Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides) (11 page)

But if she was a cold hearted murderess as Tremayne said, why would she go thrashing about in icy water just to catch fish for her father's supper? And what about Kelvin? Why would she foster such a ragamuffin boy, who obviously had no earthly possessions and reminded him disturbingly of himself?

Twas questions such as those that plagued him. Twas questions such as those that he would learn the answers to, but just now he had better concentrate on the matter at hand.

With some regret, Dugald turned his gaze from the trio of women to the man who had arrived first. Leith, the Forbes of the Forbes. His reputation proceeded him. But why was he here now?

"Brother." Roderic moved past Dugald and trotted down the steps to the courtyard, his boots ringing on the stones. "So ye have decided to grace us with your company?"

For a moment the courtyard remained silent. The Forbes dismounted. Though the movement was a bit stiff, there was great power in his large frame as he turned toward Roderic.

"I debated long and hard before setting out," he said, his expression somber. "After all, ye have long coveted my boots."

Roderic threw back his fair head and laughed, then, opening his arms, he slapped Leith into his embrace. "So ye still fear ye canna keep your footwear safe from me, Brother."

"Long ago I learned that nothing is safe from ye. Twas my idea to stay home and warm my brittle old bones by the fire. But my wife wished to come," he said, glancing at the woman on the dappled palfrey.

Roderic turned and drew his arms away from his brother. There was a smile on his lips.

"Lady Fiona." He said the name reverently. "Ye could have left your husband at home. In truth, he is wont to whine over a pair of boots long rotted away, and does little to brighten the mood of this gathering. But ye..." He lifted his hands to help her dismount. "Your beauty brightens the darkest of days."

Fiona laughed. By all accounts she was nearing fifty years of age, but neither her face, nor the melodious tone of her voice, showed it. "Still the Rogue, I see," she said.

"Until I die." Roderic chuckled and reached for her hand, but before she could dismount, Leith had pushed him aside.

“Do I disremember, or dunna ye have a wife of your own to pester?" he asked, swinging Fiona to her feet.

Her skirts swooped around her ankles, and when she landed, she looked as fragile and supple as a willow in the wind.

"Ye two stop, now," she chastised. "Or do ye want the Flame to hear ye argue?"

"Nay."

"Nay."

"Too late," said Flanna, stepping silently between the two. "So ye were arguing with your brother?" she asked her spouse.

"Not atall."

"Am I going to have to fetch my dinner knife?" she asked.

Roderic chuckled, and leaning close, whispered something in her ear.

It almost seemed like the Flame blushed. But Dugald was certain he was mistaken, for the stories that surrounded her exploits were brash enough to set one's hair on end. Indeed, it was said that some twenty years past she had abducted Roderic of the great Forbes clan and held him for ransom under threat of death. And yet as Dugald watched the foursome, he could not help thinking they looked like nothing more than two content, well-matched couples.

But long ago, by his grandfather's fire, he had learned not to believe illusions. Ninja
created
illusions. They did not believe them. Even a bastard child must learn that.

Dugald pressed the thoughts from his mind and refocused.

The Rogue, the Flame, Fiona the healer, and Laird Forbes were all now present. Rarely had a foursome held more power... or more loyalty. And that was not counting Boden Blackblade or his wife Sara, who fostered the child, and therefore owned the allegiance, of the duke of Rosenhurst.

Aye, the powers of the Highlands were gathering like a summer storm. If Dugald had the wits of a hare, he would do his job and retreat before the tempest overtook him.

But...his glance skimmed to Shona where she laughed with her cousins.

True, she caused an inordinate amount of trouble.

Maybe he should have let Hadwin and Stanford fight over her, but Hadwin had a perpetually misplaced pleat at the back of his plaid that spoke of a hidden knife. It was a strange thing for such a good-natured practical joker, and there was something about gushing blood at a meal that disturbed Dugald. It had seemed like nothing more than practical good sense to numb Stanford's arm with an herbed needle and curtail any more trouble. Dugald hadn't done it for Shona. Nay, she was spoiled and vain.

Still...

She had doused herself in a cold river in a wild attempt to do her father one small favor. She dared besmirch her reputation by fostering a bedraggled waif, and she had been ridiculously patient with the annoying Lord Halwart.

