Brigand (12 page)

And flew.

And flew.

They made love several more times during the night. Each
encounter more desperate than the last. By the time dawn stretched over the
horizon, Violet was utterly exhausted and totally replete.

No, perhaps he didn’t love her. But he wanted her.

And that would have to be enough.

For now.

Ewan grimaced when he awoke. The sun was high in the sky. He
hadn’t intended to sleep in. Today would be his last day with Violet and he
didn’t want to waste a minute. He had no idea why Jessie hadn’t already
scratched on his door with his breakfast.

He leaned up on his elbow and gazed down at her. She
snuffled a snore. His heart hitched.

Poor thing. He’d exhausted her.

He hadn’t intended to make love to her all night. But every
time they finished and he held her cradled in his embrace, he would remember
Moncrieff was coming for her soon, and panic would claw at Ewan’s gut. And
before he knew it, they were at it once more.

He couldn’t resist.

He was ready for her.

Her belly growled and he frowned. If he was going to be a
gentleman, he shouldn’t fuck her again—at least not until he’d gotten her some
sustenance. He decided to run down to the kitchen and order a tray. Then he
would return here and—and have her. Hold her. Kiss her again.

To his chagrin, Kaitlin MacAllister was on her way up the
spiral staircase as he made his way down buttoning his shirt. “What the hell
are you doing here?” he sputtered. “I told you to stay in your room.”

She tipped up a defiant chin. Lord, she was pretty. She just
wasn’t… She just wasn’t. “I am going to see Violet.”

He blanched. “You most certainly are not.”

Kaitlin narrowed her eyes. “I must know she is all right.”

“She’s fine.”

“Wonderful. Let me see her.”

He opened his mouth to respond but she didn’t give him a
chance.

“Let me see her now.” She fixed him with a mutinous glare
and snapped, “Consider it a wedding present.”

Clearly she was as delighted at the prospect of marrying him
as he was at the thought of waking up to spend every day of the rest of his
life with her. With a dark glower he turned around and started back up the
stairs. “You really are a harpy, you know.”

“The worst sort. We shall be so happy together.”

He snorted.

“I can’t believe you’re keeping her in the tower,” she
muttered.

He flicked a glance over his shoulder. “She’s safer here.
The men would never—” He broke off, recalling to whom he was talking. “She’s
tried to escape. It’s either the tower or the dungeons, and the dungeons are in
terrible shape.”

“Unlike the great hall?”

He snorted again. Yes. All right. The great hall could use a
little work. A lot of work. But his boys wouldn’t be doing it. They’d made it
more than clear yesterday. He’d suffered hours of their complaints about her
incessant demands, their outrage at being forced to clean like washerwomen.

“Will we always live here?” There was a petulant thread in
her tone. And a hint of dread.

He stopped, stock still, at her question. Something cold
wedged in his throat. The thought of spending his life with a woman who was not
Violet made him ill. But he couldn’t tell her that. He shrugged and muttered,
“I have a house in Perth.”

“Is it as charming as this? And will your men all live with
us? Because they are charming as well.”

Glory. She was a shrew. “No. They are only here to—why am I
explaining myself to you?”

“Because I’m to be your bride?” Sarcasm dripped from the
words.

His fisted his hands on his hips. “Are you always this
difficult?”

She offered a toothy smile. “Didn’t Callum warn you?”

He blew out a breath and continued up the stairs. He stopped
on the landing and pinned her with an imposing glare. “Wait here,” he snapped,
then entered the solar, closing the door behind him.

On tiptoe, he approached the bed and poked his head through
the curtains. “Violet,” he whispered. “You must wake up.”

She snuffled and stirred. “Hmm?” A drowsy murmur.

He chook her gently. “Violet. Wake up.”

She pushed him away. “Ewan. Not yet. I’m sleepy.”

“Come on, get dressed. Someone’s here to see you.”

“What?”

