Disciplined by the Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Lydia Kendall

  ‘That sounds…horrible,” Emma blinked. “Didn’t you enjoy your childhood?”

  “Me Ma made sure I did,” William said while his arousal eased, “When I wasnae training, we read, swam, walked through the wood, even took a boat over on tha’ deepest part of the loch once or twice. Her glare froze me in me place so I wouldnae rock the boat an’ fall over. What aboot ye, Emma? Ever thought of bairns?”

  “Fleetingly,” Emma replied. “But I decided to have them only with the man I would truly love.”

  Am I the one? was the first thought that ran through William’s head but he did not dare say it. Knowing that his feelings for Emma had changed from regard to admiration to something like love but with lust laced through it all, William kept quiet.

  The silence stretched long enough until William realized he needed to say something and but could only utter a pathetic, “Oh.” Instantly, he cringed.

  Yer a complete bampot, William, the lady said something as profound as that and all ye can say is oh? Ma should come back from the grave and smack ye.

  He was cringing and finding a way to apologize to Emma when she slid her arm around his waist, with her hand resting on his lower abdomen. He shifted when her head was tucked into the crook of his neck and she whispered, “I love you, William.”

  Well, damn….what do I say now?

  Chapter 23

  Marston House, Northumberland

  The smooth crunch of pebbles under his carriage as he came upon the towering house he had grown up in gave Henry a run of nostalgic feelings. Most were not good ones.

  It was just before nine o’clock and his eyes lit upon the corner of the front lawn where Peter had chased him around and around until he had fallen and clocked his head on a stone.

  He remembered the upper three-story window where Peter had dangled his terrified three-year-old body, threatening to drop him while their parents had been out in the town. A maid had stood petrified behind Peter but had no power to stop him. Their father had forbidden his servants from touching his children, deeming them unsuitable to touch their betters.

  He remembered that large tree to the side, where Peter had dared him to climb, knowing that he had a fear of heights, and had then laughed like a loon when he could not dredge up the courage to come down. God, he hated this house and just after Oxford had gone to London and had never looked back. Until now.

  Despite his repugnance for the house, and how he had prayed daily for it to be burnt to ashes, Henry did love his niece, nephew, and his sister-in-law, so coming to see them on the behest of Emma had not troubled him much.

  The two-day drive, broken by nights in roadside Inns, had not been distressing but arriving at his childhood home, a symbol of pain, was. He squared his jaw and alighted when the drive came to the carriage gate. Henry had absolutely no intention of staying at the Manor further than he had to, and certainly not overnight. His bags were packed and if he had to take his sister-in-law away, he was prepared to do so.

  The only thing he had with was him was his monogrammed money pouch and calling card, both of which had his initials engraved on them. He was received by the butler who bowed respectfully.

  “Welcome, Mr. Henry,” he said. “I hope your travel was not too arduous.”

  “It was not,” Henry replied, while looking around the foyer that had not changed at all, even after twenty-odd years, while trying to remember the man’s name. “Is my brother here?”

  The butler’s eyebrows shot up, “I am sorry, Mr. Henry, do you not know?”

  “Know what?” Henry asked, as he wondered why there were ingrained lines in the man’s face and tight indents around his mouth. He was about to ask more when he was interrupted.

  “Uncle Henry,” Thomas’ unexpected voice came from the antechamber and intensified as the man approached him. “What a delightful surprise!”

  “Thomas, my boy,” Henry acknowledged, as seeing his brother’s son took him by surprise. “Happy to see you. You’ve grown handsomely.”

  The tow-headed boy Henry had once known had grown into a man and that short time had certainly favored him. He was tall and handsome, with impeccably combed dark hair and deep blue eyes. Henry internally grimaced when he saw the imprint of his brother’s features on the boy but there were hints of his mother there, too, faintly, but there.

  “Thank you, Uncle,” Thomas said with a smile, then looked over his shoulder. “Compton, I’ll take it from here, thank you.”

  “Thomas,” Henry asked as he was ushered from the foyer, “Where is my brother? Where is Peter?”

  A tight look hardened Thomas’ face as he opened the door to the study, a room that had belonged to Henry’s father Edward, and his father Arthur, before him. Henry was a little suspicious why Thomas had led him there only to close the door behind them.

  To his distress, the furniture had not been changed. Not the large oak desk table, or the matching coffee table. The padded wingbacks were still here—perhaps the upholstery had changed but not the chairs themselves. The tiny bar cupboards were in the back, still topped with crystal glasses and a decanter of Scotch. And underfoot was a gray carpet, newer but the same shade as the one his father would force him to kneel on while he recited his French.

  He took a seat as Thomas went to the bar, “Scotch, Uncle?”

  “Just a finger, please,” Henry replied as his suspicions grew, “I have not eaten much today. Now, will you please tell me where my brother is?”

  Thomas handed him the glass and sat opposite him, “In the ground, Uncle. He was poisoned on our last trip to Scotland. The MacNairs did it.”

