Unraveled By The Rebel

by Michelle Willingham

  “I took you once before,” the earl said hotly. “You haven’t the strength to fight against me.”

  Not then, she didn’t. But she did now.

  She moved her left hand behind her back, reaching toward the last button that was undone. Her palm closed over the dirk her father had given her.

  In one swift motion, she brought the tip to his throat. “But I brought a weapon of my own this time.”

  His wife was holding a blade to Strathland’s throat. Paul remained in the shadows, with Cain on the opposite side. A few feet away, he saw Juliette’s father holding a handkerchief to a bleeding wound.

  Instinct demanded that he rush forward and pull Juliette back before the earl could hurt her. But a sharp look from Cain held him back. No, she was in command now.

  “You’re too weak to kill me,” Strathland said. “You won’t do it.”

  “Won’t I?” Juliette pressed against the blade, and a line of blood appeared against Strathland’s throat. “Your death would free all of us.”

  “My sister knows about our son,” he threatened. “If I die, she’ll reveal that he’s a bastard. What do you think will happen to him then?”

  She gave an imperceptible flinch, correcting herself as she said, “I have no son.”

  The earl held himself motionless. “Matthew is his name, am I right? And he was born almost nine months after I took you.”

  Juliette’s hand began to shake, and Paul saw her father sit up. He struggled to rise to his feet, holding the handkerchief to his wounded leg. His complexion was gray, but his voice was iron. “What is he talking about, Juliette?”

  She pushed against the blade and faced the earl. “You might have attacked me. But I have no child and never did.”

  “Lady Arnsbury is barren,” he argued.

  “Was,” she countered. “And I swear to you that the only child I’ve ever had is the one I’m carrying now.” Her hand moved to her flat stomach, and Paul’s lungs tightened. It was far too soon for that, and he wondered if she was telling a lie to taunt the earl. He hoped to God she was, for he knew the danger.

  The earl moved suddenly, and the knife went flying from Juliette’s hand. “The boy is mine. I know it, and I’ll not let him be raised as another man’s son.” He backhanded her, and Juliette stumbled to the ground. Her hand automatically went to protect her stomach, and Paul moved in, unsheathing his blade. “Juliette, move away.”

  She obeyed without question, relief in her eyes at the sight of him.

  “You and I have a score to settle,” he said to the earl. He’d waited for this moment almost all his life, it seemed. Now that it was here, his focus sharpened. Strathland was an older man with a thick build. Though his enemy would lack speed, Paul knew he possessed cunning in full measure.

  The earl lunged toward the pistol, but Paul threw himself at the man before he could reach the weapon. Hatred and rage coursed through him as he seized Strathland. This was what he wanted—to end the man who had caused so much harm. They grappled together, and although the earl was strong, he wasn’t fast. Paul slipped free and used his legs to trip the earl, dragging him down. He didn’t feel anything when he hit the floor, he was so driven by the need for vengeance.

  The blade Juliette had dropped was close by. He could almost reach it…

  But Strathland saw it first. His fist closed over the hilt, but before he could stab downward, Paul lashed out with all his strength. He struck the man’s ear, then followed through with a blow to the earl’s nose.

  He fought with all of his strength, twisting Strathland’s wrist behind him until he was forced to drop the dirk.

  “You’re nothing,” Strathland growled. “And you’ll die knowing that I had her first.”

  The words only fueled Paul’s rage, pushing him over the edge into a sea of violence. His knuckles bled as he crushed them against the earl’s face, following up with another blow to the man’s gut. Although Strathland struggled to free himself, Paul held him fast.

  For my father, he thought silently, as he rolled over and caught the man in a chokehold. His heated revenge transformed into icy hatred. Now was the moment he’d waited for… to watch as his enemy’s breath left him.

  For Juliette, he thought. He squeezed the life from the earl with the crook of his elbow against the man’s windpipe. Strathland fought hard, his hands pulling at Paul’s arm. Gradually, his body grew limp from the lack of air.

