The Highlander's Brave Baroness (Blood 0f Duncliffe Series Book 10)

by Emilia Ferguson

  Birds of like feather, as my mama would have said.

  She wished, profoundly, for that gentle presence now. Her mother would have laughed at the man, dismissed him as a petulant child. “Look at him,” she could almost hear her say, “playing at soldiers, with his guardsmen, marching behind.”

  “I had heard much of you, milady,” he said, dismounting in the yard. That pale face with its square jaw was inches from her, now. She could see the redness of his pale, bloodshot eyes. “And I had been looking forward to making your acquaintance. I did not expect to see you entertaining vagabonds like the lowest of the low.”

  Adeline tensed. Her ears had been letting it all wash past her, like the noise a stream made, but that last hissed insult hit her hard.

  “I do not have time to entertain, here at Dunmure,” she said tightly. “While you and your men kill, I go about rescuing our valiant, brave men.”

  With that last comment, she turned away and walked, straight backed, up the stairs toward the front door. Knowing, with a chill in her heart, that she had sown seeds of conflict between this man and Alexander.

  A KIND OF AGREEMENT

  Alexander leaned against the wall in the yard, letting his breathing return to normal. The wound on his side ached. His legs hurt. His lungs burned. All those things together were nothing, though, compared with the pain that filled his heart. He couldn’t stop thinking of that man, and the way he stared at Adeline.

  And what he said.

  “Stop it, Alexander,” he told himself harshly. “If ye think of it, ye’ll get yourself in a rage and ye’ll kill the feller, or try to. And that’ll be right useful, won’t it?”

  He winced as he let out a breath. He was in absolutely no state to fight anybody. He would stand about half a minute against someone with a dagger, and that would be if he was stupidly fortunate. He would certainly die – sooner, rather than later. Then what?

  Where’d the lass be then?

  He closed his eyes. Tried to erase the sight of that bullying brute from his mind. He had no words for him, or for what he’d like to do, if he was strong and ready to fight. The thought of it! How could she even think of marrying such a person? What sort of uncle did she have, to send such a man here as a suitor?

  “I ought to blow the feller’s head off,” he whispered to the silent garden.

  “Alexander?”

  He jumped, as she spoke at the region of his left elbow. He turned and found Adeline beside him, climbing up the steps from the kitchen garden below.

  “Milady,” he let out a steadying breath. “You scared me.”

  He felt his heart thump faster. Her face was pale, eyes big and grave, and she looked scared. Her hair tumbled loose round her shoulders, a cloud of black tresses. He could smell the slightly spiced scent of her, and see the fall and rise of her breathing in the white neckline of the gown. She had thrown a brown tartan cloak over it, but the neck was untied. He could not stop staring at her – how beautiful!

  She bit dry lips. The gesture itself turned his guts to water, so arousing was it. All the same, he knew, he must focus.

  “Is it safe, here…alone?” he asked her carefully.

  “I only have a few minutes,” she agreed. “I can’t let anybody know I’m here.”

  “I understand,” he said quickly. “Milady, if I have caused you to be at a disadvantage, I…”

  “Alexander, stop it. You have done nothing. I invited you here, as my guest. To recuperate.”

  He let out his breath in a long exhalation. “I know,” he said. “But, milady…that fellow…”

  “That fellow,” she said with some irony, “is the man to whom my uncle has promised me. I know,” she said as he drew in breath to protest. “He’s no worse than my uncle himself, or many others.” Her lips pressed in a firm line. Alexander wondered what sort of man Tam’s father had been.

  “Milady, whenever you need me,” he said earnestly. “I’m here. I can fight for you.”

  Adeline looked at him. Abruptly, he noticed, tears had formed, filling her brown eyes. He watched in mute shock as one tracked its way down her cheek, silently, its wetness leaving a trail like rain on a china vase.

  “Milady,” he said, reaching clumsily into his sleeve. He had a handkerchief there. He held it out. She flinched as he touched her cheek. He tensed, his hand stopping.

  “I’m alright,” she said. She lifted her hand and, very gently but insistently, laid it over his, where he held the handkerchief to her cheek. He let her take it from him, the touch of her cool, pale fingertips making his body ache with longing.

