The Renegade (Rebel Hearts, #1)

by Baldwin, Lily

  Once in the hallway, Caleb chuckled. “For a moment, I was worried ye were going to accept her ladyship’s offer.”

  Nathan cocked a brow at Caleb. “Now, why would ye imagine I would saddle myself with an uptight noble woman?”

  Caleb shrugged. “Because...ye would be laird of a wealthy clan.”

  Nathan stopped in his tracks. “Ye’re right. I must be drunk.”

  He turned around.

  “Where are ye going?” Caleb called after him.

  “I’m going to saddle myself with an uptight noble woman.” Nathan marched back to her room and threw open the door.

  Elora swung around, her eyes wide.

  “I will marry ye.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him pointedly. “Ye did not listen to me. Ye will be my betrothed. I said nothing about marriage.”

  Nathan canted his head to one side. “A betrothal and marriage are one in the same,” he explained.

  “Allow me to be explicit,” she began. “We will be formally betrothed. We will speak vows sanctioned by a priest, but I promise ye now, we will never wed.”

  “’Tis blasphemous,” Nathan pointed out.

  “Having observed yer actions this evening, I took a chance that ye wouldn’t be overly concerned about such matters.”

  “I’m not, but how is it that ye’re able to make the same claim?”

  Somehow, she tilted her chin even higher. “My soul is not yer concern. These are my terms. Ye will journey with me to my home where we will be promised to each other. This will allow me the time I need to devise a more permanent solution to my problem, after which, our contract will be annulled and ye will be free to leave with a handsome purse for yer effort. If ye accept, we leave at daybreak.”

  “So soon?”

  “Laird Mackintosh’s visit to Castle Bròn is imminent. Do ye have any other questions?”

  “Why the pretense of marriage? Ye’re a lady of wealth and beauty. Why do ye not arrange a proper union, mayhap even an alliance that will strengthen yer clan.”

  “I will never wed,” she answered with finality.

  “Never?” he repeated incredulously.

  She nodded. “Ye heard my words.

  “Who will lead yer people?”

  Her eyes flashed with defiance but her tone remained even when she spoke. “I will.”

  She certainly was not lacking in gumption, and he had to admire the sheer boldness of her plan, defying custom and law—both man’s and God’s.

  A smile curved his lips. “Ye may even be more reckless than me.”

  Her eyes narrowed on him, and she took a step forward. “Recklessness is akin to carelessness. I’m never careless.”

  He was growing increasingly intrigued by Lady Elora Brodie.

  “Do ye accept my terms?”

  He nodded. “I do.”

  “Fine,” she replied, her voice clipped. “Meet me out front on the morrow. Do not be late.”

  “Fine,” Nathan responded, mirroring her tone.

  He continued to study her. She withstood his scrutiny for several moments with her same unwavering calm before saying, “Ye may go.”

  He smiled at her frankness. “Until the morrow,” he said and dipped his head in farewell before he turned and left the room with Caleb following close behind.

  “She is a courageous woman,” Nathan said, once they were in the hallway.

  “Terrified is a more apt description, although most would not have detected her fear,” Caleb pointed out.

  “If she wasn’t afraid, she would have no reason for courage,” Nathan shot back. “Her desperation is blinding her to the holes in her plan, but fortunately, for me, I can see every one.”

  Caleb cocked a brow at him. “Are ye truly considering actual marriage?”

  “Nay,” he answered. “I’m done considering the matter. I’ve no doubt that she will be my wife, and I will be Laird of Clan Brodie.”

  “And then, what?” Caleb asked. “What will that satisfy?”

  Nathan stopped and looked him dead on. “Remember, only fools are satisfied.”

  They headed back downstairs to their table much to the delight of the three maids who cheered upon their return, but he no longer had room in his mind for them. He looked up at the ceiling, realizing that the woman now dominating his thoughts was in a room directly overhead. At that moment, he laughed outright, imagining her standing in naught but her kirtle, wrinkling her nose in disgust while she eyed the tavern’s worn, straw mattress.

