The Scot's Betrayal (Highland Swords Book 1) Page 5

  “This is the first trip without me.”

  “Do you get along? Forgive me if I’m too forward.”

  Emmalin stared at the man in front of her. How she wished to tell him the truth—that she’d prefer it if he were in her bed every night instead of her husband. That she prayed each night for a way out of her marriage. That she hated every mark the English had left on her beautiful castle. She played with the stray threads on her skirt for a moment, then looked up at Alasdair again. “Nay,” she said at last, “we don’t suit each other at all, although he pretends otherwise when it suits him. Still, he’s my husband, legally and under the orders of King Edward. How can I undo this?”

  “Perhaps we’ll think of a way. If you come to us, we will protect you.”

  “I’ll have to give this some serious consideration, and this is the best time since he is absent.” She stared at her folded hands on top of the table. If it were this simple, to just walk away, she could picture herself leaving on the morrow. But then she’d be forfeiting all rights to this land. Her land.

  “Is that mutton stew? It smells wonderful,” he said, his gaze catching hers.

  “It is. Forgive me for my rudeness.” She got up and moved to the door. “I do have a wonderful cook, though she’s been sorely tested by my new husband.” She opened the door and waved to Tamsin. “Bring our guest a trencher of stew and a platter of whatever else you are serving with a goblet of ale, please.”

  The servant returned quickly before she could take her seat again, setting a large trencher in front of him along with a platter of bread and various cheeses. She thanked Tamsin and closed the door behind her.

  He smiled as he looked at the trencher. “I have to agree you have a fine cook if the aroma is any indication. Pardon my question, but will you join me? At least have some bread or cheese?”

  She didn’t hesitate to nod. “It smells so good that I would like a taste of the stew if you don’t mind.” It was customary for a husband to feed his wife, although much less so for a guest to do so. Langley always seemed to feed her morsels she didn’t care for, as if he hoped to change her mind. Or torment her. But the thought of this man feeding her made her belly do flip-flops. And since they were alone, what difference would it make?

  “Your favorite part of the stew, lass?”

  She did her best not to let her surprise show on her face, strictly because she’d never been asked that question before. “The vegetables, if you please, my lord.”

  He arched a brow at her.

  “Alasdair,” she corrected, watching as he speared a parsnip for her. He held it out for her instead of shoving it into her mouth. Touching her tongue to it to determine its temperature, she noticed Alasdair’s eyes darken. His own lips parted.

  A burst of heat shot through her, settling in places she hadn’t expected. She chewed her food carefully, not wishing to rush the pleasure of the meal, or of watching him as he took a piece of meat, his eyes never leaving hers. She knew it was wrong to savor this man’s companionship, but her husband was cruel and dismissive. Part of her wanted to know what it would be like to be married to a powerful Highlander like the man sitting across from her.

  Although she knew she was pushing the boundaries of acceptability, she took a deep breath and asked, “Have you ever noticed, Alasdair Grant, that some things can be quite sensual with one person and quite ordinary with another?”

  His gray eyes darkened a bit more, if that were possible, and not a sound could be heard in the solar except for their breathing. His gaze dropped to her lips and he whispered, “I have noticed that with you. Would you like another bite?”

  “Just a small piece, if you please.” She leaned toward him and parted her lips, closing her eyes as she did so. Although she’d gotten out of the practice of trusting men, she knew in her heart Alasdair wouldn’t hurt her or do anything cruel.

  “I’ll place it on your tongue and you must guess what it is.”

  She nodded slightly, her lips still open, her eyes still closed. A warm morsel landed on her tongue, although most of her attention was fixed on the warm breath that now feathered her cheek. He had leaned in close.

  He whispered, “What type of vegetable is it?”

  She savored the piece, letting out a small moan that she hadn’t planned, and finished chewing before she said, “Carrot. A delicious carrot.”

  “One more. Do not open your eyes.”

  She leaned forward, offering him her tongue one more time. The tiniest tidbit landed on her tongue, something she hadn’t had in a long time because her husband didn’t care for them. “A pea. My favorite.”

