Highlander's Dark Pride

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Highlander's Dark Pride Page 23

by Fiona Faris


  "Tavern fare not fit for you?" a low voice cut through the merry racket.

  Lifting his gaze from his neglected meal, Alexander met the eager, moss-green gaze of Benjie's from across the table.

  "My appetite seems to have forsaken me," he reached for his tankard instead. "Should've ordered the pie like that nice lad suggested," Benjie replied.

  Alexander lifted the tankard to his lips and downed a deep swig of ale. Heat licked down his gullet and settled in his belly. He had hoped a full stomach would relieve the constant worry that seemed to have taken up residence in the pit of his guts, but the ale and worry sat side by side with no attempt to dislodge each other.

  Frances, Rebecca, and Emily were not present; preferring to take advantage of the hot bath offered them by the innkeeper’s wife who had been kind enough to provide dinner in their chambers.

  "You're thinking of the brigands again?" Benjie leaned forward, eyes intent on Alexander, so eager to be of use it was almost embarrassing to watch.

  "I am thinking of many things." Alexander evaded, spooning at his potatoes to avoid Benjie’s eyes. He did not yet trust the boy and did not want to confide in him any more than needed. But at the moment he was too tired for anything.

  "Anything I can help with?" Benjie asked helpfully, thin brows climbing his creased forehead.

  Alexander blew out an exhausted snort as he lowered his flagon to the table and sprung from his chair with a sudden flow of energy. Pushing through the ale-sodden throng, he pounded up the stairs to the torch-lit, shadow-cloaked second floor. Muffled moans carried through nearly every door he passed as he shuffled down the corridor to his chamber.

  The room was mercifully warm. A small fire blazed in the hearth. A bathtub stood, abandoned, just in front of it. Both Emily and the gown she had been laid out when they arrived were missing. She must be with Frances and Rebecca, enjoying their meal together.

  With a long, weary sigh, he undid his sword-belt. Standing the sword against the yellowed wall, he shuffled over to the round, rough-hewn table set in the far corner. Taking a rag lying beside the washbasin, he dipped it into the cool water and lightly dabbed at his bearded jaw. He went back to the bed and collapsed, his eyes closed. He breathed in and out, deliberately thinking of nothing, simply waiting.

  The quiet was broken by a slow creak as footsteps treaded into the room. Fabric whispered as it slid against his flesh and then the hollow thunk of leather on the floor. A slight perfume of lavender and honey permeated the air.

  Alexander breathed it in a moment before warm flesh covered his own, bringing the scent much closer. He spread his arms wide; not opening his eyes as the wetness of a tongue explored his lips gently, seeking entry. A short breath warmed the tip of his nose and he understood her lack of shyness as he tasted the bitter acrid aftertaste of cheap whiskey.

  He smiled, pulling her closer, reveling in the feel of soft, warm flesh covering him like a shield against the persistent anxiety of the last few hours.

  “I need you,” he whispered into her mouth.

  “Then take me.”

  Once Emily had finished with her bath, she debated on whether she wanted to go down and join her husband or stay in the room. She did not want to be alone, too much opportunity to think.

  In the end, the choice was taken out of her hands when Rebecca poked her head in the door.

  “Hello sister-in-law, would ye like to come eat with us?”

  Emily raised an eyebrow, “Sure, where?”

  “In our chambers, we have a nice hot tub that adds to the warmth and a platter of food from the kitchens.”

  Emily smiled. The compromise sounded quite perfect to her. Not having to contend with the other guests in the inn would be an advantage as they would undoubtedly want to engage them in conversation, and yet, she would not have to be alone.

  Almost skipping with relief, she followed Rebecca to the girls’ chambers. Not only did Rebecca have food, but whiskey too. Without asking, Rebecca poured her a full glass, handing it to her with an understanding look. Emily nodded her thanks, and took a sip, remembering how bitter it had been when she tasted it before. She was determined to finish the entire glass this time, because she needed to forget for a while.

  It was peaceful with the crackling of the fire and the fresh earthy smell of rain in the air. Rebecca was interrogating Frances about Benjie’s intentions for her and whether she wanted Rebecca to chaperone them or not. That seemed to amuse Frances who hastened to assure Rebecca that she was fine with Benjie making cow eyes at her. She could handle him.

  “I do not think he would try anything untoward. He is far too respectful of Alex.”

  Rebecca made a doubtful sound.

  “You think so?”

  “Absolutely, I have no fear of him and you should not either. He has only the best of intentions.”

  Rebecca grinned. “And how do you know that, dear Frances?”

  “I see how he watches Alexander and tries to imitate him. It’s obvious, isn’t that so Mrs MacTavish?” Frances turned to her with wide eyes, seeking validation.

  Emily smiled. “To be honest, I hadn’t noticed. But Rebecca is right to worry. We really do not know this boy very well.”

