Highland Storm (13 page)

He smiled up at her, an enigmatic smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll be along behind ye soon,” he said. “Sleep well,
maid of Moray
.”

Sleep well yourself!
Lianae longed to say, but in truth, she suspected none of them would sleep a wink tonight after drinking all that tea. Without bothering to tell him where she was going, Lianae headed down to the burn, rebuking herself for warming to any man under David’s rule. Keane was her enemy—had always been her enemy—and simply because he didn’t realize it yet, didn’t make it not true.

K
eane watched her go
, knowing instinctively where she was off to. He didn’t like it overmuch, though he couldn’t follow her every time she left to do the necessary and he couldn’t prevent her from going. All he cared about was that no one followed her down to the burn, and so he resigned himself to wait for her return, watching his men come and go.

Lianae didn’t strike him as a liar, but she wasn’t telling the truth—at least not all of it. There was far more to her story than what she would allow. But then he had already surmised as much, long before now. The question was: What was she hiding that was more injurious than stolen charm stones—which, by the by, she’d left behind, albeit reluctantly?

He had half a day to discover what it was, for Keppenach was no more than a half-day’s ride. In fact, they might have made it there tonight without the stop, except that he hadn’t intended to go there at all. But now, with or without him, these men would return to Keppenach to report to the king, and if Keane did not arrive along with them, he would find himself in David’s ill graces… or worse.

Contemplating the lass’s secrets, he waited for Lianae to re-emerge from the thicket, resting easier when he spied her pale hair beneath the moonlight, and then he gathered up the materials for his fletching and put them all away. He watched her climb into his bed, and something deep in his gut thrilled at the sight. Once she was abed, he checked on his men one more time before making his own way to his pallet and climbing within. Lianae was already asleep. Lying beside her, he dared to pull her into his arms, embracing her protectively. “Who are ye, maid of Moray?” he whispered at her back.

She didn’t answer, and Keane unexpectedly found his lips pressed against the back of her head. He gave her a chaste kiss, but her only response was her smooth, even breath.

H
is question made
Lianae’s heart ache.

But not more than his kiss.

Every time he offered his lips, it stirred some new part of her; and this time, it was her heart. He reached out, drawing Lianae firmly against his chest and then lowered his arm so that it encircled her waist and she held her breath, afraid that he might discover she was wide awake. For a long, long moment, her heart refused to calm, and Lianae feared the pounding would betray her. After a moment, he buried his face into the back of her hair. Inhaling deeply of her scent, he then exhaled with a throaty sigh that made goose bumps arise upon her flesh. It was a lover’s embrace—unlike anything Lianae had ever known.

No man had ever held her so tenderly.

She had the most overwhelming desire to turn in his arms, to kiss him once more... But fear kept her still. After another moment, she heard Keane’s smooth easy breathing, and knew he slept.

Ach, it was time to go!

Whatever had she been thinking when she’d come along? Men like Keane had little to give, and she was in no position to take. She was a woman without a home, nor even a country, and he was a king’s sworn man.

His is your enemy,
she tried to convince herself, but it didn’t’ feel right. And yet, her plan to seduce him seemed suddenly all the more preposterous. Soon they would depart for Keppenach, and Lianae could not join them for Keppenach was the last place she should go—especially with the king in residence. Never in her life had she felt so confused.

Stay, go, she was lost either way she turned.

And what did she even know of Keane, in truth?

He was more a mystery than she. He wore the king’s livery, yet she sensed he had no interest in the king’s
politiks
. He tested her at every turn, and then he showed her kindness. He called her a liar with his tone and then he kissed her sweetly upon the head. Who was this man who dressed himself in wolves’ clothing, but appeared to be as gentle as a sheep?

Shivering, she burrowed deeper beneath the covers, acknowledging that there was little about his looks that reminded her of soft wooly sheep. For all she knew, he might be her executioner! Now, before it was too late, she must find a way to leave…

Tonight.

Acutely aware of the comings and goings of the men—all suffering the same malady—Lianae tossed and turned, waiting for her chance to steal away. She was not ill as they were, and she had no idea what had befallen them, but she had used their excuse to steal away time and again, some part of her instinct urging her to get away.

Now, more than ever, she must find her brothers.

* * *

A
t first light
, Keane immediately came aware of two things: One, it was snowing yet again, and two, Lianae was gone. At first, he supposed she must have gone down to the burn, as she had once or twice during the night.

He’d slept heavily—far more so than he had expected to and lifted his head, raking a hand through the back of his scalp, squinting against the rude mist. There was no wind this morning, but the snow was falling so thickly that it was difficult to see aught past his own pallet. Were it not for the ash bough overhead, he might have been covered in snow. His heavy cloak lay atop the blankets, abandoned.

Accustomed to winters in the Mounth, Keane was no stranger to sleeping in the snow. Back in the vale, at least once every sennight—spring, summer, fall and winter—he’d taken a watch on the hill. They all did so, and even Aidan would now and again, although his brother endured them far less often now that he had Lìli in his bed.

Rising from the pallet and making his rounds, he nudged a few of his men awake while waiting for Lianae to return, ready to be on their way. And then he realized the king’s messengers were gone as well—not a one remained. Keane took another look about.

Neither were Cameron or Murdoch in their beds.

How long since Lianae had been gone?

His heart clenching with sudden fear, he bolted toward the burn.

* * *

F
or his cousin
Broc’s sake, Cameron had intended to take Lianae to David himself.

He waited for her down by the burn.

Too oft in his life he’d made the wrong decision, but never again would he place his kinsmen at risk—not for Keane, who was, by far, his closest friend. And not for Cailin, whose affections were as fickle as the weather. One day she kissed him as though the morrow might ne’er come, the next, she scarce could bear to look at him.

