Highland Temptations: Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Adams, Aileen

  Malcolm shot up from his chair, fists pounding on the table. The rest of the men were far too intoxicated by then to care very much, though they were at least roused from their stupors for a moment. They turned their attention to their leader, whose face was as red as his hair.

  “Hellcat!” he spat. “Demon! Why come here to say these words to me? Ye need never have returned. Ye are not needed here, nor are ye wanted!”

  “Am I not?” She looked around the room, sneering. “I should think my presence would be sorely missed, as none of ye have the sense to clean up his own messes!”

  His arm shot out, his fist curling around her hair. She heard and felt some of it ripping from her scalp as he pulled her to him, hovering over her. Tears sprang into her eyes as her scalp throbbed agonizingly.

  “I shall make ye cry far worse than that, lassie,” he snarled, his reeking breath enough to turn her stomach. Yet she forced herself to hold his gaze, no matter how he tried to frighten her.

  She would not allow him the satisfaction of seeing her break down.

  Even as he raised his other fist, even as a gleam entered his eye, she would not flinch.

  The room went deathly silent as the men held their breath.

  Which made it all the easier for her to hear the pounding of hooves along the road outside.

  26

  Drew led the charge, two dozen men at his back. His cousin rode just to his right, Clyde to his left.

  This would be satisfying. He could all but taste Malcolm Stuart’s blood.

  A pity Anne would not be witness to what was to come, but it was for the best. He would take great pleasure in telling her and Liam about it in the days to come.

  The magistrate rode behind along with the men they’d rounded up in the village. As soon as they’d made the announcement of a name and a location, men from all around were running to saddle their horses and gather their weapons. The Stuarts, it seemed, had been a plague on the Highlands for far too long.

  The house was still lit inside, candles and fires burning away. Did they ever sleep? Perhaps they were celebrating. All the better. He did detest the notion of disturbing a man’s slumber. It would hardly seem a fair fight if that were the case.

  “Steady, now,” Rufus advised as they slowed the horses to a trot. “Dinna lose your head.”

  “When have ye ever known me to lose my head?” Drew grinned.

  Clyde snorted.

  “’Tis afraid I am that we dinna have the time to go into it,” Rufus retorted. “Dinna rush in before ye know the full measure of what we have found here. There could be many dozens of men all over the land, camping out, standing guard.”

  In his heart of hearts, Drew wished that were the case. He longed to smash bones, to bury his fist in the face of one man after another. With every blow, he would think of Anne. Of Liam. Of their suffering.

  The door opened, and out poured a dozen men. The brandished dirks, swords, even a pistol or two. Drew’s heart clenched, yet he withdrew a pistol nonetheless.

  He preferred fist-to-fist combat, but was not such a fool as to leave himself unarmed if the need arose.

  It did not appear as though the need would arise after all, for not a single one of the men who’d left the house could walk a straight line. They stumbled about, knocking into each other. Drew winced as one of them barely managed to avoid sinking his dirk into another man’s stomach.

  “What goes on here?” he cried out as men surrounded him, men prepared to fight these scoundrels and drag them to Avoch where they would be tried for their crimes. Yet none of them were in fighting shape.

  One of them ran toward Drew, shouting obscenities and prepared for battle, yet he only managed to make ten paces before he doubled over and released the contents of his stomach onto the ground in a mighty splash.

  “They’re intoxicated down to the last one,” the magistrate laughed. “It isn’t often our task is so simple.” He shouted orders to several of the nearby men, who set about subduing those about to have their wrists bound and their weapons removed.

  This was not satisfying. Not at all. He needed Malcolm. He needed to take a pound of the man’s flesh. “Inside,” he snarled, marching toward the open door.

  Rufus and Clyde were quick to join him.

  The main room of the house was covered in refuse, empty cups, empty casks. Stains and spills, rotting food. “How do they live?” he grunted, resisting the impulse to cover his nose and mouth.

  “Drew.” Rufus clasped his arm, pointing to the blazing hearth.