  “Lass,” he said, knowing it was the wrong word but too distressed to change, “I cannae abide tae see ye so sad.”

  Adeline looked up at him sadly. Her tears ran silently down her cheek. Her mouth lifted at the corners, twisting in irony.

  “You know,” she said, looking down. “I think you’re the only man who ever said that to me.”

  “No!” Alexander was horrified. “Lass!” he stared at her. “Lass, who’d want tae make ye sad? Why would they? It’s no’ natural, when ye feel love.”

  Adeline’s lip twitched. She sniffed.

  “Well, mayhap nobody loved me before,” she said in a small voice. “No man, anyhow.”

  “Lass…no!” Alexander was horrified. He reached out to take her hand, but she was already twisting away from him.

  “Please, go, Alex,” she said. Her voice sounded agonized. He reached out to take her hand. Hers clasped his. He nodded.

  “Lass…”

  “Please,” she said. “I will be safe. I promise. Please, go now? I cannot bear to think of him and what he’d do, were he to find you.”

  “I’d give him a fight,” he said, lip lifting in a grin.

  She smiled, somewhat sadly. “I’m sure you would,” she agreed. “I’ll miss you, Alexander,” she said gently. “Burrell.”

  He grinned. “I’ll miss you too, milady,” he said. “Ye’re the only one as calls me Burrell, after all.”

  She grinned back. In that moment, under the cloudy sky, the grin was like a ray of light.

  Then, turning away from him, she hurried back towards the open door of the kitchen.

  “Stay close to the house,” she said. “Take the back path out of the grounds. The cart that delivers the vegetables comes tomorrow. You can take it as far as the farm. There, you can find passage to Duncliffe. Let Lady Marguerite, the countess, know I sent you.”

  “Thanks, milady,” Alexander made himself say. His throat was tight. Was he weeping? He cuffed at his face, feeling annoyed. He had cried too many tears to fail to hide them now.

  “Goodbye, Burrell,” she said, her soft lips twisting in a smile.

  He was weeping, now, too much to hide. He felt a slow tear trickle down his cheek, and reached up to brush it off. He swallowed hard. She looked so small and sad, she who was so grand and strong. He wished he could do something – anything – to help her to find her strength again.

  “Take care tae have some tatties saved up,” he called to her retreating back. “I’ll be wanting’ more of that soup whenever I next stop off here.”

  Adeline turned and her lips twisted in a smile.

  “I’ll be sure to have potatoes,” she called.

  “Ta, milady!”

  She twisted hastily away and he turned his back, needing to hide his tears.

  Blindly, he found his walking stick and hurried to the stables.

  “That’s a fine state of things,” he murmured, sitting down on a straw bale. What was he supposed to do, till morning?

  If I stay out here in the stables, it’ll be cold. And then I might die of fever.

  He sighed. That was no real option. However, what else could he do? An idea struck him. He could sneak in with the help of Barra’s knowledge. If he just stayed walking about in the corridor all night, nobody would ever think to look for him there. It would be warmer than the stable. Then he could just slip out when the cart arrived tomorrow.


  “That’s a fine plan.”

  He was about to stand up and execute it – slow as his motions were – when he heard a sound. Somebody was coming into the stables.

  How much should I bet that it’s him?

  He pressed himself against the wall and listened. The person was clearly a tall man – he could hear the heavy, even footfall. He leaned back, closed his eyes, to limit the shine off the whites. If he just stayed very still, barely breathed, nobody would see him.

  “I know you’re in here,” Tam’s voice said levelly. “If you are, I need to speak to you. You needn’t come out, if you don’t care to trust me. I need to tell you, though – Mama is in need of help.”

  He stepped forward. “Aye, lad,” he said. “I know.”

  Tam’s dark gaze held his. The eyes were a different shape to Adeline’s, more heavy-lidded, with a wide, earnest expression in them – but there was something about the lad that made him think, heart-achingly, of his mother.

  “I know you and my mother trust each other,” Tam said softly.

  He chuckled. “Well, I trust her, at any rate. With my life,” he added, feeling the tug of his wound, and recalling again how Adeline had helped him.

