Revenge (Book 3 of Lost Highlander series) Page 2

  “Who knows anymore,” Quinn said and Bella nodded in agreement. “But when word was sent to me that my brother had married one of the Glens, I had to get on my horse and see it for myself.”

  “I could barely believe it, either,” Bella said. “My father has threatened to sell me to one or another clan to form an alliance since I came of age. But no deal was ever good enough for him. He must have been well in his cups to have agreed to a union with the Fergusons. No offence to ye, but ye’re no’ exactly powerful or advantageous so far up as ye are.”

  “We do all right, lass, and prefer to keep to ourselves,” Quinn said mildly.

  “Except for when yer folk are raiding our cattle,” she said, flushing with indignant pride.

  Pietro cleared his throat and shifted his back against the rough bark of the tree he was leaning against. He longed to lie down and let the swaying treetops lull him into a hopefully pain free sleep, but something he was having a hard time keeping a handle on was at stake. And it seemed like someone was after them. He struggled to concentrate on the bickering pair in front of him.

  “All right, I can see your families don’t get along. Ye steal their cattle and your father is a megalomaniac that has been trying to marry ye off since ye were eighteen. I get it so far, but can ye try to stay on target? Remember my head’s already pounding.”

  “My father isna whatever ye just said,” Bella huffed. “And I’ve been on one bargaining table after another since I was fourteen. It’s a miracle I’ve lasted this long.”

  “Fourteen!” Pietro said, disgusted. Even taking into account the cultural time differences, that seemed plain wrong.

  “Were ye no’ betrothed to one of the Murrays a while back?” Quinn asked, scratching his stubbled jaw.

  “Aye,” Bella said with a shudder. “That was when my aunt saved me. She pretended an illness and I went to stay with her. Niall Murray didna want to wait for my return and married my third cousin instead. I had to stay away more than a year. My father was fairly distraught and threatened if I came back sooner I would pay dearly.”

  “Poor lass,” Pietro said, shocked that she told the story with nothing more than a slightly bored air. Apparently the story was just one of many attempts to marry her off for monetary or land gain.

  She gave him a searching look and when she seemed to decide he wasn’t pitying her, she edged even closer to him. Her proximity sent a soothing wave of warmth over him, calming his fevered shivers. When she noticed that he was trying hard not to shake, she took off her shawl and wrapped it around him. He relaxed gratefully into the soft wool folds.

  “When I was called back and told that all was well, I figured he had another suitor for me. When I found it was Galwain McGregor I admit I was well pleased about the match.”

  “Easy to manage, that one,” Quinn snickered. “And near his death bed to boot. I’ll say ye got lucky.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t disagree. “But then it all went to perdition when yer devil of a brother ruined my chances of finally getting some peace.” As she said the words, Pietro could tell the reality of her situation was beginning to hit her. She blinked away rapidly forming tears, but a few spilled over onto her luminous cheeks. “Now I’m married to a brute who is miles or years away and destined to be with a man I dinna even know.” Her voice broke on a sob and she angrily scrubbed at her face, wiping her hands on her dress. She looked up over her sooty, wet lashes at Pietro and smiled tremulously. “No offense to ye,” she said. “Ye’ve been verra kind.”

  A surge of strength coursed through him at her teary eyed gaze. He reached out and wiped away the last traces of tears, his fingers lingering longingly on her satiny skin. If only he could make her understand how much he loved her, that even though their situation was unfathomably strange, he’d never felt so sure about anything.

  Her eyes fluttered shut and she breathed out a sigh as he brushed his thumb ever so slightly against her full lower lip. With her breath, his headache started to recede to a dull ache behind his eyes. Touching her was like a miracle cure.

  “Aye, Lachlan has a way about him, does he no’?” Quinn said.

  As if his hand were a venomous snake, Bella recoiled from him, her attention drawn back to Quinn. She shook her head miserably and settled her shoulders.

  “What’s done is done, I suppose.” She glanced sideways at Pietro, who couldn’t drag his gaze away from her.

