Alanna (When Hearts Dare Series Book 2) (31 page)

Trevor shoved a hand through his hair and heaved an audible breath. “And how much shallow thinking and hard whisky did it take to convince yourself of that manure? How do you know she’s even alive? Or that the child is alive?”

Despair cut into Wolf’s gut. The thought had never crossed his mind. “Alanna is the healthiest woman I’ve ever met.”

Despite his declaration of her well-being, a suffocating sensation tightened around Wolf’s neck. He stared at the fire for a long while. The sounds of the ticking clock and the crackling fire filled the room. “Alanna didn’t have any desire for me to see the child or her again. She made it clear in the note.”

“Your senses are besotted along with your pickled brain.” Trevor’s voice turned hard with disgust. “Alanna’s fine—physically fine, that is. And you have a healthy baby daughter. Born the sixth of September, with no thanks to you.”

A daughter?
A fist punched Wolf’s gut. “Alanna wasn’t due until now.”

“Tell that to the babe.”

Wolf gripped the arms of the chair. “How do you know?”

“Thompson takes the Boston–Liverpool run now. He showed up with the news. Soon as I heard, I rode here hell-bent for leather. Jonathan Hemenway still wants to marry her, by the way.”

A new jolt ran up Wolf’s spine, but he said nothing.

“Hemenway doesn’t really want her, but he’s in too thick with her father to refuse. Her mother’s going in a different direction. She’s trying to convince Alanna it would be in the child’s best interest to pass it off as belonging to an unmarried female servant.”

“Like Winston,” Wolf muttered. “Alanna would never do that. She’ll end up at the farm. I know her.”

“Things change when a woman bears a child, Wolf. Even as independent as Alanna was on her own, what recourse does she have with the burden of a child? And what if Malone doesn’t follow through on his agreement to deed her the farm?”

“I told her I would see to the child’s financial well-being. Alanna’s as well—”

“Then do it!” Trevor roared. His back to Wolf, he flattened his hands against the stones and leaned his forehead against its coolness. “They cut Alanna’s hair off, Wolf.”

Jeezus!
Wolf swiped his hand over his face. “Shut the hell up.”

“Not once, but twice,” Trevor continued as though Wolf hadn’t spoken. “The first time it was Jonathan when he got her aboard ship here in Scotland. The second time was only a couple of months ago, when her father had had enough of Alanna constantly declaring her love for you.”

Another jolt shot through Wolf. “That’s enough, goddamn it!”

Trevor tossed another log on the fire, picked up the andiron and poked around. “Maire says Alanna takes great relish in daily taunting her mother and father with that bit of news. No matter what her mother’s caustic remarks are in return, Alanna seems to repeat the words like a spiritual mantra.”

Throat parched, Wolf picked up the whisky bottle.

Trevor replaced the andiron and stood quietly before the fire, his back to Wolf. “What the devil are you going to do when that child of yours begins to haunt your dreams? When you begin to wonder how she’s turned out, what she looks like? Or how about when she’s old enough to catch Malone’s eye? Do you really want that twisted man alone—”

That did it. Wolf sprang from the chair, slammed into the small of Trevor’s back with his head, and butted him up against the craggy stone.

“Oof,” Trevor grunted.

Wolf shoved Trevor harder against the stone, grinding his temple and cheek into the rough granite surface. “You bastard.” Wolf staggered forward for another blow to Trevor’s kidneys. “You baited me.”

Trevor spun around and with a furious slam of his fist, sent Wolf crashing backward. He fell over the chair and landed behind it. He clutched the chair’s back and managed to pull himself up. Blood ran from his nose and split lip, his eye already swelling shut. He steadied himself against the chair, swiped his sleeve across his face and, with his head bent, charged forward.

Trevor, the side of his face scraped raw and bloody, stood with fists in front of him.

Wolf halted. They stood staring at one another, both streaming scarlet. Wolf touched his cut lip. “Who the hell do you think you are, waltzing in here like God Almighty out to save my soul?”

Disbelief crept over Trevor’s face. “You actually think that?
Merde
, Wolf. When you and I met, I was in no better shape than you are right now. The only difference between you and me is when I hired you to help me find Celine, I’d already decided to chase after a woman who thought she didn’t want me. Now, I suggest you make the same decision and pack your bags.”

“Alanna wouldn’t have me.” Suddenly, his words sounded false, trite even. The past was the past, damn it. He couldn’t change it, but he sure as hell didn’t have to let it destroy his future. Trevor had risked his life going after Celine. What the hell did Wolf have to lose by going after Alanna? And his daughter? His heart swelled. He had a daughter, and no matter whom she resembled, she would always be a part of him—and Alanna. Christ, he wanted to be in their lives. The intensity of his realization stopped his breath.

