by Amy Jarecki
* * *
Praying for a miracle, Akira waited with her head and wrists restrained in the wooden pillory. She’d seen it many times before—the hecklers always came and tormented the prisoners. They threw rotten food and all manner of vile rubbish at the poor souls, some of whom were guilty of nothing more than being unable to pay their taxes. She always feared one day she’d be accused of something and end up here, on display for public humiliation. No matter how much she tried to help people, no matter how much she tried to be honest and caring, there were always those who pointed the finger her way and accused her of some misdeed or being a Gypsy witch.
Footsteps stomped from up the road—as if the soldiers were marching. She could raise her head enough to see a hundred paces or so along High Street before the wooden board pushed into the back of her skull. Heaven give her strength—an entire line of townsfolk came into view, marching shoulder to shoulder, heading straight for the pillory platform. As far as she could see, angry faces were approaching, the men carrying broomsticks, picks, and shovels as if they aimed to bludgeon her to death.
Her throat constricted. Every nerve ending trembled. Dear God, please let my death be swift. She closed her eyes and steeled her mind for the pain to come.
“Free the lass!” a man shouted.
Akira’s eyes flashed open.
The mob started to run, the roar almost deafening. In seconds, they surrounded her like a crowd hell-bent on murder.
She cringed as a man jumped onto the platform, pounding the handle of his shovel onto the floor. “This is an outrage!”
A bead of sweat trickled from Akira’s forehead as she listened to the bellows of the mob. Rather than taunting her, their shouts demanded her release. They hollered out praise and support.
“She’s a sweet lass!”
“She healed my ma!” That was Tommy MacCarran’s voice.
She wanted to cry and laugh all at the same time. If only these good Samaritans could do something to free her head and arms. If only the townsfolk were judge and jury.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man dressed like a tinker approach, his face black, as if he’d been cleaning a flue. Tingles skittered across the back of Akira’s neck.
Uncle Bruno? Nay. He’s not that tall.
The shouts grew louder and more people climbed atop the platform, blocking her view of the street.
“She helped to birth my wee bairn.”
“Akira has never lifted a finger to harm a soul.”
“Silence!” Captain Weaver shouted over the throng. “Disband immediately or I will command the musketeers to fire.”
The cur stood in front of the magistrate’s door, brandishing his flintlock pistol and flanked by three dragoons—the same three who’d laughed when they’d tied her wrists and taunted her, threatening to send her to the gallows in Inverness.
Kynda ran toward the captain, her black braids flapping behind her. “Release my sister!”
“No!” Akira screamed, fighting against the wood clamped around her neck and wrists. Her heart thundered in her ears. “Kynda, stop!” She twisted her head, searching for anyone who would listen. “Stop my sister! They’ll hurt her!”
The wee lass paid no heed to Akira’s shouts, now lost in the roar of the crowd. No one listened. No one noticed the child charging straight for the officer and swinging her fists.
Akira fought harder against her wooden snare. “Leave my sister be! She’s done nothing wrong.”
Captain Weaver reached for Kynda. The lass slipped from Akira’s line of sight. Suddenly, someone smacked the officer with a bat, and he clapped a hand to his nose, blood gushing through his fingers, while the dragoons beside him thrust their bayonets into the crowd.
Weaver fired his pistol into the air with a deafening crack. “I’ll kill—!”
The rumble of the crowd drowned out the captain’s threat as they mobbed him, a big hand reaching in and taking his weapon.
Frantically trying to break free from her bonds, Akira searched for Kynda in the melee. Everything was a blur in the mayhem of rioting villagers.
“Kynda!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.
Orange-and-green striped breeches blocked her line of sight.
“Easy, lass. I’ll have you out of here before you can say a Hail Mary.”
Geordie!
Dear blessed Jesus, Akira would recognize the deep bass of his voice anywhere.
And he was right. Metal scraped like a key in a padlock. The lock dropped and the wooden pillory arm released. She rubbed her wrists, taking a deep breath.