  “Paul, stop,” Juliette said.

  He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to continue cutting off the man’s air until there was nothing left. “He deserves to die after what he did to you. To all of us.”

  “Killing him will only bring the magistrate down upon us,” she said. She moved forward and touched his arm, kneeling beside him. “I won’t let them hang you for murder. Let go before he’s dead.” Her fingers passed over his shoulder, and though he didn’t want to grant any mercy at all, the quiet conviction in Juliette’s eyes made him obey.

  Though Strathland was unconscious now, his nose bleeding, and likely he had a few broken ribs, it didn’t seem like enough. The desire to slit the man’s throat or put a bullet through his brain was too strong. Seeing him touch Juliette had driven him past reason.

  “I won’t leave him here,” Paul insisted. “He has to pay for what he’s done.”

  “And he will. But I know a better way that he will suffer, without our laying a hand upon him.” She reached out and collected the fallen knife and the pistol. Cain emerged from the shadows, and she handed him the weapons. At that moment, the two men who had held Paul captive hurried forward.

  “Don’t move,” Cain warned. As soon as the men saw the earl’s unconscious form, they raised their hands up in surrender. “Do what you will with Lord Strathland,” one said. “I don’t care if he dies.”

  The other man nodded toward the door, asking silent permission to leave. Cain stepped aside and let them go.

  Paul moved toward Juliette’s father and examined the gunshot wound. It wasn’t too serious, and the bullet had only grazed the calf. He adjusted the makeshift bandage, intending to treat it when they brought her father back home again.

  “What do you want to do with Strathland?” he asked his wife. The idea of granting the man mercy was impossible to consider.

  “Take him to the most isolated place in Scotland, and strand him where there’s no water,” Juliette suggested. “He won’t survive it.”

  Paul exchanged a look with her father, whose face was tight with pain. The man gave a slight nod, agreeing with his daughter. “It’s a reasonable idea.”

  “And what if he does live?” Paul demanded. “He won’t stop until he’s had his vengeance upon us.”

  “Look at him,” she said. “He has no wool to sell, and the debtors will come to take this house from him. He has nothing at all. Even if he did live, he’d spend the remainder of his days in poverty.”

  Though her words were logical, it wasn’t enough to atone for the earl’s crimes. “Why would you ever show mercy to this man?” he demanded. “After all that he’s done.”

  “Because if he dies at your hands, the consequences are too great. I love you, and I can’t let you suffer for what he’s done to us. I need you to live, Paul. Especially now.” She moved into his arms, holding tightly to him.

  He stroked her hair and drew his hand down to her waist in silent question. Though it was far too soon to tell, he suspected she had missed her menses. If she was pregnant, then she was putting her life and the baby’s life in his hands. There could be no greater task than to keep them both alive.

  “We’ll return to Edinburgh together. Just you and I,” Juliette promised. She held out her hand, and in her eyes, he saw the longing. “I trust you to keep me safe.”

  “I swear to you, I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

  She put her hand in his and met his gaze. “Promise me you won’t interfere with Strathland’s exile. I need you with me.” She rose up on tiptoe and whispered i
n his ear, “And if I die in childbirth, I’ll need you to be there for our child.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Thank God you’re back,” Juliette breathed, pulling back the coverlet. It was an hour before dawn, and Paul had only just returned. He’d been gone for two days.

  He’d traveled with Mr. Sinclair, taking the earl far to the north, hundreds of miles from any of the clans. They had drugged Strathland with a high dose of laudanum to keep him unconscious throughout the journey.

  “It’s done now. Sinclair took him a little farther and sent me back here.” He stripped away his clothing and slid into bed beside her.

  “I don’t believe he’ll survive,” she admitted. “He’s too accustomed to luxury. I doubt if he even knows how to find food in such an isolated place.”

