Chapter One
Ayr, Scotland, 1514:
Lainie MacPherson let the crumpled wanted poster drop to the ground. Her stomach knotted and fear snaked down her spine. Beneath the shadows of the hooded cape she wore, Lainie searched the room for her enemies.
Every man there fit that description.
Forced into a trap of her own making, out of courage, friendless, and terror, Lainie did the only thing she could think of to bring the pig Bertram to his knees.
She would steal the temptingly displayed secret papers that were on the table in front of her. Papers she hoped showed troop movements--papers stamped with the King's seal--papers she could hand over to her brother, Hawke.
First Lainie made sure the shadows in the tavern hid her from view, shrinking into the dark interior, hiding her face with the hood of her cape. She tried not to stare at the dark-haired stranger who had absent-mindedly set his jacket and satchel on a table with the documents she sought poking out almost as if they challenged her with a secret invitation. The man’s dangerous, dark looks sent a strange sensation of heat coursing down her spine.
English soldiers like Jericho Manning and Rory Slater were more dangerous and more terrifying than any highland lass should have to deal with. To make the situation worse, she didn’t need a dark-haired stranger to make her fingers shake and her insides quake.
Lainie inhaled a deep steadying breath. Easy, she told herself. Go nice and slow. The stranger looks half-drunk, and the tavern maid sitting on his lap has all his attention.
"What’s in it for me?" Rory asked Jericho, his haggard features lighting up with anticipation and snagging Lainie’s attention.
"Only what Bertram wants to give you himself." The dark stranger looked at the English officer, the fingers on one hand tapping the oaken table top impatiently.
Rory’s toothless grin sent a shiver of fear down Lainie’s spine.
"Jericho always gives me his left-overs," Rory said. "You going to give me this one?"
Rory’s diabolical laughter sealed the darkness in her heart.
Jericho nodded then leaned forward. "I want the lass. And I’ll have her before I give her over to Bertram. She’s only a whore."
Lainie nearly gasped but stopped herself. Courage, Lainie, you’ve been in tighter spots than this. It was not her plan to give herself away to these men.
She inhaled a long, deep breath once more and reached for the satchel beneath the soldier's jacket. A few more seconds and all would be hers. A few more seconds and she would hand the papers over to a friend--someone who would carry them to the Scottish King.
She committed no treason here.
She was Scottish.
This was for the good of her country--not England. Besides, she’d already been labeled a traitor by the crown of England. She had nothing to lose.
If Bertram suffered a set back, his lack of attention caused the problem.
Aaron Slade let his hands slide up and down the arms of the lass sitting on his lap while his steely gaze seemed to be riveted on Lainie MacPherson.
He knew what the young woman was up to before she’d committed herself to stealing. He had read the determination in the girl's posture when she backed into the shadow-filled corner of the tavern, pulling her dark cloak around her slender frame and letting her hood shadow her face. The combination of steady eyes and slightly trembling fingers had given her away.
He would make sure neither Jericho nor Bertram could get their sweaty hands on the girl. He’d heard stories. He believed them--every word.
Jericho didn’t realize the girl he sought stood in the corner. Moreover, Slade didn't mean to tell Jericho. Slade had his orders. He was to find her and bring her to Edinburgh where she would be tried for high treason. The charges were lame, he’d thought. Now that he watched her stealing the phony papers he’d planted in the pocket of his jacket, he wasn’t quite so sure.
The rumors had it that a lot of men had wanted the lass, but none had gotten her. He’d thought all along that Bertram had been one of those men. A cynical smile shifted the line of Aaron’s mouth. There was nothing new in that particular game. Teasing and promising men something they wouldn’t give was a primal game played by every woman ever born.
But there was something very different about this woman.
An air of sadness and vulnerability emanated from her. Aaron methodically lowered his lids when he glanced from the girl who sat in his lap to the woman whose fingers were closing over the sealed documents. He couldn't help but stare at her. The woman's eyes were a clear, uncanny blue that matched the color of the sky on a bright summer day. The few strands of hair escaping her hood were so blond they were nearly white. The cloak she wore was plain, but did nothing to hide the lush fullness of her figure beneath the cloth. The vision he imagined set him to thinking about what it would be like to unfasten the cloak, strip away all the other fabric covering her and touch the luminous skin that lay beneath the tattered cloak.
