Chapter 4
Locke woke before dawn out of long habit rather than comfort.
He remained still beneath the heavy wool blankets for a while, listening to the quiet of Carnegie Keep. Wind brushed faintly against the tower windows while somewhere below, servants moved through distant corridors preparing the morning fires.
The chamber itself was far finer than any room he had slept in for years. Thick tapestries dulled the cold stone walls, and a carved oak chest sat near the hearth beside a copper basin filled with steaming water left by thoughtful servants.
Murdoch Carnegie played the generous host well, he’d give him that.
Locke rose soundlessly and crossed toward the window. Morning mist remained on the glen beneath the keep. From there he could see portions of the village below. Thin smoke curled upward from cottage chimneys while workers already crossed the fields with tools slung over broad shoulders.
Prosperous at first glance.
Yet even from this height he noticed the details that others might miss. Roofs were patched rather than rebuilt. Fences were leaning slightly inward from age. Livestock was thinner than they ought to have been this near summer’s end.
A wealthy laird and a struggling village. Something didn’t add up.
Suddenly, a soft knock came at the chamber door. Before he answered, it opened slightly and a young maid slipped inside carrying folded linens. She halted at once upon seeing him already awake.
“Och,” she murmured, cheeks pinkening. “I thought ye’d still be sleepin’, sir.”
Locke leaned against the window frame, entirely aware of the effect a disheveled handsome man could have upon an impressionable lass before breakfast. His dark auburn curls still felt loose around his face, and he had not yet bothered fastening the collar of his shirt.
“A tragedy,” he replied gravely. “I was hopin’ tae impress ye with how handsome I look while snorin’.”
The maid blinked before laughing nervously.
“Well, I shouldnae linger,” she said quickly, though she made no move toward leaving.
“Nay?” Locke asked mildly.
Her blush deepened and he hid a smile. Folk always underestimated charm because they mistook it for vanity. In truth, it was simply another weapon.
“What’s yer name, lass?” he asked.
“Mairi.”
“A bonnie name,” he added easily.
She ducked her head at once, pleased despite herself, and began fussing unnecessarily with the linens near the bed. Locke watched her quietly for a moment before asking in a softer tone, “How long have ye served here, Mairi?”
“Nearly three years now,” she answered quickly.
“Then ye ken the keep better than most,” he said.
“Aye, I suppose I dae.”
“And the laird?” Locke tilted his head thoughtfully. “Does he treat his folks well?”
The question came gently enough that she answered before caution caught her.
“Well enough,” she admitted. “Better than some lairds. Though…”
“Though?” he asked, raising his brow with interest.
Mairi bit her lip. “I shouldnae gossip.”
Locke pushed away from the window and crossed slowly toward her, careful not to crowd her. “Och, I’d ne’er ask ye tae betray confidences.”
“That sounds exactly like somethin’ a man askin’ fer gossip would say,” she replied before she could stop herself.
His grin widened. “Aye. Fair enough.”
She laughed again despite obvious attempts not to.
“The laird is generous tae guests,” she said carefully. “But servants arenae always paid on time… and taxes have worsened in the villages these past months.”
Locke’s expression remained pleasantly interested. “Strange for a man whose coffers seem full.”
At once she realized she had said too much. “I shouldnae have spoken aboot such matters,” she whispered anxiously.
Locke lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Then it’s fortunate I’m excellent at keepin’ secrets.”
Her eyes lifted cautiously toward him.
“A wealthy man, I hear,” he continued lightly.
Mairi nodded slowly. “Verra wealthy now. More than before. Folk say the Carnegie lands prosper, but…” Again, she stopped herself.
“But the villages didnae,” he finished for her.
She looked startled that he had guessed so easily.
“Aye,” she admitted reluctantly. “Some crofts struggled badly through winter. Yet the keep grows grander every season.”
Interesting. Very interesting.
Locke filed the information away for later while offering her the sort of easy smile that made folk feel safe speaking further.
“Thank ye, Mairi,” he said warmly. “Ye’ve rescued me from a mornin’ of unbearable ignorance.”
