Oh, how I wish to get this night over with as quickly and painlessly as possible, she thought to herself. Surprisingly, she didn’t pass any other guests on her way down the hall. Am I late? she wondered.
When she arrived in one of many drawing rooms surrounding the ballroom, her unspoken question was answered. There were several people clustered together in groups, standing, or sitting as they made small talk, waiting for all the guests to be in attendance.
Thankfully she was not the last to arrive; that was always a rather shameful position.
Upon seeing her enter, her father excused himself from his conversation with a fellow peer and crossed the room to meet his child. “Jane, my dear girl! You look absolutely radiant. They will begin announcing guests soon. Do let me be your escort, dear,” Peter said, his chest puffing up with pride as he spoke.
He was a relatively tall man, nearing six feet, though when standing next to his daughter who herself was five foot seven he didn’t look quite as tall. While Jane was tall for a woman, she relished it. There were several of her suitors whom she had towered over and the power it had given her was something money could never buy.
“Of course, Papa. Whoever else would I want to escort me?” Jane said, feigning cheerfulness as best she could. While she despised the premise of the ball and having to attend it, she did not like to hurt her papa’s feelings. He was all she had left in this world and she would do anything she could to make him happy. Anything except marry someone she could not suffer being with.
Peter smiled down at his lovely daughter and patted her hand as she slipped it onto the crook of his arm. He wished that he didn’t have to push her to pick a suitor, but Edward was breathing down his neck about it. The man was getting insistent, though he couldn’t understand why it mattered so much to his brother that his niece be wed right away.
Edward was a bully, always had been, but as of late he was getting more and more pushy. Peter remembered a conversation they’d had just a few hours ago.
“You should just make these pandering peasants you cater to, go away, Peter,” Edward had said.
Peter had been aghast. “Make them go away? They’re people, Edward, not animals. They depend on me, depend on us, for their livelihood.”
Edward had sighed. “Every person under this roof is not your responsibility. You need to get a stiffer backbone, and do the things that need to be done. Like Jane.”
Peter hadn’t asked him what he meant, he hadn’t wanted to. Edward was constantly asking things of Peter that were beyond his control, especially lately. Peter, however, had always had a way to get out of doing things that Edward asked of him, especially things that were morally bankrupt, but his brother was quickly finding weak points in his armor to exploit. This night had been the result of one such argument lost.
Peter parted his lips to speak again but before he could get a word out, the large doors into the ballroom were opened and a smartly dressed footman stepped through them.
“The ballroom is ready, lords and ladies. Please come through and you will all be properly announced.” He gave a slight bow before he backed out of the doorway and took up his position against the wall, where he held out his hand for the first invitation card to be presented to him.
“I suppose that is our cue, my dear,” he mused and patted Jane’s hands once more, guiding her into the line of people waiting to enter the ballroom.
Giving her father one of her small, reassuring smiles, Jane gave her father’s arm a squeeze and steadily moved through the line with him. She watched as he pulled their invitation card from his pocket and presented it to the footman, who then announced to the ballroom that they had arrived.
“Sir Peter Keppel, brother to Earl of Compton, and his daughter, Miss Jane Keppel, niece to Earl of Compton,” the man announced in a voice loud enough to project throughout the massive ballroom. There was a spattering of clapping from those already inside the ballroom. Jane and her Father got a rather nice reception when they stepped through the doors and made their way toward the refreshment tables.
Jane spotted her uncle Edward standing near the table with the drinks and inwardly cursed her bad luck. She had hoped not to see him for another hour, at least! He was always fashionably late to parties, so why did he have to arrive on time to his own? He might be family, but he was always so overbearing, constantly asking her questions that made her uncomfortable. It was as though he didn’t understand etiquette, but she knew he’d gone to university, so surely, he must.
Trying not to let her discomfort show on the surface, she reached up to tuck the chronically annoying and ever-escaping lock of hair back behind her ear, and let her father lead her over to the punch table, where he greeted her uncle stiffly.
“Good to see you, as always, Brother, Niece,” Edward replied, lifting a glass of wine that he held in his hand and taking a long drink.
Setting the empty glass down on the table, Edward clasped his hands together behind his back and surveyed Jane with studious eyes. “You look lovely tonight Jane. Very good choice, the dress suits you. Would you do your dear uncle a favor and have your first dance with him?” he asked, bringing one of his hands out from behind his back and extending it to her expectantly. It was obvious by his tone of voice and posture that this was not something she should try and refuse.
“Of course, Uncle. I would love to dance with you,” Jane murmured, managing to keep the distaste from her voice as she let go of her Father and took her uncle’s outstretched hand, allowing him to lead her out onto the floor as the musicians began playing a minuet.
They bowed to each other and began to dance, moving steadily across the ballroom for several long moments before Edward broke the silence between them.
