by Amy Jarecki
They dismounted outside the stable yard. Geordie dug in his sporran, pulled out a handful of copper coins, and dropped them in her palm. “I’ll trade the horses for fresh mounts. Go to the alehouse and order us a meal.”
“Fresh mounts?” The idea made her ache all the more. “You mean we’re going to keep riding?”
“’Tis not safe to stay in town—we’ll need to ride on a bit further at least. Only a bit longer, I promise.” He pointed across the muddy street. “Now go buy us some food. I’ll be there directly.”
Akira stood in front of the alehouse doors for a moment. She hadn’t been inside such an establishment since she was young. But Geordie was right, it was the only place she’d seen where they could order a meal.
A man pushed outside, causing her to stumble backward. Catching himself on a post, he swayed in place for a moment, giving her a wide-eyed, inebriated stare. Then a lecherous grin played across his lips. “Are ye looking for a tumble, lassie? ’Cause I ken of a fresh pile of hay but a quick jaunt from here.”
If it wouldn’t cause a stir, she’d slap the man for his vulgarity. “No.” She folded her arms tight across her body and hastened inside.
Raucous voices filled the hall. Dirty thresh covered the floor, and above, an enormous chandelier encrusted with layers of melted candles dripped wax. The sound ebbed to a hum as all eyes shifted her way. A burly man behind the bar crossed his arms. “Och, lass, I suggest you run along home afore ye find more trouble than ye can handle.”
She forced herself to move toward him. “My—um—employer,” she said in a low tone, “will be here anon. He sent me to order two meals, please.” She slid a penny in front of the man. “And two pints of ale.”
“That’ll be two and a half.”
Feeling like a hundred pairs of eyes were boring into her back, she decided not to barter, though two pennies should have been plenty. “You drive a hard bargain.” She slid another penny and two farthings forward, then glanced over her shoulder. Dear Lord, every man in the room was staring—and there weren’t any womenfolk to be seen.
She caught sight of an empty table near the back, but Akira didn’t dare walk through the maze of oglers. She drummed her fingers. “I’ll wait here.”
“Suit yourself.” The barman snatched the coins. “Helga, two plates full!” he hollered.
“Two plates,” came a cackling reply from a passageway at the side of the bar.
“Thank you.” Akira smiled, trying to be pleasant, but her skin prickled and her ears rang as the men resumed their conversations. The door opened and slammed closed again. She resisted an overwhelming urge to turn around.
The barman placed two pewter tankards of ale in front of her. She grasped the handle of one and raised it to her lips with a trembling hand. Good heavens, her fingers were shaking from hunger before she entered the place, and now she had to clamp her muscles taut to keep from spilling her drink for nerves.
Footsteps crunched the thresh spread across the floorboards.
Akira lowered her tankard, turning her head enough to peer out the corner of her eye. Blast, the vile man from the street moved in beside her. “You’re none too friendly for a tinker.”
Heat spread across the back of her neck. Since she’d been traveling with Geordie, nary a soul had made a belittling comment regarding her heritage. Until now. The man licked his lips like a pig and smelled worse than a pickled sewer.
She inched away, trying to ignore him.
He grabbed her arm and bared a row of crooked, yellow teeth. “Come, lassie, there’s a table in the back ye can buy me a pint.”
She jerked back, but his fingers gripped tighter. “Please, leave me be. My employer will be here soo—”
“Employer?” He threw his head back with a crowing laugh. “What are you, a poor man’s whore?”
She straightened her spine. “I am a healer.”
“Aye, and I’d like a wee kiss to heal me ails.” He yanked her into a crushing embrace. “Give us a peck on the cheek, lass.”
Shoving her fists into his chest, she fought to break away. “Let me go!”
His breath smelled foul and pickled. “Just one kiss.”
As she leaned her face away from the stench, her hips rocked forward and her mons brushed him. Ice pulsed through her veins. The drunk trapped her against the bar and pressed his slobbering lips to her cheek. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”
The hall erupted with boisterous claps and shouts, egging him on.
