Bride of the Beast (22 page)

Not that she believed in such nonsense.

But on the wee chance the tales did bear substance, the stone's tears would mean Sir Marmaduke would remain at Dunlaidir as its master, his indubitable strength assuring the good of them all, his physical presence slaking the burgeoning needs he'd awakened in her.

Bodily
needs she could indulge without regret.

Casting a fleeting glance toward the purposely unbarred door, she strained her ears for approaching footsteps, but the only sound she caught was the crackle of the hearth fire and the dull thudding of her own heart.

The great stronghold lay silent, its stout walls and those within, at peace.

Even Leo slumbered. The little dog lay curled on his bed, as unaware of her turmoil as the black wind racing past her windows.

Caterine expelled a relieved breath.

No one would witness her folly.

Then she gathered her courage and lifted the Laird's Stone from the strongbox.

Ignoring the little voices that called her a fool, she pushed to her feet and carried the heavy wooden bowl to the nearest cresset lamp. Caught in the night breeze, the bronze lamp swayed on its chain, but its flame burned true ... and
^c
ast a healthy enough glow for her to examine the stone.

V she dared.

"Oh Mary Mother," she muttered, angry at herself for
hauling out the fool piece of granite, angrier still at her hesitancy to peer at it.

Then, with enough passion in her blood to make the boldest heart proud, she stiffened her spine and yanked the cloth off the stone.

It was dry.

Bone dry, with nary a droplet of moisture glistening on its quartz-speckled surface or misting the smooth grain of its wooden bowl.

Stunned by the merciless punch of her disappointment, Caterine stared at the much-revered Laird's Stone, and wanted to weep herself.

For being a fool.

And most especially, for imagining, even for a moment, that a cold lump of stone might cry.

**

At the same small hour, but two levels lower, the cold stone walls of the Keith family chapel offered an involuntary trysting place for Sir Marmaduke and a few select men.

His own.

The four MacKenzie Highlanders of Kintail.

And the aging Father Tomas, present out of necessity and respect.

Each man stood full aware of the furtive nature of their meeting as they huddled together near the rood screen. They conversed in low tones, staunchly ignoring the bone-deep cold seeping through the soles of their shoes and chilling the tops of their ears.

Resisting an urge to stamp his feet against the bite of the frigid air, Marmaduke rubbed his hands together and stared up at the wheel-shaped
Corona lucis
suspended high above their heads, his gaze drawn by its score of burning tapers.

The fine wax candles cast weird shadows on the men's earnest faces and sent shifting patterns of pale light weaving across the oratory's mural-painted walls.

Nothing else moved in the stillness, an eerie, otherworldly atmosphere rife with the heavy weight of age and the cloying scents of dust, old stone, and stale incense.

"It is because de la Hogue will know our every move that
I
would take such a risk," he spoke then, returning his attention to the worried-looking priest.

The aged holy man hadn't stopped fretting since Marmaduke divulged his intentions to marry in the parish church rather than within the safety of Dunlaidir's curtain walls.

And to do so with every able-bodied man in the burgh not only in attendance, but armed with the surplus mail and weapons now gathering dust in the stronghold's undercroft. "My good fellows, nothing is so certain as that Sir Hugh will make some move the day of the wedding." He cast a sidelong glance at the hand-wringing priest. "Father Tomas tells us the knave has vowed to be present. Whether he is or nay, there is no doubt his men will infiltrate the crowd."

"Then why provoke an altercation by using the village kirk?"

All eyes turned on Sir Lachlan. Still a mite pale from his wounding, the young knight leaned against a stone pillar and appeared as perplexed over Marmaduke's strategy as Father Tomas.

Forgetting the sanctity of their meeting place, Sir Alec snorted. "If you had a bit more experience at warfare, you'd ken why," he said, drawing a self-important breath.

"I am not a newly-born cockerel," Lachlan tossed back, the knuckles of his fisted hands gleaming white in the candlelight. "I've seen my share of battle."

"Highland skirmishes." A good-natured wink took the sting out of Sir Ross's observation... and the heat out of Lachlan's eyes.

"As I mind it," Alec hurtled on, "a village wedding will lead those miscreants right into our hands, which is exactly where we want 'em. One false move, and we've got the bastards."

The other men nodded agreement.

Only the aging priest appeared uncertain.

Snatching a tall brass candlestick off a side altar, Sir Gowan raised its wax taper before his bearded face. "All we need is one," he said, tossing a glance at Lachlan. "We'll loosen the varlet's tongue with a bit o' Highland persuasion until he spills who in this household is de la Hogue's man."

"Have a care lest you set yourself afire." Marmaduke took the flaming taper from Gowan's hand and returned it to the side altar. "We'll need every man we can muster."

He gave the gruff Highlander a pointed look. "Including you."

Father Tomas lifted nervous hands, his worry-filled gaze flitting from man to man. "You believe Sir Hugh will launch a full-fledged attack?"

"Scarce that," Marmaduke sought to ease the graybeard's trepidation. "Sending a mounted host to fall upon a wedding party is too bold a measure even for a scoundrel of Sir Hugh's ilk."

"That's not wha—"

Marmaduke silenced Lachlan with a withering glare.

"I knew de la Hogue passing well at the English Court," he went on, speaking to the priest, but keeping a wary eye on Lachlan. "He executes his villainy with stealth and intrigue, and shuns the honor of pitched battle."

Walking over to the free-standing baptismal basin half-hidden in a murk-filled corner near the chapel door, Marmaduke trailed his fingers over the cold stone of the intricately carved font cover... and silently prayed the old priest would swallow the half-truth.

