If the situation hadn’t been so grave, he would’ve enjoyed the shocked look on not just Telford’s face, but the man’s entire entourage. But there’d been nothing remotely humorous about anything that’d transpired this day. The state of affairs concerning the viscount was tenuous at best, and anything could happen at any moment. Especially considering one life had already come to an end because of this bloody, stupid business.
And the day was young.
For a moment, fear clouded the viscount’s eyes, and Quint was glad to see the man at least had the intelligence to be afraid. But then they cleared, and what was left in their wake was pure arrogance.
Quint sighed as he gripped the hilt of his sword. So much for common sense.
“I seem to have been misinformed, laird.” Lord Fredrick chuckled. “I could’ve sworn I was told you had departed this life due to poisoning, I believe.” He tsked. “A woman’s choice of weapon. A man would’ve run you through.”
The viscount made a production of stepping over Marta’s dead body, as if she were no more than a pile of dung upon the floor, instead of the person he’d conspired with. “But it does seem I’ve made at least one error”—Lord Fredrick glanced back at the dead woman—“in judgment.”
Quint had ordered Marta’s body not be removed on purpose. He’d wanted the Englishman to see what became of traitors in Scotland.
Telford, however, didn’t blink an eye. He simply kept talking, as if a body in the middle of the floor were an everyday occurrence. “I must admit I’m not quite as pleased to see you so lively as I probably should be. After all, we do both have our orders we take from someone above us, don’t we? I mean, you do as the MacLeod demands of you, and I do as my king wishes of me. And right now, my king wishes Brochel, so it seems we have a quandary. But my father once told me, if you want something done right, do it yourself.”
“Well then…” Quint sighed. “We do have a wee problem. Brochel is mine, and I’m nae willing ta part with it, with me wife, nor me bairn.”
Every Scot in the hall rose and unsheathed their swords, including John Iain and Alec.
The viscount merely raised a single eyebrow. “Do call off your guard dogs. That is unless you wish a slaughter right here in the middle of your hall. Though I have but a dozen men standing at my back this very moment. I have two ships at my beck and call, and both captains here to do the calling if need be. This is between you and I, MacLeod, and no one else dare get in the middle of our business.”
Quint nodded, and his fingers itched with the want to get down to that business.
“And as far as taking your wife? Oh, I certainly am planning on doing just that, over and over and over after I’m through dispatching you. Perhaps this very day and perhaps even in your bed. She’s to be my third countess, you see? The other two were barren useless bitches, but because of your efforts, I already know this one isn’t. I suppose I should thank you for that before I kill you. Good breeding stock is ever so hard to find. Don’t you agree?”
A hatred like nothing he’d ever felt before poured though Quint, and it was all he could do not to spring forward and cut the viscount down where he stood. But too many of his own men were standing between them, and he wouldn’t chance someone other than Telford being wounded because of his lack of fortitude right now. He first needed to take a few deep breaths in order to garner the strength it would take to hop over the board and past his people. For then and only then, would he be face to face with the man he was about to kill.
So instead of leaping as he wished to do, he settled for taking those deep breaths while informing the viscount of his plan. “I’m going ta enjoy spilling ye blood this day, Telford.”
The viscount laughed. “Right there is the true beauty of my plan. You won’t be spilling anything, you see? Especially not my blood. For you wouldn’t dare strike a peer of the realm and the king’s closest advisor. It would be the same as declaring war upon England. A war that would ultimately turn your laird, John Iain, and many of your other countrymen against you.”
Telford drew his sword. “Though I doubt a filthy Scot will be wise enough to heed my words, you, Quinton MacLeod, should be a good chap and simply stand still while I run this blade through your heart. Then we can both be done with this nasty business. For if you do not, I’ll see to it every living soul on the dirty little isle will no longer be living at all.”