“Stop this!” She pushed him away, but as she started to run, he caught her arm.
“I still have a taste for a pint, lass. Surely you can spare a penny.”
The door slammed.
Thunderous footsteps thudded their way.
The shouting stopped.
Something clicked. “Step away. Now.”
The drunkard’s eyes shifted. “Mind your own affairs, I’m just having a bit o’ fun.”
Over the man’s shoulder, Geordie’s eyes blacker than coal, his mouth in a hard line. He pressed a pistol into the man’s temple, looking like he could pull the trigger without a bit of remorse. “I said step away.” His voice rolled with a low growl. “If you want to live.”
The man shifted his eyes. “What is the wench to you?”
“That is no concern of yours.” He pressed the weapon so hard the blackguard was forced to bend his neck clear to his shoulder. “Release her arm now or meet the devil.”
Dropping his hand, the man backed away.
Akira clutched her fists beneath her chin and slid beside Geordie.
He swept his pistol across the gaping faces. “If any man tries to stop me, he’ll be the first to take a musket ball to the gut.” He reached for a tankard and guzzled the ale, never taking his eyes or his weapon off the crowd. He slammed the cup onto the board. “Grab my dirk, lass. We’re walking out of here.”
She unsheathed the weapon and pointed it at the drunkard.
The cur shrank.
Geordie tugged her arm. “Now.”
Together they backed to the door. “Anyone who tries to follow will be the first to die,” Geordie growled, turning the latch and pulling her through.
Akira stumbled after him, running for the waiting horses. “It was about time you arrived.”
“Aye?” He hoisted her into the saddle. “You’d think ordering a plate of food wouldn’t cause such a stir, God bless it.”
Her chafed thighs burned as she dug in her heels, pointing her mount north. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“Next time, we stay together.” He cantered off, tossing a look over his shoulder: “Haste, afore the whisky makes some bastard think he’s a hero.”
Akira managed to keep up this time. Why the blazes did Geordie blame her? He was the one who’d told her to enter an alehouse unescorted.
Curses.
* * *
Geordie’s blood pulsed hot beneath the skin. Every time he blinked he saw that ill-breeding swine with his dirty fingers wrapped around Akira’s arm. For Christ’s sake, how could he have been such a buffoon, telling her to go into an alehouse alone for the purpose of saving time?
Though she looked sultrier than sin on Sunday, she was an innocent—a lass who carried around a basket of remedies and did what she could to help people in need. Akira was dear and beautiful and made sunshine radiate in his chest when she smiled. Goddammit, he’d murder any blackguard who dared to touch her.
Aye, she may have been Gypsy born, but there wasn’t a lass in the Highlands who could match her genuine beauty, her sincere kindness, her tenderness.
By God, he’d scribe a missive to the chieftain of Clan MacPherson and tell him exactly what he thought of the town under his jurisdiction, and if he didn’t receive an apology in due course, he’d put the whole bloody village to fire and sword.
Geordie glanced over his shoulder to ensure Akira had managed to keep pace. A few yards back, she kicked her heels, her eyes wide, a grimace on her face. Christ, the lass had to be
the worst horsewoman he’d ever seen.
He tugged his reins and slowed a bit for her sake.
How on earth was she supposed to learn horsemanship? She’d said she was the sole support for her family. How many of Scotland’s children could not afford horses or shoes? How many wore ill-fitting clothes and went hungry at night? Bless it, according to Geordie’s former wife, such worries were too frivolous for a duke.
But he worried.
And Akira’s poverty, her happiness, her acceptance of life and the myriad of situations thrown her way, made him realize exactly how pompous and privileged his entire life had been. Akira had cared for him, fled from soldiers with him, and kept his secrets when she’d had no reason to do so except for the kindness in her heart.
And she’d just suffered at the hand of a slobbering swine.
Thank God I arrived when I did.
Geordie remained in the lead, listening to make sure Akira didn’t fall behind. For miles and miles, he berated himself for being such a goddamn louse.
