Highland Temptation Page 2

  He’d kill them all. She should hate herself for putting Sir Colin and the others in danger. She’d admired the Highland Knights for a long time now, Sir Colin in particular. He was quiet and stoic, strong and self-assured. Those adjectives might describe an automaton, but Colin was anything but. There was an edge to him, a rawness in his gaze that showed her he was human, perhaps more human than anyone she’d ever known.

  She didn’t hate herself—she couldn’t, because she was acquainted with all the Highland Knights from their months of guarding her father, and she trusted them. Not only to take care of themselves when faced with danger, but to protect her as well.

  Still, she knew her father. He was the most insidious, conniving person in the world, as far as she was concerned. He could fool anyone.

  Sir Colin had left the room, but she sensed that he was close. He’d said she was safe now, and he wasn’t one to renege on his promises. He would ensure her safety for as long as he could.

  “You’re bleeding,” Lady Claire said with a gentle touch to Emilia’s waist. Emilia nodded.

  “May I remove your bodice and take a look?”

  Emilia nodded again. She knew it was bad. It hurt terribly, and the blood was sticking the fabric of her dress to her raw skin like glue.

  She sat as forward as she possibly could on the edge of the sofa while Lady Claire undid the hidden buttons at her side—Emilia was surprised she’d managed them at all. She’d been in such a state when she’d donned the dress, shaking so hard, she’d hardly been able to slip the buttons through their holes.

  Claire gently unwrapped her dress until Emilia’s torso was completely bare. She wasn’t wearing stays or a petticoat or even a shift. She hadn’t thought about it until now, when she was naked before someone who wasn’t her lady’s maid. Heat suffused her face and chest, but it was quickly overtaken by pain as Claire tugged her dress from the raw flesh of her back.

  Claire didn’t gasp or suck in a breath, for which Emilia was thankful. Instead she simply asked, “You were whipped?”

  “Yes.” Emilia said nothing more, for what else was there to say?

  “You have scars. This has happened before.” Claire’s words were flat. Emotionless.

  “Yes.”

  “I have some salve, which should soothe the pain,” Claire said. “Then I’ll wrap it. We’ll change the bandages once a day and add medicine until the wounds have healed.”

  Emilia nodded.

  “You can sit like this while I work, or lie on your stomach. Whichever you prefer.”

  “This will do.”

  A few minutes later, Sir Robert brought in some warm water. She only remembered him vaguely, because he hadn’t guarded her father as much as the other men had. But she knew who he was. The Highland Knights referred to him as “the major,” which was in honor of his military rank, though he was no longer in the army. He had been a military hero and had married Lady Claire, an earl’s daughter, a few years ago. From the way the other Knights spoke of him, he was a man to be respected and admired.

  Emilia leaned forward, her arms wrapped around her chest, and breathed carefully, refusing to allow herself to whimper as Claire tended to her. Claire worked briskly but meticulously, first using warm water and a soft cloth to clean the wounds, then rubbing a soothing cream over them. Using a sturdy roll of wide linen, she bade Emilia to stand and wrapped the linen around her torso several times. Finally, Claire helped Emilia into the nightgown the major had left with Sir Colin at the door. The nightgown fit her perfectly, and she realized that she and Lady Claire were nearly the same size.

  “There now.” Claire threaded Emilia’s arms into a robe made of soft blue muslin before leading her back to the sofa and sitting her down. Then, smiling, she knelt before Emilia and cleaned her face with a warm, damp cloth. When she was finished, she asked, “Better?” and Emilia nodded, thankful the other woman had remained quiet throughout the ordeal. Emilia felt less out of control now, calmer. But she didn’t want to talk. She wasn’t ready.

  “I’ll be right back.” Claire rose and went to the door, and Emilia heard her speaking in low tones to the men outside. She heard only snippets of their quiet conversation. Phrases like “mustn’t press her” and “exhausted” and “be gentle.”

  Emilia waited, staring down at her hands clasped in her lap, the knuckles white. After a few moments, Claire returned, followed by Sir Colin and the major. Sir Colin sat beside Emilia as he had before, his presence solid and calm, and she relaxed fractionally.

