by Tanya Wilde
“My pride, mostly,” she admitted. “They only bound me to a chair.”
He inhaled sharply, and an animal growl ripped from his throat. Startled by the depth of his fury, his concern, she searched his face. His countenance was dark, the anger that marked his features giving him an almost feral appearance.
He pulled back to grasp her wrist gently in his palms, examining them methodically, stiffening when he saw the red welts on her wrists. He traced a finger over the bruises. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Aye, I will help you.”
Lash did not want to let her go. He wanted to hold her for an entire lifetime. A thousand lifetimes. The way she was staring at him, like he was her hero, he wanted to freeze them in that moment forever, so the glow would never vanish from her face.
But he had to deal with his brother.
He had to find his sister.
He had to keep her safe.
And he had to break that look into pieces to do so.
Reluctantly, he set her behind him and faced his older brother. Time had not done Danior justice. Two years separated their birth, yet the sharp creases carved into his brother’s skin gave him the appearance of being in his late thirties rather than thirty.
“What a blessed reunion,” Danior sneered. “How long must you remain the bane of my existence?”
“Not for much longer. It’s over.”
“It will never be over. You and your gadjo friends won’t stop me, phral.”
“Why?” Lash demanded. “What is my life worth to you?”
“Your half-breed existence has brought shame to our family from the moment of your birth.” The last was spat out like a vile curse. “I never understood why my father kept you as long as he did.”
Half-breed.
“What are you talking about?” Lash snapped. “What game are you playing now?”
Behind him, Honoria inhaled sharply.
“Your eyes, phral, are green. Everyone knew the moment you were born you were a half-breed bastard.” Danior’s features hardened into a mask of resentment. “Mother shamed our family with her infidelity.”
“No,” Lash breathed, heart in his throat. “I don’t believe you.”
“She was punished for adultery by being cast from the tribe for three full moons. But later, when Syeira was born with the same green eyes, too, Mother was banished forever.”
“If that is true, why keep it a secret? Why raise us?” Lash challenged. Danior was lying, playing a twisted game. He must be.
“Have you not heard the tales of a woman crying as her infant was ripped from her arms?” Bitterness curled Danior’s mouth. “As punishment for his inability to control her, father was forced to keep you and Syeira even though you weren’t his offspring.”
It hurt to breathe. “Mother perished in childbirth.”
“A fabrication meant to keep you from seeking out your parents,” Danior spat. “A fit punishment for your existence, half-breed.”
His mother was alive.
So was his birth father.
Had been all these years.
The ground shifted beneath his feet. He was going to be sick.
A steady hand touched his back.
Honoria.
He breathed her name into his soul. He could find the strength to stand firm against his brother’s harsh words as long as she was at his side.
“It was hypocrisy that we were cast from the tribe simply for beating you, a half-breed. It was an injustice to father and me. So I intend to snuff you out, along with the living, breathing shame that brought ruin to our family, and demand to regain our rightful place in the tribe.”
“And what about Syeira?” Lash demanded. “Do you plan to take her life, as well?”
“Syeira will be married off,” Danior sneered. “At least she will serve a purpose that way.”
Fury ripped through his gut.
He and Danior were half-brothers. Uriah wasn’t his father.
They had separated him and Syeira from their rightful family. Had hidden the truth from them. They weren’t full-blooded Rom. Gadjo blood ran through their veins. His veins. There was tremendous relief in that knowledge, as well as bone-gutting torment.
“Over my corpse will you come within viewing distance of her,” Lash growled.
“We’ll see,” Danior drawled.
“Let’s kill the bastard,” Hugh growled, dismounting and stepping up beside Lash. “I vote for gutting him.”
Lash’s gaze narrowed on his half-brother. “I’m not planning on dying anytime soon.” He motioned to Hugh’s men. “You, on the other hand, have overstayed your welcome.”
“You can’t run me off forever.”
“We are not running you off,” Hugh announced. “We are handing you over to the authorities, who have been notified and are on their way.”
“You will rot in prison where you belong,” Lash growled.
Danior’s eyes whipped back to him, and for the first time in his brother’s life, Danior’s mask slipped. “Do you think they’ll care that I stabbed a half-breed like you?”
“Nay, you vile beastie,” Isla said, trotting forward, eliciting a curse from Ross, who spurred his horse after hers. “But they will care that you kidnapped the sister of the Duke of Roxburgh.”
“Aye,” Honoria said, stepping around Lash. “They will care a great deal that you kidnapped me.”
“This is the end, phral,” Lash drawled. “Pray I never lay eyes on you again.”
Chapter 20
Honoria had never felt so happy to see MacCallan Castle. In fact, she was so overwhelmed by relief at that moment, she wondered if she’d ever want to leave its protection again. It seemed impossible to fathom that mere hours had passed since villainous brigands abducted her.
She settled more firmly into Lash’s embrace, drawing in his warmth, exhaustion tugging at her eyelids.
Hugh hadn’t made a single protest when Lash had lifted her onto Balthazar and mounted behind her, but a small smile had danced on his lips. Honoria had been too tired to ask what that was about.
