The Renegade's Heart (5 page)

Isabella was fearless and outspoken, curious
and beautiful. Had it been another woman who might have become his
chosen spy, Murdoch might not have been so determined to win her
agreement with a kiss.

Isabella was as sweet as he had anticipated
and more unfamiliar with this manner of caress than he had thought.
She caught her breath and turned to stone at the first touch of his
lips to hers. Her surprise made him want to give her pleasure as
well as taking a token. It would be a fair trade, he thought.

But when Murdoch moved his mouth against
hers, persuading her to join him, her reaction made him forget such
rationale. Isabella surprised him yet again. She shivered and
sighed. Her eyes closed and her lips parted, as if she were unable
to resist him, and her hands landed on his shoulders.

She surrendered. With no negotiation and no
price. It was a heady choice on her part, and one that made her
irresistible.

Murdoch deepened his kiss at this
encouragement, savoring how she gasped. When she opened her mouth
to him and tentatively kissed him back, she lit a fire within him
that he feared would not be sated with a single kiss.

Then he did not care.

He simply wanted more of whatever Isabella
chose to give.

Murdoch bracketed her waist in his hands,
then pulled her against him. His pulse thundered when she leaned
closer, angling her head so that he could kiss her even more
deeply.

Isabella’s trust pierced him. Her kiss snared
him, as surely as the flash of her eyes had ensured his interest.
He ran his hand up her back, savoring the slender strength of her.
She was mortal, and yet, she enchanted him as surely as the Elphine
Queen – but with honesty, not guile. He felt invigorated as he once
had been – as he had not been in so long that he scarce remembered
it.

Perhaps there was hope for him in this mortal
realm. Perhaps the lady Isabella, with her curiosity and her direct
speech, held the key to his future.

Murdoch wanted very much to know.

He might have taken more than he should have
done, but Isabella suddenly planted her hands on his chest and
pushed him away.

“Anthony!” she whispered, her eyes wide with
horror. Her lips were swollen from his kiss and her cheeks flushed,
her hair coming free of her braid. She looked disheveled and
welcoming and for a moment, he did not care what had troubled
her.

Yet sure enough, the sound of limping
footsteps carried from the stairs to the great hall. Isabella’s
reaction made Murdoch fear for her welfare should their kiss be
discovered. Who knew how the laird treated his sisters?

He could not see her condemned.

“Fear not,” he whispered, running his
fingertips over her cheek. “I will not betray you, my
Isabella.”

She seemed surprised by this, but her smile
was all the sweeter for its delay. Murdoch held her gaze for a
potent moment, then strode silently to the door. He listened, then
opened it swiftly and stepped into the hall. The castellan was yet
out of sight. He winked at Isabella, who held her hands to her lips
as if regretting what she had done.

Murdoch had no regrets. He closed the door
with care, striding onward as if he had just left the laird’s
chamber. The castellan came into sight, then halted on the stairs
in surprise, two mugs of ale in his hands.

“It seems I am to be cast from the gates
without hospitality,” Murdoch said to the older man, deliberately
letting his tone turn impatient. He lifted a mug from the
astonished man’s grasp, drained half of it, then returned it. “But
I thank you for the thought.”

Murdoch swept past the sputtering castellan,
his thoughts spinning. His plan to remain near Kinfairlie and haunt
the laird had grown far more enticing, given the splendor of
Isabella’s kiss.

* * *

Finvarra, king of Ireland’s
Daoine
Sidhe
, and the Elphine Queen of Scotland met every year at
winter’s darkness to play chess. Originally, they had contested
ownership of a verdant isle between Ireland and Scotland, and had
agreed to cede the isle to whichever of them won two of three
matches.

Finvarra won the first.

The Elphine Queen won the second.

When Finvarra won the third match, he found
himself unwilling to lose the companionship of his opponent. It was
true that he had a Fae queen of his own in Una, and the most
beauteous woman in any realm at that. But the Elphine Queen
possessed more than mere beauty. She showed a cleverness more like
his own – as well as a similar appetite for passion. While Una was
possessive and desiring of his attention, the Elphine Queen liked
to match wits with Finvarra. He liked her laughter, he adored the
flash of her eyes, and he lusted for more.

