Highland Temptations Box Set: Books 1-3

by Aileen Adams

  Clyde looked about, assuring himself they were alone in the barn. “While in the village today, there was a great deal of excitement. A thief had been caught, ye ken, and taken to the magistrate. Word has it that he was part of a band of reivers and cutpurses.”

  Drew willed himself to remain silent, to maintain as blank an expression as possible, even as his insides roiled.

  Clyde winced. “I doubt that would have caused much of a commotion were the thief not a mere lad.”

  It might as well have been a red-hot branding iron touching his skin. He would have vowed to any and all who heard that he felt actual, physical pain upon hearing it. There was only one lad it could be, he knew, even when there could have been dozens or even hundreds of lads just like Liam wandering the Highlands at that very moment.

  “How was he caught?” Drew choked out.

  “While attempting to steal a calf from the Kendricks,” Clyde frowned. “He made a terrible noise and woke the entire household, then caught the leg of his trousers in a bush as he tried to escape. They say the lad appears younger than his age, but he told the magistrate it was his eleventh birthday.”

  “Eleven,” Drew mused.

  “And…” Clyde sighed. “While Anne had excused herself outside, Owen told me of the grand adventure they’d had. How Anne taught them to…”

  “Steal bread,” Drew finished.

  “And Moira spoke of seeing a lad near the hearth one night, along with Anne. She does not know they spoke of it,” he added hastily.

  Drew closed his eyes as the world crashed in on him.

  “When Anne told me today was her brother’s eleventh birthday… and I knew ye were watching for reivers near the time Anne came to live here…”

  “Och, enough.” Drew rubbed his aching temples, where there had been no ache before Clyde came to speak with him. “Ye know the truth of it now. Aye, she was here to take a pair of steers, and her brother followed without her knowing. I never imagined they would force him to do the work in her stead. What was I thinking, sending him back? I was all wrong from the start.”

  Clyde gave him a moment for this to sink in before speaking again. “They are thieves, Drew. Thieves deserve their punishment.”

  “Not when there is another forcing them to do so,” Drew snarled. “They did not steal of their own will. Anne has not stolen from me—even the bread was merely a way to feed the bairns when no one knew I was keeping her at the house and the larder was low. Had others known of her presence, she would not have stolen. She is not a wicked person at heart, and neither is the lad.”

  He took a few paces in one direction, then back again, grinding his fist into his palm all the while. That devil, whoever he was. He’d forced Liam into something he was in no way fit to manage. “I must go to Avoch in the morning and see for myself. I dinna wish to bring this to Rufus or Anne until I know for certain.”

  “Aye. Would ye wish for me to go along?”

  “I can make the drive on my own, but please,” he added. “I beg ye, dinna mention this to anyone. Let us leave it between us for now. If it is the lad in question, I will confess all to Rufus and accept anything he wishes.”

  Clyde nodded. “Ye know ye can rely on me.”

  The birch trees had begun to lose their leaves, leaving a crunching, colorful rug strewn across the road and the fields to both sides. There was not a cloud in the sky, and while a crisp breeze blew in from the north, the sun’s warmth dispelled any true chill. A perfect day.

  Drew took no notice as he rode astride his chestnut gelding, the horse following a route it knew well. Good thing, because he was far too lost in thought to guide the beast.

  Liam. Poor, wee lad. He hadn’t a chance.

  “No one has come to speak on the lad’s behalf.” The magistrate had sneered at this, either out of spite for the lad or for whoever ought to have come to his aid.

  “Perhaps he has no one,” Drew had suggested. “Perhaps he—”

  “A starving orphan does not take to reiving. He steals a loaf of bread, an apple, even an onion. What was he going to do with that calf other than take it somewhere to sell?”

  He’d held onto this question, for the man had made a fair point. “What of it, then? What if someone gave orders to him? A father, uncle, some grown man without the courage to do his own thieving. What if they beat him or starved him that he might obey their orders?”

