Drew, however, was unaware of this and did not seem to care. His brows knitted together, his nostrils flared. He was deadly serious. “How many men?”
“Ten? Fifteen? I have lost count, I admit.”
“Fifteen. All right.” He nodded firmly, then lifted her by the waist into the chair she’d abandoned moments earlier. She was too surprised at his sudden shift in demeanor to swat his hands away.
“All right? What does that mean?”
“It means fifteen men and this Malcolm ought to be no great trouble.” He smashed his fist into his palm, a gleam coming into his eyes which she’d never seen before.
“What are ye saying?” She jumped to her feet. “I dinna want to believe it is as it sounds.”
“What does it sound like?” He grinned, teeth flashing as his eyes had. At that moment, he reminded her of nothing so much as an animal having scented its prey. He was determined to make Malcolm suffer.
It was all happening too quickly, all at once. “Ye canna just yet. Wait, think. Plan.”
“I shall take men with me from the village, along with the magistrate, and we shall ride out to Malcolm Stuart’s and deliver justice. Dinna ye fear.” He grinned, dashing and hopelessly foolish all at once—to say nothing of being roguishly handsome. He had never been so handsome to her as he was then, with his eyes shining so.
“I canna allow this!”
He scowled. “I dinna recall asking if ye allowed it.”
“What if—” She could not bring herself to finish the thought, but her blood ran cold just the same. What if something dreadful happened?
What if he was injured, or worse?
“There is no telling what those men will do, especially while in their cups. They normally are,” she added with a roll of her eyes. “How will I know ye will not suffer?”
His brows lifted. “Does it truly matter so much to ye whether or not I suffer, lass?”
Her impulse was to offer a sharp retort, but she could not bring herself to do so. Not with the image of him lying somewhere, bleeding and bruised, so fresh in her mind. When she thought of it, she could barely breathe.
“Why are ye doing this?” She searched his face for some meaning, some understanding of why anyone would go to such lengths. How could he, when he owed them nothing?
Was he even to be trusted?
The corner of Drew’s mouth quirked up in a smirk. “I could not say, lass. Perhaps because I believe right is right. And it does not feel right to me, here.” He tapped his chest. “It sounds daft, I ken. Like the talk of bairns or—forgive me—of women. But that is what I know to be true. I’ve relied quite a bit on what I feel in here when there is a choice to be made, and it has never led me astray.”
His gaze traveled across the room, to the hearth. His smirk turned to a faint, rueful smile. “I tried to ignore it once, I admit. When we were riding to this very farm, that we might take it back from Ian MacFarland. Davina’s brother, ye ken. I became angry, and I admit I hardly recall the reason behind it, but we fought, and I rode away alone. It was not more than an hour before guilt caught up to me. I could not outrun it, no matter how I tried. It was wrong to leave them when they needed me, and it was right to take what belonged to my kin. I was waiting for Rufus and the others along the road from Avoch when they made their charge on the farm, and I joined them once again.”
He blew out a short sigh. “Now, knowing what ye told me, how can I allow either of ye to suffer when ye suffered for so long? There is no one else to speak on your behalf. I will be the one to do it.”
Anne’s stomach turned to butterflies, her gaze traveling over every inch of him. Was it possible for this man to be so noble? So decent? How different he was to the man she’d first taken him for.
He returned his attention to her, and they stood face-to-face. He was mere inches taller than she, barely enough that she need stand on tiptoe to brush her lips against his unshaven cheek.
She lingered there, taking in the nearness of him, the scent of his skin, even the coarseness of his whiskers. His hands closed over her arms—gently, not rough as he’d been at first, that evening in the barn. Now he was tender, caressing, sending waves of gooseflesh rippling up and down as he touched her.
Now, he turned his face to hers and caught the corner of her mouth with his own.
Now, she forgot to breathe, her heart hammering wildly and her stomach turning over and over in delight. Was this true? Was it real? How was it possible?
There was no telling. She only knew that it was right, and that she’d wanted to kiss him for some time.
Judging by the way he caught her chin in one hand and held her steady, he’d wished for the same thing.
His arms closed about her moments later, pulling her in, all but crushing her against his powerful body. All of the passion she sensed in him—his fighting nature, his temper, the depth of his love for the twins—all of it poured out of him as they kissed, and she accepted it gladly. It meant accepting him, and she wished to so very much.
For he accepted her. He saw her, he seemed to understand her. The lonesome, wounded heart she’d guarded so carefully reached out for his, longing now for nothing more than connection. The thrill of being in his arms, of feeling the wild beat of his heart in his chest. A beat which matched that of her own.
“Och, Anne,” he whispered, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her throat. It was joy, pure and simple, and she reveled in it for the short time they had together. If this moment was all life granted them, she wished to soak in every bit of it. “Anne, Anne, what has happened to me?”
She did not dare speak it or even think it to herself, for the moment might vanish like a soap bubble in the air, and she could not have that. Not when they had waited so long for this.
When the door to the bairns’ bedchamber creaked open, they froze—then, instantly, they backed away as if the other were on fire and they were afraid to burn. She felt the flush of her cheeks and heard her breathless gasping and hoped the children would not notice.
