Highland Angel

Book 7: Murrays

by Hannah Howell

Genres: Historical Romance; General Fiction; Romance

Synopsis

Sir Payton Murray's reputation as a lover is rivalled only by his prowess with the sword, yet it is the latter gift that has captured the interest of Kirstie MacLye. Fleeing a murderous husband who left her for dead, she vows to expose the man for the vile scoundrel that he is. She also knows it will take planning, cunning, and the help of a brave, arrogant, and willing champion. Kirstie only prays that Sir Payton will accept her challenge.


Though he risks the ire of his own clan and hers, Payton cannot ignore Kirstie's desperate plea or her captivating beauty. For he knows that nothing will deter the spirited lass from bringing an evil man to justice, even if she must do it alone. Joining her on this crusade, he embarks upon a dangerous quest against a powerful enemy only too eager to destroy them both.

Release date: January 1, 2010

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

“Are ye Sir Payton Murray?”

The fact that the voice coming from behind him was female stilled Payton’s initial fear that he had been caught by the husband he was planning to cuckold. Then it occurred to him that anyone catching him lurking beneath Lady Fraser’s bedchamber window could cause him trouble. Well, he mused as he tamped down the desire he had begun to feel at the thought of spending a few hours in the fulsome Lady Fraser’s arms, he had developed a skill for talking himself out of trouble. It was time to use it.

As he turned to face this possible nemesis, he opened his mouth to begin his explanations, only to leave it open, gaping at the vision before him. The woman was very small and very wet. Her hair hung in long, dripping ropes over her equally wet gown. He suspected it was not just the moonlight which made her delicate, heart-shaped face look so pale. The dark gown clung to an almost too-slender body, but the hint of womanly curves was there. He wondered if she knew that she had more mud than slipper on her small feet. And, if he was not mistaken, that was marsh grass sticking out of one sleeve.

“Weel? Are ye Sir Payton Murray? The bonny Sir Payton?”

“Aye,” he replied, then wondered if that had been wise.

“The gallant, brave Sir Payton?”

“Aye, I—” he began, wishing she would leave off the accolades, as they always made him uncomfortable.

“The bane-of-all-husbands Sir Payton? The lightning-quick and lethal-with-a-sword Sir Payton? The Sir Payton the ladies sigh o’er and the minstrels warble about?”

There was the distinct bite of mockery behind her words. “What do ye want?”

“So, ye are Sir Payton?”

“Aye, the bonny Sir Payton.”

“Actually, I dinnae care if ye are as ugly as a toad’s arse. I want the honorable, gallant, lethal-with-a-sword, and willing-to-leap-to-the-aid-of-those-in-need Sir Payton.”

“The minstrels exaggerate,” he snapped, then felt guilty as he saw her slender shoulders slump a little.

“I see. Ye did notice I was a wee bit damp, didnae ye?” she asked as she wrung out a handful of her skirts.

“Aye, I did notice that.” He bit back the urge to smile.

“Didnae ye wonder why? ’Tis nay raining.”

“I concede that I am a wee bit curious. Why are ye wet?”

“My husband tried to drown me. The idiot forgot that I can swim.”

Although Payton was shocked, he forced himself to be wary. He had suffered from far too many women trying all sorts of tricks to get close to him, to entrap him in situations that could force him to the altar. Yet, Payton thought as he looked her over again, no one had ever tried dipping themselves in a murky river before. Nor, he mused as he recalled her words, had such a bucket of sarcasm been poured over him before. If she was trying to lure him into a trap, she was using some very peculiar bait.

“Why did your husband try to drown you?” Payton asked.

“Payton, my sweet courtier, is that you?” called Lady Fraser softly as she peered out her window.

Inwardly cursing, Payton looked up to see Lady Fraser’s sweet face looking down at him, her long, fair hair spilling over the edge of the window. He glanced toward the other woman, only to find her gone. She had left as quietly as she had arrived.

“Aye, ’tis me, my dove,” he replied, wondering why he felt so disappointed that the girl had left.

