Possession of a Highlander

by Madeline Martin

  The man jerked back and slapped his palm against the glossy side of the chair with a resounding smack. “Do not feign confusion with me. You are laird of Edzell. And like the laird who came before you, you are eager to see me ruined. After all these years, I find peace, happiness, and yet again the master of Edzell Castle seeks to strip me of my joy.”

  “I dinna kno—”

  “I found out about your spy. I heard about her all the way in Italy. At first I wondered why a woman would question my whereabouts, but then they found your letter asking for her assistance. The broken seal was described to me and I recognized it.”

  Long, thin fingers wrapped around Colin’s wrist and gripped him with the strength of a vise. The Lindsay signet ring shone bright in the soft light. “This seal,” the Frenchman said.

  He pushed Colin’s hand away. “I know that seal. I spent years of my life hating that damn seal.” The spark in the man’s eyes drained to exhausted desperation. “That seal stole the sunshine from my life, robbed me of the essence of my youth.” His hand tightened to a fist and reverently pressed to his breast. “Pulled the blood from my still beating heart.”

  Irritation crawled over Colin’s already tense shoulders. “I dinna know the laird befo—”

  “You know more than you say you do. It is the reason I left Italy to come here myself. I know the power you Lindsays wield.” Energy fired to life in the man’s tired face. He leapt to his feet and began an impatient stalking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. The heels of his crisp leather shoes rang against the floor, each step marked by a harsh tap.

  Colin’s head pounded. Italy. Marie. There was something he was missing, something he couldn’t focus on long enough to hold on to. He shook his head to clear it of the effects of the drug and found the Frenchman staring at him.

  “You knew I secured my patronage for Signore Galileo Galilei. Just like you knew Capra intended to release that plagiarized version on the military compass.” His finger jabbed into Colin’s shoulder.

  One more jab and Colin would see that finger broken. The man must have read Colin’s thoughts because his hand dropped to his side and he bent over, bringing his face to eye level. Fine lines imprinted a face that had appeared young from a distance.

  “Capra and Marius sought you out knowing the Earl of Lindsay’s hatred for me.” The wrinkles deepened. “To punish me.”

  Colin’s tether of patience snapped. He leapt to his feet and grabbed the man’s arm. It was surprisingly firm beneath his grip.

  Weak or strong, mad or sane, the Frenchman would no longer dominate the spinning conversation of insanity.

  “Ye make no sense.” Colin’s fingers curled around the man’s neck.

  The other Frenchman shifted, but Colin swung to face him with the well-dressed man in his grasp. “Come closer and I will crush his throat, aye?” The large man’s eyes narrowed, but he did not move forward.

  “The laird ye speak of is dead.” Colin stared down at the man with long hair. “And I dinna know him when he was alive. What I do know is that ye came onto my land, kidnapped my guest, as well as an innocent boy, and then threatened their lives.” He squeezed tighter, and a choking whine hissed from the Frenchman’s lips. The larger man tensed and a frown creased his bald head. “After all that,” Colin continued. “Ye dinna let me talk while ye accuse me of conspiring with people I’ve never heard of.”

  He drew a deep breath to keep from killing the man. “Let Marie and the lad go, and then we can talk like gentlemen, aye?”

  The man gave a vigorous nod and Colin released him. His gasping cough filled the room, a thunderous sound that echoed off the yellow walls. A sound that did not mask the gentle click of the door behind Colin opening. The Frenchman looked over Colin’s shoulder, and his jaw went slack.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The hardwood floor beneath Brianna’s feet ran the length of the room, the sunshine yellow walls a contrast to the tension vibrating in the air.

  She still gripped the handle of the door, as if the smooth, unyielding metal could lend her much-needed strength.

  Two men stared back at her. A third stood several feet away, his back toward her, auburn hair bound in a leather thong against a golden-colored shirt.

  Her stomach spiraled to the floor.

  Colin.

  Her gaze returned to the foreign men.

