Jack: A Scottish Outlaw (Highland Outlaws Book 1) (8 page)

Jack’s eyes passed over the comforts of the Redesdale solar. A massive hearth filled one side of the room. Colorful tapestries covered the walls. Elaborately carved, high-backed chairs, like the one he sat in, dominated the room’s center. Doubt gripped his heart. He would never be able to give Bella such comfort, not in ten lifetimes. Exhaling a quiet breath, he bowed his head and forced himself to relax. In front of him sat Lord Hugh Trevelyan, Isabella’s betrothed, and to his left, Lord Redesdale. Isabella’s father had glanced their way when Jack, Quinn, and Abbot Matthew had first entered his solar, but that was his only acknowledgment of their presence. His gaze remained fixed on the low burning fire. Given Lord Redesdale’s apparent apathy, Jack was not surprised when it was Lord Trevelyan who first addressed the abbot.

“Lady Redesdale’s carriage was discovered by Lord Widdrington who was marching to Dunbar. His messenger rode first to Berwick Castle where King Edward sits in residence. At once, the king ordered dozens of guards north to recover my lady and to find the beasts who butchered her guard; however, Lord Redesdale and I did not receive word of the attack until this morning. As far as I know, none of the villains have been caught.” Lord Trevelyan leaned forward in his seat and stared hard at the abbot. “That is all we know. Now, it is your turn. How came you to find Lady Redesdale?”

The abbot straightened in his seat. “Brothers from my order witnessed the attack.” He gestured to Jack. “Brother Peter was included in their number.”

Jack raised his gaze from the floor and locked eyes with Lord Trevelyan. Jack was a good judge of character, and as much as he wanted to despise the English lord, Jack could not deny his display of honor. Lord Trevelyan had treated the Scottish monks with every due respect. He was attentive to Lord Redesdale. He had even shown kindness to the servants who had arrived moments after they had entered with trenchers of food and ale.

Jack glanced at Quinn. He could not tell Lord Trevelyan the truth of Bella’s rescue. After all, they were supposed to be monks, not warriors able to charge on horseback through bands of criminals.

Jack cleared his throat. “We heard the attack from further down the road—”

“Why were you so far from your monastery?” Lord Trevelyan interrupted.

Jack fought the sudden urge to shift in his chair.

Abbot Matthew spoke before Jack could. “The road cuts through the outskirts of monastic lands, my lord. My fellow brothers were still within our boundaries.”

Lord Hugh nodded and gestured for Jack to continue. “When we heard the clash of blades, we circled back and hid among the trees, observin’ the struggle. The lady was pulled from her carriage, but she managed to escape into the woods. We rushed to her aid and retreated deep into the forest. They never found our trail.” The image of Bella’s near rape flooded his mind, but he forced the memories away. Neither her father nor her betrothed needed to know the great danger Bella had been in. “We returned to the monastery with Lady Redesdale. She was blessed to be free from harm. After she had rested, we set out to bring her home.”

Lord Trevelyan nodded. “She is subdued, I’m certain from the shock of the ordeal, but she is uninjured.” He frowned. “But I am afraid greater harm has been done. Rumors abound, claiming the attack was not the act of common thieves, but rebellious Scottish peasants. I fear this incident will be used to renew border violence.”

Jack pressed his lips together in a frown and thought back to the attack. “Their number surpassed twenty men, my lord. I must agree that this was no common raid.”

Lord Trevelyan shrugged. “But twenty is not so great a number if they were exiles. I’ve heard of such camps existing, outcasts and outlaws who’ve come together.”

Jack nodded. “Hidden within the northern forests are small villages of people as ye’ve described. Still, they would not tinker in so large a number, at least not in the day time—too many to hide away.

Lord Trevelyan expelled a long breath. “Then the rumors are true. Damn,” Jack heard him mutter. “Our borders have been peaceful for some weeks. I for one welcomed the respite from war.”

Jack moved to the edge of his seat. “I said it was no simple raid, but I can also tell ye they weren’t Scottish peasants.”

Brows drawn, Lord Trevelyan leaned back in his seat. “Are you suggesting, they were English?”

Jack shook his head. “Whether Scottish or English, I cannot say. But I’ve one certainty—they weren’t peasants.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Surprised, Jack turned to look at Lord Redesdale who had been the one to pose the question.

“The men who attacked your daughter’s carriage showed every physical sign of good health. They were men used to an abundant table. And the skill with which they fought belied their meager dress.”

