Page 26 of The Highlander’s Auctioned Hellion (Auctioned Highland Brides #4)

“Are you all right, my lady?”

Lydia glanced up at Hannah, her maid, watching her in the mirror with a look of concern.

“Yes, quite all right. Are you finished?”

“Almost, my lady. Would you like the lavender brooch today?”

Lydia looked at the deep purple gown about her shoulders. Kristen had cut it so that it was just touching her collarbone, and it was a beautiful shape. Her sapphire necklace sparkled at her neck.

She nodded.

“Yes, I think so. It was Mama’s, and I shall have to bid her farewell today.”

“She is leaving with young Tommy, already?” Hannah asked.

“Callum does not think it is safe for them to remain here.”

Hannah nodded. Lydia had given her a small amount of detail on what had occurred at the wedding. Her poor maid had been beside herself at the time, believing they would all be murdered by a marauding mob.

The whole house felt as if it were on tenterhooks. The servants were unusually silent as they moved through the halls, and there was a sense of anticipation in the air.

Lydia would have given anything for her mother and brother to stay by her side, but there was a part of her that was relieved they were leaving.

I do not want them to be in danger.

She rose from her seat, heading downstairs. As she reached the bottom, she heard a quiet laugh behind her and turned to find Tommy, playing with the kitten beneath an arched doorway.

He had a piece of fabric in his hand. It looked like the ones Kristen had gifted her. Trailing it along the floor, Raven leaped after it excitedly, his little claws coming out to grab at it.

Tommy looked up, and a bright smile spread over his face as he saw her.

“Mama says we can get a kitten when we are back in London.”

“I said nothing of the kind,” her mother said, approaching from a side door as she frowned down at Tommy. “I said I would ask your father.”

Tommy’s smile faltered, but he picked up the kitten and hugged him to him fondly.

“Where are Eilis and Amy?” Lydia asked, and Tommy pointed to the dining hall. They all made their way through to find the girls sitting with Alexander, eating their breakfast.

Amy looked tired, as if she had not slept well. Alexander, too, had dark circles beneath his eyes from keeping watch all night.

“Tommy, give Raven back to Amy, now,” Lydia said. “I am sure she will let you play with him again when you next visit.”

Amy beamed at her as Tommy handed over the little black bundle of fur.

“Are you leaving?” Amy asked Tommy, who nodded solemnly.

“But I will come back,” he insisted.

“He says it is to see me, but I think it will simply be to see the kitten,” Lydia whispered to the girls as they giggled together.

She turned to her mother, and she embraced her fiercely.

“Be careful, my love,” the Duchess murmured. “Look after yourself and those girls.”

“I will.”

Tommy waved goodbye to Eilis and Amy, who followed them out to the front of the castle.

Her mother’s carriage was already waiting by the gates, a bright blue sky behind it, banishing the rain that had dogged them since their arrival.

“Write to me when you return to London,” Lydia said, looking behind her as Callum’s huge form appeared at the entryway.

At least he has come down to bid them farewell. I wondered if I would see him at all today.

Callum approached, looming above them all. He always looked larger on the outside of the castle among ordinary folk.

Lydia smiled as Tommy stuck out his hand to him, as if they were old friends.

“Goodbye, Laird Murray, thank you for letting us stay,” Tommy said politely, and Callum shook his hand with a very serious expression.

“Ye are welcome, Master Tommy, ye take care of yer mother won’t ye?”

“I will,” he said, climbing into the carriage. Her brother was being very brave, but once the door shut behind them, Lydia could see the tears forming in his eyes.

“It will not be so long until I see you again,” she said, and Tommy leaned out of the window, waving as the carriage moved off.

They watched it all the way down the path toward the hills in the distance. Lydia sighed sadly, missing them both already, but when she turned to Callum, his expression was grim.

Alexander was on alert behind her. Neither man was watching her mother’s carriage any longer, and Lydia stiffened, following the direction of their eyes.

From the other direction, another carriage was approaching. It was black with a team of four horses in front of it and held a crest that Lydia did not recognize. Behind it rode several men wearing armor, their swords gleaming in the sunshine.

“Summon the guards,” Callum said to Alexander, but before he had finished his command, seven or eight guards appeared at the entrance, their swords drawn.

“Is it Moira?” Lydia whispered.

Callum’s jaw worked angrily as he watched them draw closer.

“Aye, that is the McCarthy crest.”

Callum drew the girls toward him as they all watched the carriage approach. Lydia could feel the tension rolling from him in waves and watched nervously as the men on horseback fanned out behind the carriage as it made its way to the entrance.

There were ten of them, but the castle was well defended.

Surely, McCarthy does not mean to start a war.

Lydia held her breath as the carriage came to a stop. Every guard dismounted, the horses snorting. They were large beasts with deep black eyes, their flanks steaming from the long ride.

Callum didn’t move; his eyes fixed on the door of the carriage.

Lydia knew that she should be more concerned about the armed guards, but a part of her could not tear her gaze away from Callum. She could not help but wonder about his relationship with Moira.

She was a beautiful woman; she had seen so herself when she had seen the portrait in the gallery.

Is there really nothing between them?

The carriage door opened, and a large man with a portly belly stepped down. He was wearing a long cape of thick fur, looking about him as if the land he stood upon was his own.

Behind him, a pale hand emerged, held expectantly, as Laird McCarthy took it between his thick fingers.

A blonde head appeared, with a veil hiding much of her hair. The pointed, sharp features were narrow and elegant, but held a cruel edge.

