“What is it, man? Can ye not see Goraidh has returned!” He huffed impatiently.
Finley shook his head, “Aye, I see but I need to speak with ye about a matter of great importance.”
“Finley, it’s me birthday, I’ve got a happy bride-to-be, and me best friend has returned from the continent,” William was eager to leave. “Can it not wait?”
“Happy bride-to-be, ye say?” His friend was not happy at all.
“Aye, Finley, let us speak later this night. For now, lad, go! Enjoy the feast. Find a happy lass and settle down with some good whisky.”
As he pushed past Finley to go to his friend, he quickly looked back at Emma, who was discussing something with her mother. William felt a warmth spread through him.
Aye, she would be a good wife, before rushing to meet Goraidh in the crowd.
He would not mind being tied down to Lady Emma Marston. Not one bit. And suddenly he did not care if half the clan knew it, as worried as he had been earlier about the match. The lass, in her plainness, was beautiful to him, and if the heat of the chaste kiss they had shared was any indication, they certainly suited in terms of desire. Now, his one true best friend had returned in time to meet the lass.
He glanced through the room, purposely seeking Emma’s face. Their eyes met, she flashed him a serene smile. He motioned for her to join him, away from the main table. William felt his stomach tighten. Was it possible she was the bonniest woman he’d ever laid eyes on?
Happiness at the turn in the day coursed through William and he gave his friend a warm, one-armed hug. “Goraidh, come friend, meet me betrothed.”
Goraidh’s eyebrows nearly disappeared in his shock of auburn hair, “What are ye telling me? I leave ye alone for a few weeks an’ noo yer engaged?”
“Aye,” William grinned. “And, no, I can see what’s running through yer head. She ain’t carrying me child.”
“Well, congratulations are in order then, me friend!” Goraidh slapped William on the back.
He led his friend back up to the main family table, and to where Emma sat with her father, mother, and brother. Ignoring the latter as he looked too smug for William’s liking, William focused all his attention on his soon-to-be bride who removed her gloves with grace and poise fit to a queen.
“Emma, lass, there is someone I’d be happy for ye to meet.” Before he could make the proper introduction, Goraidh swept forward and bowed before Emma.
“Lady Emma, the pleasure is all mine. Any lass that can charm William here must be wonderful indeed.” She looked at William with a worried glance. William simply nodded his approval of his friend’s charms and smiled. He did not want to worry her at all. Goraidh should be as trusted by her as he was himself, even if he did lay the compliments on a little thick.
“I understand, William,” she said, before turning to Goraidh, and offering her hand. “And why is it, good sir, that I haven’t yet had the pleasure of making your acquaintance? Have you been saving a village one-handed from a pack of barbarians?”
William stifled a laugh, “Nae, but if that were the case, William would hae been right there with me.”
“Dinnae worry, lass. Goraidh is all talk with his charm, but ye’ll learn soon enough nae to take anythin’ he says seriously. He is a great warrior, Lady Emma. He has just this moment returned from France where he was on a mission for me Da.”
“Och, William, ye make me travels sound too fantastic for me simple life. I was simply securing a shipment of fine wine to trade for his Lairdship’s excellent whisky. Not a warrior, Me Lady, but a merchant.”
“So says he,” William added, giving Emma a wink as they all shared a laugh. It was nice to see Emma relax, although he could tell she was tired from the day, and dark circles had started to form under her eyes.
Poor lass, we’ve much more of tha’ night to go.
William hazarded a glance toward the end of the table where his father sat with the Earl and Countess. He could see the Earl and Lady Dawaerton having a deep conversation but whenever the lady spoke, the Earl overrode her.
Soon enough, Lady Dawaerton stopped talking altogether and just listened with her lips in a flat line. Emma’s father did not appear to be an overly affectionate or loving man.
The Earl’s plate was piled to excess, and if the red in his cheeks was any indication, he was well into his cups. William wondered how two men, such as the Earl and his father, who were so different in temperament and disposition, could be friends for all these years.
William made himself a silent promise that once they wed, he would always value Emma’s opinion. He would not treat her in any manner resembling how the Earl appeared to be treating his wife. It was not the Highlander way. He squeezed Emma’s hand, hoping to pass on the reassuring thoughts, before looking at Goraidh.
“Friend, eat with us at the high table.”
“Och, William, I cannae. ‘Tis a family event.”
“Please, I insist,” Emma said lightly, and William gave her a nod of gratitude. “I would like to hear what it was like growing up at MacNair Castle from someone who is not going to be my husband.”
“The Lady insists, Goraidh. Ye’ll not insult me bride-to-be on me birthday, would ye?” William gave his friend a nod. The group settled into comfortable companionship as they ate and drank.
