Page 5 of The Thief (Castle Blackstone #3)

Good heavens above!

Had Kate not witnessed the thunder rolling out of MacKay’s mouth, she would have looked to the sky, expecting black-bellied clouds and lighting. Never in her life had she heard a man laugh so.

And why had he laughed? She’d said nothing in the least humorous. In fact, she’d done her utmost to insult the man.

If ye were mine ye would wear naught but this.

Ha! Did he take her for a fool? Men like MacKay never wooed the likes of her, not without an underlying purpose. Mayhap, to gain her confidence. Something she had absolutely no intention of giving.

Feeling a hand settle at the nape of her neck, she yelped and slammed her hands against MacKay’s chest, alarmed to find it unshakable. A lesser man would have stumbled, if not toppled, backward. “What on earth do-”

His lips settled on hers, shutting off her words. A mere heartbeat later his tongue slid, satin on silk, through her open lips. She gasped as it gently stroked her tongue.

Oh, my word! Her heart fluttered like a bird with a broken wing. Never had she been kissed in such fashion. Augh, what was she thinking? She’d never been kissed...ever.

As his thumb stroked her neck and eased down to her jaw, her mind shouted a warning, shouted kick him, but instead she sighed, giving in to the delicious heat and intoxicating scent of a man for the first time, to the feel of his powerful muscles moving like waves beneath her fingertips. Oh, kissing was far grander than anything she had ever imagined while lying, lonely and aching, upon her straw pallet. Far grander.

Her legs, normally as stout as pier supports, inexplicably wavered and felt like strawberry jam. She really needed to lie down. Mmm, down—-

“Yoohoo! Madame Campbell! Are ye out here, my lady?”

Cold air immediately replaced the delicious warmth of Ian MacKay’s lips. Why had he pulled away?

And had somebody called her name?

“I say, Madame Campbell! Are ye out here, lass?”

Oh no! There was no mistaking Sir Charles Fraser’s rusty bark. Kate stumbled backward. Mackay, in turn, just grinned. The beast.

She spun and saw the old man’s shadow within an octagonal splash of light coming from the open kitchen doorway. Her host was, thank God, still within the garden walls and had not seen her making a bloody fool of herself.

Her hands flew to her tousled hair. “Oh, he can’t find me like—-where’s my headdress?”

As if by magic the offensive muslin suddenly appeared in MacKay’s hand. “Shhhh. Just turn and I’ll have ye to rights in a heartbeat.”

Having no choice, she did as she was told, her eyes locked on Sir Fraser’s approaching shadow. She felt Mackay gather her hair. After a quick twist, she felt a tug, another, a scrape against her skull, and then the starched headdress with its requisite neck covering settled into place. Truly amazing, given it had taken her the better part of the afternoon to accomplish the same feat.

Wanting to know the secret, wanting to thank him, although why she could not say, she glanced over her shoulder, only to find the Thief gone.

“Oh!” So she was good enough to kiss in the dark but not to be seen with, huh?

The stupidity of that thought crashed over her as Sir Fraser came into view.

Dolt . Why was she so upset? She’d wanted MacKay gone, had she not? And now he was. Well, good riddance. Yes. Yet the feeling of somehow being betrayed persisted, which made no sense at all.

Sir Fraser waved as he shuffled on stork-thin legs toward her. “Ah, there ye are. I’ve been searching for ye high and low.”

Kate ran a shaking hand down the front of her bodice and stepped forward to greet Fraser only to feel something squish beneath her slipper.

“Augh!” Imagining Albany’s hounds running loose, fearing the worst, she lifted her skirt with both hands and cautiously stepped back. Her forgotten half of the apple tart lay flattened beyond recognition on the brittle grass and the toe of her lambskin slipper dripped. She huffed. Yet another reason to dislike Ian MacKay. She had only two pairs of slippers to her name and those on her feet were her newest and most comfortable. And now one was stained.

Eyes narrowed, teeth bared, she cast another glance around for MacKay. Oow, when next she saw him—

“Lady Campbell, what are ye about, out here all alone?”

Kate spun. “Oh, Sir Fraser, my apologies if I caused you distress. I simply stepped out for a breath of fresh air.”

