Highland Hellion (Highland Weddings #3)(61)
Without a doubt, she knew it would be worth even her life.
*
“Bridget Hussy would be satisfied.”
The Earl of Morton shifted his attention to his adviser, William Ruthven, the Earl of Gowrie.
“I crave an alliance with the Earl of Bedford, not his wife.”
“Both have advantages,” Ruthven continued without cringing over the tone Morton used. “The countess controls a vast wealth. Since Rolfe wed the girl without a contract, ye could keep the dowry.”
Morton nodded reluctantly. “And yet that is no’ an alliance with England.”
“Francis Russell has not left Elizabeth’s side in eight years,” Ruthven argued. “The girl is just a bastard.”
“An acknowledged one.”
Ruthven nodded. “Yet she has been in Scotland for seven years now. Too long for the man to want her back. Better to press the countess for a dowry and leave Katherine Carew wed to McTavish.”
“Which will not satisfy the question of disobedience,” Morton said.
The Earl of Gowrie sent Morton a long look. “That need to satisfy yer pride is becoming very costly. The Bedfords have more money than the Queen of England. More gold than a single by-blow is worth. Considering that ye stole the girl, getting anything for her is gain enough.”
“Scotland needs unity,” Morton growled. “If ye can nae put that foremost in yer mind, ye are no good to me. Get out.”
Beyond the private chambers of the Regent of Scotland, William Ruthven, Earl of Gowrie, encountered the Earl of Angus. Morton had dismissed Angus the week before.
“That man thinks he’s king,” Ruthven remarked in a hushed tone.
“Aye,” Angus agreed. “And James is getting old enough to do something about it.”
William looked around, making sure they were not being overheard. “Only if we get that lad away from Esmé Stuart.”
Angus grunted at the mention of the king’s new, very French friend. “This is a dangerous topic of conversation.”
“I am more concerned about how dangerous it might be if we leave it unspoken,” Gowrie said. “It’s one thing to insist on a few weddings in the Highlands to bring feuds to an end, but another to throw a man into chains for no’ being willing to hand over his own wife.”
“Morton should be pleased to have the English bastard out of his hands and no longer looking to him for her keep,” Angus agreed.
“He’s talking about hanging the McTavish.”
Angus snarled. “Bloody Douglas. What does he think that is going to accomplish?”
Gowrie looked around again. “From what I can see, Diocail Gordon is staying to see the outcome.”
“Morton just might succeed in uniting those clans after all,” Angus said. “But against us Lowlanders.”
“Aye,” Gowrie answered. “It’s growing past time for Morton to be removed from that throne he likes to sit in.”
“Maybe we can use this to our advantage.”
Angus lifted an eyebrow in question. Gowrie sent him a grin. “I’m going to find Diocail Gordon and see how deep his ties with the McTavish run.”
*
He didn’t regret anything.
Rolfe shifted and tried to find a spot on his knee to lean his head without pain. The chain connected to the collar around his neck was too short to allow him to lie down on the floor of the cell. Looking at the built-up muck, he decided that was likely a good thing. The stench told him exactly what the dark filth was composed of. If the smell didn’t clue him in, the lack of a toilet bucket in the cell did.
He didn’t regret it.
None of it.
A man only had his honor to call his own.
His father would argue that he’d been a darned fool, and perhaps it was a fitting label. All that admission did was make Rolfe smile. Being a fool for Katherine, well, he’d happily live with that.
The first time he’d seen her, he’d known she was unique.
He’d had to have her.
And it had been worth it.
No matter what.
Was that bewitchment? Love? He had no idea, except for the fact that even there, in that stinking cell, he was sure he could smell the delicate scent of her hair. When he closed his eyes, she was there, looking at him with midnight eyes, the very opposite of his own green ones.
Hellion…
Oh yes, she was that.
But she was his hellion.
*
“Morton doesn’t have any mercy,” Katherine said.
Adwin had a mug in front of him, but he wasn’t drinking the contents. Rolfe’s captain eyed her with a look that twisted her heart.
“I care for him.” She came closer, sitting beside Adwin on the bench. The fire in the hearth had died down, and the men had made their way abovestairs to sleep. She’d sat in her tiny room, waiting for the noise in the small town-house to die down. “You must allow me to free him.”
Adwin shook his head. “I could no’ fail to protect ye, lass. I’ve watched over that lad for nearly a decade now. He is me life.”
She slowly smiled. “I know. It’s clear on your face when you look at him.”
Adwin offered her a grin. The captain kept a full beard that made him appear gruff most of the time because it was so thick and dark.