The Judge (Highland Heroes Book 3)

by Maeve Greyson

  Connor’s grin disappeared, and his little chin hit his chest. “Auntie Yeva said it.”

  Isobel had no doubt she had. The woman had been known to use coarse language, and the older she got, the less inclined she was to curb her tongue on all subjects. At least most of the time when her aunt chose to express herself, she did so in her native tongue that Connor was just now learning.

  “Dinna be so hard on the lad,” Alasdair whispered with a nudge. “After all, everything he said was true.”

  “It was nay what he said,” Isobel whispered back, praying Connor wouldn’t overhear. “It was how he said it.”

  “So, will ye be my new da then?” Connor repeated with a daring, side-eyed glance in his mother’s direction before edging his mare closer to Alasdair.

  “Halt, ye bastards!” Ian’s roar ripped through the balmy spring day, echoing across the courtyard. The jarring crack of gunfire split the air.

  Alasdair grabbed Isobel around her waist, kicked open the paddock gate, and scooped Connor down from the saddle. “Into the stable. Both of ye. Dinna come out ’til I come for ye.”

  She grabbed her son and dashed to shelter. Hugging him tight, she ran down the aisle, feet pounding on the soft earthen floor. She careened into a center stall and crouched against the rear wall. Heart pounding, gasping for breath, she clutched the boy to her chest. With a back-and-forth rocking as though he was still a babe, she sent up a silent, fervent prayer. Please God. Protect us. Protect us all. Please, keep Alasdair safe, too.

  Connor clutched at her. Arms and legs wrapped around her, he burrowed his face harder into the crook of her neck. She had to be brave for him. She had to show him how to get through this. “Ian and Alasdair will keep us safe, son. We must have faith,” she whispered as she rubbed his back and kissed his head. “We’re safe here, aye? None can harm us, and here we shall stay ’til Alasdair returns. All will be well.”

  Connor remained silent except for shuddering out a sniff and butting his head up tighter under her chin.

  Isobel found solace in the fact she hadn’t heard any additional gunfire. She settled lower into the pile of clean hay against the wall and situated Connor on her lap. They would stay put until Alasdair came for them. Aye. That’s what they would do. She continued rubbing her hand up and down her son’s back. “I feel sure ye will like Tor Ruadh. All those horses. Fresh air. Lots of room to run and play. And soon enough, Haggis will be there to join ye. Ye can run through the fields and explore the land together. Ye’ll have a grand time.”

  “Isobel!”

  Alasdair’s deep voice was surely the sweetest music she had ever heard. Isobel closed her eyes and blew out a relieved sigh. Thank ye, Lord, for protecting him. “Here!” She patted Connor’s back and gently pried him away. “Come, son. Stand on yer own so I can get up. Alasdair has returned just as he said he would. All is well, see?”

  Connor allowed her to slide him from her lap but maintained a tight hold on her hand and the fold of her skirts once she’d risen to her feet. Isobel struggled to refrain from gathering him up into her arms again. He was not a baby, and she shouldn’t treat him as such. But the poor lad. He had endured so much for one so young. She kept an arm around his shoulders and held him close to her side.

  Alasdair rounded the side of the stall, scooped up Connor, then pulled her into his arms. He held them both close, hugging them with fierce urgency. Then he lowered Connor to the ground and nodded toward Jock standing behind him. “I need ye to go with Jock. He’ll take ye to the kitchen for a treat from Mrs. Aggie, aye?”

  The lad scuttled back to his frantic hold of Isobel’s skirts. “I dinna wanna leave Mama. I be afeared for her.” He sniffed and scrubbed the back of one hand across his little nose, red and runny from his tears. “I be afeared for me, too,” he added in a quivering whisper. “Father said I am the biggest sort of coward, but I canna help it. I am what I am.”

  Every fiber in Isobel’s being filled with a fresh surge of pure hatred for her cruel husband. She hugged Connor closer. “Ye’re nay a coward, my son. Ye’re the bravest boy I know.”

  Alasdair crouched beside Connor and patted the little boy’s shoulder. “There is no shame in being afeared, Connor. Fear keeps a wise man safe and ready.” Ever so gently, he drew the boy away from his mother’s skirts and into the curve of his arm. “Do ye know what the true meaning of courage is, lad? Real and for certain bravery such as that of a warrior?”

