She turned to go. “On wi’ ye now. I’ll see ye there.”
Strong fingers closed around her upper arm, shooting panic through her. Isobel yanked away and stumbled to one side. Alasdair caught her, then blocked the wide ramp leading up from the cellar to the street. “Ye canna walk the back alleyways of Edinburgh alone. Not at night. Not when murderous bastards are hunting ye.” He drew close until his nose nearly touched hers. “Tell me what ye fear so I can help ye. I owe ye that. I know this is my fault. Every last bit of it. I beg ye, allow me my penance. Allow me to help ye.” The sorrow and pain in his eyes reached out to her, threatened to melt her defenses completely. “Please, Isobel.”
“I can no longer stand cramped places.” She pulled in another deep, shuddering breath. “I canna breathe in them.” She would rather not explain why. To speak of the darkness gave it more power over her.
Alasdair’s jaw tightened, and his eyes turned into angry slits. “I see.”
His low tone struck a chord of fear through her. Did he? Did he truly see? She gave a sharp nod. No more would be said. She wouldn’t give him the details of her fears, no matter how long they stood there.
He rubbed his chin as he studied her, walked a circle around her, making her more nervous by the minute. He held up a finger and gave her a gallant smile. “I have an idea.” Stepping aside, he looked up and down the shadowy aisles of the cellar. “Einrich!”
“Ja?” Einrich stepped out from behind a stack of additional cargo.
“Would ye fetch Mistress Fanny?”
Einrich nodded and took off at a loping stride.
Alasdair chuckled and pointed at the wagon. “Look. They’re fair worn out.”
She leaned to one side, looking around Alasdair. Auntie and Connor had already fallen fast asleep between the barrels. The sight eased some of the tension from her shoulders. “It’s been a wearisome day,” she admitted.
“Aye.” All mirth left Alasdair, and he stared downward. “The three of ye have suffered more than yer fair share.” He lifted his head, a combination of regret and determination tightening his jaw. “But I mean to change that. Things will be different from now on. Better for ye. Easier. Ye dinna fight alone anymore. I swear it.”
He had no idea how much she longed to believe him. Alasdair had always been an honorable man. At least, until he’d proven himself otherwise by failing his oath. But he’d told her his reasons, and she knew well enough the truth of the morbid sore throat. In her heart, she also believed his tale of seeing her in the garden with Temsworth and thinking to sacrifice his own love to leave her to a better life. That act was something the Alasdair of ten years ago would have done.
She closed her eyes and rubbed her fingers hard against her throbbing temples. She didn’t know what to believe anymore. Dare she risk trusting him again? So much more was at stake. It wasn’t just her life anymore. Her son’s life hung in the balance.
Hurried steps echoed through the cave-like cellar. Fanny ambled into view. “Business hours, Master Alasdair.”
“Ye’ve been well compensated for this night, madam. Ye know that as well as I.” He gave Fanny a look that silenced any further comment. “Isobel and I shall be on our way as soon as ye provide her with a pair of trews, a tunic, a jacket, waistcoat if ye have it, and a hat. Boots, too, if ye’ve got them. She needs to dress as a man.”
“What?” Fanny and Isobel asked in unison.
“Dress as a man,” Alasdair repeated, directing his response to Isobel. He jerked a thumb in the wagon’s direction. “In a man’s attire, ye can ride beside me as I drive.”
Fanny stared at Isobel, then Alasdair. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Einrich!” she bellowed in a curt, unladylike tone.
“Ja?” Einrich rounded the wagon and came to a halt in front of the harlot.
“Take Isobel to the costume room.” Fanny spun around with a fluttering of her fingers and scuttled back across the cobblestones toward the door. “Take whatever ye need, lass. I’ve a caller waiting. Deep pockets, this one has. Money to be made for sure.”
“This way, Mistress Isobel.” Einrich extended a hand for Isobel to take the lead.
Unable to find the words to thank Alasdair for the way he had reacted to her inability to hide among the barrels, Isobel ducked her head and hurried after Fanny. She knew the costume room. She’d helped Rew sort through the apparel and organize it to help the ladies when their clients made requests for more whimsical attire. She nodded at Einrich. “I know where to go. Ye can stay here and help Master Alasdair, aye?”
Einrich gave a polite bob of his head and headed back across the cellar.
