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

by Emilia Ferguson

  “Salt,” Seonaid explained. She lifted a pinch of the precious substance and mixed it into the porridge, adding milk and butter.

  Everett, his mouth watering, followed her example. He took a mouthful and closed his eyes in bliss, tasting the oat-rich, smooth substance as it imparted warmth to his body, flavored with a hint of salt.

  “So,” Seonaid said, as she ate. “We still need to decide how to tackle those brigands.”

  “Aye.” Everett nodded. He had been thinking about it for the last few days. He had even less idea now, even though they’d actually met one, face-to-face. Seonaid was right, though – if they were to get back to her home safely, and prepare for her father’s departure, they needed to know who those people were.

  “They seem tae dislike us,” he murmured, looking around the richly caparisoned room.

  She shook her head. “No. It’s not that. Whoever sent them, hates us.”

  “Sent?” he swallowed hard, feeling scalding porridge go down his throat in a big lump. Coughing, he wiped his lips with a linen cloth, then turned to her, an expectant frown curving his brows.

  “Whoever those men were, they were acting on orders,” Seonaid said, taking a spoon of porridge and blowing on it, to cool it. A servant came in with more milk, left it on the counter top, and departed, wordlessly. “We have no enemies on the docks – I’m almost certain. My father is well-loved in the whole town.”

  “I’m sure,” Everett said. “But…who would have paid a lot of thugs, just to attack us?” he frowned. It made no sense! He, at least, was nobody. She, a captain’s daughter, seemed well-loved, if the day he met her was anything to go by.

  “That’s what I don’t know,” Seonaid admitted. “It could be that Papa has some trader who sees him as a rival.”

  “Aye,” Everett nodded slowly. “But, then, why me? I’m nobody to them.”

  “Some sort of fanatical supporter of the King, then?”

  Everett nodded. That seemed plausible. He went pink, regretting his foolishness. That meant that, had he but stayed out of fomenting hatred, the two of them would never have been attacked! It was his fault.

  “There are better ways to address treason, though,” Seonaid said thoughtfully, echoing his own thoughts, that first day. “If somebody took issue with your plans, they could have reported you to the magistrate – it would have been easy.”

  “Aye,” Everett nodded. He felt a little nauseous, thinking about it – the punishments for treason were all hideous.

  She reached a hand across the table, squeezing his fingers reassuringly. “Don’t fret,” she said. “We’d never allow that. Besides, you’ve changed in appearance since then, and nobody in Leith will be out looking for you.”

  Everett chuckled. “I have? You mean, besides my black eye?” he reached up, feeling where the swelling was wearing off.

  “Besides that, yes.”

  Seonaid stroked his hair again, and then looked away, frowning, as she tried to decipher the next part of the plan.

  “If we take it that, whoever this is, they intend to kill us,” she said slowly, “who would profit from our death? And why?”

  Everett blinked. “Nobody,” he said. He owned nothing, owed nothing, and knew nobody in town. A thought occurred to him. One thing he did have, which another might covet, was leadership of their group. A face leaped into his mind – a long nose, mild eyes.

  “Lewes might want us dead,” he said.

  “Lewes?” she sounded interested. “May I ask, who?”

  “Lewes is a companion of mine,” Everett said, his throat feeling suddenly too tight to speak. “He’s…we were planning to make a revolution against the King. He might want to lead the group, instead of me.”

  “A rebellion?” Seonaid looked shocked. Everett looked at his hands. He felt shame.

  “Lass…it were about me father,” he said tightly. “In the Highlands. Things are…different there.”

  “I see,” she said.

  Everett felt his heart twist. Of all the things he passionately did not wish to do, arguing with Seonaid, especially about something so stupid, was one of them. He couldn’t care right now about politics. All he wanted was for her to be happy again.

  “Lass, whatever we planned to do, Lewes is behind this. I’d bet it.”

  She smiled at him with a bit of irony, her mouth twisted lopsidedly. “Well, mayhap it’s better if you don’t. We don’t want to end up rivals for money.”

