Highlander's Reckoning (The Sinclair Brothers #3) (14 page)

Daniel eased his aching, exhausted body into the
wooden chair behind his desk. After a grueling training session with the men
all morning, he’d selected a few of the sturdier lads to help him finish the
repairs to the curtain wall.

Though his body screamed, he enjoyed the feeling of
pushing his physical limits. And even though part of him longed to trudge
downstairs and fall into his bed, he knew he could muster enough energy to
savor every inch of Rona.

If she’d have him tonight
.

The dark thought cooled his blood somewhat. He’d
lied poorly to her earlier today, and he knew she was suspicious. Hopefully the
rushed preparations for his family’s arrival would keep her occupied enough for
the time being.

He hated himself for such a thought, and for lying
to her again—or rather, omitting some of the truth. But he wasn’t ready to tell
her everything—that he hadn’t just been sent to Loch Doon by the Bruce to marry
her and bring the castle firmly under his control.

Sieging Dunbraes would be time-consuming and
difficult. But for all that, it would represent a major strike by the Bruce and
the Scots against the English. Warren had held Dunbraes for so long and
withstood so many attacks that to take the castle from him and the English
would be a major coup. And to defeat the bastard Warren in the process—Daniel’s
fists clenched in anticipation.

He needed his brothers and cousin close to help him
plan the attack. Nothing could go wrong, and though he prided himself on his
tactical and fighting skills, he wouldn’t let his pride get in the way of
calling on his family for help. He trusted no one more than them.

And this mission was as secret as they came.

It wasn’t that he still doubted Rona’s loyalties.
But he’d feared from the moment he arrived at Loch Doon that Warren’s allies
lurked within the castle walls. Though he was a vile and coldblooded bastard,
Warren was also smart. If the two scouts in the Galloway forest were any
indication, he was likely keeping a close eye on Loch Doon. The less Rona knew
about his plan to lay siege to Dunbraes, the safer she was.

A knock at the study door brought him out of his
uneasy musings.

“Come,” he said brusquely.

Malcolm entered carrying a sealed letter. “This just
arrived for you, my lord,” the thin young man said obsequiously.

Daniel waved him forward and took the letter from
him. The wax seal bore no markings. Very like Garrick, he thought as he broke
the seal.

Just as he’d guessed, the letter was from his middle
brother. He scanned it quickly. In as few words as possible, Garrick wrote that
they were in a village not far from Loch Doon and would likely arrive in a day
or two. That meant Robert and Burke would probably reach the castle a few days
later.

“Will that be all, my lord?” Malcolm asked.

Daniel rubbed his chin, considering the man before
him for a moment.

“I think it would be best if you returned to Dunure
to be with your Laird, Malcolm,” he said carefully.

He’d thought about Malcolm much in the past two
weeks. The man possessed the knowledge that Rona had been sneaking into the
woods to meet someone behind Daniel’s back. Though Malcolm had promised not to
speak of it, Daniel still wasn’t sure how much he could trust him. With his
family arriving, he needed to be sure that they could go about planning the
siege against Dunbraes in absolute secrecy. Malcolm was watchful. And
observant. Perhaps too much so.

Malcolm’s eyes widened. “But why, my lord? Have I not
proven myself to you? Have I displeased you?”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Daniel replied
smoothly. “But I thought you would prefer to be at home with Laird Kennedy.
Besides, surely now you can rest assured that Loch Doon is in good hands.”

Though a soft touch normally worked to soothe
Malcolm’s pride, this time he seemed to grow more agitated.

“And if I wish to stay?”

Daniel considered him again. “Perhaps you are
worried about the expense of traveling back to Turnberry,” he said levelly,
though ice was forming in the pit of his stomach. “If that is the case, I
assure you that I’ll help you in the matter.”

He pulled open one of the drawers on his heavy
wooden desk and withdrew a pouch filled with gold pieces. He hefted it once,
then tossed it to Malcolm, who awkwardly caught it. It was a small fortune, a
hundred times more than the expense of traveling the short distance to Dunure
in Turnberry. Daniel watched him closely for his reaction.

Malcolm’s face shifted ever so slightly in
understanding—and resignation, for some reason. The second emotion puzzled
Daniel, but at least the man seemed to comprehend that he was being given a
bribe to ensure his silence about Rona.

“I think this will do the trick, my lord,” Malcolm
said, all traces of deference dropping from his voice. Suddenly Daniel sensed
that he was catching a glimpse of the man’s true character, and he tensed
internally.

Slowly, Daniel rose from his chair and walked around
to the front of the desk. He stood more than a head above Malcolm and was at
least twice as wide.

“I’m glad that’s settled. I think it best for you to
leave immediately. Tonight.”

Malcolm shrank back slightly from Daniel’s subtly
threatening stance over him.

“As you wish, my lord,” he said in his old
submissive manner. He backed toward the door with a bow and then let himself
out silently.

Daniel exhaled and sank onto the edge of the desk.
Had he imagined the subtle shift in Malcolm’s behavior? It had been fleeting,
but Daniel got the impression that first the man didn’t want to leave, and then
when he’d accepted the coins, a flash of hatred for Daniel had flickered in his
eyes.

In all likelihood, Malcolm was still loyal to
Kennedy. He probably simply bristled at the fact that he’d been forced to take
orders from Daniel, the Highland barbarian usurping his Laird’s authority over
Loch Doon.

But Daniel couldn’t shake the unease at the man’s
almost imperceptible shifts. He was glad he’d decided to send him away. He
could only hope that Malcolm would keep his mouth shut about Rona’s trips to
the Fergusons’ cottage. It would be all too easy for someone to learn that she
was flying a falcon reserved for princes and that her friend flew one allowed
only for kings. Though he would do his best to shield her from the consequences
should anyone find out, he didn’t know how far his protection could extend.

