Highlander's Dark Pride

by Fiona Faris

  The lady's maid nodded frantically. “I am sure. I could see it in her eyes. It was like she was going to face the guillotine.”

  That was strangely heartening to hear. He whirled around, striding away with purpose. Frances could hardly keep up. Entering the armoury, he walked along the rows of implements as he examined the weapons. There were several swords and cutlasses but what caught his eye was the matchlock rifle. He lifted it slowly from its hook, running his fingers along its length.

  “Sir? What do you plan to do with that?”

  Alexander’s laugh was slightly bitter. “Nothing I do not have to.”

  Frances sighed shakily, wringing her hands. “You won’t hurt her will you?”

  Alexander turned to face her with a furrowed brow. “Hurt who? Mrs MacTavish? Why would I do that?”

  Frances just shook her head, hunching over into herself with eyes downcast. “No reason sir.”

  That made Alexander’s frown deepen. What did Frances think he was going to find at the inn Spinning? He spun on his heel he dashed out of the room, rifle clutched in hand. Frances followed, trying to keep up with his long strides.

  As they descended the stairs, she stopped following him, deciding that the best thing to do was to find Rebecca, wishing. She regretted not doing that right away. in the instance Nobody knew how to handle Mr. MacTavish better than his sister. So as Alexander headed for the door, she headed for the kitchen, where she’d seen Rebecca last.

  “Miss MacTavish ma’am!” she called as she skidded to a halt in the kitchen, startling Rebecca into dropping the wet cloth she was using to wipe the counter, “You need to come now.”

  “What is it? What’s happened?” Rebecca clutched at Frances’ arms, her voice urgent.

  “My mistress has gone to town to see that scoundrel and now your brother has followed them…and he has a rifle!”

  “What?” Rebecca’s arm dropped and she picked up her dress and began to run. “Where did they go?”

  “I don’t know. I think he’s staying at the inn.”

  Rebecca nodded, pausing by the stairwell. “Get us some horses, Frances. I’ll be right back.” She took the stairs two at a time. Frances watched her go for a moment before hurrying out to the stables to fetch the horses.

  Emily was very uncomfortable and she was regretting her decision to come here. Philip kept plying her with food and drink that she did not want as he boasted to her about his exploits and achievements.

  “I do not know if you heard all the way out here in the back of beyond, but I was voted foremost jouster in the last tournament held by the king.”

  Emily did not know if there was even really such a thing. She stretched her lips in a forced smile. “That’s nice.”

  “Yes. I am most definitely a valued member of the jousting club. My home has hosted many a tournament. I would feel it my honour if you would visit me there.”

  “I do not think my husband would like that.”

  “Indeed not. But perhaps you would. It’s not too late to annul this farce, you know?”

  “I…do not know what you could possibly be talking about. What farce?”

  “Oh come, Emily. You do not really want to be married to that brute. He is an uncultured Scottish swine and you are an English rose – delicate and lovely, who should be treasured. Not made to labour like a workhorse rebuilding a house that is barely worthy of the name.”

  “I…” Emily’s voice cracked and she wrung her fingers in worry. Philip reached out and captured one of her hands in his.

  “Look at your poor hands, so dry and cracked and callused. He will turn you into a peasant soon. I can take you away from all of this.”

  “I have made a commitment, Lord Edenhall, and I intend to honour it, sir.” She tried to speak sternly but feared she did not succeed. Philip was saying nothing she had not thought herself at one time. She could see how he would think that they were misusing her.

  “A commitment made out of fear and when offered no choice in the matter is no commitment. I am offering you a choice, now.”

  Emily’s mind went back to the night that Alexander had offered her a choice – to be married truly or to live as strangers. She had made her choice that night and it had not changed.

  She must have stayed silent too long for Philip was moving closer, his hand snaking around her shoulders. “I can protect you from him,” he murmured low and intimate into her ear.

  “And who will protect you from me?” the voice made her jump and she leaped away from Philip, turning to see Alexander standing in the doorway like the wrath of God.

  “Alexander!” she scrambled to her feet and stumbled over to her husband’s side. “What…?” her eyes raked over the rifle in his hands and the thunder in his expression filled her with fear. He did not look at her but kept his eyes on Philip, who was looking distinctly smug.

  Philip’s eyes ran over the gun as he smirked. “Oh, so you’re going to shoot me like a coward you are?”

  Alexander threw the gun down at Emily’s feet. “Or I could just beat you to death.”

  Philip raised his fists. “You can try.”

  Alexander turned around and walked out of the dining room, down the hall and out into the courtyard where he stood waiting. Emily looked frantically between Philip and her departing husband then picked up the rifle and followed Alexander. She found him unsheathing his sgian dhu. Emily shook her head frantically. “No no no no, please, no. Please.”

  Alexander ignored her, flexing his muscles as he waited for Philip to appear.