  He chuckled, but he felt a little uneasy. Did she still hold his political ideas against him? He reached for his spoon, though he didn’t feel very hungry.

  “Whatever the case is,” she said slowly, “we should go home. I need to see my father, and to seek his counsel.”

  “Aye,” Everett whispered.

  They went down to the office to find Murray after breakfast. Everett stood in the doorway, smelling the rich scent of spikenard and feeling desperately uncomfortable. The whole establishment, with its costly fabrics and silently efficient servants, scared him somewhat.

  “Sweetling!” Murray addressed Seonaid, standing from behind the desk. “Did you sleep well? I slept deeply enough that I didn’t even hear the morning carts come in!”

  “I slept well. Thank you, Murray,” she replied. “We were thinking it best for us to take our leave?”

  “Of course!” his words were said expansively, though his face looked saddened. “Of course, my sweet. You must be on the road when you see fit. But do avail yourself of whatever you need, and please, let me supply a guard for you? It seems as if you will have need of some extra guards.”

  “Thank you. We are unsafe,” Seonaid said directly. “And we appreciate it greatly.”

  “Yes, we do,” Everett echoed.

  When they had taken their leave with a compressing hug for Seonaid and a handshake for Everett, they headed into the street.

  “The cart will take us to the ferry,” Seonaid explained as a servant handed them up into a vast oxcart. “He is one of the carters who supply the merchants with goods. Then, we will go by barge. Murray has kindly lent us the fare, too.”

  “That is kind.”

  “He’s like part of my family,” Seonaid explained. There were spots of color in her cheeks and Everett kissed her forehead.

  “It’s not a bad thing, that you come from a different walk of life, lass,” he assured her softly.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, blinking back tears.

  “Aye! I think it’s grand,” he added. “You have no idea how grand it is, to have my world extended by yours.”

  She smiled and gripped his hand, wordlessly. They alighted from the cart as soon as they reached the quayside.

  The journey back was decidedly more comfortable than the one they had taken on the way, and it was midday when they stepped, once again, onto the docks at Leith. The sun was shining – a moment when the clouds parted, bringing rich light to the gray scene. Everett slit his eyes, looking around for familiar faces.

  “We should find safety, soon,” he said.

  Seonaid frowned up at him. “Should we go directly to my home?” she sounded a bit defensive and he wondered why. “I had hoped to stop for a bite to eat,” she added.

  He nodded, frowning. They had eaten nothing besides the porridge this morning, and it was midday. He smiled. “Very well.”

  They walked carefully over the wet cobbles of the quayside, heading for an inn.

  “Did you see anybody untoward?” Everett whispered to Seonaid. She frowned.

  “Untoward?”

  “Like, any of the thugs we recognized?” he prompted. “That Lachlan? I kept an eye out, but spied nobody.”

  She shook her head. “No, I didn’t see him.”

  She looked worried, and he leaned back, studying her. She was concealing something, but what?

  “Lass?” he asked gently. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “Just…”

  “Yes?”

  “Nothing. I’m just fanci
ful. I thought I saw him.”

  “Him?” Everett sat sharply upright, feeling his heart thud in his chest alarmingly. “Who? Not Lachlan?”

  She shook her head. “Not him, no. The other one. The one who started the attack, that day. The tall one.”

  “Oh?” he whispered again. His hands had gripped the tankard of ale he held, and he leaned forward, so that the words between them couldn’t possibly be overheard. “Where was he?”

  “Over there.” She jerked her head towards the window on her left. “Out by the door. Watching the crowds getting off the boats. I thought I saw him there, and then I lost him.”

  “Oh.” Everett tried to make his fingers relax, focusing on his breathing, which was tight. “You’re sure it was him?”

  “I’m a lass, I’ve not been turned blind,” she retorted sharply, then shook her head. “Sorry,” she added.

  “Don’t fret,” he smiled, patting her hand. “I’m being daft. Just frightened, is all. I don’t want either of us tae have to tackle any of that lot ever again.

