My Rebel Highlander

by Vonda Sinclair

  "Tell no one you have it. 'Tis to remain our secret, unless you have to send it. Once I return, you can give it back to me." The missive revealed where Calla would be, and if Claybourne kept her beyond a fortnight, hopefully Angelique would send Lachlan and his men to rescue her.

  "Aye."

  "I thank you." Calla was glad Morna didn't question the instructions. She had always been loyal to a fault and meticulous in her duties.

  Calla took Jamie's hand and they continued up the drive.

  "I didn't want to come back here," Jamie muttered, stamping his feet on the wet cobblestones.

  "Why not?" Calla asked. "I thought you liked it here."

  "I wanted to stay with you. And my new friends."

  "I know, my love. I wanted to keep you with me, too. But I must work to pay your father's debt. He did not save any money for us."

  "That was mean that he spent all the money."

  Indeed it was, but Calla refrained from disparaging the man Jamie believed was his father. She didn't want her son to think she was a bitter woman.

  "Rebbie promised me a ride on Devil." Jamie peered up at her with those dark, pleading eyes so like Rebbie's, he near broke her heart.

  "I know, sweeting."

  "I didn't even get to say goodbye to him." Jamie kicked a small rock lying on the drive and sent it flying.

  "I'm sorry." Her own goodbye to him was too excruciating to remember.

  "Do you think he will come visit me?"

  She shook her head, her throat tightening. "I don't think so." She should not be surprised that Jamie had taken an instant liking to Rebbie. They had the same blood running through their veins, after all.

  "But he was kind and funny… and I thought he liked me."

  Calla's eyes burned. "He does like you, my darling. But he is a very busy man."

  "When will you come to see me again?"

  "In a little over a fortnight." If Claybourne kept his word and released her from his "employ" by then. Nay, do not think of it. She must enjoy Jamie's company as long as possible before she had to leave him and endure hell on earth.

  After speaking to Glenhaven and his wife about her fabricated "new employment in Angus" she knelt and hugged Jamie tightly to her, then placed kisses all over his face.

  "I will be back before you know it," she promised, though she remembered how slowly time crawled by for children and he would no doubt be miserable for days. She knew he could endure it; he was a strong lad.

  After walking to the nearby Glenhaven Village and feeling more alone than she had in her life, Calla used what little money she possessed to hire a coach to pick up her trunk at the gate house and take her to Bonnyridge, some three miles away. If indeed Claybourne would clear her of the debt, not reveal her secret about Jamie, and return her dower property to her, any torture she might endure at his hand would be worth it. Of course, he was a criminal and completely untrustworthy.

  ***

  The evening before, Rebbie had ridden Devil north as if the hounds of hell snapped at his heels. He'd arrived at the castle ruin just as darkness descended upon the land.

  He'd been dog-tired, all the pent up rage having evaporated with each mile that passed. As he'd lain on the dirt floor of the ruin's kitchen last night, the only way to stop the thoughts spinning through his head was to drink more whisky. Once it was gone, he'd slept, not caring if the wolves discovered him. Devil would wake him, he knew, and he had two loaded pistols.

  The next morn, he awoke to a splitting headache. He forced himself to stumble out to the stream.

  Dropping to his knees, he washed his face in the icy water, dunked his whole head in, then arose and flung his hair back. 'Twas a shock to his system that brought him fully awake.

  Ears perked, Devil eyed him, then nickered and went back to picking grass. "I ken you think I'm daft," he muttered to the horse. Aye, he was. Because of Calla.

  Damnation, she had gored the hell out of his heart yesterday.

  He hadn't even known he could feel love. And then, she'd said she loved him, too. But how could that be true if she wouldn't even tell him he had a son?

  She had used him, pure and simple, in the most basic way possible. Not for mutual pleasure, but to steal his seed and have a child to give to her bastard of an impotent husband.

  When he thought of Jamie, his face a wee replica of Rebbie's own, he could hardly endure it. He'd never imagined what it might be like to have a son, but now that he was faced with that fact, had talked to the lad, 'twas a shock to realize he loved the lad already. No questions asked. Blood of his blood. He loved him, wanted to tell the world, this is my son!

