Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

" O ne kiss, Eloise. Aye, just one." The man thrust his face toward Eloise.

Her blood ran cold as her hand tightened around the goblet in her grasp, in danger of breaking off the spindle. The man repulsed her, with pock marks on his face and such pale eyes that they were sickly to stare at.

I'd rather die than kiss him!

When his hand grabbed her waist and pulled him toward her, she acted fast. Her foot struck out, kicking him in the shin.

"Ow," he hissed, releasing her and stumbling back into one of the timber beams that held up the roof of the inn.

Eloise looked around the busy inn, checking that no one had seen their tussle in the candlelight. This job was getting more and more dangerous, however she had no choice but to carry on.

The night before, sitting at her sister's dinner table, she had feared that Laird Noah Chattan knew who he was talking of when he mentioned ladies that worked as escorts in his clan. Eloise was one such woman, though she did not offer her body as part of the deal, just her acting skills. The last few years, she had taken the part of wives, sisters, even daughters, for men who wished to put on an act for their families and friends. It had earned her the money she needed to pay off her father's debts, when he started to get death threats from his creditors.

It was her greatest secret – a secret that not even her brother Avery, who had left their home early as his father had made his life miserable, and her sister Scarlett, whom she hadn't known about until not long ago, were aware of. Their father had indebted himself with some dangerous men. Out of fear for his life, he'd retreated from public life, and she had set about trying to save him by repaying those debts. Lying to her family, Avery and Scarlett thought that she traveled with or for their father when she was not with the Chattan clan. They had no idea she was working as an escort to earn the money.

Soon, it will all be done. There arenae many more debtors tae pay off.

The man she had kicked turned back to face her, his lips fixing into such a firm line that she nearly backed up. She was timid, quiet, yes, but she had learned long ago that a way to make a man back down was often to hold her ground.

"I paid ye, Eloise, remember that," the man reminded her, thrusting his lips near her ear so that his long auburn hair tickled her cheek. Bile raised in her throat, and she fought to hold it down.

"Aye, tae act as yer wife, nae tae perform the marital acts, Stewart," she hissed back and stamped down on his foot. He grimaced once more and stepped away from her. "The deal was for this evening only." She gestured to the gathering of his family.

Stewart was an embarrassed soul. After so many years parted from his family, he wanted to return to them with the appearance of a successful man. He'd poured his savings into buying the nice clothes that now hung off his back and hiring Eloise for the night. He'd told the lie that he was a merchant with a wealthy wife, whereas he was in fact a groomsman. He was also avoiding telling his family that his true wife had left him.

"I have played my part fer the evening," Eloise whispered to him. "It is time tae say goodbye fer the night tae yer family. Time tae leave, Stewart."

He huffed heavily and looked around the room, clearly reluctant.

"Unless ye would like me tae walk out alone and have yer family questioning why yer wife would go alone." She downed what was left in her goblet and put it on a ledge, turning ready to leave the inn. He caught her arm, his fingers vice-like. "Ow," she muttered, trying to tear her arm out of his grasp.

It isnae like another's touch.

For some reason, Eloise had been unable to get the dinner from the night before out of her head. It was one of the few times she had recently been back to see her sister and brother at the Chattan castle this last year. Sat beside Murdoch, one of the soldiers, she'd found him more talkative than usual, and those dark glares seemed to have reached inside of her, making her heart quiver.

He is an intimidating presence, aye, and a frustratingly handsome one.

The square jaw and angular lines of his face were rather difficult to forget. When their fingers had touched on the wine jug, she'd snapped her hand away, startled by the warmth that had spread through her at such a touch.

"Och, as ye wish, we will leave," Stewart muttered darkly in her ear, "but act yer part, I dinnae want my family suspicious."

"It is what ye are paying me fer." Eloise put on a false smile and took Stewart's arm, pretending to be loving as he drew her toward their hosts. She thanked them for their kindness that evening and gushed at how lovely it was to meet them. As she and Stewart left, she waited until they reached the stable and were far out of the view of anyone looking out of the windows of the inn, then she released Stewart and held up the palm of her hand. "Now it is time tae pay, Stewart. Ye gave me half afore tonight. It is time for me tae collect the rest."

