Page 2 of Much Ado About a Scot

Rhys frowned again. “If that is what you want, then I promise.”

With a satisfied nod, Alexander stumbled out of the shadows, heading toward the main square in town where the pillory was located. He sang a Scottish folk song about an ox and a plow as loud as he could, making certain to slur his words as he bumbled along, bumping into anyone he passed on the way to the market cross.

“Watch where yer goin’!” a merchant carrying a basket of oatcakes growled at Alexander as he staggered past. When Alexander reached out to snatch a triangle from the heaping pile, the merchant swatted his hand away. “A halfpenny each.”

“Ain’t got nae coin.” With a quick glance at Rhys who trailed behind, Alexander snagged a triangle-shaped oatcake and stuffed it in his mouth.

“Ye varmint!” the merchant yelled and seized Alexander by the ear, dragging him toward the marketplace.

Alexander made like he was attempting to pull out of the man’s grasp. Had he wanted to, such a feat would not have been difficult, but the opportunity that had presented itself was far superior to the brawl he had originally planned with Rhys. Stealing would easily land him in the pillory until he could pay the merchant for his goods, but it might also cause the authorities to use a hot branding iron to mark his hand with a T, designating him as a thief. Alexander’s jaw tightened. It was yet another risk he would have to take.

The sun was cresting higher in the sky. The other penitents, if there were any, would be brought out soon. And Isobel, if she kept her normal routine, would wander by shortly after.

“This man robbed me,” the merchant accused as he pulled Alexander to a stop before a burly, dark-haired man. “I demand he be placed in the pillory ’til he can pay what I’m owed.”

“That’s the third time this week you’ve made such a claim—” The man who looked to be the sheriff cut off his words and took a step back from Alexander as he covered his nose. Perverse pleasure flitted through his dark eyes. “A thief, huh? And I was worried we had nae entertainment fer this afternoon. Smells like the miscreant could use a little soberin’ up as well.”

“Let me go.” Alexander slurred his words. “I’m sure someone’ll pay my fine.” He stumbled toward a young woman whose face paled as he approached. “Will ye pay it fer me?”

The blonde woman shrieked and took several steps backward. “Get away from me.”

The sheriff grabbed Alexander by the arm as he addressed the gathering crowd. “Can anyone vouch fer this man? Anyone here wanna pay his fine?”

The response was only laughter and more jabs.

“Lock ’im up ’til the birds come tae peck his flesh.”

“Give the drunken wastrel what he deserves.”

The sheriff led Alexander to the pillory. There wasn’t much debate about his innocence or guilt with so many witnesses to his crime. Alexander shot Rhys a wary look as the aged and splintered wood came down around his neck and wrists with a thwack. The lock was secured as more villagers poured into the streets to buy from the street sellers. Once those men and women realized the pillory was occupied, they excitedly gathered around Alexander to taunt, tease, and laugh at him.

Trepidation trickled up Alexander’s spine as the villagers came closer. He hadn’t been in place more than a moment when the first rotten egg hit his head, followed by the carcass of a dead rat. Cheers went up and more people gathered about, throwing more rotten food and mud at him.

“Are all of you without sin?” Alexander rebuked in anger. “If you judge me, then should you not also judge yourselves?” Then with his next breath, he caught hold of his instinctive response. He could not react as a nobleman. It was time to fully embrace his secret persona—that of Xander Godric. The name was not unfamiliar, as his mother had called him by that name as a child.

More rotten food hit him in the head, along with a stone. It thumped against his skull, bringing a flash of pain. “Stop that!” Xander exclaimed as he struggled against his bindings. Another stone followed the first, but Xander managed to dodge it by stretching his head to the side. The wood scratched his exposed neck, leaving a splinter or two in his flesh. A tightening came to his chest as he looked out at the crowd. Where was Isobel? Had she changed her routine today of all days?

A dead rat then a rotten apple hit the wood beside his head. Xander growled his frustration. “If someone will only pay the baker a halfpenny to set me free—”

A rock hit his forehead, and for a moment the world around him blurred. “God’s wounds!” Xander looked up in disbelief and saw Isobel at the edge of the crowd. He blinked until putrid apple juice cleared from his eyes.

At the sight of her, his breath stilled. There was grace in the way she moved amongst the crowd. Near invisible, and yet, once spotted hard to ignore. Her bearing was proud, and he could tell her body was both delicate and slender beneath the mud-colored gown she wore. The color of her gown enhanced her rosy complexion and her thick dark brown hair. The length of her tresses was gathered in a low knot at the back of her head that appeared ready to fall at the slightest movement. When their gazes connected for a heartbeat, she looked away, focusing on anything except him.

A cold terror lodged in his throat. He had to regain her attention. “I’ll do anything to be freed from these shackles.” He forced the words from his throat.

Her steps slowed then stopped as she returned her attention to him. Her gaze passed over him, inspecting, evaluating what he might have to offer. Instead of her face brightening, she knotted her hands before her and a cold mask fell over her face. She turned away.

Xander’s heart sank at the thought he had underestimated Isobel’s need. She would not act as he had anticipated. Instead, she would leave him to his fate in the pillory. He swallowed and glanced to Rhys. His brother-in-arms had moved closer when they’d started throwing stones and now stood a short distance away, staring after Isobel.

Another rock hit Xander’s head. Dizzily, he clenched his fists, struggling against the wood at his wrists and his neck. He stared after Isobel’s retreating back. “Please—I’ll do anything. Give you whatever you want. Please!” Desperation was sharp on his tongue.

She stopped before the sheriff and whispered something to the man before stepping back toward Xander. Her eyes displaying no emotion. “You’ll do anything?” There was a slight hesitation in her voice.

“Aye.” His breath came hot and fast.

“I will set you free if you agree to marry me.”

His eyes rounded as he tried to find words. Marry her?