“Aye. A son. Connor.” Isobel accepted the cup of broth but waved aside the plate of food. She couldn’t eat. Too much was going on, and too much was at risk.
“Were you able to get him away from the duke?” Mercy asked as she balanced her cup on the ledge of her rounded stomach.
“Aye.” Isobel leaned forward and slid her drink to the low wooden table in front of her. She reached out and squeezed Auntie’s hand before continuing. “Connor, Auntie Yeva, and I escaped to Edinburgh but then found ourselves in dire straits.” She wouldn’t mention all the details. The women seemed understanding enough, but she didn’t wish to strain the delicate weave of these newfound friendships with information about the brothel.
“What happened?” Catriona asked. Kindness and genuine concern flowed from her.
“Alasdair saved us.” Isobel smiled, unable to stop joyful tears as they spilled over. “I had thought him dead. Been told that many a time. But he found me in Edinburgh, and now I have hope for a new life.” She swiped at the tears. “Forgive me.”
“Nothing to forgive, lass,” Gretna soothed, holding out a glass of port. “Here. Ye need this more than broth.”
“Ye are too kind. All of ye.” She accepted it and took a quick sip.
“We were rescued by our men, too,” Catriona said with a nod toward Mercy. “We understand.”
“That we do,” Mercy said, lifting her cup in a toast. She turned her head as though searching. “Gretna, would you be so kind as to fix me a plate overflowing with food? I fear I’m ravenous…again.”
“Allow me,” Isobel said. She handed her port to Auntie, knowing full well the feisty old woman would empty the glass before she returned to her seat.
“While ye’re at that,” Catriona said and settled more comfortably back in her chair. “Ye said ye already had a plan but couldna get Alasdair to see sense. Tell us. Maybe, we can help.”
“Alasdair plans to file divorce papers for me. He swears he’ll use a messenger to contact the duke, but I know better.” She selected a bit of each treat from the tray. An expectant mother needed plentiful sustenance. “I canna get him to understand that the duke will stop at nothing. I fear for Alasdair’s life.” She carried the overflowing plate to Mercy and placed it in her hands. “This may shock all of ye, but I told Alasdair we could live as man and wife without the divorce.” She stood in the center of the group, praying they’d agree. “Ten years ago, before my father sold me to Temsworth, Alasdair and I pledged our troth in a cave on the Isle of Skye. That makes us husband and wife and my marriage to Temsworth void.” She swallowed hard and stared at her feet. She couldn’t bear facing these women and what their eyes might show. “Since we had no witnesses, Alasdair insists on handling this terrible mess his way. I fear he’ll be lost to me if he does so—dead for certain this time.”
Catriona rose and took hold of Isobel’s hands; Gretna did the same.
“What is happening?” Mercy asked, carefully setting her plate on the seat beside her.
“Join us,” Gretna answered. “Three paces forward. Ye canna miss us.”
Mercy smiled as she stood and moved forward, holding out both hands. “We shall help you any way we can.”
“Aye,” Catriona said. “Ye’re not alone in this, Isobel. We understand fully and will do whatever we can to help.”
“Yes,” Mercy said as she found their hands and rested hers atop them. “Men are slaves to their fury. It is our duty to be the voices of reason.”
“Aye,” Gretna said. “And to shake them ’til their teeth rattle when they dinna listen to us.”
Overwhelmed by their unquestioned acceptance, a happy sob escaped her as Auntie pushed her way in and latched her hands onto the pile.
“We make them listen,” the wise elder stated with a jerking nod.
Catriona nodded, then bellowed, “Anne!”
“Aye, m’lady?”
“Drams all around, and pour a generous one for yerself as well.”
“Aye, m’lady,” Anne said and hurried to comply.
Chapter Fourteen
The garden behind the keep teemed with children. Their excited squeals and laughter filled the air as they raced after each other among the mazes of trees, bushes, and squared off plots of freshly turned earth planted with herbs and vegetables. Auntie Yeva sat on a bench in the middle of the fray, focused on a pile of mending in her lap as she minded the children.
