Highlanders (99 page)

“Listen to me.” Kiernan scooted to the side and slid forward so that his legs were on each side of hers. “I didn't shoot him. Listen,” he emphasized, when she shook her head and looked away, “I did not shoot him.” He paused, then said softly, “If you shot him, I know it was self-defense.” Her eyes widened, but he went on. “You needn't worry about telling me the truth.”

“You bastard.” She raised her hand and Kiernan caught her arm mid-swing.

He held her gaze. “All right, then, who shot him?”

She looked as if he had slapped her. “I—" She brow knit in confusion.

Kiernan released her hand and looked at Elise. “Who are the strangers?”

“Their carriage—”

“Yes,” he interrupted impatiently, “I saw that. Do you know who they are?”

“Lord and Lady Ingersol,” she replied.

“Are you acquainted with them?”

“No. But it couldn't have been them. They were with me when the shot was fired.”

“What about the men in their party?” Kiernan asked.

Startlement washed over Elise's features. “We were all outside. I didn't want to return to the carriage until Phoebe returned. I saw them step into the trees, but never dreamed—Oh, Kiernan,” tears sprang to her eyes, “I’m so sorry.”

“Please, Elise,” he said, “keep your wits about you.”

“Yes.” She nodded and swiped at her tears with the back of her hand. “Of course.”

He looked again at Phoebe. “You're sure—”

“I did not shoot him,” she snapped. "I'm not even carrying a weapon."

That was true—or, at least, he hadn't seen a weapon. He had to search the area.

Phoebe burst into tears again. “Where is he? Dear God, we left him out there.”

“We didn't leave him out there. Mather brought him." Her eyes widened, and he said, "I will see to him. Elise.” He looked meaningfully at her, and she nodded.

Elise wrapped an arm around Phoebe and pulled her close. “Come, Phoebe,” she soothed as Kiernan opened the door. “That’s it, yes. Cry all you like.” And he clicked the door closed behind him.

Despite Phoebe's objections, he held her. She fought it, fought him. Not outwardly, for he made it clear her efforts were useless, but from within. She fought to shrink from the arm resting reassuringly on her hip, fought to ignore the rise and fall of the chest he pressed her face against. He had taken off his greatcoat and wrapped it around her. Her cheek lay against the soft linen of his shirt and her senses swirled with the smell of him. The scent of Sandalwood she had noticed that first night he appeared in her carriage. Despite the stink of Adam's blood on his shirt, Kiernan smelled as though he had just bathed. His scent comforted—but she despised the comfort—oh, how she despised it. How much comfort was Adam—she sobbed and Kiernan’s arms tightened around her.

“Shh, love,” he whispered so softly she knew neither Elise nor Sue could have heard even in the close confines of the carriage. “We're nearly there.” He smoothed her hair and Phoebe melted into a river of dreams.

It seemed she had slept a lifetime, yet she felt as if her eyes had only just closed. Phoebe was aware of arms lifting her. She looked up, her sight catching the angular jut of a man’s jaw. She reached to touch a lock of raven hair that curled where neck met shoulder, but stopped when the roof of the carriage gave way to a clear night sky. She blinked up into the light of a full moon and nestled into the crook of Kiernan’s neck when cool air rushed across her face.

So quiet here. Phoebe opened her eyes. She lay on a bed in a room she didn’t recognize. Still, something in the flicker of light cast by the fire in the hearth sent a ripple of security through her. She gazed in wonder at the sea green canopy that draped the bed before again closing her eyes.

Voices, soft, murmured nearby. Had she slept? Her head turned toward the sound as though it was a mechanical object controlled by something other than her will. Phoebe opened her eyes and saw only the blur of objects. A figure moved toward her and sat on the bed beside her. She tilted to the side toward the weight on the mattress. She focused on the figure, trying to understand the sense of familiarity she felt.

“Uncle?” Phoebe said and reached up to touch his face.

“Shh,” he replied. “Sleep.” A tiny strand of hair was brushed back from her face. “It won’t be long now,” he said. “Sleep while you can.”

And she did.

“Phoebe.”

Her name came to her as though an echo from a distant canyon.

“Phoebe.”

Large hands grasped her shoulders. She tensed, then relaxed upon understanding the gentleness in the touch. She felt a little shake to her body.

“Phoebe, wake up. It’s time.”

Time? She tried to recall a forgotten appointment.

“Wake up.” The voice grew more insistent.

Phoebe opened her eyes and blinked into the face above her.

“This isn't what I had planned,” he was saying. “Not what you had planned, I know. But so much more than your reputation is at stake now.”

“Reputation,” she repeated groggily.

“Yes.”

“Ashlund.” She slowly wrapped her fingers around the wrist gripping her shoulder.
Flesh and blood.
Indeed, he was with her in this unfamiliar place.

“Yes,” he said. “Can you get up?”

“Must I?”

He broke into a brief smile and she realized his brow had been furrowed in a fierce frown.

“You must. Though, I promise you a good bed once we are—”

“What time is it?” she interrupted.

“Five-thirty.”

Phoebe glanced at the curtained window and detected no sunlight. She frowned. “I slept an entire day away?”

“You haven’t, sweetheart. It is five-thirty in the morning.”

“Morning?” She sat up, forcing him back as he released her. The room spun around her. She tried to focus on him. “What are you doing in my chambers at this ungodly hour? Is this my bedchamber?” she added more to herself than him, glancing down to find she was dressed in nothing but a shift. “Rather improper, you being here.”

Kiernan took her hand in his. “Propriety is of little consequence at this point.”

