Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides) (19 page)

Did the MacGowans plan these festivities merely to celebrate the end of winter, or were there other, more sinister reasons? And if so, what part did Shona play in them?

True, she was bold, but she was also undisciplined. Surely she didn't possess the ability or the strength of mind to murder the king.

But something about that theory disturbed Dugald. He said she lacked ability, but never in all his life had a woman befuddled him as she had. Never had he been drawn against his will, against his better judgment, knowing any mistake might be fatal.

What kind of power did she have that drew him so irresistibly to her? That forced him to take risks that should not be taken, that made him forget what years of training demanded he remember?

Mayhap she was nothing more than the alluring, high-spirited maid she seemed to be, but if such was the truth, he'd damned well better find proof.

The day dragged on, through the sword dancing, the stone throwing and the caber toss. A host of strutting men paraded across Dugald's line of vision. An array of bonny women glanced beneath their lashes at him, and toward evening, Mavis approached, her hand light on her husband's arm, her eyes coquettish.

"Dugald the Dragon," she crooned. "I've come to introduce to you my husband, Lord Bevier."

Dugald bowed slightly. "Tis an honor to meet you, Sir," he said.

The old man turned toward Dugald, his eyes black and shiny as beads in his wrinkled skin.

"What's that?" he said.

"I said, tis an honor to meet you," Dugald repeated, louder this time.

The old man nodded as if unable to hear, but unconcerned by that problem.

"My lord is a bit hard of hearing," Mavis said. She smiled at her husband, fussed with his frilly white collar, then turned back to Dugald. "Though not so hard of other things."

Dugald had to struggle to keep his mouth from falling open.

She only smiled.

"Just beyond the drawbridge there's a lovely little spot under some mulberry bushes. I'll meet you there just after the sun sets."

"What?" said old Bevier loudly.

She turned to him and played with his collar again. "I said, I am set for life, since meeting you."

Leaning forward, she kissed the old man's parchment cheek. "Let's go to bed, my dear," she murmured, but on the last word she turned her gaze to Dugald.

Mother of God, she was about as subtle as a palm strike to the forehead, Dugald thought, and turning away, hustled off to the sanctity of his room.

Darkness fell slowly. Folks began settling in for the night. Dugald sat cross legged on the floor of his room with his hands open on his knees as he breathed softly in and out. The lonely skirl of bagpipes filled the night. Somewhere far off a woman laughed. Perhaps it was Mavis. Maybe she had found another to keep her company. But he knew it wasn't Shona, for her laughter was like quicksilver in his belly, like sunlight on his skin, like...

Dugald rose irritably to his feet, only to find there was nowhere to go but around the narrow boundaries of his borrowed room.

She was not for him. The fact that he had won himself a title would mean nothing to an earl or an earl's daughter. He was, to them, nothing more than a bastard and a foreigner. Never mind that Dugald had been granted two estates and a good deal of coin by grateful nobles. He was still what he was.

Dugald paced again. From the sheath at his side, he drew out his knife and gazed at it. It was ornate, beautiful, obviously for show. But suddenly he swiped it to the side. The blade snapped forward, sliding out of itself to quiver razor sharp nearly four feet in length.

Dugald scowled, retracted the blade, rotated his neck to relax the tension there, and paced again.

Minutes seemed to tick by with the slowness of a dirge. It had been more than a dozen years since he had left Japan. He had accepted much of the western culture, finding it easy enough to adapt —to their clothing, their religion and their language. But had he become so European that he had forgotten how to wait?

Dun Ard slowly settled into silence, and in that silence, Dugald finally opened his door. It made not the slightest noise. The oil he had placed on the hinges was still doing its job.

Perhaps he would be wise to stay put. After all, he'd almost been caught eavesdropping on the previous night. But hardly could he have allowed the Forbes and the Rogue to meet without him. How could he have guessed Shona would be creeping about in the darkness, too?

Off to his right, he saw the soft glow of candlelight and listened for a moment to the sound of two soldiers playing tables. Nothing there. He would have to go to the main keep, for twas there that the men of means met. Twas there he had eavesdropped on their meeting last night. But Shona's passing had disrupted him.

