Alec: A Scottish Outlaw (Highland Outlaws Book 4)
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Chapter Thirty Two
Chapter Thirty Three
Epilogue
Alec
A Scottish Outlaw
Cover Art Created by Earthly Charms
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues are the creation of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
All rights are retained by the author. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the individual author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. The unauthorized reproduction, sharing, or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Copyright 2017 Lily Baldwin
ISBN-10: 1-942623-55-0
ISBN-13: 978-1-942623-55-7
Produced in the USA
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Chapter Thirty Two
Chapter Thirty Three
Epilogue
About Lily Baldwin
More by Lily Baldwin
About Duncurra
Other titles published by Duncurra LLC
Dedication
To Susan — I love you to the moon and back xoxoxox
Acknowledgements
Thank you, Susan, from the bottom of my heart. I would not be writing full-time if it were not for you. Alec would still be a work in progress with months of writing ahead of me. Forever grateful am I! I would also like to thank my husband—you are the love of my life. Thank you to my daughter — you are why I work so hard. I love you with all my heart. Thank you to Kathryn for your incredible insight. You are a genius, and I love you desperately. Thank you to my mama—for your eagle eyes and beautiful gift for flowing prose. I love you so very much.
Chapter One
London, England
1302
Joanie Picard swept the silk robe from her mistress’s shoulders. Diana Faintree, a famed London beauty and singer, dressed in rich fabrics and vibrant hues, but she was as common as Joanie — both born to poverty, both fighting each day to survive.
Frowning, Joanie lifted Diana’s arm and inspected the red, horizontal stripes marring the fine skin below her shoulder — thick, evenly spaced markings left behind like a cruel keepsake from their master’s biting fingers.
“Leave them for now,” Diana said, keeping her eyes averted. “The morning grows old, like me, and we’ve still much to do.”
Joanie nodded and reached for the pumice stone. She ran her thumb across the abrasive, porous surface and winced. She loathed what would happen next. Glancing at Diana’s weary face, she couldn’t help but suggest, “Where it isn’t bruised, your skin is already so soft. Why don’t we skip the stone?”
“You already know my answer,” Diana said, her lips curving in a soft smile. “But I love you for trying. Go on,” she said, the last words at a whisper.
Joanie took a deep breath. Starting at Diana’s toes and working her way up her long leg, she set to work scouring Diana’s skin with the stone in small, circular motions.
“You’re too gentle,” Diana said, gritting her teeth.
Joanie looked up at her. “You are not well. I do not wish to hurt you.”
A forced smile stretched Diana’s lips wide. “I’m fine. You worry too much.” She shifted her gaze away from Joanie’s. “Do it right.”
Joanie looked longingly at the window and imagined throwing back the shutters and hurling the hateful stone beyond the palace walls. She tightened her grip around it. If only she could crush it to dust, but then her fingers fell slack, the stone neither soaring through the air nor crumbling to the floor. It filled her palm, and it was just as well — Diana would only procure another for her routine ablutions. For nearly five years, Joanie had served as Diana’s maid, and in all that time, they had never skipped her weekly rigorous beauty treatments — despite any new bruises received at the hands of their master or her failing health. Pressing her lips together in a grim line, Joanie gripped Diana’s thigh and continued scrubbing until her skin shone red.
“Have the others faded?” Diana asked when Joanie scooted on her knees around to Diana’s backside. Angry bruises in varying shades of red, brown, and yellow marred her back, buttock, and thighs.
“A little,” Joanie said, setting the stone aside. She reached into a basket of tins and pouches filled with various creams, ointments and powders. She took up the comfrey ointment. She scooped a great dollop of the greasy balm, then dotted it over Diana’s bruises before gently rubbing the soothing ointment into her skin.
“Geoffrey was in a particularly foul mood last night,” Diana murmured.
Joanie didn’t respond. When was the master not in a foul mood?
“Look at me,” Diana entreated her.
Joanie did as she was bidden.
“Your interference must stop. He was vexed with me, not you. He never would have touched you had you not stepped in front of me.”
Joanie lowered her gaze and continued applying the balm. “You cannot ask me to stand idly by while he beats you.” Then she stopped rubbing and looked up, locking eyes with her mistress once more. “I will not do that,” she avowed through gritted teeth.
“Joanie—” Diana began, but then a deep, wet cough stole her words and her breath. Her whole body jerked as if under attack from the inside out. Joanie jumped to her feet and wrapped her arms around Diana to support her. When at last the coughing ceased and Diana caught her breath, she wiped at her eyes and smiled weakly at Joanie. “Thank you,” she rasped. Then she slowly reached out a trembling hand toward the hem of Joanie’s tunic. “How do your gifts from our master fare?”
