Love in the Time of a Highland Laird (A Laird for All Time Book 3) Angeline Fortin (pride and prejudice read txt) 📖

Bloody hell, the sounds of battle coming from within the gaol were getting louder. Shouts of alarm. The clang of swords. Fortunately, there was no musket fire yet, but the alarm was sure to be sounded soon.

Kissing her hard, he did as she asked. As his loyalty to his clan and country demanded.

*

Her heart was pounding in her chest as Keir ran from her and into the jailhouse. She’d never known such a flash of utter panic in her life. Not when her father had left her and her mom, not when her stepfather would get drunk and rage at them. Not when her grandmother had died. She wanted to run after him and throw herself into his safe, secure embrace and beg him to come away with her.

But Keir MacCoinnach wasn’t that kind of man. One who could deny his obligation to his men. It was what had drawn him to the field at Culloden that day they’d met.

Besides, Al was fast discovering she wasn’t that kind of woman either. She could be strong, confident. For him. Because of him.

“We need to hurry,” Mathilde called, running up the alleyway behind her. “The guards are returning. They’ll be sure to sound an alarm.”

It was sure to be sounded anyway. Men were pouring out of the narrow prison door like a river delta. Fanning out across and down the street. Some limping, wounded. Some carried.

Some scattered, making the most of their escape. Others stayed, ready to help. A few minutes later, Keir emerged supporting an older man who was limping along beside him.

“That’s Uncle Camran,” Mathilde said and ran out into the street to help.

“He’s injured. I need ye tae get him back tae the inn.”

Mathilde nodded and looped her uncle’s arm over her shoulder but Al shook her head.

“Mathilde can do it, I’m staying here with you.”

“Go. I’ll be along shortly. As soon as I ken every man has been freed.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

Down the street, shouts rang. Then from the Highlanders, shouts of alarm. Catching Keir’s attention, they pointed down the street. Al, Keir, and Mathilde all stepped out to look to the east.

Damn, their luck had run out.

The redcoats were coming.

She could see now the reason for the notorious words of warning. They were an impressive sight in the those red uniforms, black belts crossing their chests, high black hats, white pants, and muskets held at the ready.

There were only about three rows of ten or so men. Only, she qualified in the way that a tsunami was only a wave. Real fear sank into her chest, setting her heart aquiver.

“Go!” Keir’s command brooked no argument but Al couldn’t help it.

“Come with us.”

“Nay, lass. I will nae leave these men and I cannae be worrying o’er ye. For my sake, go now.” He strode out into the street, pulling a pair of pistols from his belt. He stood there, brass and balls in front of an armed foe, and waved his men to assemble. “A MacCoinnach! Wi’ me, lads!”

“A MacCoinnach!” they rallied, joining him in the street.

It was a magnificent sight but one that froze her in terror.

“Al!” Mathilde tugged at her arm, rousing her forgotten pain. With a wince, she turned. “We’ve got to go. Now!”

For Keir’s sake, not her own, she did.

Musket fire thundered from behind them, reverberating down the alley, and Al’s heart stopped. Turning to look back, she tripped and fell. There were screams from the street behind them, cries of pain.

Boom.

Another volley.

“Keir!” she cried in alarm, picking herself up and scrambling toward the fighting. She shouldn’t have left him there.

“No!” Mathilde caught her arm and dragged her back.

Al fought her, trying to free herself. Every fiber of her being urged her to return to Keir. “I have to help him!”

“Don’t be a fool! You go back there, you’d only get in the way and maybe get him killed in the process.” Al continued to struggle but unfortunately, Mathilde was bigger and stronger than her. She held her tight and hauled her along, even while helping her uncle.

Behind them, the sounds of war escalated. The cries of the wounded multiplied. Terror shook Al’s body until she was quivering from head to toe.

“Oh, God.”

Mathilde’s lips thinned grimly. “Aye. There’s nothing you can do for him now but pray.”

Chapter 38

Funny how religion could suddenly come to someone, because she began praying on their way back to the inn and hadn’t stopped since. The sounds of the struggle had faded with each step. The anxiety gripping her had not.

“Och, lassie, can ye nae be more gentle?”

Al bit her lip and refrained from berating Keir’s father. He’d complained the whole journey to the inn about his wounded leg, which had turned out to be nothing worse than a long scrape down the side of his ankle and perhaps a slight sprain. Yet he carried on and on about it as if he were bleeding in the streets while the men they’d left behind might have been.

Perhaps she was being uncharitable, but for all his complaining about his own discomfort, he hadn’t yet given even the slightest mention about his son who might, at this very moment, be wounded or worse.

She couldn’t take it. Any compassion she might have been able to dredge up had slipped away with the hours that passed without a word from Keir. She had no idea where he was. How he was.

The uncertainty was pure torment.

She would’ve gone back already if Artair and Mathilde weren’t actively barring her from leaving the inn. She couldn’t overpower them based on size alone. But when they wanted to start out for Rosebraugh as well and leave Keir to find them there, she’d become a lioness. She didn’t care if they wanted to get out of Edinburgh before troops began searching for the escaped prisoners. She wasn’t leaving unless they bodily forced her. Thank God they didn’t try.

Artair had negotiated a bargain