  Henry was glad he had a good grip on the glass or else it would have crashed to the ground with his shock. The MacNairs! God forbid! He personally knew the chief and found it hard to believe that Murdo MacNair would do something so heinous to a friend.

  Slowly, he set the glass down and swallowed over the lump in his throat. There was no love lost between him and Peter but to die that way? That was incomprehensible. It had to have been gruesome.

  “I am surprised you did not hear,” Thomas added. “The news must have reached London by now.”

  “London mayhap but not as far as rural Manchester,” Henry said, as he leaned forward and steeped his fingers before his chin. “How is Katherine?”

  “Not well,” Thomas sighed profoundly. “Her nerves gave out the same night but got worse when she came home. I think that seeing her home, where she and Father had led happy lives, was too much for her. She went a bit manic, Uncle, and I had to give her laudanum to calm her. It’s a horrible cycle for when it wears off, she gets worse and I have to increase it.”

  “And Emma?” Henry licked his lips nervously. “How is she doing with it all?”

  A look of pity and remorse, just a tad too pronounced, crossed Thomas’ face, as he shook his head, “She…fell ill, too. You know she loved Father, and seeing him die that way ripped her apart. She is alone now, in her room, and does not speak to anyone. I had hoped she would have helped me with Mother but sadly, she succumbed, too.”

  But… Emma is in Edinburgh… something is not right here. He is not telling me the truth. Could it be that Thomas inherited Peter’s sadism and Emma had to run away? Even so, I will not make him any the wiser.

  He allowed a pained grimace to crease his face, and whispered, “Poor Emma.”

  A flash of annoyance streaked across Thomas’s face but was masked in the next moment. Henry’s suspicions about Thomas being underhanded with Emma strengthened. Henry knew that Thomas was not fond of Emma. He had seen Thomas’ sneers and lifted lip when sweet little Emma became the center of everyone’s attention.

  Had he done something to her? Locked her in? Drugged her to blankness? Good God, had he sold her off? The poor girl was as innocent as they came. She was all optimism and wide-eyed naiveté and did not know what betrayal or spite was. Though, if Thomas had done anything to her, she would know firsthand and would be broken.

  “Since I cannot see
Emma, may I see Katherine?” Thomas said while wiping his palms on his trousers. “Maybe there is something I can do to help her.”

  A deeply contemplative look furrowed Thomas’ face before he eyed his uncle. “I would love that, but Uncle, she’s not how you would remember. I don’t want to concern you but Mother’s mind is broken. She might not even recognize you.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Henry said as he stood. “Please. I realize that you must have a lot of things on your hands so I pledge that whatever I can do, I will do. I owe it to your Father.”

  “Very well,” Thomas nodded and uncrossed his legs. He stood and tugged down his dark gray waistcoat. “Please, follow me.”

  Out of the study and down the hallway, Henry followed his nephew, up the grand stairs and down to the east landing. They entered a smaller corridor and then, at the very last of the doors, Thomas knocked. “Mrs. Briddle, open the door.”

  Mrs. Briddle? Is she not the woman Peter took to be Emma’s nurse as a child? She was old when Emma was a child, how is she still in service?

  Sounds of deadbolts sliding from locks made Henry go grim. Was Elizabeth so demented or dangerous that they had to bolt her in? The last straw came when he heard the jangle of a chain and the release of a padlock. Gadzooks.

  The door opened and an old woman, reedy, gaunt, and sour-faced curtsied to them both, “My Lords.”

  Henry could only manage a nod to her as the almost suffocating smell of burnt daffodils and valerian roots nearly made him cough. His attention was instantly drawn to the woman on the bed. Katherine looked like a shell of herself, with her thin body in a nightshift and a turban around her head. She was lying still with a deep line between her brows.

  “How is she doing this day, Mrs. Briddle?” Thomas asked.

  “Not too bad, My Lord,” the woman’s nasal voice felt like nails dragging over a chalkboard. “She managed to have all her porridge this morning, and has been asleep ever since.”

  “Can I wake her?” Henry asked, as his heart began to sink further and further down his chest. “Can she be woken, that is?”

  “Yes, My Lord,” Mrs. Briddle nodded. “But she is always tired and she might not know who you are.”

  Henry stood back as the maid went and laid a hand on Katherine. She then slipped both her hands under Katherine’s arms and lifted her to sit up, rather brusquely Henry thought, to rest her on the bedhead.

  “Come on, Lady Katherine,” Mrs. Briddle said, while tapping her cheeks lightly, “Wake up now, you have a visitor.”

  Katherine’s head lolled to the side and then back. Henry was beginning to regret asking Thomas to come see her but held his composure. He noted the discoloration on Katherine’s arms and neck and a bruise on her cheek and wondered if the maid was being unkind to the lady. Katherine looked underfed, her hair looked unwashed, and her skin was pale.

  “Lady Katherine, please open your eyes,” Mrs. Briddle’s voice had gone stiff, “Mr. Henry is here to see you.”

