Highland Master (8 page)

“Nay, it isnae,” said Brett. “My men and I thought the same, but we havenae been able to find out much.”

“I trailed them to the far edge of Gormfeurach land, but havenae been able to get any farther than that. Lost the trail and havenae been able to get back there and try to find it,” said Harcourt.

“Why would they ride west?” asked Brian. “Ye need to ride east if ye are going to find a port and sail off to France.”

Everyone stared at Brian, who just shrugged. Then Triona looked at Brett, who was scowling in thought. “He is right. Why would the trail go west, unless they followed an established road and planned to turn east later?”

“I think we need to have a talk with Sir John’s men,” said Brett as he stood up.

Triona hurried to follow him as he strode off, and noticed that Sir Brian and a few others came along, as well. “I cannae believe that Sir John’s men would help him do harm to mine.”

“That may be true, but that doesnae mean they dinnae ken anything at all.”

When she saw the men in the dungeon, Triona tried not to feel bad for them. They might be reluctant to follow the orders of their laird, but they were still doing so. A few days in the dungeon was the least they deserved.

“M’lady,” said one of the men she suddenly recognized as the Duncan whom Ian had mentioned. He stood up with the others and bowed to her.

“We have come to ask ye a few questions,” said Brian. “I was wondering what ye might ken about the near thirty men who left here to go to France.”

Duncan frowned. “Just that they left. Heard they decided to try to recoup some of the coin lost when the fever struck and because the harvests were bad.”

“Ever hear of a mon called Birk?” asked Triona.

“Weel, he has been round at the keep once or twice but nay for many months now. The laird brought him back from some trip he had taken to a neighboring laird. We didnae have much to do with the mon.” He glanced back at the other men, who shook their heads to indicate that they had had nothing to do with the man, either.

“Who was Birk?” asked Brett.

“The mon Joan says convinced my men to go to France to fight,” she replied.

Triona nodded when everyone stared at her. She could see by the scowls forming on the faces of Brett and the others that the implications of Sir John knowing such a man were clear to them as well. It was hard to see how he could have arranged the disappearance of thirty strong men, but she was even more convinced that Sir John had done just that. She could only pray that he had not had them all killed.

“Ye think our laird took your men?” asked Duncan.

“They were convinced to go to France by a mon named Birk, and your laird had a mon named Birk visiting him at about the same time. Aye, I begin to think Sir John had a lot to do with the loss of all of my garrison.”

“But why would he . . .” Duncan stuttered to a halt and then cursed softly. “Left ye undefended, didnae it.”

“Exactly. I dinnae suppose ye ken where the mon Birk came from.”

“Nay, m’lady. As I said, the laird went off as he often does, returned with the mon, and then, after one or two more visits, there has nay been any sight of him.”

“Ye cannae think our laird killed your men, can ye?” said a tall, thin youth.

Triona looked at the young man and nearly winced. The youth was attempting to look insulted, even disbelieving, but he could not hide all his doubt. Sir John had lost the faith of his men. They did as they were told, doing their best to lessen the severity of the results of the laird’s orders, but they no longer trusted him. Deny it though they wanted to, every single man in her dungeon now feared that their laird had had a hand in the disappearance of her garrison.

“Nay, I dinnae think he had them killed,” she said, and prayed she was right to think so. “But I think he had a part in their disappearance.”

“Ye mean in their sudden need to go to France,” said Duncan.

“Nay, I begin to think they ne’er went there. There has been nary a word, Duncan. None of the wives, or betrotheds, or mothers, or children have heard a word. Nothing. There hasnae even been the return of the dead or wounded, and ye ken as weel as I do that any one of my men would wish to be buried here, nay in France.”

“And the trail led to the far edge of Gormfeurach,” said Brett. “I dinnae think a mon can reach a port and a ship to France that way.” He nodded when Duncan paled.

“If he had a hand in the loss of your men, I cannae think what he has done with them, m’lady,” Duncan said after a moment of heavy silence. “I truly cannae. I wish I could help.”

