Chapter 2
The horse lurched forward beneath them, its hooves sinking into the wet Highland road before finding firmer ground beyond the churned mud.
Merith stiffened at once.
She had sat upon horses before, side-saddle, and carefully glided through her father’s fields, but never like this. Never astride the animal’s broad back. Never with a man pressed so closely behind her that she could feel the rise and fall of his chest through the wool of his coat.
Locke’s arm remained looped securely around her waist as he guided the reins, his gloved hand warm even through the layers of his coat.
“Relax, lass,” he said softly near her ear. “Ye’re ridin’, not facin’ execution.”
Merith’s chin lifted at once. “I am perfectly calm.”
Behind them, Shona gave an ineloquent snort from atop the smaller mare. “Aye, my lady, ye look verra calm indeed. Like a rabbit waitin’ for the axe.”
Merith shot her maid a glare over her shoulder. Locke laughed quietly, and the sound did unfortunate things to her composure. The man’s laugh was warm, roughened by amusement in a way that made her chest feel strangely tight.
She folded her hands more firmly over the pommel and fixed her attention on the road ahead.
The Highlands were seemingly endless beneath a darkening sky, vast folds of green and purple heather rolling into distant misty mountains. Thin ribbons of water glimmered between the hills, and now and then a lonely hawk wheeled overhead.
For a time, only the sound of hooves and the whispering wind accompanied them.
Merith found herself very aware of Locke’s nearness, though. His knees brushed hers each time the horse shifted. The scent of leather and cedar was stuck to him, masculine and unfamiliar enough to make her pulse behave foolishly.
At last, unable to bear the silence any longer, she asked, “Where were ye headed?”
Behind her, Locke was quiet only for a second. Then he said easily, “North.”
“That is hardly an answer,” she replied, frowning to herself.
“Aye, fair enough.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I travel fer trade. Rare items mostly. I go where the market calls.”
Merith turned her head slightly, enough to glimpse the sharp line of his jaw. “A merchant?”
“That sounds more respectable than rogue, so aye, let us call me a merchant.”
Shona made a skeptical noise and Merith ignored her.
“What sort of rare items?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the road.
“Jewels mostly,” he replied with a small shrug. “Fine pieces. Things wealthy folk enjoy wearin’ while pretendin’ they’ve ne’er had improper thoughts.”
She blinked. Then a soft laugh bubbled at the back of her throat.
He sounded absurdly pleased by that.
“I once acquired a necklace near Inverness,” he went on. “Sapphires the color o’ twilight over fresh snow. Verra rare stones. Deep blue, almost black until candlelight touched them. Then they gleamed like captured stars.”
Merith tilted her head to the side, trying to imagine such precious rocks.
“What became of it?” she asked.
“Sold it tae a laird’s wife who claimed it reminded her of her husband’s eyes,” Locke said.
“That sounds romantic,” Merith replied, daring a glance over her shoulder.
“It did,” he said dryly. “Only her husband had brown eyes.”
From the other horse, Shona barked with laughter.
Merith tried and failed to suppress her own smile. “You invent stories too easily, Master Reid.”
“Locke,” he said automatically.
“What?”
“If ye’re calling me a liar, at least use my given name,” he said.
The words sent an odd little flutter through her chest. Very carefully, she said, “Then ye may call me Lady Merith.”
“Och, that sounds verra cold.”
“It is proper,” she insisted, lifting her chin toward the sky.
“Aye,” he agreed. “Proper things are often dull.”
“Do you find me dull, then?”
The question escaped before she could stop it. Heat rushed instantly to her cheeks.
What sort of woman would ask such things?
For a second, only the wind answered. Then Locke’s voice came entirely serious. “Nay, Merith. I dinnae.”
Something in the way he said her name sent warmth sliding unexpectedly through her. She turned forward quickly, grateful for the wind cooling her face.
After a moment, he asked, “And what of ye?”
“What of me?” she asked in return.
“What occupies the days of Lady Merith Donalson?” Locke clarified, and she could hear the grin in his voice.
The truthful answer felt embarrassingly plain beside his tales of rare jewels and distant roads.
“I read,” she admitted at last. “I embroider. I study languages with my tutor. Latin, some French. A little Gaelic poetry.”
“A scholar?” he asked.
She laughed softly. “Hardly.”
“Sounds dangerous tae me,” Locke said.
“Dangerous?”
“Aye,” he answered, loosening his grip on the reins slightly. “Clever women usually are.”
She could not tell whether he mocked or complimented her. “Then ye ought to fear me greatly.”
“I suspect I should.” The easy reply made her smile again.
For some time they rode while Merith spoke more than she had intended, telling him of books she loved and the cliffs she climbed against her mother’s wishes, of hidden glens she had discovered as a child, and of the languages she practiced in secret because her father insisted too much learning made a woman difficult to wed.
Locke listened more closely than she expected. It unsettled her how quickly she forgot to guard her words around him.
At length, his voice gentled. “And now ye ride tae marry a man ye scarcely ken.”
The smile faded from her lips. She stared toward the mountains. “Aye.”
“Do ye wish it?” he asked.
The question caught her by surprise. For several moments, she said nothing. When she finally answered, Merith kept her tone even.
“Of course I do,” she said. “’Tis every lady’s wish.”
Locke was silent so long she feared he would challenge the lie. Instead, he only said, very quietly, “Aye.”
Yet that single word sounded unconvinced.
When nightfall arrived, the sky had deepened to bruised violet, and the stars were barely visible through the drifting cloud. The road had long since narrowed into rough open land. No village lights appeared. There was no inn and no shelter. Only endless heather bending beneath the cold wind.
“We stop here,” Locke said at last.
Shona groaned. “Here?”
