Rogue of the Moors

by Cynthia Breeding

  “That has not been decided,” Alasdair countered.

  “Ah,” Owen said. “There seems to be some confusion.”

  “No confusion. My brother will make that decision,” Niall said and eyed Isobel. “If he decides to.”

  She blanched and then colored. “That decision may be closer than he thinks.”

  “Enough!” Alasdair’s tone was not loud, but it brooked no dissention. “This topic is closed.”

  But was it? Bridget started to reach for her wine but decided against it since her hand was shaking. If Isobel was with child, there would be no decision to make at all.

  As if heaven had heard Bridget and decided to answer that the possibility might be real, Isobel clutched her stomach, moaned, and slipped sideways in a swoon.

  * * * * *

  Hell fire and damnation. Alasdair’s temper was barely contained the next morning as he got dressed. Had he committed such a grievous sin that God had sent Isobel to torture him? Perhaps Satan had adorned himself in the guise of the blasted woman. Alasdair had seen the hurt in Bridget’s eyes before she’d looked away last night. The look had haunted his dreams. Or perhaps nightmares was a better choice of term.

  To complicate his misery, Isobel’s swoon—that he would wager was staged—had caused her to spend the night at the boarding house and share Annie’s room.

  A light knock sounded on his door, and he frowned, wondering if it was Isobel. She was the last person he wanted to see this morning. He’d told her he would see her back to her aunt’s this morning, but damn it, it would be on his time. Alasdair knew Niall had taken Bridget to the marine office, so it couldn’t be her knocking. Alasdair sighed and stomped to the door, anticipating a confrontation with Isobel.

  Annie stood in the hall when he opened the door. She wore such a somber expression that his anger vanished. “What is wrong? Has something happened to Bridget? Did Niall come back—”

  “Niall is not back. Bridget is fine,” Annie said. “May I come in?”

  Alasdair stepped back to allow her entrance. “Do ye want me to leave the door open?”

  She shook her head and blushed slightly. “Please doona take that the wrong way. I just have something I must say without other ears hearing.”

  Alasdair nodded, closing the door. “What is it, lass?”

  She looked highly uncomfortable. “I…doona quite ken how to put this. ’Tis nae something a woman talks about to a man.”

  Since Annie wasn’t the type to act coy, he was confused. “Is it Niall? Did he say something to offend ye?”

  She shook her head quickly. “’Tis nae Niall, although the mon can be irksome.”

  Most women didn’t think so, but Alasdair was beginning to suspect there might be more interest behind that remark than Annie would admit to. Still, it was not his business. “What is it then? Just speak plainly. I willnae judge.”

  “Ye ken Isobel shared my room and my bed last night.”

  “Aye” He didn’t want Isobel in his bed either. “’Tis sorry I am about that.”

  Annie shrugged. “Perhaps it was for the best.”

  Now Alasdair was thoroughly confused. “I doona understand.”

  She hesitated another moment and then took a deep breath. “This morning when Isobel arose to do her ablutions, I noticed blood on the sheet where she had lain. I made the bed quickly so she wouldn’t notice.”

  Alasdair stared at Annie as comprehension soaked in. “Her courses?”

  Annie nodded. “’Twas nae much, but enough. Isobel is nae with child.”

  He refrained from picking Annie up and twirling her around. He doubted Annie would appreciate it. He wanted to shout his jubilation to the entire world, although sticking his head out the window and yelling the MacDonald victory cry probably wouldn’t be the best thing to do. He was free. At least partially. The relief at knowing he had not sired a child with the woman was staggering.

  “Do ye want me to save the sheet?” Annie asked.

  “That might be a good idea,” Alasdair said, thinking that it was somewhat ironic that displaying blood on sheets was usually to attest to virginity, but this would be proof if he needed it. “I cannae tell ye how grateful I am ye noticed the blood.”

