Page 22 of Married to the Scarred Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #4)

22

C iaran watched as Laura’s face changed quickly from a soft, loving expression to a dark concern. His head whipped around to locate the object of her worry.

“Why is Henry over there and nae near ye?” she whispered.

Her tone told him that she was truly affected by Henry’s distance. The thought warmed him slightly, and he let an easy grin tug at his lips.

“He’s always like that, lass. Especially with unrest in the clan.”

“The borderlands?”

“Aye. He’s concerned about another uprising, though we went out these past weeks to speak with the villages. It should be fine, but it’s also his job.”

“Ye arenae concerned?” she asked, a line creasing her brow.

Ciaran let out a chuckle through his nose and smoothed the pad of his thumb over her brow. “Nay, I’m nae concerned. But ye surely can be?—”

“Wha—” she started to say as he hauled her into his arms without another word.

The warmth of his body seeped into her. “That’s enough of the cèilidh, ye’re all mine now.”

Laughter and celebration followed them as he led them toward the stairwell. She laughed along with them but still buried her face in his chest.

“Ciaran, put me down!” she scolded, though her grin gave her away.

He only held onto her tighter. “Nay, wife. It’s time for bed.”

“Are ye so eager to produce an heir?” she snorted, but the question caught him by surprise.

He remained silent until they reached his bedchambers.

Her eyes went wide as they entered the space, and he realized that she hadn’t been inside his rooms before.

“Do ye want a tour?” he asked.

A seductive smile spread across her lips, and her voice came out like warm honey, caressing every inch of his skin. “Nay, I dinnae want a tour.”

His grip tightened on her thigh, and a gasp escaped her lips.

“Christ, lass,” he said, watching her pulse flutter wildly along her neckline.

He walked her through several rooms until they finally reached his bedchamber, and he set her down on the bed, still cradled in his arms. Just as his mouth found hers, she lifted her hand to his chest, pushing him away.

He felt confusion passing over his features before he could rein it in. “What’s wrong?”

“Ye didnae answer me question.”

“Which one?”

“Are ye truly eager to produce an heir?”

He studied her face.

If I say aye, what if she doesnae wish for another bairn? If I say nay, what if she gets mad?

“The truth?” he asked, buying himself some time.

She nodded her head slowly. “The truth, Ciaran.”

The second he heard his name on her lips, he wanted to capture them, hold them hostage, but he knew that she wanted his answer before anything happened between them.

With a long exhale, he said the next thing that came to mind. “I have an heir.”

“Wha—”

“Fraser is an angel who deserves all of this and more,” he said, lifting his hand and gesturing to the room.

Laura furrowed her brow. “But?—”

“Nay buts, lass,” he said, pressing the pad of his thumb to the lines on her forehead.

“Tell me the reason why, at least,” she said, a hint of sadness lacing her voice, and her hand pressed harder against his chest.

Ciaran furrowed his brow this time, resting his hand over hers. “I willnae let me faither’s black blood taint our bairns. His shame and cowardice will end with m?—”

A loud banging interrupted him.

“Me Laird!”

The banging continued, and his eyes connected with hers. The impossibly blue irises that had haunted his dreams and his every waking moment from the second they landed on him were wide and frantic with fear.

“Somethin’ is wrong. Stay here, lass,” Ciaran said, leaving his bride on his bed after planting a kiss on her lips.

Striding through his rooms, he registered the sound of her soft footfalls and the swishing of her skirts. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Of course, she wouldnae listen.

“Me Laird!” The banging continued. “Me Laird, please!”

Clutching the large, iron handle, he wrenched the door open. He kept his expression neutral, understanding that the guard in front of him wouldn’t have interrupted his wedding night without good cause.

“Angus? What are ye doin’ here? What is it?” he said steadily.

“There’s been an attack,” the man said, panting for breath. “An uprising.”

Ciaran gritted his teeth so hard that his jaw started to cramp instantly. “From where?”

“Strathlorne. I tracked them here. Came up as fast as I could, Me Laird.”

“What’s happened? Is that Angus Kerr?” he heard Laura’s soft voice call out from the shadows of his chambers.

“Aye, Me Lady.” The man pressed a hand to his chest. “An attack on the keep. Villagers from Strathlorne.”

“Have they stated their reason?” she asked quickly.

But Ciaran already knew their reason. It was the same reason he’d heard these past few weeks. A warning glance told the guard to keep his mouth shut as Ciaran turned to face his wife.

“They dinnae wish for young Fraser to claim the lairdship when he comes of age…”

Laura stiffened, and he felt his body react instinctively. He wanted to wipe the anger from her expression. Wanted to distract her from the pain of the truth. Take away the sting of rejection.

“They dinnae wish for a bastard to be their laird,” she said matter-of-factly, fury coating every word.

Ciaran exhaled, and she nodded with disgust tugging at her upper lip.

