Читать книгу Highlander Mine - Juliette Miller - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

I SUPPOSE I shouldn’t have been overly surprised that Hamish and I were subjected to a careful—and quite thorough—search, not only of our bag but also our clothing before we were allowed into the carriage. This inspection was carried out by several of the guards, at Lachlan’s command. He appeared to be the highest-ranking of these men, and they obeyed his directive without question. “A routine exercise,” was Lachlan’s gruff comment on the subject, although I couldn’t help wondering how regularly they came across wandering, unchaperoned young women in these parts. Maybe it happened all the time.

“I’ll exercise you,” I muttered inaudibly, as Lachlan’s men patted the shape of my legs through my dress, to ensure that I carried no weapons, presumably.

“Pardon, milady?” Lachlan said. “Did you say something?”

“Nay,” I replied innocently. “Nothing at all.”

Darkness had settled by the time we began our journey to Kinloch.

The luxurious carriage was fitted with clever seats that reclined to form beds. Velvet curtains had been drawn to create partitions between the beds. And the bedding itself was as soft and plush as any I had ever seen.

I lay for a time before I slept, considering this unusual turn of events and all that had happened in the short space of several weeks. Here we were, ensconced in deluxe accommodation, making our way with a group of warriors and noblewomen to a mythical Highlands keep where we would be greeted by the laird of their clan. It was so far removed from the backstreets of Edinburgh I almost wondered if I was in fact dreaming, if the harrowing events of recent weeks hadn’t got the better of me. I blinked and took in my surroundings, fingering the fine thickness of the soft fabrics.

Hamish was curled up, already asleep, along the edge of my haven. I tucked the fur blanket more tightly around him.

I removed my dress to sleep in my shift, folding it carefully, knowing this was the only suitable gown I had at my disposal. But then I remembered that I wouldn’t be expected to have a change of clothes—all my belongings had been stolen by a band of murderous thugs. I couldn’t precisely tell whether our story had been convincing—or whether we had merely piqued their suspicious curiosity. Either way, Lachlan had not balked in the slightest at the thought of continuing through the night. He either knew our tale was fictitious or had such confidence in his own skills and those of his men that he was completely unperturbed by the possibility of conflict.

Time would tell whether our lie would catch up with us. I wondered if the esteemed Laird Knox Mackenzie was a clever and intuitive man. Would he be easy to deceive? Or would he see right through me and order me gone at his first opportunity? I would find out soon enough. For now, despite—or maybe because of—the gentle lull of the moving carriage as it pulled us through the night, safe and warm, I fell asleep more easily than I had in many months. But then the memories began to haunt my dreams, creeping up and closing in.

He was there, behind me. I could feel his presence like a tightening grip around my neck. I turned to him, all black eyes and evil intention. He was not an especially handsome man but it was true he had an air of importance, with his well-fed, well-dressed appearance and his smoothed dark blond hair. Beneath the glossy, urbane exterior lurked a vile soul. I was aghast but not surprised when he made a gloating announcement.

“I’ve taken a financial interest in your family’s establishment, Amelia.” The sound of my name, spoken in that dark, ominous voice, caused the tiny hairs on the back of my neck to rise. “In fact, I have just purchased a very decisive controlling share. Which means that you are now my employee. It is therefore my responsibility to ensure that you are suitably engaged, and as useful as you might possibly be.” I flinched back from the coldness he seemed to emit, but his hand stole to a loose curl of my hair, with which he played with two fingers. “I gave you several opportunities to act in your family’s best interest.”

I glared at him, and it was this defiance that challenged him. He was accustomed to fear, and obedience. That he could detect neither in me, I knew, provoked him. And fascinated him. I could see it there in his pitiless eyes: he wanted to break me. Each time I refused him, he upped his game. My determination to avoid him was having the opposite effect, miring me deeper into the control he was determined to gain.

“In other words, my dear Amelia, I now own the majority of this club.” And you along with it, was his unspoken implication.

“Congratulations,” I said. This was the worst news he could have delivered, but I’d be damned to the fiery depths of hell before I let him see any hint of weakness in me. That would be his victory.

“You could easily have relieved your family of their debts without forcing me to play this particular hand. I’m surprised you continue to refuse me. I’ve had to take somewhat excessive measures just to get your...undivided attention.” His gaze was chilling, but his tone was deceptively light. “And you look lovelier tonight than ever. Like a nymph with a siren’s tendencies. Worth the price, I daresay.”