He smiled once again as he sauntered toward the board and Quint. “And if you’re real good, and you stand very, very still without flinching, perhaps Lady Elspeth and I will even name a child after you someday. Though not my heir of course. He’ll be little Lord Fredrick, Viscount Telford the second. Sounds wonderful, doesn’t it? Perhaps I’ll even be so kind as to allow your son to serve mine, as it should be.”
Quint leapt over the big table, his fury adding to his strength as his sword came down quick and hard against the viscount’s. “War or nae, ye’ll not live long enough ta see it. And ye be wrong. My wife will nae ever bear ye children, and my son nae ever serve ye or yours like a dog. For he will someday be laird of Brochel in my stead. And the only serving of any kind he’ll be doing is ta serve ye up your death if I fail ta do it myself this day.”
The viscount didn’t look near as arrogant now. As a matter of fact, his face turned ashen white, and he swallowed convulsively. “You hit me. You actually hit me. How dare you strike a peer of the realm.” He turned toward his men. “Kill them all,” he ordered. “Kill them now.”
But his men simply stood watching the drama unfold.
“I said kill them,” he shouted again. “And protect your better as you’ve been paid to do.”
Every Scot sword in the room raised in ready for the onslaught, but none came as one of the viscount’s men stepped forward. “You do not pay us enough to die for your sorry ass, Lord Fredrick. You were a big enough man to start a fight with a Highlander laird. You can finish it yourself.”
To a man, the viscount’s guards lowered their weapons to the floor in surrender.
****
Beth smiled as Duncan reached out a single finger and stroked the fuzzy head of his baby cousin who was feeding contently at her breast.
“He has the tiniest hands, I’ve ever seen, ye ken?” The child’s eyes sparkled with awe. “And they be both so verra perfect. But then everything about Verra Hungry is perfect, because he is the son of ye and the laird. He has ten little fingers just as he should, and both his feet are without flaw. Nae like mine.” Duncan sighed. “And though he be so much smaller than I, I ken he’ll grow inta a greater man than I can ever hope ta be. Aunt Marta said it was his destiny while mine is ta always be a useless cripple.”
If Beth could’ve brought Marta MacLeod back from the dead just for the pleasure of killing the woman herself, she would’ve done it. How could an adult, no matter their grief, be so unkind to a small child? Perhaps she couldn’t bring the woman back and punisher her, but she could offer words of truth and comfort to Duncan.
“Nonsense,” she said. “You are and will always be important to Brochel, to me, to Quint, and especially to Verra Hungry. Someday you will be steward of this castle, and it will be you the laird depends upon to see his business done. It is a great honor, Duncan, and one your laird has decided you and only you are worthy of.”
She took a deep breath. “As far as your aunt, Marta will no longer be around to say unkind things to you. She’s…”
The little boy nodded. “Aye, I ken she be dead. Bronwyn told me.” He suddenly teared up. “Do ye really think she be telling my mither right now how it was me who killed her? For that’s what she said she’d do first off after she died and was reunited with her sister. I do nae want my mither ta hate me. I did nae mean ta do it. I swear I did nae.”
Beth gathered Duncan as close into her arms as her dozing infant would allow.
“You listen to me.” She forced back the tears in her throat. “Because this is the very last time we are ever going to discuss this matter. Mo
thers do not hate their children, no matter what. And your mother certainly does not hold you to account for her death. She wanted you, she prayed for you, she loved you with all her heart, and she gladly gave her life to see you born. Sometimes women die in childbirth, but it isn’t the child’s fault, ever. So there will be no more guilt on your part concerning the matter, do you hear?”
He slowly nodded his head, and she squeezed him even closer. So close the babe began to squirm. But Beth ignored Verra Hungry for the moment. She could calm him once again with a tit if need be. But what troubled Duncan wouldn’t be quite so easy to fix.
“You are a precious gift from God, and don’t you ever forget that. I love you, and Quint loves you. You may not have been born of my body, but you are now my child just the same. We are your family, and you are ours and will always be. In our eyes, you are beyond perfect just as you are, and we are both so very proud to have you in our lives.”
