The Highlander's Captured Bride (Steamy Scottish Historical Romance)

by Eloise Madigan

  He shook his head and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Nay, and they might need us. Come on, we need to go back home.”

  Home…

  That word rang with such security and relief that she could not deny it was truly home. Still unsteady, she let Ethan help her back on the horse and they headed home. He stayed close by while she came back to full awareness and when they returned to the castle, she managed to slip from the saddle without Ethan’s help but they had barely made it past the stable’s door when her father came in.

  His face was grave and his posture stiff. “Faither?”

  “We have a problem,” he said, shifting his gaze between her and Ethan who had come to stand near her. “We made all the people in the castle write out a sentence but none matched. So, we took the search to the village and found a boy, an orphan, about one-and-ten whose hand matches. Clearly, he isnae the perpetrator, but we need him to point out who is.”

  Her brows began to knit, and the question was on the tip of her tongue but Ethan got there before she did. “What’s the problem then? If the soldiers took him in, they can take him back to point out who told him to dae it.”

  “That’s it,” her father said. “Poor boy is scared to death of soldiers, when they took him in, he nearly collapsed from fright. We need someone who isane going to scare the boy to death and I ken the best would be ye two while I will be looking into other matters.”

  Sharing a look with Ethan, she saw his answer in his eyes and the set of his jaw before he verbally uttered it. “If that’s the best…”

  “We’ll dae it,” he said, and his hand rested on her shoulder.

  Her father’s eyes flicked to the note then back to her and his lips ticked up with a fleeting smile before his expression went grave. “Wait right here and I’ll be back with the boy.”

  As he hurried off, and her shoulder brushed his chest briefly. Grasping his arm, she asked, “What dae ye ken we’ll find?”

  He dropped a quick kiss beside her right eye. “I cannae say. I dae hope that we’ll find this man but only time will tell.”

  16

  The thin lad looked like he was one scare from death. His face was pale, and his hands were twitching. Violet had offered for him to ride with her back to the village and he was glad that her arms were on either side of him so he would not fall.

  Ethan saw her head dip habitually, asking the boy questions no doubt, but his mind could not stay further than when his eyes traced over her graceful curve of her neck. This way, her striking profile had his heart hammering. Her dark lustrous locks were brushing the collar of her shirt and a stray curl or two twisted to her angular jawline, piquant little chin, and dainty nose. And that mouth of hers…soft plump lips he had kissed thrice, and, if God willing, would taste again.

  Dae I regret it…

  He shot her another look and stifled a smile. No, he did not regret it, and was sure he would not do so in the future either. Having wrestled with his reservations about her for too long, he was committed to seeing this– arrangement, companionship…relationship?— to the extent, it could be taken to.

  Shelving those concerns, he focused on what they were going to do. When Violet’s father had carried the boy into the stables, he asked him the same question he knew the investigator had, just to make sure he was not making things up, or if he was telling the truth, or leaving anything out.

  The boy had stuttered his words but his recount of a tall, thin man had Mister O’Cain nodding in agreement that it was the same story he had been told.

  “I dinnae see his face, Master MacFerson. It was late and he was wearing a hood so I couldnae see his face,” the boy cringed and a white sheen of panic washed over his face. “Please, please, daenae send me to the dungeons. I never kent it was for the Laird. I—” he broke off to swallow. “I never meant any harm and I dinnae ken much of it when he said to write Finley as they are so many with that name…I…”

  Ethan crouched and gave the boy a forgiving smile. “Daenae ye worry, lad, ye won’t pay for this. I kent ye dinnae mean anything by it but if ye could follow us and help us find the man who made ye dae it and ye are free, agreed?”

  Now, they were on the road seeking a man with the same description but Ethan privately thought it was a lost cause. Any criminal with a speck of sense would never have stayed around when their crime to threaten a Laird and his son had been delivered.

  He believed that Mister O’Cain, his father, and even Violet had the same opinion but he was not going to turn away the opportunity to spend more time with Violet— a lovely young lady with a brave, puckish attitude he admired and wisdom that had earned his respect.

  They were nearing the village now and he began to wonder where to start their search. It was good that evening was coming in so quickly as men would be at the tavern and on the streets coming from the farms. Some might even be at the market bargaining their last sale. On any level, they would have a good amount of persons to search through.

  Violet was riding near Ethan and was close enough that her words were not lost between them, “Should we stay together or separate? I suppose men will be at the market and the tavern. T’would be faster to cover two points at the same time.”

  “Aye, it would,” he replied. “But this man is a prospective murderer, Violet. I ken ye’re nay a delicate flower by any means, but this man is still dangerous. I willnae let ye go off by yerself with this circumstance. I’d never forgive meself if ye get hurt when I could have prevented it.”

