“The situations where your Mother and I met were different,” her father finally interjected, his tone still and stern. “Our parents were dear friends and we were raised closely. We did fall in love along the way but we chose to raise you differently. We did not want you to be mingled with men folk too early.”
“You mean not at all,” Mary said stiffly, “so, you felt comfortable with making me lose any contact with a man who might love me just because of your selfishness.”
Her mother yanked her hand away and her face darkened, “Go to your room and get on your knees. Repent to God for your disrespect and beg his mercy. Do it now! You will not leave this house for three days. How can you be so insolent?”
“Father?” Mary cried. “You must see my point.”
“Your Mother is right,” her father said as he came to stand by her mother, “Go to your room and pray.”
Looking between the two, she did not see any waiver in their gazes and so spun and hurried to her room. She did not want to disrespect her parents but could they not see that they were being unfair? She would die if her life was linked to that man. She needed what any other woman would want, the chance to meet the man who completed her and who she could love until the day he parted this life.
Lord Blackmore could only offer her a life that slowly dwindled to the death of her soul. She got to the room and shut the door behind her forcefully. Looking around through tearful eyes, she decided with grief in her heart, if they won’t save me from that life…I will save myself.
2
Lenichton, Scotland
The grim faces of those that hurried past by Leith Balloch, as he came into the great hall of his ancestral home, had him grimacing. He was already tired from days of tracking and overtaking the last set of thieves who had made away with his village’s goats and calves, but now he felt utterly drained.
On the way back home, he had envisioned a calm night, a warm bath and some good food, but sadly he was not going to have that. He unlatched his sword and handed it off to a boy and instructed him to run to his rooms and place it there.
He then took the stairs to his parents’ rooms but from the corridor, he could hear his father yelling. “Get away from me! I know ye, wench! Get ye me wife!”
Leith could bet his last shilling that wench his father, Aaron Balloch, the Laird of Lenichton, was yelling to was his wife, but he did not recognize her. The sole son of the pair knew that his mother, Sarah Balloch, was nearing the end of her rope with his father. For the last six months, he was acting very bad tempered, suspicious and hostile accusing everyone within ten feet of him of being a traitor.
His mother never raised her voice and was a thin wisp of a woman, looking more like a reed when compared to his father who was thick in all forms. Aaron Balloch had been confined to his rooms with two hefty guards, Dugald and Finlay, at his doors at all times, not only when the delusions took him and he was on a rampage, but when he was weak and bedridden.
Dugald, who first saw him, nudged Finlay and then both bowed their heads to him. Leith raked a hand through his grimy hair and tiredly asked, “How long has he been this way?”
“About a hoor-and-half, Sir,” Finlay said gruffly, his rough northern accent making his words heavy. “Me Lady went in just after he began.”
“Thank ye for—”
The splintering crash of something on the wall had Leith yanking the outside bolt from its lock, shoving the door open, and running in to see his mother sitting on the floor. Her thin face pale with fright and her trembling arms were braced behind her.
It was clear that she had fallen backward and for good reason. On the wall behind her was the white stain of pease porridge dripping down and, on the floor, the remains of the pewter bowl lay shattered. He could see that she had ducked to save her life.
He rushed to his mother and helped her up. Her thin, spindly hands were clutching to him with fright. He kissed her forehead and said, “Come, Mother, I’ll take care of Father.”
She nodded speechlessly as he guided her to the door and ordered Dugald to take her to the kitchens to get some tea. He did not get to see her leave as he quickly shut the door behind her and went to his father who was pacing the room and muttering to himself.
Leith watched him closely, “Faither.”
Aaron still paced. “…spies…murderers…someone is after me, someone wants to hurt me…”
Edging closer to his father, Leith reached out to him but drew back when the man brushed past him. He got closer, and when his father made a second round, he grabbed him and held him fast, expecting his father to react and react he did.
His father tried to yank his arms out of Leith’s grip, but though the younger warrior was tired, he had the strength to hold his thrashing father until he calmed. “Faither, calm ye down, calm yerself. Nay one is here to hurt ye.”
Aaron gave no reply but continued to pace and mutter under his breath. Leith tried again to tell his father that he was safe, and no one was going to harm him, but his words fell on deaf ears. He tried a third time, but his father continued to ignore him.
Sagging into his seat, Leith watched with hopeless eyes the fall of a mighty man. Aaron Balloch was renowned in the highland of Badenoch. His power on the battlefield some thirty years ago had spawned tales that were still told to this day. Aaron was a master of tactics and strategy, going so far as to even advise England’s Lord Cromwell’s military governor in Scotland against the Dutch.
His father was a stalwart in making sure justice was served. He hated liars, defectors, and traitors with a burning passion. His father’s brilliance, wisdom and calm control had served many, near and far, and now for Leith to see his father devolving into this unstable, suspicious and erratic stranger pained him dearly.
