Taming the Scot by Eliza Knight

16

Euan woke with a start, realizing first that he was alone and second, where he was. He smiled into the morning sun, not having slept this late in ages. But the woman he was going to marry, his Bronwen, had been a dream come true. He rolled to the side, reaching for her, his hand sliding over the bare sheet.

She was gone.

Euan frowned, leaned up on his elbow and glanced about the room, expecting to see her lounging in the window seat as he knew she liked to do. However, the room was empty, save for her lingering floral scent. The sheet was not yet cold, though it didn’t completely retain her heat, which meant she couldn’t have been gone longer than an hour.

Climbing from bed, he pulled on his shirt, belted on his kilt and walked barefoot from the chamber down the hall to his room, where he’d prepare for the day. He guessed she’d woken early, as she normally did, and was taking breakfast. Though he would have liked to join her, he understood she had certain habits.

Muffled voices sounded below, and it wasn’t until he’d closed his door that he stiffened, realizing the sound had been that of a female and a male.

But not any male—it was his cousin Hector.

How the bloody hell had he gotten into the manse? The staff would never have allowed him entry, which meant he had to have broken in somehow.

Euan threw his bedroom door back open and raced down the steps in search of the voices. The dining room was empty, evidence of meals having taken place left only by the napkins and soiled plates on opposite sides of the table. Two places.

A string of curses blasted through his brain.

Bloody hell! This was bad. Very bad.

Dear God, Hector better not have done anything to her. Euan raced to the parlor, also finding it empty, and then ran smack into Martin.

“My laird, ye’re no’ dressed.” Martin stared down at his bare feet. “Is your valet ill?”

“Where is Hector? Did he take her?” Euan demanded, ignoring the butler’s questions. There was no time to worry about his clothes.

Martin gaped, alarmed now. “I have not seen them,” Martin said, at the same time two footmen stumbled around the corner from the dining room, looking as if they’d been roughly handled.

“They’ve just left,” one of them called out, breathlessly.

Martin rushed to the front door and wrenched it open in time for Euan to see the driver alighting to his post and taking the reins in hand.

“Stop!” Euan shouted, and the driver looked over his shoulder and then narrowed his eyes—one of which had been blackened.

In an instant, he recognized the bloke as one of the heathens from the alleyway who’d attacked Bronwen. This was no ordinary visit from Hector. And at that moment, Euan realized this went so much deeper, with nefarious roots that threatened to yank them all under.

Understanding the urgency, Martin had called for several footmen to come out. Even though the driver tried to snap the reins for the horses to ride on, three footmen leapt before the horse, stalling his progress. One settled the horse while the other two yanked the driver from his perch, holding him down on the gravel.

The door to the carriage burst open, and another thug barreled out, the second one from the alleyway. Good God, Bronwen had been captured by his cousin and the men she’d been running for her life from?

Every part of him ached for her. What betrayal she must have felt at his promises of protection…and this was what she’d gotten from him. Complete failure. Twice. The men she’d been terrified from and his criminal cousin who must have something to do with what happened to her in the past. There was no other explanation as to how these arseholes would do his bidding.

Bare feet planted in the gravel drive, and ignoring the pain of the stones cutting into his skin, Euan braced for the man’s attack. The villain ran at Euan as if he was going to take him through the wall of the house. But Euan was ready and side-stepped at the last second, feeling the wind gush past him as the brute lurched headlong toward the ground and tried to catch his footing.

The bastard whirled on Euan, muttering expletives as he launched into another attack. Only this time, Martin grabbed him from behind, putting a hold on the man’s neck. He might have been a butler, but when Euan wasn’t sparring with his friends, he sparred with Martin.

The arsehole’s face turned purple as he spewed obscenities in Euan’s direction until Martin squeezed a little tighter, cutting off his string of nastiness.

“My laird, I must apologize,” Martin was saying. “I never saw any of them come in, else I would have stopped him.”

“I’m certain Hector wanted it that way.”

With two of the footmen holding the other ruffian down, Euan ordered the third footman to get the magistrate. This time he wasn’t leaving these men out in the open to harm again. Clearly, they’d already left the area when the magistrate searched for them the night before. They’d be arrested now and held in prison for their crimes, of which he was certain there were many.

Now it was time to deal with the real monster.

Euan returned to the coach, wrenching open the door to find his cousin Hector backed into a corner, Bronwen beside him. Hector had his arm around her shoulder and the glint of a blade pressed to her throat. Good God…nay!

A slice of pain gutted Euan at seeing her in such a precarious situation. Her eyes were wide with fear but also with anger. Lips twisted in a rage, she looked ready to spew venom not only at Hector, but at Euan too. And he couldn’t blame her. It had been his idea for her to come to Edinburgh. The promises he’d made were total rubbish in her eyes—and in his. But he wasn’t going to fail her now.

