by Amy Jarecki
“Indeed. And the traitor has an injury.”
Sniffing, Geordie leaned back with an aghast expression. “You mean to say you tracked an injured man near a hundred miles and were unable to catch up with him?”
Captain Weaver licked his lips. “’Twas a great deal more than a hundred miles—went over the mountains and up through Newtonmore. And he had an accomplice—some tinker lass.”
Geordie’s gut twisted. If this weasel intended to lay a hand on Akira, he would die a most painful death. He gripped his armrests and dug in his fingers. “I can assure you there have been no injured soldiers accompanied by tinkers or healers come through Huntly. Not in the past fortnight, not in the past month, not whilst I’ve been the Duke of Gordon.”
The captain leaned forward. “May I make a request, Your Grace?”
“And what, pray tell, is that?” Geordie drew in an impatient breath, meeting the man’s steely glare with one of his own. “Mind you, you are very near overstepping your station.”
“Will you stand and walk to the door and back.”
Feigning a fit of rage, the duke slammed his fist on the table. “Have you lost your mind? Asking a duke to parade around like a commoner? What the devil are you on about?”
“I think the injured man—the man who lost that flask—is you, m’lord.”
Geordie shoved back his chair and stood, crushing his knuckles into the table. “How dare you come into my home and accuse me of raising the Gordon flag against Government troops. You, sir, have lost your quarry and have found no recourse but to blame the innocent.” He gestured to his legs. “As you see, I am uninjured.”
The man’s eyes shifted, as if he was considering his next jibe.
Before the dragoon could spout another incriminating word, Geordie thrust his finger toward the door. “I must ask you to leave, sir.”
The captain rose to his feet and bowed his head. “Forgive me, Your Grace.”
Geordie took a couple of very sure steps to prove his point. “Lieutenant, please escort Captain Weaver off Huntly grounds.”
“Straightaway, Your Grace.”
The captain shoved his hat on his head and strode to the door. Before moving through, he stopped and regarded the duke over his shoulder. “Oh, there’s one more thing.”
Geordie raised his chin.
“If this traitor is you, I’ll see to your beheading.”
Narrowing his eyes, the duke took on a tone of deadly calm. “And I will have words with your superior officer regarding your insolence and outrageous accusations. Men have hanged for less.”
Geordie stood his ground and waited until the footsteps faded down the passageway before he collapsed in his chair. Atholl’s Captain Weaver was a damned bloodhound, no doubt out for fame and fortune. Worse? Geordie doubted this was the last he’d seen of the bastard.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Wearing another new gown, this one of muted plaid, Akira took one last bite of porridge when a knock sounded at the door.
“Come—”
Not waiting for her to respond, the lord of the castle pushed inside. “Why are you not breaking your fast in the dining hall with the family?”
She glanced at her empty bowl. “I didn’t want to intrude, Your Grace.” Akira had taken a number of meals in the dining hall, but it was so stuffy, she’d needed a respite this morn.
“Of course ’tisn’t an intrusion. Jane inquired after you, as did Alexander. The children are already enamored with you.”
“But what of their mother?”
“I’ve told you, Lady Elizabeth will remain in her rooms.”
“I find that quite odd, especially for Lady Jane and Lord Alexander.”
“Bah, they are accustomed to their mother’s reclusiveness. Besides, they’re spending their afternoons with her.” Geordie strode forward with a pronounced limp and pulled Akira up. “Anyway, that’s not why I came.”
“No?”
“My leg is needling me. I think you’d best have a look.”
Was this the best excuse he had for visiting her chamber? Goodness, she applied the salve only last eve.
“Of course.” Akira moved to the bedside table and picked up the pot. “I think ’tis time for me to pay a visit to the castle’s herb garden. I left the avens roots I found in Glen Spean behind.”
“You ken the formula?”
“I ken what Ma has taught me.” She pulled off the stopper. “Tell me, do you have a healer at Huntly?”
“An old crow who uses far too much houseleek if you ask me.”
