“So, we go north,” Emma suggested.
“No,” William said after eating a spoonful, “No…no. It might be foolish but I ken we should go South, too. They will be looking far north to here so we, being close to where they are, will not be what they expect. Besides, it is much easier to get to the Inn from there. The roads are clearer and straighter than navigating the forest. I can take half the time from Melrose.”
A lump began to form in Emma’s throat at the idea of being near to the people who wanted to kill them, but she could understand what William was saying. No one would expect prey to be in the predator’s backyards. The bowls were washed up and replaced, the food they could carry was packed and the meager clothes they had were packed, too. Emma eyed the bed as it would be the last night they slept there together.
“Emma,” William grasped her hand and tugged her to him. “I will not blame ye if you dinnae speak to me. It was daft of me making ye feel as if ye were the reason for Goraidh’s absence. As I said, I shoot me mouth off sometime before thinkin’. Please forgive me.”
“Will you forgive me for slapping you?” Emma asked.
“Lass,” William snorted. “Yer not the first who have reddened me face but I hope ye’ll be the last.”
“Your last?” Is he saying what I think he is saying…?
“As my wife, ye are the only one I will accept that from,” William clarified. “That is, if ye will put up with me being an eejit at times.”
“I think I can handle that,” Emma laughed.
He kissed her cheek softly. “We need to get to bed. We have an early day ahead of us.”
It took William a while to drift off to sleep even when Emma had. His mind was making plans after plans and contingency plans for those plans. He knew that Marston had little to no knowledge of true warfare or the tactics used therein, so chances were the man was going to take a blunt approach and strike the cabin.
If he did have any Scot who was trained in tracking, they might have to leave false trails to throw the men off their tails. That might take them some time but it would probably save their lives. He gently moved a thin tendril of her hair from dangling over her nose. He wanted to cup her cheek but Emma was a light sleeper and such an intimate touch would wake her. He needed her to be rested for their trip south.
Flipping on his back, he slipped both of his hands under his head and stared up at the dark ceiling, fearing that Goraidh was dead, and then planning the most inventive ways to kill Finley and Marston when his suspicions were true.
Do they still draw and quarter traitors? he thought as he drifted off. That might be too merciful for Finley.
* * *
Passing topside of the village known as Peebles, that William had directed them to, was the best idea, Emma decided. They were traveling on the hill over the village and she could see the trails of smoke over the tips of the trees. She could smell the river, too, and hear the muffled shouts of men.
She did not know exactly where they were going but she had all faith in William to guide them to the best place. That morning, just after leaving, they had circled back a few times to trod upon the indents of their horses’ hooves to confuse any trackers the band of raiders might have.
“William,” she asked while ducking under a tree’s limb. “If Finley is really guilty of the crime, what would you do with him? What would your clan do to him?”
“Lass,” his voice was dark and loaded with malice, “There are many things we can do with him, many, many, things and not one of them is fit for polite conversation.”
Emma shivered in horror. She could infer what he was implying and knew that Finley had a horrible death prepared for him if he was guilty of killing her father, or even helping in the plan. She looked over to him, seeking a telling reaction but his expression was neutral.
The horse was walking and the gentle rocking side-to-side was now familiar as they had been riding for over seven hours, stopping shortly when nature called. Emma hoped that if the men her brother sent did get to the cabin, they would leave it intact. She would like to know that, on the chance that the Goraidh was alive, he had something of his to come back to.
Darting a look up through a gap in the trees, her mind ran over her mother. Please God, let my mother be well.
* * *
The Marston Townhouse
“No, no,” Katherine shook her head at the paper before her, “This menu is way too light. There are no substantial meats, little eggs, or herbal teas. “Henry,” Katherine tutted. “For God's sake, can you tell me how you have survived this long on such weak meals?”
“A variety of breads, butter, and watercress,” he replied drolly while studying her over his newspaper.
They were in his study and upon the second day of her arrival at the townhome, a week and a half ago, Katherine had asked him to be useful around the home. He had resisted at first, thinking it better for her to see to her recuperation from the horrid treatment she had suffered in her own home by the hands of her son and maid.
However, upon seeing her look lost and uncomfortable, he had given her free range to do whatever she pleased, with the strident order to not exhaust herself. A freedom Henry was beginning to wonder if he should regret.
In the last week, she had gone over select parts of Henry’s home, changing the overall pantry contents to add kidney, eggs, potatoes, cornmeal for cakes, currants for pies, more beef and fish, and robust wine. She had sent for new linen for the dining room, sent the upholsterer to do over the chairs and chaise-lounge, and asked for another scullery girl to be added to the servant’s household.
Her enthusiasm had shocked him and though his concerns for her health were still forefront, Henry had thought it best to keep her mind occupied so she did not have time to worry about Emma or Thomas. Well, not outwardly, at least. He was sure that as a mother she would worry about her children; every mother did. He just did not want to have her overdo it.
