by Aileen Adams
“Not at the pair of them, not nearly as much as I am at yourself. Ye lied, again and again, and you’ve made a fool of me. No man makes a fool of me and lives to tell the tale.”
Even so, Rufus sat once again, the first flash of fury having cooled as quickly as it flared.
“I know ‘tis folly to ask for your forgiveness,” Drew ventured, “but I do ask for it, and I hope ye can spare it in time. At the moment, my greatest concern is freeing the lad. He will waste away in prison, and none of the scoundrels with whom he’s lived will come to his rescue. Of that much, I’m certain.”
“What do ye have in mind, then?”
“I will speak with her,” he explained. “I shall tell her what I found and what it means for Liam. ‘Tis time for her to be honest, utterly and truly, if she wishes to free him.”
“What of her?” Rufus challenged. “Does she get away without punishment?”
“If Liam does, why should she not?” Drew felt his temper threatening to flare and prayed that it would not be so. Liam needed him, and so did Anne. Falling into a fight with his cousin would not be of help to either of them. He breathed slowly, gritting his teeth, willing his heart to slow its rhythm.
“’Tis entirely different.”
“How is it different?”
“It simply is. The lad was unsuccessful in his reiving, for one.”
“Ye dinna know he never stole anything else. Or is reiving the only crime for which a person ought to be punished?”
“Ye know that is not the way I feel.”
“What is it, then?” Drew folded his arms, if only for the chance to hide his clenched fists. He hated speaking so, especially toward the cousin to whom he owed so much. But right was right, and Rufus had a tendency to lose sight of it in the face of personal concerns.
His cattle had been stolen. He wanted justice.
“She took what was ours,” he insisted, his face going red at the memory of it.
“Aye, and no one wished for her to be strung up more than I,” Drew snarled. “I’m certain the lass would do anything to make it up to ye. It is neither herself nor her brother we ought to concern ourselves with, however. ‘Tis the men who sent them. Men who canna be bothered to do their thieving themselves, and likely to avoid capture. Pitiful creatures. They are the ones I wish to see hanged for this.”
“How do ye suggest we see it’s done, then?”
“I shall speak with her. Tell her about Liam. She would do anything to help him, I’m certain of it.”
A quirked brow. “How certain are ye?”
“He is the reason she stayed behind while I sent him home. If I released him and spoke not a word of what he’d done, she would remain and tend the bairns. ‘Twas the last thing she wished to do, but she did it for him. She has devoted herself to the twins. That is the lass she is at heart. All she does, she does for those she loves. She will do this for him.”
“Even though it means admitting what she’s done? She may need to do so in front of the magistrate.” Rufus fixed him with a stern stare. “And she ought to know it before she speaks a word. Those with a say in this might very well put her in Liam’s place after setting him free.”
Drew’s chest tightened at the thought, and he asked himself why. Why, when this was what he’d threatened all along? When he had told himself time and again that the lass deserved no better? A thief. No better than the slop thrown to the pigs.
Try as he might, he could not make himself believe this to be true. Not any longer.
“I believe in her,” was all he could offer. “She shall do what is right. Ye have my word.”
Rufus rubbed the back of his neck with a rueful smirk. “I have no choice but to ask myself what that means now. Your word. What good is it to me when ye have broken my trust?”
He had expected this. What he had not expected was how it would sting. He’d learned at an early age, as all children did, that trust could not be built up to its former state once it had been broken.
Yet he trusted Anne regardless of how they’d started out. That much he knew. Perhaps it was possible.
“I shall have to accept that. It’s no less than what I deserve.”
“Nay, ‘tis far less,” Rufus argued, but it was half-hearted at best. “Be gone with ye. Speak to the lass and see to it she does not run off in the night.”
Yes. He would have to see to that.
24
“Ye are one to take your time, Drew MacIntosh.” Anne shook her head and clicked her tongue in disappointment. “The twins are already tucked into bed and like as not sleeping by now. What took ye so long? I believed ye to merely ride to the village and back.”
