Read The Marquess's Scottish Bride: A Sweet & Clean Historical Romance (The Chase Brides Book 2) Online

Authors: Lauren Royal,Devon Royal

Tags: #Young Adult Historical Romance

The Marquess's Scottish Bride: A Sweet & Clean Historical Romance (The Chase Brides Book 2) (10 page)

BOOK: The Marquess's Scottish Bride: A Sweet & Clean Historical Romance (The Chase Brides Book 2)
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“Scarborough,” she gritted out.

“The
Earl
of Scarborough?” A sparkle came into his eyes, as though he were entertained by the thought of someone related to her being invited anywhere by an earl.

Just like the innkeeper downstairs.

Did she look that provincial? Her clothes were in decent condition. Her father had been a baronet.

“I’m surprised at you, Emerald.” His mocking voice interrupted her musings. “You’ve a reputation for being the cunning sort. Surely you can come up with a better story than that. It must be the knock on the head.”

Exasperated, she slammed her hand against the mattress, wincing when it jarred her. “Bile
yer
heid!”

“Pardon?” He raised a single, amused brow. “Are you suggesting I boil my head?”

Clenching her teeth, she looked away. Her plaid was tossed over a chair, her shoes and stockings on the floor. Alarm shot through her. “Did you undress me as well, then?” She thrust her hands under the bedclothes to see what else he might have taken off of her.

That brow went up again. “I reckon you’ll find you’re still decent. What do you take me for?”

“An Englishman.” Her clothing was all in place, although the laces on her shirt had been loosened. She gave them a vicious tug, then looked down and gasped. “There’s blood on my shirt.” She felt for the source, though it didn’t really hurt much.

“You were cut. Nothing serious.”

Slackening the laces, she peeked beneath. He was right. The meadow rue she’d picked would heal it in no time.

“That’s why your shirt was unlaced,” he continued. “I…checked.”

When she looked up, his face was red. A proper gentleman he was, then, but he was still an Englishman. And he was staring at her. Caithren bit her lip and felt for her good-luck charm.

Her hands closed on air.

“Where’s my amulet?” she squeaked in a panic. She struggled up on her elbows again and felt the dizziness rush back.

“I have it right here.” He reached to the bedside table, lifted the amulet, and dangled it over her head by its chain. The emerald swung in a hypnotizing pattern. “I’m hardly the type who’d steal from an unconscious maiden.”

“Well, I don’t know you, do I?” She snatched it to her chest.

His mouth tightened with annoyance. “But you know Geoffrey Gothard, don’t you?”

Crivvens, the man was bullheaded. She shot him a peevish look and slipped the chain back over her head, feeling better when the amulet was settled in place. She wrapped a hand around it.

That Geoffrey he was talking about, she remembered who he was now—the murdering cur she’d overheard at Scarborough’s and met again on the inn’s staircase. That terrible, horrible man and his scum of a brother.

Englishmen.

She shivered and tugged up on the thin quilt. Well, at least
this
Englishman was looking out for her, even if she didn’t care for him badgering her with questions. And though he was plainly cross, he’d yet to raise his voice to her.

“Thank you for your help,” she said softly by way of apology. She tried to smile.

His eyes softened in response. All at once he seemed very close to her, though he had not moved. And he was staring at her mouth, the same way that bampot Duncan had stared right before he tried to kiss her at the village dance.

Was this strange man going to kiss her, then?

Nay, she was daft! She must have truly knocked herself silly. What would a mustached, pretty-haired, bullheaded Englishman want with a girl like her? Besides, he was still cross with her: his mouth remained pressed into that thin, tight line.

She couldn’t help noticing it spoiled the dimple.

“Why are you so cross?” she heard herself asking.

“I had a job to do, Emerald,” he said with a sigh that, if she didn’t know better, she might take to be apologetic. “And you got in the way. No fault of yours.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Stay away from Geoffrey Gothard. He’s a dangerous man.”

“I quite agree. But he’s unlikely to be a danger to me, seeing as he’s on his way to London.”

“London?” She saw his body tense. “How come you to know this?”

“I…overheard him and—his brother, aye? When I went out to Scarborough’s to find Adam.” Because he seemed concerned for her welfare, she added, “They didn’t see me.”

The Englishman’s clear green eyes narrowed on hers suspiciously. “Why are you telling me this? To send me off in the wrong direction?”

“Pardon me?”

He stood abruptly. “Just stay away from Gothard. Find yourself another reward to collect.” The candle flames flickered as he strode to the door, disturbing the room’s musty air. His gaze settled on her emerald amulet for a moment before he pierced her with those incredible eyes. “I admire your persistence—it puts me in mind of my family—but I cannot see why you refuse to admit who you are.”

“You know what my mam would have said?” Caithren crossed her arms beneath the quilt. “Telling it true, pits ain in a stew.”

He paused with his hand on the latch. “I cannot understand you.”

“Then permit me to translate. Telling the truth confuses your enemies.”

“I’m not your enemy.” He blinked several times. “Why of a sudden does everyone think me his enemy?”

He said it to no one in particular, his gaze aimed toward the blackened beamed ceiling, as though he were looking for the heavens to send down an answer.

“I should be on the road after Gothard,” he mused to himself. Then he sighed and looked back to her. “But hang it if I don’t feel responsible for you.”

“Well, you needn’t be,” Cait said. “I can take care of myself.”

“Not from what I’ve seen. And now, thanks to me, you’re injured and even more vulnerable to men like the Gothards.”

“What do you mean, thanks to you?”

“You fell down the stairs after I intervened. And it was my sword that cut you. Accidentally—I wasn’t even holding it—but it’s my responsibility nonetheless.” She heard a click when he pushed down on the door latch. “I insist you accept my help.”

