“Ye will start in the pub, I’ll begin in the marketplace,” Violet said.
Ethan shook his head, “I ken we should stick together at first. After we get a good lay of the land, so to speak, then we can separate. We’ll go to the marketplace first, then the tavern, as the latter willnae be of any use to us in the daytime.”
Her head swiveled to him, and she arched her eyebrows, but then nodded, “I agree.”
Her features did not show that she fully agreed, but he supposed she was hedging on the edge of caution. He did know these places better than she did, so she must be relying on his familiarity with the place before she launched out into doing her own thing.
The hill pass began to widen and the scrubby shrubs evolved into taller pine trees. Ethan spotted Violet’s head swaying from side to side as she took in the highland scenery. He felt pleased that it was still summertime as the trees, tall, verdant, and majestic towered above them, and though she did not see them, the rolling fields far off were clothed with vivid crimson and golden flowers. Perhaps she would see them when they descended the knolls and got into the plains.
The horses took on a quicker trot onto level ground, and soon, Ethan spotted the large twin trees that straddled the roads, the unmarked entrance to the Sellek. This place had two roads: the main one that went right through and led to the other towns beyond and a perpendicular street that took them to the far side of the settlement. As they rode in on the main street, he spotted the squat inn that catered to the random visitors and then the smithy.
He mentioned which was which in low tones as they passed by-- the butchery, a small meeting hall, and then, the tavern. Luckily, it was at the corner where the adjacent road would take them to the marketplace. He eyed the shuttered window of the tavern as he passed by it.
Stone and wood cottages of various sizes lined this road while some were set further from the road. Women were hanging out washing, some villagers were puttering yards, they even passed one where a handful of gray-headed elders were seated on a low porch, chatting and puffing from their pipes.
Ethan spotted the market cross and rode towards it. Violet mirrored him and they passed by. He slowed his ride while he scanned the bustling street for any women who might fit the description the soldiers had given him. His sharp eyes spotted merchants and dark-clad women armed with baskets, haggling with them, before they swiveled to the beggars, idle children, and, lingering at the sidelines, sharp-eyed thieves.
He looked over to Violet, who was grasping the reins a little tighter than she should. Was she nervous? Ethan slid from the saddle and went over to her. He appreciated Violet’s choice, to disguise herself in lad’s clothes had been wise.
Prying her hand from the cold leather, he asked, “Are ye all right?”
She shook her head and smiled. “Aye, I am.”
Stepping away, he stopped himself from helping her down as it would be very peculiar to see a man helping a lad dismount a horse. The short wig and cap did transform her into a young lad lingering in the ages between boyhood and old enough to have whiskers.
Tugging her shirt down, she nodded to the stalls. “We should begin.”
Keeping a few feet between each other, Ethan led her past the first merchants and into the mess of stalls placed haphazardly. With Violet constantly in the corner of his eye, he noticed her nose wrinkle at the cloying smell of cooked and raw meats.
He spotted a circle of older women in drab stained aprons and hood caps chatting amongst themselves. Pointedly looking over to them, Ethan saw Violet nod and they went over. The one in the middle noticed him first and then jabbed another into awareness.
“Good day, elders,” he said. “Sorry to intrude, but I’ve got a question and I’ll be very appreciative if ye could help.”
One of the women squinted, the knowing tone of her drawl matching the look in her eyes. “Yer the youngest Master MacFerson, ain’t ye?”
“Sadly,” Ethan swallowed, “I am.”
“Who’s the laddie behind ye?” another asked, nodding to Violet.
“A squire boy from me faither’s ranks,” he lied smoothly, then steeled his quivering chest. “As I’m sure ye all ken, me brother was laid to rest yesterday—” he paused and nodded in gratitude when they offered their condolences, “—but before he passed, he mentioned to a fellow soldier about a woman with dark hair, very pale blue eyes and a scar on her forehead. He neglected to mention a name but said that she had fallen onto hard times and he wanted to help her. Dae ye ken anyone with that description? I want to honor me brother’s last wishes.”
A collective contemplation passed over the women’s faces and then one spoke, “Me mind ran on Isla, but she has green eyes, nay blue.”
“Could it be Donna’s eldest girl?” another proposed. “She had blue eyes…”
“But nay scar on her forehead,” the first cut in while rubbing her chin. “Kenning of it, it cannea be Catriona either as there is nay scar or blue eye…”
Ethan’s eyes shifted between the three as they began to talk amongst themselves instead of at him. It took them devolving into a squabble before he thought of getting their attention back to him. It was Violet who intervened.
“‘Scuse me, missus,” Ethan’s head nearly jerked with astonishment at her now scratchy boyish country-side accent. “Thank ye for taking time out to help me Lord, but back to the main problem, dae ye ken is any of these women have fallen on hard times? Did she have a bairn without the faither present or did she have her siblings or parents falling ill all o’ a sudden?”
