Wicked Highland Heroes

by Tarah Scott

  “No thank you. I’m looking for my wife. Have you seen her?”

  “Oh, not since breakfast. She asked that a small package of food be wrapped. Said she was going for a ride.”

  “A ride?” he blurted. “Where to?”

  “I don’t know. I was just leaving to tend the garden when she asked. I had Lucy help her, and didna’ stay. Where’s Lucy?” she asked one of the other maids.

  “Gone for the reminder of the day,” the girl answered. “She was off to see to her mother. Poor thing is sick.”

  “Is something wrong?” the housekeeper asked.

  Erroll couldn’t fathom the possibility that Eve had fled as she’d threatened last night. Hadn’t last night meant anything to her? Surely she wouldn’t desert him?

  “Thank you,” he told Mrs. Henderson, then fairly ran to the stables, heart thundering in his chest. He found Pete mucking out the stalls. “Has my wife been here?” Erroll demanded.

  “Aye,” Pete said. “She asked for Belle, and insisted on saddling the mare herself, so I went back to stacking the hay Rob brought.”

  “By God,” Erroll burst out. “You let her saddle her own horse, then ride out of here alone? When did she leave?” he demanded.

  “Can’t be more than an hour ago,” Pete said, eyes wide.

  “Saddle Lord Chesterfield—and if you take time to unload hay before he’s saddled, I’ll beat you.”

  Erroll returned to their suite and made a quick search of Eve’s room for a note, a clue, anything that might tell him where she’d gone. He didn’t find a damn thing. He hurried back through his room and his gaze snagged on the letter from Wiggins sitting on his desk. Eve’s words last night crashed into memory, “Women like Laura Greenwood are more to your liking, are they not, my lord?” and he stopped short. Understanding struck with the clarity of a blind man who could see for the first time.

  He hadn’t thought much of Wiggins’ letter being open when he’d read it, but had thought it a bit odd the seal had been broken on the note from Laura. It hadn’t occurred to him that Eve had read the letter. But she had, and naturally assumed the worst.

  He’d been right. No good deed went unpunished.

  Worse, he had no one to blame but himself for misinterpreting her words.

  By the time Erroll reached Tobermory port, the horse was fagged, and Erroll was shaken that he hadn’t overtaken Eve. She’d had a little more than an hour’s head start and should have been easy to catch. Surely she hadn’t ridden at a gallop as he had?

  Erroll left his horse in front of the harbormaster’s office and quickly discovered that two ships had sailed from port that morning, both cargo ships bound for England, and neither had taken on passengers. The harbormaster had sold no tickets, nor seen a woman matching Eve’s description—or any woman, for that matter—on the docks that morning. But Erroll wasn’t satisfied, and insisted on speaking with the captains of the half dozen ships at port.

  “As ye wish,” the grizzled harbormaster said. “But if you find one of the scoundrels took a woman aboard without my permission, I’ll hang him from the mast.” The old man rose from his battered desk and limped toward Erroll. “In fact, I’ll come with you, and we’ll start with Captain Heller. There’s a man ye can’t trust.”

  They found no trace of Eve, and fear gnawed a hole in Erroll’s gut. Tobermory was the main port on the island and the only port Eve would know of; certainly the only one she would dare ride to on her own. Where else would she have gone? Nowhere, he realized with rising panic. Something had happened to her on the road.

  Erroll stopped at the sheriff’s office and ordered a search of the city, as well as the road. He didn’t wait for the sheriff to gather men, but sped back to the road, looking for any clues that she had ridden along the road or been forced off it. He reached Ravenhall with not one piece of evidence, nerves ragged and fears running amuck.

  He headed for his father’s study, but found the room empty. Then he went to his mother’s chambers, only to find silence there as well. Bloody hell, had everyone deserted Ravenhall?

  He went to the kitchen.

  “Where are my parents?” he demanded of Mrs. Henderson.

  The room went quiet.

  She froze in opening the oven door. “We took tea to them in the drawing room.”

