Maisie gave a light scoff, shaking her head. "Och, ye're always so overprotective. I'm only buyin' a painting, Lavina, nae ridin' into battle. What's to happen at a stable in the middle of the day?"
"More than ye'd think," Lavina replied evenly, folding her hands before her. "There are many a man who sees a young lass ridin' alone and thinks it a chance to take advantage. Ye've coin in yer purse and nae enough sense to guard it if ye're too busy lookin' at the brush strokes."
Maisie rolled her eyes, her voice softening with stubborn amusement. "I'll keep me wits about me, I promise. But I'll nae waste precious time findin' a guard when every moment counts." She moved toward the door, the letter still in hand.
Lavina's gaze followed her, a flicker of frustration beneath the fondness. "Maisie, I'm tellin' ye, take a guard or ye'll regret it." Her voice sharpened just slightly, the tone of an elder sister unwilling to yield.
Maisie paused only long enough to glance back over her shoulder. "Ye worry too much, Lavina. I'll be back before the afternoon light fades, and with a Byrne paintin' in me hands."
Lavina exhaled, the warmth of their earlier moment dampened by unease. "I'll go fetch Peter and he will escort ye or ye will nae go altogether."
"Fine, if ye must summon the guard," Maisie said.
Lavina turned on her heel and left to get a trusted guard.
Maisie lingered in the grand room after Lavina left to fetch the guard, the letter still clutched in her hand. She carried the letter to the writing desk in the corner and read it once more, letting each word sink in. A Byrne, here, in reach. If she could secure it for the auction, the bids would soar, and they would have enough coin to change the lives of the flood victims. She traced the edge of the page with her fingertip, picturing the colors, the brushwork, the feel of the old canvas beneath her hands.
A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. Morag, the maid, peeked inside. "Will ye be needin' anythin' before luncheon, me lady?" she asked, her eyes flicking to the letter as though curious.
"Nay, Morag," Maisie said with a faint smile. "Though tell Ewan to have me mare ready. I'll be ridin' out for a bit."
The maid dipped a curtsey and withdrew, leaving Maisie alone once more.
She sat for a moment, letter resting in her lap, letting the anticipation build.
Tomorrow's worries and Lavina's cautions could wait.
For now, she allowed herself the delicious thought.
By this afternoon, I might hold in me hands a treasure worthy of the grandest gallery.
CHAPTER THREE
"It has been hours, me lady, are ye sure it is this stable? The sun is settin' soon," Peter asked as he stood guard.
"Aye, tis the only one on the western edge of the main road. This must be it," she said.
Maisie's impatience was a restless thing, a low burn of excitement she could scarcely contain.
"If ye daenae mind, I need to step out for a moment to see to somebusiness. I shall be quick," Peter said.
Maisie understood Peter meant that nature called. "Very well," she said.
She paced the stable, waiting for the man with the promised painting to appear. Byrne's name stirred something fierce inside her; the artist's work was known in the Highlands, her brush capturing the wild beauty of their land with a magic few couldmatch. Maisie thought of how having such a treasure for the auction could double the funds they'd raise for the flood victims, those poor souls who had lost so much to the swollen river. This wasn't just about art; it was about doing something that mattered, something that made her useful.
For too long she had felt like a shadow in the McGowan clan, the younger sister left behind while Lavina did good work as the lady of the clan. Maisie's thoughts flickered bitterly to the marriage offers she'd never received, to the quiet whispers that she was too tall, too sharp-featured, too much a wild thing to ever catch the eye of a good match. Yet here she was, standing with purpose on the edge of something real. If she could succeed at this, she'd carve out a place for herself beyond mere family name.
A sudden noise behind her made Maisie whirl around, her heart pounding in her chest.
"Peter, did ye see anyone on the road?" she asked as the guard returned.
But instead of the guard, she found herself staring straight into the gleam of a sword's blade, inches from her nose. The cold steel caught the fading light, and Maisie's breath hitched as danger closed in faster than she could have imagined.
The two men moved with swift precision beneath the dim light of the stables, shadows flitting across the rough stone walls. They both wore scarves over the lower half of their faces, concealing their identities.
One of them held Peter, who grunted as he struggled, but was overpowered and bound with a rough rope.
"Peter!" Maisie's heart leapt with relief; Peter was caught, but at least he was alive.