She took a deep breath and calmed the day’s turmoil spinning through her mind. “If anything, your mother is smiling down from heaven this very moment and bragging to her sister about how very smart, loyal, kind, and perfect her son is. For that’s what a mother sees, Duncan, because she looks first with her heart and then with her eyes.”
A commotion in the hallway outside the nursery drew both their attentions, and Beth hurriedly opened the door. Bronwyn stood on the other side with her bright red hair hanging in her eyes, and visibly winded as if she’d run a race.
“My lady,” she whispered while trying to catch her breath. “Ye best come quick. Ye husband just attacked the viscount, and I fear more blood is about ta be shed.”
Beth handed over the sleeping infant into the arms of old nurse. “Keep Duncan here with you, too.”
Duncan looked as if he would argue, but she stopped whatever he’d been about to say with a shake of her head and a handful of words. “I must hurry, but you will stay here with Bronwyn and Verra Hungry. You are their guardsman, remember? And I, and your laird trust none other with that task.”
Beth could tell he still didn’t want to do as she commanded, but in the end, Duncan MacLeod stayed behind with his little sword drawn and ready as she ran toward the stairs.
****
The sound of metal upon metal as the downward stroke of Quint’s sword met the resistance of Telford’s rang throughout the great hall.
Sweat beaded Quint’s forehead, and his arms felt as heavy as if they’d been made of lead, but he continued his advance, parrying, and pushing the viscount closer and closer toward the door, in hopes of forcing the man completely out of his keep and far away from his wife and child.
It was no easy feat. Telford was much more skilled with a sword than Quint had first thought. Either that, or he himself was much weaker than he realized.
His thoughts were consumed with the fact he dare not lose, for though he’d gladly give his life for his people and for his wife and child, losing would mean a lifetime of horror for everyone he loved.
He slipped on a puddle of Marta’s blood, his legs wobbly from the effects of the poison and the two days spent abed. And just like that, the viscount was upon him, slicing a deep line down his face from eyebrow to chin.
In the back of his mind, Quint registered Beth’s scream at the same time his warm, sticky blood began seeping down his neck and on to the collar of his tunic. He ignored both, though. Ta take his attention off his adversary would mean the sealing of his own fate.
“Yield, Scot,” the viscount shouted. “Or I’ll slice you up one piece at a time instead of being merciful and ending your useless life with a single stroke. For you can’t win. What you don’t know is, I’ve been the king’s fencing champion three years running.”
Quint glanced quickly toward Beth who stood at the top of the stairs. If this moment was truly going to be his last, then he wanted her face to be the final thing he saw of this world. He wished desperately that he could go to her right this moment and kiss away the worry line stretched across her brow.
But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t leave her here all alone in this world, in this time. And especially not at the mercy of a madman.
So he turned his attention back to the viscount while he dug deeper, pulling strength and determination from the very depths of his soul to keep on fighting for what was rightfully his. For what he refused to give up.
“’Tis a generous offer, Telford.” Quint said. “But I’m afraid I must decline.”
Their swords clashed again and again, until both men were beyond winded and the viscount’s arm visibly shook. Still, neither man yielded. With a quick spin to his left, Quint caught Lord Fredrick off guard and was almost surprised to find his sword pressed firmly against the bounding pulse of his adversary’s neck.
“Yield, and I’ll let ye live ta return ta England and ye king.” Quint panted for a good breath. “But do nae ever again step onta the shores of Raasay. For if ye do, I’ll finish what ye started today and war be damned.”
The viscount nodded and lowered his sword. Quint darted a glance once more toward Beth in order to assure his wife their problems with Telford were finally over and they could now get on with their lives.
But the look of horror on his Beth’s face had him spinning back around, and just in time to see a dagger fall from the viscount’s hand and clatter uselessly to the floor. Nae even a heartbeat later, the man slumped over dead with a long blade sticking straight out of his back.
One of the ship’s captains shrugged. “He was going to stab you while your back was turned, and after he had yielded no less. I cannot abide the actions of a coward. Especially not one who’d once been related to me by marriage.”
