The Prince and I (10 page)

Orlov’s eyes widened; then he smiled. “As they did with us. I must give them credit for that.”

“
Da
. The earl was not happy when I realized I’d come to view our meeting with the brigands in the same light as Miss MacLeod did hers—a donation request gone awry. He wanted—nay, he
demanded
—I lie to the local constable so that charges could be pressed.”

Orlov whistled silently. “Loudan is determined to capture these thieves.”

“Indeed. And I will not help him; I said no.”

Orlov grinned. “The earl won’t like that.”

“I’m counting on it. I tire of the man’s attitude.”

“As do I. By the way, speaking of the brigands, I may have found something to aid us in our search.” The sergeant pulled a paper from his pocket and unfolded it. “This was in the earl’s library. It is a plat of all the lands held by the Rowallen estate.”

Max took the map and scanned it. “Does the earl know you took this?”

“I left a note, as is only polite, though I did not write it in English. I’m sure he will figure it out in time.”

Amused, Max traced their location on the plat. “We’ve covered here, here, and most of here.” He shook his head. “So much, and yet it’s only a small amount of the forest.”

“Even with a reduced area, we are searching for a needle in a haystack. The woods are thick, the trails few and seemingly unused, and the locals have done nothing but mislead us. They are determined to hide these thieves, whoever they are. I dislike our chances.”

“
Da
, but I am convinced they are closer than they
want anyone to know. It is a good strategy, to be close enough to watch your enemy, yet hidden well enough that he doesn’t even know he is watched.”

“True, General.” Orlov regarded the map for another moment, then refolded it and slipped it back into his pocket. “Has the grand duchess shared why she allows the earl’s atrocious behavior? It is most unlike her.”

“She lost something to Loudan in a game of chance. Whatever it is, she is desperate to have it returned.”

“And he refuses.”

“More than that, he holds it over her head like a sword.” Max crossed his arms and gazed at the castle, gray and stern, set in a manicured park so meticulously groomed that the grass appeared to have been combed blade by blade. “I could forgive the earl for winning over an old woman at a game of chance, even though that shows a weak character.” Max’s jaw tightened. “I will
not
forgive him for causing her such worry.”

“This situation complicates our mission.”

“It can, yes. If we let it.” Max shook his head. “I should be angry with her, but then we, too, have secrets.”

Orlov glanced at Max. “You received word?”

“A packet arrived this morning by special courier. I would have said something earlier, but the earl interrupted us.”

“I don’t suppose there were any other letters in that packet?”

“There were. And yes, one is from your beloved wife, and yet another from your sister.”

Orlov beamed. “I shall read them as soon as—” His
gaze locked on something beyond Max’s shoulder. “Ah. The earl’s constable has arrived.”

Max turned to follow the sergeant’s gaze. A large, heavily built coach rumbled up the long, picturesque drive toward Rowallen’s arched door. The coach pulled around the fountain decorating the looped drive and stopped. A liveried footman raced from the castle, opened the coach door, and put down the steps. The constable stepped out of the coach.

At the sight of the constable, Max froze. “
Ty shto shoytish.
”

“What is it?” Orlov asked.

“The constable—you see him? He is the second giant we’ve seen since we arrived in Scotland.”

“The second? When did we see— Ah!” Orlov’s brows rose in comprehension. “The giant with the brigands. Ian,
nyet
?”

“And our Ian has the same reddish hair, and the same shape of face.”

Orlov watched a moment. “They even walk the same.”

“Now we know why Loudan’s constable is reluctant to pursue these brigands.”

“
Da
, the man is related to one of them.”

Max nodded. “I think I will speak to the constable after all. Stay here. I’ll return shortly.”

“Aye, General.”

Max walked toward the castle, his gaze locked on the huge man strolling toward the front door.

Max smiled.
Ah,
dorogaya moya
, I will find you yet.

A
n hour later, Max pulled his horse to a halt on a small, almost invisible path deep in the woods about an hour’s ride north of Rowallen, and held up his hand.

Behind him, his men went still and silent.

From somewhere in the woods, beneath the rustle of the trees playing in the breeze, and over the rush of a nearby creek, came a melody that faded in and out of hearing with the direction of the breeze. It was a woman’s voice, singing a Gaelic tune. Max knew that voice, knew it well.