As night fell, the path lit only by moonlight, he drove the horses up into the shelter of the mountains—a journey with which he was familiar. When they reached a clearing far enough away from Newtonmore, Geordie finally slowed his mount and stopped. Akira didn’t ride in beside him. She pulled up short at the edge of the trees, her face downcast.
“Why on earth are you keeping to the shadows?” Dismounting, he strode toward her. She sniffled. “Are you injured?”
“No.” Her voice warbled.
“Well, you’re safe now.” When he grasped her horse’s bridle, she looked up. Tears glistened on her cheeks.
His heart squeezed in his chest. Och, would he ever stop acting like a fool? “Jesus bloody Christ, I’m sorry.” He reached up. “Come, I’ll help you down.”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t want to.”
“Please, Akira. I acted like a bull-brained oaf.” He grasped her waist and pulled her down.
“I-I told him to leave me be.” She buried her face in his shoulder. “But he was inebriated and vile.”
Closing his eyes, Geordie held her tight, plying her crown with tender kisses. “There, there, lass. I wanted to lodge a musket ball in the bastard’s brain when I saw him heckling you. I wouldn’t have hesitated if not for your safety.”
She rocked against him. “I never ever want to enter an alehouse again.”
His insides ripped apart. “I should have had you wait until I could go inside with you. I am sorry.”
“B-but, but I thought you were upset with me.”
Jesus Christ, she was the one accosted, and she thought he was angry with her? “Nay, mo leannan.” He’d never used the Gaelic endearment for sweetheart with any woman, but for Akira it rolled off his tongue like sweet cream. “I could never be upset with you. I am angry with myself. You are but an innocent rose among the thorns of men.”
She drew in a series of deep breaths, clearly trying to regain control.
Geordie smoothed his hand up and down her back, whispering, “Easy, lass, I’m to blame, not you,” over and over again.
When her breathing finally became steady, he raised her chin with the crook of his finger. “Did ye ken you’re the kindest, most selfless woman I’ve ever met?”
She shook her head slowly. “I’m not.”
“Ah, but you are.” Ever so slowly, he lowered his mouth while he studied Akira’s features in the moonlight. Her eyes more vivid, her lips a darker shade of ruby, her skin luminous. His entire being craved her. He couldn’t back away now if someone held a musket to his head. Unable to close his eyes, he brushed his lips over hers with feathery strokes. No, he couldn’t pledge undying love to this woman, but together they could share the passion that flowed between them every time their lips met, every time their gazes locked, and every time flesh caressed flesh.
Sighing into his mouth, Akira slid her hands around his waist and pressed her body flush against his. Soft, unbound breasts molded to him as if they’d been destined to be joined.
Of all the women he’d had, no one had suited him as Akira, in both body and spirit. She had not a care for titles or airs. She saw him as a man who could protect her, a man with honor. Yet this wisp of a lass could stand up to him, and if she wanted, she could bring him to his knees. Finally closing his eyes, he kissed her. This was no plundering of the mouth; it served as an offering from his very soul.
His head clouded. Nothing around them mattered. The rustling of the trees sang a song of love, the soft neigh of the horses gave a blessing to the unique bond that had grown between them in such a short period of time.
Savoring her sweet taste, he pressed his forehead against hers. “Can you ever forgive me, lass?”
“As long as you stay with me next time,” she whispered. “Thank heavens you came when you did, else I might have bit the blackguard’s nose right off.”
“Now that’s a sight I would have enjoyed.” Chuckling, he stepped toward his mount and slid his hand inside the roll of blankets. “I spoiled a warm meal for you as well, did I not?”
She rubbed her belly. “’Twasn’t your fault, though I’m hungry.”
He offered her the parcel of dried meat. “You take it, lass.” After untying the thong, she held up the meager meal. “There’s plenty. We can share.”
“Perhaps I’ll have some after you’ve eaten your fill.” He took her hand and led her to a log where they could sit. “I fear after our hasty departure, word of our passing through Newtonmore may have already alerted the Government troops. If they are following, they’ll have added incentive to make chase.”
She crossed her ankles with a grimace, then rubbed her thigh with a pained exhale.
