With Love from the Highlands : A Highlander Love Story Duet, One

by Suzan Tisdale

  In an instant, he was inside the room and yanking the garments out of her hands. “Anythin’ my sister has I gave to her!” he seethed. “If she wants her bloody things, she can just try to come take them!”

  The woman stared at him for a short moment. “Would ye like to tell the MacAulay men that, m’laird? Fer I fear I be no’ brave enough to do it.”

  As tempted as he may have been to slap her, he held back. “Mind yer tongue, ye auld bat,” he warned.

  Glancing about the room, he saw an open trunk lying at the foot of the bed. ’Twas filled with books. Josephine treasured the bloody things almost as much as she treasured her friends.

  Reaching inside, he grabbed one and inspected it. The title was written in Italian, a language he knew neither how to speak or read. With disregard, he tossed it over his shoulder where it landed with a thud on the wooden floor. He did the same with the next several books he withdrew.

  “Always had her nose in a book or in me affairs,” he groused as he tossed one book after another.

  The woman went to stand in the corner whilst he continued his muttering and book tossing. Had he chanced a look her way, he would have seen the shame and pity she felt toward him in her watery old eyes.

  One by one, he took the books and parchments out of the trunk and tossed them over his shoulder. Soon, there was a large pile of discarded tomes.

  ’Twas the very last book that caught his attention. He recognized it almost instantly. It had been his mother’s.

  Bound in leather with her name carved on the front, this was not a book, but a journal. How many times had he seen his mother writing in it before death had taken her?

  As a little boy, he had loved her. And she, Marielle de Reyne, had loved him. Sometimes, in those dark hours of the night, when the keep was quiet and only when he was drunk enough, he would allow himself to think about his mother.

  She had been a kind, generous woman, and as a little boy, he had adored her. That adoration, however, was something his father could not abide. “Never ferget that you can no’ trust any woman, lad. Deceivers and liars every one,” he had said so many times he could not count them now. “They’ll try to fool ye with their pretty faces and soft skin, but do no’ fall for any of it.”

  His head began to pound mercilessly. Not wanting to dwell on the past, on a life that no longer existed, he tossed the book on the bed and stared at it.

  Was his mother the liar his father had always insisted she was? Was it even remotely possible that an honest woman even existed? His father had been adamant that such a woman had yet to grace the earth.

  Rubbing his fingertips against his temples, Helmert debated whether or not he should read her journal. ’Twasn’t that he thought the journal was private. He worried over what it might contain. The truth? Which truth?

  After a long inner argument, he cursed, grabbed the journal and headed toward his room.

  “M’laird!” the auld woman called out. “What about Josephine’s things?”

  He paused briefly in the hallway. “Burn it. Burn it all.”

  The decision to defy her chief’s orders to burn all of Josephine’s belongings had been quite easy for auld Maggie MacAdams. If he found out and became angry enough to kill her, so be it. Figuring her days were numbered anyway, what with being over sixty summers old and the fool they called their chief running their clan into the ground, what did it matter?

  Carefully, she repacked all the books into the trunk, as well as the few dresses Josephine had left behind. ’Twasn’t much by way of possessions, but ’twas more than some had. They weren’t Helmert’s things he was ordering burned.

  Once she had them repacked, she sent one of the younger lads who worked inside the keep to let the MacAulay men know they were safe to come inside. The chief was no doubt passed out in his bed, and his friends would not be up for hours. ’Twas a wonder those three young men had endured as long as they had, what with their excessive drinking.

  Maggie knew the clan would not survive much longer and ’twas a pity. She remembered the days of her youth when the clan was prosperous and run by much better men that Delmer or Helmert MacAdams.

  Eight MacAulay men entered the keep, not realizing ’twould only take two strong men to retrieve the trunks. Still, she supposed ’twas better to be safe than sorry.

  “Please,” Maggie entreated one of the young men, “tell our Joie she be missed by one and all.”

