MC BIKER ROMANCE: Bad Boy Romance: BETRAYED: (New Adult Motorcycle Club Navy SEAL Romance) (Contemporary Military Romance Thriller) (59 page)

Chapter 9

Ferdinand

              The following morning, by the time we finished our breakfast, a message had arrived that our presence was requested by the king. Rosalind was already prepared for such a call and had the carriage waiting.             

              “Vivien, help yourself to the kitchen or have the staff make you something. Everyone has been instructed on places to conceal you if anyone arrives while we are away,” Rosalind said.

              I gave Vivien a quick but sincere kiss. Then we departed for out meeting with the royals.

              The ride seemed to pass all too quickly, but Rosalind seemed confident. That gave me confidence as well, although, other than asking us for details to solidify her plan, Rosalind had not actually told us what was going on.

              When we arrived at the castle, a servant was waiting to lead us directly to the throne room. When we entered, there was only the king, the queen, and a servant woman I had not met.

              “Lord Ferdinand, Duke of Vestavia, this woman before us accuses you of impregnating her daughter and refusing to care for the unwed mother and child. Is this true?” he asked.

              Before I could answer, Rosalind stepped forward.

              “Your Highness, my liege, cousin,” she said, kneeling and eyeing our adversary just slightly, “the woman who has brought us here today was also at our home yesterday while my husband was out, demanding payment for silence about such acts.”

              “Is this true?” the king asked, turning to face the woman I now knew to be Vivien’s mother.

              “I only wanted to inform the lady of her husband’s activities,” she said.

              “Do not try to manipulate me, woman. Did you demand any payment or restitution for your yet unproven claim?” he asked more forcefully.

              “Perhaps,” she said with a quick curtsy and a large step back.

              “Where is your daughter now?” he asked.

              “Well, she ran off to meet him and I have not seen her since,” she replied.

              “Are you certain of what you claim or did you only see the two together for a moment and form your own conclusions?” the king continued.

              “Well, Your Highness,” she said, but was interrupted before she could give any further detail into her side of the story.

              “Your Highness, my husband is a good man and has had a clean name for the entirety of our marriage. I believe this woman is simply stressed at the thought of her missing daughter. Since she is a citizen of our duchy, surely my husband will rally men to find the girl in question. If she is pregnant or seeks to run away with a young man, we will handle the matter accordingly. You should not be troubled with rumors, gossip, and woes of paternity that do not affect the crown,” Rosalind said, seeming to take pleasure in commanding the room.
              “But, Your Highness,” the woman squawked.

              “Madam, I feel their offer is entirely in your favor, considering you came here intent on besmirching their title and leaving with your hand ever in their pocket. Even if your claim was true, there is a certain understanding that a blind eye is turned to the bastards of nobility,” he said with a calmness about his demeanor, but a glint of fire in his eye.

              “Yes, Your Highness,” she said with another small curtsy.

              “Well then, you are excused. Ferdinand, Rosalind, I apologize for the inconvenience, but thank you for your prompt attention to this matter,” the king said.

              Almost imperceptibly, I saw him give Rosalind a small wink.

              When we returned to our carriage I kissed Rosalind’s cheek with excitement at the way she had made a potentially troublesome situation all but disappear.

              “The day is not finished yet,” she said.

              As we made way for home, near the place she and I had picnicked only two days before, our carriage was assaulted. Rosalind was spared, but I was taken with a sack over my head.

Chapter 10

Vivien

              Once Rosalind and Ferdinand left, a servant came to me.

              “Madam, it is time for us to leave as well. Please follow me through the servants’ quarters,” she said.

              “But, I thought I was to stay here unless I needed to hide,” I asked.

              “Your prior instructions were for Ferdinand’s benefit. Rosalind has made arrangements for you both, but you must leave with me now. I promise to do you no harm,” she said with a small curtsy.

              “You don’t have to do that. I am no better than you. I am but a scullery maid,” I said.

              “No, you are something else entirely,” she said, giving me a friendly smile.

              I put my faith in Rosalind’s relationship with Ferdinand and followed the servant. She led me through several halls and doors until we exited from a door that could not be seen from any front view of the property. A work wagon was waiting.

              She handed me an envelope. Then she gave the driver a signal and we were on our way.

              We rode for what seemed hours on trails I was not familiar with. After some time we reached a harbor where men were loading cargo on a ship.

              I began to weep softly, realizing the plot this whole time was to send me away to keep their secret. Last night was a show for Ferdinand. I hated that I would never hear his voice again.

              Until suddenly, I did.

              I looked to the ship and saw that one of the men I initially thought was a worker was actually my beloved.

              I began to walk swiftly up the ramp to board the ship with him.  When I reached him he kissed me deeply and smiled.

              “It is all arranged,” he said.

              “I don’t understand. What is going on?” I asked.

              “Rosalind. She has spared you your mother’s wrath and greed as well as removed the possibility of any scandal that could follow us.

