A Dangerous Damsel (The Countess Scandals) (10 page)

It had all sounded so nice. So easy. She knew, though, that it hadn’t always been that way for him.

Tristan watched her, shaking his head. “I haven’t seen you this bad off since the Hogmany when Al’s boys scored that rum shipment. Guess MacMurdo knows his business.”

The warm glow she’d been holding on to evaporated. “We just talked.”

“Must have been a hell of a conversation. For our sakes, I hope you were as good with words as he seems to be.”

“Excuse me?” Since when was her allure in question?

“You’re not a very graceful sleeper, dear sister.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She was about to gracefully apply her foot to Tristan’s backside.

He used the edge of his sleeve to wipe a streak of drool off her cheek. “You were snoring like somebody dragging a plow over cobbles.”

Oh God. She hadn’t, had she? Ewan had been here. He had to have heard her. What if he’d woken up soaked in drool? Was that why he’d left—revulsion? Deidre buried her face back into the pillow—the damp splotch taunting her—and groaned.

Tristan patted her shoulder. “I doubt it’ll break the deal. He’s pretty taken with you.”

She did not need this. It didn’t matter if she’d snored in his ear all night. Last night they had taken steps toward becoming friends, but that was all. They were business partners. He didn’t need to find her attractive for that. “What time is it?”

“Past midday.”

She sat up, shoving as much hair out of her face as she could. “Where is everyone?”

“They,” Tristan announced, “are doing an inventory.”

“Of what? This place is a ruin.”

Tris shrugged. “Your man’s on a tear. They started with the kitchens. Darrow’s men have been hauling trash and broken wood out all day.”

“Our men,” she corrected absently. Her eyes had focused on the dresser.

“Right. Our men.” Tristan followed her gaze. “Which part of your
conversation
involved busting one of the few pieces of furniture you have left?”

“None of your business.”

Tristan chuckled. “Maybe you did hold up your end.”

Enough. They were going to end up in a fight if they kept talking about her and Ewan.

“Quit worrying about my end,” Deidre demanded. She scooted off the bed, dragging her brother with her. “We’ve got work to do.”

Chapter 13

The work wasn’t finished, but the ground floor was clear. The outer courtyard was separated into three sections—usable, fixable, and firewood. The less intelligent members of Darrow’s gang—so most of them—were smashing and stacking the third section into pieces they could store for the winter.

“Given up on yer earthquake then?” Angus asked over the top of an escritoire they were moving to the first pile.

Ewan grunted. His hands burned where the splinters had been, but the light strain on his muscles was familiar and satisfying. “Making sense of this mess doesnae stop it from toppling over the edge.”

“Waste of time, though, if that’s what ye intend.”

They set the desk down between a suit of armor and an old globe that had miraculously survived intact. “What else are we going to do while we’re here?”

“Mmm.” Angus swigged from a water bucket set up by their section. “So yer just keeping busy.”

“Aye.”

“And it’s got nothing to do with ye deciding to let the succubus and her brother stay.”

It had everything to do with that. Deidre told her stories with humor and joy, but all last night Ewan had heard the fear behind them. Her whole life had been one long struggle to find enough to eat and a safe place to stay. Even before her parents had died, they’d lived on the road traveling from town to town.

“If yer getting too feeble to move a few dressers, just say so.”

Angus’s eyebrow rose. “I’ll show ye feeble, ye bacon brain.”

“Yer getting on in years,” Ewan joked, keeping an eye on his godfather’s hands. He’d learned the hard way how quick Angus could move. “There’s no shame in taking an easy retirement at yer age.”

The older man’s wrist snapped out, barely missing as Ewan dodged back.

“See that. Ye’ve lost a step.”

Ewan wasn’t so lucky on the next attempt. He evaded Angus’s second jab, but lost his footing and crashed into the suit of armor. The clatter rang out across the courtyard.

“At least I can still keep my feet,” Angus said, pulling him up. “Have ye given any thought to yer letter writer?”

“Aye.” He had. While they’d been trekking back and forth across the courtyard, his mind had cleared considerably. “It was likely Rose.”

Angus went still. “What makes ye say that?”

“Well, I dinnae think anyone else is left from before except Iona, and the letter was too nice.”

Angus snorted. “Aye, that it was.”

They walked back toward the main doors, Ewan in the lead. “Besides, when we were on the cliff, she was very hopeful that I had come back to restore the estate.”

“Ye think she lured ye here?” The older man sounded none too happy about it.

“Ye dinnae have to make it sound sinister, Angus.”

“Why would she nae sign her name, if nae to be deceitful?”

Last night and now this morning—Ewan had thought Angus’s suspicions of Rose were due to Iona putting him on edge, but the older man was still behaving strangely. “Is there something I should—”

“Is everything all right?” Rose hurried out the front doors in a storm of concern.

Angus shifted subtly, putting himself in a guard position between the two of them. “Aye. We’re all fine here.”