“Come to me, my bonny knight. The warmth of my chamber eagerly awaits ye.”

“And a sweet temptation that is, my beauty.”

Even as Payton stepped toward a cleverly arranged set of kegs, he heard a soft, gagging sound. He looked around, expecting to see that sadly bedraggled girl, but saw nothing. Uneasy, he turned back to the kegs, musing that Lady Fraser was clearly no novice to the intrigues of cuckoldry. There was before him a cleverly disguised stairway consisting of the kegs and several thick boards artfully nailed to the wall of the house.

“Are ye planning to just leave me here?”

That husky whisper startled him so much he stumbled a little as he again looked around for the girl. “I have an appointment,” he whispered, hoping her reply would help him locate her.

A heavy sigh escaped the ivy on the wall to his left. Looking closely, he was finally able to make out her shape tucked neatly, and very still, within the shadows and foliage by the wall of the house. It was unsettling how well she used the shadows and how quickly and silently she had done so. Payton did not really want to contemplate the reasons a woman would learn such a trick.

“Go, then,” she said in that same soft whisper. “I will wait here. Enjoy your conquest. I hope I dinnae catch the ague.”

“I doubt ye will.”

“Of course,” she continued as if he had not spoken, “my deep, wracking coughs will no doubt disguise your cries of illicit passion and thus keep ye safe from discovery. I am ever ready to be helpful. If her husband should return, shall I just hurl my weak, shuddering self upon him to allow ye time to escape?”

“I am beginning to see why your husband should wish to drown ye,” Payton muttered.

“Oh, nay, ye could ne’er guess that.”

“Payton, my beau chevalier, are ye coming?” called Lady Fraser.

“I worked hard for this.” Payton looked up at the window and knew he would not be climbing through it tonight.

“Oh, I doubt that, although she does like to play coy,” said the girl. “Go on. I will just huddle here, though I doubt ye will be much help to me when ye crawl out of there later. ’Tis said she is insatiable, fair wrings a mon dry.”

Payton had not heard that. Although he had not thought he was the first to coax Lady Fraser into breaking her vows, he had not realized she had become so well known for doing so. Insatiable sounded intriguing, he mused, then sighed. Payton hoped Lady Fraser would not be too offended when he forced himself to leave without partaking of her favors.

“Are ye talking to someone, my brave heart?” asked Lady Fraser, leaning out of the window a little to look around.

“Just my page, my sweet,” Payton replied. “I fear I must leave.”

“Leave?” Lady Fraser’s voice held a distinct shrillness. “Tell the boy to say he could nay find ye.”

“I fear the lad is an abysmal liar. The truth would soon be told to all and ye wouldnae wish your husband to learn where the lad found me, would ye?”

“Nay. I dinnae suppose ye will return later, will ye?”

“It fair breaks my heart, my little dove, but nay. This problem could take hours, e’en days, to solve.”

“I see. Weel, mayhap I will allow ye to make amends. Mayhap. Later.”

Payton winced as she slammed the shutters closed on her window; then he turned to the shadowed figure near the wall. “Let us go and get ye dry and warm. ’Twould please me if ye wouldst stay to the shadows until we are weel beyond her sight.”

It was not easy, but Payton fought down the unease he felt as he walked away from Lady Fraser, knowing the girl was with him, yet unable to see or hear her. There was a part of him that began to ponder on ghosts and other creatures that could hide in the night, but he wrestled it into silence. The girl was simply very adept at hiding, he assured himself.

Once on the narrow street which led to the house his family owned, he stopped and looked for her, picking a spot where the light from a house would aid him in seeing her. “Ye can come out now.”

The first thing he noticed was that she was pale and shivering with the cold. Payton quickly took his cloak off and felt a twinge of relief as he wrapped it around her. She was real. He could touch her. Placing his arm around her slender shoulders, he hurried her along toward his house, deciding that he could get a good look at her once he got her warm. He noticed with a twitch of amusement that she had to hold his cloak up to keep from tripping over it, for she barely reached his armpit.