As they listened, other sounds lifted now and then, blown their way—the sound of a door closing, the occasional moo of a cow.

“We have found them,” Orlov said, faint surprise in his voice.

“So it would seem,” Max said. “A mere two miles from the village of Kilmarnock, where Constable Ruddock’s family hails from.”

“And less than three miles from Rowallen Castle,” Orlov added. “We were looking much too far away.”

“The earl has been making the same mistake, for every village he set afire was twelve miles away or more. He has no idea they are under his very nose.”

Orlov nodded. “What do we do now?”

“
We
don’t do anything. It is best if I go into the village alone.”

Demidor’s horse shifted as if conveying his rider’s unease. “I don’t like that,” the younger soldier said. “We should go with you.”

“Which would make it look like an attack.
Nyet.
I will go first and speak to their leader. Then I will
call you in. Demidor, take Raeff and Pahlen back the way we came and guard the path. If we need to leave quickly, we’ll want the way open. If we need you, we will call.”

Looking unhappy, the young soldier nodded and, collecting the others, he turned his horse and left.

“Orlov, you will stay here with Golovin and Pushkin. I will get as close as I can and see if I can find the leader. After ten minutes, circle around and move closer.”

“And then?”

“Wait for my signal. Be very careful you are not spotted. I don’t wish to startle anyone or they might think their village is under attack.” The wind shifted yet again, and the singing grew a touch louder. Max winced as the singer lingered on an off-key note.

Pushkin, large and barrel-chested, with a long black beard that made him look a bit like a wild pirate, exchanged an uneasy look with Golovin. “I don’t know about this, General.”

A tough, grizzled veteran with a grumpy demeanor, Golovin agreed. “We’re away from civilization
and
near water. And now there’s a female singing.”

Max’s brows knit. “What’s that have to do with anything?”

“Whilst I was assisting Her Grace into the carriage last week, she told me about creatures who sang songs in the wild. Evil women, they were, luring a man to the water with their singing and then . . .” He made a slashing gesture across his throat.

“Sirens,” Max said in a dry tone.

Pushkin brightened. “
Da!
You know of them.”

“I know they are imaginary. My grandmother was doing what she does best: spinning tales and causing problems. I will wager my finest sword the woman you hear singing now is just that—a woman. She is not magic, and she’s certainly not drawing us closer with that atrocious singing.” She was, however, dangerously intelligent, and held the answers to his growing list of questions. “Orlov, I leave you in charge. If you do not hear from me in twenty minutes, you may come for me.”

With that, he turned his horse and headed toward the distant voice.

 Chapter 8 

The late-morning sun slanted through the shutters as Murian sank deeper into the tub, warm water sloshing over her shoulders. The large brass tub was another prize she’d stolen from Rowallen, and she still took great delight in thinking of the earl having to use one of the small tubs she’d left behind. He’d barely be able to sit in one, his legs folded in front of him, which would be most uncomfortable.

Grinning, she slid farther down in the water so that it encircled her face and her hair fanned around her. She’d been singing her favorite song, one her mother had taught her when she was a child, about maidens and knights. With her ears underwater, her voice was muffled and—to be honest—much improved.

The warm water felt heavenly, her cares dissolving into the thick curls of lavender-scented steam that rose from the tub. It had been a long few weeks and she’d needed some time to let her cares go.

Yet try as she would, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the prince, wondering why he’d taken such an interest in her. Was it mere pride, because she’d
bested him at a sword fight? She didn’t think so, seeing as how he’d turned the tables at the end. Though if she hadn’t slipped— No, it was better not to dwell on might-haves. Life had taught her that lesson far too well.

At one time, she’d had a new, adoring husband, a beautiful castle for a home, and a future that had seemed endless. In one day, she’d lost it all. The only way she’d been able to come to terms with such devastation was to move forward and keep moving. She missed Robert dearly and knew that a part of her always would. But as time passed and she heard stories from the widows who’d been wed for years before being parted from their husbands, she’d realized her and Robert’s relationship had only just begun to grow roots. She was certain it would have become a towering tree, had they been allowed the luxury of time. As it was, she was left with an empty heart and many sweet memories, which had been enough until now. Somehow, meeting the prince had awakened her imagination and made her wonder
what if?

She shouldn’t even be thinking about the prince; she’d only met him three times, anyway. Which was three times too many.

