Authors: Hannah Howell
“Mayhap he but seeks aid in searching for her body.”
“He hasnae asked for any. From what I have heard of the tale, he may have already found her body and buried her. It seems they were frolicking by the river and she insisted on cooling her feet in the waters. She went too far in and was caught by the current. There was nay saving her.” She frowned. “That does sound as if she was swept away, yet I am verra certain he doesnae search for her. He certainly isnae indulging in any show of mourning.” She nodded toward a handsome, sturdy man flanked by two large, very dark men. “There he is and he doesnae act like a mon who has just buried his wife. E’en ones ye ken had a wretched union at least observe some form of mourning. Most of them,” she muttered, briefly scowling toward a rotund, greying man who had buried his third wife only a week ago.
“Some men simply dinnae see the need to pretend,” Payton murmured. “Nay e’en to please the gossips.”
Payton studied Sir Roderick, fighting the urge to walk over to the man and end his life—as slowly and as painfully as possible. It surprised Payton only a little that he could feel so viciously bloodthirsty. Sir Roderick was a man worthy of such intense anger and hate. It also surprised Payton that the man was not marred in some way, his evil staining him for all too see. There should be something to warn others about him.
Once he controlled his fury, Payton was able to more closely observe the man he intended to destroy. There was nothing unique or impressive about Sir Roderick. The two men with him looked to be more of a threat. Payton knew he would never trust Roderick or any of his men to fight fairly, that Roderick much preferred a stealthy knife thrust to the back to rid himself of a threat. He also noticed that Roderick could not stop himself from watching the pages who wandered through the crowd. Unless his perversion had become too strong to control or conceal over the years, it was astounding that his sickness had remained a secret for so long. The way the man watched the boys was chilling, for Payton began to suspect that Roderick was on the hunt again.
“Ye are interested in Sir Roderick for some reason?” asked Lady Fraser. “Ye watch him most carefully.”
“I but search for some hint of grief, e’en a bit of irritation o’er the fact that he must now find another wife,” Payton replied. “She must have been a sore curse to the mon.”
“Mayhaps. I saw her but a few times. Small, dark, nay much more than a child. She appeared nay more than a wee, timid shadow chained to his side. Spoke to few and, when she did, Sir Roderick or one of his men was quick to separate her from her companion or stand close by until all conversation was strangled. Now that I think on the child, I must wonder if her death was truly an accident. She may have let the river have her on purpose.”
“Ah, aye, possible. And sad.”
“Oh, curse it a hundredfold. Fraser’s sister.”
Before Payton could say a word, Lady Fraser was gone. A moment later he saw a stout, grey-haired woman marching in the direction Lady Fraser had fled. The woman did not pause, but scowled at him as she passed, and Payton nearly laughed. Clearly, at least one of Fraser’s family was attempting to keep the man’s wife from behaving badly. There was a chance Fraser himself had asked the woman to stay with his wife. That could prove helpful. Since he had pursued Lady Fraser, he could not think of a kind or even reasonable explanation for why he was no longer interested. If Lady Fraser was now saddled with a dragon of a chaperone, he would rarely be pressed for excuses to refuse her sensual invitations. He did not really wish to insult Lady Fraser. If nothing else, his sudden obsession with a small, smoky-eyed woman could prove fleeting, and he might regain an interest in what Lady Fraser so eagerly offered.
Returning his attention to Sir Roderick, Payton tensed and had to fight hard to quell the urge to race over to the man, sword drawn. Sir Roderick had his hand on the shoulder of a small page. It was obvious the boy did not wish to be held there, and the way Sir Roderick studied the child made Payton’s insides churn. He knew he could not openly drag away any boy who got near the man, not yet, but this time he could act. This boy was a kinsman, a MacMillan. As he walked toward Sir Roderick, Payton carefully and tightly tethered all his fury and disgust.