I glared at him, taken aback by his inappropriate flattery. Whatever I looked like, I was entirely innocent. I—and my sister, it had to be said—intended to keep it that way for some time to come. My mother’s sense of propriety, for better or worse, had manifested itself tenfold in my sister; she watched me like a hawk and refused to allow any man to court me, perhaps because the selection of suitors we were exposed to were, more often than not, married and cheating, destitute, drunk or wanted by the law. “There are more important things than money,” I said. “I would rather starve than give myself unwillingly to any man.” Especially you.

This made him smile, and it was a smile that sickened me with fear. “Is that so?” he purred. His eyes were uncannily emotionless.

I willed myself to hold my ground. Fear was not something that troubled me often, but Sebastian Fawkes seemed to bathe me in it. His presence clouded my confidence. Whenever he darkened our doorstep, it was as though doom lurked around every corner, waiting to ooze in and take hold.

“You know how wealthy and powerful I am. You know how much of Edinburgh I own. Yet you refuse to grant me one simple request. My patience has grown thin. I have more important things to do than chase after a stubborn, down-on-her-luck virgin. Yet regrettably, my desire for you consumes me. And so I have taken matters into my own hands. You will be mine. Tonight.”

God help me. Logic was telling me to submit to his dark requests, but all I felt was fury at his insults. “I’m not down on my luck,” I seethed, glancing at my surroundings, which suggested otherwise, a detail that only enraged me further. “And I have no interest or intention of submitting to you, Mr. Fawkes. I’m sure there are countless women who would jump at the chance to bed you. I’m simply not one of them.”

His voice was low, laced with anger. Awful and severe. “I’m afraid I simply will not accept nay for an answer.”

A wash of terror chased up my spine as he eyed his hulking, ever-present bodyguards, considering. My courage was false, but it was better than nothing; I forced a chuckle just to annoy him. “I’d rather bed the devil himself.”

“Since he’s not available tonight,” he replied, his eyes simmering with frightening anticipation, “you’ll have to make do with me.”

“You’re wasting your time, Mr. Fawkes. I’m neither interested nor available. I don’t plan to be here this evening. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m needed at the tables.”

He laughed softly, the sound jarring for its lack of humor. His hand cuffed my wrist painfully, halting my retreat. “There you go again with your plucky refusals. I could take you now, if I felt inclined to force you,” he informed me callously. “You know that.”

I made a small sound before I could stop myself.

He leaned in close, whispering into my ear. “It would be so much more fun if you would beg for it, Amelia. I could make you plead, you realize. For mercy.”

I could hear the racing drumbeat of my heart. I leaned away from him, having difficulty breathing. “There is nothing you could do or say that would make me beg anything of you.”

His eyes roved to the far corner of the room, where Hamish showed his newest card trick to the barmaid as Cecelia served a drink to a customer. Fawkes’s smile was eerily devoid of emotion. “I believe there is one thing.” The terror infused me, hot poison seeping into my heart. “’Tis foolish of you to put his life in danger, when you could so easily keep him safe.”

Fawkes had been watching me, learning my motivations and the direction of my unwavering loyalties. It was the most effective threat he could make, we both knew this. I fought to keep my desperation at bay. I looked into his fathomless eyes. “Please. Please don’t hurt him.”

His eyes roved my body, painting me with fear and a horrid, overwhelming sense of dread. “I think we can come to an agreement that will ensure his safety. I have grown weary of this cat-and-mouse game you insist on playing. So I’m willing to issue you a very generous offer. Do as I say or I can no longer ensure the boy’s safety. Now or at any point in the future.”

Fawkes leaned closer, pausing before whispering in my ear.

“I will return after nightfall. I suggest you come to terms with the inevitable and be ready and willing in whatever way I require.” He brushed a stray strand of hair from my cheek, causing my skin to erupt in gooseflesh. “I always get what I want, Amelia. From this day forward, you’d do well to remember that.”

I awoke with a start. My fists were clenched into the soft furs, which I’d displaced in my restless nightmare. My skin was clammy with a light sweat.