  Frances snorted. “Well I am a grown woman who can take care of herself”

  Rebecca nodded, smiling as if impressed. “We shall take your word for it. But should you need rescue, do not hesitate to ask.”

  Frances laughed. “I won’t.”

  They both then turned on Emily to interrogate her about the night they had spent at the cottage. Contrary to her belief, they had all been awake and now wanted a step by step guide to what Alexander had been doing to her.

  Emily laughed, blushed and turned away. “I cannot tell you. What transpires between a man and his wife should stay between them.”

  Rebecca patted her knee. “You’re right…especially when that man is my brother.” Laughing, they turned to lighter topics as they finished off the decanter of whisky.

  By the time she staggered back to her room, Emily was feeling no pain. Seeing Alexander spread out on the bed like a gift was simply the cherry on top. She slipped seductively out of her clothes, uncaring that he was not even watching her. It got her in the mood to ask for more of what Alexander had done to her the night before. Once she was naked she sauntered to the bed, covering his body with hers.

  He smiled against her lips, pulled her close and breathed her in as if she were the most heavenly scent he had ever smelled. Her tongue darted out, determined to taste him too and he made a sound of want that went straight to the heart of her.

  She squirmed atop him, plunging her tongue into his mouth and holding on for the ride. If there was one thing she really loved about being married, it was this heat in her belly that assailed her every time she saw her husband. It was indeed, something worth holding on to.

  Alexander was snoring lightly next to her and she shut her eyes tight, trying to get some sleep. But every time she did, all she saw was her father, lying dead somewhere. She had to get up to occupy herself physically so as not to think about it. Getting to her feet she crossed to the window, and looked out at the rain.

  She sighed, feeling the melancholy of the night suffuse her. Turning away from the darkness outside, she decided to go downstairs and see about getting some milk. When she was younger, a glass would always help her to sleep.

  She crept out of the room in her bare feet and down the stairs, not wanting to alert anyone to her presence. She already felt guilty because she might have to wake Mrs Haversham.

  As she neared the bottom of the stairs, she heard voices coming from the dining hall and she was relieved. If there were still people awake, it meant that the serving girls were up too. She could get her milk and slip back up the stairs before anyone was the wiser.

  Tiptoeing past the dining hall, she went straight towards the back of the inn where she suspected the kitchen was. Following the smell of food, she was sure she was at the right door
and knocked tentatively.

  “Hello?” she called poking her head in the room. Mrs Haversham turned from where she was stirring something by the fire. “Oh, Mrs MacTavish, what can I do for you?”

  “I was wondering if I could get some milk, if possible, please.”

  She smiled. “Why of course you can. I do believe we still have some from yesterday’s milking just let me…” she retrieved a glass and dipped it in a pail before handing the full glass to her.

  She nodded, taking a few sips as she turned away, stepping delicately past the door to the dining hall, not wanting to attract any attention but froze immediately when she heard a familiar voice. She turned cautiously to peer into the room.

  It was the brigand who had fought Alexander, talking in a loud and arrogant tone to Philip Bristol.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  She pressed herself to the wall, ears peaked. The man was seemingly explaining to Philip Bristol; something about why he was the best choice for something.

  “I hear you fought him and lost.” Philip said.

  “I admit I underestimated the Scotsman, but I won’t do that again. Next time I’ll be more prepared.”

  Emily stiffened. Next time?

  “Once I take Eddingfield Hall, I will need somebody to run Dun Alba, which means you will have to get rid of the Scotsman. I need your assurance that you can do it.”

  The brigand scoffed. “And what about you eh? How do we know you can do what you say?”

  Philip leaned forward with a devilish smirk. “Who do you think got rid of Lord Caldwell. Throats don’t slit themselves you know.”

  In her shock, Emily dropped her glass, scattering milk everywhere, the glass shattering it into a million pieces. The men in the dining hall looked up, both recognizing her immediately. She turned to run, and stepped on a piece of glass, yelping in pain as she lifted her leg to remove the shard.

  Several of the brigand’s men rushed at her, taking her into their possession. She opened her mouth to scream but one of them stuffed a cloth into it, effectively silencing her. Emily fought against them, trying her utmost to get away, or just kick over a chair or a bench – anything to make enough noise to attract someone’s attention. But they held her fast.

  “Emily Caldwell, as I live and breathe,” Philip looked altogether too pleased to see her.

  She tried her best to spit the cloth out of her mouth and scream but one of the men held his hand over her mouth. Struggling even harder only made one of her captures clutching her more tightly so that her arm almost broke with the strength of his grip.

  “How much did you hear I wonder?” Philip asked, folding his hands behind his back and walking around her like a villain from a novel. She did not know how he expected her to answer with a cloth in her mouth.

  “If she is here, then the Scotsman is probably here too.” the brigand pointed out.

  Philip nodded. “You’re right. We should go.”

  Emily renewed her struggles and attempted to scream but the men holding onto her had no trouble in keeping her subdued. They dragged her out of the room and out of the back door of the inn, directly into the stables.

