Читать книгу Silver Flame - Hannah Howell - Страница 8

“Farthing, ye rogue, it has been too long. I hoped this fair would draw ye back to Dunkennley.”

“Business has been slow, has it?” Farthing laughed as he and the innkeeper, Ennis MacAdam, clapped each other on the back. “Do ye have rooms to spare for us?”

“Only one room. ’Tis for the best. With a fair comes many a lairdling, eager as any buck in season. Ye had best keep a close eye upon this wee, sweet lassie.” MacAdam grinned at Sine Catriona. “The highborn think any lass who isnae chained down is theirs for the taking or buying.”

“One room will be fine,” answered Farthing.

“A fair such as this brings many a purse begging to be emptied,” MacAdam commented.

“That is true enough,” Farthing said, and winked.

Sine Catriona smiled, then shook her head as both men laughed heartily. MacAdam knew Farthing did not restrict himself to conjuring alone. He said nothing, however, for Farthing knew the way to avoid any outcry and left a share of the profits for the innkeeper. It was an amicable, often very profitable, arrangement.

“Lad,” Ennis MacAdam called to the stable boy. “Come and see to this horse.” Putting an arm about Farthing’s shoulders and urging the group inside, MacAdam continued. “Tell me how ye have fared this past sixmonth.”

Since it was already late and she knew the morrow would be busy, Sine Catriona joined her brothers, who quickly sought their beds. She stirred only once when, much later in the night, Farthing slipped into their room. Although the smell of drink was faintly perceptible, she knew he was not drunk. She turned in the bed to look at him when he settled down on his pallet.

“He is here,” Farthing murmured.

She knew immediately that he meant Sir Gamel. “Ye have seen him?”

“Aye, but he didnae espy me.”

“Are ye certain of that?”

“Dearling, I can melt into the shadows, can I not? That is a skill of mine I thought ye had trust in.”

“I do. Forgive me. Do he and his companions stay here at MacAdam’s inn?”

“Aye, just down the hall. They hold the best rooms.”

“Of course. Ah weel, there are wenches aplenty to catch his eye.” She discovered that she loathed the idea of Sir Gamel enjoying another woman. “Master MacAdam’s are said to be the best.”

“’Tis true. Mayhaps he will take one on the morrow.”

Both delighted and frightened by the news that Sir Gamel had bedded down alone, she nevertheless ventured, “A long ride can leave a mon verra weary, too weary for such idle pleasures.”

“S’truth. It can. Go to sleep, loving. On the morrow ye must stay near my side.”

“If ye believe it best.”

“I do.”

“All right. Good sleep, Farthing.”

She turned away even as he mumbled a good-night.

That morning they had fled the camp before dawn, silently and swiftly. Despite their precautions, she was not surprised to learn that Gamel was near. She had known in her heart that he would follow. So too, she little doubted that he would find her at the fair no matter how well she lost herself in the milling, boisterous crowd. Closing her eyes, she prayed that Fate would keep them apart. Now was not the time for love or passion. Sine Catriona had a more important goal in mind.

The day was still new when Sine Catriona ventured into the already lively streets of town, her companions close at her side. Booths and carts pressed all around them. Jongleurs, jugglers, and acrobats wandered through the swiftly growing crowd. The air was filled with the cries of vendors selling their wares. She could hear the French and fine Scots tongue of the wellborn, the speech of the peasant, and even the tongue-knotting Gaelic of the Highlanders. The only part of the fair she avoided was where the bear-and badger-baiting was held. It was an entertainment that only made her ill. For a while she simply wandered with the others, surveying the wares offered for sale.

There were rugs, pottery, gourds, spoons, jewelry, prayer beads, pamphlets, and cloth. The variety of cloth left her breathless. The stalls held everything from the finest silks to the coarsest linen, and in every possible color. She wished she had the coin to buy herself just enough for one new dress.

