The Prince and I (8 page)

She blinked up at him, and in that instant, she realized he knew exactly who she was. “
Oh!
You’ve been teasing me this entire time!”

“
Da
. But do not worry,
dorogaya moya
. You are safe. I will tell no one you are not this Miss MacDonald.”

Her relief was quickly followed by a flash of irritation. “How did you know?”

“Who else would sneak into the earl’s household and steal food rather than priceless treasures? Only you.” He captured her hand, turned it palm up in his, and dusted the remaining sugar from her fingertips.

She tried to still her heart and snuck a glance at the large ornate clock against one wall.
Almost ten.
“Thank you for your kindness, but I must go.”

“Not yet.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Wherever you need to go, I will go with you.”

She looked down where her fingers rested on his
coat sleeve. The brushed wool was soft and fine, yet it did little to disguise the powerful arm under it. Never had she touched a more muscular, rock-hard arm. Even more surprising was the heat that radiated through the cloth. His warmth made her yearn to move closer, within the circle of his arms, her body pressed to his. She shivered at the thought.

He gave her a questioning look. “You are cold.”

“Nay, a goose walked over my grave,” she lied.

His brows lowered. “But you are not dead, and so do not have a grave.”

She laughed. “It is an old saying. Supposedly when you shiver for no reason, it’s because someone has walked over the place you are to be buried.”

“That sounds most unpleasant. I do not like this saying.” Max looked down at her, reveling in having her close once again and, in a way, under his control. She’d fled from him twice already. He would not permit her to do so again. “Where do we go from here? I will take you.”

Her lips thinned, and she looked far from pleased. He’d seen her glance at the clock, an impatient set to her chin.
Ah, she wishes to be rid of me. She is planning something, this intriguing woman.

“So many odd sayings you English have. My grandmother is Romany. They have much better sayings than this one of yours about the grave and goose.”

“Oh?” she answered absently, her gaze on one of the doors leading into the ballroom.

“
Da
.
May mishto les o thud katar I gurumni kai.
It means
something like . . . it is easier to milk a cow that does not move.”

She shot him an amused look, her mouth quirking with humor. “That’s certainly practical.”

I like seeing that smile.
Her mouth, full and lush, teased him and made him think of kissing her.
Which I shall do again,
dorogaya moya
. And soon.

She looked once again toward the door, so he asked, “Are you expecting someone?”

She turned a wide, innocent gaze on him. “Och no. I was merely looking at all the beautiful gowns.”

More beautiful lips had never lied so much. Max traced a lazy circle on the back of her hand where it rested on his arm. “I find I am thirsty. Would you like a beverage, as well? A sherry or some lemonade?”

A flicker of irritation crossed her face, but she quickly hid it. “I would like some lemonade, please. In fact”—she withdrew her hand from his arm—“I’ll wait here while you fetch it.”

“There is no need.” He nodded to Orlov, who stood across the room. Orlov said something to Demidor, who glanced to where Tata Natasha sat in a large chair, scowling at everyone, looking like a disgruntled queen trying to decide which of her court deserved to die first. Though Demidor was a rugged soldier, there was unease in his glance as he left Orlov and moved closer to the grand duchess.

His responsibility reassigned, Orlov made his way through the crowd to Max.

“One of my men comes. He will fetch refreshments
so we can continue our conversation uninterrupted. Ah, here he is now. Orlov, her ladyship will have a lemonade.”

“
Da
, General. Would you like something, as well?”

“Some of Lord Loudan’s whiskey will do. According to him, there is none better in all of Scotland. For some reason he has forgotten to place a decanter on the refreshment table, but I suspect you will find some in his private library.”

“I shall fetch it.” Orlov grinned, his teeth gleaming in his black beard. “And I daresay Demidor and Pahlen will wish for a glass or two, themselves.”

“It is a party and the earl wishes to impress us, so we shall let him,
da
?”

“Very good, General.” Chuckling, Orlov left.

“Well done, Your Highness.” Murian was smiling.

“It is Max to you. Only Max.” He bent closer to her ear. “Murian, why are you here? I can see you are—”

A noise arose from the door, a woman’s raised voice, another joining it. The voices were shrill, excited, and even frightened.

