The Taming of Malcolm Grant

by Paula Quinn

  “Harry,” Malcolm said, sounding repentant. Emma was certain he hadn’t wanted her brother to find out like this. “I wanted to speak—”

  “I asked you to forget her, Malcolm,” Harry cut him off. “You assured me… I trusted you.”

  “I know,” he said gently, “but I fear I can never ferget her.”

  “No!” Harry shouted. “You cannot take her to Skye! I forbid it!” He went to Emma and took her by the hand. “He’ll get you killed, and even if he doesn’t, we likely would never see each other again.”

  She’d just found him. Did she want to give her brother up so quickly? No. But she wasn’t sure she could survive another day if Malcolm left.

  “He won’t get me killed, brother. He’s kept me safe from harm, and Gascon too since the first night he came here. He’s not the snake you think he is. He may have been before but not now.”

  Harry laughed. “That’s what you all want to tell yourselves about a handsome man who doesn’t give a damn about any skirt he’s ever sampled.”

  “Harry.” Malcolm left his place near Sebastian and Bess and came forward.

  “His appearance means nothing to me, Harry,” Emma told him. A slight tremble in her voice proved she wasn’t feeling as confident as she tried to sound. “He will be loyal to me.”

  “No one could change him but you, is that right, sister?”

  “That’s correct, Harry,” Malcolm answered in her place. “No one but her.”

  “I want you to leave, Malcolm,” his old friend demanded.

  “No, Harry!” Emma insisted.

  “I’ll be takin’ her when I go,” Malcolm informed him. “Let’s go talk about it, aye? We can work oot yer concerns.”

  “I should have refused to serve you that first night, after your brother picked a fight with Andrew Winther.”

  “Harry,” Malcolm tried again. “Let’s go talk aboot it. Hear what I would say.”

  “I don’t want to hear anything. Not now.” Harry pushed her hands away when Emma reached for him. He stormed away, out of the brothel.

  “We need to get this man into a sturdier chair,” Alison said, breaking everyone’s silence. “He can barely keep up his head.”

  Emma agreed and followed Malcolm silently while he dragged his victim, not too gently, to a different table and a heavier chair.

  “Are you certain about this?”

  “He willna’ fall, lass.”

  “I mean about taking me to Camlochlin? I don’t want you to lose your friend, and am I correct? Will you be loyal to me?”

  He took her in his arms and pressed her to him right there in the dining hall. “Aye, I’m sure. Ye captured m’ heart, ye and no one else. There will never be anyone but ye.”

  She sighed dreamily and traced his smile with her fingertips. What would he do once he got her to Camlochlin? Would he make her his wife? He loved her, didn’t he? He told her he’d never loved before. Now he told her she had his heart. He hadn’t told her outright that he loves her, but she assumed…

  “And you,” she said, reaching her fingers to his face, “you have captured my heart, as well. Ye and no one else, Malcolm. There will never be anyone but you for me. The gossip about you was false. Truly, you’re not that bad.”

  He threw back his head and laughed and she lavished in the sound of it, the feel of his wide, open smile and deep, beguiling dimples against her fingertips. Emma wasn’t sure why Malcolm had chosen her, but he had and she was happy. Really, finally, happy. Soon though, her smile faded. What would they do about Harry?

  “I’ll speak to him,” Malcolm assured her when she asked him. He set her arm into the crook of his elbow and walked her back toward their table. “He can visit whenever he wants. He’ll always be welcome.”

  Emma would thank him for his generosity later tonight. She let him go, knowing that if she didn’t and she had to breathe in his virile scent one more instant, she might pull him away now.

  “When are we leaving?” she whispered to Malcolm as they reached the table.

  “As soon as ye wish.”

  “Speak to Harry first, and I shall also. I don’t want to leave him with bad feelings between us.”

  “Emma,” he said as he stopped her. “Bess is comin’.”

  She laughed. Was he mad? “Bess?”

  “Aye,” he insisted steadily. “I promised I’d help her in exchange fer helpin’ me keep Alison from the Winthers.”

