Page 6 of The Thief (Castle Blackstone #3)

Madame Katherine’s bloodcurdling scream jolted Ian out of his slouch against the passage’s stones. “Shit!”

Calling himself every kind of fool for leaving her alone with Campbell, he reached for the sgian duhb secreted under his left arm as his right shoulder slammed into the door.

Blood thundered into flexing muscle as the latch gave way and the door swung wide and reverberated against immovable stone. His heart stuttered in kind finding Kate ashen-faced but blessedly upright. Given the piercing nature of her cry he’d fully expected to find her bleeding at Campbell’s feet.

Glaring at Campbell, taking note that the man’s hand rested on the hilt of his sheathed dirk, Ian strode into the room. “What the hell goes on here?”

Campbell, red-faced, looked at Ian’s hand and eased his hand away from his sword. “ Naught that is your concern, MacKay. ”

Seriously doubting it, Ian shifted his gaze to Kate. “My lady?”

“I--” Kate cleared her throat and took a shaky breath that did little to improve her pallor. “I believe I shall go to my room now.”

Glaring again at Campbell, Ian stepped between the pair and held out his left hand, his sgian duhb palmed but handy in his right. “As ye wish, my lady.”

Her hand, cold and damp, shook as it came to rest on his wrist. Deciding he would someday take great pleasure in gutting Campbell, Ian led Kate from the room.

As they stepped into the hall they were met by three guards, their claymores drawn and at the ready. Two obviously alarmed lasses huddled at their backs.

The captain looked from Kate to Ian. “What’s amiss? We heard the lady scream.”

Ian slipped an arm about Lady Katherine’s waist. “A spider fell onto her lap. Took her by surprise.”

The captain muttered, “Sounded more like the lady thought she was about to die.” He then craned his neck to look into the room, where he doubtless saw Campbell.

Ian chuckled. “I expect she did.”

Kate, still as pale as the moon, nodded like a sandpiper. “Terrible furry beast. Sir MacKay knocked it away, then squashed it. Very brave of him, would you not agree?”

“Humph.” The captain shifted his gaze between them, then apparently deciding he had no role to play, motioned for his men to follow and strode away. To Ian’s annoyance the curious lasses lingered.

“Have ye no work to do?”

The eldest, Albany’s current bed warmer, if rumors were true, murmured, “Aye, my lord, there is work aplenty,” and scooted away. The other, eyes cast down, immediately followed.

“Humph!” Ian sheathed his sgian duhb and reached for Kate’s hand, which he was pleased to find decidedly warmer. Heading toward the stairwell, he whispered, “Ye did well, my lady.”

She snorted. “And you have a glib tongue, Ian MacKay.”

He stopped. Ah, she’d called him Ian again. He was making progress. He gazed at her plump, wide lips and grinned. “They’re more than glib and well ye ken it.”

When she blushed to a furious red, he laughed and resumed walking. Aye, soon she would be where he wanted her. Beneath him. And in the afterglow, she’d spill her secrets, as many before her had. His gift to the world. Ack.

Just once, he’d like to experience an honest relationship with a woman. To spill his secrets, his fears, and know that they’d be in safekeeping. To know to his marrow that her whispered “I love you” was heartfelt and soul deep, not simply words spoken in hopes of garnering protection or favor. Just once he’d like to utter the precious three words himself...for he had yet to do so, and he was already one and thirty. Already on the downward slide to his grave. And, alas, alone.

And matters would remain so for as long as Scotland and his king needed him.

The raucous sounds of pipes and laughter from those in the hall followed them up the stairs.

Behind him, Kate asked, “What goes on below?”

He looked back to see her hand full of skirt. “They’re celebrating the gathering.”

But few would get deep into their cups this night. Come dawn the General Council would convene and more than a few had already heard that Albany was proposing a new tax.

Struggling with her skirts she muttered, “God, what a place. Smiths and armorers hammer all day, pigs squeal, carpenters saw and pound, men clang and bang at the lists, cattle low, and now you blow those ungodly bagpipes. Is this place never quiet?”

He laughed. “Nay, my lady. Never.”

“Augh.”

