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  Perhaps it was time to cease being so timid in her search for the truth, she decided, disgusted with her own cowardice. Annora had thought that she could uncover the truth about Donnell’s sudden rise in wealth and stature by getting to know the people of Dunncraig and speaking to them. However, Donnell was doing an excellent job of ensuring that never happened. She doubted she could elude his guards very often and it would probably raise some suspicions if she did. So, instead of looking to others to answer all the questions she had, she would look inside Dunncraig itself.

  Once the idea settled in her mind, Annora decided it might not be too difficult. Most of the men who were loyal to Donnell stayed close by his side, so once she knew where Donnell was, she ought to be able to poke about undeterred. The question was where to look. Donnell had a very rigid schedule and so she knew exactly when he would be in his ledger room and when he would not. It would probably be the best place to start. All she had to do was make sure she had a route of escape or a very good excuse for being there if she was caught.

  “Why do ye do this sort of work?”

  At the sound of that deep voice, Annora was so startled and afraid that somehow the man guessed her plans that she nearly screeched. It took all of her control to hide how much Egan’s sudden appearance had frightened her. She kept her gaze upon the ground as she sat up straight and, once sure that she was composed, she looked up at him. Kneeling at his feet and looking up at him tasted far too much of subjugation, but Annora quelled the urge to get up and look him straight in the eye. Even though she would still have to look up, that could prove far too confrontational, so she resisted the urge. Egan always reacted to any sort of confrontation in the same way—with his fists.

  “I like working in the garden,” she said. “It is soothing and it produces something worthwhile.”

  “’Tis work for one of the other lasses, one of the ones what doesnae come from such good blood as ye,” Egan said.

  “And they would ne’er hesitate to do it if I asked it of them, but I truly enjoy doing it myself. And ’tis good to get out in the sun now and then.”

  She kept her voice soft and calm and her gaze fixed upon his pockmarked face. Annora had quickly learned that it was as unwise to annoy Egan as it was to annoy Donnell. He had yet to do more than slap her once or twice, but he had nearly beaten to death several other women at Dunncraig for what were very small mistakes.

  Annora wondered why the man was such a brute. Despite the pockmarks on his face he was not unhandsome. His eyes should have been lovely, for they were a soft hazel color, but they were the coldest eyes she had ever seen. Egan’s features were a bit rough, but even and well placed. Yet, when he was angry, he looked cruel enough to scare anyone who saw him. She did her best never to make him angry.

  She just wished he had not taken such an interest in her. Thus far she had been fortunate, for he had not tried too hard to force his attentions on her. Sadly, she knew of a few women who had found out the hard way that Egan did not like to be refused and was not above simply throwing the woman down and taking what he wanted. Annora feared that one day he would do the same to her. She sincerely doubted that Donnell would do anything to stop the man or even punish him if he was successful in raping her. If not for Meggie, she would have fled Dunncraig within weeks of arriving and minutes after receiving that first lust-filled look from Egan.

  “So they should do because, until the laird finds himself a wife, ye are the highest born lady here.”

  “Many women of high birth work in the garden. Tisnae as if I am out plowing a field.”

  The way his eyes narrowed told Annora that her words had come out a little sharper than she had intended them to. When Egan crossed his thick arms over his chest, she inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Such a position showed arrogance, which annoyed her, but held no real threat of violence.

  “Best ye dinnae stay out in the sun too long or ye will be as brown and wrinkled as one of those women. Now, Donnell has been looking for ye.”

  “Oh, I see.” She stood up and brushed off her skirts. “He needs me to go to the village again?”

  “Nay. Seems someone is coming to visit and he needs ye to be sure everything is done as it should be for guests.”

  “Do I ken who is coming? Such knowledge could aid me in deciding what should be served at the meal.”

  “Laird Chisholm and his sons.”

  Annora barely repressed a shiver of distaste. Ian Chisholm, laird of Dubhuisge, was big, hairy, and smelly. His two hulking sons were no better. He was eager to join with Donnell in trying to expand their holdings. It made Annora afraid for those clans nearby who were not as strong or as brutal. They had already suffered from raids made by Donnell and the Chisholms; they did not need the deprivations brought by these men to get even worse. All three Chisholms also thought she should be part of the courtesies offered them as Donnell’s guests. It had not happened yet and she had the feeling it was because of Egan. She just wished she could feel grateful for that.

  “Weel then, I had best go and speak to Big Marta.”

  “Aye, and tell that old woman that we want plenty of meat on the table and it had better be cooked right.”

  It was hard, but Annora resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at the man as he walked away. Big Marta was a very good cook. Such criticism of her work was unwarranted and she had no intention of repeating it. She had the feeling that Egan, and Donnell, used such criticisms and insults to keep people subdued and eager to please. The man had not seemed to notice that such tactics did not work with Big Marta.

  Collecting Meggie, Annora took the child up to the nursery and cleaned her up. She left her in the care of Annie, a young girl of thirteen who liked to help in the nursery, for it kept her out of sight of Donnell’s men. After cleaning up herself, Annora then hurried down to the kitchens.

  “Big Marta,” she began as she walked up to the woman who was stirring a thick stew that smelled delicious, “there are to be guests for dinner.”