The poor lass nearly melted when he took her hand and pressed a quick kiss against her knuckles.
When he finally left the chamber, she was still staring after him with pink cheeks and entirely forgotten linens.
The Great Hall had already filled with the rich scents of oat bread, smoked meats, and fresh broth by the time Locke entered. Sunlight seeped through the windows while servants moved swiftly between benches carrying steaming trenchers.
Murdoch Carnegie sat near the center of the hall dressed in dark green and black, every inch the polished Highland laird. Beside him sat Merith, his bride.
Locke’s gaze found her instantly before he could stop himself.
She wore a gown of soft blue wool trimmed with silver embroidery at the sleeves, and her dark blonde hair had finally been properly arranged again, though a few loose curls framed her face. Rest had returned color to her cheeks, and morning light turned her hazel eyes almost golden.
Beautiful.
Murdoch noticed him first and rose immediately with effortless charm.
“Master Reid,” he called warmly. “Join us.”
Locke approached with a grin. “My thanks fer the hospitality, my Laird. Ye’ve housed me better than most kings would.”
Murdoch laughed. “Then ye keep poor company with kings.”
“Aye,” Locke agreed solemnly as he sat. “They’re normally dull conversationalists.”
To his left, Merith failed to hide a smile behind her cup. Murdoch seemed to notice that too.
“I trust ye rested well, Lady Merith?” the laird asked her smoothly.
“Verra well,” she replied politely. “The chamber is beautiful.”
“I hoped it might please ye.” His dark eyes rested upon her face. “Soon enough, every chamber here shall be yers tae command.”
The words were perfectly appropriate for a betrothed man. Yet, Locke found himself disliking them intensely.
He reached instead for bread while Murdoch continued speaking to Merith about improvements planned for the estate. He talked about new storehouses, expanded grazing lands, and repairs to the western watchtower.
The laird spoke with confidence and intelligence. He knew precisely how to present himself as capable and dependable.
Meanwhile, Merith listened attentively. Locke watched the way Murdoch leaned subtly closer each time he addressed her, lowering his voice just enough to create intimacy.
Every bit of it was calculated.
“After breakfast,” Murdoch said at length, “perhaps ye’d enjoy a proper tour of the grounds, Lady Merith. Yesterday’s arrival was hardly ideal.”
“I should like that,” she admitted.
“Excellent.” Murdoch turned toward Locke. “And ye, Master Reid? Will ye join us?”
Locke dabbed his mouth lazily with a cloth. “If ye’ve no objection tae a wandering merchant underfoot.”
“None whatsoever,” he replied with a chuckle.
“Aye, then I’d be glad tae.”
In truth, there was no chance he intended to miss an opportunity to study the keep more closely.
The morning mist had begun lifting by the time they crossed the outer courtyard together. Guards stood stationed near each gate and tower entrance, though their placement appeared almost casual to the untrained eye.
Locke counted every one of them. There were two at the eastern wall. One near the stables. Three rotating the battlements above.
Murdoch walked beside Merith while recounting the long history of Clan Carnegie.
“My grandfather expanded the southern lands after the MacLeod conflicts,” he explained. “The villages prospered greatly after trade routes opened through the glen.”
Merith glanced toward the distant cottages below. “’Tis a beautiful country.”
“Aye,” Murdoch replied. “And fiercely protected.”
As they continued through the grounds, servants bowed respectfully while guards straightened at Murdoch’s approach. The laird acknowledged each with authority that bordered on regal.
Merith could not have denied that he impressed her. He moved through the keep as though every stone obeyed him willingly. There was strength in that confidence. Safety too, perhaps. After recent days, safety had undeniable appeal.
Yet every now and then her attention drifted unwillingly toward Locke walking nearby with careless ease. Unlike Murdoch, he did not belong neatly within such walls. There was something untamed about him still, as though no keep could ever hold him comfortably for long.
“Ye seem thoughtful, my lady,” Murdoch remarked gently.