Lovely, infuriating lass.

Some day, he hoped to make her his wife.

But not today.

Today, he was following three men whose intentions were becoming perfectly clear.

All three together had ambushed Lianae down by the burn. As Cameron had meant to do himself, they followed her down, and took her per force. From there, it was easy to steal away without rousing the camp. Covering her mouth, they’d bound her arms, arresting her like a prisoner of war.

And well she might be.

There was nothing he could say without giving himself away. These men were not brigands. They were the king’s men, sworn to David as Cameron was. If he raised arms against them, and Lianae were, in fact, a spy, he’d mark them all as traitors—particularly now that Keane had publicly admitted to helping her search for her missing brothers.

What the hell was the man thinking?

Keane had never been a greedy man, and it had never occurred to Cameron that he might desire aught more than he already had. In this way, he’d done Keane a disfavor by assuming he would stand aside and allow Cameron command of their men. The dún Scoti lived simply, traveled with little, and seemed uninterested in aught of value—insomuch as Cameron could tell. With Jaime’s support, Keane’s sister had attempted to raise him where she could, but Keane would sooner gut a bear to wear its hide as dress himself with Sassenach gold.

And now he suddenly wished to lead?

Because of her.

But as much as it had galled him, he well understood the inclination, for he suffered the same malady of the heart, and Keane had as much right to lead as Cameron did.

But despite his own thwarted plans to take Lianae to the king, Cameron was loyal to Keane. They had been friends now too long to play the man false. He simply hadn’t been willing to put his cousin at risk by allowing Keane to harbor the girl at Dunloppe, nor did he believe Keane was thinking all that clearly. He would save the fool from himself.

Conflicted although he was, Cameron persevered through the worsening weather, tracking the messengers along their journey south.

At least this way he wouldn’t be forced to make a difficult decision.

It was snowing thickly enough now that their hoof prints would be buried beneath a goodly amount of snow. The further they traveled south, the more he realized he couldn’t turn back, despite that he wanted to warn his good friend.

Trusting Keane to go to Keppenach first, he continued to follow. No matter what his original intentions, Dunloppe was no longer an option, although he didn’t like to think what Keane would feel once he awoke to find Lianae gone. And worse, soon thereafter, he would realize Cameron had left as well and he worried Keane would believe he’d been betrayed. He sorely regretted now not having taken him aside to tell him what he knew…

Lianae of Moray was a daughter of Óengus.

Cameron had surmised as much back in Lilidbrugh, though he hadn’t been certain until she’d spoken her brothers’ names aloud. He’d recognized them only because Murdoch named them as the rebels being held at Dunràth—a fact not even Cameron and Keane had been told. They’d been told only what David wished for them to know—that men were being held and that someone who rode amongst them was suspected of spying. Murdoch was that spy, for he’d known precisely who it was that awaited them at Dunràth.

To make matters worse, Cameron also discovered a small vial of
dwale
in Murdoch’s satchel, which might well be responsible for all their aching bellies. The poison had been used once by MacBeth’s soldiers to fell an entire army, and in the wake of King Henry’s death, it could be a wide-reaching plot to remove those who would oppose Stephen’s rule. Of course, Cameron had no proof, but he knew in his gut Murdoch was up to no good. He’d been a rat once himself, so he could easily smell one. To test his theory, he gave Murdoch a small portion with his meal, and within moments, the man had gone sprinting into the woods. The only question now, was why the
dwale
?

Had he meant to poison the entire crew? If Murdoch should happen to murder the entire company, and had men at the ready to trade clothes, he might easily gain entrance to Dunràth under the king’s banner to free Óengus’s sons.

Was Lianae a spy as well?

Was Keane?

In his heart, Cameron prayed it wasn’t so, though if not, it was a rather unfortunate coincidence that Lianae had happened upon Lilidbrugh when she did and that Keane had been so hell bent upon seeing the pile of rubbish for himself. And then, there was this: Keane took to the lass rather quickly. All in all, the entire ordeal left Cameron with a bad feeling in his gut that he’d rather not explore. He only prayed Keane would prove innocent of any wrongdoing, although the truth would soon be known…

Keppenach’s walls rose up before him like an immense gray specter, looming up from the snow. With little wind, the king’s lion rampant banners hung limply from staffs on the ramparts, the bright golds and reds scarcely visible through a thick flurry of white.

Ahead of him, one of the messengers called to the watchman on wall, and after a moment the heavy portcullis rose. The gates groaned with their burden as they opened and Cameron sat mounted in his saddle, wondering where to go from here…

Follow inside?

Or go back to warn Keane?

He had only seconds left to decide.

If he went in, he might plead their case to the king, though if he did… Keane would unknowingly walk into treachery. And if Keane were guilty? Where did that leave Cameron?

Either way, they were at the king’s mercy.

With a creak and a groan, the chains began to tighten…

* * *

S
outh had never been
the dún Scoti’s favored direction to ride.

Trudging through thick drifts of snow, Keane’s mood remained sour. His men spoke not a word, but every last one had accompanied him, save for Murdoch. For all he knew, Murdoch might well be with Cameron.

Sullen bastard.

Despite Cameron’s obvious dissent, this was the last thing Keane would ever have expected from him. A smack to the jaw, perhaps, or a brawl in the snow, but to steal Lianae away? He realized the king’s men had been suspicious of her, and he could well comprehend their actions. If he’d been in a different position himself, Keane might have done precisely the same thing. But the one thing that spurred his ire more than aught else, and made his temper blacker than he could e’er recall, was the simple fact that Cameron had forsaken him. Some part of him understood why, but it galled him just the same.