  “Of course,” she said softly. She wouldn’t ask him to go back on his word, but she wouldn’t hesitate to beg him to drop Bess off at the next town, if she had to.

  She left him with a short, no less hot, kiss to get ready for her journey with Alison on her arm.

  Malcolm stepped outside, unsheathed his sword, and swung. Hell, he needed practice. He turned and was surprised to see Sebastian standing close, watching him. His eyes were too dark, too deep to ignore. He was angry. In fact, he stared at Malcolm like he wanted to kill him.

  “Where is home exactly?” Fletcher asked. “You said you came from Perth but Grey mentioned Skye. Which is it?”

  Malcolm eyed him. Why was this important suddenly? “D’ye care fer her then?”

  “Who?”

  “Emma?”

  Fletcher smiled and Malcolm wondered how he managed to look so wide-eyed and innocent one moment and as dark as a wraith the next.

  “What do your untruths have to do with Emma?” he asked.

  “What untruths?” Malcolm asked him, and then held up his hand. “I have to go find Harry first. We’ll talk later.”

  He found his old friend in the parlor sipping brandy with Bess. When Harry saw him, he turned away. Bess rose to leave, apparently knowing what happened and giving them privacy to speak together.

  Or at least for Harry to do all the talking. Malcolm sat down and took every insult Harry slung at him. They were true. He was a wolf that cared only for his own survival, a serpent, a heretic preying on the unsuspecting. He didn’t know how many lasses he’d left brokenhearted over him. Harry was right; he hadn’t cared.

  He didn’t try to tell Harry that his skirt-chasing days had come to an end years ago. Or that Emma was his reward for giving up his selfish lifestyle. Harry didn’t see the inner strength or outer glory of his sister—who was a stranger to him. He wouldn’t understand why Malcolm was willing to give up his heart for her.

  “Regardless of what ye think of me,” he told Harry after a while, “she doesna’ belong in a brothel.”

  “Is that it?” Harry mocked. “Very well then, you have my guarantee that she won’t remain in one.”

  “What will ye do, Harry, buy her a house? And what happens when she wants to leave it?” Malcolm challenged. “To go fer a walk with her dog?”

  “She is blind!” Harry shouted at him. “She could walk off a cliff!”

  Malcolm shook his head at him. He truly didn’t know his sister.

  “She’s coming with me.”

  “Why? Why her?” Harry pleaded. “Is this your way of repaying her for saving your life? Is it guilt that because of you, she must live in fear of the Winthers?”

  But she wasn’t afraid.

  Malcolm rose. Speaking to him now was a waste of time. Harry was understandably angry. “Ye can visit her whenever ye wish. The door will always be open to ye.”

  “And how will I get there, Malcolm?” Harry shouted again, furious. “Who will watch over the girls? You’re a selfish bastard and you will never change! You’ll take her away and then leave her where you set her, in the middle of people she doesn’t know, who will be afraid of her disease and banish her to live in a cave, branded a witch.”

  “Ye describe yerself well, Harry. Is that no’ almost exactly what ye did to her as a child? Ye dinna’ know her.”

  “And she doesn’t know me. Now get out.”

  Sebastian left his bed. He didn’t wake Bess. It was still daylight. There was still time to kill his enemies. He dressed, slipping two daggers in his boots and a set o
f pistols in his belt. When he tried to talk to Malcolm, the Highlander hadn’t realized what Harry Grey had said while they were fighting.

  He looked at the beautiful blonde asleep in his bed. He’d done much to her for the information she gave him. He already knew that she was working with someone else in the brothel for his brother, Oliver.

  Working for Oliver. Damn it to hell, Sebastian thought. He liked Bess. He thought they had something genuine.

  Harry had said the Grants picked a fight with Andrew. It was them. They lied about being here, about living in Perth, about everything.

  After another night of making Bess reach her climax, she told him that Malcolm and Cailean Grant had fought the Winthers in the brawl that cost Andrew his life. Gunter had been protecting Emma, so he wasn’t there. The Grants were the only two Highlanders who fought and the only two capable of killing so many men against the two of them.

  Oh, Sebastian agreed. He’d seen Malcolm subdue three drunken troublemakers in the space of a few breaths. He was skilled and so, most likely, was his brother.

