The Scottish Outlaws Collection, Books 1 - 5

by Lily Baldwin

  Mary and Rosie exchanged glances.

  “What is it?” Alex demanded. “Why not Timothy?”

  Both ladies held their silence until at last Rosie sighed. “Och, I’ll be the one to say it. Bless Timothy’s heart, but he’s too soft to be laird.”

  Mary nodded. “I agree with Rosie.”

  Alex couldn’t dismiss their concern. Timothy was certainly no warrior. She sighed. “Then Mary, ye’re right. Clearly, Rory is the one.”

  Mary and Rosie’s brows shot up. “Rory?” they both exclaimed together.

  Alex’s hand flew to cover her mouth. Then she pulled a blanket over her head.

  “Alexandria MacKenzie, come out from under that blanket at once,” Mary demanded while yanking on Alex’s woolen defense.

  “Nay,” Alex groaned. “Go away.”

  “What is all this fuss for?” Alex heard Rosie say. “Rory’s devilish good looks are fine, to be sure, but ye read the abbot’s letter. He’s not one of yer options.”

  “Alex, ye’re hiding something,” Mary said, tugging harder on the blanket.

  Then Alex heard Mary suck in a sharp breath. “Black hair, the most beautiful sky-blue eyes ever to be seen, wickedly handsome, one of Scotland’s agents.” Mary gasped.

  Alex cringed, burrowing deeper beneath her covers.

  “Rory is the agent from the woods,” Mary blurted. “The one who undressed ye!”

  It was Rosie’s turn to gasp. “Alex, is this true?”

  Alex sighed and pushed the blanket down. “He is the same.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter,” Mary announced, straightening her spine.

  Rosie nodded in agreement. “She’s right, Alex. Ye must forget that night.”

  Alex sat up. “Ye’re both right. I ken ye’re right.” She covered her face with her hands. “’Tis just easier said than done.”

  At length, she felt a gentle tug on her fingers. Dropping her hands in her lap, she looked into Mary’s kind, brown eyes.

  “Remember, Alex,” Mary said softly. “Remember yer mother’s wisdom. The wellbeing of the clan comes first.” Then she pressed a kiss to Alex’s cheek and scooted off the bed, pulling Rosie by the hand.

  “We will leave ye now so that ye might consider the true weight of yer decision,” Mary said with Rosie in tow.

  “Saints above, what am I to do?” Alex groaned, falling back onto her pillow and once more burying herself beneath her blankets.

  ~ * ~

  Alex sat on a bench, gazing out the solar casement at the stretch of village and crops below. The sun hung just above the horizon, painting the world in soft gold.

  “Good morrow, cousin.”

  She turned to see Mary standing in the doorway. She wore a cream colored fitted wimple, which framed her heart-shaped face. Draped over her head cascaded layers of matching lace veils. Her deep green tunic complimented her lovely brown eyes. Alex stood and crossed the room. “Good morrow,” she said, pressing a kiss to Mary’s cheek. “Ye look beautiful, cousin.”

  “As do ye,” Mary said, smiling with approval as she eyed Alex’s finely embroidered surcote.

  Alex spun in a circle. “I thought ye might approve.”

  “I do, indeed,” Mary said, reaching out to smooth the one veil Alex wore to cover her unbound, pale blond hair. “Ye can wear my new silk wimple. The blue would bring out the violet of yer—”

  Alex put up her hand. “Ye can stop right there. Yer reminder last night informed my choice of surcote this morning.” Alex ran her hands down her waist, skimming the lavender fabric. “’Tis my best as ye well know. And Rosie spent an hour brushing out my hair. But ye’ll never get one of those prison cells around my head.”

  Mary laughed. “I think ye exaggerate, dear cousin. But I’ll not push ye. I ken ye’re liable to retreat like cornered prey back into one of yer filthy, worn tunics.”

  “Ye know me so well,” Alex said, smiling. “Shall we head down?”

  Mary nodded, and together, they descended the stairs into the great hall. Stepping around the screen, they spotted Adam, Timothy, Robert, Michael, and William waiting near the courtyard entrance.

  “Behold, yer three suitors,” Mary said, under her breath. “Just think how scandalized they would be if they knew we were, at this very moment, judging their stock.”

