Jack: A Scottish Outlaw (Highland Outlaws Book 1)

by Lily Baldwin

  Quinn nudged him. “’Tis like a tomb in here.”

  Jack raised a skeptical brow. “Ye’ve lofty aspirations for yer final restin’ place.”

  “Look around ye,” Quinn whispered.

  Jack’s shoulders stooped a little further. “Trust me. I have.”

  “’Tis barren and cold.”

  At first, Jack did not know what Quinn meant, but then he considered the empty tables and strange, almost eerie, silence. At the high dais sat only Lord Redesdale who had he not looked up from his plate since first taking his seat. Despite the warm fire and bright tapestries, the room was as Quinn had described, cold. Oppressive gloom pushed out life and laughter.

  “’Tis no wonder she came lookin’ for ye,” Quinn said.

  Jack raised his eyebrows at his brother. “She was attacked, her virtue nearly stolen, and then we kidnapped her. She did not set out lookin’ for me.”

  Quinn smiled. “Aye, but she did find ye, and thank God above for that. She’ll suffocate in here.”

  The arched doorway opened, stealing Jack’s attention. A manservant came into the room. “Lord Trevelyan and Lady Redesdale,” he announced, his voice echoing off the tall ceiling.

  Jack tensed. This would be the first time he would look upon her since arriving in Berwick. Sweat beaded his brow. Their bench scraped the floor as he, Quinn, the abbot, and the other monks stood out of respect for the lady of the house. Jack pressed his lips tight to silence the snarl that fought to be released as Isabella appeared in the doorway on Lord Trevelyan’s arm. Her olive skin stood out in sharp contrast against the white of her fitted wimple. Sweeping down from her elaborate headdress were layers of silken veils. He sought her gaze as she passed by, but her eyes remained downcast. His eyes followed her across the length of the great hall and then to the high dais where she sat next to her betrothed. At once, servants brought them ale and one trencher of food to share.

  He stared at her, willing her to look his way, but she kept her gaze aloft. She looked out the windows, at the hearth, anywhere but at him. He clenched his teeth while Lord Trevelyan leaned close to whisper something in her ear. She smiled at first and then laughed outright. Her gaze held warmth when she looked at her betrothed; he could see her affection for him even from across the room. Lord Trevelyan looked up then and locked eyes with Jack. A friendly smile played at the lord’s lips. He stood and raised his cup high. “I drink to the health of the good Benedictine Brothers. Thank you for your aid in restoring Lady Redesdale back to her family.” He took a long sip from his cup, then placed a hand on Isabella’s shoulder. “Have you kind words you wish to bestow upon our humble yet heroic company.”

  Jack held his breath and waited for her to turn his way. His heart hammered in his ears while she kept her silence. At last she started to look up, but it was not Jack’s gaze she sought. She shook her head, looking up at her betrothed. “I have nothing to say.”

  Jack’s nostrils flared. Her rejection cut deep.

  “Brother Peter,” the abbot said quietly, leaning past Quinn to look at Jack. “Yer face has gone from red to purple. Remember the robe ye wear. A monk does not look with daggers at his host.”

  Jack shifted his gaze to his food and took a deep breath. ‘Did ye eat my pigeon pie?” he whispered accusingly to Quinn.

  “Wheest, Jack,” Quinn whispered. “Get a hold of yerself. Pigeon pie was three courses ago.”

  Jack leaned back while a servant removed his untouched plate and set yet another course in front of him. The waste provoked his ire to new heights. He pushed the bench back and stood. It was either leave that very moment or reveal the truth of his identity by behaving in the most unholy manner. Another second within the hall while she dangled her lord and her wealth in front of him and he was going to storm the high dais and beat Lord Trevelyan to within an inch of life.

