Scoundrel’s Redemption (Highlander’s Pact #3)

Chapter Eight

“M y bairns just cannae stay out of trouble,” Ada muttered yet again, shaking her head as she tended to Greer’s hair. “Getting into mischief at every turn!” Her eyes rounded. “And that big Sassenach had the nerve to eye me over whilst making nice with a laddie ye know he has no use for.”

“You mean the big, handsome Englishman?” Greer grinned if for no other reason than it was nice to have the tables turned. Because her friend was clearly smitten. “I believe his name is Edmund, and I’m sure if he’s Teagan’s brother, he’s not all that bad.”

“Right, because ye go way back with yer warrior-hero, so ye can speak to how his kin should be,” Ada mocked, looking skyward. The corner of her mouth curled up ever-so-slightly. “Though I do like yer sense of familiarity with yer future betrothed.”

“Stop that,” she chastised, standing before Ada could fiddle with her hair anymore. Somewhere between the kitchens earlier and getting ready to eat, her friend had taken to calling Teagan that. “Bartholomew is my future husband, and well you know it.”

More often than not, lately, Ada filled in for her maid, and she much preferred it. Even at moments like this when her friend spoke of the impossible. Of things that would never come to be. Oh, but it was nice to dream, though, wasn’t it? She might not know Teagan, but she sensed him a far better man than Bartholomew. One who seemed to genuinely enjoy her company rather than merely tolerating her or wanting to get betwixt her thighs.

“Ye never know,” Ada chimed, adding a veil to Greer’s hair before she got away. “I cannae imagine yer warrior-hero riding off into the sunset without ye.”

“Your children really are chatty,” Greer muttered but couldn’t help a small smile. “But lovely nonetheless.”

“Aye, wee bairns who want to see ye happy.” Ada cupped her cheeks and grew serious. “As do I, ye know?” She shook her head. “Which means if I have a chance of escaping all this, then ye do, too.”

“How do you imagine that happening with men like my uncle and Bartholomew around?” She sighed and stepped away. “If that were not enough, I gave my word.”

“Did ye?” Ada cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “Did ye actually commit to marrying Bartholomew, because I dinnae think it happened that way. Nay, ye were told . Given no choice.” She gripped Greer’s shoulders and met her eyes. “If all that isnae enough, ’tis important ye listen to what I shared earlier. What I learned from Bartholomew’s cook.”

“Which could very well be rumor.” Or so she prayed, for it was hard to believe anyone so depraved. Which said something considering the atrocities she’d seen. “And whilst no, I did not actually say yes to Bartholomew, it was agreed upon, and that is how things are done.”

Did she wish it otherwise? With all her heart. But by not denying it or saying no, to her mind and in God’s eyes, she believed her word was given. That she had an obligation to fulfill.

“You are being foolish,” Margery would have said. “You never wanted this, nor was your permission given. After what you learned about Bartholomew earlier, the only thing at work in your mind now is the devil because God does not approve.”

“You cannot possibly know that,” she muttered under her breath.

“Bloody hell, aye,” Ada said, knowing full well when Greer was elsewhere in her mind. More so, that Margery could often be her voice of reason. “Ye tell Margery, I agree. ”

She waved her friend off and headed for the door. “You don’t even know what she said.”

“I dinnae need to,” Ada called after her. “She’s right, and ye should heed her!”

Getting her thoughts in order again is what she needed to do. She loved Ada, but the woman could get her mind going in circles as quickly as Margery sometimes. A mere phantom of her imagination.

“No, not a phantom.” She leaned against the corridor wall, closed her eyes, and whispered, “I’m sorry, Margery. You will never be a phantom. Not so long as I live.” She shook her head and bit back tears. “I promise you are still right here. Still with me—”

“Dear Lord, woman, what are you doing?” came Bartholomew’s exasperated voice from behind her.

When Greer opened her eyes, she swore she saw Teagan watching her before he vanished into the shadows. Oddly, being caught in such a vulnerable position by him didn’t bother her. Being caught by Bartholomew, however, made her feel unstable and ashamed.

“I’m taking a moment to reflect and pray,” she lied far too readily. But if she didn’t, it would mean suffering his disgust, and she was in no mood for it. Mustering a halfhearted smile, she looked his way. “Good eve, Bartholomew.”

“We shall see,” he replied dryly before eyeing her over with his usual predatory gleam. “You will have to take special care to keep your eyes averted this eve, love, for there is a beast amongst us.”

“A dashing Scot he’s horribly jealous of,” Margery exclaimed, suddenly seeming closer to her than ever. “A man that puts him to shame.”

Relieved to hear her again, Greer bit back a smile and managed a respectful nod to Bartholomew. “But of course.”

“You see the Scotsman for what he is, then?” He preceded her down the stairs. “You understand that, despite his fa?ade, he is filthy and wild?” He stopped and glanced over his shoulder sternly. “That he is half-human if that?”

Half-human? That was a bit much, even for Bartholomew .

Such was ignorance and hatred, though.

“Can you blame him?” Margery muttered. “’Tis not easy being such a lowly coward, not to mention a monster. Remember, evil will say and do whatever it takes to feel superior.”

Whilst more tempted than usual to repeat what she was thinking, now was not the time to risk getting backhanded. Not when she needed to get Ada and her children out. So, as much as she detested her silence, she merely lowered her head in what seemed like compliance.

As usual, at this hour, the great hall was busy. People came and went, some eating, others socializing. The family’s dining area in an adjacent solar was set in finery, not only for Bartholomew’s visit but Edmund’s. There was no length her uncle would not go to impress them.

“Welcome!” Randolph’s bald head gleamed beneath the chandeliers, just begging to be hit with dripping wax. “So good of you to join us.”