A half grin tipped Trevor’s mouth. “Bring her back here, Wolf. Take on your family . . . all of it.” He swept his arms wide. “Would you look at this
, mon frère
? A sixteenth-century castle big enough to house the whole of New Orleans, and land filled with sheep and leasehold tenants as far as the eye can see.”

“Yeah? Well, the tenants are so well off, they pay in eggs or a leg of lamb,
mon sewer
.”

Trevor picked up the bottle of whisky, and gingerly tested his jaw. “I think it best to use this on our wounds.” He slapped an arm around Wolf’s shoulder and headed toward the stairs. “Come. I could use a warm bed and a bath, and you look like you could use about a week’s worth of sleep.”

Wolf shrugged Trevor’s arm off his shoulder and tested his split lip with his finger. “If that’s an invitation,
mon sewer
, I agree to getting some sleep—in my own bed. The bath you can damn well take alone.”

Trevor chuckled. “We’ll leave in the morning. Thompson can deliver you to Boston. We’ve a ship waiting.”

“Can’t go right now,” Wolf mumbled and plopped down on the top stair of the landing. “Something I have to do first.”

Trevor sat beside him. “What?”

“I need to fix an old lady’s leaky roof.” Wolf leaned back on the landing and stared at the ceiling overhead. It spun around like a slow-moving top. He closed one eye to see if that stopped the movement. It didn’t. “She’s already paid me in eggs. Celine doing all right?”

Trevor balanced his elbows on his knees and rested his chin on his fists. “Healthy and content. So are Brandon and the twins.”

Wolf couldn’t manage to keep his eyes open and his tongue working properly. “I believe I drank a helluva lot of whisky tonight.”

Trevor groaned. “If you could manage to make it up the stairs before you fall asleep, I won’t have to drag you to bed. You’re no pullet, you know.”

“Are you forgetting I had to haul your ass away from those braves wanting a piece of your scalp? Damn tough trying to hide your sorry-looking butt.” A riot of emotion bloomed in his chest. “I have a daughter. I like females. Did you know that?”

“I suspected as much.”

“They don’t irritate me the way men can. Did Thompson ever say what her name was?”

“Glenda Mary,” Trevor answered quietly.

Wolf smiled, but at the mention of his mother’s name, a single tear slid from beneath his closed lids. “I’m going after them, Trevor—my baby girl and Alanna.”

Wolf sat back in his chair, his legs thrust out in front of him, and sipped a cup of strong coffee.

Aiden reached inside his jacket and withdrew a narrow green box edged in gold. “I have something for ye.”

He opened the box and slid it across the table to Wolf. A necklace of small uniform garnet beads winked at him. At its middle hung a crimson stone encased in gold, matching the ear bob Wolf wore.

Wolf lifted the necklace from its velvet moorings, removed the earring from his ear, and set them side by side. They matched perfectly. He looked at Aiden curiously.

“ ’Tis yers now that ye’ll be going after Alanna. They belong to every chief’s wife, to be passed down the line. The Mor gave the earrings to yer mother just before she sailed away. ’Twas his way of givin’ her hope that she’d return one day. He gave me the necklace fer safekeeping. Good that he did, since his belongings were ransacked before Malone left Scotland.”

Wolf thought of the other earring in the box upstairs and of Malone’s squat hand searching under his mother’s bed so many years ago. “Why would Malone take such a risk to get his hands on this when he can well afford better?” Wolf flicked the necklace with his finger.

Aiden’s eyes grew wide and he swept the garnet beads from Wolf’s reach. “Dinna be so heavy-handed. They’re near sacred in these parts.”

“Sorry,” Wolf muttered.

“’Twas Mary, Queen of Scots, who gave these to Duncan MacGillivray, seventh chief of Dunmaglass, when she rode through here on her way to Inverness. The laird hid her here. When she left, she gave him the jewels in gratitude.”

Wolf picked up the ear bob. “You mean I’ve worn this to hell and back for the past twenty-six years and the damn thing belonged to Mary, Queen of Scots?”

Aiden nodded.

“Someone should’ve kicked my ass.”

“I would’ve liked to have done that a few times.”

Wolf grunted. “What of Mrs. Malone’s part in all this? Obviously she knew a helluva lot, but she doesn’t seem to have a killing personality.”

“No,” Aiden answered. “But she did have a newborn. And she was verra young. Most likely scared to death being all alone in a new country. Hard to ken what her thinking was, but I have a feelin’ she was a bit like a child who closes her eyes and thinks no one can see her—hoped if she ignored what her husband did to yer mother, it would all go away.”