She paused long enough to admire Alasdair from afar. The man had always worn his colors well, and the fine suit coat, fitted to his warrior’s form, made him look all the better. She pulled in a shaky breath. He hadn’t judged her nor belittled her for her fears. That fact raced through her mind over and over as she shook free of her reverie and hurried down the hall. She pushed into the room and opened the cabinet containing the clothes she needed.
Thankfully, she found a tunic and breeches that fit a shade loose. She shoved the neckcloth in the jacket pocket, swallowing hard as she envisioned the thing wrapped around her throat. Nay. Temsworth had strangled her once until she’d fainted. She could bear nothing close about her throat ever again. Waistcoat, jacket, stockings, and boots. She snugged the belt tighter as she dug through the assortment of items for a wide-brimmed hat to hide her face. Urgency made her hands shake as she pulled back her hair and cinched it in place. She wouldn’t wear a plaid. If anyone stopped them, she’d feign being French rather than a Scot. Tucking her long hair up under the hat, she pulled it snug and low across her brow. With an unusual feeling of unencumbered freedom, she strode down the hall, the clumping of her boots making her cringe. Merciful heavens, no wonder men sounded like clod-footed beasts.
Alasdair drew his pistol as she descended the steps into the dimly lit cellar. “Halt! Ye’ve come the wrong way, sir. I suggest ye go back the way ye came.”
His words took her aback but gave her hope. She’d chosen her costume well. “Alasdair. It’s me.”
His brows shot up, and he shoved the weapon back in his belt. “Well, I’ll be damned.” He waved her forward. “Let’s have a look at ye then. Ye fooled me in the shadows. Let’s see how ye fare if ye’re looked upon closer.”
She approached the wagon, doing her best to move with as little femininity as possible. The closer she came to Alasdair, the darker his scowl became. She held out her hands and looked down at herself. “What’s amiss? What did I forget?”
“Nothing.” Alasdair’s jaw flexed. “To the wagon, aye? Einrich just finished securing the ropes.”
Isobel scrambled up on to the seat. “Alasdair? Tell me what’s amiss? If ye see somewhere I erred, someone else might as well. I dinna wish to endanger Connor over a poorly assembled disguise.”
He settled himself down beside her, clenching the reins. “If ye must know,” he forced out between gritted teeth, “I dinna like the cleft of yer behind showing to all and sundry.” An irritated growl escaped him as he urged the pair of horses up the ramp and out into the street at a fast pace.
Isobel held tight to the iron railing on her side of the bench, not risking another glance in his direction. His protective jealousy warmed through her with a giddiness she hadn’t felt in years. It made her want to smile, but she daren’t do so. Instead, she forced herself to brush the feeling aside and concentrate on watching the shadows for those wishing to do them harm.
“Are ye still able to shoot as well as ye used to?” he asked over the rattling of the wagon.
“I’ve not done it in quite a while, but I’m sure I still can.” She prayed she could. Many a time, she’d envisioned putting a bullet through Temsworth’s heart, but she’d never had the opportunity.
Without taking his eyes from the road, Alasdair handed over one of his pistols. “There’s one dark turn that concerns me, and we�
��re coming up on it. After that, it’s but a little distance to the far side gate leading to the cellar of the manor house.”
She took the pistol, then leaned forward and inched to the edge of the seat, watching the shadows up ahead. The lane into the alley narrowed, forcing Alasdair to slow the horses for the turn. He transferred the reins to one hand and readied his second pistol in the other. No sooner had the wagon fully entered the shadowed path than three men jumped in front of the horses, blocking the way with swords raised.
“Nobody passes without paying the toll,” said the shadowy figure in the middle.
Isobel clicked back the hammer and leveled the flint-lock pistol at the man. She’d pay their toll.
Alasdair did the same. “Let us pass, gentlemen, or die.”
“Three of us. Naught but two pistols.” The man in the center, taller than his mates and the obvious leader, edged closer. “Odds be in our favor, methinks.”
“What if they gots good aim, Hays?” asked the man on the right. “That means two of us shot dead.”
“Oui, messieurs,” Isobel interjected in a deep-voiced snarl.
“What shall it be, gentleman? Go yer way, and all three live, or two of ye die, and I leave one to bury the others?” Alasdair trained his pistol on the man in the middle. “Hurry now. When my arm tires, I risk maiming ye instead of killing ye.”
