The Iron Earl

by K. J. Jackson

  “Evalyn—stop.”

  She craned her neck to look behind her as she gained her feet, her boots slipping through the dirt.

  Lachlan.

  He reached out and gripped her forearm, steadying her on her feet. “Why did you run out of there? You forgot your pelisse.” His fingers left her arm and he draped her cape across her shoulders.

  She’d forgotten how cold it was outside. Forgotten everything of what was happening around her—the need to escape had so harshly taken a hold of her.

  Lachlan rounded her, both of his hands clamping onto her shoulders as he studied her face. “What are you doing out here? You look like you saw the devil himself—you still look it.” He glanced back at the building, his look dipping to the vomit on the ground. Worry settled into his hazel eyes before he looked back to her.

  She lifted the back of her hand to her mouth, her kidskin glove dragging across her lips. “You didn’t need to leave the trial—I know how important it is to you.”

  His eyes narrowed at her. “You were running, Eva. Escaping. I’ve seen this look on your face before. Tell me.”

  As much as she tried to keep her eyes on his face, her look slipped to the red brick of the courthouse.

  Hell. She couldn’t tell him. He was ready to kill someone as it was. She couldn’t give him a target.

  His gaze followed her look, then snapped back to her. “Evalyn. You need to tell me right now what is happening.”

  “I will tell you back at the castle.”

  “You’ll tell me now.” His fingers dug into her shoulders.

  “No.”

  “Eva—”

  “What happened in there?” She lifted her hand, pointing at the building. “What did that man testifying say?”

  Lachlan exhaled a seething breath, his head shaking. The worry in his eyes was instantly replaced with rage. “He said that Lipinstein isn’t one of his men. That he had nothing to do with the fire. That he was now short three men because my brother and I killed them.”

  She gasped, her hand going to her throat. The callousness. Of course, that was exactly the person Mr. Molson was. “The blackguard.”

  Lachlan dropped his hands from her shoulders, turning from her as he pulled free a silver flask from inside his overcoat. He pulled the stopper and drank a long swallow.

  “Exactly.” Shaking his head, he looked to her, holding the flask out to her.

  Her last foray with Scottish whisky did not go well for keeping her wits about her. But she needed the sting of whatever was in that bottle to wipe the bile from her mouth. To embolden her for what she was going to have to tell Lachlan.

  She took the flask from his hand and set it to her lips.

  One sip, and it burned a slow trail down her throat. Brandy. She took another drink, filling her mouth. Too much, but she choked the vile liquid down.

  Her eyes lifted to see him watching her intently. As much as she guessed she needed a third swallow, she handed the flask back to him. “So what is going to happen to Mr. Lipinstein?”

  Lachlan shrugged, taking one last drink before setting the stopper in place and tucking the flask back into his coat. “Domnall talked to one of judges at the end of yesterday—he said they would send the bastard to Newgate in London to await trial on smuggling charges. The judges all knew and respected Jacob, so he said that they would ensure Lipinstein will rot there for some time before his trial—they were to make sure on it.”

  Her bottom lip jutted up in a frown. “A small consolation.”

  “Miniscule.” Lachlan’s face contorted in rage for a short second, and then he exhaled, looking at her. “But that’s not my worry at this moment.”

  “What is?” Her look darted about, a rabbit in a snare.

  “You. We’re going back to Vinehill and then you’re going to tell me exactly what has happened to light the terror in your eyes.”

  “Lachlan—”

  “Or would you prefer to tell me here?” His eyebrow arched.

  She glanced at the courtroom building. Mr. Molson would be exiting soon. Possibly coming back to the stables. Panic started to tighten her throat, but she forced what she hoped was a smile on her face.