She stopped short at the sight of Angus. “Oh. I—I heard a crash.”

“Just lost my footing. I’m all right.”

“I’d nae let any harm come to the lad,” Angus promised. “Nae from anyone or anything.”

Ewan frowned. His godfather was definitely behaving unusually. “Except for the time ye convinced me to hunt a bear on my own. Or when ye and Auld Ian dared me to go out on the loch when the ice was still thin. Or what about—”

“Training exercises,” Angus explained. “Ye were never in any real danger.”

“I nearly lost my hearing when I fell through the ice!”

“You forgot about the time he let you get robbed, and later stabbed in a back alley brawl,” Deidre’s voice chimed in. She and Tristan walked up from a side door in the inner bailey.

“Hearsay,” Ewan said.

“Mmhmm.” She bumped him in the shoulder as she approached.

Ewan winced. It was healing well, but yesterday’s pick-axe adventure hadn’t done it any favors.

“Still in one piece,” Angus declared. “Besides, I’m nae responsible for the pigheaded things he gets up to on his own.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Deidre winked at the older man.

“I’ve no doubt ye will,” Angus grumbled.

He might sound gruff, but Ewan noticed the older man didn’t shift when Deidre got close. What could Rose possibly have done to make the Angus consider her more of a threat than a known criminal? Not that he wanted Angus to dislike Deidre. Given his feelings for her, it would go much easier for Ewan if his godfather and Deidre found an accord.

“What brings ye to the courtyard,” Ewan asked. “Worried we were under attack from armored knights?”

Deidre raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ve come for my men.”

Ewan supposed it was too much to hope that she’d been overwhelmed with concern for him. “They’re clearing rubbish.”

Deidre looked over to the section of the courtyard where Darrow’s thugs were standing. “At the moment, they appear to be drinking and throwing dice.”

“They were—”

“Milling about smashing things anytime you came into view. The rest of the time, not so much. I’ve been watching. May I have them back?”

“Aye.” Bloody bandits. The majority of the mindless work was done anyhow. “What’ll ye do with them?”

“They’re going to finish clearing the cliff trail. Darrow, Tris, and I are going to see about a job.”

“Already?” Ewan asked. “Is it nae a bit soon for that?”

“No time like the present,” Deidre quipped. “Don’t worry. It’s a simple scouting mission. Very little risk.”

Ewan realized he didn’t want her to go. It was an irrational feeling. This was what he’d agreed to. Still, the idea of her heading into any kind of danger . . .

“Are ye going far? Should I pack ye anything?” Rose had been watching the entire exchange with a puzzled expression.

Deirdre smiled. “That’s kind of you, but we’ll be just fine.”

And she would. She didn’t need Ewan’s help or his protection. That ought to have comforted him. Instead, it just left him feeling oddly unsettled.

***

“. . . we headed?” Darrow asked as they saddled the horses.

Deidre missed the beginning of the question because she was lost in thoughts of Ewan. He’d seemed happy enough to see her. He hadn’t turned away in disgust or accused her of ruining his shirt with her deluge of saliva. It had even looked for a moment like he was disappointed to see her go.

“Port town a few hours down the coast,” Tristan answered for her.

“A few hours?” Darrow eyed his mount distastefully. “That would be both ways, or . . .”

“One way,” Deidre answered. “Rule number one, Tom. Don’t make trouble where you sleep.”

“Sound advice, certainly, but a few hours seems extremely inconvenient.”

“What’s inconvenient,” Tristan said as he led his mount past the portcullis, “is stepping out for a piss and running smack into a mark you took last week, along with four of his friends.”

Deidre remembered that day. They’d made a mess of him. It had taken one of Deidre’s most valuable favors to get a doctor to patch him back together. Tris had always insisted on learning things the hard way, but at least he didn’t fight her on that particular rule anymore.

She swung up onto her horse when they were clear of the castle’s detritus. “No matter how good you are at covering your tracks or disguising your face, random chance is always ready to foul things up for you.”

“Did you also have a run-in with a mark?” Darrow asked her.

Tristan laughed. “Dee? Naw. She never breaks the rules.”

She had, once, but Tristan didn’t need to know that. It was before they’d gone to Glasgow when he was still too young to remember. They hadn’t eaten in days and she couldn’t leave him alone for the time it would take to go to another town. She’d made a good haul, picking enough pockets to feed them well for a week and get a winter coat for Tris.

A few days later, one of her unwitting benefactors recognized her and followed her. He’d taken his money’s worth from her, and then some. It was the first time Deidre realized her looks came with very serious side effects—she would never be anonymous in a crowd—and the end of her career as a market pickpocket. He’d offered to keep her as a mistress after, but she’d taken Tris and snuck out of town that same night. Like Tris, she’d never made that mistake again.

Something about her posture or face must have betrayed her.