Malcolm stuffed the pouch of coins into his belt as
he strode toward the servants’ sleeping quarters off the great hall. He
collected what few personal effects he had, then crossed the yard and made his
way to the postern gate.

The boats on the castle’s docks had been moored for
the night, but one of his precious gold coins bought him a late-night ride to
the village. Another coin secured an old horse from a bleary-eyed villager.

That was as much as he would spend, he told himself
reassuringly. The rest was all his.

Instead of pointing the horse toward the northwest,
where Turnberry lay, he guided the shaggy animal to the south. He followed the
loch’s shoreline since the thin moon didn’t provide enough light to go through
the forest. Once he reached the southern tip of the loch, he turned eastward.
Toward Dunbraes.

There was nothing he could do about the fact that
the Sinclair cur had thrown him out. Warren would just have to understand that.
He’d fed Warren enough information over the last several months to have earned
at least a little grace from the English lord.

If Malcolm’s reports on the Kennedy fool weren’t
enough to soothe Warren’s anger at losing his inside man, he hoped his most
recent discoveries would placate him.

The hours slipped by as Malcolm rode through the
night toward Dunbraes. By the time he reached the imposing walls of the castle,
he was exhausted. Still, his nervousness about Warren’s reaction kept him
sharp. Once he’d identified himself to the guards posted on the castle walls,
the portcullis was raised for him and he was taken to Warren’s chamber.

Malcolm could hear Warren’s angry curses as the
guard posted outside the chamber woke his sleeping lord and told him there was
urgent business.

“Come!” Warren bellowed through the closed door. The
guard quickly exited, leaving the door ajar for Malcolm.

Malcolm entered the opulent chamber. The light from
the candle the guard had left reflected off the dark polished wood and gilded
ornamentation that filled the room. Warren sat upright in an enormous
four-poster bed, a white sleeping gown his only clothing. Distantly, Malcolm
thought it amusing to see the powerful, hot-tempered Englishman in such an
informal setting.

Warren’s eyes scanned him for a moment before
recognition hit him.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Sinclair sent me away. I think he was growing
suspicious.”

“And you just left?” Warren shouted.

“He thinks he sent me back to Kennedy,” Malcolm said
calmly. He’d never liked the bumbling, ineffectual Laird, even as a lad growing
up in the Kennedy clan. When he’d been brought to Loch Doon along with several
other clanspeople three years back, he’d made it a point to work his way into
the Laird’s good graces for no other reason than to steal coins here and there
behind his back. Kennedy was so impotent at managing the castle that he never
even noticed the consistent imbalance in the ledgers.

It wasn’t until he’d accompanied Kennedy to a
negotiation with Warren to arrange for Loch Doon’s protection that he’d become
a spy. He could practically smell money coming off Warren in that first
meeting. He’d managed to get word to him that he could provide information on
the castle in exchange for a small slice of Warren’s wealth. Warren, like
Kennedy, had been all too willing to part with his gold.

Warren took a breath, trying to calm himself. “You
said he was suspicious. Does he suspect you work for me?”

“I doubt he’s gotten that far, though I wasn’t able
to make contact with one of your teams of scouts a couple weeks ago. It’s
possible he found out about them.”

Warren cursed. “Their bodies were found in the
Galloway forest a few days ago by another scout.
I
feared for all three of you when they didn’t return with your latest report.”

“I always manage to get by,” Malcolm said coolly.

“Yes, you seem to have an unusual skill at staying
alive to collect your payment,” Warren said sourly.

Sensing a shift in Warren’s mood, Malcolm quickly
took charge of the conversation.

“I have much to tell you, and I think you’ll be
pleased, my lord,” he said in his most earnest and eager voice.

“Out with it,” Warren said crossly, settling back
onto the propped-up pillows behind him.

“The Sinclairs are gathering at Loch Doon.”

Malcolm paused to let that settle in. Just as he’d
hoped, Warren sat up quickly, alert and sharp-eyed all of a sudden.

“How many?”

“The Laird, his brother and cousin, and their wives.
I hear they are having a wedding celebration.”

Warren’s lips curled back into something between a
smile and a snarl.

“When?”

“Soon. A matter of days, probably.”

“Wedding celebration,” Warren muttered bitterly.
“More likely they are plotting something.”

“That’s why I came here to tell you,” Malcolm said
deferentially. What was it about that obsequious tone that lulled powerful men
into thinking they owned him? Malcolm suppressed a sneer of his own. No one
owned him. Not the Scottish, not the English, not Kennedy or Sinclair or
Warren, though he was happy to lighten any purse he could.

Warren suddenly threw back the coverlet and leapt to
his feet. He began pacing the floor with his head down in nothing but his
sleeping gown. Malcolm bit his tongue to keep from laughing.

“Their wives are coming, you say?”

“Aye.”

Warren’s face was taut with concentration. Something
about the women being there intrigued him.

Suddenly, another piece of information floated to
Malcolm’s mind.

“There’s something else you may find useful,” he
said carefully. “Though sharing it with you will come at great risk for me.”

Warren halted in his pacing and rounded on Malcolm.

“Let me guess. The risk will be eased with more
coin?”

Malcolm pretended to contemplate the question for a
long moment.

“Perhaps a few extra pieces of gold would help me
find safe passage somewhere once this is all over.”

Warren took a step toward him, and he tensed.

“Risk is strange, isn’t it, Malcolm?” Warren said
with deadly calm. “On the one hand, you risk your safety in telling me what you
know, or so you say.”

He took another step forward, and Malcolm
involuntarily stepped back.

“On the other hand, though, your health is in great
danger the longer you go without speaking.”