Aaron was irritated at the direction his thoughts went. He was certainly experienced and old enough to keep sexual need away from his mission. He had been taught and teased by the most expert females on this earth. He’d learned more than one lesson at their hands.
Looking at Aaron, Jericho swirled the contents of his tankard.
"I don’t figure I can trust any man. Who’s to say that if you find the girl, you won’t want to keep her for yourself," he said to Aaron. "She might be worth a damn sight more than what old Bertie is paying you to bring her to him."
The devil you say," Rory retorted with a smug grin. "I have it on good authority and knowing old Bertie for years, he likes nothing better than to share soiled goods. We both know he’s the only one who can save the girl from a conviction of treason."
Jericho looked coldly at Aaron but didn’t refute Rory’s statement.
Aaron urged the tavern wench from his lap and kept his eye lids lowered slightly. He watched the girl, and if he was right, she was about to dip her hand into the pocket of another man. She had moved from her spot near his table, using the shadows in the tavern to hide herself. She brought up a fat purse and slipped it inside a different sack that she’d put the papers she’d stolen from his satchel.
The stories about her were intriguing enough, but it was the rumors of Lainie MacPherson’s spying that held his interest. To him any one who could spy on his country was a traitor. But Lainie MacPherson, if she was anything like her
brothers, was Scottish to her core. To Lainie, what she did here would not be treasonous because she would be loyal only to the Scottish King James. In addition, the rumor--the ones of Lainie prostituting herself for information--didn’t bother him. Women did what they had to do to survive. And if the rumors were true, he would find a way to enjoy her charms while he took her to Edinburgh for trial. To him women’s flesh was sweet and soft, but women were as fickle as newborn kittens. They were far too easily corrupted, and so many times they turned out to be less than they seemed. He never let any woman touch his heart.
Silently, Aaron measured the distance between the door and the MacPherson wench and wondered at the innocence, or was it guilt, he saw flash in her eyes for one brief moment when she met his glance. From what he’d heard, the Scottish cause was everything to the MacPhersons. This would not be the first time they pitted their clan against the English crown.
But this time it was the most foolhardy.
The smile he gave Lainie made her look away. He watched as her shoulders quivered, and she shrank back into the shadows. He felt a wave of nausea sweep through him when he thought of Lainie being at the mercy of a man like Bertie for even a single night, much less until Bertie grew bored with her and gave her to Jericho and Rory.
Silently, he told himself he would never let her fall into Bertie’s hands, because he meant to bring her straight to the authorities in charge. If she were guilty of treason, she would be prosecuted. If she were not guilty, he would see she was set free and he would personally escort her home.
For the first time, he felt justified in his mission and the exorbitant pay he would receive for handing the girl over. If anything, there was a certain justice in cheating Bertie out of his spoils. He acknowledged that once he caught Lainie, he would have not only Rory and Jericho after him, most likely the MacPherson brothers would be on his tail as well.
A man bumped into Lainie near the door. Aaron thought he would see her pick this man’s pocket too. The movement was quick. Except for the slight of hand and Aaron’s vigilance, he would have never seen the exchange of the satchel from Lainie’s hand to the man's. The document Lainie just handed over was worthless, but the stolen goods were not. They would find out soon enough he had baited her, set the trap, and she’d fallen for it. Would he have Lainie in his possession when that was accomplished? Or would Jericho?
Aaron shifted slightly, not wanting to give Jericho and Rory any indication that he meant to leave. His hand was on the hilt of his sword. Silently, he measured the catlike elegance of the girl with the determined posture and long back. It would not be much longer when Jericho and Rory discovered their own missing goods.
He rose and walked toward the door, barring her way if she meant to flee, yet he was not sure he would stop her. "You sure you wouldn’t want to stay a while and keep me company, Miss...what was the name again?" Aaron asked, though he knew very well.
"’Tis naught your business," she said softly, lowering her dark, sooty lashes as if she meant to flirt. "A gentleman would not ask a lady he didn’t know."
Lainie MacPherson’s voice sounded calm and controlled. Nevertheless, he knew she’d been in this position often enough, that she knew how to handle herself and no longer hesitated, knowing full well the consequences if she did. In any case, her compliance was not a part of his plan for her abduction.
