“Bothwell and BrocCairn are cousins, are they not?”
“Aye, they are. Cousins of the king as well,” Ian replied.
“What is dearest to Alex in all this world, Ian? His wife! His precious Velvet Gordon!” Her voice was tinged with bitterness. “What if her ladyship were kidnapped, Ian, and the ransom for her safe return was the delivery of Lord Bothwell into the king’s hands? Had we the men, we could arrange such a thingandbargain with Master Maitland for payment of the reward upon delivery of Lord Bothwell. We don’t have the men, however, and so it is useless to even speak of it.”
“Perhaps it could be arranged,” he said slowly, “perhaps if I could find him it could be managed.”
“Find who?”Alanna pounced on him. “We don’t want to have to share the reward equally, Ian. There would be little left for us.”
“The reward wouldna really interest him,” Ian said. “He can hae Alex’s cattle. ’Tis a huge herd this year and worth a good deal of gold. That would appeal to him.”
“Who?”Alanna demanded.
“Ranald Shaw. They call him Ranald Torc, Ranald the Boar. He’s an outlaw, a beast of a man, but he’s just greedy enough to like the idea, and he’s a man of his word.”
“What’s to prevent him from simply stealing Alex’s cattle when he finds out that BrocCairn is away?”
“Ranald Torc is nae a fool, Alanna. He’s afraid of Alex, as he should be. He realizes that his only security would be in having Velvet in his custody. He’ll cooperate wi’ us, dinna fear.”
“We may not have much time,” Alanna cautioned. “Find out how long Alex will be gone. Only then will you know. Jesu, Ian! What an opportunity this is for us! With the king’s reward, we can leave this damned glen, that dank pile of stones that you hate so much, and Annabella! We’ll be rich, and neither of us will have to owe our livings to the damned Earl of BrocCairn! Think of it, Ian!” She grasped his arms. “We’ll be rich!”
He did think of it, and as he pondered it over and over again in his mind it occurred to him that he could indeed be very rich. It also occurred to him that he did not want to share that wealth with Alanna. He would rid himself of both his carping wife and his carping mistress, but first he would use Alanna to help him.
Riding up to the castle that morning, Ian intruded upon Velvet as she worked in her garden. “Is it true,” he demanded without so much as a greeting, “that Alex has gone to Huntley wi’ Bothwell?”
“Aye,” she answered him, annoyed to be caught upon her knees pruning her roses.
He enjoyed towering over her. It gave him a feeling of power, a feeling of sexual excitement that surged through him. “How long will he be gone?”
Velvet rose to her feet, dusting her hands on her skirt. “What difference does it make to you, Ian?” she demanded irritably.
“None to me, but Bella wanted to know, for she is eager to invite you toGrantholmand needs several days to prepare. I’m only her messenger.”
“Alex will be gone several days, five to six, he said.” She smiled sweetly at Ian. “Tell Bella I have a fancy for sweet cakes. I simply cannot live without them these days.”
He looked at her as if she had lost her wits.
Velvet laughed. “Why, Ian, as the father of two I would think you’d know what a craving for certain foods indicated. Did we not promise you that you would be one of the first to know when I became enceinte?”
“Ye’re wi’ child?” he said incredulously, unable to believe this stroke of good fortune. He could already imagine the golden reward he would gain from the crown for Lord Bothwell’s capture, for Alex loved his wife, and would love her even better now that she was expecting his heir.
“Aye,” Velvet confirmed proudly. “I am with child, but don’t tell Bella. I want to be the one to surprise her.”
Ian smiled toothily at Velvet. “Nay, my dear, I’ll nae tell Bella. Ye’ll have yer surprise.” Then he turned and left her as abruptly as he had come, heading his horse for the patch of wild country to the west ofDun Brocwhere Ranald Torc held sway.
The territory actually bordered on lands held by the Gordons, the Grants, and Clan Shaw. Ranald Torc was a younger son of the Shaws who had gone wild, but he was not bothered by his relations, for he was too fierce a man to fight and he frankly frightened them. He might have had the family’s entire holding but for the fact that he wasn’t an ambitious sort. Relieved by this, the Shaws let him be, turning a blind eye when he raided their cattle and sheep or carried off an occasional woman.
Ranald Torc’s mother had been the sister of Ian Grant’s father. The two had played together as boys, and even though Ranald was politely ignored by his family, Ian still kept up the connection between them although he had never understood why. Perhaps, weakling that he was, he secretly admired the unorthodox ways of his rebellious cousin.
Ranald Torc’s home was a dilapidated stone house deep in the forest. Ian knew that he was observed almost every foot of the way he traveled from the moment he stepped onto his cousin’s lands. Still, he looked neither to the right nor the left nor behind him. He simply pressed onward until the house came into view.
“Hallo, the house!” he called as he stopped his horse. “Ranald Torc! ’Tis Ian Grant.”
The door to the dwelling slowly opened, and then a figure stooped beneath the entryway and came forth into the clearing. Ian was, as always when he saw his cousin after a long period of time, amazed by the man’s size. Ranald Torc stood close to seven feet in height with huge limbs and shoulders. His massive head was completely in proportion with his great body, his light brown hair cut straight across his forehead and hanging to his shoulders. His nickname, “The Boar,” came from the fact that his light blue eyes were closely spaced, giving him the wary, suspicious look of a wild pig. That feature prevented him from being handsome, although he was certainly not an ugly man.
“Hallo, Mouse!” His deep voice boomed at Ian. “What brings ye into my lair?”
Ian flushed at Ranald Torc’s use of the nickname he’d been given by his elder cousin during their childhood. His color was not lost on Ranald, who chuckled at Ian’s discomfort.