“But why bother making a mourning brooch out of my mother’s hair and then stuff it into the bottom of a trunk? Christ, that’s morose.”

“Mayhap she was in a bit of sorrow over the whole mess. After all, she had the thing tucked into the same box along with her dead son’s brooch. Hard to understand what sort of life Malone bullied her into that made her the way she is. I met her when they were in the Highlands. She doesna have more than a wee bit o’ brain inside her head.”

“It’s about the size of her integrity.” Wolf replaced the ear bob in his lobe. “Keep the necklace until Alanna returns. It’s the way my mother would’ve wanted it.”

Aiden nodded and withdrew the box from the table.

Wolf stood. “Before I leave, I need to tell you that I can’t give you any guarantee that I’ll stay forever.”

“ ’Tis enough that ye take yer rightful place,” Aiden answered. “Yer great-grandfather, William, didna spend much time at Dunmaglass. Spent a good bit of it in America.”

“Yep.” Wolf leaned back in his chair. “Until they kicked his ass out of the country.”

“Ha! The MacGillivrays have always had a few unpopular political opinions. But he made a verra good amount of money before his departure. What’s left is for ye to oversee.”

“And if I don’t stay, will you help me out?” Wolf queried.

“I don’t expect ye to live all the while in Dunmaglass—it’s too isolated for ye. Even Alexander spent most of his time at the house near Inverness. But let me ask ye this. Have ye the heart to run off and leave yer people entirely? For the rest of yer remaining days?”

Wolf studied Aiden’s face. A grin tilted one corner of his mouth. “Go to hell.” He lifted a hand to stop Aiden’s retort. “I’ll quit swearing when Alanna takes me back.”

A door slammed and Wolf’s cousin William bounded into the room. “Are ye makin’ plans to leave so soon?”

“You’ve been talking to Trevor,” Wolf replied.

“Would ye be needin’ some accompaniment, then?”

“Might be.”

A broad grin settled across William’s mouth. “Would ye care for a few cousins to attend ye? We’ve some to spare.”

Wolf nodded. “I could use a few. I have a point to make.”

 

 

While Thompson held the darkened ship steady in the harbor, Wolf and Winston slipped into the Malone mansion through the cellar window. From above, the soft lilt of a pianoforte sounded through the floorboards.

Winston took the lead up the basement stairs, and headed for the servants’ stairway and to the second-floor bedrooms. Wolf nodded to a warrior hidden in the shadows. He was dressed in black. Only a small slit in the cloth around his eyes revealed any flesh. At every turn, Wolf spied his fellow students lurking in the darkness.

Winston pointed toward a door indicating the nursery. Wolf’s heartbeat quickened. The music Alanna played wafted upward and struck a deep longing in his chest. Silently, Winston opened the door and slipped inside. Wolf followed. He paused, surprised to see Maire Macintosh standing beside the crib. He looked to Winston, and then to Maire. Had she known he was coming?

Of course, Winston would have alerted her.

She lifted the candle from the stand and held it over the crib.

Wolf moved forward, his heart pounding erratically. He bent over the crib and his breath left his lungs with a
whoosh
. At the sound, the babe’s huge, angel eyes opened. She looked directly into his without as much as a flutter of her lashes. Dark curls framed her round face. She turned her head and looked at Maire for a long moment, then grinned a toothless grin and gave an enthusiastic kick.

Maire pointed to Wolf. “’Tis yer father.”

Glenda Mary’s gaze followed Maire’s hand to the tip of its finger resting at the center of Wolf’s chest. She blinked again, and stared into Wolf’s eyes for a brief moment.

And then she smiled.

His heart rocked sideways. He reached out and wiped the clear drool wetting his daughter’s lips. The touch sent a sobering shock through his body. “She’s beautiful.” He stared in awestruck silence until Winston tapped him on the shoulder.

“Take me with ye.” Maire’s hushed voice was steady and calm but her gaze was fraught with desperation.

He glanced to Winston. A beseeching flame was lit in his gaze, as well. Wolf nodded to Maire. “You have five minutes to get your things.”

“I already have them. Alanna and Glenda’s, too.” Maire wrapped the baby in several lightweight woolen blankets. “Take yer daughter. I’ll help Winston with her things.”

As Wolf reached in and lifted Glenda from the crib, he caught the warmth of her, the sweet, powdery scent. It was as though an incandescent light suddenly lit the room—for him alone. The shadows across his heart fell away.

Winston opened the door. A cadre of warriors escorted the small group down the front stairs leading to the main rooms.

Wolf stood with his daughter in his arms, watching Alanna’s stiff back as she sat at the piano, playing for her parents, who sat off to the left of the wide arched doorway, not seeing him. It took all he had to stand there—to will his body to steady itself.