  “That’s good,” Tam said softly. “And Mama needs people she can trust now.”

  “I didnae say she trusts me, lad,” Alexander cautioned.

  “Nevertheless,” Tam held up a hand. “I know you to be trustworthy. I want to ask you – if I sent you a message, could you help us?”

  Alexander tensed. “Depends what you mean, lad,” he said. “I mean, I’d try, of course, but wouldn’t sending a message be risky?”

  “I wouldn’t write it down,” Tam said quickly.

  Alexander wondered if that was because he thought he couldn’t read. He wanted to smile. He could read, though it had taken Father Fergal the best part of a year to knock it into his six-year-old, recalcitrant head. He bit back a grin, remembering.

  “Well, then, you could send something?” Alexander ventured.

  “I’d send this,” Tam said, reaching into his sleeve. He drew out a dagger.

  Fine and steel-wrought, with an edge like a whisper, the thing made Alexander’s eyes stretch wide. It was a magnificent weapon, forged in Spain, most likely, of Toledo steel. A wicked thing with a blade as thin as his small finger and almost as long as his forearm, it was a weapon of fluid grace.

  “Lad, ye cannae give me…”

  “I was given this by my grandfather,” Tam interrupted, his voice stony. “It is for me to give it as I would. And I want you to have it. If the dagger arrives at Duncliffe, it means I want you to come here. It would mean that we – Mama and I – need you to help us. In the most drastic manner.”

  Alexander stared at him. Wordless, the request spoke volumes. Tam was asking him to kill on his behalf.

  “Lad,” Alexander said, mouth like sandpaper. “You don’t think…”

  “I don’t know what to think,” Tam said slowly. “Uncle is a man quite capable of the most ruthless actions, and I cannot underestimate him.”

  “So, you say,” Alexander nodded. His mouth was dry.

  “If I send this, it will mean the worst has happened,” Tam said quietly. “And I want you to come with all haste. Can I trust you?”

  Alexander nodded. His throat was too tight to speak.

  “I am glad my mother found you,” Tam said. “She needs somebody to trust.”

  Alexander nodded. “So am I. Though I dinnae ken if she should trust me.”

  “I do.”

  They looked at each other. Alexander found himself staring into black eyes that seemed so much older than sixteen years. He swallowed and nodded slowly.

  “Thanks, lad,” he said.

  “I trust you,” Tam said simply.

  “I ken,” Alexander said. “That’s why I thanked ye.”

  Tam held his gaze. Alexander felt as if some of the shame he’d carried since Brenna’s death shifted, dissolving slowly away again. There was no condemnation in those eyes, rather, Tam seemed to see into the very heart of him, and sense some inherent goodness.

  “Go safely, then,” Tam said. “Good traveling.”

  Alexander nodded. His throat was too tight for words.

  “Aye,” he managed to say after a swallowing a few times, heavily. “And I wish all blessings on ye, and on your mother.”

  “Thank you,” Tam said. “I am glad to have them, and, I am sure, she is.”

  Alexander turned hurriedly away. When he looked back, Tam had already gone, striding back into the dark.

  When he had gone, Alexander leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. He had a harder task ahead of him than simply slipping quietly away, it seemed. He had a mission. What was more, he had a faint flicker of pride. Somebody had trusted him.

  MAKING PLANS

  The hallway was silent. The only sound in the whole drawing room was the steady tick of the mantel clock, sounding like slow death. Adeline thought that, if she didn’t hear another sound soon, she would go mad.

  “Shall I fetch more tea?”

  Tam sat down opposite her, reaching for the pot. Adeline felt her heart leap. She was so pleased to see him!

  She felt her hands unclasp, unaware that they’d been tightly clasped on her skirt.

  “No, thanks, Tam,” she said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I just came in from riding,” Tam said. He twisted his neck, wincing as it clicked. “I came back as soon as I could.”

  “I know,” she soothed.

  It was unfair of her to make Tam feel as if she couldn’t do without him. She knew that, but it was hard to hide her tension. McGuide had been in the house two days. For the most part, she’d managed to avoid him all day, passing vague and polite conversation at dinner and trying to ignore his rash, countrified manners.