  “Nay, they would be offended if they knew that,” Alex whispered. “They would be scandalized if they discovered it was Abbot Matthew who sent them to me as studs.”

  Mary coughed demurely into her handkerchief to conceal her amusement. Then she squeezed Alex’s hand. “I still say the competition is over—Adam is the one. Look at how strong and handsome he is,” she whispered.

  Alex scanned the men, her gaze slowly passing over Adam. “Aye, but what of his heart?” she said quietly. “To us, he has been kind, but we are his equals in station. What I must know is will he be compassionate to those he might view as beneath him.”

  Mary leaned closer. “One month is hardly time to judge the true character of a man.”

  “I agree, which is why I’ve arranged a test.”

  “What sort of test?” Mary whispered hurriedly, but it was too late. They were almost upon the men.

  “Wheest,” Alex breathed. “Ye’ll see.”

  “Good morrow, ladies,” Michael said, his stare fixed on Alex. “Ye both look especially lovely today.”

  Alex resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Dressed in her finest attire, she looked every part the proper lady Michael had always nagged her to be.

  “Ye’re so clean,” Will said, eyeing her suspiciously. “I’m almost afraid to hug ye.”

  She opened her arms wide. “My dear brother, I’m never too dirty or too clean to hug.”

  He squeezed the breath from her, then wiped his freckled nose on his sleeve. “Do ye mind if I run ahead? I’m meeting wee Calum.”

  “For Mass?”

  “Aye.”

  She smiled. “Then run along. Mind ye listen to the good father, and ye don’t stand there whispering the whole time.”

  “I promise,” Will said before darting from the hall.

  Adam stepped forward then, offering both Mary and Alex an arm. “Ye both do, indeed, look lovely.”

  Alex smiled and placed her hand on Adam’s bicep. Hard, muscled contours flexed beneath her fingertips. Clearly, he was a man of action. She gazed up at his profile. His skin, smooth and tan, stretched tautly over high, wide cheekbones. His nose was straight, not misshapen like so many knights she had encountered, and his full lips begged to be kissed. In particular, she admired his chestnut brown hair that gleamed with flecks of gold and red. He turned and looked down at her and smiled, revealing even, white teeth.

  Certainly, his looks and intelligence were indisputable, but was he truly kind?

  Alex eyed the kitchen entrance into the great hall and smiled when Rosie appeared carrying a basket teeming with dirty linens.

  She was about to find out.

  “Good morrow,” Rosie said as she passed in front of Alex and her guests, but then Rosie stumbled and her basket tumbled to the floor, scattering its contents. Straightaway, Adam released Alex and Mary’s arms and bent to help Rosie to her feet. Likewise, Timothy and Robert knelt to the ground alongside Michael to help gather laundry.

  Alex backed away, smiling at the men. One mark for them all.

  A moment later, Mary joined her, also observing the attentive men and their favorite maid. Alex hid her smile behind her hand when she noticed Rosie thanking Robert overly long, but Robert did not let his greatest admirer down. He bowed at the waist after handing Rosie back her basket, causing Alex’s maid to turn as red as a ripe apple.

  “That was not like Rosie at all. She’s always so efficient and—Wait!” Mary hissed under her breath, turning to face Alex. “That was yer doing, wasn’t it?”

  Alex smiled and gave a little shrug. “Ye’ve met yer share of nobility who would not deign to help a commoner. I thought I would test their instincts to gai
n insight into their hearts.”

  “Well, they all passed yer test.”

  “Indeed, they did.”

  Mary grinned. “Then ye’ve no argument to make against Adam. He is the one. Alex, he is perfect.”

  Alex sighed. “He may be the perfect man—but I wonder if the perfect man is right for me. Anyway,” she whispered, starting to move away, “Rory said he snores.” She hurried forward to escape Mary’s next attempt to champion Adam. Then she winked at Rosie who was bobbing down the hall with her basket intact.

  “Damnation,” Alex cursed under her breath before she smiled and rejoined the men. She had half hoped that two of her three suitors would have stood by while Rosie struggled to gather her linens and get back on her feet, revealing their hearts lacked true compassion. Whichever man then had stepped forward to help would have been the one, making the decision simple. Her test, in the end, proved pointless, which she should have known. Abbot Matthew would never have sent her men whose true goodness was in doubt.