              “How? What is going on?” I asked again.

              “Well, the meeting with the king this morning squashed any attempts you mother could make. You and I are going to America to have whatever life we choose together,” he said excitedly, kissing me again.

              “How can you leave? You are the Duke of Vestavia,” I said concerned.

              “On our ride back she feigned my kidnapping. She will return to the king and tell him I have been taken. After some time I will be presumed dead, leaving her the duchy and the freedom to follow her own romantic desires in good conscience,” he said, still smiling.

              “What if my mother starts a rumor from your disappearance? She could say her proof is us running away together,” I said, filled with new doubt.

              “Not likely. My wife did not like your mother’s intentions and refused to pay her. However, the Viscountess Apogee has always had a soft spot for romance and happy endings. Our scullery maid is now hers. She will deny any accusation that you ever worked for her. She will convince her staff to do so as well,” he said, smiling even more broadly, if it was possible.

              I thought for a moment. The stories seemed to line up.

              “There will be no returning,” I said.

              “There is nothing here for either of us to return to. What we need will be travelling with us,” he said, full of confidence.

              “What of your friendship with your wife?” I asked.

              “In America, you are my wife. After sufficient time, Europe will view Rosalind as my widow,” he said.

              “I feel sad that she has done so much for us only to be left alone. You have always spoke well of her. She deserves happiness,” I said sincerely.

              “I am sure her happiness is on the horizon. A lot of big things will be happening in America very soon. Perhaps we will read headlines of her travels with a new company. I know we will hear great things about the influence of the Duchess of Vestavia,” he said.

              Immediately after, the ships horns began to blow. All the crew members began bustling about as we pulled away from shore. A new life awaited us in a new world.

The Rogue Highlander

Chapter 1

Sitting on a large flat stone upon the top of one of the highest mountains in the highlands with a gentle breeze caressing her red hair, Cairistine looked out over the stone covered peaks and ridges that made up her highland home. Having developed a very shapely form during her younger years, she’d been pursued by plenty of men who might have been suitable mates, but, in truth, she only encountered the happiness that she sought by strolling in the forests, among the tall grass upon the slopes of the hills and drinking in the bounty of nature.

With her mother having passed on to that great peace beyond while she was still young, it had driven her father close to insanity to have her gallivantin’ aboot the hills, while her older siblings tended to the chores. In spite of the numerous whippings and punishments that her father had dished out, Cairistine had not settled down, preferring to pass the entire day, from dawn to dusk, well away from the stone walls where her father hoped to keep her. In time, he had simply given up on Cairistine, though the chiding of her older sisters would likely never be given up.

“At your age,” Emily had told her, too many times to count. “You ought to be lookin’ fer a man te star’ a home with an’ star’ in raisin’ wee ones of yer own.”

After witnessing how much freedom was lost in the raisin’ of wee ones, she had decided that, though she yearned for a baby at some point in her future, it was something that could be put off for a good while longer, especially, when she hadn't really run across the type of man that she would even consider spending the rest of her days with.

The crowded streets of the small village in the valley often held a bit of curiosity for her, but were typically a burden as well. The endless line of young men that saw little more than a shapely form with fiery hair and eyes of blue not only interested her little, but it was irritating to have to bite her tongue and remain civil as she fielded the endless stream of invitations and propositions.
Can’t they just leave well enough alone? If and when I want a man, I’ll look for one.

Worse than the stream of suitors that she had to endure, however, was the endless chatter of her siblings as they talked about those young men who had harassed her and them throughout the entire day. “Actually, Cairistine,” Amilia giggled. “You’re somethin’ o’ a bi’ o goo’ luck fer the rest of us. When a lad misses his chance wit’ ye, he terns his charms te the next in line. I’ve nearly a dozen invitations an’ propositions to consider an’ I thin’ there were a’ least three o’ them tradin’ blows to be wit’ me.”

“Tis fine luck fer ye, then,” was Cairistine’s only response, though Amilia and the other three continued to press her.

After the way her mother had so quickly withered away, having produced four girls and three boys before being completely spent, Cairistine had looked upon the whole scene as little more than a means to an early grave. There was so much more to the world, even within a stone’s throw of the house, than her sisters seemed to understand.

As the morning mist began to rise up out of the valley below and spread itself out over the slope, she was drawn away from the stone covered slope and into the wood toward a small stone shack with a sod roof that was of particular interest to her. Within that shack lived a woman who might have lived a thousand years if she’d lived a hundred. Folks around considered her to be a troll or a witch of some sort and steered well clear of that particular part of the wood, but Cairistine knew her as Inghean and as one who knew how to use what could be found in nature to heal. From her Cairistine had learned a great deal about the plants and trees, but also about what secrets salves and medicines might be made from each.

