Highland Sword Page 8

  “We need to keep him alive.”

  “I know, but the man is a viper whose every breath is a plague on humanity. I still can’t believe he convinced you to—”

  “Before you get too riled up, you should know that I’m going to Inverness next week. I need you to promise not to kill him while I’m gone.”

  “Why are you going?”

  “I need to speak with the Chattans again. I want the names of their so-called friends. Everyone who was involved with their committee.”

  “When you saw them with their solicitor, they wouldn’t give up any names.”

  “The lads were trying to be courageous and honorable, thinking they wouldn’t get their friends in trouble.”

  “But one of those friends betrayed them.”

  “Exactly. I need the names.”

  “Wemys said they’ve already moved the scoundrel who was responsible for setting up the lads.”

  “And that gives us a fox to chase. If I come back and put the list in front of him, maybe I can convince Wemys to tell me which one was responsible. And then you can go get him.”

  “Once you have your list, if you can’t convince him, maybe she can.”

  Aidan realized they’d come to a halt by the weapons shed, and he followed Sebastian’s gaze. Not twenty paces from where they were standing, two people were practicing with short, blunted daggers in the yard. Both were wearing stiff leather jerkins and thickly padded sleeves for protection. The taller man was Blair Mackintosh. It took a second glance to realize the lithe, young opponent with her back to him was Morrigan.

  He recalled their encounter in the library. Every night since then, he’d gone up there, hoping that she’d come. At every meal he’d taken in the Great Hall, he searched the crowd, wanting to see her again. To his great disappointment, she’d kept her distance.

  Today, she was dressed in men’s clothing, a rough woolen shirt and trousers. Her hair was gathered in a thick braid that hung like a rope down her back. She moved with the grace of a panther—quick, agile, and competent.

  Aidan found her as attractive in this outfit as the dress she wore the last time they met.

  Morrigan fought Blair with both hands. Grabbing, punching, slashing, stabbing. She moved in and out. Lunge. Parry. Stab, stab. Retreat. Parry. Sidestep. Her hands were a blur of motion. Lunge. Stab. Retreat.

  She changed her grip on the dagger effortlessly, attacking from down low or from above with equal force and ease. She was remarkably graceful, light on her feet. Her concentration was intense, and she lost none of it when she took hard blows, quickly learning and then avoiding the same mistake.

  Morrigan was clearly fierce and skilled, and Aidan now realized exactly how fortunate he’d been in the alley. If he hadn’t knocked the sgian dubh from her hand before she turned, she’d have probably gutted him like a salmon.

  Aidan was raised with three brothers, and the women he’d come across in his youth fell into prescribed roles. Maidens looking for a husband. Wives and mothers. Workers for house or farm. When his world expanded to Edinburgh and beyond, he found women working in manufactories and in the trades: spinners, weavers, milliners, dyers, embroiderers, confectioners, bakers, brewers. And then, unfortunately, the less savory occupations.

  In all his experience, however, he’d never met anyone like Morrigan and her family. One, a university educated doctor. The next, a political activist and writer. And then there was Morrigan. Smart and alert, she could assist in a surgery or cut down an opponent with the most lethal of skills. She needed no man to protect her.

  He leaned against a post as Sebastian drew two blunt-edged dirks from a rack. Aidan had to admit, he liked the look of her long legs in trousers.

  His brother walked across the yard to the two fighters. The three exchanged friendly words, and then Blair stepped back, continuing to instruct her how to use the longer dagger with Sebastian as Morrigan’s training partner. The dirk appeared to be a weapon that was new to her, and she focused on what she was being taught.

  Aidan watched them. Even with one arm, Sebastian was a formidable opponent for anyone. His skills had been formed as a lad and honed on the battlefield. It took a cannon ball to rob him of his left arm.