Owen emerged, rubbing a fist over his eye. “Uncle Drew?” he murmured, half-asleep.
“Aye, laddie,” Drew grunted, breathless as well. Anne hardly dared look at him for fear of laughing or somehow giving herself away. “All is well. What brings ye out?”
“I wished…” Owen yawned loudly, his mouth opening wide. “I wished to see ye…”
“Now, now,” Anne clucked, guiding him back to his bed. “Ye must sleep. ‘Tis late, ye ken, and ye ought to be dreaming.”
She tucked him in once again, smoothing the curls back from his forehead. He reminded her so of Drew, and she asked herself if he was anything like his nephew as a lad.
Moira was sound asleep, breathing through slightly parted lips. Anne kissed her forehead and tiptoed from the room, closing the door as quietly as she could behind her.
Only to find herself alone.
“Drew?” She looked about herself. The house was quite small. There was nowhere for him to disappear to, and the door to his bedchamber was open, as was customary when he was not asleep inside. “Drew?”
She opened the front door, leaning out to look back and forth. It was well past full dark, stars twinkling in the clear sky. Her breath fogged, her teeth chattered. “Drew?”
Nothing. If he were at the well or even answering nature’s call, he would have heard her and spoken. There was nothing but the sound of her own voice.
Dread filled her heart, when only a minute earlier there had been something close to love there.
She closed the door behind her and took off at a run, blindly racing to where she knew Rufus’s house sat. The fool! What did he think he was doing?
She knew just what he thought he was doing, and that was the trouble.
No more than half the ground between Drew’s house and Rufus’s had been covered before she collided with another body in the darkness. She fell back with a startled shout, her backside smarting when it hit the ground.
“Forgive me!�
�� A woman’s voice.
“Shana?” Anne scrambled to her feet. The sliver of a moon revealed her, along with the look of trouble on her face. “What is it?”
She was out of breath. “I was coming to fetch you! Drew came running, furious, saying they had to ride to Avoch and fetch the magistrate straight away. Rufus and Clyde were saddling up when I decided to run for you.”
“The fool!” Anne spat. “What is he thinking?”
“He’s thinking he shall free your brother and set things to right.”
Her thoughts ran at breakneck speed. “Can ye mind the bairns for me?”
“Of course. What are you thinking of doing now?”
Anne gave Shana a brief hug before sprinting off toward the stables, where if Drew was a man of his word, she would find her mare waiting.
She and Maebe had a great deal of riding to do on this cold, clear night.
God willing, they would reach Malcolm before the men did.
25
Maebe had rested quite a bit in the days since she’d found a home in the MacIntosh stables. Anne could not run her full-out until she stretched her muscles.
Yet once the mare had warmed up, Anne let her go. They galloped most of the way, down the narrow lanes and overgrown roads she had taken to reach the MacIntosh farm.
A lifetime had passed since that evening, it seemed, and the stakes were much greater now. She simply could not risk Drew finding Malcolm and his men in the mood for a fight, no matter how many men he managed to gather in the village.
It was late in the evening by then, and most of the men would likely be settling in with their families. Few would wish to stir from their homes and hearths on a night as cold as this.
Cold enough that Anne regretted not having worn her cloak, but there had been no time.
“Come on,” she urged the mare, digging her heels in, eyes straining in the dark. Would that there were more of a moon that night, but luck had never been on her side. Why should this night be any different?
They passed through the woods behind the MacIntosh land, which she had navigated slowly before but had no such luxury of picking her way through again. Maebe was wise enough to slow her pace if there was difficulty, but the horse seemed to find none.
Now the road was wider, better established, with far thinner tree lines to either side. She could see more easily and could ride with greater confidence. They continued on, Anne’s heart in her throat all the while. What would she find when she arrived?
So long as she did so before Drew’s arrival, and with enough time to ensure her scattered, half-formed plan came to life. It was a gamble, she could admit, but she had little hope of helping him otherwise.
And she simply had to. Only she knew Malcolm and his ways. Drew was headstrong, the rogue, believing he could defeat any man. Perhaps he could. If that man played fair, but Malcolm never had. He would only use his fists against a man once that man had been beaten half to death by a dozen others.
She could not allow that to come to pass. Not for Drew.
It was well before midnight when she arrived, judging by the movement of the moon overhead, and the candlelight from inside the long house with its many windows provided guidance. She slowed the mare to a trot, eyeing up the place.
Had this ever been her home? Run-down, ramshackle, the yard before it filled with weeds and dead grass while Rufus’s was lush, pleasant, his home clean and the roof freshly patched. She’d forgotten that people could live good, honest lives and profit from them.
Cattle lowed in the barn; some of which belonged to Rufus if it hadn’t been sold by then, and horses neighed in their stalls as she passed the stables.
The sounds of many male voices lifted in laughter met her ears by the time she dismounted and tied the mare’s reins off at the post which ran the length of one stone wall. She watered Maebe, then gathered her courage.
