The Boar and Thistle was busy with afternoon traffic, although some of its clients looked as though they had settled in for days, if not months, before. Some appeared to be as firmly rooted in this place as the furniture.
Although Baird had only come in here once or twice, he was hailed by the regulars as he stood on the threshold, blinking in the dim light. He heard a murmur of conversation slide around the pub, those in the know obviously identifying him to the others.
Baird was very aware that he was the center of attention.
“Left the lady shopping, guv?” Garth demanded, continuing on before Baird could respond. “No place for a man while a woman spends his money,” the cabbie declared with a wink and a snort of assent sounded around the bar.
Aurelia was not here.
And she certainly hadn’t asked Baird to leave with her. That old sense of being unwanted assailed him and fought with his concern for her welfare. Maybe he should take this opportunity to see whether he could learn anything about Hekod.
“What can I get you, sir?”
A quick survey revealed that everyone drank very dark brew.
“A pint of your best stout.”
The barkeeper raised his eyebrows appreciatively, and the men grinned. Baird had been identified as a compatriot.
“Why don’t you sit with us, guv, and tell the boys a bit about your work at ol’ Dunhelm?”
It was the best opening Baird was likely to get. He slid onto a stool and took a good look around. The place looked positively medieval with its heavy oak beams stained dark and the walls whitewashed in between the trusses. The ceiling was low and made of dark wood. A variety of antique etchings in cheap frames hung on the wall. They had probably been of virtually no value when they were hung—whenever that had been.
The pub smelled of cigar smoke, with a base of spilled beer, and a top note of bacon and sausages. There was no clock and the leaded windows emitted so little light it was impossible to say from inside what time of day it might be.
Baird’s beer arrived, frothing over the side and onto the wooden bar. He ignored the foam and lifted the glass tankard to his companions. When he didn’t wince at the flavor of the warm, yeasty beer, their amiability increased markedly.
Baird restrained himself from running a tongue over the film the stout left on his teeth. “I don’t suppose any of you would know anyone named Hekod?”
“Oh, guv!” Garth inhaled sharply. “No one uses that name hereabouts!”
“Why not?”
“It’s a name of wicked bad luck.”
“Powerfully unlucky,” contributed another.
“There’s not been a Hekod here since the first one, they say.”
Baird took another sip of his beer and decided it was getting better. “What’s unlucky about it?”
“Have you not heard the tale of Hekod?” Garth demanded. Baird nodded and the cabby frowned, gesturing with his tankard. “Now, there’s a man cursed with foul luck. Everything in the world he had to his name, a beautiful wife, prosperity and two lovely bairns.” Garth snapped his fingers beneath Baird’s nose. “And every bit of it snatched away from him in his prime.”
“Bairns?”
“Babes! A boy and girl, it is said.”
Garth drained his tankard in one great gulp and set the empty glass on the bar. He glanced pointedly at Baird, then back to the tankard with its residue of foam.
“Another pint for Garth,” Baird said to the barkeeper who shook his head and grinned. He scooped up the glass and pulled another pint, setting it before the cabbie with a flourish.
“Ah!” Garth took a long draft and smacked his lips. “I thank you, guv.”
“Now, what about this bad luck?”
“Ah, well, our Hekod lost first his lovely wife, then his son was killed and his daughter cursed. Add to that the destruction of his estate.” Garth shook his head. “He must have died an unhappy man.”
“It is said he died of grief,” added one of the others.
“And rightly so. What man could bear to lose so much?” Garth set his tankard on the bar and fixed Baird with a steady glance. “You’re seeing why it would be a horrible burden for any bairn to be granted such a name, aren’t you, guv?”
“You’re sure there hasn’t been even one?”
“We’ve no parents cruel enough to curse their own spawn.”
The men nodded sagely at this local wisdom and Baird noticed the boy who had delivered the pizzas to Dunhelm hovered on the fringe of the group. His eyes were bright and his Adam’s apple bobbed with excitement.
No doubt at the prospect of more tales to share with his buddies.
“Why would you be asking, Mr. Beauforte?” he asked.
Baird shrugged as though it didn’t really matter. “We were trying to think of a name for the restaurant that we’re putting at the top of the bishop’s tower. One of the marketing people suggested we tie into Dunhelm’s history somehow and wanted to use Hekod’s Roost, or something similar.”
Baird took another sip, amazed at how readily they accepted his lie. “I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t an actual Hekod who might take offense.”
