Page 13 of The Thief (Castle Blackstone #3)

“ Augh! ” Kate shuddered, reaching through a cobweb to push another cradle, the third she’d found, aside to reach a small chest tucked in the back. Praying this chest was the one she sought, she lifted the lid and found a collection of moth eaten garments, dusty perfume bottles, brittle hairbrushes and a dozen tarnished combs. “Damn.”

She straightened, placing one hand on her moist forehead, one on her hip. She had opened ten chests and still no floppy pony. No toys of any kind, for that matter. But they had to be here somewhere.

She shoved aside a tall metal shield decorated with the king’s coat of arms and found another chest, this one depicting horses.

Oh, please let this be the one.

She held her breath and lifted the lid. Blankets. She lifted those and found a stout chamber pot with more horses decorating it, another blanket and beneath that an irregular piece of gray slate, a few chunks of chalk and a set of lead soldiers. This is it! She dug deeper still, carefully placing the treasures she had no interest in on the tall chest at her side. Near the bottom, she found a tattered cloth pony.

“Thank God.” She crushed the floppy brown toy to her chest. Now James would have to believe her.

“I cannot put into words how disappointed I am in you at this moment.”

Kate’s heart stopped, and then restarted with a painful kick. Still the room tipped.

Oh, no. No.

She staggered to her feet. Tucking the pony into the folds of her skirt, she swallowed the thickness in her throat and turned.

Ian Mackay, his arms crossed over his massive chest, his expression lethal, filled the doorway. “Who are ye?”

Kate caught her lower lip between her teeth, “You know me.”

“ Answer me! ”

Kate jumped as meeeee echoed down the corridor. Oh, God, I’m in so much trouble .

Ian took a deep breath, then another. In a somewhat calmer growl he reiterated, “Who are ye?”

Hoping to excuse her presence in what should have been a locked chamber she sputtered, “I was...I was simply curious to see—

He closed the distance between them and grabbed her arm. “I want yer name!”

She cringed as pain shot to her shoulder. “You know it’s Kate.”

His face expressionless, Ian increased the pressure on her arm, his fingers closing with the force of a steel trap.

She cried, “Kate!”

He jerked her closer so that her chest pressed his. “Kate what?”

English! He had just spoken to her in English. Oh, merciful Virgin Mary, he knows. Oh, no. No, no, no. She’d never see her Nana, or Mister Boots, or her father ever again. She was dead. Oh, oh, oh. A squeaky voice in her heart screeched, Placate him. Tell him the truth until you can think of a means of escape.

She gasped as the pressure on her arm grew. “Kate...Kate Templeton.” Seeing fire spark in his eyes, she blubbered, “Katherine Margarita Templeton.”

His left hand grabbed her jaw, forcing her head back, craning her neck. His gaze searched her face. Something-what might have been regret--flickered deep within the golden depths of his eyes for a too-brief moment before they turned a cold, flat brown. “Well, Katherine Margarita Templeton ye’re about to die, but before ye go, ye’ll suffer, for I will ken yer every thought and deed.”

“No!” The pony forgotten, she flailed behind her for a weapon, anything to defend herself with and came in contact with something cold and hard.

Her breath hitching, her heart careening about in her chest, she took hold of the object and swung with all her might. Not until it crashed against Ian’s head just above his left ear sending blood everywhere and he fell in a heap at her feet--all six feet and four gorgeous inches of him—-did she realize she’d hit him with the royal chamber pot.

Mouth agape, hand to her throat, Kate stared at the blood pooling beneath Ian’s head.

“Dear God above, what have I done?”

Her stomach heaved as she dropped to her knees and placed a shaking hand on his chest. The solid leather jerkin made it impossible to feel if he breathed. Frantic, she tore at the leather straps holding the leather secure.

Please, please, please don’t let him be dead. Please, I didn’t mean to kill him even though he was going to kill me. Oh please, I know he didn’t mean it. Well, maybe he did, but I’m sure he would have thought better of it eventually. Please please please, oh please, don’t let him be dead. He’s too beautiful to die. Oh please, please.

The straps gave way and Kate, holding her breath, slipped her hand under the leather shield and waited for Ian’s chest to rise. The moment it did, the tears building behind her lashes spilled and splashed onto his chest.