  The young man smiled and promised he would.

  “How fares she?” Maggie asked as she followed them out of the room.

  “She fares well,” the tall, brown-haired man told her.

  He appeared to be telling the truth, which made Maggie quite happy. “’Tis about time some happiness came into that child’s life,” she murmured.

  The man cast her a curious glance before bidding her good day and hurrying to catch his comrades.

  Closing the door behind them, Maggie returned to her daily chores, wishing for bygone days and praying her chief would soon see the error of his ways.

  Clarence and Darvord had awakened late in the afternoon, only to find Helmert missing from his usual spot in the gathering room. They soon found him tucked away in his room with his face buried in a book. At first glance, they thought he had finally lost his mind, for reading was so out of character for him. Then he told them what it was he was reading and the discoveries contained therein.

  From Marielle De Reyne MacAdams’ journal, Helmert read aloud. “Whomever shall possess the Theodosia Gladius shall be led to untold treasures. If they can decipher that part of the inscription that has befuddled countless generations.”

  Clarence, being the greedy fellow he was, sat quietly as his mind conjured up images of chests and bags filled with gold coins. “What kind of treasures do ye think we’ll find?” he asked in a breathless, almost reverent tone. The only thing he liked more than drinking and taking his turn at the wench, Laurin, was coin.

  Helmert shook his head. “Who kens?” he said with a shrug. Outwardly it appeared that he might not be wholly convinced the treasures were real. But inside his twisted, greedy mind? He was confident there would be enough coin and gold that he could buy the bloody throne to Scotia if he so desired. The possibilities were endless. But Josephine had stolen those possibilities from him; she had taken the Gladius away with her. “It should have been mine,” he hissed under his breath, “and I intend to get it back.”

  “We’ll need a plan,” Helmert said loudly. “Fer ’tis certain we canna just walk up to the gate and ask to be let in.”

  Clarence’s eyes were growing wider the more he thought about those untold treasures. “Ye could say ye’re there to see yer sister,” he offered.

  Helmert snorted derisively. “As if anyone would believe that. We did no’ exactly part on good terms,” he reminded them.

  “Ye could say ye’ve seen the error of yer ways and wish to make amends,” Clarence said.

  “Bah!” Helmert shook his head. “That would be even more unbelievable.”

  They sat in quiet contemplation for a long moment before Darvord finally spoke. “Why do ye suppose yer mum never told ye of the treasure? I mean, before she passed. Why did she only share the secret with Josephine?”

  “The De Reyne women were well known fer bein’ cold-hearted bitches,” Helmert said. “Me sister be no better than the rest of them. As far as I be concerned, Josephine can rot in hell with me mother.”

  ’Twas then that Helmert remembered the MacAulay men had been in his keep just a few short hours before. Slamming his hand down on the table, he smiled wickedly. “I ken how we can get into the keep.”

  Clarence and Darvord each stared back at him with hopeful expressions. Helmert quickly explained about the MacAulays’ mission to get the rest of Josephine’s belongings. “We shall follow them, ye see, and when the opportunity presents itself, we will simply kill them, take their clothing and ride into the keep as if we belong there.”

  To three drunken deb
auchers who had never so much as planned a raid to steal a cow, it sounded like a splendid plan. Within the hour, they had gathered up a handful of MacAdams men and were on their way to find the MacAulays.

  It hadn’t taken them long to find the men they sought — roughly a few hours. It took far less time to realize they were sorely out-numbered three to one. At least twenty-five men on horseback, plus the drivers on the two wagons, were making their way across a wide-open glen. Helmert reckoned that without those heavy wagons, the MacAulays would be making much better time.

  “Jesu!” Darvord exclaimed when he caught sight of them. “There be only eight of us. We canna kill all of them!”

  Refusing to be disheartened, Helmert said, “If ye be afraid, ye be more than welcome to go back to yer own keep and live the rest of yer miserable life in poverty.”