Garth gripped his arm with surprising strength, his gaze intense. “You be taking my advice, guv, and don’t be using that name on anything at Dunhelm. It will bring only tragedy and unhappiness wherever it is used and you’ll not be wanting any of that at the Beauforte Dunhelm Resort.”
A curious silence descended over the group and all drank uneasily.
“Well! I’m glad I asked.” Baird forced a smile as he leaned on the counter again. “Do any of you have any suggestions? These marketing people, you know—” he rolled his eyes “—they can drive a man crazy with all their dithering around. I’d love to just walk back in there with the perfect name.”
The boy’s eyes lit up. “What about The Crow’s Nest?”
“Nah,” said one of the others. “It should have “Viking” in it. Viking’s Lair.”
“And what would a lair be to you and me?” Garth demanded with amiable crankiness. “It’s got to be understood by everyone who happens along—you’re wanting a name like The Lookout.”
“Oh! That’s clever!” A chorus of disagreement erupted as the men latched on to the problem.
Baird might even get a name for the restaurant out of this. Even if he hadn’t come any closer to finding Hekod. He worried about Aurelia again. Probably she had walked back to Dunhelm. He’d walk back himself after this beer and make sure nothing had happened to her on the way.
As for Hekod, well, that was another problem. If Aurelia’s father was alive—and Baird was thinking the chances of that were pretty remote—he must have gone to the main island. Maybe the older man had passed away there. Either way, the next logical step was to go to Kirkwall on the main island but it was too late to fly there today.
First thing in the morning, then, Baird resolved and drank more of his stout.
The brew was growing on him, actually.
Aurelia watched the sun sink, its orange rays painting the sea with fire. The wind tousled her hair, the chill of the night rose from the ground.
On this night, she would summon the Dreaming again.
What if she had surrendered her chastity to Bard and had not won back the control of her Dreaming? There was a kernel of cold fear launched where her heart should have been, but Aurelia refused to think any further about Ursilla’s story.
Aurelia knew the very moment Bard came to stand behind her. Her heart began to pound, her skin whispered of his presence, but she did not turn around. For a long time, he did not speak and they stood silently together, watching the sunlight fade.
When the sun finally dipped below the horizon and the sky turned indigo, Aurelia tipped back her head to watch the first stars come out. She took a deep breath, not certain what Bard was thinking and less certain she wanted to know.
“You don’t have to stay out here all night,” he said quietly.
Aurelia turned to find Bard’s eyes dark with concern. “You have been drinking. I can smell the ale upon you.”
“Well, maybe just one beer. All for the good cause of finding your father.” Bard heaved a dramatic sigh and Aurelia had the sense he was teasing her. “Someone has to do the dirty work.”
“Drinking ale?” Aurelia frowned. “This is not labor at all!”
Bard grinned so unexpectedly Aurelia caught her breath. His stern visage was transformed when he permitted himself to smile.
“You should smile more often,” she said, without having any intention of doing so. “It makes you look younger.”
Bard’s smile faded abruptly. “I’m not that old, you know!”
“But you have seen much, I am certain.”
And done much, Aurelia knew. Her body seemed to remember some of those deeds quite well. Aurelia’s heart pounded as she held his gaze and the air between them heated with rare vigor.
Had there ever been a man whose very glance could make her feel so alive?
“Mmm.” Bard shoved his hands into his pockets and watched her closely. “For an uneducated colonial, I’ve not done too badly.” A twinkle lurked in the green depths of his eyes and Aurelia wondered what on earth he meant by that.
What truly filled the secret corners of this man’s heart? For a man bent on wedding her, Bard did not seem particularly driven to achieve his goal. It was true things had moved quickly between them, but at their own speed, not at his insistence.
Or was his manipulation so very skilled that Aurelia could not even discern it?
“You should know that I am not this Gemdelovely Gemdelee,” Aurelia said intending her words to be defiant. Instead, her voice broke. “I am not a story.”
“I know.” Bard sobered instantly.
He stepped closer and Aurelia had to tip her head back to hold his gaze. She was encouraged by the sympathy she found in his eyes and liked that he did not believe this tale any more than she did.
It made Aurelia feel less alone in all of this. Bard lifted a hand toward her cheek, hesitating before his palm cradled her jaw.
“You’re a woman who has lost someone precious,” he said and his voice was low. “I can understand how hard that must be.”
Aurelia’s eyes misted with tears and she was confused that the man who had destroyed her family was the one who offered her compassion. Why did he have to be the one to witness her weakness?
Why did he have to be the one to make her skin come alive with a single touch?