All of this, she’d spoken while her back was to him, bent over what was left of the stew she’d prepared for supper with the intention of emptying the pot into a bowl and serving it to him with perhaps another tart word or two.
When she turned to deliver those words, however, she found herself face-to-face with a man who appeared to have seen a ghost. She lowered the bowl to the table, her hands shaking somewhat. “What is it? What happened?”
His lips pulled back in a grimace, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. “Ye ought to sit.”
She did so without argument, for her legs would no longer support her. “Tell me. Is it Liam? What have ye heard?”
He did not deny it, which only set her heart racing more furiously than ever. Why had she not gone to him? Why had she not fought for him? What had Malcolm done in her absence? Her poor, defenseless brother!
Every moment of hesitation made her anguish all the worse, until she was prepared to scream at the man to speak. Her entire body trembled with the need to scream, in fact. To shriek and curse the world and God and his angels for allowing harm to come to her beloved one.
Whom she had abandoned, no matter the reason for having done so.
“Is he dead?” she asked, her voice flat.
“Gods, nay! Och, lassie, dinna think so.” He fetched a dipper of water and handed it to her. “Drink. I shall tell all.”
She obeyed, merely because she wished for him to get on with it.
He crouched before her, going so far as to rest one hand over hers. It was little comfort, though he did at least ease her trembling. “He was caught while trying to steal cattle from a neighboring farm. He is being held in town at the magistrate’s and will likely go to prison.”
Her mind reeled. The room spun. In an instant, she was in his arms, and she was sliding from the chair, and he was holding her while she wept brokenly against his shoulder, slumping to the floor.
“Och, Liam! My Liam! How could he?”
“He had no choice, I’m certain,” Drew murmured, rocking her as she would have rocked one of the twins.
She allowed herself to sink into his embrace, to find the comfort he wished to grant as despair poured from her eyes in the form of tears. “Not Liam. Not my Liam. Him. Malcolm.” She could barely speak, but she needed to speak his name. His wretched, vile name.
“Malcolm?”
“My uncle.” She pressed her face to his shoulder now to muffle her sobs, her tears soaking the tunic and leaving it clinging to him just as she did. “’Twas him, always him, telling us what to do. Making me go out. If I did not, he would have thrown us out of his home, and I needed… I needed to…”
“To live, and to protect Liam. There, there, lassie. Dinna cry now.” Drew soothed her, or did his best to, stroking her hair as he continued rocking her back and forth. She could not recall the last time anyone soothed her, especially not in this manner, and she understood now just how much she’d missed it.
“My poor lad,” she wept, imagining him sitting alone, with no one to comfort him as Drew did for her. He must have been cold, hungry, frightened, without hope.
“What is his full name? This Malcolm.”
“Stuart.” There was no longer reason to avoid speaking of him, for she no longer had to protect her brother from his vicious ways. “Malcolm Stuart. My uncle.�
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“Och, ‘tis a pity,” he murmured.
His hand patted her hair, and she was glad for the gesture even if it was somewhat awkward.
“My parents died when Liam was a wee bairn. Malcolm was my mam’s brother—she was not Liam’s mother, she died long ago. I thought of my stepmother as a mother, and she loved me as though we were blood. Malcolm was my mam’s only brother and the only living relative, so we went to him. He does not love me, and I am his niece by blood. Ye can imagine, then, how little he cares for Liam.”
“Why did ye send him back, lass?”
“It was either send him back to Malcolm or risk him being where he is now.” She laughed at the turn things had taken, though there was not the slightest bit of humor in any of it. Only sadness and despair.
“I see. Why did ye not tell me this before?”
“What use was it? There was no need to tell ye.”
“Aye, there was.” He looked down at her, bending backward that he might see her better. “Ye might have shared with me, lass. Had I known this uncle of yours did not care for the lad, I might have thought twice about threatening him. This uncle. He forced ye to steal?”