 

 

Thoughts of Wolf cleaved a path through Alanna’s mind. She faltered and sent a sour note into the room. She closed her eyes to collect herself. How long—how long before her memories of him stopped cutting her to the bone?

Recollections swirled in her mind’s eye and coalesced with images of little Glenda. She sighed and picked up where she’d gone off. Eyes still closed, she relaxed into the music until she lost herself within the soothing rhythm. She played to the memory of Wolf—as she always did—it was the only way to remain sane.

The air shifted around her.

Alanna
felt
them first.

The music halted, her last note hanging in midair. She opened her eyes. Familiar black forms eased silently into the room.
Students from the farm! Why?
Then her senses shifted to a powerful force vibrating directly behind her.

She gasped. With her lips parted to catch her breath, she turned around.

Wolf stepped into the room.

As did other warriors behind him.

Her mother’s eyes grew wide and a small gasp escaped her lips. Her father stilled at the press of a sharp blade against his throat, held by a black-gloved hand. Students silently poured in from every opening in the room, like dark quicksilver.

Wolf stood silently before Alanna. The light from the chandelier reflected off his golden hair flowing free. The red MacGillivray plaid and white ermine sporran he wore showed beneath the corners of a white blanket hanging off the bundle in his arms. A small hand appeared from the depths of the coverings and grasped at the small golden hoop shining at Wolf’s earlobe.

It was his eyes, so very blue and compelling, and glittering with unearthly intensity, that did it. Her own filled to overflowing, spinning a veil. She gripped the edge of the piano bench for support.

Winston opened the front door. Six men dressed in kilts—the MacGillivray plaid—filed into the room and stood behind Wolf. He moved forward and knelt on one knee in front of Alanna. Speechless, she caught his scent and the room spun.

He settled their child on Alanna’s lap between them, and covering her hand with his, he brought both to the child’s breast. He leaned close, his voice hushed but clearly audible to all in the room. “I had another recurring dream, Alanna. This one was of a bagpiper below my window wailing a funereal
pibroch
. In the nightmare, I heard wagon wheels creaking as they carried you away. I heard your terrible screams, but no matter where I searched I could not find you.”

Anguish filled his eyes. “When I woke up, I drank. Rarely was there a time I was sober.” His blue eyes blazed into hers. “But no matter how much whisky I downed, no matter what I did, the nightmares refused to die. I roved constantly in my dreams, searching, asking anyone I met along the way if they knew of you. In time, I realized that I was the one who was lost. I wandered endlessly, hunting for my place in the world. But one night I found it. In my dream, I was dead. I read my own gravestone. I woke up calling out for you.”

Pain gripped Alanna’s chest. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and the lip she’d been biting was released with a soft moan.

Wolf loosened his hand from hers and brushed her cheek. He ran his fingers through her shorn locks. His hand slipped behind her neck, and with the same tenderness of his first touch, he pulled her forward and swept his lips to hers with a whisper of a kiss.

“I love you, Alanna. And I need you. I need your forgiveness.” He looked down at the child between them and then back up. “And I need our daughter. Already I’ve missed far too much. I want to see her take her first steps. I want to see the first snowflakes on her lashes. I want to walk with her, to pick stars from the skies for her. I want to give her—and you, the best.”

He separated the covers, his face lighting spontaneously at the sight of the child who lay asleep once again. “Isn’t she beautiful?” His voice choked. “She looks just like you.”

“Yes,” Alanna said, her words quivering. “But since she has your mouth, then she has your mother’s as well.” At the sound of his soft sob, she closed her eyes from her own pain.

He pressed his lips to her temple. “If you turn me away, from you and from our daughter, I’m sure to perish.”

She couldn’t find her voice again. God, where was it?

Confusion swept through his gaze. “I’ve been a fool. Can you forgive me?”

She shook her head. It was she who needed his forgiveness.

He paled.

“No . . . no!” she cried. “I mean yes, but I . . . I mean no, you have no reason to be forgiven.”

Color crept back into his face.

“What I mean is . . . is can you forgive me for those horrid letters I wrote you?”

He heaved a slow breath. “God, Alanna, I deserved every word.”

She shook her head and wiped at a tear. “You were in pain, and I only added to it. I have regretted those awful words every waking moment.” She pressed her forehead to his. “We MacGillivrays are a stubborn lot, aren’t we?”

He kissed her hard.

“Oh, Wolf, I have never stopped loving you. Take me away from here.”

Wolf drew his head back. Alanna shuddered at the deep pain in his eyes. He lifted his hands to her earlobes and gently removed the emerald studs she wore. Leaning back, he opened the sporran hanging at his waist, dropped in the studs and took out the pair of garnet earrings.