Would a murderess do any of those things?

"I feared ye might not be coming, Rachel," Shona said.

The solar was lit with a trio of candles set high on a three-pronged iron stand which cast sleepy shadows over the upholstered couch where two of the three women sat.

"The games begin tomorrow," Rachel commented, "and I did not wish to miss seeing the men make fools of themselves over ye. By the by, who was that likely looking fellow near the door of the great hall when I arrived?''

"He is called Dugald the Dragon," Sara said, turning her gaze to where Shona sat on the floor.

"The dragon, aye?" Rachel laughed. "And is he so clever and alluring as the name suggests?"

"Aye," Shona agreed sarcastically. Even her cousin's much missed presence could not keep her from feeling grumpy when that dark-haired cur was mentioned. "He is as alluring as a boil on my a..."

Shona glanced at the three children who had long ago fallen asleep on the floor, Kelvin with his red hair tousled, Maggie beside her hound, and wee Thomas, no more than three years of age. "As a boil on my ankle," she finished poorly.

"Oh? And why is that? He looked to be quite dashing," Rachel said.

"Aye, I'd like to dash him on the head," Shona muttered.

Rachel's brows rose questioningly. "What was that?"

"I believe she said she'd like to dash him on the head," Sara replied.

"Our Shona? Surely not. Never have I met a lass who gloried in men's attention more than she.

Can ye shed some light on this, Sunshine?''

Sara laughed, at both the use of her old nickname and Rachel's shocked demeanor. "All I know is that on the night of my arrival I found Shona in some disarray..."

"Disarray? With our Shona, that might mean anything from a missing button to unleashed Bedlam."

"In actuality, it was a torn bodice and a pale-faced suitor slumped over his saddle and fleeing for his life."

"Ahh. I can only assume Pale Face was
not
one Dugald the Dragon."

"Nay, indeed. In fact—"

"In truth," Shona interrupted irritably, "this tale is not all that entertaining."

"I beg to differ," said Rachel. "In fact what, Sara?"

"In fact, Dugald was the one without a plaid and calling at her window well after dark."

"Without a plaid?"

"It seems he lent his to Shona."

"Truly?"

There was an evil twinkle in Sara's eye. It really wasn't fair that everyone thought her so sweet, for in truth she had a nasty side which was evidenced even now by her glee over Shona's misfortune.

After all, things just happened to Shona. She couldn't help it. And it was hardly just that her cousins, who were supposed to care for her, would feel such joy over her misadventures.

"I would not lie about something so serious," Sara said.

"I must say I rather wish I had arrived earlier," Rachel commented. "To be here to see Dragon Dugald at the window."

Shona bristled. "If ye find him so appealing, Cousin, mayhap ye should pursue him yourself. He is quite a catch. Or so he seems to think."

The room was utterly quiet, and then her cousins laughed out loud.

"It is not like her to get so prickly," Rachel said.

"Indeed not. Could it be there is something about this Dugald that our dear cousin has failed to mention."

"Mayhap."

"And mayhap ye should quit talking about me as if I'm not in the room," Shona snapped.

They laughed again. Why in the world had she been so anxious to see them? Shona wondered.

They were an irritating duo and always had been.

"Perhaps we should change the subject," Sara said. "We might provoke her to violence. I hear she's been continuing her swordsmanship lessons."

"And dunna ye forget it," Shona grumbled.

"Aye, should we vex her too greatly, we may find a half score of smitten swains threatening our existence."

"I fear my Boden might be amongst the first," Sara said, but Shona snorted.

"If I had to exist on your Boden's paltry attention, my poor pride would wither to dust in less than a day's span."

"In truth, I think
this
noble young fellow would be the first to her rescue," Rachel said, glancing at Kelvin's slumbering figure. He had fallen asleep wrapped in a blanket on the floor some hours before. "Never have I seen such devotion in one so young. So ye are fostering a lad, Cousin?"

Shona glanced at Kelvin. His hair, bright as her own flame-torched tresses, had fallen over his brow, making him look even younger than usual. Fondness and unfamiliar maternal feelings flooded her. He had gained weight since she had taken him under her wing, but still he looked too thin, all half bare legs and gangly arms. His lips were slightly parted, exposing the gap left by the loss of both front teeth.

