Alec: A Scottish Outlaw (Highland Outlaws Book 4)

by Lily Baldwin

  “Where is he going?” Paul asked.

  “To the tavern in Dunshire,” Alec said, one side of his lips lifting in a sideways grin. “There’s a lass he needs to see.”

  “Are ye going to tell us what the two of ye are doing here on yer wedding night?” Ramsay asked before taking a bite of dried meat.

  Nick nodded. “Why are ye not still at the palace?”

  “Edward’s men arrived,” Alec said.

  The sip of ale Paul had just taken sprayed from his lips. “Do ye think he knows about the stolen treasure?”

  Alec nodded. “When the keeper discovered what happened, he sent word of the robbery.”

  Ramsay shrugged. “Calm yerself, Paul. No one could suspect it was us.”

  “We do not exist, remember?” Alec said to Paul. “Anyway, I was planning on leaving London,” he said, putting his hand on Joanie’s knee.

  Ramsay smiled knowingly. “If ye wait to steal a prize like Joanie, ye may wind up empty handed.”

  “Oh, he didn’t steal me,” Joanie said, trying to keep from smiling. “He bought me for one-hundred silver marks.”

  Once more, ale sprayed from Paul’s lips.

  Nick leaned forward. “All right, from the beginning then, Alec.”

  Alec smiled and wrapped his arm protectively around Joanie. He certainly had no intention of imparting Joanie’s personal struggles to his friends. “Do not think that just because I’m sitting with ye around a fire that I’m going to tell ye all my secrets.”

  Paul laughed. “It seems only fair, since ye know all of ours.”

  “Nay, yer story is yer own,” Ramsay said. “But I am interested to know where ye’re heading now?”

  “Joanie’s grandmother hailed from St. Gabriel. We are going to see if she has any family left there.” Alec stood then and offered his hand to Joanie. “If ye’ll excuse us now, we plan to set out early in the morning.”

  “Not to mention it is yer wedding night,” Ramsay said.

  Alec wrapped his arm around Joanie’s waist and led her from the fire.

  “Alba gu bràth,” Ramsay called after them.

  The other men responded in unison. “Alba gu bràth,” before draining their cups.

  Joanie followed Alec through the thick trees and gasped with delight when he pointed to their bed for the night. A wooden platform stuck out half way up the tree. She climbed a rope ladder with Alec just behind her. And when they reached the top, he pulled the ladder up into a neat pile. Surrounding the platform was a protective railing. Joanie gazed out from their perch, delighted by the view.

  “This is magnificent,” she said.

  He smiled and nodded. “It was my favorite place in the world.”

  She looked at him curiously. “Where is your favorite place now?”

  He pulled her close, bringing his lips a breath away from hers. “Where ever ye are,” he whispered. Then his lips claimed hers. Her arms flew around his neck. She returned his kiss with a demand all her own, a hunger gripping her body, a hunger that could never be sated even if they lived a century in each other’s arms.

  “I need you now,” she gasped. “I need you always.”

  Alec eased her tunic and shift over her head and hungrily pulled first one rosy nipple into his mouth, then the other. Her hands coursed over his body, searching, wanting. Then he felt her fingers pulling on his hose. He deepened his kiss as he freed himself. She stared up at him, her limpid eyes half closed with desire that surged from her body into his. Parting her legs, her arms reached for him. He stretched over her, his hand cupped her breast, his thumb gently teasing her hard peak, eliciting soft moans from her wet, parted lips. Then his hand caressed down her sleek torso, then lower still. Unable to resist her heat, his fingers gently grazed her soft folds. She writhed beneath him, arching her back, thrusting her hips. He deepened his touch, stroking her, feeling her hunger, her need, her body telling him exactly what it wanted. The instant before her mounting pleasure erupted, he shifted over her and thrust into her, deep and hard. She shattered around him, coaxing his own pleasure to crest and soar. He thrust into her harder and deeper until he seized for a moment, a breath. Then wave after wave of pleasure rocked through him into her.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Alec opened his eyes and reached for the sword above his head. He sat up the instant before he heard someone shout his name.

  Joanie jolted awake. “What’s going on?”

