A Gypsy in Scotland (MacCallan Clan Book 1)

by Tanya Wilde

  Hugh shrugged. “The many outweigh the few.”

  “That’s idiocy,” Lash snapped, suddenly furious at Honoria’s family for not taking her wishes into account. But he’d have to deal with that later—they were wasting precious time. “But not important at this moment. We must find her.”

  The Highlander clenched his jaw. “If she left the castle, she’ll be on her hill, sulking. You know, the one where she found you.”

  “Hugh,” Isla chastened with a slight arch of her brow. She stepped up to Lash. “Do you get these feelings often?”

  Lash wanted to growl for them to point in the direction of the hill, had he thought they’d act more expeditiously. He’d have to explain as best he could or they might dismiss his intuition as madness.

  He forced his panic down deep, but could not keep the grim tone from his voice. “Only three times: right before I learned Syeira followed me, moments before my brother stabbed me, and the third—now. A sense of dread unfurls in my gut, warning something bad is about to happen to me or someone I . . .”

  Love.

  He pushed the astonishing revelation aside, forced his mind to focus and remain sharp, free of distraction.

  “. . . I’ve formed a bond with.”

  A weighty second stretched into another.

  “Is that so?” The Highlander’s steely voice splintered the silence. “What sort of bond would that be?”

  “Honoria saved my life,” Lash pointed out. “There is no greater bond than that.”

  Find her.

  The impulse tore the breath from his lungs. If anything happened to her . . . his future spread out before him like a lifeless void.

  He shut his eyes against it.

  He should have left MacCallan Castle the day Danior had made his appearance. He should never have stayed. But leaving Honoria behind did not feel right. It felt a thousand ways wrong.

  A door slammed in the distance, followed by the rush of footsteps. Lash’s eyes snapped open.

  “Honoria,” Isla murmured.

  But no.

  A dour Mr. Ross strode into the room, jaw clenched, eyes flashing fire. “Lady Honoria has been taken.”

  Chapter 18

  Honoria tested the bonds tied about her wrists and grimaced. Pins and needles feathered across her palm. At least they had bound her in a chair beside the hearth, the warmth of a crackling fire offering a measure of comfort. However, it also made her feel like a sheep going off to slaughter.

  Danior, a loathsome man if she’d ever come across one, loomed over her with glittering eyes. That ought to have intimidated her. It did not.

  Fury reigned at that moment.

  Anger at her foolishness. Anger at Lash. Anger at her brothers. But mostly, anger at these six good-for-nothing men, who embodied the reason her brothers were so protective, and would be the singular reason they locked her away.

  But beneath all her anger and worry, fear festered—fear for what was coming.

  And what was coming was Lash.

  And with him, his death.

  How could I have been so foolish?

  Danior’s cold eyes bore into her, cruelty swirling in their depth. A shudder of apprehension stole over her. Honoria held her ground. She refused to show fear. Instead she clung to her anger.

  “I never thought I’d see the day a gadji saved a Rom,” he said. “Put quite a wrinkle in my plan.”

  “I do not take your meaning, sir.”

  “You saved my brother.”

  She lifted a haughty chin. “I have never met your brother.”

  “Little liar.” Dark eyes searched her face. “The real question, I suppose, is where you found him.”

  Honoria narrowed her eyes and returned his courtesy by allowing her gaze to travel down the length of him and back up, taking stock of his lean build, dirty clothing and the frosty pull of his lips.

  She wrinkled her nose. “When did you last bathe?”

  His lips thinned. “You are brazen, little girl, I’ll give you that. Be glad I have use for you.”

  Honoria arched a brow and thought quickly. There seemed little point in continuing her charade of ignorance. He did not believe her, convinced that she’d saved Lash. And since Hugh and Lash would search for her, and prove him right, she could spend her time more productively, like taunting him or better yet, misdirecting him.

  “Danior Ruthven,” she announced, catching the surprise that registered in his eyes. “You have paved quite a trail through our countryside, and for nothing, I hear. You brother is long gone.”

