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“Nay, they are my mother’s work.”
He heard the pain in her voice and dropped his own tone to a sympathetic murmur. “Is she gone?”
“Nay.”
Ross groaned. What would it take to break through that shell of hers?
“My lady?” A young serving maid stood beside their table, a flagon and cups in hand. “Adair thought ye might like a dram of whiskey to warm yer bones.”
“None for me,” Ross said quickly.
Lady Catlyn raised her head. “You do not care for whiskey?”
“Nay.”
“We distill this ourselves.” A vengeful light danced in her eyes. “It would please me if you tasted it.”
Witch. “How could I refuse?” Ross forced himself to take the cup the maid held out. But as he raised the cup to his lips, the sharp, smoky fumes filled his senses. Damn, he knew that smell. His head thumped. His belly rolled, threatening to rebel if he took even one sip.
It was the very same liquor that had done him in. Ross knew in a heartbeat that the whiskey Hakon had served him that fateful eve had come from this stock.
What dreadful irony.
What a test of his internal fortitude.
Could he get it down without losing his supper?
Conscious of Lady Catlyn’s gaze, Ross took a tiny sip. He swallowed it three times before his belly grudgingly kept it.
“You do not like the Finglas?” Catlyn asked incredulously.
“Strong.” Ross wheezed, keeping his teeth closed just in case his stomach rose again.
“Whiskey is supposed to be strong. Most men like it.” Her eyes measured him and obviously found him lacking.
“I am sure.” He had liked this whiskey too much. And that unaccustomed lapse now threatened everything he held dear. Ross swallowed again, determined to brazen this out. “Is there a difference?” he asked. It was too much to hope she’d just spill the information he had come to steal. But then, women, even one as canny as this one, were flighty.
“Of course there is. Anyone with a nose can tell that.” She looked down her nose at him. “If you like, tomorrow I can arrange for you to taste a few cups from different years.”
Cups? Dod, he’d never keep down even one cup. “I doubt I’d notice the difference, but I would like to see how it is made.”
Her gaze turned frosty. “I am afraid that is not possible.”
“Why?” Did she suspect something?
“This is a busy time of year. You would be underfoot.”
“I am quick on my feet and good at staying out of the way.”
“The better to avoid those you cuckold?”
“What?” Ross exclaimed, though her meaning and her contempt could not have been plainer. “My lady, I assure you that I never dally with married women.” Not knowingly, at any rate.
“It is of no interest to me.” She turned away and spoke to an old man at the next table. “Roland, what say we make an early start on the morrow to make up for the time lost today?”
“Aye.” Roland’s tone was curt. His dark eyes glowered at her from either side of his hooked red nose. “In fact, I’ve a mind to get at it tonight.”
“Nay. ’Tis late, and we’ve had a busy day. We’ll be all the fresher for a good night’s sleep.”
“We’ll start at dawn, then.” Roland heaved his bulk off the bench. “Come along, lads. We’d best turn in.”
The Boyds, with the exception of those sitting with Ross’s men, rose from their seats and drifted toward the door in an orderly procession. Those who passed close by wished Catlyn good sleep. The warmth of her smiles as she bid them sleep well were a revelation to Ross. If she was not cold and caustic by nature, why had she taken such a dislike to him? It was lowering. It was infuriating. Worst of all, it endangered his mission.
By force of will, Ross kept a bland mask in place. “If we could help with your work, we’d be happy to.”
Catlyn glared at him. “There is no need.”
“Oh, but I disagree.” Ross gave her his most winning smile, his temper fraying further when it made no dent in her scowl. “You saved our lives, and we’d like to repay you.”
“We neither require your help nor want it.” Her chin was high, her tone that of a queen to a lowly knave.
Never in his life had he been treated so by a woman. “My lady, there must be something I can do to express my thanks.”
“Aye, there is. You can leave on the morrow.”
Leave? Without the whiskey recipe? Impossible. “Do you not think you owe my wounded men a few days in which to heal?”
Her expression softened. “I suppose.” Very grudgingly. “I will consult with Freda tomorrow and see how long she thinks you need stay.” With that, she turned away.
Ross caught her wrist. The flesh was warm and surprisingly firm. The beat of her pulse against his palm sent a ripple through his lower belly. “My thanks for your hospitality, Lady Catlyn.” He said the words through his teeth, barely holding on to civility. “On the morrow, when you are rested—and mayhap more congenial—let us see if we cannot find some way in which I might repay you.” He gave her a slow, burning smile, the one that never failed to melt opposition.
Beneath his hand, her pulse skittered, but her skin remained cool. “I will be busy—” she loosened his grip, one finger at a time “—for the foreseeable future. I wish you good journey to Inverness.”
“But...” Ross moved to block her retreat.
A yellow-haired man pushed in between them. He was large, muscular and handsome, despite angry brown eyes and a pugnacious expression. “Do not touch her,” this newcomer growled at Ross.
“I can take care of myself, Eoin.” The lady looked even more displeased with her champion than she was with Ross.
“He is bothering you,” Eoin grumbled.
Lady Catlyn sighed. “You are both annoying me.”
“Let me escort you to your room.” Eoin reached for her arm.
Catlyn avoided his grasp. “Stay and keep Sir Ross company.”