Ewan nearly leapt out of his skin when a sharp voice,
directly behind him, boomed, “He said someone’s here to see you.”

He whipped around and glowered at Kaitlin. “I told you to
wait outside!”

She smirked. “I’m disobedient.”

Fury curled in his gut. “Why I ought to—”

“What? Beat me?”

He frowned. “I don’t beat women. Where did you get the idea
I beat women?”

“You’re a villain.”

“I don’t beat women—”

“Kaitlin?” Ah, hell. Violet thrust her head out between the
curtains, her eyes wide. “Oh, Kaitlin! Is that you?” She emerged from the bed,
wrapping a blanket around her body, and flew across the solar to fold Kaitlin
in a hug.

“Darling. You look—” Kaitlin’s gaze raked Violet. She paled.
“Are you naked?” She fixed him with a scorching frown. “Is she naked? Why is
she naked?”

Because he’d fucked her. All night long. Again and again and
again.

He glared at her and didn’t respond.

“Darling,” Violet sighed. It annoyed Ewan that she wasn’t
talking to him in that tone. “It’s so good to see you. But what are you doing
here? You’re supposed to be in London.”

Kaitlin tipped her chin up a notch. Ewan could see she was
struggling to be brave. “I came to rescue you.”

Sadness swept over Violet’s face. It made his heart ache.
She put her palm to her friend’s cheek. “You really shouldn’t have come. Now
you will have to marry him.”

He didn’t like the way she said it. Not at all. He cleared
the annoyance from his throat. “I’m standing right here.”

They ignored him.

“I had to come,” Kaitlin gushed. “I couldn’t bear the thought
of you being held in his evil clutches because of me.”

Annoyance curled into irritation. “I’m in the room.”

“I know, but darling, how can I ever bear it? Knowing you
gave up your freedom for mine? That you surely face a fate worse than death…”

A fate worse than death? What manner of melodrama was this?
It was exactly why he’d kept the two of them apart. “I can hear you!” he
bellowed.

They turned to him and Kaitlin frowned, pinning him with a
glower that made him wriggle like a worm on a hook. “Why is Violet naked?”

Well hell. He could hardly tell her the truth. “To keep her
from escaping.” Not the best of his reasons but certainly one of them.

Her brow thundered. “You are a brute,” she spat. “An
absolute beast. And you want me to marry you?”

No. No! His soul howled. He did not!

Her face twisted into a peevish mien. “I swear to God in
heaven above. I shall make your life a living, breathing hell.”

Of that, he had no doubt.

He opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t. Couldn’t find
the words. A scratch on the door saved him from answering.

“What?” he yelled.

“Sir, there are visitors.”

“Stinking hell. More visitors?” He tunneled his fingers
through his hair. “This place was supposed to be remote.” He stomped to the
window and peered out. Acid churned in his gut. A fancy carriage with a crest
emblazoned on the door was parked by the pier on the far side of the river,
surrounded by a milling herd of people. The skiff bobbed on the river, halfway
to the island. His visitors from the day before were aboard. The Duke of
Moncrieff, it seemed, didn’t waste any time.

“Fuck.”

It was over. Done. He’d made love to her for the final time.

He hated the sinking desolation assailing him.

“What is it, Ewan?” Violet asked.

He shot a glance over his shoulder, staring at his Violet
one last time. One desperate lingering look. “Your cousin, the duke, I
presume,” he said. “He’s brought a battalion.”

* * * * *

He left the women in the solar—this took much longer than it
should have, as between the two of them they battered him with questions and
demands—and though he locked them in, a prickle of discomfort ravaged his neck.
He hated to leave them alone. Together.

Who knew what stories they would share?

He thundered down the stairs to find his visitors assembled
in the hall. He raked the room with a glower. His men were nowhere to be seen.
He didn’t fancy having this meeting with no backup.

“Pippin!” he bellowed. “Where are my men?”

The boy shrugged. “They all left.”

“They left?”

“Said they’d had enough of her. Went to town to drink in
peace.”

