Susana and the Scot

by Sabrina York

  Hamish and Isobel exchanged glances. At some unspoken accord, Hamish began. “I was stationed in Isobel’s sitting room. The door opened behind me and as I turned to see who it was, someone coshed me on the head.”

  “He was coshed,” Isobel added with far too much enthusiasm. “There was blood everywhere.”

  “Oh, dear lord,” Susana muttered.

  “I woke up in the carriage, bound hand and foot. When we reached the castle, they separated us,” Hamish said. “They put me in the dungeon.”

  “And they put me in Scrabster’s solar.” Why Isobel grinned was a mystery.

  “She escaped and came down to rescue me.”

  “Oh, holy God.” Susana clutched her chest.

  Hamish patted her shoulder. It didn’t seem to calm her. “Isobel was really verra clever—”

  “Thank you.”

  “She created a diversion—”

  “I started a fire.”

  Susana made a sound, something strangled. “Lord have mercy.”

  Isobel’s eyes widened with innocence. “I dinna know they kept their munitions storage in the solar.”

  “Half the castle blew up. We were able to sneak out during the tumult.”

  “I stabbed the men who tried to grab me and…” Isobel stared at her mother and fluttered her lashes. “I might have shot someone, too.”

  “She found a bow.”

  “Someone just left it lying there. What was I supposed to do?”

  Hamish sent Andrew a skeptical look. “I really doona think she’s five,” he murmured in an aside.

  “Well,” Susana gusted. “I’m just verra relieved you’re all right—both of you—and that we now know who was behind all this. That was one of the worst things … not knowing. I’m so angry at Keir I could spit nails.”

  “Apparently, he’s been working with Scrabster all along,” Hamish said sympathetically. “Although some of the things he said made me wonder—”

  What, exactly, Hamish had wondered was lost as a cry of warning went up among the men riding behind them. “They’re coming!”

  Hamish glanced at Andrew and with no hesitation, they both set their heels and their mounts sprang forward. Aye, they could stay and fight, but with Susana and Isobel with them, he wouldn’t dare it. Better to run for the border and seek asylum with the Baron of Brims.

  At full tilt, they rounded a corner … and found themselves facing a battery of Scrabster’s men blocking the road. Though they were all on foot, they held weapons—everything from swords and arrows to pistols. Andrew had no choice but to slow down and come to a halt. The trees in this wood were thick—too thick to ride through without risking injury—but there was a small clearing to the left. Andrew analyzed the situation and quickly realized that position was their best bet when facing a threat from the front and rear. It would force their attackers to assemble before them. Aye, they would be cornered. But his men were some of the best-trained warriors he knew. Scrabster’s men seemed to be conscribed farmers and merchants, and many of them were nervous to boot.

  The men chasing them wheeled up on their mounts and circled their position, but held steady.

  Given Scrabster’s goal of claiming Susana, it didn’t surprise Andrew that the men didn’t attack, they merely held his company there as they waited … for something. What that something was, he had no clue and didn’t care.

  He signaled to his men to dismount and prepare to fight. On horseback, they were far too easy a target. He slipped from Breacher’s saddle and helped Isobel down as Hamish did the same with Susana, nudging them both to the middle of the company, so they were shielded from any stray shots. And then he unsheathed his sword.

  Silence hummed in the clearing as the two forces faced off. Andrew’s men bristled with tension, poised to defend their position. The moments ticked away, measured by the beat of his heart. The only sound was the drone of bees and the occasional call of a gull.

  That silence broke with the rumble of carriage wheels. All heads turned. A dark, unmarked coach rolled up and Scrabster levered out, followed by Keir.

  That Keir’s hand was bound—clearly where Isobel had stabbed him—wasn’t as satisfying as it should have been. She should have aimed for parts south, in Andrew’s opinion.

  “Susana!” Scrabster’s reedy voice warbled, flecked with rage. He pushed through the crowd of his men and limped forward. There was an arrow lodged in his thigh and his hair was singed. But it was the pistol in his hand that caught Andrew’s attention. It was pointed at Susana.