  Philip watched Alexander walk out of the dining hall and felt a sense of triumph at his retreat…until he realized that the Scotsman was waiting for him outside. He shook his head, casting about on his person for his pistols and was relieved to find that he was wearing. Marching out, he intending to finish this as quickly as possible, he would kill the interloper and take his bride as prize.

  As he stepped out into the courtyard, he could see that the Scotsman had nothing but a knife in his hand. He smirked, his confidence rising as he stepped out of the inn, hand hovering over his guns.

  “To the death?” he asked.

  Alexander flicked a glance at his white-faced wife. “First blood.”

  “Fair enough.” Philip grinned with anticipation. This was going to be easy. He was reaching for his guns when Alexander was suddenly upon him, leaping forward and catapulting them both to the ground.

  Alexander punched Philip in the nose, so hard that he saw stars. The Scotsman punched him again and Philip felt something crack in his ribs. He unsheathed one of his pistols and knocked Alexander on the head with it, hard enough to dislodge him and allow him to get to his feet. He pointed the pistol at Alexander’s heart, heaving with rage.

  “No!” Emily cried and both men turned to look at her. She lifted the rifle into the air, but was more likely to burn her hands than cause damage to Philip. He dismissed her for the moment, turning his attention back to Alexander, whose eyes were widening with alarm, his attention fully on his wife.

  “Stop!” he cried, leaping towards his wife just as Philip pulled the trigger. The shot aimed at Alexander’s heart grazed his arm instead as he grabbed the weapon out of Emily’s hands, preventing her from pulling the trigger. She screamed, eyes on the blood pouring from Alexander’s arm.

  Alexander threw the matchlock to the ground, grabbing his wife by the arm. “Are ye alright?”

  She stared wild-eyed, her fingers reaching out tentatively to touch his arm. “Are you badly hurt?”

  Philip cleared his throat. “It would seem I am the winner of this encounter.”

  They both ignored him.

  Alexander reached down and picked up the rifle. “Let’s go home,” his hand still firmly around her arm as he led her to the horse. She followed meekly allowing him to help her onto her horse, sneaking glances at him from beneath her lashes.

  Philip could feel his anger rising at the lack of acknowledgment of his victory. “This isn’t ov
er.”

  Alexander said not a word, simply unfettered his own horse and climbed onto it with curious grace. Even though a red stain was spreading along the sleeve of his sark his expression was impassive and free of pain. He turned his horse without so much as a word or glance at Philip, led them both out of the courtyard at a trot.

  Philip watched them go, face like thunder. “This isn’t over.”

  The short ride home was achieved in silence. Emily kept wanting to open her mouth and say something but had no idea what she could say to make things better. She was certain that he was annoyed with her although did not think he had any reason to be. She hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, she had just tried to help.

  Riding quietly by his side and shooting an occasional glance at him she prepared to defend her actions.

  They rode into the courtyard to find it deserted, except for the sound of men working. Amos and the others were in the East wing working on repairing holes in the walls. It required a lot of hammering and shouting and the din could be heard all the way to the gate.

  Emily was relieved because it meant that any shouting Alexander would do would be muffled by the sound. Rebecca came running toward them as soon as they came in sight. She bypassed her brother, reaching instead for Emily and helping her off her horse.

  “What happened?” Rebecca’s voice was urgent, as she looked Emily over searching for injuries.

  “Alexander is hurt.”

  Emily pointing as he slowly dismounted from his horse, favoring his left arm. Rebecca turned to look, giving him a quick assessing glance. She turned back to Emily. “He’ll live. Now, what were ye thinking?”

  Emily realized that it was time to defend herself. “I was thinking that I could get the letters from my father.”

  “And did ye?”

  Emily looked away, face colouring. “I didn’t get the chance.”

  “Oh aye?” Rebecca sounded skeptical making Emily angry.

  “He would have given them to me if your brother hadn’t come charging in like a raging bull!”

  “Oh he would he have? When? After he had ye in his bed?”

  Alexander shot her a look, his eyes blazing.

  Emily saw red. The sting of pain as her hand connected with his face came as much as a shock to her as it did to him.

  “How dare you?”

  “How dare I?” Taking a step closer he loomed over her, Rebecca quite forgotten. “How dare ye? Wasn’t it enough that I had to drag ye back from yer little tantrum the first time. Now ye go tae him and sit wi’ him and eat wi’ him as if he wasna my enemy.”

  “Your enemy! Not mine. All I wanted was my letters. But no, your pride wouldn’t let you even consider the possibility that he might give them to me and not you.”

  “Gie them to ye? He didn’a want to gie ye the letters. He wanted to humiliate me. And ye helped him do it.”

  “Oh yes, it’s all about you. Never mind that I have not had word from my family all this time. What does that matter? Not when the great Alexander MacTavish might be humiliated!”

