Highland Lady Page 8

  "Aye." He nodded. "Ye return home?"

  She wheeled her mount around, tucking the missive into her tunic. She knew what he was thinking. "With three men for escort, I'll be safe enough. And Cerdic already has my sister. How many more Burnard women could he kidnap?" she teased.

  At last she drew a smile from him. "Be careful," Finley warned.

  "Aye." With that, she sank her heels into the gelding's flanks and headed back in the direction she'd just come, her escorts flying to catch up. She was anxious to get home. Anxious to have a word with her dear prisoner.

  ***

  "What kind of ransom note is this?" Elen demanded of Munro. She shook the letter written by his brother, Cerdic.

  "I do nae know." Munro leaned against the rough stone wall of the oubliette, one foot propped up behind him. Since the fret she had made the other night, her men had seen to it he had been provided for properly. His hair was washed and brushed back roguishly off his forehead. His clothing was clean, though rumpled. Even here in this cold, shadowy prison cell, it was obvious he was a man of presence.

  "What do ye mean ye nae know?" She pressed her back to the far wall. Even angry with him, she did not entirely trust herself with this man. Ever since their kiss, she had felt an energy between them that would not dissipate. Even now, the stale air crackled with it.

  "I mean I have no clue what my brother is doing. 'Tis madness."

  "Madness, indeed." She glanced at the paper in her hand, scanning the list of demands Rosalyn's kidnapper had set forth. There were several, each one more absurd than the previous. She read them aloud to Munro, still in disbelief.

  "In payment for Rosalyn of Dunblane's safe return: a breeding bull from Dunblane's herd, two piglets with curly tails, a crate of quail, one silver-toothed comb, a pot of eel stew, and the short toe of a tall mon."

  Munro laughed. "Nothing of the lord master?" he inquired.

  "Nae, unless it is your short toe he means to have," she quipped.

  Munro shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. He had finally ceased laughing, but he was still smiling. This whole situation was ridiculous, as evidenced by the note containing no threats against her sister's life. At least Rosalyn was safe. Elen was so utterly unamused that she wanted to smack the grin from his face.

  Who was she jesting? She wanted to kiss it from his mouth.

  "What am I to do with this?" She shook the paper, impatient with him. Why was he not taking this more seriously? His brother had not even inquired as to his health. "Do tell. How does one address such preposterous demands?"

  He spread his arms wide. "Honestly, I cannae tell ye. I have only twice dealt with kidnapping and ransom—once in battle, another time when I was young, barely off lead strings."

  "I cannae resist," she said dryly. "How did they turn out?"

  He sighed as the laughter died from his voice. "Both times badly. I dinnae pay my cousin the sweet for my dolly and he dropped her in the moat. I paid the English for my servant and they tortured and killed him anyway."

  Elen crumbled the note in her hand in frustration. His sudden emotion made her feel a gentleness she did not want to feel. "I am sorry," she said softly.

  A silence yawed between them.

  "Elen, listen." He took a step toward her. "Obviously there is more to this than what it appears. One of my brother's harebrained schemes, not well thought out, as usual, but cleverly executed, I must say." He paused. "I know ye do not want to consider other possibilities, but it is time we do so. There is a possibility," he said carefully, "that your sister could be involved. Ye said yourself she was taken with Cerdic when he came to sup with ye."

  "She laughed at his jokes, nothing more." Elen ground her teeth, frustrated that he had brought up the very suspicions she did not wish to entertain. "I cannae believe my sister would be part of this." Rosalyn was flighty and selfish, but had never been cruel in the past. With the weight of Dunblane's responsibilities upon Elen's shoulders, surely Rosalyn would not be so callous as to let her sister think she was in grave danger when she was not. She just could not believe it.

  He took another step toward her, and she wished her great-great-grandsire had not built this prison cell.

  "I would like to believe my brother wouldnae behave so dishonorably either," Munro said gently. "But this ridiculous ransom note is proof that there is much amiss."

  He reached for her, and she could not make herself pull away.

