance and Gram exchanged a brief look, and then Temperance joined her grandmother on her feet to greet her friend.
“William searched everywhere for you,” Temperance told her close to her ear when she embraced the auburn-haired beauty.
Marion cast her a reluctant, remorseful look when they separated.
Temperance’s smile remained while Gram embraced Marion next. The poor gel was ashamed for loving William. Temperance wanted to tell her not to be. She wanted to tell her how happy she was to see her alive and seemingly well, and how happy it would make her best friend.
But she turned to pin Duncan with her most scathing stare instead, hating him more than ever. “You kidnapped her from the hamlet.”
He shook his head and shoved a spoonful of mutton stew into his mouth. “Not I. ’Twas the MacCormack brothers.”
“Come.” Marion took both their arms. “Let me find rooms for you.”
“You stay.” Duncan pointed his spoon at Temperance.
She opened her mouth to refuse. She wanted to stay with Gram. She wanted to speak
with Marion.
“If you continue to defy me,” Duncan warned, “Linavar will suffer. I’ll see to it. And remember that if you try to leave Lyon’s Ridge, your grandmother will be punished.” He turned his flinty eyes on Marion. “What are you waiting for? Get that one out of my sight.”
Temperance watched them leave the hall and then turned to sit down again. Her eye caught Duncan’s glance dipping disturbingly to her hips.
She eyed the jug on the wooden table between them. Could she get some of her nightshade into it before he refilled his cup?
“Things will go much more smoothly between us now that your father is no longer here to deny my every request.”
Mayhap cutting his throat would be more satisfying than poisoning him.
“You’re an even bigger fool than any of us realized if you believe that, Duncan,” she replied acidly. “You went to Linavar to kill him under the pretense that he’d shot one of your men. Do you think I ever care if you die and rot before my eyes?”
“Now, Temperance.” He feigned a pout. “Your father was no saint. He did indeed shoot an arrow through a relative of one of my men earlier that day. His blood was demanded.”
“He shot no one!” she insisted. “Who is the man who accused him? Point me to the one who demanded his blood.”
She wanted to know. To hell with poison. She would slice him open from end to wretched end.
The doors to the hall creaked open. A few of the men gasped at who stood beneath the arched frame. One or two even crossed themselves.
Temperance turned to look over her shoulder and felt her heart rise to her throat, pulling her back to her feet. It was Cailean! Her Cailean! He’d come for her, and if she’d had any concerns about his not being able to take on all these men, she cast them away now. His murderous gaze, raking over Duncan, chilled her blood and melted her heart at the same time. Anything vulnerable about his mouth and chin was gone and had been replaced by chiseled steel.
His gaze met hers behind loose strands of his dark hair and Temperance couldn’t stop the smile beginning to form on her lips.
Seeing him, Duncan too rose to his feet. His face was ashy white, his jaw slack. His spoon dropped to the floor.
“Grant, you’re alive.”
Cailean didn’t answer, but stepped around another table and came closer.
“Miss Menzie and I were just speaking of you.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
For a precious three or four moments, Temperance didn’t know why Duncan had lied. They hadn’t been speaking of Cailean. They’d been discussing the man who had—She turned to laugh at Duncan’s tactics. Imagine Cailean’s being the one who’d demanded her father’s blood! It was the most pathetic ploy Duncan had ever come up with.
She opened her mouth to tell him but he called out to the men spread out over various tables, “Let us welcome home our brother whom we thought dead.”
The men all shouted greetings to him, holding up their drinks and calling him brother.
“Nay.” She didn’t realize she’d spoken out loud. She looked at Cailean. No, he wasn’t one of them. He was the lord’s guest. That was how the men knew him.
“And,” Duncan continued, lifting his own cup, “is it not good to see Patrick almost fully recovered from being shot with an arrow and almost killed?”
Temperance’s gaze shot to Patrick but quickly returned to Cailean. It couldn’t be. But it made sense. Patrick had been attacked and Cailean had sought revenge.
His gaze softened on her. But it wasn’t love she saw in his eyes. It was guilt. He was stricken with it. And to all who watched him, he appeared like a deadly warrior coming undone.
“You’re a Black Rider,” she whispered on a breath that brought her heart shattering to her feet. She lifted her hand to her forehead and tried to think clearly. Cailean was a Black Rider. Despite her fighting them back, her eyes filled with tears. She almost choked on her next question, but she had to ask it. “Are you the one who demanded my father’s blood? The one who nodded?”
He breathed and his exhalation seemed to go on forever. Finally he bent his head and clasped his hands before him. “I am.”
Everything around her shook. The floor rose up on a wave to consume her. Her knees were the first to go. She reeled back and fell into her chair. Everything came flooding back to her: the care she’d taken in saving his life, the smiles she’d offered him, the kisses he’d stolen from her, and all the lies.
“Do you know him?” she heard Duncan ask her.
