by Paula Quinn
“She…”
Charlie blinked. Her breath faltered. She what?
“…was not in her room when I checked on her before I left. I have searched everywhere, but I cannot find her.”
Charlie’s blood boiled. How could her sister run off to her admirer when they were burying Robbie?
“I am not the only one who has been sneaking off, Duff,” she tried to reassure him.
He shook his head. “I fear the Fergussons have taken her.”
Oh, blast this damned feud for somehow always being included in everything. “Why would the Fergussons have taken her?”
“Hendry has returned, Charlie,” he told her, visibly trying to keep himself calm. “He killed a man. A tenant of the Fergussons.”
She refused to faint. She would not do it. Nor would she fall apart. If, heaven forbid, the Fergussons had taken Elsie, Charlie knew who could get her back. Patrick had said he loved her. Now, he could prove it. If he refused, she’d find a big enough rock to kill him.
“I’m going to get her, Charlie,” her brother promised. “I was coming to tell you so that—”
“Nay! You cannot go!” She snatched his sleeve. “You’ll have no chance against all of them. Don’t be a fool, brother! You will not be a hero. You’ll be dead, and so will Elsie. Patrick must go.”
“Charlie, I’m going,” he said firmly and unclenched her fingers from his wrist. “Stay here, where I know you’re safe with Patrick.”
“Patrick is a Fergusson!” she called out when he moved to return to his horse.
He stopped and turned to her. “What? How do you know that?”
“He just told me,” she said going to him. “He’s Cameron’s nephew. Now you understand why Patrick must go?”
She searched his gaze and backed away, hoping he listened. “There isn’t time to tell you more. Patrick is the only one who can help us.”
Before he answered, she turned and took off running for the house.
A moment later, she was scooped off her feet and deposited onto Duff’s lap while he thundered toward the Wallace holding.
Patrick had to help them, Charlie thought, slipping from her brother’s saddle when they reached the house a few moments later. How would they get Elsie back if he didn’t? Duff, Hendry, and her father couldn’t fight off the Fergussons. They would all be killed.
She burst into the house and ignoring the villagers gathered about, she rushed into the children’s room. She found Patrick asleep in the chair, the stranger still unresponsive in bed.
Wasting no time, Charlie hurried to Patrick and fell at his feet. “Wake up! Wake up, Patrick!”
He came awake immediately and sat up. “Charlie, what—”
“Elsie is gone. We fear the Fergussons have taken her.”
“They wouldna do it.” He rose from the chair and pulled her to her feet. She searched his gaze for the truth. He turned it on Duff. “They wouldna.”
“I think they did,” Duff growled at him.
Charlie wouldn’t have them fighting now. She hurried to stand between them and faced Patrick.
“They might because Hendry killed one of your uncle’s tenants.”
“Hell.”
Charlie nodded. He finally understood. “If she’s at Tarrick Hall, I’ll bring her back.”
She hadn’t even asked him yet. She hadn’t needed to promise him anything. He was going to help!
“Charlie?” he said, urging her to look at him. “I will find her. Dinna fear, aye?”
He smiled when she nodded and then stepped around her.
“I’m coming with you,” Duff insisted, blocking his path.
“Nae,” Patrick told him. “I’ll no’ have any killin’. “I’ll be back before nightfall with her.”
“And what if you had something to do with this,” Duff accused, not moving, “this would be the perfect opportunity for you to slip away and never return. We’d never see you or Elsie again.”
“But ye will see her again. Tonight, if the Fergussons have her. Ye have m’ word.”
“The word of a snake?”
Patrick shook his head, unfazed by Duff’s insult, or knowing it was true and not bothering to deny it. “The word of yer cousin.”
Damnation, she’d forgotten to tell Duff that part.
“I too am a MacGregor, and when this is all over I’m goin’ to take ye home to meet yer kin. Now please, move aside and stay alive so I can keep m’ word to ye. I’m tryin’ to be a better man so I can win back yer sister.”