“I’ll not be getting shot.” The man on the left turned and ran down the alleyway.
“Ahh,” Alasdair purred. “My odds just improved.”
“Leave off, Hays.” The man on the right nudged his companion. “We done good enough tonight, and with Brooks done turned tail and run, we can split our take even. No time for us to be getting greedy.”
“What say ye, Hays?” Alasdair urged the horses forward. “Live to rob another day or bleed to death in the alley?”
Hays jerked his head at the other thief and motioned to the far wall of one of the buildings lining the lane. “We’ll stand here all peaceful like and let ye pass.” He lowered his sword. “This time.”
Alasdair shook his head. “Nay, friend. I’ll not be played for a dullard.” With his pistol, he motioned toward the direction the third miscreant had taken. “Off wi’ ye down the lane and to the left. Follow yer wise friend, aye?”
“Come on, Hays.” The third criminal waved Hays forward as he took off at a fast trot. “Hurry up before he decides to shoot.”
“Bastard,” Hays mumbled, then spit on the ground beside the wagon. He sheathed his sword and hurried after his comrades.
Isobel blew out the breath she hadn’t realized she held. “Thank God above.”
“Aye.” Alasdair set the horses at the fastest clip the dark alley allowed and kept his pistol raised. “Dinna lower yer weapon, and be sure to watch behind us. I willna breathe easy until we get into the light.”
She turned and knelt beside Alasdair, hanging on and resting her arm atop the iron bar running along the back of the seat. As she swayed back and forth, her rump bumped against Alasdair with every sway of the wagon. If anyone gave chase, she doubted her aim would be true. “I’ll waste my shot with all this rocking.”
He draped his arm across her backside and held her tight against him. “Hold fast, lass, the thieves’ cutoff is up ahead.”
Too unsettled by his hold of her, Isobel didn’t argue. She steadied the butt of her pistol in her left palm and sighted it in just as the thieves exploded from their lair, running to catch up with the wagon. She pulled in a deep breath, aligned the pistol with one man’s broad chest, and squeezed the trigger. He dropped to the ground, clutching his midsection, and the other two men dove into the shadows. Isobel twisted around. “Give me yer other pistol in case the others give chase.”
Alasdair took her spent weapon, shoved it in his belt, and pressed the other gun into her hand. “Well done, love. Well done.” He returned his arm tight around her rump as the wagon roared into the street lit by the candle lanterns of the barbers, apothecaries, and taverners along the way. His secure hold of her remained as the wagon careened to the right, and the horses came to a halt in front of a large double gate of wide thick planks of weathered wood.
“Je ressuscite!”
Alasdair’s roar of Clan MacCoinnich’s battle cry brought an unbidden smile to her lips. How often had he shouted those words when they had been nothing more than wee bairns playing along the shoreline?
The double gates swung inward, and Alasdair urged the horses through them.
Two young men hurried to close the gates and secure the heavy beam down across it. “I heard a shot, Master Alasdair,” one of them said. “Be ye hurt?”
“Nay, Lachie.” Alasdair leaned forward and peered under the brim of Isobel’s hat. “My fine guard protected me well.”
She brushed aside the warm rush of emotions his words triggered. Nay time for such foolishness, she scolded herself. “Connor and Auntie will be afraid. Help me get to them.” She scrambled down from the wagon and yanked loose the ropes. “Connor! All is well. Dinna be afraid.” She’d heard nary a peep from either of them. She prayed the barrels and crates hadn’t tipped over and crushed them.
“I’m not afeared, Mama.” Connor popped out from under the folds of canvas, brandishing a jagged slat of wood as if it were a sword. “I canna be afeared when I have to protect Auntie.”
“Ye are a brave lad, son, and I’m so verra proud of ye.” The band of tension squeezing her lessened a notch. She pointed toward the center of the wagon. “Be a gentleman now and help Auntie get to the end of the wagon, so ye can both climb down, aye?”
Connor disappeared behind the pile of canvas, then reappeared with his scowling aunt. The sour-faced woman fixed her glare on Isobel, daggers flashing in her eyes as she grumbled a stream of swear words. “Auntie!”
“At least I say it in my language.” Auntie gave her a look that dared her to argue. She shook her hand. “Black and blue, I will be from all this. I am too old. You should have left me to die at Hestlemoor.”