  He took an aggressive step forward. “You are lying.”

  Honoria shrugged. She hadn’t cowered before him yet. She wouldn’t now. “We Highlanders are wary of strangers. Our aid ended the moment we learned your brother, like you, was a gypsy. After which, your brother vanished. But you, you have gathered quite the reputation for being unwelcome in the North.”

  “Do not forget you are at my mercy,” he growled.

  “Och, I am indeed aware of that, Mr. Ruthven. But you have made a grave mistake this day.” She managed a tight smile. “It is not your brother that will come for me, but mine.”

  “You think some lofty gadjo scare me?”

  She shrugged. “They will once you realize by abducting me, you have cost you and your men their lives.”

  The men erupted into laughter at her wild threat.

  “Laugh all you wish,” Honoria said, somewhat annoyed. “But mark my words, if I perish, you will all perish right alongside me.”

  Danior lowered his face until it was mere inches away from hers. His putrid breath curled up in her nose. “While I don’t doubt that, little girl, I do doubt your claim that my brother is long gone. I have it on good authority that he is exactly where you say he is not.”

  “You are misinformed.”

  His lips stretched into a sly, evil-looking grin.

  Lawd, how unholy.

  He straightened. “Touching, how you persist in protecting my brother. But here’s the thing, almost anyone will betray confidence when the purse is hefty enough.”

  “Almost anyone will tell a tall tale if it means a hefty purse,” Honoria countered.

  “True, but we Rom make for good spies, and Marco over there,” his head jerked to a man with a boyish, but still hard look about him, “told me an interesting tale about an auburn haired little girl tangled up with my brother in the stables.” He reached out to toy with a loose tendril of her hair. “You.”

  They had seen her and Lash kiss?

  Och that did not bode well. Could she deny it and claim disgust at the idea? She doubted she could lie that well. Even recalling it . . .

  Stop!

  Honoria tried not to blush. But when he laughed, a demon cackle, she knew she had failed miserably. Were her hands not tied so tightly, they might have trembled before boxing that smug look right off his face.

  Her curl slipped from his grasp, and he took a step back, studying her with a sudden gleam in his eyes. “My brother took up with a gadji. I never thought I’d see that day, either.”

  She said nothing, simply narrowed her eyes at him.

  “I suppose it should not have come as much of a shock,” he carried on, his smile not quite reaching his eyes, “Like mother, like son.”

  Honoria’s eyes widened.

  Like mother like son?

  “What do you mean she’s gone?” The Highlander demanded.

  “Six men on horseback cornered her south of the property border,” Ross explained.

  Something dark swirled inside Lash, and he inwardly cursed. His every muscle pulled taut as rage dug its claws into his chest. He had never lived through such hopeless fury and nagging fear as in that moment.

  Danior.

  The rat bastard.

  “You allowed her to ride when I explicitly expressed no one is to leave the castle?” Hugh exploded.

  “She promised to stay on the property but left before I could saddle my horse to accompany her. I foun
d her in time to witness her capture.”

  Lash stared down at his hands. They trembled.

  The fault lay at his feet. He had suspected his brother had not believed Honoria’s denial. He should have left then, but he had let his guard down. Again.

  Only this time Honoria’s life was in danger.

  He had to save her. Return her home. Had to hear her voice and glimpse her smile one more time. It was a raw need within him. And after Danior was dispatched of, assuming Lash survived the encounter, he would cut all ties.

  “I cannot believe this!” Hugh exploded. “Is there anyone in this bloody country who listens to me? Why the hell didn’t you come and get me the moment she left?”

  “I was afraid to let her out of my sight,” Ross answered, his face grim. “I followed them to a cottage about an hour’s ride from the castle.”

  “Dammit! I told her to stay out of sight. I told her to stay inside.” His flinty eyes turned on Lash. “This is your fault, Ruthven.”

  Lash did not deny it.