  It wasn’t long before she adjusted to the longer blade. He had no doubt she’d be as deadly with the dirk as the sgian dubh. As she became more obviously comfortable—with the weapon and Sebastian—they began to talk between exchanges. He could only catch bits and pieces of what they said. He heard Morrigan ask how he’d lost his arm. Sebastian’s response was as indifferent as if he were talking about the scar on his cheek.

  The two of them were the same in their blunt manner.

  Aidan was taken aback when his brother turned and motioned him over with a wave of the dirk. “Why don’t you come and let this lass try these moves on you?”

  Morrigan whirled toward Aidan. Her dark eyes rounded with surprise. She didn’t know he was watching. The fight in the alleyway in Inverness was in the distant past. Their conversation in the library lingered in his thoughts. If he’d only known this was where he could find her, he’d have been down here every day.

  “Are you planning to hide in the shed all morning?”

  Morrigan’s challenge was not to be ignored.

  Aidan straightened. “Fools rush in where angels fear to tread … as the poets say.”

  “Well, you’re no angel,” his brother scoffed. “So have a go. You could use the exercise.”

  She gestured to the rack. “Grab a weapon.”

  “Here,” Sebastian said, tossing him the dirk he’d been using. “She’s tired me out, but I’d still like to cross swords with Blair, if he’s willing.”

  “Aye, I’m always willing,” the Mackintosh fighter said, going over to draw some weapons.

  “Mark him up a bit more as you please, Miss Drummond,” Sebastian told her. “But pray, don’t kill him. He’s the only brother I have left.”

  She cast a sidelong glance at Aidan. “I make no promises.”

  With a chuckle, Sebastian moved off with Blair, giving the two of them space.

  They began in silence, testing each other with measured attacks. She was good, but he was better. She was fast, but he was stronger. If there was one weapon he could wield better than his brother, it was this one.

  “I see you’ve been studying the books.”

  “My skills don’t come from pages.”

  “Confident.”

  “I have to be when I spar with quick-witted barristers.”

  “Are you flattering me?”

  “No, I’m trying to get you to let down your guard.”

  He would have preferred to stand around and talk. But she was the epitome of focus.

  Morrigan had tremendous speed, but he also had the advantage of reach and height. When she attacked down low, he parried and knocked her backward with a jab to her shoulder.

  She tried to get inside, and he deflected the move. She dropped her hand, and he had a chance to knock her on her ass, but he didn’t.

  His instincts were like the hammer on a cocked pistol. He knew what to do, and she recognized how good he was. She couldn’t get to him.

  In skirmish after skirmish, Aidan held his own but kept himself on the defensive. Like a gentleman, he held back.

  Finally, she dropped her hands in frustration. “What was your brother going on about?”

  “What did he say? I couldn’t hear.”

  “He said you’re an expert with the dirk.”

  “I am.”

  “Then attack me.”

  “I’d prefer to walk in the gardens or argue with you about your choice of reading.”

  She rolled her eyes. “We are in the training yard. Attack me.”

  “We’ve been doing well. Just because neither of us have been run through…”

  She gestured to a straw-covered post. “I’d get more of a fight from that pell.”

  “A good lesson for me. I saw what you did to it.”
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  “Are you going to fight or not?”

  “I have been. You’ll have to try harder.”

  Morrigan attacked again, but he managed to parry, striking her wrist sharply with his off-hand and knocking the dirk from her hand. He waited for her to pick it up.

  “I understand now. You’re being nice to me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You have a bias against women being able to defend themselves.”

  “Not at all. The world being what it is, I’m in favor of it,” Aidan told her. “Absolutely.”

  “How do you expect me to develop my skill with this weapon if you don’t challenge me?”

  “But I’ve seen your skill. I know you’re already quite proficient.”

  She glared at him. “I love being patronized.”

  He waved her on.

  “No, you come at me,” she demanded.

  Aidan lunged and retreated, fending off a flurry of blows as she pressed. Then, when he thought she was retreating, she darted in, tying up his weapon hand with her arm and stabbing him, head and neck, with lightning speed. She barely touched him with the dagger, but he knew if this were a real fight, she could have driven the dagger’s point home in both places.