  She nodded. “Vinehill. As long as we leave directly.”

  ~~~

  Lachlan stared at his wife as she stepped away from the carriage. A rogue breeze, almost balmy, cut through the chilly air and a tendril of auburn hair that had escaped from under her small black bonnet lifted from her temple.

  “You are positive your feet are recovered enough for this?”

  “I believe so. You said the trail was not too long?” She lifted her foot out past the dress and military-inspired pelisse that a maid had procured from his sister’s wardrobe this morning. “The boots you found for me have just enough room that they are not rubbing my skin raw again. When did you have time to retrieve them?”

  “After you fell asleep last night.”

  “You got out of bed?”

  “Yes—why?”

  “It—” Her brow furrowed, perplexed. “It is odd that I did not feel you move—hear you leave.”

  Lachlan turned to the carriage driver and waved him onward up the long drive to Vinehill. He needed to talk to his wife alone and he didn’t want to have a conversation with her in his chambers where he was driven to distraction with thoughts of stripping her bare. It had only taken a day with her ensconced in his rooms and he already realized he was helpless against it—could think of little else other than getting lost in her.

  Last night he had thought it peculiar, how his anger over his brother’s death didn’t manifest when she was in his arms. Once—in his bed—it was an anomaly. But twice?

  Twice was much more than that.

  When she had grabbed his hand at the trial, it was as though a thousand sparks of light had descended upon him and doused away the searing hatred burning him from the inside out.

  Her hand clasping his in the courtroom had been the second time her touch had quelled the demons that refused to set him free. He’d only been given that respite for a few minutes in the courtroom before she’d torn her hand from his and escaped from the room.

  Now he intended to find out the exact reason she’d run so fast from the trial.

  He turned to Evalyn and offered his elbow to her. She slipped her gloved hand into the crook of his arm and he was already regretting not bringing her to his room forthwith. If he had satiated himself, they could speak without the anger from the trial still coursing through his veins.

  They started walking, leaves crunching under their feet as they moved onto the trail that branched into the woods from the main drive.

  “It is odd that I left the bed or odd that you didn’t hear me leave?” he asked.

  She glanced up at him, her gold-green eyes intent on him for a long moment. Curious, even. “That I didn’t hear you. I hear everything and don’t usually sleep well. I wake up at the slightest creak.”

  He patted her hand on his arm. “Then I admirably performed my husbandly duties and sufficiently wore you out.”

  “Admirable, was it?” She chuckled. “Does that mean I failed my wifely duties since you didn’t fall into a dead man’s sleep?”

  His look ran down her torso and back up again, his eyes hungry. “You performed splendidly. But you also possess a unique ability to compel me to want more—more of you, more of your body. That is what keeps me awake.”

  “Why didn’t you rouse me?” A wicked smile lifted her right cheek. “And why in the heavens did you have us let out here for a walk back to the castle?”

  Lachlan inclined his head. “For that exact reason. I didn’t want to be driven to distraction. Not when I have answers to extract from you.”

  The mirth disappeared from her face. Easiness he instantly regretted scourging from her eyes.

  There was nothing for it now. His look pinned her. “Why did you run from the courtroom?”

  Her eyes scurried away from him, concentrating on the
low, barren branches passing by above her head. “We cannot just leave this day behind us? Leave the trial to be buried as a distant memory?”

  “We can if I know what sent you running—sent you trying to escape.”

  “I wasn’t trying to escape you.”

  “I didn’t say you were trying to escape me, Eva. But you were trying to escape something and I want to know what it is.”

  Her feet slowed, her look venturing to him. “That man I told you about—the one my stepfather sold me off to?”

  His feet stopped and he turned to her. “You mean the bastard that threatened to make you bleed?”

  She nodded, her lips pulling into a tight line. Her hand slid from his arm. “It was Mr. Molson.”

  “Bloody hell, Evalyn. The Mr.—the Mr. Molson that took the stand today? The one that clears the Swallowford lands?”