Still . . . there was something about him that stirred her curiosity. She felt as if she knew him in some way, which made no sense, for they had nothing in common. She should just forget him.

And she would, for she had many things that needed her attention far more. Like how to get the supplies to repair their cottages, and when Loudan might ease his guard and she could slip back into Rowallen.

She reached up and grasped the high sides of the tub, pulling herself into a sitting position. The water lapped at her shoulders as she leaned back against the elegant slant of the tub, her hair clinging to her neck and shoulders before floating around her in the water in red silken waves.

She sighed happily and closed her eyes. Life was always surprising. Who would have ever thought she’d meet a prince? “Prince Max,” she said aloud. “Mighty, oh-so-sure-of-himself Prince Max.”

“You called,
dorogaya moya
?” came a deep voice.

Her eyes flew open. Surely . . . that couldn’t have been . . .

Heart pounding, she lifted her head and peered over the edge of the tub.

The prince stood just inside her window, re-closing the shutters. When he finished, he faced her and said in a polite voice, “Good morning, Murian.”

“How did you get in here?”

“I climbed through the window.”

“But . . . how did you find me?”

He smiled, and her heart fluttered. “Ah, I cannot give you all of my secrets. Not all at once, anyway.”

“I dinna— You shouldna be here!”

“But I have some questions for you.”

She could call for help and Ian would come running, but then there would be yelling and very little talking. From the prince’s demeanor and the fact that he hadn’t moved from the window, perhaps he wished for just what he said—answers to his questions.

Well, she had questions, too. Besides, there were two
loaded pistols and a rapier in her cottage, so she was plenty safe.

His green eyes warmed with amusement, a lopsided smile curving his chiseled mouth. “Do not look so surprised. Surely you knew I would find you.”

Her heart, already beating irregularly, gave a sick thud. “Does the earl know?”

“
Nyet.
The earl and I, we do not—how do you say?—chat.”

Murian liked the way he said “chat,” as if he thought the word might bite him back. “Why did you climb through the window?”

“If I had walked down the street and politely knocked upon your door, your giant might have come off his leash.”

Her lips quirked despite herself.

His gaze flickered over her, his eyes darkening. “I did not expect to find you so . . . exposed,
dorogaya moya.
”

Bloody hell, I
’m naked!
She’d been so shocked by his arrival, it hadn’t registered. Thankfully, all he could see were her bare shoulders and arms due to the tub’s high lip. “Turn around!”

“Of course.” There was a distinct note of regret in his smoky voice, but he turned his back, his feet planted firmly as if to prove he wouldn’t whip about and peer at her.

She rinsed the last bit of soap from her arms and, with a glance to make certain he was still facing away, she climbed from the tub. She snatched up her towel and dried quickly, then reached for her robe. She struggled
to put on the thin lawn garment, which clung to her damp skin in a most revealing way. “Dinna turn around. My clothes are beside the screen near the bed, so I must go there to dress.”

“I will not move from this spot.” He turned his head slightly so that she saw the barest glimpse of his profile. “I vow it on my honor.”

He spoke simply, with quiet strength.

She believed him, which surprised her. “Thank you.” She wrung her dripping hair over the tub, twisting the water from the heavy strands.

Behind her, Max fought the urge to turn and watch her.

Into the quiet, she said, “You said you have questions?”

“Many. The most pressing one is why you run from me every time we meet.”

“I dinna run from you last night at the castle. It was just time to leave.”

“You did not say good-bye.”

“I had things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Perhaps I wished for a quiet corner where I could eat all the pastry I’d stolen.”

He sighed. “You are not making this easy.”

“I dinna believe I’m supposed to,” she pointed out. “You have other questions?”

“Last night, did you use Miss MacLeod as a diversion, to send the guards from the castle?”

“I don’t know a Miss MacLeod.”

He let his silence tell her of his disbelief.

She sighed. “Fine. I may know Miss MacLeod.”

“You do know her. You disguised yourself and snuck into the castle, and had Miss MacLeod appear at exactly ten and claim she’d been held up. The earl sent some of his men after the thieves, who had been described by Miss MacLeod to sound exactly like you and your men.”

“Aye, he sent some men,” she replied, her voice sharp with irritation. “But not enough. The halls were still heavily guarded.”