  But nay, he could never do that. To do so would label the lad a bastard and he would lose his status despite being an earl's son. He could never inherit the Rebbinglen title, nor any of the other titles he or his father held.

  Rebbie couldn't expose him. Nor could he do it to Calla.

  He remembered what she'd said, that whoreson Stanbury had threatened to toss her out the high window if she didn't provide him an heir. If the man were alive, Rebbie would call him out to a duel and kill him.

  Calla was an angel… or a demon. He wasn't sure which. When he imagined her face, his chest ached. He couldn't even breathe. What had she done to him? Bewitched him. He'd fallen for her hard, even from that first night he'd tasted her lips.

  He wanted to crush her to him, even should she decide to stab him in the back at the same time. She drove him mad with the need to have her. When her silvery-gray eyes darkened, begging him without words, he could not deny her. In those moments, he yearned to devour her, starting with her delectable mouth and moving down her curvy body.

  Despite the lust which consumed him anytime he saw her, there was so much more. The way she'd kissed and cuddled Jamie… 'twas obvious she would do anything for the lad and that she loved him beyond anything.

  She'd done an excellent job with him. Clearly, she was a good mother who'd been much involved in raising the lad. Not like some aristocratic ladies who put the total care of their children into the hands of servants.

  And a more beautiful woman he had never seen. He could stare at her for a lifetime and never grow tired of the view.

  Almost seven years ago, after their night of passion, he'd searched for her. Why? Something about her was unforgettable. She was stuck in his head for weeks or months afterward. He'd had to give in and force himself to forget about her. Well, not fully forget. He had dreamed of her a few times over the years. He'd wake and wonder what town she might be in, who she was. But he'd finally accepted he would never see her again.

  Now, she needed protection and he wanted to provide it, despite her deceptions. Her betrayal still smarted and burned. He understood why she'd done it—to save herself. He was glad he'd been able to keep her safe from her rotten husband by getting her with child.

  He could even halfway understand why she hadn't told him about Jamie being his son. She wanted to guard his future at all costs. What with the way Rebbie's father had glared at her, she'd feared the worst from him if he'd learned her secret. Certainly, his father could ruin both her and Jamie if he chose to, but Rebbie didn't think he would. Within the last few days, he'd seemed to accept that Rebbie wasn't giving up Calla, and he'd shown Rebbie his support as never before.

  Once Rebbie paid off Stanbury's debt, and made certain Claybourne stopped his pursuit of her…. Rebbie shook his head. What then?

  Did he want to marry her? Could he trust her? The very thought of marriage near made his heart leap from his chest. What if he made a mistake? What if she wasn't the one?

  Och, but everything in him said she was. She was under his skin… in his head. The nights they'd spent together were some of the best of his life. He'd savored them as slices of heaven. She had smiled, laughed, cried out in pleasure and completely spellbound him. The taste of her lips, the scent of her skin—he craved it so intensely, he ached.

  'Twas time to go back and hash things out. After saddli
ng Devil, he mounted and rode south.

  ***

  The hired coach delivered Calla to the entry of Bonnyridge, a new and very grand manor house. How she hated the depraved bastard who owned it. He was the complete opposite of the lovely, peaceful gardens surrounding the house.

  Her stomach paining with anxiety, she stepped down from the coach. The driver placed her small trunk on the ground near the door then drove off. Two guards in matching black livery stood outside the door. They bowed and murmured, "Lady Stanbury," as if expecting her. Feeling like a mouse about to step into the jaws of a cat, she frowned.

  One of them lifted the ornate knocker and let it fall while the other hefted her trunk onto his shoulder. Seconds later, an austerely dressed manservant opened the door.

  "My lady, please come in. Laird Claybourne is expecting you."

  She did as he asked. After he bowed, his disapproving gaze slid down her body and back up. He sniffed. "Wait here, if you please."

  The guard deposited her trunk near the stairway, then hastened out the door and closed it behind him.