The hawkers let no one pass unheralded. Everything from beautifully wrought bestiary books, with their real or fabled animals and moral allegories, to the simplest, roughest of blankets was called to the attention of all those who walked by. Knowing how hard the sellers’ lot was, she sorely regretted not having the funds to buy something from each, at least one tiny thing.

“Catriona,” Farthing said, drawing her attention his way, “I wish to attend the bear-baiting.”

“So hie to it, Farthing. Why ask me? I have never told ye nay before.”

“Weel, ye have expressed a distaste for them.”

“Aye, but I still dinnae stop ye from attending.”

“I dinnae wish to leave ye alone,” he muttered.

“Oh.” She glanced around but could see no sign of Sir Gamel or his companions. “I had forgotten about that problem. Weel, we have seen neither him nor his friends and I have the lads with me. If there is trouble, they can cause a row and run to fetch ye.”

“That may be too late. One should watch to avoid trouble, not wait to call out when it has already arrived.”

“The twins can run verra fast indeed. There is a large crowd here as weel. Just set us over there with a baked meat and some ale-bree,” she said with an impish smile. “That should keep us content enough to wait for your return.”

“A bribe,” he grumbled even as he escorted them to a relatively clear area.

“Nonsense. Bribery would be if we asked for a sugar candy as well.”

He was still chuckling when he left them after buying them each a meat pie, some of the hot ale flavored with spices, sugar, and toast, and a sugar candy too. Near the bench she and her half brothers occupied was a vendor of panaceas and indulgences. The vendor loudly claimed he had the cure for all that ailed the body and the spirit. With him was a puppeteer to draw the crowd. Sine Catriona enjoyed the puppeteer’s antics as much as her young brothers did. She was soon engrossed in the show.

Gamel stopped so abruptly that Ligulf walked into him. He paid little heed to the younger man’s angry query. His gaze, as well as most of his attention, was fixed upon Catriona. Suddenly the bear-baiting and the wagers to be won and lost were of no interest to him.

Ligulf groaned softly. “So ye have found her.”

“Aye. Alone as weel.”

“She has the lads with her.”

“They shall prove no problem.”

“Farthing must be near at hand.”

“Not near enough.”

“Can ye think of nothing to cure him of this madness?” Ligulf asked the husky Sir Lesley.

“Nay, not this sort,” replied Sir Lesley as he rubbed a hand through his thick brown hair. “It seizes a mon by that which far too often leads him into folly—his loins. Come, or we willnae have time to lay our wagers.”

“Place one for me, Lesley,” Gamel ordered in an absent tone even as he started toward Catriona.

He could hear his brother still muttering as he deserted his companions. There was nothing he could say to ease Ligulf’s concerns. The younger man was right to have them. Gamel heartily wished his own were stronger, at least strong enough to stop him from charging in where he did not belong.

But ye do belong, an inner voice whispered, and he grimaced. That was what drove him—a deep sense of rightness, the conviction that Catriona Magnus should and would belong to him. There had to be a way. He did not want to believe he had found all he had searched so hard for only to lose it. That was unacceptable.

“That mon comes our way,” hissed Dane, putting a swift end to Sine Catriona’s laughter. “Shall we fetch Farthing?”

“Nay,” she murmured.

“But that is what he told us to do.”

“Do it only if I fail to divert trouble. Leave Farthing to his sport for now.”

She watched Gamel pause in his determined advance to buy three ticklers from a passing vendor. With a courtly bow, Gamel presented the sticks with the gaily colored ribbons tied on one end to her and her brothers. It was impossible not to smile at such a frivolous gift. However, she frowned when, uninvited, he sat next to her on the rough-hewn bench beneath the tree. The man was too impertinent for words.

“Thank ye, kind sir.” She scowled when she realized there was no room for her to sidle away from him since her brothers were taking up the remainder of the bench.

“Ye dinnae look verra pleased with my wee gift.”

“I am puzzled by the absence of your friends. Surely they were to join ye at this fair?”

“They have gone to the bear-baiting.”

