The Wickedness of a Highlander by Elisa Braden EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Elisa Braden
- Language: English
- Genre: Scottish Historical Romance
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- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
July 3, 1827
Inverness, Scotland
Beneath her oversized umbrella, Sabella Lockhart squeezed the rose she
held until a thorn punctured her glove. She scarcely felt the wound.
“I didnae ken him well,” said the earnest young constable standing on
the opposite side of the grave. “But he had the lads’ respect.”
Mr. Gillespie was only a lad himself. He’d removed his hat in an attempt
at fine manners. Rainwater rolled off his pomaded hair like oiled glass.
“Thank you, Mr. Gillespie,” she said softly.
“The sergeant would have
been pleased to hear it.” She wasn’t certain the sergeant had ever spoken to
the man, but if he could be here now, he’d be far from pleased. Oh, the
upbraiding he’d deliver to one of his constables for attending a burial rather
than attending his duties. She could almost hear that barrel-chested bark. It
almost made her smile.
Still, the lad was the only one who’d come to pay his respects. Sabella,
at least, was grateful. The sergeant’s gruff manner hadn’t won him many
friends.
The constable departed. The downpour heaved, pounding her umbrella
so loudly that she couldn’t hear her own thoughts. So much the better. Her
head wasn’t a pleasant place to be.
Rivulets turned the mounded soil into mud, spattering the stone marker
she’d purchased. Eventually, the mound would flatten, she told herself. The
stone would weather and stain. Given enough rain, enough time, his marker
would match the other two bearing his name.
Munro.
She glanced over her shoulder at the couple she’d hired to help her
transport Sergeant Munro from Edinburgh to Inverness. The McCabes were
rosy-cheeked and ruddy, small but sturdy. Kindness poured from them like
the sweetest honey. Indeed, the instant they caught her looking in their
direction, they tilted their heads sympathetically and rushed forward in
unison.
“Let me hold that umbrella for ye, Miss Lockhart,” said Mr. McCabe.
“Aye, dearie,” Mrs. McCabe seconded. “Mustn’t dirty yer hems whilst
payin’ yer respects.”
Sabella handed him the umbrella and smiled her thanks. She’d managed
to keep the lavender gros de Naples spotless all morning thanks to the
McCabes. Such goodhearted people.
Carefully gathering her skirts, she laid her rose atop the mound. “You’re
home, Sergeant,” she murmured, resting her hand upon the gravestone
which, along with their passage from Edinburgh, had swallowed a quarter
of her remaining funds. Her eyes flickered across the three names now lying
side by side: Sergeant Neil Munro, Eudora Munro, Isobel Munro. Tears
burned her throat. “You’re with yer lasses again. Rest easy, now.”
The McCabes hummed their sympathy. “Poor, wee dearie. Here.” Mrs.
McCabe handed her a lace-trimmed handkerchief. “Nae rain on yer silk, nor
rain on those fair cheeks.”
Sabella dabbed discreetly and accepted Mr. McCabe’s offered arm as
they exited the cemetery and made their way toward the inn. Halfway to
their destination, Mr. McCabe withdrew a watch from his pocket. “We’d
best hurry, miss. Cannae have ye missin’ yer coach. Next one for
Glenscannadoo isnae for a sennight.”
The McCabes were even more generous than she’d thought.
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