The Highlander’s Passion (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 3)

by Emilia Ferguson

  All the way back to the camp, Everett found himself fretting about his experience. It made no sense. Why would he have come to anyone’s attention? Having done so, why would a noble not just turn him in? Why go to all the trouble of hiring someone and setting about him in a street?

  “You’ve got a right shiner,” Camden grinned, pointing at his eye as they settled down to make a fire. Everett nodded.

  “I’ll bet.”

  He rinsed his face in cold water, wincing as his black eye ached. He couldn’t see himself very clearly in the reflection on the surface of his eating dish, but he could feel how swollen up his face was, and if Camden’s reaction told him anything at all, he knew he was a real mess.

  “Who could it have been?” he asked the silent clearing.

  No answers came back out of the darkness – he had expected none. He sighed and, raking a last glance into the tree line, he stumbled back to the fire.

  When he got to camp, the others were having a friendly fight about whether or not to save the rest of the grain for tomorrow’s breakfast. He sat on the edge of the circle of firelight, his mind going over the events of the previous few days.

  “We’ll move out tomorrow, eh?” Lewes asked him.

  Everett frowned. He knew it was the sensible thing to do, even though he didn’t wish to. “Tomorrow afternoon,” he called back.

  That, he thought, would at least give him one last chance to slip away into the town and say his goodbyes.

  He slipped his pack under his head as he lay down wearily for a rest. As he leaned on it, he felt the strange bulge of the little parcel he’d bought. He still had it with him.

  Tomorrow, he thought with a smile, he would go back and deliver it to Miss McCarrick. Maybe then he would be able to ask her name.

  He was still smiling as, exhausted, he dropped off to sleep.

  DISTURBING THOUGHTS

  Seonaid leaned heavily on the fine oak chair. She felt weary, though it was only mid-afternoon. She was sitting at a dinner table weighed down with good things. She should have felt content, and part of her was impatient that she did not. However, all she wanted was to escape the tedious company.

  “Miss McCarrick? I trust we will be discussing our contract soon.”

  Seonaid looked down from where she contemplated the roof beams and focused her gaze on Captain Westford. She noticed her father’s smile and swallowed hard.

  “Um, yes. I trust we shall.”

  “Will you come up to the parlor with me, after dinner?” he asked. “I have to speak with you – alone.”

  Seonaid looked around to where her father sat at the other end of the table. He nodded to her, though she could see in his eyes that he was worried for her.

  “Of course,” she said woodenly.

  Westford’s bland smile spread over his uniform features. He nodded. “You do me honor, Miss.”

  Seonaid gave her best attempt at a smile and reached for the slices of bread. She crumbled a piece off to mop up the gravy, distracting herself from her troubled thoughts. Of all the things she wanted in this world, time alone with Westford was the last thing.

  After dinner, as Captain Westford’s staff cleared away the dinner things, Seonaid’s father pushed back his chair and stood, stretching widely.

  “Captain, my thanks for that delicious meal. If you younger folks would excuse me, I would take a walk along the wharf. I find it aids the digestion, and that meal was a struggle for an old man.”

  “Father…” Seonaid protested. Captain Westford waved an airy hand, silencing her.

  “Of course, Captain. We will serve a refreshing tea in the parlor when you are returned.” He favored Seonaid’s father with his smooth smile.

  “I’ll look forward to it,” her father replied. He hurried into the cold afternoon, shutting the door behind him before Seonaid could call him back.

  Seonaid whirled around to face Westford. “Sir…”

  “Miss McCarrick? You can be in no doubt of what I wish to discuss. It remains simply for you to agree to the terms. Your father is anxious to be off and to see you settled before he departs for Norway.”

  Seonaid swallowed hard. “Captain Westford…I would like another day.” She too had stood from her place, and she looked down at her long gown where it hid the toes of her boots from view.

  “My dear woman! You have had a week – and in that time you have been often in my company. You surely need no further information to persuade you?”