“And ye have no liking for the sport?”

“I spotted something I had far more liking for. Where is Master Magnus?”

“He is also at the bear-baiting. They will no doubt espy each other.”

Gamel smiled slightly. “And then he will hie to your side, for he will ken where I have gone.”

“Aye, he will.” That knowledge eased her increasing nervousness only a little.

“Then I must hasten to make the best use of my fleeting time with ye.”

“Nay, ye waste your time, sir. There is naught here for ye.”

“There is heaven,” he whispered, tracing the line of her cheek with his fingers.

“Mayhaps death,” she said.

Her gaze shifted to her brothers, but they were paying her no heed. The lack of any immediate threat had caused their attention to quickly wander. They were now chasing each other about with the ticklers. She edged away from Gamel, making swift use of the new space upon the bench.

“Sir,” she cried as he followed her retreat and suddenly caught her to him, curling one strong arm about her waist.

“Ye were about to go off the end, dearling.” He held her close enough to feel the rapid rise and fall of her breasts against his chest.

She glanced around to ascertain that he spoke the truth, then mumbled, “I see that now so ye may release me.”

“Nay, I think not.”

“What do ye want from me?” she asked, her voice nearly a moan. “I am no gay lass whose favors may be gained by pretty words or a shiny coin. I cannae be won for I have already been claimed.”

“A prize I mean to snatch from the one who holds it now.”

“If that could be done ’tis a thing that requires more time than ye have. We stay here only briefly, as do ye, then we will travel far away. I can think of no way that is honorable for ye to achieve what ye seek.”

“Then I will use a way that is dishonorable. All I willnae do is kill Farthing Magnus.” He met her gaze and held it. “Though ’tis sore hard to resist when he sets his hands upon ye.”

A soft gasp escaped her as, sheltered from view by their bodies, he slid his hand up her rib cage to cup her breast. She felt herself swell to his touch, her nipple tautening. A tingling began there which cried out for soothing. She felt pinned in place by the heated look in his eyes, unable to tear herself from his touch or escape his gaze.

“’Tis Farthing’s right.” It was a struggle for her to say the words.

“I will make it my right,” he replied.

“Nay, leave me be. I dinnae want this.” But she knew she was lying and feared it showed in her voice.

“Will ye tell me that my touch leaves ye cold?”

“Aye, cold and insulted.”

“Then ye lie. ’Tis neither coldness nor insult that has the tip of your breast boring into my palm. ’Tis neither coldness nor insult that has it crying out to be taken between my lips and sipped upon. Aye, ’tis offering me its nectar.”

His thick, husky voice and the words he spoke caused a melting warmth to seep through her body. She closed her eyes, but that only turned his words into visions. In her mind she could see his bright crowned head pressed against her breasts. A moan that contained as much helplessness as desire escaped her. She could not stop herself from succumbing to his touch.

It was not supposed to happen like this, she thought a little frantically. She had heard the minstrels sing of such things. A fierce passion such as this was supposed to be a man’s province. Love was what a woman sought. This could not be love. That came slowly, often after marriage. She was being pulled into something she did not understand and it frightened her. However, even that fear did not give her the strength to break free.

She shuddered when he brushed his thumb over the hardened tip of her breast. “Nay,” she whispered.

“Aye, ye burn as hot for me as I do for ye. Ye will be mine.”

“I think not. She is mine.”

Sine Catriona was both relieved and disappointed to hear Farthing’s cold voice. She watched Gamel, worried that the violence she read in his face would be turned upon Farthing, who placed his hand upon her shoulder. When Gamel slowly stood up, he kept her hand clasped in his. He pressed a soft, warm kiss on her palm before releasing her. Only then did Gamel meet the look of cold fury on Farthing’s face.

“For now,” Gamel said, and strode away.

Staring at her hand, wondering why she had closed it as if to hold his kiss there, Sine Catriona sagged a little with relief and murmured, “He is verra arrogant.”

