by Fiona Faris
“There were no horses in the stable apart from the drays, remember?” Emily whispered back.
“Och aye.” Rebecca’s brow furrowed with worry. Emily could understand her concern. How were they to get away without transportation?
“We’ll manage dinna fash.”
Alexander’s baritone startled them both, his voice rough and reminiscent of wheels rolling over gravel.
Emily whipped her head to look in his face. His eyes looked more alert and he was no longer swaying as he moved. A good sign for they would undoubtedly need him if they were to get out of here in one piece, find her family and vanquish the villain.
The sound of something heavy thudding to the ground had them spinning around. One of the downstairs maids was standing in the doorway of the service entrance, staring at them in shock.
“Mistress Emily, what are you doing here?”
Emily took a step toward her, “Where else should I be with my father dead but three days?”
The maid stared, open mouthed. “A-at the funeral?”
Emily narrowed her eyes. “Is that where everyone has gone?”
“Oh indeed. When they received the letter from the king, they went at once. He even sent soldiers to help.”
“A letter from the king?”
“Yes indeed. They are to hold a memorial for him at St. Paul’s Cathedral.” The maid’s eyes were wide as saucers and she mouthed the words as though she felt it was the greatest honor just to say them. Emily breathed in with a hiss, trying to understand everything that was happening.
“So if I understand you correctly, the king sent a letter asking my mother and sisters to go to London?”
“Oh no ma’am, not just your family, everyone that could.” Her voice reflected the awe of the honor that had been extended.
“I…see.” Emily turned to Alexander, brow furrowed. He turned to the maid.
“And the letter had the king’s seal? You are sure?”
The maid shrugged. “I didn’t see it.”
“Do you know where it might be or is there anyone about who has seen it?”
The maid opened her mouth to answer but was cut short, her eyes lifting to the ceiling as the tip of a sword was thrust through the middle of her bosom. Bright red blood dripped slowly from the tip before the sword disappeared and the maid fell stone dead to the ground.
Emily screamed and Rebecca looked away. Reaching into his sleeve, Alexander withdrew his sghian dhu.
Philip bent down and wiped his sword on the dead woman’s sleeve. “Couldn’t have her giving away all my secrets now could I?” he murmured to the shocked group.
“What did you do that for?” Emily screamed.
“She talked too much.” Philip grinned, stepping over the body to come to a halt in the hall in front of them, “Well, well, well, look who got out of their cells.” He shook his head and tsked. “Such bad prisoners.”
Alexander stepped forward, planting himself between Philip and the two women. Philip watched him with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, are you planning to fight me with that itty-bitty knife?” he laughed cruelly.
Alexander stared stonily back as Rebecca turned, looking frantically about her. She caught sight of an empty suit of armour complete with sword in an alcove leading to the drawing room. Taking off at speed, she snatched at the sword, running back with it toward Alexander as the rest armour fell in a loud untidy heap upon the floor.
Alexander MacTavish charged, his long, brown hair plastered back from his sharp, stern features. His plaid whipped and snapped in his wake. At mid run, he snatched the sword from is sister, is eyes bright and gleaming with rage.
Phillip Bristol stood in front of the body of the dead maid, looking as though he had not a care in the world, and even laughed. Although Alexander towered over him, he still felt confident that he could win against the injured Scotsman - even though he had sent his goons away to Dun Alba and Rebecca had killed the only one left at the castle.
Alexander’s scarred, war-torn features, grin feral as he charged, his hands almost dwarfing the sword he held, and he was a sight to behold. Even as Rebecca moved smoothly and calmly out of the way, Emily was quite happy to wear her awe in plain sight.
Alexander didn’t baulk or hesitate even as his skull pounded repeatedly and his vision went in and out like a blurry kaleidoscope color. It only took him a few seconds to cross the short distance between them.
Philip punched out aiming for the wound on Alexander’s shoulders. The Scotsman dodged, and in mid-stride he wove aside and cut overhead at Lord Edenhall's elbow.
Phillip withdrew his arm just in time, but like water Alexander slipped forward, and sliced horizontally at Philip’s armoured leg.
Sidestepped the arcing blade with a mastered agility, Phillip threw a massively powerful kick towards his opponent.
Alexander ducked, darted in again, cutting for Lord Edenhall's foot but was suddenly forced back by Philip’s swiping sword.
“You are quick, Scotsman!” Phillip’s voice had a deep, lilting timbre as if he was trying to intimidate. Alexander found his balance as Philip spoke.
“Less talk, more fighting!" Alexander snarled through his heavy breathing. He was feeling the effects of the adrenaline pumping in his veins, he was coated head to toe in sweat and his limbs ached and shook. He ignored everything, everything except his quest to vanquishing his foe. Alexander had already been hit once in the head and shot at. It was no wonder Lord Edenhall seemed barely affected by fatigue in comparison.
