Claimed By The Highlander (The Highlands Warring Clan Mactaggarts Book 1)

by Anne Morrison

  "You saw them? And you thought I was a thief?"

  Reade laughed at her offense.

  "Well, I certainly didn't have a reason not to think that, did I? And yes, I did. But now I know better, so why don't you tell me the rest, Elizabeth? You are no maid, and no thief. Tell me what you are instead."

  For a moment, he thought that she wouldn't. She was still for a long while, a warmth pressed against him, a sweetness in his heart that he didn't even understand.

  "There's no good way to answer that, I don't think, not anymore. Just six months ago, I was the daughter of Paul and Mary Kendall, big sister to Benji, and I lived in London."

  "You're English?"

  "Is that worse than being a thief?"

  "Perhaps."

  "I can't help it, and I'm not a thief."

  "Very true. I'm sorry. Tell me the rest of it."

  "So, that's who I used to be. It feels like a dream these days, like something so far away it might never have happened. So, the pox came to London last summer, and it carried them all away, somehow leaving me behind."

  Reade shuddered. His travels had taken him to London, though briefly. He remembered a busy town with a life all its own, and the idea of sickness stalking those narrow streets and alleys, where drawing a decent breath was difficult enough, made his skin crawl.

  "Lass..."

  "Shush. I'll tell you the rest. So, while I was mourning, before I even wondered properly what I was to do or what might become of me, my uncle, the Earl of Sussex, swept down from the North like some kind of ill-wind and took me in."

  "Earl of Sussex... That's William Blaken, isn't it?"

  Elizabeth blinked at him.

  "You know of him?"

  Reade nodded, but his tired brain was rolling like a boulder headed downhill, going faster all the time. “

  Aye, lass. That's not a name you'll want to say, the farther north we go. But go on."

  "My uncle never really said a word to me, just bundled me up like a piece of luggage and sent me north. It made sense. He was my kin, and even if he was not so thrilled to have a new burden, he would still do his duty."

  Reade gritted his teeth at that, because in the Highlands, there would have been no talk of duty or burdens, only family stepping in to help bereaved family. The English did things otherwise though, and the fact that Elizabeth didn't seem perturbed by this was somehow worse.

  "And I thought that was all. I would live with my uncle, perhaps take over chatelaine duties at Blaken Keep, or not, perhaps be married as he pleased, or sent to the convent. At the very least, I would be spared the penury of a helpless woman in London. And then I overheard two maids. Speaking about me."

  She was still so long that Reade thought she would not continue. When she did, her voice was thin, as if she were almost afraid to speak of it.

  "Through them, I heard that my uncle had written to the king for a special dispensation. He wanted the right to marry me immediately, and to be pardoned for the fact that he was my uncle doing so."

  The rest of her account was chilling enough, but this last made Reade's belly turn over.

  "William Blaken wants to marry you? He's sixty if he's a day."

  "He is. And my uncle. I think it may have something to do with my mother's people, but I don't know. All I knew was that I had to leave."

  "Your mother's people?"

  Elizabeth winced briefly.

  "Yes. I... misrepresented things to you, but not all of it was a lie. I really was going to meet my relatives. Dun Warring is close to Leister Castle, you see, and Dev..."

  Reade stared at her, wondering if the entire world had simply turned upside down on top of him.

  "Are you sitting here and telling me that your cousin Dev is Devon Montgomery?"

  "Yes. My mother's s brother's son."

  Reade felt as if he were trying to think through mud. He knew that the spring air had a frigid edge to it. He knew that he was bare-chested underneath a thin blanket, but suddenly, this all felt too warm, too close. There was a thin sheen of sweat over his body, and he shook his head.

  "Your cousin has held Leister Castle for two years, no matter what the Highlanders threw at him."

  "I knew he was a military commander of some kind..."

  Reade's bark of laughter made her draw back, and he felt sorry for that, but he shook his head.

  "Lass, they call him the Rock of Leister, Longshanks set him up there, and there he stayed. He broke the strength of the MacLeods when they tried to take him out, and he did it completely cut off from the English."

  From the look on Elizabeth's face, he could see that she had no idea what he was talking about, and why should she? Until the past few months, by her story, she was a London girl, far away from all of this.

  The thought occurred to him that if the Earl of Sussex was trying to marry a girl related to the Rock of Leister, there was something afoot. He just couldn't think of what. His mind felt as if it were furred around the edges, too cold and too hot at once.

  "There's more here than I can see," he said.

  "And what are you going to do about it?"

  "Lass. I don't know."

  At some point, he must have laid down to sleep. All he knew was that it felt as if he were falling down a deep, deep hole, darkness welling up all around him, and there was nothing he could do but to wait for the impact, whatever it was and whenever it came.

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  chapter 22

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  Elizabeth knew that Reade felt warm when she was cuddled next to him, but their conversation kept her too preoccupied to notice much more. She could hear the wheels turning in Reade's head, and now that she was stopping to think about it, they were turning in her own as well. She had been so horrified by her uncle's bid for her hand that she hadn't wondered what in the world had spurred it, but now she could see a web wound around her, woven by her uncle, connecting her to Devon Montgomery and her mother's family.

