by Paula Quinn
She smiled, which made him feel infinitely better.
“I have been sleeping better,” she admitted. She didn’t run or try to hit him with anything when he moved closer to her.
“I barely sleep at all.”
“Why not?” she asked quietly, her eyes growing rounder as he came closer.
“I dinna’ know. I was hopin’ ye could help.”
“Of course,” she promised. “I could brew you more tea, something very mild.”
He nodded. He’d take any kind of help. He had almost gotten his arse pummeled to the ground today. His reflexes were slower because he was so damn tired.
“I’ll need some herbs that grow near the riverbank,” she told him. “You could accompany me if you’re up to it.”
He laughed. “Of course I’m up to it.” He might even have a rinse to wipe away the sweat of the morning.
“Tell me,” he said on their way, “who taught ye aboot herbs and medicine?”
She didn’t answer for so long that he stopped her and turned her to him. “Have I said something to offend ye?” He really didn’t think he had.
“Why are you asking me?”
He smiled at her, but he was confused. How was commending her a bad thing? “Why can I no’ ask?”
Again she didn’t answer right away but when she did, it surprised him so much that for a moment he shared Emma’s speechlessness.
“Do you think I’m a witch?” She didn’t laugh. He waited a moment, but she didn’t.
“Do I truly seem such a fool to ye?” he asked her. “Witch? Why the hell—” He stopped speaking as they came to the riverbank glimmering in the filtered light. His smile faded as it dawned on him why she asked him something so ridiculous.
“Were ye accused of it?”
“No,” she said quietly, bending with him to sit at the edge. “An old woman whom I loved as my own mother was. She’d saved my life after… Harry left and then raised me as her own. One night the people she’d helped and healed came for her.”
No, he hadn’t meant to bring this memory to her. He tried to stop her, but she went on. “Her trial was”—she smiled but there was only sorrow in her eyes—“a charade that ended within a few hours. They couldn’t wait to hang her. But that wasn’t enough. They burned her after that.”
Malcolm sat next to her, his elbow on one knee, his hand over his mouth. What the hell was he supposed to say to that?
“My blindness is a blessing,” she continued. “I never would have wanted to see Clementine’s death. Hearing it… and…” She shook her head to erase memories from it. “It has made me untrusting.”
He understood why it would. “Emma, I would never bring such an accusation against ye. Ye have m’ word, and nae matter what ye’ve heard, I keep m’ word. Mostly. Besides that,” he added when she didn’t look convinced, “m’ aunt is a healer.”
“She is?”
“Aye, she is,” he told her. “And if someone were to accuse her of bein’ a witch, they wouldna’ live long enough to draw another breath.”
He watched relief fill her, dropping her shoulders from around her ears. He hated that she had such a memory to carry with her.
“I think I would have liked Clementine,” he said. “If ’twas she who taught ye to be so bold.”
“’Twas.” She laughed and he thought how dull his life was before she came into it.
“Tell me aboot her.”
Her smile went soft and meaningful. She closed her eyes, remembering. “I loved her very much.”
Her breath fell warm on him, for they were sitting closer than either of them realized. Not close enough for him to kiss her, just enough to saturate himself in her.
“She was just as human as you or I. She’d had her share of sorrows, as we all do.”
“What are yers?” Mayhap he shouldn’t have asked, since she was talking about the woman she loved like a mother, but he wanted to know.
“You want to know about my sorrows?” she asked him faintly.
“Aye.” He nodded, but he didn’t think she’d tell him.
She didn’t think about it. “My parents’ deaths, the day Harry left, and the day Clementine died… and the ocean.”
She didn’t count the day she lost her sight as a sorrow but a blessing. He found it odd and quite wonderful about her. She was strong and resilient, like a Highland lass.
“Why the ocean?” he asked.
“I used to love looking out at sea when we visited my uncle. I’ll never see it again.”
He listened while she shared her memories of Clementine with him. He didn’t understand why Harry had left his sister when she was ten and was going blind. They’d just lost their parents. Who did Harry think was going to take care of Emma after he abandoned her? It angered Malcolm and made him want to go to Harry and punch him in the mouth.