Guests turned and merged on the newcomers, so Max couldn’t see what was happening, but like the wind, people nearby began to exclaim, repeating what they’d heard, and soon phrases swept their way.

It was robbery . . . the thieves stole her jewels . . . the jewels of both . . . a handsome youth with a bow and arrow . . . but polite . . . with a band of men . . . like Robin Hood—

Max blinked.
Like Robin Hood
? He turned to Murian,
a question on his lips . . . but she was no longer at his side.

And there was not a trace of her to be seen, not in the emptying room behind him, nor in the press of the crowd hurrying forward.

Once again, she was gone.

 Chapter 6 

Ian took a seat beside Murian at Widow Grier’s table. Outside, clouds rumbled uneasily, a bitter wind shaking the trees until the trembling leaves crashed overhead like the waves of the ocean.

Murian rested her chin in her hand, her spirits as dark and restless as the weather. Upon returning home from the dinner party, she’d bathed and scrubbed the paint from her face until her skin burned pink, yet it was nothing to the deep burn of disappointment that stung her soul. “Damn Lord Loudan for posting guards in every hall of the castle.”

Widow Grier looked up from the pot she’d been stirring. Tall and thin, with light brown hair and fair skin decorated with a spattering of freckles, she was the youngest widow in their small band. She had one child, a round, chubby-cheeked lad who was even now sleeping in a crib by the fire and whose three-toothed grin won the hearts of all who saw him. “There were guards in
e’ery
hall?”

“All nine. The four floors in each wing, plus the main hall.” Ian looked as despondent as Murian felt.
“E’ery last bloody hall ha’ guards, and there were four stationed ootside his bedchamber. There was no way past them.”

From where she sat across from Murian, Widow Reeves asked, “Did the guards see ye?”

Murian nodded. “Aye, but your sister did a fine job with my disguise. No one knew me at all.”

“She was pleased to help. No’ many know this, but Lara was an actress fer a short time when she was young.”

“Was she now?” Widow Grier looked impressed. “When I was younger, I wanted to do the same.”

“Aye, at seventeen, she ran away to Edinburgh determined to become an actress. It near broke our mither’s heart, it did, but Lara was determined and she e’en met wi’ some success, too. She made her living tha’ way fer several years, and was quite guid, but then she met her Daffyd. He was a carpenter as worked upon the sets. Eventually they returned here, and she was hired into the kitchens at the MacLures’ and Daffyd given a job helpin’ aboot the estate.”

“And now she’s their head cook.” Widow Grier placed the wooden spoon to one side and put a lid on the pot. “Yer sister seems quite close to Lady MacLure.”

“Her ladyship likes food, especially sweets. She’s always plotting wi’ my sister aboot the newest dishes. They’re closer than most servants and mistresses, I think. ’Tis why my sister stays where she is, even though the MacLures canna pay well.”

“I owe your sister a debt of gratitude,” Murian said. “She knew exactly what we needed for my disguise.”
She managed a smile, though her shoulders sagged. Such an excellent disguise, and yet still no journal.
All that work for nothing.

The most difficult part had been planning a believable distraction. It had taken a lot of convincing to get the vicar’s sister to make a grand entrance and pretend she’d been held up on the way to Loudan’s dinner party. The ploy had worked like a charm and had sent the guards running to try and catch the thieves. Two entire squadrons had ridden away from Rowallen and into the woods, but it hadn’t been enough. They’d known Loudan had hired more guards, but no one knew how many.

Too many.

She sighed, placed her elbow on the table, and rested her chin in her hand. It had been nice of Miss MacLeod to help them. The older woman had been spurred on by the fact that the earl rarely bothered to attend Sunday services. And when he did, he slept through them, snoring rudely.

Even worse, the man hadn’t donated so much as a penny to the parish, a grievous error that had lit the fires of wrath in the heart of the vicar’s protective older sister. So Miss MacLeod had been very glad to help Murian for the opportunity to “stab Loudan in his overblown pride.” She’d been even more eager to help when Murian had explained about Robert’s journal, which could unseat Loudan completely.

