The Highlander’s Widow (Blood 0f Duncliffe Series Book 8)

by Emilia Ferguson

  That left them alone together.

  Bronan and Amalie looked at each other. She felt herself shudder with wonder. This was the first time they were alone together – truly alone, with nobody else there to harry them, or hear. Moreover, they were finally married.

  Bronan looked at her. “It's...Amalie, it's everything to me. You...I love you, Amalie. I love you so, so much. More than words can express.”

  Amalie swallowed hard. She was crying, soundlessly, tears running down her cheeks to pool at her chin. She nodded. “I love you too, Bronan Ludlow. More than anything.”

  They kissed.

  Later, in a chamber in the guest-quarters, far away from the main abbey, Bronan undressed her, gently letting the dress flow from her shoulders, mouthing the skin it revealed, all the way down to her belly. She was shivering as he moved lower, her whole body aflame with wanting.

  He looked up at her. “Amalie,” he whispered. “My dearest.”

  “My dearest Bronan,” she whispered, and gasped as his hands reached up to caress her waist and then higher, to her breasts.

  He stood again, and kissed her on the mouth. Gently, he led her to the bed.

  When he entered her this time, it felt completely different. There was a reverence to it that she had not previously noticed. This night was different – a new experience, now that they were together in a way acknowledged by all.

  She sighed and leaned back, feeling him fill her, aching to take more of him, to feel him move inside her again, and again and again. He pulled out and thrust back, and soon they were moving with the slow, sweet insistence that meant their minds were focused only on their wanting and their bodies had taken over, moving in the most ancient dance.

  She felt herself start to heat up, the flow of tickling, pulsing insistence starting to rise inside her, moving from her belly to her mind in streaks of fire. She started to gasp, and heard Bronan gasping likewise, knowing that he, too, was feeling that sweetness grow inside him.

  She bit her lip, trying to delay the sweet outcome one second more, just another second, just another thrust, just another sweet moment longer, letting it build more...

  Crying out, she felt the feeling break over her, flooding her body with warmth. She collapsed and lay there while Bronan thrust and then collapsed into her arms.

  They made love again, later, more slowly, more lazily, and then again, until, finally, utterly spent and completely satisfied, they lay like that until the dawn.

  THE PLAN IN ACTION

  Bronan sighed and stirred. He looked over at Amalie, who lay with her head on the pillow beside him, lightly sleeping. He reached out and hesitated, not wanting to touch her and wake her, yet not quite able to resist it either.

  He watched her, taking in the glorious way the light reflected from her skin, and blazed on her hair. He reached out then and touched her forehead, stroking it gently.

  She made a little moan and stirred, those rosebud lips he loved to kiss slowly parting. He tensed, a mix of longing and tenderness flooding his whole body as she stirred, then looked at the window.

  The light of recognition dawned in her eyes at once and she rolled over, reaching for him. She smiled. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, Amalie,” he whispered. She embraced him and he held her to his chest, and the feeling that tightened round his heart was so fierce he felt he wanted to hold her like that forever, clasped so tightly, lying just like this until he was dead and dust.

  She whispered his name softly. The sound made his whole body catch fire with longing.

  “Bronan.”

  He kissed her hair and held her close and, as she leaned back and reached up to touch his face, loosened his grip somewhat and reached to stroke her hair. “Amalie,” he said softly.

  She smiled and moved closer and they lay like that, silent, while the day grew lighter and brighter. “What time do you think it is?” she whispered.

  Bronan frowned. “I don't rightly know,” he said. “The bell went for a while about ten minutes ago, if that helps.”

  “The office of the third hour,” Amalie nodded, still smiling. “That means it's nine o' clock in the morning, or thereabouts. Later than I thought.”

  Bronan nodded. He smiled. “Whist, you ken such things,” he said gently, stroking her hair, impressed. “And yes, I suppose we should go out soon.”

  Amalie made a face. He laughed. Kissing her, he rolled over and stood up. “The sooner I get out of bed, the sooner it's tonight. And the sooner I get into bed again.”