  They were standing nose to nose, shouting in each other’s faces, spittle flying, hands gesticulating wildly. Rebecca tried to push them apart, get in the middle of them but they did not even notice her.

  “Fine, ye want to go get your letters? Go then! And don’t bother to come back.”

  “This is my home as much as yours. I’ll come back if I please!”

  “Oh, it’s yer hame at the noo, is it? Only when it’s convenient to ye.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I’m done with all of this. Ye can do whitever ye want.” Alexander flung his hands in the air and turned on his heel, storming off in a huff.

  Emily watched him go, breathing hard as if she had been running. Her eye caught Rebecca’s and they regarded each other wide-eyed for a moment.

  “He can be a bit of a galoot at times.” Rebecca inclined her head toward the direction her brother had taken with a wry expression. Emily did not have the strength to even smile. She sighed instead.

  Rebecca reached out and squeezed her arm. “I ken ye was ye puir dear. Ye don’t ken much aboot men’s pride do ye?”

  Emily shrugged. “I grew up with five sisters.”

  Rebecca nodded. “Och aye. Well, I canna tell ye how to behave with yer husband but I can tell ye that my brother has a temper and it seems ye’re no shrinking violet yerself. That is good. Ye must stand up to him. But do not make him feel that he canna trust ye. My brother may not care so much if ye love him or no, but he canna bare a disloyal person.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Emily’s head was spinning from the events of the morning and she decided to take a walk down to their makeshift pasture to cool off. They had two cows, courtesy of some negotiating on Alexander’s part that they used for milk. Rebecca had spoken about making cheese and finding a bull with which to breed them. Emily liked the cows. They were peaceful animals that did not care about convention or propriety. They simply were.

  She took a seat on the soft grass, watching them graze and letting their peace permeate her spirit.

  Rebecca was right of course; soon she would go in search of Alexander and attempt to apologize for acting without consulting him. But she would not apologize for the things he accused her of because they were just not true. She was not disloyal and she did not betray him.

  Rebecca saddled her horse as Frances watched.

  “Where are you going ma’am?”

  “To get those letters.”

  Frances’ jaw dropped. “Alone ma’am?”

  Rebecca snorted. “I’ve been to war Frances. I think I can handle a weasel of a nobleman with no trouble.”

  Frances darted forward, catching hold of the reins. “Perhaps I should come with you!”

  Rebecca hesitated, looking in the direction that Alexander had just gone, out towards the fields. She nodded. “All richt then. Saddle yer horse and let's go.”

  Frances dashed off at once, afraid that Rebecca might leave her behind. The horse shied and Rebecca murmured soothing words, still staring off in towards the fields. She could see Alexander pulling at weeds with unnecessary vigour as he took his anger out on the poor plants.

  Better than taking it out on Emily I suppose.

  Rebecca was not about to stop him. She knew that he needed time to think and when both he and his bride had calmed down, perhaps they would talk and sort this mess out.

  Everyone’s intentions had been good – aside from Philip’s – and Rebecca had to trust that they would see that eventually. Turning her horse towards the gate, Frances galloped towards her, hair flying in the wind.

  Rebecca steered her horse around towards the road. “Follow me and keep up!”

  They found Philip at the inn, nursing a swollen nose and looking rather dissatisfied even as he tried to fondle the serving girl in the inn’s dining room. Rebecca snorted with derision. “Typical.” She murmured loudly enough for him to hear. He turned around, caught sight of her standing in the doorway and his face darkened with displeasure.

  “Have you come to finish the job your brother failed to do?”

  Rebecca merely snorted again. “Gie those letters to me ye wee footer.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Teutcher. Why don’t you go and learn some English and some manners before you speak to me.”

  Rebecca stamped her way over to him, her eyes narrowed into slits. “Ye listen to me ye cootie if ye think ye can come to my hame and destroy my family ye’re sadly very mistaken. Now gie me those letters afore I kick yer ballocks into next week.”

  Philip’s eyes widened with alarm. “I’m not here alone.”

  Rebecca took a step closer. “Now! Ye coward.”

  Philip reached jerkily into his vest and thrust a sheaf of papers into her hands. She grabbed them and stepped back, still glaring at him. “I thank ye. Have a pleasant day.” She growled as she turned and stalked out of the inn, Frances at her heels.
r />   “Oh my, oh lord, that was…” Frances’s Frances said her hand was on her heart.

  “Invigorating?” Rebecca replied with a smirk as she got on her horse.

  “That’s one word for it. What would you have done if he pulled his pistols on you or something like that?”

  “Ah, I traveled with that one for a while. He hasna the bravery God gave a gnat. He likes to posture when there are witnesses but on his own?” Rebecca shook her head.

  Frances nodded slowly. “Oh. Well, that was still very brave of you.”