Her face beaming, Tempest looked Elora dead on. “Now who’s the renegade?”
Chapter Eighteen
Nathan stirred from sleep and reached out, searching the bed for silken skin and gentle curves, but when his hand grazed naught but cold linen, his eyes flew open. Jerking upright, he scanned the room.
Worry furrowed his brow. What had happened? Why had she left?
But then his shoulders eased as he remembered that each day at Castle Bròn began in the same way. When the chapel bell sounded the hour for Prime, Abagail, a young serving lass with hair the color of straw and a smattering of freckles across her nose, always rapped on his door. More often than not, her gentle knock roused him from sleep. He would then sit up in bed and make certain the blanket was pulled to his waist before he called for her to enter. Without fail, the moment her wee face peeked into the room and met his gaze, a blush crept across her cheeks. Then she would look away and dart into the room like a wee mouse to set a pitcher of fresh water on the table near the hearth. And with a quick curtsey, she would take her leave, never once meeting his gaze again.
Nathan chuckled aloud as an image entered his mind of Abagail peeking into the room to find him and Elora in bed together, naked, their limbs entwined. No doubt, Elora had pictured that very thing when she had awoken and made her way back to her chamber. After all, they were not supposed to be officially wed until after Easter.
He lay back and counted the days until he could officially call Elora his wife. It was Maundy Thursday, the first day of the Triduum, which marked the start of the three days leading up to Easter. The morrow would bring Good Friday and then Holy Saturday, which meant in four days’ time, he and Elora would be husband and wife.
His smile could not be contained as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Closing his eyes, he savored his memories of the night before. The feel of her soft thighs wrapped around his waist. Her limpid lids half closed over blue eyes that burned with savage fire, beckoning and hungry. Her soft moans and the feel of her nails raking down his back. He could still feel her curves melting to his form as they fell asleep together, replete from their shared pleasure.
His heart racing, he fell back on the bed, wishing she were still there so that he could make her cry out again and again. “And again,” he whispered.
Eager to see her, he jerked upright and reached for his plaid. It was then he noticed the fabric on the floor. The soft linen with lace trim could only be a piece of Elora’s nightgown, which he had torn to reveal her glorious nakedness. Picking the fabric off the ground, he quickly located the other piece, which was still on the bed. He seized it so that he might hide the evidence of their love making, but when he lifted it away from the mattress, he revealed a much bigger testament of the consummation of their marriage—the stain of her maidenhead on his sheet.
He faltered, then tapped his fingers on his chin as he decided his next move. With only one clear solution in sight, he stripped the sheet from the bed and bundled it together with the torn nightgown. His gaze darted around the room as he searched for a hiding place. Crossing to the chest where he had stored his few belongings, he removed his cloak, sporran, and saddlebags and placed the evidence of their lovemaking inside. Then he covered the bundle with his affects so that no one would know what had occurred the night before.
Closing the lid, he chuckled to himself as he pictured them pulling the stained sheet out of the chest on their official wedding night and spreading it over the mattress for the servants to find the following morning. Eager to share his humorous plan with his bride, he left his chamber behind to go in search of Elora.
He whistled as he hastened down the hallway, greeting those he passed with a smile. With so many servants bustling through the halls, he knew it must be after Lauds but still before Prime because Abagail had yet to knock on his door, and so he headed straight to the solar where Elora was likely having her morning meeting with Murray. Finding the door closed, he rapped on the slatted wood and waited for permission to enter.
“Please, come in,” called a voice laced with desperation.
He flung the door wide. Smoke came billowing out into the hallway. Seizing the upper folds of his plaid to cover his face. He hastened into the room, crossed to the casement, and threw open the shutters. Then he whirled around. The room was empty but for Mary who was retreating away from the smoking hearth, coughing and sputtering.
“Mary,” he called and reached for her hand, drawing her close to the window. Turning, he yanked a tapestry down from the wall and used it to smother the smoking embers in the hearth. As the air began to clear, he helped Mary over to one of the high-backed chairs.
“Thank ye,” she gasped. “The flue...it must need cleaning.”