“Ah, and so ye found it.” He took several deep breaths and sighed. “Frightfully hot in there, I agree.” He then clasped his hands behind his back and looked about as if viewing the dark bailey was his sole intent for coming. “Lovely reiver’s moon. Lovely night, come to think on it. ‘Twas on such a night as this that I handfast to my dear departed Peg. Aye, she’s gone now, but oh what a lass she was. Had hair as bright as a Yule log aflame, she did. And eyes the color... ”

As Fraser waxed on about his lost love, Kate mentally shook her head. The poor man reminded her of Nana. Kate had not lied when she’d told MacKay that she had someone who cared. Her grandmother did care very much...on those rare occasions when she could recall who Kate was.

Poor Nana.

At Sir Gregory’s insistence Kate had traveled by sea to Scotland and been warned to return the same way, but she could not. No, she’d be going home by land so she could go by way of Salisbury, Nana’s home. She patted her pocket, again reassured by the feel of the copper and silver coins secreted there.

Knowing her father had neither the coins nor inclination to provide her with a dowry, Kate had been saving a penny here and a penny there for well over a decade in the hope that a man might someday ask for her hand. Finally seeing the futility in that, she decided to use her coins to buy a horse. Yes, a grand steed. One who could carry her weight without buckling, one she could pat and brush, one she could love and call her own. The fact that she had not saddled or ridden a horse since childhood mattered not. There was ground aplenty betwixt here and London. They could learn each other’s ways as they went.

Yes, and too many hours to think about MacKay and his kiss.

Realizing Sir Fraser had finally gone silent, she asked, “Did you seek me out to tell me something? ”

His brow furrowed. “Well, umm...” It took a moment before he brightened. “Aye, I did indeed! What a clever lass ye are.”

Not feeling the least clever, not with the taste of the Thief still on her lips, she murmured, “Thank you, and what might that something be?”

He clapped his hands. “I’ve good news.”

Smiling, for he looked like an exuberant youth seeing his first pig race, she said, “Splendid. Do tell.”

“Alistair is here! And most anxious he is to meet ye.”

Alistair? The name resonated like a clanging fire bell within her mind. Sir Gregory had warned about an Alistair, but what precisely had he said? She gave herself a mental shake. MacKay’s kiss had obviously disturbed more than her heart and middle.

Hoping to jog her memory, Kate asked, “Alistair who?”

Eyes twinkling, Fraser chuckled in gravely fashion. “Why Alistair Campbell, of course. Yer brother-by-marriage.”

Her brother-by-marriage.

The air froze in Kate’s chest as she again heard Sir Gregory warn, And for the love of God, stay away from Ardkinglas, my home. Alistair would sooner see ye dead as look at ye.

~# ~

Charles Fraser scratched at the grey thatch encircling his head and stared at the prostrate figure of Madame Campbell on the receiving room’s velvet couch. “I say, MacKay, ‘twas a stroke of luck that ye happened by when ye did. No way could I have lifted the lass on me own.” He heaved a weary-sounding sigh as his gaze ran along the widow’s imposing length. “Well, mayhap I could in my younger days, but not now, that’s for damn sure.”

Kneeling at the lady’s side, Ian placed a cold cloth on the egg-sized lump on her right temple. “Aye, mayhap in yon days. In any event she’s here now and before a warming fire.”

And looking none the better for it, which was proving worrisome.

Ian had been lurking within the bastion shadows when Kate Campbell toppled. Had stood listening, ready to intercede should the auld man comment on the widow’s kiss-swollen lips or her too red countenance, but Fraser hadn’t. He’d merely addled on as was his way these days. That the pair had remained where Ian had left Kate--where he could easily overhear their conversation--had simply been a boon.

Which called to mind a most pressing question. Why would the news of Alistair Campbell’s presence in Stirling cause the lady to faint? Alistair was, after all, the acting laird of the very family she sought.

Humph.

And not for a minute did he believe she had anyone in France awaiting her return. Had she, that person would have insisted she simply pay someone to bring the brooch and plaid back to the family. ‘Twere Scots aplenty roaming about Burgundy and Normandy these days who would have gladly done it. Or had she proved stubborn and insisted on returning the brooch herself, someone-—the incomparable Monsieur Bottes, no doubt--would surely have accompanied her to Scotland, not let her go wandering about like some will-o’-the-wisp.

He shuddered, thinking of the fate that could have befallen her. Thank God, she’d wandered onto Fraser land and not onto the Gunn’s, a liege lord renowned for taking what and when he wanted it, be it his to take or not.

Auld Fraser muttered, “Hey, she’s finally stirrin’.”

