The Highland Duke

by Amy Jarecki

  “But it is.”

  “I think not.”

  Geordie’s jaw twitched. “Do you truly want Clan Gordon as your enemy?”

  “Times are changing.” The marquis sat back, making a show of panning his gaze up to Geordie’s face, his eyes blacker than coal. “Anyway, ’tis not the lass I want. Confess to being a traitor and I will release her.”

  The duke’s throat went dry.

  Dear God, this whole ruse is a plot to ruin me—the bastard is sitting there salivating. I’ll wager he cannot wait to sink his claws into my lands.

  “Me? A traitor? Preposterous.” Cracking his fingers, Geordie again imagined wrapping them around John’s neck and squeezing the life out of the varlet.

  John shrugged. “You held Edinburgh against King William.”

  “And you were there, you turncoat.” Narrowing his gaze, Geordie fought for self-control. Aye, he’d insure he walked out of Blair Castle to exact his revenge. “Must I remind you that after William marched on London, many of us were outraged—including you, my friend. We stood behind James the Second, our sovereign, God rest his soul. After all, he inherited the throne. And furthermore, I would not be here before you this day if I hadn’t received a pardon.”

  “Ah yes, yet another pardon.” Licking his lips, the marquis chuckled. “You’re such a rogue, George.”

  Heat spiked up the back of Geordie’s neck. “Do not toy with me.”

  “Very well.” John waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll give you a sennight to set your affairs in order. If you do not come forward and confess, then I will ensure the lass swings from the gallows.”

  “For what?” Geordie yelled, on the brink of losing control—something a duke would never do. “She’s a goddamned healer, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Aye, and she’s woven her tendrils around your heart.”

  He scoffed—revealing the depth of his love would be a mortal mistake. No, no, he must plant the seed of doubt in the man’s mind. “She helped me, and that is all.”

  “Aye? Well then, I’m sure a man like you wouldn’t even consider saving a good-for-nothing’s life by offering up his own.”

  “You have no idea what I would and wouldn’t do. But I’ve learned one thing from meeting with you this day.”

  “And what is that, pray tell?”

  Geordie’s lips thinned. “You have no soul.”

  * * *

  Akira curled in a corner of the dank pit with her arms wrapped around her shins, her head bent over her knees. She’d been there for hours with no food, no water, and not a word from another soul. After the captain pushed her into the hole in the pit prison of the tolbooth, muttering curses and threatening to ruin the Duke of Gordon, she’d been left with a twisted ankle and nothing but her wits to keep her sane.

  The only light in the pit shone through the hole in the ceiling, which was covered by an iron grate. Across the chamber, water trickled, enough to cause a chill to hang in the air. She was cold and hungry, her entire body numb.

  When she’d refused to bear witness against the duke, Captain Weaver had shown no mercy. “We’ll talk again after you’ve had a chance to commune with the rats.”

  She shuddered and raised her head enough to peer through the dim light. Something scampered—something dark.

  I hate rats.

  That miserable, hollow chasm stretched inside her chest again.

  If the captain planned to kill her, she prayed for a swift death.

  The scraping from the iron grate above made chills skitter up her spine. Someone shoved a rickety ladder through the gap.

  Pushing to her feet, Akira kept her back against the wall while a pair of black boots stepped on the top rung. Bile churned in her stomach as she watched Captain Weaver climb down and place a torch on the wall.

  Her gaze darted around the chamber. Slimy green algae lined the far wall, and a pile of rotted straw appeared to move.

  When he faced her, the torchlight illuminated his form, his eyes but a shadow. She didn’t need to see his face to know he was smiling, and then his chuckle confirmed it. “I offered you a chance at freedom once before, but it seems you value the duke’s life more than your own.”

  Akira pursed her lips, crossing her arms. Aye, this pit might be hell on earth, but she would not betray Geordie.

  He braced his hands on the wall, either side of her head. “But I no longer feel like being lenient.”

  Her chin ticked up. “Do what you like with me, I’ll not speak ill of an innocent man.”