“It’s all right to cry,” Bard said quietly.
“I never cry!” Aurelia dashed at her tears with her fingertips.
“Of course not,” Bard agreed easily and slid his thumb across her cheek, sweeping away her tears in one smooth gesture. “Vikings never cry.” His thumb was warm and Aurelia could smell his skin.
Suddenly she did not want to step away from him. She wanted to go back to his bed, to spend another night locked in his embrace, to spend another night feeling safe, secure and cossetted.
And it was not because she intended to kill him while he slept.
What was happening to her?
“I asked about your father in town,” Bard said gently. Aurelia was surprised at how soothing she found the low rumble of his voice. “And no one knew him. Do you think he might have gone to Kirkwall, on the big island?”
Aurelia caught her breath. She had no idea where her sire might have fled. “Why would he go there? He has always stayed at Dunhelm.”
Bard shrugged. “Maybe he wanted to go a little further afield again. Find different work, a change of scene.” Aurelia examined his toes but he touched her chin with one fingertip, urging her to meet his sympathetic gaze. “Maybe he went a-Viking, hmmm?”
Aurelia could not smile at his soft jest.
Bard cleared his throat. “I think we should go there tomorrow and look for him. Will you come?”
Aurelia eyed his concern as the wind danced around them. Maybe he could understand her pain because he too had lost a father. Aurelia remembered only too well that Erc had drowned in his flight from Dunhelm.
Leaving his infant son without a father. Had that been the event that colored Bard’s life?
“You know what it is to lose a father,” Aurelia said softly.
Bard grimaced and shrugged. “You could say that. It’s not important.”
Aurelia blinked in surprise. “Losing your father was not important?”
Bard gave her a pointed glance that told her she had asked too much. “Finding your father is what’s important now. The rest is just history.” His lips quirked, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “Kirkwall tomorrow? First thing?”
Aurelia was oddly loathe to refuse a day in Bard’s company. “I should like that,” she admitted before she meant to do any such thing, and immediately flushed.
But she did not deny her agreement.
Bard flung an arm over Aurelia’s shoulder and turned her back toward his hall, guiding Aurelia walking in that direction before she knew what she was about. There was something comforting about having the weight of Bard’s arm around her and Aurelia liked matching her step to his.
There was an odd sense of security to be found in this man’s companionship, one that made Aurelia forget all the dreadful things she knew to be true about him. She felt safe with him.
Was that all part of his scheme? Aurelia was no longer as certain of his dark intent as she would have liked to have been.
In fact, if she could have known for certain he was honest with her about his character, Aurelia would have had no trouble accepting Bard for her spouse. He felt familiar to her, yet her body tingled with the dawn of something new.
Or was she simply the perfect pawn in his wicked scheme?
“Tell you what, princess,” Bard said with false casualness. “How about you and I make a deal?”
Aurelia was immediately wary. “A deal?”
“Yes.” Bard’s green eyes were twinkling with a vigor that dismissed her trepidation. Aurelia had to bite back a smile of anticipation. What mischief was he making? “If you aren’t going to be Gemdelovely Gemdelee, what do you say about me not being Bard, son of Erc?”
Aurelia was surprised. “You would deny your sire?”
Bard winced. “Erc the Destroyer? He doesn’t really sound like my kind of guy and, frankly, neither does his son.”
Bard wanted to separate himself from Ursilla’s tale. Aurelia’s thoughts flew like quicksilver. Had he seen that she knew part of the tale to be rooted in truth?
Or did he want to change his ways, leaving not only his name but his deeds behind himself? Was it just an undeserved reputation he desired to shake from his shoes?
“Who, then, would you be?” Aurelia managed to ask.
“Baird Beauforte,” he said firmly. “I’m Baird Beauforte to everyone in this world, except you. I’d like you to call me Baird, as well.”
Aurelia looked up at her escort and could see no insincerity in his eyes. They stared at each other for a long time, Aurelia seeking some hint in those emerald depths that he lied to her.
But she found none.
Aurelia’s words were reluctant when they came and not without wonder. “You are not at all what I expected, Baird Beauforte.”
Aurelia’s heart skipped a beat when Baird enfolded her chin in his palm. His lips were a finger’s breadth from her own, his eyes dark with import. Aurelia could see flicks of gold in his eyes, then his low words fanned her lips.
“And no one could have expected you, princess.”
There was an admiration in his words that warmed Aurelia right to her toes and for a dizzying instant, she was certain she confronted the true man.
And liked him very, very much.
