An arm went about her waist and pulled her off her feet. She let out a scream before a hand clamped over her mouth. Her feet kicked at the legs behind her, fingers scratching at the arms that held her so tight she could barely suck in a breath. A second dark figure loomed in front of her.
“Shut up and I’ll let ye live, ye MacNaughton whore.”
She froze. His face was hidden by the night, but she knew Ross Craigg’s voice.
“Ye no-good, conniving piece of cow dung. Tell yer lickspittle to put me down. Calum will have yer head for this.”
The back of his hand sent her head spinning. She saw bits of light, and Ross’ face came in and out of focus. An ache began in her jaw and threaded down her neck.
“Not before I have his grandson’s.”
Her body went still. “Ye’ve gone mad as a March hare.”
“Lissie… Lissie!”
“Here comes the gentleman in question. Now remember ye’re a Craigg for just a moment, and no harm will come to ye.”
“Why?” She spit blood from her mouth. “Ye know ye’ll never get away with murdering a MacNaughton, let alone an Englishmen. Ye’ll have the law of Scotland and England after ye and me as a witness.”
“Ye’d stand up for that fousome English pig over yer own kin? Then ye are no blood of mine.”
“If you harm a hair on her head, I’ll kill you. Slowly. Very slowly.” The voice was deep, quiet, and deadly. “You know, we English have had centuries of practice.”
Rage shone in Ross’ eyes as he turned to confront the earl, only to be met with a fist to his face. Sprawled on the ground, he rubbed his jaw. “I’m not paying ye to keep my company. If he knocks me down again, slice the lass’ throat,” he said to the ruffian holding Alisabeth.
The man grunted in confirmation, his foul breath making her gag. He pulled her hands behind her back. She winced at the pain that radiated up her arms.
Ross Craigg rose, pulled a pistol from his belt, and pointed it at Gideon.
“I understand you hold no love for the MacNaughtons. But think of the consequences to the rest of your family.” Gideon held up his hands as if in surrender but took a step sideways, out of the direct path of the gun.
Hissss. Lachlan called from behind Ross, his sword drawn. “Stand down, Craigg. This canna end well for ye.”
“Och, luck is on my shoulder. The grandiose Lachlan returned to take his brother’s place. We’ll take both of ye down.”
Gideon again spoke softly, taking another sidestep toward Alisabeth. “You still haven’t answered the lady’s question. Why?”
“Her da”—he jerked his head at Alisabeth—“can taint his offspring with the MacNaughton’s but I’ll not be his toady. I never asked for peace between our clans. I should be head of the Craiggs.”
“No one would ever follow such a cur,” Alisabeth hissed.
“It doesna matter. Nessie’s my property, not the chieftain’s. I decide who my blood mixes with and who marries my daughter.”
“So ye’ll take the noose rather than see yer daughter married to a MacDunn? Ye’ve lost yer mind, mon.” Lachlan moved his sword slowly back and forth as he crouched in preparation for the fight to come.
“I’ll not take orders from the MacNaughton, who listens to a spawn of the devil.” Ross sneered at Gideon. “Ye’ve been here a month, come into my village, and know my business. There’s something unnatural about ye, and I intend to rid us all of that peculiar power. It’s done enough harm, in my opinion.” Ross spit on the ground in front of Gideon.
As he bent his head in disgust, Lachlan lunged forward. The sword sliced Craigg’s hand, and the pistol tumbled to the ground. Ross drew his own sword and faced Lachlan. At the same time, Alisabeth kicked backward, knocking her captor off balance. As she hoped, it was enough time for Gideon. He seized the opening and landed a punch to the man’s head. She broke free. Her pounding heart sent waves of pain through her skull.
“Run, Lissie.” The earl threw another punch before the other man’s knuckles connected with his jaw, and they landed together in a heap on the hard earth. The rogue straddled Gideon and pushed his face into the dirt. Gideon’s fingers crawled up his assailant’s shirt, found his neck, and squeezed. The man raised an arm, a dagger clenched in his fist.
Terror gripped Alisabeth. Her heart constricted at the thought of another man she cared for dying before his time. Across the clearing, Lachlan and Ross stood nose to nose, swords crossed. Ross’ shirt was torn and blood splashed down his kilt. Lachlan kicked him in the stomach and raised his blade. Ross charged, screaming like a mad boar.