Alasdair leaned against the newly built stone archway of the covered walkway, amused by the bairns’ boisterous game of seize the castle. Aye. They’d all be fine warriors someday. He rubbed his back against the rough edge of the chiseled wall, scratching an itch he couldn’t reach. The fortified walkway hemmed in the garden from the rest of the keep’s busy courtyard, a futile attempt at keeping the young ones penned.
Willa’s furious shriek as she charged at the boys with wooden sword raised gave him a smile but also weighed heavy on his heart. The wee lass reminded him of Isobel when they had played together all those years ago. He longed for the ten years wasted all because of fate’s cruelty. His own wee ones might have been at play today if not for that lost time. He shook away the thought. ’Twas futile to think of such. The past could neither be changed nor recovered.
“Willa may be the only girl, but I believe she’ll be the fiercest of them all.” Isobel appeared at his side, wiping her hands on her apron.
“She reminds me of ye. The way ye used to boss us about whilst we played.” Alasdair pulled her close and kissed her temple. He closed his eyes and breathed in her scent, realizing at once that to do so was a mistake. His body roared to life, indignant and suffering because he’d not relented and returned to her bed since they had arrived at Tor Ruadh.
He kissed her again, then shifted away. “Ye smell of lavender and rosemary,” he said with a slight cough as he yanked at the drape of his kilt. She didn’t need any further proof of the power she held over him. He sniffed again, noticing the apron around her waist. “Sweet butter and honey, too. What have ye been about? Have ye treats for me, perhaps?” His stomach growled at the prospect.
“Aye, I have treats.” She gave him a teasing look and stepped closer. “The ladies and I have been busy making soaps and lotions,” she informed him in a seductive whisper. “If ye’d care to join me in a walk down to the stream beside the caves, I’d be more than happy to give ye a hearty sampling.” She took hold of his shoulder and leaned in until her breasts pressed against him. Her breath tickled across his ear. “We could wash each other like husbands and wives are known to do. Think about it.”
Alasdair clenched his teeth to keep from groaning. Nay. He’d sworn he would not lie with her again until she was his wife for true. It wouldn’t be fair to do such here at the keep. Not with so many people about. He refused to sully his dear one’s good name. “Once we are husband and wife, legally, I shall hold ye to that, mo chridhe.”
Her eyes narrowed, and he could tell by the set of her jaw that if she had young Willa’s wooden sword, she would most certainly club him with it. She stepped away, putting an arm’s length of distance between them. “Is there any word on yer futile attempt to address Temsworth with civility? Ye do realize doing such will just reveal that ye are now a part of my escape? He will use that to his advantage.”
The garden gate to the left of them squeaked, then swung shut with a clatter, interrupting Isobel’s tirade and announcing the arrival of company. Alasdair turned, thankful for the reprieve. Whilst he admired her stubbornness, the woman needed to leave off and accept his decision to handle the matter as he saw fit. His spirits perked as he laid eyes on the newcomer to the garden. “Thomas Abernathy.”
The short man had a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles pinched in one hand, and a thick parchment packet clenched in the other, and he hurried across the garden toward them. Perspiration shone on his pale, wrinkled forehead as he balanced his glasses on the bridge of his nose and squinted through them as though in pain. “Master Cameron. At last.”
>
A sense of doom filled Alasdair. Thomas Abernathy was not the sort of man to travel far from the comforts of London, Edinburgh, or anywhere else that could not be accessed via enclosed carriage. He feared his own shadow and was besieged with sneezing fits at the slightest hint of a blooming flower, and had been known to walk for days to avoid riding a horse. His being at Tor Ruadh was either very good or very bad, and Alasdair feared it to be the latter. “I would say I’m pleased to see ye, Thomas, but I fear ye bear bad news.”
Thomas bobbed his weak chin in rapid agreement. “Yer fears be valid, sir.” He squinted in Isobel’s direction, then made a prim, jerking bow. “Forgive me, m’lady. I didna see ye there. Thomas Abernathy, at yer service.”
Alasdair stepped forward, instinctively shielding Isobel from whatever ill tidings Thomas bore. “This is Isobel, the former Duchess of Temsworth.”
Thomas’s watery eyes flared. “I s-see.” He jerked his gaze back to Alasdair. “Uhm…perhaps, we might speak in private, sir?” He forced a smile and made another stiff attempt at a polite bow in Isobel’s direction. “I wouldna wish to upset Her Grace.”