  Connor shook his head.

  “It is nay the absence of fear or worry. Every man, no matter how fierce, fears something. True courage is having the strength and stubbornness to push through whatever that something is. Face yer fears head-on, and do yer best to conquer them. That is true courage.”

  “Were ye afeared when Master Ian shouted, and the guns went off?” Connor chewed on his bottom lip, his tender face pulled into a worried scowl.

  “Aye. Verra much so.” Alasdair rose to his feet and held out his hand for Connor to take. “I was frightened because I care for ye and for yer mother. I couldna bear it if anything happened, and ye werena safe.”

  “But ye ran to help him anyway.” Connor took Alasdair’s hand, then gave a half-hearted shrug and peered around at Jock. “I shall go with Jock now if ye swear to keep Mama safe and bring her inside soon, aye?”

  “Aye.” Alasdair gave the boy a solemn nod and thumped his fist on his chest. “I swear it.”

  “Come along, boy.” Jock waved him forward. “Baking day in the house. Bound to be something good for us to eat in old Aggie’s kitchen.”

  Connor took Jock’s hand, gave his mother a shy wave, then headed out of the stable, passing Ian and another man as they entered.

  Isobel peered closer at the man walking beside Ian, leading the largest horse she had seen in a while. Recognition clicked. “Sutherland MacCoinnich, as I live and breathe.” A profound sense of relief lightened the chokehold of worry cutting off her air. She held out her hands. Alasdair would be so much safer with both his brother and his cousin at his side.

  Sutherland, the youngest of the MacCoinnichs but just as braw and fierce, strode forward, his light blue eyes sparkling. “Isobel. It’s finer than fine to see ye here with Alasdair.” He squeezed her hands, then grazed a polite kiss across her knuckles. “Dinna fret, my fair lass. We shall get ye and yer son safe to Tor Ruadh.”

  “We leave tomorrow night,” Alasdair said as he shot Sutherland a jealous look and pulled Isobel’s hands out of his grasp. He sidled closer and turned her to face him. “Ye can be packed and ready, aye?”

  Alasdair had nothing to worry about regarding Sutherland, but she wasn’t about to let him in on that fact. A wee taste of jealousy wouldn’t hurt him, and she rather enjoyed watching him react. She knew the MacCoinnich cousin for the incorrigible womanizer he was, had always known him to be such and never taken his antics seriously. She liked the lad, though, in spite of his reputation. He had a good heart. Someday the right woman would tame him. She gave Alasdair a solemn nod. “Auntie and I shall see to it that we’re ready. We’ve not that much to pull together.”

  “I wounded one of the two blackguards spying over the wall but not enough to keep them both from slipping away,” Ian said. “Ye’re no longer hidden here. Word will spread fast.”

  “If word spreads and we’re watched, will they not follow us into the Highlands?” Hope for the future seemed to be slipping out of her grasp. Isobel lowered her voice and glanced around the courtyard, struggling to keep the distant light of a better life burning bright. “Should we leave tonight instead? Slip away when even the household nay suspects?”

  Alasdair’s eyes narrowed to a plotting squint. He rubbed his chin, scratching his fingers through the dark stubble. “It might be prudent to do so.”

  “From the notices I saw tacked in every pub, it would be more than prudent to do so,” Sutherland observed as he scanned their surroundings. He gave Alasdair a meaningful nod. “Dinna tell yer staff. Leave a vague note of an extended absence
or provide them with some such excuse for the journey, but dinna give them a clue as to where ye’re going or how long ye’ll be gone. The gold offered for the boy would tempt the most loyal of servants.”

  “I had thought to bring Lachie with us, but now I’m nay so sure.” Alasdair stared off into the distance. His worries made his scowl all the fiercer and struck an ominous sense of doom deep in Isobel’s heart.

  “I can drive the wagon,” Isobel said. “Connor could make the trip on horseback, but I fear Auntie couldna survive it.” Her poor aunt had been through so much, and whilst the proud old woman never complained about her ailments brought on by advancing years, Isobel noticed her slowing down just the same.