“This is something he has a right to be arrogant about.”

“I havenae encouraged him,” she said, yet she knew, in part, that she was lying, for she had not discouraged him either.

“Nay, ye havenae. I ken that, my sweet. What burns inside of that knight needs no encouragement.” Farthing sat down beside her and ran a hand through his thick raven hair. “Mayhaps we should flee this place—now.”

“When we are in such need of money? He has said he willnae kill ye—” she began, knowing that Farthing was no coward but that he loathed bloodshed.

“Now, there is arrogance. Mayhaps I would kill him should we come to swordpoint.”

She stared at Farthing. “I dinnae think I should like that either.”

He put his arm about her shoulders to tug her closer. “Poor, confused Catriona. Ye ken so much more than most young lasses, yet ye ken so little. No matter. Ye are right; we do need money. So, we must stay here, and a curse upon the arrogant Sir Gamel.”

By the end of the day Farthing was sorely tempted to do more than idly curse Sir Gamel. He ached to run the man through. Gamel haunted their every step, sometimes covertly, sometimes openly. Farthing began to feel as hunted as he knew Catriona did. He could not make a move without finding Gamel’s green stare fixed upon him.

“That cursed mon hounds me,” he muttered as he joined Sine Catriona and her brothers for their evening meal.

“Yet he does nothing,” she murmured.

“True, child. Even so, ’tis as if some adder sets at my side coiled to strike.”

“I think Sir Gamel troubles ye far more than he does me. Yet that is odd. ’Tis a puzzle with no answer.” She sighed, then shrugged.

“Life is full of those, dearling.” He looked around, studying the crowd gathered at MacAdam’s inn. “A good crowd and many a full purse at the ready. Prepared to lighten a few?”

“As ever.”

“Good. Give these fools a while longer to cloud their senses with MacAdam’s strong ale. Then I shall begin to entertain them. As I work, ye and my skilled lads will set about your business.”

He smiled at his three companions, then forced his attention to his meal. It was not easy. Gamel sat a mere table away, watching them. Farthing tried to shake off a sense of foreboding.

Ligulf sighed and shook his head, only briefly distracting Gamel’s attention from Sine Catriona and her family. “I think ye have looked nowhere else all day.” An even mix of concern and irritation darkened his brown eyes as he studied his elder brother.

“No doubt ye are right.” Gamel smiled faintly. “Master Magnus grows angrier by the moment.”

“Gamel, she is his. They are a family. Cannae ye leave them be?”

“Nay. Dinnae ye think I would if I could? There is a heat in my blood that burns away all good sense.” He glanced at a woman who was smiling at him and his companions. “Aye, and all desire for another woman.”

“Weel, I can see no way to gain what ye desire. Farthing holds her, as he should, and she is no gay lass.”

“Nay, that is true. Tell me,” Gamel murmured, “what, besides conjuring, requires the skill of sleight of hand?” He watched his companions mull that question over.

Sir Lesley frowned, then finally asked, “Do ye think they are thieves?”

“I am certain they are thieves. Howbeit, I have yet to see exactly how she does it.”

“She?”

“Aye, Ligulf—she. Master Magnus keeps all eyes fixed upon himself with his clever talk and deft conjuring, while she lightens the gawkers’ purses. The twins are part of it as weel. ’Tis only the how of it that eludes me. When I have that, I will have her.”

“How so?”

“I will threaten to cry them thieves unless she comes to me,” Gamel replied.

“Gamel.” Ligulf’s voice was weakened with shock. “Ye ken the penalties for theft. Ye claim ye want her, yet ye would give her over to branding or worse because she denies ye?”

“Nay, I wouldnae truly cry her a thief, but they willnae ken that.”

Ligulf frowned. “Somehow it doesnae seem right.”

