Triumph flaring, Alex sprinted after him up the stairs…
***
Sarah’s hands shook as she pressed a wadded up piece of fabric—her silk fichu—against the bullet wound in Isla’s right shoulderblade. The maid was unconscious, her breathing shallow and shaky; lying on her belly, her head turned to the side, Sarah could see her face was bone white whereas the stain upon the back of her pale grey gown was bright red.
When Alex and Malcolm had moved down the Long Gallery, away from the library, Sarah had helped Dobson to carry his daughter inside. They’d laid her upon the damask upholstered settee before the fire and then Dobson had gone to Alex’s desk and had taken out his pistol. As he loaded the weapon, he asked how Isla was.
‘I don’t know, Dobson,’ Sarah said with tears in her eyes. ‘I honestly don’t know.’
She’d never nursed anyone with such a grievous injury before. Kneeling beside the settee, her fingers covered in Isla’s blood, she supposed they should cut the maid’s dress away and examine the wound to see if the bullet was still lodged inside her. However, she didn’t have anything resembling a knife or scissors.
And all the while, her ears strained to hear what was going on in the Gallery.
Oh, dear God. If anything happens to Alex… If Malcolm comes for me again…
Her mouth dry, her throat tight, Sarah swallowed down her fear and tried to focus on helping Isla. There was just so much blood. Her silk fichu was totally inadequate in stemming the flow. Perhaps she could rip off some of the cushion covers and use those. Even though Isla had betrayed her, twice, she would do what she could to save the lass.
Somehow, she didn’t think it would be enough.
The door flew open and Sarah jumped whilst Dobson aimed the pistol at the unexpected intruder.
Thank the Lord, it was only Aileen.
The distraught woman’s hands flew to her face. ‘Och, no. My poor wee bairn,’ she cried, before rushing to the settee and dropping to her knees beside Sarah. With shaking fingers, she pushed her daughter’s red curls away from her ashen face.
She raised her gaze to Sarah’s, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘I heard pistol fire and shouting in the Great Hall. And then I saw Lord Tay mounting the stairs. But I didn’t realise he’d shot my poor Isla.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so,’ Sarah replied. Tears spilled from her eyes and ran down her cheeks as well. ‘I didn’t see what happened but I heard Isla call out right before the shot. I think she was trying to save Lord Rannoch.’
‘Aye, I think so too,’ Dobson said. Ever faithful, he now stood by the cracked open door, his gaze and his pistol trained down the Gallery.
‘I hope the master cuts the bastard to pieces and sends him straight to the Devil,’ muttered Aileen.
‘So do I.’ Sarah hated to ask the question but she did so anyway. ‘Did you see who else was injured, Aileen?’
‘Aye. Lord Tay shot young Andy Stark in the arm an’ stabbed MacWilliam in the side. Both were on duty at the front door in the Great Hall.’
Oh, no. Sarah closed her eyes. How could one man wreak so much havoc? Cause so much damage and death? She prayed Stark and MacWilliam, and even Isla, wouldn’t die.
Most of all, she prayed for Alex.
At that moment, Dobson opened the door wider, admitting MacLagan.
The footman’s face was as white as the bandage about his head. ‘I heard Isla had been hurt,’ he began. ‘Moira saw it happen. She sent me with these.’ He nodded at the bowl of water and bundle of fresh linen bandages he carried. Even though Lord Tay’s bullet had grazed his temple the day before, Sarah was impressed the young man had risked his own safety again.
‘Thank you, MacLagan.’ Sarah waved him over to the fireside. ‘Do you happen to have a dirk about you? Or what about you, Dobson? We need to cut away Isla’s gown.’
MacLagan retrieved something from the desk. ‘Here’s a penknife, Miss Lambert. It should be sharp enough.’
Sarah took it with thanks and with Aileen’s and MacLagan’s assistance, they carefully repositioned Isla onto her side before cutting away her blood-soaked bodice, stays, and shift to investigate the wound beneath.
‘It looks like the shot has gone all the way through,’ murmured MacLagan, gently wiping the blood away with a damp cloth.
‘Is… is that a good thing?’ asked Sarah.
MacLagan nodded and smiled ‘Aye, it is, Miss Lambert. Now if we can just stop the bleeding…’
All of a sudden, Isla’s eyelids fluttered and she moaned. Aileen squeezed her daughter’s hand. ‘Isla, my bonnie wee lassie. It’s yer mam.’
