Amber (Jewel Trilogy, Book 3) (32 page)

She headed downstairs and outside, hoping for some peace to appreciate the whimsical world that Elspeth had created. Once it had calmed Trick; perhaps the castle garden would work the same magic on her.

Though the rain had stopped, the day was blustery, the sky still gray and forbidding. She walked the paths, bending to touch a little castle here and there, smiling at Trick's mother's inventiveness. A blue one with little bits of metal to make it sparkle. A yellow one surrounded by miniature trees. She could almost picture Elspeth working on them, a small blond boy at her side. If he'd "helped" as well as the children at the orphanage did, she imagined it had taken the woman twice as long as necessary to build each one.

There was a fanciful one, painted pink, a green dragon guarding its entrance. It looked so pretty surrounded by bell-shaped purplish flowers.

She froze. Bell-shaped purplish flowers.

Black nightshade. Belladonna. Dwale.

She reached out, then snatched her hand back, hearing Caithren's voice in her head.
Don't touch. It's possible to fall ill without even eating it.Do you see these dark green leaves? They're lethal.

She saw only a few of those dark green leaves...because most of them had been plucked off.

Like Cait, Rhona had knowledge of plants and herbs. And she'd been feeding a concoction to Hamish. Her "cure" with its dark green hue.

And Hamish's symptoms—likely Elspeth's symptoms as well—had been just what Caithren had described: shock, fever, slowed breathing, dilated eyes, stomach pain...

Rhona had been poisoning them both.

Dear God. She had to warn Trick and Niall. Her husband and his brother were all that stood between Rhona and Gregor and that treasure, and if the two of them had been willing to murder twice, they'd be willing to do it again.

Before she even puzzled it all out, she was running for the castle. Upstairs in her chamber, she ripped off her gown and threw a riding habit on instead. Grabbing her cloak, she lost no time heading for the stables and Pandora, praying that none of the family would see her before she could get on the road.

She'd hung over Trick's shoulder as he and Niall had pored over the map yesterday, and she was sure she knew the way.

Impatiently tapping a foot, she watched the stable boy lift the saddle to the mare's back. "Hurry, would you?"

The stable boy frowned. "You cannot go riding alone, your grace."

She forced a smile. "At home in England, I ride alone all the time."

"This is Duncraven, not England. Allow me to arrange for an escort."

"I thank you, but no." An escort would see where she was headed and ride right back. Then she'd be caught and kept from going altogether. Hamish would want to send someone else—a messenger or, God forbid, Duncan. And she wasn't going to sit here worrying while the men in her life were facing murderers. "I really prefer to ride alone. It clears my head."

The stable boy was backing through the doors, clearly going for help. Taking over where he'd left off, she cinched the saddle tight and swung herself up. "Tell Mr. Munroe I'll be back," she called as she rode off.

It was more miles than it had looked on the map, but Pandora was swift. The hours took her over rolling land nestled against a range of green mountains, then finally on a tree-lined road that wound through the hills shielding the coastline.

Cattle grazed in the meadows, and purple thistles sprouted everywhere. A fine mist fell from the sky, and the clouds were growing darker, promising heavier weather to come. When the twisting road crested and she could see the small village of Burntisland tucked into a bay in the distance, the Firth of Forth tossing fitfully beyond it, she began worrying about how she would locate her husband.

As luck would have it—bad luck—she barreled through a sea of cornflowers, rounded a bend, and nearly rode right over him.

"Grab her!" Rhona yelled.

In the middle of tying up a man, Trick looked up to see Kendra yanked off Pandora. A heartbeat later, Gregor had a blade to her neck.

Where the hell had she come from?

Stunned, Trick could barely find breath. Empty-saddled, Pandora reared and galloped up the embankment, his and Niall's mounts bolting after her.

"Damn you for a dastardly whoreson," Gregor grated through gritted teeth. "Release my man, before your pretty wife's head is rolling down the road."

"Don't listen to him, Trick!" Tears swam in Kendra's eyes. "He'll only kill you. He's murdered once already, almost twice—"

"Now!" Gregor bellowed.

His gaze riveted to Kendra's, Trick dropped the rope and slowly stepped back, the blood pounding in his ears.

