“This is Lady Loveday de Lacy, the baroness of Worcestershire. She is searching for this woman,” the guard relayed.
Onyx almost laughed aloud at her name, and she obviously noticed.
“Is something amusing?” she asked him with her turned-up nose, busying herself with taking off her leather gloves.
“I’ve never heard such a ridiculous name before in me entire life, me Lady Love,” he snickered. He wasn’t sure if he was just being bold talking to a noble this way, or if it was perhaps the whisky talking. Either way, he didn’t really care. “God’s eyes, did someone name ye thet as a jest, or when they were well in their cups?”
“You mean, like you?” Her guard put his hand on the hilt of his sword and probably would have pulled it had she not laid her hand gently atop his arm to stop him. Her mouth was set in a firm line, and her features were rigid.
“Weldon, he is a Highlander,” she reminded him, and pointed with her nose at his plaid. “They are fierce and easy to anger and not to be trusted in the least. Especially if they’ve been drinking. I suggest you do your best not to roil him.”
“I could say the same fer the English,” Onyx said, not caring that there were half a dozen men facing him that were skilled warriors and heavily armed.
“For your information, my name is not ridiculous,” she spat. “I was born on Loveday. And in case you are not familiar with the English custom, it is a day set aside for reconciliation with enemies and a time for people to settle disputes between them. Also, my parents were once very much in love. So you see, my name is fitting. However, I prefer to be called Lady Lovelle, or Baroness, if you please.”
“Well, that is amusing, Lady Love,” he told her with a chuckle, ignoring the fact she’d just asked him not to call her that. “Howe’er, we have no day to reconcile with our enemies in Scotland, so it means little te me. Now, today is me birthday and though I was born on Hogmanay, ye dinna see me bein’ called Hog. So if ye’ll pardon me bluntness, I dinna care te reconcile with me enemies and I have friends waitin’ so I need te get goin’.” He started to walk away, when she stopped him.
“And what might your name be?” she asked, sounding haughty, and making Onyx want to get away from her quickly. She gave the impression she thought he was below her standards and she was so much better than him. Just like a damned Sassenach. He wouldn’t tell her his name now if his life depended upon it.
“Thet’s noon of yer concern,” he said, watching her eyes narrow at his response.
“Dagger, come on,” Aidan called out from the stables just then. His friend stood there bare-chested, and his long, blond hair was tousled. He also had two girls clinging to him. That is, one of the girls that was supposed to be his.
“Hurry, Onyx, as I am feeling the need to scream out,” said the sister at his side who was to be his birthday present. With that, they disappeared back into the stables and out of the cold.
“Dagger?” asked the woman with a chuckle. “And Onyx? Well, which is it?”
Damn, if only they had kept their mouths shut. Now she knew both his names and he wasn’t planning on giving her that much information.
“It disna matter,” he ground out.
“And you thought Loveday was a ridiculous name.” One of her eyebrows raised and a corner of her mouth lifted in amusement. Then she let her eyes scan down his body in much the same way he’d been perusing her.
Onyx knew that his mother would never willingly have anything to do with the English - ever. If they were looking for her, it most likely had something to do with her tarnished past. After all, he’d heard the elders of the clan talk about his mother through the years, saying she was light-fingered and had a habit of stealing things. Still, what could she have stolen that was so important to have the English crossing the border to find her? Especially an Englishwoman who was traveling by horseback and on such a cold night, and so far from her home.
Nay, he decided, they didn’t need to know his mother was inside. And hopefully they’d just turn around and leave, and he could find his mother and ask her about all this in private.
“Ye said the woman ye’re searching fer is a Highlander, so why are ye lookin’ fer her in the Lowlands?” he asked.
“Well, you’re a Highlander, aren’t you?” the woman asked, surveying his attire. “And yet you’re in the Lowlands. We’ve heard this pub is owned by a Highlander as well.”
“Well, the lassie ye’re seachin’ fer is no’ here, so I’d suggest ye head on back across the border and leave afore ye anger the wrong MacKeefe.”
“MacKeefe, did you say?” She then turned her head and called to one of the men of her party to join her. When he did, Onyx could see he was donned in an ermine-trimmed cape but was not a noble or a guard. He was old, and had weathered skin and broken teeth. And his hair was gray and thin, and fell just past his shoulders. He seemed to Onyx no better than a ragpicker or perhaps one of those beady-eyed dockworkers from the coast.
“Didn’t you say the woman we’re searching for was from the MacKeefe clan?” she asked the man.
“I believe she was,” said the old man. “But it was a long time ago. After twenty years my memory is not so good. So perhaps I am mistaken.”
She looked at her guard and nodded slightly. The guard pulled out his pouch and handed the man a coin.
“Is your memory any better now?” the guard growled.
The old man looked at the coin in his hand and then back up to the guard. “It could be . . . but . . .”
“Give him another coin,” said the girl softly.
“But my lady, he’s already dressed in one of our cloaks and we’ve fed him well and given him more than enough coins.”
“One more,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, and the guard begrudgingly did as she instructed.
“Well then,” she said to the man. “Is this the same plaid you saw the woman wearing or not?”