  Annie gave him a little smile as she moved to the door and opened it. “’Twas strange actually. I had been dreaming of sitting on a rock in a glade near a burn, enjoying the warmth of the sun. When I looked up—in my dream—an old woman stepped out from the trees across the water. She pointed down to where a whirlpool began to form. The center of it was red though, and the sky suddenly grew dark. That’s when I awoke and looked down at the sheet and saw the blood.” Annie gave a little shiver. “Do ye think it could have been a faerie who invaded my dream?”

  Alasdair felt the same shiver. Annie had just described the place in the hills near Arisaig. He didn’t know of any faerie mounds near the place, but the Highlands were rife with stories of the Fae, so it was better not to be too skeptical. “I doona ken, Annie.”

  “Well, who are we to question?” Annie said philosophically. “I have another piece of good news though.”

  Alasdair pulled on his coat. “What is that?”

  “Mr. MacLean offered—insisted might be more accurate—to escort Isobel back to her aunt’s. She is gone.”

  Alasdair couldn’t help grinning. Another problem solved. And if MacLean was interested in Isobel, he was more than welcome to her.

  * * * * *

  Isobel stepped into the rented hack and gave the driver instructions for an obscure hotel bordering the East End. She wished Gordon would have chosen a better establishment for their rendezvous, but he had explained he didn’t want her reputation ruined by possibly being seen by someone of importance. It made sense, she supposed, although she was still suspicious of his motive.

  She wouldn’t have to be making this trip at all if the seed of one of the damn fools she’d lain with had taken. But no. This morning when she’d gotten back to her aunt’s townhouse, she’d discovered her courses had come, despite taking that foul-tasting potion the old crone had said would work. Fie. Isobel couldn’t trust anybody.

  Especially not that loathsome Owen MacLean. She’d been waiting for Alasdair to come down to escort her to her aunt’s when Owen had appeared and said he’d like a private word with her. Since he had been watching her at dinner last night, she’d naturally assumed he’d changed his mind and wanted to arrange for an assignation. Spreading her thighs for one more man was a small price to pay. Owen had wealth and ambition, and she could have used such a social connection.

  Instead, he had issued a warning, perhaps even a threat. It had been subtle and mixed with stories of Highland pride that she had to listen to, but the message was still clear. If she cuckolded Alasdair, not only would the MacDonalds unite behind him, but the MacLeans and MacLeods as well.

  She didn’t really care about all that clan nonsense since she had no desire to live anywhere near Scotland once she married Alasdair, but she was troubled that Owen was trying to sniff out a scandal.

  Not that she should have anything to worry about. The men she had taken for lovers all had considerable influence and status. Not one of them would acknowledge any kind of liaison since they had too much to lose. It was precisely for their affluence that Isobel had chosen them in the first place. None of them wanted their wives to find out and possibly risk divorce, since it was becoming more common, and more importantly, the potential loss of wealth that came with it.

  No, her secrets should be safe.

  The carriage stopped in front of the shabby hotel and the driver, probably not impressed with the neighborhood, didn’t jump down to help her out. Isobel opened the door and kicked the steps down to descend. She paid the driver and deliberately left the steps down so he would have to get off his bench anyhow.

  Isobel heard him mutter a curse,
but she didn’t look back. Gordon would be waiting. She didn’t know if it was possible to get with child while she had her courses, but she wanted to keep a weekly dalliance going with Gordon.

  After all, she was running out of time.

  * * * * *

  Although Alasdair didn’t want to gloat, especially since he thought some form of non-human intervention had played a part in finding Isobel not with child, he still felt euphoric as he made his way to Walker’s the next afternoon.

  Last night, he’d asked Bridget and Niall to join him at a secluded table in the back of the dining room and he’d told both of them what Annie had discovered. Bridget had given him such a radiant smile that he’d been tempted to take her upstairs, tear off their clothing, and spend the entire night coupling with her. His desire must have shown, because Niall had clapped him so hard on his back that he’d spilled half his ale. His brother said it was congratulatory, but Alasdair also understood what wasn’t said. He was not quite a free man—yet.

  Several of the same men he’d met the last time he’d come to Walker’s greeted him, but one was a stranger.