She defended her brother. “He was young. He was afraid.”
“Ye could have died. Ye would have died if no’ fer Clementine. Did Harry know of her?”
“None of us did. She lived deep in the woods behind my uncle’s house.”
“So, there’s nae doubt, he left ye to die.”
“He was young.”
She spoke softly and angled her face away from his.
“I’ve gone too far.” He began to move away from her, but she looped her arm through his.
“No, ’tis just that I don’t care why he left. I have him back again. As much I’ve been angry and I don’t want to be anymore.”
Malcolm nodded. He liked her loyalty to her brother despite everything. Hell, he liked it very much. How was he ever going to convince her that he wasn’t the callous, uncaring scoundrel that everyone said he was? He’d just suggested that she not forgive her brother! Damnation, she was right. He lacked too many attributes to win a lass like her. “Ye’re correct,” he said quietly, and stood up, disengaging himself from her. “Let me help ye get those herbs ye need fer m’ tea. I need to sleep before I say something else and make ye hate me and want to lop off m’ head.”
She smiled, letting him help her to her feet. “I’ve wanted to lop off your head several times since I’ve met you. I don’t think it has anything to do with sleep. But I don’t hate you. In fact, I like you.”
He kept her hand in his while they walked. “That’s good news.” He grinned and held up her arm, then twirled her under it.
“Why is that?”
He spun her back, into his arms, her back pressed to his chest. “Because”—he closed his arms around her chest and dipped his mouth to her ear—“I like ye too.”
Chapter Sixteen
Emma left the brothel just as the sun was beginning to come up. She needed water for the pouch of Malcolm’s tea in her pocket, and the well wasn’t far. She knew the path by heart and released Gascon to his own pace.
She hummed and smiled as she went, thinking about yesterday. It had turned out much better than it had begun. In his arms! Oh, in his arms! She was mad, but she didn’t care! He didn’t think she was a witch and he liked her!
She didn’t worry about his claim of being ill. His symptoms weren’t life threatening. His confession that he felt worse when he thought of her or saw her still pricked a little. He said he liked her but why in blazes then would she make him feel sick? Hadn’t Alison told her that Malcolm lights up when he sees her? Emma didn’t believe it when Alison told her. She thought her new friend was just trying to make her feel better. What in the world would Malcolm Grant want with her? Now he confirmed it.
And yet, damn her, her day with him was the best day she’d had in a year. She loved telling him about Clementine. She found it thoughtful and considerate that he asked about her sorrows. No one had ever asked before. His righteous anger against Harry for abandoning her was quite possibly the most knightly thing any man could ever do.
She didn’t want him to be angry, but she appreciated that he was.
She would speak to Alison and ask her if falling in love felt like—
A footstep to her left and Gascon’s low, deadly growl to her right stopped Emma in her tracks.
“Who’s there?” She listened. Gascon’s warning grew louder.
Someone was out here with her, posing a threat to her. A patron—just like the one who’d come upon Harry’s wife and killed her?
Gascon’s growl erupted into fangs and saliva as her dog attacked whoever was there. Gascon cried out and a hand came around Emma’s face and another snaked around her waist.
She wanted to fight. She tried to, but something was smashed into her head and she began to fade away. She was dying and she couldn’t stop it.
“What’s going on between you and my sister?” Harry asked Malcolm in the parlor about an hour later.
Malcolm refused a seat and stood by the window. He watched his friend cross the room and pour him a drink. He thought about the right way to reply. The truth would never do; besides, he wasn’t entirely sure what the truth was.
“She’s been kind to me and Cailean.” It wasn’t untrue. “She has saved m’ brother’s life twice now. Should I treat her callously?”
Harry eyed him while he returned and handed Malcolm his cup. Malcolm saw the resemblance in the siblings, mostly in the way they quirked their mouths with uncertainty whenever he spoke.