Leith watched tiredly as the man paced himself to tiredness, and when he did begin to slow down and his mumbled became a long string of jumbled sound, Leith acted. He went to take hold of the other man and saw a frailness he had never seen in his father’s eyes before.
The madness had not left his father’s grey eyes, a shade that Leigh saw every day in the mirrors. He had taken almost every feature from his father as his eyes were grey, his height of six-foot-three was taken from Aaron, and so was his broad-shouldered, muscular body. His thick brown hair alone was his inheritance from his mother.
He grabbed him and held him fast, “Faither…do ye ken who I am?”
When he was excepting a calm response, his father yanked his arm away and hissed. “Nay! Get ye away from me. Yer trying to kill me, like everyone is. I can feel it. Get away from me!”
“Nay, Faither, I am nay here to harm ye,” he said.
Aaron snarled. “Ye ken I am a fool, dinnae ye? I ken yer here to slay me. Get away from me!”
“I swear to ye that I’m nay here to do evil to ye,” Leith swore. “I am yer son, Faither. I’m Leith.”
“Leith isnae here,” Aaron spat, “He went out to do honorable work for our people. Get ye away, ye imposter!”
Leith’s hands dropped in sorrow before he lifted them in surrender. Seeing as there was nothing else that he could do with his father in this state, he backed away from the stranger who inhabited his father’s body. “All right, all right, I’m goin’, see, I’m goin’.”
As he backed out of the room, he closed the door behind him and bolted it. Sighing, he looked at the sole guard, “Keep an eye on him, Finlay.”
The guard nodded with a grim face. “Aye, Sir.”
Leith breathed out a long shuddery breath. He was not the Laird of Lenichton yet, his father was, but since Aaron had taken ill, many began to take him for their leader, even though he had not stepped on the appointing stone yet.
Rubbing his face, Leith asked, “Has me Mother returned to her rooms yet?”
“I dinnae ken, Sir,” Finlay replied. “I suppose ye would find her back in the kitchen as Dugald hasnae returned.”
Nodding, Leith made his way to the kitchens and walked into the wide
, warm and aromatic chamber to see his mother sitting at a table; her slim shoulders hunched over a cup of tea. Dugald was balancing his large self precariously on a little stool, sipping tea with his mother. The cup disappeared in his beefy hand and Leith took pity on him.
He tapped the big man’s shoulder and said, “It’s all right, go back to yer post.”
Dugald looked relieved, as he stood, careful to not let the stool topple over. “Aye, Sir.”
As he went, Leith took his seat and reached over to grasp his mother’s thin hand. She looked up, her watery blue eyes meeting his with deep grief. “He’s gone, Leith, me husband is gone from ye and me.”
Leith could see her despair, and though he could feel her pain and hopelessness, he wanted to hang onto the lingering thread of hope. He felt that, if he let go all hope for his father, a part of his soul would splinter away.
“Mother, I ken yer losing hope, but ye have to stand strong for him,” Leith advised. “Faither will come back to us, one day, I ken it as much as I ken the sky is blue.”
Sarah shook her head, slowly, her thin lips pressed tight. “I want to believe ye, but everything I see is contrary to what is before me eyes.”
“Mother—”
“I ken yer heart, Leith,” his mother said while tapping his hand. “I ken ye are so kindhearted and want to see the best, but one day we will have to face the truth. I do pray he will be well soon but we still have to prepare for what will come.”
His mother stood with a faint smile. “Get some rest, son. I can see yer tired. I’ll send the water up for ye.”
“Ye dinnae have to do that, Mother,” Leith began to protest, but she stopped him with a look, and he sank back to the stool with a chuckle. “Aye, Mother.”
After she directed water to be heated, and left, he requested some food. A servant woman, slender with dark hair and curvy body named Fiona, deposited a bowl of stew and hunks of warm bread before him. Her bodice was cut so low he could see the tempting rounds of her breasts.
“Is that all ye need, Sir?” she asked quietly.
“Aye,” he responded.
“Are ye going to be well tonight?” she asked again, her voice dipping lower with seductive tones. “I’d be happy to be yer company.”
The mention of that kind of company had a long-repressed feeling prick at his mind. It had been a while since he had felt the soft warmness of woman and though the temptation of having a pleasant body to join with was strong, he was not going to lay with her. Over the past few years, her attempts to sleep with him had gotten subtler but stronger.
“Nay,” he shook his head while taking his spoon, “but thank ye.”
She leaned in closer, the movement baring the fullness the tops of her breasts to him as she whispered sultrily into his ear, “Are ye sure, Sir?”
Now, Leith was getting exasperated, “Nay, lass, nay this time.” Or any other time for that matter.
“I am ready to be with ye wherever ye need,” she winked and walked off with a seductive sway of her hips.