My awareness returned to me as my eyes adjusted to the darkness and my heartbeat began to slow. I could see Hamish’s sleeping form curled up alongside me. And I remembered: we’d escaped. We were being transported by the kind-eyed, well-dressed Highlands women and their trusty guards.

I forced my fists to unclench, and I gently touched Hamish’s soft hair to reassure myself, taking care not to wake him.

Listening to the crunch of the wooden wheels on the graveled road underneath me, I closed my eyes and pictured starry skies and green hills and widening distances.

It was some time before I could sleep again.

* * *

AT DAWN, I was shaken gently awake by Christie, who told me to dress and to wake Hamish. We would arrive at Kinloch within the hour. By the time we had folded away the bedding and adjusted the seats, the carriage was passing through the guarded gates of the keep.

I felt sluggish and sullen from my broken sleep and disturbing dreams. And weary from the continued separation from my sister. If only she’d come with us. If only I’d been able to convince her of her own vulnerability.

When I looked out the window of the carriage, my resolve returned to me and my fatigue faded. My purpose was clear. I knew exactly what I had to do, and this place and these people were as fortunate a discovery as I could possibly have hoped for. We were approaching the most magnificent stone manor I had ever seen. A shining loch curled around the back of it, extending far into the distance, smooth as a mirror, reflecting the cloudless purple sky. Quaint orchards dotted the landscape with small trees so lovingly tended they might have been topiary sculptures. And beyond them, as far as the eye could see, farmed hills rolled gracefully, striped with rows of crops. Layered shades of earthy browns and greens were so rich in promise and hue they looked as if they’d been painted with an artist’s brush. Sheep and cattle grazed the farthest foothills, tiny dots of red, black and woolly white. If I’d been asked to dream up the most bucolic, heavenly setting I could fathom, even my most grandiose fantasies would not have captured the charm of the scene I looked upon now. Kinloch offered the ideal blend of careful cultivation and rambling nature, as though the combined vigor of the fertile earth and the breezy air had found some sort of perfect alignment here under the skilled hands of the Mackenzie clan. The tall stone wall that circled the keep reached all the way to the far horizon, containing and showcasing the beauty and plenty of the landscape within it.

The manor itself rose impressively from the surrounding splendor. From its highest turrets, flags flapped in the wind. The flag of Scotland. And just below it, one that was unfamiliar to me, emblazoned with a stag’s head. The Mackenzie crest, I guessed.

“I have never, ever seen anything so grand in all my life,” I murmured, aghast. Hamish’s head rested against my shoulder as he dozed.

It was Katriona who responded. “You’re the daughter of a doctor from a prosperous family of Edinburgh. You must have seen grand buildings before.”

My eyes disengaged from the scenery to rest upon Katriona’s face. Her pithy comment stole a degree of beauty from the day, as though a cloud had just passed over the sun. Her impeccable grooming had suffered only minimally from the travel, her dark hair still neatly bound. Light shadows touched the hollows below her eyes, but her complexion was creamy and becoming in the pink light. Her slim, almost willowy figure was wrapped in a tartan shawl. She was not unattractive and if she had possessed even a shred of tenderness she might have been quite lovely. As it was, I couldn’t help feeling slightly amused by her light but undisguised derision. It wouldn’t do to return her rudeness. I was far too experienced with manipulative belittlement to rise to her bait. And despite the hours of sleep, I felt almost more tired than I had along the rougher days of our journey. I already knew Katriona disagreed with her companions about my invitation. She had agreed to it only because Ailie and Christie were kindhearted, a trait she might have admired and aspired to. I smiled politely, remembering my role and my story. I kept my tone mild and pleasant, which was much easier to do if I made a point of speaking to Ailie and Christie as well.

“I’ve seen many grand buildings,” I said. “Castles and cathedrals. Modern hospitals and stately courthouses. Elite schools and domed, acoustically attuned music halls.” Rarely, I didn’t need to add. More often, I’ve deliberated upon the interior décor of a decadent gaming hall, listening to the scuttling roll of a dice across a felt-lined table, feeling the supple glide of the deck of cards I hold in my hands as I shuffle the cards and deal them to unscrupulous men. In my quieter moments, I retreat to an unused private library where I find sanctuary in the pages of old, dusty books as I pursue my treasured ambition of learning, and of teaching: a dream that is as passionate as it is pointless. “Many of them are architecturally designed masterpieces, of course. But they’re all city buildings. I’ve never been out of Edinburgh before now, and I can only marvel at the beauty of the countryside. And this countryside is far more beautiful than I might ever have imagined. It somehow lends a completely different magnificence to a manor than rows of other grand buildings do.”