“Unless ye fancy ridin’ blind off a cliff,” he replied, looking toward her.
He dismounted first, then turned to lift Merith down. Her hands landed briefly against his shoulders for balance. She could feel the solid muscle beneath the damp wool.
His blue eyes met her hazel ones for one charged second before he stepped back.
“Shona,” Merith said quickly, “I’m going to gather wood for the fire.”
Her maid blinked. “Beg yer pardon, my lady?”
“I shall do it,” she said.
“My lady—”
“I need movement… and some air,” Merith argued.
Shona sighed dramatically and cast a glance toward Locke, shaking her head. “She does this. Dinnae argue.”
Locke’s brow rose. “Unusual fer a lady.”
“I dislike uselessness,” Merith said before bending down to start gathering branches.
“A dangerous trait in noblewomen,” he commented.
She glanced over her shoulder. “Then perhaps I am poorly suited tae nobility.”
His expression sharpened briefly, as though the answer interested him more than it ought. Then he said lightly, “Aye. I suspected as much.” Before she could reply, he reached for his bow. “I’ll hunt.”
“You can hunt in this dark?” Merith asked, glancing toward Shona. Her maid looked equally as surprised.
He grinned. “Can ye no’?”
With that, he vanished into the heather. Merith stared after him.
Shona shook her head. “Och, he’s trouble.”
“Likely,” Merith said before bringing her attention back to any dry piece of wood she could find on the ground.
Locke could see the fire burning steadily as he returned with two rabbits slung over one shoulder. He approached quietly through the gathering dark… and abruptly stopped when he saw only Shona tending to the flame. Suspiciously he looked around for her lady.
Slowly, he trained his ears and walked the perimeter. He followed the sound of soft sniffling, hoping it would lead him to her.
Just a few feet over, Lady Merith knelt beside a small mound of freshly turned earth. Wildflowers lay carefully atop it. The earth was still damp from her hands.
He tried to be silent, but she turned at his footsteps and quickly brushed her cheeks, though it was too late. He had seen the tears.
It didn’t take long for Locke to fit the puzzle pieces together.
He remembered how distraught Merith was when he found her.
She spoke of the dead driver. Even though they had left the body, Merith had taken it upon herself to make a small grave.
Locke supposed there didn’t need to be a corpse beneath the soil. It was the sentiment that counted.
Slowly, he set down the rabbits and came nearer. “The driver?”
She nodded as her words caught in her throat. “Duncan worked fer my family since before I was born.”
Locke crouched beside her, keeping his eyes on her. “He mattered tae ye.”
“Aye,” she said with a nod.
Her fingers tightened around a crushed purple bloom. “He taught me tae whistle. Smuggled sweets tae me when I was punished. Once he lied tae my mother and said I was studyin’ scripture when I was climbin’ the west tower.” A broken laugh escaped her. “He was terrible at lyin’.”
Locke’s jaw tightened. He wished, fiercely and unexpectedly, that the bandit who had killed Duncan were alive so he might kill him properly this time.
Instead, he said quietly, “He sounds like a braw man.”
“He was,” Merith agreed and looked down. “I didnae even thank him fer this journey.”
Locke’s voice gentled. “He kenned what he meant tae ye.”
“How can ye ken that?”
“Because good men usually dae,” he replied without missing a beat.
Her gaze lifted to his and the sincerity in his eyes rendered her speechless.
By the way Merith was acting, Locke suspected that she wanted to lean toward him, rest her head against his shoulder and let someone else carry the grief she no longer wanted. Instead, she got to her feet quickly.
“Shona will be wonderin’,” she said, glancing toward the maid who was resting a few feet away.
Locke stood as well, though his eyes lingered on her face. “Aye.”
Neither spoke as they returned back to the camp and to the fire.
Hours later, the two women slept wrapped in their cloaks beside the dying embers. Locke sat watchful at the edge of camp.
He kept replaying the events of the last few hours in his head. Each memory made him nauseous.
This wasn’t a part of the plan.
Then it came. He heard a low whistle from the trees. Instantly, he rose at the signal and slipped soundlessly into the dark, throwing one final glance toward the sleeping women.
A shadow detached itself from the pines ahead, and Locke recognized the man immediately. It was Lucas. Tall, lean, with his black cloak nearly invisible at night.
His expression was grim. “Killing Brady wasnae in the plan.”
They didn’t need the formalities. Locke knew that Lucas was going to get straight to the point.
“Neither was killing the driver,” Locke replied, pressing his lips into a thin line.
“Brady panicked,” Lucas said with a careless shrug.
“He butchered an old man,” Locke replied.
Lucas said nothing. The silence confirmed enough. When Locke looked away, his jaw clenched.
“We cannae afford mistakes,” Lucas said at last. “Carnegie keeps the ledger close.”
“I ken that,” Locke replied, snapping back at him.
“Then dinnae lose focus over a bonnie face.”
Locke’s expression cooled dangerously. “’Tis bigger than her.”
“Aye?” Lucas studied him. “Because ye looked verra interested.”
Locke’s laugh held no humor. “Interested enough tae gain entry. Naught more.”
Lucas held his gaze a moment longer before nodding. “The ledger contains everythin’. Payments tae the men who set fires. Lists o’ targeted estates. Records tying Murdoch directly tae every ruin he’s built his power upon. Remember to grab it.”
It was enough to destroy him. Enough to bring the Black Ledger Society exactly what they needed.
Lucas stepped back into the shadow. “Dinnae fail.”
Locke’s gaze drifted towards the sleeping camp beyond the trees and toward the slight golden-haired figure curled near the fire.
His voice dropped. “I willnae.”
Yet for the first time since accepting the mission, he was no longer certain whether he spoke of the ledger…. or of her.