  The stout, old man had shrugged. “Can ye prove it? Can anyone? I canna take the lad’s word for it if it is not willin’ to give me names. People I can send my men to fetch.”

  “He will not give up his clan?”

  “He will not say a word! I merely know that we passed his eleventh birthday and that what we give him to eat, he all but chokes down without chewing.”

  That did sound like Liam.

  “He has not so much as breathed another word.” Drew had heard the man’s frustration and understood it well. When the only thing a body wished to do was come to the aid of another, there was nothing more infuriating than being refused.

  He had grown desperate then, convinced there had to be a way to set things right. He hoped there would be. First, it was a matter of speaking to Rufus.

  Rufus was unaware, working at a ledger in his study when Drew entered. “Aye, I had wished to speak with ye on this.” Rufus tapped the column of figures before him. “Ye know I always wish to have another set of eyes review my work.”

  Drew chuckled, though he was hardly in a light mood. “I am hopeless with figures, man, and ye know it. Davina is much more clever. I came to speak to ye on a serious matter.”

  The figures were forgotten. Rufus turned his full attention on his cousin. “Out with it. What is on yer mind?”

  Within minutes, Drew had little choice but to duck as a flagon—empty, thankfully—sailed past his head and crashed into the wall behind him. Soon after that came a mug, then another, both of which he successfully avoided as his cousin screamed near enough to shake the house down.

  Rufus brandished his dirk. “I shall not miss with this, lad.”

  “Wait, I beg ye.” It was his nature to fight back, was it not? It was instinct. The man before him, cousin or no, wished his grievous harm and with good reason. He had just learned that a thief was living on his land without his knowledge and wished to kill the man who’d withheld the truth.

  Yet he could not fight him. Not Rufus. Not now. This was not some brawl in a tavern. This was kin. Blood. This was everything.

  Rufus’s chest heaved with each heavy, rasping breath. “Why? Is there yet more treachery ye wish to admit? Perhaps ye wish to clear your conscience before I send ye to your maker?”

  Drew held up his hands, palms out, a gesture of surrender. “Ye have every right to be furious—even more than furious. I have little excuse except for this, I believed then, and I believe now, that neither brother nor sister stole of their own will. They did it for another.”

  “Why did ye send the lad home, then?”

  “Because I knew ye would threaten to throw a dirk at my head if I told the truth!” Drew bellowed, gesturing to the weapon in question which still sat in his cousin’s palm.

  “I have no intention of throwin’ this,” Rufus assured him. “I intend to slit your throat from ear to ear.”

  “Forgive me if that does not provide comfort,” Drew spat. “Ye see what I mean. Had I told ye I caught a pair of reivers, ye would have demanded they go straight to the village for punishment.”

  “Ye have no greater faith in me, then?” Rufus asked, and for a moment he appeared genuinely disappointed. “I did believe we knew each other better than that, Drew.”

  “Look how enraged ye are now.”

  “Not at the pair of them, not nearly as much as I am at yourself. Ye lied, again and again, and you’ve made a fool of me. No man makes a fool of me and lives to tell the tale.”

  Even so, Rufus sat once again, the first flash of fury having cooled as quickly as it flared.

  “I know
‘tis folly to ask for your forgiveness,” Drew ventured, “but I do ask for it, and I hope ye can spare it in time. At the moment, my greatest concern is freeing the lad. He will waste away in prison, and none of the scoundrels with whom he’s lived will come to his rescue. Of that much, I’m certain.”

  “What do ye have in mind, then?”

  “I will speak with her,” he explained. “I shall tell her what I found and what it means for Liam. ‘Tis time for her to be honest, utterly and truly, if she wishes to free him.”

  “What of her?” Rufus challenged. “Does she get away without punishment?”

  “If Liam does, why should she not?” Drew felt his temper threatening to flare and prayed that it would not be so. Liam needed him, and so did Anne. Falling into a fight with his cousin would not be of help to either of them. He breathed slowly, gritting his teeth, willing his heart to slow its rhythm.

