Tying the Scot

by Jennifer Trethewey

  “There’s a burn several yards to the right. We can water the horses there. I’ll gather wood for the fire whilst there’s still light,” Alex said.

  “What’s that?” Declan cocked his head to the side.

  “What do you mean?” Alex asked.

  “That sound. Do you hear it? It sounds like…” Each man trained an ear in the direction in which Declan pointed. A tiny yelp.

  “Wee Hercules!” Alex ran toward the yipping sound. “Hercules! Here boy! Come here to me, laddie. That’s a good boy.” Pure joy surged through Alex when he managed to make out the dim outline of the tiny dog bounding down the road.

  When the screech of a white-tailed eagle pierced the air, his joy turned instantly to cold hard fear. Alex saw the dark shape of the eagle hurtling downward. Scooping up a few rocks, he flung them at the bird, all the while running toward the pup. The other men took his lead and started hurling stones at the bird, and calling for Hercules, but he was still yards away.

  Seconds before splayed talons reached the dog, a stone connected with the raptor and it faltered, giving Alex enough time to dive to the ground and cover Hercules with his body. He felt the whoompf of the eagle’s wings as it swooped skyward, abandoning its hunt.

  Alex gathered Hercules into his arms and held the trembling dog. He murmured comforting words and petted him gently. “There, there, Hercules. You’re all right now. I’ve got you.”

  Ian stood over his brother. “Is that Lucy’s wee beastie?”

  Alex ignored his brother’s question and inspected the dog for injuries. “He’s frightened and hungry, but he’ll do.” Alex got to his feet and deposited Hercules into Magnus’s big hands. “Find something for him to eat. I’ll search down the road for Lucy.”

  Ian followed Alex at a trot. “You said yourself she would not part willingly with her dog. This does not bode well.”

  Alex rounded on his brother. “I ken that,” he snarled. Alex instantly regretted his outburst. A moment of silence passed between brothers. “Sorry.”

  “No mind. Let’s keep looking.”

  After three fruitless hours calling her name and searching the dark roadside with torches, Alex lay in the grass, gazing up at the stars. Praying for Lucy’s safe return, he made bargains with God, promises to God, declarations to God. All the while, he held the warm bundle of fur that was Lucy’s beloved Hercules close to his heart.

  Alex had thought Lucy ironic to name the wee thing after a powerful legend. But little Hercules had demonstrated the courage and strength of his namesake. No doubt he had survived many hours alone in the Highland wilderness.

  Guilt, worry, and anger gnawed at the back of his mind, making sleep impossible. How could he eat or sleep when Lucy might be hurt or frightened? At last, he convinced himself that although he was a despicable cad, Liam would not harm a woman. And if Langley had gone to this extreme to retrieve Lucy, he certainly wouldn’t put her in danger, either.

  He made one last bargain with himself before he closed his eyes. When he found Lucy, if she heard his apology and still wanted to leave with the viscount, he would not stand in her way. He would, however, personally see Lucy safely returned to England. Alex had given her father his oath to protect his daughter. He would guard her life until the Duke of Chatham released him from that oath. That was, if he found her. If she was still alive.

  …

  Liam walked back to the inn from the carter’s office, where he had arranged for a driver to take them to Dunrobin Castle in the morning. Elizabeth would take their carriage east to Ulbster House. If Alex and his men from Balforss were searching for them, Elizabeth would lead them in the opposite direction.

  An odd feeling that someone was following him tickled the spot between his shoulder blades. He glanced over his shoulder into the darkness for the third time. Liam heard and saw nothing but quickened his pace back to Latheron Inn.

  This ordeal was almost concluded. By afternoon tomorrow, he would hand over Langley’s precious Lucy, Lady Sutherland would release him from his debt, and he would be off to London with money in his pocket. Why his friend would go to such extremes to retrieve Lucy FitzHarris was beyond Liam’s comprehension. No woman was worth that amount of effort, as far as he was concerned, least of all this ridiculous chit.