Stewart sighed as he turned to face her, thrusting his hands in his pockets as he sought out the money. He took his time, delaying the inevitable moment when he would have to pay her. Eloise looked around in the darkness, apprehensive about being seen. Something she had learned long ago in this business was the imperativeness of secrecy. No one must know. She also feared her brother and sister finding out the truth one day.

What would Avery say if he kenned? He'd be furious! Aye, embarrassed too, nae doubt. I cannae risk that.

"Stewart," she murmured, waving her hand at him once again. "Ye did bring the money with ye, did ye nae?"

"Of course I did." He huffed and turned away. "I just dinnae want anyone tae see. Come in the stable. Nae one will have a chance tae see us there." He jerked his head, urging her to follow him. She trailed behind him to the stable and stepped inside.

The horses snorted and one neighed in acknowledgement of their presence. Their sounds echoed in the darkness, for so little moonlight filtered into the stable, Eloise could see but one beam of white light. Nervous to move out of it, she hovered on the edge.

"Stewart?" she whispered.

"This way. I think the money is in my saddle bag." His voice had retreated across the stable, hiding in the shadowy corner so much that she could not see a glimmer of his face.

Slowly, Eloise stepped out of the light, moving toward him, the lure of the money too much of a temptation to refuse. After all, she wouldn't have to do this much more if she could secure the money. Soon, she would be free.

Clasping her hand around the dagger in her belt, she approached the darkness.

"Stewart?"

A hand grabbed her loose wrist and jerked her forward. She yelped in surprise as her back was thrown against one of the stable walls. Two horses whinnied, one striking the ground nearby with its hoof as she thrust both hands forward, trying to push Stewart off her. He was much taller and larger than she was, making it a nigh-in impossible task.

"Come on, Eloise. I paid ye fer this," he hissed and pressed his face into her neck, trying to kiss her.

She craned her neck away as much as possible, trying to escape the repulsive scent of the fermented beer that had gone sour on his breath.

"Release me!" Eloise snapped, her voice competing with the whinnies of the horses.

"Ye ken it would be good."

"Ye overestimate yerself." Eloise didn't wait to try and convince him. She reached between them for that dagger again and snapped it out of its tiny scabbard. Lifting it high, it must have caught a gleam of the moonlight on the blade as Stewart released her, staggering back. "Dinnae touch me again." She brought the dagger down, catching his arm.

"Argh!" he cried out, as the knife grazed his arm. It was no fatal wound, but enough to stun and injure.

Eloise kicked him between his legs, in the area she knew would be most sensitive, especially now, in his state of excitement for attempting to force her. He groaned like a donkey braying and dropped to his knees.

She reached for a horse nearby, scrambling in the darkness and her own horse snorted, as if calling her to him. She reached for the bridle, hurrying him out of the cubicle, then glanced back. In the single shaft of moonlight in the stable, she saw Stewart's leather purse dropped to the ground. Bending down, she opened it up and took out the money she was owed, gathering the coins together.

"Eloise!" he raged at her, trying to recover himself as he moved onto his knees. He swiped at her, but she was too fast. Hurrying back on her haunches, she scrambled to her feet once more. With the coins thrust into a purse at her belt, she pulled herself into the saddle of her horse and flicked the reins.

"Take us away from here, Thunder."

The horse snorted and bolted from the stable. They shot out into the darkness, skirting past the inn where they'd spent the evening. Thunder nearly knocked down two drunkards that staggered out of the inn, but Eloise still didn't urge the steed to slow his pace. She had to get away from here, as fast as possible and before Stewart could recover or even think of going after her.

As they took a path that led out of the village and toward the hills, the cold wind whipped her face, the horse slowed, and she glanced back at the village full of flickering lights. Those orange orbs pressed in windows of small cottages and crofts looked like stars in the night sky.

"This is madness, Thunder," she whispered. The horse neighed, as though he agreed with her. "This is nae fer much longer, aye? We are so nearly done with this life. One more task, then it will all be over."

Thunder snorted. She half wondered if he truly did understand every word she said and this time he chose not to believe her.

"Aye, one last job." She cast a look at the true stars above, thinking of what her last task would entail.