  “That’s enough, Hugh,” Isla said, her gaze flicking between the men, lingering on Ross in particular. “Casting blame won’t get Honoria back. We must come up with a plan.”

  “There is no plan,” Lash finally found the voice to speak. He would die before he allowed anything to happen to Honoria. The choice was simple. “I will trade myself for her.”

  “And then what? Die?” Hugh demanded. “That is no plan at all, which makes it the dumbest one I’ve ever heard.”

  “Hugh is right, Mr. Ruthven,” Isla said. “Dying is not a plan.”

  “There is no other choice,” Lash insisted. It was his life for Honoria’s. That was the only way Danior would let her go.

  “No one is dying on my watch,” Hugh declared. “No matter how eager you may be to leap to your death.”

  “My brother will not let her go any other way. My life is worth less than hers.”

  “While I heartily agree,” Hugh said, casting him a dark look even as Isla swatted at him in indignation, “the lass will never leave without you. If you haven’t noticed, my sister is stubborn to the bone. Think about that.”

  “There are six of them and two of us,” Lash bit out. “How else do you propose we dispatch of them?”

  “Three against six,” Ross said. “I’m a decent shot.”

  “Four against six,” Isla declared. All three men protested at once, but she merely folded her arms over her chest. “I’m a better shot than Hugh.”

  “You are not,” Hugh growled.

  “I am so much better than you.”

  “Being a good shot and taking a life are two different matters,” Ross insisted. “It is best if you remain at the castle.”

  “Then I won’t shoot anyone. You can draw the men out while I sneak inside and set Honoria free.”

  “Nay,” Hugh growled.

  Isla placed her hands on her hips. “She is my sister too. I am going along, no matter what you say. Have you learned nothing of why she left in the first place? You can either let me join you or I will follow by myself.”

  “I vote for locking the lass up,” Ross growled.

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  Ross clenched his teeth, but said nothing, leaving Lash to wonder what precisely was going on between those two. The last thing he wanted was Honoria’s sister near danger, but if the women were anything alike, they’d waste precious time arguing the matter.

  “I would agree with Ross,” Hugh muttered. “But I wouldn’t put it past my sister to find a way to follow us anyway.”

  “Then we are agreed?” Isla asked.

  “Aye, but you stay out of harm’s way,” Hugh said sternly, waiting until she gave a reluctant nod.

  Lash speared his fingers through his hair. He didn’t want any of them in harm’s way, felt an odd sense of affection for the MacCallan brood. Granted, living under the same roof as them was like accepting shelter in a bird’s nest while a gale raged all around them. Most days, only Honoria’s presence calmed the storm. But he still felt a fellowship to them all.

  A sudden idea formed in his mind.

  Danior was only as strong as his bond to his men, just as powerful as the loyalty of the men at his back. That loyalty was strenuous at best. They were not men of their old tribe, but common Roma bandits—Romas without a tribe.

  His gaze flicked over Hugh, Isla, and Ross.

  He had a tribe.

  An unexpected but loyal tribe.

  “We require more men,” Lash said. He brushed his hands through his disheveled hair. “At least a dozen, loyal, so there is no mistaking we have the upper hand.”

  “I have four hands at the ready,” Ross offered.

  Hugh scratched his chin. “About five footmen are roaming somewhere about the castle, but they are not fighters.”

  “They don’t need to fight,” Lash remarked. “They only need to look as though they can.”

  “How unfortunate we are short a gardener,” Isla muttered.

  Hugh groaned. “Do not start, lass, I beg you.”

  Lash shook his head at them, looking to Ross. The man had a pained expression on his face. “So, three of us and nine servants.”

  Ross nodded. “Twelve in total.”

  “Thirteen,” Isla corrected.

  Lash nodded. “Good, let us go and bring Honoria back.”

  Chapter 19

  Fear does not make for a good companion, Honoria thought as she watched Danior, pistol in hand, pace the length of the cottage, his agitated steps dragging from one end to the other. Fear finally ruled her, summoned by the Rom’s dance of impatience.