Isla opened her eyes and blinked dazedly. ‘What… what happened?’
***
Alex emerged onto the battlements, all his senses on high alert and his sword arm poised to strike. Even though his chest burned and his breathing was ragged, he was ready for anything Tay cared to throw his way.
His gaze darted around the snow-dusted ramparts searching for his mark. There. At the eastern edge, a shadow moved. Tay was crouching behind a sizeable block of stone.
As quietly and as swiftly as he could, Alex skirted the perimeter of the battlements, making his way towards Tay’s hiding place. What was the bastard up to?
Alex recalled the last time he’d been up here with Sarah—a small number of masonry tools had been left behind. A chisel and a trowel perhaps. A hammer.
To undermine Tay’s confidence by disabusing him of the notion he’d have the advantage of surprise, Alex called out. ‘I can see where you are, Tay. What are you going to do, now? Leap out and throw stones at me?’
Tay ignored him so Alex crept closer. When he was only a few yards away from Tay’s hidey-hole, he spoke again. ‘This is ridiculous. Why don’t you come out and face your fate like a man instead of behaving like a snivelling coward?’
When Tay leapt up and hurled his spent pistol then a hammer in his direction, Alex was expecting the attack and he easily ducked out of the way.
Alex straightened and cocked an eyebrow. ‘What’s next? The trowel or the chisel?’
‘Fuck you, MacIvor,’ growled Tay. He adjusted his stance and that’s when Alex noticed the chisel in his hand. ‘I should have made sure you were dead ten years ago.’
‘Quite possibly. But it seems you have a talent for making mistakes. Of making poor choices.’ Alex took another few steps forward, pointing the tip of his sword straight at Tay’s chest. ‘Whereas I have a talent for vengeance. Why don’t you drop the chisel? It won’t help you, you know.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Nothing will.’
Tay let out a low growl and he lunged, the chisel raised, but Alex simply flicked his sword and neatly sliced Tay’s wrist. With a howl, Tay dropped the tool and then he stumbled backwards into the parapet, gripping his lower arm. Blood seeped between his clenched fingers. Although his lip curled into a sneer in a display of false bravado, he was sweating. ‘You call me a snivelling coward, yet here we are and you won’t finish this. I’m starting to think you don’t have the guts—’
Alex flicked the sword tip up again and scored Tay’s bristle-clad jaw with a long, fine cut. ‘Oh, I do have the guts, Tay. In fact, I’m just trying to decide how you’ll die. What would be the most suitable punishment for someone like you, someone who despoils and takes the lives of innocents with impunity? Someone who murdered my mother, my sister, and my affianced. A sorry excuse for a man who kidnapped and threatened to harm the woman I love.’
‘You kidnapped Sarah first—’
‘Yes I did, but I’m not the one on trial here. You are.’ Alex took another step forward. ‘However, unlike you, I’m not without mercy. I’ll let you choose. Either I run you through—’ his gaze shifted to the crenellations along the parapet, ‘—or you jump.’
Tay’s chest heaved and his gaze narrowed. His mouth twisted into a parody of a grin. ‘See you in hell then, MacIvor.’ He climbed up between the snow-crusted parapets, turned, and with a mocking salute, fell backwards.
Alex closed his eyes as he heard the heavy crunch on the gravel path below.
Instead of triumph, all he felt was an overwhelming sense of blessed relief.
Thank God. It was over. The Earl of Tay was dead.
Chapter 19
A small metallic sound—the click of a latch—drew Sarah’s attention away from Isla. Her heart in her mouth, her gaze flew to the library doorway and a small cry of joy escaped her when she saw who it was.
Alex.
She leapt to her feet and heedless of her bloodstained hands and gown, she rushed over and threw her arms about him. ‘You’re all right,’ she breathed against his neck as relief and gratitude flooded her. ‘Thank God.’
‘Aye.’ He drew back a little and framed her face with his hands. His grey eyes held hers. ‘Malcolm is dead.’
She nodded. ‘Good. I’m glad. It’s a just fate for such an evil man.’ She slid her hands down his arms and when he winced, she noticed the bloodstained tear in the sleeve of his white shirt. ‘Oh, sweet heaven.’ She stepped back and her gaze fell to the bloodied rip across his buckskin breeches. ‘You’ve been injured too.’
