A Highlander for Christmas (5 page)

The maid nodded.

“Where’s Mother?” Ruck asked, heading for the winding staircase on the left side of the large entry hall.

“Heaven only knows. She’s not gone near your father since the putrid smell began. The wound seeps horribly.”

“Lady Lindsay.” Iain’s voice stopped her. “I would accompany you to see your father if you wish. I have some knowledge of battle wounds and would like to see what the physician is doing for him.”

Juliet waved him to follow them. “Of course. Follow me.”

She led the way up three flights of stairs and down a long, shadowed hall. Juliet saw the place as Iain must see it—shabby and ill kept, the carpets old and worn, bare walls where paintings used to hang, the sconces on the walls rusted and sooty—but it did little good to be embarrassed about it. Her father wasn’t a good estate manager, had led them into ruin if the truth be known, and there was nothing she could do to hide the plain facts around them.

They could smell her father’s illness before opening the door. Juliet held her sleeve over her nose and opened it. Her father lay in the large four-poster bed, the bed hangings drawn on the side of the widows. Ruck made a sound from his throat but took Juliet’s hand and walked with her toward him.

Her father turned his head at the sounds of their approach. Juliet faltered, a cry coming from her throat. He looked so thin, so pale, with a greenish tinge. Her gaze traveled to his shoulder, where an angry red swelling of putrid flesh oozed around a gaping hole covered in a mash of some sort of poultice. Her stomach rolled as she took shallow breaths and came to his side.

“Father, what’s happened?”

Her father looked over her head at Iain and frowned, but only for a moment, and then rasped out, “You’ve come in time. As you can see…I’m dying. James will have to take back the throne without me.”

How could he think of the deposed king on his deathbed didn’t bear contemplation to her. “Is it an infection?”

Her father cursed and then wheezed, coughing to catch his breath, the rattle in his lungs none too good. “They’ve bled me to death trying to get rid of the bloody infection
,
but it’s taken over my body. I can feel its grasp tightening. It won’t be long now.”

“Father,” Ruck said brokenly.

Her father’s gaze swung toward her brother and then back to her, ignoring him. He scowled. “Your only hope is a wealthy marriage. After your”—he gasped for breath and then rallied, determination lighting his eyes—“debacle at that blasted ball we had little hope, but I’ve found one man willing to take you.” He paused again for breath. “Lord Richard Malcolm.” His voice was laced with a feverish glee as he said the name.

Juliet’s heart froze. She was unable to speak. Lord Malcolm’s face came into focus behind her closed eyes. A stern, thin face with beady eyes and a long, pointed nose. He was at least sixty and known as a Jacobean zealot and cruel master. His third wife had killed herself after only two years of marriage. Juliet could not believe her father would even consider such a thing. A trembling began at her knees and moved up her body. She started to collapse, but Iain caught her and held her upright by one arm.

“Father, no,” she gasped out, “I could never—”

“You can and you will!” her father shouted, shocking them all. “If you don’t, by Christmas Day, you will all lose everything. Your mother and brother and sister will have nowhere to live. They will be slaves or prisoners in the debtor’s gaol. Juliet, you have no choice. I’ve already promised him. He has already paid the debts!”

Juliet shook her head and backed away. “No, I cannot.”

Her father fell back onto his pillow and closed his eyes. “You have no choice,” he whispered. “Leave me.”

Juliet turned and ran from the room.

Chapter Five

D
inner was a stark event.

Stark decorations in a stark dining room. Stark food upon a stark table. Leaden hearts showing on stark faces. A stark event indeed.

Iain repeated his earlier prayer to keep himself from snatching Juliet up and whisking her home to Scotland. What he would do with her once he got her there he didn’t want to think about. Marry her? Much of him, the man that he was, wanted her as wife, but he could not bring home an English bride. His clan would not tolerate her, and her life would be as stark as this room without their approval. And yet, he thought as he looked over at her ashen face, how could he leave her to this Lord Malcolm? A man he had heard of himself as a monster. He had spent the past hour in the drawing room with Ruck telling him of even more. It was a fate he couldn’t imagine for Juliet, and yet he must not act out of emotion. He had to wait and listen for God’s way of escape. It was a delicate balance that he’d had to practice before, but with a woman involved—this woman—he was finding it harder than anything he had ever done.