  Part of her reasoned that she need not fear for her life, as killing her would mean losing his advantage. But reason did not seem to matter. Fear had sunk its claws into her mind, knocking all other thoughts aside.

  But fear was good, Honoria told herself. It served as the body’s way to signal danger—a precious reminder not to do anything foolhardy—like contemplate a reckless attempt to escape.

  Which of course she’d done. Which of course she was still doing. Because she was Honoria MacCallan.

  Her eyes traveled over Danior, watching him drag a pistoled hand along the side of his face. Restless. To give this villain his due, he was a scary man, and for all her earlier bluster, he terrified her—specifically, what would happen when his patience finally snapped.

  Plan. Escape. Triumph.

  The first point of action? Freeing her hands. Also, arguably, the hardest part. But no reward came without risk. Honoria gathered her courage and cleared her throat, drawing the eyes of one of the band members.

  “I’m in need of the privy.”

  The man looked to Danior, who pulled his lip in distaste. “Can’t it wait?”

  “Not unless you want your sensibilities offended.”

  One of the men chuckled but swiftly silenced by a death glare from Danior. To Honoria’s relief, Danior nodded to one of his men, who moved to untie her hands.

  Och, it worked!

  “Come on,” the man growled, yanking her up by the arm.

  Her eyes flicked to the rest of the band, nary a muscle twitching. Only one of them would chaperone her? Their lack of confidence in her capabilities was inspiring.

  The Rom had splendidly underestimated her.

  “Must you be so barbaric?” Honoria muttered as she followed the man to the door. The moment an opportunity presented itself, she’d make a run for it. Her mind leaped ahead; deliberating how to convince the man to turn his back long enough while she escaped.

  “You took up with a barbarian,” Danior taunted after her.

  Honoria snorted, momentarily distracted from her plan, and glanced over her shoulder to the beast. “Your brother is much more civilized than you.”

  “Our very existence denies that term.” His laughter held a chilling note of menace. “But then his father was nothing but a bastard gadjo.”

  Her eyes widened. Lash and Danior were half-brothers? She blinke
d back the shock. Did Lash know? Why hadn’t he told them? Nay, had he known, he would not have hidden the truth from them.

  Something felt off.

  Danior felt off.

  What twisted game was he playing with his brother?

  She searched his gaze. In their depth, she caught a glimpse of his dark, twisted soul. How dare the brute use a superior tone when speaking of his brother? He would never be better than Lash, no matter the circumstances of his birth.

  “The only bastard here is you,” Honoria said.

  The grating sound of his evil cackle filled the cottage. She opened her mouth to blast him with a creative retort, so provoked she almost missed the Rom dragging her by the arm had yanked the door wide and froze mid-step.

  Honoria turned to look at what had spooked him.

  And swallowed her gasp.

  There was no time to think, only act. Honoria twisted sharply from his grasp, taking advantage of her guard’s initial shock, and dashed from the cottage.

  “Get her!” Danior roared from within, and Honoria pressed her legs as fast as they would go.

  Several of the two dozen men surrounding the cottage spurned their horses forward when the band came pouring out after her, only to stop dead in their tracks.

  They were surrounded.

  Lash.

  He was there, looking magnificent atop one of their stallions, Balthazar. Honoria had never seen a more welcome sight. He spurred the horse to meet her, somehow looking twice his size, flanked by Hugh and Mr. Ross.

  He didn’t wait for the horse to halt before dismounting, neither did Honoria hesitate. She flung herself into his arms, her heart stuttering when his arms closed around her and held tight.

  “Honoria,” he breathed and buried his face in her hair.

  All her anger fled.

  “That was rather anticlimactic,” Hugh drawled from atop his horse. “I imagined more of a fight.”

  Honoria shut her eyes, drawing in a deep breath. Lash’s scent wrapped around her like soft, flowing silk. Nothing about this day was anticlimactic.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice low and shaken. He drew back slightly to peer down at her. “Did my brother hurt you?”