Love with a Scottish Outlaw

by Gayle Callen

  The sheriff cursed, the children whimpered, and the mercenaries turned to look at Cat, as if they needed some amusement. She shivered, but again the sheriff overruled the men, who bedded down around the fire, muttering. There were no blankets to spare for Cat and the children, so they huddled together and tried to keep warm as an autumn wind came down the loch and swirled around them. It was hard to hold them all within her arms when she was still tied up, but little Adam crawled up within the circle of her bound arms, Finn leaned against one side, while the other traumatized boy didn’t protest when she looped her bound hands around him and pulled him against the warmth of her body.

  “Mistress?” Finn whispered.

  “Aye?”

  “Can I run for help?”

  “Nay!” she practically hissed. “Ye’ll not risk yourself in these woods when ye don’t know where ye are.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t give up hope that we’ll be found.”

  Finn remained silent, and the flickering firelight showed the doubt in her expression.

  By morning’s light, Cat could see that the boat hadn’t sunk, and that the sailors who’d kept it afloat now worked to repair it. Hours passed, bringing her closer and closer to setting sail from the Highlands, perhaps from Scotland forever. When the captain appeared on deck and saluted smartly from across the water, Sheriff Welcker jumped up.

  It was now or never, Cat thought. She’d hoped through the night that the Carlyle clansmen would find them, and it was her own fault they hadn’t. She had to do what she could for the children.

  “Sheriff, I wish to discuss the possibility of ransom,” she said coolly, using her most aristocratic British accent.

  The sheriff stiffened and turned slowly from his view of the ship and studied her from beneath raised eyebrows. The three mercenaries who weren’t patrolling the beach and the woods did the same.

  “Ransom?” the sheriff echoed.

  He sounded as if he wanted to scoff, but she knew her cultured voice had made him wary.

  “Yes. My true name is Lady Catriona Duff, sister to the Earl of Aberfoyle.”

  The mercenaries looked interested but unaware, while the sheriff narrowed his eyes at her. “What would the sister of an earl be doing near the ruins of Carlyle Castle?”

  “I fell from my horse and hit my head, which left me incapacitated and unaware for some time. When I came to my senses, I could not yet be returned to my home. But I am who I say I am. Ask me any questions you would like.”

  For several minutes, he asked about her father and his land holdings, the castles and properties of her clan. They were easy for her to answer, and the bored mercenaries watched her with little curiosity. The little boy in her arms kept his face against her chest and stared up at her, her flow of words hushing his whimpers. Even Finn looked at her with wonder.

  The sheriff became more and more intrigued and narrow-eyed with calculation. At last, as she was reciting details of her brother’s Edinburgh townhouse, he held up a hand.

  “Just stop. I believe ye.”

  “Then you comprehend that my brother will pay handsomely for my safe return.” She glanced at the ship.

  “Aye, he likely will. But then he’ll also know all about my private venture.”

  Cat felt her simmering fear begin to rise again, and she struggled to keep it from her voice. “Why would I tell him this, if you returned me and the children safely to my brother?”

  “Because ye’re just a woman, and won’t be able to keep your mouth shut about anything important,” he said, giving her a friendly smile. “I’ll not lose the sure profit from the children on the chance I might receive a ransom, which will certainly lead to too much notice from Aberfoyle. Your father, now he was a man who understood the value of coin.”

  She offered a look of distaste. “My father believed himself all powerful. My brother is a far more practical man, a man of science, rather than a warrior. He will negotiate in fairness—”

  “Stop, there’ll be none of that. ’Tisn’t worth the risk.”

  “But—”

  And then he rose up above her, hand raised as if he’d hit her. The children shrieked, Finn tried to jump to her feet, and Cat had to restrain the girl.

  “Touch her and ye’ll die.”

  The deep, cold voice rang across the beach.

  Chapter 22

  Catherine closed her eyes in a brief prayer of thanksgiving at the sound of Duncan’s voice, before it dawned on her that he didn’t appear—which probably meant he hadn’t come with a large contingent of men. Or was it a trick? She couldn’t know—and the sheriff couldn’t know, either. The two mercenaries who hadn’t gone on patrol drew their swords and pistols.

