The Taming of Malcolm Grant

by Paula Quinn

  “You mustn’t try to get up.” It was Alison’s voice. Not Emma’s.

  Emma was taken.

  “Your body isn’t fully healed.”

  “Emma.”

  At the mention of her name, Alison began to cry again. “Oh, Malcolm. He took her. He took them both. Gunter wouldn’t let me go to him. He held me still in the shadows while the baron ordered them to be taken away. They are likely dead by now! You’ve been so ill. I didn’t know how to treat your broken bone—”

  His rib. He remembered Oliver kicking him after he hit him over the head with… hell, he didn’t know what the baron had struck him with. He was shot. He knew that much. And his face hurt.

  “I tried to remember the things Emma had done for you and Cailean, but I don’t think I did very well.”

  “Ye did just fine, lass,” he reassured her.

  “You’ve been in and out of delirium for almost four days and I—”

  “What?” He fought a wave of pain and nausea to sit up. “Four days? Winther has had Emma and Cailean for four days?” Terror gripped him. No! He had to get up now! He had to get to Newcastle before he was too late. His stomach turned and twisted into a knot. Was it already too late?

  “Where’s Harry?” He squeezed his aching eyes when pain assailed him, but he sat up and moved his legs over the side of the bed. The more he moved the stronger he felt.

  “He’s exactly where he deserves to be. Secured to his bed,” Alison told him. “’Twas him who betrayed his sister, Malcolm. Seems he made a deal with the devil after Andrew Winther was killed and gave up his sister to save his own arse.” She wiped her nose with a small cloth and stared at him with clear, green eyes. “Gunter tied him to his bed. We didn’t know what else to do with him.”

  Harry? Aye, it made sense! Harry pretended not to want his sister with Malcolm because he didn’t believe Malcolm was good enough for her. But the baron was? Harry never gave a damn about Emma. The bastard! Malcolm would see to him. Made a deal with the devil, did he? Hell, he didn’t know the devil. Yet.

  “Oh, Malcolm. You’re their only hope.”

  “I know,” he told Alison, trying to sit up again. This time, he did it. Nothing was going to stop him. He knew he was the only one who could stop the baron. This time, he wouldn’t get shot. “I’ll get them back,” he promised.

  She nodded, going for the door. His voice stopped her. “There was a lass with me, yer replacement at the brothel…”

  Alison pointed to Emma’s bed. Leslie lay in it. She smiled at him when he looked at her.

  “I’m glad to see that bastard didn’t kill ye,” she said when he swung his legs over the side of his bed and stood up.

  “How are ye, lass?” He grimaced from the pain in his side.

  “Well, he shot me too, but I think his hand was shaking. He got me in the leg. Alison tells me I need the healing hands of Emmaline Grey to relieve me of the pistol ball. So I’m waiting for her until you bring her back.”

  Malcolm smiled at her and she blushed.

  “Gunter wants to help,” Alison told him, reaching the door. “I’ll get him.”

  “Alison.” He stopped her again. “Where’s m’ plaid? I’m done with this English garb. Newcastle is about to face a Highlander.”

  Alone with Leslie, he let the enormity of what happened sink in. Either he or Cailean had caused Andrew Winther’s death and these happenings were the effects of it. Bess was dead and buried. Leslie was shot. He felt his skin crawl at the thought of Emma, his wee angel—Nae. Emma was no delicate flower. He almost smiled wanting to imagine her feeding the baron some of her teas.

  Gunter burst into the room with Alison, Brianne, and the rest of the girls.

  “We all want to help.”

  “Have any of ye killed a man before?” Only Gunter raised his hand. “The rest of ye will help by remainin’ here. Please,” he said gently, “let m’ head be filled with thoughts of only Emma and Cailean, not the rest of ye.”

  “You don’t look well enough to fight that cold beast,” Brianne offered, taking Gunter’s hand. “Give us one more day to find some remedies you can bring with you.”

