Page 17 of The Thief (Castle Blackstone #3)

“Kate, shhh, ‘tis only a dream, lass. Shhhh.”

Covered in a cold sweat, Kate continued to lash out, and Ian tightened his hold. “Shhh, dautie.”

When Kate had finally fallen asleep he’d dropped the pretense of sleep and tried to drift off but she’d started and murmuring, flopped over. After nuzzling into his neck, she’d pressed a full breast against his chest, draped a graceful arm over his waist and then cocked a long, luscious leg across his thigh where it settled between his legs. That might have proved tolerable had she kept still, but did she? Oh, nay. She kept moving, rubbing her leg against him. Ack! ‘Twas a miracle that his shaft hadn’t exploded.

“Got to go! Must go!”

He pulled her closer. “Nay, sweet, shhh. ‘Tis only a dream.”

Panting, definitely awake now, she hissed, “I need go! You don’t understand.”

He grunted, “Then tell me. ”

“I can’t.”

Feeling her breast press into his chest with every pant, Ian mentally cursed. Mayhap if she could see she was safe, she would settle. “I’ll start a fire.”

When he rose, she whispered, “Is that safe?”

“Aye.” He could only hope. And again wondered why she appeared to be more afraid of her countrymen than she was of him.

A few bits of wood and dry grass gathered and set deep in the cave, Ian reached into his sporran for his flint. The moment the wee fire caught and flared, he heard Kate gasp.

“What?”

She was sitting up, his breachen feile clutched to her opulent breasts, pointing at him. Eyes as large as twin moons, face scarlet, she sputtered, “You’re na-na-na—

Still squatting, he looked down. His shaft, thankfully, wasn’t pointing to the ceiling and only a bit engorged. “Naked,” he pointed out helpfully.

“Yes! Naked! But why?”

He stood, hands on hips, his legs braced apart as was his way. “Because ye have my plaid, woman.”

“Oh!” She frantically worked to extricate herself from his breachen feile , and he caught a glimpse of lovely golden thighs as she struggled.

He blew through clenched teeth as she tossed it to him.

“Humph.” Why he should don it now that she and he were both awake and had naught to do for the next two or three hours besides make love was beyond understanding.

Resigned to torturous celibacy, he wrapped the plaid about him, donned his belt, and settled back on the pallet. To his consternation Kate scooted off the pallet and huddled against the cave wall.

“Ack, woman, did I bite ye? Did I rape ye? Nay. So will ye please be at your ease and lie down so we might get some rest?”

Wrapping her arms about her knees, she shook her head. “I’m no longer sleepy.”

He mentally cursed. “As ye wish.”

Sure she’d eventually get tired of staring at the night and settled down next to him, he curled on his side and closed his eyes.

He awoke with a start to the sound of Thor shying, Kate keening and then a heavy thump. One hand on his claymore, he opened his eyes.

Thor, his ears pinned back, was standing a few feet from where he’d last seen him with his saddled slung under his belly and Kate, sniffling and batting at a cloud of dust, was on her back, her skirt up above her knees.

I really should put both of us out of our misery.

Rising slowly, he asked, “What the hell do ye think ye’re doing?”

She yelped and scrambled to her feet. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she faced him. “No. You don’t understand. I need to leave! ”

“Nay. Not until ye tell me why ye’re pretending to be Madame Campbell.” He desperately wanted to take her over his knee and thrash the bloody breath out of her.

He rose to straighten Thor’s saddle before his destrier kicked it to pieces. Keeping one eye on Kate, he jerked it upright, a saddle bag popped open, and the contents spilled at his feet. Among a spare set of spurs, his comb and a pair of spare breeches lay a bairn’s cloth pony. Frowning, he bent to pick it up.

“No!” Kate lunged for the pony, but he was quicker.

She flew at him. “Give it to me!”

Trying to hold her at arm’s length without hurting her, he turned the toy this way and that. “I remember this. ‘Tis King James’s.” Scowling at her, the pony still held out of her reach, he asked, “Now why would ye risk yer life for such as this?”

Kate, her teeth bared, slapped at his arms trying to get the wee horse. “Give it to me!”

Ignoring her, he turned the toy over. Spotting a wee bit of white in a rented belly seam, his gut twisted. It wasn’t the pony she wanted but what was hidden inside .

Cursing under his breath, he dug into the hole and pulled out the paper. Using both hands he pulled the horse to shreds in search of anything else, sending cream-colored down flying. Finally satisfied nothing remained inside, he dropped the fabric and unfolded the paper.

A band constricted around his chest as he read the list. Duncan MacDougall of Drasmoor, Angus MacDougall of Donaleigh, Brion Grant of Uruhart, Robert Mackintosh of Dalcross, and on and on the list went. Half the friggin’ Highland lairds. Notably missing were Douglas and Donald, and all written in Kate’s unmistakable hand.

Kate keened and rocked on her knees, the remnants of the pony clutched to her chest.

In his heart of hearts he had been praying that she was simply a pawn in someone’s scheme to defraud Alistair in some fashion. The evidence in his hand proved otherwise and something inside him died. “What the hell is this!”

