“Bastard.” It was the nicest title Alasdair could use for the devil. “Where did ye hear this?”
“Every pub I visited.” His brother gave him a grim look and drew a folded bit of parchment from his waistcoat and held it out. “Two men are covering Edinburgh with these. Probably the same two from a week ago that flushed her aunt and the boy out of the apartment.”
Alasdair unfolded the yellowed paper and scanned the print. The duke had spared no expense, even commissioned an artist’s rendering of the boy, Isobel, and Yeva. Thankfully, the likenesses were terrible. Unfortunately, the detailed description of their persons was not. He refolded the notice and shoved it in his pocket. He’d not have the servants see it and succumb to temptation. “I’m taking them to Tor Ruadh.”
Ian nodded, hooking his thumbs in his belt. “The quicker she’s shed of Edinburgh, the safer she’ll be.” He glanced toward the house. “How much do ye trust yer people?”
The question tightened Alasdair’s gut. Since he’d purchased the manor a year ago, he’d never had issues with any of them, but there also had never been such an opportunity laid out to test them either. Could he trust them? Any of them? “I dinna ken whether they can be trusted or not.” He patted the pocket holding the paper. “Gold changes many a man’s morals.”
“Last I saw Sutherland, he mentioned a visit to Edinburgh. Should pass through here any day now.” Ian yawned again. “With the three of us, the journey to Tor Ruadh should be safe enough.”
Alasdair trusted his brother and his cousin, Sutherland MacCoinnich, a damn sight more than he trusted anyone else. He nodded. “Aye. We’ll prepare to leave, and hopefully, Sutherland will arrive soon. I’ll give him a week. I’m not comfortable waiting any longer.” He motioned for Ian to join him as he turned toward the house. “Come. We’ll get ye fed before ye seek yer rest.” He clapped a hand to his brother’s shoulder as he fell in step beside him. “Not a word of this to anyone, aye?”
“So, ye dinna trust them?” Ian gave a sad shake of his head as they entered through the side door and turned down the hall toward the kitchen. “I told ye living in the city rather than the Highlands was not the best for yer health.”
“What does that mean? Ian? Alasdair? What has happened?” Isobel hurried down the remaining steps of the back stairs and rounded the corner. She had changed into the sober skirts and matching bodice of a modest Scottish woman. Her hair was pulled back in a braided bun, and the creamy white ruffles of her chemise peeped up around her proper neckline. She gathered the folds of her belted arisaid closer about her shoulders. “Alasdair? What did he mean by saying such?”
“I leave ye to explain it to her, brother.” Ian ducked aside and retreated into the kitchen.
“Coward,” Alasdair muttered under his breath before turning back to Isobel. He forced a smile and offered his arm. “I feel we would be better served discussing this matter in my office, aye?”
She stared at him as though trying to read his mind. A frown puckering her brow, she gave a gracious nod and slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Verra well.”
They made their way to his office without speaking. Alasdair opened the door and motioned toward the pair of cushioned chairs angled in front of the wide bay window at the other end of the room. “Have a seat beside the window. I’ll push open the panes for a bit of fresh air as soon as I’ve ensured we’re not interrupted.”
While she seated herself, he closed the office door and locked it. He wished no intrusions, and eavesdropping would prove more than a little difficult with them sitting at the far end of the room. He strode across the study and pushed open a pane, then seated himself opposite Isobel as he withdrew the folded parchment from his inner pocket. The last thing he wished was for her to read the paper that amounted to a death warrant. But he had sworn he would never lie to her. “Ian gave me this.”
With a quizzical look, she took the missive and opened it. The longer she stared at the paper, the paler she grew. She pressed trembling fingers to the base of her throat. “Where did he get this?”
“In a pub. Here in Edinburgh.” Alasdair leaned forward, aching to console her but struggling not to make the same mistake he’d made earlier. “Sutherland is due here anytime. We shall give him a week. I feel it would be prudent to have him and Ian both on the journey to Tor Ruadh. But in one week, we leave, whether or not he has arrived. We dare not wait any longer.”
