Once the merchant had assured Mathew that the markings on the scroll were none he’d ever seen before, Mathew had determined that Dunvegan would be his next destination. With a story already brewing in his mind, it should take little effort to convince the MacLeod laird that he’d discovered the scrolls lying on a tuft of grass just outside a Faerie Circle, as if the Fae themselves had accidentally left the scrolls behind.
Mathew’s mood lightened as the tale seemed to take on a life of its own, weaving itself ever more intricately in his imagination. Perhaps now that he’d left his pipes behind, he should consider becoming a troubadour, weaving stories to delight the crowds.
That or any other future would depend upon how successful he might be when he met the MacLeod laird.
He needed a good horse underneath him, so he’d look less like a boy on the run and more like a man worthy of an important business deal. His body might be that of a sixteen-year-old, but the last few days had aged his mind and soul far beyond his years.
With a fine mount, a story such as he’d invented, and the MacLeod laird’s penchant for Magic and Faeries, Mathew would be a wealthy man by the time he departed Dunvegan.
With wealth came power, and power was exactly what he needed most desperately.
Power would enable him to find his cousin, Eleyne, and take her home where she belonged. Power would enable him to stand up to his uncle and demand his rightful place at Castle Glenluce.
Such worthy goals should certainly override the tang of dishonor that clung to the way the treasures had come into in his possession. After all, the things he’d taken from Tordenet were no more than the just payment he deserved for what the evil laird there had done to his brother, Hugo.
He shuddered at the memory of his brother’s mutilated body, struggling to push it from his mind’s eye.
Wealth was what he needed now. Wealth and power.
Perhaps with enough wealth, with enough power, he might even drive away the nameless fear that haunted his every dream.
Four
BRIE’S HEART POUNDEDin her chest as the Tinklers’ wagon lumbered under the open portcullis and through the long, tunnellike gate at Castle MacGahan.
She spotted him the instant they pulled into the bailey.
Her brother had returned! At last she would have a partner in her quest to avenge their father’s death.
Jamesy stood at the top of the great stairs, flanked by two men she didn’t recognize. Hands on his hips, his long brown hair ruffling in the breeze, he looked the very image of everything she’d ever imagined in a Pictish king.
Thank the Seven he’d returned. For the first time since her father’s death, she felt as if she weren’t alone.
Next to her, Eleyne gave her a little shove as she tried to push in front of Brie.Tried,but didn’t succeed. It would take more strength than the tiny blonde possessed to move her out of the way.
“Who isthat?” Eleyne asked, peering over her shoulder, her gaze clearly fixed on the stairs where the three men stood.
Brie ignored her, intent on climbing down from the slow-moving wagon. She hit the ground lightly, but stumbled as she started forward.
“Bollocks,” she grunted, recovering her balance and gathering up the layers of skirts that composed the Tinkler costume she wore.
The dress might be pretty, but pretty was hardly practical.
Jamesy met her halfway, wrapping her in his arms, hugging her close, and lifting her inches off the ground just as their da had always done. If she closed her eyes, she might almost believe her da had returned.
Though it wouldn’t surprise her if she and Jamesy had themselves a fine, rowdy argument before the sun set on their first day together, it was beyond good to have her big brother home again. He, like no other here at Castle MacGahan, was true family.
“You’ve been gone too long,” she proclaimed, returning her brother’s embrace. “You canna believe how I’ve missed you.”
“What I canna believe is how you’ve filled out in just a year’s time. No wonder they tell me the castle’s larder is low.”
Her older brother had always had the ability to annoy her more than any other person she knew.
Though the big warrior Halldor O’Donar was running a close second of late.
“Those look to me to be curves,” one of the men who joined them commented. “And none too excessive to my way of thinking.”
“Did I forget to mention how it would be best for you to keep yer eyes—and yer thoughts—to yerself?” Jamesy growled, completely ruining the effect of his threat by giving her a wink as he ended their embrace.
