Anger surged within her, chased rapidly away by determination. Max only wanted to protect her. Well, she wanted to protect him just as much.
With renewed purpose, she walked back to the cottage, where she donned her dress and tucked Mr. Grant’s sgian dubh into her garter.
She went to the stable and saddled the Grants’ horse. They wouldn’t think her a thief… she hoped. She’d bring the wee dagger and the horse back to them. And if she got the King Richard Dagger back, she resolved to sell it and buy them five new horses.
She mounted the horse and rode northeast—toward Inverness.
Slowed by her aching body and throbbing arm, she wasn’t able to catch up to Max, and the journey took her the better part of the day. The sun had dipped low in the sky when she reached the outskirts of the town, tired and frustrated by how long the journey had taken her.
She had told Max everything she knew about Sutherland—and it was quite a lot. The man had a loose tongue and had jabbered on in minute detail about his lofty plans.
Sutherland had a benefactor named Geoffrey d’Argent, an eccentric old man who evidently owned just about half of Inverness. He resided in a villa on the banks of the River Ness in the southern part of town, and Sutherland had described the location in detail. D’Argent had left for Edinburgh a week ago, intending to stay until late spring, but he had given Sutherland full use of the property and his servants while he was gone.
Aila headed to d’Argent’s villa now. Max must be there—she’d told him exactly where it was. Where else would he have gone?
She rode to the bend in the river Sutherland had described to her—telling her of its wonderfully strategic location from which to start a rebellion—and hobbled the horse.
She’d sneak in. If Sutherland caught her, she’d be dead for certain. But she had to make sure Max was all right.
She withdrew the wee sgian dubh from where she’d tucked it into her belt. Gripping the hilt hard, she held it at her side, skimming the tree-lined edge of the long, curving driveway.
She turned a bend in the drive, and the house came into view—a huge, imposing Palladian structure—rectangular and three-storied, with gray granite-slab walls.
As she stepped closer, she realized the front door was hanging open.
Her heart thumping, she stepped closer, still skirting the edge of the clearing that widened into a circle with a huge, gaudy marble fountain in the center.
She went to the back of the house first, rushing across the clearing to skirt the outer wall. The back of the house was closed and quiet. No sounds came from the inside. She peeked in windows, but most of the draperies were drawn shut. The only room she could see was the kitchen, and it was empty and dark.
Where were the servants? Maybe Sutherland had dismissed them. Knowing him, he’d find a score of servants more annoying than useful.
She inched around to the front of the house, keeping her back pressed against the wall, all her senses alert.
She heard nothing, saw no movement. The place was still as death, and yet the front door yawned open, a sinister invitation inside.
She mounted the steps and looked inside. The entry hall, like the kitchen, was dark and quiet.
She tiptoed inside, then pressed her body tight against the lavish silk wallpaper as if she could become part of the wall. Breathing shallowly, she listened.
Nothing.
Two arched doorways led from the entry hall, and Aila chose the one across from her—the part of the house she hadn’t circled on the outside.
As soon as she stepped into the corridor, she heard something. She stopped, listening. It was the pompous, self-important sound of Sutherland’s voice, though she couldn’t make out what he was saying.
Was he with Max? She listened hard, but she could hear no other voice.
She inched down the corridor, Mr. Grant’s sgian dubh pointed straight out in front of her.
The voice grew louder, and she trained her eyes on a doorway near the end of the corridor. The door was cracked open, and when she reached it, she peered inside.
“…Sassenach-lover. Traitor to your people, to your own kind. You disgust me. You dinna deserve to live,” Sutherland said.
Her eyes widened. He had a pistol pressed to Max’s forehead.
“No!” she cried, running into the room. She lunged for Sutherland, but the man showed her once again how fast he was. He stepped toward her, easily knocking the small dagger from her grasp. Then he shoved her, hard, to the floor.