“’Tis not right, but then neither is thievery. Ligulf, this is the least damaging of all the plots I have thought of.” Gamel shook his head when Ligulf prepared to say more. “Nay, dinnae waste your breath. There is no way ye can talk me out of it. If I must, I will answer to my conscience later. Right now I heed another part of me.” He looked at Ligulf and gave the lad a half smile. “And that calls to mind the fact that ye came afairing for a reason ye have done little about.”

Sir Lesley hooted and Ligulf blushed.

“Aye, lad. I see more than a few likely prospects, like that one there who keeps smiling at you.”

As the others teased Ligulf, Gamel quietly returned to watching Catriona. He knew that if he did not find a way to gain hold of her tonight, he could well lose all chance. Instinct told him the Magnuses would slip away at dawn again. Then he would have to search for her, which he could not do until he had returned to Duncoille for a while as he had promised his father. By then, the trail would have grown very cold indeed.

When Farthing took up a position that made him visible to everyone, Gamel had to admire the man’s skill in drawing all attention to himself even before he started plying his tricks. However, Farthing was indeed a skilled conjurer. Most of those in the inn were easily tempted to watch the man perform, some vainly hoping to see the secret of it all. Even Gamel was tempted, but he kept his gaze on Catriona, his interest fixed upon the tricks she played.

Sine Catriona began to stroll through the crowd with a feigned idleness, her brothers shadowing her. She used the tavern maids to provide some excuse for her meandering, pausing to speak with each one. The crowd did not expect her to be interested in Farthing’s chatter and tricks, for she had seen it all before. They soon ignored her as she weaved in and out amongst them. As soon as their attention was fixed upon Farthing plying his trade, she began to ply hers.

Skillfully, with only the faintest thrill of fear, she relieved each watcher of his purse. Swiftly, she extracted half the coin, sometimes less, and in but an instant smoothly returned the purse to its owner. Befuddled by drink as most of them were, they never guessed that a robbery had taken place. The few who suspected quickly doubted, for what thief did not steal all the money? Thieves took every hapenny and kept the purse as well. That belief was her shield, protecting her from any dangerous outcry. The twins stealthily pocketed her gains, then took turns hiding it away.

The only thing she found difficult this time was keeping her mind fully on what she was doing. Only with effort did she ignore one particular man among MacAdam’s patrons. Gamel was still watching her. There was no doubt in her mind about that. Praying that his gaze was not upon her hands, she forced all thought of him from her mind. He was too great a distraction and the work she did required her full attention.

“I have her,” Gamel cried in a soft, tense voice as he grasped Sir Lesley’s thickly muscled arm. “Lesley, watch this. Curse their eyes, but they are good. Verra, verra good. Watch her pretty right hand, my friend. See? There. She now has the purse off of that fool, now she takes the coin and, there, she puts the purse back. Now, watch closely as her left hand feints toward young Dane. See it? The lad has just pocketed the spoils.”

Sir Lesley scowled, then scratched his head. “Weel, aye, I sense that something goes on but, I confess, I cannae see all that ye do.”

Ligulf frowned in confusion. “But why does she return the purse?”

“Ah, there is the true cleverness of their game. A mon doesnae cry thief if he still holds his purse and feels coins still weighting it. When the fool does count his coin, he will only be puzzled, not truly suspicious. Did I have three ales or four? he will ask himself. Mayhaps I came with less than I realized. These are the thoughts which will first come to his mind. And who would heed him if he did cry thief? The others would curse him for a cup-shotten fool. What thief leaves aught behind? People will tell the mon to count more carefully next time and cease making such a row.”

“By the saints, that is clever, Gamel. But how will ye catch her then?”

Slowly rising from his seat, Gamel murmured, “I will catch her ere she can return her next purse.” He began to stealthily make his way through the crowd toward Sine Catriona.

Smiling at the man who asked her how Farthing could thrust a dagger through his arm yet not bleed, Sine Catriona shook her head. “I cannae tell ye that, kind sir.”

“Come, mistress, ye must ken your mon’s secrets.”

“Nay,” she demurred, looking coy even as she deftly lifted his purse. “What woman kens all her mon’s secrets?”