Lord Redesdale did not reply. Once more, he shifted his gaze away from Jack to stare at the flames. A sadness stole into Jack’s thoughts. He remembered Bella telling him that following her mother’s death, her father had shut life out and her along with it. It was clear to Jack that Lord Redesdale had retreated into himself. But why? Jack knew the hardship of grief, but grief alone could not have taken Lord Redesdale from the world. Only shame held that power. But what shame did Bella’s father carry?

A knock at the door stole Jack’s attention.

A young maidservant opened the door after Lord Trevelyan gave command. She announced that the hour for supper had arrived.

~ * ~

Jack had never been inside one of the large fortresses within Berwick. When he had resided in the city, he had lived in a one room, wooden home, shared by himself, his parents, and his six siblings. Until now, he had never known that one could be inside and yet feel so entirely unconfined. The ceilings might have grazed the heavens they were so tall. Flickering candlelight resembled stars studding the night sky. After his captain’s ship would make port, he had often slept on board beneath the stars rather than returning to their cramped home. He closed his eyes and for a moment he was out there, once more on the sea, moving to the rhythm of the waves. His eyes flew open and followed ribbons of smoke coiling up from the central hearth, then out a vent in the roof. Already Bella had the sky—what could he give her? He fought to chase the self-doubt from his thoughts, but his heart felt heavy as his gaze shifted to the mantle place above the hearth, which bore a large shield with the Redesdale coat of arms. For a moment, he felt as though the grandness were closing in around him. He had no title to give Bella. He could not even offer her an honest name—Jack MacVie was a thief. He reached into the deep pocket of his monk’s habit and felt her soft handkerchief.

Quinn nudged him. “’Tis like a tomb in here.”

Jack raised a skeptical brow. “Ye’ve lofty aspirations for yer final restin’ place.”

“Look around ye,” Quinn whispered.

Jack’s shoulders stooped a little further. “Trust me. I have.”

“’Tis barren and cold.”

At first, Jack did not know what Quinn meant, but then he considered the empty tables and strange, almost eerie, silence. At the high dais sat only Lord Redesdale who had he not looked up from his plate since first taking his seat. Despite the warm fire and bright tapestries, the room was as Quinn had described, cold. Oppressive gloom pushed out life and laughter.

“’Tis no wonder she came lookin’ for ye,” Quinn said.

Jack raised his eyebrows at his brother. “She was attacked, her virtue nearly stolen, and then we kidnapped her. She did not set out lookin’ for me.”

Quinn smiled. “Aye, but she did find ye, and thank God above for that. She’ll suffocate in here.”

The arched doorway opened, stealing Jack’s attention. A manservant came into the room. “Lord Trevelyan and Lady Redesdale,” he announced, his voice echoing off the tall ceiling.

Jack tensed. This would be the first time he would look upon her since arriving in Berwick. Sweat beaded his brow. Their bench scraped the floor as he, Quinn, the abbot, and the other monks stood out of respect for the lady of the house. Jack pressed his lips tight to silence the snarl that fought to be released as Isabella appeared in the doorway on Lord Trevelyan’s arm. Her olive skin stood out in sharp contrast against the white of her fitted wimple. Sweeping down from her elaborate headdress were layers of silken veils. He sought her gaze as she passed by, but her eyes remained downcast. His eyes followed her across the length of the great hall and then to the high dais where she sat next to her betrothed. At once, servants brought them ale and one trencher of food to share.

He stared at her, willing her to look his way, but she kept her gaze aloft. She looked out the windows, at the hearth, anywhere but at him. He clenched his teeth while Lord Trevelyan leaned close to whisper something in her ear. She smiled at first and then laughed outright. Her gaze held warmth when she looked at her betrothed; he could see her affection for him even from across the room. Lord Trevelyan looked up then and locked eyes with Jack. A friendly smile played at the lord’s lips. He stood and raised his cup high. “I drink to the health of the good Benedictine Brothers. Thank you for your aid in restoring Lady Redesdale back to her family.” He took a long sip from his cup, then placed a hand on Isabella’s shoulder. “Have you kind words you wish to bestow upon our humble yet heroic company.”

Jack held his breath and waited for her to turn his way. His heart hammered in his ears while she kept her silence. At last she started to look up, but it was not Jack’s gaze she sought. She shook her head, looking up at her betrothed. “I have nothing to say.”

Jack’s nostrils flared. Her rejection cut deep.

“Brother Peter,” the abbot said quietly, leaning past Quinn to look at Jack. “Yer face has gone from red to purple. Remember the robe ye wear. A monk does not look with daggers at his host.”

Jack shifted his gaze to his food and took a deep breath. ‘Did ye eat my pigeon pie?” he whispered accusingly to Quinn.