  “Brother Peter,” Quinn hissed, but Jack ignored him and convention all together. He rose and stormed around the table and straight out the door. He had come for Bella but she was nowhere to be found. In her stead was the Lady Redesdale, cold and confined, and of no interest to him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Isabella fought to conceal her panic as she watched Jack storm from the great hall. “Brother Peter must be ill,” she said to Hugh, maintaining a casual tone. Hugh stood and offered her his hand. “See that his needs are met, but do not stay away long.” He kissed her hand. She dipped in a low courtesy and walked calmly from the high dais, despite how she longed to race after Jack, which is just what she did the instant after the door to the great hall shut behind her. She tore down the hallway and out into the courtyard. Scanning the shadows, she strained to glimpse his silhouette in the darkness.

  “Brother Peter,” she called when he passed under torchlight near the stable doors.

  He stopped but did not turn around. She rushed to his side and grabbed his hand. “You must allow me to explain myself,” she said, pulling him into the stables.

  He followed her but then jerked his hand free from her hold and crossed his arms over his chest. “Ye’ve already said enough.”

  Torchlight from the courtyard cast a dim glow inside the stables. She could just make out the stony set to his lips and the hard glint in his dark eyes. She swallowed the knot in her throat. “But I have said nothing. I could not speak to you, not in front of Hugh and my father.”

  He threw his hands up. “Of course ye couldn’t. How could the great Lady Redesdale condescend to address a commoner?”

  She grabbed the front of his robe and pressed herself against him. “I dared not look at you or speak to you in front of them,” she hissed. She held her breath, her heart aching in her chest. She stared up into his midnight eyes. “I was afraid they would guess my feelings for you.” His shoulders and face softened.

  “Bella,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her.

  She leaned into him. Her body flooded with warmth.

  “Bella,” he said louder, his voice hoarse. He crushed her against him, his gaze boring into hers. “Say it, Bella.”

  Her heart quaked. Breathless, she wrapped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes. “I’ve fallen in love with you, Jack.”

  Her breath hitched when his lips claimed hers. She melted into his strong arms, his scent surrounding her. Desire burned through her veins, but her conscience fought against the flame. She pushed him away, shaking her head. “Please, help me, because I cannot.”

  He reached for her, drawing her back into his arms. “Ye can’t marry him,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers.

  A chill passed through her. “But I do not wish to hurt him. He is my friend and a good man.”

  “Too good,” he growled, jerking away. The stony set to his face returned, causing her chest to tightened, but then he expelled a long breath. She watched his shoulders loosen. Slowly, he stepped back and leaned against the stable wall, closing his eyes. She ached to touch him, but her feet remained fixed to the floor. He continued to keep his gaze from hers. Her breathing quickened. She fought to swallow the painful lump that had gathered in her throat.

  His eyes slowly started to open. He looked at her though half-closed lids. “I never dreamed of a woman like ye. I wouldn’t have dared.” Shivers shot up her spine at the sight of his sideways smile. He took a step toward her. “As selfish as it may be, I want ye to be mine.”

  Tears stung her eyes. “Then take me.” She gestured toward one of the stalls, her heart pounding in her chest. “Steal my father’s horse and grab me as you once did. Ride away and do not stop until we’ve reached the Highlands.”

  He refused her plea with the slightest shake of his head. Her hands flew to her face. She did not want to abandon her family, but she could not imagine a life without Jack in it.

  “Where is my Bella,” he whispered, gently tugging her hands away from her face. His soft question inflamed her desire. She wanted so much to be his. She gasped as his fingers stole beneath the edge of her wimple. A soft cry tor
e from her lips as he pulled, ripping the fabric asunder. At once, his fingers dug into her hair. He crushed his lips against hers. She groaned, wrapping her arms around his neck, fighting to bring their bodies closer, pressing into his hard strength while she savored the taste of him. Then suddenly he tore his lips from hers. “I love ye,” he said, his voice hoarse. He cupped her cheeks between his hands and stroked his thumb across her lips. “Runaway with me,” he breathed.

  In her heart she already had.

  Reaching up, she laced her fingers behind his neck. “I choose love,” she whispered. “I choose you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Isabella stood in front of the door to the great hall with Jack at her side.

  “Are ye certain this is what ye want to do?” he asked.