  Without thought, Andrew stepped in front of her holding his weapon aloft.

  She didn’t cooperate with his protection. She pushed past him and snarled, “You bastard. I’ll see you hang for this.”

  Scrabster laughed. “Is that any way to speak to your intended?”

  “I will not bluidy marry you.”

  “Oh, you will.” His eyes narrowed; his gaze flickered over their company and landed on Isobel. “You will, if you want your daughter to live.”

  With something akin to horror, Andrew watched as the pistol veered toward Isobel. He shifted his position and nudged her behind him. It vexed him that she, like her mother, wouldn’t stay shielded. She poked her head out and announced, “You’re a bad man. My mama will never marry you.”

  Scrabster’s ratlike face scrunched up into a moue of fury. “You set my castle on fire, you little fiend. Blew it up! You’re the devil’s spawn.”

  “You’re the devil’s spawn,” Isobel retorted.

  Susana shushed her and turned her vehemence back on Scrabster. “She’s a girl. And you kidnapped her. You got what you deserved. And as for you lot…” She whirled on Scrabster’s men, pinning them with a fierce glare. “You are all going to hang for this. Ask yourself if your loyalty to this wretched laird is worth your life, because a magistrate willna take your loyalty into account when he sentences you to die.”

  This seemed to have some effect on the men surrounding them, the farmers and merchants especially. They began to murmur and shift their feet.

  Unaccountably, Scrabster chuckled. “Be reasonable, Susana. I will have my way. And if you doona marry me, you will force me to take what I want by other means.”

  Susana stiffened. “Such as?”

  His smile was reptilian. “I believe you have one more unmarried sister. She will do just as well for my needs.”

  “Leave Lana out of this.”

  “Aye,” Isobel said. “Leave Lana out of this.”

  Scrabster turned his glare on Isobel; his expression sent a chill down Andrew’s spine. “Be silent, you monster.”

  “She’s not a monster,” Susana bellowed.

  “She shot me.” There was a hint of petulance in his tone as he gestured at his leg.

  Isobel stepped forward, peering at the wound. “You really should have that arrow out,” she suggested.

  It was a logical suggestion. No telling why it enraged Scrabster as it did. “Enough,” he howled. “I’m going to kill you. I’m going to kill you all.” His gaze wavered back to Isobel. “Starting with you.”

  Several things happened at the same time.

  First, Andrew was aware of Susana’s growl and her movement by his side as she lifted her bow. Second was the terror at the tinge of deranged determination in Scrabster’s eye and the tightening of his finger on the trigger. Next was the burning determination that this bastard would not hurt Isobel, not if Andrew could help it. He launched himself to the right, throwing himself between the pistol and the girl.

  And finally, he was aware of a loud explosion and a searing pain in his chest.

  And then, of course, there was nothing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Horror curled through Susana as Scrabster held his weapon on Isobel. Horror and anger. She knew, in the seconds before he fired, that Isobel, having stepped out into full view, was too far away for her to shield. But if she could hit Scrabster before he could fire, she could protect her daughter. With seething reso
lve, she lifted her bow and shot, without even aiming. There was no time to aim; she had to trust her instinct and pray the arrow would fly true.

  She was a fraction of a second too late. Even as the arrow thudded in his chest and a bolt of satisfaction whipped through her, he squeezed the trigger. A cloud of smoke erupted from the pistol and a heart-stopping boom echoed through the clearing.

  Susana didn’t even wait for Scrabster to fall. She whirled toward her daughter and …

  Her heart stopped. Stopped right there in her chest, a cold dead lump of flesh.

  Oh, Isobel was fine. She stood her ground, whole and uninjured, but there was an expression of shock on her face as she stared down at Andrew’s body, lying on the ground. He did not move. A red stain blossomed on his snowy shirt.

  To Susana, it felt like a dream. A bad one. As though walking through a thick fog, she made her way to his side. Isobel dropped to her knees and shook him, crying his name, although it seemed from very far away.