  Lucy FitzHarris was nothing like the wenches and courtesans with whom Langley normally carried on. If he planned to wed her, the duke must have provided her with a respectable dowry, perhaps an annual stipend, as well. Still, the embarrassing stink of her illegitimacy would forever follow her around like old fish. Absolutely baffling.

  Exhausted, Liam put an end to the tedious conversation with himself. The reasoning behind Langley’s intentions interested him little. His goal was plain. Freedom. No more fear of debtor’s prison. No need to face his father with failure. All his difficulties erased with a few day’s work.

  He stepped through the door into the warm reek of the tavern. It smelled of roasting meat mingled with various body odors and peat fire smoke. Do these people never bathe? Lord, he hated Scotland.

  Liam found Elizabeth seated in the corner table by the fire, spooning pudding into her pretty little mouth. The bitch hadn’t waited for him to return. She had gone ahead and eaten her supper without him. Typical. Just another offense added to the pile of insults, injuries, and abuses his stepsister heaped upon him. Yet, he was drawn to her unspeakable cruelty.

  “Oh. It’s you.” She sneered. She looked radiant in the firelight.

  He took the seat across from her. “I’m wounded you didn’t wait to dine with me, dear heart,” he said, matching her animus.

  “I didn’t want to lose my appetite.”

  “Will you be eating?” A large woman loomed over Liam. “We’ve beef stew.”

  “That sounds divine, my dear lady. I shall have a tankard of ale, as well.” Liam’s attempt at charm seemed to fall short with the woman. She harrumphed and lumbered off toward the kitchen. “That was a needlessly spiteful stunt you pulled with Lucy’s pet.”

  “That smelly little cur gave us away. Do you think George and Harriet won’t report having met us? Do you think she won’t mention the dog?” They were rhetorical questions, of course.

  “Still, the damage was done. Why upset the silly wench when we’re so close to success? She nearly lost her mind.”

  “The dog draws attention to us. If Alex comes here searching for her, people are more likely to remember us with the dog.”

  “I beg you to stop baiting the girl. I can’t risk failure.”

  “If you hadn’t frittered away your money on gambling and your sexual perversions, you wouldn’t be in this situation.” Elizabeth popped the last spoonful of pudding into her mouth.

  The large woman returned and deposited a bowl of stew, a chunk of bread, and a tankard of ale in front of Liam with a ka-clunk. She held out a grubby hand. “Thrupence.”

  Liam pointed to his stepsister. “The lady will pay.”

  Elizabeth shot him a look of sheer malice before handing the coin to the woman. When the woman left, she lowered her voice to a hiss. “After this is over, the only money you will get from me will be the pennies I place on your eyes when they bury you.”

  “Goodness, Lizzie. You make my willie go all stiff and tingly when you talk to me like that.” It was the truth. He was growing harder by the second.

  Elizabeth rose from her chair and whispered in Liam’s ear. “Speak to me like that again, you pathetic worm, and I will place your willie in a vice and turn the screw.”

  Left alone, Liam chuckled to himself. She was so delicious. He dug into the stew, noting it was also quite tasty. A moment later, he sensed someone watching him again. Looking around the room, he saw a collection of peasantry and low gentry, no one he would consider a threat. Still, the sooner he was safely locked in his chamber, the better he would feel. As quickly as possible, he finished his stew, drained his tankard, and took the stairs to the guest rooms two at a time, the tingling spot between his sho
ulder blades feeling like a target.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lucy woke before dawn and stretched, anticipating wet kisses on her cheek from Hercules. That was how he roused her in the morning. When the wet kisses didn’t come, the nightmare of losing her most precious companion returned. Sorrow like she had never known clutched at her heart.

  “Oh, Hercules. My dear little man. Where are you?”

  She clung to the hope that someone would find him and take him in, love him as she did, and care for him. If Alex found Hercules, he would care for him.

  She sat up in bed, a small flame of an idea sparking hope inside her. If Alex were looking for her, as Liam said he would, perhaps he would find Hercules on the road. If so, he could return the little dog. That is if he knew where to find her.

  Lucy heard stirring in the taproom below, the tavern mistress preparing breakfast for the guests. She scrambled to her feet and gathered her things.