“Verra few, thank the good Lord.” The man laughed.

She laughed too, expertly extracted a third of the man’s worth and prepared to return his purse. Her blood ran cold when Gamel suddenly appeared, placing himself between her and her victim. He could not see the purse she held yet she knew at once that he was onto her game. That knowledge glowed in his fine eyes. She forcibly resisted the blind urge to bolt.

“Here now,” Sine Catriona’s victim muttered. “Best to beware, friend. ’Tis the conjurer’s woman ye ogle.”

“Will he turn me into a toad?” Gamel grinned at the man, who laughed heartily.

Sine Catriona was strongly inclined to stick a knife in both of them, but she fixed Gamel with a beseeching look instead. “Please, sir,” she whispered.

“Come and share a drink with me, Mistress Catriona.” He lightly trailed his fingers over her blanched cheek.

Suddenly she knew what price he would demand to keep his knowledge of her thievery to himself.

“Now,” he commanded in a near whisper, taking her by her left arm. “Master MacAdam serves a very fine mead.”

“Aye,” agreed her victim. “He does and ’tis time for me to be refilled. Here,” he muttered. “Where is my purse?”

With a skill she had learned early in the game, Sine Catriona bent and suddenly the purse was on the floor. “Ye but dropped it, sir.” She picked it up and handed it back to him. “Mayhaps it was knocked loose when this mon nudged between us. Ye should make certain it is weel secured.”

“Aye, good lass. I feared the pikers had come to MacAdam’s at last.”

“Nay, sir. He would ne’er allow it.”

“Come,” Gamel urged. “Your drink awaits ye. ’Tis in return for your, and Master Magnus’s, gracious hospitality last eve.”

Even as she obeyed his gentle but firm tug on her arm, she handed her spoils to Barre, who darted off to hide them. Although she was as careful as ever, Sir Gamel’s gaze followed her fleeting movement, which strengthened her conviction that he knew everything. She briefly noted how Dane and Farthing watched as Gamel led her to his table and sat down, tugging her to his side on the small bench. It was a seat made more for one than two. She prayed there would be no trouble.

“And such sweetness in your lovely face,” Gamel murmured, giving her a look which said he mourned her lack of integrity.

“Thank ye, kind sir,” she said, maintaining a false bravado in the face of his triumph. Then she tensed as she saw Farthing move toward them.

Having ended his trick and extracted himself from those who asked to see more of his art, Farthing strode to the table where Sine Catriona now sat. Gamel’s expression held too much confidence for his liking. It was as if Gamel knew the game was won, and in his favor. Placing his hands palm down on the smooth table, Farthing leaned slightly toward Gamel.

“I hadnae thought ye were so slow of understanding, Sir Gamel. She is mine.”

“She is a thief,” Gamel retorted in a voice soft enough that no others heard the condemnation.

Glancing swiftly at Sine Catriona, Farthing watched her nod and felt himself go pale. Somehow Sir Gamel had seen what she was up to, and now intended to take full advantage of his discovery. Farthing experienced the cold, heavy realization that the man was right to think he had won the game. Gamel now held a weapon Farthing could not deflect.

“Would ye cry her a thief?” he asked, looking back at Gamel.

“I might.” Gamel brushed Sine Catriona’s still pale cheek with his knuckles.

“But ye might not.” Farthing immediately guessed what bargain was about to be offered, and rage surged through his body.

“Nay, I might not.” Gamel met Farthing’s cold, black gaze.

“And what price do ye ask for this charity?”

“She abides with me this night.”

“So ye willnae cry her a thief if she plays the whore for ye.” Farthing saw a flash of regret, a touch of guilt, in the man’s look, but knew it would be useless to try to play upon it.

“She abides with me this night,” Gamel repeated.

“Nay, I think ye bluff, knight. Ye want her too badly to set her at such risk.”

“Aye, I want her badly. There are those, however, who can want so badly they are willing to see what they are denied, denied to all. If they cannae have it, no mon shall. Are ye willing to test if I am such a mon?”