“We must thank you again, MacLeon, for seeing our Juliet home to safety. I dreaded sending Ruck with only a servant, but as you can see, we’ve fallen on difficult times and there was no one else,” Juliet’s mother said with a pinched face.

Iain had only seen a handful of servants on the estate and had no reason to doubt her words. “
’
Twas my pleasure,” he replied in a low voice.

“Shall you return to Scotland directly, then?” She took a tiny bite of her meat and chewed it for a long time. Juliet’s mother, Hermione, had blond hair threaded with gray and a rail-thin body, with an equally thin voice. Juliet’s younger sister, Claire, had the look and mincing actions of her mother, but still the glow of youth, while Juliet had inherited the richer coloring of her father and lush curves. He noted that Juliet ate her meal with the enthusiasm of someone who was active and hearty, though her curvaceous figure was that of a full-grown woman. She was the type who wouldn’t shy away from hard physical labor but could dress up and turn the eyes of any man at a ball or opera, especially once she spoke with that velvety voice of hers. Just the thought of how she had said his name made the blood rush to places unseemly for the dinner table. He forced his thoughts in another direction, answering her mother.

“I’ve business in Edinburgh to attend to, and then home.”

“Juliet tells me your home is in the highlands? Is it a remote area?”

“Aye, and the most beautiful place in the world. I’ve inherited Eilean Donan, a castle built on an island on Loch Duich. It lies where three lochs come together with mountains to the east and north.”

“Aren’t there Jacobean sympathizers in the highlands?” Hermione asked, ignoring his poetic description.

“Aye. There are those, ma’am.”

“You are not among them?” Her thin brows rose halfway upon her forehead.

“I’ve a mind more to improving my land and the plight of my people.”

“But surely you have a side. Are you Catholic?”

“I prefer the title of Christian.” He was about to turn the topic of conversation to something less volatile when the housekeeper burst into the room. Tears streamed down her wrinkled face.

“He’s gone, milady. Lord Lindsay is dead.”

Rain fell in sheets along with a gusting wind as Juliet, Iain, her family and some servants and villagers stood around the grave where her father was being laid to rest. The clergyman read from the Psalms, but Juliet took little comfort in the words. All she could think of were two words.

Christmas Day.

She had to find a way to save their home and pay back Lord Malcolm, whom she had learned had indeed paid off her father’s astounding debts in exchange for her hand in marriage. What was she to do? It was just shy of two months away.

Her mother’s words from earlier that morning haunted her. Juliet closed her eyes and saw her mother’s angry face. Harsh and furious…crying and railing against her.

“If only you’d done what I told you. You’ve ruined everything.”

Her mother’s long, thin hair covered, for a moment, her bent head, and then she raked it back with a wrinkled hand, lifted her head and stared at Juliet with such hated that it had robbed her of all her breath. She took a step backward, not wanting to be in her mother’s bedchamber, with those thick damask bed-hangings around a bed and heavy curtains blocking any light.

What
had
she done? Had one kiss with a handsome stranger really ruined her? It seemed unfair and impossible, but of that everyone, her mother first and foremost, seemed convinced.

Ruined.

No one would want her now. That was what they all said. Was it true?

Now, she stood at her father’s gravesite and thought of Iain’s prayer. She repeated it as best as she could remember. If God would help her, perform some miracle and save her from this horrible fate, she would never doubt His love for her again. But it seemed impossible.

As she lifted her head she heard the sounds of horses’ hooves, and turned. Two men in long black capes were trotting toward them, rain dripping from their wide-brimmed hats. Juliet squinted, her heart dropping to her stomach as their faces came into focus. Lord Malcolm. She turned quickly away, back toward her father’s grave. How could he have done this to her? Her parents were the most selfish, unloving… Her body trembled with fear and dread and anger.

