Page 7 of Taming the Highland Misfits
Finley spurred Duff into action, and he shot out from under the tree and stopped within a few yards of the two horses pulling the carriage. The horses reared up and neighed in fright as they were forced to a shuddering stop, then Finley withdrew his sword and held it up in front of his face to show that he was in earnest. He had seldom had to use his sword in anger, since the sight of him and Duff was usually enough to make the strongest man surrender, but there was always a first time.
However, after Finley had dismounted and made his way around to the door of the carriage, he realised that he was not dealing with men. Inside the carriage sat two terrified women who were clinging to each other desperately. One was young, perhaps twenty years old, the other somewhere in her forties, he guessed. By the resemblance they bore each other, he guessed that they were mother and daughter, and they were both trembling and weeping with fear as they looked at him helplessly.
“Please don’t hurt us,” the older woman begged. “We have coin and jewellery that you can take, but please, please do not take our lives. Please.” The younger woman burst into tears and her mother hugged her closer and kissed her forehead. Their love for each other was so evident that it pierced the sore and tender spot on Finley’s heart that had not healed since the death of his mother. He would never hurt a woman–any woman.
However, he had a job to do, and he resolutely put his emotions away. “I am no’ goin’ tae hurt you or yer daughter,” he told them, shaking his head. “Give us yer coin an’ jewellery an’ ye can be on yer way.”
The women immediately began to remove their bracelets and necklaces, then the older one handed him a pouch that jingled as he took it from her. It was heavy and, judging by its weight, it contained enough silver which, divided between the three of them, would last for a few months. As he relieved the woman of her jewellery, Finley noticed a gold wedding band on her finger, but he ignored it–they had taken enough for the day. He cursed himself for his weakness, but there was a limit to the cruelty he could commit; they had buried his mother with her wedding band, and he could not deprive that lady of hers.
At that moment, Jock and Andy, his partners in crime, came up and looked over his shoulder, beaming with delight as they saw the two women.
Jock, a tall, lanky balding man in his middle years, rubbed his hands together as if he was about to devour some mouthwatering piece of food. “Well, well, well,” he said with a chuckle, “What dae we have here? Andy, come an’ see these tasty wee things!”
Andy, a short sturdy fellow with a head of bright red hair and matching beard, came to look into the carriage. His eyes lit up when he saw the two helpless women. “You’re right there, Jock,” he agreed. “I’ll take the young one first and you take the old one, then we can swap.”
“Naw!” Jock protested. “The young one is likely a virgin an?— ”
“Enough!” Finley stood in front of the carriage door, sword in one hand, dagger in the other, his eyes blazing with rage. “The first man that touches these women will be dead before his body hits the ground!”
“Want them for yourself, Finley?” Jock asked, leering. “Dae ye no’ want tae share?”
If Finley had been angry before, he was now incandescent with fury. He grabbed each one of the men by their collars and wrenched them towards each other. There was an audible thud as their foreheads banged together and each one fell to the ground, squealing in pain.
“Nay, I dinnae want these women!” he roared. “An’ if ye touch them I will slice ye in two. Dae ye no’ have sisters? Mothers? Would ye dae that tae them?” He rested the point of his sword against one man’s throat and then the other, watching the pupils of their eyes dilate with fear.
At last, he watched both of them go limp, all resistance gone, but he kept hold of the sword and dagger for protection anyway. When he looked around at the carriage again he saw that the women had fled, along with the carriage driver. He sighed with relief; he would not have to defend them any more. They were traumatised, but at least their virtue was intact. He felt wretched; what kind of monster had he become?
He rode away, leaving the two others licking their wounds. They had divided the spoils between them, but Finley felt no satisfaction. He could not go on like this, he decided; it was simply not in his nature to treat people this way. Suddenly the thought of the French wine sounded very appealing.
3
The housekeeper at the mansion was a stern-faced harridan who went by the name of Mrs Hughes, and she made no secret of the fact that she resented Isla’s being on good terms with the maids. In fact, she disapproved of just about everything Isla did, in spite of the fact that she took a great deal of the household planning upon her own shoulders.
Partly because of that, Isla had become a kind of confidante to the younger women, even though society’s rules frowned on such a practice. Unlike many of the other ladies of her social stature, Isla had a good relationship with her staff, so much so that many of them came to confide in her with their problems.
Isla was not sure how much help she was, but she had been told that sometimes just listening to a person’s troubles was enough to comfort them. Indeed, she had not realised this until she unburdened her troubles on Maura. The young woman was not only a good maid, but she turned out to be a good conversationalist too, and they often shared an hour or so in the evening talking about their respective days’ happenings.
Maura, it seemed, had an admirer, although she would not tell Isla his name.
“So, have you kissed him?” Isla asked slyly.
Maura blushed to the roots of her fair hair and nodded, embarrassed. “Just once or twice, Mistress,” she confessed, her gaze sliding away from Isla’s. “Is it sinful if I enjoyed it?”
“I think you are asking the wrong person, Maura,” Isla replied, sighing. “I have no experience in kissing at all.”
Maura looked astonished. “No, Mistress? But I thought all these young Lairds an’ Laird’s sons would be after ye. What is wrong wi’ them?”
It was on the tip of Isla’s tongue to tell Maura that her father kept all other men away from her apart from Iain Crawford, but something stopped her. She was not yet ready to let go of the hope that she would somehow escape her fate.
“Nothing, Maura,” she replied. “They are all fine young men, I am sure, but I have not found a single one whom I found remotely attractive.”
“Surely they are a’ more attractive than Iain Crawford, Mistress?” Maura asked.
This was true, of course, but Isla had no wish to steer the conversation in that direction. She changed the subject abruptly. “I have some very attractive day dresses that I would like to replace, Maura,” she said, mischievously. “I don’t suppose you could throw them away for me?”
Maura’s jaw dropped for a moment, then she began to giggle as Isla’s meaning sank in. “I would be happy tae, Mistress,” she replied in a mock-serious tone, “but I would be grateful if I could throw them intae my own wardrobe.” She looked up at Isla, trying not to smile.
Isla looked thoughtful for a moment. “I think that can be arranged,” she replied, nodding. “And perhaps when your admirer sees you in one of them he will want to do more than kiss you!”
