Highlander's Hope

by Cameron, Collette

  “Not exactly, Pauline,” smirked Fielding. “He captured your brother and when you tried to help him escape, he got shot.” Fielding’s reptilian eyes slithered over Yvette. “Pauline gave Sethwick that scar on his face.”

  “Eet should have been ‘es throat,” Pauline sneered.

  Yvette frowned at her. “Why didn’t he recognize you at the jeweler’s then?”

  “Eet was peetch black dat night.”

  “Which is precisely why, you failed to kill him, isn’t it Pauline?” Fielding sniggered, “I do believe Sethwick’s the only one of your victims to ever escape with his life.”

  Pauline glared at Fielding, fury spewing from her black eyes. “Shut-up or I’ll . . .”

  “What? Kill me? I think not. You need me.” Fielding ambled to his chair, clasping his hands across his midsection and crossing his ankles in a relaxed pose. Staring at Yvette, a lewd spark gleamed in his weak, insipid eyes. His watery gaze kept dropping to her bosom. She glanced downward. Her fichu was missing. The Luckenbooth brooch, where was it?

  Yvette glowered at Fielding, crossing her arms over her breasts, as crimson swept across her cheeks. A lascivious smile teased the edges of his pudgy mouth. She shuddered, repulsed.

  The door creaked open. A man entered carrying two dead rabbits. Yvette’s eyes widened. The man from the jewelry shop. He favored one arm and kept it tucked to his side. Was he the man Mr. Carmichael shot?

  She cast a glance to Pauline’s hands. A bright red scar puckered the surface of one. Ignoring Yvette, the man set about skinning the rabbits before the crumbling fireplace.

  “How long do you think we’ll have to wait?” Fielding posed the question, his eyes never leaving Yvette.

  “I don’t know. By now, ‘e knows she ees miz-sing, no?”

  “Did you see anyting, Alanzo?” Pauline asked, walking to the window, then looking out.

  “No.” said Alanzo, his face pinched in concentration.

  Yvette’s mind raced. She was meant to be bait for Ewan. Why? What if they believed he would not come? Would they release her? “He mightn’t come.”

  Even Alanzo stopped to stare at Yvette with his peculiar emotionless eyes.

  Pauline turned from the window, a trace of alarm in her husky voice. “What you say? Of course ‘e will come. You are ‘ees wife.”

  So, they knew that too. That complicated things a bit.

  “Not by choice. I was unaware we were married. I didn’t consent to it. The marriage will be annulled.” Trying to appear outraged, Yvette continued, “Ewan tricked me into marriage using a Scot’s law. There wasn’t even a ceremony.”

  Furious, Pauline glowered at Fielding. “Dis ees true?”

  “I’ve no idea, I’m English, remember?”

  Yvette cringed as his calculating gaze roamed her form.

  A lascivious smile contorted Fielding’s mouth. “The chit could be lying.”

  “But I’m not.” She forced herself to her feet. There that wasn’t so bad. She was only slightly dizzy. Where were her slippers?

  “You’ve been watching the castle.” She looked at each of them in turn. Emotion skittered across Fielding’s face. She knew she was on to something. “Ewan has been gone for weeks.”

  That explained why they had not acted sooner. They were waiting for his return. Pauline and Alanzo’s eyes meshed for the briefest of moments.

  “At my insistence, Ewan is in Edinburgh requesting an annulment.”

  A sly gleam appeared in Pauline’s eyes. “Why you stay? Why you no leave?”

  “Why? I can’t. Ewan is my husband. Until the church grants the annulment, I’m bound to him by law. Besides, his clan watches my every move. They don’t allow me to go anywhere without guards.”

  Forcing her mouth into a moue of exasperation, she whined, “An annulment could take years, though.” Lifting her eyes to meet Pauline’s, Yvette declared, “There’s no love between us. He was only after my fortune.”

  Her heart wrenched at the lie.

  She did love him, and she’d never told him she did. Not even last night when he’d introduced her to passion and her heart had felt near to bursting. Stubbornness, pride, arrogance had all kept her from telling him.