She believed him and nodded. Brett and Brian asked the men a few more questions, but she paid little mind, all of her thoughts on where her men might be. Triona did her best to push aside the fear that they were all dead. She loathed Sir John, but even she found it difficult to believe he would kill all those men. If nothing else, they would be of use when he got what he wanted and sat his arrogant arse in the laird’s chair at Banuilt.

By the time they all returned to the great hall and she had had food and drink sent down to the prisoners, Triona had gone from being afraid to angry to afraid and back to angry. She tried very hard to cling to the anger. If nothing else, she could not bear to think that Joan may have lost her beloved Aiden.

“We need to look harder for those men,” said Brett as he sat down and poured himself a tankard of ale. “Mayhap they did go to France, but I begin to think something else has befallen them. The question is, where could a mon keep near thirty men?”

“It would have to be on some land he owned or kenned was abandoned, and it would have to be in a verra secure place. Ye cannae just chain up that many men, I would think,” said Brian.

“Guards and supplies would be needed,” said Callum. “That may be where to begin the search for answers.”

“Aye, he has the right of it,” agreed Brian. “E’en if ye were nay feeding them weel, ye would still need a lot of food and need it regularly. Somewhere there is a merchant who has gained himself a verra good customer. And anyone near where the men are being held would have to ken something about it all. Many wouldnae question whate’er some laird is doing, but they would see and they would remember.”

“Then we need to go back to where Harcourt lost the trail,” said Brett. “Ye cannae move that many men without someone seeing something.”

“He wouldnae have killed them, would he?” Triona asked, needing some reassurance from men who knew more about such things than she did.

“It wouldnae have been wise,” replied Brett. “Murder isnae something that can be hidden weel, and he wouldnae be able to have his friends save him if it was discovered. It would also have been verra difficult to keep such a thing a secret. He would need enough men to do the killing and the burying and then, if he truly wished to keep it secret, he would have needed to silence those men, too. Nay, killing so many men and hiding the fact would be too difficult. He has either sent them all to France to some fate there, or he has them somewhere in this country.”

“And I would wager it isnae all that far away,” said Brian. “He may nay have much to do with holding them, but he would need to send coin or supplies, and he would want to be able to bring them back as quickly as possible if he got ye to the altar.”

“I hope we find them, for I cannae think that wherever they are, they are being treated verra weel,” she said. “And I think we should nay say much about this to my people. I dinnae wish to get their hopes up, for we cannae be sure now exactly what has happened to the men.”

“Agreed,” said Brett, and the other men nodded. “We will find them, lass. Ye have some of the best hunters in the land sitting right here swilling your ale. If they are out there, we will find them.”

“Thank ye for that,” she said and then stood up, all the men hastily scrambling to their feet. “I really cannae thank ye enough for all ye have done already, and now there is this. I pray we find them, but I will always ken how ye helped and be grateful for it, nay matter what unfolds. And now I believe I will retire. It has been a verra long day.”

Brett watched her leave as he sat back down. She had looked so sad, yet held herself straight and showed no sign of weakness. He knew how deeply she cared for all the people at Banuilt, and this had to be breaking her heart.

“Weel, I hope we do find them,” said Brian. “I hate to e’en think of so many men riding off thinking they were about to have an adventure, see new places, and get some coin, only to be cut down by some hired swine.”

“If we find them alive, we will be dealing with men who have been imprisoned for almost two years. I am nay sure that is all that much better a fate,” said Brett.

“Nay. E’en though I can see why they would think it a good idea to go to France, I dinnae like that they all rode away leaving this place mostly unguarded, but near two years in prison is more than they should have had to suffer for that idiocy,” said Brian.

“If they are out there, we will find them,” said Harcourt, and Callum nodded.

“I pray ye do. I will leave the hunt in your hands, then. If ye find anything, I wish to ken it, for ye will probably need many of us to free them,” said Brett.

“I will start in the morning,” said Harcourt, and left to seek out his bed.