Diana’s weakened state broke Joanie’s heart. Shaking her head, she implored, “Do not worry for me. Mine always heal quickly.” Then she scooped more salve and spread it over the fresh fingerprints on Diana’s arm. “You must save your strength. I’m nearly finished, then you can get into the bath.” Joanie glanced at the tub in front of the hearth. Steam curled in ghostly ribbons from the oily surface.
“It will do me good. I know it will,” Diana said. Then she smiled at Joanie. “I see your worry. It is etched on your dear face, visible even beneath the grime you refuse to let me help scrub away. This cough will pass.”
Joanie frowned. “I’m only permitted to bathe once a fortnight. I do not fancy being clean enough to attract the master’s fury.” She looked away before continuing in a gentle voice. “The cough is persisting this time.”
“I know,” Diana said.
The truth hung in the air between them for a moment like an ominous cloud, but Diana chased the storm away with her bright voice. “Anyway, you’ve always managed to cure me in the past.”
Joanie scanned Diana’s body. Unlike Joanie, who was shorter and slimly built, Diana had always enjoyed lush, full curves that drove men wild. But her cough had worsened over the last fortnight, and her body had begun to waste away. Joanie fought to keep her concern from showing. “The next time Simon checks in on us, I am going to have him bring up another meal for you.”
Diana shook her head. “I am still full after breaking our fast. I couldn’t possibly eat again so soon.”
“You will if you want to be stronger.” Joanie wrapped her arm around Diana’s waist. “Let me help you into the bath.”
“Wait,” Diana said.
Joanie stood still and looked at her expectantly.
“Could I have a mirror?”
Nodding, Joanie reached for the small, gilded compact on Diana’s bedside table and gave it to her. Diana held the glass up, scrutinizing her features. She pulled at the skin beneath her eyes and the soft lines framing her mouth. “I’m a disgrace.”
Joanie glanced up from the beauty mask she was mixing. “You are the most beautiful woman in London.”
Diana’s expression softened. “And you are forever my champion, even when I battle myself.” Then she turned back and continued studying her own reflection. “I was the most beautiful woman in London. But age is robbing me of the title all too soon. That is what happens when you turn thirty.”
“You are not yet thirty.”
“No, but I am eight and twenty.” Diana frowned again at what she saw in the mirror. “I may as well be a hundred.” With a sigh, she set the compact down. "At nineteen, Joanie, you can hardly understand.” Then she slid the robe from her shoulders and continued in a brighter voice. “Have you mixed the porridge mask?”
Joanie nodded, relieved for the change in subject. “Let’s get you into the tub first.” She helped Diana step into the steamy water. Joanie had poured liberal amounts of chamomile and lavender oils into the bath to soothe Diana’s bruises, and the heady scents wafted off the surface as the water rose to make room for her battle-wearied body. Diana groaned when she eased back. Joanie smiled, realizing by the contented look on Diana’s face that she voiced her pleasure rather than discomfort. Picking up the clay dish filled with a mixture of roughly cut oats and heavy cream, she smoothed a thick layer onto Diana’s upturned face.
“What will I do when my looks finally go, Joanie? Geoffrey will turn me out.”
Flashes of the master’s hulking fists and cruel eyes raced through Joanie’s mind, chasing her smile away. “Would that really be so awful?”
Diana opened her eyes and gave Joanie a hard look. “There are worse pains than fist or lash. Hunger. Cold. They are the real demons.” Her face softened. “I know you have suffered greatly at the hands of your masters and your father before he sold you. But, Joanie…” Diana shifted her gaze but not before Joanie saw the sudden sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. “You have never known true hunger or cold. Don’t ever fool yourself into thinking you’d be better off somewhere else.” Diana turned back to look at her. Her tears were gone, and her eyes shone clear and strong. “Our master is rich.” She lifted a dripping hand from the water and made a sweeping gesture. “Look at this room, at the warm bed we share and in the king’s palace, no less. We are the lucky ones, Joanie. Out there, the streets are full of people a breath away from death who would withstand any number of abuses to have what we possess.”
Joanie shifted her gaze away from Diana’s stubborn resolve wondering whether her friend was right. Were they, indeed, better off with the master? More than once, she had asked Diana to run away with her, but she had always refused and warned Joanie not to dream beyond survival. But Joanie couldn’t help wondering — was it really a choice between beatings and abuse or starvation and freezing? Couldn’t there be another life for them — one without the constant threat of pain or death? She dipped her finger into a pot of honey and willow oil and worked the mixture into her hands before gently weaving her fingers through Diana’s wet hair.