  Sheriff Welcker’s smile grew slowly. “Why, Carlyle, is that yourself, come to me at last? I couldn’t have used the girl for any better result.”

  “Let her and the children go and I’ll let ye live,” called Duncan.

  The sheriff chuckled. “Show yourself and we’ll discuss it like gentlemen.”

  Finn slid her hand into Cat’s, and they glanced at each other with worry.

  “Throw down your pistols,” Duncan demanded. “I don’t want a stray bullet harming your captives.”

  As the sheriff began to laugh, a shot rang out, so close that he ducked.

  “Or the pistols of my men can harm ye,” Duncan added.

  The sheriff tossed aside his pistols, then nodded to the mercenaries, who reluctantly did the same.

  Duncan appeared from between two trees, his claymore ready but held relaxed. The sheriff drew his sword.

  Cat met Duncan’s gaze across the expanse of the beach, and she felt something swell up inside her—gratitude, surely. He wore only his belted plaid and his shirt, as if his coat would hinder him. The wind caught his sleeves, and the folds of plaid, but Duncan himself stood like a rock, tall, masculine, determined. She might not trust him about some things, but she knew he would never abandon her and the children. His glance for her was brief and betrayed no emotion, but something passed between them and she was grateful for it.

  Duncan eyed the sheriff. “I thought I’d lure ye into the open, and it happened at last.”

  The sheriff threw his arms wide. “This is the open? I see a deserted beach with my men all around.”

  “I see ye with your hands dirty in the ugly theft of children.”

  “‘Ugly theft?’ What harsh words—and untrue.”

  Cat gasped.

  “I’m saving these children,” Sheriff Welcker insisted.

  “Saving them?” Duncan repeated in disbelief. “Are ye trying to make noble your greed?”

  “No doubt the money is welcome, and I damned well deserve it after the poverty-stricken childhood I had. But who better to know what these children are suffering here, than me? In America, they’ll only be indentured for seven years. They’ll learn a trade, have a chance to better themselves, far more than they ever would in the Highlands. Ye think returning them to their cursed families is better?”

  “Ye’re mad,” Duncan said bitterly. “I have witnesses as to what ye’ve done, but I didn’t have your participation. I do now.”

  “Ye won’t live long enough for that to happen.”

  “And you think ye’ll kill me?” Duncan scoffed. “Without your pistol, ye’re not even a man.”

  The sheriff’s sword came up. “I can defeat a coward skulking in the brush easily enough.”

  “Do ye think so?” Duncan asked softly. “Shall we see what ye can do?”

  Cat wanted to call his name, warn him about how many sailors were on the ship, how many mercenaries lingered in the woods. This was madness. There were surely no other clansmen, and the sheriff knew it as well. He was simply toying with Duncan. She wanted to believe that Duncan was toying with him, but couldn’t let herself. Even the children were silent, watching the tableau.

  Sheriff Welcker impatiently waved back his men as he approached Duncan across the rocky beach. The well-trai
ned mercenaries didn’t leave Cat or the children, frustrating her chance to lead the children into the woods. Instead, she watched the sheriff and Duncan circle each other. The sheriff was lean, but there was a wiry strength to him, and without any sense of decency or a conscience, he might be a formidable opponent.

  But Duncan was a Highlander, a warrior who believed in defending his people more than benefiting himself. As an outlaw, he could have fled to the continent, sold his sword arm as a mercenary, lived a better life than here. But instead, he hid in a cave near his people so that he could keep them safe. Much as Cat detested what he’d done to her, she knew and appreciated his strengths.

  When the sheriff thrust out his sword, and Duncan parried it and slid to the side with the skill of a dancer, she took a gasping breath. For long moments, she didn’t even hear the sound of breathing, only the clash of metal and the grunts of the sheriff as he tried to parry Duncan’s slashes. Duncan’s face showed narrow-eyed concentration, and his claymore flashed reflections of sunlight as he moved it with precision. Slowly the sheriff gave ground. When the man fell to one knee, Duncan waited. With a grimace of anger, the sheriff came up thrusting low. Duncan jumped over his blade, slashing sideways in a move that the sheriff barely repelled before it could slice off his arm.