  Oh dear God, please help me survive this, she prayed.

  The chilly and elegant three story entry hall made her feel ill. Her late husband's money had paid for part of this. She was now a pauper because of Claybourne's greed and Stanbury's ignorance. Even the property Calla's mother had left her was now a part of Claybourne's collection of treasures, but she intended to get it back.

  Her stomach growled and she realized she hadn't eaten since breakfast early that morn at Draughon. 'Twas probably for the best, given how queasy her stomach was with nerves.

  Footsteps approached, echoing from the marble floor to the high plaster ceiling, and then Claybourne's tall, thin frame and horse-like face appeared. "My dear Lady Stanbury. So nice to see you." His lustful gaze crept down her body and up again, lingering on her breasts. "May I call you Calla?"

  Her stomach turned. "Nay. I want a signed contract from you. And the deed for Cramby."

  His thin brown brows shot up. "What sort of signed contract?"

  "Detailing what you've promised me if I keep my end of the bargain."

  "I see." He flashed a wide, unnerving grin. "So, you've come to pay the debt." He placed his hands together, just shy of rubbing them together eagerly.

  "If you do all you promised in the missive."

  "Of course. Would you care to step into my office?" He motioned toward an open doorway off to the side of the entry hall. She was shocked he hadn't already thrown her over his shoulder and carried her upstairs.

  Once inside the office, he indicated a chair before the large oak desk. "Please make yourself comfortable. Can I offer you wine or something to drink?"

  "Nay." She chose to remain standing, and would surely retch if she drank anything.

  "Did you tell anyone you were coming here? Rebbinglen?"

  The mere mention of Rebbie's name made her chest and throat ache. "Nay."

  "Good." Smirking, Claybourne dropped into the chair behind the desk, pulled a clean sheet of parchment from a drawer and placed it before him. "Because if anything bad should happen to me, my steward will send missives, which I've already scribed and addressed, to several members of parliament, detailing everything I've learned about you and your son."

  "You have no proof," she charged.

  Claybourne shrugged. "I have two witnesses. 'Tis the only proof I need. Besides, with proof or without, the members of parliament would scrutinize you and your son intensely if they kenned of your secret, would they not? And what if the Kirk should learn of your shocking adultery?" He smirked. "'Twould not be pleasant to be shamed before the large congregation, now would it?"

  The very thought of it made her break out into a cold sweat, but she couldn't let him know that. "I would like to speak to Betty Kerns."

  "Nay, 'tis not possible," he said in a hard tone.

  "Why? Did you kill her?"

  "Of course not. I sent her and her husband to the Cramby Estate, temporarily, while you're working for me." He smiled. "The work is easy and the food is good." He watched her with unnerving interest. "I find out what people want, and I give it to them… providing they give me what I want."

  Aye, but would he give her what she wanted when this was all done? "I told no one, but I've scribed a missive which will be sent to the Earl of Draughon after two weeks if you do not release me." She forced her voice to be stronger than she felt at the moment.

  Claybourne's eyes narrowed on her for a long moment. Had she surprised him?

  "You'd best hope the missive isn't sent too early or all of your nasty secrets will be revealed," he said.

  "It won't be."

  "Who did you entrust with this duty?"

  "That is none of your concern." Did he honestly think she would reveal that? He was more senseless than she'd realized. "You ken what I want from this agreement. Spell it out in the contract."

  He lifted a brow. "We are going to have some fun." His glee and lust were palpable within the high-ceilinged room. Her stomach ached and knotted, nausea pressing in upon her again.

  You can endure it. You endured worse at the hands of Stanbury. At least she could tell herself that. She didn't yet know whether it was true or not. Claybourne might well be an unimaginable monster for all she knew.

  "What was it I said in that missive?" he asked.

  Though she'd burned the paper, she remembered every word. "You promised to keep my secret about my son, forget the debt Stanbury owed you, and give me back my dower property, Cramby, if I work for you for a fortnight. Fourteen days only."