  A nasty smile curled Pauline’s lips. “See Fielding, you are not de only ones dat lusts after ‘er mooney.”

  Fielding banged his fist on the table causing a bottle to teeter before it crashed and shattered on the floor. Everyone’s gazes turned to him; Yvette’s distressed, Pauline’s irritated, and Alanzo’s bored.

  “He has to come. I can’t marry the wench if her husband’s alive.”

  Marry her? Dear God above. “Why would I marry you?” Contempt crept into Yvette’s voice.

  With ill-omened intent, Fielding angled to his feet covering the distance between them. Snatching her by the hair, ignoring her cry of pain, he crushed her to him, snarling into her frightened face. “You won’t have a choice.”

  “I’d rather die.”

  “Dat ees an option,” Pauline said. “As for your ‘usband not knowing where you are, dat ees what ‘e does best, no? ‘E will find you.” She hefted one shoulder, before adding, “We made it easy for ‘im.”

  She looked pointedly at Yvette’s exposed chest. Her vapid gaze traveled to Yvette’s hanging hair, and finally rested on her stockinged feet. So, that’s where everything was. They’d left a trail. Yvette’s stomach coiled with fear.

  Oh, Ewan, be careful.

  Pauline shifted her gaze to Fielding. “Roland, take a look around. See if anyone comes.”

  “The sun is setting. Sethwick mightn’t be able to find her,” Fielding sent a significant look in Yvette’s direction, “in the dark.”

  “‘E will find ‘er, idiota. You don’t know ‘im as I do. Dere ees no doubt.”

  Fielding opened the decrepit door and seconds later was blown backward into the cottage by the violent impact of a gunshot. His body slumped, lifeless to the floor.

  Yvette slapped her hands over her mouth. A combination of relief and horror simultaneously swept through her.

  Thank God, Ewan is here.

  Pauline and Alanzo pivoted toward the entry, prepared to do battle, Alanzo knife in hand and Pauline armed with both pistols.

  The yawning entrance stood void of human form. Another horrendous report blasted through the cottage, this one coming from one of the wide-open windows. Struck between the shoulders, Alanzo toppled face-first to the floor.

  Yvette yelped, shooting a glance to the window.

  And he’s brought help.

  “Nooo, Alanzo, nooo.” Pauline’s shattering scream slashed Yvette to her soul.

  She stood horrified as the signora slammed the door and latched it before falling to her knees beside her dying lover. The pistols clattered uselessly to the floor, as Alanzo’s life’s blood saturated the packed earth.

  Hysterical, Pauline begged, “Alanzo, il mio amore, don’t leave me.”

  Rolling him over, she pressed her face to his, vowing her love and pleading with him not to die. Yvette could see his eyes glassing over. Nausea roiled in her belly.

  She crept forward, snatching the forgotten knife off the table. She concealed it in the folds of her skirt, before stealing a glance at the window again.

  Nothing.

  The sun had set. Dusk was hovering in the forest. Night would soon claim her due. Yvette held no doubt help was without. Ewan was cautious by nature. He would not risk harming her.

  Even now he might have Pauline within his gun’s sights. Yvette trembled, swallowing another wave of queasiness. Inch-by-inch she crept to the door, watching Pauline the whole while.

  With supreme effort, Alanzo touched Pauline’s face. Wheezing through the blood gurgling in his throat he choked, “
Addio caro mio amo . . .” He gave a shuddering sigh, and breathed his last. His hand flopped to the floor with a sickening thud.

  Yvette went rigid.

  Pauline lurched to her feet. Her obsidian eyes spewed hatred. She waved one of the discarded pistols in her blood-smeared hand. “You,” She advanced on Yvette. Her eyes were mad with grief. “You puttana, dis ees your fault.”

  Her crazed gaze fell on the lifeless Alanzo. “You did dis.” She laughed, an insane shrieking cackle that ended in a rasping sob. Pauline lifted the pistol with both hands. She aimed it straight at Yvette’s heart.

  Yvette lifted her hand, then threw the knife. Aghast, she stumbled backward, pressing both hands over her mouth. A scarlet blotch spread across the signora’s chest.