  A tall, red-haired man with a thick beard held the arm of a squirming, twisting lass.

  “Anne!” Drew cried out, stunned to the point of freezing in place.

  “Forgive me,” she grunted before squealing as the man’s hand tightened around her thin arm.

  It could only be Malcolm, naturally. Only he would be so cruel.

  “Welcome to my home,” he announced, confirming himself to be the owner. The one Drew had come for. “What brings ye here on such a cold evening, and at such a late hour, at that?”

  He was not in the same condition as the men who’d come on their terrible excuse for an attack. He had his wits about him and even seemed to be enjoying this, though he was hopelessly outnumbered.

  Drew need only see the pain in Anne’s eyes to seethe in renewed fury. How and why she was there, he could not say. It mattered not. What mattered was freeing her and paying Malcolm Stuart back for every evil he’d ever done.

  “We’ve come here to see ye receive justice for your many misdeeds,” Drew smiled. A stranger might mistake his smile as one of good humor. He’d lulled many a man into thinking he was no threat with that very smile.

  Only those who knew him and had seen what he was capable of knew his smile was the kiss of death.

  “And who are ye to serve justice?” Malcolm asked, looking from one of them to the other. “Who are ye to charge me with misdeeds? I dinna know ye, any of ye, and ye trespass on my land.”

  “We know what you’ve done. And we are here to stop ye from doing it ever again. First, I intend to pay ye back for the cruelty ye showed yer niece.” Drew handed his pistol and dirk to Clyde. “If ye are man enough to fight with your fists—unless ye need other men to do the fightin’ for ye.”

  “I ought to have known.” Malcolm spat at Anne, who recoiled before kicking him in the knee. He howled before throwing her to the floor, where she landed in a heap.

  Drew had seen enough. He launched himself at the much larger man, using surprise to throw him off-balance. They collided, with Malcolm turning just in time to avoid landing in the blazing fire.

  He threw Drew against a long table laden with cups, mugs, flagons of ale. Much of it tumbled to the floor, while Drew pulled his legs in and shot them out when Malcolm bore down on him, catching him in the abdomen and knocking the wind from his lungs.

  He jumped to the floor, taking advantage of Malcolm doubling over to gasp for breath. Hands on his shoulders, pushing him further down, he jerked one of his knees upward and let out a satisfied grunt when the crunch of bone sounded.

  Blood spurted from the man’s broken nose. He staggered backward, but was not finished yet.

  He swung one large fist, his long arms covering a considerable distance, and Drew was not able to duck the swing quickly enough. Malcolm’s fist connected with the side of his head, making his ears ring and his vision double. He blinked hard, shaking off the daze, and did manage to duck a second blow.

  From his crouched position, he delivered several sharp upward blows into Malcolm’s ribs. The man whirled about, arms swinging wildly now, and Drew leaped onto his back.

  “Drew!” Anne cried out, but there was no paying heed as he hooked an arm about the man’s neck and with his other fist delivered one blow after another to the side of his head, his face, anything he could reach. Malcolm attempted to claw at his eyes, but he caught one of the man’s fingers between his teeth, making him howl.

  An instant later, M
alcolm flung himself back against the wall, driving Drew into the unforgiving stones. He gasped as the breath left his body and several ribs cracked, yet managed to hang on rather than slide down the wall onto the floor.

  “Off with ye, ye demon!” Malcolm roared, swearing up a storm as he did what he could to shake Drew off.

  Drew was a man possessed now, driven by pain and rage. He sank his teeth into Malcolm’s ear this time, and his scream resounded through the room as he clawed and writhed in agony. The harder he fought, the harder Drew bit down, until blood flowed between his lips. He turned his head and spat out what he’d bitten off before driving his fist against the wounded, bloody ear again and again.

  Malcolm fell to his knees, with Drew still attached to his back. He slid off, kicking Malcolm in the kidneys and causing him to fall forward until he was on all fours.