Her interruption had the woman pressing their lips together and then one shaking her head, “Sorry, laddie, all the young lassies around here are married an’ their husbands are alive an’ kicking.”
A corroborating nod from the other two had Ethan thanking them for their time and moving on to another set of traders, who, again, gave no satisfactory answer about the woman they were seeking. After asking five sets of people, Ethan had to take Violet aside.
“This doesnae seem to be working,” he noted while looking over his shoulder. “Are ye sure these are the questions to ask?”
“I kent this is our best chance at finding her,” Violet whispered. “We might need to tweak our story if no one says something, but I am sure…well…I’m mostly sure this is the way to find her.”
Ah, hellfire and brimstone…
Staring at Violet’s beautiful face, he saw her eyes brimming with passion and hopeful innocence. Ethan knew he was walking a thin line with being drawn to her for too many reasons, and all of them were wrong. It was an assemblage of her natural beauty, the innocent yet worldly eyes, and most of all, the distraction she provided him from his pain in this time of misery.
Rubbing his forehead, he sighed, “Very well… if yer sure, we’ll continue.”
* * *
After going through the marketplace, Violet had decided that they were getting nowhere with the vendors, so she and Ethan went to the pub to wait. The evening was about to set, a time when patrons began to trickle in. From a shadowed corner, Violet's eyes were trained on the doorway, watching and evaluating each body that walked in.
They were mostly men wanting to be served and the wenches actively swerving through the tables with trays of ale. Another group of men stumbled in, laughing and jabbing at each other.
“…and that wench had the nerve to charge double,” one of the scoffed so loudly it floated over to them. “It wasnae as if her services were that good. Anyone could tell she’s new at it.”
Services…charge double…new at it…are they speaking about a strumpet?
Violet shot a look at Ethan, hoping that he had caught onto it, and with a subtle nod showing that he had, Ethan left their nook and approached the men. She cupped the goblet of sweet mead Ethan had bought her, while observing the room and hoping that Ethan would find out something useful.
Ethan perched on a stool near the group of men. She admired how the light from the fires and torches flicker over
his hair, rendering the fair strands into burnt gold. She could not hear what he was saying but felt her heart flutter at the strong cut of his profile, his firm jaw, and noble cheekbones and the curve of his lips as he spoke.
One man shook his head, and Ethan gave a solemn nod. Returning to the nook, he shook his head and she sighed. The whole day felt wasted with no lead on the woman. She swallowed the dregs of the mead when joined her.
“The woman they were speaking of is red-haired,” Ethan said prodding at his empty goblet. “I ken we—”
“Ask the serving girls, perhaps they will ken something,” Violet said only to have Ethan shake his head with a wry, permissive smile.
“I meant that we should go home. It is going to take a while, and I want ye to get to yer faither before he uses me faither to send the search dogs out for us,” Ethan said. “I ken ye want to get this solved, but today is nay the day.”
Violet bit her lip then nodded, rather reluctantly. “I agree, but we’ll try tomorrow, agreed?”
“We’ll see,” Ethan murmured as he stood. “I dae thank ye for doing this for me. I’m grateful but Rome wasnae built in a day.”
“I ken,” she sighed while standing. “Yer right, it is time to go home. Thanks for coming along with me silly idea.”
“We’ll decide on that.” Ethan led her out of the tavern and the cooler air made gooseflesh rise on her arms. They loosened the tethering ropes from their horses, and he helped her up before mounting his.
“Just stay close to me and we’ll be fine,” he called. “I dae hope yer faither will still hold unto yer word about me taking ye for a ride of the countryside.”
“I hope he will,” Violet said. “But to make sure…before we go in, I will have to do a quick change.”
* * *
They arrived at the castle grounds as the moon was rising over the hilltops. Violet had darted into the stable and into the stall where she had hidden a sack containing a dress and a hairbrush. After changing out of the boy's clothes and yanking the wig from her head, she swiftly put on the dress and brushed her hair back into place.
Ethan had already put the horses back into their places. She came out brushing down her skirt with one hand and her hair with the other. He chuckled, “Now I’m pretty sure nothin’ will be normal with ye here.”
She shoved the sack with her boy clothes into his hand. “Take care of these, will ye? I’ve managed to smuggle these in without him kenning. I believe they’d be hidden with ye. And let’s get to the castle, I’m starving.”
He laughed and tucked the sack under his arm, “Aye, let us get ye in for yer meal and explain yer absence to yer faither.”
While she went to the great hall, Ethan took a quick trip of the stairs where she imagined he was hiding her disguise for their next jaunt. She had taken one step into the mostly empty hall when her father called out, “Violet!”
He was hurrying to her with concern edged all over his face. “Where were ye? I’d have expected to see ye before dusk, nae after it.”
“I told ye, Faither,” she said while trying to mask her nervousness, “Master MacFerson took me out for a ride, I dinnae realize how the time flew by.”
