His mother lifted a hand toward him. “Liam, please. Let me—”
“Nay,” Liam roared, unwilling to listen to her fumble an excuse.
He’d heard enough to last the rest of his life—a life which had been built on naught but lies and deception.
Christ, he had to get the hell out of there, out of the keep, and as far away from the pair as possible. He spun on his heel and marched to the entrance. With his hand on the latch, he paused long enough to glare over his shoulder.
“The two of you deserve each other more than I could’ve ever imagined.”
“Liam!”
The slam of the wooden door smothered his mother’s tearful cry. Anger propelled him down the torch-lit passageway at a furious clip. Disregarding the prying eyes in the great hall, he swerved for the buttery off the side of the kitchens.
He stepped into the dank storage chamber and scanned the shelves until he located just what would knock him on his arse and make him forget the past half-hour. At least for the eve, until he rode for home on the morrow. He hoisted a small dram of whisky beneath his arm and fled through the hum of activity in the kitchens toward escape.
Just before he reached the rear doors, the blonde serving wench from the great hall caught sight of him and darted over to grab the sleeve of his tunic. She pressed in close to his chest, her smile widening with invitation. “Do you require aid, my lord?”
Earlier, he welcomed her attentions. But now, he simply wished time alone to welter in his misery.
“Nay.” The gruff refusal did little to deter her.
Leaning closer, she tightened her grip, sinking her nails through the thin linen of his tunic and into his skin. She fluttered her eyelashes. “Are you certain there is naught I can do for you?”
Another time, her boldness might’ve impressed him. But in his present foul mood, the sight of the overconfident wench repelled him. Applying a firm glare, he shook off her hold.
“I said nay. Was that not simple enough for you?” The snarled words had the desired effect.
The maid’s head snapped back as though he’d slapped her, and her arms fell limp at her sides. Anger bled through her surprise. Hate and derision twisted her features which prompted him to question what, exactly, he had found comely about the woman before.
“You’ll regret that.” The wretched wench spun away and stormed from the kitchens.
Damned women. Were the blasted creatures determined to destroy him?
Rolling his eyes, Liam adjusted the cask under his arm, snatched a tankard from a table near the rear doors, and stepped out into the cool night air. No matter how far he walked, noise from the great hall resounded throughout the courtyard, closing in around him. Was there no blasted escape?
Abandoning any prospect of solitude, he dropped onto his knees beside a grain wagon in the outer bailey and placed the cask and goblet in front of him. He grabbed the dagger sheathed at his side to ply the cork from the dram and then poured himself a healthy dose of whisky. Drink in hand, he sank down to the cold, hard earth and leaned against a wagon wheel. He stared at the clear, star-filled sky overhead while he attempted to sort through his cluttered thoughts.
At least one thing made far more sense—his mother’s contempt of Fraser.
Damn, how had he not seen it sooner? He swallowed a mouthful, savoring the deep burn in his belly.
What the hell was he to do now?
How could he bear to look upon his mother or Fraser again without feeling the sting of betrayal?
And what of his father?
Had Robert MacGregor known the truth—that his wife carried another man’s bairn? Or had he gone to his deathbed without the knowledge of her deceit?
How could she? Hell, how could Fraser?
Liam remembered numerous times he’d spent with Hammish Fraser—years of training in his youth, dining in his hall, trading ribald jests—all the while the devious cur knew he sat in the company of his own damned son.
To hell with it.
Liam tossed back his tankard of whisky, draining the contents. He swiped his sleeve over his mouth and poured another goblet full, intent to lay the troubled thoughts in his head to rest for a few blessed hours. The morrow would come soon enough, and he’d have no choice but to deal with his mother’s treachery whether he wished to or not.
Chapter Two
Venora Fraser tugged the shawl tighter around her middle and cast a quick glimpse over her shoulder to the safety of her small, quaint cottage she left behind. Laughter and shouts from the banquet cut through a swath of stillness in the surrounding village. Following the clamor, she quickened her pace along the cottage-lined trail through pockets of darkness.