  An hour later, as Lucy was finishing her last bite of egg-soaked bread, Liam descended the stairs and sauntered into the dining area.

  “My, you’re up early. Anxious to see your precious Langley, are you? He is a lucky man to have found such an eager bride.” Liam plucked an uneaten bit of sausage from her plate and tossed it into his mouth.

  Lucy wanted nothing more than to be shut of his smug face and suggestive remarks.

  “I’ve hired a driver to take us to Dunrobin. Get your things and follow me.”

  “What about Elizabeth?”

  “She’s taking our carriage to Ulbster. I’ll be delivering you to Langley alone.”

  She should be glad to be rid of the vicious woman. She hoped never to lay eyes on that monster again. Still, traveling alone with Liam did not sit well with her. He must have seen the reluctance in her face, for the next thing he said spoke to her uncertainty.

  “Don’t worry, my dear. You are the last woman on earth with whom I’d make amorous congress.”

  Before Lucy exited the Latheron Inn, she sent one last look to the tavern mistress, and prayed the woman would be true to her word.

  …

  Alex and Ian burst through the door to the tavern, upsetting the maidservant. Her tray of pewter tankards crashed and clanged to the floor. Chairs screeched and toppled over as startled patrons got to their feet.

  “Has anyone seen a young lass with dark hair?” asked Alex. “She would have been traveling with another man and woman.”

  The inn patrons returned blank stares. Some shrugged apologies and sat down again. Others finished their ale, making to leave.

  In a much less threatening voice, Ian said, “Please. The lass may be in danger. If you know anything, we would be much obliged.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw the maidservant shift her gaze to a large woman standing near the door to the summer kitchen. Those two knew something but were afraid to speak out. He was certain of it. Alex gave an apologetic nod to the room in general as he backed out of the inn with Ian. “We didnae mean to interrupt your meal. Please forgive us.”

  Once outside, Alex said, “Ian, wait here with Magnus and Declan. I mean to speak to the tavern mistress. I ken she knows a thing or two about Lucy.”

  “Go gently,” Ian cautioned.

  Alex paused at the remark. His brother was right. Go gently. And if that didn’t work, he’d wring the information he craved out of the woman with his bare hands.

  He walked around the tavern to the small structure located behind the main building. The large woman, presumably the tavern owner’s good wife, stood just inside the entry to the kitchen, waiting for him. She did know something.

  “Good afternoon, mistress.” Alex gave the woman a deferential nod. “Do you have something you’d like to tell me?”

  She motioned for Alex to step inside. “What is your name?” the woman asked.

  “Alex Sinclair of Balforss. Miss Lucy FitzHarris is my fiancée. She’s been taken from my house.”

  “Are you so certain she wants you to find her?”

  “I believe the people who took her may mean her harm. Please, what can you tell me?”

  The woman remained mute. Alex pulled a sovereign from his sporran and held it up for her to inspect.

  She withdrew a folded scrap of parchment from the pocket of her soiled apron and handed it to Alex in exchange for the coin. The unsealed scrap of paper was addressed to him.

  “She gave it to me in haste. Asked me not to tell the gentleman she was with about it,” the tavern mistress said.

  Heart pounding, hope mounting, he unfolded the parchment.

  Alex,

  I am to Dunrobin Castle. From there, on to London posthaste. Due to treachery, poor Hercules is lost. My heart breaks for him so frightened and alone. If, by some miracle, you find him, I beg you to set aside your anger and return him. He is innocent in all this. I would be forever in your debt.

  Lucy

  Shit. Dunrobin. Sutherland. Patrick Bloody Sellar. As if written in larger letters than the rest, the words treachery, frightened, and alone leapt off the page. The words cut him, lanced his chest open, exposing his heart. It was Lucy who was frightened and alone, surrounded by treachery. Most awful was the word anger. Did she think he was angry? With her? Surely it should be the other way around. He’d allowed Elizabeth to kiss him.

  “Are you well, sir? You look a wee bit peely-wally.” The young maidservant he’d seen earlier in the tavern had entered the summer kitchen without his notice. He snapped out of his stupor.