Lissie dove for the pistol. Her body sprawled on the ground, dirt filling her mouth and stinging her eyes. The pungent smell of pine filled her nose as she rolled over on her back. She cringed at the sound of crunching bone as Gideon landed another punch to his attacker’s jaw. Moonlight glinted on metal and she realized Gideon had a dagger in one hand. A low rumble sounded in his throat as the metal flicked up and into the ruffian’s gut. His eyes went wide, his mouth open, and he slumped over Gideon.
Lachlan cursed and she saw him gripping his leg, blood dripping between his fingers. God forgive me, she thought, as her teeth began to chatter. The smooth wood of the handle in her palm gave her courage. She aimed at her cousin’s back as he raised his broad sword over Lachlan’s head. Tears blurred her vision. Her fingers squeezed the trigger. The impact of the shot sent her reeling backwards into the bush.
A yowl of pain and a curse. Alisabeth blinked, praying the bullet hit the right man. Ross screamed, the clash of steel against steel, and then Calum burst into the opening.
“What the devil is going on here?” He picked up the lifeless man by the collar and inspected his contorted face.
The crack of branches, mumbled oaths, and Ross Craigg disappeared into the darkness. Lachlan yelled, attempted to limp after the fleeing figure.
“Run ye feckin’ traitor!” He grimaced and squeezed his thigh, trying to staunch the flow of blood. “Ye canna hide.”
Gideon was on his knees, his breath coming out in pants. Lissie’s courage fled, and she collapsed. Tears poured down her face as sobs wrenched her body. Her fingers dug into the cool earth. Then strong arms scooped her up.
“Shhh, it’s over.” Gideon kissed the top of her head and held her close. “I have you. You’re safe now.”
She clung to him, her body convulsing. “D-did I k-k-kill him?”
“Och, lass, ye just nicked him. But he’ll wish ye finished him off once we find him.”
Calum looked around the clearing and shook his head. “Let’s get out of here and into the moonlight so we can see the damage,” Calum ordered. The bedraggled group exited the copse just as Maeve and MacDunn reached the stone bench.
“God’s bones,” yelled Rory. “What kind of treachery is this?”
“Lissie, my poor lass, are ye all right?” Maeve’s face changed from concern to horror as she took in their battered faces. “Who did this?”
Gideon groaned as he lowered himself and Alisabeth onto the bench. “That cowardly Craigg. He used Lissie to draw me into the woods.”
“Why?”
He began to explain when Alisabeth peered up at his face. She gasped. “Oh, no.” She gently touched his swollen eye, pulled on his bloody cravat, and used it to dab at the blood splattered across his nose and mouth. “Does it hurt?”
“Och, no. It’s nothin’ but a gash in my leg, needing a stitch or two or dozen. But dinna worry about me, sweet sister.” Lachlan sat down heavily next to them. “I’m sure it will only fester and bleed until the surgeon has to take it off. Then ye can fetch whiskey for me and tell me what a hero I am.”
Calum guffawed and bent to investigate his grandson’s wound. “Ye always were a wee bit dramatic, lad. It’s barely a scratch. A swallow or two of the good stuff will have ye forgetting the pain.”
Peigi arrived and the cacophony of voices began again. Finally, Calum raised his hand. “We need to be getting back
to the cèilidh before our guests notice. I think we should keep this to ourselves for now.”
“I agree,” said Peigi, after learning of the attack. “Poor Nessie and Hamish dinna need their wedding day spoiled by this. Gideon, can ye help Lachlan up the back stairs? We’ll go through the kitchen.”
He nodded. Alisabeth reluctantly moved off his lap, a chill going through her as she left his warm arms. “I’ll clean them both up and get the cook to help sew up Lachlan’s leg. She’ll keep it to herself.”
“We’ll take turns and check on all three of ye. I’ll think of an excuse for yer absence.” Peigi turned to Calum. “Lissie found the wedding brought back memories of Ian and retired early. Understand?”
Calum nodded. “Lachlan and Gideon have become fast friends and fell in the whiskey barrel. They’ll be dead ‘til morning.”