Aaron’s instincts kept whispering that this woman was somehow different from women like Sarah and Anna, unfeeling women who cared nothing about anyone save themselves and the fortune and titles that could be gained from marrying into the right families. At the same time, he had no doubt Lainie MacPherson could kill a man.
"You should take heed," Aaron said softly, ignoring the other man who had now slipped quietly out the door.
"Remove your hand," she told him indignantly.
Aaron shrugged, outwardly indifferent, his fingers settling once more on the hilt of his sword, ever wary of the girl and her next move.
The tavern’s hush changed into a humming of male voices as people left their drinks and focused on the pair standing so close to the door where unbeknownst to them an unspoken challenge had just been issued by both parties.
The stakes revolved around a woman named Lainie MacPherson and release from the commission he’d bought so many years ago he couldn’t remember. As for the bounty, Aaron Slade didn’t care a damn about it.
Aaron was certain he would end up the winner in this cat-and-mouse game. Besides the obvious, he wondered how the woman with trembling mouth and steady blue eyes had ended up on a wanted list issued by King Henry himself and standing in one of Scotland’s most infamous taverns, so intrigued by her he would move heaven and earth to learn her story.
"I know what you handed over to your companion," Aaron said with a bit of impatience, trying not to give away his purpose before it was necessary.
"I don’t know what ye mean," she said softly with a sardonic smile gracing her
intriguing mouth.
"You stole something that was mine. I mean to get it back. You need to remember that England rules this land--all of it." He inhaled deeply the soft scent of her that seemed to be hers alone. It seemed to possess all his senses.
Her shoulders stiffened as her gaze raked over him. "I’m Scottish, and loyal to James," she said, her voice wavering. "Henry doesn’t rule me or my kin."
"Slade," Jericho said, stepping forward, "what’s--"
The wolfish smile that Aaron gave Jericho stopped him cold in his tracks.
"Who’s the girl?" Jericho asked pointedly. "You the sharin’ kind, Slade?"
"No one of interest," Aaron said, smoothly lying to Jericho.
Aaron moved in front of Lainie, blocking the men from seeing her face and her hair. He didn’t know if they’d recognize her but something Rory had said earlier made him think Rory at least had met her. Given a choice, he would have taken her by the arm and escorted her away from these two cutthroats. Now he didn’t have a choice. He would have to let her go and hope he could catch up to her.
Lainie could melt into the forest if given a chance. She knew these lands better than most. And her companions were sure to be waiting for her a safe distance from the tavern. If her friend wasn’t waiting for her, where would she go? A sudden and unmistakable sickening feeling swept through him. Fear for this slip of a woman clouded his judgment.
Lainie had let too much time pass by. She had a pact with her companion thieves. Once the package was delivered, no one waited. She was on her own. Now she had nowhere to go, no money to pay her way, her stomach growling from hunger. Most of all, a desire for vengeance burned in her blood like acid. Bertram had raped her, terrified her for months, until every shadow she saw she thought was him.
Above all else, she longed for revenge.
So she had joined this group of Highlanders with the sole purpose of haunting Bertram’s nights and stealing his soul, sending it straight to the devil. Her own safety no longer mattered. Indeed, it had ceased to matter that long ago day in the forest. Now she needed someone to stand between her and shield her identity from Jericho and Rory. She couldn’t risk Rory recognizing her.
Praying the green-eyed stranger was as deadly as she suspected he was, Lainie inhaled a long, deep breath and opened the door. The night wind whistled through the opening, an owl cried out, and a full moon filled the courtyard with light.
Jericho and Rory watched her from the slight distance separating them. Her horse was tethered fifty feet from the entrance. She had to keep her emotions calm and in check. The small dirk lashed to her thigh wasn’t going to be much protection against the stronger men and their swords if they discovered all she’d stolen from them in the name of the poor Scottish peasants who had suffered at their hands.
It has to work, Lainie thought desperately. Just once the innocent have to win out over the cruel and depraved injustice of the English.
Lainie ignored the green-eyed stranger. A man with those devilish looks would have been disturbing under any condition, much less when a girl’s life depended on her instincts and quick reactions. He posed a threat she couldn’t comprehend.
