Amanda Scott (52 page)

“Lying is not a skill that one should aim to perfect,” she said curtly.

He did not respond. Indeed, she thought he looked regretful, and the look stirred her sympathy. She wanted to smooth his furrowed
brow, to make him smile again. She swallowed hard, mentally scolding herself as harshly as ever Lady Farnsworth or Drusilla
had scolded her. Clearly, she had lost every ounce of good sense she possessed the moment she laid eyes on the villainous
fugitive.

She could not hear the dogs any longer, but the shrubbery rustled. A breeze had come up, and if it was blowing from the west,
as most breezes did in that area, it might well blow sounds of baying and barking away to the east.

“What will you do now?” she asked when the silence began to hover uncomfortably between them.

“I must think about that,” he said. “If ye be right, and them villains mean tae stay this side o’ the line for six whole days,
I must go tae ground somewhere. I doubt I can get by wi’ posing as a traveler, wending me way north tae Stirling.”

“Nay, you are too large to pass as a common Borderer. Moreover, everyone hereabouts knows everyone else. Must you go to Stirling?”

“Aye, in time, I must.”

“A fortnight after the Queen’s new bairn is born, which will be any day now, we of Farnsworth Tower, and others from these
parts, will travel to Stirling,” she said. “The King is to hold a grand celebration in honor of the child’s birth, all the
grander if it should prove to be a son. Travel will be easier for you then, perhaps.”

“Aye, if I had a safe place tae stay, so I could afford tae wait that long.”

Another idea stirred in her mind, but she rejected it. She had already been foolish enough for one day. Indeed, most sensible
people would call her foolhardy to linger thus, chatting with a felon and confiding her family’s plans to him.

“How far is it from here to Farnsworth Tower?” he asked.

“No more than a twenty-minute walk,” she said.

“Will you tell them about me?”

She hesitated, knowing it was her duty to warn everyone about a scoundrel in the area. If Drusilla, or even Jelyan, found
out that she had kept such information to herself, she would face dire punishment. But try as she might, she could sense no
danger in the man, and over the years, she had learned to trust her instincts.

“I’ll tell no one,” she said. “But I must go home.”

“It should be safe now,” he said. “Listen for the dogs, though, and if ye hear them, make for an open space, preferably one
wi’ a good many folks about.”

She nodded, and when he parted the bushes for her, she stepped past him, feeling the energy from his body as she did. Glancing
up at him, she opened her mouth to bid him farewell, and then shut it again, uncertain what to say.

He smiled, revealing strong white teeth, and his eyes twinkled. “ ’Ware strangers, lass,” he warned.

The absurdity of such a caution coming from him made her smile back. “I’ll be careful,” she said.

“See that you are,” he said more sternly. “And, lassie, bind a ribbon round that plait when ye get home, lest ye be punished
for untidiness.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, automatically responding to what was a common command to her.

“And, lass…”

Annoyance stirred, but she paused again, forcing patience. “Aye?”

“Thank you,” he said gently. “I am greatly in your debt.”

“Good-bye, sir,” she said, turning away without telling him he was welcome to her help, although it doubtless amounted to
aiding and abetting a felon. But even with her back to the man, she could sense his strong vitality, and she did not want
to leave him, not—or so she told herself—with danger possibly still at hand. Swiftly, she turned back, and without giving
herself a chance to think more about what she was doing, she said, “Do you ken aught of falcons or hawks?”

A flashing grin lit his face. “Aye, I ken everything about them,” he said. “Why d’ye ask?”

“Because Sir Hector’s falconer left a sennight ago, and presently Sir Hector has only one careless lad to look after his birds.
You would need to know only as much as the lad knows, although it would not hurt to know a bit more.”

“I see that ye’re either hard o’ hearing, lass, or that ye ha’ the good sense no tae believe a man who claims tae ken all
there be tae ken, but I spake the truth. I warrant there be few men wha’ ken as much as I do about birds o’ prey. I were raised
wi’ such. Do ye mean tae hide me in a falconer’s cot?”

“Ours had no cottage,” she said. “He dwelt in a small chamber near the kitchen. The mews contain no residence, only room for
the birds.”

“How many birds?”

She shrugged. “I do not know exactly—only three or four, I think. The lad warned Sir Hector that he might have to put one
of them down. He said the bird started and before he could control it, it broke two of its primaries. I am not entirely certain
what that means, but Sir Hector told him to wait a day or two.”

“Faith, he cannot mean to put down a gallant fellow or lass only because of a couple of broken feathers. I can see that ye
need me as much as I need your sanctuary, lass. By heaven, I’ll do it.”

“Mercy, can you repair broken feathers?”

“I can, and if ye be a good lass, I’ll show ye how tae do it yourself. But how will we introduce me fine skills tae Sir Hector?
I canna walk home wi’ ye. ’Twould be tae shred your reputation an I did such a thing. In any event, I dinna ken what Sir Hector
can be thinking, letting ye wander about at will like this.”

