“William?” she asked, not afraid to ask a question in this ghost town. “What are—?”
“Shhh, Emma,” William hushed as his body went from lax to warrior alert. “Be qu —”
Then chaos erupted. A man had leaped from a roof and crashed into William, sending them and the horse tumbling to the ground. Emma twisted on the saddle and tugged the horse away from the wrestling men. William’s horse bolted away and men were coming out of the dilapidated houses like roaches from rotten woodwork.
Emma’s heart was in her throat, as she realized they were surrounded and the men, all rough, battle-scarred and gruff, were inching towards her with grins she did not like.
“Get you blasted howlin’ hands off me!” William snarled as two men hoisted him to his feet.
Terrified, Emma sat in her saddle trembling. They had walked into a trap, all because her thrice-damned curiosity had prodded them to come there. She could have left well enough alone and stayed in the meadow practicing to ride but no, she had pushed her luck and walked them both into danger.
“What do you want?” she asked while trying to stifle the trembling panic that was crawling up her throat.
“I’d think ye,” one of the men leered with waggling eyebrows and a salacious grin.
“Ye would never dare touch her!” William growled.
“Or what?” the man taunted and hauled Emma off her saddle and into his grubby arms. He grabbed her breast, nearly ripping her neck of her dress in two, “Or what?”
Chapter 20
William became a snarling beast and broke out of their hold. He elbowed the first man, and blood gushed out of his nose. He then spun and kicked the other before landing a right hook into his jaw. His movements were so quick that it looked like a flash to Emma. He then grabbed his fallen sword and began to slash.
Emma broke out of the man’s hold and tried to find some spot of safety but the men hemmed into her like a flood. She backed up with her heart a beating drum in her ears. Someone grabbed her and she reacted, her hands flashed out and her nails elicited a pained holler from the man.
Her mind was in a flurry for survival and she had no other solution but to find safety. She dropped to the ground and tried to crawl away but someone grabbed her again. Emma felt panic rise. She would rather die than give these men what they wanted. She was William’s. No one else’s! Emma screamed.
She struggled against their grasp and clawed at the hairy arms holding her but she could not free herself. Her mind flew into hysteria and her breath was short in her lungs. Black spots were peppering her vision and her chest was tight.
“HALT!” a loud voice yelled. “HALT, I SAY!”
Emma’s breath was short and uneven as a man, large and thickly bearded, broke through the mass of scrabbling men. William was crouched down in a defensive stance and his sword was dripping red.
The newcomer yelled again and all the men stopped. William, however, did not. He ran over to Emma and took her up and crushed her to his side and with his other hand held his sword up defensively.
* * *
Bloodlust was crawling through William’s veins and he was ready to lop off any head that came between him and her again. He felt the wild tremors running through Emma’s body and how her chest heaved against him. The commanding Scot came forward and something sparked in William’s mind. He frowned as he tried to merge the image he saw with an old memory he knew he had.
“Who are ye?” William snarled as his protective instinct flared inside him. Over his dead body would they take Emma.
“Ye dinnae remember me, MacNair?” the man’s beard twitched with a wry smile.
Again, William struggled to place the man but gave up, “Nae, I won’t lie, yer face looks familiar but I cannae place ye.”
“Bhaltair Marx, MacNair,” the man clarified, “I was one of yer Da’s men but I fell on hard times. I couldnae stay there anymore. I took to thieving fer a while but joined a gang of Reivers but they got rid of me quick enough. So, I found me own band.”
William did not let down his guard. “And what? Yer a makeshift Reiver clan noo?”
“Nae,” Bhaltair stroked his beard. “Fer the most part we do honest work, MacNair, to those who’ll receive us. We’re farm hands, cattle drivers, fishermen, fruit pickers, rat catchers, whatever is around, eh, but aye, we do dabble in stealing when we have no choice.”
“Will ye let us go, Marx?” William asked with his sword not moving an inch.
“Aye,” the chief nodded. “None of us will harm ye. Ye must forgive me men, they haven’t seen a lass as bonny as yers in a while. Which reminds me, Eachann, yer on slop duty for the rest of tha’ month.”
This Eachann was the man who had grabbed Emma first and William glared daggers to the man who, more than six feet tall, visibly shrunk under William’s wilting gaze. “Me apologies, Laird.”
Finally, William dropped his sword but did not lose his grip on Emma. “I’m not the Liard yet.”
“And who’s this?” Bhaltair asked.
William looked between Emma and the clan’s leader and then asked, “Is there somewhere we can talk in this husk of a town, privately?”
“Aye,” Bhaltair nodded and ushered for them to follow him, “An’ before ye jump to conclusions, MacNair, we dinnae do this, burn and damage this town. It was like this when we found it. We figure that some raiders came and razed it to the ground. Me men an’ I are nomads, MacNair, we settle fer a while and then move on to greener pastures. In fact, we’re moving out on the morrow.”