  “Nor do I,” she agreed.

  They finished luncheon – stew and bread – but Everett felt like there was a distance between them, where before there had been more closeness. He watched her. She had been a little reserved since the discussion at breakfast, and he couldn’t help thinking that his tale of Lewes, and his plan for overthrowing Baliol, had to do with it.

  “Whist,” he whispered. She looked up.

  “Shall we go?” She asked.

  He shrugged. “I reckon.” He felt frustrated with himself. Why could he not cross this strange wall of silence that seemed to be freezing up between them? Why was he so incapable of making her trust him?

  “Well, then,” she said. She pushed back her chair and they stood. She walked to the door and he followed her out, heading down the stairs and into the street.

  It was raining outside, the rain almost steel bright against the darkness of the cloying dusk. He wrapped his cloak about his shoulders, then stretched out an arm to wrap it round her. She tensed.

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  He felt like she’d struck him, but let his hand fall to his side. She tied her own cloak around her, and stepped neatly into the wet street.

  “Lass, what is it?”

  “Nothing.” She had sped up, and she walked ahead of him across the water-slicked cobblestones.

  “Seonaid?” he called, desperately. “Please? Tell me?”

  She felt his hand grip her wrist and spun to face him. Her blue eyes flashed.

  “Have you any idea of how my father has loyally served this country?” she demanded. Her voice was quiet, but it was clear she was furious. “Have you any concept of what peace means to Scotland?”

  He raised a brow. “I’m not the one changing things,” he retorted. “If you want the troublemaker, look south, to England’s king, planning invasion.”

  “You think our king will allow that?” she demanded. “That loyal men, like my father, will stand by and let an Englishman rob us of our land?”

  He shrugged. She slapped him.

  Everett held his palm to the sting, feeling sorrow twist like knife inside him. This conflict! Why did it have to come into his life? Why did it have to torment his father, and why was it now coming into the most beautiful part of his existence, and distorting it?

  “Seonaid…” he remonstrated. “Wait…”

  “I don’t want to so much as see you!” Seonaid said, her steps faster now, taking her across the cobbles and down towards the houses. “I don’t like what you stand for and I don’t want to talk to you about it, ever again!”

  Everett felt hurt. “You don’t like me, eh?” he challenged.

  She whirled round. “Everett,” she whispered. Her eyes were full of frustrated tears. “Please! Don’t say that.”

  That was the moment when the three cloaked figures stepped out of the darkness and the blow rained down on Seonaid’s head.

  “My lass!” Everett screamed the words, and ran towards her. However, then somebody hit him hard on the head with a cudgel and his legs crumpled underneath him and he hit the cobbles, hard.

  He felt his knee start to throb and tried to get up, but his leg refused to move. He thrashed out, grabbing at the feet in front of him. Somebody kicked him. He fell, tasting the acrid taste of blood.

  “Move fast,” a voice said tightly, and Everett shouted in impossible rage as he saw two of the figures bend and bundle Seonaid onto a wagon. He lay there, trying to strike out, but unable to do anything but crawl as another man kicked him, then sprang into the contraption and it sped away. His last thought, as he lay there, head throbbing, vision blurring, was that the voice had been surprisingly cultured, not a thug’s harsh language, and that he had not known it at all.

  IN THE TOWN AGAIN

  Seonaid woke to the rolling of a wagon over rough stones. She groaned, feeling her head ache and a roiling nausea grip her stomach in a way she’d never felt it. She struggled to her knees, feeling her chest heave as she tried to vomit.

  “Stay still, lassie!”

  Seonaid jumped with fright as she heard the strange voice. She rolled up with her legs drawn up in front of her, back pressed to the back of the cart. She looked around, frightened.

  A man in a dark cloak was sitting on the cart, perhaps the length of her arm away from her. He was watching her with detached interest. On her right, the driver sat, and another man, his back straight where he perched with the driver on the seat. A third man sat with his back to them both, in the right hand corner of the cart, watching her.