“I’d say you’ve helped me quite enough already.” Was this man out of his mind? “Your kind of help I don’t need.”

He didn’t seem to hear her. “Get some sleep,” he said, “but make sure you awaken. The last thing I need is another Mary.”

Mary? Who on earth was Mary?

He opened the door. “I’ll check on you in the morning. If your head still aches, we’ll have a doctor in to examine it.”

Caithren was so confused and frustrated that if she’d had the energy, she’d have kicked the door shut behind him. As it was, it closed softly.

Did he think he could order her about as he pleased?

I’ll check on you in the morning
.

Not if she had anything to say about it.

FOURTEEN

THE SILVER
blade flashed, vibrations sang up his arm, and the man before him crumpled to the ground. Blood pumped, sickeningly slick and bright—

His heart racing, Jason sat straight up in bed, sweat breaking out to coat his clammy skin. His breath came in short, hard pants.

Who was this man he’d killed? Had he been a husband, a father? Certainly he’d been a son.

How many lives had Jason ruined with that fateful thrust of his sword?

Hopefully not as many as when his own parents had been slain on the field of battle. Heaven forbid he should put another family through something like that. Not even, as his parents had, for honor.

Senseless honor. They’d died fighting for the king, yet Cromwell had prevailed.

He raked a hand through his hair and swung his shaky legs off the bed. Dust motes floated in the brightness that streamed through the crooked shutters. Sunshine. Daylight. He’d overslept. Another restless, too-short night, like they all seemed to be since he was shot.

He stumbled to his clothing, pulled out his pocket watch, and flipped open the sapphire-adorned lid. Nearly noon. Egad, Gothard would be long down the road by now.

And Emerald after him.

He threw on a shirt and breeches, then padded across the corridor to knock on her door. Silence. He tried the latch, and the door swung wide to reveal an empty room.

Cursing himself, he returned to his own room and pulled on his boots.

His family had been right—he had no business going after Geoffrey Gothard. But it had nothing to do with the state of his health. The truth was, he was much happier at his desk or riding his land. He’d always preferred calm and order; he didn’t know how to do this, this gallivanting around the country, courting trouble and violence. He was ill-suited to such a mission.

And he was botching this one good and proper.

Downstairs in the taproom, the early dinner crowd was much too cheerful for Jason’s mood. A quick glance failed to reveal Emerald among the diners. The harried innkeeper was rolling a fresh barrel of ale into place behind the counter. When he paused to mop his red face, Jason jumped behind to help him upend it. It settled into place with a
thump
, displacing more than its share of dust.

Jason coughed. “Do you know where I might find the maiden who was injured last night?”

The man wiped his shiny brow with a handkerchief. “She left this morning. On the public coach.”

“The coach? Not a horse?”

“No horses available in Pontefract. Told her that yesterday when she wanted to hire one.”

“She had no horse of her own?”

The innkeeper shrugged. “She arrived on the coach.”

Jason rubbed his aching shoulder. One didn’t use public transportation to track outlaws. If Emerald had arrived here looking for a horse, something must have happened to hers. She must be on her way to the next town to find herself another.

His hand dropped. “The coach towards where?”

“London.”

“London?” Surely she’d gone in another direction; she’d only said London to confuse him, hadn’t she? “Are you certain?”

But the moment the question was out of his mouth, he knew the innkeeper was right. The old stableman had told him Scarborough was in London. If the Gothards had come to West Riding to speak with their brother—to get something from their brother—it made sense that now they’d head to see him in London instead. And of course Emerald would go after them.

The man dabbed at his dripping nose. “London, yes. It’s Thursday, no? The coach leaves for London at eight every Thursday.”

“Eight. Confound it.” She had a four-hour lead. But the public coach was slow as a condemned man mounting Tyburn gallows, and Chiron, Jason’s silver gelding, had won his last three races in Sussex. If Emerald hadn’t found a horse yet, he might be able to catch up to her. “How much do I owe for the room?”

He slapped coins on the counter and ran upstairs to fetch his belongings, then headed back down to the stables. Deuced girl thought she could fool him, did she? The Gothard brothers were riding for London, and here she was, going after them at her first chance.

She was Emerald MacCallum, all right, no matter the lies that tumbled from her lips. And he had to keep an eye on her, lest she beat him to their quarry and attempt to capture Gothard—no doubt getting herself killed in the process. She might have a reputation for tracking men—indeed, she’d done a credible job of it so far, tracing the brothers to here—but she’d never come up against the likes of Gothard before. She was no match for such evil.

And now she was injured, thanks to Jason. He owed it to her to follow her, watch over her, whether she liked it or not. Her safety was more important than her pride.

Luckily, they seemed to be heading in the same direction.

It would be no trouble.

FIFTEEN

JASON CAUGHT
up to Emerald’s coach—at least he hoped it was her coach—in Doncaster. Passengers had disembarked. A few walked along Church Street or Greyfriars Road, stretching their legs while the horses were changed.

Emerald was nowhere in sight.

He tethered Chiron and poked his head into the coach’s cabin, finding it empty. Neither was she inside the Greyfriars Inn, where other passengers were taking refreshment.

Hang it, had she hired a horse and left already?

Frustrated, he paid for an ale and paced Church Street while drinking thirstily. He decided he should be relieved she’d found a horse—it would have been frustrating following a public coach. Much too slow. Once he found her—assuming he could—it would be much better with her on horseback. He could follow surreptitiously and keep her safe, without worrying about the brothers getting too far ahead.

BOOK: The Marquess's Scottish Bride: A Sweet & Clean Historical Romance (The Chase Brides Book 2)
3.56Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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