  “Will Rory not be joining us for Mass?” Timothy asked.

  Alex smiled at Timothy. Of course he would be caring enough to notice their party was incomplete. But only she, Mary, and Rosie knew that Rory awaited her in the village so that they might carry out a secret mission for Scotland.

  “Nay,” Alex answered. “Corc, a dear, old codger in the village, mentioned to Rory that his roof had sprung a leak, and Rory was kind enough to offer his assistance.”

  Timothy smiled his approval. “We are closer to God when we help our brothers and sisters.”

  “Ye’re very right,” Alex agreed, warmth flooding her heart. Her eyes passed over his simple tunic. “In fact, ye could be just right for me.” She had not meant to speak those words aloud. “To escort me to Mass,” she said quickly. Timothy smiled and stepped forward, offering her his arm, which she gladly accepted.

  Once in the small chapel, they all stood in a row facing the altar. Adam seemed to follow the Mass with care to every detail. What’s more, he sang beautifully. Robert appeared devout and heartfelt, but his voice croaked from his throat like a choking sparrow. Mary looked at Alex, her eyes wide with horror. Alex soundlessly scolded her, although inside she could not help but cringe.

  On the walk back to the castle, she decided to take her cousin’s advice and spend time with Adam. By all accounts, he would make the best chieftain. But just as she started toward him, Robert intercepted her once again, offering her his arm.

  “May I escort ye back to the keep?”

  She glanced at Adam and could see his disappointment. Still, she had no choice but to weave her arm through Robert’s. “Of course,” she said. “Thank ye.”

  Again, she was struck by Robert’s fine looks, finer even than Adam’s. Rosie certainly had good reason to admire him. His golden blond hair shone in the sun while his dark blue eyes held warmth and kindness. When he smiled, his whole face lit up. Alex started to reconsider her earlier dismissal of Robert when they passed by the stables. Straightaway, he began telling her about his visit that very morning with the stable master. She tried to steer the conversation in different directions to see if he could inform broader topics—his family, the weather, planning for Lammas, but somehow, he always managed to bring it straight back to horses.

  She glanced sidelong at Adam and Mary who were strolling together and laughing at some mutual jest. Then she looked back at Timothy who walked slowly behind them all, his hands clasped in prayer, clearly still conversing with the Holy Father.

  For pity’s sake, everyone was having a more interesting conversation than she.

  The short journey from the chapel across the courtyard and into the great hall felt like an eternity. Once inside, Alex continued to listen while Robert discussed proper horse grooming. But the moment his string of sentences broke, and he paused, she pounced.

  “Forgive me, Robert, but I am due to meet the village midwife. She’s in need of supplies.” Bidding farewell to her company, she dipped in a quick curtsy and hurried from the hall. Once inside her chambers, the others were forgotten. Rosie helped her out of her finery and into her threadbare tunic. Alex sighed as the familiar, soft fabric fell in place.

  “Ye just make certain yer clothes stay on this time,” Mary admonished as Alex lifted the trap door in her chamber floor and started down the stairs that would lead through a tunnel, which ran beneath the moat and ended on the other side of the outer wall.

  “Ye ken he had to undress me last time,” Alex shot back over her shoulder.

  “Ye ken ye liked it more than ye should have,” Rosie countered.

  Alex opened her mouth to issue a sharp retort but then stopped herself. With a shrug, she started again down the stairs, unable to argue Rosie’s point. She had enjoyed Rory’s touch and certainly more than she should have, which is exactly why she had kissed him.

  Once beyond the outer wall, she had to stop herself from running through the village as she made her way to Corc’s cottage. Giving a light rap on the door, she opened it, immediately locking eyes with Rory. In the same instant, her knees weakened. Her heart started to pound. His sky-blue eyes shone as brightly as his smile, which was wide and heartfelt, the most beautiful smile. Her chest tightened as she continued to stare at him. Saint’s above, but she wanted him.