“Hell.”

“McCloud,” Edward boomed. “We’ve come for Violet.”

“Where is she?” Ned stepped forward, bristling for a fight.
His fists opened and closed belligerently.

Edward sighed. “Please, Ned. Let me handle this. The McCloud
is a reasonable man.” He shot Ewan a speaking glance. “I trust you considered
my offer.”

Ewan’s gaze flitted over the boy. “We could discuss this in
private.”

“In private?”

“These are sensitive matters.”

Edward studied him in silence and then nodded. “Fine.” He
turned to Transom and Ned. “Wait here. And don’t interrupt.” This last bit was
directed at Ned.

Ewan led the way to the plank table by the hearth and they
sat, facing each other.

As he sat, Edward said, “Well? Did you consider my offer?”

“I did. It was very generous. Trouble is…” He dropped his
voice. “I can’t give them both up.”

The duke glowered at him. “It’s a damn lot of money.”

“Money isn’t everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have a sister, you know.”

“I did not.”

“Everything I’ve ever done—the good and the not so good—has
been for Sophia. I’ve built my fortune but it’s still not enough for
entrée
.
And she deserves a season.”

Edward blinked. “You want me to arrange a season for your
sister?”

“If you take away my highborn bride? I must insist on it.”
Ewan firmed his chin, and his resolve. This was the perfect solution. Well,
nearly perfect. It would give Sophia the season she needed—and he would be able
to see Violet on occasion. Perhaps have a chance to convince her he wasn’t as
vile as she thought he was. “It is the only way I can assure her the chance at
a decent husband.

To his relief, Edward nodded. “Agreed.”

“Excellent. She will stay with you. I will take a house in
London nearby. I assume you have an adequate chaperone?” Even he—with his poor
education of manners and standards of the
haute ton
—knew that was a
necessity.

Edward nodded, a resigned expression on his face. “My aunt.
She’s a battle-ax. And the boys will be there as well.”

“The boys?”

“Violet’s brothers. They all live with me.”

Ewan blinked. He knew she had two brothers—Ned and Malcolm.
Were there more? “How many are there?”

“Six.” Edward winced when he said it.

“Six?” Old Horace had been a busy bugger since Ewan had left
Browning.

“It’s quite a full house.”

“That will be fine then. We shall arrive next month.”

Edward nodded. “And the money I owe you?”

Ewan leaned forward, intensity thrumming from him. “If you
do this for my sister, I will call us even.” The both stood, then, and shook
hands.

A bustle at the top of the stairs captured their attention.
Ewan swung around to see both Violet and Kaitlin rushing down. Violet was
wearing Kaitlin’s dress and Kaitlin was wrapped in a blanket and—good God!—was
she wearing his shirt? It hit her at her knees. Her legs were bare.

Annoyance roiled. How the fuck had they gotten out? “What
the hell?” he snapped. “I thought I locked you in the tower.”

Edward spun on him. A growl emanated from the depth of his
being. Without warning, he planted his fist squarely in Ewan’s face.

And everything went black.

When he came to, they were gone.

All of them.

A chasm opened up in his soul.

Violet stared at her reflection in the mirror and sighed
desultorily as Mary coiled her hair on top her head. Honestly, why she had to
go to all this trouble for dinner with her family was beyond her. She wanted
nothing more than to curl up in her bed—where she’d been when Mary arrived—and
resume her gloom.

Not that she enjoyed melancholy. It just seemed all she had
energy for anymore. Since she’d returned from Scotland, she was exhausted
beyond words. And whenever she thought of Ewan, she burst into tears. Not that
she thought of him. She did not.

Not if she could help it.

Kaitlin, who had always been able to coax her from a dark
mood, had been no help whatsoever. She and Edward—who had astonishingly been
married in a quick ceremony before they left Dundee—had been sequestered in the
ducal apartments; but for the odd meal, they hadn’t been seen in weeks.