How many people had Philip had killed in his attempt to take over the castle? Alexander had a feeling the maid was not the first. He could only hope that the rest of the brigands would not turn up, what with his wife and sister standing defenselessly behind him.
Alexander was forced to step back as a blow narrowly missed him by a whisker He staggered, shaking his head to clear the dizziness.
Phillip followed with a front kick which Alexander again managed to evade by darting under it. He slid a diagonal cut across Lord Edenhall's ludicrously large shoulder pad.
Phillip turned, his huge sword trailing after the Scotsman with astounding speed. However, he was too late as Alexander' sword sliced through his armour, splitting his shoulder like parchment.
Lord Edenhall roared, but whether it was from pain or rage Alexander didn’t care. He threw himself to the ground to evade a piece of Philip’s armour as it was flung from the rest of his suit and through the air.
Undeterred by the loss of his protection, Phillip stomped forward, determined to crush Alexander to mush under his huge boots.
The Scotsman managed to roll out the way, barely keeping hold of his sword during the desperate act. Clambering to his feet and clumsy from exhaustion he began to back away, but as he did he caught his heel on the corpse of the maid and fell onto his back so hard that it forced the breath from out of his lungs.
Phillip towered over him, a look of triumph in his blazing eyes. His bare hand dripped with blood but he paid it as much mind as Alexander paid his head.
Lord Edenhall laughed his barking bellow and raised his sword.
“I am not even angry at you,” he said. “In fact, I am quite impressed at your persistence. But it was all for naught, Teutcher. You are just going to wind up yet another dead soldier in this pointless war. And I will marry your bride and take these lands for my own. Tell me before I kill you, what did you hope to achieve by challenging me? A peasant like you could never win against a man like me.”
Alexander heard the cock of a pistol and smiled.
Honestly, I have no idea," Alexander sighed. "I suppose I was born a fighter and I shall die one.”
Philip’s green eyes narrowed as he lifted his sword above his head before a rather large hole appeared where his eye used to be and he thudded to the floor in a hail of clanging armor.
Gasping for air, Alexander wearily climbed to his feet, using his borrowed sword as a lean-to as he limped toward his wife and gently took the pistol fr
om her trembling hands.
“Good shot, wife. You were paying attention when I taught you.”
Emily stared up at him her eyes blank with shock. “I shot him.”
“Ye did, and not a moment too soon. He would have killed Alexander.” Rebecca patted her on the shoulder.
“There there. Dinna fash, it’s done now.”
He staggered a little and Rebecca hastened to catch him.
“Help me, Emily.”
There was no time to ponder the deed and she quickly grabbed at Alexander’s hand as they dragged him to sit on a nearby bench.
“I am fine. We should find Emily’s family and clear the place of brigands.”
Rebecca reached down and kissed his cheek. “I’ll do it. Ye just sit here with yer wife and recover, alright?”
Alexander’s eyes drift slowly toward Philip’s corpse.
“I’ll take care of that too. Ye look after yer wife.”
Alexander handed her his sword. “Take this.”
Rebecca hesitated. “Ye might need it.”
“I have my sghian dhu.”
“So do I, please Rebecca take it for me?”
Rebecca sighed in exasperation but snatched the sword from Alexander’s hand before striding out of the door, towards the stables.
Alexander turned to Emily who was still staring into space, her face as white as milk. He watched her worriedly for a moment before picking her up her hands.
“Yer hands are cold,” he said rubbing them vigorously between his own.
The sound of his voice seemed to rouse her and she moved her eyes to his face. “I killed someone,” she whispered tremulously.
Alexander nodded. “Ye did. And by doing so, ye saved my life.”
Emily frowned. “He would have run you through with his sword.”
“Aye, he would have.”
She sighed looking down at their joined hands. “I do not regret it then.”
Alexander smiled. “Neither do I.” He rubbed her hands with more vigour, trying to get them to warm up. Leaning down, he blew warm air on them. A drop of blood fell from his forehead onto her pale ivory skin, standing out like a stain. They both stared at it, unmoving. Eventually, Emily grabbed a corner of Alexander’s plaid and wiped off the drop. “We should see to your wounds.”
“I am fi-”
“No.” Emily shook her head. “If you would look after me, I would look after you as well.”
Alexander’s piercing blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “What a pair we make.”
Emily’s face softened, eyes bright, lips smiling as she watched him. “Indeed, we do, I cannot think of a better match.”
“That is good because ye’re stuck wi’ me for life.”
She leaned forward, nuzzling his beard. “Thank heavens for that.”
She straightened up and got to her feet. “Now, come with me to the kitchen so that I may tend to your wounds.”