“I see.” She refolded the paper with slow, careful movements, staring down at it as though fearing it would sprout teeth and attack her at any moment. She huffed out a humorless laugh and attempted a tremulous smile. “I canna say that I’m surprised. Temsworth threatened to end me numerous times after Connor was born.” She smoothed a thumb along a fold of the paper, and her jaw tightened. “The only reason I’m still alive is that I convinced him of what a chore it would be to entrust Connor’s care to a reliable maid since he was too young to send off to foster.” Her voice took on a bitter tone. “Temsworth loathed female servants and refused to hire any. Not that any woman knowing of the rumors would ever risk working for him.” Her eyes took on a cold, hopeless look. “He had women brought to Hestlemoor for his inner circle’s amusement.” She paused, her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “It is my understanding that many were never seen again.”
“The man deserves a slow, painful death for all he did to ye.” Alasdair slid out of his chair and knelt in front of her. “I would never have burdened ye with this, but I felt ye should know. I willna lie to ye. Not ever, Isobel.” He slid his hand under hers and lifted it for a tender kiss. Peering into her eyes, he willed her to trust him. “Keep yerself and Connor away from the garden walls and gates, aye? Better yet, the two of ye would do well to stay at my side whenever outside of the house. No matter where I may be, if ye wish to go outside, fetch me. The two of ye are more important to me than anything else. Understand?”
She leaned forward and trailed a trembling fingertip along the edge of his jaw. “Always the protector,” she whispered. “What would I do without ye?”
He reveled in her touch, praying it would never end. “If I have my way about it, ye will never have to find out.”
“Remember the promise I made.” Regret and sadness laced her words. “To God and myself.” Tears welled in her eyes. “And I canna risk yer life, my long-lost love. I canna be the reason ye die.” She pulled her hands away and turned aside. “If I had any decency in my bones, I’d gather up Connor and Auntie and run away from this place as fast as I could to save ye from this danger.” She bowed her head and closed her eyes. “But I am a selfish coward. I fear I couldna keep my son safe without ye.”
“Ye are nay a selfish coward, mo chridhe.” He remained kneeling in front of her but refrained from touching her. “Ye’ve battled evil all alone for so verra long, ye’re weary and feel as though ye’re up against a wall of stone.”
Isobel nodded. “Aye,” she whispered, swiping tears from her cheeks. “I am weary.”
“Let me be yer strength.” He leaned closer and held out his hand. “Let me keep ye safe and protect yer son as though he were my own.”
Her eyes widened, but she avoided meeting his gaze. Instead, she stared down at his hands. After another shuddering breath, she slid her fingers across his and squeezed. She lifted her head and gave him the saddest smile. “There will never be another love for me. I swore it to myself and God Almighty. But know this—ye will be in my heart forever. And please know ye will always have my gratitude, aye?”
“Aye, my love.” Alasdair bent and brushed a kiss across her fingers, her words filling his heart with bittersweet emotions. He would accept whatever she was prepared to give for now, but that didn’t mean he’d relinquish his fight to change her mind and make her truly his.
Chapter Seven
“This one’s named Posy ’cause Master Jock says the white around her nose looks like flower petals.” Connor kissed the wiggling puppy’s head, returned her to the ground, and picked
up another. He made a face, going all squinty-eyed and talking fast. “Dis one’s Haggis.” Haggis received a fierce hug and a kiss and was set back down among his siblings.
“What is that smell?” Isobel pressed the backs of her fingers across the end of her nose. The air suddenly reeked of rotted eggs, rancid meat, and fresh dog shite.
“Haggis,” supplied old Jock with a scowl directed at the guilty pup. “Fearsome stench when he breaks wind, and he does it all the time.” The stablemaster’s stern look shifted to Connor. “I thought I told ye not to pick him up? He’s worse when ye squeeze his belly.”
“Oh, Connor.” Isobel fanned to clear the air. “Hurry and tell us the rest of their names so we might catch our breath outside.” She didn’t wish to hurt her son’s feelings, but it was all she could do to keep from gagging. How could such a cute little puppy create such an enormous stink?
Alasdair fisted a hand in front of his mouth and coughed. “Aye, lad. Be quick about it.”