  "Rosalyn is betrothed to marry. She put up no protest when my father made the arrangements ere his death," she reasoned aloud, her last words higher pitched than normal. She did not care what direction the evidence pointed. She didn't care what Munro said. She simply could not believe Rosalyn would do this to her... to her clansmen. "I cannae believe she would do this to us."

  "We could send the piglets and the toe and see what he does next," he teased.

  This time she could not help herself. She laughed aloud, and he caught her around the waist with one hand and kissed the top of her head. It was a simple enough gesture, innocent perhaps, but his touch set her on fire.

  "What are we doing here?" she whispered desperately, thoughts of her sister and his brother gone for the moment. "What am I doing?"

  This time he brushed his lips against her ear. "Nae what either of us expected, eh?"

  She gave a strangled laugh that was close to a cry.

  "I... I shouldnae feel these things. Ye are my prisoner."

  He took her in both arms, pulling her against him to nuzzle her neck. "In more ways than ye realize, lass."

  She struggled with her inner self, but could not step away. "Ye must understand, I cannae act upon these thoughts."

  He smoothed the back of her head with his broad palm. "Ah, sweeting. Do not think my intentions dishonorable. I am a man in need of a wife."

  She lifted her lashes to meet his gaze, her heart fluttering in her chest. This was insane. Anyone passing to the hall could catch them. But she couldn't pull away. Not yet. Just one more moment....

  "Ye do not understand. I have never known a mon," she said boldly. "But I can never wed."

  "Why?" He grasped her arms, searching her face for meaning.

  "Dunblane," she said simply.

  He thought a moment and then gave a slight nod. He understood.

  That made her want him all the more.

  "I am nae a mon who has the need to control," he intoned. "We could work something—"

  "Munro, please," she breathed. "Kiss me now ere someone comes."

  She lifted on her toes, letting her eyes drift shut. If she did not feel his mouth upon hers, she knew she would perish.

  He did not disappoint her. He brought his mouth down hard against hers. He thrust his tongue and she parted her lips, savoring the taste of him. He kissed her until she was breathless and dizzy.

  Releasing Munro, Elen stumbled back a step. Her mouth was raw and burning. Every fiber of her being cried out for this man. She was overwhelmed.

  "I... my sister." She lowered her head and tried to catch her breath, tried to think clearly. "I would never say this to anyone else, but I'm unsure what to do."

  "Perhaps I should send a message." His breath came unevenly as well, as if he were as affected by their kiss as she. "Would ye send a message to my brother if I wrote it? I would send a message to my steward as well, but he is away making pin-chases for me."

  She glanced at the stone floor. She knew what Finley would say. But he did not know of her and Munro's suspicions. "I will send it." She inched toward the Jacob's ladder that she had dropped down. "I'll send down paper and quill from my trunk."

  "I had hoped ye would bring it yourself," he suggested huskily.

  She grasped the rope ladder with both hands. "This is dangerous, Munro. We should stop it here."

  He shook his head ever so slightly. "I cannae, for I am enchanted." He opened his arms wide. "I am bewitched by ye. By your mind. By your body."

  Had any other man on God's earth utt
ered those words, she would have laughed. But from Munro's lips, she sensed them to be sincere.

  Without a word, Elen grasped the ladder and shimmied up. At the top, she hesitated for a moment, then drew the ladder up. She did not know if she did it to protect her leverage with Cerdic Forrest or because she did not want Munro to escape before she felt his touch again.

  Chapter 8

  "Cerdic, don't!" Rosalyn squealed with laughter.

  He gripped her ankle and tickled the bottom of her bare foot again. "That? Ye nae wish me to do that?"

  She laughed and kicked him with her other petite foot. "I say enough. Stop!" She knocked him off balance and he tumbled backward, off the end of the bed. He hit the hard floor with a thump and a crack.

  "Cerdic?" Rosalyn shrilled. She climbed across the great bed, over the tangled bedlinens, on all fours. "Cerdic, are you all right?"

  She peered over the side to see him lying on the floor, his arms and legs spread wide, naked as the day he entered this world. His eyes were shut, his body still.