  Alasdair gave a curt nod, then spurred into action. He motioned toward Ian and Sutherland, and then toward the stable. “The two of ye ready the wagon and the horses. Ye can tell Jock it’s for an extended trip, and he’ll help ye without question. I’m off to the kitchen to arrange for supplies, and I’ll send them out here to ye.” Turning back to Isobel, he took hold of her hands and squeezed. “Gather yer things and try to convince Connor that he’s not to tell anyone of the trip. I’ll be telling the servants as little as possible just to ensure we’ve all the supplies we need.”

  She didn’t trust herself to speak, whether from the protective urgency of Alasdair’s touch or the pending escape into the night she had no clue. All she knew for certain was it took all her strength to hold together for yet another battle to secure them a better life.

  “All will be well, mo ghràdh,” Alasdair said softly. He touched her cheek with the gentlest caress. “I will see to it.”

  Although she knew she shouldn’t, she found comfort in the thunderous storm of emotions flashing in his eyes. Alasdair would wade through the fires of hell for her and Connor, and that knowledge made her feel all the worse for putting him in such danger. He didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve one as damaged as her, one tainted from years of unspeakable mistreatment. He deserved a great deal more than a woman on the run from a madman who would stop at nothing to punish her for having the audacity to defy him. “Promise me when we get to Tor Ruadh, ye will distance yerself from me—for yer own safety. I beg ye. Swear it.”

  “I will never swear to that,” Alasdair said quietly as he cradled her face in his palm. “Not ever.”

  His mouth was so close. The yearning to melt into his embrace and forget all her fears, to lay the complicated weight of her life upon his shoulders, tempted her. Nay. She couldn’t weaken. It wouldn’t be fair to give him such hope. She spun away, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out at denying herself his touch. She gathered up her skirts and raced across the cobblestones toward the house. There was much to do. This was not the time to wallow in what could never be. She burst into the kitchen in search of her son.

  Connor looked up from his cup, a milky mustache spread across his upper lip. His brows knotted together in a serious little scowl. “Why are ye crying, Mama? Did the bad men come back?”

  Isobel touched her cheeks, surprised at the wetness. She swiped at the tears and shook her head. “Nay, lad. Just dust in my eyes.” She hated lying to Connor, but there was no way she could tell him the truth. It was not something in her eyes that brought on the tears, but something in her heart.

  Chapter Eight

  “They laid Lettie to rest yesterday.”

  Alasdair glanced over at his brother as they rode through the darkness. The crowded streets and wide, hard-packed roadways leading out of Edinburgh had faded to nothing more than a dry, rutted path bordered by tufts of sedge and rolling countryside. Even in the eerie blue-white light of the waxing moon, the pain on Ian’s face was clear. “I am sorry, brother.” And he was. His brother’s poor heart had suffered much.

  Ian shrugged. “I dinna know if I loved Lettie or just Janet’s memory ’cause she looked so much like her.” He shifted in the saddle, then met Alasdair’s gaze. “I didna do Lettie justice. I shouldha made her feel like I loved her for herself. She deserved better, ye ken? She was a kind lass. A bigger hearted, more loving woman, ye’d be hard-pressed to find.”

  “She knew ye loved her,” Alasdair lied.

  Anyone who had known his brother’s late wife, Janet, knew why Ian had been so attracted to Lettie. He stole a look back at the wagon. Isobel sat alone on the bench seat, controlling the team as though born to it. Yeva and Connor had succumbed to weariness hours earlier and bedded down among the bundles of supplies in the back. Sutherland rode behind them, lagging back, ever vigilant.

  Alasdair righted himself in the saddle, consoled somewhat that nothing ill had beset the start of their journey, but wishing he could ease his brother’s pain. “Ye gave her happiness for a time and eased her lot in life. Enabled her to claim ye as her only client so she could rest when ye were nay in Edinburgh.”

  “I think it best I steer clear of women for a while.” Ian blew out a heavy sigh. “Cursed when it comes to the lasses. First Janet. Then Lettie.” He turned a bitter smile on Alasdair. “The lot falls to ye, brother. Marry Isobel so ye can sire a son to carry on the Cameron name, aye?”

  “Once I rid her of that bastard she married, I will.” He squeezed the worn leather reins tighter, wishing his hands were wrapped around Temsworth’s neck instead.

  “And if he refuses to grant her a divorce?”