The old man walked closer to Onyx and circled him, surveying his plaid. His hand was on his chin as if in thought.
“I believe so,” he said, “aye, I am sure of it.” He reached out to touch the cloth, and in one instant Onyx pulled his gemstone dagger from his side and held it up in front of the man’s face.
“Touch me cloot again and ye’ll find yer fingers severed from yer body.” Onyx looked the man in the eye and got the usual reaction he did from people who were seeing him for the first time. Upon spying his two different colored eyes, the man pulled his hand back and stepped away quickly. His eyes opened wide in fright, and his head cocked to the side. It was almost enough to make Onyx laugh aloud.
“He’s the devil,” spat the man, blessing himself quickly. He ran back and hid behind the guards. “Leave now I tell you. He’s come back to life and we will be cursed. Save yerself now, my lady before ’tis too late.”
“You’ve seen this man before?” asked Lady Lovelle.
“I’ve heard of him. A long time ago. It was on the docks at Blackpool,” the frightened man answered. “The same day I saw that woman named Fenella.”
Onyx broke in. “I have no recollection of ever seein’ this liar before. Now once again, I told ye the person ye search fer isna here, so be on yer way.”
The old man cowered behind the guard and didn’t say another word.
Onyx just looked at the girl as she bravely came closer and gazed directly into his eyes. He waited for her to flinch or back away when she looked at him, but she didn’t. Instead, she stared at him and didn’t break the connection. He’d never seen any lassie so brave – or so stupid.
“He’s holding his dagger, my lady,” warned the guard, pulling his sword. “And in his left hand, just like a demon.”
“Stay there,” she said with a raised hand and the guard did as commanded. “The old man seems to know you,” she said to Onyx. “He also seems too frightened by you to speak. Tell me, why is this?”
“I dinna ken what ye mean,” he said. “And I dinna like being called a devil.”
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Actually, he kind of did. He liked the way people stood clear of him thinking he was more dangerous than he really was. He was tall in stature, and the girl had to crook her neck just to see into his eyes. He was skilled with his dagger better than any of the clansmen and he was also in the prime of his life. His body was in wonderful shape, even if he didn’t have half the strength of Aidan, or half the charming skill with lassies that Ian did.
“Have you ever been on the docks of Blackpool?” she asked him.
“I try te stay out of me enemy’s territories. Me home is the Highlands. I’ve never been te Blackpool.”
“It’s him, I tell you,” said the old man peeking out from behind the guard. “Just find the woman named Fenella and you’ll see I’m telling the truth.”
“I’ve had enough o’ this,” said Onyx, replacing his dagger and stepping around the woman. “I’ve told ye there is no one here by that name, now leave afore I curse ye.” He walked past the old man just then, and opened his eyes wide and glared at him. The man hid his face with his hand.
Onyx hurried forward, hoping to find his mother and warn her. He wasn’t sure what all this was about, but it obviously was all a lie. He’d never been to Blackpool in his life, and his mother told him he was born in the Highlands. This old man was obviously mistaken.
He pushed past the entourage and burst into the pub, searching the crowded room for his mother. He had to protect her from the English. They meant her harm, he could feel it in his bones.
He spied her at the drink board talking to old Callum MacKeefe. He made his way across the room, and sidled up to the counter, not looking at his mother but rather just at Callum.
“Pour me a dram o’ whisky,” he said in a cool, controlled tone, then glanced over his shoulder, noticing the Englishwoman and her guards standing at the door. Callum was pouring the whisky and looked up to see what took Onyx’s attention.
“Friends o’ yers?” he asked in a low voice, putting the whisky down on the counter.
“They’re lookin’ fer mathair,” he said, picking up the glass and downing it in one shot. “More mountain magic if ye please.” He quickly pushed the glass forward.
“Onyx,” warned his mother, “ye’d better stop fer the night. Seeing ye blue again is no’ goin’ te be a bonnie sight. Twice in one night could likely kill ye. Do ye hear me?”
“More,” he just said, but Callum hesitated. Onyx grabbed the bottle and poured it for himself. “Tell me why they’re looking for ye, Mathair.”
She glanced over her shoulder and then back to him. “I dinna even ken who they are, but they look te be English.”
“There’s an old man with them that swears he saw ye years ago on the docks of Blackpool.”
“I travelled a lot wit’ yer faither. Anything is possible. Why does it matter?”
“I ken he’s lyin’ becooz he also swears I was there too, yet I’ve never been on the docks o’ Blackpool.”
Fenella froze, then played with the drink in her hand. “Aye. I’m sure he’s lyin’.”
“Is there somethin’ ye’re no’ tellin’ me?” he asked.
When she didn’t answer, he placed his hand atop hers. “Are ye keepin’ somethin’ from me?” he asked again.
“Twenty years is a long time,” she said. “People can be mistaken.”
Onyx pulled his hand away from her with a jolt. “How did ye ken ’twas twenty years ago? I ne’er said how long ago the man said he saw ye.”
When she didn’t answer, and instead got up and walked away, Onyx knew for certain there was something his mother was keeping from him. But before he could ask her about it, the little English entourage entered the pub, getting the attention of everyone there. The music stopped, and people spoke in hushed voices. Tension filled the air.