  Sweet God in heaven, she’d knifed someone. Years of practice hadn’t prepared Yvette for the reality of the violent act. Bile rose to her throat. Spots swam before her eyes.

  Pauline’s mouth quirked into an unsteady smile, her gaze incredulous. “You are full of de surprises.”

  The pistol dropped from her hand, its discharge deafening. The sound reverberated uncannily, almost as if the lead ball protested, disappointed not to have found a home in tender, human flesh.

  She crumpled to the floor.

  Edging around the bodies, frantic to get outside this place of death and to reach Ewan, Yvette grasped the door. Her shaking fingers fumbled with the latch. It slipped free at last. She stumbled into the shadowy clearing.

  “Ewan?”

  Where was everyone?

  A figure separated itself from the cottage’s stone side. “Not Ewan, Evvy.”

  No, Lord, it can’t be. Don’t let it be.

  Yvette ran.

  A faint glimmer shimmered in the distance.

  The loch.

  She had to reach the loch. Someone might see her.

  Edgar crashed after her.

  She raced on, dodging rocks and trees. Gnarled branches snatched at her flying hair. Rocks shredded her stockings. Her slipperless feet felt no pain.

  Which direction was she running? Which side of the loch would she emerge on?

  Please God—not the bogs.

  Yvette’s fichu was discovered less than five hundred yards from the castle, and a quarter mile farther on, one of her slippers was found. Ewan knew he was being led into a trap. A trap set by practiced assassins. Nevertheless, the sound of shots spurred him and his loyal clansmen onward. Laying low across their mounts, they circled the loch headed for the long-deserted cottages.

  Signaling with his hand, Ewan sent men on foot to investigate each ramshackle building. He slid from Shaidae, then cautiously approached a cottage with its door hanging wide open. He peeked inside.

  Standing to his full height, Ewan whistled, calling the other clansmen. He surveyed the scene before him. Yvette wasn’t there. A low moan caught his attention. Assessing the figures on the floor, he crossed to Pauline. The doorway and clearing filled with his men.

  In the dim light, he knelt beside the fatally injured woman. Pauline’s eyes flitted open. “I told ‘er you would come, no?”

  “Where’s my wife?”

  She closed her eyes. “She left, after she did dis,” she rasped barely audible.

  Ewan bent closer. “Were you working with Marquardt?”

  “Yes.” Her chest rattled from her effort to speak as she filled him in on the details. “Fielding was blackmailing ‘eem too.”

  So, he had been right about the blackmail. He touched Pauline’s shoulder. “Who gave you your orders?”

  Her lips moved but no sound emerged. She coughed and was silent. Ewan tucked his chin to his chest. Damn, he’d been so close. He started to rise.

  With her last breath, she whispered, “The earl.”

  Moments later, Ewan strode from the cottage. Glancing at the brooch in his hand, he clenched his fist in suppressed anger. Pauline’s revelation had come as no surprise. He’d suspected as much, though he’d been adverse to believe it.

  He now understood the connection between Marquardt, Fielding, and Pauline. They spied for the same spymaster. Pauline had personal vendetta against him as well, because of her brother, and Fielding was blackmailing Marquardt. Fielding planned on killing Marquardt, and once Ewan was eliminated, he intended to gain access to Yvette’s fortune by forcing her to marry him.

  Little did he know Yvette. She’d have died first.

  Lifting his head, Ewan sucked in a deep, calming breath. That could wait.

  He scanned the glen. She was out here somewhere, and Edgar hunted her. Night was almost fully upon them. They needed light.

  “Find what you can to make torches. We can attend to the bodies in the morn. Right now, I intend to find my wife.”

  Chapter 32

  Yvette knew she was in grave trouble when her feet began sinking in the quagmire. The bog’s unstable moss couldn’t sustain her weight. Desperate to escape Edgar, she had been intent on reaching the loch and had ventured straight into the marsh.

  Terror urging her on, she slogged onward a few more feet, trying to find solid ground. She turned this way and that, trying to get her bearings. Which way should she go?