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. As much as she longed just to run away in the night, away from Berwick, away from her duty to Hugh and from her father’s pain, her conscience bade her stay to say goodbye.

  “Wait,” she said when Jack reached for the handle. She gathered her hair and knotted it at the nape of her neck. Then she squared her shoulders and drew a deep breath. “I am ready now.”

  Jack swung the door wide. She stepped through. The high dais was empty. She knew her father had retired to the solar for the night. A pang stabbed at her heart as she pictured him there, alone with his misery. She shook her head, forcing her mind to stay focused. First, she had to deal with Hugh who was sitting with Quinn and the other monks at one of the long tables. A sad smile tugged at her lips as she watched him throw his head back, his easy laughter ringing out at something the abbot had said. She would always love Hugh. He was her dearest friend, a brother to her soul, but she was never meant to be his wife.

  Her stomach twisted as she set off across the room. He looked up when she approached the table. Concern instantly furrowed his brow. He rose. “Bella, what has happened to you?” His fingertips reached out, tucking a wayward lock of her hair behind her ear.

  She ignored his question, not wishing to explain that her wimple was in tatters on the stable floor. “May we speak?” she said, her voice low. “In private.”

  The concern she had glimpsed in his eyes changed to wariness. His shoulders stiffened. Nodding, he gestured for her to go in front of him.

  Jack watched as Bella turned stiffly on her heel. Hugh shot him a suspicious look before he followed after her. Together, they disappeared behind the screen at the rear of the high dais.

  Abbot Matthew cleared his throat, drawing Jack’s gaze.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Jack said as he turned away from the abbot’s stern eyes.

  “Ready yer swords,” the older man said dryly. “Ye’re a fool if ye think he’ll give her up without a fight.”

  “I should have stolen her when I had the chance,” Jack muttered, his eyes trained on the screen, but Bella had assured him that neither her father nor Hugh would force her to stay. “Remember who my mother was,” she had said. At the time, he had bit his tongue, feeling he should not point out that although her mother had been a commoner, she was also the daughter of a wealthy merchant; whereas, he was a penniless thief.

  After some time, a door slammed. Jack rose when he heard the stomp of footsteps approach.

  He glanced at Quinn. “Do not interfere.” Then he planted his feet wide, keeping his arms lax at his sides. He was the larger man by far. Still, he had resolved not to fight back against Hugh unless he threatened his very life. Hugh barreled around the screen and headed toward him with fists clenched, his veins straining against his neck. Jack stiffened, readying his body to absorb the fullness of Hugh’s fury. Only steps away now, Hugh pulled back his fist, his nostrils flared. Jack closed his eyes the instant before Hugh’s knuckles plowed into his jaw. Pain shot through his skull. He fell back, landing hard on the ground. Heavy footfalls retreated through the hall, the noise pounding Jack’s head.

  “Ye deserved that. Didn’t ye?”

  Jack lifted his eyelids just enough to see Quinn standing above him.

  “Aye, that I did,” he said, reaching out his hand. “Where did he go?”

  Quinn pulled him to his feet. “Back the way he came. I presume to try to convince Bella to forget your common, thievin’, Scottish hide.”

  Jack shook his head. Then winced, regretting the action.

  “Now what do we do?” Quinn asked.

  “I do not ken,” Jack snapped. “‘Tis not every day I steal a lady from her betrothed.” He found a seat on one of the benches. “I suppose we wait for Bella now.”

  After what felt like an age to Jack’s throbbing head, though it had really been just a matter of minutes, Bella came out from behind the screen with her father and Hugh in tow. Her pain stricken eyes locked with his.

  He started toward her, but then the doors to the hall burst open. A man, who emanated authority but appeared to have fewer than forty years to his credit, stormed into the room with two guards at his side. His velvet mantle swished about his hips as he turned to scan the hall, his lip curled with open disgust.

  “Lord Percy, I did not grant you entry!”