  “Nae, I’ll be off in a moment’s time. Gunter,” he said as he turned to Emma’s guard. Now he must ask Gunter to be the same for him. “Ye’ll ride with me to Newcastle as m’—”

  “What’s this?” Alison asked, stepping forward. “You think I’m staying behind when that Winther bastard has Cailean?” She folded her arms over her long russet braid. “Whether you like it or not, I’m coming with you.”

  He didn’t argue. There wasn’t time.

  Malcolm folded his plaid around his waist and secured it at his shoulder. This is who he was. A Highlander, ready for war no matter how bad he felt. It wasn’t his body that pained him though.

  He left his room and checked in on Leslie, who’d been moved. She was still in good spirits and he promised to return soon with Emma. He was leaving her in good hands with some of the other girls. He reached Harry’s room next and stepped inside.

  Harry looked like hell.

  “Malcolm,” he immediately began to beg. “You must believe me I didn’t want to betray her. I—”

  “Have ye eaten?”

  Harry shook his head. “No! Gunter gave orders that I should only receive water.”

  Malcolm nodded. “Good. Ye deserve nothin’ more fer betrayin’ yer sister.” Without another word, he turned and walked out, closing the door behind him, and ignored the calls and curses from inside.

  He stepped outside and looked at the others waiting by their horses. He didn’t need to ask anyone what it was he felt. Only love could make blood rush, heart palpitate, hands sweat, thoughts scatter, desires heighten. He was in love with Emma and it came bursting forth from every pore, over and over, in waves as he’d dressed. She restored him of any deficiencies he thought he had. She regarded him in a way no one else had ever bothered to try. And after seeing what lay deeper, she still fell in love with him.

  “Ah… God.” He sorrowed. If this was love, he hated it. He was afraid. No, he was terrified of losing her. He shook with the fear of it. The thought of Oliver Winther’s hands on her made his guts knot up and his heart rage until he feared nothing would satisfy it but the death of every Winther who crossed his path. If the only way of saving her was to die for her, he’d gladly take a sword to the heart.

  “We’ll get them back.”

  What? Gunter. Malcolm turned to him and nodded. “Aye, we will. But we cannot just go riding into the castle. There’s too many of them. We need a plan. We’ll discuss it with the others before we continue on.”

  Gunter nodded. “You’re a fortunate man to have won Miss Grey’s affection.”

  “Aye,” Malcolm agreed again, so much so that he wasn’t sure if he could take another breath. “I am.”

  Och, to hell with love! Malcolm had the urge to run. His heart banged against his chest. He was better off when he couldn’t feel, when there was only a dragon on his arse.

  “That’s why I canna’ lose her, Gunter.”

  “You won’t, Grant,” the beefy guard promised. “We’ll see to it.”

  “You’ve done what I ordered and brought them here,” Oliver told his youngest brother while having his wounds tended to by his new healer.

  He’d reached The Castle Keep an hour after Sebastian arrived and had Emma Grey brought to him at once. Mary from the brothel had told him all about how Emma had saved the two Highlanders who were wounded the same night as Andrew’s death.

  And there it was, so simple. He had the names of Andrew’s killers and the bodies themselves, not dead, but alive! He was too curious to kill everyone outright. So, he waited, patient, as he was known to be. When playing with his prey.

  “You saved me from having to kill you, Bastian,” he said. “Don’t think I didn’t want to. I don’t know this deceitful side of you. I don’t think I appreciate it.”

  “I really don’t care.”

  Oliver
lifted his hand high, then brought his fist down on the table beside him. “You had better begin caring! I could have you flogged!” He looked at Emma Grey. “I could have—” He stopped when Sebastian held up his hand.

  “All right,” he drawled. “You win. I care.”

  Oliver threw back his head and laughed. “Of course, you do.”

  Sebastian smiled with him. It always struck him oddly how Oliver was a merciless monster to most but a thoughtful, sometimes kind brother to him. Could he use his brother’s affection to get Emma and Cailean out of Newcastle safely?

  “Now will you tell me who inflicted such a wound on you?”

  “It’s heinous, is it not?” Oliver looked down at his bare torso and shook his head at the long line of stitches traveling down to his hips. “A few inches lower and he would have sliced my cock clean off.”

