The Highlander's Captured Bride (Steamy Scottish Historical Romance)

by Eloise Madigan

  As the man sat, his father and Mister O’Cain came into the room. From the distressing look on his father’s face, he knew that they had not found much. Both men came to the table and sat, with his father sending for some wine.

  “Dae ye ken this is the right time to be drinking, Balgair?” Callum asked, calmly.

  “When ye lose a son like I did this morning, only then can ye lecture me on what to do,” his father snapped as a woman came with the wine. “I’ll have as much wine as I want.”

  Other servants came with troughs of food, stew, platters of bread, and jugs of water and wine. Ethan looked between his father and uncle, breathing a soft sigh of relief when no more barbs were traded over the table.

  “Faither?” Violet asked. “Did ye find anything in the room?”

  “Sadly,” he shook his head, “nay, but this crime does call for some more looking into, and I am willing to help. I shared the same sentiment with Laird MacFerson, and he has offered us lodging for the time it may take. I’m sorry, Violet, I never intended for us to stay but—”

  Violet waved him off. “I havenea problems with it, Faither, I was hoping we would stay and help. I am happy to assist ye, as always.”

  “I ken ye are, dear.” He inclined his head to her before eating.

  Ethan spotted his uncle’s head snapping between the two with the question that he had asked himself when he had first seen her. “Miss Violet assists her faither with his cases,” he explained.

  “Really,” Uncle Callum mused over his goblet of water. “An unusual trade for a young woman like yourself. I’d imagine ye be married, or at least engaged.”

  Violet’s cheeks pinked. “Er, nay, Mister MacFerson, I’m nae engaged or married… but nay for a lack of tryin’.” The last part was mumbled so quietly, only Ethan heard it.

  The meal was winding down and his father, who had drank more than he’d eaten, said, “Ethan, would ye take Miss O’Cain out for a turn in the garden. Yer uncle, Mister O’Cain, and I are going to discuss what more we can do from here on.”

  Violet looked to her father for permission, who only nodded. “It’s all right, Violet, I believe ye are in good hands.”

  She stood, and smiled. “Well, then, I ken I will. Good evening, Faither, and Misters MacFersons. Ethan?”

  Ethan stood and extended his arm to Violet. “Me pleasure,” while a little intrigued at what his father was aiming for in telling him this. It surely could not be to shield her from any gruesome details or tedious discussions…so why were they setting her apart from it all?

  3

  It was still summer, but moonlight shone through small slivers of the fog threading through the trees. The garden was surrounded by a small rectangular wall with thick hedges dotted here and there. Violet was happily taken aback when she saw that lanterns lit the graveled paths.

  The only thing missing in a gurgling stone fountain in the center, like what I saw in the castle at Edina one time.

  She held onto Ethan’s arm, keenly aware of the firmness of his muscles, and breathed in a soft river-water scent coming from his skin. His blond hair was a halo around his head when the moonlight fell on it. He was so close that her nerves were brimming with anticipation and her belly warm with her attraction to him.

  “This garden is lovely. I see some English traits in it too,” she noted.

  “Me uncle travels a lot,” Ethan replied. “He came back with many ideas to give us, many of which he implemented himself because me faither just waved him off saying, ‘do what ye ken is best.’ Miss Violet, may I ask ye a double question, and ye are free to choose which one ye might answer, or nay of either if ye dinnae feel like it,” he ended.

  Sucking in a deep breath through her nose, Violet permitted him to ask her whatever was on his mind.

  “Earlier ye hinted that ye had seen a lot of things in the years ye were working with yer faither,” he said. “And then, a while ago, ye muttered that it wasnae a want for trying that ye arenea married, would ye like to expound on either?”

  What should I choose, me history with Faither or marriage… which one should I choose…or should I not choose any at all?

  The marriage—or lack off—did not sit well with her. It was a bit too personal to discuss at the time.

  “Aye, I’ve seen a lot of things. We’ve traveled a lot. Since I was six-and-ten, I had asked Faither to take me on a case near our home. A woman had reported a diamond ring stolen and was ready to dismiss all her twenty-something servants and have some of them thrown in prison, when I realized her cat was the culprit and gave her something to pass it out,” Violet admitted. “And that one was the easiest of them all.”

  “Really?” Ethan asked. “What was the hardest?”

  “Faither was called to Edina once,” Violet said, swallowing.

  Please, dinnae take this the wrong way.

  “For a slate of three murders of women…of a… questionable profession, and another one was missing. All the people we spoke to were hush-hush about it, so we had to go to the source and visit the brothels. The culprit turned out to be a rich lord in the capital with the means to use and abuse them.”

  “Ye went through brothels?” Ethan exclaimed while they turned to a wooden seat.

  She giggled. “I dinnae see anything scandalous, Why, I may be brave, but I’m nay that brave to compromise me innocence. We spoke to the women away from the…er…service rooms.”