  “Likely not.” His arms slid around her, and she closed her eyes at the comfort of his hard body next to hers. She wore a nightgown, but the heat of his skin made her skin sensitive. His hands moved over her breasts, then lower to her stomach. “How long has it been since your monthly?”

  “Six weeks,” she whispered. “As far as I can remember.” She caught his hands and rolled over to face him. “It might not be true.”

  His hands moved lower, to the hem of her nightgown. He raised it up, his hands moving over her bare flesh. “I think I should examine you. As your physician.”

  She might have smiled, if she weren’t uneasy about the truth. “If I am pregnant, it must have been that time when we—”

  “Shh.” He pulled back the coverlet and helped her remove the nightgown. Naked, she lay against him, skin upon skin. His hands moved down her arms, to her breasts. Gently, he touched them, running his thumbs over the puckered nipples.

  “They do feel different,” he said. “They’re thicker and slightly enlarged.” He pressed his mouth to one breast, his tongue circling the nipple. She shuddered, wincing at the touch. “And more sensitive, aren’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  Paul gave the other breast the same attention, nipping at the hard nub and circling the tip. “I could taste you for hours, Juliette. But I ken these are too delicate right now.”

  He drew his hands lower, over her rib cage to her stomach. It was still flat, but he trailed his mouth over her skin. Upon her womb, he pressed a kiss. “I think you are pregnant. And if you carry our bairn inside you, I swear to you that I’ll do everything possible to keep you safe.”

  She wanted that more than anything. But she didn’t want to lose him. Now that they were together, with the earl gone from their lives, she felt the need to savor their marriage.

  “I am afraid,” she admitted. “But in spite of that, I do want this child. I’ve always thought you would make a good father.”

  “You’re already a good mother, Juliette.” He embraced her, and she tried to push away the fears, imagining the joy of a second baby. One she could keep forever. One who would have his father’s smile.

  The fear was still there, lurking. But she forced herself to dwell upon the joy instead of the uncertainty. There was time enough later to worry. For now, she wanted to enjoy this moment with Paul.

  “If I am going to have a baby, then there’s no harm in making love to me,” she whispered to Paul, trying to pull him up.

  “Aye,” he promised. He parted her legs, his hand moving between them. The moment he touched her, she grew wet, and his caress made her catch her breath.

  “You’re sensitive here, too, aren’t you?” This time, when he explored her flesh, she couldn’t stop the soft moan. He delved inside her, and she shuddered against the invasion.

  “Yes.” She trembled against him, and when his thumb brushed the nodule of her arousal, a delicious warmth poured over her.

  He continued to touch her, his hand stroking and coaxing her higher. Gently, he lowered his mouth to her nipple again, his warm breath hardening the tip. She couldn’t stand it any longer and lifted one leg over his hip, guiding his length inside her.

  The moment he filled her, the motion set her on edge, pushing her toward the aching release she craved. It took only a few strokes before she arched back, her nails digging into his shoulders. She squeezed him inside her, welcoming his easy thrusts as her body trembled with the unexpected fulfillment.

  “That didna take long,” he teased, withdrawing slightly and entering her again. “But I’m not finished with you yet.”

  She was quaking against him, her body welcoming his invasion. “You can do anything you wish to me.”

  For it didn’t matter now. The damage was already done, and she fully intended to enjoy this aspect of marriage.

  Over and over, he penetrated, his hands splayed over her hips as he thrust. She couldn’t stop herself from shaking, the exhilaration rushing through her.

  “More,” she begged, and he quickened the pace, driving against her until perspiration broke over her skin.

  She gripped him with both legs around his waist, and he thrust deeply, staring into her eyes as he murmured, “I love you, Juliette. And always will.”

  “I love you, Paul.” She met his hips with her own, watching as he began to come apart, his body growing harder as his thick length merged with her flesh. She saw the moment he gave a cry, flooding her with his seed.