  “Can you tell us what happened, milady?” the major asked.

  She shook her head. “No…please, I…can’t.”

  Eventually, she’d probably need to tell these people about what her father had done—was doing. But not tonight. Not yet. She was too raw, emotionally and physically. She hoped they would understand.

  The major sighed. “All right.”

  “You will stay here with us tonight,” Sir Colin said. “You’ll be safe here.”

  She nodded, almost smiling. Because where else did he think she could go?

  “We can give her the corner room.”

  “Aye,” the major agreed.

  “You’ll feel better after some sleep,” Claire said reassuringly.

  “What time is it?” Emilia asked. She had no idea. The whole night was a blur.

  “It’s after two,” Claire said.

  Emilia blinked, surprised at the lateness of the hour.

  “Put your arm around me and I’ll help you up.”

  She did as Sir Colin instructed, and he bore most of her weight as they trudged upstairs to the bedchamber at the end of the corridor. The room was large and simple, with its own sofa situated across from a narrow bed.

  “I…” Emilia swallowed hard against the panic that welled in her throat. She looked desperately at Sir Colin. “Am I to sleep here alone?”

  “Aye,” he said. “But it’ll be all right. We’ll have men posted at all the entrances and exits for the rest of the night. You’ll be safe.”

  She started trembling as he led her to the bed. She knew how to sleep on her stomach after one of her father’s beatings, but here alone in this cold, foreign place, with no idea of what tomorrow might bring…

  She shook harder. Her breaths grew short and choppy, and though she clenched her fists, there was no way to hide her shudder.

  Sir Colin noticed it first. He sat beside her at the edge of the bed, somehow tucking her against his body. “There now,” he soothed. “It’ll be all right. I promise, lass. It’ll be all right.”

  Lass. No one had ever called her that before. It reminded her of Sir Colin’s Scottishness, and for the first time tonight, she focused on his kilt tartan, the pattern consisting of blocks of light reds and grays with a thin yellow stripe. Before she could stop herself, she reached out and touched the wool over his thigh. It was warm and soft, and she rested her hand there.

  Sir Colin froze for a moment, then his arm tightened around her.

  “Will you…” She swallowed, trying to will away the huskiness of her voice and get her breath under control. “Stay with me? Please?”

  She sensed more than saw him glance at Lady Claire and the major. After a short pause, he said, “Aye, of course.”

  She exhaled in relief, her chest loosening almost instantly, finally allowing her lungs to take their fill of air.

  Lady Claire cleared her throat. “You will sleep on the sofa, Colin. I don’t want you…er…disturbing my patient’s injuries.”

  “Aye,” Sir Colin said mildly.

  Emilia didn’t mind. Sir Colin would be close. She’d lie on her side, and when she opened her eyes, she’d see him and know she was safe.

  “Get some rest, milady,” the major said. “We’ll speak more in the morning.”

  She nodded tightly. She didn’t want to think of the morning, of the impossibility of the future.

  “I’ll fetch you a plaid, Colin.” Claire exited and returned mere seconds later with a thick
plaid, which she fashioned into a bed of sorts on the sofa.

  Sir Colin thanked her, and Lady Claire and the major left, closing the door behind them. Emilia and Sir Colin were alone again. She looked up at him, giving him a tentative smile. “Thank you for staying with me.”

  “ ’Tis no trouble.”

  He helped her onto her side and under the covers. Then, to her surprise, he lay beside her. “Sometimes,” he said softly, “when someone is near, it makes everything more bearable. I’m right here beside you, lass. I’ll watch over you this night, and nothing bad will happen, because I’m here.” He put an arm around her middle and drew her gently against him. He was warm and strong, and all her tight, overtense muscles seemed to melt at the contact.

  “I’m so tired,” she said on a sigh.

  “Sleep, then.”

  So she did just that.

  Chapter 3

  “I’m going to kill him,” Colin said.