  She opened her eyes and stared straight into those gray eyes that reached right down to her soul. His thumb came up and rubbed her bottom lip. “Gravy, you have a bit of gravy there.”

  Looking her in the eyes, he licked the salty liquid from his finger.

  Emmalin swore she was about to pass out from a desire so foreign to her she didn’t know how to handle it. Oh, if only things were different. If only this man were her husband instead of Langley. She knew that he would protect her and love her the way a woman was meant to be loved, with every part of his being. She imagined his every touch would feel like a caress to her soul. Her imagination and her desire were getting away from her.

  She was married and this man was not her husband.

  And she didn’t care.

  Fortunately, two serving maids knocked and came in, interrupting them with two fruit tarts.

  The spell was broken, but she knew one thing.

  Someday, she’d kiss Alasdair Grant.

  To hell with Langley Hawkinge.

  Chapter Six

  The next day, after the cousins had taken their leave, Emmalin wandered around the courtyard, giving thought to all Alasdair and Dyna had said.

  Would it be best if she just ran away?

  Part of her rebelled at the thought. This was her land, MacLintock land, and she did not wish to leave it behind. And yet, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could play pretend. Ultimately, she decided to give herself a few days to make a decision. Langley wouldn’t be back for at least that long. If she ever made her mind up to go to Grant land, she didn’t think it would prove difficult for her to get away.

  Gaufried called out her name, jostling her from her thoughts, and when she turned toward him, she immediately noticed two things. He looked distressed, and he was with two men dressed as knights. Clearly they were English. These were the king’s men, of that much she was certain. Were they here with some message from Langley?

  They both bowed to her in tandem, then one said, “Your pardon, my lady, but we have bad news to report.”

  “Get on with it,” she said, having no idea what they would tell her. Her heart was in her throat.

  “Your husband has passed on. He was found dead, I’m afraid. An animal attack.” The man turned a bit green after this pronouncement.

  The other man stepped forward and handed her a small bag. “These are his belongings. Our king wished for us to return them to you.”

  She froze, staring at them, unsure whether she’d heard correctly. “An animal? What kind of animal?” They had to be referring to someone else.

  Dead? Langley was dead?

  “A boar. Or rather several boars. No one knows for certain. But he is dead.”

  Emmalin stared at the two men as though they’d grown stalks of wheat out of the tops of their heads. They couldn’t be telling the truth, could they? She’d wished for him never to come back, and now he wouldn’t.

  Could she somehow be at fault?

  No, that was a foolish thought.

  One of the men cleared his throat. “We’re sorry for your loss, my lady. The king grants you a fortnight to mourn, then requests your presence at the royal castle in Berwick.”

  “She’s had a terrible shock,” Gaufried said, rushing over to stand at her side. Perhaps he worried her knees would buckle. They did indeed feel weak. “We must get her inside.”


  He attempted to spin her back toward the castle, but she didn’t move, her gaze still on the messengers.

  “Go about your business,” Gaufried said to the other guards standing around watching them. “I’ll see her inside. I fear she could faint.”

  Turning back to the two knights, he said, “If you would like a light repast, I will arrange it for you inside.”

  They followed him along, which suited Emmalin just fine. At this point, she didn’t wish to make conversation with anyone. Shock had silenced her tongue. But she felt no sadness, only relief and a hint of guilt because of it. Her marriage to the cruel baron was over.

  She would have to go to the king in a fortnight, but for the next half a moon, she was free.

  Free of judgment, snide remarks, and fits of violence.

  Gaufried waved the knights toward a trestle table once they were inside the hall, but Emmalin barely noticed. What she did notice was that the people in the hall looked happier than they had of late. They looked freer. Had they already heard the news, or were they simply pleased the baron was away from home?

  Gaufried waved to Bessie. “Take your mistress to her chamber. She’s had quite a shock. Messengers from the king arrived and said the baron died from an animal attack.”