  “Wake up,” Isobel commanded. “Wake up!” She was used to being obeyed. She was used to being able to demand what she wanted, but in this she was denied. Andrew didn’t stir. He was deathly pale.

  The confusion on Isobel’s face, the tears on her chubby cheeks, the grief in her eyes when she looked up, devastated Susana. Or perhaps it was something more that scored her soul. “Mama, he willna wake up.”

  Numbly, Susana fell to her knees at her daughter’s side. The hard, handsome face she loved was ashen, lifeless.

  Her pulse seized. Her breath stalled. Prickles of sweat blossomed on her brow.

  Panic, agony, and pain screamed through her, body and soul.

  He could not. He could not be dead.

  She couldn’t bear to live without him.

  A shout to her side broke through the curtain of misery, reminding her that they were all still in danger. In fact, Scrabster’s men—Keir among them—were advancing on their position with swords drawn.

  That Andrew’s men hurried to surround the three of them did not signify.

  Ferocity slashed through her. She could grieve later. Now she needed to assure her daughter’s safety. More than that, she wanted to make them pay, each and every one. In the most painful way possible. She stood in a cold rage and faced the advancing men. Fury seethed in her veins as she whipped an arrow from her quiver and lifted her bow. She searched for a target. Found one.

  He had betrayed her. Her family and her home.

  He had kidnapped her daughter and perhaps caused the death of the only man she’d ever loved. The man she did love, and would love until the day she died.

  There would be no mercy for him.

  Keir’s eyes flared as he realized her arrow was trained on him. He was close enough to see the determination on her face. And he knew her. He knew her well.

  Her gaze narrowed as she pulled back the string.

  “Oh, shite,” he yelped, and then he turned tail and ran for cover. He could not escape her wrath so easily. She would mark him but good. It was with great satisfaction that she watched her arrow find its home in the fleshy globes of his arse. He stumbled and, with a howl, fell to his knees.

  The advancing men faltered, realizing they’d lost their laird and their leader, but then they continued to advance. Susana grabbed another arrow.

  A movement at her right caught her attention and pride swelled her chest as she saw her daughter, with a bow that was far too large for her person, nocking her arrow as well. Together, mother and daughter, took aim and let fly.

  Susana tried not to be disappointed when Isobel’s arrow went wide and flew into the trees behind the men blocking them in. The bow was very large for her and …

  But oh.

  Perhaps she hadn’t been aiming for the men.

  Isobel’s arrow flew into the trees and with unerring accuracy severed a large beehive nestled in the branches. The hive plummeted to the ground.

  The bees were not pleased.

  They swarmed over Scrabster’s men. With howls and bellows, they scattered, running back down the road, swatting at the angry insects, dragging Scrabster’s body behind them. The bees, attracted by their frenetic movements, followed.

  “Excellent shot,” Susana said, trying very hard not to crow.

  Isobel grinned. “Thank you.”

  Though the men were in retreat, Susana didn’t let up on her barrage. She let fly, arrow after arrow, taking out one arse after another.

  She would have kept shooting, but Hamish set his warm hand on hers. “They’re retreating,” he said softly. “Let’s see to Andrew. And then we will need to leave this place with all haste.”

  It took a moment for Susana to slough off the passion of the battle; her blood was high and her ire still prickled, but she knew Hamish was right. Isobel’s safety was everything now. Now that Andrew was gone.

  Her chest ached at the thought.

  She turned back to the spot where Andrew lay. The red tide on his chest had spread. Isobel threw herself over him, weeping with an anguish that broke her heart … even more.

  Hamish barked some orders to his men and they all whipped into motion—Susana had no idea what he’d said. The fog had returned, carrying with it a fresh tide of grief.

  What she wouldn’t do to have him back.

  In a daze, she fell to her knees beside her daughter, and stroked her hair. Hair so like his.

  It was a crime he had died not knowing Isobel was his. And the crime was on her shoulders. It was a heavy weight.

  She should have told him. She should have told him everything when she had the chance. She’d robbed him of a daughter, and Isobel of a father.