  “Hmm.” He sniffed and rubbed her hair between his fingers. “I’ve spent a fair bit of time thinking about what I’d like to do with you. Tell me, has the duke sampled your wares?” The cur laughed. “Did he force you, or did you offer to spread your legs for him?”

  “Stop this. You are vulgar.” Akira focused on the ladder, just over his shoulder.

  “Indeed, I find my vulgarity most entertaining, especially when faced with such tempting quarry.”

  A spike of vigor rushed through her blood as she ducked under his arm and sprinted for freedom.

  “Argh!” Akira’s head snapped back. She clapped her hands to her head as he practically tore her hair from her scalp. Worse, he snatched her into his steely arms, thrusting himself against her back. “You’re mine. You cannot run from me.”

  Ice pulsed through her veins. The man was insane. “I’m no slave.”

  “Truly? You’re my prisoner and I can do anything I please with you.” He slid his hand to her breast and squeezed. Hard.

  Struggling to free herself, she pushed against him, only to be met with an unmoving chest. “Geor—th-the duke will chase you to the ends of the earth if you dare…” Dear Lord, she couldn’t utter it.

  The captain rubbed himself into her buttocks and licked her neck, his hand still groping like he was wringing out a sponge.

  Holy Mother, the ice in Akira’s blood turned to fire. She’d die before she allowed this cur to violate her—allowed him to touch her the way the blackguard at the alehouse had hurt Ma.

  The captain pushed her against the wall, trapping her by holding his hand to her neck. Clothing rustled. She glanced over her shoulder.

  Uncle Bruno’s voice whispered in her head. Break away toward the thumbs.

  Throwing her elbow, she hit the captain in the jaw as she whipped around, breaking the weakest part of his grip. In one fluid motion, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of his dagger and ripped it from its scabbard.

  “Bitch!” Weaver howled and faced her with a snort. “You think you can take the likes of me with that wee dagger.”

  She swiped an X through the air. “Mayhap not, but I can certainly have a go at severing your ballocks.”

  His gaze hawkish, he slid back a step. “With you in my clutches, we have the traitor right where we want him.” He smirked. “I didn’t realize how much an urchin like you could mean to him until he betrayed himself on the road to Inverness.”

  Akira’s heart fluttered, and then it sank right down to her toes when realization set in. “You’re using me to blackmail him?”

  “I wouldn’t call it blackmail.” Weaver licked his lips, watching the knife as it shook in Akira’s hand. “You see, if he admits to treason, his lands will be forfeit. And with my ties to the marquis, I reckon I’d like a piece of that—mayhap I’ll even earn a barony.”

  She clamped her other hand over the knife and steadied it right in line with his loins. “You are disgusting.”

  “Who are you to talk? You’re swiving a duke. In return for what? Fancy dresses? A suite of rooms? How are you any different from me?” He took a daring step forward.

  Akira swiped the knife. “Stay back.”

  “Tell you what.” He held out his palm. “Give the dagger to me, and I’ll make you my mistress, and when they grant me lands and title you might even be kept in style.”

  “Not on your miserable life.” She tightened her grip. “You signed a proclamation proving the Duke of Gordon’s
innocence. Why can you not leave us in peace? Surely there are real enemies out there for you to chase after and torture.”

  Akira backed up, hitting the stone wall.

  “And yet you threaten me, brandishing a knife against one of Her Majesty’s officers. You want to be tortured? Well, I have a notion to make you spend a week in the pillory for your treason.”

  He lunged from the side and grabbed her wrist.

  Faster, Akira jabbed, the blade catching his forearm before he clamped hard and twisted.

  She cried out as searing pain shot up her arm and the weapon dropped from her grip.

  The captain snatched the knife from the ground, then clutched his wounded limb to his body. “You cut me, you bitch.”

  Akira bared her teeth. “I’d do it again.”

  Fast as a viper, he snatched her hair and pulled. “I’ll bend you to my will, and soon you’ll be begging for me to give it to you.”

  Gritting her back molars, she twisted with the force of his savage tug. “You’ll never break me.”

  He raised his palm.

  Akira flinched.

  “Captain, you’ve a caller,” a voice shouted from above.