Lydia waited for Callum to greet her, for him to move at all, but he said nothing, his body rigid with tension, fists clenched.

Lydia felt a shiver pass through her. If she had ever seen a man look at another person with pure hatred, the look on Callum’s face encompassed it completely. She had never seen such an expression on his face before, and she hoped she never would again.

Moira stepped down, resplendent in a dark green gown that hugged her slender figure. Unlike Callum, whose attention had moved to McCarthy, Moira only had eyes for the Laird.

“What dae ye want, McCarthy?” Callum asked, his voice booming out effortlessly across the quiet lands before them.

As one man, every guard behind him took a step forward. Behind McCarthy, his men mirrored the movement, and Lydia’s heart began to beat wildly in her chest.

A tiny hand touched her own as Amy reached for her, and Lydia held her tightly, trying to reassure her in a world that was falling apart.

“I have come for my grandchildren,” McCarthy said. He had a strong accent and a pompous, plummy voice that did not carry as well as Callum’s. Lydia had to strain to hear him.

“They arenae yer concern any longer,” Callum spat. “Or did yer daughter fail to mention that she abandoned them, leavin’ them to fend for themselves?”

Moira gave a high, coquettish laugh, stepping past her father. She showed no fear, her eyes fixed on Callum and never wavering, not even to acknowledge her daughters.

“Abandoned them?” she asked, her lip quivering. “I was wracked with grief. I needed some time alone to gather myself. And now I have come to claim them.”

Callum had said she was an accomplished actress. Lydia could see it now, how weaker men might be manipulated by her warm smiles and fluttering eyes. But there was cruelty there, too. A strain in her features, her fingers holding a white-knuckled grip to her skirts.

“Ye arenae welcome here,” Callum said firmly. “Leave me castle and ye willnae have to face the consequences.”

“Eilis, Amy, come here,” Moira’s voice was sharp, echoing against the walls around them.

Eilis was standing closest to Callum and gripped his leg more tightly, while Amy wrapped her arms around Lydia, almost toppling her over.

As she struggled to keep her balance, Moira’s eyes snapped to her. There was a moment when the pale blue eyes were venomous. They narrowed, as she ran her eyes over Lydia’s figure, a smirk on her face.

“Girls!” she barked again, but Amy only tightened her grip.

“We dinnae want to go with maither!” Eilis piped up desperately. “We want to stay with Uncle Callum and Lydia.”

That got Laird McCarthy’s attention as the older man seemed to acknowledge Lydia’s presence for the first time.

He scowled.

“Ye would rather spend yer time with some stranger, than yer own maither?” he asked mockingly. It was a cruel tone to have with a grown adult, let alone two girls of only five years old.

“Listen to yer maither,” Laird McCarthy continued. “Ye will come back with us now, stop ditherin’ and get in the carriage.”

Two guards stepped forward and unsheathed their swords. The high shing of metal echoed ominously around the space, the two sides poised for attack.

Lydia could hear the blood pounding in her ears.

They cannot fight here. What will happen to the girls? They will be taken anyway, having witnessed things no child should ever see.

Callum’s hand went to the hilt of his sword, and Lydia instinctively reached out, holding her breath as she put a hand against his arm, pulling him back gently.

It was one of the hardest things she had ever done, but she would not allow the girls to watch as blood was spilled on their behalf.

“They are scared, Callum, all that will come of this is more pain,” she murmured, the words leaving an unpleasant taste at the back of her throat.

She looked down at Eilis and Amy, their upturned faces filled with fear.

There must be a way we can stop their mother from taking them. Violence cannot be the only path.

But when she looked up at Moira, she knew that it was a false hope. Her expression was half triumph, half fury, her eyes fixed on Lydia’s hand, touching Callum’s arm.

The woman is mad. After everything she did, she still believes there is something between them.

Callum looked to Lydia, his mouth pursed, jaw working. His shoulders were completely still, the veins in his arm thick and prominent where he clutched his sword.

“Ye’ll let us take the girls,” Laird McCarthy muttered. “If ye dinnae want them to witness the murder of their uncle and their beloved Lydia.”

Callum glanced around the space, his eyes wide and searching as though looking for any way to prevent what was about to happen.

The castle was well defended, but any fight would end in bloodshed, and Lydia knew he would wish to avoid that if he could.

Lydia could feel Callum’s pain as the realization dawned. Moira was the girls’ rightful family. There was nothing they could do.

“Go to yer maither,” Callum whispered, and Amy’s little arms tightened all the more on Lydia’s legs.

“Ye cannae let her take us, uncle,” Eilis whispered.

“She is yer maither, ye will go with her. I have nay choice.”

There was a long silence, and then, Eilis moved.

She let go of her uncle’s legs and stepped forward, one hand held behind her, summoning her sister.

Lydia swallowed back tears as the two tiny girls walked across the space. They were surrounded by armored men, vulnerable and small in the face of such brute strength.

They came to a standstill in front of their mother.

Moira lowered in front of them, stroking her hand awkwardly across their cheeks before she stood up again, gripping their hands and yanking them back by her sides.

Laird McCarthy stepped forward, flicking back his cloak as he met Lydia’s gaze and spat onto the ground at her feet. Callum stepped forward, as though to strike the man down where he stood.

“Careful, Murray. Ye willnae win this fight. Dinnae ye see we have already won?” Laird McCarthy sneered.

Callum looked at him, his gaze black with rage.

“All I see is a dead man.”