Ignoring Greer, he urged Bartholomew to join everyone in front of the fire for wine and ale. Her mother looked fetching in a simple, dark crimson gown. Edmund seemed ever mysterious with a keen eye on the fire as if plotting his next step in a play only he understood. Dressed mostly in black, Teagan struck her the fierce, brooding hero just waiting to steal her away into the night.

“So no more gallantly riding off into the sunset?” Margery quipped. “Though I do rather like a dark and dangerous escape.”

She bit back another smile, lowered her head, and averted her eyes when curtseying to everyone.

“Do hold your chin up like a lady,” Bartholomew muttered under his breath. “You look like an ignorant fool. ’Tis insulting.”

“And you look like someone who should drop to his knees and beg God’s forgiveness, you awful man,” she should have shot back but didn’t. Now wasn’t the time or place. She lifted her chin, tempted to do it defiantly. Moreover, she was tempted to look right at Teagan just to irk Bartholomew. Of course, she didn’t. No need to turn his ever-growing insecurities the Scotsman’s way.

Instead, she looked at her mother, only to see a flash of pity and anger. She was an embarrassment, wasn’t she? Mother was ashamed. A woman should look a man in the eyes out of respect. In her world, though, with Bartholomew and Randolph, it was quite the opposite. They preferred her submissive.

“Are you sure your mother is ashamed?” She heard the frown in Margery’s voice. “I would hazard to say any shame she feels is for letting you down. And her anger? Solely at your uncle and the buffoon you are determined to marry.”

“I never said I was determined.”

“Well, you never said otherwise either, did you?”

“You look beautiful, Greer,” her mother said. She moved to her side. “Really, so very lovely.”

Did she? It was impossible to know since Bartholomew never praised her.

“Who cares what he thinks?” Margery would mutter. “I’m far more interested in what the Scotsman trying so hard not to stare at you thinks. For I’m fairly certain he finds you—”

“Thank you,” she replied to her mother, cutting off any more talk of handsome Scots finding her attractive. “You look very fetching as well.”

Her mother nodded in thanks before everyone commenced to chatting about things of little relevance. As was expected of her, and despite Mother trying to keep her in the conversation, she faded into the background as always, accepting the role of being ignored by men.

“Not Teagan, though,” Margery whispered into her mind. “He might not be looking directly at you, but your warrior-hero is keeping an eye on you, wishing you would talk.”

She ignored her friend’s fanciful notions, relieved when Alfred joined them and faded into the background beside her. He smiled kindly and nodded hello, then kept quiet for fear of being mocked. Whilst they rarely spoke in general, she knew him a kind soul. More of a man than her uncle and Bartholomew would ever be.

“’Tis nice to have visitors,” she commented, wondering not for the first time, why they didn’t talk more.

“’T-tis,” he agreed, looking at her with hope as he sometimes did.

“Because you are his cousin, and he cares about you,” Margery would say. “He worries about you.”

She ignored her friend, grateful when the chaplain said the evening prayers and food was served, including pigeon pie, carrots, and peas as well as capers, nuts, and sliced bread. What did Margery know? Little when it came to this.

“Do not fool yourself, Greer,” Margery echoed as bowls of water were placed in front of everyone for washing their hands. “You and I both know why Alfred—”

“Tell us about your clan, Scotsman,” Bartholomew said, interrupting her thoughts. There was no missing the disdain in his voice. Nor that the tasty, upper crust of the bread was served to Edmund and her fiancé, yet none to Teagan despite his status as a guest.

“There is little to tell other than we dinnae support David II.” Teagan’s brow furrowed. His eyes flared with anger. “If not for him and our troublesome alliance with France, our clan would be much better off nowadays.” He shook his head. “Our supposed king has done us no favors.”

“No.” Edmund frowned and perked a brow at Randolph. “As I said before, ’twas with good reason I finally saw the error of my ways. That I returned home to my father and righted old wrongs.”

Randolph nodded, near-genuine sympathy in his eyes. “That took great courage, my lord. Great courage, to be sure. And England is grateful for it.” He raised his mug to Bartholomew and Edmund. “Thankful for good men like you that make this country superior!”

“Because it could not possibly be England’s weak, pitiful women.” Mother arched her brows at her brother. “Now could it?”

“I never said pitiful .” Randolph’s reddening nose gave away the several cups of wine he’d already had. He swigged half his glass, then raised it higher. “As to the rest, ’tis all details as long as one cuts a lovely figure.”

Bartholomew raised his glass higher in agreement, then downed the entire thing. Meanwhile, Edmund and Teagan barely touched their wine as the excruciating supper wore on. Randolph and Bartholomew acted like they always did when in their cups. Obnoxious and pretentious, more often than not, jesting silently about the useless Scots in their equally useless country.

“One has to wonder why we English keep trying to take it for our own then,” Margery would pipe up, sarcastically. “Certainly not for the revenue it provides us in taxes, nor its natural resources.”

“Is it me, or do you get the sense he wants to fight back?” Greer asked her. “That he actually takes issue with such comments?”

“Who?” Margery would reply before her tone grew knowing. “Ah, you must mean your warrior-hero. No, I do not wonder at all because I think him as mysterious as his good friend, Edmund.”

“Surely not.”

“Oh, yes.” She could almost see Margery contemplating the men. “I would say them sympathetic not to England but Scotland and here for heroic purposes indeed!”

Were they? Could it be true?

She glanced at her mother. If that were the case, that would mean her flesh and blood were likely in cohorts with them. Which would make sense considering her sister Julianna had remained in Scotland.

The possibility of so many traitors amid them weighed on her mind as the night wore on. Eventually, dining turned into after-supper drinks for the men. By that point, her uncle and Bartholomew were well in their cups, and she was glad to escape.

Or so she thought when she slipped out the back of the castle alone a short while later.