The outlaw chief tugged open a rickety door to the best house in the destroyed town, invited them into the first room and the makeshift chairs there. Three food bowls and a jagged fork, washed and clean, were arranged neatly on the table there.
“It ain’t much but make yerself as comfortable as ye can,” Bhaltair gestured and then flopped his large frame into a chair.
William gently let go of Emma’s hand and helped her to sit. He did not sit, though, and stationed himself between Emma and the door, not allowing his vigilance to drop for one moment. Bhaltair may be trusted but William was not going to run that risk with any of his men.
He’d been on the battleground for a while and knew what a man’s desperation for a woman looked like and he’d personally usher any man to hell who would try to take Emma from him.
“So,” Bhaltair looked squarely at him, “What brings ye to this slumland, MacNair? From what I remember, yer Clan is a bit away from here.”
“It is,” William grunted. “But circumstances forced me to be away from the Highlands.”
“Eh?” Bhaltair’s astute eyes went from his to Emma and William stiffened. “Yer lass is that circumstances, eh? She looks like a Sassenach to me.”
“I am English, yes,” Emma’s voice was soft but sure. “And William is hiding me from my brother.”
“Eh?”
William took charge from there and began the tale from the night he had met Emma and how they had tried to negotiate making another connection between the two families that did not entail marriage. He told Bhaltair how her father died in the middle of the celebration feast and how her brother had taken Emma back home.
He paused for a moment to look at Emma for permission to tell him the crux of the tale and though she was pale-faced, she nodded. Holding back a grimace, William went on with the rest.
“Her bastard of a brother was going to lock her up in an asylum, an’ I couldn’t have that,” William’s voice had gone stony. “Thank God, I had decided to follow her and her family back to Northumberland or else she’d be locked away or married off to his Frenchman.”
“So, yer defying yer Da, pissing off this Englisher, and yearning to lop this Frenchman’s head off…” Bhaltair mused before he grinned, “Bit of a renegade, ain’t ye, MacNair?”
“When the need calls me to be,” William added. “I hate injustice, Marx, the lass had nothin’ ta’ do with her father’s death but her asshat brother is making her pay the price
anyway.” By the time he was done speaking, every word had forced itself out through a clenched jaw and gritted teeth.
The former MacNair soldier nodded in understanding and leaned forward. “D’ye really think ye can pin this murder on the Frenchman?”
“Not only that,” William admitted, while looking over to Emma. She had not heard this part before but perhaps it was time to tell her. “I suspect that one of me father’s men had a hand in it, too. I ken if we get word in the two weeks or so after me friend sends information from France.”
“Information… or a dead body?” Bhaltair grinned.
“Either one,” William shrugged. “But I’d prefer the information first. I’ll lop off his head after.”
“Ha,” Bhaltair laughed and slapped his thighs, “I kent that. I’d want blood meself if I was in yer shoes.”
A quick glance out of the pane-less window showed William that the time was drawing down to evening. Had they spent so much time already? They had left in the morning hours, and now it was coming to dusk.
“Ah,” Bhaltair went on, “I wish I could help ye, MacNair but aside from ye needing a band of mercenaries I cannae help ye.”
“Maybe you can,” Emma interrupted, dragging the attention of both men to her. Under the scrutiny, Emma visibly swallowed, “I have wanted to send a letter to my Uncle in Manchester but I have no supplies. I have nowhere to get some but it’s important.”
“I dinnae see how—” William had begun but the chief cut him off.
“Nae, nae…” Bhaltair cut in. “I can do that for ye, if ye needs it done.”
The man, to Emma and William’s surprise, pulled out a sheet of paper and a stick of pencil. He grinned at their surprise. “Er, this is just to get what you need now. I’ll get better paper and ink in a few days when we move off to Edina tomorrow.”
William felt Emma’s confused look before he saw it and when he did, explained. “Edina is short for Edinburgh.”
“You’d do that for me?” Emma’s voice was hopeful but had the hint of disbelief.
“Of course,” Bhaltair nodded. “Consider it me atonement for me people attacking you. Now tell me what I need to know.”
Sitting back, William listened as Emma recited to Bhaltair what she needed from the Uncle. Emma was very diplomatic, she never mentioned what had happened with Thomas but staged it under a nostalgic sense, stating how she missed him and how she and her mother needed his help to be stabilized and comforted after her father’s sudden death. She stressed a need for him to go visit her mother and to check on her brother.
At the last sentence, Emma paused to think her next words over and sighed, “Add, I love you, Emma.”
Bhaltair dutifully jotted down her words and asked her if she had any more to add but she shook her head, “That’s it…thank you.”
William’s eyes were constantly switching from the sky to Emma and back while passing over Bhaltair once or twice. Bhaltair folded the paper and nodded, “That’s it, I guess. Consider this me part in getting justice fer ye lassie, an’ again, I’m sorry fer me men.”
“You’re forgiven,” Emma smiled.
“Thank ye, Marx,” William stood and brushed his hand over his pants. “We’d better get going. It might take us a while to get back to oor cabin.”
