Chapter Nine
CHAPTER NINE
Glasgow
Two Months Later
S he hadn’t seen a blue sky since she left Blackrock.
Funny how she had gotten used to a gray sky and constant storm clouds, heavy and bleak and mirroring the hopelessness that she felt. Her freedom from Blackrock had not included a scenario where she wasn’t completely and utterly happy. The future she’d hoped for was full of drink and music and laughter, of spending her days lounging in a mild breeze and her nights wrapped up in Luke’s arms.
But that hadn’t happened.
It had been an incredibly difficult lesson to learn when Emilia realized the life she had hoped for was not the life she was going to get. Fleeing her parents and marriage to Darien dun Tarh two months ago had been exciting and liberating, and she’d had high hopes that everything from that point forward would be perfect. Luke had promised her a wonderful life, a life of love and happiness, but all she’d managed to get from him was hardship and heartache.
And it had only gotten worse.
Unfortunately, she realized her mistake just a few short days after reaching Glasgow. She and Luke had spent two weeks running from her father’s men, dashing all over the Highlands and hiding in little villages, hoping to escape his clutches. Her father had been persistent in trying to find her, but fortunately, she recognized the men he sent so was able to avoid them. She and Luke had moved from Inverness to Elgin, and then south on small roads until they reached Perth. From there, they continued south and decided not to settle in Edinburgh, because she was positive her father would look for her there. More than that, Darien, her betrothed, was part of Robert Stewart’s court, and they met in and around Edinburgh.
She didn’t want to be seen.
So, they moved west, to Glasgow, that foul-smelling pile of humanity that was just this side of Hell. The city had a reputation for being dirty and full of disease and crime, so in order to throw her father off the scent, she and Luke had settled in a city where she was certain her father would never look for her. Fergus knew that Emelia would seek out a fine city with fine lodgings and fine taverns and markets, and that meant Edinburgh this far north. Of course, they could go further south to Carlisle or to Berwick, but that would take them into England, and neither one of them wanted to go into that vile country.
Therefore, Glasgow was to be their home.
Within a day or two of arriving, they realized that they didn’t have the finances to keep them afloat in the style in which they were accustomed to. To be clear, in which Emelia was accustomed to. Luke didn’t care. They had spent a lot of their money on their flight south, spending it in fine taverns and paying off the owners so they would throw Moriston men off the scent if they came too close. In fact, they’d spent far too much money bribing proprietors and, eventually, paying a hefty donation to the church in Perth so that the priest would marry them without parental permission. Emelia made the mistake of telling the priest that her parents were still alive, and that had caused the man to falter when it came to performing a wedding mass. About half the money they had with them had somehow cleared the way, and they were legally married.
But it wasn’t a happy marriage from the start.
Two days in Glasgow and Luke found work down at the River Clyde, offloading merchant vessels and other manual labor. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it was something, and within the first few weeks, they realized that Emelia needed to find a position as well. Since she had never worked for money a day in her life and the only servants she really knew were the ones she had commanded, there really wasn’t much she could do, but the tavern where they ended up every night lost a serving wench one evening because she got caught in a fight between two patrons. The girl ended up with a broken arm and a battered body, and, seeing an opportunity, Emilia asked the owner if she could take the girl’s position. Because she was well spoken and had all of her teeth, the tavern owner agreed.
The place was called The Lion’s Head, and that was where she found herself working six days a week for tips. She wasn’t paid anything by the tavern itself, so every cent she earned was strictly from patrons grateful for the service she provided. The tavern was heavily visited by seamen off the River Clyde, so they weren’t rich by any means. All they wanted to do was eat and drink and perhaps share the bed of one of the wenches if the price was right. Since Emelia was married, and against her usual nature, she’d declined to jump into bed with them, but she wasn’t beyond letting them grope her breasts or stick a hand up her skirt in exchange for a few coins.
Things that Luke didn’t know about.