Baird brushed his lips lightly across hers, leaving a tingle in their wake. He hesitated, as though he meant to pull away but could not bear to do so. His gaze darted over Aurelia’s face and she could not move, her heart singing when his lips closed decisively over her own.
Aurelia was honest enough to admit she would have been disappointed with anything less. She stretched and slid her arms around Baird’s neck, loving the taste of him, ale and all. Aurelia felt a glow spread around her heart, for there was no doubt Baird was complementing her with both his words and his embrace.
And she felt oddly reassured after the tumult of this day.
Baird did not believe she was a mere tale. Baird did not believe her sire had died of grief. Baird believed they would find Hekod.
And Aurelia found solace in his certainty.
Then Baird lifted his lips from hers and the doubts tumbled back into Aurelia’s mind. He gave her shoulders an unexpected squeeze and started to hurry her toward the hall. Baird cleared his throat and cast a twinkling glance her way.
“Tell you what, though,” he said easily, “don’t go telling Elizabeth too soon you’re not this Gemdelovely Gemdelee. She’s taken a shine to you and has apparently been cooking up a storm all afternoon. I don’t know what she’s making but it smells really good.”
Aurelia gasped in mock outrage. “And you think that if I tell her the truth, you will not get any of it!”
Baird shrugged, his eyes dancing impishly. “Why take the chance?”
“Why, you shameless cur!” Aurelia pulled away and swatted him on the shoulder. “You would use me to see your own belly filled! You would see to your own comfort first and foremost!”
Baird laughed and danced out of her range. “Oh, and you wouldn’t do the same?” He granted her a wicked grin that made her heart jump awkwardly. “Aren’t you hungry, princess?”
She was.
Of course.
And Baird knew it! That only made his teasing worse. Aurelia’s expression must have changed with the realization, for Baird laughed out loud.
“Last one in has to do the dishes,” he taunted and ran for the hall.
Aurelia did not know what that meant, but she recognized a threat when she heard one. Oh, and he was so much taller than she! She had to run hard to even catch up with him.
Aurelia bolted after Baird, stretching to tap him on one shoulder. Baird turned to look, and Aurelia darted around him on the other side.
“Cheat!” Baird bellowed when Aurelia ducked through the door first. They both stumbled laughingly into the hall, and came quickly up short.
Marissa stood with a stranger, a coy smile toying with her reddened lips. “Playtime over?” she asked archly. “We’ve simply been waiting forever for you two to come to dinner. Haven’t we, darling?”
And she smiled up at the man beside her.
He was tall and of about the same age as Baird, his sandy hair tousled by the wind. There was a smattering of freckles across his cheeks, giving him a boyish air reinforced by his garb.
Actually, it was not his garb that made him look young as much as a general sense that he had slept in them.
Though he was dressed in chausses of ribbed velvet similar to those Baird wore, and his tweed jacket was of clever cut, Aurelia had the sense this man was permanently disheveled. His leather shoes were scuffed and his creamy shirt was wrinkled.
He pushed his gold-rimmed spectacles further up his nose and summoned a grin so engaging, Aurelia could not help but smile in return.
She felt Baird stiffen behind her and was instantly curious. Did they know each other? Was there something amiss between the two? Or maybe Baird did not like his whore lavishing her attention on another.
Whatever the reason, Aurelia knew Baird was not pleased. The playful side of his nature was banished once again and he looked the grim warrior from head to toe. His lips were tight and she thought she heard a thrum of anger in his voice when he spoke.
Though his words confused her all the more.
“Baird Beauforte,” he said frostily, stepping forward to offer his hand as though he would rather be doing anything but. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Baird had never felt such a strong animosity toward another person, especially one he had never met. The dislike he felt on sight of the other man went against his usual refusal to judge a book by its cover, but he couldn’t shake free of it.
The new arrival looked easy-going and innocent. Baird sensed malice coming from the other man in waves, despite his appearance. Baird fought the urge to toss the man bodily into the street, but was glad he had won the battle just a moment later.
“Darian Mulvaney,” the man supplied with a grin that should have been reassuring. “I’m a scholar from the National Heritage Preservation Society. We had word you had discovered a Pictish site here.” He looked as hopeful as a pup. “Would that be true, Mr. Beauforte?”
Baird found himself oddly reluctant to provide details. “I wouldn’t know,” he said evenly. “It does appear to be quite old.” Baird felt his eyes narrow. “How exactly did you hear about this? We only just found the site and haven’t had the chance to notify the authorities?”