  Surprised, Jack glanced back at Isabella’s father whose voice had echoed off the ceiling. Lord Redesdale stepped in front of Bella as if shielding her. His eyes flashed with anger. Jack could not believe his transformation from frail shadow to defender. Jack swung back around and eyed the intruder. Even he had heard of Lord Percy who was counted among King Edward’s favored advisers.

  Lord Percy’s pale blue eyes narrowed on Lord Redesdale with naked contempt. “You were remiss in not sending word of your daughter’s return,” he said. “I had to hear from a servant.” The word servant flicked off his tongue as if expelling a disease from his body.

  Bella’s father stepped forward. “No more remiss than the king not sending me word straight away of her attack.”

  Lord Percy’s eyes flashed. “How dare you reprimand the king?”

  “I will when his folly pertains to my daughter,” Lord Redesdale shot back.

  Lord Percy gave pause. Then a cocky smile slowly spread his lips wide. “I will not lie, David. Even though you chased away the messenger I sent the last time I called for your support, I came here expecting a very different reception. Scottish peasants attacked your daughter. You should be at Berwick Castle as we speak begging King Edward to retaliate.”

  Lord Redesdale gestured to Jack. “Brother Peter witnessed the attack. He is convinced those responsible were not peasants, Scottish or otherwise.”

  Jack stepped forward to show his support for Isabella’s father. Still, Lord Percy did not bother to glance his way. He stared hard at Lord Redesdale. “Coward,” he spat. “If my daughter was attacked, and her virtue assaulted, I would see those guilty brought to justice.”

  “Wait,” Jack said, locking eyes with Lord Percy. “I told no one of her near rape.” He stalked toward the English lord. “I intentionally left that detail out, thinkin’ it would distress Lord Redesdale unnecessarily.” Jack stopped a breath from the English lord. Images of fine swords and tattered clothing flashed in his mind. “It was you,” Jack snarled. “Those were yer men, dressed to look like peasants.”

  “Prove it,” Lord Percy hissed.

  “I just did.” Jack grabbed his tunic and slammed his body into the wall. He shot a sidelong glance at Percy’s men, but Quinn and the Redesdale guard had them surrounded.

  “What of your vows, Brother Peter?” Lord Percy sneered.

  A slow smile curved Jack’s lips. He pressed his forearm hard against Lord Percy’s throat, then leaned close and whispered in his ear. “I’m not a monk.” From beneath his robe, Jack produced a dagger, the tip of which he jabbed against Percy’s throat. “I’m a thief. My sins are many, and I don’t mind addin’ yer murder to the list.”

  Lord Percy’s eyes narrowed. “You are one of the masked bandits who stole the girl from my men.”

  Jack shrugged. “Ye aren’t in a good position to make accusa
tions.”

  “Brother Peter, release him.”

  Jack glanced over his shoulder. Lord Redesdale stood behind him. His eyes held a feverish gleam. Jack move aside but kept his dirk at the ready. Lord Redesdale stepped closer. “You ordered your men to attack and rape my daughter?” he said, his voice soft and deadly.

  Lord Percy spat on the ground. “She is the daughter of a commoner, a whore whom you have mourned for the last five years when you should have been at court paying homage to your king.”

  “My king?” Lord Redesdale said as if he could not believe Lord Percy had dared to speak those words. Jack watched Lord Redesdale’s hands curl into tight fists. His chest heaved. “My king!” Lord Redesdale’s voice thundered off the high ceilings. He raised his clenched fists in the air, threw his head back and raged. “He killed my wife. My heart,” he cried, beating his chest with his own fist. “He is no king.” He seized Lord Percy, throwing him to the floor and straddling him. He pulled his fist back and slammed it down, hammering Lord Percy’s face again and again. Blood gushed from his nose and mouth and splattered the wall. Lord Redesdale snarled and grabbed Lord Percy’s tunic with both hands, lifting his bloodied head off the ground. “I denounce him,” Lord Redesdale bellowed in his face. “Do you hear me? I denounce King Edward.” Lord Redesdale’s chest heaved as he stood, dragging Percy toward the door. “Get out of my house.”