Another girl who worked as an escort had been offered two jobs at once, both for obscene amounts of money. Unable to take both on, she'd offered one to Eloise, who had eagerly accepted. All she had to do was play a man's betrothed at a castle in Clan Gordon. It would be but a few days, for such a vast sum that she could be done with this life for good.

"Soon, I shall be free."

It hasnae changed.

Murdoch slowed the horse between the trees, turning his eyes up to Gordon Castle. Nestled between two hills, the vast grey structure was dominating, the hills beside it capped in snow. In front of the castle was a vast loch, with a long bridge that connected the small village at one of the hill's bases to the castle estate.

"It is just the same." There was something disconcerting about this truth as he stared at the castle and the grey clouds that circled around the mountains, threatening a downpour.

Slowly, Murdoch climbed down from his horse and wrapped the reins around a nearby tree branch. Clapping the horse's flank in comfort, he leapt up onto a nearby rock, trying to take a better view of the castle. His heart fluttered against his ribcage as he recalled this was the very place that he'd stood on the day he'd turned his back on his father's castle. Unable to stay here, facing so much guilt and grief, he'd sought out a new life.

In that time, he felt as if he had changed much. He carried shadows within him, perhaps a black heart too, memories of so much death and bloodshed in battle, he sometimes felt scarcely human at all. The castle before him almost seemed like a dream. The standards and colorful flags attached to the castle ramparts and crenelations all baffled him.

Aye, me father was always a man for celebration and color.

"I've changed too much tae be here," Murdoch muttered under his breath as he stared at the castle. Rooks gathered and cawed over the battlements, then darted off toward the hills, looking for somewhere to nest.

It would only be for a few days, Murdoch told himself that repeatedly. He had returned for Clyde's wedding. His father and brother were good men, and he could not dishonor them by refusing to turn up, no matter what demons were in his heart.

"Just a few days." His eyes darted to the clouds, trying to see something of the sun between them. He caught a glimmer of light and realized just how advanced the day had become. "She's late."

He glanced around the rock and the path that led past his hiding place beside the loch. He'd been specific in his letter to the escort, though he'd failed to sign his name, fearing that the letter could be intercepted and used to blackmail him by some rogue or highwayman. She should be here soon.

Why did I think this was a good idea?

Brushing a hand into his dark hair, a sigh escaped him. It couldn't be avoided, even if it felt mad to go ahead with this idea now that he was faced with his former home. He knew if he had returned to that castle alone, his father would have been eager to see him wed, but he could not face it. At least with the escort pretending to be his betrothed, he could deny his father pushing him into marriage for a little longer yet.

Twigs snapped underneath someone's foot and he turned on the rock, eager to see the escort approaching. A tall black horse moved through the trees, heading off the path toward him. For a brief second, he thought it was one of his father's guards, patrolling, then he caught sight of the rich royal blue cloak that covered the whole of the figure including the head, and the delicate gloved hands that gripped the reins.

She's here.

The horse stopped beside his own. The black steed even nudged his grey, wanting attention. His indifferent horse freely ignored the stallion, as the mare often did, refusing to entertain anyone else's company.

We arenae unlike, that horse and me.

Murdoch flattened his lips together as he folded his arms and turned toward the cloaked woman. If this was to work, she'd have to fulfil her part of the deal well. Being late for their first meeting was not a good sign.

She slipped off the horse and strode toward him, shifting her cloak to the side as her leather-clad hand went for a small dagger at her hip. She was taking precautions, that was good, then Murdoch's eyes zeroed in on that dagger.

Nay. It cannae be.

He'd seen that pathetic looking dirk before. He'd mocked it, only a few days ago at the Chattan Castle. Was it possible that another wore such a dagger?

"Show yer face," he ordered. The depth of his voice startled the woman. She froze a few steps in front of him, her gloves reaching for the hood of her cloak. Raising the hood, she dropped it back, so that the sunlight fell on her dark red hair that curled madly in its perfectly neat updo at the back of her head. Errant curls framed her cheeks, contrasting the sharpness of those bright blue eyes. "Nay." The word escaped him hurriedly. "I dinnae believe it."

"Murdoch?" she spluttered.

"Eloise?"