Quite honestly, letting men take advantage of her was completely normal for Emelia. She didn’t care if they wanted to play with her breasts—some of them even wanted to suckle on her, and she would wait, bored, while they put their mouths on her nipples and stroked their male member until it became hard. She wouldn’t touch them if they asked her to because, in her world, a man was there to merely service her, so they would grope her and suck on her until they were satisfied. Then they’d pay her—sometimes well—and she would go back to work and find another man who wanted to fondle her buttocks or lick her thigh. For a high price, she’d even go into a corner and let them feast on the flower between her legs, but only if it was a very high price.
Luke was blissfully unaware.
Because he spent all of his time down on the riverbank working like a Roman slave, he never had the time to come to The Lion’s Head to see what his wife was doing. Luke worked seven days a week with hardly a break except at night to sleep, so he didn’t have time to see what Emelia was up to. All he knew was that she brought in more money than he did, so after four weeks in Glasgow, they were able to move out of the tiny room they had been letting in a merchant’s house down near the river and take possession of a small domicile in the city. It was a three-story building, and they were able to procure a three-room dwelling on the second floor.
It wasn’t as nice as the single chamber that they had paid for in the merchant’s home, but it was all theirs. The floors leaned and the ceiling had chunks of plaster that had fallen away, but at least they didn’t have to depend on the merchant for food and shelter. They were able to buy a small bed, and Luke found a broken table and an empty lot a couple of blocks over, something he was able to repair so at least they had a place to sit. There was a wheelwright in the city who built furniture, and they were able to purchase a couple of chairs and a stool and a few other things to make their new dwelling livable.
Emelia was hoping that things were finally looking up a little. Their new living arrangement wasn’t terribly bad, but they discovered the walls leaked when it rained and the fireplace in the main room didn’t function correctly. The thing spat out smoke as much as it evacuated it, and in lighting a fire, one risked being smoked out of the place entirely.
But still, they were together.
At least, that was what Emelia kept telling herself.
The truth was that marriage to Luke hadn’t been anything she had imagined. All he did was work, and when he came home, he didn’t want to talk. He wanted to eat his supper and then he expected his wife in bed, where he would ravage her until he fell asleep on top of her. Then, when morning came, he would get up and go to work again. And that was the only time she saw him.
And then it happened.
Her menses stopped.
Emelia wasn’t stupid. She knew that constant coupling would produce a child, eventually. She’d been pregnant once before, but her mother had taken her to an apothecary who gave her herbs and potions, and she’d passed the child away in a couple of days. She didn’t want this child, either, even if it was her husband’s, so she’d asked the tavern owner’s wife about an apothecary, and the woman steered her to an old man near the cathedral. A very old man who smelled of onion had given her a coltsfoot pessary and told her to insert the pessary into her womb and submerge herself in hot water for as long as she was able. Luke had come home to her submerged in a half-barrel lined with tar that served as their place to wash. He wanted to know why she was taking a bath, and she told him.
That had started the brawl.
He wanted a son. She didn’t. They’d gone around and around until he finally left before sunrise. That had been two days ago. The coltsfoot pessary hadn’t done its job yet, so she’d gone back to work and made a fortune from a fat, slovenly merchant who just wanted to suck her toes. He’d sucked every one of them and given her a pound for each. By the end of the night, Emelia was wildly rich and she’d only had to let the man touch her feet, but the other serving wenches at the tavern knew what she’d done, and how much money she’d received—and before she left near midnight to return home, they’d taken broomsticks and beaten her unconscious. They took most of her money, and as she staggered home that night, bruised and beaten, she lost the baby in the gutter by her house.
For Emelia, Glasgow had been one hell of an adventure so far.
And not a good one.
It was of lost children and an uncertain future that Emelia was thinking of this night as she gazed from the window overlooking the street below. This street had the distinction of having cobblestones, but the gutters ran thick with human and animal excrement and dirty water. The smell was horrific sometimes, when the mist hung low to the ground and kept the stench from dissipating into the sky. Tonight was another of those misty nights, and she’d chosen not to return to The Lion’s Head, knowing that she’d probably endure another beating because now the wenches were on to her scent. She’d never liked them anyway, and they’d never liked her, but they’d never taken her money before. Now that they knew they could, they’d do it again.