  Seonaid gulped. “On the contrary. I feel I need one more day. I have no mother to counsel me, and I need solitude and time to decide my future. It is my future,” she emphasized gently.

  The captain stepped from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. At length, he looked up at her. “I will grant you a day,” he said grandly.

  Seonaid bit back her ironic retort and made herself incline her head politely. “Thank you,” she replied. “Now, I think that when my father returns from his walk, I would like to take my leave.”

  “As you like,” he said tightly.

  Seonaid looked up at that smoothly handsome face. In her own way, she felt sorry for him. He was everything a man was supposed to be – chivalrous, considerate, open-handed. Somehow, for all that, he was empty, like a doll that had a painted wooden head sewn to a sack.

  He is either a superb actor or he really is that shallow.

  She shivered. If he was acting, what lurked beneath that careful construction? She had no wish to find out.

  “Thank you. It was an excellent dinner.”

  “I will convey your compliments to Mrs. Brewer.”

  “Thank you.”

  That exhausted their topics of conversation. Seonaid wandered to the window, frowning into the mist. When would her father get back? She heard the captain clear his throat and fought the urge to flee into the street.

  “Miss. McCarrick? I trust you have not had any trouble recently?”

  “Trouble?” Seonaid frowned. “What manner of trouble, if I may ask?”

  “Miscreants or brigands, making mischief at your lodgings. Things like that.”

  Seonaid stared. Had he seen the man behind the shutters? What was this all about?

  “No,” she said decisively. She watched his face, gauging his reaction. “We have had no disturbance. Why do you ask?”

  He lifted a brow. “Just wondering. I had heard there was some unrest in the town, some gang of thieves or other going about. You can’t be too careful.”

  “No,” Seonaid said tightly. “I suppose you cannot.”

  In that moment, the front door opened and her father came in, dripping from head to foot. He hung up his big cloak and held out his hands to the fire.

  “Sir, you should get back home,” Westford said. “You will catch a cold.”

  Her father laughed. “An old sea dog, like me? Not likely I will.”

  “Your health is not what it was,” Westford said smoothly. “We none of us can afford to risk illness, and all the more so when we are old.”

  Seonaid stared from himself to her father, shocked by how baldly he’d just insulted him. She felt anger well up, but her father interrupted before she could say anything. He laughed.

  “You’re nothing if not honest, I see, lad,” he grinned. “And it’s a fine notion. But no – I’ll warm myself by your fire and then be gone. If you’d prefer to stay here before the weather worsens?” he cast a happy glance at Seonaid, who blanched.

  “No, Father,” she said swiftly. “I am coming home with you.”

  She linked her arm with his and they headed into the street. As they walked home, Seonaid thought through the conversation with Westford. She shuddered, recalling what he’d said about brigands. Was he really being solicitous? Or was he trying to scare her, making her believe the town was no safe place for a woman alone? She felt as if somebody was watching them and gripped her father’s arm, hurrying back towards their lodgings.

  “So, lass? You have news?” her father asked as he shoo
k out his coat in the hallway.

  Seonaid stared at him. “Um…no, Father. I think I would like to go for a walk. Please?”

  Her father was concerned, she could see it in the troubled blue gaze. However, he raised a shoulder. “As you wish,” he replied. “I’ll be here by the fire. Old men need to mind their health, apparently.”

  She shot him a grin and he was still chuckling as she went out into the rain. She wrapped his cloak around her and looked left and right as she negotiated the alley.

  As she turned the corner, a hand grabbed her wrist. She whirled to face the threat, too shocked to scream.

  “Miss!” a voice she knew whispered urgently. “Please…don’t scream.”

  Seonaid glared at him. Of all people she expected to see, the nameless brigand was the last of them. “What are you doing here?” she asked, nettled.

  To her surprise, he went pink. “I came tae see you.” His fingers loosened their grip. She missed their contact.

  “You did?” she swallowed hard. “Why?”

  He shuffled his feet. “I reckon I wanted to say goodbye.”