  "Oh, God upon heaven!" she breathed. "Cerdic! Are ye all right?" She scrambled off the bed, dragging the linens with her. "Cerdic, my love?" Had that crack she heard been his head upon the stone floor?

  She smoothed the sandy blond hair from his forehead and brushed her fingers on the floor. There was no blood. He appeared to have no broken bones. He had not fallen very far. How could he have been knocked unconscious?

  She lowered her cheek to his mouth to be certain he still breathed. Aye, she felt his breath on his cheek. So why didn't he wake up?

  Rosalyn grasped his shoulders and shook him, panic gripping her stomach. "Cerdic! Cerdic, ye must wake up!"

  She lifted her head, looking frantically at the closed door. The servants had been ordered not to enter unless they were summoned, no matter what they heard, but she knew someone was just outside. Perhaps she should call one of them to give her aid. Or maybe she should dump water on Cerdic's head. She didn't know what to do.

  She knelt beside him and gazed down at his handsome, still face. The dunderpate couldn't have died tumbling from a bed, could he?

  Suddenly Cerdic's eyes popped open and his face lit up.

  "Cerdic. Cerdic, you're all right!" She threw her arms around his neck. Only then did she realize from his expression that he was just playing with her.

  "Ass!" She struck him across his cheek with her palm.

  He burst into wild laughter. "Ye thought I was dead, didn't ye?" he gloated.

  She started to get up, but he grabbed her arm roughly and wouldn't let her go.

  "Leave me alone." She struck at him with her free hand. "I nae wish to play with ye anymore. Prick."

  He laughed harder. "Prick? Ye want a prick? That I can provide. See?" He gestured below his waist.

  She was still angry that he had given her a fright, but she couldn't resist a quick peek. The man was not as bright as she was, but he had other attributes that could be far more useful to her in a man than a brain.

  He was standing as stiff and thick as a flagstaff.

  She giggled.

  "Want to play, lass?" he teased.

  "I thought you were going to scribe the letter for me." Rosalyn had never learned to read and write. Despite her father's and sister's constant jabber, she thought it a waste of time. Why did she need to read and write when she had others to do it for her?

  "But we wrote a letter yesterday," he bemoaned.

  "The short toe of a tall mon. 'Twas quite clever of ye, I must say." She covered her mouth with her delicate hand and giggled. "I can only imagine the look upon my sister's face when she read it. Surely steam came from her ears."

  He laughed with her. "Oh, that I could see the look on my brother's face. He hasnae the sense of humor I have."

  She laughed and kissed his mouth. "Now the letter, please?" she begged sweetly. "'Tis my sister's Saint's Day tomorrow, and I wish to send her greetings."

  "Ye don't think she'll become suspicious?"

  Rosalyn gazed into Cerdic's eyes. "She'd have to be a clout nae to be suspicious by now."

  "What do ye think she'll do?" Cerdic's forehead wrinkled with worry.

  "She will do naught. She will shake her finger at me, haul me home, and marry me off ere anyone else knows of my adventure." She ran her hand over his bare chest.

  He gazed up at her earnestly. "And that is what ye want?"

  "What I want is for you to write a letter for me."

  "First fun, then work." He held out his arms for her.

  She still knelt beside him on the floor, tangled in the bedlinens. "'Tis cold down here on the floor." She pouted.

  "Aye, upon the floor. But nae here." He grabbed her by the waist, then lifted her up and over so she straddled him.

  With one easy movement, she was upon him. "Warmer, my love?" Cerdic crooned. Rosalyn rocked to and fro with excitement, throwing back her hair, thrusting out her bare breasts. "Aye, love. Already warmer..."

  * * *

  "He must be mad," Finley said, holding the missive from Rancoff. He was one of the few men at Dunblane who could read.

  Elen opened the creaking door to the old mews built before her father's time and stepped inside. Finley followed.

  "Mad, indeed," she said. "I agree, there can be no other explanation." She had come to inspect the mews in the outer bailey to see what repairs needed to be done so her hawks could be housed there rather than in the great hall. It was convenient to have them in the hall to kill sparrows and other small birds that flew in, but Munro was right. They were filthy creatures, and they did make the hall stink.