  He stood and brought his finger to his full lips to silence her greeting. She noticed then that Corc was asleep on his pallet. Soundlessly, Rory crossed the small room and gently took her arm, both turning to leave when a tickle grazed her neck. A glint of silver on the ground caught her eye. Her necklace had slipped off. She bent to retrieve it the same moment Rory did. A sharp pain shot through her head when it collided with his. She mouthed a silent curse to accompany his string of silent curses. While she still rubbed her pained skull, he bent and picked up her necklace. He found the break in the chain and pinched the metal to re-close the link.

  “It broke recently,” she explained. “I thought I fixed it, but it still must be faulty.”

  He stepped closer, facing her. “’Tis beautiful.”

  His masculine scent teased her nose. She licked her lips as heat gathered in her core. He stepped closer still. She strained to swallow while he threaded his fingers through her hair and swept it over one shoulder, exposing her neck. A ripple of pleasure shot up her spine. Her fingers stiffened straight out, straining to touch him. He leaned his head down, his cheek a breath from hers while he slowly slipped her necklace into place, his fingers grazing her skin. Her breath caught as he leaned closer to see the clasp, his lips brushing her ear, his warm breath caressing her neck, filling her entire body with aching need.

  “Oh God,” she gasped, pushing past him and charging out into fresh air.

  She turned then and looked back at him. A knowing smile curved his sensual lips.

  “Come on,” she bristled, trying to regain control. “We need a good ride.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Rory said, the heat in his eyes telling her exactly what kind of ride he meant.

  She raked her hand through her hair. “Alba gu bràth,” she said, her voice laced with desperation. “Let’s remember why we’re here.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Alex raced over the moors astride her large, white stallion with her tunic pushed high past her knees. The wind blasted her face, driving back her hair into a tangled white-gold banner. A smile, wide and jubilant, stretched her lips as freedom’s intoxicating potency gripped her innately restless being—which she suppressed for the sake of duty, title, and for the people she loved. For at her core, her very heart, she was as wild as the wolf that prowled the night, racing over the moors to satisfy its animal desires. Only during a mission could she release and satiate her true nature. What’s more, after the shock of meeting her unexpected, not to mention, oblivious suitors, it felt rapturous to be outside the walls of Luthmore, far from the confines of her looming and life-altering choice.

  She glanced back at Rory whose face mirrored her own fervor for the r
ide. He smiled, bent low over his black mare, giving chase after her horse just for the simple thrill of it. Locking eyes, they both laughed, allowing the exhilaration of their pace and the bright warmth of the day to be their masters. More than that, the excitement of the mission coursed through her veins, and well she knew it lit a fire within him too. Agents were inherently reckless. That was their one absolute commonality—that and their unyielding loyalty to Scotland.

  She drove her heels into her horse’s flanks and raced toward the distant coastline. Salt imbued the air. She inhaled the scent. The gently sloping moors gave way to increasingly rough and pointed swells, like rocky waves churning a verdant sea. And then the green was gone, leaving only jagged rocks that clustered together forming teeming cliffs, beyond which hid the gray-blue water.

  “Whoa,” she said, bringing her horse to an abrupt halt at the very edge where terrain met air.

  Rory eased his horse alongside hers. “Ye were right. I needed that.”

  She laughed, her face flushed and vibrant from the exercise. He leaned toward her in his saddle and swept tangled flaxen strands of soft hair from her eyes.

  “I’m good at guessing people’s needs,” she said. Then she turned away, nudging her horse forward to walk alongside the cliff edge. “Follow me, but don’t look down.”

  Not heeding her own advice, Alex leaned over to peek at the churning waves crashing against the sheer rock face. She leaned farther still. Then a flash of silver caught his eye. His hand shot out, but it was too late.

  “My necklace,” she said, clutching her bare throat.

  He swung down from his horse and peered over the edge. Her necklace had landed on a wide, flat rock protruding several feet down the side of the cliff. Without hesitation, he crouched on his heels and lowered himself over the edge, his fingers straining to hold his weight. Ridges in the wall allowed the narrowest shelf for his toes. He tightened his core, climbing down until he was alongside the necklace. Releasing one hand, his fingers snaked out, snagging the chain before quickly returning to grip the wall. He looked up to find her peering down at him. She stared hard, her body unmoving. He grunted, pulling himself up, all the while his eyes never leaving hers. He found the surface and hauled himself to the top, every muscle in his body straining against the constant downward force. A moment later he stood, hands on his knees, catching his breath.