  “To us,” he said quietly, raising his tankard to the ceiling, toasting the woman who would make him laird, but then he faltered, setting his cup back down without taking a sip. The idea of greater wealth and power had done nothing to stir his soul. He laid his head back and closed his eyes and welcomed the numbness to once again overtake his thoughts.

  Chapter Five

  Elora awoke to the sounds of squawking seagulls, sailors calling out orders, and the mighty din of shipbuilders. She sat up and crossed to the window and opened the shutters, letting the crisp sea air lift her unbound hair. It was the hour before daybreak. The sky overhead was as black as pitch. But as her gaze traveled across the heavens, the sky lightened to the deepest blue, gradually becoming lighter still until it collided with the horizon beyond the Water of Leith where the North Sea touched the sky in a gleaming strip of fiery orange.

  Those lonely hearts she had witnessed the night before—hearts filled with yearning, haunting regret, and the agony of loss now slept while the courageous had arisen to face the dawn. A slow smile spread across her face as her heart warmed to Edinburgh’s bustling harbor. The earliest light of a new day revealed the waterside’s charm and vitality.

  Sailors, no longer idle or drunk, loaded crates onto skiffs bound for fishing vessels and merchant cogs that were anchored in deeper waters. She admired their nimble, swaying movements, which matched the rhythm of the waves like a dance only seafarers could know.

  She closed her eyes and imagined herself among their number, readying to set sail. In that moment, she could feel the pull of the sea and the call of the ships. It was majestic and mournful. Joyful, yet imbued with heartbreaking sorrow. She leaned out beyond the casement, closed her eyes and let her unbound hair catch the breeze. A shiver of excitement shot up her spine as sensation surrounded her—the sound of the waves, the salty air, the fiery horizon a breath away from releasing the fullness of day. Smiling, she opened her eyes just in time to see the sun crest beyond the confines of its blanketed retreat.

  But as it emerged, so, too, did Lady Brodie. With a disciplined heart, she shrugged off the pang of sadness that cut through her soul and stood straight.

  There wasn’t room for sunrises or glittering waves in her world.

  Turning away from the window and the fatal allure of the sea, she began taming her wild curls into two thick plaits.

  Her own purpose came to the fore of her thoughts. Not unlike the sailors and business owners readying their shops, she, too, had a schedule to keep.

  After donning her borrowed tunic and cloak, she stood in front of the door. Straightening her back, she took a deep breath, gave a determined tilt to her chin and swung the door wide.

  “Good morrow,” she said to Declan who she was not surprised to find waiting for her in the hallway.

  He dipped his head to her. “Good morrow, Elora. The horses are packed and ready.”

  “Good,” she replied and took his offered arm.

  Together, they made their way downstairs. She wrinkled her nose against the smell of stale beer and waste. The revelers from the previous night had departed, except for one young man curled up beneath a table.

  “New to his cups, I’d wager,” Declan said, gesturing to the sleeping lad.

  Elora lifted her skirt as she carefully picked her way around splatters of pottage, puddles of ale and what she wanted to believe was ale. Tankards and bowls of half-eaten pottage still littered the tables.

  She ha
stened toward the door. Stepping out into the morning light, she expelled a sigh of relief when she saw her white mare.

  “Rosie,” she whispered, allowing her lips to hint at a smile while she stroked the horse’s muzzle affectionately. Then she turned to Declan and said, “I hope never to see the inside of that place again.”

  Declan nodded in agreement. “I will be happy to leave the city behind altogether.”

  “As will I. We will not linger,” she assured him. “As soon as Nathan joins us, we will depart.” Elora looked around expectantly. “I did tell him daybreak, did I not?”

  “Aye, ye did,” Declan confirmed.

  She smoothed her hands over her tunic. “I’m certain his arrival is imminent. Please help me mount, so that we may ride out straightaway.”

  Declan leaned down and interlaced his fingers. Elora placed her slippered foot in his hand, gripped the saddle horn, and with a bounce and Declan’s boost, she settled herself on Rosie’s back. Then she smoothed her tunic and situated her cloak.

  “Ready,” she said to her guard.

  He mounted his horse. “As am I.”