  And she smiled, loving the feeling of his body inside hers. This was right, always meant to be.

  She could only pray that these months remaining would not be their last.

  Seven months later

  “Have I told you how beautiful you are? Especially with ink-stained fingers?” Paul closed the door to his study, admiring his wife.

  Juliette sent him a half-smile as she looked up from the desk. “I’ve been sorting through the accounts, and everything is in order. All the bills have been paid, as well as the taxes. I have a listing of the profits, and if you’ll look—”

  “I don’t really care, a chrìdhe,” he said, moving closer. “The accounts are yours to do with as you wish.”

  Her body was distended with the pregnancy, her hair tucked in a neat chignon. When he moved to kneel beside her, he saw that her shoes were off and her feet were swollen.

  “You should look at the ledgers,” she insisted. “I’ve done what I could to ensure that the estates are successful.”

  He knelt at her feet and pressed a kiss against her womb. No longer did she have the smooth curve of pregnancy; now there were sharp edges where the child’s elbows or knees poked out. It would not be long now, and he didn’t like the way she was anticipating the worst.

  “How are you feeling?” he murmured, massaging her ankles.

  “Afraid.” She touched his face, pulling him up to kiss her. “I want to hold our baby in my arms. I want to be there every moment as he grows older.”

  “You will be fine,” he promised. Not only had he been trained to deliver babies, but he’d also sent for his mother a fortnight ago. As a midwife, Bridget had seen many labors, and her practical knowledge was welcome. Then, too, he’d spoken to his colleagues at the medical college in Edinburgh, studying every case of childbirth that had gone wrong. He’d spent late nights poring over the books, learning everything he could.

  “I’m glad we had this time together,” she admitted. “And I pray that all will be well with our child.” She reached out to take his hand, saying, “I’ve had a letter from Charlotte. Matthew is running around now and has begun to talk.”

  Though she spoke the words in a neutral tone, as if sharing news of the weather, Paul knew how much it meant to her. “After our bairn is born, I’ll take you to London. You’ll want to see Matthew.”

  Thankfully, there was no longer any threat in Juliette visiting Matthew from time to time. Although Strathland had eventually been found in the Highlands, he’d nearly starved to death. In the meantime, the unentailed property in Scotland and all the sheep were sold off to pay his massive debts. The last they’d heard of him, Strathland had gone into seclusion, and there were whispers that he’d gone mad after the exp
erience. Months had passed, and Paul took satisfaction in knowing that the earl would never again bother them.

  “I would like to see Matthew, yes,” she said, but Paul could see that Juliette was distracted. A tension crossed her face, and her lips tightened.

  “What is it?” he asked, noting the change in her expression.

  “My back has been hurting all day. I think I’d like to go and lie down.”

  Her mention of back pain made him uneasy, but he would say nothing to make her afraid. “I’ll help you.”

  He eased her up, and she sent him a rueful smile. “I wonder if I’ll ever see my feet again.”

  “Of course you will.” But as he helped her up, he saw the visible discomfort. She said nothing, but she hesitated before taking another step.

  The contractions had started; he was sure of it. And she hadn’t intended to tell him—at least, not yet. Each step upstairs was a struggle for her, but he led her past their bedroom, to another room he’d prepared.

  “I thought you wanted me to lie down,” she protested, when he opened the door.

  “And so you will. But here, instead of in our room.”

  The bed he’d prepared was stripped of all coverings except clean sheets. He’d given her a pillow, and upon the dressing table, he’d laid out the instruments he would need. Although they had been cleaned before, he intended to boil them again to take no chances.

  She sat down on the edge of the bed. “I wasn’t going to tell you.”

  “I’m a physician, Juliette. Of course I recognize when a woman has begun her labor.” He went to sit beside her, loosening her gown. His hand passed over her womb, and he felt the skin harden during another contraction. Juliette closed her eyes, her face pale.

  “The contractions only just started this morning. It will be a while yet.”