The Stench of Blood #2
Dawn broke the night sky as the party made ready.
Sorcha waited with Gellie, the two balancing atop a small stone wall in preparation to climb onto their respective mounts.
Andrew arrived, grumbling loudly from lack of sleep, and as Gellie hopped behind him, a swift, strong arm enclosed about Sorcha’s waist, startling her from behind.
The next moment, she sat in Alec’s lap once again.
“I can ride behind ye,” she protested, a little too keenly aware of his hard thighs and chest.
“Ach, what bothers ye so?” he asked lightly.
What could she tell him? That she found his nearness just a wee bit unsettling? ‘Twould only stroke his vanity. Instead, she clamped her mouth shut.
“For what sane reason must we leave at the crack of dawn just to be nearer to Lady Margaret?” Andrew groused as Taran pushed past them.
They watched as the ordinarily stoic highlander gave a sudden battle cry of “Tulloch Ard!”, and startling the rising fowl in all directions, set off at a hard gallop, riding low over the neck of his horse.
The younger Montgomery shook his head. “Aye, what’s got into him now?” he asked, sourly.
Alec laughed. “He’s a Mackenzie, lad. That’s enough, aye?”
They set off at a brisk pace, trailing behind Taran. And as the morning progressed, the day turned bright and the sun warm. It was a welcome change from the downpour of the days before.
The ride was pleasant and relaxing, trotting over miles of grasslands dotted with sheep, and their only company, their own shadows, running along the ground beneath them.
By noon, they had crossed into the dappled light of a forest, and as they neared a break in the trees ahead, Alec bent down to place his cheek next to Sorcha’s and say, “Through those trees lies Lainshaw.”
A jumbled mix of emotions met this statement, but foremost, a sense of urgent regret. “I must tell ye of this Alec of Lainshaw—” she began.
He shocked her into silence with a kiss, a soft brush of the lips against her temple.
“Dinna fret over him, aye?” he chuckled, his chest reverberating with laughter as he drove his horse on.
Lainshaw was much smaller than Mugdock, an unassuming castle surrounded by dark pines and composed of a large, square tower house with stone-corbelled turrets, a lesser tower, and a guardhouse with latticed windows.
Sorcha swallowed, wanting to confess her foolishness, but there was no time.
In moments, they’d clattered into the cobblestone courtyard and reined their horses in front of the tower house.
Tossing his reins to a lad, Alec dismounted and reached up to swing her down as several giggling children sprinted past, chased by two friendly hounds.
She opened her mouth, attempting to confess yet again, when a man wearing a Montgomery plaid strode out from the tower house with the carriage of someone important.
“Ho there!” he called, lifting his hand in greeting.
Sorcha panicked. Was he the Alec of Lainshaw? She shot a worried glance at the Alec standing by her side, but his face had relaxed into a welcoming smile. Clearly, he knew the approaching man, and judging by their remarkably similar looks they were obviously closely related.
“Ach, the state of ye, lad,” the man said with a bear of a laugh, arriving to give Alec a fond clasp on the shoulder. “Ye’ve fair flummoxed me with that message of yours, now.”
Suddenly, Gellie appeared at Sorcha’s side, grabbing her wrist and squeezing it tightly. “Curtsey,” she hissed.
Confused, Sorcha curtsied as bid, and then caught the unwelcome sight of Lady Margaret and her grim-faced maid approaching.
Wearing a red-velvet kirtle and a double strand of pearls around her neck, Lady Margaret looked almost regal, walking in mincing, ladylike steps and holding her head high.
But there was something unusual about her face.
When Sorcha had met the woman before, her eyebrows had been nearly non-existent.
Now, they were thick and full, but her left one drooped at an odd angle.
At her side, Gellie couldn’t help but stifle a giggle, despite the terror she had of the woman.
Hastily, Sorcha looked away as Andrew joined them.
“The finest of mouse-skin eyebrows,” the lad remarked, loud enough to draw Lady Margaret’s attention. “Fresh caught this morning, I’d wager.” His lips split into an unrepentant grin.
Sorcha’s eyes widened in alarm.
Lady Margaret’s brows snarled into a frown, causing her dangling brow to dip even more. Unaware of her errant accessory, she came to a stop in front of Sorcha and Gellie, bestowing the most frigid of smiles. “Tell me, where is my bed?”
