“Her throat was cut when she resisted the enemy,” a small voice said from behind him. He turned to see a maid in the doorway. A man stood at her side, supporting her by the elbow.
Balloch was shocked. How could MacPherson’s men strike down the king’s own sister? Or had it been another laying siege here? If they hadn’t known her identity, it was reasonable, especially if she’d been foolish enough to fight at Gowry’s side. She’d been a fighter ten years ago…
In any case, if MacPherson were responsible for killing Kenna Canmore, his life was worthless. His friendship with the king would no longer matter. The space at King Malcolm’s left hand would be empty and available. Someone able to make the right impression…
“Show me this grave.”
Fia and Peterwere from Agatha’s household and a nervous lot. While Gair Balloch and Howard stood over the fresh grave for nearly an hour, Fia answered his odd questions, though reluctantly. Every now and again the man, Peter, would give her hand a squeeze. They were close, possibly married—information that might be useful later. He had not uttered a word to Howard about what he was contemplating, but the idiot kept his mouth shut.
Balloch turned to Peter. “How deep is she buried?”
“Near five feet down, yer Lairdship,” the man answered, his eyes nearly popping from their sockets.
Fia began to wail when Balloch reached down to fling away a small bundle of flowers recently placed on the mound and began to dig at the pile of dirt with his bare hands. After a minute it was clear that he had no earnest intention of digging up her lady and the maid stopped her noise.
“Now,” he said, straightening and brushing dirt from his hands. He looked around to see that they had no audience. “We dug her up. You are witnesses.” He pointed to Fia and Peter and then to Howard. “We dug her up, and I have proven that she was an imposter. I know Kenna Carlisle and this was not her. This,” he pointed to the not–so-neat grave, “was a decoy.”
“A decoy?” Howard struggled to understand, then gave up and simply agreed. “Yes. A decoy.”
“Now you two are coming with us, just after you reveal our discovery to the servants in the hall.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“What a bunch of wet lads!” Duncan shouted.
Tearloch laughed but did not point out to his friend that the two of them were working just as hard to keep their mounts in the thick of the pack. Jamie was long gone on Kenna’s horse, hopefully catching up with their captive. With its long legs, the great black was not an animal that was easy to match, however, and there was that chance that the woman could actually get away on it.
Tearloch worried that the others may be holding back to let him catch up and take the lead, so he waved them on. He was the true winner here, but only if they could catch her. And this was no time to let his pride get in the way.
He hoped against hope that this was not her next attempt to elude them, and wondered if Duncan had been thinking clearly when he suggested she take the destrier, for he certainly hadn’t. His head had been filled with a misty haze from her kisses, and in truth, it still lingered.
Surely, she wouldn’t do anything as foolish as stand on the big black’s back while he flew down the road.
Nearly an hour and a half later, the group had to slow their tired horses. They had yet to overtake Jamie, so there was still hope.
They let the animals cool down and have a wee drink before they set out again. They started slowly, which was fortuitous. If they’d been riding hard, they might have missed the flash of black off to the south of the road.
Saint’s be praised, they’d found her.
The entire company shouted with relief and turned into the meadow, stopping when they reached Jamie, who was sitting on the ground watching the woman play with his deadly warhorse. He stood when they joined him.
Kenna sat happily with her clothes riding high on her thighs. She and the beast were at the top of a large mound where she was turning the proud prancing destrier back and forth in exhibition. Then she pulled the reins firmly and had the horse backing across the crest of the hill.
“Brace yerselves,” Jamie called out, just as Kenna started the horse down the hill toward her audience. Her eyes and smile were wide, her excitement evident from far across the stretch of low grasses that lay between them.
All but Tearloch and Duncan gasped when she pulled her feet up on the saddle and stood, rocking forward and back as the black galloped leisurely beneath her. Her hair was a glorious red cloud fluttering like a dark sail behind her. Her thighs, now covered, pushed the limits of her seams, the muscles well defined. Not one man could have looked away had he been ordered to.
Twenty hearts flew out of their chests when they saw the black stumble. As if horrified screams could cushion her fall, their voices cried out as she flew over the horse’s head and landed in front of the animal’s thundering hooves. If the beasthadn’t stopped dead in its tracks, she would have been trampled and killed!
Tearloch had died. He was sure of it. His body simply hadn’t realized that his heart had stopped. If he was quick, he might catch another glimpse of her before his body gave out.
He, Duncan and Jamie raced toward the spot in the knee-high blossoms where the flurry of white had disappeared. But before they were halfway to her, Tearloch heard the familiar music of Kenna’s laughter, a tune that his whole body was quick to recognize.
It was not the laughter of relief, but the unashamed peel of joy. The glorious white form sprang to her feet and embraced the black, then turned to face her audience.
“Are ye hurt?” he croaked. If she weren’t, he was going to kill her.
Kenna notedTearloch’s white face and took pity on him. He had that murderous look in his eye again, but this time it was tempered with something else that told her she had nothing to fear from this man. He was not unlike Jamie’s horse.