“Aye.” Madame Campbell’s pink tongue again flickered across her still kiss-puffed lips. Feeling a rush of relief, a sensation he had no intention of examining, Ian took her cool hand in his. “Madame Campbell, can ye hear me?”

Her brow crinkled. “Huh?” Her free hand moved toward the cold compress.

“Take care, ye have a nasty bump there.”

Not heeding, she yelped when her fingers found the knot and her eyelids fluttered open.

Feeling an inordinate amount of relief, he brought her hand to his lips. “Welcome back.”

She didn’t smile as he’d expected. Instead, her lovely eyes grew wide and then just as quickly narrowed into slits. “ You. ”

Humph. She’s apparently still in a pique because I left her alone to face Fraser.

Had he the choice he would have remained, but the lady had been widowed less than a year, a strict mourning period he had yet to fathom, and his presence would have only set Fraser’s tongue to wagging. And the last thing she, a Sassenach, needed as she tried to establish a new life in Scotland were rumors regarding her character. There would be speculation enough about her as it was.

Fearing she’d say something to embarrass herself, he warned, “Aye, tis, and we’ve company.”

Brow furrowed, she looked over his shoulder and found Fraser grinning at her. She groaned and struggled to sit.

“Allow me.” He placed an arm about her shoulders, only to have her push it away.

Not to be thwarted, since he acted in her best interests, he took a firm hold on her elbow and leaned over her. Cheek to cheek, he whispered, “Behave or the next time I find ye alone I’ll kiss ye senseless.”

Blue flames sparked from beneath thick, sooty lashes as she glared back. “In that unlikely event, you had best find a priest.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Is that a proposal? For if it is I must warn ye--”

“For your last rites , you idiot. ”

Ian tweaked her nose and then straightened. “How are ye feeling?”

“My head aches.”

“And well it should,” Fraser muttered as he pressed forward to squint at her. “Ye keeled over, topsail over tailfin, like a galleon in a hard blow. Bloody alarming, let me tell ye. Aye, fell like a pine before the ax. Landed flat on yer face like a beached sperm wha--”

“Fraser!” God’s teeth, the man was a bloody nuisance. “Fetch some mead for the lady please?”

“Oh, of course.”

As Fraser shuffled toward the fireside table where a veritable feast awaited Albany and his guests, Kate assured him, “He means no harm.”

“That I ken, but he’s just as likely to say the wrong thing to the wrong person and ruin yer reputation for all time.”

She made a derisive sound in her throat. “Ruin my reputation?” She shook her head then turned her attention the room. Her eyebrows tented and her teeth caught her lower lip as her gaze shifted from the stenciled ceiling to the tapestries. “Where am I, and how did I come to be here?”

“This is the receiving room, and I carried ye here.”

“You carried...”

Kate groaned. Picturing MacKay struggling up the circular staircase, with her limp in his arms—-no, likely thrown over his broad shoulder like a sack of wheat, her buttocks in the air--she buried her face in her hands. Feeling hair slide, she opened her eyes and found a puddle of black in her lap. Good graces, could matters deteriorate any further? And where was her headdress?

“My lady, here’s yer mead.”

Using both hands, she raked the black waterfall off her face and found Fraser standing before her, holding a hammered goblet bedecked with amber cabochons. “Thank you.”

She brought the fermented-honey concoction to her lips. Finding it warm but not hot, she took a much-needed gulp.

MacKay squatted and rested a hand on her arm. “Easy, lass, ‘tis potent.”

Fraser, another goblet in his hand, smacked his lips. “Aye, has a wee bit of the visgebaugh in it.”

The water of life? Oh, splendid. The duke had watered down his drink. No surprise, she supposed given the number within the castle. Well, she’d just have to drink all the more. With any luck she’d fall into a stupor before dying of shame.

She looked about again, this time noticing a large desk and behind it a partially opened door. “What is through there?”

MacKay looked to where she pointed. “The king’s chamber. Now Albany’s.”

She was in the Albany’s suite? Oh...she had to get out, go, be gone.

Yes, but before she did she needed more mead. As she took another healthy gulp she heard the door creak and craned her neck to look over MacKay’s shoulder.

A stout man of about forty years stood frowning in the doorway. As he thumped toward her on long-toed shoes, the tiny brass bells attached to his red and green tunic tinkled in counterpoint. Thinking the man looked like a Harlequin egg, Kate asked the Theif, “Who on earth is that?”