Her hastened steps thudded over the heavy planked timber bridge at the front of the settlement. At a clipped pace, she headed for the torch-lit path winding to the inner courtyard and keep.
When she approached two guards posted at the outer gates, both called out affable greetings. Nora spared a reluctant nod as she stomped into the courtyard. After two hours spent worriedly pacing the small confines of her cottage, waiting for her younger brother to return home from the banquet, she lacked a cordial bone in her body.
Unbearably vexed suited her present mood.
By the Saints, why had she allowed him to attend the feast in the first place? So what if Geordie accompanied him? She could not trust the old man any more than she could Will.
How could the pair simply disregard her fears and apprehension? Especially after everything the three of them had been through. They knew how she worried—how she would always worry. Yet, Will and Geordie seemed to have forgotten their pasts, but never Nora.
She’d never forget, nor could she shake the uneasiness that hounded each day of her life. Regardless of Fraser’s protection, a dark thundercloud hung over her and Will, shadowing their every steps. Even after five long years, the sense of restlessness never quite abated. And she doubted if it ever would.
Determined to reach the keep and find her brother, Nora rounded the corner, entering the inner courtyard at a brisk step. A few hundred yards away, the front of the keep stood like a beacon in a starless night’s sky. Continuing along the path, she rounded a grain wagon and smacked into a substantial mass.
Nora stumbled backward, her feet tangling in the hem of her gown, and lost her footing. She gasped and expected to fall to the hard earth, but a strong pair of hands shot out to catch her by the shoulders. Her heart slammed in her throat and the breath fled her lungs in a sharp rush of air. Her gaze darted to the stranger’s face.
For several long moments, Nora stood rooted to the ground at her feet. She could not say why, but the handsome figure snared her attention. Torchlight bathed his flawless features in warmth and glittered on the thick waves of his golden hair. A careless lock rested against his forehead, and she longed to raise her hand to smooth the hair in place. Her lips parted in surprise with the unbidden thought. At a loss for her sudden reaction, she merely gazed into his shining blue eyes, while the corners of his mouth lifted with a sinful grin.
“I have you, my lady.”
The smooth cadence of his voice drifted to her ears at the same time the stench of whisky assaulted her nostrils, shattering the fleeting enchantment. The lout was sotted.
Swallowing her irritation, she pressed against his shoulders. “Thank you, my lord, but you may release me.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled with merriment. “Are you certain? I’m rather comfortable with you in my arms.”
“What?” Nora blinked in confusion.
Leaning in closer, he breathed a gusty sigh that left her swimming in an odorous cloud of whisky. “I said you feel comfortable in my arms.” The man practically shouted in her face. “Do you not agree?”
“Nay, I do not.” Nearly choking from the smell, she shoved against his chest. “Unhand me, you knave, or you shall regret it.”
Brows knitting together, he peered over her shoulder. “’Tis not the first time I’ve
heard that this eve.” He settled the twin jewels of his blue eyes on her once more.
“Mayhap, you should not make a habit of waylaying women,” she suggested with a scowl.
“Nay, of course not. I merely…” Frowning, he paused as if he’d forgotten the rest of his words. “Tell me, what is your name, lass?”
Leaning as far away from the man as she could, Nora wondered how much of the blasted dram he had consumed. “It matters not. Now, release me.”
“You know,” he started as a wicked grin eased over his striking features, “your scowl’s every bit as charming as those dark eyes of yours.”
Caught off guard, she gawked at the man for several heartbeats. Once she found her tongue, she opened her mouth to cut him with a harsh rebuke, but the fool slanted his mouth over hers, robbing her of words.
As swift as lightning, outrage stripped away her momentary stupor. ’Twas not the first time a deceitful rogue attempted to steal a kiss, but she’d make certain this one regretted the forward action. When his tongue slipped past her parted lips, she swallowed back the urge to retch at the foul taste of whisky, and bit down. He tore his face away from hers, leaving the salty tang of his blood in her mouth.