  Without a word, Erroll whirled and headed for the drawing room. In the moments it took to race there, he thought he would lose his mind. He burst through the door and stopped cold. Eve, his mother, Olivia, and Grace sat on the sofa, swaths of fabric spread across their laps. The rest of the family—Eve’s father and Somerset included—were gathered in the room. Everyone looked at him.

  “Erroll, what’s wrong?” His mother set aside the fabric and rose, as did his father and Ash.

  Erroll ignored them and strode toward Eve. “Where have you been?”

  She frowned. “Here? What is amiss, my lord?”

  “You were gone when I awoke.”

  She glanced at his dusty clothes. “I do not understand. Have you been in the fields? What—”

  “Where have you been?”

  She glanced at Ash. “I went riding with Olivia and Ash.”

  “Olivia and—” Erroll looked at his brother. “The three of you?”

  Ash lifted a brow. “Aye.” Amusement twitched the corner of his brother’s mouth. “Your wife didn’t tell you?”

  Erroll swung his gaze back onto her. “She did not.”

  Her expression darkened. “I didn’t realize I had to report my every move to you, my lord.”

  “You do when you threaten to leave for France.”

  She—along with the other ladies—gasped. Ash laughed.

  “By God, Eve,” her father thundered, “if you said—”

  “Not a word from you, sir,” she cut in. “You married me off, so you have no say in my domestic affairs.”

  Tolland’s gaze sharpened. “As you say. Lord Rushton, she is yours to reprimand as you see fit.”

  Satisfaction shot through Erroll. “I have plans for you, madam.”

  She sipped her tea. “What might those be, my lord?”

  “I am certain you would rather I didn’t say in public.”

  Eve snorted a laugh. “As if it won’t get around anyway.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Everything you do has a way of getting around. Don’t you have a ship to catch?”

  The desire to turn her over his knee flared. “Not without you, Wife.”

  The echo of hurried boot steps sounded outside the room. “Move aside, lass,” said a gruff male voice Erroll knew all too well. He whirled as the door opened and Jean appeared with his son, nephew and, glory be, Sheriff Laine.

  “Laird,” Leslie began, but Jean and Laine pushed past her as Tolland and Somerset rose.

  “We came as soon as we heard,” Jean said.

  “What is it?” the marquess demanded.

  “Have you discovered any clues to your wife’s whereabouts?” Laine demanded.

  The unfamiliar experience of embarrassment washed over Erroll. He’d forgotten about alerting the sheriff.

  Jean frowned. “She’s sitting right there. And who is the lass sitting beside her?” Jean elbowed his son, who was already staring at Grace.

  She cast him a haughty glance.

  “You found her?” Laine’s eyes shifted onto Erroll. “What happened?”

  “Yes,” Ash said, “what did happen, Rush?”

  A light hand touched Erroll’s arm and he whirled to face his wife who had risen to stand beside him.

  She stared, eyes searching his face. “Never say you were worried about me, sir?”

  His chest tightened. “You threatened to run as far as the Colonies to escape me.”

  “Bloody hell, man,” Jean exclaimed. “You’ve been married three days. What did you do in so short a time to make her want to run away?”

  Eve clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes sparkling with hilarity. “I told you everything you di
d had a way of getting around,” she said through her fingers.

  She was right. News that his new bride threatened to flee the Continent to escape him would be all over the island by nightfall—and would reach London by tomorrow.

  Erroll stepped close and whispered in her ear. “I redeemed the jewels as a favor to a friend. Nothing more. Her note was a fantasy on her part.”

  “Speak up lad, we can’t hear,” Jean said in a loud voice.

  Eve drew back, her eyes fixed on his face, and removed her hand from her mouth. “She isn’t your…”

  He shook his head.

  Her brow furrowed and Erroll’s heart pounded in his chest when he read the uncertainty in her eyes. A mental picture flashed of him one day returning to an empty house with no idea whether she had fled to France or the Colonies. He deserved nothing less, but wouldn’t survive the loss.

  “Eve, I swear, I broke it off two weeks past,” he said. “Come, read my response to her letter.”