True to her request, Goraidh did indeed regal Emma with tales of his youth, with William only chiming in a time or two when the story was getting too exaggerated and fanciful to be honest and true.
A loud jarring crash—that caused nearly every eye in the chamber to dart to it—came from one of the lower tables. A couple of bronze platters had clattered to the floor and a man, red in face from drunkenness, was looking guilty. After the shock petered out, some servants went to clean up the mess and conversation began again.
Emma had slipped her hand into William’s at some point in the evening, and William exchanged a knowing look with his father across the table. All seemed to be going well and he was thinking of what to treat Emma to the next morning, when his thoughts were shattered like brittle glass.
The Earl suddenly pitched forward and crashed to the table, sending trenchers and pitchers clattering to the floor. A sharp, piercing scream sliced through the air, coming from the terrified Countess.
Immediately, William jumped to his feet. Goraidh quickly followed suit. His eyes darted to Emma, whose face was bloodless, with eyes wide as she stared at her father. His mouth was foaming, and Lady Dawaerton let out another terrified cry. Before William reached him, he already knew it was too late.
The Earl was dead.
Chapter 8
It had all happened so fast. One moment Emma was chatting with William and Goraidh, listening with amusement to their childhood mischief, and the next moment her world crashed around her. Her father was lying face down on the table with blood trickling from his mouth, and foam gurgling from his lax blue lips.
Her mother’s blood-curdling scream was still echoing through the air and Emma felt herself go completely numb. She knew her father was dead. She knew it as sure as she knew everything was about to change. Her larger than life, angry, monster of a father was dead.
Thomas was instantly by her side.
“Sit down, Emma, you need to sit.”
When had she stood?
“Thomas, Father… go to him.”
“Yes, dear sister, of course, but you need to sit.” His voice was cold, unfeeling. How could he not be affected? Their father was dead.
Her mother was at her father’s side, as was Laird MacNair. The Laird was pounding on her father’s chest yelling for a physician. Her mother was sobbing uncontrollably, frantically searching the room for something or someone.
Emma also looked, searching for William. Panic beginning to seize her chest as he was nowhere to be seen. Where had he gone? Unable to control the fear and worry beginning to envelop her, the edges of her vision began closing in.
Memories of her father throughout her yo
uth began to flash through her mind in rapid succession. He may have not been the easiest man to love, but he was the only father she had ever known.
How could this have happened? What exactly did happen?
“EMMA!” She heard him then, calling for her, the velvet of his brogue replaced with something else. Was it panic? He sounded so far away. In such a short time she felt so drawn to him. It was as if they had always been together, and not just forced upon each other this day.
Trust.
“William?” She managed to choke out, her pulse still racing, and dizziness settling in.
“EMMA! I’m here.”
Blackness and spinning, everything blackness and spinning.
Emma reached out and a strong sturdy hand grabbed her own. She looked up and William was by her side again, his gray eyes filled with concern.
“It’s alright, lass, I’m here. I’ve got ye.”
Emma let the blackness win as she collapsed into his arms.
There was softness around her, softness and fur. Emma sighed into the coverlet that draped her body. She was warm, so warm. She reached out and felt something hard next to her.
Suddenly, the events of the day came rushing back. Scotland, William, the engagement, her father. Her eyes flew open.
“Father…” she whispered.
The hardness she felt next to her, wrapped around her. “Shh, lass, dinnae fash.”
She looked up into deep, familiar gray eyes. William was with her. She was on a bed, safe, and not in the main hall of the keep. William was seated beside her with his arm around her waist and his other free hand ran a cool cloth on her forehead. It felt divine, but why was she here, alone with him?
“Did I swoon?”
“Aye, lass, ye did, but ye were not hurt.”
“What… what happened? Is my father dead?”
“Aye lass, I hate to burden ye with the bad news, but it is so.” Emma nodded solemnly, the sting of wetness behind her eyes. She willed herself not to cry, not in front of him. It wasn’t a dream, it had happened. Her father had been killed over a feast of celebration that was forever going to remembered as a feast of horror. She pressed her fingers tightly against the lids of her eyes, hoping to stem the flow of any tears.
“Where is my mother?”
“Yer maid, Mrs. Briddle, took her to her chamber. She was beside herself. The Cook gave her a potion to help her sleep. There is naught to be done this night.”
Emma agreed. Death was final, after all. She felt a pang of sympathy for her poor mother. For all of his faults, she knew her mother had loved her father deeply. She would feel this loss most profoundly.
“And do you know where my brother is?”
She could tell by his downcast eyes that there was something he was not telling her. He lifted his hand to scratch at the dark growth of beard that started to form on his chiseled chin. For the first time since their short acquaintance began, he refused to meet her gaze. She promptly sat up in the bed.
“What is it, William? What are you not telling me?”