Aye, she knew how his mouth tasted, how his tongue moved over her, tasting her in return.
“I dreamed of him once,” she said in a low, still voice that sharpened her gaze and drew blood. “A devil with moonlit eyes and no mercy in his soul.”
“That sounds like Cailean Grant to me,” Duncan agreed. “A devil that will not die.”
Cailean’s gaze flicked to Duncan like a streak of lightning from under his dark brow. Lightning that sought to kill. And finally it became easy for Temperance to see him as part of the deadly mercenaries around her.
She wanted to shut her eyes and open her mouth to scream until nothing remained of her. It was about to happen and it made her panic. God help her, she’d fallen in love with the man who’d had her father killed! She loved him. No, it couldn’t be he. They were all wrong. She loved this man!
“I wish to retire,” she said coolly, not lifting her gaze from the table.
“But we’re all just getting reacquainted,” Duncan sang.
“I’m… I’m not feeling well.” She scooted around her chair and moved for the doors.
“Sit down, Temperance,” Duncan commanded, all traces of mirth gone. “Before I begin to suspect another reason for your hasty departure.”
“Let her go, Son,” Edward Murdoch called to his son while he stepped out of her path. “I haven’t yet decided if I’ll let you take her as a bride. Until then, she and her grandmother may move about freely as long as they don’t leave without my permission.”
Before she hurried out, Temperance looked over her shoulder. “Be careful, my lord. My father tried to keep me from him and got his throat slashed for it.”
She lifted her skirts without waiting for his reply and ran for the stairs. She didn’t know which room Gram had been taken to. She wasn’t looking for it. She needed to be alone—alone to take in all her moments spent with her father’s killer.
When she reached the third landing, she turned the corner and leaned her back against the wall. She felt too ill to move. How had he fooled her so thoroughly? So thoughtlessly? Not Cailean. Anyone but Cailean. She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her mouth with her hand to stop the cries aching for release.
She didn’t hear his footsteps following her, but when he turned the same corner and spoke her name she nearly crumpled to the floor.
“Please share a word with me.”
She didn’t want to look at him or hear his broken voice. But she opened her eyes and faced the monster who had trampled her heart under his feet. “What do you think you can possibly say to me?”
Just as she’d suspected, he had nothing more to say. She pushed off the wall and moved away from him.
“Rot in hell, Black Rider.”
“Temperance,” he called again. The pain in his voice almost made her stop.
She had to get away from him, and ran for the next door she came to. Pushing it open, she hurled herself inside and apologized to the girl sitting up in her bed.
Temperance locked the door and then stared at it, not thinking or caring what the girl thought of her for breaking into her room and locking them inside.
She didn’t shriek or wail the way her heart demanded. She wouldn’t. Not for her father’s killer.
Nay! She reached for the edge of the bed and sat down just as her knees quaked and her legs gave out.
“Are you unwell, lass?” the girl asked her, resting a hand on her shoulder.
“I’m a fool.”
; “We all are.” The girl smiled. “I’m Esmé.”
Temperance nodded and looked at the door. “He killed my father.”
“Oh, there now. That is terrible. I’m—”
Temperance snatched a bowl from the table beside the bed and bent over. She felt sick, as if her body needed to purge itself of everything having to do with Cailean Grant. It couldn’t be true! It couldn’t be! She’d laughed with him and listened to his tales of heartbreak. She’d believed him about Sage and about Alison. She’d looked into his eyes between kisses, and let herself trust him. She’d let him distract her from having lost her father. She’d let him kiss her and she’d kissed him back. He’d touched her as no other man had ever touched her before, and spoken words to her last eve that still, even now, played like a melody across her heart.
But now the melody had become an ode of anguish and betrayal.
Instinctually she fought to deny the shattering of her heart. But he’d touched her soul somehow as well, and she couldn’t deny them both. Her throat ached from the burden of suppressing her sobs. Dizziness and nausea overwhelmed her.
She’d let him in. She’d fallen in love with him. He might not be the same monster who’d sliced her father’s throat, but he was a monster just the same. Och, Father, forgive me!
Why had he come to Linavar that morning when she’d run into his horse? Had he come to kidnap for Duncan?
Before she could stop it, her mouth opened and a groan so laden with sorrow escaped her that beside her Esmé wiped her eyes.
She heard the soft knock at the door, the honeyed, pleading voice behind it.
“Tem, please fergive me. I—”
She covered her ears with her hands. She would never forgive him and she never wanted to hear him call her Tem again. It was her father’s name for her. If Cailean Grant ever said it again she’d cut off his lips.
“Go away!” she shouted. She wanted to open the door and bury her knife in him. He’d deceived her in the most important, the most colossal two events of her life—losing her father and falling in love.
“I hate you, Cailean!” she shrieked at the door. She swiped the tears from her cheeks and choked on the rest of her words. “Stay away from me! I hate you.”