Page 7 of The Rebellious Countess
Máira crouched down low behind the empty barrel that reeked of fish waste and watched as her husband, sitting on the wagon seat, stopped the horse in front of the stone tavern located in the middle of the block on the opposite side of the street.
The dark wood siding of The Happy Hag stood in stark contrast to every other white-washed building in the village. Now, it was the noise erupting from inside the tavern that drew the attention of anyone left on the streets, including Ellison.
She prayed the night didn’t end with another dead body.
“The bloody fool is going to get himself killed,” she muttered to the cool ocean breeze. She shouldn’t care. She didn’t care. She wanted to be the one to insert the dagger in his black heart.
She should steal his cart and go…but she was in France, and the only English-speaking people she’d run into were the sailorwho tried to share her space under the table, and the man who’d attacked her under that same table.
Then there was Ellison…and the ruthless beauty who’d killed without a care.
Memories of the dead man made her body shudder from head to toe. She should stop Ellison, save him, and then maybe he’d take her home.
Except he’d had his first mate deposit her on shore with nothing. “The captain said your marriage was a mistake. He was going to sell you to the highest bidder this evening. Go to The Happy Hag. Hag is the pretty redhead who owns the place. She’ll make certain you arrive back in Scotland safely.”With those parting words, the man she’d known as Peter had jumped back in the dinghy and rowed away. Leaving her standing on the docks with nothing but a few words that tore her heart in two.
When they’d headed for shore, she’d hoped Ellison was waiting in the village with a bath, a bed, and an apology. She would have stupidly forgiven him. When Peter abandoned her, she’d thought him to be back on theMaribelle, avoiding her as he had for the entirety of that miserable voyage. Now, she wasn’t certain where he’d been. The only thing she knew without a shadow of a doubt, was that her husband had deserted her, and she wasn’t going to risk her neck for a man who had thrown her to French wolves.
The ship, however, was still anchored in the harbor and it remained her only means of transportation home. It wasn’t as if she was going to ask Hag for safe passage anywhere. The woman was a merciless killer.
Her heart dropped. Had that been Ellison’s plan? To have her gutted by the barkeep in order to be done with her?
She shook the ridiculous notion from her head and nearly lost her balance. It didn’t make any sense. Why marry her in the first place if he was just going to kill her? Or had he plannedto collect her dowry without having the burden of a wife? If she died, Nash would still owe him her dowry.
She watched as Ellison jumped down from the seat, his feet surprisingly bare. He patted the old swayback horse on the neck and then walked around toward the back of the cart. His hair, no longer tied back, fell loosely on his shoulders and was visible despite the hat he wore. She remembered the one time he’d allowed her to release it from its queue. Ellison had almost looked pained at her request, but when she’d bit her lip and said, “Please,” it was as if he could refuse her nothing.
In that moment she’d felt powerful. The Earl of Dorset had given in to the request of a mere slip of a girl who’d failed at her first season. And she’d marveled at the thick, luxurious mane that was too long for fashion and yet so entirely masculine in its beauty. It was softer than she’d imagined. The rich chestnut locks felt like silken threads in her hands as the sunlight captured streaks of gold in its length. She didn’t think any man could possibly have sensual locks, but her husband did.
Their innocent picnic near the lake had turned into so much more. Staring up at a perfect azure blue sky, and pointing out bears and cats and chariots forming in the clouds. It had been the most intimate, magical moment of her life when she’d made that request. He’d leaned over and tentatively kissed her, as if he didn’t want to frighten her or hurt her. One taste of him, however, and she’d been lost and had pulled him down for more. She’d been brazen, and he turned the kiss into everything she’d ever wanted. When he’d torn his lips away breathless, and asked her to marry him, she knew he’d felt the same.
What a bloody fool.
She eyed him for hints of the real man underneath the facade he’d worn for her. He was tense despite the carefree music he made with those beautiful lips, his shoulders were tight, and his gaze jumped from one shadow to the next. For a momentshe could have sworn he spotted her, that his gaze caressed her cheeks the way it had that day in the meadow, but then he turned back toward the cart and pulled a man from the bed, his arms and legs bound.
The man cursed him loudly. The mumbled profanity filled with anger and animosity underneath a gag secured tightly in his mouth. She recognized the prisoner as one of his crew, and she wondered what the man had done to warrant being tied up. Neither one of them looked clean, in fact they both appeared to be rather sodden.
She’d never known Ellison to be dirty…
How would you know if the man bathed in mud or water, you fool? You don’tknowhim. You met him less than a month ago and married him. You married a complete stranger.
Who may want you dead.
Yet she could tell Ellison was uncomfortable. He had a restlessness about him that wasn’t just from his guarded manner. His clothing irritated his skin and grated on his nerves. Literally. He scratched his arm, his neck, his—she blushed when she thought about what his hand surreptitiously adjusted, then he pulled and yanked at his shirt. His beautiful hair wasn’t beautiful. It was drab and matted, if the image she was seeing by the light from the windows could be believed. What had he done to those gorgeous curls?
Ellison pulled his prisoner up to the front door of The Happy Hag and Máira ran across the street to get a better look, her head swimming with each step she took. Her blush-colored wedding slippers were no longer delicate or pretty. Nor did they do a good job protecting her feet on the cobbled streets. Like her dress, they were stained, tattered, and ugly. She looked exactly like the type of woman this filthy version of Ellison would marry.
Yet she wouldn’t have cared about the condition of their clothing, if Ellison loved her.
What a foolish ninny.
He didn’t love her and she needed to get that silly romantic ideal out of her head. Tomorrow was a new day, a new start to her future. She just needed to figure out a path to get home to that new future. Alive.
Ellison looked back once more. His gaze prowling the streets as if he were searching for someone important, someone like…
Stop it. She was being a child thinking of him in that manner. He was a pirate, nothing more.
The noise from the tavern spilled into the streets as Ellison opened the door and dragged his prisoner inside. When the door closed behind him, it was as if the barrier had silenced everyone within. Máira scurried to the window, the wind chilling her to the bone as it howled through the night. She lifted to her toes and peeked inside. Every face was turned toward the door, watching Ellison and his prisoner. Hag pushed her way through the crowd, a trail of chatter in her wake as she pointed a handgun in the air, the elbow of her gun arm resting in her other palm. This woman was more comfortable with a firearm than anyone Máira had ever known. Her brother-in-law would call her reckless, yet Máira couldn’t help but admire the woman’s defiant skill.
Her auburn curls were alight with torment, or so it seemed to Máira. Her eyes were narrowed on Ellison. Her angular face, sporting the fine lines of age, remained expressionless. Máira guessed the woman to be in her forties, but she couldn’t be certain. She wasn’t quite sure how the woman had earned the name Hag, but it was not because of her looks or her figure. She was beautiful yet hardened by the life she lived. Still, there was a timelessness to her beauty that irritated Máira.