Alex smiled. ‘It’s not too bad. Just a wee nick on my arm and thigh. I’ll heal well enough.’ His gaze moved to Isla and the group clustered around the settee. ‘How is she?’ he asked softly, his expression grim.
‘Alive. It’s a shoulder wound but MacLagan says the bullet has only passed through muscle and sinew, and that if the bleeding stops, she’ll be all right.’
He nodded and swallowed. ‘She saved my life.’
‘I know.’ Sarah touched his face. ‘I think she would be heartened to see you.’
Alex placed his hand over hers. ‘You are the sweetest woman alive, Sarah. Not many would be as generous and forgiving as you.’
Dobson and MacLagan moved away as she and Alex approached the settee but Aileen stayed by her daughter’s side; they’d dressed Isla’s shoulder with linen bandages but blood had soaked through them already.
Alex touched the older woman’s shoulder. ‘How is she?’
At the sound of his voice, Isla’s eyes opened. ‘Milord,’ she whispered through pale lips. She reached out a trembling hand and Alex took it as he sank to his knees.
He brushed a tendril of her hair from her clammy brow. ‘I’m here, Isla.’
‘Is Lord Tay dead?’
‘Aye.’
She released a sigh. ‘I’m so verra sorry… fer everything I’ve done… to Miss Lambert… to you.’ She broke off and a tear slipped from the corner of one eye. ‘I’ve been so wicked… If I die—’
‘You won’t die.’ Alex squeezed her hand. ‘I’m going to send for the surgeon at the barracks.’
He glanced at MacLagan and the footman nodded. ‘I’ll go now, milord. He can also check on young Stark an’ MacWilliam if tha’ is all right with you. According to Moira, Stark’s been winged and MacWilliam’s side will need a few stitches but other than that, they should be fine.’
‘Very good.’
Isla opened her eyes again and her gaze shifted to the end of the settee where Sarah hovered. ‘Miss Lambert… I hope that one day you might be able to forgive me. I thought… you were like… Lord Tay… Selfish… and I was jealous… and so verra wrong. I want…’ She drew a shaky breath then tried again. ‘I want Lord Rannoch to be happy.’
Sarah’s heart clenched and she blinked away tears. ‘I promise I’ll do my very best to make him so.’
Isla’s lips twitched in a weak smile. ‘Good.’
Aileen placed a dampened washcloth over her daughter’s brow. ‘I think she needs to rest now, until the surgeon arrives.’
Sarah nodded. ‘I agree.’
Alex relinquished Isla’s hand and rose to his feet. ‘Dobson, thank you for standing guard whilst I was otherwise engaged. It couldn’t have been easy with Isla injured so.’
Dobson nodded and Sarah noticed the footman’s eyes were suspiciously bright. ‘It has always been my pleasure to serve you, milord. If there’s anything else I can do…’
Alex inclined his head. ‘Thank you. There might be. I will let you know in due course.’
Sarah gathered up some of the spare bandages from a nearby mahogany table. ‘I think it’s time someone else’s wounds were attended to,’ she said, giving Alex a pointed look. There was too much blood seeping through his shirtsleeve and his breeches as far as she was concerned. And she hadn’t failed to notice his grimace as he’d risen from the floor.
‘Very well, Miss Lambert.’ He followed her from the room, his hand at her back, and her heart tripped when he added in a velvet-soft voice, ‘I have something I need to speak to you about… In private.’
‘Is this matter related to my promise to make you happy?’ she asked, suddenly feeling breathless.
‘No,’ he replied, tugging her into the small parlour next door. ‘It’s about my desire to make you happy, my love.’
***
With a small kick, Alex closed the parlour door and gathered Sarah into his arms. There were a million other things he should be doing, but right at this very moment, he could think of nothing more pressing than his need to kiss Sarah. To show her how much he loved her and how grateful he was they were both alive and free to do whatever they wanted. Whenever they wanted.
Pushing his fingers into her tumbling hair, he lowered his head and ruthlessly ravished her mouth with lips and tongue until they were both breathless and clinging to each other.
