His fingers tightened on the reins. Nay, the glitters upon the frozen ground were naught but tricks of light, a tragic reminder that the woman he’dloved was lost.
A grimace settled upon his mouth. He had more important forces to face than fairies.
Several paces from the copse of pine at the bottom, branches shifted and snow tumbled from the limbs.
He halted his destrier and withdrew his dagger.
Tangles of chestnut-brown hair tossed within the snow-whipped wind as Kenzie limped into view, a bruise dark on her cheek, minimal swelling on her jaw, the gash on her right brow showing signs of healing, and his father’s sword partially wrapped in a blanket in her arms.
Rage pulsing through his veins, Cailin scoured the area. Naught but another gust of snow whirled past.
She lifted her head and her eyes seared him, an action at odds with someone who’d wronged him. Her shoulders seemed to stiffen beneath her bulky woolen cape as she clutched his stolen sword, yet her gaze remained unwavering.
“I am alone,” she called with impressive confidence for one who had committed a treasonous act, yet managing somehow to look as if shewas the victim.
That he doubted. “Whereis your horse?”
“As I explained yesterday, I have none.”
Cailin grunted. “You said the men had taken your mount.”
“I lied.” She limped toward him. “Never had I planned tosee you again.”
“And the men who supposedly robbed you?” he demanded. “Am I to accept that injured, you somehow hobbled this far, or after you have given me naught but mistruths, am I to believe anything you say?”
“Suspicion I would deserve.” Favoring her right ankle, the one bound with sturdy cloth, she limped forward, struggling up the incline. “I came to return your broadsword.” Kenzie paused a pace away and unwrapped the weapon. Cloth fluttered in the wind as she raised the forged steel, hilt first, toward him. “’Twas wrong ofme to take it.”
“Wrong?” Ignoring a twinge of pity at her struggle, he leaned forward, retrieved his blade. “’Twas thievery.”
Her face pale, she nodded. “’Twas. I was desperate and needed coin to save my stepbrother.”
Far from persuaded by her demure demeanor or that anything she shared was the truth, he sheathed his sword. “And your companions?”
“Travelers whom I had robbed earlier in the day.” She captured several strands of hair fluttering against her face, secured them in her braid. “When you rode in, they had caught up with me and seized their coin, which I had taken earlier. Only”—a blush swept her cheeks—“I had not planned on their…”
Wanting her for their pleasure, he silently finished to himself. Could he believe her, or was this yet another deceptive tale? Though Cailin hesitated to accept any of her claims as the truth, her having stolen from the travelers explained their anger. “And your stepbrother?”
Hope ignited in her eyes. “The reason I am here. I seek your help to save him.”
Cailin crossed his arms. “A request you could have made without drugging meorstealing my weapon.”
Her breath rolled out in a broken cloud of white. “I–I am explaining this poorly.”
God’s teeth, why the devil was he allowing her to ramble on? With his weapon recovered, he should leave her to her fate. “Save your lies for another.” Cailin shot her a cool glare as he picked up his reins. “Away with you before—”
“I know you are Cailin MacHugh,” she burst out, “the rightful heir of Dalkirk!”
He wanted to dismiss her claim, but there could only be one way she’d discovered his identity; she’d heard it from another. “Explain.”
In detail, she described how she’d brought his sword to Wautier Brecnagh, a merchant known to purchase stolen goods. While awaiting payment, how she’d overheard him send his assistant to warn the Earl of Dalkirk that Wautier had purchased a broadsword bearing the earl’s family’s coat of arms from a thief. And how the merchant suspected the earl’s nephew had returned to claim hisrightful title.
So bloody much for anonymity, or time to refamiliarize himself with his home and plan how best to confront his uncle and seize Tiran Castle.
On trembling legs, Kenzie knelt, bowed her head. “I swear my fealty toyou, my lord.”
“I am not the Earl of Dalkirk,” he snapped.
Emerald eyes lifted to him. “You are the rightful heir.” At his silence, she continued, her gaze unwavering. “Years ago, your uncle informed the people of Dalkirk that you had tragically died at sea. Obviously ’tis a lie. On my word of honor, I swear I will do all within my power to ensure you receive your title.”