“What the devil?” He grabbed his tongue between his thumb and forefinger. “Why’d you do that?”
His perfect features twisted with a scornful glower. As if she were to blame.
The bold attempt, coupled with his arrogance, pushed Nora over the edge. Enraged, she jerked back her arm and clouted the man square in the eye.
Pain arced from her forearm to her elbow, but she scarcely noticed. She held her stance firm as the sotted fool wavered on his feet a moment before he crashed to the ground, the side of his head striking the bed of the wagon on his way down.
A distinct roaring filled Nora’s ears as she stared at the prone lout in shock. The scarlet-tinged rage cleared from her vision, and she painfully waded back into awareness.
Holy Mother, what had she done? Stunned, she lifted her hands to cover her mouth.
The shout of her name pierced her ringing ears. She spun around to see Will and Geordie rushing across the courtyard toward her.
“Nora!” Will reached her first. His hands gripped her arms in a tight squeeze.
“Oh, God, Will.” Shaken to the bone, she clutched him to her, hugging him tight.
Geordie stooped beside them, his knees cracking from the effort, and peered down at the man at their feet. His bushy, gray eyebrows rose to his fading hair line. “Saints, lass, what’s going on here?”
“I was protecting myself from this…” She flapped her arm at the drunken man. “Arse. He tried to take liberties, so I gave him what he deserved.” Though she’d not meant for him to hit his head on the wagon.
Her brother examined the prone man’s face with a wince and groaned. “Oh, Nora. What have you done?”
“Me?” She aimed a fierce glare at the pair of them. “I’ve done naught but protect myself, which would not have happened had the two of you returned when you were supposed to.”
Almost a head taller, Will stared down at her. “I was fine, Nora.”
“Aye, this time. You have to be careful.”
“I shall not let anything happen to him, lass.” Geordie reached up to offer her a fatherly pat on her hand.
God bless the dear old man. She crushed his wrinkled hand in hers. “I know you would not. But you could be hurt, too, Geordie.”
Will squatted beside the sotted rogue. “Saints, Nora. You knocked him on his backside.”
“What did you expect me to do?” she huffed. “Besides, ’twas not me. The fool hit his head on the wagon.”
Shifting from one knee to the other, Geordie blew out a deep breath. “Well, we cannot leave him here.”
Will frowned. “We cannot take him to the keep either. They’ll think Nora was trying to kill him. Especially after Fraser’s announcement.”
What announcement? An odd look passed between the two which did not sit well with Nora.
Geordie shrugged. “Well then, we’ll have to bring him back to the cottage and let him sleep it off. In the morning, we can explain ’twas naught but a misunderstanding. God willing, he will not blab to Fraser.”
Disbelief rang in Nora’s ears. Had they taken a knock to their heads, too? They most certainly would not.
“Nay, you’re not bringing the sotted fool into my cottage. Leave him here in the cold, for all I care. Or better yet, take him to the laird right this instant.”
Will’s wide eyes met her gaze. “He is the new laird, Nora.”
*
Nora wavered on the verge of tears by the time Will and Geordie shouldered the new laird into the cottage she shared with her brother on the outer edge of the village near the forest. Once she pushed open the rough, wooden door and stepped aside for Will and Geordie to pass through, a tear slipped free.
How was she to explain what she’d done? And more importantly, what were she and Will to do now that Hammish Fraser had chosen to stand aside? She inwardly cursed fate as a tight ball took up residence in her chest.
“’Tis going to be all right, Nora. We’ll figure something out.” Will offered a reassuring grin.
“Grab a few blankets, lass,” Geordie said.
Nora rushed to the trunk in the corner and snatched a couple furs from inside. She laid the pelts out and moved aside so they could settle the man in front of the fire. Stoking the dying flames, she cast a worried glimpse over her shoulder.
“There, that should do for the night.” Geordie straightened, jamming his fists into his lower back to stretch his old muscles. “Fret not, Nora. We’ll sort things out in the morn.”