  The residual effects still lingered. He reached for his pack to get some food, taking out a small loaf of bread and wedge of cheese and placing them on a bit of linen in front of him. He gestured at the others to dig in, but Bella merely made a face and Quinn shook his head distractedly.

  “Lachlan can be verra persuasive, and yer father was glad to have the murdering scoundrel that was plaguing the countryside taken care of. Everyone loves a hero. So, I can see why he married ye to him, and I can also see why he may have seen the error of his ways once the first blush of the rose wore off, so to speak.” Quinn stood up and began to pace back in forth in front of them. “What ye say is true. We are no’ rich and our land is isolated, so no’ a great match. I can see why yer father would have been angry, but as ye say, what’s done is done. I dinna understand why he’s sent men after us, and with such obviously unfriendly intent.”

  Bella shifted uncomfortably next to Pietro and made to stand as well, but then settled in closer to him instead. Her arm brushed his and he leaned against her, gratified when she didn’t move away. He looked down at her and saw she was paler than ever, brown eyes clouded with apprehension.

  “Aye, about that,” she started, her voice small and wavering.

  Quinn stopped pacing and dropped down before her. “About what?” he asked suspiciously.

  She swallowed hard and Pietro could feel a tremor run through her. He put his arm around her shoulder and hugged her comfortingly. The fact that she didn’t pull away tipped him off that something bad was coming, and Quinn noticed it too.

  “What?” he demanded. “Do ye know why yer people are heading to my land with weapons drawn?”

  She whimpered and Pietro held up his free hand, motioning for Quinn to back off. “What is it, Bella?” he asked softly, glaring at Quinn for upsetting her.

  “When we arrived back at the castle everyone was talking,” she said. “Yer people may be more reticent, but mine are wicked gossips.” Heat started to rise in her face as she recounted what happened. “Everyone was all atwitter about my new husband being with that strumpet at the inn, and how beautiful she was, and how I didna keep him happy after only a fortnight of marriage.” She clamped her mouth shut, her eyes blazing with anger at the shameful memories. Pietro pulled her closer but she remained stiff in his arms.

  “We know that wasna the truth,” Quinn said in his best attempt to appease her.

  With a pained sound, she turned on him. “How many times has something hurt ye that wasna the truth?” she snapped. “And I didna know the whole story then. All I knew was servants were snickering and looking askance at me. I was verra angry when we first returned.” Her body went from rail stiff to a ragdoll slump and she let her head drop back against the tree trunk.

  “Ye were confused,” Pietro said, taking her hand and lacing her fingers with his. Feeling her smooth palm against his was fortifying.

  “Bella, lass, what did ye do?” Quinn urged after she continued to look mournfully up at the tree branches.

  Seconds ticked by in a long silent stretch, rife with tension, before she answered. “I told my father that the marriage was never consummated.”

  Pietro almost sighed with relief when he heard that was all that happened, but then he saw the open mouthed look of horror on Quinn’s face. His dark blue eyes radiated fear as he stared aghast at what Bella had just said.

  “Ye did what?” he asked in a choked voice.

  He had been squatting in front of her, trying to get her to look him in the eye, but now he sat back, crossing his legs in front of him an
d putting his head in his hands.

  “‘Twas only the truth,” Bella said, in a feeble attempt at defiance.

  Pietro could see she was miserable at having to admit what she had said to her father, and it was clear that Quinn was more than upset by it. As for himself, it seemed like a good thing. It would clear Lachlan’s name as a whoremonger and keep Bella from any gossip about not pleasing her husband. And, he liked that people would know he wasn’t really an adulterer, not that it should matter to him what anyone thought. But if any of this was ever to be sorted, he liked to think he could end up Bella’s husband and have a clean slate about it.

  “Did he believe ye?” Quinn asked. His voice was rising dangerously and he stood up to begin pacing again. The silence was almost unbearable. Quinn stopped his restless pacing and repeated his question. “Did. He. Believe. Ye.” Each word a staccato burst.

  “Aye, I believe he did,” Bella said.

  She shrank into Pietro’s embrace as Quinn threw up his hands and growled furiously.

