Page 15 of The Thief (Castle Blackstone #3)

“ KATIE! ”

Eyes locked on the still body below, heart in his throat, Ian slid feet first down the steep embankment without making an effort to slow his descent. Christ’s blood! How could he have been so stupid as to stop in such a place as this? “Katie!”

Please let the lass be alive, please.

He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if she broke her back, much less died. Such a pretty thing...Ack! Or if she were now brain-coddled. Oh God, please, nay.

Landing hard on the rocks, his heart beating at a frantic pace, he scrambled across the uneven boulders. “Katie, answer me!”

He dropped to his knees at her side and gently took hold of her shoulders. Something—

“What the hell?”

A scarecrow? She’d made a friggin’ scarecrow and let him think she’d fallen to her death? Light-headed, he rocked back on his heels and gulped in some much needed air.

Nay. She couldn’t have done this to him. Frightened him near to death. But the evidence lay before him.

He stood on still-shaking legs, his gaze scouring the ridge line looking for her.

“Ye walk on the sod of truth, Katie! Do ye hear me? Ye are a dead woman! D-E-A-dead! ”

He raced to the wall, and grabbing a protruding root, kicked the toe of his boot into a crevice.

I’m definitely going to kill her!

Aye, and using a rack would be a kindness. Better that he draw and quarter her and then impale her parts on the four corners of Stirling’s keep. And when he finally left Stirling, he would bring her remains to Seabhagnead where he’d place them on four tall spikes at the four points of the compass so he might take great pleasure in viewing them each and every day when he awoke. Where he could stand on his rampart sipping mead, and gloat.

“‘Twasna bad enough that she’d lied, that she stole my horse, but to--”

His horse!

She wouldn’t. Nay. She simply wouldn’t dare a second time.

He scaled the rock like a crazed spider, his arms and legs burning with the doubled effort. Huffing at the top, he scrambled to his feet and raced around the scrubby copse.

Seeing only Albany’s destrier, his ears pinned back and legs splayed, Ian let loose an ear-shattering whistle. He held his breath, hoping Thor was within hearing. He wasn’t but the black took off at a dead run. Ian threw back his head. “Aaaaaack!”

~#~

Cursing his stupidity for relying on a woman’s means of killing, Alistair Campbell paced outside Albany’s receiving room where the tribunal was about to commence.

Yesterday whilst all were in the inner bailey watching the enraged Babcock and MacFarlane try to kill each other, he’d visited the ladies’ chamber and discovered that the velvet pouch with its deadly treats and the lady’s satchel were missing. But his joy had been short-lived discovering a few hours later that MacKay had also disappeared.

If they’d gone off to tryst and now MacKay lay dead...

Alistair shuddered.

None would worry about the whore’s death. She was naught but an outsider intent on upsetting their lives, but if MacKay was found dead with her--and with the poisoned sweets that had been liberally dusted with dogbane at his side--then suspicion, in particular Albany’s, would fall squarely where it should: on his shoulders.

Aye, he’d been a bloody fool making his distrust of the woman clear to any and all who would listen.

His stomach turned, realizing he might also have inadvertently garnered the wrath of MacKay’s lunatic liege, Black Angus. The man would go to war over a stolen pullet. The killing of his brother-by-marriage would send him into a friggin’ blood lust.

Should the worst occur--should MacKay be found dead with the whore--could he depend on Donald to come to his aid? He had signed that secret pact with the Donald to support the man should he decide to make a bid for the crown, but would the Donald reciprocate in kind should he be the one in peril?

Alistair seriously doubted it.

His imprisoned sire, the rightful liege of Ardkinglas, was still very much alive, making him, the bastard son, a redundancy in some minds. Should he hang for murder, a Stewart cousin, or mayhap even the Donald himself, would likely take control of Ardkinglas.

Ack!

Seeing Shamus MacKay round the corner Alistair’s pulse quickened. Mayhap the brother gleamed more.

“MacKay, have you news of your brother or Madame Campbell?” He waved an agitated hand toward the open door where the twelve liege lords waited. “The council will not wait forever.”

Shamus came to a stop and glared at him. “If I knew where either of them were I’d tell you, but since I don’t, cease asking.”

Without another word Shamus shouldered past and headed down the hall.

Grinding his teeth, Alistair began to pray. He had no liking for Ian MacKay, but he had sore need for the man to walk through the doors of Stirling.

~#~

Chilled to the bone, Kate pulled back on Thor’s reins and brushed at the tears on her wind-chafed cheeks. She was so lost.

Dressed in naught but her rent cotton shift, she’d been most grateful for the heat pouring off Thor’s sweat-caked body, but now he needed to rest and she needed to dress and think.

