Highland Hellion

by Mary Wine

  “The question is, what would ye like us to do about the lass?” Adwin asked.

  The Earl of Bedford’s man cleared his throat. “Well now, my master has bid me to make an amicable agreement with the Earl of Morton.”

  The man held up a finger when Rolfe started to speak.

  “However, Bridget Hussy, the Countess of Bedford, has made it plain that she has no desire for her stepdaughter to ever be heard from again. In England, that is. She wishes no harm toward the bastard.”

  Rolfe slowly smiled. The Earl of Bedford’s man did the same. He leaned toward Rolfe. “So, my good…Highlander…if you were to take your bride home…is it north?”

  “Very much so,” Rolfe confirmed.

  The secretary nodded. He moved to a small table and struck a flint. Little sparks of light fell into a tinder pile before catching. The man used it to light a candle before he reached into the collar of his nightshirt and pulled out a key that was hanging around his neck. He fit it into a writing desk and opened the lid.

  “Here,” he said at last. “An official offer of dowry for the girl.” He handed it over to Rolfe. “Rather generous.”

  Rolfe read it over, astonished to have in his hands the means of placating his father’s objections.

  “Of course, you will have to steal her away from her wedding.”

  Rolfe looked up, all interest in the offer gone.

  “Yes, Morton has promised her to one of Lord Campbell’s nephews.” The secretary’s tone made it clear that he disapproved of the match. “You will have to hurry if you plan to steal her away before the vows are consummated.”

  Rolfe was already heading toward the door, but Adwin stepped into his path. “Sign the offer and seal it.”

  The secretary nodded and fumbled in his desk for a wax stick. He melted it with the candle and pressed the seal of the Earl of Bedford into the wax. Adwin pushed Rolfe back toward the table.

  Rolfe snorted at his captain, but took the quill offered to him and affixed his name to the document.

  Adwin took it and nodded. “Do nae be thinking no’ to transfer these funds.”

  “As long as you are successful in making certain there is no marriage with the Campbells. There must be witnesses.”

  “I wed her in front of witnesses,” Rolfe declared.

  “A Catholic wedding?”

  “It is nae illegal in Scotland,” Adwin advised the man.

  “Yet her dowry resides in England, where a Catholic wedding is not recognized,” the secretary stated in a firm business tone. “If Lord Campbell’s nephew consummates his union with her, the marriage will be considered valid.”

  “She’ll be a widow if he does,” Rolfe snarled before he left the house.

  * * *

  “Ye will no longer need that dress.”

  The Earl of Morton had followed her right into the bridal chamber. Katherine turned to consider the man who was quite determined to see her consummate her wedding. “There seems little reason to remove it.”

  Robert Campbell was lying in the middle of the bed, flat on his back, where his father’s men had tossed him after carrying him away from the wedding feast. He was snoring loudly, the stench of French wine rising off him.

  Morton cursed. He moved over to the bedside and shook Robert’s shoulder. He earned a snort and sputter from the man before the snoring resumed.

  Katherine turned back toward the door as a giggle alerted her to more company. Two couples were coming into the chamber with excited looks on their faces.

  “We are not too late,” one of them exclaimed. “The bride is still dressed.”

  They came right in and stood by the bed, intent on watching everything as though it were a new play.

  Katherine felt like retching.

  Depravity had merely been a word until that moment.

  “I will return,” Morton announced. He stormed through the chamber and sent the others scurrying with a flick of his hand. He paused for a moment and grabbed the pitcher of wine set out on the table with a selection of cheese and fruit.

  There were sounds of disappointment from those waiting to watch while they went toward the chamber door. A moment later, Katherine was sealed in with nothing but the sound of Robert’s snoring.

  A reprieve.

  Honestly, she was not sure if it were a blessing, because it allotted her more time to dwell on her circumstances.

  She looked toward the bed and felt disgust well up in her.

  A reprieve was a reprieve.

  The dress was the most formal thing she had ever worn, with a tightly laced corset, a hip roll, and a farthingale. There were long, hanging sleeves, and tight inner ones, all decorated with pearls. The silk swished when she moved, and the entire thing required a great deal of concentration on her hips and posture to keep it from swinging like a large church bell. She wanted nothing more than to be rid of it, but couldn’t reach the laces.

  It was also dreadfully heavy.

  She plucked a few slices of cheese from the plate as she made her way to a chair and sat down.

  Life was so much more practical in the Highlands.

  Tears stung her eyes. She was never going to see those places again.

  Fate had reclaimed her.

  * * *

  “That is no’ how ye wear it,” Adwin chastised one of his fellow McTavishes in a rough whisper.

  “As if ye know any better,” the man argued. “It’s too tight.”

  “I dragged that one in here because he’s the same size as ye.” Adwin pointed at the man lying unconscious on the floor of the small storage chamber. He reached out and tugged on the doublet until it came up and over the retainer’s arms.

  “No muscle on him.”

  “Aye,” Adwin agreed. He looked over at Rolfe, who was struggling to button a doublet. “They’ll draw and quarter us for this if they catch us.”

  “One fine thing about Morton refusing to ennoble those around him for the past few years…” Rolfe pulled the hat down on his head. “We’re all commoners.”

