Seducing the Laird (2 page)

Chapter 3

Pale sunlight streamed through an open window and caressed Cairn’s cheek. The feeling of warmth was so unusual after the last few days he was instantly awake, distrustful of the reprieve. Too much had happened since crossing the border into England and Cairn wouldn’t feel safe until he was home.

The young woman he had glimpsed earlier sat beside the bed on an ancient stool, observing him with concern. He had somehow been transported to a small cottage, but the girl was alone. How had she managed to carry him to this place? Even in his weakened state she looked too frail to lift one of his legs.

"I’m glad you’re awake," she said in the same soft voice from before. "I was worried."

Her accent was English and though nervous, she didn’t appear afraid of being alone with a strange man.

Cairn examined her as best he could through the painful throbbing in his head. She was beautiful with full lips and mysterious, cat-like blue eyes. Her raven-black hair hung loose about her shoulders and he could see the deep waves left by the braids he remembered her wearing.

With her unfashionably dark skin and exotic features she reminded Cairn of a gypsy girl he had seen long ago that trespassed on his lands. The girl regarded Cairn frankly and without fear, just like the woman before him.

"Where am I?" Cairn rasped through a parched throat.

The woman held a mug of honeyed tea to his lips after a long spell of dry coughs wracked his frame. He could feel the warmth of her body through the thick woolen gown the wretched northern weather forced its inhabitants to wear.

"A few miles from the border," she replied. "What is your name?"

Cairn didn’t answer. He was still in England, still within reach of Lord Gundy’s malevolent hand. That made this beautiful woman his enemy.

"My name is Verena," she said to encourage him. "I found you on the road not far from here."

"I was attacked."

He remembered the two men arguing over him. They unseated him, took the horse and left Cairn for dead. They must have been bandits, for Lord Gundy’s men would have returned him to Langthorne.

"I surmised as much. Don’t worry. You are safe now."

Cairn could feel himself being pulled back into the dark unconsciousness where the pain in his body no longer tormented him. There would be time enough for the cold political reality to return. Outside a dangerous storm brewed, waiting for Cairn to emerge, but inside the tiny cottage he was reluctant to shatter the tenuous peace. When he was strong enough to travel Cairn would tell her the truth.
But not yet.

When she was sure the McPherson slept, Verena quietly rose from her seat. She almost felt sorry for the man. The last few weeks had not been kind to him. Until recently he had lived a privileged life traveling around France with his brother Andreu and making a name for
himself
in many tournaments. Then with the sudden death of his father, Cairn was summoned home to take control of a clan he barely knew.

The ever-resourceful Gundy was quick to take advantage of Cairn’s inexperience. She didn’t know how Cairn was lured to England, but he was a fool to trust a man like Gundy. He wouldn’t sleep so peacefully if the laird knew what awaited him.

The old hunting lodge was located in a secluded region of the forests surrounding Langthorne. Hadran believed it was the perfect spot to hide their Scottish prisoner while Verena began her work. Owen remained hidden in the woods nearby to discourage the locals from stumbling onto their operation. He would be quick to Verena’s defense should the Scot become uncontrollable. She didn’t fear the laird, but she was grateful to have Owen silently watching to make sure everything was all right.

Using her body to block the cool wind so it didn’t disturb her prisoner, Verena cracked open the door to the cottage. She saw Owen’s hulking shape emerge from the shadows of the trees like a child’s nightmare. She nodded to him silently before turning back to the cottage. The Scot had awoken and was recovering well. They could only watch and wait.

Chapter 4

"We have him," Hadran announced in Gundy’s private chambers.

For years he had worked as Lord Gundy’s shadow, silently trailing him and leaving a gruesome path in his wake. Here in Gundy’s chambers Hadran felt important. He had a private audience with the Lord of Langthorne. Though the rich surroundings might intimidate one with Hadran’s humble roots, the old spy knew it was the man and not the gold which held the power. The furs, silks and tapestries were paid for by the sweat and blood of peasants just like him. Those people would never own the riches their labors paid for; Gundy was shrewd and miserly enough to see to that.

"How can you be sure?" Gundy asked.

Hadran stared into the man’s cold grey eyes and mentally sighed. He was familiar enough with the lord to know the question was rhetorical. After years of service Hadran and his crew had not once failed in an assignment. Nevertheless he answered the question.

"A chestnut mare with two white forelegs, a red woolen tunic with black embroidery, one knife wound just below the right rib …" answered Hadran in an ever-patient voice, ticking the list off his fingers.
"And several bruises."