She landed on her hurt arm with a cry of pain. Stars flashed in her vision, but she scrambled up onto her haunches, turning back to Sutherland just as Max tackled him to the floor. They both fell to the carpet with a loud thud, exchanging punches with a ferocity that seemed to suck all the air from the room.
Aila stumbled up to her knees. She looked around wildly for something—anything—to use as a weapon. Mr. Grant’s sgian dubh was nowhere to be seen.
But then, her eye was drawn to a glint on a small walnut table beside a deep-blue silk sofa. The King Richard Dagger. It had been polished and sharpened; the curved blade gleamed, and the facets of the ruby glimmered in the sunlight streaming through the crack between the thick velvet draperies.
She lurched for it. The men paid her no heed—they were locked in battle. Aila could only pray that Sutherland no longer held the gun. But she wasn’t going to risk waiting to check. There was no time to lose.
She grabbed the dagger’s hilt and swung back around to face the men. Sutherland had his back to her. He had Max pinned down and was punching him with punishing blows to his face. Max was trying to fend him off, but she saw for the first time that he wasn’t using his right hand at all. Sutherland must have injured him somehow.
With a low battle cry, she lunged for Sutherland and buried the dagger into his back just underneath his left shoulder blade. His body jerked wildly, he shouted in pain and surprise, and then all the fight seemed to drain from him. He slumped to the floor, right on top of Max.
She pulled out the dagger, and blood instantly welled from the wound, then ran down his side, plastering his shirt to his body. With Max’s help, she pushed Sutherland off him, rolling him onto his back.
“Nay,” Sutherland wheezed, staring at her in horror. “Nay, this isna possible. You canna kill me.”
Watery blood bubbled up on his lips. He was wrong, she thought blankly. She had killed him. She sank to her knees, and Max struggled up and went to her side, also on his knees. He slipped his left arm around her as Sutherland stared from the bloody dagger in Aila’s hand to their faces.
“You… You’ve ruined… everything,” he gasped, his blue-gray eyes bright with rage. Then, still staring at them, those eyes went flat and lifeless, and a final breath rattled from his lungs. Max reached out and pressed his eyelids shut. Then he turned to her, an expression on his face she couldn’t begin to decipher.
“Are you hurt?” she whispered.
“Nay.”
“But your arm…”
He looked down at it, frowning. “I canna seem to move it.”
“We need to find you a doctor.”
She made to rise, but he stilled her with a hand on her arm. “Aila?”
“Aye?”
“You saved me, lass. He was about to shoot me in the head.”
She shuddered. “I’m glad I got here in time.”
He scowled. “You could’ve been killed.”
“But I wasn’t. And neither were you.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
They left everything as it was, except Aila collected Mr. Grant’s sgian dubh, which had slid under the sofa, and the King Richard Dagger. It belonged to her, after all.
After fetching their horses—Max had hidden his in the forest—they rode into Inverness. Clouds had darkened the sky, and a light snow had begun to fall as Max led the way to an unobtrusive home near the center of town.
“’Tis our
safe house in Inverness,” he explained.
The door opened, to Aila’s surprise, to a pretty blonde woman dressed in a fashionable silk dress that must have cost half of what Aila’s burned-down house was worth.
“Lady Claire,” Max said. “’Tis good to see you.”
The woman beamed, and Aila realized she was an Englishwoman as soon as she spoke. “Max. And who’s this lovely creature?”
Aila stood tall. “Aila MacKerrick, milady.”
“Welcome, Miss MacKerrick,” Lady Claire said warmly. “Come in, come in. Rob and Duncan will be so pleased to see you both safe and sound.”
Lady Claire ushered Max and Aila into the house, which was sumptuously furnished. They went into a small drawing room, where Max introduced her to three more people. There was Lady Grace, Claire’s sister and a taller version of her. Grace’s husband was broad-shouldered and good-natured Duncan Mackenzie, another of the Highland Knights. And then there was Claire’s husband, Major Sir Robert Campbell, the Knights’ revered leader and also a baronet.