He turned and flashed her a confident smile then left the room when Duff moved to let him pass.
“He’s my cousin?” Duff asked her when they were the only two left standing.
“Aye, he is. We’ll speak of it more when he returns.” She patted his arm with her gaze fastened on Patrick’s departure. “Have a seat and give yourself a moment to absorb it, brother. I know ’tis all a shock.” She took a moment to smile at him. “It was for me as well. I will return in a moment.” She broke away. “I wish to remind Patrick to leave us with instructions for this poor stranger.”
“Whoever Patrick is,” Duff said, stopping her. “Elsie is my sister. It should be me who brings her home.”
“Why?” she asked succinctly. “Why does it have to be you?” She sighed looking at him and shook her head. “You’re as prideful as he is.” And as noble. Aye, as worried as she was about Duff going to Tarrick Hall, it warmed her heart toward him that he was willing to risk his life for their sister.
“Duff,” she led him tenderly toward the chair. “Stay here for me. We’ve lost many years. I’d like them back.”
She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, and then hurried out of the room.
She spotted Patrick leaving Mary’s side after a word with her. Hopefully to tell her how to continue treating the man in her children’s bed.
She watched him leave the house and without making herself known, crept out after him. The thought of following him hadn’t crossed her mind until Duff had brought it up. What if he was correct? What if Patrick had achieved his purpose and was now escaping without injury?
She had to go for Elsie’s sake. She prayed that once her brother discovered she’d gone, he wouldn’t follow her. But if he did, and he was correct about Patrick, they’d surely never see Elsie again. If they both died fighting to rescue her, then so be it.
If Duff was wrong, hopefully they wouldn’t be so far ahead when he realized she was gone that he couldn’t catch up. Once he did, she could ask Patrick to tie him to a tree.
She had to go because she needed to know who Patrick MacGregor was. Not by name or by blood, but what kind of man he truly was. It was why she was taking such a chance following him straight to her father’s enemy’s door. She had to know, once and for all, if there was anything redeemable about him.
No one saw her leap into her saddle and take off in Patrick’s direction, keeping a safe distance behind as his horse’s hooves tore up the ground.
Duff hadn’t shown up after an hour, and Charlie couldn’t believe how much her arse hurt. She’d never been in the saddle this long. She’d managed to stay behind at an even pace without being discovered, but there were more trees up ahead and she didn’t want to get lost by staying too far behind.
She had no choice but to speed up her mount. At the same time she did, she picked up a sound behind her. A horse. She turned, expecting to see Duff, and finding not one, but five horses bearing down on her.
One in particular was almost at her horse’s flank. She had no time to reach for her sling, no time to do anything but kick her horse and fly.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Patrick heard his name faint on the wind. He turned and saw Charlie thundering toward him with five riders at her back.
Cursing, he swung his mount around and yanked on his reins, drawing the horse up on its hind legs, clawing the air with its front. The instant all fours hooves were back on the ground, the beast took off at a full gallop.
“Aim fer heads,” he told her then rushed into the mêlée. “No’ mine!”
He preferred to fight on his feet, but horseback would have to do. He was going to need a sword. His quick eyes found only two men carrying them. The closest rider wasn’t one of them. Patrick was going to have to waste no time going through him first.
As he thundered closer with no sign of slowing down, his opponent hesitated. Patrick prepared to hoist the thief out of his saddle and bust his jaw.
A stone whipped by his ear and struck the thief between the eyes, felling him from his horse. This one was no longer a concern.
Patrick smiled as he charged on toward the sword-carrier. When it looked as if they were about to collide, Patrick veered left to pass him. He let go of the reins first and reached out to grab the thief by his neck. Without slowing his pace, he soon held the man suspended a few feet above the ground. He wasn’t so strong that he could keep up this feat for longer than a few moments, even less with one hand. But that was all the time he needed to swipe the thief’s sword and drop him.