“Nay, Auntie.” Connor wrapped his arms around the old woman’s tiny waist and buried his face against her middle. “Ye canna die. I love ye.”
“Are ye happy now?” Isobel fixed her aunt with a stern look. “Shame on ye for saying such in front of Connor.”
Alasdair rounded the wagon, flipping the rest of the canvas and ropes out of the way. His glance settled first on Yeva, then Connor. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” Auntie said in a loud voice as she hugged the boy, then patted his back. She urged him toward the end of the wagon. “Come. Is late. Time for you to be abed.”
“I’m hungry,” Connor said as he took hold of Alasdair’s hands and swung down with a delighted squeal.
“Ye just ate not long ago.” Isobel held out a hand for her son to take. “Time for bed now.”
The lad cocked his head to one side. “Why ye dressed like that?”
“Never ye mind.” She scooped up Connor’s hand and tugged him over to stand at her side. Turning to Alasdair, she removed her hat. “I’m grateful to ye. More than ye’ll ever know.” She swallowed hard, the victorious spark glinting in Alasdair’s eyes, making her wonder at the wisdom of accepting his help. “If ye could have one of yer servants show us to our room, we’ll be out of yer hair for the evening so ye might seek yer own rest.”
“Lachie!”
“Aye, Master Alasdair?” The boy came around the wagon at an awkward gallop and careened to a halt a few feet in front of Alasdair.
Alasdair nodded toward the horses. “Ye know what to do. If Hugh’s not enough help to ye, roust Rob out of his bed, aye?”
“I be more help than Rob ever thought of being,” Hugh argued as he labored and grunted with winding up the ropes and stacking them in the back of the wagon. He treated Isobel to a gap-toothed grin. “I be better than Rob any day.”
Alasdair eased Auntie down from the wagon, then extended his arm to the elderly woman. “Allow me to escort ye to yer suite, ladies.”
He nodded at Connor. “Offer yer arm to yer mother, lad. It’s the proper way to treat a lady with respect.”
“When Mama takes ahold of my elbow like that, I’m about to get me arse smacked,” the boy said with such sincerity that Isobel had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.
Even in the flickering torchlight of the cobblestoned path between the stable and the main house, she could tell that Alasdair’s face had gone several shades ruddier as he struggled to keep from laughing, too.
“Aye. Well. Be that as it may, when escorting a lady, ye always offer her yer arm, aye? ’Tis proper.”
With a dubious look, Connor pulled his hand free of his mother’s grasp and held up his elbow.
Isobel rested her fingers on his extended arm and gave him an encouraging nod. “I thank ye, son.”
He bobbed his head, then marched forward until they drew up even with Alasdair and Auntie. “I still be hungry. Reckon there be any leftover biscuits in yer kitchens?”
“Connor!” Isobel squeezed his arm, praying the silent admonition wouldn’t go unheeded. The child was a bottomless pit of late. She feared it was because they’d gone hungry a time or two whilst escaping Hestlemoor.
As Alasdair held open the door to the house, he pointed down the hallway. “I’m sure of it, lad. Once ye’re settled in, I’ll see if Maggie’s gone through the house to check the fires yet. If she’s not abed, I’ll have her fetch ye a biscuit and a cup of milk, aye?”
“And jam?” Connor asked, snatching his arm out of Isobel’s grasp and scooting forward out of her reach. He cut a look back at her, the sly proof of his sins gleaming in his cherubic smile.
“Connor William…” She clenched her teeth and stopped mid-reprimand, reminding herself that all that mattered was the fact they were temporarily safe. Mannerly behaviors could be reinforced once they’d all had a bit of rest.
Alasdair winked at Isobel as he bent down to look Connor in the eye. “Jam, too. Now, let’s get ye settled. The ladies are weary, and tired ladies smack bums a lot harder.” He led them up the stairs, down the hall, and opened the door to a sprawling sitting room filled with plump, overstuffed chairs and couches laden with pillows and throws. His gentle smile sought out Isobel. “Mrs. Aggie keeps these rooms at the ready.” He pointed at two closed doors on the other side. “The bedchambers are yon. I believe the one on the left has two beds. The one on the right is considered the master.” He made an up and down wave toward her apparel. “I’m certain there are pitchers for washing. Mrs. Aggie is always after Maggie and Rob to keep the ewers freshened.”
The Judge (Highland Heroes Book 3) Page 7