by Rue Allyn
Henry nodded. “What is it you wish to know?”
“What do you know of my wife and how she came to have that limp?”
“You dinna know?”
“Nae, it happened after I left home.”
The boy’s gaze shuttered. “Promise you’ll no hit me if you don’t like the answer?”
“I dinna hit people for answering questions truthfully.” Why would this boy think he would receive violence as a reward for doing as asked? Colin’s father could have inspired such a fear, but from what Colin knew, the boy had been little more than a babe when the old earl died.
“Then I’ll tell you what I know. I was very little when it happened, but I’ve heard about it all my life. She’s been like that since. . . ”
“Henry, ’tis time to let my husband rest.” Sorcha’s voice came from the small alcove near the door.
Colin hadna heard the door open. How long had Sorcha been in the room? Fixing his gaze with Henry’s, Colin put a finger in front of his lips and shook his head slowly.
Henry nodded and smiled. “Are you sure?” he whined convincingly. “We’ve been having such a good chat.”
Sorcha came into view.
“You may come back later, after the earl has rested.” She spoke to the boy but glared at Colin.
Henry gave in graciously, bowed, and left with Sir Broc behind bearing the tray. That conversation had been promising. Too bad Sorcha had returned before the confidences so carefully cultivated bore fruit. He raised his gaze to her face and nearly quailed at the anger burning in her eyes.
He supposed he deserved her ire. She had specifically asked him to drop the subject of her injury. But he could nae respect that request. Nae if the answers impacted his mission. She would have to learn that where his home and Scotland were concerned, she had no secrets.
CHAPTER SIX
“You expect me to trust you to act the part of my husband without molesting me. You expect me to lie and deceive simply to catch some imaginary spies. Yet, you’ll nae respect my privacy. ’Tis exactly like you. Why I’m surprised, shocked, and deeply offended, I dinna know.”
She dropped a loaded tray near him on the table where the remains of his breakfast had been moments ago.
Yes, she’s angry. Colin took in her clipped tone, her high color, and the tightness in her posture. “You’ve every right to be upset, muirnean.”
“I’m much more than upset, you bleigeard.” She took the poker from the fireside and lifted it as she approached him.
He swallowed. I should move.
Before he could put thought to deed, the poker descended, missed his head by a hair, and landed in the bowl of cider, causing it to boil and spit. A fiery rain landed on his bare arm, and the scent of spiced apples filled the room. He sucked in air then hissed away the small pain as he watched her replace the poker beside the hearth—an innocent smile fixed on her face.
His eyelids narrowed. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”
“Of course.” She spoke in a low and soothing tone while dipping a ladle into the hot cider and filling a cup then presenting it to him. “Cider, my lord. ’Tis very healthful.”
He took the cup, sniffed the aromatic liquid, gave her a suspicious glance then downed the drink in one gulp.
When he looked at her again, she was still smiling, and her hands were folded before her. She was the very picture of maidenly serenity—something the Sorcha he’d grown up with had never been.
“You’re up to something.”
She raised a brow then swept up her sewing and took her usual seat by the hearth.
“Tell me what you are plotting,” he demanded.
She cast him a glance and shrugged, then bent to her stitches. “Nothing more than to teach you that trust works in both directions. As things stand, I canna trust you, and you dare nae trust me.”
“I trust you.”
She tilted her head to look at him. “Nae, you dinna. You believed I would harm you with that poker. I saw the fear in your eyes.”
“No man with any brains would fail to fear an angry woman with a weapon. Because I have sense doesna mean I dinna trust you.”
She returned her gaze to her work. “True, I suppose, but you’ll nae be so confident of me in the future. And mayhap you’ll treat me with the respect I deserve.”
“What makes you think I lack respect for you?” He still believed he could manage her through her passions if naught else. But she was well armored with that odd mix of suspicion and serenity spiced with a dash of defiance. By causing him that moment’s doubt, she’d shown herself, for the second time, to be much more formidable than he thought, and oddly enough, he found his desire for her increasing. But want and trust were very different things.
To succeed in rooting out the English spies and finding those letters, he needed an ally he could trust without question. He would have to humble himself and risk placing himself in her hands. To gain trust, one must give it.
An awkward silence fell interrupted only by logs crumbling to ash in the fireplace. Colin stared into the flames.
“When and how do you wish to begin searching out these spies you claim infest Strathnaver?”
So, she still thought the spies a fiction. He’d have to find one just to prove the truth to her. “Now, today.”
She smoothed her sewing in her lap. “Brice would nae yet be recovered enough for that.”
“I think he could be. In fact I think I should order some of the guards to carry the earl down to the loch. A good swim might revive his health.” Petty though it was, Colin said it just to ruffle her calm. If he could feel off balance, so could she.
“In mid-winter a swim in that icy loch just might kill you, sick or nae,” she objected.
Aha. A more than placid response, but nae the fire he wanted from her. He grinned. “I’m glad to know you care whether I live or die.”
“Pah. Would you cease your nonsense?”
He bowed his head as if chastened then lifted it again.