Geordie’s face was hidden beneath a hood, but his grin was every bit the man she loved. He tugged her hand. “I have mounts waiting.”
“Thank God you’re here—my sister—” She started to run toward the mob, but Geordie swept her into his arms, taking her away. “No!” Akira thrashed. “I must find Kynda.”
Geordie kept running. “She’s safe.”
Akira pointed. “But she was—”
“’Twas a ruse to steal the key.” He sped toward two tethered horses. “Can you ride?”
“Are you mad? You used a wee ten-year-old?” She pounded a fist against his chest. “No. I refuse to flee until I ken what’s happened to my sister!”
Geordie set Akira down beside a horse and grasped her shoulders, the intensity of his hazel eyes pinning her where she stood. “Listen to me, dammit. She’s with your uncle.”
“Bruno?”
“I’ll explain later.” He bent down to give her a leg-up.
After she mounted, he handed her the reins and patted her knee. “We must make haste. They’ll be after us soon.”
“After us? But what of Ma? What of my sisters?”
He climbed aboard his stallion and tugged the hood lower on his brow. “They’re all safe, but we won’t be unless we ride like hellfire.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
And ride they did. Since the first time they’d set out together, Akira had grown quite adept at handling her mount. Pushing their horses to a gallop, Geordie led her out the south side of the village, over the River Tay, then he cut north. Just as he’d done numerous times that day, he prayed their ruse would lead Weaver straight to Cally Loch.
If he erred…
Devil’s spit, he couldn’t think about it.
Every few steps, he glanced over his shoulder to ensure she was in his wake and to look for redcoats in pursuit. He hated running. He wanted to stand and fight, but saving Akira trumped his every deeply bred Gordon instinct. That’s right, a man had to choose his game and then outsmart his enemy.
He raced his mount up a crag. The horse beneath him snorted with exertion, but upward he climbed.
At the summit, Geordie reined the horse to a stop right before Akira rode up beside him.
“Thank God.” He pointed. “We’re not being followed.”
“We’re safe?”
His heart squeezed when he regarded the worried furrow in her brow. He’d been agonizing over the plan ever since the damned tinker decided they could be mates. “For now.”
“Where’s Ma? My sisters?”
Geordie’s jaw clamped—had he put too much faith in Akira’s uncle, a man he barely knew? “We’re meeting them at Glenshee in the mountains.”
“What about Uncle Bruno?”
“Him, too.” Geordie slid down from his horse.
Akira did the same, peering at him over the saddle. “He came to Dunkeld because I was in the tolbooth?”
“Actually, no.” Geordie took Akira’s reins and tied both mounts. “He was passing through with a band of minstrels and found the cottage empty.”
She stepped closer, those sultry almond-shaped eyes growing hypnotic. “Ah. That sounds more like my uncle.” God, she was beautiful…and strong. Any other woman would be a simpering mess after spending days in the bowels of a prison and suffering the humiliation of the pillory. He’d been so damned worried. But now she was free, and as she neared, her streng
th grew, making Geordie’s heart swell.
He wanted to tell her how much she meant to him, how much he loved her, how she could grow old and gray and his love for her would remain boundless. He wanted to tell her he would give her anything she desired. He wanted to say he’d protect her kin, he’d find husbands for her sisters, he’d have his physician care for Laini, but his tongue twisted.
Words are not enough.
Grasping her waist, he tugged her into his body. Lord have mercy, his knees buckled. Soft breasts molded into his chest, breasts he’d come to adore and wanted to explore further. Her moan vibrated inside his mouth as he met her lips. Every fiber in his body craved her, needed her, wanted to hold her, caress her, care for her, and be inside her.
When she eased her hips forward, his body reacted with potent desire shooting through his blood. He could throw her down on the moss right there and take her before God Almighty. But they had so far to go, and daylight was fleeting.
He pulled away enough to suck in a deep breath. “We must ride,” he said, sounding like an iron rasp.
Akira’s breath blew warm between the laces of his saffron shirt. Her hips pushed into him a bit harder when she looked to the moss. “Must we?” Aye, there was no mistaking her meaning.