Before they left, the men had rounded up Danior and his band, securing them in the cottage while they waited for the authorities. The footmen and groomsmen had all stayed behind to ensure none of them escaped, with the exception of Mr. Ross, who had returned with them.
The hour home was somber, everyone—especially Lash—deeply entrenched in their own thoughts. Honoria did not blame him. That his entire life was based on a lie must have come as quite a shock.
Selfish panic fluttered up against her belly.
Lash would leave now that he discovered his parents were alive and together somewhere. And there was the matter of finding his sister, too. It was understandable, inevitable.
Unless . . . Unless she could convince him to stay and conduct his search from here—at her side, if not, demand he let her accompany him so that she may aid in his search for his family—at his side.
“Well, this is most disturbing,” Hugh’s petulant voice broke the spell of silence.
“What?” Lash’s chest rumbled at her back.
“Our brothers are home.”
Honoria shot upright, Lash’s arms tightening around her.
As if to emphasize Hugh’s observation, eight thunderous highlanders, arms folded and legs apart, stood at the castle entrance to greet their party.
“What the hell is going on here?” Adair’s low voice was only slightly more alarming than his flushed cheeks. His eyes raked over Lash, noted how his arms enfolded Honoria. His jaw clenched. Hard. “Who the hell is that?”
Hugh sighed. “Brothers, meet Lash Ruthven.”
All eyes turned to Lash.
Honoria held her breath. She knew what her brothers saw—a man with the makings of a beast. Lash was big, foreign, his black hair disheveled and the scent of horse and sweat clung to him. And she was cocooned in his arms.
“This is the injured man you found?” Boyd asked.
Hugh nod
ded. “Honoria’s healing saved him.”
“You lodged this stranger in our home?” Callum growled, a scowl darkening his brow.
“Should I have readied the barn?” Hugh retorted, appearing completely unfazed by their anger. “Why would I do that when your bed was available?”
Callum’s face mottled red at that.
“Someone better tell us what the hell is going on,” Lachlan snapped, his gaze narrowing on Honoria. “You are obviously at the center of all this.”
“Aye,” Adair growled. “Why are you riding with this man and not on your horse?”
Behind her, Lash shifted, his hold around her waist never loosening.
“I was kidnapped by a band of brigands, if you must know,” Honoria announced. Her brothers were going to be difficult no matter how they explained the situation.
“And we were the rescue party,” Isla chirped, sitting proudly astride her horse.
“What?” Several voices exploded at once.
When they quieted, Adair spoke. “Let me see if I have this right.” Glowing eyes turned to Hugh. “We leave you in charge for a fortnight and return to find you harbored a stranger in our home, let Honoria get abducted, and took Isla on the rescue.”
“Were you in your cups the entire bloody time?” Callum demanded, hands fisting.
“Only half of it,” Hugh taunted.
Honoria slanted her brother a pained look. To Adair, she said, “Hugh was here, you were not, and under the circumstances, we did the best we could. No one was harmed, and for once in our lives, fearful though it was, something thrilling happened.”
Those were the wrong words.
Adair looked ready to explode.
Hugh raked a hand through his hair. “I told you heads would roll, lass.”
“Heads are going to roll,” Kieran snapped. “You dragged Isla into danger to save Honoria from it.”
“I am more than capable of taking care of myself,” Isla defended. “And I insisted on accompanying them.”
“Where are the servants?” Duncan asked. “The castle is all but deserted.”
Honoria pinched the bridge of her nose.
Och, this was a mess.
Though Lash’s refusal to take her to Edinburgh still caused a dull ache in her heart, she better understood his logic now. This was her brothers’ reactions after she and Isla were safely back at the castle. She still didn’t care about her reputation, but dealing with them in that situation . . . She shuddered at the thought of it.
“They are keeping watch over the brigands until the authorities arrive,” Hugh said.
“Perhaps we should retire inside,” Duncan suggested when Adair’s face turned purple. He eyed Lash and Honoria. “And then you can start from the beginning.”
“Aye, perhaps that will give us answers,” Boyd barked.
Lash dismounted and reached out to set Honoria on her feet. She cast him a reassuring look as her brothers turned and headed inside. There were so many things she wanted to say to him. But even as the words formed on her lips, Kieran barked, “Inside. All of you. Now.”
Once over the threshold, Lash spoke for the first time. “Honoria saved my life after finding me wounded on a hill. They were not aware men were seeking me at the time.”
Adair’s blazing eyes settled on Honoria. “Would that be the same hill where you sat on the day we departed?”
“Aye,” Honoria quipped. “And to think, I wouldn’t have been there if I’d been with you.”
Gregor stepped forward when Adair growled. “Let’s—”
“So the men who took Honoria were the men after Ruthven?” Lachlan demanded.
“Yes,” Lash said.
“But why take Honoria?” Lachlan growled, eyeing Lash in a way Honoria did not like.
“To leverage her for him,” Adair guessed with a jerk of his head.
Eight curses burned Honoria’s ears.
“Do not dare blame Lash for this,” Honoria snapped. “It was an impossible situation.”
“Honoria . . .” Lash murmured.
“See how they are on first names with each other,” Kieran said to Lachlan.