“There is something else to consider,” said Brian.

“And what would that be?” asked Brett.

“Any mon who would take away and imprison his own allies for near to two years probably isnae quite sane.”

“I have begun to fear that myself, old friend.”

The sky was so bright with stars that Triona was lost in the wonder of it. She leaned against the wall and sighed. She had come up on the walls of Banuilt to think, but the beauty of the night had quickly distracted her. Such sights had been a great comfort to her during her marriage. The wonder had already begun to fade, however, and her mind was slowly turning back to all the troubles she suffered from and just how she might be able to put an end to them. Troubles that not only did not end but seemed to multiply like rabbits.

The men they had captured yestereve were now loosely confined, no one concerned that they would escape or prove a danger to Banuilt. She had seen how troubled, even hurt, Sir John’s men were by how quickly their laird had denied them. Sir John had callously tossed six of his men to the wolves, knowing that those men could be hanged for what they had done.

Unfortunately, that still left her without the hard proof of Sir John’s guilt, which she had believed she had gained, for one happy moment. No one would heed accusations made by men guilty of stealing sheep over Sir John’s claims of innocence. The same poor men now also had to consider the possibility that their laird had done something to the entire garrison of Banuilt, a garrison whose men many of them had known for years. Some were even related. The people of Gormfeurach and Banuilt were intertwined in so many ways that something like this could never sit easy with any of them.

At the very best, she had just gained a fortnight or more of peace. Sir John was cunning enough to know that if he continued his harassment of her too soon after his men had been caught stealing, it would be enough to add some weight to her accusations against him. She now needed to decide how to make the best use of the short time of peace this latest trouble would give her.

Her mind refused to settle to the task of planning anything for Banuilt. The thoughts of what her garrison might be suffering preyed on her mind. She still shied away from even thinking of the possibility that they were dead, refusing to believe that even Sir John could heartlessly slaughter so many. Yet, nearly two long years of imprisonment would leave its scars on her men as well. If they were being held somewhere, she could not be certain they would be cared for properly. Prisons of any sort were harsh places and full of disease. The fact that all she could do was pray for their safe return frustrated her. It also took all of her strength not to give in to the urge to confront Sir John and demand he tell her what he had done with her garrison.

In an attempt to stop thinking of her men, she tried to think of what to do to make sure the promise of a good harvest was not stolen away, but thoughts of Sir Brett Murray kept intruding, turning her mind to images of a pair of fine, dark green eyes and memories of a heated kiss. Scolding herself for behaving like some witless love-struck maid did not stop it, either. Triona prayed that no one at Banuilt noticed her distraction or guessed at the reason for it. She knew she looked at him a lot but hoped she had succeeded in hiding just how deep her interest in him went.

She was going to have to decide what to do about Sir Brett Murray of the fine green eyes. It was tempting to simply thank the man for his help and send him on his way. Arianna had her husband with her now, even if the couple were still at odds, so Sir Brett and his friends were no longer needed as her cousin’s protectors. There was no good reason for telling the man to go, however, nor could she ever deliver such an insult to a man who had been nothing but helpful to her and her people. In truth, her people readily turned to Sir Brett for advice, treating him as a part of Banuilt. And there was no denying that she also really needed his and the other men’s help in finding out the fate of her garrison.

It was all rapidly becoming more than she could bear. Triona stared up at the sky again and sighed. Sometimes just looking at the vastness of the night sky was enough to make her see her troubles as small in comparison, but it was not working this time. She could see no way to end the trouble with Sir John that did not include giving in to his demands, if only to aid her garrison. Yet every day that passed, she became more and more drawn to Sir Brett Murray. Memories of how it felt to be held in Sir Brett’s arms, to kiss him, turned into dreams in the night that left her starving for more kisses. Ignoring that growing hunger was making it more and more difficult to think clearly about the trouble with the laird of Gormfeurach. The needs of the people of Banuilt had to take precedence over the needs of her body, but she was having a great deal of trouble abiding by that very honorable tenet.

