The Sins of the Sire: Dark Highland Passions, #1

by Emily Royal

  His body sighed with relief at the mewling cry of a baby—his child. Grey shapes emerged from the trees. First Alice, the dagger still in her right hand, followed by her brother. And finally, Elyssia, cradling the child. Her legs crumpled beneath her and she sank to the ground. Alice dropped to her knees beside her.

  “You’re safe now, Lyssie.”

  “Oh Alice, what have you done?”

  “Hush,” Alice murmured. Her voice, once so weak and plaintive, now held an undertone of steel. “I did what I had to. For you.”

  “But you’re too gentle to commit such a sin. It should have been me. My soul is already condemned, and I would not have you join me in purgatory.”

  Alice drew her arms around Elyssia, the gentle act causing a prick of moisture to sting in Tavish’s eyes.

  “Sweet sister.” She bowed her head over Elyssia’s hair and placed a kiss on her head. “You’ve looked after me all your life. It’s time I returned the favour.”

  From where did the sisters get such inner strength? Weak in body as all women were, yet their hearts and souls were forged from the strongest steel.

  How could he have believed he could tame her? Own her? Their child may have formed an invisible bond which tied her to him as surely as the rope he had secured around her neck. But did he have the right to force her back into his life? The bond between Elyssia and her sister was far stronger. While that bond existed, she would never truly be his.

  When they returned to Glenblane, he must leave her to make her own choice, to be with the people who deserved her, even if that meant he had to let her go.

  Summoning his men, he issued the order to ride.

  Chapter 26

  Wrapped in a woollen cloak, Elyssia found warmth from the child in her arms. Richard’s broad chest supported her back, one arm surrounding her as he steered his mount.

  During the journey they had been surrounded on all sides by Highlanders, their conversation growing more jovial the closer they came to home.

  The last time she had crossed this forest, she had been friendless save for Alice, broken and humiliated, subjected to the taunts of the men.

  But now she had her dear brother to protect her and a child in her arms more beautiful than life itself. Alice’s laugh echoed across the wind, accompanied by Duncan’s deep timbre. Tavish’s best friend had pledged to take care of her. Though an accomplished rider, Alice was in danger. If she had an attack, she could fall. But astride one of the Englishmen’s mounts, Duncan by her side, she was safe.

  All seemed to accept Elyssia and her sister now.

  Except him.

  Since the birth of her child, he’d not spoken to her. His voice barked orders to his men as if he battled demons of his own, the anger in his voice intensifying the more she withdrew into her brother’s arms. The night after Allendyne had intercepted them, she had thought Tavish would demand she lie with him—or ask to see his son. But he had turned his back on her and ordered his men to surround her.

  Was she a captive once more? Had he delivered her from her position as Allendyne’s concubine—a dirty secret imprisoned on the outskirts of respectability and used to quench his lust—only to establish her at Glenblane to perform the same services for him? He had used her body’s weakness for him to persuade her to go with him. Perhaps he only wanted the child. Would he take him from her then cast her out?

  The child stirred in her arms.

  “Forgive me, sweet one.” She placed a kiss on his cheek. Eyes opened to reveal a dark blue gaze.

  “Richard.”

  What other name did her son deserve? He had been conceived in hate. His father may not want him—or her. But his uncle did.

  A voice called out from the head of the party. The building had been sighted through the trees. Shortly afterwards, they emerged into the sunlight and approached the courtyard. Elyssia’s body stiffened at the sight of the wooden block in the centre, and the wound in her hand itched in recognition.

  Alice dismounted and helped her down. Richard joined them and placed a protective arm round his sisters’ shoulders.

  A small crowd began to form. Women greeted husbands, brothers, and lovers; the men greeted their master. Some of them bore injuries, and one limped as he moved.

  What had happened? Had the English attacked Glenblane?

  “Lady!”

  An old woman hurried across the courtyard and drew her arms around Elyssia.

  “Look at your bairn. He has your eyes!”