  Amalie laughed. “Strange logic,” she smiled. “But agreeable. Or I shall never wake up this morning.”

  Bronan grinned. “Me neither, lass. Me neither.”

  Body still relaxed from the night before, but already flushed again with arousal, he headed over to where his old clothes lay, draped against the chair by the window.

  He drew his shirt over his head and heard Amalie also stirring, dressing in her clothes. She had another dress with her, one that Lady Chlodie had loaned to her. He watched her shake it out and put it on. It was a pale yellow, decorated with a design in russet. He stared at her, loins tugging as he watched her with longing, even as he tried to focus elsewhere.

  “Whist, lass, you're fast,” he commented, watching her do up her buttons, twisting the dress round so that only the last few were behind her, and thus more difficult to fasten up by herself.

  “I'm getting used to this,” she said. “Though I like having help for when it comes off.”

  “Yes,” he grinned. “I like that too.”

  Breakfast they found left out for them, a small basket on the step of the guest-quarters, complete with a bottle of cordial, still with the greased cloth stopping up the neck.

  “I wonder who left this here,” Bronan said, bringing in the basket happily. “It was kind of them.”

  “It was,” Amalie nodded. She took a seat and they had a quick but pleasant breakfast. When they hurried out into the stable-yard, Alec greeted them, smiling.

  “A good breakfast?”

  “You left it out?” Bronan stared at him. Amalie felt her heart melt as she looked at her son, wonderingly.

  Alec went red. “Mayhap,” he said.

  They both laughed. Amalie kissed him.

  “Are we ready?” he asked her, looking a little worried.

  “Yes.”

  Together, they rode to the fort.

  At the gate, Amalie cleared her throat. “The countess of Inverkeith demands an audience with the duke of Astley, if he is present?”

  “He is, milady,” one of the guards on gate-duty said. He saluted crisply. The gate opened.

  Bronan, admiring, watched Amalie as she rode ahead, straight-backed, unwaveringly. Together, they rode into the courtyard.

  “Amalie!” Uncle Randall appeared on the top of the steps, all smiles. He was dressed in a long, brocaded jacket and a full, ruffled shirt, like a courtly gentleman. He raised a brow at Amalie. “My dear niece!” he said. “You look surprisingly well, for someone about whom we were fretting! Welcome to your home.”

  Bronan tensed, feeing his fingers clasp for the handle of his dagger. He'd left it the manor where they'd sheltered, he realized, shocked. He felt as if he needed it right now.

  In front of him, Amalie was undaunted. She remained on her horse, and looked up at him, chin lifted. “You were worried, I am sure,” she said. “Your plans rely on having me here, and in good health. I am surprised to see Baron Almure not also in residence?” she added, indicating the turret, where flew only the duke's own insignia. “You mentioned he would be here within the next weeks?”

  “Ah, yes,” her uncle said. Bronan saw him look discomposed for a second, and then the confident mien returned. “I had expected him to be here soon. He was delayed. We expect him at the end of the week. So only three more days.”

  “Good,” Amalie said. “Well, then, he will be here to hear the answer you will give him.”

  “Answer?” The duke raised a brow. H
is eye darted from Bronan to the guards on the gate, and back. He seemed to think for a moment, and then nodded. “You alert my interest, sweet niece. But I am a poor example of hospitality! You must be famished! I know not where you've been staying, but it must needs be far.”

  “Have you looked for us, Uncle?” Amalie asked sweetly.

  Bronan made his face stay passive, though his brows shot up as he admired her boldness.

  “Yes, most everywhere,” her uncle acknowledged, seemingly unworried. “What else would I do, when my beloved niece and my cherished great-nephew, my heir, go missing without warning?”

  “When they choose to flee the strictures you place on them, you mean?” Amalie challenged.

  “What's that, niece?” her uncle said blandly. “You must be weary. You're not talking sensibly. Come inside, and I'll call for some refreshments. You must be tired,” he added, turning to Alec and Bronan with a friendly smile.

  Bronan grunted an acknowledgment. Alec was absolutely silent. When Bronan glanced at him, he noticed he'd gone white. His fingers gripped the reins and the saddle-pommel as if he wished to strangle them. Bronan felt worried for him. It was not good for him to get so angry.

