Rose_A Scottish Outlaw

by Lily Baldwin

  “Bonjour, Mademoiselle.”

  Claudine whirled around to see a tall man step from the shadows into the soft light of the street lamp. His dark eyes, filled with soft warmth, instantly entreated her trust. She felt at ease despite his being a stranger.

  “Pardonnez-moi, Mademoiselle, but do you speak English?” he asked. His deep voice surrounded her. She puzzled over his accent.

  “Oui, Monsieur. A little. But you do not sound English.”

  “And for a very good reason. I am Scottish, lass, and you are lovely,” he said before taking her hand. Then he pulled her yellow glove down, sliding the silk off her fingers. His lips grazed her palm, sending currents of warmth drifting through her body.

  Bowing over her hand, he said, “My name is Lord James MacKenzie.” He glanced up at her. “You were magnificent tonight,” he whispered.

  Lord James MacKenzie was tall and grand, dressed impeccably in a rich velvet coat fitted to his broad shoulders, but it was not his fine attire or obvious wealth that led Claudine to accept his offered arm. His eyes laid his soul bare to her, and she lost herself to the possibility of love she glimpsed in their sterling depths.

  Night began its slow retreat while Claudine and James walked along the river Seine. From Pont Neuf they welcomed the new dawn. The cobbles glimmered as the dusky shades of light caught the fine mist, which bathed the roads and bridges.

  In the weeks that followed, it became their practice. James would wait for Claudine every night by the theater’s back entrance, and they would stroll the cobbled streets of Paris until the sun rose and the need for sleep could no longer be denied. With words of love on his lips, it was not long before Claudine welcomed James into her bed, and from that moment on, she belonged to him.

  ***

  Edinburgh, Scotland

  February 1784

  “Please, I need a bed. S'il vous plaît, Madame. I am with child, and my time draws near. Please, take pity on us,” Claudine said, cradling her round belly. “I do not ask for charity. I can pay.” The owner of the common lodging-house, Molly, who was a handsome woman with red hair piled on top of her head, seemed to consider the coin in Claudine’s outstretched palm.

  “Please, Madame,” Claudine said. A knot comprised of dread and hope filled her throat as she looked up at the woman who with a simple aye or nay could decide the future of Claudine and her unborn child.

  “Nay, lass. I cannae let ye in and ye ken why. The lady whose husband gave ye that babe has forbidden it. Lady MacKenzie is a right bitch. I will not invite her vengeance. Not even for a sweet lass like yourself. Find your way home, Claudine Doucet. Ye will not find a bed in Edinburgh, nor will ye find any honest work,” Molly said. “In a few years, when the haughty cow has forgotten all about ye, then I will give ye a bed.”

  Despair drained the last hope from her soul as Molly slowly eased the door shut. The wind picked up, whistling down the alley. Her arms encircled her swollen stomach, shielding her baby from the fierce cold. Black soot covered the stone buildings that lined the narrow street on both sides, making the night appear even darker. Only a strip of starless sky could she see above the rooftops that were six and seven stories high. If she could climb to stand above the filth of the surrounding slums, could she reach her arms toward heaven? And if she could, would the good Lord above save her, or would he, too, fear the wrath of Lady Eleanor MacKenzie?

  Snow appeared in the air, drifting through the light of the one lamp that set aglow the far end of the street. She pulled her tattered shawl tighter about her shoulders and scrambled around the side of a nearby stairwell, seeking shelter from the snow, but as she peered beneath the stoop, a huddled mass of ragged children growled up at her, bearing their teeth like feral creatures.

  She turned and ran, fleeing the alley, wishing she could flee from the world. Tears choked her breath as she sobbed her misery to the sky. There was no more hope; she had sinned too grievously. She had been foolish to try to possess that which could never be hers. Upon their arrival in Edinburgh, James had confessed that he was, indeed, a married man. She should have turned away from him then and there. She should have cursed his lies, his promises, but love had bidden her stay by his side.

  Now, she raced down the street, slipping and stumbling upon the snowy cobbles. She turned onto Cowgate, a street that three months ago she would not have dared to walk down, even in the light of day. The crowded street forced her to slow her pace. She eyed the women she passed with their torn, faded gowns, their dirt-smeared faces, and hungry eyes. And then she froze and looked down at her roughened fingers and the greasy sway of her own threadbare skirt in the icy breeze. She gaped at the surrounding despair and realized the slums mirrored her own pain, her own unhappy end.

  When the Lady MacKenzie had discovered her husband’s affair, she had forced James to cast her aside, but it had not ended there. His wife had not been satisfied until she had brought about the ruination of Claudine Doucet. Lady Eleanor had ensured Claudine was barred from every theater. She could not even find work as a seamstress. No inn or lodging house would take her. She was nothing now but one of countless souls who passed each night wondering if they would have to face the dawn or if hunger or cold would at last bring them peace.

