Highland Angel (6 page)

“Aye, ye do that, lass. That will make him feel better.” Payton took Kirstie by the hand and tugged her out of the room.

As Kirstie allowed him to lead her into his ledger room where he had stolen far too many kisses, she fought to control the rage writhing inside of her. Payton would have questions and she would need a clear head to answer them. Later, she would consider what needed to be done about this latest atrocity committed by Roderick. She took the goblet of wine Payton served her and drank it all down, then began to answer his questions.

Payton began to feel uneasy as Kirstie told him everything she and Callum had discovered. She looked and sounded a little odd, as if she was a too-tightly-drawn lute string. He told himself it was just shock, probably grief as well. No one with any heart could look at Robbie and not feel both.

“I will set Ian on the trail of the weaver’s death immediately,” said Payton. “He will sniff out the truth. It could give us a hefty club to wield against Roderick.”

“But is probably nay enough to hang him, aye?”

“Aye. If he didnae wield the knife himself, if it was made to look like nay more than a tavern brawl, then the ones who actually committed the crime will be the only ones who will pay for it. That is, if anyone recalls who they were. And, Roderick’s lackeys
may curse and blame Sir Roderick all the way to the gallows, but they willnae be heeded. Sir Roderick may still fear that truth, however, e’en fear that his men may yet betray him.”

“If Roderick fears that, then those men are already dead and beyond answering any questions.”

They discussed the use they might make of young Simon, but Kirstie was soon unable to concentrate. Knowing she was rapidly losing control over the turmoil inside of her, she excused herself. She did not wish to succumb to hysterics in front of Payton. It would be too easy to tell him far more than she wanted him to know.

Once in her bedchamber, she downed yet another goblet of wine. It helped a little, easing the strength of the emotions trying to tear her apart. One clear thought emerged from all the others as she sipped at yet another drink of wine. This had to end. Payton’s plan was a good one, but it worked too slowly. As they nibbled away at the power which kept Roderick sheltered from all punishment, children continued to suffer.

Kirstie sat on her bed and waited. Soon the house would grow quiet as everyone sought out their beds. Then she would go and do what she should have done years ago—kill Roderick.

Just thinking of it brought her a strange sense of calm. Even the knowledge that she would undoubtedly lose her own life did not trouble her. All she had to do was think of how poor little Robbie looked, and she knew any sacrifice was worth it to put an end to such horror.

“What does your wife think of the lad’s condition?” Payton asked Ian the moment the man joined him in his office.

“The lad should be fine if he doesnae take a fever,” Ian replied as he sighed and sat down in the chair facing Payton. “He needs feeding, is near starved and thus weak.” He shook his head. “
Weak
is, mayhap, a poor choice of word. No weak lad could have survived all that one did.”

“He had a verra strong need to find and protect his sister.”

“Aye. So, did the lass have any news?”

“Quite a lot, yet mayhap not quite enough.” Payton told Ian everything Kirstie had told him.

“I will seek out the truth about the weaver’s death. It does carry the stink of murder. But there may be nay proving it, nay against that bastard Roderick, leastwise.”

“So I thought.”

“The lass probably didnae take that news verra weel.”

Payton frowned and felt his unease return. “Weel enough. I think she was too shocked and upset o’er the boy to e’en think much o’er all the rest.”

Ian frowned as well. “That doesnae sound like the lass I have come to ken. She should have been enraged.”

“That feeling may take a wee while to work its way through all else she was feeling.”

“Did she say she wouldnae go after the mon?”

“Aye.” Payton thought over all he and Kirstie had said and then cursed. “Nay, not exactly.” He shook his head, trying to dispel a growing sense of alarm. “The lass has seen this all before, and worse. She has kept her wits about her and planned weel. I cannae
think she would do anything foolish now.”

“Mayhap not. She is, indeed, a clever lass.”

“But? I hear a
but
in your voice, my friend. Why, after so many years of being careful, would she act in a foolish way now?”

“Because everyone reaches that point where they can take no more.”

“And she loves the children,” Payton said, even as he stood up and headed for the door.

Ian followed him. “Loves them so much that she cares for the ones most others ignore or kick aside. E’en risks her verra life to keep them from harm.”

“And, so, may finally decide ’tis a fine time to sacrifice herself?”

Payton walked into Kirstie’s bedchamber and halted. He did not want to believe what he saw, or, rather, what he did not see. Kirstie was not curled up in her bed. Her bed was empty, still neatly made, and her night shift was still draped over the covers, waiting for her to don it.

With a silent Ian dogging his steps, Payton checked the other bedchambers. He even looked into his, hoping she might have sought him out for some comforting. By the time he moved to look into all the other rooms in the house, he knew it was a waste of time. He finally accepted the truth as he entered the kitchen and found it empty as well.