Darian laughed. “Oh, we get phone calls all the time! One of your workmen or someone local might have called it in.”
Baird arched a brow skeptically but his tone was scrupulously polite. “You don’t keep records of such calls?”
The other man sobered. “Is there an ancient site here or not?” Baird thought he heard the edge of a threat in the other man’s silken tones. “We had understood, Mr. Beauforte, that you had every intention of cooperating with the authorities in such matters.”
“And so I do,” Baird said smoothly. “The site has been undisturbed since its discovery—I simply want to ensure that only the proper authorities gain access.” He smiled with cold charm. “You would, of course, have identification?”
Baird knew he didn’t imagine the antagonism that flashed in the other man’s eyes. Then, Darian bent to rummage for his wallet in pockets apparently stuffed full of miscellanea.
This man would be entrusted to sift through an ancient site?
Three coins leaped to the floor and rolled, followed by a key ring Darian managed to catch in midair. Aurelia bent to pick up an escaping coin and Baird’s gut clenched when Darian winked at her as she returned it.
His fists clenched in his pockets when Aurelia smiled back.
No less than a dozen torn snippets of paper fluttered to the floor like maimed confetti. Four pens, two pencils, a dog collar—that seemed to confuse Darian with its presence as much as anyone else—and a butterscotch candy that looked worse for wear came to light before the wallet.
Darian triumphantly waved his billfold at Baird, unfolding a picture identification from the Society obviously his own. Baird examined the photo and felt an unreasonable disappointment that not only the man was who he said he was, but he could prove it.
Darian meanwhile gallantly offered the butterscotch candy to both women, who politely declined. Darian, untroubled, removed the lint-encrusted cellophane and popped the candy into his mouth, his expression expectant as he watched Baird.
“Well, I suppose you’ll want to see the site first thing in the morning, then.” Baird handed back the man’s wallet, finding it troubling to have the other man’s possession in his grip. He fought against the urge to wipe its taint from his fingers.
Darian’s eyes gleamed. “Were there any artifacts?”
Baird refused to look at Aurelia, speaking quickly before she could get herself in trouble. This man might misunderstand her confusion, after all. Baird’s protective urge was in full armor, especially after the soft confession she had just made to him.
Aurelia might be confused, but no one—no one—was going to hurt her in his presence.
“No, nothing other than what’s still there,” he said flatly. “As I said, it’s undisturbed. The workmen won’t go near it.”
“Local superstition, I suppose.” Darian rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation. “It’s been a tremendous boon to us over the years, that’s for certain.”
Julian made his appearance at that moment and introductions were made. The lawyer fired a fierce glance at Baird before turning to Darian. Then he coughed discreetly into his hand.
“You must be looking for a place to stay,” Julian began and Baird’s heart sank.
Darian shrugged. “I hadn’t actually thought about it, I was so intent on getting here quickly. Is there somewhere you could recommend?”
Baird glared at his friend, who steadfastly ignored him. Julian wouldn’t.
But he did.
And without hesitation.
“You really must stay with us, we insist. We’re still under construction, of course, but the accommodations are as adequate as anything you’ll find in town.”
Julian coughed again and Baird knew things were going to get worse. “Actually, Beauforte Resorts has made a tremendous commitment on all our sites in preserving the history of the locale. Why don’t you join us for dinner, Mr. Mulvaney, and tell us a bit about your work?”
“Oh, yes, darling!” Marissa cooed, linking her arm through Baird’s and pointedly ignoring Aurelia. “Just imagine, Baird darling, an Indiana Jones of our very own! This is so exciting! You simply must tell us all about your adventures, Mr. Mulvaney! Baird and I just love a good story.”
Darian smiled again. “Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Beauforte.” For a fleeting instant, his gaze locked with Baird’s and Baird caught a quick glimpse of cold calculation.
Then it was gone, leaving Baird wondering whether he had imagined it in the first place.
“You must all call me Darian,” the arrival insisted. “After all, I’ll probably be underfoot for quite some time. These investigations take time, at least when they’re done properly.”
Didn’t that just figure.
Julian glared at Baird before he could say anything remotely disparaging and as much as he hated to admit it, Baird knew, this time, the lawyer was absolutely right. This Heritage Society could probably claim Dunhelm in its entirety as some kind of historic site—or encourage the government to do so—and Baird would lose the property he had fought so hard to obtain.
He couldn’t let that happen. Darian Mulvaney’s presence would have to be tolerated.
But Baird didn’t have to like it.