“So you haven’t tried to kiss her? You’re not trying to win her heart?”
“Nae.” Malcolm swigged his drink and clenched his teeth while the sour wine went down. He set down the cup of whatever was left of the dreadful stuff.
One thing, at least, was true. He hadn’t kissed her. He was pretty damn sure that if he did, he wouldn’t want to stop there. He’d woo her until he won her. And then what? Take her to his bed? Return to who he was, nothing but a rogue? It kept him awake all night. Awake in a chair to watch her while she slept. Her tea had helped, when he took it. But he’d prefer to look at her. He was mad. Why else would he let Emmaline Grey make him doubt everything he’d ever believed about himself? He’d finally fallen asleep in the last hour of darkness. He didn’t sleep long and when he woke up, Emma wasn’t in bed.
“You aren’t right for her,” Harry forged ahead, ignoring his friend’s fading smile.
“I willna’ hurt her.”
“Whether that’s true or not, no longer matters.”
Malcolm eyed him narrowly. “When ye first asked me to ferget her, ’twas all that mattered. Did something change?”
Harry shook his head. “No, ’tis just that… she’s a fragile creature.”
Malcolm scowled for all he was worth. He didn’t tell Harry that his sister was out dancing among the trees and getting her toes wet with dew. “She’s far from it, Harry. Hell, ye should know that,” he said, less able to forget his anger that Emma’s brother had abandoned her. “Let me tell ye since ye dinna’ know. She’s stronger and more braw than most. She learned to survive, and not only that, she learned medicine. I understand ye want to keep her safe after Lenore. But ye underestimate her.”
“No, I don’t,” Harry argued.
“Then ye’re the blind one,” Malcolm told him, turning to leave.
“Malcolm!” Harry’s voice stopped him. “Stay away from Emmaline. Perhaps you should think about leaving.”
Hell, what had come over Harry? Malcolm thought, leaving the parlor. Harry wanting him to leave Emma alone was one thing, throwing him out of the brothel was another. He muttered an oath and walked straight into Bess in the hall.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry, handsome?”
“To see… m’ brother.” He stepped around her. He wanted to see Emma. She would be back by now and likely waiting in her room for him. He wouldn’t tell her about Harry and have it seem he was against her brother, when even she wasn’t.
“Let me walk with you.” She ran to catch up.
“Bess,” he said without stopping. “Lass, I’m tired and no’ in the mood to hear yer complaints aboot Emma.”
She patted his arm as she took it. “I won’t speak a word about her. Just walk me to my door. There’s something I wish to tell you. Something very important.”
Hell, he shouldn’t. But what did she want to tell him that was so important? He wanted to know. So instead of refusing, he nodded, agreeing to go with her.
“I know you and Harry are friends,” she said as they went. “But there’s something about your friend that you should know.”
About Harry? “What is it?” he demanded.
She smiled and shook her head.
“Make me sore for two days like you did the last time we were together.”
“Nae.”
“Make me scream and quake in your arms.”
“Bess, nae. Look, here we are. Now, please, let us go our separate ways. Dinna’ tell me anything.”
Her eyes simmered. All four of them. He blinked and turned to go. He didn’t remember falling or being aware of anything at all until he woke up sometime later, naked in Bess’s bed with Bess, also naked, asleep on top of him.
What the hell? He rubbed his heavy eyes. Nae, this was a dream. He hadn’t come to Bess’s room—But he had. He remembered standing in front of her door. Nae, he wouldn’t have. He would remember if he had…
A rap on the door dragged him from the heat of Bess’s body on top of him. He left the bed and stumbled into his breeches. His belly was tied into a knot and almost made him sick. What had he done? He looked back at the bed and at Bess awake now and smiling at him.
The knock came again. Malcolm’s heart raced. What if it was Emma? What would he tell her? Had he passed out? He didn’t remember anything happening with Bess, but who the hell would believe him?
“Malcolm!” Harry shouted on the other side of the door. “Are you in there?”
With a thread of relief, Malcolm went to the door and opened it, then scowled at Harry’s pale, panic-stricken face.