Payton ignored the astonishment on the scarred face of his man, Strong Ian, when he entered his home. The condition of the woman he had brought was intriguing enough, but Payton suspected the man was more startled by the fact that Payton had brought her into the house at all. None of his women were allowed across his threshold, in any of his homes. It was an old rule, one he clung to faithfully. When asked about it by family or friends, he glibly excused it by claiming he did not want to soil his own nest. Payton strongly suspected there was more truth to that than he cared to acknowledge.

“But, I need to talk to ye,” protested the girl when Payton ordered Strong Ian and his wife, Wee Alice, to see to a fire, a hot bath, and dry clothes for his guest.

“When ye are clean and warm, ye can meet with me in the great hall,” Payton assured her. “What is your name?”

“Kirstie, but my brothers call me Shadow.”

Thinking of how silently she moved and how easily she could hide herself, Payton was not surprised. He nudged her toward Wee Alice then went to find himself some ale and food. Payton felt a surge of curiosity, both about her tale and how she would look when clean and dry. He hoped it would be worth what he had given up, for Lady Fraser would have allowed him to end a rather lengthy period of celibacy.

Kirstie winced as Wee Alice worked to unsnarl her still-damp hair. Clean, mostly dry, and well warmed by the hot bath and fire, she did feel better. It was easier to ignore the bruises and scrapes caused by the fight to stay alive, many of them soothed by the hot bath and a pleasant-smelling salve applied by a softly tsking Wee Alice. She did wonder where the clean, dry gown had come from, but sternly suppressed her curiosity. Kirstie even felt relatively calm about the approaching confrontation with Sir Payton.

“There, lass,” murmured Wee Alice, the shadow of a smile lightening the dour expression on her round face. “Ye are ready to speak with Sir Payton now. I will just make sure that there is plenty of food set out.”

The underlying implication that Kirstie was in sore need of fattening up was clear and Kirstie inwardly sighed as she followed Wee Alice to the great hall. She knew she was now more thin than slender, for her husband was very fond of seclusion and long, enforced fasts as a means of discipline. It just stung the few scraps of vanity Kirstie had clung to, to have her sad condition openly recognized. Since she was now facing a fight for her very life, she doubted that would change much. Regular, filling meals might not only be rare, but could not take precedence over her own life or the lives of the innocents she sought to protect.

Even as Kirstie braced herself to face Sir Payton, Wee Alice gently but firmly shepherded her into the great hall and straight toward Sir Payton. He stood up, bowed slightly, and she was quickly seated at his side. Wee Alice set a large amount of food in front of her, then left. Kirstie felt almost dazed by how quickly she had gone from readying herself for this important confrontation to the confrontation itself.

She took a sip of ale and cautiously studied Sir Payton. Talk about the man was plentiful, but, although she had caught a glimpse or two of the man, she had never actually gotten a good, hard look at him. Following him through the shadowy streets to his tryst had not allowed her to study him, either. Now, looking him over as he sprawled so gracefully in a huge chair of carved oak, she could see why so many women sighed over him.

He was all grace and elegance, from his slender, long-fingered hands to his expensive boots. His dress was that of a courtier, an English or French gentleman, yet with none of the excesses too often seen. His jerkin was not too short, the toes of his boots not too pointed, and the colors of deep green and black nicely muted. And those clothes covered a form that made a maid’s heart flutter, Kirstie thought, oddly annoyed by that realization. He was not particularly tall, but his figure held the lean, graceful strength of a finely bred animal. Or a predator, she mused, recalling his licentious reputation. Facially, he was beautiful yet unquestionably manly, all clean, perfect lines and temptation. Especially in the hint of fullness in his mouth, she decided, fighting not to stare at those lips. His eyes, an intriguing golden brown enlivened with shards of emerald green, were made to catch and hold a woman’s gaze. Set beneath gently curved brown brows and thickly lashed, they were clearly a well-honed tool of seduction. His thick, reddish-gold hair, neatly tied back, looked so soft that her fingers actually twitched with the urge to touch it. Kirstie ruefully admitted to herself that his fabled licentiousness could well be more a matter of taking what was freely offered than of heartless seduction.