Nose wrinkled, Connor pointed at the puppies squirming around his feet, naming them off. “That one’s Bonnie ’cause she’s verra pretty. Tags ’cause he’s always biting at the other’s ears, then taking off. Nipper ’cause he’s a biter, too, and then Laddie, ’cause he’s the runt and needs a good name to grow into.”
“Fine names all, lad. Well done.” Alasdair gave an impatient nod toward the door. “Let’s get a bit a fresh air now, shall we?”
“He canna help it.” Connor squatted back down and scooped up Haggis, hugging him close. The pup yipped and squirmed with tiny, playful growls, all the while licking and nipping at the boy’s chin. “He’s my favorite. I love him even if he does stink something fierce.”
Love for her soft-hearted son filled her soul near to bursting. Isobel knelt beside Connor and waved Alasdair on. “Ye go ahead. Connor and I need to visit with wee Haggis for a bit since we’re leaving him in a few days.”
Alasdair stared down at them, then shook his head, and joined them on the ground. “Nay. I’ll not be outdone by the two of ye when it comes to bearing a pup’s case of belly gas.” He reached across and tousled Connor’s already mussed hair. “Soon as yer friend here is old enough to leave his mam, what say ye we have Ian bring him to us at Tor Ruadh? He can be yer verra own dog. Plenty of room to run and play there.”
Connor beamed as he hugged the puppy tighter and rubbed his floppy little ears. “Ye hear that Haggis? Ye get to be mine!” He placed the tiny dog back in the hay and clapped his hands.
Haggis romped about even faster, twirling his plump black body in circles.
Isobel pressed a hand to her chest. Alasdair played her weaknesses well, knowing the surest path to her heart was through her son. As if the man needed a path at all. Saints have mercy, how she loved him still. She’d grudgingly realized that fate and ill luck had separated them rather than the lies and cowardice she’d blamed on Alasdair. Her past wasn’t his fault. And with that revelation, the floodgates of her heart had burst open wide. All the memories, all the emotions, all they had shared before life had turned so sour had rushed back to her with a vengeance. God forgive her, she loved him true.
But circumstances stained that love with hopelessness. Her head told her such a love could never be no matter what her heart demanded. She blinked away the threat of tears. While she no longer blamed Alasdair for their separation, they still couldn’t be together. Her promise was not the worst of the problems standing in their way. She felt sure she could figure a way around her panicked oath to God. The Almighty always forgave. Nay. There was but one reason remaining why they could never be together. A reason she saw no way around. The duke would never grant her a divorce, and to even request one would endanger Alasdair’s life. That, she could never do. She would spend the rest of her days devoted to her son and thankful to at least have Alasdair back in her life as a friend.
“With any luck, he’ll outgrow his belly troubles,” she observed as another wave of choking puppy gas wafted up around them and rudely brought her back to the matter at hand.
“Lore a’mighty, boy!” Jock rounded the stall, slid his hands under Connor’s armpits, and yanked the boy to his feet. “Leave him be awhile, and let the air clear. Ye’ll put the horses off their feed.”
Alasdair wasted no time in rising and held down a hand to Isobel. “M’lady,” he said with a smile that made her heart beat faster.
She slid her hand into his, standing with little effort as he took the opportunity to pull her upward so quickly, she stumbled into his arms.
“Oh, dear!” She steadied herself against his muscled chest. “Forgive me.” Cheeks aflame, she eased a step away and busied herself with brushing strands of hay from her skirts, anything to keep from looking him in the eyes.
He closed the distance between them and leaned in even closer. “Nothing to forgive, mo chridhe. Unless it would be yer haste to leave my embrace.” His hushed voice, his tone meant for her alone, swept across her like the softest caress.
“Can I ride Flossy now?” Connor tugged on her sleeve as he shoved to stand in between them. “Peeze? I need the practice. Lots a horses at Tor Ruadh. Aye, Master Alasdair?”
She gave Alasdair an apologetic smile but was secretly grateful for the inability to have a private moment in the presence of a five-year-old. Her son had saved her from melting into a babbling fool. She pulled in a steadying breath and stood taller. She had to remain strong.