“Miss MacLeod did a fine job, too,” Ian said.

“Aye,” Murian agreed. “Even I believed her when she came in and threw herself into Mrs. Whitcomb’s
arms as if too overcome to walk. And then she babbled on and on aboot her ‘horrifying’ experience. ’Twas the perfect distraction.”

Murian had been able to escape the prince, slip into the library, and open the window for Ian. Had the two squadrons been all of the earl’s guard, things would have been merry for them from then on.

She couldn’t hold back a sigh. Nothing had worked as she’d hoped. She should have just stayed with the prince. A distinct pang of disappointment sank through her. He was interesting, this warrior prince.
Interesting and devastatingly attractive.

Sadly, they were destined to run into one another only at the worst times, and in the worst possible ways. What would it have been like if things had been different—if they’d met in a ballroom as men and women normally did, with no secrets between them? It was a silly thought. Life had given her this challenge, and that was that. She had to give Max credit, though; her disguise hadn’t fooled him one bit. And it seemed as if he’d been as good as his word and hadn’t revealed her to Loudan.

In some way, she was now in his debt.

Ian patted her shoulder. “Dinna look so dour. Ye tried, and tha’ is all ye can do.”

“Ye tried too hard, if ye ask me.” Widow Grier lifted the pot from the flames and carried it to the rough plank table, where she carefully poured cider into four tin cups, the sweet scent wafting through the air.

Widow Reeves took a cup and wrapped her chapped hands about it. “I’m just glad ye made it oot of the castle.
If the earl had caught ye, it would ha’ been a nightmare fer us all.”

“Aye,” Widow Grier agreed. “Ye went right into the lion’s den, ye did. We were frightened fer ye.”

“And it was all for naught.” Murian breathed in the aroma of the cider and let the steam curl over her cold lips. The scent of the cider, flavored with a precious bit of cinnamon, soothed her depressed spirits. “There must be a way to call off all of Loudan’s guards, not just the ones stationed ootside. I just need to think it through, and plan something larger.”

Ian groaned. “Lassie, nay. Ye canna—”

Someone knocked on the door.

Widow Grier hurried to open it, and a blast of wind accompanied Will Scarlae inside, swirling his red cloak.

“Come,” she ordered, shutting the door behind him. “We’re just havin’ some cider to try and chase off the cold. Would ye like some?”

“Och, thank ye, Widow Grier.” He pushed his long brown hair from his eyes. “Indeed, I would.”

Murian had always thought Will a handsome youth, but, over the last year, she’d come to decry his penchant for fine clothes he couldn’t afford, women he should avoid, and too much whiskey.

He looked at Murian and the others, suspicion on his narrow face. “I heard ye talkin’ and thought I’d come and see wha’ ye were aboot.”

Poor Will. He was always so ill at ease, though it had been worse when Robert had been alive. From what Murian had been able to glean from chance comments Robert had made, the two men had grown up
together and had been playmates, but had grown estranged as they’d gotten older. She didn’t know what had caused the final break, but Robert had been quite cold to Will.

It was a pity, for the men had much in common, both in their pride and in their love of Rowallen. But Will was the son of a kitchen maid and an unnamed father who’d never claimed him, while Robert was the son of a lady from a great house and the lord of the castle. Such differences in station had caused a strain when Robert had assumed his responsibilities as the lord of the castle upon his father’s death. Her husband had never really spoken about it to her, which made her believe the split between the two men had been painful.

She smiled at Will now. “The cider is quite lovely. Come and sit with us and have a cup.”

He looked both pleased and uncertain. “I believe I will, thank ye.”

Ian cocked a brow at the young man. “Are ye certain ye’ve nowhere better to be? On guard, perhaps?”

Will flushed. “Nay. ’Tis Widow Atchison’s turn now. I’m to relieve her in an hour and walk the night.” He undid his cloak.

Widow Grier nodded to a peg by the door. “Hang it oop and ha’ a seat, lad. I’ll fetch ye some cider.”

“Thank ye.” He sat at the table, appearing happy. “So, wha’ are we talkin’ aboot?”