Alexander sighed. “If ye insist, but first, I beg a boon.”
“Anything.”
“Kiss me my lady.”
Emily sat back down, her face lit up. Leaning forward, her lashes sweeping downward, she took in his lips, nestled in the deep roan of his beard like a beacon calling to her.
“Mmm,” she murmured, touching her own mouth to his, relishing the surprising softness of his skin, the skritch of his beard against the softness of her cheeks, the sharp breath he sucked in before opening his mouth to let her in, their tongues tangled together in a mating dance, circling each other, testing, tasting, seeking to join together in a dance as old as time.
Suddenly Emily’s stomach lurched and she struggled to pull away even as he held her close. She pushed at his chest and he released her, eyes showing his confusion.
“Emily what’s the matter?” he asked as she backed away from him.
Stumbling to her feet, she lurched toward the giant vase sitting in an alcove. She barely reached it before she was retching, stomach ejecting anything she had eaten over the last few days.
Chapter Thirty-Two
It did not take long to find the Lady dowager Caldwell and her daughters for they were riding back to the castle.
“How did ye ken?” Rebecca asked as they came up to her steed. She had stopped and waited as she saw the coaches approaching.
“Elinor examined the seal again. Charles Stuart did not send it.”
Rebecca nodded, while Lady Caldwell watched her solemnly. “What has happened? Where is my daughter?”
“Ye mean Emily? She is back at Eddingfield, with her husband.”
The other woman nodded.
“Is she alright?” Elinor stuck her head out of the coach window to ask. Her face the very picture of anxiety.
“I believe so. We should go back. There is much news to share.”
Lady Caldwell nodded. “Yes, lead the way please.”
Rebecca turned her horse around and set a fast pace back to Eddingfield. There were no more brigands on the property and the three of them had speculated that they must have abandoned Lord Edenhall at some point. None wanted to speculate on where they might have gone.
In any case, they could bury Lord Caldwell in peace before they had to worry about any of that.
The last will and testament of Lord Pritchard Caldwell, Baron of Eddingfield was read five days after his body was interred in the family crypt in the presence of his entire family including Alexander MacTavish. While the provisos contained few surprises for his wife and daughters, Alexander was shocked when he was named administrator of the estate on behalf of Lord Caldwell’s future grandchildren.
There being no direct male heir, the baronetcy passed to a distant cousin along with the lands entailed to it. Being the younger brother, Lord Caldwell had had little expectation of inheriting lands and had therefore set out to make his own fortune as a soldier. As a result of his own efforts, he had rum plantations in the West Indies, a share in the Dutch East India Company as well as properties dotted across England and Wales.
All of this, he left under the care of Alexander with the caveat that he retain Lord Caldwell’s man of business to oversee the day to day running of the affairs.
Alexander exchanged a wide, shocked glance with Rebecca, who had been allowed to sit in as honorary family member. Lord Caldwell bequeathed Dun Alba outright to Alexander and Emily, and to each of his other daughters he left a significant dowry.
It was all very overwhelming to deal with.
As they filed out of the room, Alexander bent down to whisper in Emily’s ear. “Yer father has trusted me with the future of his family. I am but a humble soldier and I fear I may not be up to the task.”
Emily scoffed at him. “Stuff and nonsense, I have seen you handle everything from bandits to renovations to concussion with panache. A little family business won’t defeat you.”
That made Alexander snort in amusement. “Yer faith in me is astounding all things considered.”
Emily turned to stare at him with shining eyes. “My faith in you is earned.”
Blushing with embarrassment, Alexander looked away, bending down so he could hear whatever it was that Lady Caldwell wished to whisper in his ear. She was a wisp of her former self – worn down by care and grief. Alexander wished that there was more that he could do for her.
“You will stay with us for a while before you return to Dun Alba, won’t you?” she asked plaintively.
Alexander and Emily exchanged glances before Alexander turned to face Lady Caldwell again. “Of course, we shall, as long as ye need us to.”
Rebecca frowned. “Well, we were in the middle of renovations. Somebody should go back and make sure they are completed.”
Alexander’s grey eyes crinkled with amusement as they fell on her, “And who d’ye suggest?”
Rebecca perkily stiffened her spine. “I should go.”
Alexander’s eyebrow immediately rose. “Alone?”
Rebecca shrugged, “By all means, send some of your trusted men with me. We
could use a little help.”
Alexander narrowed his eyes. There were many men displaced by the wars, with no families to take them in. He knew of one or two in his regiment who would be grateful for a place to lay their heads at night and have honest work to do.
“Let me make the arrangement then,” he told her.
Rebecca nodded. “Make them fast. I shall leave by week’s end.”
Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Alexander still managed a frown. “Dinna fash yersel’. Ye shall be on the road a week from today.”