Few knew better than he of the treachery one such as de la Hogue was capable of. The dastard's dark deeds were known the length and breadth of England.

Which was why he wanted the burghers armed.

And why he deemed that particular risk'the lesser of the two evils.

"You said his very spittle could burn holes in the ground, so why—
oophf."

Marmaduke whirled around in time to see Alec jab two fingers into the small of Lachlan's back. Drawing an exasperated breath of the chapel's fusty air, he clasped his hands behind his own back and returned to the others.

He cleared his throat. "Sir Priest, you claim the burghers re frightened but not disloyal. Will they stand against Sir [ugh if properly armed and guaranteed our protection—and ^sanctuary within these walls, if they choose to seek it?"

For an interminable moment, Father Tomas looked as if he expected to be dragged off to his doom, but then he nodded his cowl-covered head. "Aye, they would," he affirmed. "I am certain of it. They are sore tired of Sir Hugh's brigandage."

"Then so be it." Marmaduke's steely tone challenged his men to object.

"We are to supply peasants with armor and weaponry?" Alec dared.

"We are to win their trust and rebuild their confidence," Marmaduke rephrased the sentiment. "By doing so, we strengthen this holding."

Skeptical glances met his pronouncement.

"And if they turn those weapons on us?" That from a dubious-sounding Gowan.

Marmaduke planted his hands on his hips and simply stared back at the bearded Highland knight.

The look on his face said enough.

His men let loose a few mumbled imprecations and exchanged a grudging look or two, but no one voiced further Protest.

Not directly.

And that, too, was enough.

Satisfied, he relaxed his shoulders, let some of the tension ease out of him. "The wedding is but a few days away," he said, turning to Father Tomas. "You, Sir Priest, shall inform the burghers they will receive mailed shirts and whatever surplus weaponry we can spare. The day of nuptials, they are to crowd the roads and church, but disguise the hauberks beneath their normal wear and carry their weapons as unobtrusively as possible."

Alec made a derisive
harrumph,
earning himself an elbow in the ribs from Ross.

That disturbance quelled, Marmaduke gave his attention back to the holy man. "Assure them Dunlaidir is once again in strong hands and shall remain so. Once Sir Hugh has been dealt with, repairs to their homes and fields will be seen to without hesitation."

"Outfitting ruffian rabble with steel, tending their fields—"

"Give them these assurances on my knightly word," Marmaduke deepened his voice to prevail over Gowan's grousing. "Let it be known any villager yet fearful may seek shelter within these walls until they feel safe enough to return to their homes."

"You speak braw words, English." Sir Ross spoke at last, and sounded so much like Duncan MacKenzie, Marmaduke almost pivoted on his heel to see if that great lout stood behind him.

Marmaduke smiled, but bittersweet, for, of a sudden, a powerful urge to see his old friend overcame him.

A burning desire to be
home
again.

Home at
Balkenzie.

And to be there with his new bride beside him.

Blinking back the unexpected emotion stinging his good eye, he threw back his shoulders and faced his men.

"You will transport the hauberks and arms," he said, appalled at the thickness still swelling his throat. "In the interest of secrecy, you'll work nights, preferably between

Matins and first light, hiding the goods in a secure place until Father Tomas has met with the burghers."

"And when do we begin this noble undertaking?" Gowan again.

Some inner devil, but not his usual ones, made Marmaduke glance at the chapel's tall lancet windows. Blackest night pressed against them, stealing the color from their multi-hued panes... and cloaking the world beyond in shielding darkness.

A perfect night for stealth.

Alec followed his gaze. "Nay, Strongbow, you cannot mean this night?"

Marmaduke almost laughed at the stricken expression on the other man's face. Instead, he gave him a friendly clap on the arm. "You are more quick-witted than I'd thought."

His tone almost jovial, he added, "I shall reward the lot of you a thousandfold and then some when we return home."

Rolled eyes and ill-humored mutters greeted his offer, but one by one, his men took their leave and Marmaduke knew they'd have much accomplished before the sun breached the horizon.

"God go with you," the old priest murmured into their wake, not quite able to keep the catch out of his voice. When their footfalls faded, he turned grateful eyes on Marmaduke.

"You are a good man," he said. "The burghers won't fail you."

"Nor shall we fail them, that I promise you." Marmaduke reached for Father Tomas's hand and gave it a reassuring
squeeze.

Then, without further ceremony, he, too, exited the chapel, but unlike his men who'd descended into Dunlaidir's bowels, he climbed a winding turret stair to his lady´s chamber, a wry smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

A
good man,
the priest had called him.

Not this night.

Nay, far from it.

This night, he intended to be bad.

Very bad indeed.

**

To Marmaduke's great consternation, the only eyes to greet him from the shadowy recess of his lady's bed proved round and accusatory. Definitely not the sapphire ones he'd hoped to encounter, their blue depths heavy-lidded and drowsed with sleep.

Nor did the low rumbles coming from deep in Leo's chest ring anywhere near as sweet as the soft gasp of surprise he'd expected to hear upon easing back the bed curtains.

Soon, very soon, though, she'd enchant him with soft,
sated
sighs.

Of that he'd make certain.

But first he had to find her... and preferably without the aid of her wee shadow.

"Profound apologies, little man, but I do not crave your unswerving regard whilst I seek to win your lady's favor." Leaning forward, he returned Leo's bristly glare with a fierce glower of his own.

"If you are wise, you will go back to sleep and dream of four-legged bits of fluff and leave your fair mistress to me," he added, closing the bed curtains on the tiny creature's bared teeth and menacing snarls.