“Remove that blade from Miss Holmes’s throat,” Euan said calmly, hoping she’d not yet divulged they were to wed. At least he could keep her safe from his cousin. Knowing about their betrothal would give Hector a bigger incentive to end her life.

There was a gleam in Hector’s eyes that Euan had never seen before. Pure malice. He’d known him to be unlawful, arrogant, conceited, rude, selfish and downright cruel most of their lives. But this…this was bordering on something different. Maniacal.

In a flash, Euan seemed to understand a lot more of what was at work here than he would have ever guessed. Hector was the creditor for Bronwen’s parents—responsible for their deaths. And now he’d come to collect payment in the form of Bronwen. It would seem the criminal activity his cousin had been involved with went a lot deeper than Euan had thought. Good God… when Bronwen mentioned her parents had been involved with gambling, that they’d been murdered for their debts, he never had thought that his own blood could be involved. He’d been so busy protecting his sisters from Hector, he’d never even thought that Bronwen might need protection from the bastard too.

The fact that she and Euan had become acquainted was pure coincidence, and he was certain, very convenient for Hector.

“Back away and shut the door, Euan,” Hector said, his voice coming out in biting clips. “And the lass will no’ be harmed. Let my men up off the ground, and we’ll be on our way.”

“I’m afraid I can no’ do that.” Euan kept his tone calm, even, and his gaze on Bronwen’s steady. “Let her go, and I’ll consider letting ye go without consequence.”

Of course, that was a total lie, and if Hector were as smart as Euan thought he might be diabolical, then he would know it too. Still, it was better than the alternative.

Hector shook his head slowly. “She belongs to me, cousin,” he hissed. “Afraid there’s no negotiating that.” He yanked her a little closer to him, but miraculously, Bronwen barely flinched.

Hector had always wanted what was Euan’s. What a boon it must have been to realize the very woman who owed him money was the same one Euan had under his protection—and might have guessed he had feelings for her given last night’s events. The bastard would not have been able to resist taking her. Hector had been so intent upon having her for himself that he’d been willing to break into Euan’s house to get her.

Euan had to hold himself back from ripping his cousin to shreds as that would only put Bronwen in further danger.

“The magistrate is on the way,” Euan said, as smoothly as he could when he wanted to rage. “Ye’ll no’ be able to get out of here with her. Your men are down, and before ye have a chance to go three feet, I’ll have ye under my boot.”

Hector laughed cruelly. “Oh, pity how little ye understand, cousin. But ye’ll never guess who does know things now? This lass here in my arms.” Hector pressed his nose to her hair and sucked in a heady, lascivious breath, his eyes practically rolling in the back of his head. “My bride.”

A sharp stab of anger pierced behind Euan’s eyes. He braced himself, pressing his hands flat to the outside wall of the carriage to keep from reaching in and grabbing Hector, which would possibly harm Bronwen in the process. God, what he wouldn’t do to get his hands around Hector’s neck right now.

Bronwen narrowed her gaze at Euan. “Why did ye no’ tell me about the bet? Even after I confessed to ye.”

The bet? Euan’s gut sank. So, this was Hector’s play to twist the stipulations of the will into a wager. To get her to hate him by revealing something she might see as treachery. “Because my grandfather’s will—what Hector has deemed a bet—was of little consequence.” And this was an honest answer, as cruel as it might have sounded coming out.

Pain flashed in her eyes, and he knew she’d misinterpreted him. He meant it made no difference because he loved her; there was no contest of falsity in that. The will didn’t matter to him anymore, especially right now. If it cost him everything, he still would love her. They’d find a way. And his sisters would understand that. They’d had to find a way before when they’d been orphaned. They were no strangers to hardships.

“Ye see, pet?” Hector crooned cruelly, grinning most vilely at Euan. “He does no’ care for ye.”

“I trusted ye,” Bronwen whispered, her fiery gaze directed at Euan. “Ye used me.”

Hector had turned her against him or attempted to, and it appeared to be working. If Hector suspected there were any feelings between Euan and Bronwen before, it was confirmed now by Bronwen’s admission. Damn his cousin for playing on Bronwen’s emotions.

“I was no’ lying,” Euan said to her. “About anything. I may have omitted a stipulation in my grandfather’s will, but that changes nothing between us. Changes nothing about what I said or what we’ve shared.”

From the way her eyes searched his, he could tell she was struggling with whether to believe him or not. Euan kept his face serious, his eyes locked on hers. Pleading with his gaze for her to believe him. Because he loved her so damn much.

“Whatever Hector has told ye, I’m certain it was with a spin of untruth, or at least to favor himself,” Euan continued. “I’d never do anything to hurt ye, Bronwen. And I admit to my failure at keeping ye out of harm’s way. This was the last thing I wanted to happen to ye. I’ll spend every day trying to make it up to ye for the rest of my life.”