“Lady Murian’s latest scheme.” Widow Reeves took a sip of the cider, sighing with pleasure. “Och, Ailsa, ye make the best cider.”

Widow Grier blushed. “Thank ye, Fiona. I’d make it e’er day if it would tempt our lassie fra’ danger.” She handed Will his cup of cider, sat down on the bench, and pulled her own cup forward.

“Danger? Wha’ danger is tha’?” Will asked.

“Lady Murian visited Rowallen this e’ening,” Widow Reeves said.

Will’s gaze jerked to Murian. “Ye went to Rowallen?”

“I thought Robert’s journal might be hidden in our old bedchamber.” She sighed. “But I couldna reach it. There were too many guards.”

Ian muttered, “We all know why tha’ is, too. Because some fool got hisself caught sneakin’ into the earl’s study no’ so long ago, so the earl decided to increase his guard.”

Will grimaced. “Ye mean me, Ian, and I know it. ’Twas ill luck, bu’ it is wha’ it is. Wha’ I wish to know is why no one tol’ me aboot Lady Murian’s adventure.”

Murian said, “We didn’t tell anyone who dinna need to know. ’Tis safer that way.”

Will’s scowl deepened and he said sullenly, “Ye could ha’ trusted me, Lady Murian. Ye know ye could.”

“Now why are ye so ootraged, I wonder.” Ian cocked a bushy brow at the lad. “Is it because ye dinna ha’ a chance to run and tell someone, and earn a bit of blunt?”

Widow Grier murmured her disapproval.

“Tha’ is enough of tha’, Ian,” Widow Reeves said firmly.

Ian shrugged and retired to his cup.

Will’s face was tight with anger. “Ye’ve ne’er trusted me since I was caught by the earl’s guards, which was weel o’er a month ago.”

“Aye, and ye just walked oot of the castle wi’oot a scratch on ye.”

“My eye was blackened!”

Ian scoffed, “Ye could ha’ given yerself such a wee bruise. The only way ye could ha’ escaped was by givin’ the earl wha’ he wanted.”

“If tha’ is true, then why isna the earl here now? Raidin’ our homes and stealin’ our livestock? He’d do tha’ if he knew where we were. But he dinna know—and he ne’er weel if I ha’ anything to do with it.”

Ian didn’t look impressed. “Mayhap he’s waitin’ on somethin’—timin’ his arrival so tha’ he finds us at our worst.”

Murian put down her cup. “Ian, that’s enough.”

“Nay,” Will said, his face red. “Let ’im mock. He always has. If he wants to know how I escaped, I’ll tell ’im wha’ I’ve told him a hundred times now: I escaped because I know tha’ castle better than anyone. I was born there, raised here, and I ran through her halls as a wee lad until the day Robert threw it away bein’ a bloody fool!”

Murian’s smile disappeared. “Watch what you say aboot the dead. Whatever Robert did or didn’t do, he was a man of honor.”

Will’s flush deepened.

“Weel now,” Widow Reeves said, breaking the tense silence. “Mayhap we shouldna talk so much aboot the past. ’Tis done and we canna undo it.” She looked at
Murian. “I was wonderin’, did ye see the prince? Ye havena mentioned him.”

“Aye, he was there.” She sipped her cider, hoping that would be the end of it.

“And?” Widow Reeves urged.

Widow Grier scooted closer to Murian. “Oot wi’ it. We want details, we do.”

Murian put down her cup. “There aren’t many. He saw me sneaking food from the refreshment table, and when I told him ’twas for my sick mother, he wrapped up some tarts so they wouldna stain my pockets.”

“Och, the tarts! I almost fergot them.” Widow Grier stood and went to a tin that rested on a shelf over the oven. “There are a few left after we shared them wi’ the children.” She found a small plate, arranged the tarts on it, and then carried it to the table.

Will took one from the plate and moaned with pleasure at the first bite.

Ian made an exasperated noise, but Widow Grier chuckled. She nodded toward the wooden crib that held her sleeping son. “Ye should ha’ seen my wee one’s face when I put a dab of almond pastry on his tongue. He looked as if he’d seen Peter standin’ at the pearly gates.”