Though he hadn’t felt the weight of such a blade in a while, the hilt felt familiar and his muscles took over. He reached the next rider and swung a mighty arc across the thief’s chest. The man went down spurting blood. Patrick turned to the next, and kicked his horse’s flanks, charging forward. The second rider with a sword held it aloft, ready to bring the rusty blade down on Patrick’s head.
Patrick blocked with his blade, which was in no better condition. No stone came from Charlie. That wasn’t a good sign.
Eager to see to her, he flipped his hilt into his right hand and brought his sword down against the other with a powerful blow that broke both blades. His opponent took a moment to look at the stump at his hilt. Patrick didn’t. He dropped his and moved in a blur of speed, grasping the man’s closed fist and using the hilt to knock him out, along with what few teeth he had left.
Free, Patrick whirled his mount around and found Charlie not far from where he’d left her. Two men, including the lead rider and the original owner of his sword lay unconscious or dead from one of Charlie’s stones.
The last rider had her out of her saddle and in his grips, a rusty blade held to her throat. Patrick’s bones shook at the thought of her dying at the hands of a thug. But this braw lass was having none of it. She tucked her hand beneath her skirts. When it reappeared, her fingers were closed around the hilt of her small black blade. Without hesitation, she sank the blade into her captor’s belly. He pulled away, writhing when Charlie turned, snatched back her blade from his flesh with her left hand and punched him in the face with her right.
Patrick raced forward, unable to stand by, no matter how good she was. But he was too late. Charlie’s hard, swift kick to her captor’s groin took him down before Patrick could.
Dismounting, he went to her and gave her a slow looking over. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
“Nay,” she told him, out of breath. “Are you?”
He gave her a smirk like she was mad. Then he grew serious again. “What are ye doin’ here?”
“I want to see to my sister, not sit around waiting.”
His gaze met hers. He could easily believe that she didn’t want to sit around waiting to hear news of her sister, but there was more to it. He saw it when she looked away first. “Ye dinna trust me.”
“You are calling me a liar,” she countered. “You of all people.”
Hell, she had a point. Still…“If ye were set on comin’ why did ye follow me in secret?”
She appeared to be thinking of her answer then stopped and scowled at him. “All right then, if you must know the full truth of it. Nay, I don’t trust anyone with my sister’s life. I—”
He stilled her words when he dipped his mouth to her ear. “Ye’re safe with me, lass. As are yer kin. Ye have m’ word.”
She looked up at him. There was nothing warm in her gaze. “Your word means verra little to me, Patrick MacGregor. I trusted you.”
“Ye still can,” he promised. Hell, how would he convince her? He was sorry he hadn’t told her the truth. He understood her anger, her resistance. He ached to kiss her, but he didn’t. Instead his gaze moved over her face, her hair, and back to her. “Fergive me, Charlie.”
But she shook her head and stepped away from him. “You expect me to believe you now that you care for me? A Cunningham?”
“I dinna give a damn what ye’re called. Ye’re a lass who has no trouble tellin’ me what she thinks, and withoot any sugary pretense.” His impish grin returned. “I like it. It keeps me on m’ toes.”
“If you find this amusing, then I’ve nothing more to say.”
“Ye please me. Is that so terrible?”
“You are insufferable,” she said moving toward her horse. “Do you get out of everything with charm?”
“I used to.”
She shoved her foot into the stirrup and lifted herself up. “Give me one reason I should trust you now when you’ve been nothing but deceitful.”
He bounded up into his saddle and nodded, giving her the point. “No’ everything was untrue,” he told her having no defense in her charge but one.
“The rest doesn’t matter,” she replied and rode away.
Patrick followed her. He wanted to tell her everything in his heart, but he’d never told anyone before. He didn’t know where to begin or if it would matter to her anymore. He certainly couldn’t tell her from his saddle while they thundered through Colmonell. Colmonell. What would his uncles think of her? What would his kin at home think of her? Would they believe he’d betrayed them by falling in love with her? He wanted to take her back to the heather muirs and forget the rest of the world. He wanted to promise her that he would never deceive her again.