His suggestion that they play for best of
nine was accepted with such speed that Finvarra was encouraged. He
could not have been the only one thinking of alliances of a most
earthy kind. He was so encouraged that he did something he never
did.

He let her win.

It had been the Elphine Queen who had been
triumphant after nine matches. She had immediately leaned across
the board, displaying the majesty of her breasts to Finvarra and
fluttering her dark wings as she insisted ’twas only fair that she
should be as gracious in triumph as he had been.

They played then for best of twenty-one.

By this point, neither of them knew for
certain how many times they had met or who held the upper hand.
Both of them had forgotten the contested isle. There were scribes
in the ranks of their households who scrupulously recorded the
outcome of each match, but neither consulted the records. Finvarra
was more concerned in seeing what the Elphine Queen wore each year,
how she touched his hand, how she smiled at him across the board.
Their annual contest had become a matter of some anticipation.

Inevitably, they spoke of other matters,
knowing that they were observed but not necessarily overheard, as
their respective courts watched the game from a distance.
Inevitably, their annual meeting had become a diplomatic affair
between their two courts and a period for negotiation by minions of
border disputes. There was merriment and music and magic, feasting
and dancing, hurling and hunting.

This time, the Elphine Queen chose
Kinfairlie’s forest, a voyage of some distance for Finvarra and one
that prompted his curiosity about her doings. They met at a
clearing in the midst of the woods, the bare branches of the trees
arching overhead like a vaulted roof. Stars glittered between the
branches and the snow sparkled on the ground. The clearing was
alight with small flying Fae from both courts. The moon was at
first quarter, a silver wedge riding high above.

The board itself was a piece of enchantment.
Finvarra’s courtiers were charged with collecting the pieces. They
snared two dozen small creatures – mice and moles, sparrows and
finches, newts and toads – leaving Finvarra himself to enchant each
into the piece he deemed it should be. It was not uncommon for
small Fae to be pressed into service as well, particularly as
queens. Finvarra could not accept an ugly queen, even upon a game
board. Snared in his glamour, made to resemble the pieces they were
assigned, the enchanted creatures moved upon the board as directed
by the players.

By the time the pair sat down to play,
Finvarra had collected a great deal of gossip about the Elphine
Queen – enough to feed his curiosity further. “Why here?” he asked
as she arranged her skirts.

The Elphine Queen smiled but did not answer
him directly. “You lost one,” she said, as she touched her queen.
The delicate Fae fluttered her green wings and sparkled as she
moved to the more strategic position indicated. She smiled at
Finvarra as she took her new pose.

“
One what?” Finvarra asked, stroking his
dark beard as he considered his move. He knew precisely what the
Elphine Queen meant, for she had a habit of tracking his conquests,
but he would compel her to speak aloud.

“
One mortal woman.” The Elphine Queen’s
dark eyes sparkled as she leaned across the board to taunt him.
“That Rosamunde with the red hair. I thought you meant to snare her
forever.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I did not think you
liked to lose.”

Finvarra shrugged, pretending to be less
troubled by the incident than he was. It still irked him that
Rosamunde’s mortal lover had bested him. It vexed him even more
that Padraig had only been able to do as much because of the
assistance of Finvarra’s own wife. Una’s jealousy grew tedious.
Even now, he was aware of her gaze upon him, filled with suspicion,
as well.

“
I suppose it was not meant to be,” he
said mildly.

The Elphine Queen laughed. “I suppose you did
not care for her after all, then.”

Finvarra indicated a knight on the board. The
sparrow enchanted to take that form touched his thistle spurs to
the frog who had become his steed. The aggressive move prompted the
Elphine Queen to sit up and survey the board with glittering
eyes.

Served her right. He had a mere moment to
gloat before the Elphine Queen gave him an intent glance.

“
Your Rosamunde’s family possesses this
holding.”

Finvarra glanced up, unable to fully hide his
surprise.