At the third landing, he turned left. Directly above the room they had just left, he stopped and pushed open a door.

He cast a quick glance about. Finding a fire in the hearth, the shutter closed, a flagon of mulled wine sitting on the brass-studded chest betwixt two sturdy, leather-slung chairs before the hearth--and most importantly his bed empty, he pulled Kate in and closed the door. “Be at yer ease, my lady. You’re safe.”

While the Widow Campbell looked about, a frown marring her brow, he hauled the sheath holding his weighty claymore over his head.

“Whose chamber is this?” Before he could respond, she held up a hand. “Never mind. It’s yours.” She huffed and reached for the door latch.

Ian tossed his broadsword onto the bed where it landed with a clang despite the deep furs, then he casually leaned, shoulder to wood, on the door.

He grinned and lifted a tendril that had escaped her braid. Enjoying the sleek feel of the strand between his fingers, he murmured, “Ye have no reason to fear, Kate Campbell. ‘Tis only a room, and I’m only a man.”

“Ha!” She snatched the hair from his hand and tucked it behind her ear. She then pulled on the latch with both hands. “There’s naught only about you, MacKay.”

“Hmmm, and here I was imagining that we were on better terms. Have ye forgotten I’ve rescued ye thrice? Once in the hall, once in the bailey and now just down below. Surely ye can bring yerself to call me Ian.”

“Fine. Ian. Now move so I might open the door.”

He sighed. “As ye wish, but be forewarned Campbell’s men are likely lurking in yon hall.”

Her hands fell away from the latch. “Might they be?”

He shrugged and straightened. “Mayhap aye, mayhap nay. I can’t be sure since I’m on this side of the door, but were I he and as obviously angry with ye as he appears to be...”

He left the rest unsaid, allowing her imagination to take flight as he was sure it would. No woman screeched as she had without just cause.

Hoping she’d eventually tell him why she had keened, he walked to the fire, gave the ashes a poke and threw in another handful of coal. He straightened and found Madame Campbell lifting the flagon with a shaky hand. “Halt!”

He snatched the amber vessel from her hand and tore open the shutter. He jumped up onto the eight-foot-deep sill and began pouring the flagon’s contents out his room’s cross-shaped aperture.

Kate, hands on her hips, a frown gracing her lovely face, muttered, “No wonder your Albany waters his mead, what with you tossing it out without so much as a sip.”

Ian shook the flagon to be sure all was gone and jumped down. “Katie, my dear, visgebaugh , the water of life, has naught to do with water, woman. ‘Tis whiskey.”

“Whiskey?”

“Aye, lightening in an oak barrel, a distillation of barley. And a word to the wise whilst ye’re here: never drink anything that’s been sitting in yer room unattended.”

She blanched, her hand at her throat. “B-b-but I drank the mead below. ”

“Aye, but ‘twas intended for all to consume and therefore safe enough.” He held the flagon up to the candle. No residue. Good. But he’d still rinse it out, just as he did every night before refilling it from one of the many casks in the distillery. No small wonder half the country thought him a sot.

He turned toward her then, thinking to ask if she’d like something to eat and found her teary-eyed. Frowning, he closed the distance between them and lifted her chin with a finger. “Hey, what’s this?”

She shook her head and walked to the fire.

He followed and took a gentle hold on her shoulders, shoulders not near as wide as his but damn close as high. A decidedly curious sensation. “Lass, talk to me.”

Instead of turning into his arms and burying her face in his chest as most women would, she kept her back to him. “I never should have come.”

He couldn’t argue with that. Alistair Campbell would no doubt like to see her hide stretch above Ardkinglas’s portcullis. “What did Campbell say?”

She took a shuddering breath. “’Twas naught he said. ‘Twas his blade pressing into my breast that had me a wee bit upset.”

His blade ? Ian spun her in order to look into her lovely eyes. Frowning, he pictured the receiving room as he burst through the door. Aye, Campbell had had his hand on the hilt, but...

“Lass, are ye speaking the truth? For if ye are, then the bloody bastard-- ”

She placed a firm finger on his lips. “There’s no need to curse.” She heaved a sigh and lowered her hand. “God knows I’ve heard enough this night.”