“He forces all of his men to do so. Some are Stuarts, some are not.” Her tears had begun to dry, and she could see his face more clearly. He was troubled, angry, but not with her. Enough time had passed that she recognized how he looked when she’d angered him.
“Why do any of them stay with him?”
She snorted, and pulled back to wipe the dampness from her cheeks with her apron. Now that the heartbreaking rush of emotion had passed, she felt little more than shame for having made a spectacle of herself. The tears she’d shed were still evident upon his shoulder.
“They dinna have to work, ye ken. They are thieves, and content to be thieves, and to live like swine. They look upon it as an amusement. A game, even. Who can steal the most, who can take the greatest chances without being caught. And Malcolm collects—he grants them their due, mind ye, but they drink it away or worse.” She rolled her eyes at the thought of the poor, wretched creatures forced to lie with some of the filthy men her uncle associated with.
Drew, however, was unaware of this and did not seem to care. His brows knitted together, his nostrils flared. He was deadly serious. “How many men?”
“Ten? Fifteen? I have lost count, I admit.”
“Fifteen. All right.” He nodded firmly, then lifted her by the waist into the chair she’d abandoned moments earlier. She was too surprised at his sudden shift in demeanor to swat his hands away.
“All right? What does that mean?”
“It means fifteen men and this Malcolm ought to be no great trouble.” He smashed his fist into his palm, a gleam coming into his eyes which she’d never seen before.
“What are ye saying?” She jumped to her feet. “I dinna want to believe it is as it sounds.”
“What does it sound like?” He grinned, teeth flashing as his eyes had. At that moment, he reminded her of nothing so much as an animal having scented its prey. He was determined to make Malcolm suffer.
It was all happening too quickly, all at once. “Ye canna just yet. Wait, think. Plan.”
“I shall take men with me from the village, along with the magistrate, and we shall ride out to Malcolm Stuart’s and deliver justice. Dinna ye fear.” He grinned, dashing and hopelessly foolish all at once—to say nothing of being roguishly handsome. He had never been so handsome to her as he was then, with his eyes shining so.
“I canna allow this!”
He scowled. “I dinna recall asking if ye allowed it.”
“What if—” She could not bring herself to finish the thought, but her blood ran cold just the same. What if something dreadful happened?
What if he was injured, or worse?
“There is no telling what those men will do, especially while in their cups. They normally are,” she added with a roll of her eyes. “How will I know ye will not suffer?”
His brows lifted. “Does it truly matter so much to ye whether or not I suffer, lass?”
Her impulse was to offer a sharp retort, but she could not bring herself to do so. Not with the image of him lying somewhere, bleeding and bruised, so fresh in her mind. When she thought of it, she could barely breathe.
“Why are ye doing this?” She searched his face for some meaning, some understanding of why anyone would go to such lengths. How could he, when he owed them nothing?
Was he even to be trusted?
The corner of Drew’s mouth quirked up in a smirk. “I could not say, lass. Perhaps because I believe right is right. And it does not feel right to me, here.” He tapped his chest. “It sounds daft, I ken. Like the talk of bairns or—forgive me—of women. But that is what I know to be true. I’ve relied quite a bit on what I feel in here when there is a choice to be made, and it has never led me astray.”
His gaze traveled across the room, to the hearth. His smirk turned to a faint, rueful smile. “I tried to ignore it once, I admit. When we were riding to this very farm, that we might take it back from Ian MacFarland. Davina’s brother, ye ken. I became angry, and I admit I hardly recall the reason behind it, but we fought, and I rode away alone. It was not more than an hour before guilt caught up to me. I could not outrun it, no matter how I tried. It was wrong to leave them when they needed me, and it was right to take what belonged to my kin. I was waiting for Rufus and the others along the road from Avoch when they made their charge on the farm, and I joined them once again.”