  Darvord’s brow furrowed. “Ye canna mean to take them all on. ‘Twould be suicide!”

  “Of course I do no’ mean to take them all on!” Helmert ground out. “What kind of fool do ye take me fer?”

  His friend refused to answer.

  “Nay,” Helmert said after thinking on it for a short moment. “We’ll simply find another way into the keep.”

  “I’d don a woman’s dress and wig and whore meself out to get into that keep,” Clarence offered, though only partially in jest.

  Helmert chuckled loudly. “As ugly as ye are?” he asked.

  “Then what be yer plan?” Darvord asked, growing more and more uncomfortable.

  “I shall tell ye as soon as I think of one,” Helmert said as he tapped the flanks of his horse and aimed for the woods across the way.

  Clarence and the other men followed behind while Darvord sat in stunned disbelief. He’s insane, he thought to himself. If he turned around now, he could be back at his own keep before dawn. But if he followed his friends…untold wealth lay that way. “I must be just as insane!” he ground out before kicking his horse to follow after his friends.

  11

  The merriment continued long after Graeme had whisked his new bride above stairs. Much dancing, drinking and singing took place over the next few hours. A group of lasses had surrounded the Frenchman, hanging on his every word. He relished in the attention.

  Albert — never one to overdo anything — sat back and watched. More specifically, he was watching Laurin.

  Politely, she turned down one young man after another who came to her asking to dance. The only person she hadn’t turned down was their father. Instead, she chose to tend to other people’s babes and weans while they danced the night away.

  Had anyone been paying closer attention to him they would have noticed that with each young man who had approached, Albert would glower most menacingly at them. A silent warning they needed to tread softly and lightly, else they could find their heads cut from their shoulders.

  He knew Laurin was not saving herself for any one particular person’s offer. Not even his. Nay, ’twas fear and fear alone that kept her back, kept her from truly participating as a beautiful lass of her age should.

  Soon, he could sense that she was growing weary of the loud and boisterous festivities. Whenever she was nervous or tense, she had the habit of rubbing her long braid betwixt her fingers. He’d noticed that on their journey here from the MacAdams keep.

  Standing to his full height, he went to her cautiously. “Laurin, ’tis growing warm and quite loud. Would ye like a bit of fresh air?”

  He watched as her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. “Aye,” she said with a quick nod.

  She handed the babe she’d been holding to its mother and placed her hand in his. He doubted she felt the same warm sensations he did whenever their skin touched. He also knew why.

  Grabbing his cloak from a peg by the door, he wrapped it around her shoulders and led her out of doors. The cool evening air felt good against his hot cheeks, but did nothing to douse the warmth in his heart towards this sweet and beautiful young woman.

  Over the past several days, they had spent much time together. It had taken a good deal of patience on his part, and much prompting, before she felt comfortable enough to share anything about herself. Mostly, he had learned from quiet observation, as well as the numerous letters Josephine had shared with him over the years.

  “Are ye warm enough, lass?” he asked as they walked slowly around the well-lit courtyard.

  “I swear I have never experienced such cold as this,” she told him with a shiver. “I be fearful of askin’ what the winters here are like.”

  “They be no’ much different than our summers,” he explained. “Though we get far more rain and far less sunshine.”

  They walked in silence for a time, enjoying the peace and solitude the out of doors offered. “Mayhap on the morrow, ye’d like to ride with me. I could take ye to see the countryside. I swear to ye, there be little else on God’s earth that can compare to its beauty.”

  Instantly, he felt her grow tense at the invitation and he knew why. She was quite fearful of being alone with any man. He quickly added, “Connor could go with us, as well as Bruce and his bride.”

  That seemed to put her slightly more at ease. “I would no’ like to go far, in case Joie needs me.”

  ’Twas a paltry excuse, but he made no remark. Knowing his brother as he did, it would be days before he and his bride left their chamber. Still, he was thankful that she had agreed to ride with him.

