Behind the Plaid

Behind the Plaid

Book One
– Highland Bound Trilogy

By

Eliza Knight

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FIRST EDITION

March 2013

Copyright 201
3 © Eliza Knight

This ebook belongs to vzyl at 64 70 67 72 6f 75 70 forum.
I hereby acknowledge that I have shared this book outside the forum without
permission from the original poster if I earn profit or rewards for providing access to this ebook.
I also accept responsibility for advertising and providing a hyperlink to this forum.

Cover Design by Kimberly Killion @ Hot Damn Designs

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Also Available by Eliza Knight

The Highlander’s Reward – Book One, The Stolen Bride Series

The Highlander’s Conquest – Book Two, The Stolen Bride Series

The Highlander’s Lady
– Book Three, The Stolen Bride Series

The Highlander’s Warrior Bride
– Book Four, The Stolen Bride Series

A Lady’s Charade (Book 1: The Rules of Chivalry)

A Knight’s Victory (Book 2: The Rules of Chivalry)

A Gentleman’s Kiss

Men of the Sea Series:
Her Captain Returns, Her Captain Surrenders, Her Captain Dares All

The Highland Jewel Series:
Warrior in a Box, Lady in a Box, Love in a Box

Lady Seductress’s Ball

Take it Off, Warrior

Highland Steam

A Pirate’s Bounty

Highland Tryst (Something Wicked This Way Comes Volume 1)

Highlander Brawn (
Sequel to
Highland Steam)

Coming soon…

Bared to the Highlander (Book 2: Highland Bound)

The Dark Side of the Laird
(Book 3: Highland Bound)

The Highlander’s
Triumph (Book 5: The Stolen Bride Series)

Writing under the name E. Knight

Coming soon…

My Lady Viper – Tales From the Tudor Court

Prisoner of the Queen – Tales From the Tudor Court

Writing under the name Annabelle Weston

Wicked Woman (Desert Heat)

Scandalous Woman (Desert Heat)

Notorious Woman (Desert Heat)

Mr. Temptation

Hunting Tucker

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Visit Eliza Knight at
www.elizaknight.com
or
www.historyundressed.com

Dedication

To my own Highlander, my soul mate—

living proof that real men wear kilts.

Love you!

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to Christi, Tara and Jenn for all of your amazing support!

Chapter One

Emma

Inverness,
Scottish Highlands

Present Day

T
he sunset was like a bruise. I stared at the evening sky as it changed from yellowish pink to black and blue. Not unlike my soul. Bruised. Battered. Hopeless.

If I’d known that I’d be sitting on a Victorian settee, complete with a beautiful cushion
embroidered with thistles, at a bed and breakfast in the beautiful Scottish Highlands, gazing through a lace-covered window as I listened to Steven berate me when any other guest could witness it, I’d have never come.

Not that I had much of a choice. My choices
were limited since we’d gotten married eight years ago—me just barely out of high school.

From the corner of my eye
, I spied, his mother Beverly whispering behind her hand to Steven who eyed me with contempt. She didn’t like me. Never had. Not since I became Steven’s charity case at age eighteen. Steven liked a good project. Trouble was, I wasn’t a good one.

”Emma, a
re you even listening to me?”

I nod
ded but continued to gaze at the horizon. If I told Steven the truth, that I tried not to listen when he flew into a tirade, tried to float off into oblivion, that would only add fuel to his fire. At that moment, he was blazing. Whisky was partially to blame—the fact that he’d had several cups of it—and his mother just had to bring up the fact that we had no children.

A major issue within our marriage.

A promise I’d broken. To have his children, so he could pass down his fortune to his heirs. Steven was the last of his family. If he died, his money died with him. And there would be no one for him to leave the Scottish manor home he planned to buy, a tribute to his ancestry.

“You’re a fucking failure, Emma.” Steven’s voice had risen. He’d grab me by the
arm soon…drag me upstairs. “A dammed charity case that I should have left to drown in your disaster of a life years ago.”