She couldn’t go back.
The night watch had lit the torches along the avenue, making it so it wasn’t entirely dark as the evening settled in. Emelia was watching the street below, the limited traffic on it, thinking she’d have to go look for another position soon. Although she’d made good tips at The Lion’s Head, she was a spender. If she had money, she would spend it. The three small rooms she shared with Luke were full of things she’d bought from the Street of the Merchants. Not because she needed them, but because she wanted them.
Fabric, trinkets, slippers, perfume, hairbrushes, hairpins, expensive linens for the bed, pillows, and more besides. Emelia also bought food, prepared in the tiny chamber that had a hearth for cooking and shelves that held things like flour and baskets of dried fish and dried fruit. There was even a little glass vessel she’d purchased from a woman down by the river that contained honeycomb. Emelia had a sweet tooth, and it was nearly her only comfort these days.
Comfort in a life that had gone awry.
So, she sat by the window, the glass vessel of honeycomb in her lap as she picked at it and watched the fog. She was thinking about eating some of the bread and cheese from the morning’s meal when she caught sight of a familiar figure walking through the mist.
Luke was approaching.
Quickly, she moved off the windowsill and pulled the oilcloth tight. There was a weak fire in the hearth and she swiftly stirred it, watching the flame flare, before rushing into the small chamber to put her honeycomb back on the shelf. Reaching into the basket on the floor, she pulled forth the bread wrapped in a cloth and a hunk of white cheese. Just as she put them on the small table, she heard a knock at the door. Brushing off her hands, she went to answer it.
After she threw the bolt, the panel slowly creaked open.
“I wasna sure when ye’d return,” Emelia said, standing back as he entered. “Where have ye been?”
Luke was covered with filth. That was usual from his job down on the riverbank, but this level of dirt was different. As if he’d been sleeping in the gutters. He smelled like it.
“Where’s the ale?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
Emelia went into the small chamber and emerged a few moments later with an earthenware pitcher. Luke grabbed it from her and drained whatever was left, but when it wasn’t enough, he angrily threw the pitcher into the hearth. The flame flared up as bits of alcohol sprayed.
“Why did ye do that?” Emelia demanded. “Now I will have tae buy another one!”
Standing in the middle of the chamber, he cast her a long look. “That shouldna be too difficult,” he said. “Ye spend all of yer money as it is. Ye make more money than I do, but ye’ve got nothing tae show for it. Ye spend yer money and mine as well.”
Emelia thrust her chin up. “’Tis my money,” she said. “Why shouldn’t I spend it?”
Luke rolled his eyes and turned away, plowing into the small chamber they used as a kitchen and, seeing bread and cheese on the table, beginning to devour it.
Emelia followed.
“Answer me,” she said. “Where have ye been for two days?”
Luke’s mouth was full of bread. “Where have I been?” he muttered rhetorically. “Ye could say I’ve been in the city. In fact, I went tae The Lion’s Head looking for ye. I wanted tae smooth things from the argument we had about the bairn, but ye weren’t there.”
Emelia shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “I dunna work there any longer.”
“So I was told.”
“Did they tell ye why?” she said with some anger. “The women there beat me and stole my money. Look at the bruises they gave me. I willna go back there!”
She held out her arms, showing him the damage, but he was still eating. He didn’t even look at her.
“I know how ye made the money,” he said. “They were more than happy tae tell me. Ye let some man suckle yer toes, did ye?”
Emelia shrugged. “He paid me a pound a toe,” she said. “We would have been rich had those selfish cats not stolen my money. Will ye go back with me and beat them if they dunna give it back?”
He snorted, finally turning to her. “They also told me that it’s not the first time ye’ve let a man touch ye,” he said. “Is that where ye’ve gotten all of yer money, Emelia? By letting men who aren’t yer husband touch ye?”
The fact that the same women who robbed her had told her husband just how she’d earned her money gave her pause. It never occurred to her that they would tell him. In fact, Luke had never been inside The Lion’s Head since she started working there, so she had been confident her secrets were safe. But looking at his expression, she could see that wasn’t the case. He knew, and he wasn’t happy.