“Wheest, Jack,” Quinn whispered. “Get a hold of yerself. Pigeon pie was three courses ago.”

Jack leaned back while a servant removed his untouched plate and set yet another course in front of him. The waste provoked his ire to new heights. He pushed the bench back and stood. It was either leave that very moment or reveal the truth of his identity by behaving in the most unholy manner. Another second within the hall while she dangled her lord and her wealth in front of him and he was going to storm the high dais and beat Lord Trevelyan to within an inch of life.

“Brother Peter,” Quinn hissed, but Jack ignored him and convention all together. He rose and stormed around the table and straight out the door. He had come for Bella but she was nowhere to be found. In her stead was the Lady Redesdale, cold and confined, and of no interest to him.

Isabella fought to conceal her panic as she watched Jack storm from the great hall. “Brother Peter must be ill,” she said to Hugh, maintaining a casual tone. Hugh stood and offered her his hand. “See that his needs are met, but do not stay away long.” He kissed her hand. She dipped in a low courtesy and walked calmly from the high dais, despite how she longed to race after Jack, which is just what she did the instant after the door to the great hall shut behind her. She tore down the hallway and out into the courtyard. Scanning the shadows, she strained to glimpse his silhouette in the darkness.

“Brother Peter,” she called when he passed under torchlight near the stable doors.

He stopped but did not turn around. She rushed to his side and grabbed his hand. “You must allow me to explain myself,” she said, pulling him into the stables.

He followed her but then jerked his hand free from her hold and crossed his arms over his chest. “Ye’ve already said enough.”

Torchlight from the courtyard cast a dim glow inside the stables. She could just make out the stony set to his lips and the hard glint in his dark eyes. She swallowed the knot in her throat. “But I have said nothing. I could not speak to you, not in front of Hugh and my father.”

He threw his hands up. “Of course ye couldn’t. How could the great Lady Redesdale condescend to address a commoner?”

She grabbed the front of his robe and pressed herself against him. “I dared not look at you or speak to you in front of them,” she hissed. She held her breath, her heart aching in her chest. She stared up into his midnight eyes. “I was afraid they would guess my feelings for you.” His shoulders and face softened.

“Bella,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her.

She leaned into him. Her body flooded with warmth.

“Bella,” he said louder, his voice hoarse. He crushed her against him, his gaze boring into hers. “Say it, Bella.”

Her heart quaked. Breathless, she wrapped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes. “I’ve fallen in love with you, Jack.”

Her breath hitched when his lips claimed hers. She melted into his strong arms, his scent surrounding her. Desire burned through her veins, but her conscience fought against the flame. She pushed him away, shaking her head. “Please, help me, because I cannot.”

He reached for her, drawing her back into his arms. “Ye can’t marry him,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers.

A chill passed through her. “But I do not wish to hurt him. He is my friend and a good man.”

“Too good,” he growled, jerking away. The stony set to his face returned, causing her chest to tightened, but then he expelled a long breath. She watched his shoulders loosen. Slowly, he stepped back and leaned against the stable wall, closing his eyes. She ached to touch him, but her feet remained fixed to the floor. He continued to keep his gaze from hers. Her breathing quickened. She fought to swallow the painful lump that had gathered in her throat.

His eyes slowly started to open. He looked at her though half-closed lids. “I never dreamed of a woman like ye. I wouldn’t have dared.” Shivers shot up her spine at the sight of his sideways smile. He took a step toward her. “As selfish as it may be, I want ye to be mine.”

Tears stung her eyes. “Then take me.” She gestured toward one of the stalls, her heart pounding in her chest. “Steal my father’s horse and grab me as you once did. Ride away and do not stop until we’ve reached the Highlands.”

He refused her plea with the slightest shake of his head. Her hands flew to her face. She did not want to abandon her family, but she could not imagine a life without Jack in it.

“Where is my Bella,” he whispered, gently tugging her hands away from her face. His soft question inflamed her desire. She wanted so much to be his. She gasped as his fingers stole beneath the edge of her wimple. A soft cry tore from her lips as he pulled, ripping the fabric asunder. At once, his fingers dug into her hair. He crushed his lips against hers. She groaned, wrapping her arms around his neck, fighting to bring their bodies closer, pressing into his hard strength while she savored the taste of him. Then suddenly he tore his lips from hers. “I love ye,” he said, his voice hoarse. He cupped her cheeks between his hands and stroked his thumb across her lips. “Runaway with me,” he breathed.

In her heart she already had.

Reaching up, she laced her fingers behind his neck. “I choose love,” she whispered. “I choose you.”