“Aye, I do not like it,” Lachlan agreed, his eyes raking Lash with a harsh stare. “What is my sister to you?”
“I am standing right here,” Honoria snapped.
“Aye, and you have lost whatever good sense you had left,” Boyd said. “Or we would not be having this conversation.”
Honoria glared at her brother.
“As I’ve said, she saved my life,” Lash said more forcefully. “I owe her a great debt.”
“And how did she do that, gypsy?” Callum demanded. “How did she save your life?”
“In your bed, Highlander.”
Hugh burst into laughter.
Callum’s reaction was instant. Honoria cried out in warning as her brother shot forward, but before his fist connected with Lash, Duncan and Kieran surged ahead and grabbed him by the arms, hauling him back.
Honoria groaned, casting Lash an aggrieved look. “Did you have to go and say something like that?”
“Christ, Ruthven. You’ve got balls,” Hugh remarked. He turned towards the restrained Callum. “What the Rom meant, brother, was that he has been occupying your bed while he recovered.”
“She nursed him back to health with herbs, Callum,” Isla said with a huff. “You men are such hotheads! And it’s not Mr. Ruthven’s fault the very devil possesses his half-brother.”
“Half-brother?” Gregor whistled.
“Rom?” Adair demanded.
Lash sighed.
“This seems like a story best heard over a drink, I think,” Duncan said.
“Aye, I want an explanation from the gypsy,” Adair growled.
“Leave the man alone,” Hugh said, stepping forward. All eyes turned to him. “You left me in charge, Adair. If you take issue with anything that happened while you were gone, you can take it up with me.”
“We will,” Adair snapped. “I should have never left you in charge.”
“Nay,” Hugh said, shaking his head. “I am as capable of looking after our sisters as you are.”
The two brothers glared at each other.
“Adair, let it go,” Duncan said, his voice low. “As much as what happened pains me, our little brother took care of it.”
“Should have taken the lasses with us,” Boyd murmured. “At least then we could’ve contained whatever trouble they stirred.”
“Och, now you want to take me with you,” Honoria’s voice dripped with acid. She cast her brother a dark look. “If I’d known stirring up trouble while you were away was all it would take for you to take me to Edinburgh, I’d have done so long ago.”
Boyd rolled his eyes in response.
“You look healed enough to me,” Callum said to Lash, eyeing him with suspicion. “Why didn’t you leave?”
“I can guess the reason,” Kieran suggested, his gaze flicking between Lash and Honoria.
Honoria’s heart somersaulted in her chest. Her gaze flicked over each of her brothers’ stony faces, their rigid composure and the thin pull of their lips. Panic set in. If her brothers believed there was any connection between her and Lash, they would send him away like they did Patrick.
She needed to come up with a way to convince them Lash was the perfect man for . . .
Honoria came up short. The perfect man for . . . ?
She cast Lash a sidelong glance. Even with the grim set of his jaw, the fury that hadn’t entirely left his eyes, and the stubborn set of his shoulders, she wanted him to stay.
Aye, she had to convince her brothers, and Lash, he was the perfect man.
For her.
There were two times in Lash’s life that he felt the breathtaking jolt of pure terror. The first time was when he’d learned his sister had run off after him. The terror of that moment, well, he hadn’t thought that feeling could ever be surpassed. That was, until today, when he learned Danior had taken Honoria.
He hadn’t said a word on their way back to the castle. There were no words to be formed, only emotions to be felt. And even those were perilous—threatening to consume every inch of his soul. So instead he had pulled Honoria tighter against him, closed his eyes, and inhaled her sweet scent.
Lash had always prided himself on being a strong man. And not just in physical strength but also in character. From a young age, he’d learned to steel himself for both external and internal pains. He would never have a loving father. He would never taste the kinship that came with the bond of having a brother. He would never be raised by a doting mother.
That was his life. No sense in complaining, no sense in suffering. So he’d made himself strong.
But now, facing Honoria’s kin after learning he’d been deprived not only of his mother, but his birth father as well, and that he was a half-breed, not a full-blooded Roma, it was as though all that strength had spilled out from him. He felt gutted.
He may have gained a family today, assuming he could find them, but he had lost the only person who had ever felt like home.
He was poshram—a half-breed.
If he hadn’t been worthy of Honoria before, he was even less so now. What defense could he rally to her brothers, who only wanted a man good enough for her?
The duke motioned to the set of stairs. “Perhaps we should let my sisters get some rest while we discuss recent events.”
Honoria instantly protested.
“It’s all right,” he murmured to her, resisting the urge to draw her into his arms one last time. “You have been through a lot, get some rest.”
Her amber eyes lifted to his, searching. “It’s only that . . .” she trailed off, seemingly wanting to say something but at a loss for words. For some reason, his pulse leaped.
“Yes?” he prompted.
“It’s only that . . . I’d like to talk later. Join me for a stroll in the gardens after you’re done speaking to my brothers?”
A thousand words sprang in his mind, but nothing of them made it past his lips. He was hers. He would always be hers. But he couldn’t ask her to be his, could never claim her.
“Yes,” he lied. He swore then it would be the last lie he ever told her.