Cornered, she had no choice but to go on the offensive.
“’Tis yer fault,” she said. “If ye were a man, I wouldna have tae earn money tae begin with.”
He scowled. “What do ye mean by that?”
“I mean ye havena asked my da for my dowry!” she spat. “I’ve told ye tae do it, but ye delay. That’s money that belongs tae ye, yet ye let my father steal it from ye!”
“He’s not stolen it from me.”
“Ye’re a weak man, Luke Cannich,” she said. “Weak and worthless!”
His jaw tightened. “Ye’ll never speak like that tae me again.”
“Then do something about it,” she said angrily. “Demand the money from my da!”
His jaw twitched dangerously. “Do ye understand that if I do that, he’ll know where we are?” he said. “He’ll send men after us. He could arrest me and charge me with thievery at the very least. We must wait until the situation calms down and he’s more willing tae forgive. Then I’ll demand it.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “That’s pure cowardice.”
“How is that cowardice?”
“Ye never mentioned this before ye talked me intae running off with ye,” she said. “Ye never mentioned that we’d go out on our own and ye’d turn intae a coward that canna stand up tae my father and demand his due. Our due.”
She wasn’t entirely wrong. He’d been so caught up in seducing her for the money and title that the reality of their lives after they ran away hadn’t really occurred to him. He thought they’d simply hide out and drink until the fuss was over. But Emelia spent money like it was water through her fingers, and soon her flaws began to outweigh her attributes. Their rosy life together wasn’t so rosy, and he’d begun to realize what a mistake he’d made. By then, however, it was too late. They were married.
God… What had he gotten himself into?
“Ye know that running off the way we did could land us both in chains,” he said. “I stole ye from dun Tarh. If he wants tae bring the law down on me, he can. Do ye think Darien isn’t out looking for us, too? I’d rather be caught by yer father than by him.”
“So ye’ll let my da keep the money?”
“Unless ye want tae be caught, we canna communicate with him.”
“I want the money that belongs to me!”
Luke stared at her before shaking his head, turning away in disgust. “And that’s all ye ever want,” he muttered. “Money. Since we left Blackrock, all ye’ve spoken of is money. Money and drink and excitement.”
“What else is there?”
“For ye? Nothing, evidently. I see ye for what ye are.”
“And what’s that?”
“A whore,” he said, turning to look at her. “A whore for money, a whore for men. Ye were betrothed tae one man, yet ye gave yer affections tae another—with me. I always knew what ye were, but I thought marrying ye for the title and money would be worth the price. How wrong I was.”
Her mouth flew open in outrage. “How dare ye say such a thing about yer own wife!”
He shook his head, this time with more resignation. “I only married ye for the money,” he said. “Dunna tell me that ye dinna know. Evie’s the beauty, not ye. But that much money can make any woman beautiful, I suppose.”
It was a hard-hitting blow, one that was difficult to hear, but one that didn’t surprise her. Deep down, Emelia had known it all along. Only Eventide had the beauty and manners that men wanted. Sweet, pretty Evie. That was why she hated her sister so, why she was glad to take her betrothed away. But now the philandering pair found themselves in a stewpot where they could no longer conceal the truth, unpleasant as it was.
She had some truth of her own.
“Since we’re being honest, ye should know that I only married ye so my sister couldna have ye,” she said. “Ye’re as stupid as a log, Luke Cannich, and ye’re only good enough tae work in the filth of the riverbank. Ye’re such a failure that yer wife has tae earn money so ye can eat.”
He looked at her sharply. “I told ye not tae say that again.”
“Or what?”
He looked her up and down. “I canna strike ye because it risks my son,” he said. Then he cocked an eyebrow. “Or is it my son? Mayhap it’s another man’s child. I wouldna be surprised if it was.”
She smiled thinly. “Ye needn’t worry about that,” she said. “The babe is gone. After the beating I took, yer son ended up in the gutter when I pissed him out. Good riddance, I say.”