  With one last yank of her hair, Weaver shoved her to the ground. “Until you grovel at my feet and worship me, I promise to make your life a living hell.”

  Akira covered her mouth and forced herself to hold back tears. Only after the ladder was pulled up and the grate slid back over her only window to freedom did she slump in a heap, despair numbing her entire body. Her head swam. How could that man be so evil when he was supposed to be defending the queen’s people?

  Akira muffled her cries in her hands until a voice resounded from above. A deep voice that lifted her heart and made it soar.

  “If you touch her, I will see to your hanging myself,” Geordie boomed.

  “She’ll pay for her crimes,” the captain countered.

  “The lass is innocent.”

  “The magistrate will determine that in due course.”

  “When this is over, I swear on my father’s grave I will not be the one ruined.”

  Akira dropped to her knees and folded her hands. Dear Jesus, help us.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Geordie hated waiting, and now days had passed, driving him to the brink of madness. He’d set up a makeshift command post, taking over the entire inn, barking orders because there was little else that could be done until his damned reinforcements arrived.

  While he paced, Akira’s sisters sat at a rickety table, playing a game of dice. With every clanking roll, Geordie wanted to swipe the wooden cubes from the board and throw them into the fire. Moreover, with every roll of the dice, the knots in his shoulders wound a bit tighter.

  But telling them to find something else to do was out of the question. He needed to keep them nearby in case they had to make a quick escape. And he wasn’t about to see another Ayres daughter fall into Captain Weaver’s clutches.

  Their mother had shut herself in a chamber above stairs and refused to come down. Geordie had never seen anyone so afraid to show her face in public, and he now understood how much gumption it had taken for Laini to leave the shieling and fetch him.

  “I have news, Your Grace.” Oliver pushed through the door. Thank God. He’d gone to rendezvous with the troops at Cally Loch yesterday.

  “Damn it, man—” The lassies gasped at his curse, but Geordie ignored them. “Have out with it.”

  “Three hundred Gordons and a hundred MacDonells rode day and night. They’ve set up camp at the loch and are awaiting orders.”

  “Will there be another battle?” asked Annis.

  Geordie frowned. “Let’s just say I aim to alter some priorities.”

  A rumble like an army on the march resounded from the road. He looked to Oliver. “You told the men to stay out of sight?”

  “Aye, even told them no fires.”

  Geordie hastened to the window. “Holy hellfire, what is it now?” The door burst open and a rather disheveled tinker strode inside, scowling and brandishing an ax like he was ready to start swinging. The crazed man wore orange-and-green striped breeches with a saffron shirt. His black hair spiked every which way—it looked like the mop hadn’t seen a comb in a fortnight. Though his skin was olive and tanned, he had oddly piercing blue eyes. Geordie leaned in—the man’s eyes looked just like Akira’s.

  “What is the meaning of this?” the character demanded in a most accusing tone, while townsfolk filed in behind him—not the well-dressed folk who lived in the nice houses near the square, but the ones dressed in rags with dirty faces. Some carried broom handles and rocks, as if they were ready for a fight.

  Drawing his sword, Oliver stepped between them. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Uncle Bruno?” Annis said.

  “Brunooooooooooo!” Kynda ran to the crazed man and wrapped her arms around him.

  Maintaining a distrustful gaze on Oliver and Geordie, Bruno pushed the lass behind him. “Are you holding these lassies against their will? Where is my sister? I went to her cottage to find the place empty, the fire pit cold.” Peering over Oliver’s shoulder, the man snarled. “Worse, these good folk tell me my niece is in the pit on account of the Duke of Gordon. And by your finery, I’d reckon that would be you.”

  “That’s right,” said a man brandishing a broomstick. “I saw His Grace with her—and they were arguing, too.”

  Geordie held out his hands. “You misunderstand. I’m trying to free Miss Akira, I—”

  “Liar!” someone shouted from the rear.

  “He’s a Highlander of the worst sort,” another hollered.

  “Bruno!” Laini stood at the top of the stairs, grasping the banister with both hands. “The duke is helping us, you joob. Put the ax down afore you hurt yourself.”