  She nodded.

  His words slowed, his voice dipping to a growl. “That same bastard that walked into the courtroom today—the very same?”

  She cringed, nodding.

  Rage like he’d never known swept through him. However it manifested on his face, it sent fear spiking through Evalyn’s eyes and she took a step backward.

  He spun from her, a visceral snarl churning from his belly and escaping into the crisp air as he stalked to the closest tree and slammed his fist into it. And again.

  The pain of the shock vibrating up his arm only fed the fury. This wasn’t his brother’s fiery death. This wasn’t his parents slipping away in their sleep. Those things had always been out of his control.

  This was the devil himself threatening the one thing he’d sworn to protect in this life.

  His wife.

  A wife he was quickly realizing he would do anything to keep safe.

  His fist slammed into the tree a third time, his glove ripping, blood splattering through the leather.

  “Lachlan, stop.” Evalyn’s hands clamped onto his upper arm, halting his next swing.

  He tried to shrug her off, but her grip was rock solid.

  “Stop, please, just stop.”

  He looked down at her. The fear that had manifested in her eyes had been replaced with anxious worry.

  Hell. He was scaring her. Scaring her and she was still trying to stop him—stop his anger from taking a hold of him.

  But he needed that anger. Needed to carve it into a fine, deadly point that would be unleashed once he traveled back to Stirling and found Mr. Molson.

  The main drive. The main drive would be faster than the trail.

  He spun away from her, trying to shake her from his arm as he stalked toward the drive. “I’m going back to Stirling.”

  “No, you cannot, Lachlan.” Her heels dug into the fallen leaves, the dirt, and she wouldn’t let him go even as he dragged her along with him. “Just stop—you can’t go back.”

  Her toe tangled with a root that tripped her feet. She fell forward, her hold slipping down his arm.

  Shake her off and she’d fall to the ground—and he’d be free of her. Free to go kill the bastard.

  Or help her to her feet.

  He glanced back at her dangling from his arm.

  Blasted stubborn woman.

  Hell.

  He spun, grabbing her arm and yanking her upward until her feet were solid under her. For a long moment their stares locked only inches away from each other, her breath heavy against his.

  “Dammit to Hades, Eva.” Lachlan let her arm go and ripped off his right glove. He shook his hand, staring down at his bloody knuckles. “This is why you didn’t tell me back at the courtroom, isn’t it?”

  Her hands slipped from his upper arm even though she still looked ready to strike—to reach out and tackle him once more if needed. “Yes. I didn’t want you to approach Mr. Molson in your current state. He is well connected through my stepfather—through the Duke of Wolfbridge.”

  “You think I give a damn about his connections? You think that the man doesn’t need to have my knuckles implanted into his nauseating face?”

  “I think I don’t want to see you hanged for murder.” Her arms folded across her chest. “And I especially don’t want him to see me.”

  “You think I cannot protect you?” His words seethed through gritted teeth.

  “You need to stop telling me what I’m thinking, Lachlan.”

  “Then tell me what the hell you are thinking, Evalyn.” His hands curled into fists. She noticed the motion immediately, her gold-green eyes flickering down to his hands before they lifted to study his face.

  She didn’t take a step back. Didn’t cower. “What I’m thinking is that Mr. Molson doesn’t know I’m here in Scotland—doesn’t know I escaped Wolfbridge with you. He would have already come for me at Vinehill if he knew. He and my stepfather. He thinks he owns me, Lachlan, and he was done waiting for my stepfather to give me to him. They played a game of their own perverse battle of wills—and I was the ultimate prize. I knew that. And I knew it was soon to be over, that my stepfather was handing me over to him.” Her right hand lifted from her chest and she rubbed her forehead. “Mr. Molson is not about to give one of his possessions up—and that’s exactly what I am—a trinket to pull out and abuse whenever the mood strikes him.”

  Her voice cracked on her last few words and he realized how very terrorized she was at the possibility that Mr. Molson saw her. Her fear didn’t have anything to do with his ability to protect her. Didn’t have anything to do with the fact that she was now his wife. It had everything to do with the years of living in fear of her stepfather and Mr. Molson.