“Well, that is cruel,” Hector said in a sarcastic tone, followed by a bitter laugh. “And it does no’ matter what ye say. Ye see, there are no circumstances in which whatever truths and sentiments ye think she should remember matter. I’ve had my sights on this lass for a lot longer than ye have, cousin. And I’m no’ about to give her up because ye’ve developed a heart.”

Euan’s suspicions were correct about his cousin and how much deeper this went between him and Bronwen. Bloody fecking hell! He’d not wanted to be right. Had hoped it was only an exaggerated thought brought on by the terror of the man holding a knife to her throat.

Bronwen’s gaze flicked to Hector from the sides of her eyes, and confusion registered on her face for a brief second. Good God, was it possible she’d not yet realized that Hector was the man responsible for her parents’ demise?

“Ye can no’ trust him, Bronwen. Think about what he’s admitting. He is the one who’s been after ye.”

Horror struck her then as she gaped at Euan, realizing exactly who the man was that held her dangerously close.

“Prince?” she whispered.

What did she mean Prince?

Hector’s knife pressed menacingly against her delicate neck, and his grin widened as he took great pleasure in their mutual fear.

“I see the two of ye have finally put together some things. Aye, I’m Prince, The Trojan is mine, blah blah blah. But I can no’ take all the credit. Ye see, my father introduced me to this life. Ye could say I took over the business, as I’m soon going to take over Drum. We want to keep things in the family if ye know what I mean.” He laughed then, his body jostling Bronwen, and she stiffened to keep her neck away from the wiggling blade.

“Ye bastard. Over my dead body,” Euan growled, his fingernails digging into the outside paneling of the carriage, scratching into the paint the way he wanted to cut into his cousin’s flesh.

Hector shrugged as if he didn’t care at all. “That can be arranged.”

Bronwen struggled to keep her breaths even. She had to think clearly if she was going to get out of this situation. Somehow, despite the mastermind he proclaimed to be, Hector had failed to notice she’d grabbed a fork from the table when he had his two men absconded with her. She’d been able to slip it into the pocket of the day gown she’d donned, and now, ever so slowly, she was inching it out.

Sometimes a lass had to take her future into her own hands—and this was such a time.

Euan kept his attention on Hector, the two of them sparring back and forth. She could barely hear the words coming out of their mouths but hoped they’d keep on talking long enough for her to have the advantage of a surprise strike.

Hector held the knife at her neck, and the other arm around her shoulders, leaving her arms unrestrained. She just needed to get the perfect stabbing angle and pray that Euan’s cousin did not slit her throat in the process. A gamble, to be sure, and she’d made it a point all of her adult life not to be the wagering sort. Well, she supposed this time she needed to make an exception. If she calculated it right, he’d be completely shocked and would drop the weapon.

But there was also the chance he would react, and in that instance, she was dead.

Well, to sit here and think about it was to let others decide her fate. She had to act.

Hector was a criminal after all and not unfamiliar with murder. So, she could do nothing and would be forced into whatever horrible plan he had for her or, she could risk her own life in order to take his. Her own death seemed a better bet than the future he had in store for her. And she’d never know unless she tried.

Grasping the handle of the fork tightly in her left hand, she’d have to reach across her body to the right and upward to jab it into his face. It was now or never.

Bronwen drew in a deep breath, and as she exhaled, she jerked her arm across and up, feeling the prongs of the fork sink into their mark as her arm jarred from the forceful attack. Hector screamed, but before he could slice at her neck, Euan was on him, wrestling the knife away. Bronwen scrambled across the cabin to see that her fork had landed smack in the middle of his eyeball.

“Ye bitch!” Hector shrieked, his hand reaching and then falling away from the fork over and over. Blood dripped down his cheek. “My eye! Ye bloody stabbed my eye!”

Bronwen nodded, trembling. She would have stabbed his eye all over again, a thousand times, if only it would have brought her parents back to life. They might have gotten into the wrong things, but they didn’t deserve to die for it.

“Ye’re lucky that’s all ye’re losing today,” Euan growled, hauling the man out of the coach and leaving her inside for a moment to stare down at her trembling hands.

The left one had flecks of blood on it from the impact. But the right was completely clean. She started to tremble all over, shaking uncontrollably. A low sobbing sound came from her throat, but no tears accompanied it.

A second later, Maggie’s head popped into the carriage, her blue eyes full of concern locking on Bronwen. “Thank God ye were no’ hurt,” she said, climbing in and shutting the door behind her, cutting off the sounds of Hector’s screams. “But are ye all right?”

Bronwen nodded, then shook her head, her words stuck somewhere inside her throat. All she could do was hold her hands out, unsure of what to do with them. Maggie glanced down at her hands, and then with the hem of her skirt, wiped them clean.

