Page 20

Before long, they drew close to Pitcairn’s stronghold.

It was set above a lush green glen through which a wee burn meandered.

Well-protected by a generous bailey enclosed by tall wooden stakes, the keep rose above the forest like a powerful arm challenging the heavens.

Unlike Rivenloch’s sprawling, Norman-style stone structure, Pitcairn’s castle was comprised of a single tower made of gray-weathered wood.

The keep was nonetheless substantial. The azure pennant of Pitcairn, featuring the face of a moon, rippled from the top of the tower.

Smoke streamed from the outbuildings within the bailey.

“’Tis magnificent,” Aillenn exclaimed, pulling up beside him.

“Ye think so?” he said. “Ye should see…” Shite, he’d almost said Rivenloch. “Er, the great hall o’ the king in Perth.”

She nodded. “O’ course, ’tisn’t as magnificent as my keep in Ireland, but…”

He wondered. She might be good at hiding her identity. She wasn’t so good at hiding her emotions. She did seem rather impressed by the castle.

“Shall we?” he said, reining toward the stronghold.

Adam, weary from the journey, looked forward to ending their travels. But the closer they got to the bailey, the more anxious he became.

Normally, nothing rattled him. Though he was visiting a laird who knew him as Adam la Nuit of Rivenloch, he’d only met the man a few times, and he’d been a good deal younger. Besides, his own kin couldn’t recognize him when he was in disguise.

But he was definitely ill-at-ease about this encounter.

It must be the responsibility of looking after Lady Aillenn and her identity that left him on edge.

What if she accidentally used the wrong name? What if her behavior betrayed her? What if she began blathering about their encounter with the thieves? Or his participation in the melee? Or the debacle at the monastery? The slightest mistake could reveal them both.

He wanted to warn her. To instruct her on all the things she shouldn’t say or do. To tell her how important it was not to disclose anything about where they’d been or where they were going.

In the end, he decided she should feign to be mute. He would do all the talking.

But before he could issue his instructions, they were already at the gate, and she was calling out cheerily to the guard.

The key to disguising oneself, Eve had discovered early on, was confidence and devotion to the role.

So when she was Lady Aillenn, she was forthright, self-assured, and demanding of respect.

Anyone encountering her was completely convinced she was who she said she was, because she overwhelmed them with that self-assurance.

She wasn’t so sure about Adam. Aye, he’d memorized the clan information she’d given him. But would he be so confident in a role he’d never played before?

She decided to take the lead. It would probably be better if he remained silent anyway.

“Good even!” she called out to the guard as she dismounted.

“M’lady?”

“We’ve traveled all the way from Perth,” she told him. “Might we seek rest here for the night?”

Adam hopped down from his horse and interjected, “One o’ Pitcairn’s recent guests recommended we stop here.”

Eve blinked. She hoped he was right that it was Pitcairn and not Pitfield. After all, he’d stumbled over the name before.

“Prithee wait here, m’lady, m’lord,” he said, noting their finery. He called out to a nearby lad. “Ewen, see to the horses.” Then he nodded. “I’ll alert the laird and return for ye.”

Adam pulled the satchels from the saddles, and Ewen led their horses away.

As soon as they were out of hearing, Eve hissed at Adam, “I’ll do the talkin’.”

Simultaneously, he whispered, “Let me make the arrangements.”

They both frowned.

He argued, “I have more experience in these matters.” She had just opened her mouth to contradict him when he added, “After all, ye’re a titled lady only recently come o’er from Ireland, aye?”

She couldn’t deny the story she’d made up, so she acquiesced with a nod. But she had no intention of letting Adam blunder his way through an awkward explanation when she could wrap a man around her finger with a wink and a grin.

So when the guard returned and led them into the keep, she strode through the great hall ahead of Adam. The servants were setting up trestle tables for supper, draping them with tablecloths. She dodged between them, scouring the hall for the laird.

Near the hearth was a well-dressed man with thick waves of brown hair and lively eyes. The noblemen around him hung on his every word and laughed at his every jest. That must be the laird, she decided.

Picking up her skirts, she surged toward him with a smile of sheer delight, as if he were the only man in the hall.

“M’laird!” she gushed. “What an honor to meet ye!”

Her enthusiasm and her appearance excused her rudeness as she barged into the group, lowered her gaze, and executed a deep curtsy that may have revealed just a bit of her bosom.

When she lifted her eyes again, the men were left speechless.

“And ye are?” he asked, perusing her slowly from head to toe as if measuring her beauty and calculating her charms.

“Oh, muddled me!” she said, feigning fluster. “I am Lady Aillenn o’ Bhallach, m’laird.”

His eyes danced with pleasure. “An Irish lass?”

The others chuckled in approval.

She cast him a coy glance. “Aye, m’laird.” Then she straightened with playful pride. “I’m the daughter o’ Tiarna Fursa.” It never hurt to impress a man with one’s bloodline.

“Is that so?” She had his full attention now. Ignoring the others, he stepped toward her, his hand extended. “The honor is mine, m’lady.”

She slipped her hand into his, and he covered it with his own, bestowing upon her a wide smile.

“M’laird,” she murmured, leaving her hand in his and looking up at him with liquid eyes, “I’ve come to ask… May I count on your hospitality this eve? ’Tis been a long day o’ travel from Perth, and I fear my audience with the king has quite exhausted me.”

There was a soft gasp from the men.

The laird’s reply was rough with surprise. “The king? Indeed?” He gave her another long look of appraisal. “O’ course ye’re welcome here. Stay as long as ye like.” He called out to a maidservant. “Tilda, ready the rose chamber.”

“Oh, m’laird, how generous!” Eve exclaimed, gracefully slipping her hand away. “We are so grateful.”

He blinked. “We?”

“Ah, if I didn’t have my head attached…” she said, clucking her tongue. Then she turned toward Adam. “This is Ronan, my—”

“Husband.”