  She ran a fat finger across the baby’s cheek before turning a stern eye on Elyssia.

  “Ye should not have left us,” she admonished. “What were ye thinking?”

  “My dear.” A softer voice sent a spike of fear through Elyssia before its tone grew more soothing. Isla dropped a curtsey and stood aside to let Margaret greet Elyssia. Soft fingertips caressed the blanket the baby was wrapped in. His body stiffened, and he whimpered.

  “Forgive me, Elyssia,” Margaret said, “I trusted the wrong men to take you home. I did what I thought was best.”

  Elyssia’s skin tightened before she heard the familiar footsteps behind her. Her nostrils flared at the faint aroma—the masculine scent which drew her body towards him.

  Margaret’s face lit up into a smile. “My love! I’m glad to see you returned, and that the Englishwoman is safe. I’m sure her brother will protect her, but you must assign some of your men to escort them home safely.”

  “She stays.”

  The low growl behind Elyssia tightened the skin on her neck. Richard’s body tensed against hers as if he sensed danger.

  “But, my love,” Margaret protested, “she cannot stay. She deserves better than the disgrace of living in an outbuilding with your bastard.”

  “The child is mine.” He spoke quietly, but his voice held an edge of steel. “I shall kill anyone—man or woman—who tries to take him from me.”

  The threat thickened in the air. She was not even a possession for him to lay claim to. He only wanted her son.

  Yelling at the men to stable the horses, Tavish crossed the courtyard in long, purposeful strides. Margaret followed in his wake, her plaintive voice disappearing only when they entered the building, and the door closed behind them.

  “Come with me, lady.” Isla held out her hand, but Elyssia drew back.

  “For what purpose, Isla? To resume my old position? Are you to secure a rope around my neck once more?”

  She clutched the child closer to her breast.

  “We don’t deserve this. I’ve paid for what I did. Alice is innocent. My son is innocent. My brother has no quarrel with you. Why can’t you let us go?”

  Richard squeezed her shoulder. “Lyssie, we must remain here for a while.”

  “Why, Richard? Papa is dead. You’re Lord de Montford now. You have a duty to take up your position.”

  “I never cared for the title, Lyssie, nor the responsibility. I cannot support Longshanks in his quest to rule over these people.”

  “Then return home and fight him.”

  Richard sighed. “Longshanks is powerful. If I opposed him, I’d merely be branded a traitor. Strung up and dismembered. Let us remain here for a while. Secure allies, bide our time.”

  “And hide like cowards?”

  “I may not have your resolve, Lyssie, but I understand the futility of resisting an opponent stronger than myself.”

  “You should resist them nonetheless.”

  “As you have done? Lyssie, how has your defiance served you? You may argue that you maintained your integrity, but it has come at too heavy a price.”

  “What price?”

  Richard lifted his hand to touch the scar on her face, his fingertip soft against the rough skin. “You paid with your virtue, your beauty, and your reputation. Look at what it has reduced you to, the degradation you are suffering.”

  Degradation? How dare he!

  She turned her head away.

  “I have a child, Richard, and I love him. Where’s
the degradation in that? Do you judge me as the world judges a fallen woman? Is there nowhere I can go where I will not be looked upon with contempt and disgust?”

  Richard drew her to him, his arms warm against her body.

  “I meant no offence, dear one. You know I love you. You’ll always have a home with me, but I thought you would wish to remain here. With him.”

  Hot moisture stung her eyes. The father of her son. The man she had fallen irrevocably in love with. He could command her body with a single word, and she had willingly and shamelessly followed him here. Yet he had turned from her, slipped inside his home, his betrothed in his wake.

  “My only home is with you. Richard.”

  “Then come home with me, Lyssie. Teach me to be strong.”

  His soft fingertips traced the wound on her palm. So unlike the rough hands which had given such intense pleasure, yet they were the hands of the one man who truly loved her.

  Before she could reply, a light voice echoed across the courtyard, the Highlander’s lilt cracking with emotion.

  “Alice? My God, Alice!”

  “Finlay!”