She steered Thor toward a nearby stand of pine and dropped the reins. As Thor routed around in the pine needles for something to nibble, she routed around in the saddle bags for clothes.

Her breath hitching, Kate hauled out her spare gown, slippers and cloak. As she struggled into them, Thor occasionally glanced at her as if wondering why she would not stop crying. God knows she’d tried, but the more miles that passed, the more hours she rode, the more guilt consumed her.

She would never forgive herself for causing the terror she’d heard in Ian’s voice. And he’d likely never forgive her either. And he should not.

She sniffed as her near-frozen fingers fumbled with the bone catch of her cloak .

‘Twas time to go again. She needed to find food. She’d not eaten in...days, maybe. She wasn’t sure.

She picked up the reins and urged Thor around the boulder she’d taken shelter behind and back onto the trail she’d been following. She looked up. Clouds for as far as the eye could see; wet-wool grey, slung low from horizon to horizon. What to do? Without the sun she had no idea in which direction she faced, much less in which direction she should go.

Having seen the paths she had made through the grain fields as they had headed north, understanding how Ian had tracked her so easily, she now kept to the winding goat paths the Scots called roadways. Whenever she came to one heading south she took it. If it ended and she had a choice of heading either right or left, more often than not she tuned left reasoning that London lay to the southeast. And still she was thoroughly lost.

“Well, Thor, shall we go?” If she didn’t find food soon she’d perish.

Topping a rise a short time later, Kate’s heart sank to the pit of her burning stomach. Before her sat a valley where two rivers met, the closest running to the right and the other to the left and on the headland betwixt the two sat a massive castle. A village sat below on the south end. Oh dear. The village meant food but the castle likely meant soldiers and then there was the matter of the rivers, which blocked her path as far the eye could see. Mayhap if she skirted the edge of the river?

A few miles into the valley she met an old woman and her dog herding a small flock of sheep in the direction from which she’d come. Not sure how Thor would react to the bleating beasts and the clanging bells on them, she eased him to the side of the path and brought him to a stop.

The apple-cheeked woman, dressed in a coarse green kirtle and shawl, looked up at her in surprise, then smiled. Kate waited until the woman was beside her before saying in Scots, “What is that place by the river?”

The woman’s eyes grew round. “Tis Roxburgh, my lady.”

Kate had never heard of it, but was pleased she had correctly guessed that the woman was a Lowlander. She was close to her goal: England.

“Is there a publican there?”

The woman shook her head, her gaze now raking Kate and from her expression not really liking what she saw. Conscious of her missing headdress, Kate ran a hand over her wind-whipped hair. “I’ve been traveling a long way.”

The woman craned her neck to look past Thor, no doubt looking for some sort of escort. “May I ask yer name, my lady?”

“My apologies. Tis Lady Campbell, widow of Robbie Campbell of Ardkinglas.”

The woman’s hands flew to her cheeks. “Then what on earth are ye then doing here without guards?”

Very unusual to be sure. “My mother, you see, word came she was dying, all very sudden.” After a moment she asked, “Is there a problem?”

“Aye!” The woman made a tsking sound, then pointed over her shoulder. “‘Tis Roxburgh Castle yon, once a Douglas stronghold but now in the hands of the Pockpuds. Has been for some years now. If ye dinna want to come to harm, my lady, may I suggest ye get ye bonnie self elsewhere.”

Good Lord. A military barracks. If questioned, there would be no earthly way Kate could explain her presence here. Worse, she had already been abused enough by many a disgusting soldier that she’d had the misfortune of knowing at the Tower.

The woman huffed and looked at Kate as if she was a daft child. “May I ask where ye are headed?”

A reasonable question that Kate had no reasonable answer to, so she made up a name. “Shepkirk.”

The woman’s brow furrowed. “Hmmm, I dinna ken it.”

Kate forced a smile. “’Tis a wee place near the auld Hadrian...Roman Wall.”

“Ah. Well, ye are heading in the right direction, but ‘tis still a fair piece, my lady, and many a pack of ruffians stands betwixt ye and it.”

Kate didn’t doubt it and reached down and patted Thor’s neck. “With God’s blessing, Thor shall get me there safe and sound. ”

The woman reached out a tentative hand and patted the destrier’s shoulder. “I shall pray that he does, but he looks a tempting prize. He isna exactly what ye’d call porridge.”

“Aye.” Kate shuddered, the images of the four men who assaulted her still fresh in her mind. “So where might I safely cross the river?”

“’Tis a ferry by yon castle, but ye dinna want to be goin’ there.” After a bit of nibbling on her fingernail she said, “Ye had best head west, along the Tweed.” She pointed to her right and the closest river. “Ye may find a shallow ford further down. To the east, that’s the Teviot and its water runs deep.”