“What would come of Scotland if you died and could no longer play at chasing spies? Henry would become earl with no one but Lady Agnes and her underlings to guide him. Strathnaver would fall to ruin without you.” She paused, glaring at him. “Why can you nae see your teasing makes believing you, taking you seriously, much harder?”
“Life is harsh enough. What harm to take lightness whenever I can find it?”
“The harm is in the loss of trust where you may need it most. Regardless, you canna recover too quickly if you wish people to believe you are Brice. None in the stronghold will expect a man so recently on the brink of the grave to be about for at least a week.”
He sighed. Last night he’d thought it a mistake to have ignored her warnings. Perhaps ’twas time to show a mite of trust and heed this present caution. “You’ve a point. But retrieving that badge canna wait.”
“Then I’ll have to do it on my own.”
“’Tis too dangerous.”
“I’ve been riding out alone for more than two weeks. None will think it odd.”
“Any traitor will worry and have you watched.”
“Then I will take extra care nae to be followed. You can post one of your trusted men between me and the stronghold so any followers will be seen.”
He frowned. “I’ve no real choice, have I?”
“Not if you seriously want that badge returned.”
“’Tis vital, and presently our only lead to any of the spies.”
“Then will you remain in this room, pretending to recover as Brice would have?”
“Aye, I’ll wait a week and no more, but only while the stronghold wakes each day. At night when all are asleep, we’ll search as many rooms as we can, starting with this one. I should have started already, but between the badge, Lady Agnes, Henry, and you, my plate’s been much too full to begin a thorough search.”
He watched from the corner of his eye as her gaze slid to her pallet and back. Maybe guilt would force her to trust
him more fully when persuasion could not.
“But during the day I will nae linger in my bed,” he continued. “The servants must see me up and about in this room. Then next week we will begin by having the senior servants and knights here to report their activities to me. As they do so, I’ll ask questions that will help us distinguish spy from loyal Scot.”
She regarded him thoughtfully. “That could work, especially since I told Henry you tire too easily at present to receive frequent visitors. And while you are receiving your reports, I could be speaking with the lower servants.”
“Better for you to remain here by your husband’s side. Any change in your routine, especially if you start asking questions about things you previously ignored, might rouse suspicions.”
“And your questioning of the servants will nae have the same result?”
He’d kept Scotland safe for a decade, and this woman doubted his ability to get information without revealing his intent. Her lack of faith in him offended. However, she’d just slipped up and given him a reason to keep her near, so he smiled. “Then stay with me. After each person leaves, you can tell me what you thought about the conversation.”
She frowned slightly. “If you insist.”
“I do.”
“’Twill give me opportunity to learn what sort of questions to ask the other servants as I go about my duties.”
He clenched a fist at his side. She would insist on pursuing the investigation independently. He never should have asked her help, but he’d done so to persuade her into pretending to be his wife. ’Twas obvious he couldna dissuade her. “Never do so alone—please.”
She arched a brow.
On another woman, that look would be an invitation. But this was Sorcha, and any tender feelings between them were long dead.
“I will be most circumspect and cautious when speaking with servants and clansmen. Which of the servants do you wish to speak with first?”
“Let us start with the chamberlain. He was here when I was a boy, and I’ve a good enough memory of his character that any changes will be easy to discover.”
“Excellent. I’ve reason to speak with him myself.” She relayed the discovery of the missing supplies.
Colin repressed a shudder and stared into the flames rising in the fireplace. Had she uncovered information that someone would kill to keep quiet? Who would need poison and why? He’d employ a taster if he thought it would protect her, but she didna share all her meals with him. The restrictions of his pretense had already begun to chafe. Now they felt like manacles designed to keep him from fighting the battle for Scotland’s safety.
• • •
After the disappointing news that Sorcha had found the tree on her next late afternoon ride but the badge had not been where she’d left it, they developed a routine. Colin suffered increased short visits from his stepmother and half brother, little food to his liking, and too much time spent with Sorcha without touching her. Nothing he’d done had lured her to him, and no argument had persuaded her to confide her past.
Colin was done waiting to show himself as earl and done waiting for Sorcha to unbend. One more day spent in confinement listening to the first reports from servants and knights. After that he would have Sorcha’s pallet removed, so all would believe he was hale enough to swive his wife. He would also leave his supposed sickroom and question every person he encountered about his faux-wife’s past. How he would do that, when—as Brice—he should know everything about her, was something he would figure out while he prepared for his official first foray outside this room.
Unofficially, he’d spent the greater part of each night this past week searching every unoccupied room in the stronghold while the inhabitants slept. He made good use of the secret stair running the full height of the building from the tower to the dungeons. By the end of the week the outbuildings and bedrooms in use were the only places he hadna searched. Thank heaven for his fake illness and slow recovery. ’Twas the perfect excuse for him to rest during the day.
He thanked heaven as well for the nights away from Sorcha. He’d been a long time without a woman, and his old lust for her had nae dimmed with time as his feelings had. He could probably get another woman. His lie to the chamberlain that morning when he’d been discovered outside the stronghold—’twould be like Brice to start wenching even before his health was fully recovered. But Colin had doubts that anyone save Sorcha would satisfy him. Unlike his twin, Colin had become more particular in his choice of women rather than less.