“I’m sorry, lass. I’ve tried to placate them, but there has to be a ringleader?—”

“Henry,” she said firmly, her tone brooking no room for argument.

Ciaran turned around, his eyes landing on the guard. The young lad’s shoulders were slumped, and if he had been wearing a cap, it’d have been in his hands.

“Henry?”

Angus didn’t respond. His silence spoke volumes, and Ciaran slammed his fist into the door furiously.

“Henry? Where?” he demanded to know.

The guard answered quickly, “They came through Kilbray. It’s nae just Strathlorne. They’re in the gardens—the stables have been destroyed.”

“Where’s Dùbhshìth?”

“Dùghall has him in the gated courtyard, saddled for ye, Me Laird.”

“Aye, I have to go,” Ciaran said as he turned to face Laura.

She looked gorgeous in her ivory dress, with anger coursing through her veins. Her hair tumbled down her back and over her shoulders like a crimson war banner, and his mother’s brooch gleamed brilliantly on her hip.

“I wish I didnae have to, but I must,” he said, resting his forehead against hers.

“Go, but come back to me,” she said as she tilted her head up, pressing a heated kiss to his lips before pushing him back.

A thunderous boom echoed through the keep, cutting through the night like a blade. Bullets whizzed past as Ciaran mounted Dùbhshìth.

Should have told her to stay in me chambers or the study, he mused as he urged his stallion forward.

His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword as he took off, Dùghall and Angus following behind.

At the gates, he met a burly clansman he didn’t recognize. The man came at him fast, his dirk flashing in the moonlight. Ciaran pulled Dùbhshìth aside, dodging the blow easily as Angus rode towards him, trapping him. Dùghall dismounted quickly, slamming his boot into the man’s torso before driving a blade into his chest.

A gunshot went off, and Ciaran felt a sharp sting in his arm as he turned his stallion toward the gardens. There was no time to assess the wound or to direct his men. They were trained for this. They would move on instinct, as would he.

Good.

More attackers surged forward, their cries fueled by madness and treachery. It was then that he realized that the attackers were his guards.

Henry, his man-at-arms, had betrayed him and twisted the minds of these young men against him. Ciaran, hardened to the guilt of massacring innocent men, let malice take over his senses.

He rode on, roaring, meeting them head-on.

His blade sang, slicing through flesh and fabric as his stallion tore through the crowd unharmed. The clash of steel rang out over the chaos, sparks flying when swords met. Out of the corner of his eye, Ciaran saw a musket raised in his direction, but before the man could fire, a gunshot rang out. The attacker crumbled to the ground, and Ciaran whipped around.

Adam appeared at his side, reloading his rifle with practiced ease. “Heard there was a fight. Thought ye might need a hand,” he grunted.

“Took yer fine ass time,” Ciaran shot back, dismounting and smacking Dùbhshìth’s hind.

The horse, black as night, tore through the fray and into the abyss.

Ciaran barely had time to glance up before the sound of Adam’s exertion filled his ears.

He turned around and parried a blind strike, ramming his fist into an attacker’s face. Blood spurted, the man collapsing into a heap at their feet.

“Had to round up the cavalry,” Adam growled, nodding over his shoulder.

Ciaran leaned over in time to see Neil and Doughall tearing through the battlefield, their swords cutting down anyone who opposed them.

His eyes connected with Adam’s once more in the haze of battle. “Have ye seen Henry?”

Adam shook his head with understanding before aiming his pistol over Ciaran’s shoulder and setting loose the bullet with a smooth pull of the trigger.

Ducking beneath the embers, Ciaran turned on his heel in time to drive his blade into the attacker’s gut, for good measure.

“Nae here,” Doughall gritted out. “These are yer own men?”

Ciaran’s rage burned hotter.

A coward’s game.

Laura and Fraser were inside. His sister was inside. Laura’s sister was inside. Her brother was at his side. His pulse thundered.

If Henry isnae outside, that means …

His eyes flashed up to the keep.

“Get back inside the keep!” he roared, already carving a desperate path of destruction through the attackers.

The distant sounds of fighting rattled the walls of the study. Laura paced, her heart hammering. Ersie and Freya stood near the door, their hands resting on the hilts of their weapons. The battle had come to their doorstep, and she hated waiting, feeling useless while Ciaran fought outside.

It had been decided to keep Fraser in a safe location, away from her, so as not to make him an obvious target, but she suddenly felt a shiver course through her as if she had made the wrong choice. Then, the door burst open, and Mairead, pale and breathless, gasped.

“Me Lady! Young Fraser is gone,” she said, choking back a sob.

Laura’s world tilted at an impossibly steep angle until her only grip on reality was the pounding footsteps against the cold floor. She nearly broke into a run.

Firm hands held her in place, though, and a scream ripped through her.

“Nae me son! Nay!” she wailed until her voice cracked painfully, and then wailed again. “Find him!”