  One sound at last broke Cat’s concentration on the fight: the swish of swords leaving their sheaths as the mercenaries moved closer to the children and her. She didn’t dare cry out a warning, for fear of distracting Duncan. But the children pressed ever closer to her, even the mute boy. She wished she could gather them all within her embrace, but with her hands tied together, all she could do was hold little Adam against her chest while he trembled.

  And then one by one, as if in a dream, men began to step out of the trees to line the beach, five, ten, a dozen, then more than she could count. Finn gave her arm an exultant squeeze, and they shared a hopeful glance. Out on the loch, the ship’s anchor began to rise out of the water, even as the first sails unfurled, as the captain prepared to abandon Welcker.

  At the sight of her brother, Cat drew in a sharp breath, and tears flooded her eyes. She felt like it had been forever since she’d last seen him. The mercenaries dropped their weapons and stepped away from the children and her.

  But the sword fight went on. Why did the sheriff not surrender? It was apparent he’d seen the number of his enemy, and knew he could never go free. He was slow in lifting his weapon, his arms shaking from exhaustion. But still he fought, his desperation rising as he took wild swings. Duncan was impassive and calm, though sweat dotted his face with the exertion.

  At last, Duncan slipped past the sheriff’s defenses, thrusting his claymore deep into the man’s chest. For a moment, the two men stared at each other over the killing blow, and the entire beach was silent. Welcker looked as shocked as if he’d never experienced defeat before. With a scream, he crashed to the ground.

  Little Adam began to cry again, the mute boy just stared, but Finn raised a fist triumphantly. Cat desperately wanted to press their little faces against her so they could not see such ugliness. She could only hope that the vanquishing of their captor would at least help them sleep easier at night.

  “’Tis all right now,” she said to the children. “We’re safe and unharmed. Ye’ll go home soon.”

  The rest happened quickly. Duff and Carlyle clansmen poured onto the beach and the mercenaries surrendered, protesting loudly that they’d only recently been hired and hadn’t hurt anyone. Shuddering at her memories of what they’d wanted to do with her, Cat struggled to her feet, Adam still clinging to her. Owen strode toward her, and she would have flung her arms around his neck if her hands weren’t still tied. But Owen dragged her into his embrace.

  “I was so worried,” her brother whispered against her hair. “No letters came from ye, I thought ye were just enjoying yourself, and then this news—” He shuddered as if unable to say more.

  “’Tis all right,” she murmured, “but I’m starting to lose my breath.”

  She smiled as he quickly loosened his embrace, but Owen wasn’t smiling. He pulled out his dirk and began to work at the bonds restraining her and the children.

  “Where have ye been? How did this”—he spread his arms as if encompassing the whole beach—“even happen?”

  She realized he didn’t know anything except that she’d been kidnapped by the sheriff. She looked past him at Duncan, who wiped the blood from his sword across the sheriff’s plaid before drawing the loose ends over the man’s contorted, frozen face.

  Then Duncan met her gaze, sheathed his sword, and walked toward them. Cat felt a terrible anxiety seize her. She’d wanted Duncan to pay for what he’d done to her, how he’d betrayed her by taking advantage of her weakness for his own ends. But suddenly she didn’t want any of it to come out at all. He’d just challenged and slain the sheriff, risking his very life for her and the children. There were many sides to Duncan, and she feared she might love them all. She was so confused.

  Duncan formally bowed to Owen. “Lord Aberfoyle, I am Duncan Carlyle, chief of Clan Carlyle.”

  “Ye were the one who sent for me,” Owen said slowly. “Ye’ve saved my sister’s life.”

  “’Tis not that simple. Ye need to hear everything.”

  Flustered and worried, Cat put Adam into Finn’s arms and said to the girl, “Take the children to my brother’s men. They’ll feed ye.”

  Finn hesitated, but the mute boy seemed to swallow excessively, as if beginning to come out of his terror. The three-year-old squirmed.