  “This is Baron Ross,” the colonel said as he introduced the man. “He is lord of Hawksnest, County Renfroe.”

  The man’s handshake was firm, but it was his hawk-like gaze that impressed Alasdair the most. His eyes penetrated, as though he searched the depths of the soul hidden behind a man’s outward façade. “I have a few questions for you, Mr. MacDonald,” the baron said without preamble. “Perhaps we could find a table?”

  “Aye. Wherever ye wish to sit,” Alasdair replied. He noted that after the baron had chosen a corner table, the other men gave him curious looks. Two took chairs close by only to move after the baron glanced at them. Apparently, Baron Ross wielded a great deal of authority.

  “Would you like a whisky?” he asked.

  “Nae, thank ye.”

  “Brandy then? Ale perhaps?”

  “Nae,” Alasdair said again. “I prefer to keep a clear head during the day.”

  “As do I,” the baron said.

  Alasdair had the feeling he may just have passed some kind of test. Some time later, he was sure of it. For almost an hour, the baron grilled him on everything from the working conditions surrounding Arisaig to Glasgow’s unions striking, and the lingering acrimony between England and Scotland. At the end of the conversation, he asked about Alasdair’s family and said he’d met Erik Henderson on several occasions. Then the baron took his leave.

  Colonel Boothe joined Alasdair a short time later, a small smile lifting a corner of his mouth as he set down two tankards of ale. “You look like you could use this.”

  “Aye.” Alasdair took a big swallow and allowed the liquid to soothe his parched throat. He hasn’t realized how much talking he’d done.

  “Baron Ross is not a man to mince words,” the colonel said. “Did you find him intimidating?”

  Alasdair shook his head. The man had interrogated him like a prisoner, but he hadn’t felt intimidated. But then, he was a MacDonald. “Baron Ross was direct. I like that in a mon.”

  “Good.” The colonel took a swallow of ale and set the tankard down. “He will be the one to sponsor you in Parliament.”

  “He will help me acquire the number of votes I need?” Alasdair asked.

  “In a manner of speaking. The baron’s constituency allows for two representatives. One of those is quite close to receiving pension. Once that occurs, it’s simply a matter of the baron collecting the votes from his people. That poses no problem.” The colonel paused. “There is one other thing, however.”

  “What is that?”

  “Baron Ross believes in fidelity.”

  Alasdair blinked at the sudden change in subject. “So do I.”

  The colonel took another sip of ale. “The baron is one of the few happily married men that I know.”

  A touch of uneasiness stirred inside Alasdair. It had probably been obvious at the ball that he was not besotted with Isobel. Had he spent too much time watching Bridget and been observed? Did the colonel think Alasdair was probably already cheating on his betrothed? Of course, Alasdair hoped to rectify that issue. Still, he didn’t want the colonel to think Bridget was the kind of woman to be someone’s mistress.

  “I am nae a mon to stray. Nor would I trifle with another woman’s affections.”

  “No, I suppose you would not.”

  The colonel looked like he wanted to say more. He coughed, then cleared his throat, after which he surveyed the room, a strange expression on his face.

  “What is it ye are getting at, Colonel Boothe?” Alasdair asked. “I would ask that ye just speak plain.”

  The colonel cleared his throat again, looked up at the ceiling, then down at his ale. Finally, he met Alasdair’s gaze. “Before I say anything, I want you to remember dueling is outlawed, however much it might be the right thing to do.”

  “Dueling? Why would I wish to duel with ye?”

  “Not just me.” The colonel took a deep breath. “Probably half a dozen men in this room have had intimate relations with Isobel Howard.”

  “What?”

  “I will not give you names because, as I said, dueling is outlawed. Still, I think before you accept a seat in Parliament, you should know that Baron Ross will not approve of your betrothed’s past, should he find out.”

  Alasdair forced himself to remain seated, although what he really want to do was a full rendition of a Highland jig. He had to be sure he had heard correctly. “’Tis a serious accusation. How do ye ken that Isobel has had…relations with these men?”