It was always the same. Belittling me. Lamenting of my uselessness as a human being.
I hoped he would quit his preaching soon so I could drown myself in a glass or three of Chardonnay. White wine, because red stains my lips and teeth and only makes Steven angrier.

“Well
, what do you have to say for yourself?” He stopped in front of me, hands on his hips, eyes bloodshot, sandy blond hair flying this way and that from having run his fingers through it so many times. Steven had never hit me, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. He’d threatened beatings often enough, and hurt me in other ways. But mostly his method was worse than physical brutality. Steven’s method was deprivation. A lack of food, no friends, no job, no money. Forbidden to go anywhere unless he approved it, and most times, he didn’t. I’d been a virtual prisoner for eight years and no one knew it. As time went on, his anger grew and his temper tantrums increased.

We lived in a nice little house on a cul-de-sac with a neatly trimmed postage stamp of a yard. Steven drank beers with the neighborhood men as they mowed their lawns on Saturdays. Sometimes a few wives c
ame out to chat, bringing iced tea or lemonade. The one time I’d tried it, the glare I’d received from Steven had been murderous.

“Well? Are you too stupid to answer the fucking question?” His voice was loud, reverberating off the walls, and I feared the other guests would hear my humiliation.

My mind drew a blank. What could I say or do to make his pain and anger at our childless marriage better? Nothing. And if I admitted the truth as to why we had no children, that might just push him over the edge.

I tempered the urge to shrug and roll my eyes. Despite his
attempts to squash my spirit, it still lingered in there somewhere. “I’m sorry, Steven.”

He blew
out a breath of disgust, whisky, fried cod and garlicky potatoes coming with it. I swallowed a gag and instead feigned an itch on my nose to keep my reaction from being visible.

“I’m sorry? Is that all you can say? I’m sorry?” Steven laughed bitterly. “Eight years and nothing to show for it. You’ve been a waste of my time.
”

Beverly nodded
her agreement. If only they were aware… Steven would have probably killed me. After the abuse started, I knew I couldn’t bring children into the world. Not with Steven. I was so miserable, I couldn’t bear the thought of subjecting an innocent child to it. I visited the women’s clinic on campus. They gave out birth control like it was candy, no questions asked. I’d had a steady supply ever since, my one saving grace.

“Get out of my sight!” Steven roared.

Head down, I wasted no time scurrying from the chair, and out of the sitting room. Our hostess stood in the hallway wringing her hands. When I rushed out, Mrs. Lamb opened her mouth to say something, but I shook my head. There was no need for her comfort or offer. I was embarrassed enough as it was. With silent but hurried steps in my practical ballet flats, I ran upstairs to the bedroom I shared with my husband and clicked on the dim light, waiting for my eyes to adjust to its flickering.

I gaze
d into the aged bureau mirror. A stranger stared back at me. She wore her long, wavy red hair hidden well in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Wide, frightened blue eyes. Pale skin. Cheek bones jutting from thin flesh. A long, slender neck. Collarbones that could cut someone. When had I become so fragile?

Why did I look so ghostly?

This wasn’t me. Couldn’t be me. And yet it was. A stranger.

I’d been so full of life at eighteen. Until the day I lost everything—and thought I’d gained a loving husband.

A plane crash. Both parents and younger brother gone in an instant. I had no grandparents. My father was an only child and my mother’s sister was always in and out of rehab for one drug related abuse or another. That left me. Alone.

Now I was dressed in clothes
suited for someone well beyond my twenty-six years. A frilly-collared maroon blouse, buttoned at the wrists, and an ankle-length beige pencil skirt. I looked like my grandmother—what I could remember of her. Beneath the prim clothes was an even primmer pair of white underwear and a white no-nonsense bra. Nothing sexy. I wasn’t allowed to look sexy on the outside. Wasn’t allowed to think of myself as anything other than Steven’s wife. Steven’s maid. Steven’s cook. Steven’s punching bag.