“A fine, clear night, m’lady,” said Sir Brett as he stepped up beside her.

Triona was startled by his sudden appearance but struggled not to reveal it. It was humiliating to think she had been so lost in her thoughts that she never heard his approach. A woman in her position could not afford to be so oblivious to what was happening around her.

“That it is,” she replied, pleased to hear no hint of nervousness in her voice. “And nay so cold that ye cannae enjoy it for a wee bit.”

Brett looked up at the sky. “And there is a sight certain to humble any mon.”

“Aye. Did ye come out to see the stars then, or is the fighting between Arianna and her husband still raging?” Triona smiled, thinking of how her cousin and her husband still occasionally had a loud exchange, but the anger and hurt behind the words had definitely lessened.

He laughed. “It is still raging yet not as loudly. I dinnae think she is as angry as she was before. Now I believe she is just making him suffer for his crimes by being less than loving, irritating him when she can, and keeping him at a distance, which is driving the poor fool half mad and thus the occasional descent into a shouting match.”

“I can understand her upset. There were things in her past, heart-deep injuries that were all stirred up by her finding out about Mavis, by thinking her husband had lied to her. And, truly, how can a mon forget his wife?” she asked, fighting the urge to laugh with him, for she knew she would feel like a traitor to Arianna if she did.

“I dinnae think it was that he truly forgot Mavis as much as it was that he just didnae think it was important to speak of her.” Brett grimaced when Triona gave him a fleeting look of womanly disgust. “I dinnae believe he thought of her much at all once he returned home to Scarglas. It was o’er five years ago and the marriage didnae last verra long. Aye, he wanted her enough to run off with her e’en though she was chosen to wed his brother, but that caused no trouble for him. Her father was happy and his brother didnae want the lass anyway. Brian didnae gain anything from the marriage either, so no land or coin to explain. He simply returned to Scarglas and fell right back into the life he had always lived, save that this time he did so with plans to get what he craved—his own lands, through his own hard work. As he told me, that work filled his mind and heart, and near all his time, for five years.”

“I think I begin to understand. ’Twas such a short time in his life that poor Mavis became little more than just some lass he kenned in the past. She wasnae there long enough to leave her mark on him, poor lass. I suspicion there was no great heartbreak in it all for him, either.”

“Nay, I think not. He cared for her, liked her, and lusted after her. Said so himself. He would have been a good husband to her and given her bairns, tended her lands, and all that.”

“And his brother clearly didnae woo her verra weel.”

“Weel, he wasnae there. He had been to see her and her father, agreed to the match, but was taken for ransoming on his journey back to Scarglas. ’Tis where Gregor met his Alanna. Mavis wondered what had happened when Gregor didnae return as promised, and she and her father came to Scarglas looking for him. That was when Mavis met Brian. When Gregor returned to find Mavis there, weel, it didnae go weel, for he had Alanna with him, and soon enough Mavis had run off with Brian.”

“Ah, I see.”

Brett leaned closer to look into her eyes. “What do ye see?”

“Mavis kenned that Gregor didnae truly want her, and so she chose her own mon. ’Tis a shame she had so little time to enjoy her choice.”

Unable to resist the allure of her moonlit skin, he lightly stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. He knew he was going to do his best to seduce her into his bed. It had been too long since he had enjoyed the heat and hunger of a clean lust, one born not only of the body but of the heart and mind as well. He liked and respected Triona, something that only heightened the need that gripped him more tightly with every passing day. The fact that Brenda’s spirit did not trouble him each time he kissed Triona only made him more eager to have her.

Smiling faintly, he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Brett had the passing thought that she fit perfectly in his arms, her face coming to rest against his chest and her soft hair brushing against his throat. She was small enough to make him feel big and strong, yet not so small that he feared he could hurt her. She was also very stiff, he mused.

“What are ye doing?” she asked, and then decided that was a very foolish question.

“Holding ye,” he replied, and could not keep all of his amusement out of his voice.