  The colonel eyed him warily, probably wondering how many weapons he carried “It is a serious accusation. I would not say it if it were not true.”

  Alasdair put his hands on the table to show he had no intention of drawing any of the knives he had tucked away. “I would hear the truth.”

  Colonel Boothe took another deep breath. “About three years ago, Lord Kinney—an elderly lecher who passed away a year ago—noticed Isobel Howard at a charity event. He thought it would be grand sport to entice and deflower a vicar’s daughter. When he approached her and offered coin, he was surprised at how eager she was to accept. The old fool bragged to a friend that the girl was willing to do whatever he asked. For enough coin, of course. Soon the friend wanted a sample. Then he passed her on to another. And so it went.”

  Alasdair stared at Colonel Boothe. Why had Simon not heard of this? “Did that nae create a scandal?”

  The colonel shook his head. “The men involved knew, or at least thought, they had a good thing. Lord Kinney introduced Isobel to a healing woman who kept her from getting with child and also kept the pox away. The fewer men who knew about Isobel, the better. Besides, everyone had status or a position to protect.” He paused. “I am sorry. I understand you want to defend her honor.”

  Alasdair didn’t want to do anything of the sort. He was tempted to go around the room and shake the hand of every man in it, but they’d think he was a barmy Highlander for sure. He couldn’t help grinning though. He’d just been handed all the information he needed.

  The colonel watched him apprehensively. “You are not exactly reacting as I would have thought.”

  Alasdair’s grin widened. “Nae? Ye doona ken how much I have wanted to break the betrothal. Now I can.” He stood and looked around the room, which had grown silent. “Thank ye,” he said and walked to the door. “Thank all of ye.”

  * * * * *

  “What vicious lies!” Isobel declared a half hour later when Alasdair confronted her in the parlor of her aunt’s townhouse. “Lies! Why would you even listen to such dribble?” She sank to the sofa and began to sob. “How could you believe such horrible lies?”

  Alasdair remained standing. He had no intention of staying any longer than needed to finish this. “Because I suspect what I was tol
d is truth.”

  “Oh!” She threw a pillow that bounced harmlessly off him. “How can you insult me this way?”

  “I have nae wish to insult ye. I came to tell ye this betrothal is broken.”

  “You cannot go back on your word.”

  Alasdair set his jaw. “I can if my oath was given to false circumstances.”

  “You lied to me then.” Isobel put a hand over her stomach protectively. “What if I am with child? I have not been feeling well in the mornings. I have not had my courses either.”

  “Ye are the one who lies, Isobel.”

  She glared at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Blood was found on the sheets ye slept on. ’Tis proof ye doona carry a child.”

  “That was Annie’s blood, not mine.”

  “I doona think so.”

  Isobel studied him, her eyes as cold as a winter’s frozen burn. “Are you not forgetting about your sister? All I have to do—”

  “Ye will do nothing.”

  She arched a brow and smiled. “You think not?”

  He regarded her much as he might a gambler at a poker table. “Ye forget, Isobel, that I will soon be a Member of Parliament, thanks to your efforts.” Alasdair grinned at the irony. “If any of the wives of the men ye cuckolded were to hear of those affairs, ye can rest assured ye will never receive a single invitation to any Society event. Ever.”

  “Those men will turn their backs on you.”

  “Rumor is an insidious creature, seeping in below stairs as easily as a cockroach. Servants are wont to talk.” Alasdair shrugged. “No one will ken the source of how the gossip spread.”

  Isobel narrowed her eyes. “That would hardly be honorable of you.”

  “Where ye are concerned, honour left the room long ago. I will do what I must.” Alasdair turned toward the door. “This is finished.”

  “Do not turn your back on me!” Isobel shrieked. “This is really about that bitch Bridget MacLeod, isn’t it? You want to—”

  “Ye leave Bridget out of this.” Alasdair turned around and ducked as a china figurine hit the wall behind him. “I am nae marrying ye.”