“I still do not know what ‘it’ you are talking about,” Thomas said, with darkly strained indifference.
“It’s aboot William MacNair,” Mr. Gregory clarified and instantly, Thomas’ attention was attuned to him. He felt the man’s sharp eyes on his face and tried to play it off, that what he had said was not important to him.
He leaned back, crossed his legs, and tilted his head to the side, “MacNair…why would he be of any concern of mine?”
“Because word around Edina is that yer lookin’ for the MacNair son. Apparently, he is worth a lot to ye…but if I was wrong in comin’, me apologies. I’d best be moving on.”
Gregory stood up and Thomas cursed himself internally. His friends at Oxford had always told him that he had a bad gambling face—anyone with a speck of knowing emotions would read him like a book and it showed here. The man knew that Thomas wanted MacNair and his bluff had been called.
“No,” Thomas said through gritted teeth, “Please sit. I do want to know what you have to say about MacNair.”
The Scotsman sat and his grin was sly, “Again, how much are ye willing to pay me for it?”
“That depends on what you know,” Thomas negotiated. “If it is of any worth to me, I will pay handsomely.”
“And if I say I know where he is, how handsome would that be?” Gregory asked.
“Say, to the tune of forty pounds?”
“Sixty,” Gregory rebuffed.
“Thirty-five,” Thomas said.
“Forty,”
“Twenty is my final offer,” Thomas said. “Take it or leave it. I am sure that if you have this knowledge, someone else might have it, too.”
“Not sure aboot that,” Gregory grumbled. “But I’ll take that offer of twenty.”
“Where is he?” Thomas demanded.
“In Galashiels,” Gregory said. “And from the way he was dressed, I am thinking somewhere in the woods.”
“The woods, you say,” Thomas mused, while taking up a quill. “Do you know exactly where?”
“I suspect a few of the crofter cabins that are there,” Gregory added. “The farmers’ homes on the plains are left empty for many months of the year as harvesting took only a season.”
“Hmm,” Thomas considered his options with Mr. Gregory. Like any shrewd businessman, he was not going to pay all the agreed upon amount at once. He did not know if the man’s words were trustworthy or not. “Thank you for telling me.”
He pulled out a drawer where he happened to keep a pouch of gold one-pound coins and counted ten of them out. Taking another pouch, he slid them in and handed them over. “Ten pounds.”
“Dinnae ye say twenty?” Gregory frowned. “So why am I getting half?”
“Because until I am sure of getting MacNair, nothing is certain,” Thomas’ words were sage. “When I do get MacNair, you will get the other half. This is a business deal, Gregory. I am sure you can understand that.”
The Scot’s face soured but he nodded, “Aye, I understand ye. Thanks for yer time, My Lord.”
“Very well,” Thomas said, while watching the man leave. When he was gone, he began to contemplate his next moves. If MacNair was in the Galashiels forest like he had said, English men in the town would tip the seasoned soldier off. He needed men who would not stand out and for that, he needed Scottish mercenaries.
Since he could not get Emma, he would set his eyes on MacNair. Thomas was sure that news of MacNair’s death would drag Emma out of her hiding place. He knew where he could get those men, as he had used them before, but would they help him this time, considering that he had already double-crossed them?
* * *
Cabin at Galashiels
The smooth glide of the comb through her hair was somewhat therapeutic for Emma. Her hair had grown long, from shoulder length to the middle of her back, and with a recent wash, it was as smooth as silk. Patting it dry, she quietly plaited it.
The cabin was empty again, as this was the third trip William had made to the Inn, each spaced out between three days, and she was praying for this to be the day he was successful.
Dinner was already made, this time a hearty beef stew and bread, ready for when William came back. Emma cast a baleful eye over the small cabin, hating that the novelty was wearing off. She loved being with William but had begun to crave the presence of other people. She constantly worried about her mother and prayed that Thomas was not ill-treating her.
To compound her discontent, William was getting frustrated with every trip he made to the Inn, and not finding Goraidh. He came back irritable and only spoke in short words with tense undertones. She hated when he was distant and worried.
He did not sleep those nights, worrying about his friend; or rather, the absence of his friend. She knew he was loyal but she was getting tired of hearing him gripe and worry over something he could not control. The worst was when he got silent for hours on end with his jaw set in stone and a worried furrow in his brow.
She tried to speak to him about Goraidh. But when she did, she could see in his eyes that he didn’t listen to a word of it. Or perhaps he did listen but did not take her words to heart. She hoped Goraidh was there this time.
I know William is stubborn as an ox but perhaps he can listen to me this time.
Just as she was wrapping the plait into a bun at the nape of her neck, she heard the familiar thumps of William’s boots and scrambled off the bed. Breathing in slowly, Emma lifted the latch and stepped back to grimace. Anger and frustration were laced into every tight line in his jaw and in his knitted brows.