  According to Bess, they were kin to the MacGregors. That explained why no one talked when John had come. Sebastian had heard of the outlawed clan. They had a violent history, and a reputation for taking on an entire generation before giving up their revenge.

  Sebastian hated having to cross them and bring them down on the Winthers, but they killed Andrew. They had to pay. Didn’t they? And Oliver didn’t really give a damn. He just wanted Emma.

  He didn’t find Cailean in the kitchen as he’d hoped. Slicing his throat wouldn’t alert anyone and he still could have possibly taken Malcolm by surprise. Did he truly want to do this after what happened in Dunston?

  “Looking for scones again?”

  He spun around and felt his heart falter at the sight of Emma. Gascon’s incessant barking from the other side of the door would alert the dead.

  “Better let him in.”

  She turned from him and held out a hand in front of her while she went to the door.

  “Are you feeling better?”

  He didn’t know if she was speaking to him or the dog.

  “Alison said you looked pale earlier.”

  He shook his head. He didn’t want to tell her who he was. He wasn’t prepared for the shock of that revelation. Her friends killed Andrew and yet Oliver wanted her. Sebastian wouldn’t bring her. He didn’t want Emma to know he was the brother of a monster. She’d know if Oliver ever got his hands on her.

  “I’m well. Where are Malcolm and Cailean?”

  “Outside.”

  When he moved to pass her and leave the brothel, she stepped in front of him, almost onto his boots.

  “Sebastian,” she said, her lovely face tilted up at him. “Tell me we will always be friends.”

  “Always.”

  She crinkled her nose and threw her arms around him. “You are one of my very first friends.” She stood on her toes to whisper in his ear.

  Someone opened the door and stood in the doorway, blocking the light.

  “There ye are,” Malcolm called out. “I was lookin’ fer ye earlier.”

  Sebastian wanted to pull out his pistol and aim it at him. It wasn’t because Andrew was his favored brother. Sebastian didn’t have a favorite. They were all selfish, prideful fools and one was already dead before the age of thirty years. But Andrew was his brother and his death would be avenged.

  There might be hordes of Winthers in Newcastle, but when their mother died and their father left them shortly after that, no one came to the aid but the people of Dunston. They took the three brothers in and tried to raise them. Oliver wouldn’t “be raised with the savages” and got them away quickly. Oliver taught them that all they had was each other. And as terrible as his brothers could be, he still lived by that code.

  Would he shoot Andrew’s killer right here in front of Emma? What if it was Cailean? It didn’t matter. If Sebastian killed one, he’d have to kill them both if he wanted to get out of here alive.

  “I was with Bess.” His voice sounded empty and thick and he wondered if it would give him away.

  “Well,” Grant said, leaving the entrance and moving toward him. “I found myself concerned aboot ye.”

  Sebastian laughed. “About me? Why?” Grant should be concerned for himself.

  “I’ll be outside,” Emma said, excusing herself quietly. “Come, Gascon.”

  Sebastian watched her leave and thought about the fastest way to kill Malcolm. Emma would hate him for doing it. He might even hate himself some afterward. You weren’t supposed to like the man who killed your brother.

  “Ye seemed verra’ upset yesterday. I know there was something on yer mind and we didna’ get to talk aboot it. Mayhap we can speak of it now.”

  “Now?”

  “Aye. I want ye to trust me.”

  “After all the lying?”

  “What have I lied aboot?”

  “You pretended ignorance about the brawl. You were here for it. Harry admitted it. Bess told me things too. You and Cailean were injured and recovered here.”

  “That’s right,” Grant confirmed. “I lied because we suspected the Winthers would return yet again and Harry didn’t want them knowing he’d lied to them. So we told no one.”

  “Emma thinks you can keep her safe, but how can you do that when you are the one who killed a Winther? Have you never heard of the Winthers? They won’t let you live.”

  “They think I’m dead.”

  Sebastian should have shot him. Oliver would do it. He’d kill Harry too and Cailean, and possibly Alison. They’d all lied and conspired to save Malcolm and Cailean. Emma had lied too.