  Alasdair nudged his mount to a faster clip, a sense of urgency nagging him to get Isobel to safety as quickly as possible. He gave his brother a look that wouldn’t be mistaken. “I will do whatever it takes to make Isobel mine.”

  Ian agreed with a dip of his chin.

  The faster rhythm of the clattering wheels of the wagon behind them assured him that Isobel had noticed the change of pace and increased the team’s speed. They maintained the rate for the better part of an hour. The horses’ ground-eating trot carried them far enough from Edinburgh’s dangers to earn Alasdair a bit of peace. He held up a hand and stopped as Stirling came into view, pondering the choices of resting the remaining few hours before dawn at an inn or pushing onward and skirting any potential problems.

  “Why are we stopping?” Isobel brought the wagon to a halt beside him. She stretched to sit taller, craning her neck to take in the view ahead. “What town is that?”

  “Stirling.” Alasdair resettled himself in the saddle. “We made good time for the first bit of our journey. We could find an inn up ahead. Hot food. Beds. Care for the horses. Such a stop could make the rest of our trip easier.” Even in the poor lighting, he noticed her weariness and the strained set of her shoulders. She needed rest. At least for what remained of the night, and mayhap even a few hours into the morning. The rest of the journey would be in the wild. They’d best make use of whatever comforts they found now. “What say ye, lass?”

  “I shouldha known that was Stirling. I see the castle now.” Isobel leaned back and peered down into the wagon. As she turned back to him, she rubbed at the corners of her eyes. “It would be nice to rest a bit.” She nodded toward the pale flicker of scattered torchlight winking among the buildings. Stirling Castle rose in the distance like a great hulking beast standing guard over the populace below. “If ye feel certain it would be safe.”

  “I will make it safe.” He would see that Isobel got her rest if he had to stand guard at her bedside. He waved Sutherland forward. “Ride close to their side, aye? We’ll be finding an inn to seek some rest.”

  Sutherland nodded and pointed toward the western side of town. “Old Guntie MacPherson runs a clean enough place. Far enough from the castle and barracks to suit my liking, if ye get my meaning.”

  “I get it.” Alasdair took the lead, heading his horse in the direction Sutherland had suggested.

  If Temsworth had gone so far as to place a bounty on his own son and wife’s head, the man would have also alerted the military. They needed to avoid any interactions with soldiers. The duke had powerful connections and never hesitated to use them. Everyone feared the man. Alasdair snorted. He
didn’t fear the bastard. He looked forward to the day he could snap the man’s neck.

  The silence of the hours just before dawn cast a chill to the air as they entered the deserted streets of Stirling. Every move, every rattle of their gear, and clop of the horses’ hooves echoed. The buildings resembled tall, grim sentries, scowling down with their dark windows watching like wide, sightless eyes.

  “There,” Sutherland called out in a hushed voice as he pointed to the sparsely windowed, stone building on the corner. “MacPherson’s stable is across the way. See it?”

  “Aye.” Alasdair brought them to a halt in front of the inn. He dismounted and held up a hand to assist Isobel in clambering down from the wagon. “Ian and Sutherland will stand watch whilst we arrange for rooms.”

  Isobel paused beside the wagon, reaching over to tuck the blanket higher around Connor’s shoulders. She looked up at Sutherland. “If he wakes, be sure and tell him all is well, aye?”

  “I will, m’lady. Ne’er ye fret.” Sutherland edged his horse closer, all the while continuing to scan the surrounding area.

  Ian dismounted, led his mount to the rear of the cart, and tied it off. He climbed up into the wagon seat and settled down, his pistol resting in the crook of his elbow. He gave Alasdair a solemn nod.

  “Come, Isobel.” Alasdair held out his arm. The sooner they got rooms, the sooner they wouldn’t be out in the open. As near as he could tell, no one noticed nor cared about their untimely arrival, but one never knew who or what lurked in the shadows.

  With Isobel tucked close to his side, they entered the inn. The place reeked of spilled ale, roasted meat, and a hint of smokiness from the dwindling fire glowing in the hearth. Good enough. He had been in worse. Mounds of plaid-draped bodies lay scattered across the floor, rumbling with loud snores. Slumbering patrons were everywhere, some even propped in chairs around the edges of the room. The sight of so many sleeping in the general area of the inn concerned him. The number seemed in excess of those who couldn’t usually scrape up enough coin to pay for a private room.