“Max didna tell me some of the Knights were married,” Aila exclaimed. She’d imagined them to be a band of unattached military men, but these men, though formidably built, seemed rather… domesticated.
“Oh, aye, there’s three of us married now,” Duncan explained. “MacLeod and his wife stayed in London this time—they’re expecting a bairn this spring, you see.”
Wives… and children. This was nothing like what Aila had expected. She hadn’t anticipated that aristocratic English ladies would be involved with the Highland Knights—she’d learned Lady Grace and Lady Claire were the daughters of an English earl. And the major was a Scottish nobleman and famous military hero. Even she had learned of the bravery and heroic deeds of Major Sir Robert Campbell.
Max had simply referred to him as “the major.” And he hadn’t said a thing about any wives. She gave him a sidelong look and promised herself to discuss his lacking communication skills with him later on.
Duncan Mackenzie told her he was a farmer’s son from a small village north of Inverness, so she felt an immediate kinship with him. But what was most striking about this group was the equality between the people here. There was a baronet, two high-ranking English ladies, and a common farmer, while Max, with his officer’s commission and not-so-humble origins, stood somewhere in the middle.
The major and the two ladies didn’t look at her and Duncan Mackenzie with disdain, nor did they have any sort of superior air. The major treated Aila with a kind of quiet respect, while the ladies treated her as a new acquaintance they wished to befriend—they were accommodating and welcoming and seemed truly interested in everything she said.
She might not have been so surprised if it was just the major treating her so kindly. He was Scottish, after all. But this was not how she’d expect a pair of English earl’s daughters to behave, that was for certain.
“Please sit down. Tell us what has happened,” the major said.
Lady Claire scowled at her husband. “Nonsense. We need to feed them first. The poor dears look utterly exhausted. And I’ll need to see to that arm, Max.”
Max winced. “I was hoping you wouldna notice.”
Lady Claire smacked her hands on her hips and stared Max down. “Oh heavens. Don’t be a baby. You don’t want to have a lame arm for the rest of your life, do you?” She turned to Aila, her focus on Aila’s wrapped arm. “And I’ll be looking at your injuries as well, Miss MacKerrick.”
“Claire’s right—you must be half-starved. I’ll have the cook make up two fresh plates,” Lady Grace said, slipping out of the room.
Claire fetched a basket and sat beside Max. Aila peeked inside the basket to see that it was packed to the brim with medical supplies.
She was now even more impressed. A petite, beautiful, young aristocratic Englishwoman with doctoring skills? These people were fascinating.
Claire began to poke and prod Max’s arm.
“Can you talk while she’s working on you?” the major asked.
“Oh aye,” Max said mildly. But Aila could tell from the shadows behind his eyes that he was in a great deal of pain. The injury was to his right arm, and as he was right-handed, the short journey here from d’Argent’s house had been taxing for him.
“Then tell us from the beginning.”
“Sutherland found us at Beauly Castle—”
“Wait,” Duncan said, scowling as he leaned forward. “How’s that possible? How could he have known anything about Beauly Castle?”
“Geoffrey d’Argent,” Aila said.
“What about him?” the major asked.
“He’s the man who set Sutherland upon this mad path. He’s Sutherland’s benefactor.”
The major’s eyes narrowed, and he and Duncan exchanged a look. “I see.”
“That explains it, then,” Duncan said. “I went to him when I first arrived in Inverness, because I knew he’s a hand in the goings-on about town. I asked him about Sutherland, and he denied knowing the man.”
“And somehow he connected you to Beauly Castle?” Max said.
“Not so difficult,” the major said. “D’Argent is deeply involved in the land transactions in this area. ’Tis a well-known estate that recently changed hands to a group of Scottish men residing in London.”
“Aye,” Duncan said. “Hearing I was from London, he likely put two and two together and guessed we might take Miss MacKerrick there.”
“Aila, please,” Aila said.
Duncan grinned at her. “Aye, then. Aila.”
