Read Online Highland Wolf (Highland Brides) by Lois Greiman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lois Greiman
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical, Historical Romance, Scotland, highland romance, highland historical, Scottish History
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floor as he creaked across it. "I've got no sense of goodness. Not in this. Your bastard countryman raped my daughter." He stopped to turn and stare at Roman, his eyes bloodshot, his breath coming hard. "He raped my Christine," he rasped, but the rage was slipping now, being replaced by a sadness that even his stiff-backed pride could not hide. "MacAulay will die."
Roman drew a careful breath. "Will it help?' he asked softly.
"What's that?" Harrington turned his head to hear better.
"Will it help if the lad is killed?" Roman asked. There was no use denying MacAulay's actions. Not now. "Will it erase the stain from your daughter? Or will it only darken it?"
The old man scowled.
"If David MacAulay dies, every soul in Firthport will know the reason," Roman said. 'The gossip of your daughter's disgrace will be like carrion for the crows. But if we settle this as gentlemen, who will know?"
He had struck a blow. Harrington looked as if he might actually crumble from it. But he remained erect. Roman couldn't help but admire him the slightest bit for that.
"I'm sending her to London," Harrington said.
There. The sadness again. He could see it in the old man's eyes. "Your only daughter?" Roman asked. "Far away in the sordid bowels of London?"
The viscount's face paled even more. "There is nothing else to be done," he whispered, more to himself than to Roman. "Nothing else. But I... What shall I do without my..." He faltered, but suddenly a young woman swept into the room.
"I'll not go," she said. She was dressed in a gown of black. Her hands were clasped before her and her eyes were wide and round in her pale face. "I'll not."
"Christine!" said the old man. But the single word sounded more like a prayer than a reprimand.
"I'll not go, Father," she repeated more softly.
Harrington's lips puckered and his brows lowered. "You'll go where I say. But for now you'll get yourself to your rooms."
"No! Tell me where he is. Let me go to him." Her fingers unclasped quickly and spread in frantic appeal toward her father. "Please."
"Get from my sight or I'll..."
"You'll what, Father? Strike me?" she asked, pulling her hands down to her sides and forming them to small, white-knuckled fists. "Do you think you can beat the love from my heart?"
"Don't speak of love!" he roared. "For you know nothing of the meaning. You've shamed me and this house, and now you dress in black and talk of things you cannot comprehend. If your mother were here, she would choose a noble of the peer for you just as I have. She would wish for you to..."
"She would wish for me to find a man that I can respect and cherish. And cherish him I do, whether you wish it or not."
Harrington drew himself to his full height, pulling his cane from the floor and clasping it tightly to his chest. "Utter those words again, child, and I'll see him hanged on the morrow."
Her face turned deathly white and her lips parted in surprise. "You wouldn't!" she whispered.
"I would!" vowed Harrington.
"Father, please." She stumbled forward, but the old man held up a hand. "I'll hear no more!" The words rang in the room, followed by the silence of impending death.
Roman's mind scurried for words to mend the situation, but Harrington turned toward him with slow finality. "I've the power to see him dead," he said. "Don't you think I don't."
In that instant Roman saw everything. The old man's pain. His pride, his power, slipping from his failing hands like wine through a broken chalice. He nodded once. "Aye, my lord. Ye have the power."
Harrington nodded in return. "You've a score of days," he said rustily. "Bring me the necklace in that time, and the MacAulay will yet see his son returned home and intact."
Less than three weeks! When he had hardly a clue to the whereabouts of the necklace. Roman was about to plead for more, but the old man shook his head.
"One day past. One minute past, and he'll die as surely as you live and breathe."
It was fully dark when Roman reached
Roman drew a careful breath. "Will it help?' he asked softly.
"What's that?" Harrington turned his head to hear better.
"Will it help if the lad is killed?" Roman asked. There was no use denying MacAulay's actions. Not now. "Will it erase the stain from your daughter? Or will it only darken it?"
The old man scowled.
"If David MacAulay dies, every soul in Firthport will know the reason," Roman said. 'The gossip of your daughter's disgrace will be like carrion for the crows. But if we settle this as gentlemen, who will know?"
He had struck a blow. Harrington looked as if he might actually crumble from it. But he remained erect. Roman couldn't help but admire him the slightest bit for that.
"I'm sending her to London," Harrington said.
There. The sadness again. He could see it in the old man's eyes. "Your only daughter?" Roman asked. "Far away in the sordid bowels of London?"
The viscount's face paled even more. "There is nothing else to be done," he whispered, more to himself than to Roman. "Nothing else. But I... What shall I do without my..." He faltered, but suddenly a young woman swept into the room.
"I'll not go," she said. She was dressed in a gown of black. Her hands were clasped before her and her eyes were wide and round in her pale face. "I'll not."
"Christine!" said the old man. But the single word sounded more like a prayer than a reprimand.
"I'll not go, Father," she repeated more softly.
Harrington's lips puckered and his brows lowered. "You'll go where I say. But for now you'll get yourself to your rooms."
"No! Tell me where he is. Let me go to him." Her fingers unclasped quickly and spread in frantic appeal toward her father. "Please."
"Get from my sight or I'll..."
"You'll what, Father? Strike me?" she asked, pulling her hands down to her sides and forming them to small, white-knuckled fists. "Do you think you can beat the love from my heart?"
"Don't speak of love!" he roared. "For you know nothing of the meaning. You've shamed me and this house, and now you dress in black and talk of things you cannot comprehend. If your mother were here, she would choose a noble of the peer for you just as I have. She would wish for you to..."
"She would wish for me to find a man that I can respect and cherish. And cherish him I do, whether you wish it or not."
Harrington drew himself to his full height, pulling his cane from the floor and clasping it tightly to his chest. "Utter those words again, child, and I'll see him hanged on the morrow."
Her face turned deathly white and her lips parted in surprise. "You wouldn't!" she whispered.
"I would!" vowed Harrington.
"Father, please." She stumbled forward, but the old man held up a hand. "I'll hear no more!" The words rang in the room, followed by the silence of impending death.
Roman's mind scurried for words to mend the situation, but Harrington turned toward him with slow finality. "I've the power to see him dead," he said. "Don't you think I don't."
In that instant Roman saw everything. The old man's pain. His pride, his power, slipping from his failing hands like wine through a broken chalice. He nodded once. "Aye, my lord. Ye have the power."
Harrington nodded in return. "You've a score of days," he said rustily. "Bring me the necklace in that time, and the MacAulay will yet see his son returned home and intact."
Less than three weeks! When he had hardly a clue to the whereabouts of the necklace. Roman was about to plead for more, but the old man shook his head.
"One day past. One minute past, and he'll die as surely as you live and breathe."
It was fully dark when Roman reached
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