  Emily held onto the coach strap with one hand tied, swaying with the motion of the lumbering vehicle. Unfortunately, they were making excellent time on the route; Philip had set a faster pace than anyone sensible would have dared, ever since he'd dragged her from the inn just before dawn.

  On the other hand, the rapid pace meant that they hadn't stopped anywhere longer than the time needed to change the horses. At least Emily didn't have to risk anyone outside the coach witnessing her current state. Once again resisted a nervous urge to smooth down the white linen that covered her thighs - she really didn't want to draw Philip's attention to her body.

  Sitting next to her was Christopher - the leader of the bandits. Despite helping Philip to kidnap her, he did not seem too happy about the situation.

  Once they had reached the stables, they had tried to force her into the carriage but she had fought so ferociously that eventually someone had hit her over the head and knocked her unconscious. Emily had come around to hear voices arguing while she lay still to fool them into thinking she was still unconscious.

  Christopher was of the opinion that kidnapping Emily right from under her husband’s nose was an extremely foolish idea.

  “He is an excellent tracker!” Christopher argued, “How long do you think it will take him to catch us?”

  Philip sighed irritably. “That is why we left two of your men behind to ambush him.”

  Christopher was not confident that two men would be enough and Emily almost smiled with pride. Christopher was right; there was no way that only two men would be enough to bring her husband down.

  Her husband.

  Emily almost choked wishing he was with her. Even worse, she was feeling sick from the swaying motion of the carriage and feared she might be sick and suffocate on her own vomit.

  She could not imagine a more horrifying death and tried to breathe deeply through her nose. The sound of her labored breathing alerted the man to the fact that she was awake and they had hauled her up to a sitting position, removing the cloth from her mouth.

  "We should be at Eddingfield Hall by sunset," Philip sneered. "Excellent timing, don't you think, Emily? We'll have the whole night to celebrate our marriage."

  Emily looked at him steadily.

  "In case it escaped your notice, and don’t blame yourself too much for you can’t help being slow on the uptake – did they drop you on your head as a child? – I am already married to Alexander MacTavish."

  "Oh ho!" Christopher laughed. "This one has spirit. Are you sure you want to tangle with her?"

  Philip glared at the brigand before turning back to Emily, his eyes burning with anger. “No doubt, you heard that I killed your father. Do you think I would not hesitate to do the same to your husband?”

  Emily’s heart went cold. She had indeed heard Philip boast about killing her father as if it was nothing. As if Lord Caldwell had meant nothing more than cockroach to be stamped on at the first opportunity. He would surely not hesitate to do the same to her husband.

  Emily could not believe that she had once been silly over this man. He was shallow and callous, heartless and cruel. How had she not seen it before? Her eyes swept his body, taking in the expensive cut of his coat and the pretentious wig he wore even now, realizing that all the things she had admired about him were superficial.

  I have to find a way to protect Alexander!

  “And what kind of way is that to start a marriage? I could never love you!”

  Philip sneered. "You are still a naïve fool I see. Has Alexander not beaten that out of you yet? Never fear, I shall do a much better job than he could ever hope to."

  Emily held back an impertinent reply with difficulty.

  Christopher leaned forward as if to remind them of his presence.

  "Are you sure Eddingfield is the best place to go before you’ve-"

  A great thump came from overhead stopping Toby mid-sentence. Emily's head snapped upwards, as she followed the sound of what sounded like footsteps - on the carriage roof. The carriage swayed alarmingly for several moments before coming to a swift and hard stop. Emily winced at the violent wrench to her shoulder as she lurched forward with the motion. Philip growled, going to the door at once and alighting from the vehicle.

  Emily merely glanced at the open door before Christopher had a hand round her arm like an iron band. “Oh no you don’t milady.”

  The girl sighed, leaning back in her seat to lessen his painful grip. She could hear Philip shouting at the driver, who had managed to land them in a porthole, and dislodged the wheel. Emily was glad of any time wasted that could give Alexander a chance to catch up to them.

  The same seemed to occur to Christopher at the same time for he stuck his head out the door and called to Philip to allow the driver to repair the wheel in peace for they were out of time.

  Phili
p seemed inclined to keep haranguing the jarvey but – unfortunately – saw sense because he climbed back into the carriage, passing the time by glaring at Emily.

  She sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve and looked out the window at the familiar countryside. They were absolutely not far from home. On the one hand, she was eager to see her family again, but on the other hand, not under these circumstances. It was bad enough that they had to deal with the death of Lord Caldwell, but now they would have to contend with an invasion by his killer.

  She stared again at Philip, still unable to fathom how she could have been so wrong about a person. For so long she had prided herself on her ability to see people, to cut beyond their public faces and see their real character beneath. She was mortified at how easily Philip Bristol had fooled her by doing nothing more than flashing his emerald eyes at her, and giving her a dimpled smile.

 

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