Annie And The Cowboy (Western Night Series 3) (42 page)

              That story didn’t sit correctly with her, but few stories did. How had she managed to make it to the Scottish highlands all by herself? Derby was not so close, so she had to come from elsewhere, but where was this elsewhere? The idea of it bothered Effie more than she would like to admit.

              “I came to ask you if you had a chance to look over the things that we brought from the site of your…” He looked uncomfortable for a brief moment. “Your incident.”

              Once again she blushed. The truth was that she hadn’t. Oh sure, she had briefly seen them: a parasol, a trunk of clothing far too fancy to wear in the village, a hand mirror and whatnot, but the thing that scared her the most was a small, slim volume that looked like it may be a diary. The idea of reading it terrified Effie to no end, and she didn’t no why. She shook her head at Alasdair.

              “I haven’t yet. My apologies.”

              He laughed a gentle laugh, his piercing eyes boring into hers. “It’s more for you, lass, than anything else. If you want to learn who you are, that might be the best place to learn.”

              “What if I don’t want to?” she asked, surprising herself with her own boldness. She could hear the desperation in her voice, this desire to not be who she was. His expression melted into one of concern, and he reached up to touch her cheek.

              “You can be whomever you want to be, Effie. Anyone.”

              Before she realized it, he had pulled her close into a kiss. For a minute she panicked as though she were doing something wrong, something terrible, but instead she allowed herself to melt into his arms as though she had belonged there. She could feel the strength in him, boiling under his skin, and it both terrified and comforted her. The kiss deepened and she let it, throwing her arms around his neck to pull him in closer and closer. He could never be too close to her, she realized.

              The cow mooed softly and she pulled away with a laugh.

              “Poor Daisy doesn’t want to see this,” she said, and she meant it. This was incredibly reckless, she had realized, what if the children walked in?

              His eyes burned with a sheer intensity as he gripped her hand tightly.

              “Come with me,” he softly told her. The velvet and steel in his voice sent shivers down her spine. She nodded her head and allowed herself to be led.

              They ended up, not unsurprisingly, in his bedroom, but the tension on the way there was explosive. Effie felt as though her skin might ignite if he were to touch her again, and as he securely locked the door and pulled her to him she realized that she had been right. Every touch to her skin felt like burning, and even though she did not remember ever doing something like this before, it seemed as though her body remembered something close to this, although she could not imagine ever feeling like this.

              He lay her down softly on his bed, stuffed with goose down and covered by a sturdy wool blanket. His fingers trembled as he unlaced her simple bodice, and Effie realized with no uncertain amount of shame that his head must be swimming with terrible thoughts as to Effie’s virtue, or the fact that she had so willingly jumped into his late wife’s bed so soon after meeting him. But as his fingers went lower, and lower and oh god, yes, lower, Effie’s mind emptied of such terrible thoughts, and the only thing she wanted was for him to be inside of her, at that moment.

              All pretense at taking one’s time was discarded as he lowered himself on top of her, and she gasped in pleasure when he entered her. It was familiar, yes, she must have done this before, but as he moved inside of her she realized that it was never like this before, and she closes her eyes and rocked with him and realized that she could never go back to her old life, certainly not now, and most likely not ever.

              He whispered her name as he finished, and collapsed on top of her, buried his face in her hair. She wrapped her arms around him and stared at the ceiling.

              Was this a new beginning, or had Effie just made things worse?

#

              The innkeeper looked at Reginald with beady little eyes. The inn was a tattered little affair with straw on the floor and gaps enough in the walls to let more wind in than there was even wind outside. Scotland. What a tiring place. He had no idea why she had been so intent on coming here, but he guessed that once he awoke and found her letter, her reasoning behind the little jaunt had made itself perfectly clear.

              “Sir?” The innkeeper asked with a baffled tone. Or perhaps that was his regular tone. It could be both, Reginald surmised, wit to this man seemed like a stranger.

              “The carriage in your stable.The broken one. Where did it come from?”

              He had spent the better part of two weeks looking for anything resembling a trail left by her, and finally,
finally
he had found something, and now that was all going to go to rot because this
Scot
had no idea what words seemed to mean.

              “Oh. That’s not for sale,” the innkeeper said. Reginald sighed explosively, taking a step away before returning back to the conversation lest he not conduct himself like a gentleman.

              “I know. It better not be for sale because it’s
mine
.”

              This seemed to strike a chord with the man as recognition dawned.

              “Ooooh, this was brought in by the McLeods.”

              “The McLeods.”

              “Yes, they’re a clan about a day or two’s ride out. Found a beautiful lady in the wreckage, they said. Doesn’t remember a thing, poor lass.”

              Reginald laughed. Of course she wouldn’t remember a thing, that seemed to be her favorite lie to tell.

              “So the lady is still in the village?”

              “Last I heard, but I don’t hear much. Sometimes members of the clan come through but it’s not too often, you see. Do you know the lady, sir?”

              Reginald grit his teeth.

              “Know her? She’s my wife.”

Chapter 4

              They made love several more times that day, but what had Alasdair been thinking? He was too busy being wrapped up in her, the newness of her, the softness of her, to think of much else. Since the loss of Elaine three years ago, he had not so much as touched another woman during that time. Now he never wanted to stop touching her. He wanted to go to his grave touching her. What had it been? Her laugh, her smile?The softness of her pale skin, the gold in her hair? Blue eyes so dark they looked as though they were about to storm? There were so many things, but the one thing he knew was that he might be in love.