During the daytime when he wasn’t resting, he and Sorcha spent every possible moment searching every corner of the earl’s chambers. They’d pulled the bed apart, tapped the wood, the floors, and all the walls for the hollow sounds of hidden niches. At present he was assisting Sorcha with removing the ash and embers from the fireplace to copper pails so they could search the stone structure without getting burned. They'd found nothing. She handed him the pails and he restored the fire.
“’Tis hot, thirsty work,” he muttered, dusting his hands on his breeches. “We must send for mead to rinse the smoke from our throats.”
She looked up at him from the stool where she sat. “Before a single person enters this room, you must burn your clothes in the fire. Anyone seeing you like that will wonder how my hale but still recovering husband got his clothes black with soot.”
She leaned against the wall and swiped the back of one hand across her brow. The gesture left a sooty trail that was more charming than it should have been on a woman he was coming to respect but was determined not to like.
He grinned and stepped around her headed for the washbasin, where he drenched a clean cloth and wrung it out before turning back and handing it to her. “I’m not the only one with dirt to hide.”
She blinked at him. “I dinna understand.”
“You have soot on your forehead.” He flicked a blackened finger across the tip of her nose. “And on your nose.”
“Oh, you.” She huffed then set about removing the ashy evidence.
He cleaned his face and hands then tossed the dirty water and refilled the basin so she could remove any other traces of their activities. While she did that, he moved to the far side of the bed to change his clothes. He was placing the ruined shirt and breeches on the flames when she called to him.
“Have I gotten all of it off?”
“Nae, you’ve made it worse. Let me help.” He got more clean water and another cloth. Then he took her chin between the thumb and forefinger of one hand. Damp cloth in the other hand, he dabbed at her forehead, nose, and cheeks. “You remind me of your sister Artis when she saved that puppy from the boys trying to light its tail afire.”
She smiled. “Aye, she was only five, and she’d been told nae to go in search of the dog. But she wouldna listen and nearly set them all aflame when she threatened those boys with their own torches so they could see what it was like to have their tails burnt off.”
“Is she still the impulsive champion of all dumb creatures?” He swiped the last of the soot from Sorcha’s upper lip. He felt loath to release her, but holding her served nae purpose. ’Twas simply, he told himself, that for once they were nae at odds. The novelty of the experience charmed him. So he stepped back. He wanted naught personal between them. Nae lasting relationship could exist between Marr and MacKai.
“Artis is that and more. Not a day has gone by that she does nae cause an uproar by defying Raeb or me in some way. She pays no mind to any of our sisters’ warnings either. Raeb is at his wits end as to how to keep her safe from herself.”
“Surely your father has laid down the law to her.”
A look that was somehow both steely cold and fiercely hot at the same time came over Sorcha’s face. Her lips trembled a moment then she pressed them together.
“Nothing could make her hear him or my mother.” She snapped the words out then whirled away to grab her red cloak. “I’ve lingered too long at this task. I must meet with the laundress. ’Twill take some
time, so do nae expect me to return soon.”
She was gone before he could do much more than clear his throat. What had happened to cause that abrupt change? All he’d done was ask about her father. Could something be wrong with him? Ten years ago Baron MacKai had been a strong, vital man, loved to distraction by wife and children. Colin always envied the relationship between the even-tempered baron and his son. A relationship very unlike the angry, selfish one he and Brice had with their own father. Colin could nae imagine anything that would destroy the accord between the baron and his children. Whatever had occurred, Sorcha was the only one here who could explain, and she was nae talking.
Colin’s lips thinned. He’d nae given up his determination to discover how she’d acquired her limp. Now he had even more questions that needed answers. If she wouldna share her past with him, perhaps her belongings would. No woman married and left her family without taking something with her. If ever there was a time to search Sorcha’s belongings, ’twas now when he knew she’d be gone for a long while.
As he began his examination of her pitifully few belongings, he told himself ’twas nae curiosity alone that moved him. He was simply being thorough, for Brice or one of his spies could easily have hidden something among Sorcha’s personal items without her knowledge. Vital information could be sewn into the lining of a cloak or stuffed into a cracked joint of a chest.
He went through every item in the small chest she kept near her pallet and came up empty handed. He contemplated the pallet—the only item in the room that hadna been searched. The coverlets were thin, but the mattress was thick enough to disguise vellum sheets slipped within, if the stitching at the edges was cut then re-sewn to hide the damage. He checked each of the three coverlets for evidence of tampering with no results. He did the same with the seams of the ticking that held the mattress together and found a hand-sized hole where the stitching had been cut, not torn or frayed.
Finally.
He thrust his hand within the opening, groping through the feathers for documents. He found none. However, his fingertips encountered a hard circle of metal topped with several large lumps. He pulled it out, recognizing instantly—the dualchas fainne, the Marr inheritance ring. Whoever possessed the ring owned all the material goods of Clan Marr, including the buildings, the land, the jewels, the coin—everything.