Akira gestured to the chair. “Then I must prepare a batch of salve afore I return to Dunkeld.”
He sat and held out his hand. “Before I forget, this is for you.” A ten-shilling piece dropped in her palm. “We did have an agreement.”
She closed her fingers around the coin and slid it into her pocket. “Yes, we did, and I thank you for remembering.” The coin mightn’t be important to him, but it was of utmost importance to Akira.
“And my valet tells me the dower house will be ready for you to move in on the morrow.”
“Honestly, you shouldn’t—”
He grasped her elbow. “’Tis already done. You’ll have a host of servants and needn’t worry about being alone.”
A knot in her stomach churned. No matter what, she could not continue living a lie. If she stayed, she’d never be able to regard herself in a looking glass without feeling shame. “Have you forgotten I’m returning to Dunkeld?”
“And have you forgotten I aim to convince you to bring your entire family back to Huntly?” He stretched out his leg and raised the hem of his plaid until he exposed the wound.
Licking her lips, Akira did her best to remain unmoved. Regardless, a memory of that muscular thigh rubbing against her own flesh made her pulse race. She glanced higher, all too aware of what lay hidden beneath the folds of wool. She busied herself with scooping her fingers around the inside of the pot. “It looks better today.”
“It itches something awful.”
“Ma always says that’s a good sign—but you must take care. A musket ball to the leg might heal on the outside, but you mustn’t push yourself. It will be at least six months before your limp completely goes away—and it could be far longer.”
“Och, I’m hardly limping. I pulled the wool over the dragoon’s eyes a few days ago. He had no idea I’d taken a shot to the leg.”
She stilled her hand. “You didn’t tell me a dragoon had been here.”
“It wasn’t worth mentioning. I threw the bastard out.” He looked her in the eye and arched his brows.
“Did he suspect you?” Akira’s heart skipped a beat.
“Aye, found my flask.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I’d lost the blasted thing in a wager in Inverness.” He chuckled. “At least my flask has been returned. Da gave it to me when I reached my majority.”
“The piece was dear, indeed.” Akira gave his knee a pat and stoppered the pot. “Lady Jane has invited me to attend her writing lesson this morn.”
“She has?” He chuckled. “Och, Jane is an affable lass. How do you feel about learning alongside a wee one?”
Akira shrugged. “I’d like to learn to read—even a little.”
“Excellent.” He rubbed his hand along her backside.
She shifted her gaze, trying to conceal the passion that might reflect in her eyes as a rush of desire pooled low in her belly. “The lesson starts soon. I was planning to head to the nursery after I finished breaking my fast.”
“Then you’d best go.” He glanced to the bed. “Else, I might have difficulty making good on my promise.”
Goodness, Akira didn’t have to ask him what he’d meant. For the past few days, simply having the big Highlander sitting in her chamber made tingles skitter across her skin.
Geordie stood and took her hand, his face growing dark, as if a shadow had passed over. He stroked his thumb along her bottom lip—so roug
h, but soft at the same time. Akira’s insides trembled as she looked to the bed. Backing away, she willed her inner strength.
But the duke didn’t give her a moment’s respite. Staring into her eyes with a heavy-lidded hazel gaze, he followed, slipping his hands to her waist. A feral growl rumbled in his chest. “I ken I must wait until you invite me to your bed, but that does not mean I cannot kiss you, lass.”
If a person could melt, Akira would have ended up a pile of mush, but Geordie pinned her against the tapestry, his powerful frame flush against hers. He placed one hand against the wall, the other slipping behind her neck. Then he lowered his lips and claimed her mouth in a bone-melting declaration of passion. Taking his time, he kissed her with domination and expertise, his body molding to her every curve, revealing the hard length of his desire.
Akira’s head felt faint as he fluttered kisses along her neck and around her bodice. Somehow she regained a thread of strength and clasped his face between her hands. Breathing so deeply she was practically panting, she rose on her toes and gave him one last, long, luxurious kiss.
