Devil's Own

He let her father flail for a moment, then broke in. “Oh my. An accident? I hope nothing untoward has come to pass.”



“I think you know very well what’s come to pass,” Elspeth said in a tight voice.



“Mind yourself,” her father scolded from the corner of his mouth. The old man shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. “There’s been an accident at the farm. A fire.”



Fraser steepled his fingers, watching Elspeth’s reaction. How wrong his first impressions of her had been. Initially, he’d thought her a quiet, plain wisp of a thing, but now such a whirl of emotions animated her face. He decided it was that which turned her pretty.



Would she fight him this much in the marriage bed? Would he feel as much triumph when she finally submitted? She’d be a treat indeed.



“Then you’ll need a place to stay,” he said, gratified by his own magnanimous tone. He’d spent many years clawing his way from the gutters—to play the role of wealthy benefactor was pleasing. “Some coin to get you by.”



Her father’s eyes brightened. “That’s it precisely.”



“And we can certainly step up our wedding plans.” He gave his intended a warm look, amused to watch her bridle in response. “It takes two weeks to proclaim the banns, but I’ve a minister in my pocket at my estate in Arbroath who’ll wed us as soon as I say.”



Though he doubted she was a virgin, he deemed it just as well. As long as bastard seed hadn’t taken root, he’d be happy to have young Elspeth come to him a woman primed. She was a frail thing, looking as though she might break, and he’d rather not have maiden tears flowing on his wedding night.



And besides, he’d enjoy accustoming her to his ways. He’d make her rue the day she’d allowed some other man to touch her.



Fraser grew thoughtful. That would be his next adventure—finding the identity of the man who’d deflowered her. “I’ll take you to Arbroath. In fact, we’ll leave today.”



A trap, to tempt her wayward suitor from the woodworks.



Chapter 33



Never before had Aidan known such lightness in his heart. He’d dropped Elspeth at Dunnottar as she’d asked, then turned the Journeyman back around to dock at his hired slip in Aberdeen, tasting the salt air in his broad grin all the while.



He was a man transformed, and he had Elspeth to thank for it. Her guileless ways were refreshing, renewing. And when she laughed, she shined warmth and light on the dark corners of his soul, chasing away his rage and leaving joy in its place. Her delight in the little things—in a story well told, in a fresh-picked apple—had reminded him how it was to feel happiness once more.



She still didn’t understand just how much she’d changed him. She’d been succor to his tortured body and soul, yet she still didn’t seem to see how much he needed her. It was no matter, he thought as he strode from Dunnottar to her farm. He’d be only too pleased to spend the rest of his life proving his devotion.



She’d seemed dumbfounded to hear that he’d marry her and run her farm. Little did she know, the idea of a modest slice of farmland and a run-down crofter’s cottage was heaven, particularly if it meant he’d have Elspeth by his side. He was a free man now, but freedom was nothing without pride. Yet with her as his wife, he’d be a man standing tall.



His mind went to her father, and he shoved the thoughts away, not yet willing to address his lingering doubts. He’d never felt this light, this joyful, and he’d savor it just a bit longer before facing the details of reality.



Besides, Elspeth seemed certain she could convince her father, and so he’d be certain too, for her sake. And so, instead of entertaining the dark thoughts that were his wont, his long strides quickly cut the distance to their farm, imagining she’d already explained everything to the man.



Perhaps they’d both be waiting in the fields to greet him. Perhaps Albert Farquharson had agreed already to their union. Surely the man saw what good Aidan had done for the farm, what more he could do.



He crested the hill, and his heart seized in his chest. The stench of ashes choked his lungs. Bodies of sheep baked in the sun. Her farm was a smoldering rubble.



Elspeth.



He wanted to scream her name, to cry out, but couldn’t make a sound, could barely breathe. Anguish flooded him. He’d banked it behind a dam, but seeing the devastation, the dam crumbled, and despair swamped him once more, so agonizingly familiar.



He was cursed. He was as charred a ruin as her cottage, and the drifting smoke was his soul dispersing, inconsequential, up to the heavens.



Gritting his teeth, he forced breath in and out of his lungs. He forced his mind to reason. Forced his legs to work beneath him, taking him to her farm nestled in the glen below.



As he neared, the sight made his blood run cold, but he assured himself that Elspeth was safe. The ashes were cooling, the smoke thinning. It was an old fire. It’d raged when she was aboard the Journeyman, safe by his side.