  “’Tis David,” Alec said, pushing aside the blankets. “Come,” he said as he started down the ladder. He helped Joanie to the ground, then they hurried through the trees and into the clearing. Scowling, David stood in the middle of the glade, his feet planted wide, and in his fist, he gripped a large piece of rolled up parchment.

  Alec narrowed his eyes on the parchment and let go of Joanie’s hand as he stormed across the clearing and took the scroll from David’s outstretched hand. Unraveling it, he scanned the page and found his own eyes staring back at him. A moment later, Ramsay, Nick, and Paul appeared at his side. He gave Ramsay the scroll.

  “What is it?” Joanie asked, arriving breathless at his side.

  He erected his walls to shield her from his anger before he turned and showed her the image. “It is a likeness of me.”

  She gasped and grabbed the parchment from Ramsay’s hand, her eyes scouring the page, apprehension and confusion pouring off her in pulsing waves.

  She looked up at him, her face stricken. “I cannot read.”

  He didn’t want her to know.

  “What does it say?” she snapped.

  There had to be a way to spare her.

  “Someone tell me,” she cried, her eyes darted from face to face. He could feel the panic building within her.

  “I am wanted for the robbery of the King’s chapter house, or at least Randolph Tweed is.”

  The parchment dropped from her fingertips as shock set in. “Joanie, breathe,” he said firmly as he pulled her into his arms.

  “I don’t understand,” David said. “How could ye be accused? No one could possibly suspect any of us.”

  “That’s just it,” Alec began, “no one does suspect me. ’Tis Randolph Tweed who stands accused.”

  Joanie looked up at him, her brows drawn. “But the keeper favors you. I … I was standing right there when he said so.”

  “He did,” Alec said softly. “But the keeper’s palace, the palace ye knew, disappeared the moment Edward’s soldiers returned. John’s life is forfeit. The missing treasure is only one of several charges he will no doubt face, although the chapter house robbery will certainly be the gravest charge. Edward’s man would have demanded answers. He would have wanted names.”

  “But why would John accuse you?” Joanie asked.

  “I doubt he did, but if someone else accused me, I do not believe John would have championed me when his own neck was on the line.”

  “Geoffrey,” she gasped.

  Alec nodded.

  “Who is Geoffrey?” Ramsay asked.

  “My old master,” Joanie muttered. “The one Alec paid one-hundred silver marks for my freedom.”

  “’Tis a small fortune ye paid this man. Why would he turn on ye?” Nick asked.

  “Because the coin I paid him I later stole back.” He turned to Joanie. “We must go.”

  “Alec, ye ken they are likely spreading these in every tavern, ale house, and village green in Scotland. And look at the price on yer head.”

  Joanie’s eyes widened. “You didn’t say there was a price on your head. What is the amount, Ramsay?”

  “One-hundred silver marks, an amount I’m certain is no coincidence,” Ramsay said, then turned to Alec. “I will need just a minute to gather my affects.”

  Alec shook his head. “Ye needn’t come along. I ken ye’re supposed to return to Haddington. Brother Matthew will want yer report.”

  “Brother Matthew will want us to stand with our brother.”

  “Ramsay’s right,” David said. “Y
e’re a wanted man now. If ye still insist on going to Saint Gabriel, we’re coming with ye.”

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Alec scanned the wooden wall that enclosed the village of Saint Gabriel. The village gate was open. The sun rose behind the hill, painting the soft clouds a dusky rose. He passed through the gate and glanced back at Ramsay, who sat astride a large charger, his broad sword strapped to his back. David and Nick both rode spotted mares. Paul had ridden on alone to Haddington to provide the abbot with a report.

  The morning sun chased the chill from the air. By the time they passed through the gate, the sky was bright, and it was clear that the first breath of Spring had come to Saint Gabriel. People milled about, content to feel the sunshine on their faces for a change. Wet, soft earth scented the air. Birdsong combined with the din of voices and laughter.

  “I can’t believe we are here,” Joanie whispered.

  He pressed her tighter to his chest. “Ye don’t feel afraid,” he observed.

  “I’m not. I’m…” She expelled a breath. “I can hardly say how I feel.”