  He glared at Emma when she pierced him too deep with her threaded needle.

  “Who?”

  “Malcolm Grant… Aw, hell, woman, have a care!” He cringed at her sharp little needle and cursed it for ruining his reveal to Sebastian. “I’m beginning to think you mean me harm, and Burroughs too. Why isn’t he awake yet?”

  “Infection,” she told him.

  “He’s weak,” the baron informed her, then returned his attention to his brother. “By the way, didn’t you tell me you killed Grant outside the town?”

  His smile remained on Sebastian while his brother shifted very slightly in his chair. “Imagine my shock when he showed up resurrected at the brothel with a pistol pointing at me.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “Ah! You do care about something!”

  “Yes.” Sebastian smirked. “I care about the people who live here, including you. The Grants are kin to the MacGregors.”

  “There are no MacGregors,” Oliver said, watching Emma’s reaction to their conversation. She stopped working on him and turned away. “The name is outlawed.”

  “The ones that Malcolm Grant lives with don’t give a damn about laws, Oliver. I chose not to kill him and unleash a hoard of lawless Highlanders on Newcastle.”

  No. Not Sebastian. “You’re afraid.”

  His dark brother hooked his mouth into a confident grin. “You know better than that. I won’t waste time fearing the inevitable. If I live or die, it doesn’t matter to me. But the days, and the way I spend them, do.”

  He didn’t care about living or dying. It agitated Oliver to hear him speak like this. His brother was young and pleasing to the eye; rich, and skilled with every weapon, taught to fight at the end of his brothers’ swords. The world lay open at his fingers and he didn’t care if he lived to enjoy it? But this was what made Sebastian fearless in the face of a monster.

  “The outlaws will come here, Oliver. They’ll kill everyone. It will be a war and even if we win it, we will have lost much. It’s rumored that they have the queen’s favor thanks to her dear friend the Earl of Darlington’s marriage to the MacGregor chief’s daughter, Abigail. I think of Newcastle and wonder how quickly the queen would hand it over to her friend, the earl.”

  What a clever brother he had! Always thinking things through, so focused and determined. Sebastian was an intelligent hunter, not a savage one—unless he had to be. Pity, he didn’t know he was the prey.

  “Do you think he had anything to do with Andrew’s murder? The truth now, brother. You know how I value it.”

  Sebastian didn’t hesitate. “No, Oliver. Nothing at all.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  Emma’s heart paused after she asked but she continued wrapping her new patient in bandages. If he said yes, she would poison him tonight. She had the concoction already prepared.

  “Sebastian already asked me that question before I dismissed him.”

  “And you didn’t answer him.”

  “I’ll answer you if you answer me first.”

  “No, you first,” she insisted, much to his humor. “And I heard you tell Sebastian that you value the truth, so please show me you meant that and I’ll be sure to give you the truth. Did you kill him?” she asked again when he nodded his agreement to her terms.

  “No, I did not kill him. I could have; I tell myself every hour that I should have. I believe he killed Andrew.”

  “No,” Emma insisted. “Sebastian said that Malcolm admitted to shooting him, but—”

  “Andrew wasn’t shot,” he finished for Emma.

  She nodded and tied off his bandage at his waist. “Why didn’t you kill him if you thought he killed your brother?”

  “Because he was an extraordinary fighter, striking damn good blows in the dark, with his eyes closed. Did you teach him that?”

  “No.” She was so filled with sheer relief that she felt light-headed and giddy. Malcolm wasn’t dead. He lived. She believed the baron. She didn’t know why, but she did.

  “We fought and he challenged me not to kill him but let him live another day to fight me. I would have refused anyone else, but he wasn’t at all afraid. He came at me like a lion, determined to reach me and succeeded in scarring me for life. I want to fight him again and give him the death he deserves, so I let him live.”

  Oh, she wanted to tell him not to come. What if the baron killed him? He said they would fight again.

  “My turn now,” the baron said. “Do you know why my brother answers my every question with deceit?”