“Ye ken weel what I am asking, ye rogue.”

Triona knew she should be pushing him away, should even display a righteous outrage over his forward behavior. Just because she had already allowed him two kisses did not mean he had the right to accost her whenever he felt like it. Instead, she slowly began to relax into his embrace, because she had to admit she rather liked being accosted by him. He was warm and he made her feel that warmth inside as well as outside of her body. She knew she was experiencing the desire so many women spoke of, the heat that she had never discovered in her marriage.

What few twinges of desire she had felt for Boyd had died on her wedding night. The fragile hope she had clung to that the act had been cold and passionless because Boyd had been as nervous as she was, that now that she was no longer a virgin it would get better, had also died a swift death. Triona knew that even if Brett was not a greatly skilled lover, he could show her more about true desire than Boyd had ever done. She also knew that if she were not the laird of Banuilt, not a woman who needed to hold tightly to the full respect of her people, she would be dragging the man straight to her bedchamber to find out if he could give her all the passion his kisses promised her.

“I am preparing to kiss you,” he said, slipping his hand beneath her chin and tilting her face up to his.

“Are ye actually asking permission to do so this time?”

“Aye, I suppose I am.”

“Oh, I am nay sure that is wise, nay if ye really wish to kiss me. Asking gives me time to think about it. Then I start to consider the possibility that someone might see us, that it could hurt my standing here if I am caught in a mon’s arms, or e’en that every priest I have e’er listened to has spoken of such stolen moments as the first step on the path to sin.”

He kissed her, smiling against her lips when she laughed. It pleased him to make her smile, as she had been sunk deep in sadness and worry since finding out that her men might really be in danger and not just traveling around France trying to make money to bring home to their kin. And then Brett stopped thinking of anything but the sweet taste of her.

Triona wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him and he kissed with all the passion and need any woman could want. She was astonished at just how quickly a kiss could make her ache for so much more. Brett’s kiss twisted her innards with an aching want and had her blood running hot. She had never experienced anything like it before. By the time he moved his mouth from hers and began to kiss her neck, she was panting as if she had run miles.

“Anyone who is out can probably see us up here,” Triona whispered, but her concern was not strong enough to move her out of his arms.

“Aye, Mama, they can. I did. ’Tis how I found ye.”

Brett caught hold of Triona when she jerked out of his arms so fiercely that she put herself in danger of tumbling off the walls. Lightly holding her arm, he turned with her to look at Ella. The little girl was dressed in a lace-trimmed nightdress and was smiling at them. Brett suspected the panting Triona was doing now had very little to do with passion and much more to do with a parent’s fear at seeing her small child up on the high walls, alone.

“Ella Mary Margaret McKee!” Triona gasped and tugged free of Brett in order to reach out and grab her child.

“Uh-oh. Ye just said all my names. Am I in trouble?”

“Aye, ye most certainly are. What are ye doing up here? These walls are nay a safe place for a wee lass to be, and I think ye ken that weel. And yet here ye are with naught but your nightdress on, nay e’en wearing shoes. And where is Peggy?”

“Sleeping.” Ella lowered her head a little and gazed up at her mother through her lashes. “I had a bad dream, Mama, and I needed ye.”

Brett looked up at the stars, fighting a smile. The child was beguiling, and that look would be enough to soften the anger of any adult. He doubted it was going to work on Triona at the moment. The risk of a fall for such a small child, making her way up onto the walls, was far too great for a loving mother to allow big blue eyes, a sweet face, and a coaxing voice to stem the anger born of fear.

“Ye should have awakened Peggy then and had her come and find me. Ye never, never should have climbed up on these walls alone.”

“But, Mama . . .”

“Nay. I said never, and I meant never.”

A quick look revealed the child’s full lips quivering and two big, fat tears slowly slipped down her cheeks. Brett noticed that although her body softened in its tense stance, Triona’s stern expression never changed. Ella was a beautiful little girl and bright, but he suspected she was also one of those children who would always be in some sort of trouble.