“There’s a chill in the mist this mornin’, lassie,” Inghean mumbled in place of a greeting. “Must be gettin’ on to winter soon.” The old woman was hunched over and overtaken by wrinkles and warts, but her eyes were clear and her mind steady. She tended to grumble whenever she spoke of folks about, but there wasn’t any malice in her words when she spoke to Cairistine.

“I was hopin’ fer a stool beside yer fire,” Cairistine replied.

“Ye haven’t a stool beside the fire in your father’s house?”

“An listen te those aboot it gossipin’? I’d sooner freeze te death in the mist.”

“I migh’ be talkin’ te gossip m’self this mornin’.” Inghean enjoyed something of a chuckle though it was little different sounding than a hacking cough. She often teased Cairistine in a rather crude way. It sounded much worse than it was.

Cairistine moved closer to the fire. “How di’ our laddie get along durin’ the night?”

“Ye can see feryerself,” replied the hag. “But ye seem te have more interes’ in the fire.”

Only two days before, Cairistine had found an ailing pine marten while she was wandering about and had tucked it away in the folds of her dress in order to bring it to Inghean. The old woman hadn’t held out much hope for the creature, but because Cairistine had insisted that they had to try something, she’d done the best she could. The first day hadn’t seen much improvement, but Cairistine was anxious to see if another day had made a difference.

Squeezing through the narrow door that led from the main room of the house into what amounted to little more than a stable with a number of cages attached to the back of the shack, Cairistine moved cautiously down the aisle between the mostly empty cages. It took only a moment for her to have the answer to her question. The long narrow form of the scurrying creature quickly caught her attention and she could tell immediately that he was much better.

“There ye go ye good lad,” she chuckled.

“He awakened b’fore dawn, he did.” The old woman moved up behind her. “Pu’ up all kin’ o’ racket te where twas impossible te sleep. Ye’ll need te carry him te his home t’dayer there’ll be nary a wink o’ sleep te be got in this old hag’s shack.”

“But he was so hopeless yesterday,” Cairistine responded.

“Ye ne’er know aboot critters such as these,” Inghean replied. “One minute they’re on the derstoop o’ the almighty an’ the nex’ they’re turnin’ flips.”

“I best be getting’ him back te his family then,” Cairistine said.

“I thought ye was seekin’ a fire te warm ye?” the old woman chuckled.

“A fire could ne’er warm me the way seein’ this wee one happy does.”

“Ye won’ be takin’ him back in the fold o’ yer dress, lassie,” Inghean warned. “He’ll have ye in tatters before yer away from the shack.”

“But ye said, yerself that I need te be takin’ him home.”

“I did, indeed,” she cackled. “I’ve a basket fer the task, though I fear it no is gonna be an easy task getting’ him in it.”

With the basket placed near the opening of the cage where the marten was being kept, the two of them started into what seemed, after the first dozen tries, to be entirely impossible. The narrow, wiry body of the largest member of the weasel family would enter the basket, but before either of them could get the lid closed, he was loose and scurrying to the other corner. By some pure luck, he finally entered the basket and happened to jar it in such a way for the lid to close. Cairistine dove on the basket and held it closed until Inghean could get it latched.

“We’ll be needin’ te tie a lengt’ o’ cord aboottha’ basket, lassie,” the old woman said, nearly out of breath from the activity. “Wit’ his narrow body, he can scurry through a keyhole, I don’ doot.”

Cairistine held the basket lid closed while Inghean found some cord to wrap tightly about the lid. The basket bucked and jumped in her grasp, a certain testament to the fact that the creature inside was in good health. Inghean wrapped three cords over the basket and tied them tightly before stepping away.

“A’righ’ then, lassie, let’s see if that’ll hold him,” she said, watching the basket closely as Cairistine loosened her grip on it.

Though the basket tumbled several times, the lid held shut and the marten was unable to find a crack to slither through.

“It seems te be holdin’ him,” Cairistine commented.

“Ye bes’ be on yer way, then, lassie,” the old woman commented. “Who knows how much longer twill hold with him raisin’ the devil in there?”

Cairistine scooped up the wildly dancing basket. It wasn’t easy to hold onto, but she managed to wrap her arms around it and hold it fast. “Ye healed him fer certain,” she laughed.

“Ye don’ be wastin’ time gettin’ him te where he belongs,” Inghean warned. “An’ tis bes’ ye no are wanderin’ the wood t’day, lassie. There’s Campbellsaboot an’ they’re a huntin’ somethin’. Won’ be doin’ ye no goo’ te come across a Campbell when yer alone in the wood.”

“A Campbell don’ stan’ a chance again the likes o’ me.” Cairistine raised her chin slightly.

“Jest the same, lassie, be on yer guard an’ keep yer eyes open. They believe themselves te own all o’ the highlands and they won’ have secon’ thought aboot takin’ advantage o’ a girl alone in the wood.”

“I’ll be careful.” Cairistine knew that there wasn’t any point in discussing it further. She started out of the stable using the stable door rather than going back through the house and started on her way back to where she had found the marten.