  Her uncle had never cared if she had lived or died before her parents' death, and she was realizing that if he had never appeared, her mother's family, the Montgomerys, almost certainly would have. What did it all mean?

  She was shaken out of her reverie when she felt Reade's body shiver. He had fallen asleep after their talk, which she supposed made sense after the day he had had. She had let him sleep, moving restlessly around the confines of the hunter's hut, her thoughts spinning. It felt suddenly as if the world was very large and getting ready to fall on her.

  In the middle of her pacing, when she heard the hoot of an owl outside, and when she had checked for the fourth time to see if the door's flimsy latch had been thrown, she heard Reade groan softly.

  “Reade?”

  He turned over in his sleep, thrusting the blanket off, and her eyes widened to see a bit of steam come off of his body. The low fire in the hearth helped take the edge off the chill, but the nooks and cracks in the structure of the blind itself meant that it was almost as cold as sleeping rough outside.

  “Reade!”

  Elizabeth nearly fell down on her knees crossing the small space to him, and when she touched his bare shoulder, her heart started to beat faster. His skin was clammy to the touch and far too warm at that, and though she could see his eyelids twitching in the firelight, he did not open his eyes.

  A cold terror wrapped around her chest, making it hard to catch her breath or to speak. There was a stone in her throat, and she knew that if she weakened at all, she might simply break down into tears that would leave her as helpless as a newborn.

  I've been here before. A high and piercing shriek cut right through her body, boring its way through her heart.

  It had started with a fever. Benji had come in from playing with the other children complaining that he felt too hot, that he was sore all over. At first, their mother had thought it was just a normal illness, something that would heal itself with enough rest and a steady supply of beef bro
th mixed with weak tea.

  Benjamin had complained to be put to bed like a baby, but he had relented when Elizabeth offered to sit and to tell him stories about Gereon and Francis, his favorite saints. The memory of that night, the last true night of safety and happiness she had had with her family, was imprinted permanently on her brain, because the next day, they had found the first marks of the pox on her brother's swollen throat.

  Then her father, her proud, strong, and intelligent father, had fallen to the fever, and then her mother as well. Elizabeth had done what she could, brewing endless pots of broth, removing sheets that had become soaked with sweat that bore a strange and unwholesome smell to it. She had worked for days trying to keep her family as comfortable as they could be, to come up with something, anything that might relieve them of their illness, but it was to no avail.

  On Monday morning, Benji had died, and her father had followed him on Tuesday. She sat with her mother all through the night and day that followed, clinging to her hand, listening to her mother's soft thin voice telling her that she must be brave, that she must not give up.

  She didn't know when her mother died, because she had fallen asleep, and for that, Elizabeth was not sure she would ever forgive herself.

  Then the fever had come for her, and Elizabeth had laid down in her bed in the empty house, waiting for it to take her as it had her family. Despite how wicked it surely was, she welcomed it with all her grief-stricken heart, because then at least she wouldn't be alone in their house any longer.

  Then, to her surprise, slowly, the fever pulled back. Her hands stopped shaking, and she never got the marks that had marred all her family before taking them away so brutally. One morning, she rose from her bed without a tremor in her limbs, and she realized she was hungry. The illness had passed over her like some great bird, snatching her family up in its claws and somehow leaving her behind.

  Elizabeth bit her lip hard, pushing the bad memories away. She couldn't afford to sink into that darkness any longer. She could not afford to be the grieving girl, not when Reade was still here.

  She took a deep breath and remembered what her mother had told her. A fever could be a friend. The heat was trying to smother the illness in the body, so it should be encouraged, so long as it did not rise to where it could boil the brain.

  She glanced at Reade's wound, which she had bandaged as best she could with torn strips from her shift. It was shamefully short now, but it wasn't like anyone would see. The wound felt hot, and she pulled the bandages aside to clean it with fresh water again. She thought that Reade might rise at that, but he only groaned. She slit her eyes, expecting him to push her away, but instead, his hand landed on her thigh. When he touched her, he calmed, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  All right. I need to keep him warm and quiet. I can do that.

  When she tried to draw the blankets up to his chin again, however, Reade shoved them off, turning away from her. He did it over and over again until finally, in exasperation, she climbed into the bed with him. Then he quieted and drew her close, and Elizabeth breathed a deep sigh of relief.

  Calm and warm. We can do this.

  She lay in his arms, her head pressed under his chin, and she tried to pray. She thought of the saints that she had been taught about, the guardians of the sick and the weak and those in need, but all of that fell away. Instead, all she could think was… Please.

  Please don't take Reade away from me. Please don't let Reade die because he was protecting me. Please heal him and wake him up.

  Please.

  Please.

  * * *

  At some point, she must have gone to sleep, because otherwise, she would not have awakened to the sounds of horses' hooves and the jingle of tack. She could hear low voices as well, and a shiver of fear went down her back.

  The men from the inn... have they found us?

  The fire had fallen down to the barest coals, and there was a nighttime chill to the air. it was hours before dawn, and Elizabeth's fear turned to confusion.