After nodding a greeting to Sir Roderick, Payton clasped the boy on the shoulder and gently tugged him away from the man. The way young Uven shuddered once and relaxed made Payton wonder if the boy had sensed the threat in Sir Roderick. Uven was, after all, Lady Maldie’s grandson and Payton knew she had many a gift, as did others in his clan. Payton much preferred that possibility to the one that had Uven knowing about the evil in Sir Roderick because he had already been subjected to it. The mere thought of that had him wrapping his arm around the boy’s thin shoulders and holding him closely, protectively, by his side.
“Are your parents here, Uven?” he asked the boy as he slowly walked him away from Sir Roderick. “’Tis far too long since I saw Cousin Morna and old Iain.”
“They are still at Dunncraig,” replied the boy. “Cousin James will soon take his place as laird there, but Papa will be his mon still. Cousin James has given us a fine, wee piece of land and a good stone house.”
“An honor indeed and one weel earned. Who are ye serving then?”
“Sir Bryan MacMillan, one of my fither’s highborn cousins.” He cast a brief, nervous glance back at Sir Roderick. “I am glad ye came to fetch me. I cannae like that mon.” Uven trembled slightly and edged closer to Payton.
“Has he done something to make ye uneasy?”
“Nay, not truly. ’Tis just that he feels bad, ye ken? He seeks me out, and when he touches me, I feel ill. Mama told me to ne’er ignore such feelings, as many Murrays are gifted. So, I try to stay far away from that mon.”
“Good. Continue to do so. And, tell Sir Bryan what ye just told me. He kens the Murrays weel. He will heed your words and help ye stay away from Sir Roderick MacIye.”
When the boy looked up at Payton and smiled, Payton nearly stumbled. It was Callum. True, Callum had yet to smile, but he had the same eyes, the same features, the same hair. Uven was only eight, but the baby softness was already leaving his features, revealing the fine bone structure Payton saw in Callum’s face. No wonder he kept thinking something about Callum was familiar. The boy was a MacMillan to the bone; he had to be. The only trouble would come in trying to gather enough facts to prove it.
“Is something wrong, Cousin Payton?” Uven asked.
“Nay, laddie. I was but suddenly taken by how much ye look like the MacMillans.”
“Aye, Mama says I am a MacMillan to the verra marrow. She says she could think I took naught from her or the Murrays save that I have these feelings about people.” He frowned. “They are a wee bit frightening. Mama says she will see that I visit with my aunt Elspeth and cousins Avery and Gilly more so that they might help me learn about this gift.”
Payton agreed and told him a few tales about the women until he found Sir Bryan. As he handed the boy into Sir Bryan’s care, he studied the man. Callum was yet again brought to mind, there to glimpse in the older man’s coloring and features.
He left the MacMillans without mentioning the boy. Not only was it safer for now if no one else knew where Callum was, but he needed proof of what he now believed. Payton knew he would not speak of it to anyone except Strong Ian, who could help him look for the proof he wanted. Someone, somewhere had to know who the boy’s mother had been and when and how he had been tossed out to survive on his own. One look at Callum would be proof enough for many, and there was always a MacMillan or two at court, but Payton wanted more. He wanted enough to make Callum believe it, enough so that the boy would be certain just what clan he belonged to. Payton was certain that giving the boy a clan, a name, would help Callum far more than many another thing ever could. Once he had a name, became part of a small but proud and honored clan, Payton knew Callum would gain the pride and strength needed to overcome much of the pain he had suffered.
Kirstie could not believe how easily she had slipped away from Payton’s house. She conceded that, after a week of being so well behaved that none of her family would recognize her, the watch on her had eased considerably. It was nice to think she had been clever, however. There was the chance that the others felt she would not wish to foolishly put herself within reach of a man who wished her dead, but she banished the thought. Thinking of herself as clever and stealthy, even daring, felt a great deal better.