“You’re going to bring me undone if you keep kissing me like that,” she moaned, trying to keep her wits.
“Me?” Dear Lord, if only he knew how close she was to raising her skirts, they’d be on the bed in the blink of an eye. “I fully intend to, mo leannan.”
His hand slid to the latch and, with a devilish chuckle, he slipped out the door.
Akira took a moment for her hot blood to cool, then patted the curls so expertly pinned by Fiona and headed for the nursery. Finding her way around the castle was becoming easier—at least she knew where to find her chamber, the dining hall, and the nursery. And at the moment that was enough.
At the end of the east passageway, a door closed behind her.
Heat prickled the back of her neck.
“If it is not the poor tinker who has stolen the duke’s heart. I wondered when our paths would cross.”
Akira stopped and turned, immediately dipping into a curtsy as was required when meeting a duchess face-to-face. “Your Grace.”
The woman pursed her lips, looking every bit as haughty as Akira imagined a duchess would be. Her hawkish gaze swept from Akira’s head to her toes. “You are pretty for a tinker.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Not to worry.” The woman dismissed Akira’s question with a flick of her wrist. “Lord Gordon will soon tire of you. He always tires of his whores.”
Akira gulped as her ribs squeezed inward. How dare this woman insult her thus? “I am a healer.”
“Oh, honestly, you are daft. Do you think a wee musket ball can do much damage to that bullheaded duke?”
“He was quite ill for—”
“A ruse to get you into his bed.” With another wave of her hand, the duchess smirked. “George has a heart encased in iron. No lead musket ball to the leg could damage such a wretched soul. Mark me, he’d need a direct shot to the heart—and with an arrow tipped by nightshade.”
Goodness gracious, the woman sounded as bitter as wormwood. “How awful. How can you say that about the father of your children?”
“My, you are young and naïve, are you not? ’Tis unfortunate the world is full of an endless queue of young women willing to give their innocence to that man for the promise of riches.” Lady Elizabeth circled Akira as if she were assessing a slave on the auction block. “Tell me, how much did he pay you? Did he give you coin—or a ruby brooch like the last harlot?”
The ten-shilling piece in Akira’s pocket practically burned a hole to her hip. “He paid me only for my healing service.”
The duchess stopped. “So you admit to bedding him?”
“With all due respect, that is none of your concern.”
“Never mind. No wench can resist the bastard. You are but an idler, a covetous tinker. I spotted your ruse from my chamber window the first time I laid eyes on you.”
“I am not. I—”
“You cannot fool me.” The woman tossed her head. “You have brought your immoral character into this house, and you are poorly influencing my children.”
Akira squared her shoulders—she mightn’t be as tall as this shrew, but she wouldn’t be browbeaten by her. “I have done nothing of which I am ashamed.”
The woman scoffed. “George just left your chamber with a grin on his face.”
Stepping in, Akira met the duchess’s accusations with a sneer of her own. “Mayhap because he has found happiness.”
“No, because he’s found another bit of quim for his cock.” Folding her arms, Lady Elizabeth sniffed loudly. “Go back from whence you came, and leave my family in peace.”
Completely ignoring decorum, Akira blinked back tears as she whisked past the duchess and dashed for her chamber door.
“You do not belong here,” the woman shouted after her.
Pushing inside, she turned the lock, then dashed across the room and flung herself onto the bed. Before allowing herself to wail, she shoved her face into a pillow, and then let loose a silent scream that grated and burned her throat.
Akira had met rude and obnoxious people before, but Lady Elizabeth was the absolute worst, most hideous, nastiest person in all of Scotland. How could a woman who had brought children into the world be so evil?