  Memories of the five years he had trained with his father’s soldiers sprang up with him and he held back a grimace. No favoritism had been shown to him then, not only because it was the fighting men’s policy, but because his father had told the commander to “save his eyes and his backbone, but whip him into shape,” a statement that had been turned into the bane of his life.

  Day after day he had been run ragged, woken up way before dawn and went to bed mere hours before he was forced to wake again. Looking back at it now, he had to admit it had made him stronger and fit to serve whenever he was called up, but during it, he had prayed for relief.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask ye,” Violet said. “Have ye ever, erm, been in a war?”

  He shook his head. “A few skirmishes and battle with migrating reivers but naythin’ much. From the age eight-and-ten to just two years ago I was a part of the squadrons but stopped.”

  “Why?”

  “I’d rather tell ye at a later time,” he said. “Now we need to find this man. Let’s work from the entrance into the far ends of the village.”

  “I agree,” she said as they entered the village.

  While the charming cottages and huts were still picturesque, somewhere in this pleasant place, there was a man who was aiming to kill him and his father. He still doubted the man was foolish enough to stay behind after he had conned a poor boy to be a scapegoat and had delivered the threat directly to his target, and gotten away unnoticed.

  His jaw set hard. Whoever was behind this was a mastermind of deception. And such a person would never leave himself out in the open to be found. Still, they had to try.

  The streets were fairly full and, as he searched the bodies and faces, he did not see anyone who matched the boy’s description of tall and thin. From the corner of his eye, he saw Violet and the lad look around too, while exchanging whispers and distressed shakes of the head. They moved further into the village and down the line of private homes.

  He took it upon himself to go to those with lights in the windows and ask the villagers inside about the man they were seeking. It was slow going from house to house and some of the people were wary. After all, he was a stranger coming to their doors at twilight, but after identifying himself at the Laird’s son, they were happy to help. Unfortunately, no one had ever seen him before or had the slightest inkling of who this man was.

  It’s like I’m—we’re—chasing a spirit.

  The old man peering at him from rheumy eyes shook his head. �
�Sorry, sonny boy, I’ve never seen a man like that before.”

  This was the last cottage on the line of houses and as with the dozens before him, this man had nothing to give to them. It was past dusk and night was deepening; their only hope now was the tavern.

  “Thank ye, though,” Ethan said, dipping his head in a respectful bow. “I dae appreciate it.”

  With the door closed and the sound of the man’s slow shuffle back inside, Ethan rubbed his tired eyes and sucked in a cool breath to combat the headache threatening to bloom at his temples. Spinning, he strode down the narrow steps back to his horse and the two who were waiting for him.

  The lad was dozing on Violet’s chest when she looked up. “Nothing?”

  “Aye,” he sighed, swinging up to his saddle smoothly. He then looked over the poor child and asked, “I dinnae expect that we’ll, or rather, I will take long at the tavern. Stay with him and then we can go home.”

  Violet gently ran a hand over the boy’s flyaway hair and eased him back in her shoulder. For a brief, fleeting breath, Ethan wondered what she would be like with children. If she was even as half of caring for a child as she was with his boy, he knew she would be an exceptional mother.

  They rode back to the tavern where Violet stayed close to the doorways, just in case she needed to call him. He entered to see clusters of men in threes or fours around tables, lifting mugs of liquor high and chugging them down soon after. Tavern women wound through the tables adroitly, laughing gaily when a man playfully slapped their behind.

  Judging from the slurred speech and level of noise, he realized that speaking to anyone except the man at the bar or the women who served the liquor that he would not get anywhere. Despite the smoky dimness of the room, Ethan spotted the heavyset man manning the bar and wiping out mugs with a cloth.

  “I need yer help,” Ethan said but the man was facing away from him. Based on the barkeep's inattention, his words had been lost in the din. Stepping into his sight, Ethan leaned in. “I need to speak with ye.”

  “Ale is a pence and wine a double,” the man spoke around the toothpick in his mouth. “Naything free, if that’s what yer edging for.”

  “I dinnae come to drink,” Ethan said, “I need to find a man that came through here yesterday.”

  “A lot of men pass through here, boy,” he grunted while reaching for another tankard. “If ye expect me to remember them all then ye’ve been chewing on a stick of Henbane.”

  Clenching his jaw, Ethan swallowed over the man’s dismissive tone. If he knew what was at stake, he probably would not be so blithe, but he could not tell them what was happening. “I just need ye to remember if ye saw a man, thin and slender, probably wearing a hood or cloak pass through.”

  The man’s hand stopped and his thick greyish-brown brows furrowed. Ethan’s hope ramped up while the man collected his thoughts, but the moments felt like decades passing by. When his brows went lax and his shoulders shrugged, Ethan knew the answer before the man spoke it.

  “Sorry, boy, I cannae recall anyone like that in these here parts.” The man moved on to another goblet. “Thin, slender men are rare in this village, seems more a man from Clan Hofte. They have them in spades up there.”