Thank you, oh thank you .

She ran a gentle hand down his cheek. “I’m so sorry.” She then noticed the pool of blood on the floor had grown. “Oh, dear God!” He was bleeding to death.

Sheeting. She needed sheeting to stem the flow. She tossed the contents of several chests in all directions until she found the fabric, but her shaking hands made tearing it impossible so she used her teeth.

After carefully swathing his head she pulled a blanket from James’s chest and made a pillow. She used the remaining blanket to cover him up to the chin. Studying the beautiful planes of his face, she whispered, “I’ll never forget you.”

A band of pain squeezed her chest as she picked up the slate and a piece of chalk. After scratching out a short missive of parting, she kissed his warm but too-still lips.

Kate picked up the pony and rose on shaking legs.

When next she saw Sir Gregory she’d not only clout, stomp and stab him in the heart but she would then rip it out.

She made her way to the outer door and peered into the outer close. The sounds of men battling and the cries of an appreciative audience rang around the inner bailey. Keeping to the wall, she made her way to the outlying barn. Dozens of saddled horses and palfreys were tied before their stalls, but there was no groom to be seen. They were doubtless at the fight.

She hurried down the line of horses, discounting this one or that due to its small size or the look in its eye. Finding a glossy black destrier that was definitely stout enough to carry her she stopped and placed a hand on its rump. The animal immediately shied and let fly a hoof, barely missing her leg by inches. Yelping in alarm, she jumped back, causing several other horses to shy.

At the end she spied a massive white destrier who remained calm while all the others shied right and left as she drew closer.

She placed a tentative hand on his heavily muscled white rump. The warm flesh quivered and the horse’s head turned toward her, its beautiful black eyes calmly assessing her. Taken by the shape of its head and long white eyelashes, she murmured, “My, you are a pretty thing.”

The stud nodded as if agreeing. She ran her hand over the well-defined muscles making up his shoulder. His huge feathered feet, on the other hand, gave her pause. A crushed foot was the last thing she needed. As if to relieve her fears, the destrier snorted in quiet fashion and gently bumped her chest with his head. Kate scratched his cheek, then reached for his lead. “Aye, you’ll do nicely.”

~#~

“For God’s sake, wake up.”

Ian felt a firm hand on his shoulder, opened one eye and found his brother hovering over him, his expression worried. Wondering why his head ached--he hadn’t been in his cups, had he?--he growled, “What?”

“What? What the bloody hell are you doing lying here in a pool of blood and covered in bairn blankets?”

What the hell was Shamus- —

Kate! Ian bolted upright. “Ack!” Blinding pain seared through his brain. Fearing it might fall out of his skull, he reached up with both hands and felt a massive wad of fabric, and yanked it off. It was soaked with blood. He threaded tentative fingers through his clotted hair and winced, touching a two-inch gash.

I’m going to kill her.

He reached for his brother’s arm. “Help me up.”

Shamus, still looking bemused hauled him to his feet. As Ian wavered, trying to get his balance, his brother handed him a slate. “I found this on your chest.”

Ian had to blink several times before the feminine swirls on the slate would settle into a logical pattern.

I am so very sorry.

With love,

Kate

Ha! She was sorry alright and would be sorrier still once he got his hands on her. “Have you seen her?”

“Aye, heading to the outer close, but didn’t think anything of it.”

The stable. She was gone. He could feel it in his bones.

Shamus picked up a piece of broken crockery. “I’ll wager this is what she conked you with.”

Recognizing what Shamus held, knowing many a royal ass had sat upon it, Ian decided outright killing would be too kind a punishment for Madame Kate.

Shamus dropped the bloodied shard and headed toward the door. “I’ll summon the guards. ”

“Nay! One word of this, and I’ll gut you.” Bad enough that he’d been felled by a woman--a damn pockpud at that--he wouldn’t be made a laughing stock. He would never live it down. “I’ll go after her. Alone. Just make my excuses should anyone ask where I am. I’ll be back by nightfall.”

She couldn’t have gotten far.

Picturing Kate hanging in the donjon by shackled wrists and ankles, he brushed past Shamus and headed for the stable.

A moment later he stood cursing before Thor’s empty stall.