Even Violet’s joy at being in the bosom of her family had
palled quickly. It was as though there was a great gaping hole in her heart and
nothing could soothe it.

And this—this trial of preparing for hours for a dinner that
would not last half as long—seemed absurd. She longed for a simple plate in her
rooms, a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread. A conversation with a large,
laughing man whose eyes crinkled when he smiled—

Bother. There she went again.

She was not thinking of him.

She wasn’t.

“All finished, miss.”

Violet scanned her reflection. All she noticed were the dark
circles beneath her eyes and the pallid complexion. She looked like a fishwife.
No wonder he hadn’t wanted to keep her.

The gong sounded and Violet sighed again. She would make it
through this meal. She would put food in her mouth when she was supposed to and
smile when she should. She would make efforts at conversation. And when it was
over, she could return to her room and crawl into her bed and wallow there.

The boys were assembled in the drawing room, chattering away
and engaged in a variety of pursuits that would once have made her laugh. They
greeted her with a series of calls. She nodded to them and then to Edward,
because he was there as well. Oh. And Hortense.

She tried not to notice her aunt’s sharp perusal.

“Shall we go in?” Edward asked, taking Hortense’s arm.

“Isn’t Kaitlin joining us?” Hortense asked. The duke and his
new bride had been inseparable since the wedding.

Edward grinned. “She’s not feeling well.”

Hortense snorted. “And that pleases you?” Edward nibbled on
his grin and didn’t respond, which made Hortense’s rheumy eyes widen, her chins
quiver. She patted his hand. “Good show.” She waved her cane and warbled in a
strident tone, “Come along, lads. I’m starving.”

They took their seats around the table and the footmen began
serving the soup. Violet tried to eat it but couldn’t get much down. It tasted
off. As did the next course. And the next. She did find an appetite for the
pickled plums, served as a counterpoint to the beef, and scooped them all onto
her plate, much to Malcolm’s chagrin.

To the conversation flowing around her, she paid no mind.
Not until she heard the word McCloud. Her heart stalled and then began to
pound. Her chin snapped up. She found her gaze snared in Edward’s and she
didn’t care for the emotion she saw there. It was too close to pity for her
liking.

“Hard to believe,” Ned was saying, a sneer on his handsome face,
“that a man could have such gall.” Violet glared at her brother but he didn’t
notice. “You should have had him hanged, Edward. Really. You should have.”

The blood in her veins chilled.

“Or transported him,” Malcolm chimed in.

Edward set down his fork and took a sip of wine. “They don’t
do that anymore.”

“You could have done it,” Tay offered. “You could do
anything.”

“Surely not anything,” Edward said with a smile.

“What happens to a man to make him into a brute like that?”
Ned asked.

Malcolm nodded. “Surely he wasn’t born such an ogre.”

“He’s not an ogre.” Violet didn’t know from where she found
her voice, or how it came to ring so clearly. But she couldn’t stay silent.
Eight heads snapped up. Eight pairs of nearly identical eyes fixed on her,
gaping as though she had sprouted horns and a tail.

“Violet! He kidnapped you!”

She put out a lip. “He did not. Callum MacAllister kidnapped
me.”

“That’s true,” Hortense waved her spoon. “I was there.”

Ned ignored this pertinent fact. “But he held you prisoner.”

“Beat you.”

“Tortured you.” Oh dear. But then, Hamish was the
melodramatic one.

“He did not beat me. He most certainly did not torture me.
He was… He was… Oh bother!” Tears welled, despite her attempts to hold them
back. “You don’t know anything.”

“Then tell us, Violet.” This from Edward, a calm, kind
request. He hadn’t asked for any details of her ordeal and she hadn’t offered.
She had told them nothing. Clearly that had been unwise. They’d jumped to
conclusions—and the wrong ones.

“Tell us what that swine did to you!” Hamish again. His eyes
gleamed. He leaned forward in anticipation, the bloodthirsty fiend.