  “’Tis comfortin’ to ken the sun does no’ set in the summer,” she told him as they continued to walk aimlessly around the courtyard.

  She had admitted previously to not liking the dark of night but had yet to admit to why. There was, of course, no need to. In his heart, he felt he knew this wee lass better than he knew another person, and all from Joie’s letters.

  He knew why she hated the dark, knew why she was fearful of most men. Were he ever given the chance again to kill Helmert MacAdams and those two bastards he called friends, he would relish watching each of them die. He would do so without a moment’s hesitation or one pang of guilt.

  After another long stretch of silence, Laurin stopped and turned to look at him. “Albert,” she asked in a low voice. “Why did ye do it?”

  Though he was quite certain he knew to what she referred, he feigned ignorance. “Why did I do what?”

  She turned her attention to her booted foot for a brief moment. “Why did ye buy me?”

  Knowing she hadn’t intended for the words to sting, he tamped down his momentary sense of ire. “I did no’ buy ye. I paid fer yer freedom.”

  Her dark blue eyes grew damp and he could see she was fighting an inner battle, wanting very much to ask another question, but perhaps not quite knowing how to word it.

  Not wanting to cause her any further discomfort, he answered the unspoken question that had lingered between them for days. “I want nothin’ in return.”

  The furrowed brow, the pursed lips, said she was not quite certain she believed him.

  “Lass, I tell ye true. I want nothin’ in return,” he told her again.

  She wiped her tears on his cloak. Aye, there was much she wanted to ask or say but something held her back.

  “Laurin, I need ye to understand, to ken, that no’ all men are like those ye’ve kent in the past. I will admit to ye that I find ye more than just bonny. I also find ye quite smart and very sweet. What happened to ye,” he swallowed hard before continuing. “What Helmert and his friends did to ye, no woman should ever have to suffer through. And I swear to ye now, on me honor as a MacAulay, that I will never harm ye, not by hand, nor deed, nor word.”

  He knew!

  Joie. ’Twas the only explanation.

  Unable to look at him any longer, she turned away to return to the safe confines of the keep. Away from his warmth and kind regard she felt she didn’t deserve. “Thank ye fer the walk, Albert,” she said before grabbing a fistful of skirt and racing back into the keep.

  The revelry was in full force, the sounds of laughter filter
ing in from the gathering room. Struck with an overwhelming sense of panic with hearing the sound of boisterous laughter, a flood of painful, ugly memories came crashing through. ’Twas if she was back at the MacAdams keep, surrounded by Helmert, Darvord and Clarence.

  Taking the stairs, forcing herself not to allow the tears to escape, she fled to her room and barred the door. Frantically, her heart pounded against her chest as the blood rushed in her ears. The tears came then, in great waves.

  Why be I such a coward? She cursed silently. ’Tis all I am. A coward.

  For a long time, she had been able to hide the fear and shame from everyone, including Joie. But now? With Albert showing her such attention, with the rest of the MacAulay’s being so kind? ’Twas growing more and more difficult to keep it all tucked away.

  ’Twould be easier if there wasn’t a kind person at every turn. ’Twould be easier to hide were they all harsher, less understanding, less giving.

  In the corner near the hearth, she sank to the floor. Alone in the dark, with her knees drawn to her chest, she fought against those all-too-fresh memories of the countless days and nights she’d spent in utter agony. Memories as relentless as the three men whom she hated to the deepest recesses of her soul.

  How many times had they torn away her clothes, taken their turns with her whilst the other two watched and waited patiently? Bile rose and blended with fear and dread. Would she ever be able to rid her mind of these ugly memories? ’Twas highly unlikely, she surmised.

  The only comfort she had at the moment was knowing she was miles and miles away from them. ’Twas the only thing she could draw strength or ease from. She was safe here, at least from the three eejits.

  Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she decided there was naught to be done at this late hour. With a heavy and weary heart, she readied herself for another night of fitful sleep. Donning a warm nightdress, she slipped into the bed, alone.