“God’s teeth! She stole my friggin’ horse!”

And where were the bloody grooms and squires?

Blood seething, Ian reached for the lead on Albany’s destrier, his mind conjuring all manner of macabre tortures for the lady in black. The horse shied, he cursed again and gathered the reins, forcing the horse to tuck his head, and then vaulted into the elaborate saddle Albany favored. To Ian’s consternation the horse wheeled, then reared. Leaning forward, he kicked the gelding’s belly and the horse dropped back onto all fours.

“Do not screw with me, horse. I’m not in the mood.”

He turned the horse toward the north gate and kicked again. Albany’s mount frog-hopped a few feet before snorting and taking off at a fancy collected trot. Ian ducked as they entered the curved passageway that made assault by an enemy difficult. Clearing the outer portcullis and coming into the sunshine, he straightened and kicked. The horse responded by breaking into a rocking canter and Ian groaned, finally recalling why his aging liege favored the animal. The beast’s gait was as smooth as ice and as slow as cold honey. Ian blew through clenched teeth. He hadn’t time for damn prancing! He kicked again. The horse, frightened and confused, broke into an all-out run down the high street leading into the village and beyond that to England and nay doubt Lady Katherine Margarita Templeton.

~#~

Kate, the wind chafing at her damp cheeks, kept a death grip on the thick pommel before her. She was making good time, the horse’s powerful legs were eating up ground at tremendous speed, but she desperately wanted to pull the horse to a halt. Her knees burned unmercifully from being turned out for so many hours thanks to heavy stirrups and her shoulders and neck ached from constantly checking behind her. But she could not stop, not yet.

As best she could tell they’d been traveling for only four or five hours, and she had no idea how soon or how many would be after her.

She glanced at the setting sun again, saw that it had drifted too far behind her and tried to correct the horse’s direction by tipping his head more to the left; a difficult task, given her hands were fully occupied with keeping her self upright. Augh.

Initially, she’d kept to the roadway but then realized from the position of the sun that the road had made a slow turn. She’d been heading west, going deeper into Scotland. She then decided to go as the crow flies, straight through pastures and fields-—through no matter what--so long as she was heading south, home. The horse appeared to enjoy the change, particularly when chest-deep in fodder. He continually wrenched on the reins to lower his head and grab mouthfuls of hay or oats as he went. Oh, that she were so fortunate.

Her correction finally made, the sinking sun now directly to her right, she tried to focus on relaxing her legs instead of thinking about her growling belly. Why had she not thought to grab some food? She knew why. Her thoughts had been consumed by Ian: the pain he might be in, when someone might find him and his ire when he found her gone.

She would miss him. Miss the way he smelled, looked at her, teased her, kissed her. She’d even miss his obstinate nature and anger. The undivided attention he had lavished on her, though undesired and certainly unwarranted, had made her feel special for the first time in her life. As if she was truly a woman worth taking note of, someone a man might even love.

Yes, she would likely spend the next fifty years--should she live that long--missing him. And what of him? Would he even give her a thought? Most likely not after a day or two, after his wound healed and his anger waned.

The thought of his forgetting her caused a burning at the back of her throat and her eyes to glaze with tears. She sniffed and gave herself a mental shake. “I can’t be thinking of him, or what might have been.” She had a mission to complete and mayhap even a future, and she could not be calling this animal horse whenever she tried to gain his attention. He needed a name. Better she thought on that.

“How does Pearl strike you?” she asked him. No, that sounded like something one might name a fat white cat. “Ivory? No. Dove?” Augh. As mile after mile flashed past she thought on things that were white: marble, quarts, diamonds, the moon, geese, swans, chalk and teeth. None would do. As the wind kicked up she shivered and sniffed the air. Good, no hint of rain or snow—

That’s it! Snow! But Snow what? Snow Flake? No, too fragile sounding. Ball? He certainly had those. The largest she had ever seen beneath a stud. Hmmm, Snowball. She leaned over the pommel and patted his neck. “What do you think? Snowball?” He snorted and she took that as a yes . “Good, Snowball it is, then.”