"I trust he survived the ordeal?" Gundy asked without a trace of remorse. The wounds were much worse than planned, however Hadran knew his lord and prided
himself
on being prepared for anything. That was why he had Verena and Owen ready with enough medicines to treat a battlefield and a warm cottage nearby where the Scottish laird could recover.

"Barely.
Our schedule will have to be adjusted."

"That is unacceptable!"

Gundy reached for his goblet and refilled it for the third time. As the years passed the old lord started to feel his age and had lost the edge that had made him one of the most feared men in the land. He still possessed a razor sharp wit and his network of spies and assassins, but the old warrior’s muscles had long ago turned soft. The once-tanned flesh was ruddy with too much ale. Gundy was becoming aware of his mortality, a feeling Hadran understood only too well, but he didn’t sympathize with the lord. Where age had made Hadran cautious, it turned Gundy reckless. The imprisonment of the McPherson laird was bolder than anything Gundy had done in his younger days. He seemed desperate to prove he still retained the strength of his youth. Hadran prayed his spies wouldn’t suffer for Gundy’s arrogance.

"He is no use to you dead, milord. And I assure you that will happen if we rush."

"How much longer must I wait?" He was irritated with the delay, but willing to follow his servant’s direction. Hadran was relieved the lord was not too drunk to listen to reason.

"That depends on the Scot. Once in his homeland my operative should have little trouble locating the treasure."

"So? What is the problem?"

"His recovery time will be severely impeded because of the wounds inflicted by your guards."

Hadran allowed his voice to creep as close to reproachful as he dared. He saw one of Lord Gundy’s bushy eyebrows rise in acknowledgement of the rebuke and decided to return to a more docile tone.

"However," he continued. "This will give my operative more time to gain his trust."

"You expect one person to succeed where my men couldn’t?"

Hadran knew he was not completely trusted by Lord Gundy. His spies had never failed, but Gundy knew how much he relied on Hadran for information. He also realized that in addition to collecting information on the heads of state, Hadran’s spies knew a great deal of Gundy’s shady secrets—and that knowledge made him extremely uncomfortable.

"We are all your men." Hadran oozed confidence and trust. "But I have discovered there is a different, more subtle persuasion that is often more effective than torture and war."

"And what might this be?"

Hadran could see the calculating gleam in his eyes. It was better if Gundy didn’t know the details of the assignment. That way the old lord was not tempted to meddle. He thought carefully before answering.

"Simply that every son of Adam is in search of his father’s missing rib."

"A woman!"
Gundy said.
"Silly creatures.
The Scot will never suspect a thing. I always wondered how you attracted such comely spies. That Verena is especially fine. Perhaps when this is over I will reward her with something other than gold."

"Perhaps," said Hadran noncommittally. He knew his young ward was beautiful, that was why he chose her for this assignment. He was also aware of his lord’s reputation with wenches and so far he had been able to keep Gundy’s lascivious eye from her. Gundy believed he had the right to bed any woman on his land whether she wished it or not. Hadran would spare Verena that if possible.

"What if he is immune to her persuasion?"

"From my reports Cairn McPherson is no sodomite, but I have taken that into consideration."

"I don’t want to know," said Gundy in disgust. Hadran smiled at the squeamish lord. If the McPherson preferred a more masculine form of love Hadran would find someone more to the Scot’s tastes, but he preferred to work with Verena. The girl had an easy way about her that gained people’s trust. Hadran had already spent several days training her for this assignment. "When shall I hear from you again?"

"I must confer with my agents but I will return in a few days and let you know when we may proceed with the second part of the plan."

Lord Gundy nodded and turned his attention back to his wine. Interpreting that as a signal to depart, Hadran bowed and left the room.

Chapter 5

Cairn McPherson smiled for the first time in weeks as he relaxed into the thick blankets. It seemed ages since he was truly warm, cocooned in a soft bed with delicious smells floating past him. It was the smells that roused him, wholesome food quite unlike the sumptuous meals he had feasted on with his brother in France. His stomach growled loudly at the thought of fresh rye bread smothered in butter and honey and a hearty stew made with local herbs and vegetables—peasant food, his stepmother would call it, but now it was all
Cairn
desired. He felt rested and better than he had in ages. And he was hungry.

Opening his eyes, Cairn tried to discover the origin of the smells and found the Englishwoman preparing something in a small cauldron hanging in the fireplace. Her back was to him letting Cairn study her as she went about her task. Masses of curls spilled down her back escaping the braids she had fashioned. He knew many fine ladies of court added false hair to lengthen and thicken theirs, but this woman needed no such assistance. She yanked a lock behind her ear in frustration as it fell dangerously close to the stew pot.