Freya and Ersie pinned her in place. The room blurred around her as her mind raced.

“Let me go!” she screamed angrily, swinging her limbs aimlessly until her forearm hit something hard. The grip on her loosened, and she was out of the room in an instant.

The hallways blurred around her as she raced toward the nursery, cold fear sinking into her bones. “Nae me son. Nay. Nay?—”

She skidded to a stop at the nursery door, her stomach lurching at the sight before her—cradle upturned, window shattered, blood smeared against the stone walls, and a small, wooden toy wedged beneath the slightly ajar door in the corner.

Freya and Ersie’s footsteps echoed in the passageway.

“What is it, Laura?” Ersie asked.

“A toy—the servants’ door,” Laura choked out before wrenching the door open.

She heard the cries coming from the Bairns’ Keep and took the stairs two at a time.

“Fraser!” she yelled, her voice reverberating off the damp, cold tiles.

A hauntingly melodic whistle beckoned her into the room. Fear turned into a blind rage.

“Laura, wait!” she heard her sister call out, but her feet were moving before she could even think.

She burst into the room. All of the windows were wide open. The fire in the hearth was roaring, drowning out the sounds of gunshots and clashing steel below.

“Fraser!”

Silence.

“Fraser! Come to Ma!”

Nothing.

Freya shoved through the door, joining her, a dagger drawn.

“He’s nae here,” Laura said frantically. “I could have sworn he was here. I heard…”

A figure emerged from the shadows.

“Ye were callin’ the wrong name, lass,” the shadowed figure said, but she knew that tied-back golden hair.

“Henry.”

The man stepped into the dim light. His eyes were wild, filled with something completely unhinged. Fraser was asleep in his arms, wrapped in a blanket.

“Is he unharmed?” she asked firmly.

“Aye. What do ye take me for?” Henry’s voice rose, but Fraser didn’t stir.

“What’s wrong with him?!” she asked furiously, taking a predatory step toward the man.

Another figure slid through a door behind the man, keeping to the shadows but making themselves known to Laura.

Ersie.

“I gave the wee lad a a bit of draught. He’s fast asleep.”

“What did ye give him?!” Laura screeched, lurching toward Henry, who twisted away from her.

“He’s safe, but ye …” He tsked. “ Ye have but one small hope.”

“Why is there blood in his nursery?”

“Oh, poor Kenna got in the way, and I loathe the sound of her voice.”

“Did ye kill her? She has children, Henry!”

“I’m nae the monster here! Ye married the monster—dinnae forget it!” Henry hissed, his grip on Fraser tight and possessive, desperate.

Laura’s posture changed, then. Her shoulders dropped, submitting. “He’s me son, Henry. Please hand him to me.”

“I can take ye away from here. From him . It’s nae too late.”

Ersie melted back into the shadows, her every movement calculated, predatory.

“Give him to me,” Laura ordered, her voice steady this time. Less submissive. Far more dangerous.

Henry took a step back, shaking his head. “I’m savin’ him from this fate. From the bastard title, from Ciaran’s rule, from yer mistakes. Ye dinnae deserve him.”

“Ye dinnae ken what ye speak of,” Laura said.

“Ye dinnae ken what ye are dealin’ with, lass. This boy might as well be dead. Ye’ve signed his death warrant.” Henry moved again, closer to an open window.

“Ye have nay idea what I ken and dinnae ken. Ye’re a miserable man with the only death warrant in this room.”

“He killed his own faither, ye dinnae think he willnae kill ye or the bairn? Monsters like that dinnae change, not even for a fine piece of arse like ye.”

Freya, who had at some point come closer to Laura, shook her head. “I’ll go call for help,” she whispered, taking a step back toward the door.

“Stay,” Laura said numbly, not taking her eyes off Henry, who was now steps away from the open window and looking crazed enough to make that horrific choice.

“If ye take another step, Henry Winson, it will be the last thing ye do.” The threat felt as if it came from the depths of her soul.

His jaw clenched, his fingers squeezing the bairn so impossibly tight that the child gasped in his slumber.

“Did ye hear me? Ye’ll nae see another day, I promise ye.” Laura continued talking, to distract him.

Henry snarled and then hesitated.

He hasnae thought of this. Good.

Laura’s gaze darted frantically between her sister, Ersie, and Fraser, before connecting with Henry’s once more.

A thin flash was all she saw as Ersie finally pressed her blade to Henry’s neck.

“Move and die, bastard,” Ersie growled.

Henry flinched, having not expected another person in the room. But his confusion didn’t last long.

“T’is nae me who should die, but that monster !” he said, driving his head back with force, hitting Ersie on the nose, and causing her to relax her grip ever so slightly.

That was enough for Henry to escape, but Laura moved to stand directly in front of him.

She lifted her chin, her voice as cold as ice. “The only monster I see here is ye. ”