Tugging idly at her simple, black woolen doublet, Kirstie began to meander through the narrow streets and alleys of the town. She did not look rich enough to attract danger or intimidate anyone, but just prosperous enough to be able to afford a coin or two for a service. Since she had been slowly, painstakingly accumulating money for years, she felt she had enough to start loosening a few tongues. Surely if Roderick could use money to commit his atrocities and buy silence, she could use money to stop him. She had never had the freedom to wander amongst the people of the town, to speak to anyone, anywhere, for as long as she wanted. Now, at last, she had the chance to gather testimony against Roderick, to tell people about him, and to cut off his supply of innocents.
It took Kirstie five long hours to fully comprehend that she might well be wasting her time and money. Her head ached from banging it hard against indifference and disbelief. Her heart felt shattered from the constant shock and pain of confronting a deeply rooted apathy. She had thought fear silenced the people at first, and for some it might, but far too many simply were not interested. Or struggled not to be because they had too much else to worry about.
The mon gives the lads a chance at a better life. I willnae hear him spoken ill of
.
I have eleven bairns of me own. I havenae time or strength to worry about others
.
’
Tis past time someone took those thieving rats off the streets. They are a pestilence
.
Those words and far too many similar ones were branded on her mind. They were the words of the ignorant and the heartless. Worse was the silence of the fearful. To break it required a larger, more fearful threat than Sir Roderick presented, and even if she could think of one, Kirstie doubted anyone would listen and believe it. She could, if she tried very hard, find a few thin excuses for the heartlessness of the men, but not for that of the mothers. Even if they were too hardened and wearied by life, surely they should at least fear for their own bairns? Were they so blind they thought only the unwanted were in danger?
As she approached the back of Payton’s house, she tried to raise her spirits by reminding herself that there were still hundreds of people to speak to. There might still be someone out there willing to speak up, someone who realized that only by understanding and confronting the evil in their midst could it be defeated. She would just have to work harder. She had been a naive fool to think it would be easy.
Wee Alice gaped at her as she entered the kitchen and Kirstie inwardly cursed. Sneaking in was not as easy as sneaking out, especially when lost in her own unhappy thoughts. Wee Alice was concerned about the children, however, and as Kirstie shut the door behind her, she smiled at the woman. She just might be able to gain herself an ally within the household.
“What have ye been doing?” Wee Alice asked, her tone heavy with suspicion.
“Trying to find someone in this wretched town willing to speak out against my
husband,” replied Kirstie.
“And ye needed to dress as a lad?”
“People will talk to a lad more easily than a lady, and I am supposed to be dead, aye?”
Wee Alice sat down at the table, cupped her round chin in her hand, and frowned at Kirstie. “’Tis dangerous.”
“Oh, aye. ’Twas also dangerous living with Sir Roderick. Someone in this cursed town
has
to ken something. A mon cannae keep taking children without someone seeing or hearing something.”
“But they are nay willing to say anything, are they?”
“Nay.” Kirstie sighed and sat down on one of the benches flanking the table. “I was a fool to think it would be easy. E’en so, the disbelief and utter lack of interest I met at every turn was a shock. Roderick kens what he is about. He kens people willnae believe or willnae care. Nay when it is the verra poor and the abandoned who suffer. I had suspected it, but only that some would feel that way. I fear ’tis everyone.”
“A hard, bitter truth. Most have their own lives and kin to fear for and watch o’er. They havenae time or strength to fret o’er anyone else. So, there is no need for ye to do this again.” There was the hint of a question in Wee Alice’s voice.
“’Tis a verra big town, Wee Alice. Somewhere out there, there has to be at least one brave soul. And, as Sir Payton does amongst the wealthy and powerful, so I shall do amongst the poor and helpless. Aye, they may nay help me or openly accuse Sir Roderick, but I do feel sure they heed what I say. My warnings settle in some part of their hearts and minds. Whispers of evil can spread about the town as swiftly as they do about the king’s court.”
“Och, aye. Verra swiftly.”