“Her Grace,” Isobel said as she stepped around Alasdair and took a stance at his side. “Is directly involved in whatever tidings ye bear, and I would hear them whether they’re upsetting or not.” She straightened her shoulders. “I promise ye, sir, I can handle whatever ye say.”
The man clamped his mouth shut and returned his attention to Alasdair.
Alasdair nodded. “Go ahead, man. What news have ye?”
Again, Thomas straightened his spectacles more firmly on the bridge of his nose. He unfolded the parchment and held it out to Alasdair, the paper rattling in his trembling hands. “As of the date on this notice, ye have been formally charged with the abduction of Her Grace, her son, and aunt. There are also whispers of forthcoming charges of treason due to the duke’s fabrication of yer involvement in organizing another Jacobite uprising against the crown. Those charges, however, have not been fully realized nor placed as yet. Yer estate in Edinburgh has been seized, and the courts have suspended yer right to represent anyone as a solicitor in Scotland or England. Clans Mackenzie and MacCoinnich have been advised to find a suitable replacement to handle their affairs.” He gave a half-hearted shrug and retreated a step. “And to protect my office, I have been advised to sever any connections with ye, as well.”
Alasdair ignored Isobel’s sharp intake of breath. She squeezed his forearm and moved in closer, peering around him at the paper. He scanned the notice, reading down the list of accusations and lies spelled out in creative detail. He had expected such, prayed against it for Isobel’s sake, but expected it just the same. “Any word from the palace? Was Lady Mercy’s letter delivered to the king?”
Thomas nodded. “Aye. I am afraid so, sir.” He pulled a small paper from an inner pocket of his jacket. The note was folded in two and bore the king’s seal, but the wax imprint of His Majesty’s insignia was clearly broken. “Forgive me, but I felt it prudent to read the missive before I set off on my journey here. I wished t’be fully informed, ye understand.”
Alasdair hurried to open the paper and read the words scrawled in what he could only assume was the king’s own hand. The flowery writing resembled every example of His Majesty’s signature Alasdair had ever seen. Mercy would know for certain, but Alasdair felt the message was legitimate.
“What does it say?” Isobel leaned even closer, stretching to see the contents.
“He refuses to become embroiled in a dispute between a Scot and a high-ranking member of court.” Alasdair passed the paper to Isobel. He had hoped for better. “He sends his regrets to Lady Mercy but unquestionably refuses.”
“It is said His Majesty is not the same man since the death of Queen Mary four years ago.” Thomas shrugged again and shook his head. “It appears the late queen nurtured the king’s ability for compassion, and without her, he has all but lost his sensitivities to anyone’s plights but his own.”
“And now ye are a wanted man because of me.” Isobel shoved the paper back into his hands, righteous fire flashing in her eyes. “I told ye this would happen.” Her voice broke as she yanked her apron off, balled it up, and shook it at him. “What is yer plan now, Alasdair? Which country do ye think will give us sanctuary since we’ll not be safe anywhere in Scotland or England?”
“I have not been charged with treason yet,” he said. “Just kidnapping.” He had expected worse, although he had hoped for more from the king.
He had drawn first blood by filing the divorce papers and demanding full and unequivocal custody of Connor. This was but the first minor skirmish in the war to free Isobel and the lad. He took both the note from the king and the notice of the formal charges and tucked them inside his waistcoat. With a grateful resignation, he clapped a hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “I thank ye for taking the risk of bringing me the news.”
“I could nay entrust it to anyone else, sir. I feared they’d reveal where ye were.” He nodded toward the papers peeping out of Alasdair’s clothing. “The reward being offered is quite substantial. Greed causes folk to do many a terrible thing.” His perspiring brow creased with a worried scowl, and he stole another nervous glance at Isobel. “And as far as the divorce filing…”
“Aye?” Alasdair wrapped an arm around Isobel’s waist and steadied her.
“The duke states he will agree to yer terms, as well as drop all charges against ye, if ye return his son to him by Whitsun—in other words, a fortnight from now.”