“Emma’s gone. She’s gone, Malcolm.”
What in Satan’s balls did that mean? Gone? Gone where? He couldn’t think straight. Nae! He had to! He stepped into the hall and looked toward the stairs. His heart dropped to the ground at the sound of Gascon’s urgent barks resonating from below.
She wouldn’t leave without her dog but if she wasn’t with Gascon, then she was indeed gone.
Someone took her.
He wanted to wake up now.
“We need to find her.”
Malcolm agreed with Harry’s lament and snatched his shirt off the floor on his way out of the room. He stopped and turned to Harry, who was looking into the room at Bess rising from the bed he just left.
“Harry!” he called out, eager to go. “How long has she been gone?”
“I don’t know.” His friend caught up.
“How long has Gascon been barking?”
“Just since he woke and came running back here without her a few moments ago. Gunter said that judging from the blood dripping down over his eye, he was struck and left for dead.” Harry’s dark eyes grew even more somber before he closed them. “Gunter left to search for her while I searched the rooms. She’s gone. I fear she’s been abducted.”
Aye, Malcolm feared it too. Abducted by whom, and for what purpose? The thought of it clenched his guts and his jaw. Hell, he’d slaughter anyone who hurt her. If it were the Winthers who took her, his promise to Harry would wither away on the wind. He’d kill every one of them. He didn’t care how long it took or how many wars it started.
“I’ll find her, Harry,” he said, moving quickly down the stairs.
“I’m coming with ye, Malcolm,” Harry said, hurrying after him.
“Harry!” Both men turned to look back up and saw Bess leaving her room, covered now by a robe. “You cannot leave us here with no protection! If someone took Emma it could have been to lure you out and leave this place to their grimy hands.”
Harry paused, considering her. Malcolm didn’t.
“Malcolm!” Emma’s brother called out as Malcolm made his way for the doors. “How will you find h
er when Gunter has not?”
“Her dog,” Malcolm told him. “Give me time to gain m’ saddle, then release him from the kitchen.”
He ran to the stable, letting the realization that Emma wasn’t inside the brothel hit him. She was alone. Or worse, she wasn’t. He fought the swell of fear that threatened to engulf him. Leaping to his saddle, he raced for the back of the brothel and whistled. Harry opened the door and released the hound.
The instant he was free, Gascon stopped barking and took off running. Malcolm kicked his horse’s flanks and gave chase. They’d find her. If she were harmed, there would be blood. Who took her? What were they doing to her? His thoughts drove him mad with revenge. He’d think about why he was willing to kill for her tomorrow. Now, he needed to find her. Was he beginning to lose his heart to her? He didn’t know much about it personally, but from what he’d heard, it sure as hell felt like he was. Was it possible?
Nae, it wasn’t, he thought, remembering waking up naked in Bess’s bed. He was and would always be a heartless rogue, unable to love one woman. Och, why had he done it? he thought… He thought Emma… He shook his head in the wind battering his face. If she found out what he’d been doing while she was being kidnapped, she’d never forgive him. He couldn’t tell her.
He would talk to Harry about keeping it silent, and then he and Cailean would leave. His brother was well enough to go. Malcolm would find her and bring her back to safety from others and from himself.
Emma opened her eyes, then closed them again. Nothing changed. An instant of pure fear filled her to bursting when she felt the lump on her head, and a memory invaded her mind.
She’d gone outside the brothel with Gascon to fetch some water from the well.
Someone had snatched her up from behind. Just before she was knocked out, she heard a horrible sound, like a dog’s cry. Had they killed Gascon?
She gathered every ounce of strength she possessed and kept her tears from flowing. The only chance she had to kill them was to keep them thinking she was still unconscious.
She pushed away the crushing pain in her chest, subdued the cries aching to escape her lips for her dearest friend. Did they enter the brothel after that and kill Malcolm or Harry or any of the others? She had to take hold of her senses and figure out where she was and with whom. How long had she been unconscious? Was it day or night?