  That thought was fleeting, though. Other sensations were running through him. The feel of her body pressed against him. She was strong and tough, beautiful and soft, and the heat from her flowed into him. Morrigan was completely unaware of the effect she had on him.

  She disengaged herself and stepped back, glaring. “If you’re not going to try…”

  “Who is being patronizing now?” he muttered. “I would have been dead before I hit the ground. Let’s go again.”

  Not about to be bested, Aidan stepped up his attack, using his long arms to shove her back and keep her off-balance. With a deft move, she sidestepped and lunged, but he caught hold of her jerkin and yanked her forward. As she spun to the ground, Morrigan punched upward, catching his barely healed eye with her fist and the butt of her dagger before tumbling off out of his reach.

  “The deuce,” he muttered as he went to help her up. She was on her feet before he got there. He could feel the blood running down his face and pressed a hand to his eyebrow.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She dropped her weapon. “I can’t believe I hit you in the same eye.”

  “I’m fine.” He headed toward a bucket of water by the shed.

  “Let me see.” Morrigan chased after him. “You’re bleeding.”

  She scurried in front of him, blocking his way. She grabbed his wrist, forcing his hand down from the injury. She bit her lip, dismay registering in her eyes.

  “It looks very bad. This time I cut you. What a brute I am! The blood is … Can you see?”

  “Let me wash it, then I’ll tell you.”

  She stepped out of his way but hovered like a mother hen, staying right at his side. When he put his hands into the water, her hands went in. When he splashed water on his face, she was using the cuff of her shirt to wipe it away.

  He nearly laughed. The situation was comical. Never in his life had anyone fussed over an injury of his, certainly not one as minor as this. He did enjoy her attention, though, and considered pretending to pass out, just to see how she’d respond. He decided against it with Sebastian nearby. He’d never hear the end of it.

  “I feel horrible, Mr. Grant. I can’t believe I did that to you.”

  “I assure you, it’s nothing.”

  “Now you’re just being kind.”

  “Not at all. I can see perfectly out of my other eye,” he told her.

  Morrigan ordered him to sit on a nearby bench. He followed her directions. Luckily, Sebastian and Blair were still unaware of what happened. Aidan could only imagine the stories his brother would be inventing about this incident.

  The numbness was quickly giving way to a stinging pain. Aidan tried to touch it, but she pushed his hand away and tilted his chin up.

  Morrigan leaned closer to look at the wound. She produced a handkerchief from somewhere, and she used it to keep light pressure on his eye. Her soft breath teased his neck. Her free hand caressed his forehead as she brushed a lock of hair away.

  Her skin was flawless, her dark eyes intense and unwavering. Aidan looked at her lips. The bruising was gone, and only a small cut remained, still healing.

  His entire body became aware of her nearness. He’d thought her beautiful from the first moment he saw her in Inverness. But she had an aloofness that made her mysterious, an untamed fierceness that he found fascinating. Being near her was like standing by a loch at the onset of a summer storm. He wanted to be swept away.

  She removed her handkerchief from his eye. “Blast. It’s still bleeding. I should get Isabella. She might need to stitch it.”

  “I don’t need stitches for something so insignificant.”

  “We can’t let a scar ruin your good looks.”

  “Good looks? You think I’m handsome, Miss Drummond?”

  “Passable.” She dabbed the handkerchief against his eyebrow.

  Aidan took her hand, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Only passable?”

  She froze, and a deep crimson blush spread upward from her neck into her face. For a moment, time stood still. Her lashes were long and dark. A dusting of freckles kissed the tip of her nose. Aidan’s gaze caressed her face, settled on her lips. He wondered what she would do if he tried to kiss her.

  She wrenched her hand out of his grasp and leaped back. “I’ll … I’ll go and fetch Isabella.”