  "Ah, yes. I remember now." He grinned, dipped the quill into the ink and started writing. "By the way, I enjoy demanding women. Or should I say, I enjoy taming demanding women."

  She glared at him. What would he do, beat her? "I'll have your oath that you will leave me and my son alone after these two weeks. And I want you to sign the Cramby Estate over to me now."

  He smiled again, although this time it was calculating. "Of course."

  Heaven help her. He was the devil incarnate.

  "You'll have this contract to prove I shall keep my end of the bargain," he said.

  Feeling truly sick now, she knew she should not be here. But what choice did she have?

  The scratching sounds of his writing filled the silence and with each moment, dread closed around her throat, near suffocating her. This was what she had withered to, a whore for a wealthy merchant?

  Chapter Twenty

  At midday, still riding south, Rebbie slowed when he noticed a garrison in the distance, headed in his direction. After halting and watching them for a moment, he realized 'twas Lachlan, Alasdair and at least two dozen of their men, all wearing metal studded leather armor. Even his father was with them. What had happened? He tapped his heels, urging Devil forward into a gallop.

  Moments later he drew up in front of them, a sense of dread haunting him.

  "Thank the saints!" Lachlan said. "I thought we might find you riding here."

  "What's happened?"

  "Lady Stanbury left this morn."

  Rebbie shouldn't be surprised, given how they'd parted. "Where did she go?"

  "She told us she was going to Glenhaven and then to Angus, for a new position. But we believe she went to Claybourne instead."

  Rebbie felt as if he'd been kicked in the gut. "Why the hell would she do that? And how could you let her leave?"

  Lifting a brow, Lachlan dismounted, then Rebbie did the same. Drawing him off to the side, Lachlan said, "I tried to stop her, but save carrying her up the stairs and locking her in a room, there was naught I could do. She was bound and determined to go."

  Fear for her safety rampaged through Rebbie. "Why?"

  "Angelique said a missive arrived for Calla a couple of days ago. I kenned naught of it. Angelique gave it to her yesterday evening. This morn, Calla was raring to take the lad and leave with the Barclays, saying the missive was about a new governess position in Angus. Later, Angeli
que found a piece of the missive in the fireplace. Calla had tried to burn it, but a small piece was left. It had Claybourne's signature on it." Lachlan dug into his sporran and pulled out the scrap of paper, the edge burned. Sure enough, 'twas Claybourne's name.

  "That bastard," Rebbie seethed. "What did the missive say?"

  "No one knows. She didn't tell Angelique. I was tempted to go to Bonnyridge and get her myself, but I thought you'd want to know first. I don't know what the devil would make Calla go to him willingly."

  The answer flashed in Rebbie's mind like a bolt of lightning. "He knows."

  "What?"

  "About Jamie. He knows Jamie isn't Stanbury's son and he's threatening to reveal all. That's the only reason she would go to him."

  "That has to be it."

  "Let's go." Rebbie ran back to his horse and leapt into the saddle.

  Like mad, they raced south.

  Imagining Claybourne's skinny fingers touching Calla, Rebbie grew angry enough to strangle someone. God help him, if Claybourne raped Calla, Rebbie would kill him.

  A short time later, Lachlan drew up.

  Rebbie circled back. "What are you doing?"

  "The horses need to be watered and rested."

  Damnation, Rebbie knew that, but Calla was far more important at the moment. He slid off Devil and led him to the small burn to drink.

  His father dismounted and followed him. "None of this would've happened, Robert, if you wouldn't run off like a madman when you get your arse in a twist."

  "Don't concern yourself with it," Rebbie growled. "I thank you for coming, but you shouldn't have."

  "You're my son and I want to help. Does that shock you?"

  Rebbie didn't need his da on his back, poking and prodding, along with everything else going on. But Rebbie had to admit, his da was proving more helpful and supportive during the past few days than ever before. "Nay."

  "Well, I noticed something this morn, and it all made sense," his father said.

  "What made sense?"

  "You. Your anger."

  Rebbie frowned. Oh, hell. Surely his father hadn't figured out the secret, too.