A Midsummer Wedding_The Scottish Relic Trilogy Read online

  But the plan was shite anyway. Nothing was working. She might as well turn around right now, climb back up that muddy hill to the castle, and put on her wedding dress. What madness had caused her to think any of this could possibly work?

  And what a delightful way to start their long, long, long life together. They weren’t even married yet, and she’d already lied to him. Told him she was someone else. Damnation.

  She needed to face it. She needed to tell him the truth. If there were no options and she was going to marry him, she simply needed to accept her fate—pirate husband, hovel in the Highlands, death as a hunted sow, and all.

  “Mam . . . Mammy . . . Mam!”

  Elizabeth’s head came up as two wet and muddy urchins ran up and attached themselves to her legs. She leaned down and looked into their dirty faces.

  “What’s the matter? Have you lost your mum?” she asked gently, looking around, hoping the real mother was nearby.

  A young lass, perhaps a head taller than the two appendages still clinging to her, hurried over. Instead of dragging them away, however, the girl took her hand, nearly tugging her off her feet.

  “Come home, Mama. Himself is waiting, and you know how he is.”

  “What? Who is waiting?” Elizabeth asked, finding herself being pulled toward an alleyway. She looked over her shoulder at the Highlander. “These children must be lost. Let me see if I can help them find their—”

  The rest of the words were lost as a lean hand clamped on to her arm and turned her around. “Blast you, wife. Why are ye not at home? And what are ye doing nuzzling with the pirate?”

  Elizabeth gaped up into the soot-smudged face of a tall, wiry blacksmith.

  “But . . .” she managed to blurt, “but I’m not your wife.”

  “Don’t ye be starting with that. We’ve been through this afore, ain’t we? Now, stop shaming us and get ye home.”

  She glanced at the Highlander, who was looking on with surprise at what he surely must see as a mistake unfolding before him. The three children continued to tug on Clare’s skirts and cloak, crying out and making demands. The man claiming to be her husband was wearing a heavy leather apron, and the grip on her arm testified to his trade.

  “Let me go,” she cried.

  Rather than releasing her, the man began to drag her away.

  Elizabeth could not understand how this was happening, but it was clear enough that she was in dire straits. She looked back in desperation at Alexander Macpherson. He was standing with his hand on the hilt of the dirk sheathed at his belt, looking at the children and villagers who were beginning to crowd around him.

  “Do something, Highlander. Please! I’m not his wife.”

  No one seemed willing to get involved, Macpherson included. He was simply standing with a look on his face that she could not decipher.

  When two of the castle’s guards suddenly appeared at the edge of the throng, Elizabeth dug her feet in and cried out to them. The crowd grew silent and parted, but the men made no attempt to approach.

  “Help me,” she begged. “You know me. I’m one of queen’s ladies-in-waiting. Tell this man to let me go. There is something gravely amiss here.”

  The guards looked at each other, and Elizabeth thought they actually looked amused. Fury and indignation began to crowd out her fear. When they all got back to the castle, she’d make sure there would be hell to pay.

  “Your name, lass?” one of them asked, holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the rain.

  Elizabeth gaped at them. They knew her. They surely knew her. But she couldn’t say her name. If she said it now, the Highlander would hear, and all would be lost.

  “Clare . . . Clare Seton,” she responded more quietly than she’d cried for help.

  The guard looked at her and shook his head. “We saw Mistress Clare at the abbey just now. Can it be there are two of you?”

  The queen assured her that the guards would be there to protect her. That they would be told of the plan. Something must have gone wrong. Had she been set up by her own friends?

  Over the heads of the crowd, Macpherson was watching attentively, standing as still as a bronze statue. She heard laughter from some of the throng around her.

  The smith was still holding her arm. The rain continued to pour down, battering at her face. Struggling against his grip, she felt cold fear wash down her back.

  Her gaze darted back to the Highlander. A look of suspicion had edged into his features. He was clearly waiting for her reply to the guard’s accusation.

