Read Highland Wolf (Highland Brides) Online

Authors: Lois Greiman

Tags: #Highland Romance, #Historical, #Highland HIstorical, #Scotland, #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical Romance, #Scottish History

Highland Wolf (Highland Brides) (8 page)

BOOK: Highland Wolf (Highland Brides)
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Roman drew a careful breath. "Will it help?' he asked softly.

"What's that?" Harrington turned his head to hear better.

"Will it help if the lad is killed?" Roman asked. There was no use denying MacAulay's actions. Not now. "Will it erase the stain from your daughter? Or will it only darken it?"

The old man scowled.

"If David MacAulay dies, every soul in Firthport will know the reason," Roman said. 'The gossip of your daughter's disgrace will be like carrion for the crows. But if we settle this as gentlemen, who will know?"

He had struck a blow. Harrington looked as if he might actually crumble from it. But he remained erect. Roman couldn't help but admire him the slightest bit for that.

"I'm sending her to London," Harrington said.

There. The sadness again. He could see it in the old man's eyes. "Your only daughter?" Roman asked. "Far away in the sordid bowels of London?"

The viscount's face paled even more. "There is nothing else to be done," he whispered, more to himself than to Roman. "Nothing else. But I... What shall I do without my..." He faltered, but suddenly a young woman swept into the room.

"I'll not go," she said. She was dressed in a gown of black. Her hands were clasped before her and her eyes were wide and round in her pale face. "I'll not."

"Christine!" said the old man. But the single word sounded more like a prayer than a reprimand.

"I'll not go, Father," she repeated more softly.

Harrington's lips puckered and his brows lowered. "You'll go where I say. But for now you'll get yourself to your rooms."

"No! Tell me where he is. Let me go to him." Her fingers unclasped quickly and spread in frantic appeal toward her father. "Please."

"Get from my sight or I'll..."

"You'll what, Father? Strike me?" she asked, pulling her hands down to her sides and forming them to small, white-knuckled fists. "Do you think you can beat the love from my heart?"

"Don't speak of love!" he roared. "For you know nothing of the meaning. You've shamed me and this house, and now you dress in black and talk of things you cannot comprehend. If your mother were here, she would choose a noble of the peer for you just as I have. She would wish for you to..."

"She would wish for me to find a man that I can respect and cherish. And cherish him I do, whether you wish it or not."

Harrington drew himself to his full height, pulling his cane from the floor and clasping it tightly to his chest. "Utter those words again, child, and I'll see him hanged on the morrow."

Her face turned deathly white and her lips parted in surprise. "You wouldn't!" she whispered.

"I would!" vowed Harrington.

"Father, please." She stumbled forward, but the old man held up a hand. "I'll hear no more!" The words rang in the room, followed by the silence of impending death.

Roman's mind scurried for words to mend the situation, but Harrington turned toward him with slow finality. "I've the power to see him dead," he said. "Don't you think I don't."

In that instant Roman saw everything. The old man's pain. His pride, his power, slipping from his failing hands like wine through a broken chalice. He nodded once. "Aye, my lord. Ye have the power."

Harrington nodded in return. "You've a score of days," he said rustily. "Bring me the necklace in that time, and the MacAulay will yet see his son returned home and intact."

Less than three weeks! When he had hardly a clue to the whereabouts of the necklace. Roman was about to plead for more, but the old man shook his head.

"One day past. One
minute
past, and he'll die as surely as you live and breathe."

 

It was fully dark when Roman reached Betty's house. He had tried to think of some way to retrieve the precious necklace. Perhaps if he had another priceless piece of jewelry, he might lure the Shadow out of hiding and catch him. But he had no access to such jewels and no hope of obtaining any. Thus he had returned to his only hope, Betty Mullen, the rough jewel of the Red Fox.

Another dull, sleepless night stretched before him. He slipped silently into the shadows and tried to get comfortable in the shallow niche of a stone wall not far from the house he watched so intently.

Time ticked away. Fatigue settled in. The huge white hound could be seen as no more than a glimmer of gray in the blackness. Would he bark if someone approached?

Roman shifted his gaze back to the house. If only he could move about to keep himself awake. But he had paced in his rented room, and still the necklace had been stolen.