“I was caught once,” Tom said quietly. He hooked his finger into his collar, pulling it down to reveal a raised rope scar along his throat. “I’d just as soon not be caught again.”

Deidre nodded. It went a long way toward explaining Tom Darrow’s easy cooperation. Scars like that, and surviving them, put a fear in you that you could never quite shake. “That’s what the rules are for.”

“Are there more?” Tom asked.

Tris laughed. “Bloody hell, yes. Too many.”

Deidre scowled at his back. “There are five main rules.”

“And a couple hundred more she’s made up to menace a man and take all the fun out of life.”

“Right now, you only need to be concerned with the first five,” she said, ignoring Tristan. “You already heard the first one. Rule number two—”

“The only person you can trust is yourself,” she and Tristan said in unison.

Tom laughed. “But you trust each other.”

“No we don’t,” Tristan said earnestly.

“We love each other, but that’s not the same thing.”

“It’s not?”

“If I trusted Tristan to hold up his end,” Deidre explained, “I’d be dead ten times over by now.”

“And if I trusted Dee to always know what the hell she was talking about, I’d be a virgin scholar in some monastery.” He shuddered.

“You’d be better off,” Deidre promised even though she knew it was futile. She’d long since given up on Tristan becoming a priest. Now she’d just settle for him dying of natural causes.

Tristan shook his head. “Says you. I like my life.”

“Short as it may be.”

“Can’t live forever, Dee.”

Tom watched their back and forth. “You truly don’t trust each other?”

“Darrow, no matter how much someone might want to come through for you, there’s always a chance they’ll fail. If you’re not prepared for that, it could be the end of you.”

Tristan nodded his agreement. After a moment, Darrow did, too. “All right. What’s the third?”

“Tristan?”

“Rule number three: Always have an escape plan,” he called out to the trees.

“Especially when you’re needlessly drawing attention to yourself,” she chided.

Tristan smiled back at Darrow. “That’s one of those extra rules I was telling you about.”

“Funny how they only come up when you’re doing something idiotic.” Which was more often than not since Tris had started fancying himself grown.

They spent a good portion of the ride going over escape plans—where to go, where not to go. The best ways to evade the watch once they were on to you. Darrow had done his fair share of the latter and had plenty of opinions to contribute. Deidre picked his brain for what he knew about the local enforcement while they rode.

Eventually they made it around to rule number four.

“Never need anyone more than they need you,” Deidre told Tom.

“That’s a cold way to live.”

“But necessary if you don’t want to end up stuck under someone’s thumb. Or worse.”

“I see.” Darrow thought about that for a moment. “And Lord Broch Murdo needs you more than you need him?”

Too clever by half. Deidre could use that, if she could keep it from turning on her.

“Of course he does,” Tristan answered for her. “How else is he going to make money?”

“He seems fairly capable. I don’t know that I’d count on him being helpless.”

“We’re not.” Deidre shot a glare in her brother’s direction. “But we already got what we needed from him. If the time comes to move on, we won’t be in bad shape.”

“So you’re staying because—”

“It’s a profitable endeavor for us both.”

“And Dee can’t keep her hands off him,” Tristan added. Her brother clicked his horse into a trot, rightly suspecting she’d smack him a good one if he were in range.

Darrow’s smile was appreciative. “Lord MacMurdo is a very lucky man.”

“My brother has an active imagination.”

“And a working set of eyes,” Tris called back. “Which leads us straight to rule number five.”

Cheeky jackanapes. Deidre would have to be more careful about how she behaved around Ewan when Tristan was around.

“What’s the fifth?” Darrow asked.

Deidre could feel Tristan’s smirk, even though she couldn’t see it. “The moment you’re not in control, get out.”

Tom raised a questioning eyebrow at her. They could smirk and joke all they wanted—she was still in control. She was almost sure of it.

***

“Absolutely nae.”

Rose stood with him in the great hall. “She said it’s the only way she’ll go.”

His grandmother was incredible. Truly incredible. “Why would she possibly want ye to stay here without her?”

Darrow’s thugs streamed past them carrying trunks out to the waiting carriage. Ewan supposed it was a blessing they still had a carriage, even though it would be leaving with Iona.

“I’m sure she just—”

“I want someone I trust here to let me know when I can return.” Iona descended the stairs with imperious grace.

“That’s easy then. Ye cannae.” Ewan turned back to his childhood friend. “Rose, pack yer things.”

“Rose, dinnae move,” Iona commanded.

“Iona—” Ewan warned.

“Ye will refer to me as Lady Broch Murdo,” the older woman snapped. “When this ruffian scheme ye’ve cooked up with yer gypsy whore fails and ye abandon yer duty once more, Rose will send for me.”

Lord, this woman could make him angry. Ewan forced his fists to unclench. “Yer nae welcome back here.”

“We shall see.”

A timid hand touched his arm. “Just let me stay, Ewan. If you do, she’ll leave right now and you can worry about the rest later.”