Page 17 of Warrior’s Lady

"He's dead," the older of the two men replied.

Dead?Cold rose in Camden's throat and danced down his neck. "That's impossible. I just spoke with him two days past."

The younger man set his piece of metal back into the fire. "He was robbed then murdered last night."

A sinking sensation filled him. Had the assassin come after Nolan for the other half of the money Camden had promised? "How did he die?"

"Strangled," the younger man said. "The odd thing was when we found Nolan, we also found the heads of two other dark-haired men."

Camden didn't need to hear any more. He turned back to his horse and with a renewed sense of urgency spurred the animal toward the shadier part of town. A heavy fog crept across the streets near the river, making the twining stone corridors eerie and confusing despite the daylight.

The air hung heavy and stagnant, filled with the odor of rot and slime. Camden stopped at the nearby inn, then a pub farther down the way, asking after the man he had employed. A long litany of negative responses greeted him at each stop. No one seemed to remember the man.

Determined to press on until he had found what he searched for, Camden eventually reached the long, dark alley he had visited a few nights past. In the daylight, the river waifs lingered in the alley, leaning against the crude stone walls, watching with curious eyes as he rode by.

At the turn in the alley, right before the stairs that led down to the riverbank below, Camden dismounted. He surveyed the area with a frown. Where was the darkened doorway his assassin had appeared from the other night? Or had there been a doorway?

"Ye lookin' fer somethin'?" One of the waifs pushed away from the wall and headed toward him, slowly, appraising with each step.

"I hired a man here two days ago. I need to speak with him."

The young boy continued toward him. "What ye want with him?"

"That is between me and the man."

"Well, since he ain't here and I am, ye might want tae take it up with me."

"I have no time to waste. The man, where is he?"

"Ye might not have time but ye have funds me and the boys would like to relieve you of," the waif said with a bark of laughter that brought a round of chuckles from the other boys behind him. He pulled a dagger.

Camden's muscles clenched, and his own hand drifted to the hilt of his curved Saracen sword, ready to strike. The river waif's weapon would be out of his hands in the blink of an eye if Camden chose to attack.

On the river below, a ship's whistle sounded. Camden startled at the flash of memory it evoked.

Over the high-pitched squeal of a whistle, he heard the shouts of the clans riding into the seaport town of Dunbar, the wailing of the pipes, the echo of a day long past.

The English had invaded, but the clans refused to be tamed. As Scots born and bred, 'twas in them to fight, to the death if needed, to save their country, their heritage, each other. Men in tartan plaids, weighted down with weaponry fell upon the English. Camden and Orrin were really too young to fight, yet their hearts were big and they refused to be left out of the action.

But fate had been cruel. Instead of being in the midst of battle, they found themselves on a low slope near the shore, bound, gagged, with backs burning, stinging from the whip that had tried to tame them. As the fight raged he and Orrin had been ambushed by Malcolm Ruthven and his men. With revenge on their minds, the Ruthvens had sold them as slaves. Camden and Orrin were tossed aboard a ship bound for who knew where.

"He's daft, he is." Harsh laughter preceded the swipe of a blade.

Camden jumped back out of harm's way as he shed his disorientation and years of pain. The streets of Glasgow, not the shores of Dunbar. Camden grasped his own sword and fell immediately into a loose defensive stance. "You do not want to rob me."

The boy startled at the oddness of Camden's sword. The Saracen weapon had surprised many of his enemies. "Not alone I don't," the boy said. He glanced behind him, and with a nod of his head, the other waifs started forward. The boy dived at Camden, slashing. The others stood behind him, weapons raised to strike.

Camden's heart pounded, yet his brain remained calm. He was a better fighter than any of them. But they could overtake him with their numbers. Camden allowed the anger that had been stirred up by the memory of that black, hard place he'd been in his youth. Fury propelled him forward. He would never be a victim again. Neither would anyone he loved. There must have been something in Camden's face that frightened the boys, because their faces paled, their eyes widened. They ceased their advance. With an inhuman shout, he flung himself at them.

They turned and ran. Camden's anger dissipated as he strode back to his horse. Orrin had been right when he'd said, "Revenge has a way of coming back to you."

Truer words had never been spoken. Because of his need for revenge, he would be forced to defend a woman he hated from an assassin he had hired.

Rhiannon managed to coax Violet to sleep after fitful hours of tossing and turning. She'd cried out a few times in fear, startling herself and Rhiannon as she tried to sleep. Only when Rhiannon had settled in the bed beside her had Violet fallen into a deeper sleep, into a place free from the terrors that haunted her.

Rhiannon sighed, stroking Violet's now clean and tangle-free yellow-gold hair. Even though she'd managed to coax the girl into sleep, restlessness built inside Rhiannon. Sleep would not come any time soon for her, not unless she walked off some of her own anxiety. She needed something to occupy her mind.

Her gaze wondered about the neat and tidy nursery until it came to rest on the small soiled and tattered dress at the base of the bed. In that moment she knew what she needed to do.