“So you
were
looking for something. I suspected as much. But what?”

“Something of my late husband’s. Something hidden.”

“Even from you?”

“Aye.” Her voice was muffled through the towel as she dried her hair.

He let his gaze wander over the part of the room within his line of vision, noting the furnishings for the first time. Bozhy moj
, such luxury for a cottage.
Damask- and velvet-clad chairs and a matching settee sat near the fireplace, while thick Turkish rugs covered the dirt floor. Here and there were mahogany side tables, one holding a heavy silver tea set. Even the huge tub was fitting for a palace, for the beaten copper gleamed with polish, the handles on each side exquisitely wrought.

But still more surprising was the woman herself. He would recognize her anywhere, but in the bright morning light, he saw things he’d missed before—how long her red hair was, how her eyes sparkled when she was irritated, how delicate her features were when her hair was slicked back from her face.
And this is the thief who almost bested me with a sword.

He remembered her bared shoulders and arms; she was far more feminine than he’d expected. When she’d first peered over the edge of the tub, her wet hair clinging to her, her shoulders glistening with water, he’d been hit with a shockingly strong urge to stride across the room and hold her, naked and wet. It hadn’t been mere passion, though he’d felt that as well; it was more a desire to save her from the dirt floor peering between the rugs, the leaky water stains that flanked the fireplace, and even the rapier standing against the wall.

He knew one thing for certain: Murian Muir was not meant for this sort of life. She was a conundrum, this woman warrior. The line of her chin and jaw showed strength, while her beauty had an untrammeled wildness that called to him—a lack of discipline in the way her thick lashes spiked about her wide, silver eyes that boldly examined him, a refusal by her dark red hair to yield as it curled even when dripping wet.

Behind him he heard a faint rustle, and he caught Murian’s reflection in the silver teapot by the fireplace. The angle of the teapot gave him a full view behind the screen where she dressed.

He watched her bent reflection as she removed her robe, a towel wrapped about her head. The robe slid off her, revealing her spectacular shoulders, tall, trim form, and gracefully long legs. She threw her robe over the edge of the screen, her arms smooth and lightly muscled. Her breasts, high and small, perfect for a man’s hands, were adorned with pink nipples that made his mouth water in anticipation. She was angelic, this woman, a veritable—

Her gaze met his in the reflection.

With a frantic movement, she yanked her robe from where she’d hung it and held it in front of her. “You said you wouldna look!”

“I said I wouldn’t move, and I haven’t.” Cursing his inability to look away once the reflection had presented itself, he turned so that he could no longer see her. “There. Now dress. I haven’t all day.”

“Och, if you wish to twist words into lies, then return to Rowallen and the earl. He excels at such games.”

Max was struck by her bitter tone. “Put on some clothes,” he ordered, his voice unexpectedly harsh. “I am no eunuch.”

A stiff silence met this. A second later, she said in a firm voice, “Stir the fire while you’re waiting. I’ll need the heat to dry my hair.”

He found himself faintly amused that this slender girl should order him about without the least hesitation. People never ordered princes to bank fires, but as it was growing cold in the cottage, he was more than willing to do the task.

He undid his cloak and hung it on a peg on the wall by the door, pausing to inspect the rapier that sat nearby. It was a superior blade, Italian made, with a hilt set with intricate carving. He wondered where she’d found it, and how she’d been trained to such mastery.
I have so many questions for you, little one.

He replaced the blade and then crossed to the fireplace. After adding some wood from a nearby stack, he found the fire iron and stirred the flames to life.

As the flames leapt in response, Murian walked
across the cottage floor to join him. She was dressed simply, her gray gown nondescript and plain. Sturdy boots peeped out from her skirts, while a heavy wool shawl had been pinned about her shoulders. She carried an ivory comb, her damp hair curling wildly about her shoulders.

Max put down the fire iron as she sat close to the fire in a decadently stuffed chair covered in the finest damask.

She gestured to the settee opposite and, pulling her wet hair over one shoulder, began to comb it. “Pray have a seat, Your Highness.”

“Thank you.” He sat down, leaning back and admiring the reds and golds of her hair as the fire played across it.

She fastened her direct gaze on him. “Perhaps you should begin by telling me why you are here.”

“To be honest, at first I was determined to seek you out so that we could finish our swordplay.”