“Emma, surely ye dinnae believe…?” God, he had been a fool to allow her to come down with him. No lass should be exposed to such a display.
It was too much for her to bear, too much for William to watch her bear. He moved toward her again, but this time she backed away closer to Marston’s reach. William moved to lunge for her when Goraidh pulled him back.
“Let her go.”
“Come, Emma,” her brother said, enfolding her into his arms. William fought down a growl of discontent. In a short time, he had come to think of Emma as his, and what hope did he have to convince her that her brother only spoke from grief and anger? There was no truth in his words. “There will be no marriage, MacNair, not into the Marston family. The betrothal is off!”
William watched in confusion and anger as Marston took Emma by the hand and led her out of the library. How had Marston been so eager to marry her off mere hours ago but was recanting his own words now?
What am I missing here?
“We leave at first light. Mark my words, MacNair, I will find out who did this to our father and his death will be avenged, no matter how much Highland blood I have to shed!”
“Da, ye cannae mean to let them leave?” William was enraged, fighting every instinct in his body to follow after young Marston and Emma. To drag her back into his arms and tell her his clan had nothing to do with the death of her father. He wanted to promise her he would get to the bottom of whatever threat there was and eradicate it. She would be safe with him. But his father, his Laird, had just let them go.
“I can, and I will, lad,” Murdo replied. “Ye saw with yer own eyes how crazed the new Earl was. There was nae talkin’ to him tonight. We will allow them to leave, back to England. Ye’ll see once cooler heads prevail, everythin’ will be set to right. I will reach out to the Earl’s brother, Henry. He is on good terms with our clan and kens that I was fond of his brother. Mayhap he can help with young Marston.”
How his father could be so calm and assured was beyond William. Uncle Henry was a doubtful ace in this negotiation. He knew, if they returned to their home, the Marston family would never set foot in the Highlands again. The truce between their families was dead; maybe even the truce between their countries.
Also, by taking their leave, Thomas was removing over half of the potential suspects in the late Earl’s death from the keep. How would it be possible to find the villain if so many of the potential attackers were to leave? There were many people who could have wanted the Earl dead—even a damned footman who had been denied his wage could have done it.
“I ken what yer thinkin’ lad, and I’ll nae have it. Dinnae try and stop the lad. We’ll question all of our kin and see if there is any truth to his accusation on our side. But I’ll nae have me son and heir actin’ foolishly by single-handedly tryin’ to keep an English man here against his will. Let them go.”
“I promised to protect the lass.”
“The lass will be safe with her brother.”
And what if she wasn’t? What if she came to some unforeseen harm? Her father was murdered, in a gruesome, cowardly fashion. William felt an intense need to not only protect the lass but to be a rock for her to lean on should her grief overwhelm her on the long journey back to England.
“I ken it’s what ye think, Da! But will she? Ye canna possibly think the murderer was one of our own? Who would dare go against ye and poison the Earl?”
“Nay, I doona think any of ours are part of any plot to murder the Earl, but I also will nae start a war over it. Let the new Earl solve his own problems. When the air cools, we can reopen discussion of a union between our families, once he realizes we dinnae have anythin’ to do with his father’s death.”
Murdo MacNair rubbed his face as if to remove the grimness of the whole evening from his memory. William respected his father, but his skin tingled, and he had a sinking feeling that the murder of the Earl was only the beginning.
He wouldn’t just sit idly by and hope the situation worked itself out. Not where Emma was concerned. He did not know exactly why but he was drawn to the lass, bound to her in some way that he couldn’t put words to.
“And if the air never cools?”
“William, son, then we shall find ye a lovely Scottish lass to bind yerself to. Lady Emma is not the only chit in the land. Get some rest, lad. In the mornin’ clarity will come.”
Clarity was already there and William had never felt so lucid. How could his father be so stubborn and uncaring, even if not considering her as a future daughter, but as a lady in the middle of a family upheaval?
William watched as his father quickly left the room. The conversation was over as far as Murdo MacNair was concerned and William knew it. The careless way his father described Emma and marriage disgusted William. It wasn’t often his father dismissed him as if he were still a boy. There was something deeper going on that would cause the Laird to be so dismissive. If only he knew what it was.
It’s not over for me, Da, not in the slightest. Nay, the conversation is just beginning. And I’ll be havin’ it out with Thomas Marston.
“The Laird is right, William,” Finley chimed in. William had forgotten Finley was in the room. He set a growl in his direction. Where he had been when Marston was flinging wild accusations? What was his purpose besides making the situation worse with his interference?
“Shut it, Finley, ye never wanted me to marry the lass, to begin with!” William brought his full height to meet Finley’s eyes. He was starting to wonder how much a friend Finley was, when Goraidh stepped between them.