The castle was quiet. At this late hour, only the three cousins remained awake.

"Fostering would seem the wrong word." Shona smiled at the lad and easily forgot her cousins'

baiting. "For it implies I have some control over him."

"I think ye underestimate yourself there," Sara said. "The lad would jump through fire for ye."

"Whose child is he?"

"In truth, I have no idea. I found him in Edinburgh."

"In an orphan's house?"

"Nay, in my pocket. He was trying to filch some coin."

"Another Liam," Rachel said wryly.

Sara laughed, and reaching over the edge of the couch, gently stroked the golden hair of her adopted daughter who slept some inches away. Her hound, a gift from their cousin, Roman, opened his eyes. They gleamed an eerie yellow in the candlelight, but he did not move, as if he were snared by the tiny fingers wrapped in his fur.

"Sleep, Dog," Sara murmured. "There is naught amiss."

"Dog?" Shona said. "It seems ye could think of a better name for such a handsome creature."

"They are trying to convince us that he
is
a dog and not the wolf he appears to be," Rachel said.

"Just as Liam tries to act like a gentleman instead of like the scoundrel he is."

"Ye are forever too hard on him, Rachel," Sara said, drawing her hand away from the reed-slim girl she had called her own for the past three years. "Liam has much good in him."

"Truly? And where might I find it?"

Sara shook her head and Shona sighed as she gazed at Kelvin.

"Does Liam know the lad has taken his place in your heart?" Rachel asked. "Or is he still searching for some way to gain from the boy's misfortune?"

"You're being ridiculous," Shona said. "Liam barely met the boy. They spoke for only a few minutes on our way to Stirling."

"I'm certain that will pose no problem whatsoever for Liam," Rachel said. "Mayhap he'll proclaim the child his very own. I dunna think he has ever completely forsaken the idea of wedding one of ye. Or mayhap he hopes to marry ye both."

Sara laughed. "Ye forget that I am already wed."

Rachel flipped a narrow hand impatiently. "Tis no more than a small inconvenience for a man of Liam's...scruples. Besides, it could be he plans to make your Sir Blackblade disappear in a puff of blue smoke and a bit of mumbo jumbo."

"I believe he already tried that," Sara said. "Boden was not amused."

"Tis not Liam's way to give up, though," Rachel countered. "It could well be that he still hopes to whisk the two of his 'wee lasses' away to his castle."

"He has a castle now?" Shona asked, warming to the conversation. Rachel's annoyance over Liam was always amusing, and it was especially so after their talk of Dugald. What a treat it was to torment Cousin Rachel after they had done the same to her. "And here I thought he was just a wandering magician and an occasional acrobat."

"Most probably he has several castles," Rachel said, rising to her feet to pace the room. Talk of the Irishman always made her agitated. "I fully expect him someday to proclaim himself the firstborn son of the king."

"Which king might ye be referring to?" Sara asked. "Since our own is only seven years old, that parentage seems a bit suspect."

"The truth rarely stands in his way," Rachel said, then turned toward the children, took a deep breath, and seemed to relax. "What bonny babes." But after a moment she scowled as if seized by some strange thought. She turned her bright amethyst eyes slowly toward Shona. Their gazes met. "Tis strange, isn't it that the base born are no less lovely than those who think themselves quite noble?"

The hair prickled eerily on the back of Shona's neck. She loved Rachel dearly, but she could be spooky sometimes. Twas oft said, and sometimes by herself, that Rachel had inherited the sight from her mother.

"Aye," Shona said, careful to keep her tone casual. "Aye, tis strange indeed." She turned toward the night-blackened window, but still she could feel Rachel's gaze on her.

“So ye saw our young king safely to Blackburn Castle," Rachel said.

"Aye." Shona cleared her throat. "Tis true. I left him in the care of the Hawk."

"But still ye worry for him," Sara said softly.

Shona turned toward her. “I grew quite fond of him during my time at Stirling."

"Tis said he is somewhat spoiled and wayward," Sara declared.

"Mayhap our Shona feels a kinship with him, then," Rachel quipped.

Shona made an evil face. "He may be little more than an orphan, and therefore desires our sympathy, but at least he does not have to endure his cousins' barbed tongues." She sobered. "He is hardly more than a babe and cares little for affairs of the state."