He blew out a short sigh. “Now, knowing what ye told me, how can I allow either of ye to suffer when ye suffered for so long? There is no one else to speak on your behalf. I will be the one to do it.”
Anne’s stomach turned to butterflies, her gaze traveling over every inch of him. Was it possible for this man to be so noble? So decent? How different he was to the man she’d first taken him for.
He returned his attention to her, and they stood face-to-face. He was mere inches taller than she, barely enough that she need stand on tiptoe to brush her lips against his unshaven cheek.
She lingered there, taking in the nearness of him, the scent of his skin, even the coarseness of his whiskers. His hands closed over her arms—gently, not rough as he’d been at first, that evening in the barn. Now he was tender, caressing, sending waves of gooseflesh rippling up and down as he touched her.
Now, he turned his face to hers and caught the corner of her mouth with his own.
Now, she forgot to breathe, her heart hammering wildly and her stomach turning over and over in delight. Was this true? Was it real? How was it possible?
There was no telling. She only knew that it was right, and that she’d wanted to kiss him for some time.
Judging by the way he caught her chin in one hand and held her steady, he’d wished for the same thing.
His arms closed about her moments later, pulling her in, all but crushing her against his powerful body. All of the passion she sensed in him—his fighting nature, his temper, the depth of his love for the twins—all of it poured out of him as they kissed, and she accepted it gladly. It meant accepting him, and she wished to so very much.
For he accepted her. He saw her, he seemed to understand her. The lonesome, wounded heart she’d guarded so carefully reached out for his, longing now for nothing more than connection. The thrill of being in his arms, of feeling the wild beat of his heart in his chest. A beat which matched that of her own.
“Och, Anne,” he whispered, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her throat. It was joy, pure and simple, and she reveled in it for the short time they had together. If this moment was all life granted them, she wished to soak in every bit of it. “Anne, Anne, what has happened to me?”
She did not dare speak it or even think it to herself, for the moment might vanish like a soap bubble in the air, and she could not have that. Not when they had waited so long for this.
When the door to the bairns’ bedchamber creaked open, they froze�
��then, instantly, they backed away as if the other were on fire and they were afraid to burn. She felt the flush of her cheeks and heard her breathless gasping and hoped the children would not notice.
Owen emerged, rubbing a fist over his eye. “Uncle Drew?” he murmured, half-asleep.
“Aye, laddie,” Drew grunted, breathless as well. Anne hardly dared look at him for fear of laughing or somehow giving herself away. “All is well. What brings ye out?”
“I wished…” Owen yawned loudly, his mouth opening wide. “I wished to see ye…”
“Now, now,” Anne clucked, guiding him back to his bed. “Ye must sleep. ‘Tis late, ye ken, and ye ought to be dreaming.”
She tucked him in once again, smoothing the curls back from his forehead. He reminded her so of Drew, and she asked herself if he was anything like his nephew as a lad.
Moira was sound asleep, breathing through slightly parted lips. Anne kissed her forehead and tiptoed from the room, closing the door as quietly as she could behind her.
Only to find herself alone.
“Drew?” She looked about herself. The house was quite small. There was nowhere for him to disappear to, and the door to his bedchamber was open, as was customary when he was not asleep inside. “Drew?”
She opened the front door, leaning out to look back and forth. It was well past full dark, stars twinkling in the clear sky. Her breath fogged, her teeth chattered. “Drew?”
Nothing. If he were at the well or even answering nature’s call, he would have heard her and spoken. There was nothing but the sound of her own voice.
Dread filled her heart, when only a minute earlier there had been something close to love there.
She closed the door behind her and took off at a run, blindly racing to where she knew Rufus’s house sat. The fool! What did he think he was doing?
She knew just what he thought he was doing, and that was the trouble.
No more than half the ground between Drew’s house and Rufus’s had been covered before she collided with another body in the darkness. She fell back with a startled shout, her backside smarting when it hit the ground.