Geordie furrowed his brow. He hated to ask her to keep going when she was obviously exhausted. “How are your legs holding up?”
“Still sore.”
He looked to the night sky. “If you can weather it, I reckon there’s about another eight hours’ ride to Glenlivet. If we ride steady, it should put us there in the wee hours afore dawn. I’ve kin there. They’ll shelter us and feed us, and fight for us if need be.” He brushed her tresses away from her face to better see her eyes. “Are you up to riding all night?”
She blessed him with a beautifully brave smile. “If it means we’ll be safe, then my legs will have to bear it for a bit longer.”
Chapter Nineteen
Akira startled when Geordie pulled her from the horse into his arms. “What happened?”
“You fell asleep.” He chuckled as he marched toward a tower, his limp somewhat pronounced. The stone walls glistened blue with the moonlight. “You’ve been draped over the horse’s withers for the past few hours.”
She leaned her head against his chest. “Why did you not wake me?”
“No need. I clipped on the lead line and the horse ambled along steadily enough.”
She peered up at the enormous tower. “Where are we?”
“Glenlivet, the border of Gordon country.” He continued walking as if she weighed nothing.
“That’s a good thing?”
“A very good thing.” He grinned, his white teeth catching the moonlight. “It means we’re only thirty miles from Huntly.”
“Your home?” Goodness, she was still so sleepy her head felt like it was full of cobwebs.
“Aye.” He kicked the door. “Guard!”
A deep voice grumbled inside. “Who the bloody hell is pounding on the door in the wee hours?” Footsteps shuffled, and with a loud creak, a viewing panel opened. “This better be goo—” The whites of the guard’s eyes grew as round as silver sovereigns. “Your Grace?” His voice shot up like an adolescent lad.
“Aye. Let us in.” Geordie inclined his head toward Akira. “We’ve been riding all night and the lass can go no further.”
She blinked and dropped her jaw. Your Grace? Lord Almighty, such words could mean only one thing.
The door swung open, revealing a gateway with a torch on the wall. �
�I’ll awake the governor.”
“Nay,” Geordie said. “Let him sleep.”
“But he’s in your chamber, Your Grace.”
Geordie faced the guard with a pinch to his brow. “Is the red chamber occupied?”
“Nay.”
“That will suffice for the night.” Geordie set Akira on her feet and took the torch from the wall. “Tell no one of my presence here.”
The guard bowed. “Of course. Is there anything else you need?”
“Bring up some cheese and fruit straightaway, and a ewer of ale.” Geordie stopped. “You do it, and do not let on to a soul for whom you’re fetching the food.”
“Aye, Your Grace. I’ll follow you directly.”
Geordie proceeded into the stairwell, with Akira close on his heels. Her every step burned her inner thighs, but she forced herself to stay close while he climbed, holding the torch high. Biting her tongue, she’d wait to confront him about his identity until they were behind closed doors.
Three flights up, Geordie stepped into a chilly passageway and opened the first door on the right. “I’ll set to lighting the fire.”
Rubbing her hands, Akira moved inside while Geordie headed for the hearth. “You’re a duke? Royalty, no less?” Prickles spread across her skin. No wonder he’d been so secretive. If the Marquis of Atholl’s dragoons had discovered a duke wounded on the battlefield, they would have done everything to see him ruined. Though she didn’t know much of nobility, she had no doubt he would have lost his lands, and worse, his life.
Geordie hardly acknowledged her question as he stacked kindling like a commoner and held the torch to it. As the fire crackled to life, the glow illuminated the chamber—tapestries on the wall, a large bed with a red canopy and curtains.
Needles and pins still prickled her skin as Akira gazed around the chamber. Such opulence.
This room was spacious, with a gilded table and two chairs standing before the hearth. An enormous bed with thick and ornately carved wooden posts supported a red canopy and curtains. Two benches padded with red silk adorned the window embrasure. Akira was chilled by the night air and by the realization of how deeply over her head she’d become—and unknowingly, like a silly fool. Who was she to harbor amorous feelings for any noble, let alone a man as lofty as a duke?