  "What says our prisoner?" His tone was thick with antagonism.

  She turned to Finley impatiently. "Why, by God's precious bones, do ye dislike him so?"

  "Because he is our prisoner. He has taken Rosalyn."

  Elen ran her fingers over a dusty perch, her mind half on Finley's words, half on the task at hand. Sunlight slipped through cracks in the roof and dust motes floated in the air, making the tiny room seem oddly surreal. The mews were actually in good condition. With a day's work on the roof, it could house her birds again.

  Elen wondered if Finley truly believed Rosalyn was in danger. He had read the letter. He knew of the ridiculous demands, and he was an intelligent man. Though he would never dare suggest Rosalyn could be a part of the kidnapping, he might think it. She debated telling Finley of her and Munro's suspicions and asking him what he thought, but she could not bring herself to do so. What if she was wrong? She feared she was not, but still she held to a golden thread of hope. "That is the only reason ye nae like him?"

  He lifted a dark brow. "That is nae reason enough, m'lady?"

  She turned away from him. "I nae think Munro had anything to do with my sister's kidnapping."

  "So he says."

  She looked back at him. "So I believe. I have... misgivings," she said, choosing her words carefully, "concerning the circumstances of Rosalyn's kidnapping and imprisonment."

  "Misgivings he has put in your head?"

  She shot him a look that did not need words.

  He sighed, backing down as he always did when he went boot to boot with her. "So tell me. Let me judge for myself."

  "I would rather nae yet say." She met his gaze, reaching for his hand. "Nae because I do not trust ye." She squeezed his hand and released it. "But because I wouldnae want you to think ill of anyone ye need not. I have only suspicion, nae proof."

  His bushy brows knitted in confusion.

  "Trust me," she said.

  He paused. She waited.

  "So ye have a plan?" he said finally. "Ye know how ye can get her back ere we must inform her intended?"

  "Nae yet. But I draw closer. And I willnae reply to the absurd demands. Short toe of a tall mon, indeed," she scoffed. "What kind of dullpate does he think I am? Nay, I want to see what he will do when I ignore his missive."

  "But you willnae release the prisoner?"

  She gave a snort that
was entirely unladylike. "Of course not. What kind of silly goose do ye think me?"

  Finley bowed his head. "I am forever your servant. Speak and I will obey, my lady."

  Elen pushed open the hinged wooden door and stepped out into the fading afternoon light. The air was strong with the smell of salt and the sea. "Now what else is it you wished to speak to me about?" She started across the bailey, her stride long and confident.

  "Your birthday celebration. 'Tis tomorrow night."

  She frowned. "I don't think a celebration would be appropriate considering the circumstances, do you?"

  "Perhaps we should dispense with much of the usual music and dancing. But I think your clansmen, your vassals, and the crofters need to have a day to honor you. Some have made preparations for months for the gift they will provide ye."

  She walked through a gaggle of squawking geese and they scattered. "I nae need their gifts. I only need their allegiance."

  Finley had to practically run on his short legs to keep up. "But, Elen," he said gently, "this is the way they pledge their allegiance to you."

  She glanced back at him, mulling his words over in her mind. Her father had been a wise man to bring Finley here from a distant cousin's keep. Neither a man, nor a woman could have a better steward. He always saw what she did not. It had probably already occurred to him Rosalyn's kidnapping was not what it seemed. "I suppose you're right."

  "I'll make the arrangements. Tomorrow night. Something simple."

  "Bread and meat for all," she ordered. "No one upon Burnard lands should sleep with an empty belly this night."

  He nodded. "Of course. Your huntsmen are already in the forest."

  She smiled. "Ye know me too well."

  A strange look appeared on his face, but it was gone in an instant. Gone before she could interpret it.

  He glanced to the west. "Will ye still ride?"

  She gazed up at the sun slipping beyond the hilltops. Already branches were bare, the last of the leaves torn from their branches. "Aye, a quick ride, but I'll find someone else to escort me. I know you have a great deal to do."