The Renegade's Heart by Claire Delacroix Page A

much
to Gavin’s relief. The hound turned and raced noisily through the
brush to join its fellows.
    Lord Murdoch had disappeared within
Kinfairlie village.
    The party continued deep into the forest, the
sounds of their passage becoming muted with distance.
    It was time.
    Gavin swung into the saddle. He took a deep
breath, then he touched his heels to the mare’s flanks. The horse
leapt through the brush with an enthusiasm that nearly unseated
him. The mare erupted from the forest and began to gallop for the
road.
    She must know this village. She must know
that she would be well-treated in Kinfairlie’s stables. That
reassured Gavin that he might not come to such a dire end in
Kinfairlie. With an effort, he slowed the mare to a walk and eyed
the smoke from the smith’s forge.
    Lord Murdoch would be there. All would come
right.
     
    * * *
     
    Isabella leaned back against the heavy wooden
door as she surveyed Alexander’s chamber. There was a veritable
stack of ledgers and she guessed these were the records of
Kinfairlie’s accounts over the years. She despaired at the sheer
volume of them. It would take her months to look through them
all!
    She had only moments.
    Isabella had to choose. She stepped toward
the table Alexander used to work upon those ledgers, choosing where
to start. There were several quills and vials of ink, as well as a
bowl for the ink when he intended to write. The bowl was clean and
dry. There was a small knife for sharpening quills, a fat candle
and store of sealing wax. Alexander’s signet ring, of course, was
on his finger.
    Mindful of the window, Isabella sat in her
brother’s chair and ran her hands along the edge of the table. She
knew not what she sought precisely, much less where it might be.
She could not imagine that the truth was hidden in the ledgers of
account – or if it was, it would be well buried.
    Her gaze fell upon a small chest on the floor
to her right. She bent and opened it, for it was unlocked.
    It was filled with scrolls of vellum and
parchment, of the kind that messengers brought to their portal. The
seals were broken on the missives and they were less tightly furled
than once they had been. Some had ribbons affixed with the seal and
several looked as if they had been handled repeatedly. Isabella
unrolled one such on the desk, holding it flat with her hands. The
last paragraph of the missive snared her eye.
    “ Though I may risk much in reminding you
of old tales, still I do. The Lammergeier have long been said to be
sorcerors and even thieves, and the disappearance of this relic –
fairly purchased from your family – from a most secure treasury
persuades me of the unnatural nature of this theft. I am not the
sole one to have made such conclusion, nor am I the only victim of
this very same crime. I bid you, my lord, in all fairness, to
return the relic that is rightfully our possession.”
    This missive was signed from a laird whose
holding was near Inverness.
    Isabella had been right. Alexander had not
been surprised, for he had heard the accusation before.
    She quickly worked through the missives in
the trunk and discovered no less than ten with similar content. Had
Alexander contrived these thefts? She could not believe it, though
she could understand the vexation of those who had outlaid coin for
the relics. She created a mental list of the relics that were
missing, for she was more accustomed to remembering lists than
committing them to expensive parchment or vellum.
    Who had taken the relics, if not
Alexander?
    What had Ross brought home at the Yule? A
small trunk. Isabella recalled it well. It had been bound with
leather straps. She scanned the chamber but did not see it there.
Had he taken it with him, or left it here?
    Where might it be, if he had entrusted it to
Alexander?
    There had been another key in the trunk in
the solar, a large brass one. Isabella knew it was the key to the
treasury, kept on the highest floor of Kinfairlie’s tower. If
Alexander had