Rocking back and forth and clutching the pillow over her mouth, Akira sobbed, her tears blinding. Aye, she was a simple lass, but she was a person with feelings. She always tried to help and show kindness to others. Even if the duchess wanted to warn Akira about Geordie, she could have been nicer about it. With her next thought, Akira’s stomach twisted. She had heard only the duke’s side of the story. Was he responsible for turning that woman into a shrew? Lady Elizabeth was born into privilege. Could have anything she wanted. A woman of her stature should be gracious and kind, yet she’d become bitter as hops. Was there a side to George Gordon that Akira had not yet seen?
She curled into a ball. What was she doing in Huntly? Geordie—the duke—no longer needed her. He said he had a healer and a physician, too. His wound was well on the way to recovery and free from fear of worsening.
She’d told Geordie she didn’t fit in, that she felt awkward, and he’d ignored her.
Sir Coll had alluded to Geordie’s philandering, and Geordie himself had said he’d been akin to a libertine. But she hadn’t imagined he’d entertained many mistresses.
Her throat closed.
How many women?
And he asked Akira to be his mistress? Asked her to live near him so she could be his lover? And Lady Elizabeth freely admitted he has never been faithful. How long would it be before he grew weary of her and cast her aside like her stepfather did to her mother?
Dear God, what am I doing?
Akira wiped her eyes on her sleeve and struggled to steady her breathing.
I cannot remain here for another minute.
Springing from the bed, she grabbed her satchel and stuffed the bread from her meal inside. After pinning her arisaid around her shoulders, she ran for the stables.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Geordie stood with Oliver in Huntly’s courtyard, watching the guard spar. “What news from this morn’s scout of the grounds?”
Oliver threw his thumb over his shoulder. “Deer spotted to the north.”
“No redcoats?”
“You would have been the first to hear about it if any had been seen, Your Grace.”
Heaving a sigh, Geordie felt his shoulders relax. He’d been so bloody tense. The captain’s visit was enough to rile anyone. Add that to the tension of seeing, smelling, kissing Akira and holding her in his arms, yet forcing himself to abstain from carrying her to a bed…or the floor…or the wall. Indeed, he’d not slept well for all the delicious thoughts of how he could have her. Oh yes, when she finally made up her mind to move her family into the dower house, they would enjoy every position he could imagine.
“Is your leg still ailing you, Your Grace?”
Geord
ie blinked, snapping himself from his wayward thoughts. “’Tis coming good. Why?”
“By the look on your face, I reckon something isn’t sitting well.”
“There are a number of things on my mind.” Geordie looked up as Elizabeth came into sight across the courtyard. She walked toward them, a haughty smirk on her face. “Right there is one of them,” he mumbled under his breath.
Oliver chuckled. Bless him, the soldier had stood beside Geordie through the roughest of times.
“George, I’m surprised you’re not out there sweating with your men-at-arms. You’re not one to hide your brawn.” The woman didn’t try to hide her contempt, either, not even in front of his man-at-arms.
He’d been continuing to spar with a wooden post until he completely healed. In no way did he want to appear weak in front of his men, especially since they all knew him to be deadly with a blade. Forcing a smile, he bowed his head. “After seeing you this afternoon, Elizabeth, I just might go a few rounds with Oliver.”
She glanced at the lieutenant. “You’d best not push him too hard. The wench tells me George is still weak from his injury.”
Oliver bowed. “I assure you, the duke can hold his own, Your Grace.”
She grimaced. “I’d guessed no less.”
A cold sweat broke out across Geordie’s skin. The witch had spoken to Akira? “What have you been up to?”
“Nothing untoward.” She batted her eyelashes. “Perhaps clearing the castle of vermin.”
“If I discover you’ve—”
“Save your breath, George. Your threats are useless with me.” With a swish of her skirts, the nasty excuse for a duchess flounced into the castle.
Geordie shifted his gaze to Oliver. “Do you ken what she’s on about?”
The man-at-arms held up his palms. “Nay—and I’ll not venture near that woman. Ye ken my opinion, Your Grace. The castle was far better off the day she left for the convent.”
Clenching his fists, Geordie turned toward the east tower. Jane’s writing lesson should have ended hours ago. “What are the children up to?”