Goraidh was not there.
“William—”
“Not now, Emma,” he snapped before resting a sack on the table. He took out a bottle of liquor, along with his usual loaves of bread and lumps of butter in a skin before sinking onto the floor and tugging his boots off.
“William—”
“I said not now, Emma!” he snarled and she jerked like she had been slapped.
Confusion and anger swept through her. Never had anyone affected her so much that she wanted to both scream and cry. How did he not see that she was worried for him and that his stress, worry, and frustration was boiling over to affect her?
Breathing deeply through her nose, Emma said quietly, “I am only trying to help.”
“Ye cannae,” William’s tone was dark. “I cannae help but ken something nefarious is happening. Goraidh shouldae been back by now. I ken how he works, an’ that’s fast;bluidy fast. Somethin’ has happened, I feel like something has happened to him but I, I cannae stomach the feeling that his cold body is laying somewhere with crows plucking his eyes out, or drifting somewhere in a river, when he took on a problem that was nae his in the first place!” By the end of his words Emma heard his burning frustration.
He then launched to his feet and began pacing, “How can I live with myself if I sent me best friend to his death! He has a woman back home he was sweet on, ye ken, and was making to be his wife. A lovely girl named Ava. How am I gonna tell her that he sweetheart is nae coming home because of me?”
“William,” she pressed. “You don’t know that yet! There could be a lot more reasons why he is not back yet. You don’t have to jump to thinking he is dead as the only reason.”
“I should hae never asked him,” William murmured under his breath. “I should hae stayed right back at me home an’ left guid enough alone.”
His absent words were a lance to Emma’s chest. If he had left ‘good enough alone’ she would be in either a madhouse of shipped off to France to marry a man who was just an enabler for Thomas. Was that it was? Was William regretting saving her from a life of torture and misery?
“William!”
He was scrubbing his hand through his hair and looking everywhere but her and her mind felt scattered.
“I should nae gotten him involved,” William grunted, as his feet paced from the kitchen to the bed, “I shouldae heeded me Da’s words to stay out an’ noo…noo I have to find Ava an’ tell her that me fool
ish desires were what killed her man.”
Is this it? Is he rejecting me for… was rescuing me a mistake to him? Is he talking about Goraidh or me? Is he blaming me for his friend’s death? Does he not know that if it was not for his help, I would be dead by now…but- but- he’s regretting it! The man I love is regretting saving me, is that it? Is he?
“William!” her voice was so shrill it pierced the air like a greased knife.
He spun to her, wide-eyed at the noise but the look on his face was not what she had wanted to see. His jaw had gone stiff and his eyes were loaded with remorse and regret. The look said much more than his words could ever say and pain grew in her chest as she saw that she was a burden to him and the cause for his despair.
The reality of where she stood with him was too painful to bear and stunned beyond words, Emma spun away and stumbled to the door and was outside in moments.
“Emma!” he called but she ran.
It was getting dark but she did not care. She had to get away from the man she loved and the current source of her pain as fast as she could. The nearby forest with its towering trees and thick hedges formed a rustic woodland and she raced toward the trees. She continued running, bursting in, and vanishing into the dense brush.
Tears were brimming under her eyes but she kept going. It was foolish and impulsive, half-blind she almost smashed into trees, and then they were full-on sprinting through the tightly-knit forest.
Did he not remember those nights when he had held her so softly and whispered his love to her in rumbling Gaelic? Did he not remember those precious moments and how, with his hands, lips, and tongue, had set fire to her blood, awakening yearnings she had not known she had?
Now he despised her. She had to run.
Thundering footsteps were behind her and she kept tripping on roots and getting snagged with branches. She kept running, needing to put her pain behind her when wanting to fall into his arms.
Her feet slipped and she stumbled but as she was about to race forward again, his arms grabbed her from behind. Her legs were in the air, kicking, as her hands were trying to rip his hands from around her waist.
“Shhh,” William rumbled into her ear. “Shhh, Emma…I’m sorry. I ain’t blaming ye…I could never blame ye… please believe me.”
Why was he trying to soothe her by using the same technique he used on frightened horses? Did he really think she was amused or ready to forgive that easily? She did stop struggling but as he let her down on her feet, Emma spun and slapped him across the face. How her fear had changed into anger she was not sure but it did.
She stood there trembling under the mix of distress and fury but could not say a word. Suddenly, he took her mouth, kissing her with fervor, swallowing her anger and flooding her senses with raw desire.
Within seconds, she surrendered, yielding to his hold with a reluctant sigh. William slowed the passionate kiss, even as he pressed his hard, awakened body against her enthusiastic softness. Emma wondered how it was that the man could play her body like a harp. How was it that he could just pluck one string and then her whole frame was stretched tautly against his? She strained against him, with her nipples stiffening under the thin cloth of her dress.