  “Well, then, we will take your refreshment, Uncle,” Amalie nodded, courteous. “And then we will discuss our news.”

  “Fascinating,” her uncle said slowly. “I'm sure you have many interesting things to tell.”

  “Yes,” Amalie said, unruffled. “We do.”

  Bronan waited for her to dismount and then jumped down to the flagstone with a thump. He handed the reins to the stable-hand and let the fellow take his horse off to be tended. With Amalie and Alec, he walked slowly up the steps, behind their uncle.

  “Uncle,” Amalie said when they were in the solar together, the servants already laying places for a midday meal. “We do have important news. This plan of yours can never take place.”

  “You think so?” Uncle Randall looked worried, where he sat at the head of the table, chin resting in his hands. “Why, niece? What diverting news have you had, that would prevent me carrying out my will?”

  “I cannot marry, uncle,” she said.

  The duke shifted in his chair. His brow lowered and his eyes glittered dangerously. Otherwise, his face was the same affable mask. Bronan tensed. Beside him, he felt Alec shift in his chair, leaning back, hand going to his waist where he did, surprisingly, wear a dress-dagger.

  Bronan reached out a steadying hand, staying Alec's movement.

  “And why is that, niece?” he asked. “Your pilgrimage did not augur what you hoped?” He smiled, deprecatingly.

  “No, uncle,” Amalie said mildly. “I cannot wed again. It is impossible.”

  His face darkened. “Come, niece,” he said. “Don't play games. The future of your son is at risk.”

  Alec opened his mouth to protest, pale face a mask of rage. Bronan took his hand in his, quieting him.

  “Uncle, I am not playing. It is impossible for me to wed. I already have a husband.”

  Her uncle rolled his eyes. “Not that again, niece,” he said wearily. “I have already told you. Keith, my nephew, may he rest in peace, is dead. You have no further obligation to keep. You are free to wed.”

  “No, I'm not,” Amalie said, and pushed back her chair, standing. She gestured to Bronan, who stood, and, as they had planned and even rehearsed, since he knew her plan, placed his hands on her shoulder. “I have a husband already. Mr. Bronan Ludlow.”

  “What...?” Uncle Randall stared. His face was pale yellow, the color of parchment. His jaw worked, and then the astonishment was replaced by blank obduracy. “No,” he said. “No, you're not. Or, if you are, we can soon change that. Guards?”

  Bronan looked around, alarmed, as men he hadn't noticed standing outside of the door suddenly entered the room, coming at their master's loud command.

  “Take him,” Uncle Randall said slowly, “upstairs.”

  “Bronan!” Amalie screamed. She flew at the guard and grabbed his arm, trying to pull him away.

  Uncle Randall gestured and the man shouldered her aside roughly. That made Alec fly at him, dagger swiftly out.

  “No, lad,” Bronan said, his voice carrying a firm warning. “Put it up.”

  Alec looked round, enraged, at his uncle. However, he listened to Bronan. Thrusting his dagger back into its belt-sheath, he stood behind his mother, one hand on her shoulder.

  “Look after your mother, lad,” Bronan said, making himself smile at Alec. “And take care of yourself, besides.”

  Alec stared at him, horrified. “Bronan!” he said. “No. You can't...”

  “I can, lad,” Bronan whispered.

  “Take him away.”

  Bronan let the guards lead him from the room. He heard Amalie shout something at her uncle as the doors closed behind them. He closed his eyes, praying that nothing else happened. “Easy, you,” he said to the one guard, who'd grabbed his wounded shoulder, tightly. “I'm not a market cheese,”

  The guard said nothing, but the fellow's grip on his shoulder lessened fractionally. Bronan realized that they weren't ill-meaning, just doing the command of a man they probably hated as much as anyone, but served now.

  The men marched him to the turret-room.

  As the door locked behind him, Bronan looked around, sighing. He knew the window – even were it not too thin to pass through – led to a sheer drop, or he would try it. There was no escape.