“Easy, William, there’s been enough fighting here tonight.”
“Och, William, that’s nae true. I only wanted ye to be wary of making peace with the English, and look,” Finley said waving his hand to the place Emma and Marston last stood. “I’ll nae say I was right, but I weren’t wrong.”
Finley kept on and William stopped listening. He was already making plans in his head. His father said he was not to stop Marston from leaving with Emma. But he said nothing of William leaving with them.
That was exactly what William planned to do. “Da said to leave them be…but he dinnae say to not go with them. They’ll need an escort to the crossing, aye?”
“Aye,” Goraidh nodded, as a grin began to form on his face.
“Ye’ll go with me then?” He asked Goraidh, ignoring Finley and his grunting in the corner. He did not need Finley slowing them down while following the Marstons back to England.
“Aye, ye ken I will, friend.”
“We leave behind them at first light. Be prepared,” William nodded.
Chapter 9
The early dawn was gray and the Scottish landscape was covered in dense fog.
How appropriate to my mood, Emma thought, as she peered out the bedchamber window. They would be leaving this place. Had it really been only yesterday morn when that had been her heart’s desire? To go back home? Now, the thought of returning to England made her feel somewhat hollow.
She hadn’t slept at all after she left the library. She had visited her mother’s chamber, but the lady was distraught. She was so overcome with grief that Emma was barely able to make out the words her mother spoke. Only when her mother grabbed her hands and made Emma promise not to stay in the McNair castle one more day, did Emma see the extent of the grief in her mother’s eyes.
“We must leave this place,” she implored. “We must bring your dear father home!”
Now in the light of morning, Emma’s mind played Thomas’ accusations, her mother’s grief, and the events of the night before, over and over again.
She refused to believe that William or his father would be so heinous as to plot against her family. But last night, in a moment of weakness fueled by her grief, she had thought Thomas’ words rang true. Her brother firmly believed that William and his men were the murderers. So she had made a choice, but was it the right choice? Or, did she have any choice at all?
She thought of the stricken look o
n William’s face when she had backed away from him in horror. He had to understand, her father had just been murdered. Surely, he could forgive her moment of weakness. Not that it mattered much at all.
Thomas was the new Earl of Dawaerton and master of her fate now. Not for the first time within the last few days, Emma cursed herself for being born a woman in this world where her happiness and needs were ruled by a man. She was simply another type of currency to the men around her.
She could be sure that the words Thomas shouted in the library were true—there would be no wedding between her and William. That was supposed to have been what she wanted, but now she wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
“I’m so confused,” she moaned, placing a hand on the cool glass.
“All will be well, Lady Emma,” Mrs. Briddle came up behind her and gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. “Your father will keep us and look down on us, God rest his gentle soul. At least now, you don’t have to marry that Highland brute.”
Her father’s soul being described as gentle almost caused Emma to laugh out loud. Shame at the humor kept her silent. She knew the woman was trying to make the best of a bad situation, but her words brought no relief.
William…
Emma couldn’t help but think of the way he had kissed her, not even twelve hours before. And the way he had looked at her when they were alone, as if he could really see her.
“But don’t you see, Mrs. Briddle, he isn’t a brute at all,” she sighed into the window pane.
There was no way William had anything to do with her father’s murder. She instantly regretted her hesitation the night before. She had to try and find him. Tell him she was wrong. Tell him to wait for her. When all this was sorted out, she would come back for him.
Why is this happening?!
A loud knock at the chamber door roused her from her thoughts.
“Come in,” she said.
Thomas walked in, looking fresh and unbothered as if he hadn’t had any trouble sleeping after their father’s gruesome death.
“Emma, are you ready to depart?” he asked.
She simply nodded, turning away from the window and looking around the bare bedchamber. It had all happened so fast.
She had learned of her betrothal, rebelled against it, met William, and then right as she was coming around to almost being eager to wed the Highlander, her father was brutally murdered, and her brother called the whole thing off in grief-filled rage. It was so fantastic that no one would believe her tale if she chose to tell it.
“Yes, Thomas. How is Mother?”
“Mother is doing better, but her grief is still profound, as one would expect. She will go home in the carriage with Mrs. Briddle. I would like you to ride horseback alongside me.”
“Horseback, all the way back to England?” Thomas knew she wasn’t a great rider, and the craggy gorse-covered rock and hills of the Highlands would certainly be treacherous for her on horseback.
“Do not argue, Emma. We do not yet know who staged the attack on Father. I called off your betrothal, that could put you at risk. I want you close by, where our men and I can protect you.”
“But Thomas, I am horrid at riding. Surely it would be better for me to be in the carriage with Mother and Mrs. Briddle?”