“Do try to dance with some decent men tonight, Jane. Your father went to great lengths to make this night a success for you. I would hate to see him disappointed, again, because you cannot pick a husband,” Edward said, his voice flat but the meaning behind his words was clear. He was trying to bait her and it wouldn’t work.
“I will dance with whomever I choose, Uncle, just as I chose to dance with you,” Jane growled under her breath, her body going stiff as she tried to contain her temper with the man.
He might be family, but he shouldn’t talk to me like that. “The right man will come along eventually. I do not understand the rush that you two feel for me to be married off,” Jane admitted, as she glanced up at her uncle again.
“The rush, my dear, is financial burden. Bringing you out every Season is not an inexpensive task, and your father is burdened with the cost every year. Surely you can understand that much. Find a husband and give your father some peace of mind,” Edward insisted as they danced.
Before Jane got a chance to say anything else the dance had ended and they separated. Edward bent over her hand and kissed it lightly before disappearing back into the crowd to find another drink.
Letting out the breath that she had been holding, she quickly left the ballroom floor and slipped in amongst the other party goers. In an attempt to take her mind off the frustrations her life was posing her, Jane acquired a glass of wine from one of the many footmen milling about the crowd and drank it quickly.
Finding a flat surface to set the now empty glass on, she went in search of her father. She wanted to please him, to make him happy, but this was the one thing she just couldn’t do. Picking a man without knowing him, without loving him, was ridiculous to her, and she could not fathom living her life with a man just because of propriety.
She spotted her father and sighed softly as she prepared herself for the conversation that was sure to come, taking a deep breath and steeling her nerves. Satisfied that she was ready to confront him, she began to weave her way through the crowd. She had nearly made it to his side when the ballroom was filled with screams of panic. One of the chandeliers on the ceiling came crashing down to the floor, shards of glass splintering and flying everywhere.
Chapter 2
“Are ye
sure ‘bout this, Bhaltair?” Dugald asked in a hushed whisper from where he crouched next to the burly man at the crest of a hill overlooking the Compton Estate. “It’s one thing t’come intae England no’ invited, but to attack an English house? It’s damned blasphemy.” Dugald swore and patted his chest with his flat palm, shifting back onto his heels as he looked down at the house through the light layer of fog. It provided them good cover for this kind of operation, but he still thought it was foolhardy.
Bhaltair rose up slightly from the ground, one hand still resting on the cool, damp grass as he turned to look at his longtime friend. This man was like his brother, the Godfather to his wee son, and Bhaltair was wise enough to listen to Dugald’s advice on most occasions. On this matter, however, he was resolute. He would not change his mind.
Reaching up with his free hand, he rubbed it over his face and rifled his fingers through his scruffy beard, straightening out the curly mass with a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. His beard was a darker shade than that of the dusty red hair on his head, but he was a true Scot, and his coloring proved it. He was burly and tall, standing nearly six foot four, with wide shoulders and long legs.
By far, he was one of the most identifiable Lairds from Scotland, but in the dark of night he could move stealthily through any town and find what he was looking for without being identified. Tonight, he was looking for revenge.
“I’m vera sure, Dugald,” Bhaltair returned in a quiet, yet deep voice that rumbled in his chest when he spoke. “Ye heard tha’ reports with yer own ears. The Earl of Compton had somethin’ to do with me beloved Rhona’s death, and me faither’s. We’ll make that bastard Earl pay fer what he has done.”
Bhaltair put his hand on the ground, digging into the dirt and clenching tightly on a clump of grass that he had ripped from the earth in his anger. Flicking the chunk of dirt and grass away he pushed himself up onto his feet and dusted his hands on his kilt.
“I ken they’re in there. I’ll make ‘im pay. I promised Rhona and me Da,” Bhaltair whispered under his breath to himself. He grabbed the lead to his horse, swung himself into the saddle, and with a squeeze of his knees, the black as night stallion took off at a dead run.
“Now!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, drawing his bow from its sheath on the side of his saddle, nocking an arrow on the string as he rode, steering the horse with his knees and the occasional nudge with his foot.
His men followed behind him on horseback, all drawing their bows and following their Laird’s lead. They trained the arrows on the open doors of the main ballroom as their steeds trampled through the main garden and leapt over hedges and rows of bushes.
The sound of the blood rushing through his body filled Bhaltair’s ears to the point that he almost heard nothing of what was going on around them, not even as the first screams of the party goers filled his ears. Arrows flew over his head, and with one last glance at his target, he let his loose, connecting with the rope holding up a chandelier.
He watched with a grin of satisfaction on his face as it hit the ballroom floor and shattered into a million shards. People were screaming and running for their lives, but his eyes were trained on two people, who seemed too stunned to move.
The Earl’s younger brother with his only daughter. Both frozen in shock, they stood against one wall by the refreshment tables, staring at the men on horseback as they rode into the ballroom through the open doors.
