Page 2 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
“Oh, my dear, you know the Laird’s brutes stopped me before I could even reach the crowd. Some foul, rat-faced fellow threatened I could join the poor boy if I dared to interfere.” He paused. “Not even my title impressed those monsters. And that Laird… I’ve never witnessed a man so cruel. Perhaps he was the devil.”
“Oh, Matthew.”
“To ignore his wife’s screams and pleas—hisson’spleas? That man was a monster, Lavinia. The lad could not have been more than ten or eleven. Perhaps younger.”
Silence fell, and then Lavinia whispered, “Are all Scots truly so wicked?”
“Nay,” Matthew said with a laugh that could’ve been hiding a sob. “Some are worse. Some would make the devil himself weep. Truly, is this punishment for…?”
Lavinia’s quick steps crossed the room. “Oh, Matthew, you cannot blame yourself.”
“Lavinia, I… I do not know what to do. How do we save our daughter?”
At that, Emma’s blood ran cold, and she did not even remember fleeing, not until she made it outside. Taking in frantic gulps of the warm air, she stared up at the sky and blinked back tears.
I will never marry a man called a beast. The Queen may issue all the Edicts she pleases or even throw me in the tower herself.She balled her fists.But I will not marry a Scottish Laird as long as I draw breath.
Emma Wells vowed so to the stars, her head thrown back and her dark hair fluttering in the breeze.
And the stars seemed to smolder, as though promising to hold her word.
Or did they laugh at me—for how could a woman barely out of girlhood stand up to the Crown, never mind the Beasts and Devils of Scotland?
Later that night, when the moon was shrouded by a heavy roil of clouds, Emma stole past her parents’ quarters again. She barely allowed herself a look, her heart pounding so loud she was sure itwould wake her sleeping mother. Besides, if she paused to think about what she was doing—no, oh no, donotthink such things.
Swallowing back a sob, Emma pressed on, feeling as though she were a lost heroine in a storybook, pushing her way through a deep forest. Her home, the fine and grand manor of her ancestors, which she’d always loved, was filled with strange shadows all around her. She should’ve been in her bed, sleeping and dreaming of London.
Instead, she snuck through the halls in clothes that itched and felt strange on her skin, somehow too light and too warm at the same time. The front felt too tight, pushing her ample bosom up even more, and she found herself pausing to draw breath from time to time.
Finally, she made it to the back door, which, as promised, Beattie had left unlocked.
Dear Bea. She had no idea what Emma was up to, thinking it was some girlish lark. Still thinking of Emma as a small girl who liked to pick out ribbons for kittens and puppies, who liked to sneak treats from the cook, and whose small fingers were quick and deft with a needle, loom, or weft.
“What a wee wonder ye are!”Bea would often exclaim.
Outside, the cool spring night pressed in close, and Emma tightened the shawl around her head. Clutching her bag tighter, she hoped that the servant boy had listened to Bea and brought out her trunks to the road and that the carriage driver hadloaded them. No delays could be afforded. Her father’s men could grow suspicious at any moment, as Matthew pushed them to be.
Emma thought she would never get to the road when suddenly, she was there. Far away from the sleeping manor, under a sky filled with stars that stole her breath.
A shadow of a rickety carriage rose in front of her.
“Alrigh’, young miss?” called a jovial, cracking voice, and an older man held up a lantern. “Ye are the maid who needs passage?”
“Aye,” Emma croaked. “Thank ye for waitin’,” she added, in a terrible attempt at imitating Bea’s accent.
Even from the ground, Emma could see the amusement and pity that crossed the old man’s face.
“Well, get on up. Ol’ George guides the restless and runaways. We’ll be to Yorkshire in nay time.”
“Thank you,” Emma breathed and clambered into the carriage.
She leaned back in her seat, blessing her friend for always knowing what to do. Somehow, Helena had arranged all of this in less than a day.
Perfect timing, for her parents had already told her that they needed to speak with her on the morrow.
Lady Highbrow, you always know what to do.
Emma’s heart swelled at the thought of her brilliant best friend figuring all of this out.Helena had known all about it, already filled with her own grim foreboding, and had suggested that Emma retreat to her widowed aunt’s estate to the south, then they’d find a way to get to the Lovell family’s seaside cottage, and flee abroad.