“’Twill be slow, but, little by little, I will end Roderick’s ability to take whate’er child he fancies from this town. His hunting ground will soon grow sparse of game. True, some may ne’er believe in the dark whispers, but whene’er Roderick seeks a child, those whispers will be there, making people hesitate, breeding suspicion. It will have to be enough. And, if Sir Payton vanquishes Roderick ere what I do can serve much good, it matters not. There may still be enough said and heeded for at least a few people to understand that one must be verra careful ere one entrusts a child to anyone—rich or poor.”
Wee Alice nodded. “Aye, ’tis possible. I can see the sense of what ye are doing, lass, but the laird willnae be liking it.”
“Nay, he willnae.”
Kirstie winced and slowly looked at the man standing in the doorway to the kitchen. She found it a little annoying that he could still look so breath-stealingly beautiful when he was acting the arrogant male. He had his arms crossed over his fine, broad chest, his long, well-shaped legs were braced apart, and there was a hard, angry look on his handsome face. She began to think Payton could not look bad no matter how hard he tried.
“Did all go weel at court this day?” she asked in as pleasant a voice as she could muster.
Payton slowly shook his head. She had been risking her life, disobeying him, and she acted as if nothing was wrong. She did it well, too. He walked over to her, grabbed
her by the hand, and dragged her out of her seat.
“We need to have a wee talk,” he said as he started out of the kitchen, pulling her along with him.
It struck Kirstie as almost amusing that the touch of his hand on hers could make her feel all soft and warm inside. The man was angry. He was dragging her off to some place where he could lecture her until her ears burned. She should be preparing her arguments, not thinking about how nice it was to touch him.
“What are ye doing to Kirstie?”
Forcing her gaze away from Payton’s attractive backside, Kirstie looked at Callum even as Payton stopped to face the belligerent boy. “He is going to lecture me,” she replied.
“He is angry,” Callum said, but eased his aggressive stance a little when he saw no fear in Kirstie.
“And ye think I might knock her about a wee bit, do ye?” Payton asked.
“’Tis what angry men do,” Callum replied.
“Nay this one.”
It was clear by the look on the boy’s face that he was not sure he believed that. “Mayhap I best come, too.”
“’Tis kind of ye to worry o’er me, Callum,” Kirstie said, “but I think I wouldst rather suffer a scold without an audience. He willnae strike me,” she added softly.
“Ye sound verra sure of that.”
“I am.”
After another moment, Callum stepped aside. Payton gave the boy a small bow, then dragged Kirstie off to the small room where he did his accounts. The confrontation with Callum had not only served to ease the boy’s concerns, but to take some of the sharp edge off his own anger. Although, he mused as he gently but firmly pushed Kirstie down into a large, ornately carved chair, his anger did not seem to worry or frighten her.
In truth, the extent of the anger he had felt when he had realized what she had done surprised him. It surprised him even more to realize a lot of it was born of fear for her. As he had approached the kitchen and overheard her conversation with Wee Alice, he had felt that fear and anger twist together within him. Even if Roderick did not catch her, wandering the streets alone was dangerous. His mind had become crowded with all manner of dire fates she could have suffered and he would not have been able to protect her, would not have even known where she was. Such thoughts had chilled him to the bone.
As he poured them each a goblet of wine, he covertly studied her. Her diguise was good, might even have fooled him if he had not known it was she. She had surprisingly long legs for such a small woman and her attire displayed their every slim, shapely curve to perfection. Payton did not like the thought of her revealing that beauty to so many, even if those who saw her legs thought her a lad. Since he had never before cared who else caught a glimpse of the charms of any lady he desired or bedded, he found that feeling astonishing as well. Obviously, avoiding Kirstie as much as possible was not curing him of his obsession.