She had rolled up the thick woolen sleeves of her gown to work and Cairn gazed thoughtfully at her slender wrists. Her hands were strong and confident, but not overly so like peasants that worked the fields. She was young, but past the first blush of youth. She was old enough and beautiful enough to be a wife, but Cairn had seen no one but her in the lucid moments of his fever. He surmised she must be a servant of some grand household, probably Gundy’s though he couldn’t imagine a servant of Gundy’s showing kindness to a stranger.

Sensing his gaze the woman looked up from her stew and nervously rolled down the sleeves of her gown. Her modesty affirmed she was from a noble household. She had no doubt seen every inch of Cairn’s body yet feared showing her wrists. Was she afraid of him?

"How do you feel?"

"Much better," he replied, and then grimaced. Cairn’s mouth felt stuffed with wool, but his head had ceased its pounding and the painful throbbing of his wounds had subsided to a dull ache. He felt like he was waking from a long illness; weak, but well rested and confident of his body’s ability to heal. "Thank you for helping me … Verena."

She smiled briefly and shyly looked away.

"Any Christian would have done the same."

"I’m not so certain." Cairn remembered the vastly different treatment he received from other ‘Christian’ hands. "You saw my wounds."

He referred to the knife cut left by the over-zealous Langthorne guard.

"I had to clean them."

"Why did you help me?"

Verena sighed, fiddling with her hair. She turned her back on him and began rummaging near the fire. For a moment it seemed she wouldn’t answer and when she did her voice was low and sounded hollow.

"My husband was a woodsman," she answered with her attention still on the fire. "Last winter he was attacked by bandits in these woods. It took two days to find him and by then … When I saw you I knew I must do something."

So, she was a widow. Somehow this woman seemed too innocent to have known such sorrow.

"I am sorry for your loss."

"’Twas not your fault."

Verena placed a cool hand on his brow the way Cairn’s real mother had done when he was a babe. Unexpectedly Cairn felt a wave of nostalgia at her tenderness. That illness must have rattled his brain. All his life he was taught to hate the English, but she seemed somehow different. She made him feel comfortable and Cairn didn’t trust the speed by which she put him at ease. Despite her ignorance Verena was his enemy. He knew nothing about her save her allegiance to Gundy and that was enough. Cairn would do well to be rid of this woman as soon as possible.

"Is something amiss?" she asked, sensing his pensive mood.

"What of the bandits? They cannot be far away."

"I saw no one on the road. Perhaps they chose to flee Langthorne after the attack."

"Perhaps."

"Your fever has broken. You are a very fast healer."

Cairn shrugged off the praise. He had merely lain in bed sweating and delirious.

"How long have I been here?"

Had his men waited at the border as Cairn ordered, or were they now making their way to the castle, fearful for Cairn’s safety? With his brother Andreu in charge Cairn wasn’t so sure. His older half brother was fiercely protective and stubborn. Cairn had a difficult time ordering him to stay behind with most of the men while he continued to Langthorne with a smaller force. Andreu had demanded to journey with his brother, but some intuitive voice made Cairn refuse. Andreu might be hurt, but Cairn was glad he listened to that voice.

"Almost three days," she replied. "I am sure your family misses you terribly."

She was probing for information, but Cairn didn’t answer. He wouldn’t lie to this woman, nor would he risk his life by telling her the truth.

"You are here alone?" he asked instead.

She turned away, the shy maid once again. Verena was hiding something and Cairn’s pulse quickened, wondering if she meant to betray him to Gundy.

"Not for long," she replied vaguely. Verena gestured to the pot hanging above the fire. "I have made some stew. Are you hungry?"

"Where are your companions?"

His hand reached out suddenly to grab Verena’s wrist and felt a shock at the satin texture of her skin. Cairn’s hand nearly swallowed her tiny wrist. He could feel her pulse fluttering in alarm. At first she stood stiffly in his hold, frozen by shock. Then she began struggling against him to be free.

"Let me go!"

Cairn released her. If Gundy knew his location, Cairn would either be dead or back in the Langthorne prison, but that didn’t curb his unease. He ignored the seductive brush of her hand through his fingers as she pulled away.

"I didn’t mean to startle you, but I am curious. How did you bring me here alone?"

"I am stronger than I look. My grandfather shall meet me soon and will take me to live with him in Norham."