  He walked around the room, examining the walls. Undressed stone, they were impenetrable. He hit the door, feeling solid oak.

  “Bollocks.”

  He really couldn't get out.

  He sighed. He should have taken the opportunity earlier to try and fight the guardsmen. Now that he was here, he couldn't see any out. Moreover, he was sure their orders were to kill him. He had no doubt that was how Uncle Randall intended to solve the inconvenience of Amalie's previous arrangement.

  He leaned back against the warm stonework and closed his eyes. What could he do?

  He had to live, had to escape, had to help Amalie. What hope did she have of escaping her uncle without his help? He had to try.

  * * *

  “I am not going to let him stop me.”

  Amalie said it in the silence of the parlor.

  Alec, sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest, nodded wearily. “Yes, Mama. But what can we do? We can't get through to where he is. I promise. I've already tried.”

  “I know, son,” Amalie nodded slowly. “I believe you.” She paused. “We can't free him yet. But we have to do something!” She felt her heart twist with desperate sorrow. “He'll kill him!”

  “I know,” Alec whispered. “I should have fought them then, Mama.”

  “Oh, Alec,” she said softly. “There were two of them, and more should he have seen fit to summon more.”

  “I know,” Alec said stubbornly.

  “I am glad I have you, Alec,” Amalie said sincerely. “What would I do, if you'd been killed?”

  “At least I could have done something,” Alec said, though he sounded somewhat disheartened.

  “Well, we can do something,” she said slowly. “Just not rescue him. Not yet, anyway.” She paused, biting her lip. “Alec?”

  “Yes, Mama?”

  “When you went to check if we could reach the turret, did you see how far our guards have blockaded? Could we, for instance, still find the study?”

  “I think so,” Alec said slowly. “We could, yes,” he said after a moment. “We could. There's nobody guarding the hallway down that far.”

  “Yes,” Amalie whispered, feeling part of a new plan click into place. “We must go there, then.”

  “Could he still be around?” Alec asked, sounding dubious.

  “We'll watch for when he goes out,” Amalie said. “If he's going riding, he'll go soon to get a good ride in before dark. And we'll see him from this window.”

  “True, Mama,” Alec nodded.

  They leaned
on the sun-warm sill together.

  As she had suspected, at four of the clock, her uncle rode out. That left them perhaps two hours to put her plan to action. She looked at Alec. “Let's go.”

  “Yes,” Alec nodded. He looked cheered, as if the prospect of doing something was sparking fresh life in him.

  Together, they hurried to the study. When they had closed the door, Amalie turned to him. “Start looking through the documents,” she said. “We need to search where your father used to keep his accounts. I'll check this book,” she added, reaching for a leather-bound sheaf of papers that lay on the vast oak desk.

  Alec went to the cupboard at the back and started to take out parchments. “What are we looking for, Mama?” he asked, coughing as he dumped a load of dusty papers onto the desk.

  “I don't know yet,” Amalie frowned. “You can leave those as they are, Alec,” she said as he lifted a top one off the pile, shaking off dust-clouds. “I don't think it will be as far back as that.”

  “Good,” Alec admitted fervently. “When must I start?”

  “Start with the papers from last year,” Amalie said, thinking quickly as she spoke. “That was the first year your uncle started paying regular interest in our affairs.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Alec agreed. “I do wish I knew what we were looking for,” he grumbled, opening a book. “But I'm glad we're doing it.”

  “I am also, Alec,” Amalie nodded, running her finger down a list of suppliers to whom they'd paid different fees. “And when I see it, I'll know it.”

  “Good.”

  They worked for an hour, until the bell of the abbey tolled the hour of five. Amalie looked up, frowning. Her back hurt. Her eyes were strained from reading all the tiny, spidery script. However, she had to continue.

  “Anything, Mama..?”

  “No, not yet,” Amalie admitted. She was starting to lose hope. “I'm looking for anything in your uncle's writing.”

  “Good,” Alec nodded. “McNeith's writing's appalling.”

  They both laughed. Feeling cheered, Amalie drew out another pile of letters. Surely they would find something.