This was why she’d run like the devil himself was after her. To make it here before trouble began, and she had, if the revelry inside the house meant anything. Perhaps they were celebrating a great success.
Their celebration would be their undoing.
Like reflexes, her skills returned to her. She tiptoed as silently as she could, imagining herself in the midst of a midnight theft. How would she manage this? Perhaps she ought to announce herself, pretend as though she’d escaped after being held captive.
As though she hated Drew and all of his kin.
Was she clever enough to convince him, shrewd man that he was?
Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, nerves threatening to betray her. She suddenly had to make water. Or vomit. Or both.
She would do neither, and her nerves would not get the better of her. She would prevail for his sake, if for nothing else. And for the twins, who needed their reckless uncle.
She threw back her head. Puffed out her chest. Marched into the house as if she were a conquering hero.
The sight which greeted her ought not to have come as a surprise, yet she could not contain the churning of her stomach at the filth, and the stench. None of them had lifted a finger to clean up the place since she’d left.
Food stained the floors. And dried vomit. And blood. Whose blood? It mattered not. She stepped around it, coughing as she did. Smoke hung heavy in the air as the men enjoyed their pipes, which combined with the smoke from the hearth all but choked her and made it difficult to see who was who.
Yet there was no mistaking Malcolm, sitting in his chair at the end of a long table, leaning in to converse with a pair of his most trusted men. None of them noticed her for a long time, though she stood nearly close enough to touch.
While the house was in shambles, Malcolm looked well. He enjoyed looking well whenever he could, dressed in furs and velvets while his men wore threadbare cast-offs. He somehow convinced them they were kings, living above common men foolish enough to toil for their daily bread.
It was all a lie. They were fools, his fools, and he used them to keep himself in comfort.
He might have hired a girl to come in and clean.
She cleared her throat as loudly as she could, tiring of waiting about.
When Malcolm turned to see who’d interrupted him, scowling and prepared to shout, his eyes bulged at the sight of her.
“What in God’s name brings ye here, lassie?” he asked before bursting out in deep, rumbling laughter.
“We thought ye lost to us,” one of the men explained.
“Aye, well, I managed to take my leave.” She shrugged. “I only needed to bide my time.”
“The lad told us what befell ye,” Malcolm explained. “A pity, that.”
“Not pity enough for ye to come for me.”
“Why would I do that?” He studied her, his head thrown back, one hand stroking his thick, red beard. “Do ye take me for a fool?”
“I always have, which ye well know.”
Those near enough to overhear this fell silent. A few of the men backed away as if wishing to avoid being somehow caught when Malcolm attacked her. She was aware of this, yet she stood her ground. Let him strike her. He would soon see the error of his ways.
Yet he did not strike.
Instead, he laughed, the sound seeming to come from his toes. It echoed throughout the room, soon joined by the laughter of others who likely did so out of relief. They may have been little better than dung, all of them, but this did not mean they enjoyed watching a woman being beaten.
“’Tis good to have ye back, truly,” he announced. “Tart tongue and all. Someone, fetch my niece a cup of wine. This is a celebration!”
A cheer rose up among the men, and the smile she wore was genuine. For a celebration was exactly what she’d counted on.
She would have them ready for Drew when he arrived.
Hours passed, or what felt like hours. She drank slowly, taking dainty sips when she did and waiting a great deal of time in between. She was not accustomed to wine or any drink but had seen enough loose-lipped men to know she
had better not risk saying more than she ought to.
After a while, Malcolm turned his gaze on her. She sensed him watching, thinking, questioning what had brought her back and how she had escaped. Was she aware of Liam’s capture?
It struck her then that she had not asked after him. Damn her for a fool. “Where is my brother?” she asked as if suddenly remembering him. “Why has he not come out to greet me?”
Malcolm’s thin lips came together in a tight line, his hard, glittering eyes regarding her with deep interest. “Ye have not heard?”
She prayed for strength, for cleverness. She’d already lost one opportunity. “Heard what?” Had he drank enough yet to soften his senses? It did not appear so, to her dismay.
“That he was captured.” He reported this with relish, savoring the final word. Captured. As if it left a sweet taste in his mouth.
He was toying with her as he had always done. Watching to see if she would crumble at the announcement.
Should she?
“What do ye mean, captured?” she asked, keeping her voice low so as to be heard over the commotion surrounding them. “By whom? When? Where is he?”
“Avoch, or so I’ve heard. Captured as he failed a task I set out for him.” His disgust was evident, as always.
She had known for some time that he disliked or even hated Liam, but now she was certain.
Now, she could tell him exactly what she thought.
She leaned in, staring into his eyes, daring him to look away from her. “Ye are an evil, pitiful excuse for a man, and I hate ye with every bone in my body.”
To her utter surprise, his face went slack with what she could only imagine was shock. “What did ye say?”
“I believe ye heard me. I can tell ye did. ‘Tis evident in the way ye stare at me now, mouth hanging open like a great fish. I hate ye. I despise ye. And my brother is ten times the man ye could ever hope to be, ye pitiful coward!”
Highland Temptations: Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 53