  He raced across the courtyard, puffs of dust bursting into the air in his wake with each footstep. Arms outstretched, Alice ran to him, her gentle face creased into a smile. Finlay swept her into his arms and lifted her thin body into the air. Joyful laughter erupted from her as he swung her in a wide arc before he pulled her to him, their mouths meeting in a kiss.

  “Dearest Alice! I thought I’d lost you. I’m never letting you go again.”

  After a terrible marriage to Allendyne, Alice had returned to the man who had fallen in love with her—the gentle Highlander who did not care that they were enemies.

  He dropped to his knees in front of Alice, took her hands and kissed her fingers. Alice’s low cry of delight slipped through the air. He stood and, taking Alice’s hand, he approached Elyssia, gave her a bow and addressed Richard.

  “Lord de Montford, I would ask your permission for Alice’s hand in marriage.”

  “I know not who you are…” Richard protested, but Elyssia nudged him with her elbow.

  “Grant it.”

  “But, Lyssie…”

  “Give them your blessing, Richard. This man is one of the few people who values Alice. He will make her happy.”

  Richard nodded. “If you would grant it, Lyssie, then so shall I. You should have been born a man. You would have ruled over de Montford much better than I.”

  “But I would not have my son.”

  Alice kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, Lyssie. I only wish you could be as happy.”

  “Come, lady,” Isla said. “We must see you settled in your chamber. I cannot tell you how glad I am that you’ve come home to us.”

  Home. Where was her home? Not here. Though the land was beautiful, the wild mountain air invigorating, it was also the backdrop to her ruination. The whipping block stood in the centre of the courtyard. Beyond, she saw the dirty stone building Tavish had banished her to. Though she closed her eyes, the image of her final disgrace burrowed into her mind’s eye; the pattern the stones made in the mud when she had dug her fingernails into the ground as Angus pounded into her from behind; the spot where she had whored herself to secure her passage away from the very place she had now returned to.

  She followed Isla until they reached the familiar door. But the room was almost unrecognisable. The walls had been scrubbed clean and covered with hangings. The damp smell had been replaced by an aroma of herbs, leaves sprinkled over the floor which was covered with fresh rushes.

  “I prepared your room in the hope you would return to us,” Isla said. “I’ll leave you to rest, now.”

  She dropped a curtsey to Richard. “Lord de Montford, I’ll prepare a chamber for you also.”

  “Thank you,” Richard nodded. “I’ll wait here with my sister.”

  After the door had closed, Elyssia sank onto the bed.

  “Let me take him, Lyssie. You’re exhausted.”

  She handed the child over to her brother, and he kissed him on the forehead.

  “He’s my heir until I have a son of my own.”

  He lifted his gaze to her, the blue of his eyes blurred with moisture.

  “I feel nothing but shame that you think I’d view him as a disgrace, Lyssie. He’s my flesh and blood, and I’ll gladly acknowledge him as such.”

  “Then you would accept him?”

  “Of course. I would welcome both you and your son—and Alice.”

  “Alice has found a man to love her. Her home is here now.”

  “And you, Lyssie? Have you not found a man to love you?”

  “No, Richard. I thought I had, but that love has been destroyed. I have no wish to stay here. Not any more.”

  Chapter 27

  The sounds of training echoed across the courtyard, together with the occasional flash as swords glinted in the sunlight. In the distance, black smoke rose from the remains of some of the outbuildings.

  It seemed that Clan MacLean had a threat closer to home than the English. Rather than prowl the remote parts of the Highlands, Morcar’s barbarians had planned a direct attack on Glenblane.

  Tavish turned from the window to face the man before him.

  “It makes no sense, Arran. Why would they raid us? They know we have nothing.”

  “I know not, Master Tavish. We heard rumours of Morcar’s men in the area—sightings in the forest. Thanks to Margaret, we were ready for them.

  “Margaret?”