  “Now, then.” Drew crouched in front of him, taking handfuls of red hair and raising the man’s head until they were eye-to-eye. “It seems ye are not much on yer own, Malcolm Stuart. Little wonder ye live surrounded by others who do yer work for ye.”

  “Ye devil,” Malcolm rasped, sweat and blood running down his face, bruises already forming along his cheek and jaw, his nose a ruined pulp.

  “Nay. Ye are the devil here.” He released the man’s head before standing, then drove one foot into his back and forced him to the floor. He remained there, whimpering and bleeding, until the magistrate entered the house to collect him.

  Drew sank onto one of the wooden benches beside the table, both exhausted and exhilarated. His ribs hurt something terrible, the side of his head throbbed, yet he was the victor. It was a thrill he had not experienced in too long.

  “Drew!” Anne flew to his side, throwing her arms about his neck. “Ye fool! I was so frightened!” She laughed and wept all at once.

  He stiffened, taking pains to remove her from him without saying a word.

  The joy shining from her eyes dulled, then went dark. “What—what is this?” she whispered. “What is wrong?”

  He could barely look at her. “What is wrong?” Turning his head, he spat Malcolm Stuart’s blood upon the floor. One more stain, he supposed.

  “Aye. Why will ye—why won’t ye—” She gaped at him, open-mouthed and breathless.

  His heart hardened further the longer he looked at her. “What were ye doin’ here? Was it your intention to warn him of our arrival?”

  27

  Anne emptied the last of the buckets with a satisfied sigh. It had seemed she would never finish the task of scrubbing the floors clean. More than once had she considered giving up entirely.

  Yet it was finished, and the house was livable again, and she had many blessings to count before closing her eyes in grateful slumber that evening.

  So she reminded herself. So she had reminded herself all throughout the fortnight since Drew had defeated Malcolm Stuart.

  “Anne!” Liam called out from the stables, and she waved with a wide smile. He was another blessing.

  It seemed the time away from her had matured him, or perhaps this was nothing more than imagination getting away from her. Perhaps not, however. Perhaps Malcolm Stuart had been correct about one thing. If only one thing. Perhaps she had treated him as a bairn and had not given him the chance to grow into a young man.

  Malcolm’s absence had done wonders for him. He was filling out, eating all he could get into his mouth. He slept well, he was out of doors from morning until night, and this had improved his pallor, his stamina, his strength.

  He was happy, and that was worth everything in the world.

  So she reminded herself.

  It would have to be enough. She turned her back on the stables, where her brother worked with a group of kind men from Avoch to repair what had gone to ruin. They would turn the land into something good, something lovely. Something profitable, or so she hoped, now that it belonged to them.

  Now that none of the Stuarts would ever set foot upon it, all of them locked away. The presence of stolen goods throughout the house, along with stolen cattle in the barn, had all but sealed their fates.

  The house was quiet now. Empty. Her house. It was hardly to be believed, the fact that it was hers as Malcolm’s last living kin. She would share it with her brother, no question. He could be proud of this place, proud of what he would build.

  And yet…

  Her footsteps rang out, louder than they would normally have sounded thanks to the lack of furniture. They would see to that, see to so many things. She had enough to do to keep her happily busy for months to come, perhaps years.

  And yet…

  She stopped at one of the windows, staring out at the road. And yet it wasn’t enough. She knew in her heart it would never be.

  Perhaps if she had never met him. Never met the twins. Perhaps if she had not come to love all of them, there would be no empty place in her heart. No ache, nothing to wake her in the middle of the night. Nothing to steal her breath away when she recalled the joy of being in Drew’s arms.

  A waste of time, thinking on this. He did not love her. He did not even like her.

  She’d worked on training herself to recall the disgust with which he’d looked at and spoken to her after his fight with Malcolm. It helped to remember the way he’d scoffed at her, the way he’d accused her of being in league with her uncle all along.

  No matter how she’d pleaded. No matter how even Rufus had tried to talk sense to him. He would not listen to reason.