Christie and Ailie seemed pleased by the observation; they appeared to take my comment about the glory of their home as a compliment, as it was intended.

“You’ve never been out of Edinburgh?” Katriona asked. To her, the information was clearly another strike against me. “What a pity.”

I wasn’t sure of her meaning. And I wasn’t overly compelled to find out exactly what her meaning might be. I was too distracted by the commanding view of the fields and the mountains beyond.

The carriage was slowing, coming to a stop at the front entrance of the manor. Footmen opened the doors and helped us disembark. To Hamish’s dismay, the guards had ridden off once we were inside the walls of the keep and were nowhere to be seen.

“Amelia,” Ailie said. “Christie will show you and Hamish to your guest chambers. You’ll be quite comfortable there for now.” I remembered: I was to undergo an extensive interrogation by the almighty laird himself, and at his very first opportunity. I honestly didn’t feel up to such an encounter at this present moment. My usually staunch self-preservation-at-all-costs outlook felt as if it had been somehow undermined, just slightly, by this vast, resplendent place. I wanted to be left alone, to drink it all in and appreciate it for a time.

Christie seemed to sense this. “After I show you to your chambers, you can take a stroll through the gardens if you’d like. After all the traveling you’ve done, you might like to take some time, to settle in and clear your head before the noon meal is served in the hall.”

I was very touched by her kindness. I smiled at her. “Thank you, Christie.”

She returned the smile. She reached to finger a long ringlet of my hair that had come loose. “Your hair is the most outstanding color. Not blond, not red. Something in between. With a myriad of shades from rose gold to copper.”

“Strawberry blond,” clarified Hamish. It was what my sister called it. We had read the term in a book somewhere and we had mused at the fanciful-sounding word. In fact, we had no idea what a strawberry was, or what color such a thing might be.

My nephew was in somewhat of a mood, since he’d discovered the soldiers had taken their leave of him. Christie had noticed his immediate attachment to the burly guards—and their weapons. “No doubt you’ll have an opportunity later, Hamish, to visit the soldiers’ barracks, and to meet with Lachlan, and perhaps even Laird Mackenzie himself. He has the biggest sword of them all.”

Hamish was placated enough by her comment, but it left me with a singular flush of unease. Knowing I would have to face this Laird Mackenzie—and his big sword—and spin my elaborate lie seemed less larkish than it had from afar, now that we were here within the walls of Kinloch.

Christie led us into the manor, through a grand hall that was being cleaned by a number of efficient workers and up a stone staircase. Every detail of this place shone with gleaming attention. Large candles sat in grooves carved into the outer edge of every second step, illuminating our path with a modernistic glow. Deer antlers had been weaved to make a rustic chandelier overhead. Tapestries depicting hunting scenes, the scenic loch I already recognized, a wedding and other stunningly crafted portraits of Mackenzie history decorated the stone walls. We were led to our private chambers, which was small but charming, and very clean. It was a narrow room with a large window at one end. There were two single beds laid with thick furs, a dresser between with a porcelain pitcher and bowl on top and a small table with two chairs placed by the window, which overlooked the orchards.

“’Tis very simple, but I hope you’ll find it suitable enough during your stay,” Christie said.

“It couldn’t be more perfect,” I assured her. “Much better than a hay wagon.”

Christie smiled again, her white teeth small and neat. She was so pretty and petite. I was several inches taller than she was and much more voluptuous. I knew I had the kind of figure that won the attention of men—I’d had more than enough experience with their admiring glances and lascivious comments to understand that much. But now standing here next to Christie made me feel less like a womanly treasure and more like a prize-winning heifer. “Once you’re settled, feel free to stroll the gardens as you like,” she said. “A meal will be served at midday, in the hall. You’ll hear the bell. When Knox is ready to see you, he’ll send someone.”

With that, she left us to it. I washed my face with some cool water and brushed my hair, tying it in a loose coil, but Hamish was too energized to stay cooped up in our room.

“Let’s go, Ami. I want to explore the orchards and see if any of the fruit is ripe enough to pick.”