Kate agreed going west might prove wisest. She thanked the woman for her help and reached into her pocket, feeling for her coin pouch.

Augh! She’d been so determined to escape MacKay she’d neglected to empty her pocket before kicking her gown into the ravine! How stupid and careless. Now how was she to feed herself or Thor? And what if she couldn’t find a ford, but had to pay a ferryman?

“My lady? Are ye all right?”

Kate, tears burning at the back of her throat, looked down at the woman who was frowning at her. “I wanted to reward ye for yer kindness but I seemed to have lost my coin pouch.”

“Ye’ve no need to reward me. I’ve done naught, but I do thank ye for the thought.”

“Still.” Kate swallowed the growing thickness in her throat and picked up Thor’s reins. “I had best be going now.”

Wishing her Godspeed, the woman stepped away and Kate pressed her heels into Thor’s sides.

Hours later and without yet finding a place to cross the river, she stood in a hamlet before a lone stall, bartering her last gown for a pork pie and two shriveled apples.

Walking away, leading Thor by the reins, she swore next she saw Sir Gregory Campbell, she would not only clout, stomp and cut out his heart, but she’d cut out his lying tongue as well.

Once past the last cottage and away from curious eyes, she held an apple out on an open palm and Thor gobbled it up in one bite. She sighed. So much for saving the other for her breakfast. She held out the second apple and it disappeared as quickly as the first. Better she starve than the horse, she supposed. She was dependent on him getting her home.

She settled the reins on his neck, and reached for the stirrup. With a groan she heaved herself up and into the saddle. “Let’s find a ford, shall we?”

If one didn’t come into sight soon, she and Thor were going for a swim.

~#~

“MacKay!” Robbie the Mole Graham thumped Ian’s shoulder, then looked about to see if any pockpuds had observed his arrival. Waving Ian into his modest, one room cottage Robbie muttered, “Thought ye’d be in Stirling.”

“I was.” And would be still but for Katherine Margarita Templeton. “Can I impose on ye for a wee drink?”

Brow furrowed, Graham murmured, “Of course.”

When they settled onto their three-legged cuttie stools before a peat fire with mugs of warm ale in hand, Graham said, “Ye look a bit tuckered. What’s amiss?”

“There’s trouble on the border.” Seeing Graham’s mouth grow thin and hard, Ian hastened to assure him, “Tis naught to fash on just yet, but be aware. What’s happening at Roxburgh?”

Graham shrugged. “They have a good six hundred within at any given time, and twenty or so patrols out from sunrise to gloaming. Usually in groups of ten. Rumor has it the bastards have requested coins and manpower from London to repair and refortify.”

Ian studied Graham’s dirt-encrusted fingernails. “I see ye’re still mining.”

Graham chuckled and rubbed a calloused hand across the top of his sandy hair. “Heard about that, have ye?”

Ian laughed for the first time in days. Graham had to be the best under-the-curtain-wall tunnel borer in all Scotland. “Let’s just say I couldn’t picture ye sitting on yer hands while the pockpuds walked yon ramparts thumbing their noses at ye. ”

Graham shrugged his thick shoulders. “A man’s got to do what the good Lord set him to do. If ‘twas not Roxburgh, then I’d be digging under something else, to be sure.” After a bit, he asked, “Why are ye really here?”

Ian drained his ale, then grumbled, “I’m looking for a woman who might have passed through. Tall, hair the color of a raven’s wing, big blue eyes, and riding a white destrier.”

Graham stared at him for a moment, then broke into laughter, nearly toppling off his stool. Grabbing the mantel and righting himself, he hooted, “She stole yer horse!”

Feeling heat rise up his neck, Ian grumbled deep in his throat. “Tis not a damn thing funny about this, Robbie.”

“Oh, but there is, as I’d been wondering why ye were riding that gelding.” He took Ian’s mug and walked to the leather budget hanging by the door. Muttering to himself, “The Thief of Hearts gets nipped himself,” Graham erupted into another peel of laughter.

Ian could do naught but seethe. He’d lost Kate’s trail and time was fleeing.

Finally gaining control of himself, Graham wiped the back of his hand across his eyes and handed Ian his full mug. “My, oh my.” He cleared his throat, then asked, “What can I do for ye?”

“I need ye to go into the village and ask about. I can’t do it, not with the roving patrols about. ”

“No problem. Make yerself at home. I’ll be back in a wee bit.” His friend rose and left. Ian could still hear Graham chuckling as he disappeared behind the smithy’s.

I’m going to kill her. I swear it.

Annoyed he had lost track of Thor’s hoof prints in the hard gravel miles back, fearing Kate had gotten herself into some sort of trouble, Ian paced, peeked out the door for sight of Graham and paced some more.