Loyal to a fault, the aging soldier meant well, but he should understand her worries better than anyone. Alas, after living among the Frasers for five years, she feared Geordie had grown too comfortable and settled. Not to mention, age had taken its toll on the man. Well past three scores, Geordie had earned a quiet, unburdened life. Despite his old bones, the old warrior shadowed Will’s steps most days, determined to uphold the oath he’d sworn to her father on his deathbed.
“I’m just a shout away should either of you have need of me.” He hobbled through the entrance, closing the door after him, and retreated to his little, one-roomed daub and thatch dwelling behind her and Will’s.
“He’s right.” Will shuffled to the hearth, adding more firewood to the flames. “’Tis no need to fret. Things will look up on the morrow.”
She frowned at her brother, noting his limp had worsened more than usual. The familiar pang of guilt accompanied the observation. “You should get some rest. Your leg—”
“Is fine,” he assured her. “’Tis naught but the cool night air.”
Mayhap, he was right. Nevertheless, she opened her mouth to argue, but he held up his hand. “Please, Nora. There’s no need to mother me as you tend to do. I vow I’m fine. Were I not, then I would say so.”
Aye, she was guilty of the offense. So what if he was nearly six and ten? He’d always be her younger brother no matter his age or size. Besides, ’twas her place to worry after him. The lad might barrel headlong into trouble if she did not worry after his welfare.
After Will’s injury and their parents’ deaths, she’d vowed to herself to protect him at all costs. Despite what their futures held, ’twas an unbreakable promise she intended to uphold.
“What are we going to do?” Frustrated, she plopped down the narrow bench beside the pine table in the middle of the cottage and dropped her head in her hands.
Will eased down on the stool across from her and grabbed both her hands, clasping them in his own. “We’ll be fine, Nora. The MacGregors are good people. Liam will take care of the clan. I’m sure of it.”
“I’m not worried about the clan. I’m worried about you.”
His grip tightened. “Stop this now. There’s naught to worry over. I assure you our bastard of an uncle has long since forgotten us. He’s gotten what he was af
ter. Why do you still worry over this? In the years we’ve been here, has he shown his cursed face even once? Nay, nor will he. He has no idea we’re here. And if he does, he’d not dare challenge Fraser.”
Aye, but what if Fraser was no longer around to challenge? Then, what was to stop their uncle from resurfacing?
Despite her brother’s reasonable words, Nora knew better. Tavish MacNab and his loathsome toad of a son, Fergus, would never cease. As long as Will lived, the pair would turn over every stone in Scotland until they located and did away with the rightful heir of the MacNab Clan.
She released a tired breath. “Why not rest for the eve? We’ll speak with Fraser first thing in the morn.”
He stifled a yawn and blew out the lantern on the end of the table.
“Aye, I believe I will bed down for the night. Get some rest, too, Nora.” Nodding at the prone figure, he smirked. “Do not fret over him. You made certain he’ll be out for the rest of the eve.”
She narrowed her eyes at his teasing, watching as he gained his legs and limped to the separate chamber off the rear of the cottage. Before too long, his soft snores billowed through the night, mingling with the faint hiss and crackle of the fire.
Against her better judgment, she pushed up from the bench and padded closer to the hearth to inspect their unwanted guest. Firelight cast his features in a warm golden hue. A hint of a bruise formed beneath the eye she’d hit, marring his otherwise perfect features. She wondered if he’d recall their brief encounter. ’Twas doubtful, given how the man reeked of whisky. She softly snorted. In truth, he’d likely feel akin to a pile of sheep dung on the morrow.
With a satisfied grin, Nora turned away to seek her own bed but paused when an unbidden thought halted her steps. She shifted to face the sleeping figure once more and her shoulders slumped. Vexed by her worrisome thoughts, she moved closer and bent forward to tug the furs under his chin to keep the chill away. He may lack poor manners, but ’twas no reason for Nora to abandon her own. With one final glance at the unconscious man, she retreated to her snug cot along the daub walls in the corner.
My Steadfast Love (Highland Loves Book 2) Page 2