Onyx got that aching sensation in his bones again, and it was never a good thing, as it always happened just before there was trouble. Aye, he had the feeling this was going to be a birthday he’d never forget, one way or another.
Chapter 2
Lady Loveday de Lacy entered the pub and looked around, seeing the Highlander she’d been talking to outside, now sitting across the room.
“That’s him, I tell you,” said the dockman who called himself Twine. “Most of England knows the tales of the earl’s demon baby whose birth was responsible for the death of the man’s wife. Rumor on the docks is that the baby was buried at sea in a chest. But now I can see the devil has come back to life. And I’m willin’ ta bet that wench you’re searching for is here somewhere too. The woman I let get aboard a ship that day had a chest with a dead baby in it. I also heard her say her name was Fenella. She wore the plaid of The MacKeefes.”
“Why did you keep this a secret for so long?” grumbled the guard.
“I told the king’s men the day it happened, but they didn’t want to chase her into Scotland,” said the man. “They paid me to keep quiet so they wouldn’t have to go to the Highlands trying to find her. But when Lady Lovelle came asking questions after all these years, I knew I had to tell her.”
“You mean you knew it was another opportunity to make some money,” spat the guard.
“Give him another coin for his troubles and find us a table,” Lovelle told her guard, Weldon.
“Lady Loveday,” said Weldon under his breath. “We don’t need to pay the man anything else. We found who we’re looking for, so he’s of no further use to us.”
“Please don’t call me Loveday. You know I hate that name and have been called Lovelle by everyone for years now, except for my mother. Just do what I say,” she ordered, noticing all eyes in the room were on them. “We haven’t actually found the woman yet, and we may still need him to identify her.”
This was a pub occupied by mainly Scottish, and she knew the English were not really welcome here, and it was risky to be here at all. She could only hope that most the Scots in the bar tonight were Lowlanders, as they had a higher tolerance of the English than the Highlanders. Actually, the Highlanders were barbaric, and though she felt as nervous as a maiden on her wedding night, she wouldn’t show it.
Weldon paid the man again, and Twine disappeared into the crowd looking for a drink. A table of Scots vacated their seats and quickly huddled together across the room, whispering and looking over their shoulders. The pub was very crowded, and she even noticed women and children inside. The place seemed well kept, but yet some of the occupants looked less than desirable, and she longed for the comfort of her castle and servants back home.
“I think the faster we get out of here the better, my lady,” said Weldon. “After all, it is New Year’s Eve and these Scots have been drinking heavily. You, being a noblewoman, shouldn’t even be in here at all in the first place.”
“I agree,” she said, settling herself at the table with her men all around her. “But I can’t leave until I find what I came for. I may have never known my father, but I plan on finding his murderer and setting my mother’s mind at ease, even if it has taken me twenty years to do it.”
“My lady, you know as well as anyone that your mother’s mind has been slipping and has been very confused for a long time now. There is nothing you can do to help her.”
Lovelle knew the man spoke the truth, but she just couldn’t give up hope. If she could only find what she was looking for, there may be a way to help her yet. With the information her mother had given her recently about a stolen object, she knew she’d found what she needed. She only hoped the woman who’d stolen it still had it and hadn’t sold it for coin.
“You also have a young son to care for,” the guard added. “If something happens to you, he’ll have no one to raise him.”
“Charles is safe,” she said, speaking of her young son of seven years. “He is in Blackpool being fostered by the earl. That is what my husband, Hugh wanted, bless his soul.” She blessed herself more for show than anything, as she didn’t miss her elderly husband at all. She’d been married at the young age of four and ten year
s, and just a year later she had bore the baron his first and only child.
“Excuse me for saying, my lady, but your husband was nearly forty years your senior. You don’t have to put up pretense for me. If I may be so bold as to say, none of us liked the man, and I’m probably safe to say that you didn’t either. After all, he died only a few short months ago, and yet you haven’t once worn black to mourn him.”
“You know I can’t see colors,” she reminded him. “For all I know, the gown I’m wearing is black, so mayhap I’ve been mourning him all along.”
“Your handmaiden dresses you every day, my lady, and she can see colors, so I don’t think that excuse will work.”
“Then I’ll have to send my handmaiden to the stocks when I return to Worcester for her insolence, won’t I?”
Lovelle knew damned well she wasn’t wearing black. And while it was true she couldn’t see colors at nighttime, and only barely during the day, that wasn’t why she wasn’t in mourning. She never liked the old goat whom she’d been betrothed and married to, and that was really the only reason. When he died in his sleep from naught more than old age, she thanked God silently rather than to have to ever couple with the man again.
“No need to harm the young maiden,” said the guard. “I don’t believe the man was worth mourning over anyway.”
“That is the late Baron of Worcestershire you’re speaking of, if I must remind you,” she said, with the expected behavior of a lady. “If I also must remind you, you now answer only to me until the king finds me a new husband.”
Weldon settled himself next to her and motioned for a serving wench to bring wine. After the wench did so, he gave her a coin and sent her away.
Wildly Romantic: A Multi-Genre Collection Page 42