“But Catlyn,” Eoin whined. “I should go with you.”
“My lady,” Ross protested. “I thought we might talk.”
“Talk with Eoin.” Eyes glittering with mockery, she glanced at each of them in turn. “I think you have much in common.” Lifting her skirt, she moved away.
Ross watched her leave, thinking that the queen had never made as regal an exit. But with her went his only hope of recovering his family property.
“Leave her alone,” Eoin growled. His face flushed with hostility, he stalked off in the lady’s wake.
“Plans going awry?” Mathew Sutherland, Ross’s cousin and second in command, strolled over to join him.
“For some reason, the lady has taken a dislike of me.”
“Inconvenient.”
“Damnably so.”
“What will you do?” Mathew whispered.
Leave at first light. But he could not. Ross clenched his teeth. “I will just have to find a way to charm the lady into revealing her secrets.”
“That should not be difficult for a man with your skill at wooing the lasses.” Mathew winked lewdly.
“This one is made of ice.” It rankled to chase after a woman who obviously disliked him. Yet her rudeness made him feel less guilty about what he must do. “Were you able to learn anything from the Boyds you dined with?”
“Just that they seem to be simple, hardworking folk who think of little else besides their whiskey making. Adair did ask several sharp questions of us.”
Ross grunted. “I marked him for a canny man. Our lads?”
“Have quick wits and careful tongues.”
That they did, for they had been trained in the fine art of thief-catching by Ross’s uncle, Hunter Carmichael, Warden of the Scottish Middle March. “This is not so different from other tasks we’ve performed for Uncle Hunter. We need information before we can decide how best to get what we came for. Have the lads find out where the stills are located, who has access to them and, if possible, where their records are kept.”
Mathew nodded. “I will see to it immediately.”
“I trust you had enough to eat,” Adair said as he joined them. “This is a busy season for us,” added the older man. “We retire early and, much as I dislike forcing guests to do the same, I must ask you to seek your beds.” Behind the grizzled warrior stood a quartet of beefy Boyds.
“Guards?” Ross exclaimed.
“Aye.” Adair’s level gaze offered no apology. “We are pleased to offer you shelter, but you are strangers to us.”
“Are we to be locked up like prisoners?” Ross demanded.
“Only if you will not follow a few rules.”
“Such as?”
“Keep to your rooms, the great hall or the courtyard and do not attempt to evade those set to watch you.”
The rules were reasonable. No more than he’d have insisted upon himself if the situation were reversed. Ross was in no mood to be reasonable. And guards would make it difficult for his men to move about freely. But arguing would only raise more suspicions. “We agree,” Ross grumbled. “But tell me this. Was it your lady who ordered that we be watched?”
“Nay. I have charge of such things. Why do you ask?”
“She does not like me.”
“Oh.” One of Adair’s gray brows rose. “Why is that?”
“I did not insult her, if that is your meaning. Quite the contrary. The more charming my manner, the colder hers grew.”
“And why would you be wanting to charm our Catlyn?”
Ross blinked. “Because...because I owe her a debt.”
“A debt, is it?” A grin tugged at the corners of Adair’s lined mouth, and a knowing gleam entered his dark eyes. “Well, since we’re owing you a debt as well—for thwarting Hakon’s plans—I’ll be telling you the lass is not much one for charm.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Adair’s grin spread to lighten his weathered face. “If you are around long enough, you may just find that out.” He winked at Mathew. “And now, lads, I’ll bid you good-night. We’ve put the pair of you in Catlyn’s solar, it being the only chamber that’s not occupied. I’m told the maids took up sleeping pallets, blankets and such. If you need anything, just ask.”
Anything but freedom. Still Ross could not fault their caution. Nodding, he followed the pair of guards up two flights of narrow, winding stairs, conscious of Mathew’s suppressed tension. His cousin was canny enough to hold his tongue till the door to their borrowed chamber had shut behind them.
“By the rod!” Mathew exclaimed. “Do you think they plan to keep us prisoners here? Murder us in our—”
“Shh.” Ross drew Mathew across the long, spacious room to the window. “If they meant to harm us, they’d have taken our weapons. Their wariness is reasonable, if damned inconvenient.”
Mathew’s tense shoulders relaxed. “What now?”
“We find the stills,” Ross said softly.
“Oh, and how will we get out of here?”
“Climb, I hope.” Ross unbarred the double shutters covering the window and eased open one side. Cool, damp air swirled in as he leaned out. “Ah, only three stories to the ground.”
“Only,” Mathew gasped.
“Aye, and there’s a wee ledge just below.”
“You cannot be thinking of walking that!” he whispered.
Ross just grinned. He had always had a penchant for climbing, whether it was a tree to filch apples or down a cliff side after falcon chicks to train for hunting.
“Idiot.”
“I just don’t have your fear of heights.”
“Respect. I respect the fact that birds fly and men were meant to keep their two feet on the ground.”
“I will be careful.” His mind made up, Ross turned and surveyed the room.
Like everything at Kennecraig, it was neat and clean if sparsely furnished. An attempt had been made to make them comfortable. At one end, a large table held a trio of pitchers, cups and a bowl for washing. Surprisingly, there were also stacks of books and what looked like writing materials. Did Lady Catlyn read, or were these her father’s?