I'm sorry
, she mouthed, her heart in her glistening eyes. She raised her clenched knuckles to her teeth while the tears slipped down her cheeks.

"Rhona, get the weapons."

Stalking over to retrieve the pistols Trick had made them drop to the ground mere minutes earlier, Rhona smirked at Kendra. "Thank you, dearie." She handed a gun to one of their accomplices. "For a while there, your husband thought he had us fooled." The man Trick had been restraining struggled out of his half-tied bonds, and she handed over another pistol. "Imagine he and his brother thinking they could hold the four of us up."

Atop the rise overhead, Niall shakily stood, the lone real gunman among a dozen hats and pipes they'd arranged around him. He ripped the makeshift mask from his face. "We
did
fool you," he spat.

"Until your bonnie sister-in-law showed up and we put two and two together." Gregor tightened his hold around Kendra, and she flinched, making Trick's heart leap into his throat. "Drop your gun, lad, lest you be the next to feel my knife."

"He'll kill you anyway, Niall! I'm telling you—"

Niall's pistol fell to the road with an ominous thud.

Steaming—at Kendra, or Gregor and Rhona, or the world in general, he really wasn't sure which—Trick tore his own mask off and tugged the periwig from his head.

"Don't move!" Gregor growled. A tiny red nick appeared on Kendra's creamy skin, and her whimper took a year off Trick's life. Gregor swung his gaze on one of the other two men, motioning toward Trick with his head. "Kill him first."

"I told you!" Kendra wailed.

"Kill?" Palms forward, his gun pointed to the sky, the man backed away.

A Duncraven villager—Trick had slapped him at the
draidgie
. Now he wished he'd pounded him into the floorboards.

"Nobody said anything about killing, aye? We were supposed to move some chests and go home with gold in our pockets. Nobody said anything about killing."

"I'm with you, Davie." The second man's pistol dropped to the dirt. "Good day to you people. I don't know what game you're playing, but I'll be heading back to Duncraven now—you may keep my horse with my compliments." Casting a wistful glance to the animal in question, which was hitched to one of the wagons, he started walking.

"Wait!" Rhona's eyes darted back and forth between the retreating men and her husband. "We don't have to kill." Her voice rose an octave. "Damn you, Gregor, I told you from the first that we didn't have to kill!"

The men halted and turned back around, apparently reserving judgment.

"Aye," Gregor barked. "And then you talked me into that milk-livered way of doing it, when we could've been done with the deed and clear to London weeks before
he
showed up." He aimed a deadly glance at Trick.

"Hell mend you!" the first man said, pivoting away.

"Wait!" Rhona shot her pistol into the air.

Everyone froze. A choked sound came from Kendra's throat.

"We don't have to kill," Rhona repeated, her jaw tight with fury as she faced her husband. Visibly shaking, she gestured wildly at the four loaded wagons. "We cannot do this alone. We cannot let them walk."

Her gaze fell on the rope Trick had dropped to the ground. "We can tie the bastards up, like they were going to do us." He'd never heard such language from a woman's mouth. "We'll be long gone across the Forth before they can follow. The tide will turn, and they'll be stuck here till tomorrow."

Other than his labored breathing, Gregor remained silent. Resolute. The two other men exchanged looks and resumed walking.

A crack of lightning rent the air. "Come back," Gregor bellowed as thunder rumbled and rain began pelting the earth. "I'll hold this one until you tie up the others." His breath came in spasmodic jerks. "You!" he shouted to Niall. "Get down here unless you want to see the inside of your sister-in-law's gullet."

Niall didn't need to be told twice.

Using Trick's own ropes, they tied him and then his brother on the muddy ground, feet together, wrists crossed and bound behind their backs, then lashed to their bodies for good measure. Finally Gregor wrestled Kendra to the ground, and the two men gave her the same treatment.

"Ouch!" she yelled. "Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!
Ouch! OUCH!
"

Lying on his side, Trick winced with each tug of the rope, though frankly he couldn't imagine what she found so painful. The entire situation was aggravating as hell, but it didn't hurt so much as to warrant squealing like a pig.

His poor wife must have the lowest pain threshold in history, he decided, remembering her reaction on their wedding night. Should she ever give birth, he would do best to keep clear of the house. Or maybe the county.