  “’Tis entirely different.”

  “How is it different?”

  “It simply is. The lad was unsuccessful in his reiving, for one.”

  “Ye dinna know he never stole anything else. Or is reiving the only crime for which a person ought to be punished?”

  “Ye know that is not the way I feel.”

  “What is it, then?” Drew folded his arms, if only for the chance to hide his clenched fists. He hated speaking so, especially toward the cousin to whom he owed so much. But right was right, and Rufus had a tendency to lose sight of it in the face of personal concerns.

  His cattle had been stolen. He wanted justice.

  “She took what was ours,” he insisted, his face going red at the memory of it.

  “Aye, and no one wished for her to be strung up more than I,” Drew snarled. “I’m certain the lass would do anything to make it up to ye. It is neither herself nor her brother we ought to concern ourselves with, however. ‘Tis the men who sent them. Men who canna be bothered to do their thieving themselves, and likely to avoid capture. Pitiful creatures. They are the ones I wish to see hanged for this.”

  “How do ye suggest we see it’s done, then?”

  “I shall speak with her. Tell her about Liam. She would do anything to help him, I’m certain of it.”

  A quirked brow. “How certain are ye?”

  “He is the reason she stayed behind while I sent him home. If I released him and spoke not a word of what he’d done, she would remain and tend the bairns. ‘Twas the last thing she wished to do, but she did it for him. She has devoted herself to the twins. That is the lass she is at heart. All she does, she does for those she loves. She will do this for him.”

  “Even though it means admitting what she’s done? She may need to do so in front of the magistrate.” Rufus fixed him with a stern stare. “And she ought to know it before she speaks a word. Those with a say in this might very well put her in Liam’s place after setting him free.”

  Drew’s chest tightened at the thought, and he asked himself why. Why, when this was what he’d threatened all along? When he had told himself time and again that the lass deserved no better? A thief. No better than the slop thrown to the pigs.

  Try as he might, he could not make himself believe this to be true. Not any longer.

  “I believe in her,” was all he could offer. “She shall do what is right. Ye have my word.”

  Rufus rubbed the back of his neck with a rueful smirk. “I have no choice but to ask myself what that means now. Your word. What good is it to me when ye have broken my trust?”

  He had expected this. What he had not expected was how it would sting. He’d learned at an early age, as all children did, that trust could not be built up to its former state once it had been broken.

  Yet he trusted Anne regardless of how they’d started out. That much he knew. Perhaps it was possible.

  “I shall have to accept that. It’s no less than what I deserve.”

  “Nay, ‘tis far less,” Rufus argued, but it was half-hearted at best. “Be gone with ye. Speak to the lass and see to it she does not run off in the night.”

  Yes. He would have to see to that.

  24

  “Ye are one to take your time, Drew MacIntosh.” Anne shook her head and clicked her tongue in disappointment. “The twins are already tucked into bed and like as not sleeping by now. What took ye so long? I believed ye to merely ride to the village and back.”

  All of this, she’d spoken while her back was to him, bent over what was left of the stew she’d prepared for supper with the intention of emptying the pot into a bowl and serving it to him with perhaps another tart word or two.

  When she turned to deliver those words, however, she found herself face-to-face with a man who appeared to have seen a ghost. She lowered the bowl to the table, her hands shaking somewhat. “What is it? What happened?”

  His lips pulled back in a grimace, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. “Ye ought to sit.”

  She did so without argument, for her legs would no longer support her. “Tell me. Is it Liam? What have ye heard?”

  He did not deny it, which only set her heart racing more furiously than ever. Why had she not gone to him? Why had she not fought for him? What had Malcolm done in her absence? Her poor, defenseless brother!

  Every moment of hesitation made her anguish all the worse, until she was prepared to scream at the man to speak. Her entire body trembled with the need to scream, in fact. To shriek and curse the world and God and his angels for allowing harm to come to her beloved one.

  Whom she had abandoned, no matter the reason for having done so.