A fine tremor went through Farthing as he struggled to keep clear headed, fought the blinding fury building within him. He wanted to cut the man down on the spot. Sine Catriona’s soft hand covering one of his tightly clenched ones brought his attention to her.

“Ye have ever taught me to weigh one choice against another.” She held her hands out above the table, palms up, as if they were a set of scales. “Here is what Sir Gamel requests for his silence.” She dropped her left hand down just a little. “Here is branding. Here is the gaol with the men who guard it. Here too is the chance they will wish the names of accomplices. Could I hold silent beneath their methods of inquiry? Here is the possible loss of my hand. Here is the possible loss of my life, mayhaps yours, mayhaps the twins’.” She looked at her right hand, having lowered it with each possibility mentioned until it rested upon the table, then at her left, which still hovered several inches higher. “The choice is clear,” she said, finally meeting Farthing’s tortured gaze. “’Tis so clear that there really is no choice at all.”

“I think I must kill this mon.” Farthing’s words came in harsh rasps. His hand went toward his dagger. But Sine Catriona reached across the table and stilled it.

“Please, Farthing. I willnae be the cause of bloodletting for the life of me. I beg you, leave it be.”

He released a cry of rage and frustration, then straightened. He could see she intended to go through with it. There was nothing he could do to stop it without seriously endangering them all.

“I will be right outside the window. Just call and I will be there. I will break down the door, if need be.” Then, with one sweep of his arm he sent the crockery on the table smashing to the floor and strode from the room.

Sine Catriona instinctively tried to follow him, but Gamel held her until she told her wide-eyed brothers, “Dane, Ree, go with Farthing. Stay with him.”

For a while she kept her gaze fixed upon the door through which her family had left. When the mess of broken dishes that Farthing had made was cleared away and new drinks set out, she finally looked at Sir Gamel, noticing fleetingly that his three companions seemed less than comfortable with his actions. If Gamel felt the same unease, he was hiding it very well.

“Ye have hurt Farthing deeply,” she told Gamel in a soft voice. “For that I may have to kill ye.”

His eyes widening slightly, Gamel replied, “Methinks Farthing plans the same.”

“Then ye had best seek absolution, for death is nigh. No mon can look two ways at once.”

It annoyed her when he simply smiled, then draped his arm about her shoulders. She sipped her mead as she strove to remain calm. There was nothing she could do to change what had happened or to escape what would happen now. To tie herself up in emotional knots over it was foolish. That would only make what was to come all the harder to endure.

What she really feared was neither dishonor nor pain but enjoyment. He moved his hand up and down her arm, and occasionally stroked her neck. At times he rested his long, slim fingers on the increasingly fierce pulse in her throat. He roused such a heat in her she feared she would be scorched from the inside out.

In a desperate attempt to turn her thoughts from Gamel’s nearness and from his effect upon her, she tried to concentrate on what was going on around her. Her gaze settled on the fair young Ligulf. He blushed in response to the overtures of a buxom brunette. It took her only a moment to know why he should feel so discomforted by what any other man would respond lustily to.

“Your brother’s first time afairing?” she asked Gamel.

He slowly nodded, wondering if she meant what they all did when they spoke of afairing. He was not overly concerned with Ligulf’s troubles at the moment. Hoping she could adjust to her situation, he was allowing her to finish her drink. Then he fully intended to drag her to his chambers, something he was painfully impatient to do. The night was going to be far too short.

“Then he doesnae want Mary,” she said, waving another maid over. “She is too coarse and none too clean.”

“Do you ken these women weel?” Gamel loathed the thought that she might have something in common with the tavern maids.

“We often stay here. Most of the women have been here a long time. Janet.” She smiled at the raven-haired woman who stepped up to the table. “A lamb for the shearing.”

Janet smiled slowly, her gaze settling on Ligulf even as she asked, “Where is Farthing?”