When he raised his head, he took pleasure in watching her eyelids flutter open; her gaze was soft, her eyes a soft hazy blue reminding him of the sky above Loch Rannoch on a fine, misty morning.
‘I love you,’ she whispered. ‘When I saw you fighting with Malcolm…’ she swallowed and her eyes shimmered.
He swiped a single tear away from her cheek with his thumb. ‘I know. I felt the same way last night when I found out he’d taken you. But it’s all over now. We have each other, and very soon, you will be my lady-wife.’
‘Yes.’
They kissed again and some time later when Alex’s head was spinning, he reluctantly dragged his mouth from hers. ‘I’m afraid I have to sort out… certain things,’ he said carefully. Like disposing of Tay’s body somewhere.
Sarah’s forehead dipped into a frown. ‘I understand,’ she said, fingering the silver buttons of his brocade waistcoat. ‘Can I help?’
He smiled and lifted his injured left arm. ‘Well, I suppose you could bandage these dashed cuts first.’
Sarah’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s all right.’ Alex swooped down and retrieved the bandages from the Aubusson rug beneath their feet. ‘I did distract you.’
‘Yes, you did.’ Sarah made him take off his waistcoat and shirt to examine his wounded bicep. As he’d suspected, it was a superficial cut and the bleeding had almost stopped. Nevertheless, Sarah wrapped one of the linen bandages around it and then he tied one firmly around his left thigh, over the top of his breeches. He was about to go out on Rannoch Moor with Dobson in search of a peat bog so there was no point in changing clothes when he was only going to get mucky again. His black wool redingote would also hide the bloodstain on his sleeve
‘I wish you didn’t have to go,’ Sarah said, her gaze tracing over his naked chest and torso when he reached for his shirt from the back of a nearby chair.
The desire in her gaze had his cock twitching but he had to be strong. He shrugged on his shirt and pulled on his waistcoat. ‘I wish I didn’t either. However, even though Captain Hamilton is an ally, a nobleman of some stature has just died here at Blackloch. And to avoid any inconvenient questions, I think it’s best the Earl of Tay’s final resting place isn’t here.’
‘You’re going to take his body out to the moor, aren’t you?’
Alex kissed her forehead. ‘Yes.’
Sarah’s expression hardened. ‘Good. He deserves an ignoble burial.’
‘That, my love, is j
ust one more thing we both agree on.’
***
Blackloch Castle, Loch Rannoch
1 March 1757
The sun was high in a brilliant blue sky when Alex escorted Sarah along the gritted path towards the sundial at the centre of Blackloch’s formal rose garden. Even though patches of slushy snow covered the frosty ground and the rose bushes were bare, early daffodils, purple crocuses, and delicate white snowdrops brightened the neatly laid-out parterres.
Farther ahead, through the stand of ancient oaks already wearing touches of spring green, Sarah caught a glimpse of Loch Rannoch, its waters glinting with diamonds of sunlight. On such a wonderful clear morning, it was difficult for her to believe that this place had been the scene of such terrible tragedy nearly eleven years ago.
They paused near the sundial where Bandit was sniffing about the sandstone pedestal, and Sarah’s vision misted quite unexpectedly. Pulling a lace-trimmed linen kerchief from the pocket beneath the skirts of her peacock-blue riding habit, she tried to dab at her eyes surreptitiously.
Alex brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. ‘Don’t cry, dear heart,’ he murmured, his expression so grave and tender, it made Sarah’s tears well all the more. ‘This needs to be done. It’s time.’
‘Are you sure?’ She attempted a smile but all she managed was a weak tremble of her lips. Her heart ached for this man whom she loved, and for all he’d lost and endured.
His wide mouth lifted into a soft half-smile. ‘Aye. It is.’
He knelt down, and at the foot of one of the rose bushes, he dug a narrow but deep hole in the half-frozen dirt with a small trowel that he’d taken from the pocket of his black redingote. Then he slipped his onyx and gold ring from his finger and gently pushed it into the ground before covering it with dirt again.
Alex straightened and threaded his fingers through hers. ‘I’ll always miss my family,’ he murmured, ‘but I feel like they’re at peace now.’ Raising her hand to his lips, he captured her gaze. The light in his grey eyes was solemn yet soft. ‘And I’m at peace. Because of you.’
The Laird Of Blackloch (Highland Rogue) Page 27