  Bessie’s eyes widened with shock, and she rushed to Emmalin’s side, taking her elbow.

  “Oh my dear, I’ll take her abovestairs, find her something warm to drink.”

  Gaufried whispered, “Water of life, get her some.”

  She climbed the stairs, dear Bessie right behind her, urging her forward. The great hall began to fill up with her dear clan, whispers and gasps rising up to her.

  If she had to say, some sounded quite pleased by the events of the morn.

  When they reached her chamber, Bessie helped her into a chair by the hearth, then banked the fire. She disappeared for a moment and returned with a wee goblet of a golden liquid.

  “Here now,” she said, handing it to Emmalin. “Drink this.”

  Her sire’s favorite beverage that he closely guarded.

  She swallowed it down, the fire in her throat feeling oddly wonderful, then returned the goblet to Bessie.

  “’Tis quite all right if you cry now, my lady,” Bessie said, squeezing her shoulder. “No one will hear you. They’ll not think worse of you, either.” For a moment, all she could manage was a nod. Her maid started to bustle around the chamber, dusting and cleaning as she moved.

  “Bessie?”

  “What is it, my lady?” She hurried back to her, standing directly in front of her to do her bidding.

  “I don’t feel like crying.”

  There. She’d said it. Would her maid be shocked?

  “It will come, I’m sure of it. For some, it takes a few days. The tears will come. You’ll see.”

  Emmalin just shook her head. “But I was forced to marry him. I tried to do everything he asked of me like a good wife should, but he didn’t love me.”

  “And you, my lady? Did you love him?” Bessie reached forward to stroke her cheek, her touch so very gentle.

  She shook her head. “Nay, of course not,” she said, but a tear fell from one of her eyes.

  “Then why do you cry?”

  “How awful it seems for someone so young to die and not be missed. Bessie, I wished that he wouldn’t come back, and now he never will.”

  Bessie let out an unladylike snort. “Good riddance. If you’ll pardon my frankness, that man only loved himself. He doesn’t deserve to be mourned by anyone. Why, I’d throw a celebration if I could. Leaders should lead by example. That man was as shallow as they come and had no idea how to lead. He was naught more than a parasite.” Then her maid’s hand went to her mouth. “Dearest me, I shall learn to keep my tongue when speaking of the dead.”

  Emmalin burst into laughter, then got up and hugged her maid. “I do love you, Bessie. Do not concern yourself. Every word you speak is true, but we shall keep them between us. Whatever would I do without you and Gaufried?”

  “Do not worry your pretty self. We’ll take care of you. Now, did the king give you any decrees? Even though there was no love, he was still an English baron. You must be careful how you react and act devastated by his loss. Do whatever you are told to do.”

  “Aye, I must appear at Berwick Castle in a fortnight. I fear he’ll wish to marry me to another baron. Mayhap a worse one.” She found herself thinking of another man, a Highlander with fierce yet gentle gray eyes. “I have a thought,” she said. “I’d like you to send a message to Alasdair Grant. They cannot be too far yet. I want him to be aware of what’s happened.”

  Bessie squeezed her shoulder as she guided her back to a seat in front of the fire. “I’ll take care of it. There’s no use speculating, my dear. You have a fortnight to relax and enjoy yourself. You deserve it, my dear. You did a fine job holding up to your end of the marriage, but I’m glad to see it end. He’d have not made you happy.”

  Emmalin had to admit, truer words had never been spoken.

  ***

  Alasdair and Dyna were about three hours from MacLintock land when he motioned for them to stop. He had a sudden urge to turn around.

  “Something’s wrong,” he said as he dismounted, motioning for his four guards to take a break. He found a copse of trees where they could find shelter while they decided what to do next.

  “I agree. I feel it in the wind. It will be nightfall if we return to her castle,” Dyna said. “A good time to creep about a strange castle.” She’d plaited her hair back on top of her head in case she had to pretend to be a lad again. Dyna always did like a challenge.

  “You already crept about, did you not?” he asked glibly.