  Finn looked from Cat to Duncan, who nodded to the girl, and said kindly, “Go. I’ll speak to ye after the earl and I talk.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Ye were very brave, Finn.”

  Finn reddened, but nodded, and with a last anxious glance at Cat, walked down the beach with the other two children. That left just Cat, her brother, and her lover alone on the beach, tension rising to crackle between them.

  Owen folded his arms over his chest and regarded Duncan impassively. “Explain to me what I need to know.”

  “This is my tale to tell,” Cat found herself saying, even though she’d had no idea what she intended to say at all. But she felt a desperate need to forestall whatever was about to happen.

  “Nay, this is my tale, all my responsibility.” Duncan removed his sword belt and laid his sheathed sword at Owen’s feet, along with his pistol. “Your sister has been living with my clan for the last three weeks.”

  Owen rounded on Cat. “But you were heading for Glasgow. My men were escorting ye there.”

  Tears returned so quickly. “A terrible storm rose up and we fell down a ravine. When I awoke, they were both dead, bless their souls, and I . . . I couldn’t remember who I was.”

  Owen’s mouth tightened. “What are ye saying?”

  “I had no memories at all. I didn’t know my name or where I was from or if I had any family. My head was badly injured, and I probably would have died in the wilderness except . . . Duncan found me.”

  “I knew who she was,” Duncan said coldly. “And I didn’t tell her.”

  Owen stiffened.

  “I make no excuses for myself,” Duncan continued, “but ye should know the truth. Your father was my bitter enemy, a man who countenanced children being stolen from their families and sold to the colonies. My clan’s children—those children.” He pointed to Finn and the others, who were now sitting in a little circle eating.

  Cat saw Owen’s mouth move, but he couldn’t seem to find words.

  “Welcker, the sheriff of Glasgow, had me imprisoned when I tried to stop it. My people have been rescuing the children when we can, but we weren’t able to reach the sheriff himself who organized these crimes with the backing of your father and some of the magistrates. At last both men are now dead, the magistrates defenseless. I’m grateful my people will no longer suffer. But when I found Cat—Lady Catriona—I thought your father lived, that perhaps she was part of his plan. But then when it was o
bvious she really had no memory, I wanted him to know what it felt like to have a missing child. So I used your sister for my own ends, and put her in terrible danger.”

  No one said anything for a long moment. Owen, usually so logical and impassive, wore a variety of emotions that paraded across his face as if he didn’t know which to feel first: confusion, sorrow, fury. Cat had felt all of those, and more, since she’d first met Duncan Carlyle.

  “Ye held my sister captive,” Owen said coldly to Duncan, then turned to Cat. “But ye didn’t know it?”

  She shook her head. “I was well treated by him and all of his people.”

  “Ye cooked food and cleaned laundry,” Duncan shot back. “That’s treating the sister of an earl well?”

  Before Owen could say anything, Cat rounded on Duncan. “What else should I have done? I wanted to contribute, because I was being fed and clothed and housed.”

  “Housed in a cave!”

  Owen’s eyes went wide but she brushed those words aside with a swipe of her hand.

  “We all lived in the cave. Even if I’d known my identity, I would have wanted to be of help. What should I have done, sit in a chair and find something to embroider?”

  “I could have told ye the truth, but I let ye worry about the family ye couldn’t remember,” Duncan said tiredly. “I denied ye that.” He turned to Owen. “Lady Catriona can verify that my clan knew nothing about this. To them, she was a vulnerable woman in need. Do what ye wish with me, but don’t take my crimes out on them.”

  Owen frowned at Duncan for a long moment, then turned back to Cat. “When did your memories return?”

  “Four days ago. Duncan had promised to return me when it was safe, but I saw poor little Finn being kidnapped, and I tried to help, and only found myself in the same trap.”

  “I think ye’re leaving much out of this story,” Owen said at last, then faced Duncan. “But none of that matters compared to what ye’ve done to my sister. Ye’ll answer for those crimes.” He gestured to one of his men, who approached. “Take him, but allow him to ride his own mount. If he gives ye trouble, rope him across the saddle.”