  “Damn it,” Jean cursed. “Do ye know what they are talking about, Ash?”

  “What in hell is going on?” Laine demanded. “Are ye saying she was never missing?”

  “Not for a moment,” Ash said.

  “You have caused more than enough trouble in the few days you’ve been here,” Laine grumbled.

  “Leslie,” the marquess said, “see to it that the sheriff is fed and send him home with ample provisions for his family’s dinner.”

  Laine frowned, and Ash said, “It’s the best bargain you will get today.”

  The man’s expression cleared and he shook his head. “Aye.” He turned and left.

  When the door clicked softly behind him, Jean said, “Well, lad, are ye going to stand there all day staring at her, or are you going to kiss her?”

  Erroll sighed and said to Eve. “I did warn you about my relatives.”

  “You did.”

  “If it’s what you want, Eve, I’ll leave England, stay here, and do my best to make myself useful.”

  Her mouth parted in surprise. “I never said leave England behind. You have responsibilities. You cannot simply abandon the people who depend on you.”

  “I can’t?”

  “What about the people who depend on you here?” Jean demanded.

  “Maxwell has had a dozen mysterious deaths amongst his herd and we have yet to discover why,” Ash said.

  Erroll looked sharply at him. “Only Maxwell’s herd?”

  “So far.”

  “Then there’s the cottages down south,” Jean said. “We lost half a dozen in a fire, and are still waiting on supplies from the mainland.”

  Erroll frowned. “Why has Angus not seen to the supplies?”

  “He’s one man,” the marquess said.

  “Hence the reason Ash took over,” Erroll said.

  “Ash took on the responsibilities because there was no one else.”

  “There wasn’t?” Erroll asked.

  Jean snorted. “There has always been someone else. But he’s a stubborn fool who refused to come home.”

  Erroll stared dumbly and said, “I must be in Norfolk for the harvest. I ordered a thresher.”

  “We can return for the harvest,” his father said. “I am very interested in that technology. It won’t be difficult to find a good man to oversee the work there. You did say there were many men looking for work.”

  “Let us not forget the press gang,” Ash interjected. “If I have to chase after Johnson, we’ll need even more help.”

  Erroll’s chest tightened. “I am at your service.”

  “What will the king say?” Ash asked.

  Erroll grinned. “Let His Highness come here and say what he will.”

  Jean whooped. “About time. You’re a Highlander, man—with noble English blood,” he added with a quick bow to the marchioness.

  “It seems you’ve found your home, my lord,” Eve murmured.

  “So it does.” Erroll wrapped an arm around his wife, drew her close, and whispered in her ear, “I love you.”

  “What’d he say?” Jean demanded. “Damn it, man, speak up.”

  She drew back and looked up at him. “What did you say, my lord?”

  He smiled down at her and said again, louder, “I love you.” Then he kissed her.

  “It’s a damn good thing he finally kissed her,” Jean said. “I thought maybe I would have to do it for him.”

  ###

  Claimed

  Tarah Scott

  Claimed Copyright © 2015 by Tarah Scott.

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Erin Dameron-Hill

  Acknowledgements

  Despite the countless hours a writer spends alone writing a novel, the finished product is, without doubt, a collaboration. Each time I take stock of the wonderful people who contributed to my work, my heart overflows. I am very fortunate.

  I must first thank my editor, Kimberly Comeau. Your devotion to make my novels shine never ceases to amaze me. Thank you, Kim. Second, huge thanks to my good friend Sue-Ellen Welfonder. Sue-Ellen, I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your input. I feel secure that all things historical are as they should be. (Any foibles are all my doing!) Next, my beta readers, Tina Hairston and my sister Stooge, Debbie McCreary. Ladies, feedback from honest readers is invaluable. You’re both worth your weight in gold. Lastly, thanks, once again, to Erin Dameron-Hill for a wonderful cover. Your art inspired a book beyond what I imagined. (I hear your laughter, Kim.)

  Dedication

  This one is for Tracey Reid and Valerie Cozart. This book reminds me of our day in Queens.