Luke stared at her a moment before smiling. It was a strange, empty smile. “I am relieved tae hear it,” he said. “I dinna want a woman like ye tae mother my son. He deserves better.”
Infuriated, she picked up the nearest object, which happened to be the knife used to cut bread and cheese. Wielding it as a weapon, she went after him, but he was fast. Luke dashed into their main chamber, where they lived and ate, pushing Emelia away when she came too close with the knife.
“Get out,” she snapped. “Get out or I’ll kill ye.”
He didn’t take her seriously. “And destroy someone who brings ye money?” he said. “Ye’d never do such a thing.”
She slashed at him with the knife, catching him on the elbow. It drew blood. Angry, Luke charged her and, as she screamed, wrenched the knife from her hand. He tossed it back into the kitchen chamber as she slapped him with her hands and tried to kick him in the shins. Luke simply walked around the chamber, dodging her, before finally pushing her away. He pushed a little too hard, and she ended up on her behind.
Furious, she leapt to her feet.
“Ye’re a worthless brute, Luke Cannich,” she said. “I dunna know why I ever agreed tae run away with ye. Ye’re not worth the spit in my mouth!”
Luke managed to stay out of her range as she tried to hit him again. Now, he stood over by the window that faced the muddy, misty street, watching her coil herself up in preparation for charging.
“I suppose we could go back home and lie tae our families,” he said casually as she built up a head of steam. “We can tell them we weren’t married. We can make up a story as tae why we ran off together. Mayhap we can tell them ye were captured by pirates and I ran off tae help ye. But knowing how ye are around men, no one would believe it. They’d know ye ran off with the pirates quite agreeably. Maybe ye let them suck yer toes, too.”
There was a shout on the street below, which caught his notice. He made the mistake of taking his attention off Emelia by turning to the window and lifting the oilcloth to see what was going on. Furious with his slander, she chose that moment to charge at him, ramming into him with all of the strength in her body. Her arms were flailing, slapping at his head. Luke went to grab part of the window to keep himself from falling forward, but the old wood crumbled in his hand, and, without any way to stop his fall, he pitched out of the window and fell on his head and shoulders on the cobblestones below.
He was dead when he hit the ground.
Emelia’s momentum nearly had her falling also, but she managed to catch herself. On her knees, her head hanging from the window, she could see Luke’s lifeless body below. With a shriek, she scrambled to her feet and flew out of the flat, rushing down the rickety old stairs and into the misty night. Running to Luke as he lay on the ground, she rolled him onto his back only to see that he had an enormous knot on his head and the right side of his face was damaged. He also seemed to have a broken right arm. She listened for a heartbeat but couldn’t tell if she heard it. She couldn’t even tell if he was breathing.
She was positive that he was quite dead.
Shocked, Emelia stared at his body, realizing she’d killed the man. She hadn’t exactly meant to throw him out of the window, but it had happened. She’d done all she could to make sure it happened.
Now, she was a murderess.
Panic-stricken, Emelia stumbled to her feet and ran back into the flat. Self-preservation consumed her—she had to get away before Luke’s body was discovered by the night watch. They’d figure out what happened and come to the flat with the broken window overlooking the street.
That would lead them to her.
Her!
Emelia wasn’t going to let anyone punish her for this. Luke’s death was an accident. Sort of. But she knew she’d be blamed. The only thing she could do was flee, to run home. She didn’t know where else to go or what else to do. She’d be forced to beg her father’s forgiveness and tell him a story— any story—that absolved her of whatever sins she had surely committed. Running away with her sister’s betrothed? That was a sin. Therefore, she had to think of something that didn’t put her in the wrong.
Anything at all.
What if…
What if Luke had abducted her? Had forced her into marriage? Surely Fergus would believe that, wouldn’t he? Surely he would forgive her for leaving, because her father always forgave her, for anything she’d ever done. Any transgression. Emelia was his heiress and she could do no wrong. He’d forgive her this time. She was sure of it.
But first, she had to get out of there.
She ran off and left Luke where he belonged… in the gutter.