  Tucking her legs under her, she inhaled deeply, the heather-scented night air quickening her senses, and Ethan sitting beside her, even more so. “And what about ye?” she asked.

  “Brothels or marriage?” he asked lightly.

  “Marriage,” she asked. “But ye can refuse if ye want to.”

  “Mayhap…we’ll postpone that discussion,” Ethan hedged. “I ken its nae fair as I was the one who asked ye. Those are, well… a bit difficult for me to speak on now.”

  “We can speak about yer brother,” Violet proposed. “If it’s nay too troubling.”

  He sat back on the bench and clenched his eyes clenched tightly. “Finley was a smart man. A few years ago, a neighboring clan was at war with us, and he decided to be the bearer of peace. He went to the clan, unarmed, and met with the Laird there. He suggested that instead of fighting with each other, we should learn from each other. So, he proposed that we exchange a squadron of thirty of our soldiers with one of theirs, and to foster more camaraderie, hold tournaments every year before harvest. It worked, and to this day, Clan Hofte is our best ally.”

  She could hear the pain in his voice, but he uttered a soft, humorless chuckle. “He always won the archery section. The man could kill a bird between its eyes from a hundred feet away, but was hopeless in jousting. He made sure to take care of others before himself… he was even slated to get married before me faither stepped down and handed him the lairdship. Now, I’m slated to take the lairdship up and I wonder…I wonder if I can follow in his footsteps.”

  Hesitantly, Violet rested her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure ye’ll do fine. Ye have yer faither and the memory of yer brother to rely on.”

  “I dae,” he acknowledged, “but I just wish I had paid more attention to them when they were working. I was happy to be me brother’s support when he took on the post, but for me to jump into that role… distresses me. What distresses me, even more, is that we might nae find the man who killed me brother or the woman who lured him off.”

  “What dae ye ken happened with her?” Violet asked.

  “I cannae say, but her sudden disappearance tells me that a conspiracy was afoot.” Ethan’s words were tight and sounded as if they were forced through his teeth. “She took him out to someone who killed him.”

  The shadows were deepening and the night was getting colder, but Violet did not want to part ways with Ethan. She felt deeply touched by his ability to love and his admission of care, and she felt drawn to him. It was late and she should find her room, but she wanted to linger.

  “I agree,”
she replied, trying—and failing—to not let a shiver from a cold breeze show.

  Sadly, Ethan noticed and stood. “Let's get ye inside, it is getting cold out here.”

  Reluctantly, she joined him as he offered his arm and she took it. They walked back to the castle and, once inside, Ethan took her upstairs to the line of rooms left empty for guests. “How do ye ken which one it is?”

  “Faither would give ye and Mister O’Cain the last rooms at the end, with doors facing each other,” Ethan nodded to the end of the hall. “Those over there.”

  She grasped the door’s latch and pushed it in to see her sack resting on a tiny bed. “Yer right, these are me rooms. I’ll…” She spun to see him lingering at the doorway, a small tic in his jaw. “Ethan? What’s wrong?”

  His hand lifted toward her face and his fingertips rested on her cheek. She blinked at him, cheeks flushed and eyes flushed of expectation. If he did kiss her—and she wanted him to—he would be the first one to claim that title. Having him so close and so warm, were so very distracting and affecting her ability to think. She heard her heartbeat in her ears. “Ethan?”

  Dropping his hand, his smile was deeply apologetic. “Good night, Violet, sleep well.”

  Lingering at the doorway, she made to speak but no words came from her. She watched, dumbly, as he went to the end of the corridor and disappeared around it without a look back.

  Her fingertips danced over where he had touched, and her heart sank within her. Serves me right to ken he would be attracted to me. How much of a fool am I? He’ll never see me the way I want him to…

  “Good night…Ethan,” she whispered to the thin air.

  4

  Resolutely ignoring the urge to sink into guilt the moment he left the hallway from Violet's room, Ethan made it to his room before it hit him in his face like a cannonball.

  This nay the time nor the place to have… these feelings. Finley just died.

  Rubbing his face in tired frustration, he tugged his shirt off and sank to the edge of his bed, caging his face in his hands. His chest felt tight, as if he was bound with rawhide rope. While he grappled with this unexpected yearning, he doubted Violet was affected by their encounter.

  She had looked at him with pure innocent confusion when he had touched her face. How would she have reacted if he had kissed her? Less than a day knowing her, he was nearly possessed by the strong, primal urge to kiss her, stronger than he had felt in years. Violet was a contradiction— a puzzle he wanted to solve.

  She had seen the worst of the worst, but still held onto such innocence. She was so young but had the wisdom of a sage. She was brightness in such a dark world and that drew him in. But he could not, in good conscience, take advantage of her. It did not make any sense to form a connection with her, as in a few days she might be gone anyway.