“So, m’lady,” Payton said, “ye may now tell me why ye felt compelled to seek me out.”

Payton waited as she finished the bread she had just filled her mouth with. Her looks made him think her name Shadow did not come only from her uncanny ability to become one. Thick, glossy raven hair, still damp from her bath, was held in a fat, loose braid that hung down to her slender hips. Her eyes were a grey that seemed to lighten or darken with every glance. They were beautiful eyes, vaguely slanted yet wide, mysterious in their changing hues, rimmed with long, thick black lashes and set beneath dark brows that perfectly followed their slight upward tilt. Nothing appeared to mar her lustrous, milk-white skin. The features gracing her slightly heart-shaped face were almost ethereal, from the hint of an upward tilt at the tip of her pretty nose to the vague point of her chin. Innocent and elfin described her looks, until one glanced at the full sensuality of her lips ...

Forcing his gaze away from a mouth that begged to be kissed, he subtly studied the rest of her. Her neck was a graceful length, slender enough to make him wonder how it could support such a wealth of hair without snapping. She was almost too thin, but the curve of her small breasts and her tiny waist were tempting enough. Although she displayed excellent manners, he could almost sense the long-endured hunger she sought to appease. Payton doubted she would ever be well-rounded, but he suspected she should be more lithe than thin.

He wanted her now and he wanted her badly. Payton suspected his friends would be surprised by his lust for such a tiny, delicate female. In the past, he had always reached for women with fuller curves. He doubted he could explain what made him ache to pull her into his arms, but he could not deny that the feeling was there.

“Ye say your husband tried to drown ye?” he pressed, hoping conversation would cool his blood.

“Aye. I was wed to Sir Roderick MacIye when I was but fifteen, near five years ago. I did try to change my father’s mind about his choice, for though Sir Roderick is pleasant to look upon, he made me uneasy. But, when I couldnae offer any sound reason for why I didnae wish to marry the mon, my father wouldnae heed me. I finally ceased to fight, kenning that my family sore needed the money Sir Roderick gave them. Poor harvests and other miseries had left us in sore danger of starving come the winter. So, convincing myself ’twas what my clan needed, I donned the cloak of noble martyrdom and wed the fool.”

“But the union didnae fair weel?”

“Nay. It ne’er had a chance.” Kirstie helped herself to some of the meat pie, still too hungry to care much that her audience was somewhat impatiently waiting for more information.

“Because of ye or him? Or, are ye barren?”

After taking a deep drink of ale, she replied, “Because of him and there was ne‘er any chance of children.” She sighed and shook her head. “Having bairns of my own was the one hope I had of enduring that marriage if naught else could be made of it. The mon wasnae honest with me or my kin. He kenned there was verra little chance he could or would give me bairns. ’Tis all part of why he wishes to kill me.”

“Because he is impotent? I cannae see that a mon would kill anyone to keep that secret, shaming though it is.”

“Oh, Roderick isnae impotent. Nay with everyone, leastwise. I thought ‘twas just me.” She grimaced and began to cut up an apple. “I am a scrawny thing and was e’en more so at fifteen. Young as I was, I decided he must have just wanted the lands I had inherited from my mother. It was a while ere I gained enough knowledge to ken that what I looked like should nay matter. That was when I began to look more closely at what was happening around me. It shames me to think I held myself blind and ignorant for almost three years, sulking o’er my sad lot like some spoiled bairn.”

“Ye were verra young,” Payton said, but she just shrugged off his attempt to console her. “Why didnae ye return to your family, seek an annulment?”