  To the tavern mistress, he demanded, “When did they leave?”

  “But an hour ago,” she said.

  Alex raced to the horses and flung himself into his saddle. “Liam has taken her to Dunrobin. We have to find Lucy before Sellar gets his hands on her. Magnus, ride east. Find my father and his men. Meet us at Dunrobin as quick as you can.” Hercules, still tucked within the sheltering folds of Magnus’s plaid, poked his wee head out. “And guard the dog with your life, man.”

  “Aye.”

  Magnus turned east toward Wick at a gallop, and Alex, Ian, and Declan spurred their horses west. It was twenty miles to Dunrobin Castle. A good two-hour ride if the weather and the horses held up. Chances were slim they’d find Liam and Lucy before they reached Dunrobin. And if they didn’t…

  It would take Magnus twelve hours at best to find his father and return with them to Dunrobin. More likely, it would be mid-day tomorrow. What was worse, Alex had no plan. They would not be welcome at Dunrobin. They would likely meet with hostility, but he must speak to Lucy. He had to find her. He would let nothing stop him from that single goal.

  And if Sellar laid a hand on her, he would lose that hand, and then Alex would end the bastard’s life.

  …

  Lucy and Liam made the journey along the coast in silence, stopping once for personal needs. Liam made only one attempt at conversation.

  “What do you have in that wooden case?”

  “None of your business.”

  He laughed. “Whatever’s inside, it must be precious. You’ve never let the case out of your sight this entire trip.”

  “If you must know, it contains a gift from my father. It has no value beyond what it means to me.”

  Lucy turned her head away and feigned interest in the scenery. In truth, all she could think about was Hercules. Chances were slim she would ever see her beloved pet again. So many stars had to align for her prayer to be answered. Hercules had to survive on the moor. Alex had to find him. The tavern mistress had to give Alex her note. And what if Alex hadn’t even bothered to come after her?

  No. He would come. Even if he cared nothing for her, he cared about his blasted honor, his promise to her father, his oath.

  The driver called something out, a cry of distress. “What did he say?” she asked Liam. Before he could answer her, she heard the thunder of horses approaching fast from behind.

  Liam leaned out the window. Spotting whoever was behind them, he shouted to the driver, “Drive o
n, man. Drive on! We’re being pursued!”

  One crack of the whip and the tiny coach jerked forward, sending Lucy tumbling out of her seat into Liam’s lap. She scrambled to her seat again, searching his face for some explanation as to what was happening. Liam looked stricken with panic.

  “Who’s chasing us?”

  He offered no answer. As the driver picked up speed, the greenery outside the windows blurred past. The whip cracked again. Hooves striking the muddy road grew nearer.

  Again, she called to Liam. “Is it Alex? Is Alex chasing us?”

  A loud bang and the coach jumped. Lucy bounced once before her bottom hit the seat and sent her ricocheting upward, her head hitting the ceiling of the cabin. Again, she fell against Liam, her forehead striking his shoulder.

  Fear dulled the pain. Rather than helping her to her seat, Liam wrapped his arms around her. They swayed to and fro, careening violently from side to side along the road, each time making a wider and wider path.

  “Hang on, Lucy.”

  …

  They had traveled a little over half the distance to Dunrobin when Declan raised his hand. His cousin studied the tracks on the road.

  “Look here, man,” Declan said. “Where the prints dig deeper and the mud from the road is disturbed.”

  “Aye, I see.” They trotted farther down the road, examining the tracks.

  “And here. Where the carriage wheels swing right, then left,” Declan said, pointing.

  Realization dawning, Alex kicked Goliath hard. “They were chased!”

  Goliath galloped another half mile to a sharp bend in the road. Horse and rider narrowly made the turn without crashing sidelong into a stand of trees. Just ahead, Alex spotted the wreck toppled on its side with an agitated horse tangled in the twisted harness. Hope and dread rippled through his body as he flung himself off Goliath and sprinted to the broken coach. He peered inside. No one. Only a small black derby. Lucy’s hat.