Merith blinked and looked back toward him. “Forgive me.”
“Naught tae forgive.” His expression softened attractively. “Though I must confess I hope Carnegie lands dinnae disappoint ye.”
“They do not,” she answered honestly. “Everything seems… peaceful.”
For an instant, something unreadable flashed behind Murdoch’s dark eyes before his smile returned smoothly.
“That pleases me greatly.” Before further conversation could continue, a guard hurried toward them across the courtyard and bowed.
“My laird, the steward requires yer judgment regarding the eastern tenants,” the guard informed him.
Murdoch’s jaw tightened faintly though his tone remained calm. “Now?”
“Aye,” he replied.
He sighed lightly before turning back toward Merith. “Duty refuses tae wait, it seems.”
“There is no need tae apologize,” she assured him.
“I shall return shortly.” His gaze shifted toward Locke. “Keep Lady Merith entertained fer me, will ye?”
Locke placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “A responsibility I accept with grave seriousness.”
Murdoch smirked faintly before departing with the guard. Silence was in the air only briefly after he disappeared. Then, Locke glanced toward Merith. “Well.”
“Well?” she echoed.
“We are temporarily abandoned together,” he pointed out. “Society may never recover.”
She laughed softly and shook her head.
Shona, who had finally found them, rolled her eyes toward the heavens as she approached. “If society collapses, ‘twill surely be from hearin’ ye flirt before midday.”
“I flirt at all hours,” Locke corrected.
“That doesnae improve matters,” she replied.
Merith smiled faintly while walking beside him through the courtyard gardens. The air smelled of wet stone and lavender.
“What do ye think of him?” Locke asked casually.
Her gaze lifted toward him. “The laird?” She considered carefully before answering. “He is kind… and intelligent.”
“Likely true,” Locke responded.
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Ye sound unconvinced.”
Locke shrugged one shoulder. “I barely ken the man.”
“Yet ye study him constantly, like ye do everything.”
The observation slipped out before she could stop it. For one moment surprise flashed openly across his face. Then he grinned slowly.
“Perhaps I enjoy watchin’ powerful men boast,” he said.
“Or perhaps ye distrust them.”
“Wise tae distrust any man entirely,” he said softly.
Before she could answer, footsteps sounded behind them again as Murdoch returned.
“My apologies,” he said smoothly, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. “Now then, there remains one final place worth showin’ ye.”
He led them across the lower courtyard toward a broad fenced training yard where several guards sparred beneath the watchful eye of an older weapons master. Wooden practice swords cracked sharply together while shoulders circled through drills across the packed earth.
“A laird’s strength depends upon disciplined men,” Murdoch said, folding his arms across his chest. Many men turned and bowed slightly to their laird.
Merith watched with polite interest as two guards stepped forward to spar before the others. One was broad and heavily muscled while the second moved lighter upon his feet. She gasped with every hit they landed on each other.
“That one will win,” Murdoch declared confidently, nodding toward the larger fighter. “Strength usually decides such matters.”
Beside her, Locke tilted his head slightly. “Nay,” he said.
Murdoch glanced toward him.
“The nimbler one wins,” Locke continued easily. “The other lad plants his feet too heavily before swingin’. Leaves his ribs exposed every third strike.”
Several nearby guards exchanged interested looks while Murdoch raised one dark brow. “Ye sound certain.”
Merith looked between them with glowing curiosity.
The sparring continued another minute before suddenly the lighter guard twisted aside, struck low, and sent his larger opponent crashing hard into the dirt.
Several men laughed. Murdoch’s smile remained in place though it thinned slightly at the edges.
“Well,” he said calmly, “perhaps ye possess sharper eyes than expected, Master Reid.”
Locke smiled lazily. “Occupational hazard.”
Murdoch studied him for a long moment. Then slowly, almost pleasantly, he said, “Care tae test that confidence?”
A charged silence settled across the training yard, as the men watched their laird challenge the stranger. Merith’s breath caught at the back of her throat.
And Locke… he grinned.
“Gladly.”