“Well,” Lady Claire said to the room at large, “I’m sure this arm is quite broken. I’ll be needing to set it.” She turned back to Max. “It’s going to hurt. A lot. But if you want full use of that arm again, you’ll need to obey me implicitly.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Max said obediently.
Just then, Lady Grace arrived with a maid, both of them bearing trays heavily laden with food. Aila’s stomach growled at the sight—and she realized she hadn’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours.
She dug in with gusto—the food was delicious and plentiful—as Max explained to the room the details of what had happened over the past two days. Lady Claire finished working on Max, then checked Aila over, declaring her arm badly bruised but unbroken. She rewrapped it and gave her shoulder a gentle pat as Max finished his story.
The room was silent for a long moment, everyone staring at her and Max. Then, the major gave her an approving smile. “Well done, lass.”
“Aye,” Duncan agreed, “you saved White’s life.”
“You should make her an honorary Highland Knight,” Claire said, her pretty blue eyes bright with appreciation.
Aila flushed, unused to this kind of praise from strangers. She shrugged. “’Twas nothing.”
Max shook his head ruefully. “’Twas everything, Aila,” he said softly. “’Twas everything to me.”
Three hours later, Lady Grace showed them to a bedchamber.
“How’d she ken we’d want to sleep together?” an alarmed Aila asked Max in a low voice after the lady had wished them a very good night, slipped through the door, and shut it behind her.
Max shrugged. “All of them could likely tell.”
“Tell what?”
He gave a crooked grin. “How in love with you I am.”
Aila’s chest went tight. “Nay. I’d wager they were looking at me… at how in love I am with you.”
Max’s smile broadened, showing his dimple, and she leaned up to peck a kiss on it. “Mayhap they saw it in both of us, then.”
They undressed each other slowly, cognizant of their injuries, and used the basin to wash. Finally, Aila was dressed in the fresh nightgown Lady Claire had loaned her, and Max had donned a clean nightshirt.
They slid into bedclothes, and Aila sighed. “This is perfect. We didna even have to wash the bedding first this time.”
“Aye,” Max mumbled. “Thank God.”
He wrapped his arms around her, and Aila snuggled against him, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. “Max?”
“Aye?”
“I’ve killed someone.”
“Aye, lass, you have.”
“I’m not sure what to think about it.”
“Dinna think about it at all,” Max suggested.
“I’m… I’m worried it’ll change me somehow.”
Against her, Max’s chest moved as he sighed. “Aye. It’ll change you. But not the essence of who you are.”
“I dinna ken who I am anymore. I feel like… I’ve lost everything.”
“Not me, lass. You havena lost me.”
“But you belong to the Knights.”
“Nay,” he said quietly. “I belong to you.”
She swallowed hard, then pulled back so she could look into his face.
“What do you mean?”
“If you want to remain here in Scotland and rebuild your cottage, I’ll stay with you. If you’ll have me.”
“But… The Highland Knights… they… you…”
“The Knights are my brothers,” Max said softly. “But you, Aila… You are my life. I want to make you my wife. I wish to be by your side, always.”
She couldn’t breathe. All the air had been sucked from the room.
“Think about it, love,” he murmured.
“Nay!” she snapped.
“Nay?” His brows shot upward in surprise, followed quickly by a profound look of hurt.
“I mean, I dinna need to think about it,” she said quickly.
His jaw hardened, and she knew his mind was going in altogether the wrong direction, that she needed to fix this, this instant.
“I dinna need to think about it, because I want it too. What you said about being by my side… I want to be by your side too. I want to stand by you as your wife. As the wife of a Highland Knight.”
“But—” He frowned in confusion. “Your home. Your lands…”
“I’ve nothing left here, Max. My parents are gone. Gin is gone. My home is gone. I have never felt so at home as when I am with you. And now I ken that no matter where you are, whether it’s London or the far reaches of the earth, that as long as I’m with you, I’ll be home.”
Her Wicked Highlander: A Highland Knights Novella Page 8