  Who posed more of a threat? The large one standing several feet in front of Colin? The elaborately dressed man in light blue silk? Or her husband when he realized she’d defied his orders, left the safety of their home, and came to Marie’s rescue without guards?

  Brianna swallowed down the bitterness of her own trepidation.

  “Elizabeth.” The elaborately dressed man spoke, the word a haunted whisper on his pale lips. He took a step toward her, and a low creak sounded from the floor beneath his foot.

  His bright blue eyes glazed with tears, his emotions laid bare for her to witness. The sadness, the longing, the raw desperation-all of it exposed.

  Colin turned abruptly. “What are ye doing here?”

  The man who called her by her mother’s name took another step closer, but Colin grabbed his arm and jerked him back before shooting her an icy glare. “Get out of here, Brianna.”

  The sharp movement jarred the man’s body. “Brianna,” he said, more to himself than to anyone else. “Of course.” A smile touched his lips and he shook his head.

  “Did you find Marie?” she asked in a voice she wished was bigger. More certain.

  Colin ignored her question and captured the man by the back of his neck. He ripped a dagger free from his boot and pressed to the man’s exposed throat.

  “My wife is none of yer concern.” Colin’s voice carried in the stark room, his snarl possessive. Primitive. It made the hair on her arms prickle.

  “Wife?” The Frenchman’s mouth fell open and a low chuckle sounded deep in his throat. “Of course.” His slender hand patted Colin’s forearm. “I thought you were the Earl of Lindsay’s son. Release me, boy. I would embrace the daughter of the woman I loved.”

  The daughter of the woman he loved. The elaborate, expensive attire. The French-laced Gaelic.

  Brianna’s breath went shallow with her realization.

  He was the French marquis.

  Her insides flinched. Her mother’s French marquis.

  Colin’s arms tightened. “Ye’ll do nothing with my wife.”

  She darted forward and placed her hand on Colin’s arm. His taut muscles slackened beneath her fingertips, but still he did not release the marquis. “Stop, please.”

  Colin’s face darkened to a brilliant shade of red. “What are ye doing, Brianna? Did I no tell ye to leave? Get yerself from this house.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t understand, this man is—”

  “Get out of here now.” The edge of his words cut into her. “Ye are my wife and when I speak, ye will obey.”

  Despite the conscious act of stiffening her back, Brianna felt herself shrink under his anger. His authority.

  He put her in her place as the earl had done to her mother so many times before. Her heartbeat staggered to life and pounded in her trembling hands.

  Before she could respond, the marquis shoved the dagger away and spun around to face Colin. “Do not speak to her in such a manner.” He moved in front of Brianna, an act of protection. Against her own husband.

  • • •

  Colin stared in shock at the Frenchman who blocked Brianna with his body. The whole damn world had gone mad.

  The breath eased from Colin’s throat in a low growl.

  Brianna’s voice sounded behind the man. “I’m not in danger.” She stepped around him, her gaze darting to the man’s face. Searching. “From either of you.”

  “Ye know this man?” Colin asked.

  “No more than you do.” Her gaze dragged from the Frenchman toward Colin. “He is the marquis from my mother’s letters.”

  “She kept th
em?” The man’s eyes glowed bright beneath his heavy black brows. He stared down at Brianna. “What she says is true. I am Percival de Caritat, Marquis de Condorcet. If I am thinking of the same letters you speak of, then yes, I am that man.” He bowed low. “Forgive the misunderstanding and inconvenience, monsieur. I thought you were someone you were not and assumed a vindictive act where there was none.”

  Colin glanced around the room. The turn of events had transpired too quickly. Only a fool would allow himself to relax. “I want Marie and the boy released.”

  “Of course.” A string of French flew from the marquis’s mouth so quickly that Colin only caught a word or two. The large man gave a gruff nod and disappeared through the door.

  “You must come to Edzell Castle,” Brianna said, staring up at the marquis. “There is much I wish to discuss.”