The woman responded faster than her father. After a few moments of gaping in surprise at the intruders, she turned and ran, her hands fisted in her skirts to keep them away from her feet. Bhaltair grinned to himself as he urged his horse through the throng of frantic people, racing right for her as she ran from her father, who still had yet to move. She lurched forward but in an instant, she was yanked away and up by a firm arm wrapped around her waist.
Bhaltair bellowed a war cry as he tossed the girl over his legs on her belly, one of his strong hands pinning her to his horse easily while he maneuvered the horse with the other.
“Get tha’ auld man!” Bhaltair yelled to his men. Dugald, being the closest, wheeled around on his horse immediately and raced after the older man who seemed to finally have come to his senses and was desperately trying to find a way out. He didn’t stand a chance against the stronger man. Dugald hefted him up onto his horse in a similar fashion to Bhaltair and Jane, pinning him against the horse as he turned the creature around and went right back out the way they came.
“I’ll have me revenge, Compton! Ye hear me?!” Bhaltair roared, the blood still rushing in his ears and blocking out any other noises as he swung his horse around and squeezed his knees, spurring the horse on out the door.
The black stallion leapt over the hedges with ease, covering ground so fast he was like a blur as they raced across the hills out of the area. They had a lot of ground to cover and very little time to do so before a search party or other retaliation might come in the wake of their attack. Luckily, a few of his men had wisely set a fire in one of the rooms of the manor during the chaos, so that should keep the people occupied for a while.
It took a few more minutes of hard riding before Bhaltair’s hearing came back to him. The shaking and kicking of the woman draped over his lap made him realize how much his horse was starting to falter from her struggling. Plus, there was the screaming.
“Let me go, you savage!” Jane screamed at the top of her lungs, pounding her fists against the Scot’s leg as hard as she could while she kicked her legs against the horse’s shoulder. The foolish lass was trying to dislodge herself from him, despite the speed at which they were traveling.
“Easy, lass! I won’t hurt ye. Be still before ye knock us both off tha’ damned horse!” Bhaltair snapped at her, slowing his horse to a trot so he could grasp her by the back of the dress. He hauled her up into his lap, her legs straddling the saddle. Despite his words of promise, she still struggled, grunting and lashing out at him with her fists. He finally grabbed them both in one hand and pinned them to her stomach where she couldn’t hurt him with them.
“Christ, lass, will ye stop? I told ye I wouldnae hurt ye,” he growled under his breath against her ear. “I dinnae want tae tie ye up, but if ye keep strugglin’ like this, I will.”
His grip on her hands was firm but not harsh enough to hurt her. His goal wasn’t to hurt an innocent woman, even if she was English. It was to hurt her uncle, to hit him right where it counts, just as Compton had done to him.
Jane panted heavily and sagged slightly against the massive man’s chest, the fight going out of her momentarily. He had lifted her so easily onto his lap with one hand and was pinning her now with the very same one.
She seemed to consider his words for a few minutes before he finally heard her real voice, one not strained by fright, but of caution. It was soft and lyrical, like that of the muses he had read about in Greek lore. It touched a place deep inside him that he long thought dead.
“Do you promise?” she whispered harshly, against the wind whipping past them that was tearing at her clothes and hair, pulling the strands of jewels from her curly locks until they were dangling.
He could tell by her shaking that she was scared. Perhaps his reassurances would help calm her down. They had a long ride and he couldn’t risk her trying to jump out of the saddle.
“I promise, lass. I won’t harm a hair oan yer wee head. Jus' hald still, would ye?” he grumbled against the top of her head, finally letting go of her hands when her body lost its tension.
Reaching up with his now free hand he untangled the strand of sapphires from her hair and tucked it into his pocket to return to her later, looping his arm around her waist to keep her secure against him as they traveled.
“Where are you taking me?” Jane asked in her soft voice, the fire gone out of her. Her uncle had been nowhere in sight when the attack had happened. Likely, he’d gone off to save himself and left everyone else to fend for themselves like the coward he was.
; She didn’t have the will to fight right now. He might be a Scot, but this man had promised not to hurt her. Never in her life had she held ill will against the Scots, nor any of the prejudices about them that her peers had. So she chose to believe his words, and take them at face value.
“Home, to Clan McColl. I’m gonnae ask ransom fer ye an' yer faither. Yer uncle is tha vilest man I ken… but even he kens tha’ worth o' family,” Bhaltair growled under his breath as he gave Jane a squeeze around her middle.
“Enough talk. Ye dinnae need tae see how we get there,” he muttered and pulled a gunny sack from his saddle bag, shaking it out and pulling it down over her head, blinding her.
Close by, her father was receiving the same treatment, though he had surrendered to his fate long ago. Now, his quiet pleas were for his daughter’s sake and not his own. Despite his hatred, Bhaltair found himself impressed with a man, who when faced with being a hostage and possibly with death, was concerned only with his child.
Highlander's Forbidden Soulmate Page 28