  “Yer father believed ye when ye told him ye didna consummate yer marriage to my brother?” He stormed back and forth as he bellowed.

  “What is the big deal?” Pietro asked, pushing himself up and standing for a moment to see if he would fall over. Feeling confident enough to take a step, he reached out to try to calm Quinn.

  Quinn rounded on him. “I shall tell ye the ‘big deal’,” he said with a tortured laugh. “‘Tis that Bella’s father now believes that she and Lachlan are no’ legally married.”

  Pietro tried to understand, he really did, but he just shook his head and then stepped back in a hurry when it looked like Quinn might want to hit him. He’d taken enough punches in the last few days to last him a lifetime, and he was straight up done with it.

  “It means,” Quinn said slowly, as if to a child, “that Tavish Glen thinks we have made off with his only daughter unlawfully, and if I’m no’ mistaken, against her will.” He turned his glare to Bella.

  “I didna want to go with ye at the time,” she said. “I didna know the whole story, as I tried to tell ye. And I was angry and hurt. But Lachlan was yelling louder even than my father, and he just dragged me out of there before my father had a chance to think it through.”

  Pietro’s stomach sank as he finally realized what was happening. All her life, Bella’s father had regarded her as valuable property, using her as a bargaining chip and dangling her hand in marriage for years to try to gain power. If a generations long feud could continue over stolen cattle, what manner of justice would be meted out for a stolen daughter?

  “And after he thought it through?” Pietro asked, looking from Bella’s miserable face to Quinn’s near panicked one.

  He didn’t need to hear the answer. Men were on their way to the Ferguson farm, armed and raring for a fight. He was surprised to find his headache was nearly gone, only to be replaced with a hollow pit in his stomach. If they got what they wanted, which was ostensibly to have Bella back, he would lose her. Tavish Glen was a man who cared only for wealth and power, and Pietro had none of either. He had the clothes on his back, and even those weren’t right for this time.

  “I am sorry, now,” Bella sniffed.

  Pietro’s heart softened and he sank down next to her, gathering her close to him.

  “We canna go home,” Quinn said, looking to the sky for answers. Pietro had half a mind to take a peek to see if there were any up there. “My men will warn them to be ready. They are well prepared and should be able to hold them off or send them running home in defeat. I dinna like that there should be bloodshed over this though.” Once again he trained his gimlet glare on Bella.

  Pietro wanted to shield her from the angry recriminations, but he hadn’t thought there might be lives lost over this. He imagined … what had he imagined? Things were too different here. He had no point of reference for how something like this might be settled. However, it seemed Quinn was an expert at clan feuds. If he thought there would be bloodshed, he was probably right.

  “We could go back and I could try to explain,” Bella said, looking down when Quinn didn’t deign to answer that suggestion.

  “If Lachlan was here, it might be easier,” he said. He nodded at Pietro. “Can ye ride?”

  “Aye, I feel loads better, actually,” he said. “What are ye thinking? Shall we fight?”

  Quinn frowned. “Ye are in no condition to fight these men,” he said. “I think we shall go to my aunt’s house, west of here. I can get ye safely hidden there and figure out what’s to be done after that.”

  Pietro was rankled that Quinn didn’t think he could fight, and that he would stand being hidden away at a doddering old relative’s house. He set his jaw and carefully untangled himself from Bella, then stood up, getting toe to toe, if not exactly eye to eye with Quinn.

  “We should settle this, not run,” he said.

  He’d been in a war, was a fighter pilot in his own time. He understood duty and protecting his own. He was trained to fight and the thought of running and hiding settled on him about as agreeably as a moldy, wet horse blanket.

  Quinn merely took a step back and rested his hand on Pietro’s shoulder. “Too dangerous. Ye’re verra brave, but I can see how sick ye are still. Lachlan says I must keep ye two safe and together at all costs. There is nothing more important.”

  Well, that was all very nice. Nice and patronizing. It bristled Pietro that a man who had beat the living daylights out of him two days before was now dictating from afar what was best for him. Pietro shrugged off Quinn’s placating hand and took another step toward him. Damn the man for being so tall.

