Page 4 of Seduced By the Reckless Highlanders
Murdoch pasted a smile on his face and agreed. “Indeed,” he answered. “It will not take much time to hunt down these criminals.”
“You think there are many of them?” the laird asked fearfully.
“I do,” Murdoch answered. “It seems to me that this, the livestock theft and the thefts from your barns in the outlying fields, are all part of a pattern. Someone is trying to sabotage you, M’Laird, and I will find out why.”
The laird grinned at him and handed him a cup of spiced ale, then looked around at the rest of the men. “I want the rest of you to keep your eyes open as well since this person is not only stealing my property but trying to make fun of me at the same time. I do not want them disrespecting their laird like this. He must be made an example of because I do not want any others to get the same idea. I have kept this estate in good order since my father died, and I do not want to see it crumbling into dust now.”
You will see it crumbling if you do not treat your tenants better,Murdoch thought bitterly. He had seen the gaping holes in the thatch of cottage roofs and the crumbling walls that bordered the flooded fields of crops. As well as that, the weather had been exceptionally cold that year, and the crop yield had been poor. The laird’s steward, an excellent man calledColin Dempster, had made provision for such an eventuality. However, Laird McTavish had not handed out the shares of the stores as generously as he could have, and many of his tenant farmers were in dire straits. A few had even died of hunger.
“Some of the tenants are hungry, M’Laird,” he said, trying to keep his tone flat and neutral. “The harvest has been poor this year.”
“I know!” the laird snapped back. “But there is only so much I can do, Murdoch. They all have the means to fend for themselves.”
But how do you fend for yourself if all your fields are flooded?Murdoch thought angrily. He had often gone down to the low-lying crofts beside the River Mar to help shore up the flood defenses and to mend the holes in the thatched roofs of the cottages. The steward knew about his secret missions and kept his secret, but the laird did not.
“It would help,” the laird said threateningly, “if you leave that to me. These people work for me, Murdoch, not for you.”
Murdoch bowed his head, still seething.I might work for the laird, but I do not have to like him.
He drained his cup of ale and stood up. He dwarfed every other man at the table except Dougie, and as they all got to their feet, Laird McTavish studied him carefully.
He would have to keep an eye on Murdoch Holmes. He had always been a faithful servant, but there was something about the man that was beginning to trouble him. People changed, after all, and Holmes was a man like every other, even if he did have the strength of two men.
“We will have to start thinkin’ like bandits,” Dougie suggested as they rode along. “They managed tae sneak into the castle somehow, so we need tae work out what they wanted. It must have been the grain, or maybe the cheese or honey, but now they have made their position even worse. A’ that grain could have fed dozens o’ people, but now it has gone up in smoke.”
“Well, as the laird said, I think it is somebody with a grudge.” Murdoch’s voice was thoughtful. “But the food was not destroyed on purpose. No, there has to be some other reason. I am sure the laird has a strong room somewhere where he keeps his most treasured possessions.”
“Aye, but jewels wilnae feed ye,” Colin remarked.
They rode on, looking for anywhere they thought a rebel band could camp. The castle sat at the top of a cone-shaped hill and was in the best defensive position for miles around. The village of Craigmar sat at its foot, an untidy, sprawling little place that contained a tavern called the Rabbit’s Foot.
The inn brewed its own ale, which was considered to be the best in that part of the Highlands, and it was not unknown for travelers to come from miles around just to taste it.
Murdoch and Dougie, who were frequent customers, had no trouble fighting their way through the throng at the bar to be served. As regular patrons, they knew they would be attended to first.
Dougie grinned at Ally, the tavern keeper, who was sweating and flushed as he poured out goblet after goblet of delicious ale.
“Busy tonight?” Murdoch asked.
Ally gave him an old-fashioned look. “Aye, but it brings the coin in!” he answered, then smiled. “Nay rest for the wicked!”
He thumped two cups of ale in front of them, and they sat down, surveying the throng inside the bar. They were mostly local farmers whom both of the men knew, and none of them worked at the castle, so how could they have gained entrance?
2
Keira McTavish hated mealtimes when her father was there. He loved to air his latest grievances, which were always centered around himself. Frequent problems happened around any large estate, especially one the size of Craigmar, but Laird McTavish interpreted each one as a personal slight.
He assumed that everything that went wrong, no matter how slight, was part of a plan to embarrass him and make him look weak, and he always had a scapegoat, usually one of his poorest workers who was least able to stand up for himself. However, Keira had found, with the weariness of long experience, that it was better to keep his whiskey glass full and let him exhaust himself.
It was actually quite pleasant to be around the table once he had drunk himself into a stupor. Then Keira could talk to her stepmother, Adaira, in peace and quiet, with no threat of interruption.
Adaira, a petite beauty with dark hair and deep brown eyes, had been born to an Italian mother and a Scottish father but considered herself wholly Scottish. Her parents had been penniless since her mother was a contessa in her home country who had been expelled by her family for rejecting the wealthysuitor they had chosen for her. She had been cut off without a penny, and the family was left almost destitute. When these facts were called to Laird McTavish’s attention, he had wanted to examine her thoroughly as if she was a broodmare he was thinking of buying.
Having seen her for himself, Laird McTavish had been only too glad to marry young Adaira since it gave him another chance to father a son. She looked fertile and infinitely desirable. She had been seventeen then and looked full of promise, but now she was twenty and there was no sign of a baby, no matter how many times the laird bedded her. She was a failure, and Laird McTavish had begun to despise her. It had never occurred to him that he might be the one who was at fault since a riding accident had resulted in an injury to his testicles just after Keira was born. He could still perform as a man should, but there had been no more children since then.
Between Keira’s mother, Marion, and Adaira, there had been another wife, whose name was Catherine, a short, motherly lady who had adored Keira. Unfortunately, she too had died tragically after three years of marriage when her horse fell and rolled over her, crushing her. She died instantly, although strangely, a wound was found on her skull. This was blamed on her striking a sharp stone when she fell, but even as a child, Keira had not been sure of that. Keira was devastated because she had loved her for her kindness and still missed her.
Adaira and Keira were exactly the same age and rubbed along together very well, and they usually sat chatting after the laird had passed out. Tonight, however, he seemed to have acquired an extra burst of energy.