“In our room most like. Sir Gamel keeps me company for now.”

Briefly Janet’s gaze met Gamel’s, her eyes widening slightly in a gesture of understanding. “I see.”

“I thought ye would,” Sine Catriona murmured. “I believe Mary lacks the touch needed here.”

“Bah, she is a slattern. Here, Mary, MacAdam calls for ye.”

Mary scowled but moved away from Ligulf. Gamel guessed that the woman dared not try to prove that Janet lied. He almost smiled as Janet quickly sat beside Ligulf, causing the departing Mary to curse.

After watching his brother and Janet for a moment, Gamel murmured, “It does go better.”

Sine Catriona nodded. “Aye, Janet has a gentler manner. ’Twill cost him, though.”

“We have the funds. After all, what can one throw cost?”

“One throw? Nay, sir. Time must be taken to shear the lamb weel. None takes such care as Janet. If your brother goes to her bed, he willnae be seen again until the morning.”

“Careful indeed.”

She shrugged. “Ye seek to make him a mon.”

“And how is it that ye ken so much about such things?”

“I am no soft, gentlebred maid kept ignorant and secured in her boudoir until her wedding day.”

“And yet methinks ye possess a certain innocence.”

She hastily took a drink. Sir Gamel would all too soon know just how innocent she was. How she would explain that when she was supposed to be Farthing’s wife she did not know. A little desperately she prayed Gamel might not notice that the woman Farthing Magnus claimed as his wife was a virgin.

“Hurry with your drink, Catriona,” he murmured as he pressed a kiss to her neck.

“I drink as fast as I can.” She winced at the telltale huskiness that had invaded her voice.

“Not fast enough.” He moved his lips toward her ear. “God’s teeth, I am sore pressed to take ye now—right here.”

“There would be a fine sight for MacAdam’s patrons.”

“That other eyes would be able to look upon ye is all that holds me back. Drink.”

“Ye willnae change your mind on this?” she asked, knowing it for a foolish question even as she spoke it.

“Nay. ’Tis not my mind that rules me now.”

As she raised the gourd to her lips, he traced the shape of her ear with his tongue. Her drink nearly ended up on the floor. She trembled as desire gripped her so tightly she nearly cried out. The deep swallow of mead she took did nothing to dampen that raging fire. The moment she emptied her cup Gamel stood up, yanked her to her feet, and dragged her toward his quarters. She glanced only once at his companions. They still looked displeased, but no one moved to interfere.

Ligulf watched his brother leave and grumbled, “She has bewitched him.”

Janet laughed softly. “Aye. She bewitches many. Her spell is all the stronger for she doesnae ken that she casts it.”

“I cannae understand why he couldnae just leave her be.”

Running her hand along his slim, strong arm, Janet murmured, “Come the morning, ye will.” She laughed again. “Aye, and come the morning your brother will be sorely confused, for Sine Catriona shall leave his rooms as changed as ye will leave mine.”

“Nay!”

“Nay ye or nay Catriona?”

“Nay Catriona,” he muttered, blushing as he admitted his own innocence, and Janet simply smiled.

Farthing stared up at Sir Gamel’s chamber window. He still ached to bury a dagger in the man—bury it deeply. After raging over his helplessness for a time he had sought peace in drink. That had failed him. His blood ran too hot to be cooled, his mind too full to be emptied.

The twins had finally fallen asleep, wearied from watching him rail and storm, so he had left them in the room. It had not been hard to discover where Sir Gamel’s window was. He stared at it, trying to think of some way to help Sine Catriona, but all his plans were rash, flawed. His hands were tied by the bitter knowledge that Sine Catriona was right, there was no other choice. He had trained her to be a thief and now she was paying the price. His helplessness was heavily weighted with guilt.

Although he knew he could not help or protect her this time, he settled himself below Gamel’s window. He would spend the night right here. If but one cry of pain or fear reached his ears, he would cut Sir Gamel’s throat and defy the consequences.