              They went about the next day, and the next night, trying not to discuss or define the perimeters of their newfound love. How would Leana respond? What would his children do? The children made him worry less, for they already adored her, but while Leanahad accepted Effie into her home, he didn’t think she would accept his acceptance of her into his bed.

              He was right, in a way, for the next morning while Effie went to the market,Leana had approached Alasdair, gripping a slim volume in her hands. Books were not too common in the village, but Elaine and Leana’s parents had insisted on literacy for their two daughters anyway. Elaine used to joke that it would make her even more unmarriageable than she felt she already was. Alasdair responded by proposing to her on the spot.

              “We need to talk,” Leana said. He didn’t want to take it seriously, until he saw the dire look on her face.

#

              Effie had found a new life, and she loved it so much. Of course, she still didn’t know very much about her old life, so she had no true basis of comparison, but this life was satisfying to her all the same. What would become of her, of her and Alasdair? She felt as though it didn’t matter so much anymore. Her life was her life, and she was happy in it.

              She entered the cottage to come face to face with a very concerned Leana and Alasdair. Gripped in Alasdair’s hand was that slim volume that Effie had seen in her trunk.

              “My diary,” she whispered, although it did not feel like hers.

              “Sit down, Effie,” Alasdair said. “We need to talk.”

The Final Entry of the Diary of Mrs. Euphegenia Sterling Fairchild:

I’ve finally done it. I’ve finally taken what’s mine and Reginald can’t do a damn thing about it. He calls me a crook, what would he know of such things? He was the one who stole me, the one who took a simple made and forced her to become some upper class wife and I can’t take it. I’m going to leave him, I have to, but I have to do it safely. He can’t find me…I’ll have to go to some town in this godforsaken backwards country  and start over, but how?

Effie’s mouth had gone dry. A...crook?Leana looked pained at this revelation, although underneath Effie could note a current of strange triumph. She must have thought something like this when Effie first arrived.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “I was married?”

Alasdair looked as though the worst thing had ever happened to him in his life. “You
are
married.”

Effie choked on a response. She didn’t feel married, she had no idea of any husband, and had no desire to find out who he was. The only person she had ever wanted was right in front of her. Could he see that?

“Do you think this is all a farce?” She asked after a long pause.

“I don’t know what I think,” Alasdair admitted. Leana said nothing, most likely because nothing was the best thing for her to currently say.

“I don’t know who that person is,” Effie replied, indicating the diary. “She sounds like a prat, but she’s not who I am. I love this country! I love this village and I love-”

Alasdair looked as though he desperately wanted her to finish that sentence, but they were interrupted by a large ruckus taking place outside. Alasdair looked from Leana to Effie, before standing and reaching for his sword. Gripping the hilt in his hands he marched outside, prepared to defend his home.

Leana took a glimpse out the window and gasped softly. “It’s a man,” she whispered to Effie. “Dressed very fine. I would say he’s English.”

English like you
, Effie heard between the lines, she ran to the window as well and looked upon the man who was now sitting astride his horse outside.

He wasn’t a particularly big man, which was why he was most likely sitting atop his horse. His hair was dark, almost black, worn slightly long and tied back with a ribbon. His features were not unattractive, but not particularly handsome.

Effie knew who he was. She hated that she knew who he was.

“Effie!” He called, seemingly ignoring the man holding the sword in front of him. “Effie come out right this moment!”

She made a move to go to the door but Leana grabbed her by the elbow.

“I need to go,” Effie whispered. “That’s my
husband
!”

“One of them will be,” Leana responded. “But let’s not pretend that it is the one on the horse.”

Effie studied Leana’s face, surprised at such a turnaround. She laughed.

“I read the entire diary, not just the last page,” Leana replied. “You weren’t a prat, you were simply a young girl swept up in the likes of
him
,” she pointed to the man outside. Reginald, Effie remembered. “You can’t go back with that man, not after what...not after what I know he’s done to you.”

Alasdair looked up at the man on the horse.

“Can I help you?” he asked, mustering all the politeness he could.

“I’m searching for a woman named Euphegenia Fairchild, but perhaps she goes by Effie,” the man replied, his eyes glued to the windows. Alasdair hoped that the girls had realized enough to stay away from the windows. He knew at least Leana was wily enough to figure something like that out, but Effie...Effie may not fully understand what they were trying to do.

After years of abuse, that woman had finally left her husband.

It was up to Alasdair to protect her at all costs.

The man literally looked down at Alasdair, refusing to dismount from his horse. On the surface this dashing, dark man could easily steal away a girl as trusting as Effie, especially if the diary was to be believed. Now, sitting astride his horse, Reginald looked fierce and ugly, and he hope that Effie could see that from the house.

Alasdair shook his head.

“No one by that name lives here,” he said. Reginald did not seem convinced.

“Perhaps she is going by some other name, let me describe her. Golden hair, dark blue eyes?”

              Alasdair shook his head again, and Reginald’s mouth pressed into a tight, straight line.

              “Perhaps I may take a look around your estate?” He said ‘estate’ with a sick sort of humor that caused Alasdair to grip his sword tighter. He wasn’t going to attack this man who did not seem to be armed, he wasn’t going to kill a man in cold blood on the steps of his state. He heard the sound of little feet and his heart fell as he realized his children had crept up behind him to take a look at the mysterious newcomer.