Now she had finished setting the menu for next week and sighed with a tiny frown. Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Katherine pushed the paper away and sighed deeply. “Henry…”
“Hm?”
“I am a terrible mother,” she said quietly and Henry could hear her self-castigation. He lowered his paper and was about to say something to reject her words when the look on her face told him to allow her to say what was clearly haunting her mind.
He did reach out and hold her hand, “Why would you say that?”
“Peter,” she shook her head. “Peter did some horrendous things to Thomas as a boy. He would beat him to the point blood ran and take away his meals if he did not excel with his teachers. He made poor Thomas suffer and…and I did not do a thing about it. He made my little boy endure agony daily and foolish me though it was just Peter training him in the right way.”
“He even stopped me from caring for him at his sickbed and told Thomas to care for himself. I believed Peter was making Thomas better but now…now I think he broke him. That would be the only way he would put me under the hand of the dratted Mrs. Briddle, so he could let me feel what he felt.”
Her words painted a despicable picture for him. Her reasoning about Thomas might have some truth to it, but Henry found it hard to believe that he would be as malicious as he had turned out to be.
“Katherine,” Henry began slowly as his words took time to form, “You were young and vulnerable and I hate to talk bad of the dead, but the truth must be told. Peter…he always had this insidious gift of controlling people. He made you think that was how it should be, probably with logical reasons a mile long, and each one was better than the first. And so you thought that was right.”
“But…” she began to tear up, “How could I have been so blind? How could I allow him to abuse Thomas under the disguise of love and now… now he has become a horrible person and I left—I left— Emma to deal with his madness. I left my girl under his care, Henry.”
“No, you did not,” Henry said, with a consoling shake of his head. “
I am sorry, Katherine, that I did not tell you the day you came here but…Emma is not there.”
She dabbed at her eyes with the backs of her hand, “W-what do you mean?”
Reaching for a drawer, Henry took out the letter he had received from Scotland and handed it to her, “Emma is in Scotland, Katherine. Did you think I came to see my brother just on a whim? For many years I had vowed to leave Peter to his own destruction and though that added you in his downfall, I kept away and stayed away…. until I received this from Emma. She did not write it, as you can clearly see, but she told me to come visit you. I believe that she knew, or suspected, what Thomas was doing to you.”
The lady’s eyes ran over the words, line by line and read until the end. She then placed the letter down, “Scotland, you say.”
“Yes, Edinburgh,” Henry replied. “I am still concerned about what she is doing there and why but I cannot suddenly ship off to Scotland. Thomas is lying about where she is and I will not take any chances to lead him to her.”
Her voice quivered and her hand was on her breast, “You think Thomas might hurt her?”
“I think that wherever she is she is safe,” Henry replied. “If she had the fortitude to send me this letter, I believe she is in good hands.”
“The only good hands I could see her be in is MacNair’s.” Katherine’s hopeful emotions were clear in her eyes, “Ironically, it is the same Clan we were going to marry her into. I believe that MacNair boy, William, took a shine to her that night. I cannot see anyone else who would do such a thing.”
“The MacNair’s are a good stock,” Henry noted. “If she is with the heir, I am sure there is no safer place she could be.” Katherine’s moue of discontent told him she was not completed placated but there was not much he could do about it. He patted her hand, “Let us call for dinner, Katherine. I believe tonight is beef medallion.”
She sighed but nodded, “I suppose. But may we eat here? I am not inclined to go to the dining room.”
“I will not object,” Henry said, and called for a maid.
Ten minutes later, plates of tender beef medallions, a delicate brandied peppercorn cream sauce, and scalloped potatoes were rested before them with glasses of wine. Before he took up his fork, Henry took a sip of his wine and let the rich, plummy flavor roll over his tongue before proceeding to dine.
The conversation was slow but not stifled as safe topics were carefully chosen instead of the one that would turn their attention back the many troubles of the Marston family. When Elizabeth cried fatigue, Henry had one of his two maids accompany her to her bedchamber. He stayed in the study with a dancing fire in the grate and a book on commerce as his company.
When he retired to bed, he happened to pass Katherine's room and looked in to make sure she was all right. Seeing her slender form curled on the bed, he nodded to himself in satisfaction as he moved off and readied himself for bed. Truth be told, he loved Katherine as a sister and was concerned for her wellbeing. Peter might have destroyed her in many ways but he was positive she would come right back.
Laying on his bed, Henry’s mind flickered to his late wife, Amelia, who he had loved with all his heart. She had been his youthful sweetheart and they had gotten married five years after he had graduated University. He had worked hard those five years to make something of himself and when he had deemed his position fit enough to marry the three-and-twenty old woman, he had done so with all his heart.
When she had died in childbirth, along with their son, Henry had not gotten a word of condolences from Peter but rather from Katherine. He had decided that day that Katherine was more family to him than his cursed brother was.