  It was no use. The ploy hadn’t worked anyway. She had to give it up. Speak the truth.

  “Very well,” she finally called to the two castle men. “I’m Elizabeth Hay. You know who I am. Order this man to release me.”

  The guards moved off before she finished speaking

  “Where are you going?” she shouted. “Help me. Stop!”

  The horror that came with the realization that they were not going to help her lasted only a moment. The panic that replaced it instantly turned her blood to fire.

  Turning on the blacksmith, she struggled, trying to wrench her arm free.

  The man’s grip slipped and she fell backward, skidding along in the mud and scattering a half-dozen sheep. But there was no time for escape. The smith had a hold on her again before she could even get her feet under her.

  When he pulled her upright, Elizabeth saw that the road had erupted in a brawl. The Highlander appeared to be fighting the entire village. Two brutes who’d been waiting for the trouble to start were Macpherson’s primary foes, trading blows with him while village women and children swarmed around him.

  The world had gone mad.

  “The de’il,” the blacksmith muttered, his eyes wide with panic. “What now?”

  Suddenly, he was dragging her toward the river as fast as he could go, and Elizabeth realized she was getting farther and farther from the only person who could help her. Screaming for the Highlander as she fought to get free, she saw him disappear beneath the mob and the two huge men.

  Her abductor stopped only when they reached a boat, tied to a stake at the edge of the flooding river. The three children pretending to be hers were gone. It was now just Elizabeth and the blacksmith, if that was truly what he was. No one would ever know what became of her.

  The smith shoved her into the boat, and she sprawled in the bottom, stunned by a knock to her head as she landed. Before she could react, he’d pushed off and leapt into the boat himself.

  Even as he struggled against the wind to get the oars into the locks, the fast-moving current was carrying them away from the shore and quickly downriver. The boat rocked and shuddered in the raging waters, which poured in over the sides.

  Furious with herself for thinking lies and trickery would succeed, Elizabeth cursed her decision to go along with the queen’s plan. What was happening was simply divine retribution. She’d been out of her mind, and she was now paying for it.

  Chapter Five

  She was no blacksmith’s wife.

  The panicked woman’s scream cut through the roar of the wind and shouts of the villagers keeping Alexander from getting to her. And that was exactly what they were doing. Not fighting him as much as holding him back while the sooty scoundrel dragged Elizabeth away.

  And she was Elizabeth Hay. Even though they’d never met before today, she matched every description he had of her. Besides, he could easily imagine some bored court chit doing something this outrageous—pretending to be someone else just to meet him covertly.

  But why they had to venture out in a gale was still a mystery.

  “Help me, Highlander,” she shrieked over the caterwauling and the weather.

  Whatever was going on, the blacksmith was dragging her out of sight toward the river.

  Enough of this.

  With a roar, he tossed a clinging assortment of villagers clear of him. One of the two bruisers in the mob came at him. Alexander’s fist connected with the square jaw and the
monster went down. Shoving the next attacker into the advancing crowd, he ran for it, jumping across the shafts and traces of a donkey cart and racing in the direction of Elizabeth’s cries.

  As the flooded bank of the river came into view, Alexander saw the boat carrying the blacksmith already out in the raging current. At first, he saw no sign of Elizabeth, but then the top of a golden head appeared above the gunwale.

  The gusting rain blasted his face like needles as he ran along the water’s edge. The boat was spinning out of control. The smith was clearly no waterman. They were far from shore and about to disappear around the river’s bend.

  Alexander knew this waterway. Looping through the low, flat land beneath the castle, it quickly grew wider between here and the Firth of Forth. Turning his back on it, he cut across the bulge of land formed by the loop of the river. Moments later, he reached the bank once again.

  The boat hadn’t yet come into view around the bend. Branches of trees, barrels, and whole sections of a dock or a bridge floated by. A battered coracle flipped and skidded across the surface, carried by the wind. The storm was so wild now that he couldn’t even see the other riverbank. Without hesitating, he dove in and began pulling himself into the middle.