Isobel’s trembling vibrated into Alasdair, stirring his rage even more. He gritted his teeth, struggling to remain logical. “That is not acceptable. My filing clearly stated the duke was to rescind all ties to the boy on the grounds of cruelty. Both the boy and mother fully relinquish any and all inheritance and titles if he agrees to such.”
Thomas shook his head as he tucked his glasses into his breast pocket. “He doesna agree to do so and states he never will. Every public house I entered is abuzz with betting on who shall kill ye first. The Brits by stretching yer neck or the duke by hunting ye down and using whatever method tickles his fancy at the time.”
“The bastards will find I’m not such an easy kill.” He hugged Isobel tighter, forcing another reassuring smile for her benefit. “’Twill be all right, love. I expected this.” He turned back to the solicitor. “Again. I thank ye for the risk ye took in coming here.”
Thomas gave a sad dip of his chin, then resettled his jacket with a fidgeting tug. “I be off to Fort William now. That is where I told everyone I was headed.” He jerked a thumb back toward the main courtyard. “Brought some fluffed-up papers to file with the commander’s office. Silly notices and such to verify the trip.” He yanked at his jacket again and stood taller. “Please know ye shall both be in my prayers. I bid ye Godspeed and the Almighty’s blessings in this battle.”
Alasdair took hold of the man’s forearm and clapped his other hand on the man’s thin shoulder. “God watch over ye and protect ye as well, man. Safe travels to ye.”
Thomas nodded, gave Isobel a formal bow, then turned and scurried back the way he had come.
Alasdair watched him go, regret knotting his gut at involving the poor solicitor in this deadly game.
“France.”
He turned to Isobel, the sight of her tear-filled eyes and clenched jaw filling him with even more angry determination. “What?”
“We shall go to France.” Her voice broke as she nodded. “Aye. France should be safe enough. As far as I know, Temsworth has no connections there.”
“I refuse to allow that bastard to chase me from my homeland.” He braced himself. It was time to advise Isobel of the next step in this treacherous gauntlet, and she wasn’t going to like it. “Sutherland has agreed to take ye, Yeva, and Connor to the Mackenzies at Cape Wrath. Matheson, the chieftain there, expects ye and assures yer safety. It’s more remote, and the duke willna expect ye to seek sanctuary that far north. Nor will the British.
”
He fully expected Lord Crestshire, accompanied by his guard, to arrive any day at Tor Ruadh to search the place. Crestshire had warned him that if they ever named Alasdair as guilty, the man would have to follow orders and take him in. Charges now explicitly named him. He felt sure Crestshire would stall as long as possible to give him time to escape, but he had no idea how long that might be. He had to leave at once and put his plan into play.
“Why Sutherland?” Isobel’s glare cut through him. “Why not yerself?”
“Ian and I shall travel south.” He waited for the gist of his statement to sink in, girding himself for the forthcoming battle sure to ensue.
“Ye mean to challenge him.” She moved until they stood toe to toe. “This is what ye’ve planned all along. A face to face challenge. A duel.” She bared her teeth, hissing out the accusation. “Isn’t it? Isn’t that what ye mean?”
“It’s high time for the man to reap what he has sown.”
She thumped her fist against his chest. “Ye are a damned fool, Alasdair! Ye canna do this!” She opened her hand and slammed it into him. “If by some miraculous blessing from God above, ye do succeed in killing the devil, they’ll hunt ye down and hang ye for murder. Even though he be a despicable man, the courts will never side with a Scot. Ye know that as well as I.” She grabbed hold of his jacket lapels and did her best to shake him, tears streaming down her face. “Why would ye do this? Why do ye insist on leaving me alone when we’ve just now found each other after all this time?” She shook her head, trembling with silent sobs as she crumpled against him. “I beg ye—dinna do this. Please. If ye have a scrap of love left for me, please, dinna do this. We can start anew in France.”
He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her as though she were an overwrought child. “It is because I love ye that I must do this, a thasgaidh.”
“Ye call me my darling, yet ye insist on making me a lonely widow.” She shook in his arms. “How could ye be so cruel? I can bear anything in this world, but I canna bear losing ye. Not again.”
The Judge (Highland Heroes Book 3) Page 17