MacKay, his face an expressionless mask, muttered, “Alistair Campbell, yer husband’s elder brother.”

“Ah, my brother-by-marriage. Why ever not.” Kate brought the large goblet to her lips and this time drained it.

Using the back of her hand, she wiped a drip from the corner of her mouth, then took a deep breath, relishing the fire searing her gullet. Hmmm, mayhap the cook hadn’t added all that much water after all. Campbell came to a stop before her just as the mead landed like a hot coal in her middle, its heat radiating like the sun.

MacKay murmured to her escort, “Fraser, please be so kind as to fetch the lady some meat.”

“Certainly.”

As Fraser shuffled off toward the banquet table, the laird of Ardkinglas crossed his arms over his chest. “So, ye found her.”

“Aye.” MacKay took the goblet from her hands and again examined the goose egg-sized knot on her noggin. Frowning, he said, “‘Twill be sore for another day or two. ”

She nodded but kept her gaze locked on the man who would do her the most harm.

Alistair will just as soon kill ye as look at ye, Sir Gregory had said. Precisely why Alistair would like to kill her, he’d conveniently neglected to mention.

Her brother-by-marriage scowled. “What happened to her?”

“She fainted. Hasn’t partaken since her arrival this morn.”

Campbell humphed. “If any should ken such, ‘twould be you.”

Eyes narrowing, Ian rose to his impressive height. “And why would you be thinking that?”

Campbell snorted but backed up a step. “You ken well my meaning, MacKay.”

Kate huffed. “Sirs, please cease speaking as if I were not here.” She glared at each man in turn while her fingers struggled to braid her hair.

What bloody chaos her day had become. Worse even than her ragged appearance.

MacKay murmured, “My apologies. Madame Katherine Campbell, may I introduce Sir Alistair Campbell, yer husband’s elder brother. Sir Campbell, your sister-by-marriage, Madame Katherine Campbell.”

Campbell executed a jerky bow. “My honor, and now I wish a word, my lady.” He cast a narrowed glance at MacKay. “ Privately. ”

MacKay snorted. “Why? So you can talk her out of her inheritance? ”

“Whoa.” Kate held up her hand. “What inheritance?” She would definitely kill Sir Gregory when next she saw him. First he neglects to tell her that his son—-her supposed husband—-was an ugly brute and now this?

MacKay’s lips quirked up on one side. “My dear, ye now hold one-third of all which Robbie Campbell once held near and dear.”

“I do?”

“Aye, my lady, you most certainly do.”

Oh, merciful mother Mary. No small wonder the egg man before her wanted her dead.

Her throat suddenly felt like parchment. “But...but Robbie was a second son. Simply a knight.”

Everyone knew second sons were merely spares. ‘Twas why so many became priests and soldiers.

Campbell, apparently losing patience, growled, “Leave us, MacKay. What we need discuss is sept business and no concern of yours.”

Ian MacKay remained rooted in place, only tipping his head in question. “My lady?”

She had little doubt MacKay would stay if asked, but it might prove wiser to learn what Campbell had to say. What had Livy written about enemies? Ah, “The evil best known is the most tolerable”. Aye, that and something else quite profound but what precisely escaped her. Augh, her ears buzzed. Mayhap she had taken in too much mead.

Kate signaled MacKay closer with the crook of a finger. When he leaned forward, she whispered, “I seem to have misplaced my headdress. Would you be so kind as to loan me your lace?”

“Lace?”

She pointed to his chest. Seeing the golden froth her fingers had grazed in the bailey, she sighed.

Hmm, I wonder if that lovely golden thatch goes all the way to his waist?

Years ago she’d seen a smithy with a black hairy mat that went from shoulders to waist both front and back. Reminded her of a bear. Disgusting, really.

MacKay’s lovely chest suddenly disappeared from view and was replaced by his almost-straight nose. A nice-enough nose, to be sure, but she much preferred his chest. Or eyes. Ah, there they are. Such lovely eyes, dark and light, flecked with gold and amber, ringed by dark sable, with little crinkles at the corners.

“Kate? Lass!”

Fingers snapped before her eyes startling her.

Why was he staring so?

“Lass, are ye nay feeling well?”