The Elphine Queen nodded. “Oh yes. Rosamunde
Lammergeier is as beloved of the current laird of Kinfairlie and
his siblings as she might have been by you.”

Finvarra caught his breath. He had some
difficulty in choosing his next move “And so you chose this site to
taunt me?”

The Elphine Queen laughed. “I chose this site
to teach you.”

Finvarra hid his annoyance with an effort.
That this far younger Fae imagined she could grant him any
instruction in sorcery was nonsense. He chose in that moment to
ensure that whatever lesson she strove to grant to him would end in
failure.

“
Indeed?” he asked mildly.

“
Indeed,” she agreed with satisfaction. “I
mean to claim a mortal lover as my own, but, unlike you, I have
left nothing to chance. He will be mine by the next moon.”

Finvarra glanced up. “You cannot know that
for certain.”

“
Can I not?” She leaned close to whisper.
“I did not release him until he was fully marked. I had ensured his
willing return.”

Finvarra could not help but scoff at this
bravado. “What of the old charm? What if he performs three selfless
deeds? You will have to surrender him if he fulfills the ancient
terms.”

“
He will have no chance.”

Her conviction was ludicrous and Finvarra had
no patience with it. “You should find out for certain where your
mortal’s heart lies before you make such a claim.”

The Elphine Queen laughed. “I know precisely
where it is.” She reached into the glittering expanse of her
embroidered skirts and set a crystal orb beside the board.

Within it pulsed a blood red heart.

It was not truly the man’s heart, Finvarra
knew as much, for a mortal man would have died without it. It was a
spell, a symbol of the magic which held this man’s heart in thrall
to the Elphine Queen. His actual heart was captive, as surely as
this one appeared to be.

“
I lost a mortal myself,” she hissed. “A
decade ago. I resolved then that I would never lose another.” She
tapped the orb with a fingertip. “So captured, the heart sickens
and dies within one moon.”

Despite himself, Finvarra was impressed by
the elegance of her sorcery. Her prize was both beautiful and
grotesque, the heart pulsing wetly within the orb of smooth
crystal. He could see the darkness on one side of the beating
organ, could fairly see the stain growing before his own eyes. He
met her gaze.

“
I would make him one of us. He has the
tattoos and I have his heart.” She laughed lightly. “He wished to
go home again. He meant forever, but that was not my plan.”

“
You might kill him.”

She shrugged. “Dead or Fae, he will be
mine.”

“
And where is the sport in that? If your
spell cannot be defeated, what is the point?” Finvarra decided that
he would side with this mortal man, and that he would let the
Elphine Queen win the chess game. It would lull her into
complacency. “Let him choose,” he urged as he moved a
piece.

“
But I must win!”

“
Mortals insist that love is measured by
the return of the desired one.”

The Elphine Queen leaned across the table.
“Did you let Rosamunde leave by choice then?” She moved another
piece when he winced.

“
The victory will be sweeter if he
surrenders willingly to you.”

Finvarra indicated that his castle should
move, sending it along the board. “Check.”

The Elphine Queen straightened and scanned
the board, her gaze moving quickly as she sought a solution. He
knew the moment she saw it. She smiled as she moved her queen.
“Checkmate.”

Finvarra ceded the defeat he had
foreseen.

For now.

* * *

Kinfairlie’s keep was a square tower of
modest size. At its heart was the great hall, where the laird
entertained his guests and his household, and all gathered in the
evenings. There were two fireplaces at either side of that chamber,
the better to warm the occupants. One portal led to the bailey and
the gates, while the other gave access to the kitchens and pantries
and storerooms.

Stairs rose from the hall to the upper floors
of the tower. There were two chambers on the second floor, the
larger one shared by the remaining unwed daughters of the house.
That there were three sisters now instead of five left much more
room for each. More than two years had passed since Madeline and
Vivienne had married, and two Yules since Alexander had wed as
well. Annelise at nineteen was the oldest of the unwed sisters.
Isabella was next, and Elizabeth, a mere fifteen summers of age,
the youngest of the three.