  “Aren’t ye a pretty bit of skirt,” an old woman said as she shuffled toward Claudine. Claudine eyed the woman warily. Her stooped shoulders were covered with the remnants of a ragged jacket. Creases lined her face, but her eyes were sharp and unwavering.

  “Ye need a bed, love?” the woman asked.

  Claudine nodded and dropped the last of her coin in the woman’s outstretched hand. Then Claudine followed her inside a nearby door, which opened to a stairway that descended into darkness. The old woman clasped tightly to Claudine’s fingers, leading her through unknown spaces devoid of light.

  “Where do you take me?” Claudine asked, though she feared the answer.

  “These are the vaults, dearie, tunnels and chambers built into the bridges. ‘Tis dark and foul, but the snow cannae reach ye down here.”

  Claudine felt the crushing weight of the city above. Thick, fetid air surrounded them, consuming what little joy she still possessed.

  “Here, lass,” the old woman said as she pulled Claudine into a cramped space. Claudine felt what her eyes could not see. It appeared to be a shelf with just enough room to lie down. “Ye shall rest here, and let ol’ Peggy care for ye.”

  Claudine surrendered to Peggy’s comfort and laid down upon her stone bed. Steeped in darkness, she fell asleep to the moans and wails of others who slept entombed beneath the city.

  That night, she dreamt of glittering light and lilting laughter, softness and perfumed breezes. She felt full and content, swathed in silk with the taste of champagne on her tongue. But then a stirring in her abdomen pulled her from the sweetness of her dreams.

  “Mon Dieu,” she cried as her womb cramped and pain shot through her back.

  Sweat dampened her brow. It seemed the walls were closing in on her, smothering her breath.

  “There, there, lass,” Peggy said, suddenly at her side. “Do not panic. ‘Twill be done soon.”

  “Non, non,” Claudine screamed. “Please, I cannot give birth to my child down here in this hell.”

  “Hush now, lass. Save your strength. It makes little difference whether your child draws its first breath here or up on the streets. Either way the air is foul.”

  Claudine gripped her abdomen as another pain twisted inside of her. “Either way my baby is damned,” she whispered. “Just as I am damned.”

  Hours of toil passed when at last her baby’s first cry echoed through the tunnels.

  “She is strong,” Peggy said. “Listen to her cry.”

  Claudine strained in the darkness to see the face of her newborn babe, but she could not. “Oui, he is a strong boy,” Claudine cooed as she pressed kisses to her baby’s cheeks.

  “Nay, Claudine. ‘Tis a lass. Feel for yourself. Ye have a daughter,” Peggy s
aid.

  “Listen to me, Peggy. Had I a daughter I would show her the mercy God has refused me, and I would slit her throat right here and end her suffering. The slums would feast on her and make her a whore before her body even had time to ripen. This child is a boy. Do you understand, Peggy? His name is Robbie, Robbie MacKenzie. And he will rise from this hell.” She held her child to her bosom, and whispered, “Robbie, you must fight. Fight to breathe. Fight to live. You are fated for happiness—this I do not doubt, mon bijou.” My jewel.

  ~ Click to read A Jewel in the Vaults (Flights of Love Series, Book 1)

  Beautiful Darkness Series

  Highland Shadows (Beautiful Darkness Series, Book 1)

  She is the beauty and the beast, and only he can soothe her...

  In Alexander MacKenzie’s youth, his clan prospered. Until one night fire and death descended, and all that was good and green fled the ensuing darkness, leaving the MacKenzie clan impoverished, and Alex's face severely scarred.

  Known as the Mad Maid of Clan Ross, Cora has been imprisoned within her father's keep for a decade, but not against her will—she is her own warden. Cora locked herself away to protect those she loves from what she has become. Within the shadows that blanket their land lurk vampires and wolves. They know Cora’s savage secret and have laid claim to her body. But the fight for her soul has only just begun, and only Alex’s love can save her.

  Historical romance author, Lily Baldwin, loves writing, Scotland, her wonderful husband and beautiful young daughter--though not necessarily in that order. She has a BA in anthropology from the University of New Hampshire, and an MA in International Studies from Birmingham University in the UK. She daydreams constantly, and gets her best story ideas while running; she is even training for a half-marathon. She also finds inspiration in Nature, a quality revealed through the powerful description and drama in her books.

  Lily lives in New England with her cherished husband and daughter.

  To find more books by Lily Baldwin visit her website:

  http://www.lilybaldwinromance.com

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  Will she take it? You choose.

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