Not daring to look up, Kate began frantically gathering lighter-than-air down and stuffing it into what remained of the pony’s head. “I can’t believe you’ve done this.”

“ I ?”

“ Aye, you!” She’d risked her life in the hopes of changing destiny and to what end? All was now lost because of him . Worse, thanks to her, her father was now in mortal danger and the only proof she had for James was unrecognizable.

Kate yelped when Ian grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head back so she was forced to look at him. Waving the paper before her face, he hissed, “Answer me, woman! What is the meaning of this?”

Caught in the first rays of the day’s sun, the sharp planes of Ian’s face glistened, appeared to be made of pure gold. Beautiful and deadly.

What did it matter now?

He was Albany’s man and held the evidence against her in his hands. She was headed for someone’s donjon or a noose.

But what if she told the truth and threw herself on Ian’s mercy...might he not let her go? He hadn’t been cruel until this moment, had in truth saved her life, been kind in a fashion.

With her hair still locked in his fist, Ian hauled her to her feet. “Damn it, woman, answer me!”

Looking into his scowling countenance she decided she had no choice. It was her only hope of getting home to her father, to apologize for putting his life at risk, to warn him to run if it wasn’t already too late.

Stomach churning, her neck arched back near to breaking, Kate keened, “’Tis a list of those who want your king back! Who’ve been saving coins for his ransom.”

He leaned over her, his nose nearly touching hers. “And who would ye be giving this list to?”

“To James.”

He pulled back on her hair, making her cry out. “ James who? ”

Merciful mother of God, help me . “James Stewart, James I, king of Scotia!”

He hauled in a deep breath. “Woman, ye had best start speaking clear as well water or I’ll snap yer neck. Ye haven’t been out of my sight these last four days, so who supplied these names?”

Fighting her way through the pain, Kate stammered, “I was to...to go to Lady Margaret and get the list but she died and then I didn’t know what to do so I asked Lady Beth. But please, please don’t hurt her. She didn’t know what I was about. But I couldn’t allow her to die and her children with her because of James.” Kate took a gasping breath. “He’s so, so angry, and Sir Gregory understood, could see it himself, but...but now the pony’s de-destroyed and so now he won’t believe me. He thinks you’ve all forsaken him, yet I think you’ve not been told of the ransom and now I’m going to die and so is Father...”

Kate had all she could do to breathe, much less speak, so tight was the pain in her chest and at her head. If only she could give in to the pain. Better to die at Ian’s hand and in this cave than be sheared and then hung before a wild-eyed and cursing mob.

Just as suddenly as Ian had grabbed her by the hair, his grip released and she fell, wheezing, to her knees.

After a moment she dared to look up and found him staring at her, the blood vessels at his temples bounding and his jaw muscles twitching. “What,” he began, “do you ken of a ransom?”

Please, please let this mean he believes me.

“We were told Henry has demanded tens of thousands in sterling for James’s release.”

Ian took a deep breath, then another before asking, “ Who is we ?”

“Sir Gregory, James and Father. And me. There were others--three guards and an old woman--when James arrived in the Tower, but they were taken away. I’ve no idea where they might be now.” She wasn’t even sure if they were still alive.

“Describe Gregory.”

Her first instinct was to describe Gregory as he had looked when he arrived in prison five years before since that was how Ian would remember him, but then thought better of it. Ian had no doubt seen men who’d spent time incarcerated. “Shorter than I by more than a hand, once proud in bearing, he’s now stooped. His fair hair has gone grey. He’s still bearded.” Recalling his tales she hastily added, “And he has several front teeth missing that he claims were lost in battle.”

And he would lose a good few more should she ever lay eyes upon him again.

Ian was quiet too long for comfort before asking, “Do ye ken to whom the ransom demand was sent?”

“Nay, but I learned of it several years ago.”

“Several years...” Ian fisted his massive hands, then straightened and rolled his shoulders. “And ye ken all this how?”

Praying her answer would be enough-—Ian didn’t strike her as a man who believed in the fey--Kate mumbled, “My father, Hugh Dupree Templeton, is James’s tutor in English law and his subservience to the crown...and I...I am but a friend. ”

“A friend.” Cursing, he walked to his destrier and grabbed the ale bag. After taking a long draw he surprised Kate by tossing it into her lap. “Drink. Ye have much more yet to say.”

Covered in a bone-chilling sweat front and back, Kate did as he bid, thinking it might well be her last. Ian’s color was ruddier than she had ever noted before and if possible, he appeared more furious now than he had been upon finding her list.

“How are ye his friend?”

Kate wiped her mouth with a shaking hand and held the ale out to him. “When James was younger I helped him with English by reading to him and he taught me Scots. We made a game of it. As Sir Gregory taught him Gael, I listened, although I need confess that James was the more apt pupil. But now,” Kate looked at her hands, “James insists that I address him as Your Majesty.”