  Nodding her approval, she turned her attention to The Devil’s Bridge from which she was certain her newly hired help would soon exit.

  After staring at the door for some time, tension crept up her spine, laying claim to her shoulders. Still, she maintained her calm.

  With a look of thinly veiled hope, Declan asked, “Shall we just leave?”

  “Please do not start that again.” Taking a deep breath to keep her frustration at bay, she shifted her focus away from the tavern.

  The sun had emerged fully, banishing any lingering darkness, and casting myriad colors across the sea and sky. Fishmongers were preparing their wagons to take to market. Skiffs of varying sizes were skidding away on the rippling waves in radiant shades of rose and gold. Tearing her gaze from the sea, she shifted in her saddle, her attention drawn by a new sound. Looking behind her, she spied the blacksmith throwing open the gates to his shop. He was broadly built with massive shoulders. Further down the road, she saw a wizened old man with a hunched back slowly swinging open the door to the apothecary. Assisting him was the scrubby young lad she had seen the night before selling hot pigs feet.

  Shielding her eyes, she gazed at the sun. It crawled higher and higher. “’Tis past Lauds,” she observed tensely.

  “Indeed,” Declan agreed. “We should leave now while the weather is still in our favor.”

  Elora turned and followed his gaze to the west. Heavy clouds were beginning to gather in loose clusters. Her nostrils flared.

  Nathan’s delay was threatening her well-planned trip home.

  Echoing her thoughts, Declan continued his attempts to persuade her to leave. “We need to reach Grant territory this day. It would be unwise to solicit Laird Grant’s hospitality after nightfall.”

  She waved away his concern. “Laird Grant is a trusted ally. There is nothing he would deny me...including his own son,” she said under her breath.

  The aged leader of Clan Grant had lost his wife and only child to fever when Elora was an infant. Broken hearted, he did not marry again for many years. Eventually, he chose a lass from among his clan and made her his bride. Together, they had a son, William, who was a gentle, thoughtful lad with only ten and three years.

  When Elora had recently confided to Laird Grant that the Mackintosh was pressuring her to marry, Laird Grant proposed that she marry his young son instead. Of course, the union would be in name only until William was of age, but at one and twenty, Elora had no wish to bind herself to a child.

  More importantly, she had no wish to bind herself to anyone.

  Once again, she turned and watched The Devil’s Bridge expectantly.

  “Listen, my lady,” Declan exclaimed.

  Above the din of the harbor, she heard a distant bell toll the hour of Prime. A flash of anger coursed through her. Her hands squeezed her reins.

  “My lady, I will go rouse him,” Declan offered, but just at that moment the tavern door opened and Nathan stepped out, shielding his eyes from the light of the new day.

  “Good morrow,” he called when he saw her.

  She did not spare him a smile but simply dipped her head in greeting. “Mount yer horse and let’s ride. Ye’ve delayed me long enough.”

  With a smile playing at his lips, he walked toward her. “Is she always this demanding first thing in the morning?” he said off-handedly to Declan.

  Declan gave Nathan a look of warning. “Do not speak ill of my lady.”

  Nathan’s smile widened, and he bowed with exaggerated gallantry. Then he straightened and crossed to Rosie’s side and began slowly stroking her white mane. When he looked up and met Elora’s gaze, her pulse quickened. She hadn’t forgotten how fine he was to look upon, with his dark tousled curls, but what she hadn’t realized yesterday was that his eyes were not blue—they were silver. A gentle smile curled his lips. “I was only intending to be playful as a husband might with his wife. I’m simply becoming accustomed to my new role.”

  His insinuation was a welcomed distraction from his smile. “Yer new temporary role,” she reminded him. “As my betrothed, never my husband.”

  “On that point, ye’ve been very clear,” he said softly. Then he turned his back to her and started to walk away.

  “Where are ye going?”

  “I’m meeting Caleb at the livery to fetch our horses,” he called back.

  Stifling an unladylike screech, she squeezed the reins harder, her knuckles whitening from the strain and glanced over at Declan who was giving her a pointed look.

  “I ken, Declan. Ye disapprove of him.”

  “And ye do not?”