When she took a drink of wine and idly licked a stray drop from her full lips, he felt his belly clench with want. He, who had thought himself well versed in sensuality of all forms, had lately discovered that watching a woman eat could stir a man, fill his poor
beleaguered mind with all manner of licentious images. Even sharing the meal with five children, Wee Alice, and Strong Ian had not helped cool his blood. Dining at court last evening had helped except that he had missed everyone. Even worse, he had discovered that watching other women eat did not stir him in any way. It was only Kirstie who affected him so. Now, it appeared, he could not even watch her quench her thirst without feeling like a buck in rutting season.
Payton reached for his anger. The mere thought of her wandering the dangerous streets alone thinking a lad’s clothing would protect her was enough to clear the lust from his brain and replace it with clean, clear anger. “Mayhap ye can explain what game ye play?” he asked as he sprawled in the chair facing her.
“Ye mean ye didnae o’erhear it all?” she asked.
The look of pure male irritation that passed over his fair face almost made her smile. She had used the moments of tense silence to prepare herself for an argument, and to stop herself from staring at inappropriate parts of his lean body like some wanton. Kirstie had to make him understand that she had to help, had to do something to bring her husband to the justice he had eluded for so long. This was her fight, too. All other righteous and honorable reasons aside, her very life depended upon beating Roderick.
“Do ye have no idea of the danger ye put yourself in, wandering the streets alone?”
“Roderick thinks I am dead and he would ne’er recognize me like this.”
“Mayhap not, but he isnae the only danger lurking out there, ye foolish wench.”
“Foolish wench?” she muttered and took a deep drink of wine to quell the urge to toss her goblet at his head.
“A wee, pretty lad is nay any safer out there alone than a wee lass. And ye have dressed fine enough for some thief to think ye might have something worth stealing. And, where did ye get those clothes?”
“From one of the chests upstairs. I had thought of going about as a poor, ragged boy, but I couldnae find any rags.”
“A poor, ragged lad? Ye mean such as the ones Sir Roderick steals from the street?”
She winced inwardly. It had not really occurred to her that she was probably no safer from Roderick as a beardless lad than if she had gone out as herself. That Payton could find that flaw in her plan was heartily annoying.
“I think I look too old to interest him.”
Payton cursed and got up to pace the room, which made Kirstie want to echo his curse. It was impossible not to watch him as he moved. Every step he took was embued with a grace born of strength. She was struggling not to look at inappropriate parts of his body again. As he ranted about all the threats lurking upon the streets of town, she found herself watching the flex of muscle in his calf and thigh. His court dress was richly made, the tunic short enough to give her a far too tantalizing glimpse of his taut backside. Kirstie thought it a little odd that she could stop herself from staring at his groin with relative ease, but had to work very hard indeed to stop watching his legs and backside. Perhaps, she mused, it was because she did not think he would catch her at it, as he was usually facing away from her at the time. Of course, it could also be because it was such a pleasure to watch him move. Then, abruptly, he turned to face her, and Kirstie quickly looked up.
“Ye are paying me no heed at all, are ye?” he said, his tone a strange mixture of
irritation and amusement.
“Aye, I am,” she lied and ignored his soft snort of disbelief. “I have to do something. I cannae just sit about and pray ye and Strong Ian can solve all my troubles. Nor can ye do it all by yourselves.”
He crouched down in front of her so they were eye to eye. “Ye are the one Roderick wants dead.”
“I ken it, but I am most careful. Dinnae forget, I ken all who aid him and serve him. I ken who to avoid.”
“Ye wouldnae have to avoid anyone if ye would just stay in this house,” he snapped as he stood up, walked to the fireplace, and leaned against the thick stone mantel.
Kirstie set her goblet down and moved to stand near him. “I ken how to be careful, to be wary and watch my back. Since I ken from where in the town so many of the children come, I ken where to search for witnesses, allies. I also ken what names to mention, what tales to tell to stir suspicion.”
“Which isnae working, is it?” He turned to face her more fully.
“Nay as weel as I had hoped. But, your work at court goes slowly as weel, aye?”