  The ax lowered. “But these good folk—”

  “—do not ken the whole story,” Laini said as she remained in place, her arms shaking.

  Bruno eyed Geordie. “What the devil…?”

  “Would you care for a pint of ale, my friend?” He stressed the words my friend, hoping to cool off the man’s misplaced ire. Careful not to take his eye off the varlet in case he decided to charge like a bull, Geordie gestured to a table. The last thing he needed at the moment was to deal with a pack of hostile townsfolk and their confused, wildly dressed leader.

  Once Bruno and a number of other misguided people were seated with a tankard of ale in front of them, Oliver helped Laini down the stairs. Geordie stood beside her, keeping an eye on her brother while she filled them in on the truth.

  His scowl set firmly in place, Bruno didn’t seem convinced. “But the duke is still the reason why Akira’s in the tolbooth.”

  “That’s true,” Geordie interjected for the first time, slamming his fist into his palm. “But I have a plan.”

  Everyone looked at him expectantly, including Oliver.

  A lad pushed through the crowd, panting like he’d run a footrace. “They’ve locked her in the pillory!”

  The hall rumbled as Bruno shoved his chair back and sprang to his feet. “I’ll not stand for it.”

  “Nor will I.” Geordie drew his dirk and held it high. “I’ve an entire army waiting to attack.”

  “Not in the square. You’ll not win in the square. There are too many dragoons guarding the prison.” The crease between Bruno’s eyebrows eased, and he took on a crooked grin. “Now I’m the one with the plan.”

  Good God, he didn’t have time to muck around. “You’d best talk fast.”

  Bruno gestured to the crowd. “We have an army in disguise right here.”

  Geordie regarded the soiled faces, most of them scowling. At him, no less. “You mean this lot of tinkers?”

  “Aye. Gather round.” Bruno grasped the back of his chair and leaned forward. “I’ll take my men and cause a stir. Kynda—do you remember what I taught you about having tricky fingers?”

  “I do.” The wee lass slipped a dagger from
Geordie’s sock and he didn’t feel a damned thing.

  Geordie plucked the knife from the lass’s fingers. “You taught this child to be a thief?”

  “I taught her how to survive in the gutter.” Bruno grasped Kynda by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. “We’ll form a mob by the pillory—shout about how outraged we are, then when the pushing and shoving starts, you snatch the keys from the captain’s belt. Can you do that?”

  Laini lumbered to her feet. “You’re asking my wee bairn to put her life in peril?”

  “Dordi, dordi, sister,” Bruno said, using some sort of Gypsy gibberish. “I swear nothing will happen to her.”

  Geordie didn’t like it. He shoved his finger under the lassie’s bullheaded uncle’s nose. “If we’re going to do this, once Kynda has the key, she must give it to me.”

  “Nay.” Bruno shook his head. “Ye cannot be there, ’cause then they’ll ken it is a trap.”

  “Dammit, man.” Geordie stepped closer, towering over Akira’s uncle. “I’ll not stand in the shadows whilst you risk Akira’s life and that of her sisters.”

  Bruno met the duke’s glare with a scowl of his own. “But any man will ken ’tis you from a mile away.”

  Shifting his gaze down the man’s ridiculous costume, Geordie snorted. “Not if I’m wearing a tinker’s orange-striped breeches and a saffron shirt.”

  “Aye?” Bruno scratched the black stubble on his chin, shifting his gaze to one of his men. “I merely have to look at that bonny face to ken you’re nobility.”

  “Nothing a bit of soot cannot fix.” Geordie squared his shoulders and loomed over the man. “Just try to stop me.”

  “You have a set of cods—for a duke.” Bruno lifted his chin and crossed his arms. The man might think he had the upper hand, but his change in attitude showed his accord. “How many men do you have?”

  Oliver held up his palms, with a cautious gesture toward the crowd. “More than you.”

  Geordie leaned closer to the man and whispered, “Three hundred.”

  “What about horses?”

  “What do you need?”

  Bruno grinned. “I reckon we might get along just fine, Your Grace.”