  Though he wanted to think about Violet, there were so many more important things to consider. He had to find who had killed his brother, who had given him the sleeping draught, and who was the woman that lured Finley out from the oversight of his fellow soldiers. Those were the most critical things that he should be focused on. Ethan slid his hand behind his neck and began to rub the tension those thoughts brought away.

  At daylight, I wish I could join the soldiers in searching for that tavern lass again.

  Tomorrow was going to be his brother’s burial, and he needed all his strength for that. If his mother opted to be a part of it, he was the one who would stick to her side through it all.

  He knew his father would not have the patience or the heart to allow his son to go through the traditional wake period, and for his mother to wash her son's body was out of the question. If Lady Annabelle went within ten feet of her son’s body, they would have two funerals on their hands.

  His sleep was frail, and he woke before dawn. Unable to sleep further, he washed, dressed quickly, and slipped out of the room to find the place where his brother’s body was laid out. The room was dim but not so dark that he could not see the body of Finley rested on a wooden table.

  Ethan barely recognized his brother as heat and death were already ravaging Finley’s body. He was swollen and a soft smell of decay was resting in the air. Not daring to touch him, Ethan felt his eyes begin to burn with tears. The reality that he was never going to see his brother again felt thick in his throat.

  As the light came into the room, he saw that there was no blood on Finley’s body. Someone, that he was sure was not their mother, had washed him and dressed him for burial. His clothes were white linen and beside his head was his death mask, an old custom of his family, made from plaster, painted and ready to put on his face before being carried to the village kirk later that day.

  He moved to lean on the wall under the window as the smell was getting thick in his nose, but he could not bear to walk out. He stayed there until the sun rose and the rays were strong in the room. Memories of Finley were running through his mind like wild horses, one chasing after the other.

  That time they were caught sneaking into the kitchen for the candied peaches…that other time Finley had taken him to jump into the loch without their parents’ permission—and which he had nearly drowned…and the many times they had gone foot racing in the glens beyond.

  His eyes went back to his brother, and again, the heavy feeling of loss caged his chest in an invisible prison. Ethan felt tired and sick to his stomach. Every time he so much as thought of his dead brother, his stomach lurched. Now that he was looking at him, his stomach felt hollow.

  Under all that sorrow and grief, anger was bubbling inside him. He felt that the duty to avenge his brother had fallen upon him, not his father— but him. He deeply felt that he had to find the one who had killed his brother and make them pay, just like he had vowed yesterday.

  A grating sound had his head darting up and there, in the doorway, was his father. The dark smudges under his eyes were clear indicators that his sire had not slept a wink last night.

  “I kent ye would be here,” his father tone was grave. “Are ye going to stay with yer maither or come to the burial?”

  “I’ll stay with Maither, but I will come to the burial,” Ethan said. “I willnae be absent when he is laid to rest. Are the cooks preparing the feast?”

  Balgair came close and lifted the mask with a grunt. “They’ve been preparing from last night. Thankfully, we have stores of meat and fish to use, wine and whisky too. But I want ye to be near Miss O’Cain through the day.”

  “Why?” Ethan asked, as his father bid for him to take Violet into the garden came back to him. “Are ye trying to shield her from something? Faither—” he nearly snorted. “—she’s seen more than ye ken.”

  “Even so,” the Laird said. “Doesnae mean she has to see more. And her faither told me she has a penchant for being a little... adventurous.” His father slanted an eye to him. “Er, she’s been known to get a bit too involved with her faither’s cases. He told me that once, she had donned boy’s clothes to sneak into a gambling house and find a thief who had stolen a sack of gold from his employer, and another time she was poised to act as a stable boy to find out who was racing his master’s horses without his permission.”

  His father had meant to warn him or scare him, but Ethan only felt his admiration and awe of the young woman grow. His lips twitched. “I dae nae see that as an issue…I ken that is very admirable.”

  “Ye would,” his father snorted. “Go for yer meal, son, today is going to be a very… very long day for all of us.”

  Nodding, Ethan passed by Finley’s body and stopped to brush his fingers over his brother’s chest. “Rest in peace, brother.”

  He did leave, but not to the main hall. Instead, he took the stairs to go see his mother, Annabelle. He felt guilty for not visiting her yesterday, but he was sure that she had slept for most of it. He took the stairwell up to his parents’ third story room and knocked quietly on the door.

  “Enter,” the frail voice of his mother came through and he pushed it in
.

  His mother was sitting on a rocking chair—another English acquisition by his uncle—with a meal tray resting on a table beside her. Her thick golden hair was combed in a bun at the base of her neck, and her light green eyes were trained out the window near her.

  “Maither?” he called softly, knowing from experience to not startle her with loud noises.

  She turned to him and smiled. “Ethan, son, I was expecting to see ye yesterday.”

  Coming closer, he closed the door behind him and took a seat. “I ken, Maither, but yesterday was…difficult. Very difficult.” He took care to not use words that would trigger her faint-heartedness. “But Faither has things under control, and Uncle Callum is here to help.”