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Now I ken I’m in heaven.” Och aye, a lusty rogue like George Gordon needed no more invitation. It had been too damned long since she’d forbidden him to bed her. He rubbed his hips from side to side, ensuring she felt the hard column of his desire.
She matched his motion, her moan driving him to the edge of his sanity.
Together, they descended to the ground.
“You’re certain all is well with my kin?” Akira asked breathlessly.
“Aye.” Geordie covered her mouth and laid her in the soft moss, slowly tugging up her skirts. “I want you hard and fast, and we haven’t much time.”
“I can’t wait, either.” Her breath came quick and as raspy as his while she fumbled to unlace his breeches with trembling fingers.
He started to help, but with one quick tug, she had the front open. Her lips parted and her breathing sped as she tugged the breeches down his thighs. The cool air swirling around his member only served to make the moment more sensual.
He lifted her skirts higher and higher, bare knees leading to bare thighs, and finally, the most delectable nest of black curls he’d ever imagined. The sight ripped through the remaining shreds of his defense and rendered him completely and totally at her mercy.
Lithe fingers wrapped around his manhood. “I want you to join with me and never part.”
A bead of his seed seeped out the tip of his cock as he lowered himself and hovered at her entrance.
Waves of black hair sprawled around her, parted lips, half-closed eyes. By the saints, she was a goddess. “Please, Geordie. I cannot wait.”
Taking in a ragged breath, he fulfilled her wish in every way. Working her, watching her, swirling inside her, he waited, his every thrust taking mountains of control, until her eyes rolled back and a cry of pleasure caught in her throat. At that moment the floodgates opened. Satan himself could not have prevented Geordie’s deep thrusts. Over and over he drove into her like a wild man staking his claim. In all his life, all his exploits, he’d never felt so connected with another. He’d never joined with a woman and experienced a consuming need to possess her, protect her, devour her, and yet love her with his flesh and soul.
The woman quivering and panting beneath him had completely and utterly broken the rake, and now Akira owned him.
After they’d made earth-shattering love on the crag, Akira stood by as Geordie changed his clothes, wrapped Uncle Bruno’s striped breeches and saffron shirt around a rock, and drowned them in a pond.
“Do you think they’ll blame you for my rescue?” she asked.
Geordie watched the ripples of water spreading and finally fading from where he’d tossed the clothes. “Nay. I was never there.”
He gave her a leg up and together they climbed into the mountains, farther and farther from civilization.
* * *
In the pandemonium, Captain Weaver’s nose throbbed and hurt like a son of a bitch, while blood oozed from his nostrils and splattered his coat. But not even a smack to the face would stop him from murdering the bastard with the bat. He was the person with the little brat who stole his key.
Hiding his face with a hood, the tinker wore the most obnoxious pair of orange-and-green striped breeches he’d ever seen.
The whole goddamn town had turned against him. Thank God he’d kept the battalion on full alert. He’d thought it would be the crazed Duke of Gordon who would stage something stupid to free his wench. God on the cross, Roddy had never seen a man embarrass himself so much. George Gordon paraded around Dunkeld like a lovesick fool, and now, at the hour of crisis, the captain hadn’t seen a trace of the oversized Highlander.
Yes, there had been a skirmish, but Roddy had taken control quickly. After Sentinel Muldoon fired his musket into the mob, they’d disbanded as fast as they’d appeared. The only problem was that his quarry had slipped away to waiting horses.
They planned the whole thing.
But they wouldn’t get far.
Not this time.
His horses were fresh. He had a battalion of fifty men in his wake. Wealth was so close he could taste it. George Gordon had practically signed a confession the way he ran after his lowly waif. By God, the marquis would salivate when the headsman sliced his ax through the Duke of Gordon’s neck.
“I have Gordon in my clutches,” Roddy shouted with a hearty laugh.
“Where is the bastard?” asked Corporal Snow, waving the pistol over his head.
“The tinker in the saffron shirt will lead us straight into his lair for certain.”