Good graces, she’d been wool gathering. She gave herself a good shake, trying to recall what she’d last said. She looked down and saw that she still clutched her braid in her left hand. Ah, she’d asked for the leather lace in his shirt. “I just need your shirt lace to hold my hair else it comes undone again.” She waggled the braid’s tip so he might see.

“Of course.”

Before her tongue could manage a thank you, the leather strip was out of his shirt and wrapped around her braid.

She studied the pretty bow he’d made. My word, the man had fast hands. Something she might be wise to remember.

MacKay patted her hand, then straightened. With his gaze on Campbell, he murmured, “My lady, should ye need me I’ll be on the other side of the door.”

“All right.”

As soon as Mackay disappeared, Campbell stepped to within a foot of her. Placing his hands on his eggy hips, he growled, “So where’s the bairn?”

Bairn? Oh, child . “I have none.”

“None?” Campbell snorted. “Lady, I kenned my bastard brother well. No decent woman would lay with him, much less wed him. He either got ye with child against yer will or ye be a whore. So which is it?”

Why, the insufferable man! “I told you I have no child. I’ll also have you know that I’m the daughter of a learned man, and I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head.”

“Oh, ye will, huh?” He eyed her warily for a moment. “So if ye have no babe, if ye truly didn’t ken that ye had a paltry inheritance due ye, then why have ye come?”

“I had hoped to return something to your mother.” She reached into her pocket, brought out the Campbell brooch and held it out in her open palm. Candlelight bounced off the polished circles and center stone, sending a prism of purple into the air.

“That bitch?” Campbell snatched the brooch from Kate’s hand. “She was no mother of mine.”

Taken aback as much by his words as by his grabbing the brooch, Kate blustered, “If that be so, then give the brooch back. It must now belong to your father.”

Campbell took his time examining the brooch, front and back. After a moment he asked, “Now what would ye be kenning of him?”

“Ummm...” Knowing she’d already made one tactical error in showing the brooch to Campbell, Kate hesitated. How much could she admit to knowing about Sir Gregory without causing more suspicion? Surely if she had really been wed to Robbie Campbell, he would have mentioned his father’s imprisonment, if for no other reason than to brag about his connection to the crown, but then...

“Robbie said that his father had been captured by the English and placed in the Tower of London.”

“Hmm, and did he happen to say why?”

Kate nodded; her gaze locked on the brooch, the one proof of who she claimed to be and the only legitimate reason for her being in Scotland. “He said your father had been captured while escorting your King James to France.”

Campbell murmured, “My King James. And last I saw this brooch it was on my father as he sailed away.”

Kate struggled to keep the panic out of her voice. “ No, he gave it to Robbie before he sailed.”

He looked at her then, his gaze again assessing, narrow with obvious distrust. “So how did ye come to be wed to my dearly departed brother?”

“He...did a great service for my father.” Surely that sounded plausible.

Campbell snorted and his lips curled but not in a friendly way. “So ye were sold...like any whore on the ways.”

Sold? A whore? That does it.

No one called her a whore—-not once but twice, no less-and got away with it.

Jaws clenched, Kate stood for the first time in Campbell’s presence and took great satisfaction in watching his jaw go slack. Yes, she could be quite imposing if it so suited her needs. And now it did most certainly suit her.

Hands on her hips, Kate leaned forward and glared at the man standing a good foot shorter than she. “You offensive little toad. I journeyed leagues above whales and God knows what other demons, trudged though mud and bog, climbed hillock and goat paths in a bloody storm all in an effort to return a family treasure to Lady Margaret. And what do I receive for my efforts? Your respect? No. Your condolences? No! You accuse me of being a whore ! And then you all but accuse me of picking your pockets. So I ask, who here is the thief?”

She poked a firm finger into Campbell’s chest. When he stumbled backward, she stepped forward and poked him again. “Now hand over,” she poked again, “that bloody brooch before I grab you by the ankles, turn you bottoms up and shake it loose!”

Enthralled with her boldness, mesmerized by her own fury, Kate took no notice of anything save Campbell’s shocked expression until searing pain suddenly pierced her breast bone.

Shocked silent, she looked down and could only gape at the foot-long blade pressing into her bodice. With effort she pulled her gaze from the double-edged dirk to the man holding it and found him sneering, hot rage making his mud-brown eyes black.

No .

Untimely though it was, her end had apparently come. Worse, at the hands of a foul-mouthed glutton. At least she’d die having been kissed. There was some consolation in that she supposed. Now she could only do the one thing worth doing.