“I’ll tell you what we did to him.” Her voice was a low
thrum, clogged with emotion. “Do you know who he was?” She turned to Ned,
brandishing a plum on the tines of her fork. “Did you even recognize him?”

“R-recognize him?” he sputtered. “Why would I recognize
him?”

“Because when he was young, he lived at Browning.”

A gasp circled the table.

“Never say it.” Malcolm reached for his water glass and
tipped it over.

“Aye.” She turned to Ned. “Do you remember Ewan St.
Andrews?”

His brow wrinkled. “The groom? The one who pulled you from
the ice?”

“I remember him,” Malcolm muttered. “The boy who kissed
you.”

Violet’s attention snapped to her younger brother. “How do
you know he kissed me?” she hissed. “I told no one.”

“I saw you. Turned my stomach. He was a servant, Violet. He
should never have kissed you.”

The plums curled in her belly. “And you told father.”

Malcolm snorted. “Naturally.”

“He beat him, Malcolm.” To his credit, Malcolm paled. They’d
all seen the sharper end of Horace Wyeth’s fury. “He nearly beat him to death.
And then our father dismissed his mother. Turned them both out without
references.” She swallowed. “It was winter, if you recall. A cold winter. They
had nothing and…and she was with child.” Oh. She couldn’t hold it in any
longer. Could not hold back the tears. They flowed down her face as she thought
of that poor boy, the boy she loved, destitute and hungry and cold. Alone in a
cruel, hard world with nothing and no one. “His mother died, Malcolm.
Be-because of us.” She buried her face in her palms. “Because of me.”

A warm hand settled on her shoulder. She glanced up to see
Edward standing beside her. “It’s not your fault, Violet,” he said.

“It is, Edward. Don’t you see? It is.” Her tears had become
sobs, which were threatening to become gasping heaves.

He drew her up into his arms and held her tight. “Hush now.
It was all long ago.”

She shook her head and tried to tell him no, it wasn’t so
very long ago, and the scars had not healed and he hated her, but she couldn’t.
All she could do was weep.

He shot a dark frown around the table and without a word,
lifted her.

“W-w-where are w-we g-going?”

He strode toward his study. “You need a drink.”

“Not w-whisky,” she wailed. “H-he d-drank w-whisky.”

“Brandy then.” Edward settled her in the chair by the fire
and poured her a dram, watching with fists on his hips as she drank it down. It
didn’t stop the tears but it burned away the bitter cold that had invaded her
heart. When her glass was empty, he filled it again, and then filled one for
himself. “I think we need to talk.” He pursed his lips. “When you’re ready.”

Ready? She would never be ready to talk about Ewan. She
couldn’t bear it.

But apparently, in addition to its miraculous warming
properties, the spirit could also loosen the tongue. Not only did she speak,
she opened her mouth and the first words out were mortifying.

“I love him, Edward.”

He got that look again. Compassion and sympathy and
discomfiting pity. “I gathered as much.”

“I always have. Since we were young. I love him with all my
heart. And…”

“And?”

“He hates me.”

“When I spoke to him, I didn’t get the sense he hates you.”

She put out a lip, a trifle annoyed by his dissent. “It’s hardly
something one proclaims in the course of a conversation.” She dashed at the
dampness on her cheeks. “The point is, he will certainly never love me. Not the
way I… Oh bother, Edward. What’s wrong with me?”

He knelt before her. Took her cold hands in his and stroked
them with his thumbs. “Nothing’s wrong with you, Violet. You are a beautiful,
vivacious young woman about to embark on your first season. This should be the
most exciting time of your life.”

Really, she was quite put out by his gentle charm. Wherever
had the heartless rake gone? “I’m not excited in the least.”

“You will be. Just wait. You’ll attend your first ball and
meet a handsome man and fall in love and you’ll forget all about the McCloud.
You’ll see.” Some odd emotion flickered over his face but it was gone before
she could interpret it. “Don’t worry. We will find you a husband.”