“But—”
“I must take responsibility for that, Mister O’Cain,” Ethan called from behind her. “I took her far out into the hills, and we had to inch our way back home.” He came to her side with his face penitent but his body defensive. “We’ll try to nae do it again.”
He said we…
Violet flicked a look at him from under her lashes, then did the same to her father. “But the best thing is that I’m here now and we’re safe. I am also hungry.”
The older man huffed, “I suppose I can understand that, but for the sake of me peace of mind, please be careful. A murderer is out at large and until we find him, I’d rather ye be close to home.”
His words made a solemn hollowness settle in her stomach. Her father was right, they had to be cautious. But she held onto the surety that what she was doing was going to help her father. Sharing a look with Ethan while her father’s back was turned, she asked, “Shall we sit at the high table or go to the kitchens?”
“Which are ye more comfortable with?” Ethan asked, as they began to walk. “Either way, we get food.”
“The kitchens?” she asked, thankful that it was dim. She did not want to let her eagerness to extend her time with him show.
When they reached the door, Ethan pushed it in and held it until she passed through. The kitchens were warm from the fires and the table they had used twice was empty. He pulled out her chair and before sitting himself, gestured over for a servant to come over. The warmth from the room began to settle into her skin and the aroma of the food was tantalizing her nose.
Before platters of food were being set out on the table, she leaned in and grasped his hand. It was rough and calloused against her reasonably softer one, and it felt like a proof of his strength. “Thank ye for today. I dinnae want to make things difficult of ye but we might have to figure out a way to start again on the morrow.”
“About that,” he said swiping his thumb over the back of her hand. “I have a feeling that me faither will want to talk to me then, so we might have to call off our activities for a while.”
Absurdly, Violet felt he was saying—rather politely—that he did not want to be with her or help her, and that was with her hearing his logical reasoning. “Um, I understand.”
Her hurt was slightly mollified by the worry line she could see starting to take set in Ethan’s face. She assumed that his father was going to speak to him about taking up the lairdship—as it was now vacant— and he was worried about it. Compassion for him overshadowed her upset and she offered him the softest smile she could muster.
“Ye’ll be fine,” she comforted before breaking her hunk of bread. “If ye want to go to bed now, I’ll understand.”
“Nay,” he shook his head. “I’ll stay here with ye.”
Even with his troubles, he had decided to stay, and that elated her while they ate in comfortable silence. When they were finished, Ethan stood and offered his hand to help her up. The great hall was mostly empty, leaving only the servants who were wiping down the tables. She felt his shoulder brush with hers as they continued to the wing where her room was, and he even opened her door for her.
“Ye’re such a gentleman,” she giggled.
“And yer a surprise for a lady,” he replied. “I daenae believe I have ever come across a lady with yer bravery and perception.”
Her heart thumped even harder at the sincere look he was giving her, paired with his flattering words. “Ye’re the first person who has ever told me anything like that,” she murmured.
Ethan’s head cocked to the side and his gaze was bold, “I’m nay surprised, many might be intimidated with how strong ye are but rest assured, I’m nay. I ken ye are what we need around here,” his head dipped and his smile was small but comforting, “Good night, Violet.”
“Same to ye, Ethan,” she replied while slipping inside. She rested her back on the closed door and pressed a hand to her fluttering breast. Ethan felt solid, dependable… a fighter. In this troubling time was an uncertain time of fear and possibly one that preceded an attack. If this was a time of war and she was going into this battle, he was the knight she’d want by her side.
8
As he had suspected, just after dawn, he was summoned into his father’s study. He sat with a heaviness lodged in his throat and his stomach a tight block of ice. His father was grave faced, and the line of his knitted brows was set in worry.
“Ethan—”
“I ken why I’m here, Faither,” Ethan cut in abruptly. “It's about the Lairdship, I ken…but—” he sighed and pressed his lips tight. “—I’m nay ready for it yet, to take up the mantle Finley left to me.”
“To be fair,” Balgair said wryly, “It's I who is going to hand off the mantle, but I ken ye’re nay ready for it, Ethan, and that’s why I called ye
in here. Finley left us abruptly, and his space is never going to be filled. Ye willnae dae what he would have done, and I ken that. But what I want ye to develop is the inkling to begin developing how ye would lead. The Lairdship is going to be handed to ye, one day, whether ye’re ready or nay, but I am going to give ye some time to grow into it.”
Sagging into his chair, Ethan rubbed his face and felt the tension turning his body into a rod of rigid iron begin to slip away. He had expected to come in and find his father forced him into a place he was not ready to inhabit. “How long dae ye ken ye can give me?”
“A year,” his father said. “Between then and now, I’ll give ye the same training I gave Finely, except instead of ten years of preparation, it will be one. Can ye accept that?”
The Highlander's Captured Bride (Steamy Scottish Historical Romance) Page 6