“Ye need no’ say anything yet, Bronwen. Let’s get ye inside, and I’ll get ye some whisky.” Maggie’s voice held calm authority.

Bronwen cleared her throat, her voice coming out hoarse. “Thank ye.”

Maggie opened the carriage door, revealing the rest of the Irvine sisters, who waited there. They formed a cocoon of gowns and ribbons around Bronwen as they led her inside. Over their heads, she could see Euan glancing her way, but they blocked her view of Hector and his goons, all of them screaming obscenities.

With the care all of sisters, and Euan, too, were taking with her—with the words he’d expressed when Hector still had her locked in his hold—she felt a fool for having let Hector trick her. Of course, Euan loved her, and nothing a madman said was going to change that. His sisters were protecting her right now, showing her without words that she was part of their family. Just as they had in every other instance.

Bronwen knew better. Actions spoke louder than words, and she needed to remember that.

They led her up to her bedchamber, settling her on the chair before the banked hearth. A small cup with a dram of whisky was thrust into her hands.

“Drink this. It will calm your nerves,” Maggie said with a nod.

Bronwen did as they bid, sipping the whisky that burned a soothing path down her throat, warming her belly.

She kicked off her slippers and sank her stockinged feet into the plush carpet.

“I know ye may no’ want to get into it yet, but when ye’re ready to tell us what happened, we will all be here to support ye.” Maggie and her sisters all took up seats around Bronwen, some on furniture, some on the floor.

Her chest swelled at the warmth of their concern. And she also knew that she didn’t want to keep any more secrets from them.

“Hector is Prince, the man who my parents were in debt to. He had them killed.” Bronwen couldn’t believe how easy it was to tell them. But then again, she could. They were nothing but open ears, waiting patiently for her to tell them the story and offering her comfort in return and no judgment.

And so she did. She told them every gritty, ugly detail.

“I’d have stabbed him, too.” Raine balled her fist and made a stabbing motion as if practicing.

“Aye, me too,” the rest chimed in.

As the sisters burst into a chorus of all the things they would do to the man who’d tried to harm her, Euan entered the bedroom, his face stricken and pale.

Maggie stood and shooed the rest of the lasses out of the room, leaving the two of them alone, even shutting the door behind them.

“My God, Bronwen.” Euan rushed forward, bending onto one knee at her feet. “I thought I was going to lose ye.”

“I’m so sorry.” Tears welled in her throat for every negative thought she’d had where he was concerned. For believing any of the things that Hector had told her.

“Ye have nothing to apologize for.” Euan grasped her hands in his and started to kiss them frantically.

“But I do. I should have had more faith in ye. But I… It was easy to believe, given my background, that ye were only—” She swallowed, cutting herself off. “I know ye’re a good man. A kind man. And I felt your love in my bones. I am so sorry that I was so weak as to let a few words from a stranger sway me.”

Euan’s gaze locked on hers, and there was such depth of emotion there, she thought she might burst. “Ye’ve lived a lifetime with people causing ye to lose faith, my love. A few weeks with my family is no’ going to change that instantly. But I promise ye, if ye give it time, one day ye’ll trust me.”

Bronwen slipped off her chair falling to her knees on the carpet and pressed her hands to either side of his face. “I do trust ye. Pray, forgive me for my momentary lapse.”

“Ye are more than forgiven.”

“Do ye still wish to marry me?” she asked.

“Och, lass, if ye would have me, after knowing my cousin was behind this. My own blood.” He hung his head in shame. “I still can no’ believe it.”

“Ye are no’ him. Clearly.” She laughed softly. “And ye are no’ responsible for his vile actions.”

“He will pay for his crimes.” Conviction dripped from every word.

Bronwen knew well what would happen to such a man if he were from Tanner’s Close, but she didn’t know if the same fate would be meted out to a man of noble blood, and she didn’t want to ask. They needed to work on their healing and not think about the hangman’s noose.

“Let us forget those men and their crimes for now and celebrate that we are both alive,” she said, touching her lips to his.

Euan enfolded her in his embrace, kissing her back as fervently as she kissed him. She might have had the knife at her neck, but Euan seemed more shaken than she was. All she wanted to do was soothe away that fear and pain and panic. She shoved her hands through his hair, clinging tight to him. To what they had. To life. To love.

“I love ye,” she said against his mouth, her eyes opening to lock on his.

She could have drowned in the deep blue pools of his gaze. Wrapped herself up in the warmth of his love. Pure happiness filled her. Elation, relief, hope. All things she’d only dared to feel before felt more within her grasp now than ever before.

“And I love ye so verra much, Bronwen.”

Euan pressed her down to the carpet, and she wrapped her arms around him, prepared to go to heaven and back.