The great hall was quiet. Not a soul stirred there, though there were bodies strewn everywhere.

Dark, barefoot, and silent as the night, Dugald crossed the open space and stepped quietly into the passageways and beyond.

But if the troublesome Highland lairds were planning some mischief, they were planning it only in their sleep this night.

But what of the lairds' troublesome daughters? Dugald wondered. And suddenly he realized that he was heading toward the tower as if something were calling him there against his will. He turned about and forced himself back the way he had come. Had he not already found enough trouble? He was supposed to be acting like a man bent on obtaining a rich bride, but not one who would risk his balls for a few minutes with a lord's hot-blooded daughter. Especially when there was a bonny young widow who would gladly numb that pulsing need in him.

The hall was still silent when he stepped into it again. He trekked quietly through it, but when he was nearly to the door, a hound raised his bristly head and grunted a bark. Beside him a soldier stirred. Another sat up and muttered something indistinguishable.

Dugald staggered as if just stumbling out of a sound sleep. "Shut up, ye damned cur," he slurred.

"Canna a man even relieve himself without having it announced?"

"Sleep outside if ye canna hold your ale," muttered the sitting man, who squirmed about slightly as he tried to settle back again.

But as he did so, he inadvertently elbowed his neighbor, who woke with a start.

"I didna know she was your wife!" he gasped.

"What the devil are ye talking about?"

"She said she was free. I thought—"

"My Muriel! Ye were with my Muriel?" grunted the first man.

"Murial? Her name was Flora." There was a silence, then, "Who the hell are ye?"

Dugald stepped outside. The air felt fresh and damp against his face. The moon, just escaped from behind an embankment of clouds, shone cool and bright upon the silent bailey.

Twas time for him to get some sleep, Dugald realized, for surely he wasn't thinking clearly. It was not like him to lose focus. Certainly he had his weaknesses, as did any man, but he did not have most men's foolishness. He knew his lot in life, and his lot did not involve the flame-haired daughter of a Highland laird who would just as soon behead him as talk to him. In fact...

What was that?

Dugald froze with his back pressed against the wall. Every trouble-honed instinct prickled. A movement, dark as the night and careful as a whisper, scratched at his conscious. There! By the tower. Nay,
on
the tower. Sheltered in the arched shadow, the shape ascended slowly.

Dugald almost smiled. Twas Shona again, he thought, but suddenly the climber stopped and turned his head. The moonlight shone on pale eyes. Dugald froze, unable to move.

And suddenly, like a gust of wind, the figure was gone, disappeared.

Dugald exhaled, realizing suddenly that he'd been holding his breath.

Where had the figure gone? Dugald stumbled forward. His legs felt stiff, his chest tight, but he forced himself on. Still, he found nothing. Whoever had been on the tower was far gone.

But that could not be. Dugald turned rapidly about, searching. People did not simply disappear.

Not even where he came from.

Drawing in a few slow breaths, Dugald forced himself to think. Where would the intruder have gone?

The answer came quickly: Shona's chamber. The man was obviously intent on reaching her room. Dugald turned and rushed toward the hall, then stopped abruptly.

He had no reason to believe the climber was not someone Shona would be overjoyed to see.

Perhaps she had invited him herself. Twas none of Dugald's affair whom the woman entertained in her bedchamber.

But what of the fear and evil he had felt when those pale eyes had turned on him? If someone truly had attacked Shona on the previous night, there was no reason to think he would not do so again.

Fear coiled tight in Dugald's stomach. He had no choice but to make sure she was safe.

But he dared not disturb the argument that may still be going on in the hall, so he chose another route and hurried toward the mill. Passing the pond, he swept silently up the stairs that led to the parapet. After reaching the top, he stole along the stone walkway. His bare feet were absolutely silent against the floor, but he knew that two sentries kept watch at this end of the castle. Caution and more would be required.