Roddy swiped the blood from his face. Now he’d catch the varlet and the wench. Forget the pillory, he was now within his rights to lead them all straight to the gallows—even the damned snot-nosed brat who stole his key.
The iron taste of blood incited his lust for lands and power. He’d be recognized for his valor. He’d earn a barony for certain. Build a manse on a lake near his home in York.
All along, he knew he could outlast the Duke of Gordon. It was but a matter of time before His Lordship did something rash. The hooded man leading the pack was no duke. Dressed in outlandish breeches and a yellow shirt that was easier to spot than a homing beacon, he had to be one of the tinker’s kin.
But Roddy would recognize the woman anywhere, riding behind a tinker with her long black tresses whipping in the wind. The vixen must pay. He’d lain in his bed at night thinking of all the ways he’d have her. Yes, he’d punish the spawn of the devil. No black-haired woman with such beauty could be pure or holy. When he caught the wench, he’d show her the might behind his uniform, and nothing would stop him this time. He’d bend her to his will, make her scream. Yes, she would become his whore, and when he was through with her, he’d leave her in the gutter to rot with the lepers.
“I’ve got a shot!” Sentinel Grey hollered as his musket fired.
Roddy’s heart hammered faster as he watched for one of the riders to fall, but they all disappeared over the crest of a hill.
“Onward!” the captain shouted. Bloody oath, the entire town would pay when this was over.
I will tighten the curfew, and anyone caught out after hours will be hanged.
“They’re heading for Cally Loch,” shouted Snow.
“Fan out,” Roddy bellowed. “We have them cornered.” He laughed to himself as visions of his grand manse played in his mind. He’d have a parlor and a library and a drawing room to rival the Marquis of Atholl’s.
They crested the hill, and a barrage of musket fire flashed and cracked. Lines of Highland musketeers faced them.
“It’s a trap!” shouted Grey.
An icy weight dropped to the pit of Roddy’s gut.
Musket fire smacked his chest, knocking him f
rom his mount. Before Roderick Weaver felt pain, his world went black.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Well past dark, Akira rode alongside Geordie while they climbed higher and higher into the mountains, negotiating a trail with steep drop-offs and hairpin curves. They’d been riding for hours and her eyelids had grown heavy.
“Where are we?” she asked in a whisper, but her voice carried like a shout.
“Scotland’s hidden route to the Highlands.” Geordie sounded as tired as she felt.
“How many people ken about it?”
“Not many, else it would be no secret.”
“Do you ken where we’re heading?”
“Aye.”
“Aaaand…?”
“The Spittal of Glenshee—have you heard of it?”
“Nay.”
“I thought not.”
“What’s there?”
Geordie pointed through the shadows. “If you look close enough you can see for yourself.”
Akira peered through the moonlight. Sure enough, the horses started down a slope, heading into a wee glen with rows of tents surrounding an enormous bonfire. “Who are all those people?”
“An entire army.” Geordie ran his reins through his fingers. “You and I took the most circuitous route, so I reckon we might be late for the gathering, but I’ll wager you’ll ken some of the folk.”
Up this high, violet heather still kissed the hills, welcoming them together with a carpet of wildflowers. Side by side, they cantered all the way to the bonfire, while shouts and cheers rose from the countless people who surrounded them. Uncle Bruno, Ma, and Akira’s sisters were the first faces she recognized. Astonishingly, Annis was standing arm in arm with Oliver. Akira thought to give her sister a good talking to, until Sir Coll grasped her horse’s bridle.
The big redheaded chieftain grinned and offered his hand. “’Tis good to see you’ve learned how to handle your mount, Miss Akira.”
She let him help her down. “As I recall, His Grace didn’t give me much choice in the matter.” She chuckled. “’Twas ride like hellfire or die.”
“Och, I always say ’tis best to be baptized by fire. One has no choice but to be a fast learner.” He greeted Geordie with an elbow-to-elbow handshake. “’Tis good to see your ruse worked, Your Grace. We were starting to worry.”