He was jarred from those musings when Gregor came to stand over him, murder in his cold blue eyes. "You bleeding bastard!" A swift kick to Trick's side knocked the breath from his lungs. Gregor's jaw clenched, and he kicked again, a blow so hard Trick heard the sharp crack of a rib. Pain knifed through him, exquisite agony that made the worst of his father's beatings seem insignificant.

He shut his eyes, gasping for air, hearing the wagons roll down the road as he waited for the pain to subside.

"Trick? Oh, my God. Trick, are you all right?"

"I'll live." She was too far away to touch, but he opened his eyes and sent her a wan, forced smile. "Are
you
all right?"

"Yes." The tears welled up again, mixing with the rain. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry. I know you told me not to come, but she was poisoning them, Trick, they were—"

"We'll talk of it later." He was too confused right now, torn between fury that she'd shown up and relief that her throat was intact. The pain was becoming bearable, an insistent throb along his left side. "Niall? You all right, man?"

"Aye. I should have shot him."

"Don't be a horse's arse. It was four against two, and a knife at her throat." His eyes widened when he looked back to Kendra. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Getting out." She gyrated in the mud. "Angus and Davie, they're nice men at heart. I talked to them at the
draidgie
."

"What?"

"I thought if I could convince them they were hurting me, they'd leave the ropes loose." She wiggled a hand free. "It worked."

"Holy Christ," Niall breathed. "She's a bloody genius."

And Trick was a damned idiot.

Her arm was still tied to her body, and it took another few minutes to work it free. Then more long minutes to unravel the rest until only her ankles were bound. She made short work of those bonds and scrambled to her feet, shaking out the kinks, splattering mud to the ground.

"I never thought I'd say this, but thank God it's raining." She tilted her head back, letting the downpour run into her mouth and wash down her body.

A wry laugh shot from Trick's throat, shortened by the pain in his ribs. "Untie me, wench."

Minutes later, he was free, hugging her like he never wanted to let go, never mind the ache in his side. He dropped kisses on her mouth, her cheeks, her eyes. "Sweet Mary,
leannan
." He pulled back, running his fingers over the tiny cut on her throat, convincing himself it wasn't serious. "I thought I was going to lose you." Then he kissed her all over again.

Laughing, she drew away. "Don't forget your brother."

He knelt, stifling a groan, and loosened Niall's bonds, grasping his hand to help him up. They embraced hard, then drew back and met each other's eyes.

"Shall we go get them?" Trick asked.

"Hell, yes."

The villains were already at the quay in the distance, unloading the wagons into a broad-beamed, single-masted boat. Or rather, the men were unloading. Rhona was wringing her hands. An agitated ferryman was alternately assisting and barking orders short-tempered enough to cut through the wind and the rain all the way to Trick's ears.

"No more, I tell you! She cannot hold it! And the tide has turned—we must leave, or we won't clear the harbor mouth—"

His words were cut off when Gregor turned a pistol on him. "Faster!" he shouted, shooting a shocked and then furious glance to where Trick and the others thundered closer on their horses. "Faster!"

"Enough!" the ferryman cried. "Take the last two off! She'll sink, I tell you!"

As the tide flooded out, the water level dropped between the two great stone piers that thrust east and west, the hundred-foot gap between them the only exit from Burntisland's harbor. In minutes, it would be too shallow and dangerous to navigate.

Trick reached the quay, his wife and brother arriving on Chaucer's heels. In unison they dropped to the dock, throwing their reins over a rail.

Ignoring the warnings, Gregor and the other two men thrust the last chest onboard and shoved off, the boat so laden there was barely room to stand. With a shouted oath, the ferryman jumped to the dock in the last instant, sputtering as the craft pulled away, already taking on water. In mute but panicked agreement, Gregor's helpers abandoned ship as well, leaping into the chilly harbor.

The boat's sails billowed, and it lurched forward, nearing the harbor mouth. Trick untied a smaller boat and scrambled aboard. "You, come!" he shouted to Niall. When Kendra made to follow, he waved her back. "You stay here!"

"A pox on you!" she screamed. With a running leap, she cleared the gap just as the boat pulled away.