Page 68 of Desire's Ransom
“We’re neither outlaws nor angels,” Gray said. “We’re tax collectors, keepin’ the accounts balanced.”
Ryland arched a brow. Cormac O’Keeffe was definitely neglecting things if outlaws were keeping the accounts balanced. It seemed he was going to have his hands full, once he was in charge.
Gazing out the tower window, Cormac figured it was just as well the simpering harlot he’d hired was dead. Like his real daughter, she’d been too mouthy for her own good. He wasn’t about to let her extort silver from him to ensure her silence about carrying his bastard. Not when there were easier ways to shut her up.
Now that she was at the bottom of the bog, she’d give him no grief.
And now that Sir Ryland de Ware and his knights were chasing after his ghost of a daughter, he had time to change his plans.
He looked below to the busy road which passed by the tower house.
The fair would bring fresh faces. Perhaps, among the traveling merchants and entertainers, he’d find a more malleable lass, one amenable to taking on the role of the chieftain’s daughter. Then he could begin again.
As before, he’d have to keep the lass secreted away at the castle. Soon, Sir Ryland and his knights would return empty-handed. They’d be forced to go back to England in shame, where the ungovernable Sir Ryland would likely be wed to someone else.
Then Cormac would execute the second part of his scheme. He’d announce that, by some miracle, his long-lost daughter had wandered out of the wood and returned home.
King John would naturally send a new bridegroom. This time, Cormac would insist upon a gentle knight worthy of his daughter, rather than one like the last, who’d frightened her into running away.
Meanwhile, of course, he’d get the imposter pregnant.
He tapped on the stone sill, studying the prospects winding their way along the road toward the fair. Some lugged wheelbarrows. Some walked beside carts. Some rode on hobbies. Surely there was a small, dark lass among them who could pass for his daughter. And bear his child.