Ian stared at her for a few minutes, then walked to where her cape lay. He donned his sporran and scabbard, then picked up his claymore and returned to her. Broadsword in hand, his powerful legs braced apart, he stood before her. Kate held her breath, terrified that it might be her last, yet again taken with how impressive and fearsome Ian MacKay truly was.

He raised his claymore and lifted a strand of her hair off her shoulder with its gleaming tip. “I need check on those below.”

She nodded, struck mute by the closeness of the blade .

At the edge of the cave opening Ian pointed the claymore at Thor. “Touch and die.”

He spoke without heat, barely above a whisper, and she knew to her bones that he would slay her.

His blood boiling with pent-up rage, Ian quietly made his way toward the English encampment at the foot of the rushing burn some hundred feet below.

He hadn’t thought it possible that he could feel more fury than he had in discovering Kate’s duplicity. Yet upon hearing that a ransom demand had been made yet none of the chieftains had been informed, his fury had reached new heights.

He didn’t want to believe Albany had been playing him false. He had invested too many years in serving the man.

Moreover he had no desire to believe Kate. She’d done all in her power to thwart him at every turn. His brain and heart fought it, but his gut said aye, do.

Ack!

He desperately wanted to strike out, hit someone or something, and had he remained in the cave he greatly feared that that someone would have been Kate.

His heart ached. Common sense told him she spoke some truth. How else could she have described Gregory Campbell so well? Or know how many had been captured with his king. Possibly the most telling had been her repeatedly calling the lad James before her eyes grew glassy, admitting that James now demanded that she use his title. Knowing the mule-headed lad, he could easily imagine him—-irate and confused that he’d remained so long in captivity--doing so.

But then there was a distinct possibility that she’d been schooled and then sent to cause a greater rift between the house of Stewart and the rest. But if that was the case, why hadn’t she simply played the courtesan, gained his confidence-—which she’d quite diligently and successfully avoided—-and then planted the seeds of distrust?

Worse, he suspected she was still holding something back.

Augh!

He couldn’t confront Albany without proof and that proof could come only from his king. Ian heaved a resigned sigh.

Am fear a bhios a bharra-mhanadh a-mach, suidhidh e air fail chorraich. Aye. He whose destiny is cast does sit on a sharp cope.

So be it.

Hearing a rustle below and to his right, Ian dropped to his belly. He crawled forward to peer over the granite ridge and felt relief seeing the encampment below had yet to stir. None of their cattle had been saddled and no fires relit. If he made haste, he and Kate could ride out without being seen.

But first he had to eliminate the lone guard standing some thirty feet ahead. Standing between him and the truth.

~# ~

“This can’t be happening.”

Shamus looked in Douglas’s direction and found the man pale; sitting in stunned silence after Albany had announced the man the new earl of Ross. He then glanced at Donald and found him, flushed scarlet, slowly rising. It was apparent to all within the great hall that Donald was beyond speech. Without uttering a word, he waved a hand and his party rose and followed him out. Alistair Campbell had blanched as well.

Bile rising from his gut, Shamus eased out the door and raced out down the spiraling stairs to the bailey where he found Donald and his party already mounted.

Raising his arm Shamus yelled, “A word, Donald.”

The Lord of the Isles turned in his saddle. “MacKay, all that needs to be said has been said. Albany will rue this day. Of that you can be sure.”

“Donald, he stabbed you in the back. I, too, believe Ross is yours by virtue of your wife, but please, I urge you, don’t do anything rash in the heat of anger. Lives, mayhap thousands, ride on us all staying calm at this juncture. If enough of us protest, rattle our swords, I’m sure we can force Albany to relent.”

Donald snarled, “Too late, MacKay. The die is cast.” He then wheeled his destrier about and rode toward the gates of Stirling.

Damn! Shamus reentered the keep and was nearly trampled by three more enraged chieftains and their parties heading for their horses. Hearing a continuous roar coming from the great hall, he took the stairs up to Stirling’s parapet where he could think.

High above the plains surrounding Stirling Shamus looked west and caught sight of Donald’s party riding hard. Had Ian been here he might have forestalled Albany’s announcement, but Shamus seriously doubted that even his able brother could have prevented it. Albany was hell-bent on strengthening the Stewart’s hold on Scotland and that’s all there was to it.

A red flare suddenly arced high in the night sky from where Donald had disappeared into the distant foliage. Only moments later, and some twenty miles ahead, another flaming arrow shot into the air. Then another further west.

“ Shit! ” War signals. Donald had prepared for the worst, and had Shamus not been standing where he was, none at Stirling would be any the wiser.

He watched as one arrow after another shot into the sky until the flames were so distant and wee that they were almost negligible. Word was traveling west among the Donalds faster than their liege could travel. Prepare, he was telling them. Be ready to ride when I arrive. But to where? And with what force? Who besides the Donald’s clansmen had been waiting, watching?

Shamus raced down the stairs, taking them two and three at a time. His first allegiance was to the clan MacKay and his liege, Black Angus, and then he would warn the MacDougall warlords. Shit! Shit! Shit !

After that he would tell Albany. Let the bastard be the one to break the news to those in the hall that civil war was imminent.