Thus, he stopped around the corner from the guards. Silent as death, he climbed atop the parapet, grasped the stone edge, and swung over the wall. Dangling some forty feet above the ground, he moved hand over hand along the cool stone. It took him nearly fifteen minutes to reach a point where he was certain he was out of their range of vision. But finally he pulled himself back onto the parapet. Crouching there, he flexed his shoulders and let the tension drain from his muscles.

In a moment he was ready to move on. Rising silently, he slipped across the tower and down the spiral stairs.

The passageways on the next floor were as dark as sin, but Dugald had not been idle since his arrival at Dun Ard. He knew this castle well. Knew a bevy of boys occupied the first room on his right, knew Shona slept in the next.

Finally, seeing her door just ahead, Dugald stepped into a small alcove to wait and listen.

Nothing happened.

Somewhere in the heart of the castle, wood groaned as it settled. Farther down the hall, someone coughed once. Silence again.

Whoever had attempted to scale the wall had apparently felt no need to reach Shona's room by other means—unless she had already allowed him inside.

The thought caused something to clench in Dugald's gut, but he pushed down the rush of emotion. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to concentrate every ounce of his attention on the room next door. Minutes ticked away, but a quarter of an hour later, he had still heard nothing from Shona's chamber.

If she was entertaining someone in her room, the fellow was surely the quietest lover ever known to mankind. And it would be unlikely that any man would be silent with Shona. Nay, she was a woman who would make a man scream.

She was alone, Dugald surmised with a soft sigh. Still, it would do no harm to walk past her door and make certain no one waited in the shadows on the far side of her room.

It was harder than seemed practical for him to pass her chambers without so much as touching the latch, but he did so. His feet were silent against the floor. All the world seemed asleep. He turned away. But suddenly hinges creaked behind him. Something catapulted through the darkness. He swung around, but fingers were already tangled in his hair, and against his neck he felt the sharp prick of a blade.

He stood very still, concentrating, drawing inward, preparing, analyzing. His assailant was behind him to the right. Eight inches back. Dugald had but to twist and strike and all would be silent again.

"Who are ye?"

Dugald's breath stopped in his throat.

The voice was Shona's!

He forced himself to remain very still, forced his muscles to relax, to ignore the survival instincts that had kept him alive so long, to find that other self that he showed the world. "I suppose twould do me little good now to tell you what the czaress named me after I saved her from Genghis Khan."

"Dugald!" She hissed his name. The blade eased a fraction of an inch away from his neck, but in a moment it was back. "Genghis Khan died two hundred years ago."

“Oh. He must have been some other fierce barbarian, then. What was his son's name?"

The point of her blade pricked his throat. "Why are ye here, lurking at my door?"

"Lurking?" How the hell did she know he was lurking? He had been absolutely silent. "I was not lurking."

"Ye have been here for most of an hour, just beyond there, hiding in the alcove. Why are ye here?" she repeated, and tightened her grip in his hair.

"I but wished to relieve myself. Is this not the way to the garderobe?" he asked.

"Ye may think me foolish if ye like. But dunna think me soft." She said the words quietly, but the tip of her knife bit deeper into his neck. "For I must tell ye, I've a bit of a temper when I am awakened from my sleep."

"I suspected as much," he said, his head still tilted backward.

"Then I'd suggest ye tell me why you're here."

"Lady Shona?" a boy called sleepily from the next room. "Is something amiss?"

"Nay." The knife didn't stray a hair's breadth from Dugald's neck, but her tone was immeasurably gentler. "Nay, all is well, Kelvin. Go back to sleep."

Silence settled in again.

"Mayhap we should go elsewhere," Dugald suggested.

"Why?"

"So my screams of agony don't disturb the lad?"

He heard her snort, but whether it was humor or anger, he wasn't sure.

"Where would ye suggest?" she asked after a moment.

"Your chambers." The words came unbidden. Twas the strangest thing, but as soon as she touched him, he forgot all about emasculation, decapitation, and all the other unpleasant things Roderic the Rogue had planned for him. Even now, when her fingers were wrapped in his hair and she held a knife to his throat, he could think of nothing but how her hands felt against his skin. And suddenly it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to be closeted away with her. To feel her fingers soft as lily petals on his skin.