  Katherine’s nose twitched and she sneezed, almost launching forward but was caught by Mrs. Briddle. Her eyes blinked open and Henry hated the blankness in her sky blue eyes. Mrs. Briddle moved away so Henry could take her place.

  He reached out and took her hand, grimacing at how cold and clammy it was. “Katherine, it's me, Henry, Peter’s brother, do you recognize me?”

  Her eyes flashed clear for a second before she again looked lost and her uncomprehending eyes ran over his face. He tried again, “It’s me, Henry. Please try to remember, I am Peter’s brother. I gave you the boat tickets for you to go to France for your honeymoon after you got married and the lacquered trunk to go with it. Do you remember me now?”

  Katherine’s head sagged forward and her mouth opened a little but then closed once more. Her lips trembled but she spoke and her voice as a broken whisper. “Henry?”

  Henry’s unspoken prayers had been answered, more than he had hoped for, even. “Yes, yes, it is I. Thank goodness you know who I am. I am so sorry to see you this way, Katherine but upon my word and my loyalty to Peter, I will do all that I can to help you through this troubling time.”

  The Countess’ eyes drooped and fluttered under the weight of her exhaustion. “Thank you.”

  Gently resting her back to lie down, Henry stood and nodded to Thomas who was lingering silently at the doorway. “Mrs. Briddle,” he nodded as he left the room and coughed to clear his airways of the pungent mixed inside.

  The maid curtsied to them and then locked the door behind them. “Thomas, you must have your fill with taking care of her, precious Emma, and running the Earldom. Here is my offer. There is an abbey in Summersville. I can get Lady Katherine a room there where the nuns can take care of her, so you do not have to be burdened too much. I know that running an Earldom takes a lot of work, and this is what I can do to help. Please say yes.”

  “I cannot and will not refuse your offer,” Thomas said with a relieved tone and sagging shoulders. “I was despairing that the care I can give her is not what she needed. Nuns will have much more understanding of her malady and can help in more ways than I can. Thank you, Uncle. You have given me hope and some much-needed rest. I worry about her day in and day out, while I am trying to find out who killed Father. I have sent out men to Edinburgh, and Perth, while I am questioning my own men if they had any hand in my father’s death.”

  “It is the best I can do,” Henry replied. “Please get her ready in an hour or so. I will be leaving with her to my parish and the nuns there will take her in.”

  Thomas eyes danced up but he simply ordered Mrs. Briddle to make his mother presentable for the trip. In the corridor, Henry played up to Thomas’ lie.

  “Take care of Emma, son. With her Father gone and Mother established at an Abbey, the best she can hold onto is you. Promise me to take care of her.”

  “Oh, I’ll take care of her,” Thomas replied, while accompanying him back to the study. “I will certainly take care of her. Let us talk while she is readied.”

  “So, about Peter…will you tell me what happened?” Henry said as he tried to not pay much attention to the malice he had heard in Thomas’ voice. Then again, in the same measure, he was not going to mention the spark of rationality he had seen in Lady Katherine’s eyes, either.

  The woman was not as insane as Thomas and his lackey Mrs. Briddle had led him to believe and Henry was glad for that. The question was, what did Katherine know about what was going on at the Manor that he did not?

  Chapter 24

  Cabin at Galashiels

  The stifled silence was eating at Emma. The rains had not stopped from last night but they were intermittent. Not strong enough to batter down on the roof but strong enough to ensure anyone caught in it would get sick.

  She had uttered those vital three little words to William last night and though she was not sure he had heard them, his silence all morning gave the suspicion that he had. She was at the fire pit, making the sauce for the last of their rabbit meat. Not one word had she spoken to him about it, as Emma was not sure he had heard her confession. A suspicion did not fully equate certainty, so she kept her head down and stirred.

  How could I have said that when I knew he was not prepared for it? How more foolish can I be? He already told me that the most he is in this for is to provide and protect me. Why did I have to go and destroy it all by telling him I loved him?

  The smell of burning sugar told Emma that the sauce was ready and with a sigh, she grabbed a cloth and took the pan from dangling over the fire. The plates of rabbit and millet rice were waiting and she spooned the sauce over the meat.

  Under her lashes she looked up to see William, staring unceasingly out the window and felt, by the stiffness of his jaw, that he was praying for a break in the rain so he could leave the cabin. Were her words so troubling that he needed to get away from her?

  Wonderful…just wonderful. I had to go send him wanting to run for the hills with my foolish talk of love.

  “Um
, dinner’s ready,” her voice was so quiet she wondered if it had traveled over to him. Apparently, by his quick look over, it had. She took his bowl and utensil over to him, then she turned to get hers when his hand, grabbing hers, stopped her.

  “Emma…”

  She did not dare look at him while her heart took sudden residence in her throat. Slowly, she was pulled back to him and then she allowed herself to turn. The look in his gray eyes was frankly…tortured. Guilt and shame warred within the smoky depths and she wondered what had put them there.

  “William?”

  He did not let go of her while he set the bowl on the nearest flat surface and with both hands took both of hers. Instead of her stepping closer, he did.