  Her expression was doting. Irritation tightened Colin’s muscles further still. “There is much I wish to discuss before ye come to my home,” he said. “Like who is Capra, what do ye have to do with Galileo, and how the hell do ye know Gaelic?”

  “The English king hates Gaelic,” the marquis said with an airy toss of his long hair. “As I’ve already explained to you, Baldessar Capra has plagiarized Galileo’s work on the military compass, and I seek to bring him and Marius down for their theft. In regards to Galileo—I am his patron.” His chest swelled and his chin lifted with a note of French pretension.

  “Galileo?” Brianna asked, her eyes wide.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs outside the door and tugged Colin’s attention from his wife’s adoration of another man.

  The dagger still rested against his palm.

  He stared toward the only entrance to the room, more anxious than he cared to admit. The door creaked open and Marie sauntered in, her appearance as immaculate as ever. Her slender hand folded around the boy’s, who followed behind her like a soldier with a love-sick grin on his face.

  “Are ye well?” he asked, his eyes skimming Marie’s neck for the mark of a blade.

  She waved her hand. “Aside from being pulled from my room in the middle of the night, I’m fine.” Her smile widened as she looked down at the boy. “George and I were just playing with a top Pierre brought.”

  “Pierre?”

  A man with a blond mustache that curled upward appeared behind Marie. “Bonjour.”

  The third man. The man who had forced the wet rag to Colin’s nose. The one responsible for the pounding headache that left Colin less than enthusiastic to return pleasantries.

  “Monsieur de Caritat will join us for supper,” Brianna said. “We should leave soon if we wish to arrive in time.”

  The marquis inclined his head. “Please, call me Percival. I would not have the daughter of my Elizabeth refer to me so formally.”

  • • •

  The moon bathed the garden in an ethereal silver light. Brianna tipped her face toward the caress of a cool breeze. She walked two steps ahead of Percival, her footsteps threaded with a giddiness that carried her faster than intended.

  He’d promised to show her the star Galileo discovered so recently, the one that defied the heavens and stood beyond the moon.

  Her nerves danced with excitement. Tonight she would see not only the bold star. She would have her questions answered.

  They reached the bench she sought, the one sitting in a sea of roses, where the comforting rush of the fountain bathed the night air.

  “This was Mother’s favorite spot,” Brianna said softly.

  The marquis lowered himself to the bench and breathed deeply. A smile blossomed on his lips. “I can see Elizabeth sitting here.” His gaze skimmed heavy flowers propped on their thin stems, the brilliant red now darkened by the night to a purple crimson. “She loved roses.”

  Brianna sat beside him and tried to keep her eyes from scanning his face again. After staring at him through supper, she had already committed to memory every dip and curve of his features, from the shadow below his high cheekbones to the prominence of his nose. She longed for a mirror to sit before, to measure the cut of her own cheekbones, the length of her own nose.

  “You look so much like your mother.” He tilted her chin with the tip of his middle finger. “There is very little of your father in you.”

  Perfume wafted from the sleeve of his jacket, floral and spicy. Her pulse tripped to life, daring the question to flee her lips lest she lose courage. “And who would that be?”

  He dropped his hand. “Pardon?”

  Brianna cleared her throat to keep from stumbling over the words she’d wished to ask since she met him. “Percival, are you my father?”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Brianna folded her hands in her lap to mask their tremor. A restless breeze shifted through the garden, stirring the wisps of hair along her neck and forehead.

  Percival did not stiffen at her bold question of paternity, nor did his pensive features register offense.

  “Your mother was enchanting. She was beautiful and graceful and highly intelligent. I wish I could say I acted the part of a gentleman when I was with her, but that would be a lie. I was young and in love.” Percival shifted his gaze to the dark garden, toward the rose bushes. “For all my advances, your mother remained ever stoic in her loyalty to her husband.” His eyes met hers. “Your father.”

  Brianna should have been elated at the declaration. It proved her legitimacy and proclaimed her mother’s innocence. Yet it was an overwhelming disappointment that rocked her back like the force of a blow.