“Patrick,” she called, slowing her horse and turning to him, her face pale. “We didn’t bring any butterbur! What if Elsie is ill? If she was kidnapped, she may need it!”
“There’s plenty of butterbur around Tarrick Hall,” he soothed, riding back to her and stopping at her side. “We’ll be welcome to it if we need it. If Elsie is even there.”
She stared at him as one moment passed to two as if waiting for him to realize what he’d just said. When he didn’t, she reminded him. “You said there was no butterbur in Colmonell.”
Hell.
“You cannot remember all your lies, can you?” She shook her head at him and rode away before he had time to reply.
“Charlie.” He caught up to her and moved his horse close. “How was I to tell ye where I’d been withoot revealin’ everything else?”
“Why didn’t—” she began and then stopped, her eyes growing wider on something behind him.
Patrick found out what…or who it was a moment later.
“What are ye doin’ on my land? Start explainin’ or I’ll kill ye where ye stand.”
Patrick took a moment to wink at Charlie before turning around to face their attacker.
He smiled at the man standing at the tree line, a sling and a stone ready to fly. “D’ye stand aroond every day waitin’ fer someone to throw yer rocks at, Uncle Tamas?”
Tamas Fergusson. Charlie hadn’t seen him since she was a child. He hadn’t changed. He still had the same dangerous, almost feral look about him, and the same fiery hair as Kendrick’s.
And all at once she was there, plunged into her past by the sight of Tamas and his sling—a young lass skipping in the field with Kendrick hot on her heels. Tamas’s voice calling to his nephew. He’d made something for him. Kendrick’s own sling. The sling Kendrick had later given to her.
“Patrick?” His uncle put away his weapon and smiled at him. “What brings ye back
so soon? And who is this?”
He didn’t recognize her. Then, Patrick hadn’t told his uncles about her, or where he had been staying.
She was still reeling from the discovery that Patrick had visited his uncles the day while Elsie had grown more ill, when he had supposedly gone to Craigneil. What had they spoken about? Kendrick, no doubt. That was why Patrick had seemed so angry at Duff after he’d returned. It was the first time Patrick had heard about what her brothers had done.
It proved, at least, that his arrival in Pinwherry that morning by the river was purely coincidental. He hadn’t stayed for any hidden purpose. Had he stayed for her?
“Uncle,” Patrick said gently from his mount. “I’ve come fer the gel.”
Tamas looked at her again, this time his creased eyes lingered on her as if her face were familiar and he was trying to place it. He shook his head. “What d’ye mean ye’ve come fer her?”
“He means my sister,” Charlie told him, her gaze on him, clear and somber. “Elsie. Elsie Cunningham.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Tamas Fergusson didn’t have much of a reaction to Charlie’s introduction. He looked angry, but then, that’s how Charlie remembered him always looking.
“Charlotte Cunningham,” he said, remembering her. “What makes ye think yer sister is at Tarrick Hall?”
“Is she?” Charlie asked him, lifting her brow. She wasn’t about to tell him what her idiot of a brother had done. If the Fergussons didn’t know Hendry had killed one of their tenants, she didn’t want to tell them and have them come riding into Pinwherry to exact revenge—if they didn’t already have Elsie. Besides, they were wasting time. “My sister suffers the ailment of asthma. She may need butterbur. If you have her—”
He scowled as if a bug had just flown down his throat. “The Fergussons dinna kidnap lasses.” He turned his frosty gaze to his nephew. “Ye came fer butterbur last time ye were here. Have ye been livin’ with the Cunninghams, then?”
Patrick’s heart reverberated through him, making him feel ill. There was nowhere to run from the betrayal tainting his uncle’s angry gaze. Just as there was nowhere to run from Charlie’s. Was this what trying to do the right thing cost a man? Honor was as bad as love.