  “Of course, I do not approve of him. He is a thief-taker and a renegade, but, for the last time, I did not come here to choose my rightful husband. I came here to find a man willing to flout the law, both God’s and man’s.”

  Declan pressed his lips together in a grim line, but he made no further comment.

  At length, Nathan and Caleb trotted toward them on sinewy, black stallions.

  With a cool nod of her head, she called. “Let us ride!”

  “Are ye certain about that?”

  Reins lifted, ready to gently snap, she paused and met Nathan’s silver gaze. “I am. In fact, I’ve been certain. Naught has changed since last night when ye agreed to my terms, naught except the hour of our departure,” she said pointedly. “If ye recall, my instructions were to leave at daybreak.”

  His gaze shifted to the harbor. “To the east, I yet see the dawn reflected on the water. Daybreak is still upon us. If ye had an hour in mind, ye should have been more specific.”

  She bristled at his scolding, but before she could issue a stern rebuttal, he looked away from the sea, toward distant, rolling moorland and said, “To the west, I see angry clouds preparing to be heard. ’Tis going to storm...hard. Ye might wish to delay our journey a day or two.”

  She shook her head. “I have also noted the gathering rain clouds, but we cannot delay another moment. I must return at once to Castle Bròn.” Without waiting for his reply, she nudged Rosie with her heels and set out in the lead.

  Once they cleared the city gates, she clicked her tongue and Rosie surged ahead at a quick trot. Soon, Edinburgh faded in the distance. Even the city’s towering stronghold was just a blur on the horizon.

  Declan rode at her side while Nathan and Caleb followed closely behind. She kept her gaze forward, her back straight in the saddle, her outer calm unwavering, all the while wishing with her whole heart that a magic wind could lift them high and carry them home.

  The sun continued to climb. She raised her face to the light and closed her eyes.

  “Spring is upon us,” Declan said, drawing her gaze.

  “Aye,” she nodded, sparing her loyal servant a rare smile. “I feel Spring’s promise,” she said, upturning her face once more to the sun.

  But then shadow overcame the light,
stealing the sun’s warmth. She opened her eyes. The dark clouds were spreading quickly, pulling together to blanket the blue sky.

  “If we turned back now, we might be able to beat the storm back to Edinburgh.”

  She stiffened in her seat, hearing Nathan’s voice. He moved his horse alongside hers. She turned and met his gaze. She was far from being one of the many lusty women at The Devil’s Bridge, throwing themselves at him. Still, she had to admit that she was not unaffected by his chiseled jaw, deep-set eyes, and full mouth. She cleared her throat. “It rained hard on our journey here.”

  “Nothing more than a drizzle when compared to what will soon be unleashed upon our heads.”

  She looked him straight on. “I have no intention on turning back.”

  He gave her an assessing look before he shrugged his shoulders. “I only wanted to save yer ladyship from becoming cold and sodden.”

  She did not look forward to the prospect of traveling in the midst of a storm either, but no amount of rain could be a greater threat than the one looming ahead. She needed to return home and make her betrothal official to the wickedly handsome, irritating, and interfering man at her side, before Laird Mackintosh arrived at Castle Bròn.

  “I’m not a delicate flower that might wilt in a wee bit of rain,” she said simply. Then she drove her heel into Rosie’s flank to sprint ahead, putting herself, once again, in the lead.

  Tension filled her shoulders as she rode. Her temporary betrothed clearly wanted to take command, but unlike most of her sex, she was neither submissive nor demur. The steward of Bròn was loyal to her as was Declan. Her people believed in her and honored her with their fealty. She straightened her back. What did it matter what Nathan sought or believed? He would soon come to realize that she was not a woman with which to be trifled.

  The first drops of rain fell, cool and crisp, alighting on her brow and hands with a gentle pitter patter. But soon the crisp droplets gave way to a steady assault. It was not long until she was wet through to her skin. Still, she did not soften her back or shield her face from the pelting rain. Clenching her teeth to keep them from chattering, she refused to reveal her true discomfort. Weakness was something men could sense, and she would not give Nathan the satisfaction of knowing how much she wished the sun yet favored their journey.