  The Highland Knights were gathered around the breakfast table early the next morning, and Colin and the major had brought the others up-to-date on the events of the night before. Lady Emilia still slept, the ladies of the household watching over her.

  “That might be a wee bit rash,” Ross said.

  Ross, with his curly red hair and fiery temper, was the rashest of them all, so his statement made Colin snort. But before he could respond, the major stepped in. “Aye, you’re right,” he said to Ross before turning back to Colin. “We need to ken why this happened, why she came to us. Then you can kill him.”

  “Some men will use any excuse to beat a woman,” Laurent said. The dark-haired young Frenchman was the only one of them who wasn’t a Highlander and who hadn’t served in the army. Trained as an English spy, Laurent had perfected the art of slipping in and out of conversations and collecting people’s secrets without being suspected. His ability to pass without notice was in direct contrast to the rest of the Knights—all large and intimidating kilt-wearing Highland warriors who couldn’t enter a building without everyone inside immediately noting their presence. “She might have blinked wrong at him, for all we know,” Laurent added.

  “Aye,” the major said, “that’s true. But…there’s something different about this.”

  Colin shook his head. “I’m not so sure about that. I didna tell any of you this, because it didna seem important at the time. I encountered her walking several weeks ago.” He would not share the circumstances of that particular walk. The demons had been grabbing at his very lungs—when he’d encountered Emilia he’d been sucking in air, certain he was going to perish.

  “And?” McLeod asked.

  “Something about what she said gave me an uneasy feeling. I told her our house would always be a safe place to her. That if she ever had any trouble, she should come to us.”

  “And obviously she met with some trouble last night,” Mackenzie, a broad-chested warrior, said, scowling.

  Colin was glad none of his fellow Knights were taking this lightly. None of them could bear the thought of violence against women. It was such a relief to be among like-minded men. To have the opportunity to fight side by side with them, to call them his brothers.

  “Aye, but I feel there’s more,” the major mused. “Something else has happened, something she didna wish to speak of. Last night was different. She’s been beaten before, but—”

  Colin rounded on the major. “How do you ken that?”

  The major’s jaw twitched, and his eye glistened like hard blue gems. “Claire saw scars in the same location where she was beaten last night.”

  Colin shot out of his chair. “That’s it. I need—”

  “Calm down, man.” Standing, McLeod laid a restraining hand on his arm. “We must learn the details of what happened. We must see if there’s anything more to it than the bastard having violent tendencies toward his own child.”

  On Colin’s other side, Mackenzie also stood, placing a hand on his other arm. “Aye, he’s right. There might be more to it.”

  “We need to talk to her first,” Ross said. “Hear her story.”

  “Nay,” the major said. “We dinna need to talk to her. It’s clear she trusts you, Stirling. You must talk to her.”

  Colin’s lips went tight. “Aye. I’ll talk to her.” He’d get answers about what exactly had happened. What had prompted that bastard to hurt Emilia.

  Then he’d kill the man.

  —

  Emilia had risen to find Lady Claire on the sofa, her legs tucked comfortably beneath her as she slowly turned the pages of a book. Sir Colin was nowhere to be seen, so clearly Claire had been assigned to watch over her.

  Claire had wished her good morning, then urged her onto her stomach so she could check the wounds on her back. “They’re already healing,” Claire assured her, then said she’d return in a few minutes with a dress for her to wear.

  Moving slowly and gritting her teeth against the ache in her back, Emilia stood and went to the looking glass that was set over a small table near the door. She looked terrible. Her hair, far too curly and always incorrigible, was a rat’s nest framing her face. Her skin, usually pale and clear, was blotchy and red from all the weeping.

  She flinched. These people must think her a horrible ninny. Looking down, she blinked hard, the tears pressing against her eyes as if seeking freedom. Not this time. She had no choice. She was here, and she needed to be brave. She needed to find the strength that had brought her this far and hang on to it.

  A hairbrush lay near a basin filled with water. She dipped her finger inside and found that it was still warm. She washed her face and then took up the brush and began the painstaking process of working through the tangles in her hair.

