The Making of a Highlander (Midnight in Scotland #1) - Elisa Braden Page 0,75
they meet, he began to wonder if the vise tightening around his heart would only wrench harder until the moment he could hold Annie Tulloch in his arms again.
He sat down at the scarred table where his companions waited.
“Everything all right?” Robert asked.
John nodded. “It will be.” He met the eyes of the other men at his table. “As soon as I discover who targeted my future wife’s family and make him pay a very dear price.”
Chapter Fourteen
TlU
There was something perverse about a prison built to resemble a palace. As far as Annie was concerned, the Bridewell should be an eyesore. Instead, it was a four-story castle with symmetrical gabled wings topped by gleaming crosses. To the rear was a third wing, semicircular in shape. The whole was surrounded by high walls and iron fencing, to be sure, but the main gate was a turreted masterpiece.
Annie gaped as their coach passed through into the inner courtyard.
How she wished she’d taken Huxley up on his offer. Her hand reflexively gripped the wee thistle charm, but it wasn’t the same as holding her Englishman’s strong hand.
She leaned her cheek against the coach wall to get a better view out the window. Campbell and the taller solicitor handed a gaoler the papers ordering Broderick’s release. The gaoler was dark and small, his clothing neat. He nodded at something the solicitor said and waved to another set of gaolers.
“How bluidy many of ye does it take to read an order?” she muttered. The thistle dug into her palm. Her other hand hovered on the door handle. Angus and her brothers had warned her not to leave the coach. But, by God, if these damnable wretches didn’t bring her brother to her right this moment, she would walk into that prison palace and fetch him herself.
The second and third gaolers nodded their understanding, and they waved Campbell and Alexander through a second set of gates.
The coach door opened.
Angus gave a disgusted grunt and climbed inside, hunching as he took the bench opposite Annie. He looked haggard and old. “Not long now, lassie.”
She eyed the makeshift litter they’d installed diagonally across the benches. Made of a canvas sling lined with blankets and straw, it should prove comfortable for a normal man. But she didn’t know the extent of Broderick’s injuries. When she’d asked, Rannoch had gone deathly grim. “It’s bad, Annie.” Her youngest brother had run a hand over his eyes. “Very bad.”
Now, she saw her own dread reflected in Angus’s face. “Da.”
He glanced up.
“We have him back. He’s free. They cannae charge him again, can they?”
Her father didn’t answer straight away. Instead, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and patted the bedding she’d assembled. “This is fine work ye’ve done.”
“Da—”
“Ye’ll give him proper care, Annie; I’ve no doubt of it.”
“Of course I—”
Dark eyes met hers. “The truth is, we dinnae ken who hates him enough to do this.”
“What of Skene?”
Angus shook his head. “Merely the hand that pulled the trigger. He’s gone to ground. Even Alexander couldnae track him.”
Her heart sank. If they couldn’t locate Skene, they couldn’t find the man behind Skene. The one with the real power. She reached for Angus’s hand. “We’ll discover who did this, Da. We must.”
He squeezed her fingers and opened the coach door. “Aye, lassie. We must.”
Long minutes passed. Sullen rain began to fall.
She watched Rannoch and Angus pacing in the courtyard, glimpsed gaolers passing by on rounds, saw women and men beyond the inner gates working, chatting, and peering out at them.
Prisoners. They milled about as if nothing were amiss. Women carried baskets and men pushed wheelbarrows. Even children dashed by as though this were a normal castle inhabited by busy servants.
It seemed an absurdity to Annie. She closed her eyes and tried to think of something more pleasant. The scent of her kitchen when dinner was almost ready. The waterfall just north of Glendasheen Castle.
John Huxley’s kiss. Oh, heavens.
She sighed and sank back, remembering his lips. His hands. His fingers and the wondrous things he’d made her feel. And her chest ached. Because, as pleasurable as their kiss had been, what she most longed for were the moments afterward, when his eyes had blazed down at her with rapturous fixation. Seeing John Huxley as ensnared as she was had been glorious.