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen somebody so unrefined.

  Her mother was a gentlewoman from Edinburgh, and Adeline had been raised in gentle surroundings, with an eye for delicate things. She was utterly unprepared for this man’s rough and ready manners. He came from some remote barony in the Highlands, and he ate and spoke and gestured, to her mind, like a peasant.

  The servants, it seemed, were also terrified of him. In the last two days, the manor had gone from a cheerful, industrious hub of countryside life to a quiet, hushed prison cell. Barra was silent and the cook went wordlessly about her duties. Only McInnes seemed unchanged.

  “You went riding with Mr. Miller?” she asked.

  “I did,” her son nodded. “We went up to the boundary wall. I heard from Mr. Knott, the shepherd, that they need the wall of the sheep fold repaired.”

  “McInnes should have sent the wood up there already,” Adeline frowned. “We had that report two weeks ago.”

  That was odd. She could have sworn she’d ordered six oak logs sent up there. She could almost remember counting out the coins for them.

  “Milady?” Barra appeared in the doorway, her pale face stiff. “Milord…um, that is to say, Laird McGuide, craved a word wi’ ye.”

  Adeline stared at her. Her heart, which had been fluttering in her chest, started to thud in terror. She swallowed, but her mouth was dry. Her eyes went to Tam, who had shifted on the seat, about to rise.

  “I’ll come with you,” he said.

  “No, Tam,” she said, waving a hand to indicate that he should settle himself. “I’ll be faster on my own.”

  If McGuide spoke harshly to her, Tam would speak out in her defense, and then, who knew where it would end? The threat of violence between the two of them was like an invisible wall. Adeline was not going to let anything happen that would risk it tumbling down and crushing her son.

  “You are certain, Mama..?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Standing, she walked to the door. She felt as if she moved in a dream. Her legs were stilted, unresponsive as leaden weights, and yet she glided through the hallway as if not under her own control.


  “He’s in the parlor, milady.”

  “Thank you, Barra.”

  Her maid cast a worried look at her, and Adeline held her brown-eyed gaze. She was glad of the unspoken support. With a glance down at her brown velvet skirts, twitching them into place over the toe of her day boots, she walked briskly into the parlor.

  “Milady Adeline.”

  The settee creaked as McGuide stood. Tall and burly, he seemed to dominate the small, well-decorated room. Adeline tensed. She was not going to let herself be made afraid. Not in her own home. It was hard not to be frightened, though, when this man was trying so hard to threaten her.

  “Yes, Lord McGuire?” she asked, keeping her voice level.

  “I came here with one purpose, milady,” he said. “And ye have nae given me a time to air it.” He frowned.

  “I have not stopped you from airing anything you choose to.”

  “Ha!” he barked a laugh. Those pale eyes widened. “You twist and turn and talk about the weather, every time I sit down at the table! Ye think I have nae noted how ye evade me?”

  “I treat you with the same courtesy I would treat any guest,” she said. “Making conversation is good manners.”

  “Aye,” he said. He stepped forward, forcing her to step back. She retreated back toward the small inglenook. “Ye treat me like a guest, alright,” he spat. “But I’m no ordinary guest. I’m a suitor. And a man with scant time on his hands. Ye owe me an answer. When’s it being done?”

  “When is what being done?”

  He laughed, seemingly genuinely amused. “The troth! When do we plight the troth?” he chuckled. “I’m a man filled with impatience. And it’s been many a year since I was wed. And ye’re a fine lass. Ye’re far too fine-looking for me tae want tae wait.”

  Adeline stared in horror. “You mean…you expect me to marry you? Now?”

  He glared at her. “And so, if I do?” he questioned. “What? Is that so terrible? You dinnae want that?” his voice was tight with insult.

  “It’s too soon…” she demurred.

  He cut her off.

  “Ye think ye’re tae good to look at the likes of me, eh? Is that it?” His eyes were wide and bloodshot, and she realized that he clearly had some insecurity. The Baron Danstone, he was nonetheless from a distant and uncivilized part of the country, so different to the many others he must have met in his circles. He was neither allied to the English, nor directly involved in the rebellion. He was an outsider, a man enmeshed in another time.