The horse suddenly startled and she nearly fell off. Grabbing the pummel with both hands, Kate frowned, seeing Snowball arch his massive neck. His ears, once relaxed and flopping, were now upright, the tips nearly touching as he focused left. She peered in the same direction, thinking he might have spotted a deer. When next his back suddenly hunched under her and his steps hesitated, Kate’s curiosity turned to alarm. Her gaze raked the wooded copse again but she found naught to be alarmed about. Yet the horse continued to prance, sensing a threat deep in the dense shadows.

She shuddered and turned his head to the right. He obeyed but reluctantly, his steps short, his powerful hooves flashing high before him, his attention still on the woods. Oh, not good. She clucked. “We need hurry away, Snowball.”

He paid her no heed. Gritting her teeth, Kate kicked as hard as she could. Her knees--already in agony--revolted, shooting hot pain up her thighs. When Snowball finally sprang into a lope Kate had all she could do to keep from screaming.

She could not have said how long they ran, being in too much pain to think, but finally the wood was far behind and the horse felt more relaxed beneath her. Unable to bear any more jostling, she pulled back on the reins and Snowball, huffing and blowing, settled into a sedate walk.

She reached down, patted his hot neck and her hand came away covered in foamy sweat. “You poor thing.”

He needed water, and they both needed to rest.

As the three-quarter moon started to rise, they came abreast of a small loch surrounded by tall, long-needled pine. She edged the horse closer to the boulder-strewn shoreline for a closer look. Seeing that all appeared safe, she pulled up beside a boulder in a grassy patch. “ We’ll rest here for a bit.” She leaned forward and patted his neck again. “You’re such a good boy, Snowball. Such a good boy.” His owner would no doubt miss him very much.

When she pulled her right leg out of the stirrup, it felt like someone had stabbed her. She groaned. The ground suddenly looked a mile away.

~#~

I’ll strap her to a rack.

Aye, he’d have to build the torturing device since Stirling didn’t have one, but no matter, the end would be well worth the effort. He’d take great pleasure in turning the screw, hearing her scream. He blew through his teeth. Nay, hearing Kate scream wouldn’t be tolerable. He’d have to come up with something else, but definitely worthy of her deceit and the pain now burning in his chest.

Unaccustomed to a woman’s rejection, much less from one he’d begun to fancy himself really caring for, he couldn’t fathom what he was to do with the bile and fury building within. And how could he have not seen through her? Why had he not grown suspicious when she—-a striking woman—-had claimed to be married to that cretin Robbie? When he learned that she spoke Gael--a language nearly impossible to learn if you weren’t born into it? When she deflected his questions about her marriage and reacted with more fear than was warranted learning Alistair was taking her before the tribunal? Why had he not known then?

Had he become so enamored by her luscious breasts and hurdies that he’d become coddle-brained? Aye. That’s precisely what had happened. And with a bloody pockpud at that! God, how stupid could a man be?

Focused on Kate, he almost missed the trampled path heading due south through a field of ripening hay to his left. Frowning, he reined in and dismounted. He walked into the field some ten feet, then knelt to examine the ground. He grinned, recognizing Thor’s shoe prints. None came larger or had the toe cleats intended to tear another horse’s rear end to shreds. Humph! Clever lass. She had apparently realized she’d been heading west and changed course.

Jaw muscles twitching he remounted. Soon. He’d have her in his clutches very soon, and she’d wish she never been born.

~#~

Two hours later Ian spurred Albany’s reluctant destrier in the sides for the hundredth time and entered the outskirts of Airdrie.

Finding the village in total darkness, save for a lone lamp that burned in the publican’s window, he dismounted. Suspecting Kate might have taken refuge within, Ian secured Albany’s cantankerous mount next to the water trough and made his way to the wattle-and- thatched stable. His mood grew darker as he went from stall to stall. At the end, he cursed.

Where the hell could she be if not here? Surely she wouldn’t risk her life or Thor’s by racing over unfamiliar ground in the dark. His destrier could see well enough at night—-better than he—-but there was always the risk when traveling fast of falling into an unseen glack or over a cliff.

Ian collected the black and led him out onto the main road. He could do naught but ride on and pray the moonlight would be enough to keep the pair ahead of him safe.

Just before dawn, having crossed several burns and climbed numerous hills and as many crags, he heard a woman’s bloodcurdling scream. One he would recognize anywhere.