  “And do ye always do what your brother says?” he taunted childishly, hoping to get a rise out of Quinn so he would change his mind about fighting.

  Quinn just laughed and made a sweeping gesture around Pietro’s mincemeat of a face. Swollen eye, split lip and more bruises than normal skin tone, all courtesy of Lachlan Ferguson. “Ye’ve met my brother,” he said, turning to check the saddles.

  It was settled. To Pietro’s distaste, they would be running to Quinn’s aunt’s house. His half sister had been living there since she turned thirteen two years earlier, when their aunt had visited them and saw that the poor motherless girl needed womanly guidance, not to continue running roughshod over her two brothers, who couldn’t say no to her if a crossbow was pointed at their heads.

  After Quinn made his way stealthily to the road to make sure the warring party was long past, they set out toward the sea, tense and anxious. Pietro was grateful his headache was almost gone, but he was left weakened by the extremely painful episode, and the longer he rode, the more he worried he was heading for a relapse instead of a full recovery.

  Bella rode between the two men, keeping her head down, and was uncharacteristically quiet, not even complaining when the sun started to go down and Quinn refused to stop for the night. All in all, everyone seemed varying degrees of miserable.

  Chapter 2

  Piper turned off the hot water tap and looked at the full tub with almost carnal desire. Every muscle and bone in her weary body was screaming to get in and soak away all the pains.

  Lachlan came up behind her and started untying the laces from her beautiful, though somewhat worse for wear, eighteenth century gown. She would have it carefully cleaned and mended and either pack it up or send it to the village textile museum for display. As his fingers slid over the exposed back of her neck, she shivered with anticipation and leaned against his strong, chiseled chest.

  “Are ye glad to be home, my love?” he asked needlessly.

  Still she nodded, furrowing her brow. Eight months had somehow passed while they were gone, instead of the short few days they had actually been in Lachlan’s time. She didn’t want to dwell on all the time they’d lost, most likely due to her incompetence in casting the spell they used to time travel. She’d missed her best friend Evelyn’s entire pregnancy and birth of her first child, and now Evie and Sam had mysteriously broken
up.

  There had been so much hubbub surrounding their homecoming that she didn’t have the heart to make Evelyn rehash the breakup, so she didn’t have a clue what went wrong. And she couldn’t help but bitterly think she may have been able to keep it from happening if she’d been here.

  They’d only been in Lachlan’s time for three days! Why had they jumped so far ahead on the return journey? It was plaguing her, no matter how hard she tried to stuff it into the dark recesses of her mind. She was buzzing inside with a barely controlled anger, making it difficult to stand still as Lachlan continued freeing her from her gown.

  Once the dress was completely unlaced, he stepped away so she could let it fall in a puddle of brocade satin at her feet. She looked at it pityingly. It was too pretty to let it sit on the bathroom floor, but her spine probably wouldn’t let her lean over to pick it up. She still had half a dozen articles of clothing on and Lachlan was assiduously untying her corset with speedy fingers, knowing how badly she wanted to submerse in the steaming hot water of her oversized spa tub.

  Hurry, hurry, she thought, bobbing on her toes. She wanted the water to cleanse her of the terrible feelings she couldn’t shake.

  Finally, she was out of all her garments and she gingerly stepped out of the small mountain of cloth around her feet. Melting into the bath, she let out a lusty sigh as the hot water covered her and began to soothe the tightness in her muscles. If only the tension of her mind would be so easy to defeat.

  “I have never been able to make ye sigh like that,” Lachlan said, taking off his own clothes.

  Her cheeks prickled with rising heat and she hoped the steam of the bath water would hide her embarrassment. “I believe that statement to be untrue,” she said primly, enjoying the view as he pulled off his shirt, his kilt already tossed aside.

  His powerful muscles rippled under his taut golden skin, a dusting of black hair spread across his chest and tapered lower. Her breath caught in her throat and her chest constricted when he carefully peeled away the bandage from the wound in his side. Instead of the stitched up, jagged sword slash he’d received while trying to find his way back to her a week before, all that was there was a dark, raised scar.