  The man’s words sent a forbidding chill through Ethan. That was something he had not even considered. Could they be facing a higher tier of threat? Was Clan Hofte behind this? Shelving that thought, he approached the barmaids, and after asking, all five had given him a negative report. He went back outside and found Violet sitting on the stairs with the boy leaning on her arm.

  “No one had seen our man, I suppose,” Violet said quietly.

  He sat near her and tilted his head to the sky, “No one has seen this man but I have been told we might have a worse problem. The barkeep told me that I’m describing a man from Clan Hofte and honestly, I can see through it. We might have peace now, but it was not all that way. Someone could be whispering something in Laird Russell’s ear, urging him to break the peace. The man we’re looking for could be an emissary from that Clan.”

  Violet blinked. “That…is distressing.”

  “I ken,” he sighed, then eyed the boy sleeping at her side. “It’s time we went home, though.”

  “Ethan…” She nibbled on her lip and was looking almost everywhere but to him. “Earlier today…at the meadow. I…did we go too far?”

  His mood shifted as quickly as a river’s tide. The worry of another war between his family and Clan Hofte was shoved away in light of Violet’s unease. Taking her hand, that was a little cold and clammy, he laced her fingers with his. “Nay, that is unless I made ye uncomfortable—”

  Her face was shining a rosy red from the backwash of light coming from the tavern’s door. “Nay, ye dinnae, I feared ye were regretting it because we had received some rather troubling news earlier. Sometimes, people act out in different ways during distress, I wasnae sure if ye wanted a distraction or…” she swallowed. “If ye meant it.”

  “I meant it.” Ethan made sure to catch her eye to press his point, “I meant all of it.”

  Nae to mention that I loved how ye reacted.

  If possible, her blush deepened more, and he got a glimpse of her bashful side. It endeared her to him even more, as did the realization that he would have to go slow with her slithered through his mind. She had to be eased into acts of intimacy, not thrown in.

  “All in all, I dae ken we should get home,” he said, moving to take the boy from her. “I’ll ride with him. Can ye get on the horse by yerself?”

  “I’ll manage.”

  The ride home was quiet and uneventful with a cool summer wind blowing in from the loch and the light from the bright stars and crescent moon above shimmering over them. Effortlessly, he helped the now-awake boy down from the horse and took him into the castle. A maid was called on and she took the boy to a room.

  Poor boy, nay family and now he’s thrown into this tangled puzzle.

  Before he went to father and relayed his finding, she followed Violet to her room and hesitated at the door. “May I come in?”

  Nodding, she went in and held it open for him. He did a quick look around the room, noting that it was usual for visitors: standard bed, a chair, a table with a washbasin and a large window look out the backlands. Turning he saw her apprehensive look and smiled, just to ease her worry.

  Coming closer, he laid his hand on her shoulder and said, “I may nae ken exactly where this is headed but I will never play with yer heart. I am enthralled by ye, Violet. Ye’re lovely, wise and brave…” his hands slid to frame her neck and his thumbs rested on her face.

  Her lips were warm and soft, parting eagerly for him but he kept his kiss soft and tender, suckling on her lips rather than meeting her tongue with his. Pulling away, he smiled. “Never doubt yerself, Violet.”

  Her smile was tremulous at first but grew wider, “If ye promise me to be the same.”

  Ethan knew what she was referring to, him finding his brother’s killer and him taking over the lairdship in time. He felt it was a fair bargain. “Ye have me word. I’ll send up yer dinner. Good night, Violet.”

  With her wishing him the same, he slipped out of the room and down the corridor, trying to put the words together on how to tell his father about the possible undermining from Clan Hofte, and the probability of them having a spy in the castle. He managed to find a servant and instruct her to send up some food to Violet’s room before hurrying to meet his father.

  He found the door to his father’s meeting room was cocked half open and with a quick knock went in. A swift look from his father had the Laird’s already tense face going tighter. “Ye dinnae find him.”

  “Nay,” he said. “But I have more distressing news. The barkeep at the tavern told me that I’m describing a man from Clan Hofte, as they mostly have tall and slender men. And if this is the case, if the Laird is trying to start some trouble and undermine us, he might have paid off a servant to slip that note into yer rooms.”

 
His father stared at him. Ethan’s lips pressed tight as he waited for his father’s reply. Instead of the loud, ear-splitting shout he had expected, his father just shook his head and slumped into the seat and rubbed his creased forehead. “Bloody hell.”

  “Before we go accusing them though,” Ethan cautioned. “This is worth some looking into. We have peace with them now and I wouldnae like to break it over a suspicion, and a rather weak one at that.”

  Nodding, his father said, “Spoken like a true peacekeeper. I’ll approach this with caution.”

  “That would be the best,” Ethan breathed. “I wouldnae want to undo all Finley’s good work and all he sacrificed for.”

  “Ye willnae,” his father assured him before eyeing him. “Was Miss O’Cain any help today?”