“I didna curse,” he said, his accent broadening. “Alistair is a bastard, the product of a handfasting that lasted but a year and a day. Yer dearly departed husband was Sir Gregory’s only legitimate heir.”

Her eyes grew wide. “No.”

“Aye. Now, the truth, lass. Did he or did he not threaten ye with his blade?”

Kate swallowed, trying to remove the sudden thickness in her throat, wishing she could cut out her tongue while MacKay’s amber gaze bore into hers.

If she reiterated the truth, what would he do? Kill Campbell? Sir Gregory had warned her about MacKay, had said he was more than an able swordsman. Aye, but then the old fox had lied to her by omission.

He’d deliberately neglected to mention his son’s deformities and the fact that Robbie had been his only legitimate heir. That she--as his supposed wife--would also be considered an heir. She took a deep breath. When she next she laid eyes on Sir Gregory she’d definitely clout him. Then trounce on him for good measure.

“Kate, the truth.”

MacKay was still staring at her. His gaze hard and assessing, demanding.

“Let the matter drop.” What ramifications would come from that decision she had no idea, but better no action than Alistair’s blood on her hands. Now if only MacKay would listen.

He shook his head, causing his golden mane to brush his shoulders. “Nay.”

“Yes, you must, Ian, please, for--”

“ AWK, please Ian , AWK! ”

“Aaugh!” Kate jumped a foot and plastered her body against MacKay’s, her hands digging into his arms. Looking over her shoulder, her gaze raked the room for the intruder. “Who is that?”

MacKay patted the small of her back. “Dinna fash. ‘Tis only Leo.”

As if to confirm it, “ Awk! Leo, ” came from behind the wooden screen Kate hadn’t taken note of before.

“ Awk , ah Ian, awk !

“Leo, shut up!”

Kate jerked and MacKay murmured, “Forgive me,” then carefully extricated himself from her grip.

He walked toward the flat-paneled screen in the corner, leaving her shaking by the fire, her arms wrapped about her waist. “Dear God, I really do need to leave this place.”

Mackay began folding back the screen. “Lady Campbell, may I introduce Leo.”

Kate blinked, not believing her eyes. On a table sat a sturdy bronze cage and in it sat a large grey bird, its red-tufted head cocked to one side as he studied her in turn with a round, unblinking eye. “ Awk, beidheach eun ! ”

It said pretty bird . “Oh, my. It’s a parrot.”

“Aye, and a noisier or messier beastie I’ve yet to encounter.”

Kate took a hesitant step forward. “Wherever did you get it?” She’d heard tell of parrots, knew mariners were said to favor them, but she’d never actually seen one.

“He was a gift, from a grateful Turk.”

She took another cautious step. “You were in Turkey?”

“Nay, in Venice, where I had the misfortune of pulling a drowning man from a canal. As a reward he insisted I take the bird. Come closer. He will not bite. Well, he does, but only if you poke a finger at him.”

“Leo,” Kate murmured. “Is that short for Leonardo, then?”

MacKay grinned. “Nay. When he’s in a snit he can do a very impressive lion’s roar.”

“Truly?” The bird must have spent time in Africa. Oh my. “How do you know it’s male?”

MacKay shrugged. “Truthfully, I do not ken what it is, but it has yet to lay eggs.”

“Mayhap it’s not old enough.”

MacKay opened the leather pouch sitting on the table, pulled out a handful of walnuts and dropped them into the cage. “I suspect it might be. Amir claimed to have had the bird for more than a decade before gifting him to me and I’ve had him for almost as long.”

“Oh, my.” The bird was nearly as old as she. Wanting a better look, Kate edged closer, and the bird, apparently wanting the same, used his remarkable beak and claws to grasp the front of the cage. Hanging sideways on the bars, he whistled at her.

She grinned. “He’s certainly agile.”

MacKay snorted. “He is tha--”

A hard rap sounded on the door.

Before Kate could catch her next breath, MacKay’s powerful left arm wrapped about her like a steel belt. He hauled her behind him and pressed her to his back. In his right hand he held his dirk.