  Dyna grinned, bringing out a skin of ale and taking a swig before handing it to Alasdair. “I did. I searched the upstairs and the cellars while you were feasting.”

  He ignored her wee tease and asked, “And did you discover anything unusual?”

  “Aye, I saw verra few valuables. Where were the swords on the walls? There were a few candlesticks, but I saw verra few decorations or heirlooms. You know how the Scots are about their castles. ’Tis a sense of pride.”

  “She mentioned that her husband had taken many of the things down.”

  “I wonder if he didn’t take some of the items for himself. Think you he would sell their possessions?”

  “From what little I know of him, he would sell his own brother.” Alasdair took a swig and paused, thinking. His sire had always taught him to follow his instincts. Right now, he had a nagging feeling that something was happening at Emmalin’s castle. Dyna hadn’t sensed anything, but then again, her abilities had always been a wee bit temperamental. She didn’t always know—but when she sensed something it was inevitably true. Besides which, Grandpapa had had that dream…

  “Aye, I’d like to go back,” he said. “You did a fine job of stopping the bastards who tried to kidnap Emmalin over a sennight ago, but I hope you won’t need to shoot anyone this time.” He broke out a couple of oatcakes and handed her one.

  She took it, but before she took a bite, she paced around the area. He knew Dyna was ensuring they were indeed hidden, something she did without thinking.

  Apparently satisfied, she broke off a piece of her meager meal and sat on a log, crossing her long legs straight out in front of her. She had on the same type of leggings Great Aunt Gwyneth, her archery teacher, had worn for years.

  “We were lucky to stop those men,” she said. “Had they not been such poor warriors, we may not have rescued her. Her husband didn’t go to much of an effort to get her back, did he?”

  “Nay, I thought the same. His every hair was still in place.” He sat beside her, sighing as he did so.

  “She said she was in an arranged marriage, aye?” she asked.

  “Aye, a marriage arranged by King Edward, which means he conferred with no one other than his one baron. He’s trying to take over Scotland in every way he can, and I don’t like it. If
he keeps stealing our Scottish lasses, all our land will be owned or managed by the English. She’s too good for the English bastard.” He stared up into the trees, noticing the flurry of birds in the area.

  “Do you know what I hate, Alasdair? I hate that women are assumed to be ignorant. Incapable of leading. Who started that whole idea? I can think as quickly as most men. I’m quite certain Emmalin did not need the king to marry her off so someone else could control her land and people. She should lead like Diana Drummond does.”

  “I agree, and you know it. Forget what the world thinks. Your parents believe in you and your sisters. They treat you the same as they do your brother. And Alick, Els, and I know you can out-strategize most men.”

  Casting him a sideways glance and a smirk, she said, “My thanks to you. All but Grandsire. No one can out-strategize him. He is a brilliant leader.”

  “That he is,” he said wistfully, dreading the day they would lose him. Men and women lived into their seventh decade, so he hoped and prayed Grandpapa would live into his eighth. True, he was not the swordsman he once was, but his experience was invaluable.

  She played with her plait and stared into the sky. “I also hate that I must hide whenever we encounter anyone on one of our journeys. Everyone is always so worried about my reputation. Well, I don’t give a shite about my reputation. I travel about with my cousins, not a bunch of English rogues.”

  He grinned, loving to see her in a fury. “You don’t like the English much, do you?” He knew the answer, of course, but he thought to bait her.

  “Nay, I don’t. They’d have me sitting on a settee primping my hair. I’ll not do that and you know it. Thank goodness for my parents and Great Aunt Gwyneth. Aunt Ashlyn, too. I can protect myself thanks to them. I’d join the Norse before I’d join the English.”

  “Well, your mother is half Norse,” he said, cocking his brow.

  They shared a laugh, and Dyna gave him a fierce grin. “We’ll help Emmalin, Alasdair. Don’t you doubt it. I think you’re right about going back. But we should go alone, just the two of us. If we bring the men, there’ll be trouble.”