  He pulled her closer. “Now, ye will at least know where she grew up.”

  She turned and glanced up at him. “Is it still hot?” she whispered.

  “Like fire,” Alec answered, knowing she meant the chard of stone. He was growing increasing excited. He did not doubt that the stone had led him to Joanie, and Joanie to Saint Gabriel. For good or for ill, the stone’s secret, mayhap Scotland’s secret, would soon be revealed.

  Alec closed his eyes and allowed his heart to guide them. They wandered alongside several cottages and the blacksmith’s forge. Then they came to the village green.

  “Look,” Joanie said, pointing. “It’s Saint Gabriel, just as Father Giles described.”

  A wooden statue, intricately carved, stood guard in front of a fenced-in graveyard. A sudden wave of sadness surged through Alec.

  “But then that means all those graves are…” Joanie faltered.

  Alec knew what she did not want to say out loud. Children, once so beloved, lay beneath the small crosses that dotted the ground, too numerous to count.

  He turned away from the heartbreaking sight, his eyes settling on a young woman with red hair twisted in a knot on her head, and a thick shawl about her shoulders. On her ample hip, she carried a basket of laundry. Suddenly compelled, he followed her.

  “Where are we going?” he heard Ramsay ask, but Alec kept his silence, unable to tear his eyes away. He had this incredible feeling of familiarity and warmth. At the edge of the green, she turned down a road that led behind a cluster of clay and thatch huts. Nudging his horse into a trot, he sped up after her, the urgency to find her growing stronger with each passing second. He turned the corner. His heart started to pound when he stared down an empty path, but then he glimpsed just the end of her shawl lifting in the breeze like a finger beckoning him before disappearing around another corner.

  “What is it Alec?” Joanie breathed.

  He heard her words, but he couldn’t speak. He could only ride. His heart raced. He rounded the corner. And then he saw her. The young woman stood at the very end of the road where it stopped abruptly in front of a small stone cottage. Her laundry basket still sat on her wide hip. Who was she? Why was he so drawn to her? Mayhap, she was a relation of Joanie’s. He carried on forward, but at a slower place, not wishing to alarm her. He watched intently as she set the basket down and swept the shawl from her shoulders. She stepped to the side, revealing an older woman sitting in a rough-hewn chair, her face downcast.

  His breath caught. “It can’t be.”

  “What is it?” Joanie asked.

  The young woman swept the shawl around the older woman’s shoulder. Slowly, the old woman looked up and smiled.

  It felt like thunder erupted in his chest the moment Joanie saw her.

  Joanie grabbed his hands, her nails digging into him. Her body seized, and a word began to take form, originating soul-deep. It surged through her body, cutting a searing path of agony and hope up her throat and she screamed, “Grandmother.”

  The woman jerked around. Her faded blue eyes grew wide, then she clasped a hand to her mouth and fell back into the chair. The young woman reached out to steady her. Gnarled fingers, splayed wide, reached out. “Joanie!”

  Joanie jumped from the horse, the face she knew so well a blur through her tears. “Grandmother!”

  “Joanie!”

  Sobbing, Joanie fell to her knees and seized her grandmother’s hands. Her aged body trembled and shook as tears coursed down her creased cheeks. Then Joanie flung her arms wide and pulled her into a tremulous embrace. Her softness, her smell, her breath, her feel, everything about her filled Joanie until there was no room inside her to breathe, or for her heart to beat. Joanie sobbed and sobbed, thinking she would surely die if she were to awaken and it was all a dream.

  “Are you real?” Joanie cried, pulling back to see her grandmother’s face. Still, her grandmother cried. She could only nod, her lips pressed wide, and she held Joanie tight. Joanie knew in her heart, in her soul that she was real.

  She was alive!

  Joanie faltered and pulled away. Her stomach dropped, and her blood ran cold.

  Her grandmother was alive, which meant…

  She had never died.

  Fury, unbidden and undeniable, shot through her. Her hands clenched into tight fists as the ugly truth boiled to the surface of her heart.

  “But he said you were dead,” she gritted, squeezing her fists tighter. Rage like nothing she had ever known coursed through her. She couldn’t breathe.