“I thank ye, all of ye,” said Rory. “Ye’re a good mon, Calum MacNaughton, with good kin.”
The disheveled group slowly made their way around the edge of the garden. Maeve and MacDunn rejoined the festivities. Peigi handed Alisabeth a lantern. “Call for me if ye need anything, lass.”
Lachlan led them through the back passage of the old keep. “I’m glad Lissie is going to England. With Ross Craigg on the loose, I’d be worried for her.”
She stopped at the bottom stair and looked over her shoulder. “What? England?”
Her brother-in-law’s blue eyes went wide. “Now I’ve gone and done it.”
“Done what?” Her hands shook with anger. “Who has been making plans for me without my knowledge?”
“Mama planned to ask you tomorrow. She wants company for the winter and thought you might enjoy a change.” Gideon held up his hands. “She only checked with Grandfather to be certain there were no objections before she asked you.”
Lissie took a deep breath. England. She’d always imagined traveling and had grown close to Maeve. Perhaps a change would be good for her. With Lachlan leaning heavily on Gideon, she turned and led them up the stairs.
“I think it’s best if we go to Lachlan’s room to keep rumors at bay if we are discovered,” Gideon requested as they arrived at the top of the landing.
“But her room is right here and mine is at the end of a verra long hall.” Lachlan’s slurred words betrayed his weakening state after the narrow stairs, his face a sickly white.
“Humor me, please, when I worry about Lissie’s reputation. It’s ingrained in the English.” His lips quirked up in a smile as they arrived at a landing. “I can throw you over my shoulder and carry you the rest of the way.”
“Over my dead body.” With that, he crumpled in Gideon’s grip.
Alisabeth hurried to prop a limp arm over her shoulder. Together, they half carried, half dragged the unconscious Scot down the hall. “He’s lost much blood. I hope Calum finds Enid soon. She’s stitched up more gashes than rats in Edinburgh. Once she’s finished, I’ll make a honey poultice to keep out any infection.”
By the time they reached the door, Lissie was sweating. Her brother-in-law was not a small man, though she was no weakling. They propped him on the edge of his bed then pulled him onto the mattress. A sheen of sweat covered his pale skin, and he mumbled incoherent words. Except one. Fenella.
“Who is Fenella?” Gideon sat heavily on the edge of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Blasted head is killing me.”
“I can give ye something for the head, but I’ve no idea who the woman is. Ye can wager I’ll find out once he’s lucid.” She smiled in anticipation of that subject. “It’s not a familiar name around these parts, so she must be from Glasgow.”
“I’m just relieved you are not seriously harmed.” He brushed the hair back from her face and gently laid it across her shoulder. She shuddered. “It’s the first moment of true panic I’ve ever experienced.”
She reached out and explored his swollen eye with a gentle finger. He grimaced and she snatched her hand back. But not before he caught it in his own. “Ye saved my life. I’m sorry for the battle scars we’ll be carrying for a while. My cousin is a despicable man.”
“If you come to England, I’ll protect you with my life.” He kissed her palm, rolled up her fingers, and held her fist against his chest. “And I swear to you, I’ll be a proper gentleman. I promise to give you all the time you need to mourn. When you are ready, I will be waiting.”
“And if I’m never ready?” She bit her trembling lip. His clear indigo eyes stole her breath and created odd stirrings in her belly.
“Then I’ll work harder for your affections, but I’ll never pressure you. I want you to be happy, Lissie. I’ll do everything in my power to make that happen, whether it ends with me or another.”
Her fingers traced his smooth, strong jawline. “I’ll hold ye to that.”
“These fool men always stirrin’ up trouble.” Enid bustled into the room, a bag clutched in her plump hand, and her frizzy gray curls clinging to her round cheeks. She stopped with her hand on her heaving chest. “As soon as I catch my breath, we’ll begin. Tell me ye’ve the stomach for a little blood, my lord, for I’ll need yer help to hold the ox down.”
Chapter 9
“Men are what their mothers made them.”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
Alisabeth woke with an aching head. She cringed as her tongue tentatively ran over her split lip. It had been a terrible night, yet a painful smile curved her lips. Throwing back the covers, her toes snuggled into the soft fur rug on the stone floor. She’d avoided any reflection of herself last night and was afraid to look in the mirror this morning.