Quint shook his head. “The viscount is ye relation?”
The ship’s captain nodded. “Yes, I’m the brother of one of those first two useless, barren wives of his. My baby sister was so full of hope and life before he got his hooks into her. But in less than the span of a full year of marriage to that monster, her battered and broken body was found one cold winter morning at the bottom of a very high tower.” The captain took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “He said she jumped to her death because she was so ashamed she couldn’t give him a child, but I’ve always suspected it was he who tossed her out that window.”
Moisture clouded the captain’s eyes. “My little sister was a good Catholic girl, you see. She would never have taken her own life.” The man hung his head. “I should’ve helped her when she came to me begging. Instead, I sent her back to her husband as the law demands, though I saw for myself the bruises and the depth of her despair.” He took another deep breath, and his entire body shuddered. “Perhaps now, she can forgive me and rest in peace.”
Every man in the hall, English and Scot alike, nodded and sheathed their swords as the other ship’s captain spoke up. “Well, I think it’s a damn shame poor Lord Fredrick, Viscount Telford, died of the bloody flux before ever reaching the shores of Raasay. But I’m glad the rest of us made the journey just to give you his congratulations on the birth of your fine son. As soon as we clean up this mess upon your fine floor, I for one am looking forward to trying a taste of what you chaps call uisge beatha. I’ve been told, Scot’s whiskey is as smooth as liquid fire flowing down your throat and warming your innards as it goes.”
Englishman after Englishman nodded.
“Aye,” said one of them. “It’s always a shame when a lord such as Telford comes to such a shitty end. And that’s just what we’ll all be telling the king if’n he asks. Though I doubt he will. He’s a little preoccupied with trying to keep his throne at the moment. Now, what was all that talk about whiskey?”
****
March 1644
Beth stood upon the parapet with Quint’s arms securely about her waist and breathed in the early spring air. Just a hint of the newly blooming heather was carried upon the wind along with wisps of peat smoke, but it was enough to make her heart soar. That, and the secret she held close to her heart. The long winter wa
s all but behind them, and a bright new beginning with the man she loved stretched out before her.
She still missed Ben and Brian, of that there was no doubt. She’d always miss them, and someday she’d give them that apology they so deserved. But she couldn’t bring herself to regret her decision to remain in the past with Quint. A love like this one was much too precious a gift to throw away, no matter when or where or whose body she had to possess to find it.
And Quint was right. Her sons would understand, and they’d want her to be happy. Out of respect for them and their memory, she had every intention of being happy, very happy, and for as long as possible.
“What ye be thinking so hard on, my Beth? When we snuck away up here, I thought it was ta make love, not simply enjoy the view. I have a powerful need ta be inside ye.”
The rumble of his warm, familiar Scottish brogue sent shivers of her own need racing along her spine, and she leaned back into his embrace. “I was just thinking about how happy I am, husband.”
He chuckled. “And which happy is it ye be this day? The happy that the sun is shining? The happy of what we are about ta do? Or the happy that our wee bairn is napping and we got ta steal away a few precious moments ta ourselves? Or is it ye are simply happy that ye husband desires ta show ye exactly how happy he is ta have ye as wife?”
He grasped a breast while nuzzling her neck, and Beth squeaked as the outline of his stiff cock came in contact with her backside. Heat spread through every fiber of her being. “I am happy that you are happy.” She giggled. “Especially since you were all but growling at everyone last evening, even your poor little son.”
“Poor little son,” he sputtered. “I swear that wee devil knows when I’m within arm’s reach of ye and yells the castle walls near ta toppling if I dare try and touch his sainted mither. And then the moment I give up, the bugger’s sound asleep and as sweet looking as an angel straight from the bosom of God.”
Beth smiled. She couldn’t help herself. Quint was right, Verra Hungry— She shook her head, she had to stop thinking of their son as Verra Hungry even if the child’s favorite pastime was eating. He had a name now, a real honest-to-goodness name, and had for some time.
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