He shouldn’t have let her go. He should’ve kept her close, kept her safe until they were wed.



Safe, he made himself believe. Surely she was safe.



But what if she weren’t? A chill crept along his flesh. Because this was no accident.



He went to the paddock, taking in the carnage. This was the work of man’s hands, and he knew whose.



But where was his Beth? Perhaps she’d taken shelter with Angus, the neighboring farmer. Even as it occurred to him, his legs were racing there. Perhaps she was at the neighboring farm, even now, waiting for him.



Her blasted puppy bowled him over as he neared Angus’s homestead, and damned if Aidan wasn’t glad to see the scamp. He bent to pat the dog, praying that when he stood, he’d look up to find Elspeth walking toward him. “Achilles, lad. Where’s your mistress?”



“She’s not here,” he heard a voice call from behind him.



His last thread of hope snapped. He stood and stared Angus down. “Where’s Elspeth?” The farmer gave him a slow and considering look, and the man’s stoicism infuriated Aidan. “Why do you just stand there? Where is she? What’s happened?”



“She came with her father. He said he needed to deliver her to her fiancé in Aberdeen. I lent him my cart.”



Her fiancé? Cold dread prickled through his chest. That could only mean one thing: her marriage to Fraser was on. “Why would you do such a thing?”



“Why would I not?” Angus went about his business, leaning his chaff fork along the side of his barn. “Farquharson said it was where she needed to be. She’s to be married, and soon.”



Aidan felt a body approach and turned to find Cormac standing at his side. The sight stunned him.



“I saw the smoke from my boat,” Cormac said, glancing from one man to the other. His body was tensed, with a hand on the dagger at his hip. “What’s happened here?”



Cormac looked as though he were ready to throttle Angus first and ask questions later. Aidan wondered briefly, would Cormac truly stand by his side, without question or hesitation? In that instant, he thought his twin just might.



He greeted Cormac with a meaningful bob of his head. “Elspeth’s cursed drunk of a father took her. She’s to marry some merchant, whom”—he glared pointedly at Angus—“she doesn’t want.”



Angus shrugged. “That’s no concern of mine.”



“Couldn’t you see the woman was upset?” She’d surely been upset, hadn’t she?



He felt Cormac’s hand at his shoulder. Could his brother read his thoughts so well, or was it simply that he sensed how dangerously close to violence Aidan was getting?



“I don’t ken the lass’s mind,” Angus said. “She was silent as a mouse. But then she usually is.”



He bristled at the comment, but Cormac was quick to switch focus, asking, “Who is this merchant?”



“Damned blackguard is no good,” Aidan said. “Elspeth would never marry him of her own choice.”



The brothers’ eyes met, and Cormac must’ve seen the truth of the situation in Aidan’s expression because he gave a sharp, knowing nod. “Then there’s something else afoot.”



Angus pondered this as he coiled a stretch of rope and hung it from a nail on the side of his barn. “Her father said the man was going to help them.”



The farmer’s offhand reporting of events was bringing Aidan’s blood to a boil. “I don’t care what her father thinks,” he said, his jaw tight. He tossed off a cold, mocking laugh. “Help them … He’s delivering her into the hands of the man who destroyed their farm.”



That seemed to get Angus’s attention. His attitude went from cool to guarded. “But Farquharson said the man’s a pillar of the community, or some such.”



“Who comes into his wealth illegally.”



Angus rubbed his chin, deep in thought, and Aidan wanted to slug him. While they deliberated, his Elspeth was probably already in Fraser’s clutches.



Cormac’s hand was once again on his shoulder with a tempering grip, and Aidan wondered if his fury was that obvious. “Do you have proof?” his brother asked.



“I have papers, but they’re back at Dunnottar. They raise doubt enough.” He gave his brother a weighty look. “He’s linked to the pirate who took me.”



Cormac tensed. “Does the lass know it?”



“Aye, there’s not much that slips by Beth.”



“But she went with her father with nary a fuss,” Angus said.



Aidan stared, his voice, his heart, a blank. He was grateful when Cormac challenged the farmer, saying, “You’re saying she went willingly?”



“Seemed like.”



“She’d never willingly agree to marry him.” Aidan began to pace, the need for action exploding through him. Elspeth would never have chosen to go, which meant the men had done something to coerce her. He’d kill Fraser. Even if Elspeth had gone willingly. He’d kill the man with the black pearl too. He’d kill them all. “I don’t believe it.”