  August 1291 Scottish Highlands

  Chapter One

  “Your grandfather awaits you at Longford Castle where you will marry Lord Melrose immediately.”

  Had she heard correctly?

  Disorientation at being abruptly roused from a sound sleep combined with disbelief caused Rhoslyn’s heart to thud wildly. Pain shot down her left arm as Prioress Hildegard twisted the limb and shoved her hand into the sleeve of a gray, wool dress.

  “I am sorry, child,” the prioress said, but she didn’t slow her hurried dressing of Rhoslyn.

  Hildegard pulled the dress down over her body, then grabbed the belt she had tossed onto the pallet. She cinched it around Rhoslyn’s waist and snatched up the mantle hastily thrown across a nearby table. Rhoslyn recognized the fur-lined cloak as the one she’d worn the day she arrived at the convent fourteen months ago. The prioress swung the garment around Rhoslyn’s shoulder.

  “Hildegard, please,” she began as the nun fastened the clasp at her neck.

  Hildegard grasped her arm and started toward the door. “We must go. Your grandfather’s men wait outside.”

  Rhoslyn stumbled over the hem of her skirts and barely righted herself as they passed through the doorway and into the convent’s narrow hallway.

  “I must speak with Abbess Beatrice,” Rhoslyn demanded.

  “She sent me.” Hildegard made a hard right around a bend, her grip firm on Rhoslyn’s arm.

  They reached the front entrance, where three nuns stood at the open door.

  “Where is the abbess?” Rhoslyn asked.

  Hildegard pulled her through the door into the fog that hung in the lit bailey. Shock dug deeper at the sight of men-at-arms, a dozen—no she realized, more, at least two dozen—up ahead. Was her respite at the convent truly over?

>   The prioress hurried her toward the men who waited near the gate.

  As they approached, Sir Ascot, who held the bridle of his horse at the front of the company, dropped to one knee. “My lady.”

  “Rise, Knight,” she instructed. “Quickly, tell me what has happened.”

  He came to his feet, then reached inside the front of his mail shirt and produced a missive that he extended toward her. Her gaze caught on the broken seal---the Great Seal of England. She jerked her gaze to the knight’s face in shocked question. He said nothing and she took the document.

  Rhoslyn unfolded the parchment and her heart beat faster at sight of the boldly scripted salutation addressed to her grandfather from “King Edward I, Lord Superior of the realm of Scotland,” she read out loud.

  “God save us,” Hildegard breathed.

  Rhoslyn snapped her gaze onto Sir Ascot. “How did King Edward come to be Lord Superior of Scotland?”

  “Forgive me, my lady,” he glanced at the nun, “Sister. I assumed ye knew.”

  “Knew what?” Rhoslyn demanded.

  “The Maid of Norway is dead.”

  Rhoslyn felt as if a horse had kicked her. Their future queen dead? “How?”

  “She drowned in Orkney on the way to Scotland.”

  Hildegard made the sign of the cross.

  “She was but seven,” Rhoslyn breathed. Tears pricked her eyes. “When?”

  “Eleven months past,” he said.

  “Eleven months?” Only a few months after her arrival here.

  She couldn’t think, couldn’t fathom all the consequences of Margaret’s death. Why hadn’t her grandfather told her? Because, she realized with a rush of emotion, it was like him to protect her. He had been protecting her since the death of her parents at age five. Then he rescued her again after the death of her husband...and son.

  “More than a dozen claimants to the throne have come forward,” Sir Ascot went on. “The Guardians fear civil war between the Bruce and Balliol’s supporters, so asked King Edward to arbitrate.”

  Rhoslyn snorted. “He used the unrest to demand sovereign lordship of Scotland.” And the Guardians acquiesced. The pea-brained men had no sense. She forced her eyes back to the missive, ashamed to find that her hands trembled. Her heart stopped cold at sight of the royal command for her to—“Marry Sir Talbot St. Claire.” She pinned Hildegard with a stare. “Ye said I was to marry Lord Melrose.”