He had paced, Roman thought, and realized that he had forgotten his endless strides across the room in a hopeless attempt to remain alert. In fact, he had forgotten much of that night. True, he had been tired. But wasn't it strange that memories of that time were just returning to him now? He was a light sleeper. If haunting dreams hadn't assured that, living with men called the Rogue and the Hawk, had. Even in sleep Roman had learned to sense trouble. But not that night, for the weariness had been strangely heavy.

Roman scanned the darkness again. Shadows, deep and unrevealing, smothered the house. He shifted his gaze away, across the narrow alley then turned back to the house. All was darkness, stillness. But... Something was different. The house's shadow had shifted. Roman stared, unblinking, until his eyes hurt. But nothing changed.

He blew out his breath, but just then he realized the shadow wasn't there at all. It was at the back gate, then beyond, without so much as a creak of hinges. It was a ghost or ...

Roman shook his head, trying to awaken, for surely he had fallen asleep. But just then he heard a sound like the sharp intake of breath.

"Jesu!" he swore, and launched himself from his hiding spot. For just a moment the shadow froze, but then it swept away, no longer a shadow but a living being. A man. Roman was certain of it now. The white hound thumped his tail ingratiatingly. Roman rushed on. His prey was fast and knew the terrain. Suddenly, he was gone, vanished from sight in the middle of a blind alley.

Roman careened to a halt, glancing wildly about. He couldn't have disappeared. He wasn't a ghost.

There. Atop the roof, a flitting shadow, a whisper of sound. In a second Roman was climbing. Thatch scattered as he scaled the building. The thief was in sight again.

Along the center of the building, then down, sliding on his backside and falling to the ground, for the Shadow was running again and nearly out of sight. Roman thundered after him. His chest ached from the exertion, but fury pressed him on, down another alley. Mud sucked at his shoes. The odor of urine fouled his nostrils.

A pig squealed, and from somewhere in the darkness, a man cursed. Roman paid no heed to any of this.

The Shadow was less than a rod ahead and losing ground. He disappeared around a corner. Roman bolted after him. Hell fire! Suddenly his prey was almost out of sight. Roman put on a final burst of speed and barreled down on the flagging runner as if he were standing still.

Closer. Closer, until, without taking time to think, to draw an extra breath, Roman leapt.

He hit the man's back dead on, bowling him over with sheer impetus.

"What the 'ell?" he grunted, but Roman was in no mood for explanation.

The man was huge. Both tall and fat. Roman rolled him over with some difficulty, puffing all the while and wondering how the hell this tub of a man had led him such a wild chase.

"Where is it?" Roman rasped.

"What the 'ell?" the man said again, his eyes showing wide rings of fear in the darkness.

"Where's the necklace?" Roman panted. But just then he heard a noise behind him. He knew he should turn, knew he should duck, but his muscles were weary, his reactions slowed.

Even as he twisted something hit him like a sledgehammer to his skull. Pain erupted in his head, crashing his brain with bright lights and clanking sounds. But the agony didn't last long. The noises drifted to silence, and darkness came for him.

 

"'Bout time ya wake up, Scotsman."

Roman heard Betty's voice above the clatter of pain that echoed in his cranium. He tried to sit up, but the clatter turned to an insistent clang.

She pressed him back down. "Was I you, I'd stay put lest ya bust your 'ead wide open."

"What happened?"

"Ya been 'it over the 'ead."

Memories bloomed in painful colors. "The Shadow," he whispered. "I had just caught him when someone hit me from behind."

'The Shadow, 'ell," Betty snorted. "Ya attacked poor old George. Near scared him into 'is grave. 'E and Birley was just 'eading 'ome. Lucky for George, Birl 'eard 'im 'ollerin; otherwise, who knows what ya would 'ave done ta 'im?"

"George?" Roman tried to shake his head, but the cacophony of pain discouraged such a bold idea.

"What the 'ell were ya doing, Scottie?"

"The Shadow," Roman murmured. Reality was a slippery thing. Exhaustion and pain seemed more real, unconsciousness far more tempting. "He was there, just outside yer house."

"The Shadow?" Betty opened her eyes wide. Roman could see her face clearly, which was of some comfort to him considering the resounding clatter in his head. "Outside me own 'ouse?" she said as if dazzled, then laughed. "Mayhap 'e was coming ta see
me.
I suspect I should be fair put out that ya scared 'im off. Could be 'e wanted ta take me away from it all. Come and live with 'im in comfort, aye?"

She laughed again. Roman scowled, realizing where he was. "How the hell did I get ta yer house?"