Nathan squatted down in front of her. “Shall I send for the midwife?”
“Nay,” Mary coughed. “Ye needn’t bother. I will ask Agnes to brew me a tisane.”
He squeezed her hand encouragingly, then stood. “I will speak to Agnes on yer behalf, and I’ll fetch Elora. No doubt, she’ll want to see for herself that ye’re all right.”
Mary shook her head. “She and Tempest are out riding. Ye needn’t trouble yerself. I will just rest here a while.”
“’Tis no trouble, Mary,” He reassured her and crossed to Elora’s table where he took up a pitcher of water. As he started to pour the young maid a cup, his thoughts drifted to why the sisters had set out for a ride so early in the day. But then he drew a sharp breath. Wind sliced through the room from the open casement, scattering Elora’s missives and lists to the floor.
“Oh dear,” Mary exclaimed, jumping to her feet.
“Nay, Mary,” he said firmly. “Sit. I will tidy yer lady’s desk.”
As he stacked the larger pieces of parchment together, his gaze passed over the scrawled message on top, and he realized it was the missive from Laird Mackintosh that Murray had remarked upon at supper the evening before, except there was no mention of the chestnut mare. Nathan’s gaze narrowed on the laird’s thinly veiled threat.
“The blackguard,” he growled and set the stack on the table, placing the heavy clay pitcher on top of the pages to keep them from flying away again. While he started to turn a plan to deal with Egan over in his mind, he continued to gather the other pages, many of them smaller pieces. He shook his head lovingly at Elora’s precise handwriting.
He smiled at Mary. “She does enjoy her lists.”
Mary chuckled. “Aye, that she does.”
“I wonder what she will plan for today...” His words trailed off as he skimmed another page.
His stomach dropped out.
“Does she play me for a fool?” he snarled, whirling around to face Mary.
Her eyes flashed wide. “Whatever do ye mean?”
He shoved the missive in front of her face. “Yer lady intends to marry another.”
Mary shook her head vehemently. “She intends nothing of the sort.”
“Look at the date,” he snapped. “She composed this letter this very morning.”
Mary inhaled sharply. “But...there must be some kind of mistake.” She stood and started to hasten across the room. “Let us go and find her. I’m certain she’ll be able to explain.”
He crumpled the page in his fist. “Her intentions are clear.”
Turning on his heel, the wadded parchment dropped from his fingers as he stormed back to his chamber. Throwing open the chest, he seized his affects, uncovering the stained sheet and torn nightgown. Her words from the night before came unbidden to his mind.
Ye set my soul on fire.
Apparently, the fire had already been snuffed out, because she must have left his bed and gone straight to the solar to compose her letter accepting marriage to another man.
“Lies,” he growled as he secured his sporran around his waist. Then he slung his cloak and saddle bags over his shoulder and marched back the way he’d come. Barreling through the castle halls, he ignored the greetings of those he passed. Bl
ood pounded in his ears as he thundered down the steps to the courtyard.
“Good morrow, Nathan,” Declan called.
Without a word, Nathan brushed past the older man and headed straight for the stables.
“Caleb,” he bellowed.
“Aye,” his friend called from one of the stalls where he was brushing his horse’s coat.
Nathan stormed toward him. “Get ye’re things! We’re leaving!”
Caleb’s eyes flashed wide. “What happened?”
“I’m in no mood for questions,” Nathan snarled, throwing open the stall door to ready his own mount. His hands shook with rage as he saddled his horse. After securing his saddle bags, he swung up in place and met Caleb’s dazed gaze. “Meet me at Fenhorn. Do not delay.” Then he drove his heels into his horse’s flanks. Keeping low in his saddle, he charged out into the courtyard and straight through the front gates, ignoring the alarmed cries of the Brodie villagers and warriors as he raced past.