“She isnae here, Payton,” Ian said, his voice unusually gentle.

“She has gone after him.” Payton finally gave voice to the fear rapidly knotting his insides.

There would be no trail to follow. Knowing Kirstie’s skills, Payton suspected he could walk right past her and never know she was in reach. She was marching off to her death and, loathe Roderick though he did, Payton did not feel the man’s death was worth Kirstie’s life.

He cursed and dragged his hands through his hair. “Too many choices,” he muttered, “and I have only one chance to catch her. If I choose wrong, go off to the wrong place in search of her, I shall lose all chance of saving her. Jesu, where would she go to first?”

“She went to the king’s court.”

Payton turned to see Callum in the doorway. The boy was dressed, had his knife stuck in his belt, and had a very determined look upon his small face. It was obvious that the boy was intending to go and rescue Kirstie.

“Are ye sure?” he demanded.

“Aye,” Callum replied. “When we were slipping about the town, we heard that Sir Roderick would be at the king’s court. He is supposed to return her dower lands to her family since she is supposed to have died childless, but that bastard hopes to get someone important to say he doesnae have to do that. She didnae tell ye about that?”

“Nay, she didnae.”

“I suspicion she forgot soon as we found poor Robbie.”

“Possibly.”

“Are we going after her?”

“Ye will stay here,” Payton ordered the boy.

“But…”

“Ye cannae go up to the castle. Ye could easily be seen and recognized. I would feel a need to watch out for ye and that could cause me to fail to get to Kirstie before it is
too late to save her.”

After a brief hesitation, the boy nodded his reluctant acceptance of the command. As Payton strode by the boy, he patted him on the shoulder. “I will get her back.”

“Safe from Roderick?”

“Aye, safe from him. But, after this madness, she may nay be so verra safe from me.”

The candles and torches lighting the great hall of the king’s court provided Kirstie with ample shadows to move in. She was surprised at how easily she had slipped into the royal keep. With all the current turmoil and struggle for power, she had expected a larger, more vigilant guard. Even when she had had no place to hide, had been forced to move in the open, no one had paid any attention to her. A boy was of no interest, no importance.

As she watched the crowd flirting and gossiping all around her, playing their games of seduction and power, she noticed the many boys and youths, the squires and pages, hurrying through the crowd or waiting for a summons. They, too, were ignored for the most part. It was sad. A child, especially one who survived those first treacherous years, was a gift from God. Yet, although she caught the occasional glimpse of kindness, most of these boys were ignored or treated as little better than slaves. It was no wonder they grew up into hard men eager to take up a sword at the slightest provocation. Where was the protection, the gentle guidance? The way so few people seemed to notice where the boys were or what they were doing was appalling. No wonder Roderick seemed able to act with impunity. Kirstie had the chilling suspicion that Roderick saw this as yet another hunting ground, that he did not have to actually take the boy to Thanescarr to commit his crime.

Although it had been poverty that had kept her brothers from being fostered out, Kirstie was now glad of that lack. They were big, loud, annoying most of the time, and somewhat quick to anger, but they had many good qualities as well. She knew them all very well and they knew her, for they had not been parted until she had married. She had to wonder how much family feeling remained when a boy was sent away at such a young age. Kirstie knew boys had to be trained, had to learn how to survive in war and deal in courtly ways, but there had to be another way. Her brothers knew how to fight well and, although their manners could be appalling, they had been taught courtly ways, but they had never left home. If she was ever blessed with children, she would not send her sons away. Especially not when she now knew that predators like Roderick lurked in waiting for them.

Then she saw him and all the rage that had been briefly dimmed rushed back with such force she was made dizzy. Pressing herself against the wall to steady herself and remain hidden, she watched her husband. The man had his hand on a young boy’s shoulder and she recognized the look on Roderick’s square face. It was hunger.

Her knife was in her hand before she even thought about it, a blind need to protect the child directing her movement. Then, suddenly, another man appeared and, within but a minute, the boy was taken away. There was a brief look of fury upon Roderick’s face, but the expression of a calm, pleasant courtier quickly returned. Looking around, Kirstie realized that none of the boys was near Roderick. She watched as one small page made a clear detour around the man as he went from one end of the hall to the other.

Payton’s words were being heeded, she realized. Obviously, not enough to have Roderick cast out for the vile beast he was, but enough to make people wary about allowing him near the boys. Even better, word had gotten to the boys themselves. The boys who did not have caring, alert protectors now had the other boys. There would be no more easy hunting here for Roderick.