  Would the soldiers have come all this way in the dark? How had they found their way through the twisting trail that Reade had led them on?

  She rose up from Reade's arms, ignoring his mumbled feverish protest, and stood uncertainly, glancing at Reade's sword. Could she actually fend off someone who was threatening them? Could she actually kill someone if she needed to?

  Then, to her surprise, there came a gentle tapping on the hut's door. It felt as if the world was turned upside down when she went to answer it, hesitating only for a moment before she pulled it open.

  In the doorway was a tall form wrapped in a dark gray mantle. The glow from the fire was just enough for Elizabeth to make out a round face with high cheekbones, a fall of dark curly hair, and a mouth that curled into an amused grin.

  "Good evening to you, mistress. Do you mind telling me what you are doing in my house?"

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  chapter 23

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  Reade felt as if he were swimming up through deep, cold water. it reminded him of Loch Gillyhorn close to where he had grown up. It was not as impressively enormous as some of the lochs he had seen since, but it was deep, so deep that if he held his breath and dove down as far as he could, the light around him would fade and fade, and there would be black water yet under his toes.

  His entire body hurt, and his skin felt as if it were simply too tight and that he might burst out of it at any moment. Part of him wanted nothing more than to simply lie down and sleep forever. Let the world take care of itself, and then he could finally get some blasted rest.

  He might have let it all go away, kith and clan and kin, but then he thought of Elizabeth. Elizabeth may have lied to him, may have refused him the truth at every turn, but she had no one. His brother Aidan had the might of Clan MacTaggart to call upon, but Elizabeth had no one and enemies at every turn.

  Despite the call of the cold dark water, Reade continued to fight. It exhausted him, it took every spare breath he had, but he could feel the world around him growing lighter and warmer until finally, he opened his eyes.

  The fire was built up in the hearth, giving the hut a rolling heat that Reade realized had practically roasted the illness out of him. When he looked down, he saw that his wound had been expertly bandaged, a pad of clean cloth lay over the worst of it and held in place with more bindings. When he tugged the bandage away, he could see that the flesh there was still tender, still painful, but it was healing, and then he frowned when he realized how much it had healed.

  What in the world is going on? I know I didn't have any bindings like this in my pack...

  He started to call for Elizabeth, because the hut was conspicuously empty, and then he heard her cry out. The sound came from outside, and with a deep growl, Reade threw himself to his feet

  No matter what was happening, they had left his sword right next to the bed, and if they were offering harm to Elizabeth, if they had touched a hair on her head, they were going to regret it.

  Reade was barefoot and shirtless when he charged out the door, and for a split second, he was blinded by the brilliant light of the mid-morning sun. In some times and places, that blindness could have cost him everything, but then he saw Elizabeth sprawled on the ground, and a tall slight man bent over her, a dagger in his hand.

  Roaring like a wounded bear, Reade lunged at the figure, swinging his sword high in what would have been a killing blow. The figure was at least as fast as he was, however, and turned as Reade came up, that little dagger coming up to defend. If the stranger had tried to force Reade's sword back with a mere dagger, it would have crashed right through, but instead, he turned it, twisting the sword to one side with an impressive dexterity.

  Reade would have redoubled his efforts, but then Elizabeth was between them, completely unarmed, and Reade drew back, all too aware of the fact that he might have injured her badly if he had taken another swing at the stranger.<
br />
  "No! Reade, no, Ava was just teaching me what to do with a dagger!"

  For a moment, Reade stared at Elizabeth without understanding the words that she was saying. Why in the world would she defend the man who was attacking her, who had pushed her to the ground?

  Then Ava FitzWarren stepped around Elizabeth, a wry smile on her face and a wary look in her eyes.

  "I'd always heard that MacTaggart generosity was legendary. I suppose I should have asked in which way they meant it."

  "Ava?"

  Elizabeth looked as if she were still fearful that Reade might try to take another swing at her new friend. She hovered by his sword hand, looking up at him with blue eyes like the sky.

  He sighed, lowering his sword.

  "I can see that I have missed a great deal since I fell asleep last night."

  "Last night? Reade, you were unconscious for almost two days."

  "Are you serious? That whole time?"

  "Yes. We talked for a bit, and then I realized that you were hot all over with fever."

  "That was two days ago?"

  "Yes. I knew that I needed to let the fever rise until it could break, and I knew that I needed to keep your wound clean, but that was all I knew. I... I was afraid I was going to watch you die."

  The last was uttered with such a heartbreaking grief that Reade felt incredibly guilty for causing it, even if he would rather have not gotten stabbed in the first place.

  "Ah, lass..."

  He reached out to touch her face, wanting her to look up at him so she could see that there was no need to be worried. He was fine, and he was not going anywhere at all.

  "She did quite well for you, don't let her fool you," supplied Ava. "I showed up at the right time with some more supplies, but she did exactly as she was meant to do. All I did was supply some bandages, some men to watch you so she could get some sleep, and a listening ear when she was worried to death about you."

  Reade didn't like the idea of Elizabeth being worried to death about anything, but it sounded right.