Now she was taking asylum under his roof and he was decided on being there for her in whatever she needed. Sometime in the one o’clock hour, her screams had Henry running inside her bedchamber and rushing over to her.
Katherine gasped deeply and grabbed at him. Henry held her quaking shoulder and held her white-knuckled grip.
“Katherine,” Henry asked frantically, as he perched himself on the edge of her bed. “Are you all right? Do you want some water?”
She shook her head, sending her sleep cap tumbling down her shoulders, her hair spilling out wildly onto her back, “No… no, Henry. It is just that…. that I remember who poisoned my husband! I remember who killed Peter! I remember who did it, Henry! I remember who dropped the poison in his cup!”
Chapter 28
“Excuse me?” Thomas asked politely of the man, Donald…or Donnan, or was it Douglas, that was in his study. He was the leader of the roaming band of thieves, cutthroats, and highwaymen that he had contracted to find MacNair that Cinead had told him about.
Whatever his name was, Thomas did not care. What he did care about was getting the thrice-damned William MacNair kneeling at his feet like the dog he was and now, he could not even get that.
“The cabin is empty, Me Lord,” the hired mercenary from Aberdeen said slowly, using the tone appropriate for an addlepated child. “We ken that someone did live there but packed up in a hurry. Whoever it was, is long gone by noo. The faint marks we found were mostly washed away by the rains, too.”
“Packed up in a hurry, you say?” Thomas kept his voice calm as his rage was bubbling like an untended pot in a furnace.
“Aye, the sheets were still on tha’ bed,” was his clarification.
Goddamn it! MacNair was gone and he had just so conveniently disappeared the night before men were going to get him. It was too bloody coincidental. Someone had to tip him off and Thomas could bet his left arm that it was that traitorous Cinead Gregory, who, after he had not gotten all his money, had decided to play both sides of the field.
Just like a scum-sucking Scot would do.
“Get out,” Thomas ordered.
D—whatever his name was—looked baffled and shared a similar glance with his second-in-command, before asking, “Beg yer pardon?”
Grabbing a sack of coins from an open drawer, Thomas slammed the compartment shut and lobbied the sack to him, “I said, get out! I asked you for one simple job—get MacNair and carry him to me and you could not even do that right. ”
The cutthroat’s jaw tightened, “No objections, Me Lord. But first,” he took something out of his pocket and flung it to Thomas, “The man ye were looking fer ain’t alone. Let’s go, men.”
As the two stalked out of his study, Thomas looked down at the thing that was lobbed at him. It was a ball of hair. Curious, he pulled it apart to see strands of light mahogany hair, hair he would know anywhere and he bristled even more. “Emma.”
She was with MacNair! Of course she was with him! Why had he not thought of that? How was he going to get her back? The last resort he had just walked out the door. He grimaced at his impulsive actions, but decided he would have to go it alone.
* * *
Peebles, Scotland
Perhaps, this is what Mary felt being forced to go to Egypt with her husband, Emma thought, while wielding the broom around the empty stable a kind Innkeeper had given them to stay in for the time being. In lieu of money, William worked as his handyman and she just needed to make sure the stable was kept clean.
She was beginning to wonder if she and William would be on the run indefinitely. She understood that they needed to run to save their lives but she longed for stability. She wanted a real bed, a warm room, clean clothes, and food different from what they had now.
“Emma?”
Spinning with the broom in her hand, she glanced over to a bare-chested William and promptly blushed. The man’s golden skin glowed under the noonday sun. Her eyes traced the shimmer over the rigid hills and valleys of his stomach as warmth began to spread through her chest.
“Yes?”
He came in and grabbed a rag from their meager collection of clothes and dabbed at his skin. “I am going to go to the Inn today. The Innkeeper told me that last night he got word of a ship coming from France an’ I cannae tell ye how much I’m hoping that Goraidh was on
it.”
Folding her lips under in anxiety, Emma nodded. “I hope so, too. I wish this was all over.” The moment she said that, the implications of what she had said sounded unpleasant and ungrateful and she cringed, “I mean, I just… I want… it’s been a…”
William’s smile was forgiving, “I ken what ye mean, Emma. I want to stop having to look over me shoulder every day, and languish in a solid bed, a good roof over me head, too. No one would blame ye, lass for wanting the comforts ye used to have. But ye did well, Emma, holding out this long with me.”
Sighing in relief that he understood, Emma nodded, “You’d better be on your way, then.”
Reclining into an old chair—a gracious loan from the Innkeeper—Emma watched as William wiped his body off with a damp cloth and dressed in a shirtless leather vest. She loved that vest on him as it clung to his body like a second skin. He tugged his boots on, stood, and kissed her softly. His thumb ran over her cheekbone, a little sharper than either of them liked.
Disciplined by the Highlander: A Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 25