So, what was she to do now, she asked herself as she put her knife away. The proof that their campaign against Roderick was working had eased the blind grip of rage. Now
she began to see the dangerous flaws in her plan to end the man’s life here and now. There were too many people around. An attempt upon Roderick’s life might actually gain him some sympathy, weakening all Payton’s hard work. If she failed or was captured, her identity would quickly be discovered. That would start a whole round of questions, questions and answers that could lead Roderick or his family to Payton, to the children.

And, now that the hot fury which had brought her here was easing, she was not sure she could do it. Roderick was a foul stain upon the earth, but could she truly just walk up and stab him in the heart? She had the sinking feeling that, now that her wits had returned, such a cold-blooded execution would be beyond her. Which meant she could be caught, could find herself back in Roderick’s hands, and she would die for nothing.

Trembling a little from the realization of what she had almost done, she began to work her way stealthily out of the hall. She struggled to ignore the voice of her lingering fury, which called her a coward and urged her to carry out her mad plan. A battle raged inside of her. One part of her wanted to do what she had come here for and put an end to the monster that was her husband, while the other part urged her to go home, to allow Payton’s safer, wiser plan to work. Each time rage spoke, she hesitated; then good sense prevailed again and she would move ever closer to the doors. If this madness did not cease, it would take her days to leave the hall, she thought sourly.

As she paused in a shadowed corner, Kirstie surveyed the crowd again. A small page walked in front of her and she glanced at him, then froze. How did Callum get here and where did he find those rich clothes? She started to reach out, only to have an all-too-familiar elegant hand reach out from behind her and grab her by the wrist.

“Mayhap we should look about a little for the lass as we go?” suggested Ian as he and Payton rode to the castle.

“Dinnae bother. Ye willnae see her,” Payton replied. “That lass truly can make herself naught but a shadow.”

“She is
that
good?” he asked in astonishment as they rode into the courtyard.

After dismounting and ordering the man who came to take their horses to hold them right there, Payton fell into step beside Ian. “Aye, she is that good. Silent, swift, and able to blend into even the smallest of shadows.”

As they entered the crowded great hall, Ian frowned as he looked around. “If she can do that, how do ye expect to find her in here?”

“Nay easily, but,” he nodded toward Roderick, “there stands her prey, so she will be here somewhere. Ye watch him, keeping a close eye out for the lass. She will have to show herself, however briefly, in order to strike. I will search the shadows.”

Leaving Ian to thwart an attack Payton prayed would not come, he immediately moved to the far edges of the hall, into the shadows where he knew Kirstie would hide. As he moved along the wall, Payton realized several advantages to slipping around in the shadows. He was not interrupted or delayed by women interested in flirtation or men eager to talk of the embattled regents or the ever-shifting alliances with the English, whether one should side with the House of York or the House of Lancaster. Payton felt the wisest thing to do was to leave both houses to fight over the English crown unaided by the Scots and, if they did not completely kill each other off, deal with the winner. At the moment, he was even less interested than ever in which English fool won the crown. All he wanted was to get Kirstie safely out of the castle and back to his house, where he
intended to berate her for her foolishness until her pretty little ears rang.

Even as he idly noted his young cousin Uven walking away from him, thankfully oblivious to his presence, Payton saw a slight movement in the shadows the boy walked past. Despite his astonishment over how completely Kirstie could disappear into such thin protection, Payton hurried to her side and slipped behind her as she stepped away from the wall. He grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her hand back before she could touch the boy.

“’Tis Callum,” she whispered as Payton tugged her back into the shadows and began to pull her along toward the doors.

“Nay, ’tis my cousin Uven MacMillan,” Payton said, breaching his cover long enough to signal Ian to go back to the horses.

“But he looked just like Callum.”

“Aye, I ken it. I will explain it later when I am done telling ye what a complete idiot ye are.”

Obviously, Payton lost his reputed skill with soft, seductive words when he was angry, Kirstie mused. She started to protest his somewhat rough treatment as he yanked her out into the bailey and tossed her up onto his horse, then decided it might be wiser to just be quiet for now. Payton looked so furious she doubted telling him that she had begun to change her mind would be enough to calm him. She sat stiffly in front of him as they rode away from the castle and wondered just how bad a scolding she would soon have to endure.

Once back at his home, Payton dragged her into his ledger room and pushed her toward a chair. Exhausted from the emotional battles she had been through in the last few hours, Kirstie sank down into the seat. She was a little startled when Payton served her a goblet of wine. Even though he thrust it at her without a word and walked away, she almost smiled. Even when furious, the man could not completely forget his manners.

She watched him as he paced and had to bite back another smile. Despite knowing that, at any moment, he was going to start lecturing her, she enjoyed watching him move. Kirstie wondered if emotional exhaustion had made her light-headed.

“Ye were going to kill him,” Payton said abruptly as he turned to face her.

