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.”
“I can see why,” Will said, chewing slowly.
So could Murian. She’d never tasted anything so lovely. The delicate buttery almond flavor rolled over her tongue in a blissful manner.
Will took another bite. “I bet Lord Loudan and his like eat this way e’er day.”
“Of course they do,” Widow Reeves said.
Ian finished his pastry with a look of regret. “Widow Reeves, do ye think ye could make such a pastry as this? If ye had the ingredients?”
The conversation digressed into what Widow Reeves could and could not cook without a proper stove, which left Murian to reflect on this evening’s adventures. Though it had been a failure in finding Robert’s journal, it had been a success in proving she could gain access to Rowallen without the earl knowing. That was worth a lot, since they’d been afraid to search the castle after Will had been captured.
In a few weeks’ time, she would try it again. A few weeks . . . I wonder how long the prince and his grandmother will stay at Rowallen? Not that long, surely. Nay, it was best to face the fact that she’d never see the prince again. Which was quite fine with her, she told herself firmly. He disturbed her, made her feel . . . uneasy. And the last thing she needed was a distraction— especially one who could send her senses reeling and make her shiver from head to toe with a mere look.
She absently traced her finger around the rim of her cup as she decided to keep her attention where it belonged: away from the prince and on her duties here. Which is how it should be, she told herself firmly.
Aware her silence was causing Widow Reeves to send curious glances her way, Murian pushed the troublesome thoughts away, and joined in the conversation.
Chapter 7
The next morning, Max stood on the front portico of the castle and looked up at the sky. The thunder and clouds of the night before had blown away. Today the sun shone brightly, and though the breeze carried the scent of winter, the air seemed slightly warmer than the days before.
Tugging on his riding gloves, Orlov came outside. On seeing Max, the sergeant came to stand with him. “I have some information for you.”
Conscious of the footmen at each side of the door, Max led Orlov further out on the portico. “About Murian Muir?”
“Da. Pahlen found a groom who has lived in this area his whole life and discovered there’s a bit more to the story than Demidor’s chambermaid knew. Murian and Robert Muir were the last owners of this castle. Robert lost the castle and lands to Loudan in a card game. According to the earl, desperate to get them back, Robert offered to play another hand and was caught cheating. Loudan confronted him, and there was a duel.”
“Which the earl claimed to win.”
“So he says.”
Max raised his brows. “But this groom believe otherwise?”
“There are many rumors that perhaps there was no duel, just a pistol shot and a dead lord.”
“No witnesses, I take it.”
“Only friends of the earl. But it gets worse. Before Lord Robert was even cold, Loudan raced to Edinburgh to file his claim. While he was gone, he sent word to Robert’s widow that she and all the retainers were to be gone when he returned, or he would have them arrested.”
“Bloody hell.” No wonder there was so much fury in Murian’s eyes.
Orlov nodded. “According to this groom and everyone else we’ve talked to, Loudan is vile. There are other uncomplimentary stories, but none as blatantly evil.”
Max rubbed his jaw, thinking about the information Orlov had just shared. “So our thief broke into her own home last night. I wonder what she’s looking for?”
“I do not know, General. Do we look for the thieves today?”
“Aye, but . . . this time, let’s narrow our search a bit. We assumed Murian and her band would wish to be away from Rowallen in order to avoid the earl’s men. What if, instead, they are closer? I begin to sense a wiliness to our thief, and a brashness, as well.”
“That would make sense. That way they can keep an eye on the castle and who comes and goes.”
“Exactly. And it is the home they never wished to leave. Their pride may outpace their fear.”
Orlov nodded slowly. “We will comb the woods closer to the castle, then.”
“Good. Have the horses readied. And do not—”
“Ah, Your Highness.” The earl’s oily voice broke into their conversation. “There you are.”
Max and Orlov turned to find Loudan standing nearby.
Dressed in fine riding clothes, his boots as shiny as a mirror, the earl bowed to Max, ignoring Orlov completely. “Your Highness, I assume you received my message this morning?”
“Aye.”
The earl’s lips thinned. “I wondered, for there was no reply. And here you are, leaving yet again.”
Orlov spoke up. “We are hunting, as are other members of your party.”
Loudan didn’t even glance in Orlov’s direction. “Tell me, Your Highness, what do you hunt for, that you are gone every day, all day?”
Irritated that the man would ignore Orlov in such a way, Max crossed his arms and said shortly, “Wolves.”
The earl chuckled. “There are no wolves in this area. I fear you won’t catch anything.”
“Perhaps. And perhaps not.” Max turned to Orlov. “If you are bored, do not feel you must stay. I will join you soon.”
A flicker of scorn crossed Orlov’s face. He bowed to Max, and—ignoring the earl as the earl had ignored him—turned on his heel and left.
Max turned back to the earl. “My aides-de-camp are men of honor, all of them sons of the great families of my country. They deserve at least a greeting.”
The earl’s gaze narrowed. “I would have offered one. Eventually.”
Max had to force himself to hold his temper. I have reason to be here. I cannot forget that. “You sent a missive this morning. Something about a constable?”
“I have been trying to convince Constable Ruddock to pursue this highwayman and his band more seriously.”
“And he will not?”
Loudan curled his lip. “He is incompetent, but he is still the constable. He has the
authority to put out warrants for these miscreants, but he refuses. If you will tell him what you know, it will force him in that direction.”
“I assume Miss MacLeod will be coming as well, to tell her story?”
“No. She has romanticized the entire incident and would be a useless witness. She says the thieves never demanded her jewels, but merely asked her to donate to their cause.”
Max had been tugging on his glove, but at this, he looked up. Donate? Bloody hell. “They said the same to us.” And I didn’t catch it, either. He had to laugh.
Loudan’s expression soured. “Did they? Even if—”
“Good morning!” Tata Natasha swept through the door, a black lace shawl over her shoulders. “I am surprised to see the two of you up so early.”
Max inclined his head. “Good morning, Tata Natasha. I was just about to explain to the earl that I cannot be of help to him.”
The earl mouth thinned. “Why not?”
“Because my testimony would be no different from Miss MacLeod’s.”
“You never said a thing about ‘donations’ until I told you what Miss MacLeod said.”
“Because I hadn’t thought about it, but it is exactly the wording they used.”
The earl could not have looked more furious.
Tata looked from one of them to the other. “Max, surely you can—”
“I cannot. He wishes me to convince the constable to pursue the highwayman who held us up, but—sadly—I just realized we were never robbed.”
“What?” Tata gaped.
Loudan’s jaw tightened. “You were, too, robbed.”
“Our coaches were stopped, yes. But the thieves—I hesitate to even call them that now, because, as Miss MacLeod so succinctly noted, they did not demand anything, but merely asked. That is not illegal.”
“But your coat was slashed,” the earl said.
“Only because I drew upon the leader. He retaliated, as well he should have.”
Loudan’s expression never changed, but Max could feel the ill will radiating from the man. “I cannot accept that. These thieves have been preying upon my guests for months. I will have them captured, and I require your testimony to do so.”