NATHAN RODE HARD THROUGH Brodie lands, heading northeast to the hamlet of Fenhorn. The small settlement was on Sutherland lands, but its few inhabitants hailed from several different clans close to the region, that of Sutherland, Dunbar, Innes, and Cumming. The one tavern in the hamlet, The Siren’s Song, was owned by Samuel Cumming, and it was where Nathan and his band of thief-takers had met with Laird Cumming to discuss the Bowie contract. Nathan remembered that Samuel poured a full tankard, his serving lasses were fine to look upon, and the room where he had stayed had been free of fleas. There could be no better place to hold up and empty his heart and mind of all traces of her.
Bending low in his saddle, he pushed his horse harder across the moors as he strained to outrun the memory of her touch, her tender whispers, and the moments of pure joy that had filled his heart. Growling, he drove his heels into his horse’s flanks, cursing his foolishness for ever believing Lady Elora Brodie could love a man like him.
WHEN HE AT LAST REACHED Fenhorn, the sun was high in the sky and his horse labored to breathe. At the livery, he gave the stable master a pouch of silver to ensure the best care for his mount.
“I’m sorry, my friend,” he whispered softly, pressing his forehead to his horse’s muzzle. Then he left and made his way to The Siren’s Song.
The tavern was busy with patrons seeking their afternoon meal. He crossed the room to the bar. “I remember ye,” Samuel said when he spied Nathan’s approach. “Ye’re the thief-taker.”
Nathan nodded.
“Aye, I remember ye were generous with yer coin and gentle with my lassies.” Samuel set a tankard of ale in front of Nathan. “Consider this first one a gift.”
Without reply, Nathan set a few pennies on the bar, despite Samuel’s generosity, then turned to find a table. Straightaway, two lassies flanked him, each taking an arm. He let them lead him like something adrift on the waves to a table in the back. Easing into a chair, he rested his head on the wall behind him and closed his eyes.
The women crooned promises of pleasure in his ears while they caressed his shoulders and pressed feather soft kisses to his neck. But despite their tender administrations, their words barely penetrated his mind, nor could he truly feel their touch. The empty pit in his stomach expanded, wider and wider, stretching to his heart, until there was nothing.
He gripped the handle of his tankard. “All is as it should be,” he muttered bitterly.
Slowly, he lifted the tankard to his lips, but then the door swung wide and Caleb walked into the tavern. When they locked eyes, his friend barreled across the room. “What in the blazes are ye doing here?”
“Sit down,” Nathan drawled, using his foot to push out the chair across from him.
“Are ye a fool?” Caleb exclaimed.
Nathan narrowed his eyes on Caleb. “Do I look satisfied?”
His blue eyes ablaze with feeling, Caleb, quickly sat and looked Nathan hard in the eye. “Before I left the stables, Declan and Mary found me, and Mary told me about the letter.”
Nathan shook his head, a mirthless laugh fleeing his lips as he raised his cup to take a sip. “So, now ye know. Do ye intend to gloat and tell me I was a fool to ever accept the job?”
Caleb shook his head. “I do not understand ye. How could ye just leave like that?”
Nathan leaned forward in his seat. “She lied to me,” he hissed. “She’s never been opposed to marriage. She just never wanted to marry me, a worthless thief-taker.”
Caleb’s eyes flashed wide. “How can ye say that?”
Nathan narrowed his eyes on his friend. “Because she has accepted another man’s offer of marriage.”
“Ahh...” Caleb said leaning back in his seat, his expression softening. “Now I understand.”
“What?” Nathan snapped.
“Ye don’t know.”
Nathan slammed his fist on the table. “Ye push too far, Caleb! Say whatever is on yer mind and be done with it!”
“William Grant is not a man. He’s a child.”
Nathan faltered. “What do ye mean he’s a child?”
“He is naught but ten and three,” Caleb said softly.
The pit of Nathan’s stomach dropped out. “But...but Clan Grant is half the size of Egan’s. ‘Tis madness.”
Caleb shook his head. “Nay, not madness. She’s afraid, Nathan. Naught but fear made this choice, nothing more.”
Nathan raked his hand through his hair. “Egan is certain to take offense.”
Caleb nodded. “He’ll be furious, and her only protection will be the name of a child.”
His heart pounding in his ears, Nathan stood, shrugging off the now cloying hands of the serving wenches. Head low, eyes straight on, he stormed out of The Siren’s Song without a backward glance.