“You are not nearly as bad at riding as you like to pretend.” Thomas shook his head. Frustration and stubbornness seemed to be traits both Emma and her brother shared.
“Surely, Thomas, you are mistaken. It is not modesty that makes me beg to not ride. Horses are not bred to deal with a rider such as me. I would be most comfortable in the carriage.”
“The carriage that you and Mrs. Briddle came in can only hold two people, Emma. The next carriage is holding Father’s body. Do you want to be stuck in a closed space with a dead body? I am afraid we have no other option.”
Emma grimaced.
“Thomas, of course, but the whole way? Can I not simply leave with you on horseback and once we are out of sight of the castle, spend the rest of the journey in the carriage with Mother? I’m sure I’m small enough to fit. Mrs. Briddle is company but she is not a relative. Additionally, is it wise to leave now when a killer is still loose somewhere in the castle or among our men?”
“Do not vex me, Emma. We have much to do, and we need to leave this place. We must bring Father’s body home to England. He would not want this place to be where he took his final rest. You will do as I say.”
Something flashed in her brother’s eyes. Gone was the caring man who held her last night and said he would keep her safe. His eyes were devoid of any emotion. Emma shuddered at the cold she found there. He was right, of course. A new wave of grief fought its way to the surface and Emma thought it unwise to continue to provoke Thomas. He clearly carried a large weight.
“Of course, Thomas, if it is what you think is best.”
“It is.”
It had been hours since they departed the MacNair keep. The extra carriage they now traveled with, that carried the body of her father, served as a heavy reminder as to the reason of their expeditious removal from MacNair castle and sent a shudder through Emma. The weather had held but it was cold. The dark skies threatened rain that couldn’t seem to gather the courage to fall. Emma wished it would, then maybe Thomas would be inclined to stop.
Emma’s legs had turned to gel in the saddle, and her skirts pulled tight in places that made her feel like a trussed bird similar to those present at the feast the night before.
At the thought of food, her stomach let out a loud growl. She was famished.
“Thomas,” she asked, bringing her horse up alongside her brother. “Thomas, may we please stop? We need to rest the horses, and we could also eat something. I’m sure Mother is famished.”
“We will stop when we are further from the MacNair lands. You trust me to know what is best, don’t you Emma?” Thomas had never before asked for her trust, so Emma supposed she could last a bit longer.
She didn’t know how much time had passed and she must have dozed off in her saddle, for when Thomas finally urged the men to stop and make camp for the night, the sky was dark, and Emma had no earthly idea where they were.
Her heart gave a small pang at the thought that they were no longer on MacNair land. She was well and truly gone from William. She tried to conjure up his deep gray eyes and too-long dark hair that gently brushed the tops of his shoulders, but her mind was exhausted, and her body was bone tired. She made a move toward the carriage to at least take her mother some food, when Thomas approached her again.
“Emma, sister, it would be best for you to sleep in the bed I’ve had made for you over by that tree. I’ve had the men use some of the horse’s hay and two fine blankets. You will be most comfortable.” The direction he pointed in was opposite that of the carriage, and Emma cringed. He wanted her to sleep out of doors? Like a barn animal?
“Thomas, come now, there is plenty of room for me in the carriage with Mother.”
“I’m afraid not. One of the cook’s maids came down ill on the first part of the journey. Mother and Mrs. Briddle insisted she stay out of the elements so that she could recover for the rest of the ride tomorrow.”
She glared at her brother. Far be it from her to displace an ill maid. He knew she would relent and sleep on the ground. After all, it was only one night.
“Very well. But Thomas, after I bring Mother this meal, I shall retire to the tree. I haven’t seen or spoken to her since last night. With Father…” Emma allowed her voice to trail off. Thomas knew of what she wouldn’t speak.
“She will take time to recover. We all shall. I think having the maid to look after her is a great help.” His eyes downcast, he looked all of ten years old again, and her heart lurched.
She should not be cross with him. His instructions to her were inconvenient but he had also just suffered a great loss. And now he would be expected to take on such a great responsibility.
She gave her brother a reassuring squeeze on the arm an
d headed toward the carriage. This night, at least, she would be a dutiful sister, and not complain any further.
When they returned home, and the murderer was found out, she planned to have a discussion with her brother about returning to the MacNair’s castle. It would be best for now to keep him on her side.
“Mother?” Emma approached the carriage quietly, not wanting to wake the ill maid, should she be asleep. “Mother, I’ve brought you some food.”
The door to the carriage opened and Katharine Marston, Lady Dawaerton, faced her daughter. Emma had to stifle her shock. Her mother, always the height of elegance, looked dreadful. Her hair was loose, hanging around her shoulders like a shroud. She had deep dark circles rimming her bloodshot eyes and Emma knew her mother had been sobbing.
Disciplined by the Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 6