  His fists unclenched.

  “Please, Lachlan.” Her hand dropped from her forehead. “It is easier for everyone if he doesn’t even know I’m here with you. That we married. I could be on a ship to America for all he is aware.”

  “He’s going to find out eventually, Eva. Both he and your stepfather have too many dealings in the area not to find out. It’s no secret at Vinehill that I took a wife.”

  “Yes, but the longer it takes…” Her chest lifted in a deep sigh. “It’s just better this way—time—time will help.” Her right cheek lifted in a wry smile. “Forever would help.”

  Lachlan exhaled a deep breath, his rage dissipating.

  She was right.

  What she didn’t need was her husband stalking off fully cocked and ready to destroy a man. If he removed Mr. Molson permanently from her life the cost would be his own life and that would leave her to the mercy of her stepfather again.

  That was the last thing he would let happen.

  He’d have to talk to Domnall when they got back to the castle. Secure his oath to marry Evalyn should anything ever happen to him. He’d been thinking on it for days and he needed to secure the promise from his friend.

  Blood still seeped from his knuckles and he wiped his glove against the raw skin, then looked at her. “I won’t go into Stirling to find Mr. Molson.”

  “You swear it?”

  His head cocked to the side. “All I can promise you is not today. Today he escapes my wrath.”

  For a long second she looked to protest, then she nodded.

  “Shall we continue up to the castle?” He held out his elbow to her.

  Evalyn took it and they started forth on the trail again. The leaves crisp under their boots, the sharp smell of decaying summer held in the air. Frost and snow would be blanketing the land before he blinked.

  Halfway to the castle with Evalyn worrying her bottom lip the entire time, her steps slowed and she looked up at him. “Why did you marry me, Lachlan?”

  He glanced down at her, his eyebrow lifting. He knew a trap when he heard one. “What do you need to know?”

  “Why you decided to marry me, for a start.”

  Lachlan shrugged. “I married you because you needed marrying.”

  “That was all?”

  Evade. Evade at all costs. He nodded. “I needed a wife. One of my choosing. And I like your spirit, Eva. Not to mention you are a beautiful
woman.”

  Her lips drew inward and she took several more steps in silence, her fingers along his arm tensing.

  “Need there be more to it than that?”

  “No.” She shook her head.

  Ten more steps and her feet stopped on the trail, her hand dropping from the crook of his elbow.

  Dammit.

  A step past her he halted, closing his eyes for a long breath. He turned back to her.

  “Evalyn?”

  “If Mr. Molson is the one that has been clearing the Swallowford lands, then he is doing so on my stepfather and the Duke of Wolfbridge’s behalf.” She met his look, her gold-green eyes skewering him. “You know exactly who my stepfather is and you blame him for Jacob’s death don’t you, Lachlan?”

  There was no denying it. Not if he was ever to gain the trust in her eyes.

  “Yes.”

  Her lips drew in for a long moment, pulling so hard against her teeth her skin turned a bright white. She exhaled a puff of breath. “So tell me marrying me had nothing to do with the fact that you’ve always known exactly who I am. Who my stepfather is and what he’s done to these lands. Tell me marrying me had nothing to do with your hatred for him.”

  Bloody hell.

  He looked up at the grey sky through the barren branches above, hoping for intervention.

  None came.

  His look dropped to her and he met her piercing gaze. “Yes. It had everything to do with that, Evalyn. Everything.”

  { Chapter 16 }

  Revenge.

  He’d married her for revenge.

  Lachlan’s face, his form went blurry before her as the fact rolled through her body like a ship being launched, slamming into her gut and sending waves of devastation into every nerve.

  It hadn’t been pity as she had suspected. It hadn’t been because he’d actually taken a liking to her.

  No. Revenge pure and simple.

  She’d always been her stepfather’s pawn to do with whatever he desired.

  Now she was Lachlan’s pawn.

  She’d figured it out as she retched behind the courtroom, the disparate pieces of the last weeks finally fitting snugly together.