“I would think it’s still too early for the fruit.”

But I was soon pulled at his insistence out the door and down the stairs. The workers took no notice of us. They were likely accustomed to guests and visitors. We found our way out-of-doors and into the day. The light was clear and golden, slightly hazed with the climbing heat of summer. The orchards themselves were something akin to a wonderland of lush green. Soft, waving grass carpeted the expanse. Compact, leafy trees created inviting little curling paths so exquisite that if someone had told me faeries were hiding among their branches, waving magical wands and leaving gold-dust trails, I would have believed him. Hamish ran ahead. I called to him, but he had disappeared. He wouldn’t have gone far, I knew. Let him be, I thought. He needed to play, to run. To be a child for an hour or two.

I strolled along, thoroughly enjoying myself, taking a deep breath and feeling the air in my lungs and the sun on my face for the first time in...perhaps ever. This was a different sun from the muted light of the city. This sun felt healthy and restorative. I unpinned the clasp of my shawl to feel the warmth on my skin.

I heard laughter. From somewhere up above me.

“Come down from there,” I told him. “You’ll fall.”

“I won’t fall. You should come up here, Ami. I can see over the orchards. And at the very top of the tree, the apples are turning red.”

“Pick one for me.”

“There’s one right above you,” Hamish exclaimed. “On that branch there. You could reach it if you climbed across.”

I looked to see where he was pointing. A thick, low branch was within my reach where it met the trunk of the tree, rising at an inclined angle as it grew outward. At the end of it was a very big, very red apple. It nearly glowed with its luscious rosy ripeness in the dappled sunlight. “You get it,” I said.

“I’m all the way up here. You’ll have to.”

I’d never picked an apple straight off a tree before and eaten it when it was still warm from the sun. It simply looked too good to resist. This truly was Eden, I couldn’t help musing, and I was Eve, overcome by temptation. Laying my shawl on the grass, I reached up and slid my palms over the comfortingly rough bark of the tree branch. Placing one hand farther, then the other, I inched my way along it until I was hanging several feet off the ground. My arms were already getting sore from the effort, but I was now determined to reach my apple. And I was almost there.

I was close enough to reach out, through the leaves...I almost had it. My fingertips brushed against its smooth, perfect surface. But then I heard a sound. Someone was clearing his throat. The deep rumble was so close behind me it startled me and I lost my grip, tumbling to the ground in an unruly heap.

Slightly dazed from my fall, I looked up to see the most striking vision I had ever laid eyes on.

A man.

He was very tall and backlit by the sun so that his lit silhouette was framed by a wash of bright, molten gold. The shape of him was somehow superb, as though he’d been carved by a master. I could see the colors of him and the details of his white shirt, loose and open at the neck to reveal the tanned skin of his throat. His shirt was exceptionally well made and of high-quality cotton but worn to the point of visible softness. Strapped around his waist was a thick leather belt that holstered two weapons: a gold-handled hunting knife and an exceedingly large sword that was not sheathed in a scabbard but slung bare and shiny into its looped harness. That exposed blade seemed to signify something, purposefully advertising not only its gargantuan size but its artful craftsmanship. He has the biggest sword of them all. His leather trews were tucked into tall boots. On his wrist was a wide leather band adorned with gold ornamentation and he wore a gold chain around his neck that was mostly hidden from view inside his shirt. His hair was a deep midnight-black and hung past the collar of his shirt in thick, sun-glinted skeins, curling slightly at the ends. He wore a small braid at either temple, as his traveling guards had also done: a Highlands warrior custom. I noticed all these details abstractly; it was his face and his demeanor that riveted me most of all. His posture was upright but relaxed, utterly confident. Power seemed to radiate from the wide set of his shoulders in heatlike, shimmery waves. The features of his face were bold but aristocratic, from the wide, straight nose to the carved, masculine jaw roughened by the light shadow of stubble. Strong, black, expressive eyebrows arched slightly with a note of absorbed assessment. And his irises, arresting in their charcoal-rimmed pale gray glow, as though alight from within. Long, thick black lashes brushed almost elegantly against his cheeks as he closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, there was a flash of bemused satisfaction. His full lips curved in an arrogant pout that wasn’t a smile.

“And who,” he said, his deep voice curling into me with unusual effect, “might you be?”