Why did her grandfather choose to meet Verena in this secluded cottage rather than in Langthorne? Cairn would have questioned Verena further, but she bent forward to fill a small wooden bowl and graced him with a spectacular view of her shapely backside.

"Are you hungry?"

Cairn was famished and the stew smelled delicious, but he hesitated as something occurred to him.

"You put something in the tea."

"Aye, Valerian and hops.
You were thrashing about terribly during your fever so I thought it best if you slept."

Verena had the grace to blush as she ladled stew into a wooden bowl. Valerian was common enough, but England was enveloped in a fierce debate over the worthiness of the new imported hops. Traditional breweries fought viciously for the original gruit ale which was a mixture of several herbs and even tried to have hops outlawed.

Cairn liked the old gruit beer for its variety which could contain any mixture of juniper berries, caraway, nutmeg, cinnamon, anise, sage, rosemary and many other herbs. His stepbrother Andreu was convinced hopped beer would win the debate and encouraged him to plant a field of the stuff. It was interesting that this woman was of a like mind.

"Did I hurt you?"

"It matters naught. You were fevered."

"Still, I apologize."

He sought to make amends, but Verena remembered his strength when he held her wrist and approached him warily. No doubt she intended to dump the steaming soup on him should Cairn reach for her again. When he didn’t stir she carefully brought the soup to her lips to blow on before feeding to him. Cairn turned his head away.

"I can feed myself," he declared.

It required all of Cairn’s concentration to lift the small bowl to his mouth. To his chagrin Cairn’s hands shook, spilling soup onto the blankets. He swallowed the contents quickly before handing Verena the bowl.

She was a spectacular cook, doing wonders with only a few ingredients. It was a shame he couldn’t bring her back to Scotland. The overly seasoned food his stepmother loved gave Cairn indigestion.

"Is this your cottage?" he asked looking around. There was nothing strange about the inside of the place except for the curious lack of personal items. There was only one cloak hanging beside the door. Two sets of boots were placed in a corner. The cottage was clean and well-cared for, but spartan.

"This is an old hunting lodge," Verena replied. "Few know of it."

Would Lord Gundy remember it? Cairn felt vulnerable in this place without his sword and armor. Verena said he lay there for several days, but the danger might not have passed. Cairn wouldn’t feel secure until he left England far behind.

"You know if it."

"My husband often brought me here."

Cairn studied the woman in silence. The cynical part of him didn’t want to believe her. His rescue was too easy; this woman was too beautiful, too perfect. And he certainly didn’t like the idea of her in a cozy lover’s tryst with anyone—even her deceased husband.

"I will leave tomorrow," he announced.

Cairn knew he would be a fool to trust an Englishwoman. If she knew the truth she would immediately turn him over to Gundy. Tomorrow he would sort everything out. For now Cairn needed to rest and recover his strength.

•

Verena silently watched Cairn until she was sure he slept. Then she gathered her cloak and stepped out into the frigid air. It seemed winter would come early this year. For many that would be both a blessing and a curse. Winter ensured peace the way no overlord could. Across the land men would be more preoccupied with keeping themselves warm and fed than fighting battles. Yet it would also strain resources and tempers as people were forced to stretch their reserved grain through the cold months.

All of Scotland suffered after King James IV’s unsuccessful invasion of England in support of the pretender to the throne Perkin Warbek. Cairn’s clan, the McPhersons, suffered more than most. While Cairn was squired in France with his brother Andreu, his father lay ill for years. Hadran’s sources couldn’t say why Cairn refused to return to his homeland during those years. Now it was too late. The mysterious illness had claimed Cairn’s father forcing him to return to a home he barely knew to take control of a land decimated by warfare and famine.

The peasants were always the first to suffer during any conflict. What would happen to the common people once her assignment was complete?

Verena waved for Owen to follow as she walked to the edge of the clearing. She knew he was watching for the first sign of commotion, ever vigilant, the way Hadran taught him.

"How fares the inquisition?"

He materialized as if by magic beside her and not for the first time Verena whispered thanks that he was part of her team.

"Excellent. The Scot has been remarkably forthcoming with information considering what he went through in Gundy’s dungeon."

"He merely needed the proper persuasion. Has he confirmed his identity?"

"He does not completely trust me. Not yet."

"Be careful."

Owen gently grasped Verena’s chin in his hand. For a moment it seemed he would kiss her and she froze. She stood trapped in his light embrace not knowing whether to pull away or toward him so she did neither. Thankfully Owen stepped back suddenly, releasing her.