Reaching over, William shook the ex-soldiers hand and took Emma’s. “Care to show us to oor horses?”
“Aye,” Bhaltair stood and stomped his feet a few times. “Fell asleep on me for a while. Ach, let’s get yer horses.”
Even with the truce he and Marx had struck, William was not going to be taken by surprise again. Until Emma was locked into the cabin with him, William was not letting go of his sword. Their horses were handed over by a man Bhaltair called Rogan and they were on their way.
William rode behind her, making sure they weren’t being followed and when they got to the cabin, William closed the door behind her and went to tie up the horses. Going back inside, he spotted Emma sitting on the edge of the bed, staring out into space.
“What’s bothering ye, lass?”
She breathed out and her shoulders sagged, “It’s just… today was eye-opening. I could have been… assaulted if you weren’t there and if ye did not know Mr. Marx.”
Something was not right and William felt it. “Lass-”
“I’m sorry!” she cried as her hazel eyes filled with unfallen tears, “I am so sorry, William. If I had not been so curious and asked to go see that…we…we would have never fallen into that trap. We almost died because I was… I wanted to snoop.”
In the midst of the guilt ripping her gut apart, Emma was drawn into William’s arms. She pressed her face into his shoulder and sobbed out tears of regret. Flashes of her clothes being ripped off and the pain of men assaulting her felt too tangible for her to dismiss it so quickly. Thank God she had escaped that fate.
William’s hushes were soft and comforting in her ear and his mouth pressed fleeting kisses at her hairline. Emma felt like her demons of terror had been expunged by the end of her cry and her fears were mostly quiet.
* * *
“Let me make ye some tea, lass,” William whispered in her ear. “Would ye like that?”
She nodded and pressed the back of her hands to her cheeks. William lit the candle and went to make the tea for her, pulling out the cup, the leaves, and the sugar. Emma was leaning on the wall where the head of the bed was and watched him with heavy eyes.
The dark liquid was drawn weak and William dropped three cubes of sugar into the tea. Handing the cup over to her, William sat beside her and rubbed her arm as she drank the tea slowly.
“You remembered how I take it,” Emma said quietly before smiling, “It’s perfect… thank you.”
She drank the tea until the dregs swam at the bottom of the cup and then set it down. William’s eyes had never left hers and he ached to kiss her sorrow and guilt away. He took the cup and put it aside and as he turned back Emma was on his lap. He had taken a mere breath before she was kissing him wildly.
Shocked, William took a moment to kiss her back but then her hands were tugging at his shirt in desperation and William had to stop her.
“Emma…lass, what are ye doing?”
“Take me, William,” she said, her eyes lit with tension. “Please, today showed me that…. I need you to show me what love is. I was scared to death today that…that I’d be forced against my will…that would have ruined me, William…that would have torn me apart. Please, I need you to be my first.”
William groaned under his breath. What a time to get such an invitation. Her manic was palpable but William’s reserve was much stronger. “Lass, Emma… I’m flattered but this isnae tha’ way ta’ go. I will not give you what you want because of yer fear. Yer safe, Emma, yer safe with me. No one is going to attack you when I’m here. Hell, no one is going to attack ye at all if me sword has anything to do with it, but that is no reason for ye to rush this.”
Emma bit her lip. “But…”
“But nothing Emma,” William said, while pressing his forehead to hers. “I want ye, God knows I want ye but I will not take yer innocence because yer afraid. Ye’d hate yerself for the rest of yer life knowing that ye could have done it differently.”
By the vacillation in her eyes, William knew his words were making sense to her, and soon enough a soft blush of shame rendered her face pink and she ducked her head. “I am even sorrier now.”
“Dinnae worry about it,” William said, and then rose her head up from where she was staring into her lap. He looked her directly in her eyes, “I ken what that rush feels like, Emma. I ken how the fear of death can spur on some irrational thoughts. Ye feel like yer life is over if ye dinnae do one thing or another but after ye do it, when that rush wears off, ye realize the level of stupidity ye fell to. I ken it lass, half me life I felt it. During tha’ war me head wasnae on me body, lass but thank God I didn’t mess up me life that way.”
“What did you do?” Emma’s voice was q
uiet.
“I almost made a lass pregnant” William replied. “I was a foolish eight-and-ten-year-old boy in a man’s body an’ had never lain with a woman before. We had just won a Clan skirmish battle near Culloden an’ I was high on the victory. I got a lass into me bed an’…let say I fretted fer days after.”
Emma sighed and slid off his lap. “I made a fool of myself.”
Looking out the window where the moon was full and bright, “We all do at times, lass, we all do.”
Chapter 21
Marston House, Northumberland
The voices were dim but Lady Katharine Marston, the Countess of Dawaerton, could hear them through the crack around her room door. She lay in her bed with her eyes closed, with a carefully crafted grimace of pain in the middle of her brow.
Disciplined by the Highlander: A Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 18