“And tell all the world my husband couldnae abide the bedding of me? Foolish it was, but pride gagged me. After almost three years, howbeit, I was thinking on it, for my husband is young and healthy. I began to see that I could be condemned to this empty marriage until I was too old to have bairns, tied for near all my life to a mon who seemed interested only in punishing me for every tiny real or imagined slight. Ere I acted upon that thought, I discovered the truth.”

He watched as she finished off the apple and reached for another piece of bread. “And the truth is? He likes men?”

“Nay. Children.”

Payton sat up straight, a chill running through his body. He did not want to hear this. It stirred sad, ugly memories. He had been a pretty child, a pretty young man as well. Although he had escaped any true abuse, he had been made painfully aware of the dark side of people at too young an age. A part of him wanted Kirstie to leave and not draw him into this particular mess, but a far larger part of him was prepared to battle such evil to the death.

“Wee boys?” he asked.

“And wee lasses,” she replied. “Mostly the laddies, though. E‘en now, I am oft mistaken for a child, and I have few womanly curves. I now believe that he thought he could mate with me, breed a child or two. Once I kenned the truth, I spent hours in the chapel thanking God that Roderick couldnae bed me, for he would surely have visited his sickness upon my bairns.” Kirstie sensed how taut Payton had become and was suddenly, sadly, aware that such a beautiful man had probably been a beautiful child or pretty youth. “In truth, if he had favored men, I could have accepted that. The church and some laws condemn it, but, if ’tis two grown men, I feel ’tis none of my business. I was willing to try to come to some agreement with Roderick, keep his secret but also gain my freedom so that I might seek out a true marriage.”

“Are ye certain ’tis children he uses? Verra certain?”

“Aye, verra certain.” Kirstie took a bracing drink. “I began to understand the whispers swirling about him and was determined to seek out the truth. I had thought the silence, e‘en the sadness, of the children about the keep was due to the brutality so carelessly meted out. Then I truly noticed how Roderick keeps the wee ones e’er close, that near all the children are pretty, and, sometimes, a child is about for a wee while, then gone. I soon recognized that all those touches, caresses, he gave the wee ones were nay paternal. I began to try and catch him when he thought no one was looking. I found a way to spy upon him in his solar and his bedchamber.” She quickly had another long drink. “I dinnae think I can say what I saw. It haunts my dreams. I dinnae ken where I found the sanity to hold fast, to nay just rush in and kill the bastard, but I did. That might have failed and I would have been quickly silenced. E’en one child would nay have been aided then.”

“Ye did right. Ye could nay be sure ye could kill him and get ye and the child away to safety. Have ye proof of his evil?”

“I have my word and the word of a few children. Some of his people ken all; most of them just guess. They are all firmly under his boot heel, however, too afeared for their lives to act. There are two within his home who give me some aid, but only some, and only when the child’s life is threatened. I tried to gain support amongst the common folk, for he steals or buys their bairns, but I have ne’er had the freedom to do much at all. The few who cared about the fate of the children could help verra little. I have tried to spread dark rumors about him so that fewer people would send him their lads for training. That seems to work, but it only causes him to turn more to the children of the poor upon his own lands or from the towns where the king’s court is held. The children of the poor suffer the most. Not only does Roderick have no fear of retribution for how he treats them, but, once in his hands, they are forgotten and so he uses them to feed his other sickness.”

“How much sicker could he be?”

“He gains joy, pleasure, from inflicting pain and death. Now and then he is, weel, seized by an urge to kill.”

Payton drank down his ale and quickly refilled his tankard. It was not hard to believe that Sir Roderick found pleasure with young boys, for he had learned of such things long ago. What Kirstie told him, however, stretched the boundaries of any sane man’s belief. It seemed impossible for a man to continuously abuse and murder children yet never be discovered.

“Ye doubt my tale,” Kirstie said after watching his changing expressions for a moment.

“ ’Tis difficult,” Payton confessed. “I ken all too weel that some are unusually stirred by the beauty of a child. The child’s own sense of undeserved shame would help keep Sir Roderick’s dark secret. But, for so long? And so completely that he can e’en murder these innocents? And to believe that none of his people would try to speak out or help the bairns?” He sighed and shook his head. “Ye ask me to believe the unbelievable with no proof.”