  “Goodbye?” she frowned. “Where are ye going to?”

  “Weren’t ye the one who said I should get out of town fast?”

  She laughed, though she wasn’t feeling happy. “Yes. I suppose I was.”

  “I have to go south,” he explained. “I need tae find men to join us. I promised my father.”

  “I see.” Seonaid swallowed hard. “Well, then. I wish you luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  They looked at each other. Rain dripped off a roof into the silence. He cleared his throat. “I got ye something.”

  “Got me something?” she echoed.

  He grinned and the smile lit his eyes. “Yes. A present. I found it at the market. I wanted tae give you something, to remember me by.”

  Seonaid’s heart thumped. “You did?”

  He reached into the little bag he wore tied into his rope belt. He unfastened the strapping and pulled out a tiny parcel, small enough to lie easily in her palm. It was wrapped with stained linen. She unwrapped it, feeling her heart thump in her chest. Besides her father, and Mrs. Drover, nobody had ever bought her a gift in her life before.

  “What is…oh!” a gray ribbon lay in her palm, made of silk that was part-gray, part blue. It shimmered in the wan daylight. It was a shade darker than the dress from her father. It was almost the same color as her eyes.

  “You like it?”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  His smile lit his brown eyes, making them shine. “I’m glad. It made me think o’ ye.”

  She was surprised to feel a tear trickle down her cheek. Nobody had ever said something so sweet, so sincere. She scuffed at her cheeks, feeling ashamed. When she looked up, his brown eyes were watching her tenderly.

  “Och, lass,” he whispered.

  Seonaid felt an impulse and reached out to touch him, resting a hand on his cheek. He surprised her by reaching up to it and cupping it in both his own. His fingers felt warm, despite the cold air and the drizzling rain. She looked into his eyes.

  “When you go…”

  “I wonder if…”

  They both spoke together. She laughed.

  “Sorry,” she said. “What were you going to say?”

  “Ladies first,” he grinned.

  She chuckled. “Very well. There’s few enough privileges for being a lady – I might as well use the ones we have. I was going to say, when you go, you should leave by the west road. It’s safer and freer of outlaws.”

  “Thanks.” He frowned. “My name’s McDowell, by the way,” he offered. “Everett.”

  “That’s a nice name.”

  “Thanks.”

  She went silent. What had he been going to say? She looked up at him, waiting expectantly. He shrugged.

  “I was going tae say, I wonder if I will see ye again, after I leave?”

  She swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”

  They looked at each other. Her eyes held his and, to her surprise, a strange longing started to flower within her. He must have felt it too, for he leaned forward.

  They kissed.

  Seonaid’s eyes shut as his lips moved over hers. The touch was so gentle, a gentle stroke of his lips over hers. She felt his tongue probe the line of her lips, and sweetly parted them, letting him enter. He sighed and drew her close, his arms wrapping around her. Her body melted against his. She felt as if she’d been on a voyage, and finally come home.

  He leaned back, eyes wide. “Och, lass.”

  She cleared her throat, which was tight around a big lump that had suddenly formed there. She nodded. “I hope tae see you again someday.”

  He smiled, and she was surprised to see the tenderness in his eyes.

  “Och, lass. I wish that…”

  She never heard his last words, however – shadows erupted from the alley and the last thing she knew, before something hit her on the head, was the shouts of alarm from her companion, and his shouting, again and again, of her name.

  “Miss!”

  She realized, as her sight darkened, that she still hadn’t told him her name.

  A MOMENT OF CHANGE

  Everett struck out at the head of the man nearest him. His blow hit squarely and he winced, feeling his knuckle crack. His attention was immediately distracted, though, as another brigand punched him, hard, in the ribs.

  He roared loudly in anger. He spat, tasting blood. Somebody kicked him and he toppled over, then braced himself on the wall and spun round, facing his assailants again. He kicked and struck, bit and wrestled. All the time, his mind was racing with a single fear.