  “You have to let me go,” she whispered. Her heart thumped as she looked into the face of the tall, thinly built man who had spoken to her. “I have no reason to be here.”

  He raised a brow. “Maybe not,” he said evenly. “But it’s not my place to decide that. Please, lie down. None of us want to hurt you.”

  Seonaid frowned, trying to place his accent. He sounded like he came from Leith, or not any further than Edinburgh. He was as local as she was! Why would he want to harm Captain McCarrick’s daughter?

  “My father will know of this,” she whispered. “I think this is a bad idea.”

  He just raised one shoulder. “Not my decision, lass.”

  Seonaid wrapped her arms around her knees, closing her eyes and trying her best to ignore the throbbing ache in her skull. She was feeling more nauseous than she ever had in her life, she had no idea where she was going. She could see that remonstrating with her captors – while polite – was not going to be useful.

  She kept her eyes shut, as the pain in her head spread in waves from where the stick had struck her. She had touched it earlier, and felt blood in her hair. Whoever had done this had come close to killing her. She shuddered.

  Who hates my father so much, in town?

  She couldn’t imagine he would have an enemy so vicious they would abduct her. Why?

  The cart started to slow, and she sensed they were passing up an incline. She gritted her teeth as the sway and list across the cobbles became even more pronounced with the slower speed. Her body felt like it had been beaten all over with staves. She heard one of them men cough and wrapped her knees closer to her chest.

  I have to escape.

  She felt so tired! Her head pounded and it was almost impossible to open her eyes, without the lids instantly drooping shut again. She didn’t want to stay awake. She bit her lip, making herself turn around.

  The cart was going slow now, passing by a scrubby patch of brush. They were in a forest, the trees soaring high above. She could hear the wind in the remaining leaves, and smell the wet forest floor. She moved closer to the side boards of the cart, making a mental calculation as to whether she could spring forth unscathed.

  “Please don’t jump off,” a weary voice said. She twisted around in surprise to find the man from the side of the cart sitting alongside her. “If you do, we’ll be forced to stop and drag you back on again. And this time, we’ll
tie you up. I don’t want to do that.”

  She looked into the man’s eyes, a strange blue with pale speckles. She thought she recognized those eyes, but couldn’t place them anywhere. She let her mind stretch back to try and solve the puzzle, while she nodded reassuringly.

  “I won’t jump.”

  “Thank you.” The man looked profoundly relieved. She frowned again, trying to identify him.

  It was getting darker now, the sun setting behind the hills. She lay down on her side, wondering if that would be better, but the ache in her head got worse and so she leaned back on the boards again, her lip clamped in her teeth, and wished, as her head throbbed and her stomach burned, that she might pass out.

  The cart was slowing when she next became aware. She heard the driver slow his oxen.

  “Whoa, lads.”

  The cart stopped. She noticed the scrape of wheels on something hard. One of the men jumped down onto flagstones, exclaiming as his ankles jarred.

  “Get her down, lads.”

  Seonaid frowned, trying to place that voice. She was sure she didn’t recall it. She glanced around, but two men reached up to lift her out.

  “I can stand,” she said firmly.

  “That’s enough, Seonaid.”

  Seonaid whirled around to face the man who stood at the forefront of the cart. It was dark, and he was dressed in a long dark cloak. He was invisible against the black background, or almost invisible, and yet she thought she recognized that voice. It was an elegant voice, with only the barest rasp of the Edinburgh streets in it.

  I might be suffering from the concussion, or I know that voice.

  She leaned back on the boards of the cart a moment, then took the hand that reached out to her.

  “Let me at least help you down, then.”

  “Thank you,” Seonaid said gratefully. The man at the front of the cart snorted derisively. She ignored him, leaning back on the cart for a long moment as her vision blurred and her head pounded hard.

  “Let me help you, Miss,” the kind man whispered. She nodded and leaned on his arm as he led her over into the hallway of a stone house. She breathed in the scent of damp stone and whirled to her left, wanting desperately to escape. The door slammed behind her.