  “Aye. She sighted them while riding in the forest. It was on her insistence that we lie in wait for them; she arranged for the preparations. The men protested, but she persuaded young Master Callum to give the order. We have her influence over your brother to thank that we’re still alive. Ye gods, Tavish, it was a full raid! They had come to kill us all! Stealing through the night like the cowards they are.”

  Margaret—the woman destined from childhood to be his bride. Like a true clanswoman, she had protected his people. While he had been off on a selfish errand to fetch Elyssia, he had left his clan to the mercy of enemies.

  His people had seemed to accept Elyssia’s return. Finlay had even asked for the sister’s hand. The young man was a lovesick fool. Tavish had given Finlay his blessing, but what of himself, his duty? A laird needed to place his clan before his personal wishes and desires. His heart might lie with Elyssia, but his duty lay with the clan—with Margaret.

  “Did you kill all the barbarians?”

  “All but one.”

  “Did he get away?”

  Arran shook his head. “She’s in the dungeon.”

  “A woman?”

  “Barely more than a child. Morcar’s daughter. Fought like a savage, the foul-mouthed creature. I don’t know what to do with her. We cannot let her go.”

  “I’ll wager she’d prefer death to a lifetime of imprisonment,” Tavish replied. “But I could not bring myself to kill a woman. Not when she’s defenceless and alone.”

  “You saw fit to torture and humiliate a woman, one who was equally defenceless and alone.”

  Arran still blamed Tavish for Elyssia’s whipping and the part he had been forced to play in it.

  But what of Margaret? She expected him to marry her. She had displayed the best qualities of a laird’s wife, and he could not let her down. She would never accept Elyssia as his mistress. But from the moment he looked into the eyes of his son, he wanted to recognise him as his heir. He did not want to fight Richard de Montford in his claim for the child.

  Now was not the time to listen to the war raging in his heart.

  “Come, Arran, let me speak to the prisoner.”

  * * *

  The air grew damp as Tavish descended the steps with Arran and Duncan. Little used, the dungeons reeked of decay. Prisoners had not resided here since the days of Tavish’s great-grandfather. No prisoner had left alive, their bodies left to rot in the cells before the remains were buried in the forest. But
their spirits remained, seeping through the gaps in the stone walls. Icy fingers caressed his skin, a reminder of the souls his forefathers had condemned.

  What made him so different from the English? When a man has power over another, his true nature is revealed, darkness triumphing over a conscience borne of fear of retribution. Here, in the dungeons, he had nothing to fear other than the souls of past victims long dead.

  A solitary torch flickered at the end of the passageway, casting shadows across the floor which danced in time to Tavish’s footsteps.

  In the barred window of the door to the last cell, two bright eyes burned outwards, glistening with hatred. Slender, grubby fingers clutched the bars.

  “So, you’re Morcar’s daughter.”

  The creature curled its lip, swollen with bruising.

  “The devil take ye!”

  “What is your name?”

  The girl spat, sending a stream of red-stained spittle onto Tavish’s face.

  “Ye’ll have to kill me before I tell ye,” she hissed. “I’ll not give you the power of my name. You would use it to cast a spell over me, to call the demons up from the earth.”

  “Her name is Mella,” Arran whispered. “It was the name Morcar screamed when we killed him.”

  “Mella.”

  The girl let out a wail of despair, her mouth opening into a dark hole, teeth bared.

  “Curse you! Curse you all to hell!”

  Releasing her hold on the bars, she sprang back before throwing her body against the back wall, pounding her fists against the stones.

  “Ye gods! Tavish cried. “Stop her before she harms herself!”

  Arran fumbled with the key while the girl’s screams echoed in the dungeon, punctuated by dull thuds as she continued to throw herself against the wall. Arran kicked the door open and leapt at the girl, wrapping his arms around her while she struggled and wailed, kicking against him. But she was no match for the tall, muscled Highlander. Eventually, she grew weak and desisted. Her body may have been overpowered, but she kept her head held high, her eyes burning with hatred.

  “Ye’ll join me in hell, Tavish MacLean,” she snarled. “The demons shall take us both.”