  “He told me you were dead,” she cried again. “He … he … buried you, and he…” She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, unable to find a way out of her anger. Then, suddenly, Alec’s arms came around her.

  “Put it in me,” he breathed in her ear. “Give all yer rage to me.”

  She clung to him, squeezing him, tension riddling her body as she fought to see beyond her hatred for a father who could tell his daughter such a vicious lie.

  “I am here.”

  Her grandmother’s words slowly soothed their way into her mind. “I am here, sweetling.”

  Alec’s heat soothed a path to her heart. She felt her grandmother rest her hand on her back. Slowly, the fury softened. She released her grip on Alec’s tunic. Her shoulders fell away from her ears, and she turned in Alec’s arms and beheld her grandmother’s beautiful blue eyes, which crinkled when a smile spread across her face.

  Pressing her lips together to hold back a fresh wave of tears, Joanie left Alec’s arms and entered her grandmother’s embrace. “There, there, sweetling. I’m here now,” she crooned, just as she had when Joanie was a little girl.

  Joanie lifted her head and whispered, “Alec, this is my grandmother, Margaret.”

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  “Are you expecting someone, Grandmother?”

  Smiling, her grandmother nodded. “Aye, my wee lamb should be home soon. He is my great nephew.” She smiled and squeezed Joanie’s hand. “Yer cousin. His mother died birthing him.” Margaret closed her eyes. “Mira was such a kindhearted lass. God rest her soul.” She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. “Mira’s mother, my own Bradana, passed away just last spring, and so Matthew became mine. He’s an uncanny lad. Ye’ll see,” she said with a wink. “Anyway, what were we discussing? This mind of mine wanders.”

  “You were telling me about when my father first came to Saint Gabriel.”

  “Aye, now I see why I tried to forget. If I could erase Drogo forever from my mind I would. I’ll tell ye, Joanie, I knew from the very first moment I laid eyes on him that he had a dark soul. He was the youngest son of a knight. His brothers became soldiers for hire and were eventually knighted, or so yer father claimed. But he chose a less honorable path. What I’m about to tell ye, I gleaned over the years, listening to his drunken babble. Drogo refused his father’s help gaining a commission, and so he was given a
modest fortune from his father’s earnings to make his own way. As ye can very well imagine, he drank his way through the money easily enough and started running with a band of outlaws, eventually fleeing England a wanted man, which is how he came to discover St. Gabriel.”

  “If he was so awful, how could my mother have agreed to marry him, an outlaw and a drunk?”

  “My Gavenia was too young to mind his deeds over his words. Also, in his youth yer father was a handsome and charming man. When he came here, no one knew his past. With his pockets lined with stolen coin, he beguiled his way into the hearts of many here in the village. Before anyone knew it, he had cheated them all, and worst of all, he had convinced my Gavenia to run away with him. Trust me, Joanie, I tried to reason with yer mother, but she was already under the spell of his blue eyes and fine smile.” Her grandmother shook her head sadly. “He came to her like Lucifer himself, beautiful to look at but wicked to his core.”

  “How did ye learn of their plan to run away?” Alec asked.

  Tears stung Margaret’s eyes. Her hand flew to her chest against the pain of remembering. “I overheard them,” she said weakly. “Gavenia could not be swayed. Bradana was already married then and to a good man. And so I left her and Saint Gabriel behind and followed them. I had known men like Drogo before. I knew the vile deeds he was capable of. I wanted to do everything in my power to save her.” Her faded blue eyes, glistening with tears, locked with Joanie’s. “But I couldn’t. Nor could I save ye.”

  Joanie squeezed her grandmother’s hand. “What happened to you? What did he do to you?”

  Margaret swiped at her tears. “Well, as ye know, I was ill. While ye were working at the tavern, he stuck me in the back of a wagon and drove north for several hours. Then he dumped me on the side of the road.”

  Joanie gasped, her hand to her heart.

  “By the time I made it back to ye, ye were gone. He had sold ye.” Margaret grabbed both of Joanie’s hands. “I searched for ye for years. I lived off the charity of convents and searched every village I passed through. I…”