The cèilidh had continued long into the night. A grand gathering thrown by the MacNaughtons came once, maybe twice a year, and the villagers took full advantage of the festivities, food, and drink. No one had questioned Peigi’s excuses for their absence. Alisabeth hurried to dress. Her stomach growled with hunger.
The water in the basin was cold and rejuvenated her tired face. The right side of her mouth was swollen and the top lip split open. If she withstood the discomfort and pressed her lips together, it didn’t look too horrible. She gingerly scrubbed her teeth, the new boar bristles rough against the inside of her bruised mouth. Then she brushed her hair and donned a fresh chemise, deep violet bodice, and skirt.
The main hall had been set up with food for anyone spending the night. It wasn’t unusual to find leftover guests after a cèilidh, and especially after a wedding. Peigi had arranged for a private breakfast in the sitting room to avoid prying eyes and questions. On the way, Alisabeth stopped in to check on Lachlan. He was propped up against a mountain of pillows, his broad chest bare, and a sheet pulled up to his stomach. His auburn waves clung to his neck and shoulders, his skin shiny with sweat. He opened his deep blue eyes and grinned.
“My leg’s intact, darlin’, but I’ll still need ye to fetch the whiskey.”
“Och, you are hopeless.” Relief swept through her at the sound of his cheerful voice. “Ye were half delirious when Enid pushed me out the door. I was worried the fever would take ye during the night.”
“I’m not ready to raid the neighbor’s pasture, but I’m better than I was.” He held out a hand. “Come and sit with me, sweet Lissie. I’ve missed ye.”
“I’m sorry my cousin has brought these troubles on the MacNaughtons.” She settled next to him on the soft mattress and laced her fingers with his. Tears of embarrassment and regret stung the back of her eyes. “How is yer wound?”
“I’ve had the best care. No one wields a needle better than Enid. Yer poultice will keep away infection. I’ll be up in no time.” He pulled back the sheet to show her the bandage above his knee and wiggled his toes. Pink stained through the linen wrapped around his muscled thigh. “And no apologies for that rancid cousin. There’s at least one in every clan. Ye canna blame yerself.”
Alisabeth nodded, not trusting her voice.
“When will ye be leaving?”
“Do ye think I should go to England?” Her gaze lock
ed on him. “How will I wake up each morning without this family around me?”
“Aunt Maeve will be there. She loves ye now like we do, I see it in her eyes. Ye willna be lonely.” His thumb rubbed the side of her hand in comfort. “And Gideon will be there to take care of ye. He’s a man of his word.”
She searched his eyes for any trace of resentment but found only sympathy and affection. It had been an awkward yet healing month until last night.
“Lissie, life takes unexpected turns. We must be ready to snatch happiness in a moment because it may be our last.”
“But I would never—”
He held up his other hand. “I’m only saying we love ye, lass. Death can come in the blink of an eye. If ye have the chance for some joy, take it. No one will think the worse of ye for it. Do ye understand?”
She nodded and sniffed.
“Good. Now find me a bottle of whiskey to keep me company and some of those fat, buttery biscuits ye baked.”
Gideon licked the remnants of ham from his fingers and cursed as salt seeped into his raw knuckles. A swollen face wasn’t unusual after a match at Gentleman Jackson’s, but he hadn’t fought without boxing gloves since university, and then only during drunken brawls.
“My poor boy,” his mother crooned as she entered the small sitting room. “Your face looks worse than it did last night.”
“Wait until the green and yellow replace the black and blue. However, I can open this eye today so I’m counting my blessings.” He accepted a kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re here before Alisabeth. I’m afraid she knows about our plans to bring her home. Lachlan mentioned it.”
“And is she amenable?” Maeve poured tea and refilled his cup.
“Livid is a better word. She’s proof all Scots have a temper.” He chuckled when his mother opened her mouth to argue. “I think with her cousin in hiding, she’ll see the wisdom in it. And she’s fond of you, Mama.”
“I’m verra fond of her.” She scooped up soft butter from a bowl, lathered it over a biscuit, and chewed thoughtfully. “The man is a lunatic to think he could get away with murder right under our noses. His poor wife. She must be mortified.”
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