  “Worry not,” Clyde had urged, patting her shoulder. “When a man’s blood is up, he canna think. Once he calms, he shall see the folly of this.”

  Yet he had not. She had not seen him, had not spoken to him or anyone of his clan since. They had deserted her.

  Then again, they owed her nothing.

  She ran a hand beneath her eyes to catch the tears which had fallen onto her cheeks. If only she could see the twins again. Och, what they must think of her never returning! What Drew must have told them about her.

  Perhaps that was a blessing. They would cease loving her and might forget.

  At least it might be easy for them. It would never be easy for her.

  Snow would fly soon. Winter would come in earnest. She and Liam would have enough to get them through, or so she prayed. So long as they did not have to live with Malcolm, they were better off than they had been in a long time.

  It was with this in mind that she turned her back to the window and set about the task of starting supper. After that, she planned to sleep for at least three days.

  Later, she was busy spooning stew into bowls after removing a fresh loaf of bread from the hearth when Liam rushed into the house, face flushed. “There is a rider approaching!”

  “Riders approach throughout the day,” she reminded him, shaking her head. “Ye canna upset yourself over every stranger who ventures near the house.”

  “I am not upset! I merely wished to warn ye. I am the man of the house.” He puffed out his chest, lifting his chin.

  “Aye, that ye are.” To ease his mind, she went to the door and moved him aside that she might see down the path leading from the opening in the stone wall.

  One look at the woman sitting astride a bonny sorrel mare and she let out a strangled cry. “Shana?”

  “Who is that?” Liam whispered, standing behind her.

  “A friend. A good friend.” She ran to her, arms outstretched, and Shana embraced her with great warmth when they met.

  “I wanted to come days ago,” Shana assured her, squeezing tight. “I did. But Davina needed me still—especially now that you are no longer there to mind the twins.”

  “How are they?” Anne linked her arm with Shana’s and led her into the house.

  “As winning and keen as ever—though they miss you most terribly.”

  Anne’s heart sank. She had feared as much. “I long for them.” Ever so much. She longed to kiss their cheeks, to run her hand over their soft curls. To weave straw crowns with Moira and c
hide Owen for attempting to sneak into the pig pen. To tuck them into bed. To love them.

  “And this must be Liam,” Shana beamed upon entering the house, where Liam waited near the hearth. “I have heard much about you.”

  His cheeks flushed once again, though Anne suspected there was more to it than excitement and a chill in the air. They did not regain their normal color throughout supper, which Anne insisted Shana share with them.

  “I am on my way home now,” Shana explained once the meal was finished and everything scrubbed. They shared a pot of tea once again, as they had on so many afternoons.

  “Ye are?” she asked, her heart aching at the thought. Granted, she had not seen her friend in a fortnight and had not expected to do so ever again, but now there would be less chance than ever.

  “I must admit, I long to return,” Shana murmured with a smile. “To see William again.”

  Anne could not help but frown. She stared down at her tea, chewing her lip, hoping the anguish spreading through her chest did not reveal itself on her face.

  “Forgive me,” Shana whispered, reaching across the table to take Anne’s hand. “I was thoughtless to speak so.”

  “Thoughtless? What makes ye say that?” She forced a smile in spite of the fist squeezing her heart.

  “It is merely that I thought… that is to say, I assumed…” Shana’s head tilted to the side, her eyes narrowing. “Was I incorrect to believe you and Drew…?”

  Anne swallowed over the lump forming in her throat. “We were both incorrect, I suppose.” There was no holding back the flood of emotion then. She held her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving as she wept.

  Shana came to her. “My dear Anne. I believe he made a terrible mistake. We all do.”

  “Except for him!”

  “Well, he takes his time of things,” Shana chuckled. “He did not understand what brought you here that night. He thought—”

  “I know what he thought,” Anne snarled. “He told me as much. He called me a traitor, a liar, a thief.” And so much more. Words which had burned their way into her heart like a brand. They’d scarred over and would likely never entirely fade.