“If you are going to scold, we will part at once and you can seek your own fortune,” she said tartly. “You are hardly in a
position to preach good behavior.”

“So ye’ve a temper, have ye? Well, sheathe it, lass, because ye willna win any fratching contest wi’ me. Consider that I’ve
only tae pick ye up and carry ye home bottom upward over me shoulder—”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Would I not?” His feet were set apart, and now he hooked his thumbs over his sword belt and gazed at her sternly. A prickling
awareness engulfed her, not that he would harm her but that he would carry out any threat that he made.

Choosing her words carefully, she said, “It would be wiser, I think, if you were to present yourself to Sir Hector later today.
If you tell him that you heard at a tavern or some such place that his falconer had left unexpectedly and that, therefore,
you decided to apply to replace him…”

“Aye, that might suffice,” he said when she paused expectantly. “Be there any other odd detail that I should ken about the
position?”

She frowned. “I do not know much more about it myself.”

“D’ye no ken why the last chap left, then?” Smiling sweetly, she said, “He was impertinent to Sir Hector’s daughter.”

“Aye, sure, and bein’ that I’m an impertinent lad m’self, ’tis a good thing ye had the foresight tae warn me.” He frowned,
adding gently, “Now, tell me that it was yourself to whom the man dared be impertinent, and I’ll have yet more business to
attend to before I can leave for Stirling.”

His accent had altered again, but she did not think it wise to point that out to him just then. Instead, she said, “I doubt
that the poor man was impertinent to anyone. Drusilla complained that he looked at her oddly and insisted that he be turned
off.”

“Farnsworth Tower sounds like it harbors some verra pleasant folks,” he said. “Almost do I look forward tae spending some
few days in their company.”

“Understand me, sir,” she said. “I can be of no assistance to you in gaining employment there. You must speak to Sir Hector,
and you must not mention me.”

“I ken that fine, lass. Dinna fash yourself, for I’ll no betray ye. I’ll hope tae see ye again, though, so I can show ye how
tae mend a feather properly.”

She smiled but wondered if she had lost her senses. Doubtless, she had accomplished nothing more than the potential introduction
of a murderer into the Farnsworth household. The thought widened her smile. Whatever he was, she was certain the man was no
murderer. Nor was he what he claimed to be, however. She wondered if she would learn who he really was before he had to leave.

Sir Patrick MacRae watched the lass hurrying northward. Then, swiftly and silently, he followed her, wanting to make sure
that she reached her destination safely and hoping that he had judged her motives accurately.

The thought that she could be laying a trap for him was not one he could afford to set aside in favor of a pair of beautiful
gray-green eyes and an innocent face. For all he knew, she suspected him of even more dastardly deeds than those of which
he was guilty and would betray him the moment she got home.

He had heard of Sir Hector Farnsworth but knew little about him. If the man served as a clerk for Truce Day meetings, one
could suppose that he believed in the rule of law, but Patrick had heard Sir Hector’s name in another context, as well. If
the man proved false, Patrick would be sped, as would the so-important mission that had taken him to England and now brought
him to the Borders.

Elspeth was a bonny lass, though, and he certainly did not regret meeting her. Not only did he have a keen eye for beauty
but she had also stirred a protective vein in him that had laid dormant since the day eight months before when he had left
his laird and lady at Stirling Castle, where the laird was a hostage of the King of Scots and would remain so until Patrick
completed his mission.

He watched now unseen from the shelter of the woods as Elspeth hurried toward a distant tower and its surrounding stockade.
When she was safely inside, he walked back to the cave, keeping an eye out for the searchers but thinking hard.

What information he had gleaned in England would do little more than reinforce the belief of his principal that Henry the
Eighth sought to bring all Scotland under his greedy thumb. Before he left the Borders, he needed to confirm certain other
details that he had come to suspect, or prove them wrong. And in the meantime, he had to move with extreme caution, because
the landscape teemed with potential enemies.

Whether bonny Elspeth was one of them remained to be seen.

A
MANDA
S
COTT
, best-selling author and winner of the Romance Writers of America’s RITA/Golden Medallion and the
Romantic Times’
awards for Best Regency Author and Best Sensual Regency, began writing on a dare from her husband. She has sold every manuscript
she has written. She sold her first novel,
The Fugitive Heiress
—written on a battered Smith-Corona—in 1980. Since then, she has sold many more, but since the second one, she has used a
word processor. More than twenty-five of her books are set in the English Regency period (1810–20), others are set in fifteenth-century
England and sixteenth- and eighteenth-century Scotland. Three are contemporary romances.

Amanda is a fourth-generation Californian who was born and raised in Salinas and graduated with a bachelor’s degree in history
from Mills College in Oakland. She did graduate work at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, specializing in British
history, before obtaining her master’s in history from California State University at San Jose. After graduate school, she
taught for the Salinas City School District for three years before marrying her husband, who was then a captain in the Air
Force. They lived in Honolulu for a year, then in Nebraska for seven years, where their son was born. Amanda now lives with
her husband in northern California.