  Where is Miss McCarrick?

  He was surrounded on all sides. He’d heard her scream, and seen her fall – and then…nothing. He was in the center of a ring of flying fists and blows, and he had to escape, so he could find her.

  “Go to Hell! All of you!” he roared. He swung back his right fist, landing a punch, and as the fellow wove right, out of his way, and then slammed out with his fist, Everett realized something.

  This was one of the men who’d assaulted him the previous evening.

  He yelled again. He was worse than frantic now – he was furious. He kicked out, landing a blow that made his opponent stumble. He was standing with his back to the wall, so that the men could only come at him from one side. He heard somebody draw a knife and his rage froze inside him.

  Screaming in wordless rage, he swung to his right, where his way was blocked only by a man who was already holding his head, clearly injured. He made the man lose his balance and raced through the gap. As he ran, he caught sight of something gray in the alley.

  “Miss!” he screamed and, bending down, hauled at her dress, managing to get her up onto one arm, head lolling, arms swaying, before the three men caught up with him.

  “Watch!” he cried. “Where’s the bloody watch?”

  He was still shouting when somebody opened the shutters and a head peered out. “What’s the din?” an old man yelled.

  The sight of him, and of another person, coming into the street from behind, made the three men pause. That gave Everett the chance he needed. Wrapping his other arm around Miss McCarrick, trying to support her and not drop her, he ran from the alley and onto the quay.

  He could hear feet pursuing him. The arrival of the two other men hadn’t kept them at bay for long. He was panting, and his arms and legs and everything between ached. He looked left and right. He knew that if the man with the knife arrived, they were finished. He had no weapon to speak of, and Miss McCarrick was unconscious.

  “We need to get upriver,” he yelled, spotting a man on a barge.

  The man turned and frowned at him. “What do you…” he began rudely. Everett, adjusting his grip on Miss McCarrick, ran up the plank and onto the deck, kicking the boards away.

  “That’s trespassing!” the boat’s owner – a short man with gray hair and steel blue eyes, yelled. “I’ll c
all the guards, and…”

  “I want passage upstream,” Everett shouted. “And I’ll pay you whatever you like. Just get us out of here. Now!”

  The man looked at him, seemingly unimpressed. He raised one brow and held out a hand disparagingly.

  “What makes you think you can commandeer my ship?”

  “I…” Everett began. What could he say? His words fled in the face of the impossibility of explaining their story.

  Just then, Miss McCarrick made a small groan, making the man’s glance stray to her. His expression softened.

  “The lass is no’ well.”

  “No,” Everett said, feeling somewhat angry. “She was just knocked out by that lot.” He indicated the three shadowy figures who were now searching along the dock, half-obscured in mist. “So, when I say it’s an emergency, and that we have to get away, you might actually listen?”

  The captain shrugged. “If you say so,” he said. He turned back to the capstan. It was a small vessel, Everett noticed – a barge, meant for traveling upriver and down, not for setting out on long sea voyages. The captain started to move the capstan, and the bows of the ship turned, heading out into the river mouth.

  Everett felt his heart leap into his throat as the ship swung about. He could still see the men on the dock quite distinctly, but now they were getting smaller, more obscured by the mist as they headed into the river. Who were these thugs? Lewes’ face flashed into his mind again. Could it have been him?

  He looked down at Miss McCarrick, who was still unconscious – her head was cradled on his shoulder, and her eyes were closed below a big bruise that spread over her forehead, the color of soot.

  “Och, lass.”

  He dismissed the idea. They must just be thugs. Why else would they have attacked Miss McCarrick? She had naught to do with Lewes!

  He shifted her weight and lowered her carefully to the deck. He had no idea what was below decks, but sensed that it was safer – and cleaner – up here. He took off his cloak and spread it over her.

  “Sleep, lass,” he whispered.

  The barge was speeding up now, moving along the bank at a surprising rate, powered by the sail that cracked overhead, the wind hissing at the canvas.