  “I ken it,” Big Marta snapped, her expression suggesting that she would like to spit. “That old lecher Chisholm and his drooling laddies.”

  “Ah, so there is no need for me here.”

  “Aye, I ken who be coming and what the fools need to eat, but that doesnae mean ye cannae be useful. I could use someone to chop up those apples I brought out of storage.”

  “I should be glad to help,” Annora said even as she sat at the huge worktable, picked an apple out of the basket set there, and set to work. “Is Helga ill?” she asked after looking around and realizing that Big Marta was missing one of her helpers.

  “Humph. Ye might say that. The laird was feeling lecherous last night. Unfortunately, he was also feeling drunk and mean. T’will be a few days before Helga recovers.”

  Annora sighed and shook her head. “It wasnae like this before, was it?”

  “Nay. Dunncraig was a fine place and the laird cared for all his people. He didnae expect the lasses working in the keep to warm his bed, either, though many a one would have jumped between the sheets with him had he but smiled at her.”

  It appeared that Big Marta was in a mood to talk and Annora meant to take full advantage of that “Yet, they say he killed his wife.”

  “Nay, that bonnie lad would ne’er have done that. I have ne’er kenned how anyone could e’er think he would. I am nay sure anyone e’en kens exactly what happened to Mary Drummond.”

  “I have ne’er heard anyone question how she died.”

  “Weel, ye wouldnae, would ye? That cousin of yours doesnae let ye talk to anyone. If ye were allowed to speak to some of the people who work these lands, ye would hear the truth about Sir James Drummond. He was good to us, and good for Dunncraig.”

  Glancing around, Annora realized that one reason Big Marta was speaking so freely was that none of Donnell’s men were at hand. Somehow, Annora had managed to get to the kitchens without her usual guard. She had no doubt that soon someone would notice that she had g
one somewhere without her usual escort, somewhere where she heart pounding so hard shemight hear things Donnell did not want her to, so she proceeded to take full advantage of her sudden freedom.

  Annora nodded and kept on working as she asked Big Marta question after question. Sometimes she just let the woman talk on uninterrupted. It shamed her that she had not shared more than a few words with the woman in the three years she had been at Dunncraig, even though she knew it was not her fault. This was what she had wanted to do from the start, however, and as more and more information flowed out of Big Marta, Annora saw just why she had been kept secluded from the other women of Dunncraig. She almost cursed when her guards finally stumbled into the kitchen, but, since she had finished chopping the apples, she really had no obvious need to linger anyway.

  By the time she returned to her bedchamber, Annora felt full to bursting with the knowledge Big Marta had imparted. None of it matched what Donnell had told her about the previous laird. If everything Big Marta had said was true, then Donnell was even worse than Annora had suspected. If one believed all that Big Marta had said, Sir James Drummond had been cruelly wronged and the people of Dunncraig were suffering for that injustice.

  It all strengthened her own doubts and Annora knew she had to be careful. She wanted it to be the truth and she knew that could make her blind to anything that might contradict her own opinion. One thing she was sure of was that she was going to do more to dig up the whole truth about the previous laird and Donnell’s possession of Dunncraig. Her curiosity demanded it and the people of Dunncraig deserved to be freed of the tyranny of Donnell MacKay.

  Chapter Four

  He was sweating and James found that annoying. That hint that fear had taken hold of him made him want to curse and then boldly stride into the ledger room he was creeping toward. To be afraid or even uneasy about entering any room in his own keep pricked at the rage he tried so hard to control. The fact that it had been a fortnight since he had arrived at Dunncraig and this was his first chance to get into the ledger room only added to his anger.

  Glancing around when he finally reached the door, he saw no one and quickly slipped into the room. Except for new tapestries and a thick rug, the room had changed very little from when he had used it, but there was no ignoring the luxury of those tapestries. The rug had also had to cost MacKay dearly, of that James had no doubt. He shook his head at those signs that MacKay was spending far too much money on his own comforts.

  Everything pointed to the fact that MacKay was bleeding Dunncraig dry. James had seen clear signs of it while he had stayed with Edmund and Ida. Big Marta had also complained about it. It made him almost reluctant to look at the ledgers, for he feared he would discover that MacKay had not only squeezed every coin he could out of the land and the people, but sunk Dunncraig deep into debt.

  Shaking off that sudden reluctance to know the whole ugly truth, James sat down at the worktable and began the tedious work of reading through the ledgers. As he read, he listened closely for any sound that would indicate someone approaching the room. It soon became clear that MacKay was doing exactly as James had feared he was. Worse, it appeared that MacKay was regularly raiding his neighbors, stealing what Dunncraig could easily have provided if the man had simply cared for the land, as a laird should. There would be a lot of work needed to soothe those neighboring clans when he regained Dunncraig.

  James found a small ledger tucked in amongst the larger ones that detailed the accounts. What he read in that small book chilled him to the bone. Edmund had had little news to offer on the fate of the men who had been loyal to James, but he had feared that only a few had survived the change in lairds. Edmund had been right to fear that. In MacKay’s crabbed handwriting James read the fates of his men. A few had managed to flee Dunncraig. The rest had been killed. Too many of those had been brutally tortured by MacKay, who sought information on where James may have fled. Along with that gruesome tally was a careful record of each and every person who lived at Dunncraig, on its lands, or in the village. The notations by each name told James that MacKay kept a close eye on every man, woman, and child he sought to rule.