  As his strong strokes carried him through the churning, wind-chopped froth of brown, Alexander realized this was yet more confirmation that she could be no one but Elizabeth. Their upcoming wedding was big news in Stirling. Someone had clearly decided to kidnap the bride, assuming that Alexander would pay handsomely to recover his future wife.

  Whoever was the brilliant mastermind behind the plan obviously didn’t think it through very well. After all, he was the pirate Alexander Macpherson; he was the one who demanded payments. The Black Cat of Benmore paid no one.

  Swimming hard, he rose to the top of a swell just as the boat swept into view. Elizabeth was up, trying to fight her captor, but the smith shoved her back down. Her head sank below the gunwale. The craft tipped as it turned in the current, and Alexander thought for a moment it was about to swamp.

  As it reached him, the boat was still moving quickly. Reaching up over the side, he grabbed the man’s leather apron and toppled him into the water. The man’s momentum took them both under, and the current carried them beneath the boat.

  Alexander lost his grip on the man’s shirt and took a solid kick to the chest, pushing him down deep in the river. The Stirling folk called this Abhainn Dubh, the Black Water, and with good reason. He could see nothing.

  Kicking upward, he was ready for battle. As he broke the surface, he was next to the boat, but there was no sign of the kidnapper. Taking in air, he spun around in the water and spotted the blackguard swimming hard for the shore.

  Bloody Lowlanders. No fight in them at all.

  With his heart pounding in his chest, Alexander grabbed the side of the boat and started to pull himself up.

  He saw the oar swinging at his head at the same time that he saw Elizabeth’s dismayed face. It was too late. He heard a hard cracking sound. An instant later, the world went black.

  * * *

  Damnation. Disaster.

  “Oh, my Lord! What have I done?”

  The oar dropped into the river, and Elizabeth grabbed for the Highlander’s shirt and tartan before he could slip back into the torrential waters. As she tried to pull him in, a gust of wind hammered her from behind, nearly pushing her overboard.

  He was heavy. They say the dead weigh more than the living.

  “Come on, Highlander,” she panted. “Wake up. Don’t be dead.”

  Elizabeth felt him slip back a little, but she wasn’t about to give in. If he wasn’t dead, she couldn’t let him drown. Pulling, tugging, she staggered as the boat rocked madly under her feet, taking more water.

  She stared in horror at the depth of the water in the bottom. They were doomed.

  “Why do you have to be so damned big?”

  Bracing herself, she heaved just as a wave lifted his body. Managing to get his head and his arms into the craft, she paused to catch her breath. The wind was whipping her wet hair into her eyes, and she pushed it back with one hand even as she clung to his tartan with the other. She had no idea how she could get him into the boat, and he was pulling that side dangerously low.

  Macpherson groaned.

  “Thank the Lord!” she gasped.

  She had to save him. He’d come out into a raging river to rescue her, and this was his reward.

  “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m so sorry. Really, I am.”

  Reaching over him, Elizabeth took hold of his thick belt. She was starting to feel as if the heavens were beating on her. The gusts continued to batter away. She was soaked to the skin and feeling exhausted, but she couldn’t think about that now. She was responsible for him. She was responsible for getting him into this mess.

  “We can do this. But you must help me,” she pleaded to the warrior, tugging again to no avail. “Wake up, you great ape!”

  Breathing heavily, Elizabeth rested her face against his head, and she saw the swelling and the cut above his temple.

  “I did that. I know I did that,” she whispered in his ear. “But you’re not going to let a wee bump get you down, are you? Show me some of that Highland spirit.”

  He groaned again and a booted ankle hiked up over the side. At the same time, the boat tipped further, and she froze as more water poured in.

  “We’re going to drown,” she muttered. “But at least we’ll do it in the safety of the boat. Keep on coming.”