Her mistress sighed as her elbows came up on the sides of the tub. “That feels so good. I’ve had such a headache.”
“You should have told me sooner,” Joanie scolded. Then she cupped her hand and closed her eyes, imagining a ball of light at rest in her palm. Curving her palm over Diana’s forehead, she closed her eyes and took deep, slow breaths and imagined heat radiated from the light in her hand, surrounding Diana’s pain. She stayed there for a long while, confronting the darkness with her healing touch.
Diana sighed. “You’re an angel.”
Joanie opened her eyes. “You don’t believe in angels.”
Diana smiled. “For the moment I do.”
“Then the pain’s gone. Good,” Joanie said, happy to have alleviated at least a little of Diana’s suffering. She wrapped her fingers around the handle of a small copper pot and dipped it in the bath water to rinse Diana’s hair. But a sharp rapping on the door startled her, and she dropped the handle, losing the pot beneath the surface. Jumping to her feet, she came around the screen that shielded her mistress, just as a barrel-chested man of great height with thinning brown hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and a red nose from too much ale walked into the room.
Joanie expelled the breath she’d been holding. “Thank God it’s you, Simon.”
Simon was their master’s manservant. To most people, he was gruff and hard — full of bite, but beneath his coarse surface, hid a gentleness only shown to Diana and thus to Joanie by default.
He motioned toward the screen and mouthed the words, how is she?
Lips pressed into a thin line, Joanie only shook her head in answer.
“Damn it,” Simon cursed.
Straightaway, Joanie’s heart started to pound. “What is it?” she whispered. Then she heard the water slosh and knew Diana had sat up.
“Is that Simon? Is something wrong?”
His powerful shoulders sagged. Sad eyes met Joanie’s. “Geoffrey wants you in the hall tonight,” he said loud enough for Diana to hear.
Joanie’s eyes widened. “But tonight is Anabel’s night to entertain.”
Simon put his hand up, silencing her protest. “She doesn’t have to perform, but he insists she attend the evening meal and stay for the entertainment following.”
Water sloshed again. Joanie hurried around the screen.
“I must get out,” Diana said, struggling to stand. “My hair will never dry in time. And my gown still needs freshening. Joanie, what will I — ”
Joanie’s chest tightened at the sound of Diana’s sudden cough, which racked her shoulders. She white-knuckled the sides of the tub to keep her face out of the water. Joanie dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around Diana, supporting her. Wet hacking subsided into strangled wheezing and finally gasps for air. When, at last, the cough ran its course, Diana turned her face up to look at Joanie. Joanie’s heart ached at the sight of her red, tear-streaked face and wide, terrified green eyes. She trembled in Joanie’s arms. “Let’s get you dry,” Joanie said, her voice soothing. She helped Diana step from the tub, then dried her off and swept her robe around her shoulders.
“She is decent,” Joanie called. “I need your help, Simon.”
Simon appeared an instant later, his face drained of color. He scooped Diana into his arms.
“Simon’s got you.” Joanie heard him whisper.
Joanie hurried around the screen and rushed to the bed, grabbing pillows and blankets, which she then arranged near the hearth. “Lay her down and fan her hair out so it dries,” she told him. Then she hurried to the table and seized a small pouch of mustard powder from a basket, which she quickly mixed with flour, warm water from the bath, and vinegar. Then she knelt beside Diana.
“Make sure she is ready,” Simon said to Joanie.
She nodded and carried on mixing the mustard paste while she watched Simon gently stroke Diana’s cheek with the back of his fingers. Then he stood and strode from the room.
Joanie gave the thick paste a final stir. Then she opened Diana’s robe, exposing her chest.
“No,” her mistress said, waving her away. “I will stink. Just lay your hands on me. Your touch alone has healed me before.”
Joanie shook her head. “I promise it will wash away, and lavender oil will hide the smell. It will hopefully stave off another attack for some time, allowing you to regain your strength.”
Diana closed her eyes. “Fine, but just a thin layer. Then you must ready my face.”
Joanie thickly coated her chest with the foul-smelling mixture, despite her protests. Then she set to work combining a fine white power with vinegar and egg white. Using a bristly brush, she made sweeping strokes across Diana’s mottled complexion, until it gleamed white. Then she dabbed soft pink rouge on the apples of both her cheeks. Taking a step back, she scrutinized Diana’s appearance.