"George and Birley brought ya. And lucky they did, too. Cause Backrow ain't no place ta be takin' a nap."

"Backrow?" Roman fingered his aching skull, and found, to his surprise, that there were no gaping holes. "Where's that?"

"'Tis where foolish Scotsmen go when they're tired of livin'," Betty said, pushing his hand away. "What the devil were ya thinkin'?"

"I told ye ..." Roman began, but his own frustration increased the pain in his head, and things were far too blurry to understand, much less try to
explain. "Why did they bring me here?"

She shrugged. "Ol' George ain't too bright, but 'e's got a good 'eart. Seems 'e didn't want ta see ya killed in your sleep. Despite the fact that ya'd just scared the livin' soul out of 'im. Once Birley knocked ya cold, they recognized ya from the Red Fox and figured I'd see ta ya.

"Guess there's some advantage ta dressing in that little gown of yours, Scotsman. It makes ya stand out in a crowd."

"It's a plaid," Roman said. It seemed as good a thing to argue about as any. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing was simple.

"Why do ya wear it?"

He opened one eye to peer at her. Dressed in a voluminous white nightgown, she looked different, younger, innocent. Her hair was the color of spun gold, falling in static waves about her shoulders.

"Why do ye wear
that?"
he asked.

"I was sleepin' afore I was so rudely awakened."

"Ye see," he said, turning his gaze to the ceiling. It was pitched in shadow, as was so much of this strange world he'd fallen into. "With a plaid, ye dunna need separate clothes ta sleep in and wake in. Ye simply unbelt the thing and use it for a blanket. 'Tis a practical tool, as is everything Scots."

"Truly?" He could hear the laughter in her voice. "Is that what ya are then, Scotsman? A practical tool?"

He turned toward her. In the irregular, flickering light of the candle, she no longer looked merely bonny, but breathtakingly beautiful, with a regal innocence that stunned him. "Who are ye?" he murmured.

"Who am I?" Her face became immediately somber. Taking a damp cloth from a nearby bowl, she touched it to the bump on his head. He realized now that he was in her bed while she knelt on the floor beside him. "Are there other things you've forgotten, Scotsman?"

Taking her wrist in his hand, he pulled it to his chest. Their gazes met. "I didna mean it like that, lass. In fact..." He paused, thinking. "I remember everything I've learned about ye. The way ye look as ye sway between the tables at the inn. How yer eyes darken when yer angry. The sound of yer laughter when yer teased. But I wonder, who are ye truly, lass?"

Their faces were mere inches apart. "I'm Betty." Her breath was a soft fan of air against his skin. "No one else."

"Then why am I here?"

She shook her head in confusion.

"Ye didn't need ta take me in, lass. Ye could have turned me away. Why would ye care if I live or die?"

"Do ya think I got no 'eart just because I'm a 'ore?" She tried to pull her hand away, but he held it firmly.

"On the contrary, lass. I think ye have the heart of an angel. And I wonder how."

"How what?"

"How ye remain untouched?"

For just a moment—for one frail, fleeting second, he could see all the way to her soul. But in an instant, it was locked carefully away, and she laughed. "Ya must a 'urt yer 'ead real bad if ya think I'm untouched, luv."

"I wonder," he murmured.

"Well don't. I could teach ya things to make your mama shudder."

He canted his head. Surprisingly, it felt better. "Consider me yer eager student then, lass."

She rose with a snort and pulled her hand from his. The vixen from the Red Fox had returned, but she seemed smaller somehow, more fragile. "Ain't I told ya about 'arry?"

"Ahh, aye," Roman said. "Yer duke."

She almost seemed to wince, but rallied speedily, and said, "Yeah. 'E won't like ya bein' 'ere."

Roman was silent for a moment. Perhaps he would be unwise to tell her what he'd learned, but it seemed he'd been unwise ever since coming to Firthport. Why change now?

"There seems to be a limited number of dukes in these parts," he said softly. "I asked around. There is na one named Harry."

For a moment she remained expressionless and motionless. But then he noticed the brightness of her eyes and the tremble of her bottom lip. "Are ya sayin' 'e lied ta me about 'is name?"

Roman scowled. She'd said she was too smart to be in love with this man, but he knew now that she'd lied. He saw it in her face. Whoever the lucky bastard was, she was not only faithful, but infatuated. "I mean he's not a duke," he said softly. "There are na dukes in Firthport."

BOOK: Highland Wolf (Highland Brides)
12.8Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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