  “That won’t make a bit of difference,” Adwin argued. “And the Campbells will slit yer throat for wearing their colors.”

  Rolfe merely grinned. “They’ll have to catch me first.”

  He leaned down and stripped a young boy of his outer garments and boots. He stuffed the clothing under the front of a doublet one of his retainers was wearing that had come off a man with a large, round belly.

  “Let’s go get me wife.”

  There was no pleasure in his tone, simply pure determination. The consequences didn’t concern him.

  Only the very real threat of being unsuccessful.

  * * *

  Katherine indulged her need to think of the Highlands and drifted off into sleep. Her dreams were light and filled with memories of the place she’d called home for the last few years. Marcus and finally Rolfe.

  God, he was a handsome brute.

  Perhaps it was a sin, but she adored looking at him. Her wedding had been attended by men in silk and brocade, with servants aplenty to groom them. Their clothing sparkled with precious gems, and yet she preferred the way Rolfe’s green eyes shimmered when he was about to kiss her.

  “Kat…”

  She let out a little hum of enjoyment. Her dreams were so full of details tonight. She heard the rich timbre of his voice keenly.

  Someone shook her shoulder, and she let out a huff because she didn’t want to let the dream go.

  “We’ve got to go, lass.”

  Katherine blinked, having trouble absorbing what she was seeing. Rolfe pulled her up and onto her feet while she tried to clear slumber’s hold on her brain.

  “Lad is out cold.”

  Adwin’s voice was the slap across the face that she needed. The brassy Highlander’s humor made her smile as
she looked into Rolfe’s eyes.

  “How…?”

  “I’ll tell ye how.” Adwin was walking back toward them. “Through assault—what those court fops will likely call attempted murder—and deception.”

  “And ye enjoyed every moment of it,” Rolfe informed his captain with a smirk.

  Adwin tilted his head to the side. “So long as we do nae get caught.”

  “Aye.” Rolfe had spun her around to get at the laces on the dress. Katherine turned to face him, needing to confirm he was not a dream. He frowned at her, turning her again and resuming his task.

  “We’ve precious little time, Kat. Explanation will have to wait until we’ve gotten ye free of this place.”

  That was all the encouragement she needed to stand still while he tried to open the dress. There was a flash as Adwin pulled out a small dagger and simply slit the laces. She let out a sigh as the bodice sagged, and they both dug their hands into it to raise it above her head. She bent her knees to help, coming up on the other side of the skirt in her underpinnings.

  “Never seen so many layers of clothing in me life,” Rolfe muttered as he pulled at the farthingale and tried to free her from the hip roll.

  “Are ye in there, lass?”

  “I wish I wasn’t,” she answered as she tried to help. “I believe they put this on me to keep me from running away.”

  “Oh, in that case, please continue.”

  They all froze as Robert Campbell spoke from the bed. He was sitting up, his legs slightly apart, which afforded them all a fine view of the bottom of his shoes. “Please don’t think me a beast, dear, but I really do no’ want a wife or to go to the English court. Getting stinking drunk was the only thing I could think of. But I am no’ quite as drunk as I put on.”

  “Thank you,” Katherine said sincerely as Rolfe tossed a pair of pants at her. Down to her smock and corset, she pulled the clothing on as she began to shake with anticipation.

  Maybe…

  Just…maybe…

  “Morton came to witness the consummation, along with some others,” she told Robert. “They will be back.”

  Robert shrugged.

  “There will likely be repercussions,” Rolfe added as he looked at Robert.

  Her groom slowly grinned. “You Highlanders are not the only ones who enjoy having a bit of fun at the earl’s expense.” He shot an arrogant look at them. “We’ll cross paths again.”

  “I’ll call ye friend when we do,” Rolfe assured him.

  “We need to be gone.” Adwin pushed a hat onto Katherine’s head.

  Rolfe was stern, grasping her wrist and pulling her behind him. She cast a last glance back toward Robert, who sent her a grateful little smile before he collapsed back onto the bed.

  * * *

  The passageways were lit by candles.

  Katherine had never seen such a waste of candles, not even in her father’s home. They were left burning every ten feet or so. That left plenty of shadows, but afforded far more light than she was used to having at night.

  “Let go of my wrist.”

  Rolfe’s fingers tightened in response.

  “I am your servant,” she stressed in a whisper. “My duty is to follow you.”

  There was a shuffle and a smothered cry, confirming they were far from alone. Huge tapestries hung over the walls, making plenty of hidden alcoves for couples interested in darkness to hide their actions.

  Rolfe released her, but Adwin was behind her. Every footstep seemed to take forever as her heart pounded. She strained to see through the murky light, hoping she wouldn’t see Morton coming around one of the turns in the passageways.

  Their footsteps seemed to echo as loud as thunder while they made their way. She caught the scent of the kitchens before Rolfe headed through them. The servants looked away when they entered, clearly not wanting to recognize them. It spoke of a harsh life, but with Morton ruling, Katherine had firsthand knowledge of how much easier it must be to remain obscure.

  Diocail Gordon was waiting for them with horses. “Marcus and Symon are a half day’s ride out since neither of them dares to be seen here.”