“Do not do that to me again,” she said quietly. “I thought you hated me,” she swallowed, “that you blamed me for everything and that you regretted rescuing me from Thomas.”
“Ah lass,” William shook his head, “Nothing would be close to the truth.”
“What was it then?” Emma asked softly. “Because it felt like that was it. You said that you should have left good enough alone. That sounds like you regretted rescuing me.”
“I meant….” William grimaced.
His silence took too long for a reply and Emma had to swallow that she had been right in the first time, “It's true…isn’t it?”
“I was nae thinkin’, Emma,” William’s voice was deeply regretful. “I talk daft sometimes, lass. I was working off me emotions an’ sometimes leave common sense behind, but I dinnae mean to hurt ye. I never mean to hurt ye. I will never mean to hurt ye.”
Something ran over Emma’s foot and she startled. Looking down at her feet she could not see anything but dark stalks of grass. “Let us go back home, William. Our food is getting cold.”
He did not move off at once but took the moment to kiss her softly. “I’ll make it up to ye, I promise.”
Taking her hand, William led her out of the forest, taking care to brush the low-lying branches away from their faces and taking care to point out roots and rocks. They broke out of the forest and were approaching the cabin when a figure stepped out of the gloom.
William shoved Emma behind him and asked, “Who are ye an’ what do ye want?”
“Me name is of no importance to ye,” a man’s voice said, “And I’m here to warn ye. Thomas Marston is coming after ye, MacNair, with blood in his eyes. He wants yer head an’ he will do anything to get it.”
Chapter 27
Christ above!
“How would ye know this?” William interrogated. “And why should we trust a word ye say?”
“Because I was the one who saw ye at the Inn an’ went to Marston to tell him, kenning I’d get some gold fer it but the bastard cheated me an’ I decided to cheat him back,” the man said. “It took me a while to find ye but nothing is gonna stop me from getting back at him.”
“If yer not going to tell me yer name, at least make me see yer face,” William demanded and after a small huff, the man dropped the cowl from his head. The light was not strong but William had spent many years hunting in the dark. He saw dark hair and narrowed eyes, a square face with hair on his chin and top lip.
“Satisfied noo?”
“Very,” William added.
Emma was clutching at his hand tightly and he could feel her fright. Her body was inching closer to him, an instinctive reaction of gravitating to a source of strength and protection. So he was surprised when she spoke, “Do you know where he is now?”
“He is mustering forces in Dernewic and Melrose,” the man replied. “But at first he had approached a man named Hathor for help. He was turned down.”
“Hathor!” William said tightly, “As in Hathor Sutharlan?”
“Aye,” the man replied, “Ye ken him I suppose?”
“If he had taken the job I was going to murder him,” William grunted. “Thank ye fer tellin’ us. It's best fer ye to go. We have a lot to do noo.”
“Aye,” the man grunted and flicking his hood over his head, left. “Dinna let the man win, MacNair.”
As he left, William ushered Emma inside and told her to begin packing whatever they needed to have with them when they left at dawn. He stood at the door watching the man disappear in the darkness and waited to see if he would return. After the moon had risen high enough to indicate half an hour, he went back inside to see Emma had packed up their clothes and a small pot for cooking their food on the road.
“Do you think he was telling the truth about Thomas?”
“I dinna ken he’d have a reason to lie,” William said, while settling at the foot of the bed. “In any case, it is smart to leave here.”
“Care to tell me why the name Hathor Sutharlan?” Emma asked while serving the food.
“Hathor Sutharlan is the warrior chief, the superior of Finley, a man as you might have heard, me and Goraidh think is a suspect in yer Da’s murder,” William’s voice was harsh.
“If yer brother was reaching oot to him, that gives me more reason to think Finley was in it. He might have poisoned the whole regiment against the Earl an’ they were all into the plan.”
“I cannae understand if he reached oot for Finley to get to Hathor… I am here, wondering if any of me father’s men are guid men…”
Emma handed him the bowl as picked up the spoon and dipped it into the simmering medley of succulent meat and vegetables. His hum of approval made her smile.
“Could it be that it was only Finley who was the betraye
r, and he could not get him to help him again? Thomas probably thought that if Finley was eager to help him kill, another in the same station might be the same,” Emma replied.
The Scotsman’s head darted up at her words and he looked to Emma with a new level of admiration and respect. Her words made perfect sense and he had to acknowledge them. “Yer right, Emma. That could be it.”
Pleased with his words she stirred her stew and asked, “Where do you suppose we will go from here? He said that Thomas is looking in Dernewic and Melrose, where are those places?”
“South of here,” William pondered. “Near the Tweed River.”
Disciplined by the Highlander: A Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 24