The sun had set long before Graham ambled back up the hill. Throwing the door wide Ian muttered, “Well?”

Graham grinned. “Aye, she has been and gone. The lad who had bartered with her said yer mighty steed was following behind her like a besot pup.”

Ian blew through clenched teeth. He’d kill the horse, too. “How long ago and in which direction did they go?”

“Not more than four hours ago, and west along the Tweed. She asked the lad if there might be a crossing further along.”

Kate was still trying to find her way south. Good. But why hadn’t she simply crossed at Roxburgh? More importantly why hadn’t she sought refuge there? “And is there a crossing?”

“Aye, some ten miles further to the west.”

Ian slapped a hand on Robbie’s shoulder. “Thank ye. I’m in yer debt.” He reached into his sporran for a coin and his fingers came in contact with the gift he had once hoped to give Kate. Pain bloomed again beneath his breastbone, forcing him to take a deep breath. He pushed the cross aside, pulled out a gold pound and, taking Robbie’s hand in his, placed the coin in his palm.

Realizing what he held, Robbie blushed scarlet and tried to hand it back. “Nay, I canna--”

“Aye, ye can, if for naught else than for timber to shore up yer damn tunnels.”

And the coin might buy Graham’s silence although Ian wouldn’t bet on it. The retelling of the tale might prove too tempting an entertainment.

Robbie followed Ian behind the sheep pen where he’d hidden Albany’s mount. As he swung into the saddle, Robbie said, “Ye take care. Ye should be safe until dawn, then keep an eye out.”

Ian could only pray Kate would be as cautious. Soldiers without women were notorious for taking advantage whenever the opportunity presented itself.

~#~

Hiding in a small copse at dawn, Kate nearly drooled staring at dozens of speckled chickens pecking the garden soil next to a stout wattle-and-thatched cottage. Had someone told her a week ago she’d be stealing, much less salivating over the thought of raw eggs, she would have laughed herself silly, but she wasn’t laughing now. She fully intended to get herself a handful of eggs or die trying.

A shift in the wind carried the scent of burning peat. Oh, no. She parted the bushes to her right for a better look at the cottage and found a lamp had been lit within, sending a bright splash of citrine through a partially open door.

Cow pies ! Those within were awake.

So be it. She had to get her hands on those eggs before someone came out to collect them.

She checked Thor’s reins a final time, collected her skirts up between her legs, and back hunched, crept out of the copse. Keeping to the far left, she scrambled into a rock-strewn gully that ran along the side of the garden. Keeping low, she followed the depression until she thought she was directly across from the hen house.

Lying on her stomach, she peeked over the rise. No one had come out, and the chickens were still pecking away. Too, she could now see that what she thought might be a square hen house was in truth just a lean-to shelter built into a small hill. The door faced the rear of the cottage. Praying the cottage did not have a rear window, she eased out on the gully on her hands and knees. Two forward creeps and she fell onto her face. “Augh!”

There was no way she could cover the distance crawling in a gown. She huffed, righted herself and, gathering her skirts up again, scrambled to her feet.

In for a penny, in for a pound. She ran.

Cackling chickens scattered as she raced past, her gaze locked on the hen house. At the door she knelt and frantically pawed through the nests. Five eggs! More than enough, but then...

She should take a few more. She certainly didn’t want to be going through this again tomorrow.

Her eggs collected, four in her pocket, four in her hand, she gathered up her skirts. She hadn’t taken ten steps when a horrendous, deep-throated honking erupted behind her, nearly stopping her heart. She spun and found the largest goose she had ever laid eyes on rushing toward her, its chest thrust high and its huge wings frantically beating the air.

“ Aaah! ” Kate ran, the goose fast on her heels. Not a moment later the cottage door flew open and a woman half Kate’s height, twice her width, and armed with the largest broom Kate had ever seen, screeched, “Halt! Thief !”

Kate felt a sharp crack on the back of her head. Huge wings slapped her ears. Shocked, she spun, and the goose dropped to the ground but then it flew at her chest, its wings trying to beat her to death.

“ Eeeeeek! ” The eggs in her hand broke as she batted at the goose. Dear God, how could feathers hurt so?

She dodged left, only to get cracked on the head by a broom. “ Oooow! ”

She tried running the other way but the goose charged her legs. “Cease!”

The broom slammed on her back. “ Ooow! Ooch! ”

Her head jerked back. “Ouch! Ouch! Eeeyyy !”

The goose had latched onto her hair with its beak. Hanging down her back like some bizarre veil, he tried to gain purchase on her back with his clawed feet while trying to beat the stuffing out of her with his enormous wings.

“Ouch! Ayyyy! Oooh !” Kate spun in the hopes of dislodging the beast. The woman, not to be outdone and still screaming, hit her front and back.