  Reaching to help him, she grabbed hold of the kilt. The boat pitched again and the wool cloth pulled up over his legs. Sprawled across his back, Elizabeth found herself looking at a bare, muscular arse. She blinked, unable to tear her eyes away.

  “No time for that,” she murmured, righting herself and hauling him by the belt.

  This time it worked, and Elizabeth fell backward as he rolled himself in over the side.

  Unfortunately, it worked far better than she expected. His head rested like a stone on her chest, his hair in Elizabeth’s face. His body covered the rest of her, pinning her down and immersing all but her face in the sloshing water at the bottom of the boat.

  “Nay, Highlander. This will not do.”

  * * *

  His head hurt. He wanted to sleep. But the troublesome sea beast had dragged him into the deep. The creature had to have a dozen hands and feet. Kicking him, squeezing him, pinching him, poking him in the ribs, tugging at his hair. He tried to get a grip on the attacking appendages, but the kraken had too many to contain.

  “Highlander!” Someone was shouting in his ear. He couldn’t answer, not until he’d tamed the fiend.

  Feet. He trapped a pair of them. Hands. There were too many. He growled when the creature latched its teeth onto his ear. He lifted his head and forced his eyes open.

  He was nose to nose with a woman.

  “At last!” she yelled into his face. “We’re drowning. We need to get off this boat. Oh, Lord. Focus your eyes.”

  The small boat, the woman, how he’d come to be here—it all came back to him in a rush. The troublesome creature of his dream was no kraken. It was Elizabeth.

  “Please tell me that you’re awake.”

  His head was pounding. Why did she insist on yelling?

  “Quiet, lass,” he barked, matching the sharpness of her tone. “I wasn’t asleep. You took an oar to my head.”

  “I didn’t know it was you.”

  Before he could respond, her face sank back beneath the surface of sloshing water. She came up a moment later, sputtering and butting him in the forehead. He thought his brain was about to explode.

  “Are you trying to knock me out again?”

  “Nonsense, you ignorant beast. I’m drowning.”

  Drowning? Everything around him was still foggy. He blinked, repeating what she’d said.

  Of course. They were still in the boat. The two of them were sprawled in the bottom, and she was trapped
beneath him, working hard just to keep her face above water. The blasted thing was nearly full of water.

  It would only take one more powerful wave. Then the craft would go to the bottom, and they’d be left floating in the river.

  “Where are we?” He pushed himself back onto his knees. “How long was I out?”

  She sat up, clutching the edges as he looked around. A gust of rain slapped him in the face. They were in the middle of a full blown tempest.

  “I don’t know,” she replied, trying to pull her legs out from beneath him. “I was too busy saving your life to pay any attention.”

  Once they were out of this mess, he’d have a few things to lecture her on, starting with that point.

  Alexander squinted toward the river’s edge on either side. The river had widened out considerably, though with the sheets of rain and near darkness, it was difficult to see exactly how far they were from either bank. The wind was howling, kicking up waves and threatening to send them under at any moment. They had to be below the abbey, but how far was hard to say.

  “Where are the blasted oars?” he demanded, looking around him.

  “It was them or you,” she replied over the wind. “I decided to keep you.”

  Perhaps he’d not be too harsh in his lecture.

  They struck some half-submerged timber, and the current shoved the boat sideways. That was all it took. They swamped, and Alexander grabbed her arm.

  “Swim ashore,” he ordered. He pointed to what appeared to be the riverbank.

  He had no opportunity to say anything more. The boat sank beneath them, disappearing in the black water and leaving him kicking to keep his head above the surface. Fighting the current, he looked for her. She was nowhere to be seen.

  “Elizabeth,” he shouted as her head popped up a few yards away. As quickly as she appeared, she went under again.

  Swimming hard, he closed the distance. She surfaced, her arms flailing as he reached her. When she started to go down again, he grabbed the back of her cloak and drew her up.

  Gasping for breath, she wrapped her arms around his neck. She was digging her feet into his thighs, trying to climb his body.