Why that made her cry once more was a mystery. It was lovely
being comforted like this. “I d-don’t w-want a h-husband. C-can’t I just live
here with you and Kaitlin forever?”

His smile was far too kind. It only made her weepier.
“Absolutely, poppet.”

An incongruous laugh bubbled out. “Have you ever called
anyone poppet before?”

“Not once. But I figured I’d better get in some practice.”
He leaned in and whispered, “Kaitlin’s…in a family way.”

At once her misery wafted away—at least for the moment—as
joy trickled through her soul. “Oh, Edward.” She placed a palm on his cheek.
“That is wonderful news.”

“Thank you.”

“Kaitlin must be over the moon.” She’d always wanted a lot
of children. They both had…

Oh dear. The sniffles started again.

“We’re both delighted.” He beamed, reflecting on some inner
thoughts. When he noticed she’d started dripping again, he passed her his
handkerchief.

“I’m just…just so happy for you,” she bawled.

“Don’t weep so. You’ll make yourself sick.”

“I always wanted b-babies.”

“Of course you did—of course you do. And you’ll have them.
One day. Violet? Do you…do you need another brandy?”

She hiccoughed through a snort. “It won’t make me stop
crying, Edward. And it won’t stop this pain.” She laid a palm to her breast.
“Besides, I think I’ve had plenty.” Indeed, the room was getting uncomfortably
warm. “It’s just that…” She sighed. “I love him so much and I’ll never see him
again.”

Something in his expression snagged her attention. He rose
from his crouch at her feet and sat next to her again.

“Edward? What is it?”

He plucked at his lower lip. “You, ah, may see him again.”

Her heart leapt. She sprang to her feet. “What are you
saying?”

He stared at her, lips pursed, as though trying to figure
out how to break some unpleasant news. At long last, he said, “He pressed
Kaitlin into that betrothal because he needed
entrée
into the
ton
.
So his sister could have a season.”

Violet nodded impatiently. “Yes, yes.” She knew all this.

“In exchange for you and Kaitlin, I agreed to give him what
he wanted.”

Her fingers curled into tight balls until her nails scored
her palms. “Which was?”

“Ewan McCloud and his sister are coming here for the season.
We are hosting her debut.”

The blood rushed from her head. Her knees went weak. The
brandy, previously quiescent and warm, turned into a bubbling, boiling brew in
her belly. She sucked in a breath but still her lungs burned.

A slow curtain fell and a blissful darkness took her.

* * * * *

Ewan’s belly tightened as the carriage made its way through
the clogged streets of London. He’d always hated the capital with its thick air
and constant bustle. He missed Scotland, his little island particularly.

He was decidedly a fish out of water in these surrounds. He
knew little to nothing about the
haute ton
. Although William had tried
to coach him on the finer points, it had only served to show him precisely how
much he did not know. How utterly gauche and incongruous he would be at teas
and soirees and fucking balls.

But he would only have to suffer the discomfiture for three
months.

Three long months.

He could handle it, he supposed.

He would.

For Sophia.

He glanced across at her and his heart clenched. She was
worth everything. Every discomfort. Every humiliation. Every sacrifice.

Why the vision of Violet Wyeth—soft and fragile and lolling
in his bed—popped into his mind just then, he did not dare contemplate. It
wasn’t as though he had sacrificed a future with Violet to gain this boon for
Sophia.

There had never been a future with Violet to sacrifice.

He hadn’t made a choice. He’d never had a choice.

He was, simply put, not good enough for her. And after what
had passed between them, she had every right to deplore him.

He’d spent the last month putting her from his mind. It was
time to put the past—and his feelings for Violet—behind him and move on. He’d
spent a lifetime building a fortune and creating connections and scrabbling for
Sophia’s future. The next three months would be critical for her. Ewan couldn’t
afford to be distracted by jet-black curls or indigo eyes. He needed to focus
on Sophia.