  She’d barely conquered the first of the tangles when Lady Claire returned, along with a maid. “I brought you a chemise, too, but I don’t think you should be wearing stays until you’ve healed a bit more.”

  Emilia nodded, and the two women helped her out of the nightgown and into the chemise and a white muslin wrap dress with cap sleeves and scalloped edging at the hem. Then they had her sit while the maid went to work on her hair.

  Half an hour later, Emilia felt mostly human again. Her hair was twisted at her nape with a few curls fashionably framing her face. The dress was cut well and didn’t readily reveal the fact that she wasn’t wearing stays.

  Lady Claire, who’d been chatting away to Emilia as if she didn’t realize Emilia hadn’t said a word since she’d risen, grinned at her. “You look lovely, my dear.”

  “Thank you.” They were the first words Emilia had spoken since last night, and they emerged scratchy and halting.

  Lady Claire’s smile was so kind. Perhaps she didn’t think Emilia was a horrible ninny. Perhaps she understood what Emilia was going through, although Emilia knew that Claire’s father could be nothing like her own.

  She shuddered.

  “Are you cold?” Lady Claire asked. “I’ve a shawl for you, if you like.”

  Emilia shook her head and stared down at her lap, her mind working on the problem at hand. The Highland Knights would have questions. How much should she tell them?

  How far could a daughter go in betraying her father? Her own flesh and blood? His very life could depend on her words, on how much she revealed. If he were killed as a result of them, would she be a murderer? Guilty of patricide?

  Lady Claire patted her arm. “All right. Would you like me to bring you a tray, or do you want to go downstairs for breakfast?”

  She thought of the Highland Knights—if it were only Sir Colin there, she’d hurry down right away. But it wouldn’t be just him. It’d be all the Knights. They’d look at her with pity in their eyes and questions on their lips. She’d have to face them at some point, but she simply wasn’t ready.

  “May I have a tray?” she asked, her voice hollow and cracking.

  “Of course.” Lady Claire nodded at the maid, who slipped away. “I’ll stay with you until you’re ready to venture out. But this is a sma
ll room and I imagine you’ll wish to leave it eventually. Until then, you must tell me how you enjoy spending your time. What do you like to do when you’re cooped up in a tiny room?” Lady Claire’s blue eyes twinkled with her smile.

  “Well…” Emilia chewed on her lip. “I draw.”

  “Oh, do you? What do you like to draw?”

  “Landscapes, mostly.” Forests, more often than anything else. Forests in which she always imagined herself hiding within the trees.

  “Well, none of us in the house is artistic, so we have no appropriate drawing tools. I’ll have someone fetch you some supplies right away.”

  “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

  Just then, there was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Claire called.

  The door opened, and the large body of Sir Colin filled the doorway. Goodness, he was a handsome man. Last night he’d been wearing just his kilt and a linen shirt. He’d had a rough, piratical look about him, his shoulder-length hair loose and his cheeks dark with the scruff of an evening beard. Today, however, he looked official, in a silver-buttoned waistcoat and Argyll jacket, a snow-white cravat tied neatly at his neck. A black leather sporran adorned his kilt. His cheeks were freshly shaved and his hair had been combed and tied in a queue.

  He bowed. “Good morning, ladies.”

  “Ah, Colin. Here you are,” Claire said.

  Sir Colin turned to her. “Would you mind if I spoke to Lady Emilia alone?”

  Claire didn’t answer right away. Instead, she looked at Emilia. Trying to get in enough air through her tight throat, Emilia nodded. “Very well.” Claire knelt down and kissed Emilia’s cheek. “Your breakfast should be here soon. I’ll be in the upstairs sitting room with the other ladies. If you need me, you mustn’t hesitate to call.”

  “Thank you,” Emilia pushed out.

  Throwing her a final reassuring smile, Lady Claire strode out, leaving her alone with Sir Colin, who clasped his hands behind his back and gazed at her.

  “You’re looking lovely this morning, milady,” he said quietly.

  Heat instantly suffused her cheeks. “Thank you.”