Chucking into his food, Leith ate the stew with tired relish but finished with a cup of water. Many would have drunk wine or cider, but because of one terrible incident when he was younger—one that had nearly cost his life—he had been scared straight and had sworn off drinking spirits.
He never failed to be ridiculed and mocked about it when his comrades went to the taverns. He tolerated the jeering with good spirits, though, as no one was going to make him break his vow.
He was told the water was ready and being finished himself, he followed the servant women to his rooms and went to disrobe when they filled the copper tub. He was shirtless when the women called to say they were finished.
Emerging, he held back his smile when he felt their eyes run over his chest. His chest, broad and honed to ridged perfection, was lightly dusted with short, dark, springy hair and flat, dark nipples.
“Thank ye,” he nodded and turned away as they left. He slipped his boots, kilt, and his smallclothes off and then sank into the water. The warmth of the water was soothing to his aching body. His head lolled back as a soft groan left his lips. “Oh, thank ye, God.”
Feeling the warmth penetrate his tired limbs and soothe the strained muscles, he felt his mind wander back to his father. Six months had passed and each day his father was getting worse. They had sought the help of six healers already but none of them had come with a cure. He felt that he needed to find more, to seek any cure as small and obscure as it could be.
Even if he had to travel the length and breadth of Scotland, he would do it. He owed his father everything, down to his life, for it was Aaron’s seed who made him.
“I’ll do right by ye, Father,” he said with his eyes closed. “I swear it.”
His mind ran over the events after his father to the woman in the kitchen. He could have had the lass in his bed now, but he had refused her offer for good reason. He was tired of joining with women just for the sake of feeling carnal pleasure.
“I dinnae need just a woman, I need…I need a wife,” sighing, he lolled his head back, “but I have to fix me Faither first.”
As he lifted up from the water and went to dry himself, he made a mental note to ask around for the best healers in the lowlands and even the midlands. By God's strength, he would find each and every one of them.
In a long clean léine, he went to bed, determined to find a cure for his father.
3
Harlington, England
“I would leave this place and live like a pauper before I am forced to marry that man,” Mary said dourly. Her arms were braced on the wooden banister of the balcony of her room while staring out at the trees dressed in their red-autumn clothing.
Her maid, Tina, a tiny woman, five-foot-nothing, slender with dark blue eyes and brown hair came close. Tina rested her arms inches away from hers, “I understand, Miss, but do you think it best to run? Is there any way you can make a living out of it?”
Twisting her head, Mary looked at her friend, “Surely, you are jesting? Have you seen him? He will suck all the life out of me. And if I do stay here, I will still be under the bondage of my parents, no matter how far we move away.”
Turning away from the beginning of the warm sunset, Mary flattened her lips. “I need to run, Tina, there is no other option for me. I know that they are making plans for my marriage, even now, with the lord saying that he will be in London for a week. I would prefer to be a vagabond than to be married to a man that I know I will never love.”
Sticking a finger in her high-necked dress to tug her collar out, Tina cleared her throat. “If you feel that strongly, Miss, I will help you run, but where though?”
With her eyes stuck on a fraction of the stone wall, Mary said, “Far away, as far as I can go. Ireland, the United Colonies, even Scotland.”
“I don’t know about those first too, but I can tell you about Scotland,” Tina said, “Do you know my heritage, Miss?”
Shaking her head slowly, Mary felt ashamed that she did not know what she should have known about her friend. A friend that she had lived with for over ten years. “I am dismayed to say that I don’t, why though?”
“I was an orphan at eight years old,” Tina said without a hint of sorrow. “My aunt Linda, who lives close to the borders, took me in. She is a lovely woman. If you go there, you might be able to stay there for a few days until you decide what to do and where to go.”
Mary’s chest immediately filled with hope, and she felt the emotion clogged her throat. “Really?!”
Flagging her down, Tina said. “Hush, hush, please, speak softly. I was raised with her, and I was raised Catholic which I had to hide from your parents to work here. But yes, it may be possible.”
The word ‘may’ dampened her spirit. “Why do you say ‘may?’”
“I haven’t written to Aunt Linda for ages and I don’t know if she still lives there,” Tina said abashedly. Her mouth twisted into a slant. “And if I do write a letter, it woul
d take weeks to get there and by that time you would be married off. Even if I do get a response, your parents would intervene and figure out where you are.”
Mary knew what her maid was saying and nodded. “It might be wise to leave that avenue alone. What do I do then?”
Pausing to think, with a tiny furrow in her forehead, Tina face cleared and she grabbed Mary to tug her into the rooms. “Where are the sets of maps that your father gave you last spring?”
Catching on, Mary went to the drawer were a hand drawn and very expensive map of the county of Northampton, where her home of Harlington rested, and took it out. Unfolding it, she looked over the delicate lines that marked the various town borders to the part where it marked the border of England and Scotland.
Mesmerized by a Roguish Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 2
