Kara's Gift. Suzanne Barclay

split the threads with the tip of his sword.

      Empty!

      He swore hoarsely, then tried to suck the words back.

      Damn. Damn. Crushing the pouch in his fist, he glanced around the room. There was not much to see, an uncurtained bed with a chest at its foot, a table holding a fat candle and assorted small crocks. Crude woolen tapestries brightened the walls, but there was nothing concealed behind them. ’Twas a moment’s work to ransack the chest. It contained a few sets of woman’s clothes. Kara’s he supposed, for her scent clung to them. But she’d been smart enough not to hide her stolen loot there.

      Likely she had it on her person.

      Or she’d given it to her uncle.

      Duncan spun toward the door, his hand tightening on the sword hilt. With the Gleanedins out beating the brush for him, he’d search their castle. But he needed clothes. Preferably his own. Anger fired his blood, but his skin was cold and pebbled. Snatching a blanket from the bed, he slung it around his waist and over the wounded shoulder like a toga.

      The hallway beyond the door was gloomy as a crypt, with only a single torch burning at the far end. He scanned the length with an invader’s eye, noting the archway to his left where the stairwell came up, the pair of doors farther down the corridor. To search them, or escape while he could?

      In the courtyard outside, he heard shouting and the excited trumpeting of horses. The sounds built to a wave of thunderous hoofbeats, then there was silence. They’d left.

      Duncan grinned and headed for the next room.

      Fergus Gleanedin, for this could only be his chamber, had few possessions, but what he had was well cared for. A polished claymore hung over the small hearth, where banked coals glowed. The bedside table held a candle and flask of fiery osquebae, the Scots breath of life.

      Duncan took a moderate swallow, groaning as the liquid burned down his gullet and exploded into his belly. Ah, he’d missed that. It lent strength to his flagging muscles. False strength, but he’d take what he could get. Kneeling beside the trunk, he picked the lock with the tip of his dirk. Inside lay men’s garments, homespun but well made. He set them aside and probed lower, prying into a pouch containing less silver than he had and another with more personal treasures. A bit of waxed thread attached to a steel fishing hook. A ring bearing a crudely fashioned crest. A hunk of amber on a fine gold chain. One side of the ornament was jagged, as though it had been split asunder. Likely the reason it was in here and not about Fergus’s neck.

      A private person by nature, Duncan found handling someone else’s goods put a bad taste in his mouth. But they’d stolen from him. Resolved, he lifted out the last item, a tiny casket. Inside were a few feminine bits of frippery, a small silver brooch. A set of bone hair comb. And the other half of the amber, likewise suspended on a chain. Fergus’s wife’s necklet? Was she dead, and that was why the laird no longer wore his?

      Duncan dropped the necklace. Unease crawled through his belly, and he knew it wasn’t the whiskey.

      “Enough of this sneaking about,” he muttered, replacing each item carefully despite his urgent desire to be free of them. Just because they were a dishonorable pack of thieves was no reason for him to lower his standards. He’d go below, find Fergus and demand the return of his rubies.

      

      Filled with new resolve, and another swig of whiskey, Duncan marched to the door, opened it and stepped into the hall. After the sunlit chamber, it seemed even darker.

      “Have you finished pawing through Fergie’s things?” drawled a familiar voice.

      Duncan spun toward it, sword up, eyes narrowed.

      A shadow moved, stepping into the spill of light from the room behind him. Kara, her chin up, her gaze scathing.

      “Why aren’t you out looking for me?”

      “Because I knew you’d never left.”

      “How?”

      “When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I recalled seeing your sword in the room. Only a fool would leave his sword behind, and you do not strike me as a fool. How did you get free?”

      “I’m good with knots.” He locked his knees to counter a sudden wave of dizziness. “Clever girl. Now what have you done with my jewels?”

      “Jewels?” Her alarmed gaze dropped to his crotch. “I didn’t know you were wounded there.”

      “Where? Oh.” Duncan felt the heat crawl up his mostly bare chest. Suddenly he was aware of how close they stood, of the faint scent of heather swirling seductively in the air. “’Tis not proper for you to speak of such things.”

      “You’re the one who brought it up.”

      The word set off an alarming reaction in the very nether parts they were discussing. Duncan shifted and cleared his throat. “Aye, well, ’tis not what I meant and you know it.”

      “I’m a witch, not a mind reader. Now my mother, Guenna, she always knew what a body was thinking. Very disconcerting.”

      Duncan blinked. “Stop trying to change the subject. I want my rubies, and I want them—”

      “I’ve not a single clue what they are. Rubies,” she added.

      “Don’t be daft. Everyone knows what rubies are.”

      

      “Well, I do not.” Her chin was up again, her eyes flashing. “And I’ll wager no one else does, either. We dinna see much of the outside world here.”

      “But—”

      “Kara, lass, have you found him?” Fergus’s voice echoed hollowly in the stairwell.

      “Aye,” Kara called, looking back over her shoulder. “He’s up here—” The word ended with a squeak as Duncan snagged her and dragged her against him, one arm around her waist.

      It was a mistake, for the lower swell of her breasts rested on his forearm and those sensuous hips he’d admired pressed into his. He tried to ignore those sweet curves, but his chilled body greedily savored the heat from hers. Before he could weaken, a herd of Gleanedins clattered up the stairs and crowded into the corridor, Fergus in the forefront.

      “Stay back or I’ll run her through,” Duncan warned. He raised his sword, but kept it well clear of her slender neck, for his arm felt none too steady.

      Fergus’s battered face went purple. “If you cut her—”

      “He won’t harm me,” Kara said with absolute calm.

      “And what is to stop me?”

      “Aye, what?” Fergus asked, backed by a sea of white faces.

      “His honor. He’s a Crusader knight, you know,” she said. “Black Roily says they are bound to show kindness and mercy to women and children. He’ll not harm me.”

      Angered, Duncan spat, “Why should I show you mercy?”

      “Well, aside from your knightly vows, I did save your life.”

      Foiled by the shackles of honor. “So you could imprison me and steal from me?” Duncan watched Fergus’s face closely, but could detect no hint of guilt. One of the others, mayhap, but the crowd looked equally baffled.