  A sad smile jerked at the corner of his lips. “While I would be honored to have fathered such an educated, lovely woman, alas it is impossible that I ever lay claim to you as mine.”

  Unexpected tears filled her eyes. She’d wished too hard for a second chance at a father’s love.

  The fountain’s steady trickle occupied the silence while Brianna gathered her composure. “You could have been my father,” she said in a thick voice. “I would have called you such had my mother gone to you.”

  “I had no right to ask that of her.” Percival’s voice held an edge. “As I said before, I was young. Selfish.”

  She glanced at him and found the muscles of his jaw strained. Her own desperation pulled at her heart and seeped into her words. “You wanted a better life for her. You said so in your letters.”

  He shook his head, and his heavy curls brushed against his lap. “Those letters only served to make her life more difficult.” He propped an elbow on his leg and cradled his chin in his palm, looking very much a pensive scholar. “And yours. Because of those damned letters, your father thought your mother and I had been—” He slid a sidelong glance at Brianna, as if in apology. “Intimate. She was treated as prisoner in her own home, and you were taken from her to ensure she would never leave.”

  The painful childhood memories slammed into Brianna. The visits from her mother with a guard hovering in the distance. The fierceness of her mother’s hugs, as if she couldn’t bear to let Brianna go. The adoring way she would brush Brianna’s hair as they spoke.

  “She stayed because of me.” Brianna choked on the realization.

  “No,” Percival said. “She stayed for you. Because she knew if she left you alone with him, your life would hold no joy.” His long fingers slid over her clasped hands, drawing her from her memories. “Because she knew if she left without you, her life would hold no joy.”

  He squeezed her hands gently. “I did not understand such love. But seeing you now and knowing you are my Elizabeth’s daughter.” He paused and drew in a slow breath. “I can understand such love.” His voice trembled and his eyes grew wet with unshed tears. “I wish you could have been my daughter.”

  A dagger of longing pierced Brianna’s heart, into the dark spot she thought was buried deep enough to never again hurt. The ache of years repressed spread in a flood of sorrow and pent-up rage.

  “No more than I wish it,” she said. There was a passionate flare to her voice she could not temper
. “I’ve known you only several hours, but already I know life with you would have been different than with the earl. Different and better. You would have encouraged my learning, applauded my accomplishments.” She balled her hands into fists. “You would have been proud of me.”

  “Despite his lack of praise, I do believe your father was proud of you.” Percival laid a hand on her shoulder. “What father could not be with a daughter so rare and magnificent?” He patted her shoulder in a gentle, soothing way. As a father might have done to his daughter. “Sometimes one is blinded by his own failures and cannot bring himself to see the accomplishments in those he loves.” He dabbed his eyes with a thin handkerchief pulled from his pocket. “I wish there were something I could do to erase the burden of your childhood.”

  But he couldn’t. There was no way to erase those years of lonely degradation she’d suffered with her father’s suspicions.

  Or could he?

  The weight in her heart lightened. “Perhaps there is something you can do for me.”

  • • •

  Colin stared down into the garden from the window of the solar, his back toward Marie. Brianna sat on the same bench as the marquis, their heads bent together. Colin’s fingers tightened against the hard stone windowsill.

  The scene was far too intimate for his liking.

  He should have the man thrown from Edzell, yet he knew if he did so Brianna would never forgive him.

  Right now he needed to keep his focus on her. He knew all too well the hurt of a father’s disappointment. Brianna needed the marquis in a way Colin could never provide. And he would have to accept that.

  “You believe Magda is Lindsay’s informant?” Marie asked from across the solar.

  Colin turned away from the window. “Aye, Magda gave him all the information, voluntarily or no. I canna see anyone else speaking to Lindsay.”

  “Merde.”

  He was grateful to have her returned and safe. Little George had already been sent home with a purse for his mother and a strict set of combat rules that mainly consisted of staying safe until danger passed.