“Hush, lass,” Iain’s voice sounded deep beside her ear. “I willnae let them take you.” He moved closer, put her hand on his arm and placed his large, warm hand over hers, the rain soaking their sleeves.

She looked up into Iain’s intense blue eyes. Would he not? What could he really do to protect her? She was legally bound. But hope still sprang in her chest. Perhaps she could run away, go back to Uncle Clyde and Aunt Becca’s and quietly live in Scotland. Even as she thought it, her gaze swung to Ruck and Claire and her mother. They would be kicked out into the streets, possibly into debtor’s prison. She couldn’t let that happen, no matter that there was little love lost between her mother and her. Claire was only fourteen and Ruck just on the cusp of being a man. She couldn’t let them suffer for what their father had done. But she could not marry Lord Malcolm either. It was unthinkable.

She felt and heard, more than saw, Lord Malcolm and the man with him dismount and walk over to her mother. The clergyman had finished his prayer and all eyes watched as Lord Malcolm’s thin frame swept into a bow toward her mother, murmuring his apologies in a high, overly cultured voice that made Juliet’s skin crawl. He turned next toward Juliet and swept toward her like the grim reaper, his black cape gusting with the wind.

Juliet instinctively tightened her grip on Iain’s arm and stepped closer to his side. Lord Malcolm’s face tightened into a deep scowl. He stood eye to eye with Iain for a long moment and then bowed toward Juliet.

“Milady, my sincere condolences on the death of your father. You must be devastated.”

“Yes, my lord, for many reasons.”

His scowl deepened and his eyes shot venom. “Won’t you introduce your…friend?”

“This is the MacLeon of the Clan MacLeon of Eilean Donan. He was kind enough to escort my brother and me home.”

The two men stared again at each other. “Kindness is a valued virtue in our friends, is it not? Though I doubt that particular notion guided him. Loyalty, though…” he wheezed with a cough. “I insist on it from my friends, and most particularly from my wife.” His beady gaze swung back to Iain. “
Kindly
take your hands off my betrothed.”

Juliet’s mother rushed to intervene. “My lord, let us all get out of this rain and attend to the dinner we have planned.” She took hold of Lord Malcolm’s arm, which he promptly jerked out of her hand, an action she ignored, and then she waved them all toward the manor house.

Juliet kept a tight grip on Iain’s arm as they made their way toward the front entrance. Lord Malcolm may as well know that he would not be getting any loyalty out of her.

After they had all dried off the best they could, they regrouped in the drawing room near the two fireplaces, trying to warm themselves and dry out while the meal was getting some last touches. Juliet sipped from the cup of warm mulled wine and turned the dampest section in the back of her skirts toward the fire. Iain had left her side to join the men on the other side of the room, whispering, “Fear not,” and giving her hand an encouraging squeeze.

“I’ll not have you ruining this union, Juliet,” her mother hissed at her as soon as Iain left.

“I won’t marry him.”

“You must. Do you have any idea what will happen to all of us if you refuse? It’s your own fault Lord Malcolm was the only one to offer for you…after that ravishment in the garden.”

“A kiss is hardly—”

“Don’t think to tell me about society’s rules, young lady. You could have had any number of wealthy men but you had to destroy any chance—” She looked ready to burst into tears and then rallied. “Do you think I like this? Do you think I’m so heartless? He’s a stingy miser and cruel. He wasn’t my first choice for a son-in-law, I can tell you, but you’ve made all our beds and now we have to lie in them.”

How could her mother say such things? Juliet felt tears prick her eyes and forced them back. It had only been a small kiss. She hadn’t really even enjoyed it, had just let the curiosity of the moment carry her away. What
had
she done? Maybe that was why Iain, even though there was an obvious attraction between them, hadn’t mentioned a union between the two of them. That and the fact that she was English. They were doomed from the start.