“Lass…”
The door to the bedchamber opened and a large, ginger Highlander rushed through, interrupting them.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, Me Lady,” the man said, before turning directly to William. “Yer goin’ to want to get down to the great hall, right away.”
“What is it, Finley?”
“Things are gettin’ heated between the new Earl and yer Da. I’m afraid if ye doona come, blood will be shed.”
William and the man, Finley, continued to speak in hushed tones. Her brother’s grief obviously had turned to rage. Thoughts of her brother crossed her mind. He was the going to be the Earl now.
Her cruel brother was going have all the powers do what he pleased. Anything and everything he wanted was going to be his. No one could stop him. This was not going to be good.
Making her way out of the bed, she moved toward the door. If William was leaving her side to go to her brother, she would be joining him.
“Lass, what are ye doin’?” William scowled at her leaving the bed.
“I’m fine, William. If there is trouble with Thomas, I should go to him.”
“Nae, lass, ye need to rest. It’s been a tryin’ day. I’ll no’ hae ye exposed to more.” She placed her hand on William’s cheek. It was honorable, his need to protect her, but she would not sit idly by and be pampered on the night of her father’s death. Not when Thomas needed her. She was not a wilting flower like her mother, who needed a potion to block the harsh realities of the world away.
If she was to be his wife, William needed to learn that Emma would not be resigned to sit on the side when she could be of any help.
“He is my brother, William. If he is distressed, mayhap I can be of help?” William looked as if he wanted to deny her, but Emma was not willing to back down.
“I doona think it’s a good idea, lass,” he replied.
“William…”
“The lass has a point, William, maybe she should join us,” Finley chimed in. At least, one man in the room was seeing reason. William looked from her to Finley and back at her. Indecision furrowed his brows. The room was silent, and Emma folded her hands across her chest. She would not be backing down.
“Verra well, lass,” he sighed. “But stay by me side.”
She was glad he was able to see reason, but what did he know that he was not telling her?
“We came here in good faith, sir, and now my father is dead! Murdered in your castle, presumably at your command!” Thomas Marston was in a rage.
“Watch yerself, lad,” Murdo warned. William saw his father’s anger, as he tightened his own grip on Emma’s hand.
He hadn’t yet told her it was poison that had ended her father’s life though it was blatantly obvious. No one started foaming at the mouth from mulled wine. He tore his eyes away from Marston to look at Emma for her reaction and grimaced when he saw that her face was nearly bloodless.
“Do you not see? Or perhaps you do see? Perhaps this was the plan all along. What better way to make yourselves recognized at Court but to take over full control of one of the most established earldoms in the kingdom.”
Thomas kept on. William was worried that Finley had been right; there was no way to calm Marston down enough to see reason. Goraidh sat in the corner, having already been in the library when Thomas arrived. William trusted his friend and was eager to talk to him alone and see what his thoughts were on the Earl’s murder.
“Now hold on, Marston, I’ll nae have ye suggestin’ such utter nonsense under me own roof! Yer father was me friend. I trusted him as he did me,” the Laird replied. Their fathers had been friends. William had often heard his father sing the praises of the late Earl.
“Friend? How violently did your friend die in your own home? It’s hard not to notice no one else fell ill at the feast? There was no other ‘friend’ who lay face down in a trencher of their own dinner, blood oozing from their lifeless corpse.”
Emma let out a sob, and William tried to pull her closer, wanting nothing more than to cover her ears from the harsh assault of her brother’s words. She resisted and covered her mouth with her free hand. Damn Marston for the way in which he spoke.
If she hadn’t been shocked to hear it was murder, forcing her to relive the gruesome details was surely enough to garner a reaction from her hazel eyes. William wished he could travel back in time and refuse to allow her out of the bedchamber. This was no place or conversation for a lady.
“Take heed of yer sister, Marston,” William warned.
“And you, MacNair,” Thomas spat, turning his ire toward William directly. “With all your talk of honor and nobility, lies, I say! With my father out of the way, how easy would it be for you to pick me off? And my sweet sister in her grief would turn to you, marrying into your vile clan. The title and lands would all be yours. Was that your plan?”
William looked at Emma, barely able to contain his anger at the wild accusations. Fresh
tears brimmed behind her eyes. She shook her head, more in disbelief than in agreement. Or so he hoped. He had no designs on the earldom—in fact, it was quite the opposite. He hoped that Emma would learn to love Scotland and the Highlands as much as he did himself. The marriage was supposed to bring their two families together, not cause such a serious rupture.
Emma pulled back, releasing his hand from her own as she stepped away from him. He tried to reach for her, but she moved too far away for him to touch her without causing a worse scene than the one that was currently unfolding. Her expression was part pain and part cold disbelief. Now he knew it was of him, his family, his clan. Marston had succeeded in his lies.
Disciplined by the Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 5