  “There’s no need to trouble her.”

  “There is!” she exclaimed. “I’ll fetch her.”

  Before he could utter another word, she was gone.

  CHAPTER 11

  MORRIGAN

  Searc agreed to take Morrigan to Inverness for the day, but only conditionally. She needed to get Isabella’s approval. So the night before the trip, she gathered up the collection of caricatures and went to the medical room and found her brewing a purplish decoction of roots and leaves. The brew looked and smelled foul, to say the least, but Isabella didn’t seem to even notice.

  “My intention is to speak to the women at Barn Hill. They might know the person responsible for these.” She showed her the caricatures. “Based on what we see, the artist is a woman and is somehow connected to that estate. There can’t be too many people who fit that description.”

  “What happens if the people at Barn Hill do know who drew these? Suppose they give you a name? What will you do, then?”

  Find her. Hold her feet to hot coals. Break her fingers.

  Honestly, Morrigan didn’t know what she was going to do. After locating the artist, she fully intended to get some understanding of the woman’s circumstances. And there was only so much she could accomplish in the time she had. They were leaving at dawn and returning very late in the day.

  “I’ll give the name to Searc,” she said instead, hoping that was a satisfactory answer.

  The incredulous look Isabella gave her spoke volumes. She didn’t believe her. “I’m angry and I know you feel the same way. But I don’t trust you. You like to take matters into your own hands.”

  “I admit I want to find her myself.”

  “For the purpose of stopping her?”

  “Exactly.” Morrigan had a feeling she knew where Isabella was going with this. “Once I locate her, I want to find out why she is doing it, who is paying her, and how we can make her stop.”

  “And you think you can do all that with a cool head?”

  “I can be reasonable.”

  “You can, on occasion. But not always.”

  Morrigan had a temper. She’d be the first to admit it. During the years following their return to Scotland from Wurzburg, Isabella had witnessed more than a few tantrums. Those years had been difficult for her. Coming back to Scotland brought back the nightmares. Too many times, the corridors of their Infirmary Street house rang with her angry and frustrated outbursts. She knew
even then that she was not an easy person to live with. Her father and other members of the household had borne the brunt of it. Isabella, however, had always been a pillar of self-control. She never allowed herself to be dragged into the arguments.

  Morrigan felt she’d outgrown a great many things since then, and she also knew that much of her unhappiness at the time was caused by the forced silence about the past.

  “Losing my temper with this artist, if I can find her, won’t end their campaign against either Cinaed or the reform movement,” Morrigan said. “They’ll just go out and find someone else to create their falsehoods.”

  “You’ll need to remind yourself of that when you find her.”

  “These days, I’m always in control. Well, mostly in control.” Morrigan let out a sigh, looking at the unconvinced quirk of Isabella’s lips. “Very well. I admit I still lose my temper occasionally.”

  “And hurt people, however inadvertently.”

  “I haven’t hurt anyone.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Morrigan realized her error. On Saturday, she’d fetched Isabella to inspect the cut above Aidan’s eye. “I take it back. You’re thinking of the accident in training yard.”

  “The man could have lost his sight.”

  She felt terrible enough without being reminded. She’d run all the way to Isabella’s room. Everything about that morning kept coming back to her. Regardless of him holding back, despite her complaints, Morrigan enjoyed battling with Aidan. The competition wasn’t only about skill, it was a battle of temperaments, of personalities. She felt a warm glow even now as she thought about it.

  “We were sparring good-naturedly and—”

  “Did your blow to his eye have anything to do with what happened between you two in Inverness?”

  Numerous accounts of what had occurred continued to circulate within the castle walls, mostly as a result of Sebastian’s enjoyment in deviling Aidan. She didn’t think a supper passed when she wouldn’t hear a new version of the story. She knew the younger brother was the source, for neither Aidan nor Morrigan spoke of it. And regardless of how they behaved toward each other, the teasing continued.