  “Is he dead?” she asked, her voice flat.

  “Gods, nay! Och, lassie, dinna think so.” He fetched a dipper of water and handed it to her. “Drink. I shall tell all.”

  She obeyed, merely because she wished for him to get on with it.

  He crouched before her, going so far as to rest one hand over hers. It was little comfort, though he did at least ease her trembling. “He was caught while trying to steal cattle from a neighboring farm. He is being held in town at the magistrate’s and will likely go to prison.”

  Her mind reeled. The room spun. In an instant, she was in his arms, and she was sliding from the chair, and he was holding her while she wept brokenly against his shoulder, slumping to the floor.

  “Och, Liam! My Liam! How could he?”

  “He had no choice, I’m certain,” Drew murmured, rocking her as she would have rocked one of the twins.

  She allowed herself to sink into his embrace, to find the comfort he wished to grant as despair poured from her eyes in the form of tears. “Not Liam. Not my Liam. Him. Malcolm.” She could barely speak, but she needed to speak his name. His wretched, vile name.

  “Malcolm?”

  “My uncle.” She pressed her face to his shoulder now to muffle her sobs, her tears soaking the tunic and leaving it clinging to him just as she did. “’Twas him, always him, telling us what to do. Making me go out. If I did not, he would have thrown us out of his home, and I needed… I needed to…”

  “To live, and to protect Liam. There, there, lassie. Dinna cry now.” Drew soothed her, or did his best to, stroking her hair as he continued rocking her back and forth. She could not recall the last time anyone soothed her, especially not in this manner, and she understood now just how much she’d missed it.

  “My poor lad,” she wept, imagining him sitting alone, with no one to comfort him as Drew did for her. He must have been cold, hungry, frightened, without hope.

  “What is his full name? This Malcolm.”

  “Stuart.” There was no longer reason to avoid speaking of him, for she no longer had to protect her brother from his vicious ways. “Malcolm Stuart. My uncle.”

  “Och, ‘tis a pity,” he murmured.

  His hand patted her hair, and she was glad for the gesture even if it was somewhat awkward.

  “My parents died when Liam was a wee bairn. Malcolm was my mam’s brother—she was not Liam’s mother, she died long ago. I thought of my stepmother
as a mother, and she loved me as though we were blood. Malcolm was my mam’s only brother and the only living relative, so we went to him. He does not love me, and I am his niece by blood. Ye can imagine, then, how little he cares for Liam.”

  “Why did ye send him back, lass?”

  “It was either send him back to Malcolm or risk him being where he is now.” She laughed at the turn things had taken, though there was not the slightest bit of humor in any of it. Only sadness and despair.

  “I see. Why did ye not tell me this before?”

  “What use was it? There was no need to tell ye.”

  “Aye, there was.” He looked down at her, bending backward that he might see her better. “Ye might have shared with me, lass. Had I known this uncle of yours did not care for the lad, I might have thought twice about threatening him. This uncle. He forced ye to steal?”

  “He forces all of his men to do so. Some are Stuarts, some are not.” Her tears had begun to dry, and she could see his face more clearly. He was troubled, angry, but not with her. Enough time had passed that she recognized how he looked when she’d angered him.

  “Why do any of them stay with him?”

  She snorted, and pulled back to wipe the dampness from her cheeks with her apron. Now that the heartbreaking rush of emotion had passed, she felt little more than shame for having made a spectacle of herself. The tears she’d shed were still evident upon his shoulder.

  “They dinna have to work, ye ken. They are thieves, and content to be thieves, and to live like swine. They look upon it as an amusement. A game, even. Who can steal the most, who can take the greatest chances without being caught. And Malcolm collects—he grants them their due, mind ye, but they drink it away or worse.” She rolled her eyes at the thought of the poor, wretched creatures forced to lie with some of the filthy men her uncle associated with.

  Drew, however, was unaware of this and did not seem to care. His brows knitted together, his nostrils flared. He was deadly serious. “How many men?”