Alasdair seemed unperturbed as he gave the boy a serious nod. “Aye, lad. Verra true. Many a horse at Tor Ruadh.” He offered his arm to Isobel and smiled down at Connor. “I think old Jock has Flossy waiting for ye in the paddock. He knew ye’d want to practice yer skills on such a fair day as this. Yer mother and I shall watch ye from the gate. Run and tell the man ye’re ready.”
Connor shot off across the stables, bellowing for Jock’s attention. The man set his rake aside with a slow shake of his white head and a disgruntled look in Alasdair’s direction. He clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder and steered him toward the door leading to the small, fenced-in area beside the stable.
“I believe Master Jock will be more than happy to regain the peace and quiet of days free of inquisitive young children.” Isobel pulled her light, knitted shawl tighter about her shoulders and breathed in the floral fragrance of the warm spring breeze as they exited the stable and took their post beside the gate. It was the first time in a long time she had allowed herself to hope that life had finally taken a turn for the better. “Poor man. If Connor’s not pestering him about playing with the pups, he’s nettling him about riding the horses.”
“Dinna let the old goat fool ye.” Alasdair patted her hand in the crook of his elbow and winked. “There’s been more spring in his step since Connor arrived.” He smiled down at her fingers resting atop his arm as his thumb tickled back and forth across her hand. “There’s been more spring in my step as well with the two of ye in my life.”
She squeezed his arm, rallying all the composure she possessed to say what her conscience had been badgering her to say for days. “I understand now that…the past…all that went wrong, I know it was nay yer fault.” She pulled her gaze from his and focused her attention on an industrious beetle creeping up the gray, weathered post of the gate. “Ye’ve been so kind and helpful.” Pride and gratitude warmed her as her son appeared, riding the small mare Alasdair had just purchased for him. “Ye’ve been so good to Connor.” She rested a hand atop the gate and watched her lad beaming with more joy to be alive than she had ever seen in him before. “I know now that ye wouldha done anything in yer power to save me if ye had only known.” She blinked against the misting of tears. “Fate deemed us to never be. None of it was yer fault. I dinna place the blame at yer feet any longer.”
“I’ve yearned to hear those words for ten years.” He turned her toward him. “And we can still be, my love.” He lifted her hand from his arm and pressed a lingering kiss to it. “Bad luck, a curse, evil itself, tore us apart. I prefer to believe fate
brought us back together.”
She lost herself in the safe, compassionate depths of his gaze. So many things flickered in his eyes. Love. Yearning. Loneliness. She felt certain her eyes reflected the same. How could they not? All those things and more churned inside her. But she couldn’t allow emotion to rule her. Not with so much at stake. “I know God would forgive my rash oath, but we can still never be more than friends. I am the wife of another man. A devil of a man who will never grant me freedom.” She struggled to make him understand. “He’ll hunt us down. Hurt ye. I canna bear that.”
With the gentlest of touches, he slid his fingers along her jaw and cupped her face with his palm. “Ye forget I am a stubborn man, mo chridhe. Once we get ye safe and settled at Tor Ruadh, ye will be mine.” He teased a kiss across her mouth, the sweetest and most endearing kiss she could ever imagine. A kiss filled with promise and hope.
She closed her eyes as he pressed his forehead to hers and clasped both her hands between them. “I daren’t wish,” she whispered. “Ye canna imagine how crazed he is.”
“Are ye gonna be my new da, Master Alasdair?” Connor called out as he urged Flossy toward them. “Auntie Yeva says ye be a damn fine man. Way better than that cruel bastard who sired me.”
“Connor!” Isobel jerked a step back and placed her full attention on her son. “Such language! I should wash out yer mouth with Mrs. Aggie’s strongest soap to rid ye of those filthy words!”
Alasdair’s amusement escaped him in short, huffing snorts.
Isobel turned back to him. “Ye are nay helping. Dinna encourage him!” She returned her attention to Connor, sitting taller in the saddle, a triumphant grin on his rosy-cheeked face. “Ye are not to repeat such ever again, or I’ll tan yer tail for ye, wash out yer mouth, and forbid ye to do anything ye enjoy for a month a Sundays. Do ye understand me?”
The Judge (Highland Heroes Book 3) Page 9