  Rolfe nodded. He made sure she was on her horse, a satisfied look entering his eyes before he swung up and into the saddle himself.

  They rode out, uncaring of the darkness or the way the rain was starting to fall.

  After all, they were Highlanders, and there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

  * * *

  Morton stared at the scattered pieces of the dress. Robert snored away while the earl slowly laughed. It was a rare indulgence. One he didn’t allow himself lightly.

  Being bested by Rolfe McTavish? Well, that was unexpected. He might be a man, but he was a young one who had yet to fully taste life. Wisdom came with that desire, or perhaps it was more correct to say that one gained knowledge after being tossed aside by life. It was always a humbling experience to discover that while the flesh was strong, circumstances might still defy brawn.

  Katherine and Robert’s preferences were insignificant next to what their marriage would have accomplished. Besides, Morton knew they were both young and would have learned to make the best of their arrangement, be that through learning to like each other or taking lovers. If it prevented war, he didn’t care a bit.

  Because he couldn’t.

  No, a man had to choose what to fight for.

  Tonight, Rolfe had won the day. Morton awarded the victory silently before he turned and moved his thoughts to the next order of business.

  * * *

  They rode hard, only stopping near the afternoon for the sake of the horses. Adwin and the other retainer happily went off into the bushes to change out of their court clothing.

  Katherine waited long enough for Rolfe to have some privacy to relieve himself before she followed him. He turned as she came around the bushes, and she rushed into his arms.

  She was breathless and giddy, but Rolfe didn’t return the embrace. He was stiff and unyielding, making her draw away.

  “Ye need to be taken in hand,” he said tersely.

  Katherine felt her eyes widening. Rolfe nodded at her response. He wore only a shirt, his kilt lying on the ground, but he left it there while he stared at her.

  “Aye, ye heard me correctly.” He’d stopped with his hands on his hips, as though he was deciding on her punishment. “Ye will never allow yerself to get into danger such as that again.”

  “It was the only way to free you,” she countered. “Even Adwin saw the correctness of it.”

  Rolfe snorted. “I’ll be dealing with Adwin soon enough for allowing ye to do it.”

  “What are you saying?” She was reeling. Her happiness was being shattered by his wounded pride.

  “Is it no’ clear enough, woman?” Rolfe exclaimed. “Ye are me wife.”

  Her temper got the better of her. “You have that correct, and if you think I will stand by while you rot in chains, think again.”

  “Ye will never place yerself in danger like that again, and I’ll strap yer arse if that is what it takes to teach ye to mind me.”

  She recoiled from him. “You will do no such thing.”

  Rolfe’s expression changed, becoming one of reluctance. “I would no’ enjoy it, but ye will never put yerself in such danger again or I swear I will.”

  It horrified her, and drove home how little they really knew each other. She was reeling as reality drew its claws down her, reminding her that a husband did have the right to beat his wife, and that she had willingly signed the contract to place herself in his keeping. No one would interfere.

  Rolfe frowned, not caring for the way she shrank from him. “Kat, ye must know I mean only the best with such a promise.”

  “And you should know well what sort of woman I am,” she countered. Tears stung her eyes, and she fought
to keep him from seeing such weakness. “I thought you accepted me as I am.”

  “I did.” His tone was edged with passion now. “Did I no’ wed ye knowing me father forbade me?”

  It was an unexpected blow. “He forbade you?”

  Rolfe drew himself up, shutting her out, but she stepped toward him. “Answer me.”

  A curt nod was her response.

  And now Rolfe would be bringing her home—without the noble title his father had sent him to court to gain. She turned and walked away before the tears gathering in her eyes betrayed her.

  She’d never known a pain so deep before. It was centered inside her, the agony nearly enough to buckle her knees. Never once had it crossed her mind that there would be anything to worry about once they were both free.

  It seemed she had greatly miscalculated. Somehow, she had convinced herself Rolfe was unlike other men. That he was somehow accepting of her nature and will.

  The truth was, now that he’d claimed her, he expected her to submit to his will in all things.

  At least that idea warmed her temper. Men made so little sense. They claimed to enjoy spirit in women and then expected their wives to bend to their dictates. They treated a woman like a hawk that would be kept in line by starvation. Yet when one looked into the creature’s eyes, its wildness was still there. And that enhanced its value.

  She couldn’t live like that.

  Wouldn’t.

  Even if it killed her.

  * * *

  They met up with Symon and Marcus just before sunset. The welcome she’d been looking forward to from Rolfe was finally hers when Marcus pulled her feet right off the ground while he nearly crushed her ribs in a hug.

  Once he set her down, he reached past her and lightly punched Rolfe in the shoulder. “Well done, lad! I’ll admit, I had me reservations about this marriage, but ye’ve proved me wrong.”

  Katherine bit her lip and drifted away. Symon Grant, Diocail Gordon, Marcus, and Rolfe all clustered around the fire. Their expressions turned serious as they listened to the tale of what had happened.

  Morton’s words rose from her memory.

  Scotland was in the grip of a civil war when I took the regency. The Church was split, and the Highlanders, well, they were doing their best to kill each other…