Two steps outside, she drew her cape closer, warding off the chill of the night. She kept walking, deciding not to look back. All senses were tuned in to the inside of the tavern. She heard everything, the shuffling of feet and the cursing of the man named Rory.
She heard the whisper of words from the dark stranger. "It’s dangerous out at night. Where is your protector?" he asked as he followed her.
His hand rested on her elbow. The touch was light, yet she sensed the control, knew that if he wished it, he could stop her. She knew then he had his own agenda for her. A chill swept down her spine.
Without a word, she turned. His cold gaze met hers and sent a warning through her. She wasn’t surprised when Rory let out a cry.
"Say, Aaron, where do you think you’re going with the girl? We got business to discuss. You can play with her later. Bring her back," Rory said.
The stranger was quick. Not a flicker of emotion showed on his face as he stared at her a second longer before he turned to speak to Rory. Yet he never let go of her.
"We’ve finished our business," he said, a deadly ring to his tone.
Dear God, let the man be as dangerous as he is handsome, she prayed again. Let him be as twisted and demonic as Rory and Jericho. When their swords clash, she didn’t want his death on her conscience.
Rory’s death however was different. She’d gladly see him skewered through.
Lainie had no scruples about that. Anyone who could stand by and watch the rape of a woman, taking delight in the pain and suffering, deserved whatever horrible death he met with. Aye, he deserved a much more painful death than he was likely to get from a sword.
"Let go of my arm, sir. We have no business and I intend to be on my way. Ye are lying about me. I have stolen nothing from ye," Lainie spoke in a hushed whisper.
"My purse is stolen. It’s the lass," Rory cried out. "Stop her."
Aaron gave her an odd look. He let go of her arm and turned to face the open door and the tavern. He stepped forward. In seconds, he was inside near the table where he had been sitting.
Lainie followed, although she wasn't sure why. She should have been running for her life.
Rory went for his sword. Jericho was much faster than Rory, but it didn’t matter.
Aaron Slade moved with stunning speed. Before Jericho could draw his sword, Aaron had upended the table and slammed it into the other men with his left hand. With his other hand, he drew his sword.
Lainie stood frozen to the spot; not even a whisper of air went through her.
Jericho had known immediately that he was no match for Aaron. Hands held away from his sides, he watched Aaron with reptilian intensity.
Rory was neither as bright nor as quick as his friend was. He believed he could out fight Aaron. Rory died before he understood his mistake.
As the abrupt clash of swords faded in the room, a man called Bear stepped behind Aaron. She watched, horrified, as Bear drew his sword to kill Aaron.
Lainie had no time to think. She pulled her dirk free of her boot. No longer transfixed by the mesmerizing scene, she raced forward, jammed the knife in the middle of the big man’s back and pushed with all the strength she could find. Bear fell into a chair, breaking it as if it were kindling.
Before Bear could stand, Aaron killed him, whirling in a single fluid motion and reaching inside his boot for a dirk which he sent straight through the big man’s heart. As Bear fell dead to the floor, Aaron spun back around to face Jericho.
Shocked by the stranger’s lethal speed, Lainie stood and stared for a moment before regaining her senses.
Too late she bolted from the room.
She dashed toward the forest where she’d left her mount, praying her companions had not taken her mare with them. Before the door closed, she risked a fast glance over her shoulder, wondering why she heard no swords clanging.
Gypsy was saddled, bridled and ready to go. All of Lainie’s possessions were in the saddlebags and bedroll tied behind the saddle. Now speed was more important than anything else was.
In a wild last dash, Lainie threw herself into the saddle, spun Gypsy on her hocks and headed away from the tavern at a dead run. By the time Gypsy reached her top speed, the tavern lights had vanished into the darkness of the dense forest.
From the corner of his eye, Aaron glimpsed a flurry of dark wool and a breathtaking length of leg. The drum roll of horse’s hooves filled the ringing silence that had followed the clang of swords.
Jericho smiled grimly at the man who was watching him with sword in one hand and another dirk in the other hand.
"Looks like she’s hell bent to get out of here. Neither one of us is going to be spending the night in her arms, whoever she is," Jericho said calmly, sitting back and seeming to enjoy the moment.