“We’ll need fresh horses,” he barked as Caleb joined him outside.
“Already done,” Caleb said, crossing to a nearby hitching post where two, sinewy stallions were tethered.
Nathan swung up in the saddle. His nostrils flared as he met Caleb’s gaze. “If Egan, or anyone else, harms her, I will slice them into pieces and scatter their remains for buzzards to feast upon.”
A glint of humor lit Caleb’s gaze. “So, what yer saying is that ye’re in love with Elora?”
“Completely,” Nathan replied. Then, he drove his heels into his horse’s flanks and raced back over the very hills he had only just traversed.
Chapter Nineteen
Elora and Tempest thundered through the gates of Castle Bròn. Sliding down from Rosie’s back, Elora handed the reins off to Jacob. “We’ll both need fresh mounts,” she insisted.
“Aye, my lady,” Jacob answered quickly before hastening toward the stables with their tired mares in tow.
“We should see if Declan has returned,” Tempest said breathlessly, drawing Elora’s gaze.
Elora nodded, but then movement caught her eye and she turned to see Mary rushing down the castle steps. “My ladies, I’m so glad ye’re both back. Supper is waiting for ye in the great hall.”
Elora shook her head. “We haven’t time.”
Mary seized Elora’s hand. “Please, my lady. Ye’ve been racing over the moors with naught to eat but a crumb of bannock. The sun is beginning its descent. Come and rest a while. Let the men search for Nathan.”
Elora looked to the West. The sun was indeed beginning to dip in the sky. Her chest tightened, and her mind returned to earlier in the day, when she and Tempest had first raced back home after their exhilarating morning ride. Elora had thundered through the gate and planned to march straight into the castle, throw her arms around Nathan’s neck, and ask him to take her to the chapel that very moment.
But Declan had been awaiting her return.
When she had slid down from Rosie’s back, he drew close. She had known something terrible had happened the moment she met his fretful gaze. And then he spoke the words that had stolen her breath and bent her over with searing pain as if he had plunged a dagger straight through her beating heart...Nathan is g
one.
Elora shook her head, forcing her thoughts back to the present. She turned to Mary. “It was my own weakness that drove him from my side,” Elora insisted. “I am to blame. I lost faith in him, in myself—”
“And now ye must have faith in yer men.” Mary interjected. “Declan is out there with a dozen warriors. They will find Nathan.” Then she bowed her head and dipped in a quick curtsey. “Forgive me for interrupting and for telling ye what ye should do, my lady.”
Elora took a deep breath, and then reached for Mary, pulling her maid into a warm embrace. “I’m realizing more and more that at times I must stop and heed someone else’s advice.” Elora drew back slightly and smiled gently. “Thank ye.” Expelling a slow breath, she turned to Tempest. “Shall we rest and eat?”
Elora could see Tempest hesitate. She took in her sister’s worried brow. “Declan will find them,” Elora said reassuringly, and then for Tempest’s ears alone, she whispered, “He will bring Caleb back.”
Tempest held her sister’s gaze, and Elora was struck by the depth of feeling she glimpsed in her sister’s eyes. “Ye’ve grown so much, so strong and beautiful. Ye’re not a child anymore.” Elora squeezed Tempest’s hand. “Hold tight to yer faith and I’ll hold tight to mine. All right?”
Taking a deep breath, Tempest nodded, and the worry in her expression eased. “I know Declan will find them,” she said bravely as she clasped Elora’s hand and started to lead her toward the castle steps.
But Elora held back and shook her head. “Ye go ahead. I will be in directly.”
Elora watched as Tempest and Mary climbed the steps together and disappeared into the great hall. Her stomach growled with hunger, but before she retired to the keep, she had one more thing to do.
Turning on her heel, she crossed the courtyard and entered the chapel. Her footfalls echoed off the high ceiling as she made her way to the side altar and lit a fresh candle from one that was nearly burned down to its wick. Then she sat down and let the quiet of the chapel surround her as she tried to calm her racing heart.
The Renegade (Rebel Hearts, #1) Page 13