  She was a terrible, selfish, petulant person.

  She would give anything to go back in time and change things. She would do anything for a second chance.

  It was agonizing that, through her tears, Isobel was still talking to him, imploring him, commanding him to wake up. As though her fierceness could bring him back from the dead.

  Though, if anyone could command such a thing, it would be Isobel.

  She patted him on the cheek, tugged his hair, fit her finger into his nostril.

  Susana flinched. It was not respectful to probe the nostril of a dead man. She was about to tell Isobel to come away when his nose twitched.

  Susana’s pulse stuttered. She leaned closer and narrowed her eyes, staring at his chest. A rise. A small one, but movement.

  An unimaginable joy rose within her. He wasn’t dead! He wasn’t dead!

  Isobel propped her elbow on his chest and he groaned.

  Aye, he wasn’t dead … yet.

  “Isobel, darling, come away,” she said.

  “I doona want to. I want him to wake up.” She smacked him dead center and he groaned again.

  “Darling. Doona hurt him.” She eased her daughter back and wrapped her arms around her and held her. They both watched Andrew’s face with bated breath. Was his color returning? Was his breath stronger? Was there hope?

  She glanced up at Hamish as he approached. “He’s not dead,” she whispered. “He’s not dead.”

  Unaccountably, Hamish grinned. “Of course he’s not dead,” he said. “He’s far too stubborn for that. Besides”—he winked—“he’s a Lochlannach.”

  * * *

  They stole Scrabster’s carriage, although technically it wasn’t theft. Or at least, that was Isobel’s suggestion. Merely payment for their inconvenience. They laid boards across the seat and Hamish and his men lifted Andrew in. He still had not woken, but Susana knew they needed to get him some medical help at once.

  Susana and Isobel sat by his side as the carriage headed toward Brims, the nearest town along the coast. Susana winced with every jostle and jerk.

  “Will he be all right, Mama?” Isobel asked. Her voice was small, afraid. Susana did not like this diminishment in the slightest.

  She stiffened her spine. “Of course he will. Did you not hear Hamish? He’s far too stubborn to die.”

 
; Isobel put out a lip. “I like him, Mama.”

  “I know, darling,” she said, pulling her daughter into her embrace. “I like him, too.” She stared down at him over her daughter’s head.

  Like was not the word for it.

  Love was not the word for it.

  Somehow there was no word for it, this feeling of adoration, devotion, and, aye, need. She needed him more than breath in her body. Not his touch, though that was very fine indeed. But his presence. His smile. His laugh. His regard. Something far beyond desire—an ache for him—flooded her veins, sang in her soul, whispered in her heart.

  She wanted him, required him in her life.

  She had no idea if he loved her—though he’d intimated he once had. Perhaps he could love her again.

  Isobel was his daughter.

  They belonged together. The three of them.

  When he woke up—if he woke up—she would find the courage to bare her soul. To tell him everything. And to hope he felt the same.

  It was the most frightening thing she’d ever contemplated. As fearless as she was, this was terrifying indeed.

  * * *

  They settled in the inn in Brims, although there wasn’t enough room for all their men and some had to stay in the loft above the stables. Susana suggested sending them back to Dounreay, but they didn’t want to leave. Hamish mentioned it would be wise to keep the company for protection. He did, however, send two men back with word of what had happened and another messenger to Dunnet, to let Alexander know his brother had been wounded, and the depth of Scrabster’s perfidy.

  When the doctor came to see Andrew, he tried to shoo Susana from the room, but she wouldn’t leave. In turn, Susana tried to shoo Isobel, with the same result. They both watched—Isobel with a grisly fascination—as the doctor removed the ball from Andrew’s shoulder and bound the wound. The amount of blood the surgery produced was concerning. He assured Susana that Andrew would survive, but she wasn’t so sure. Worry for him raked her.

  Though Hamish tried to convince her to take Isobel to their room and rest—it felt as though it had been days since she’d slept—she couldn’t leave. If only he would wake up. If only she could see his eyes, that rakish smile once more …