“Aye,” she replied honestly. “I was going to plunge my dagger into his black heart.” She took a drink of wine. “For a wee while, I thought of slicing his belly open so that he would die slowly and in agony. Then I thought about cutting off his manhood so he couldnae work his evil anymore.” She took another drink of wine. “Then I—” Her eyes widened when Payton snatched her goblet out of her hand, scowled at the wine it still held, then scowled at her. “I am nay drunk,” she murmured as she took her drink back.

“Ye would have been the one who was killed.”

“Quite possibly. It didnae matter. I wanted that monster sent straight to hell.”

“And those two brutes who stand by him at all times would just watch ye do it, aye?”

Kirstie decided she would prefer to dance on nails barefoot than admit she had completely forgotten Roderick’s guards. They were blindly loyal to Roderick and as strong as they were stupid. One glimpse of a knife in her hand and they would have snapped her neck or taken her head from her shoulders with a huge sword, their favored methods of meting out death.

“I was planning to be quick,” she said and inwardly grimaced when he gave her a look of furious exasperation.

“Ye didnae think at all,” he snapped. “Ye didnae have a plan, either. Nay, ye just trotted off, knife in hand, prepared to do murder or die in the attempt. Or did ye think everyone would just step back when ye attacked Roderick and say, have at him, dearie.”

She slammed her goblet down on a small table next to her and stood up, the smouldering anger still within her now aimed at Payton. The fact that he took a hasty step backward when she moved so quickly pleased her immensely. She did not need him to tell her she had acted hastily, but he could show some sympathy, some understanding of what had driven her to act so unwisely.

“They should,” she said, her gritted teeth making her words terse and sharp. “Everyone there should be eager to pick up sword or dagger and cut that foul mon into a hundred bloody pieces. Nay, I didnae think or plan. All I did think of as I looked at poor wee Robbie was that Roderick had lived far too long. It had to stop. He had to be stopped. Roderick is a sick beast, a vile monster, and I wanted that monster dead. Dead and buried and with every child he has hurt able to spit upon his grave and curse his black soul.”

She turned away from him and walked over to the fireplace to stare blindly into the flames. Kirstie realized she wanted to weep and inwardly cursed herself for such a weakness. Although a good, hearty cry might make her feel less twisted-up by conflicting emotions, it would solve nothing. She tensed a little when Payton stepped up close behind her and wrapped his arms around her.

“The wee lads wouldnae spit on that bastard’s grave,” he said against her ear. “They would piss on it.”

Kirstie could not believe such crude words would make her want to laugh. She recognized both the humor and the truth of them, however. It would certainly be what her brothers would do, even the gentle, refined Eudard.

“Why did that boy look so much like Callum?” she asked, hoping conversation would help her remain cool to his light embrace, to the soft kisses he placed against her ear and neck.

“Because I believe Callum may be a kinsmon of his,” Payton replied.

Kirstie broke free of his hold and moved to the side, away from the heat of the fire and him, before facing him. “Are ye sure?”

“As sure as I can be, but, until I get a mother’s name and, mayhap, a bit more information, I will say naught to the boy. The MacMillans will take one look at Callum and ken he is one of theirs, but Callum needs more if he is to believe and accept it.” Payton moved to stand in front of her, then edged forward until she was backed up against the wall. “Then he will have a name, a clan to belong to. And, if I can actually find a close kinsmon, ’twill be e’en better.”

“Would they want him?”

“Aye.” He saw a brief flicker of doubt in her expression. “They are my Uncle Eric’s clan. Trust me to ken how they will act. They will welcome the lad into the fold without hesitation or condemnation. A blood tie is verra important to them.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful. To give Callum a name, a heritage, e’en a clan, would do so much good for him.” She frowned a little when Payton placed his hands on either side of her head and drew so close that their bodies would rub together if either of
them took a deep breath. “Move away. I grow weary of this game of seduction ye play.”

When she tried to move away, he pressed his body against hers, pinning her against the wall. Payton gently gripped her chin in his hand and turned her face up to his. “So do I,” he said and brushed a kiss over her mouth. “I grow weary of ye fighting what flares between us. I tire of waiting for your aye.”

“Poor lad. Ye cannae conceive of a lass telling ye nay, is that it?”

The bite she had intended to put behind her words was very weak. It was hard to be cold and sarcastic when his nearness was making her short of breath. The way he was kissing her face, brushing his lips over hers, and nibbling at her ears was making her entirely too warm. His groin was pressed close to hers and the feel of the hard ridge of his manhood was making her knees weak. She wanted to kiss him back, wanted to run her hands through his hair and all over his lean body, and she wanted to rub against him like some hungry wanton. What he could make her feel was frightening and thrilling at the same time.