“Why should I tell such lies?”

“To be rid of an unwanted husband?”

“Then come with me. Mayhap ye need to hear more than my voice.”

Payton nodded and within moments they were slipping through the back streets of the town. Yet again he had to marvel at her ability to move so swiftly, silently, and secretively. He had to work hard to keep up with her and had the lowering feeling that she was not using all her skill in deference to his lack.

They finally stopped at a wretched little house well hidden in the foul warrens the poor were forced to live in. Kirstie abruptly disappeared and Payton was reaching for his sword when he felt a tug upon his ankle. He looked down to find her peering up at him from a hole in the crumbling foundation of the house. Cautiously, he followed her, although it was a tight squeeze. Once inside, she covered the hole with a board, then lit a torch revealing a damp, long-unused storage area. The light also revealed the wary faces of five children.

“All is weel, my sweetlings,” Kirstie said as she pulled a small sack from beneath the cloak Payton had lent her. “I have some food.”

Payton suspected Kirstie had cleared the table while he had gone to find cloaks for both of them and weapons for himself. Despite the rough platform made to keep the children off the floor, the blankets and other small comforts, it was a sad, unhealthy place. The fact that Kirstie so clearly cared for the children and they obviously made no attempt to leave this dismal place added the weight of truth to her dark tale.

He studied the children—four boys and one girl. All were beautiful in the way only a child can be. Despite their interest in the food Kirstie gave them, however, they watched him. The fear and wariness upon their faces struck him to the core. He took a step closer to them and the largest of the boys immediately shifted so that he was between Payton and the other children, his expression turning nearly feral. The little girl began to cry silently.

“Nay, my loved ones,” soothed Kirstie. “He is nay the enemy.”

“He is a mon,” said the oldest boy.

“He is Sir Payton Murray and no danger to ye, Callum. I swear it. He found it hard to believe all I told him. I brought him here so that ye may help him see the truth and then he will help us.”

“He is willing to kill that monster?” asked the little girl. “He will kill the bad mon who hurt me so that I can go outside again? Can he get my brother back?”

“Ah, nay, Moira. Your brother is with the angels.”

“Aye, that bastard cut—” hissed Callum.

“Little Robbie is with the angels,” Kirstie said, interrupting the boy quietly but firmly.

Callum looked at Payton. “Ye want me to tell ye all that swine did?”

There was such anger and hate in the boy that Payton was surprised he did not shake apart from the force of it. “Nay. ’Tis said I was a verra bonny child.”

“Then ye ken what I would say.”

“Aye, though, through God’s mercy, I was saved.”

“Are ye going to save us, sir?” asked Moira.

“Are ye going to kill the bastard?” demanded Callum.

“Callum,” said Kirstie, “Sir Roderick is a mon of power and wealth. I have told ye, we cannae just kill him, nay matter how much he deserves it. Proof of his evil is needed and it takes time and skill to gather such proof.”

Callum kept his gaze fixed upon Payton. “Weel, sir?”

Payton held Callum’s gaze, almost feeling the torment and pain the boy suffered. “Aye, I will kill him.”

“Sir Payton,” Kirstie protested softly.

“It may take days,” Payton continued, ignoring her, “weeks, e’en months, but I will dig out every foul secret the mon has. I will rob him of his allies, of places to hide. I will expose his evil to the world. I will break him, corner him, haunt his every step.”

“And then?” asked Callum.

“I will kill him. As of this moment Sir Roderick MacIye is a walking dead mon.”

Little Alan trembled in her arms as Kirstie led them all through the dark, rank streets back to Payton’s home, Payton and the other four children following at her heels. She wished she could do more than hold him close and rub his thin back, but silence was necessary. Kirstie also wished she could have discussed the moving of the children with Payton first, but a dark hidey-hole with five frightened children listening was no place to . . .