Seeing that Gellie was at the point of sudden tears, Sorcha bit the inside of her lip but valiantly forged ahead to explain, “The cart couldna pass the roads—”
A resounding smack met Sorcha’s cheek, striking her head back and down. She hadn’t seen it coming. Tears of pain burnt her lashes.
There was a sudden scuffle and, gritting her teeth, Sorcha braced herself for more, but when nothing happened, she lifted her eyes to see Alec angrily suspending Margaret’s arm in midair.
“Unhand me, knave!” Margaret hissed.
“Knave?” Alec growled down at her. “’Tis a loving way to speak to your husband’s brother, aye?”
Sorcha froze. Just what had he said?
Lady Margaret attempted to twist away, but Alec held her fast. Furious, she demanded of the man who’d greeted them, “Robert? Order your brother to unhand me at once!”
Brother? Robert? The man was the Montgomery earl? And Alec … his brother?
Alec was the Alec of Lainshaw?
Oh, what a fool she had been—a fool of the highest order.
Sorcha wanted to melt into the ground and disappear, but she couldn’t even move. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Alec as he stood there, staring at Lady Margaret, or rather her errant eyebrow, and saying nothing.
With a slow, reluctant step, the earl joined them. Clearly, he saw his wife’s strange decoration, but didn’t see fit to mention it. Almost as an afterthought, he muttered, “Let her go, Alec.”
Alec arched a challenging brow, still holding her hand high. “Nay, I’ll not, not until she swears she’ll lay no hand on Sorcha ever again.”
Sorcha’s heart began to pound.
The Montgomery earl’s brows furrowed. He graced Sorcha with a quick glance of confusion, but as his gaze fell to the red Cunningham plaid, his expression chilled.
“In this matter, my good nature can only stretch so far, Alec.” He shrugged.
“She’s of Margaret’s clan, is it not so? She’s a Cunningham.”
“Nay, she’s a lass,” Alec countered heatedly. “And she deserves no such mistreatment.”
Shock descended on each face around her then.
After a moment, the earl groaned. “Ach, Alec, truly?” He made a sound of outright disgust. “Are ye bedding a Cunningham now? When will this folly of yours end?”
The man stood there, seemingly unaware that he’d insulted his own wife.
Apparently, Taran didn’t mind drawing attention to the fact. For the first time, the highlander inserted himself into the conversation with a sardonic, “The king should be pleased Alec’s improving clan relations by following in his brother’s footsteps, aye?”
Robert glared at his cousin, but it seemed the mention of the king set his mind on a different track. “Aye, I’d send ye straight back to Stirling, Alec, only the king wants no sight of ye now—not after your gall in rejecting the match he’d sanctioned.”
Alec’s lean jaw clenched. “Say what ye will, Robert, but I’ll have Sorcha harmed by no one,” he replied, doggedly persisting. Turning a hard gaze down upon Margaret, he addressed her directly, “Ye’ll not raise a hand to her again, do ye hear, woman?”
Lady Margaret looked like she wanted to spit on him but settled for twisting her lips and answering with the barest of perceptible nods.
Expelling a breath, Alec let her go. “I’m the one who sent your accursed bed back to Mugdock,” he divulged, anger tinting his green eyes.
“Ye’ve no grounds to hassle the lasses about it.
And I’d say ye should be fair ashamed that ye sent such a frail old man to his death over it. Pray for your soul, even.”
That stunned Margaret and her rage vanished. “Tinker?” she asked, shaken. Apparently, she cared somewhat for the old man, enough to feel guilt, anyway.
“Aye,” Alec informed her coolly.
Her bony bosom heaved. Then drawing herself up, she replied, “Then as your sister in marriage and lady of this house, I bid ye come to the hall, and I’ll see ye fed after your arduous journey.” It wasn’t an apology but more of a distancing, treating one who should be kin as a stranger.
“Aye then.” Alec nodded.
Lady Margaret flicked a hard gaze at Gellie and Sorcha.
“Get ye to the laundry. The both of ye will stay out of my rooms until I see fit otherwise.” Her gaze lingered longer on Sorcha, and there was a wealth of hate in her eyes, but gathering her skirts in one hand, she spun on her heel and grandly swept away.