  She must find solid ground and a place to hide from Edgar.

  She tapped the ground with her foot, then gave it a tentative push. She pressed harder. It was firm. Looking to the sky, the first star of the evening winked at her. The forest was an obscure wall of irregular shapes and the loch a murky, oversized looking-glass.

  Edgar continued to chase her, though he had stopped trying to entice her to come to him. He had been silent for several minutes now. Where was he?

  A splash and curse alerted Yvette to his presence. How had he crept up on her so quietly? Straining her eyes, she could see his thrashing arms, no more than ten feet from where she crouched.

  God in heaven, he had fallen into a bog pool.

  “Evvy, help me.”

  Frantic, Yvette looked around for a branch. Perhaps she could pull him out, or at least, help keep him afloat.

  She was too far from the trees. There were no branches nearby. Panic gnawed at her.

  “I’m sinking, hurry,” he begged, terrified.

  Horrified, Yvette realized Edgar had sunk to his armpits. There was no help for it. She would have to go to him. “Edgar, I’m coming.”

  “Yvette, do—not—move.”

  She spun round. Near the perimeter of the forest stood Ewan and a dozen of his clan members, their phantom-like forms limned by the makeshift torches they bore. Their horses stood behind them, phantoms in the nebulous shadows.

  “Ewan, thank God. Edgar’s caught in a bog. He’s nearly sunk under.”

  “Evvy, whatever you do, don’t move from where you are. Do you understand me? How you arrived there without the bog claiming you is nothing short of a miracle. You’re surrounded by unstable ground.”

  “What about Edgar?”

  “I have a rope. I’ll try to reach him.”

  Ewan and three of his men began inching across the bog. Yvette knew they were familiar with this marsh, and knew the safe passage through it. But it was dark now, almost impossible to discern between solid land, and the spongy surface capable of sucking a man under. What if Ewan . . . ? No, she wouldn’t think of it. “Be careful, Ewan, please.”

  “Evvy, he won’t reach me in time,” Edgar whimpered, “you must help me.”

  Yvette cast a look at Edgar, then Ewan. “What should I do?”

  “I can only save one of you, Yvette. If you move, he stands no chance.”

  “Oh, Edgar.” Only his chin and hands remained visible above the insidious, glugging muck. “Lord, please help him.”

  “I’m throwing you a rope, Marquardt. It has a loop in the end. Try to
grasp it.” Ewan tossed the rope but it fell short by several inches.

  “I’m sorry, Evvy. Please forgive me.” Edgar pleaded hopelessly.

  Weeping, Yvette pressed her fisted hands to her mouth. No one should die like this.

  Ewan threw the rope again.

  Edgar’s fingers grazed the loop, but the movement plunged him further into the fetid goo. “I don’t want to die knowing you hate me, Evvy. Say you forgive me.”

  “I don’t hate you,” she choked, her voice clogged by tears. “I forgive you.”

  Two of Ewan’s men ventured a few feet beyond him and held their torches high in the air, permitting him to see Edgar better. One final time, Ewan slung the rope. It landed on top of Edgar’s hand. With his other hand, Edgar latched onto the lifesaving line.

  “You did it, Ewan! He has it,” Yvette cried in relief.

  The men towed Edgar from the oozing slime, and promptly placed him under arrest. He was in no condition to resist.

  She clutched Ewan’s hand as he led her from the bog. Once she was on solid ground she threw herself into his arms. “Ewan, I thought I’d never see you again.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his jaw and neck, half hysterical from her ordeal.

  “I thought I was going to die and,” tears filled her eyes and trailed over cheeks, “and I never told you, I love you.”

  Ewan hugged her to him. “You’re safe now, mon amour.” He kissed the top of her head. “Edgar will never terrorize you again.”

  They both turned to look at Edgar. He stood defeated, caked in filth. Four Scots surrounded him.

  “I do love you, Ewan. I think I have since you rescued me off the wharf.” She rested her cheek against his chest. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. Sorry I didn’t know.”

  Ewan tilted her face up. In the dim light she searched his eyes.