  Emma finished wrapping him and sat in the chair next to him. How much could she tell him without him getting angry? She had to tell him the truth. It was the deal.

  “I haven’t spoken to him about it but I believe it’s because you and he are so different. He believes that whatever he tells you, you will disagree with, whatever he asks you will be denied. He makes his own decisions based on what he believes. He may seem to take things lightly, but he wouldn’t risk your wrath frivolously. He is passionate about things.”

  “Do you know what I’m passionate about, Miss Grey?”

  She shook her head. What would she do if he tried to have his way with her? She’d have to kill him.

  “I’m passionate about the truth. If Malcolm Grant didn’t kill Andrew, then that leaves Cailean Fletcher. Did he kill my brother?”

  He wanted the truth but he apparently knew more about what happened that fateful night than he let on. She told him what she knew.

  “I don’t know, my lord,” she told him honestly. “I didn’t see anything.”

  She also didn’t see him grinning while he watched her leave.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  What is it that makes you so gloomy?” the Baron of Newcastle asked Emma. “You’ve been pouting for a few days now.”

  “My lord, I don’t pout.”

  “Scowl then,” he corrected. “I haven’t killed your Mr. Fletcher, even though my commander still sleeps.”

  “True, but Mr. Fletcher is a prisoner here, locked away in his room—”

  “What would you have me do with him? He’ll escape if I let him roam free. I spare him for you. You know I think he’s responsible for Andrew’s death. Some of my relatives will not be so merciful if they run into him. He is safest where he is.”

  She shrugged her shoulder and dressed one of the last herb-resistant spots along the twelve-inch-long wound running down the front of him. “Perhaps you’re right.”

  “Of course I am. Now, tell me, what brings about these sour moods? Is it your hero, Malcolm Grant? Are you so melancholy because he hasn’t yet arrived here to fight for you?”

  “Unless you lied to me and killed him.”

  “That stings,” he purred to her. “We had a bargain.”

  If Malcolm wasn’t dead, then where was he?

  “You said you didn’t harm him. Was that true?”

  “You know, my dear, Sebastian is quite fond of you, as am I. I think it might be time to forget about Grant and come to a Winther bed.”

  “No, thank you, my lord.” She tied the small knot in his bandage and bit it off.

&nb
sp; “Why not?” He pounded his fist on the table.

  “Because I don’t love you.”

  She listened to his frustration. He asked her almost every night to forget Malcolm and give him or, and in some instances “and,” his brother a chance instead.

  “Why don’t you?” he demanded. “Have I not been kind and generous to you all these days you’ve been my prisoner?”

  Goodness, like Narcissus, he was so focused on himself, he couldn’t think in any other expressions but of “me.” He was like a spoiled, selfish child always wanting his own way.

  For some odd reason, he seemed to like Emma, though she’d done nothing to warrant it.

  “What stops me from taking what I want?”

  “Some sense of integrity in your bloodline, I suspect.”

  He laughed, a brisk, sharp sound. What made Oliver Winther so dangerous was how quickly his mood could change, and how drastically. Emma already knew the trick was to remain unfazed. Make him no more important than a fly on the wall.

  “Is it integrity you’re looking for?” he asked. “Sebastian is your man then. Insulting me is one thing; don’t insult my brother by refusing him.”

  “I can’t refuse him if he hasn’t asked anything of me.”

  “He will. Soon,” the baron informed her.

  “I will not marry him.”

  “You’ll do what I tell you if you want your friend, Mr. Fletcher, to live.”

  “You would have your brother bound in marriage to a woman who doesn’t love him?”

  He moved closer to her and gripped her upper arms. “There you go insulting him when I just told you not to.”

  “I cannot help how my heart feels.”

  “Then tell me instead what you’re doing to mine.”

  “Oliver, let her go.”

  Emma was never so happy to hear any voice as she was to hear Sebastian’s. Oliver listened to his youngest brother. True, it was usually after some bodily threats, but he made a point of trying to be more agreeable. When his efforts paid off and Sebastian fought less with him, he thanked Emma.

  “I’m not going to marry Miss Grey and neither are you.”