"Looks that way," Aaron agreed.
"You know her?"
"Not until tonight. Never seen her before." That much, at least, was the truth.
Jericho grunted. "Just as well; a man would have to be crazy to turn his back on that girl. She's as cunning as a fox."
Aaron said nothing.
Jericho fell silent. It was Aaron’s deadly wielding of his sword which convinced Jericho to keep his mouth shut.
Without looking away from Jericho, Aaron sized up the men still in the tavern. Rory and Bear were dead. Red stood next to a table in the back of the room, shifting from foot to foot.
"You know those two very well?" Aaron asked.
"Met Rory two nights ago when he brought me the news of the MacPherson lass.
Told me about the bounty. Never seen that other one before tonight."
"But you were working together."
"No," Jericho corrected, "They were working for me."
Aaron’s smile was cutting.
"Well, you’ll have to find some new men to work for you. These two wouldn’t have been useful. They’re too stupid."
Aaron quickly searched the room. He counted and studied the remaining men. Two were drifters. The other three were part of Jericho’s gang. Once they had been English soldiers. Now they had turned ruffians and mercenaries. All of them were being careful not to give Aaron a reason to fight.
"Might your name be Aaron Slade?" Jericho asked.
"It is."
A hushed sound traveled through the men in the tavern. As a unit, they eased backward, giving Aaron all the space he might want and then more as if they just wanted to make sure they were safe.
The only movement Jericho made was to shrug his shoulders as though a private guess had been confirmed.
"Thought as much," he said. "Only a few men can move that fast and throw with such deadly accuracy. Might you be looking for a job? Wouldn't mind having you ride by my side."
Jericho paused then asked with real interest, "Is that Englishman you fought a while back still hunting for you? The one with a patch over one eye? The man they call Black Rogue?"
"No."
"Too bad. Hear he’s a cutthroat that’s damn hard to beat."
Aaron grinned. "You heard right."
"Did your dirk find his heart?" Jericho asked. "Is that why he isn’t still looking for you?"
"We had a simple disagreement. We solved it." Aaron shrugged his shoulders, his eyes still focused on Jericho and the remaining men in the room.
"Is he still alive?" Jericho asked too eagerly.
"He's alive if he can breathe at the bottom of the ocean. Pity you weren’t on your brother’s ship when it went down off the Carolina coast."
Jericho went very still. "You were on that damn pirate ship, the third one. The one that sunk Jethro’s ship."
Though it wasn’t a question, Aaron nodded. "I was there. It was a damn good fight. Whole lot of folks are sleeping more easy now that old Jethro, excuse me, the Black Rogue, is at the bottom of the Atlantic."
Jericho’s face went still and hard.
"Lie down on the floor, boys," Aaron spoke with deadly calm. "I’m feeling a bit nervous right now, so don’t do anything to startle me. You might not like the consequences."
There was a muted sound as the men in the tavern went face down on the floor. Aaron quickly walked among them, gathering weapons. As he worked, he kept an eye on Jericho, whose right hand was inching toward the middle of his belt buckle.
"After I gather everything up," Aaron said casually, "I’m going to wait outside the door for a while before I ride on. Whenever you feel lucky, you just lift your head and see if I’m still around."
None of the men seemed in a hurry to take Aaron’s offer.
"Jericho, I’ve heard tale about a little dirk you keep behind your buckle," Aaron said. "Maybe you do and maybe you don’t. Now, I’d hate to kill an unarmed man, but not as bad as I’d hate to take a knife in the back by a dirty cutthroat who rapes women and cheats his own men."
Jericho’s hand stopped moving.
Aaron walked through the tavern, picking up weapons and tucking what he could into his belt and boot tops. Then he left the tavern behind, intending to find the little gal who General Bertram wanted with a vengeance. He was becoming more curious about Lainie MacPherson than he wanted to admit.
When several minutes had passed, one of the men eased his face off the floor and looked around.
"He’s gone," said the man.
"Check the trail," said Jericho.
"Check it yourself."
By the time one of Jericho’s men got up the nerve to look outside the tavern, Aaron was a long ways down the trail, riding at a dead run as he hightailed it after a lass called Lainie MacPherson.