The Renegade's Heart by Claire Delacroix

lips twisted. “It has been too
long and he has been preoccupied of late.”
    “Eleanor’s condition gives him
concern...”
    “It is more than that,” Elizabeth insisted.
“Alexander has a secret and I can guess what it is. I mean to know
what fate he has chosen for us.” Elizabeth hastened away with
purpose in her step.
    Isabella heated the milk for Eleanor’s posset
and considered what her sister had said. Alexander had been
distracted of late, and until this day, Isabella had attributed it
to concern over Eleanor’s condition. What if there was more at
root? Perhaps Alexander knew of the thefts but did not know who was
responsible, for he did naught to set the matter to rights. He
could not know for certain that Ross was involved, for she knew
that he would not spare his brother for a crime. Alexander’s
concern with justice meant that he would never have been able to
stand aside while a crime continued.
    It made sense that the mystery was
established but its solution was not.
    Isabella had to find a way to get into
Alexander’s chamber without being observed. There he kept his
ledgers and his correspondence, and there she would find any
evidence that had been committed to vellum.
    For the simple fact was that if Isabella
could discover some detail of import to Murdoch, if she could help
him to see his family’s relic restored or even tell him that it
would not be found at Kinfairlie, she would have cause to seek him
out.
    It was all in the interest of ensuring
justice, of course.
    And surely, it was the notion of sneaking
into Alexander’s chamber that made her heart skip – not the
prospect of seeing Murdoch once more.
     
    * * *
     
    Chapter
Three
     
    “You are suspicious,” Stewart said when they
had ridden clear of Kinfairlie’s village. “Does that mean you have
found the relic, or its location?”
    Murdoch shook his head, wondering what the
older man would think of his plan. “No, but I think the laird knows
more than he would tell. Look at his holding.”
    “It is affluent and appears to be
well-administered.”
    “But what is the source of his coin?” Murdoch
asked. “The mill is small. There is no port. There are no bridges
or main roads or tolls. There are few goats or pigs, enough for the
villagers but not enough to sell. He cannot be selling wool
fleeces, for there are not enough sheep. The fields are well
tended, but there cannot be sufficient yield to sell, not with so
many souls in the keep and village to be fed. There is no religious
institution.”
    There was only one road that approached
Kinfairlie, and it led from the village through a large forest,
winding like a ribbon through the shadows. Stewart and Murdoch had
been accompanied by two squires on their trip south, at Duncan’s
insistence, but on this day, they had left Gavin and Hamish hidden
in the forest.
    Stewart looked around with a frown.
“Ravensmuir?” he suggested, naming the once powerful holding that
was linked to Kinfairlie.
    “Lies in ruins,” Murdoch said, gesturing to
the distant shadow of that keep. It perched on the lip of the coast
like a specter in the distance, apparently tumbling into the sea.
“And all the land between here and there lies unplowed.” He leaned
closer to the older man. “Whence comes his coin, Stewart? How can
the children in his village be so plump and the garb of all be so
well tended?”
    Stewart pursed his lips. “They are said to
breed horses, fine black stallions.”
    “How many can there be to sell each year?
With but one glimpse, I saw that his hall was full of fighting men
– and mercenaries work for hard coin.” Murdoch sighed, discontent
with the evidence before his eyes.
    “He could have married a woman of means.”
    “Or he could have secretly returned to his
family’s ancient trade, with the assistance of his brother.”
    “I will wager then that your interview with
him did not progress so well,” Stewart said.
    “He said it was not his concern, that so