  “I know I put Harry and Emma in danger, but there was no other option that night.”

  “What happened?” Sebastian asked. He wanted to know how his brother died and why.

  “Andrew manhandled Alison. He and Cailean fought.”

  “How did he manhandle her?”

  “He flung her over a table.”

  Hell, Sebastian thought, that sounded like something Andrew would do.

  “It wasn’t enough to lose the fight, Andrew returned later that night with more men. He meant to kill us, so I killed him first.”

  “How?”

  “I shot him.” Grant stopped and studied him with narrowed eyes. “Why all this interest in Andrew Winther?”

  Grant was lying again. They’d recovered Andrew’s body. He wasn’t shot. No one knew what killed Andrew but him, Oliver, and Andrew’s killer. Was Grant protecting his brother? Had Cailean killed Andrew for mistreating Alison?

  Sebastian wanted the truth and he wouldn’t get it by killing Grant. Why the hell did Andrew—and Oliver—have to be so damn violent all the time? If they were any other men, Sebastian would have killed him himself. “My interest is because I’ve come to like you, Grant. I fear what the Winthers will do if they find out you live.”

  “How will they find out?”

  Sebastian shrugged. Malcolm was an untrusting soul. The slightest thing could make him suspect Sebastian. Right now, Sebastian had the upper hand. He didn’t want to lose it. He wanted more information before he made decisions. He wanted to know more about Malcolm Grant and he wanted the truth about Andrew’s death. First, he wanted a cup of wine.

  “Tell me there is wine outside with Emma. I’m in need of a cup.”

  They went outside and met with Emma, Cailean, and the others. Sebastian accepted a cup of wine from Cailean. The youngest Grant reminded Sebastian of himself. Measured up against their brothers, theirs were the more considerate hearts.

  He cared for Oliver, probably less than Cailean cared for Malcolm, but there were times when he just wanted to take his brother down. He couldn’t disguise the defiance in his gaze, his tone. Oliver knew it; that was why he sent Sebastian to Dunston. He thought that if Sebastian killed a few dozen people, he wouldn’t be so eager to fight his dense older brother. Oliver was wrong—about many things.

  He sat in
the grass with them, between Gascon and Cailean.

  “When are you leaving?” he asked Malcolm when the Highlander sat beside Emma.

  “As soon as Harry understands that I must go,” Emma answered for him. “I don’t want to fight with him.”

  “Of course not,” Sebastian agreed. “He’s fortunate to have such a considerate sister.”

  She dipped her chin in modesty and smiled.

  She was pretty; the more he looked at her with her long golden tresses, wide haunting eyes, and just a tint of blush across her nose, the more becoming she grew. She was no dormouse though. Oliver was going to like her. He wouldn’t care that she’d lied to protect her lover.

  “Do you have a sister, Mr. Fletcher?” Alison asked him.

  He smiled at her. “A brother. I had two, but one was killed.”

  They all offered their condolences, which he accepted with a nod.

  Malcolm stretched his arm out and gave him a pat on the back. “I almost lost Cailean recently. I canna’ fathom the pain of losing a brother.”

  “Aye,” said Cailean. “Ye shoulda’ told us sooner. We would have lent an ear if ye needed it.”

  Damn it. Sebastian liked the Grants. He didn’t want to kill them. He thought of Dunston and Oliver and sighed.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Emma left her room with Gascon at her side, her fingers buried in his fur. It was a new day, a new chance to change Harry’s mind. If he didn’t give his blessing soon, she would have to leave without it. She was optimistic though. Harry loved her. He wanted the best for her. And the best was Malcolm.

  She smiled, heading for the stairs, thinking about how Malcolm left her at her door last night, jaw clenched, his slow, languid tone proof of his desire for her. He hadn’t wanted to leave her, but he didn’t want to take her right under her brother’s nose. But soon, he promised, soon they’d be away from here.

  Damn it. She loved chivalry. She was the one who had complained to him that he ignored such values, and now that he was trying to prove to her that they mattered to him, she wished they didn’t. Just for now. Just while he kissed her and claimed her.