  Anger and grief over the loss of so many good men blinded James to all else for a little while. It was the sound of someone slowly moving the door latch that pulled him free of that dark mire, awakening him to the danger he was in. He quickly closed the ledgers and moved away from the worktable as the door eased open. James readied himself to give a plausible reason for why he was in MacKay’s ledger room only to gape when Annora slipped into the room, backward. While she took one last careful look up and down the hallway before closing the door, he crept up behind her.

  Her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears, Annora carefully closed the door. She breathed a big sigh of relief. The first step to uncovering the truth had been taken. She had gotten into Donnell’s ledger room unseen. Now all she had to do was search it thoroughly and not get caught. Annora grimaced and wondered if her curiosity had finally led her into a trouble she would not be able to get out of.

  Stiffening her backbone, determined to find some answers to all the questions she had, she turned to go to Donnell’s worktable and found herself staring at a broad chest. In fact, her nose was lightly touching the coarse linen shirt covering that broad chest. The only clear thought she had was that it was not Donnell or Egan. It was certainly not one of the Chisholms. She would never be able to have her nose so close to one of them without her eyes watering from the smell. Slowly she lifted her head and found herself staring into a beautiful green eye. It dismayed her a little to find that she was not really surprised. She had recognized both his scent and the sense of a barely leashed rage tinged with sadness and frustration.

  “What are ye doing in here, Master Lavengeance?” she demanded, feeling that, this time, going on the offense was better than babbling excuses or running away.

  Since he now knew that Annora spoke perfect French, James did not see the need to try and sound like a Frenchman speaking English, something he did badly. “I think I should ask what you are doing here,” he replied in French.

  “I asked ye first.”

  “Ah, but I believe your answer will be far more interesting than mine.”

  It felt a little odd to speak in English while he spoke in French, but Annora had guessed almost from the start that Master Lavengeance understood most of what was said in English. She knew several Gaelic speakers who did the same, understanding but not speaking English. Or, she thought, simply refusing to speak a language used by their oldest enemies. Shaking aside that idle thought, she frowned at the wood-carver.

  “I need to write a few letters,” she said.

  “You can write?” James asked, knowing he was doing a bad job of hiding his surprise. The Murray women were all well educated, but it was very unusual for women to be taught much more than how to care for their home, their husband, and their children.

  “Of course I can write. And read.”

  “Do not get so offended. Many women cannot do either and many men prefer it that way, making certain that the women in their households can do no more than scratch out their names, if that.”

  Annora finally took a step back, wondering why she had been so slow to move away from the man. “Weel, I stayed in the homes of several women who believed a woman should learn all she can. They finished the work my mother had begun. Not that ye have any need to ken that. Now, I believe I will leave ye to whate’er ye are doing creeping about in here.”

  She did not even complete her turn toward the door. He grabbed her by her upper arms, his strong, long-fingered hands nearly encircling them. After three years of learning how to avoid the worst of Donnell’s anger, Annora did not struggle. Yet, as Master Lavengeance pushed her up against the door, acting quickly but in a way that held her captive without hurting her, she wondered if she should have fought him.

  “Do you mean to run to your lord and tell him I was in here?” he demanded.

  James mo
ved closer, pinning her against the door with his body and loosening his grip upon her arms. He quickly decided that was a mistake. The moment his body touched hers, need flared inside him, rushing through his body with every beat of his heart, and reminding him of just how long it had been since he had fed those needs.

  He nearly grimaced and barely stopped himself from hurriedly backing away when his mind refused to allow him to ignore the truth. It was more than a blind need for a woman that caused him to feel nearly dazed with desire. It was she. It was her scent, her midnight-blue eyes, and even the sound of her voice. It was also the way she could make his too solemn and wary Meggie smile and giggle.

  Pushing aside the passion clawing at his insides, he studied Annora’s face and almost grinned. When he had first grabbed her she had gone as still as a terrified bird. He knew she had been anticipating some sort of violence, maybe even bracing herself to endure the pain. It pleased him that she had obviously realized that he would not treat her so unkindly. The fact that she would expect such a thing angered and saddened him, however. He decided it was best to concentrate on the look of annoyance and outrage on her lovely face. Having been well trained by the women in his foster family, the Murrays, he knew it could be fatal to tell her that she looked adorable when she was angry.

  “So, do you intend to set your lord after me?” he asked again.

  “Why? Have ye been doing something that would harm Dunncraig?”

  He noticed that she did not say anything about harming MacKay. “No. I but wondered why the man pays me so well to make carved mantels and fine furniture yet the people in the village are but one bite away from starving.”

  “That is a puzzle easily answered. The fool thinks he should live like a king, that all that is grown, made, or earned in Dunncraig is meant solely for his comfort. Ye have been inside this keep for a fortnight and at the village before that. Ye shouldnae have to come peeking in here to ken that hard truth.”