“I beg your pardon.” Her stomach gave a lurch to match the dizziness in her head. “My agreeing to come to Scotland gives you no rights to my bed.”

A tender smile touched his mouth. “I know. The necessity of what lays ahead is what forces me to overstep the boundaries of gentlemanly behavior. I pray you'll forgive me. We have a trip ahead of us, but it’s what awaits us there I have come to explain.” He gave her an odd look, then said, “Is the idea of marriage to me really so appalling?”

“Marriage? Why the devil are we discussing marriage at five—” Badgering her in the dawn hours was going too far. She kicked. He grasped her shoulders and forced her back against the pillows.

“Phoebe,” he said, his voice firm, his expression now burning with a fervor that startled her. “Do you remember what happened last night?”

“I—dear God.” She stilled. "Is Adam really dead?"

“Yes.”

She stared at him, her breathing heavy. “
You
.”

He shook his head. “We have been over this. I had a single pistol.”

“But you could have—”

“When have you known me to carry more than a single weapon?”

That stopped her. She recalled that first night when he had waylaid her.
“Never thought I’d need more than one shot
,” he had said. And he hadn't even shot those men…had he?

She focused on him. “Who?” Her voice caught. “Why?”

“I don't know. I didn't know the man, remember?”

She flushed. “I never dreamed he would—” Tears threatened again.

“I know.” Kiernan squeezed her shoulder, then released her. “Up.” He pulled her into a sitting position. “As hard as it may be to believe, we have a larger problem at the moment.”

He stood and Phoebe swung her feet over the edge of the bed. She pulled the blanket around her shoulders. “What could possibly be worse?”

“Lord and Lady Ingersol.”

“What of them?” she croaked, keeping her eyes on the floor in an effort to slow the dizziness.

He regarded her for a moment, “You remember nothing of the evening?”

She jerked her head up. “Lord Ashlund. I shall remember it for the rest of my life.”

“Afterwards,” he insisted. “Do you remember what happened after I arrived?”

Phoebe thought for a moment. “You took me to the carriage. The duchess was there. You had a pistol.”

“The one that fired when you grabbed it.”

“Yes.”

Kiernan sat down beside her. “Lord and Lady Ingersol believe you killed Branbury.”

“What?” she exclaimed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Forgive me, my dear, but it is not a far fetched notion.”

“I would never harm him.”

“Consider how it looks.”

Phoebe opened her mouth to argue, but muttered instead, “By heavens.”

He smiled. “Never fear, I will remedy the situation.”

“I don't see—oh no.” She shook her finger at him. “No you don’t.”

“
Phoebe
.”

She jumped to her feet only to have the room spin in a violent circle about her. In the next instant, Kiernan’s arms encircled her.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he said, holding her steady against him.

Phoebe nearly fell into his solid warmth and she didn't resist when he held her tighter. The strong thump of his heart forced the rise and fall of his chest against her cheek. Eyes closed, she breathed deep of his familiar scent. Memory rushed forward of the carriage ride last night and—

"The highwayman." She yanked her head back and looked up at him.

He stroked her hair. "What?"

"You told the duchess that you were following someone who you feared might be a highwayman intent upon waylaying us. What did you find? Oh, my lord, this man could be the killer."

"He very well could be. Unfortunately, I didn't find him."

"What?" she cried. "We must find him. We must try."

"I agree, which is why I have someone searching for him."

"You do?"

"I do."

She buried her face in his chest. "Lord Ashlund, thank you."

He gave a laugh. "Lord Ashlund? Why so formal, Phoebe. In a few hours we'll be married."

"What?" Then she recalled the reason for his visit. Phoebe shoved at his chest. "Let me go!"

He grasped her shoulders. “Stop it. Don't you understand? Once you're my wife, they can't touch you.”

Her mind whirled. “Wh-what?”

“As my wife, they cannot touch you. I won't chance a constable knocking on my door. Not just yet, anyway. So you see why we must leave for Brahan Seer immediately. The arrangements have been made for a small service when we arrive.”

“My lord!”

Afterwards, it will be my word against theirs," he cut in. "They saw nothing.”

“Neither did you.”

“Technically, not quite true.”

"Technically, you did not," she nearly shouted.

“I reached you before anyone else, and I searched the area. I found no weapon. You couldn't have thrown the gun far had you shot him.”

“Good of you to clear my name.”

“I would have been a fool not to investigate.”

Phoebe pushed away from him. “Indeed.”

His brow wrinkled.

She couldn't believe it. Her cynicism had wounded him.

“Had you told me you shot him, Phoebe, it would have made no difference.”

“Yet you looked for a weapon.”

“I did," he replied. "It will be much easier to swear that I didn't find a weapon when I truly didn’t. Not to mention, I had no intention of leaving any evidence behind to be found later. Have you considered the possibility it wasn't Branbury the killer meant to shoot?”

“By heavens.” She sat down on the bed again and looked up at him. “Who would want to kill me? Adam said if he were to meet a highwayman, he wanted to be the one to surprise him. Perhaps there really was a highwayman—”

“A common highwayman who hid in the trees and killed a man he didn't know? To what end?”

Someone who had meant to kill her, not Adam? Phoebe felt the room begin to spiral again and she lay back on the bed.

Brahan Seer lay half a day’s ride ahead of them. That was half a day too long, as far as Kiernan was concerned.

“She hasn't uttered more than a word in response to my efforts at conversation,” Elise told him as they walked the grounds of the Glaistig Uain.

“Not surprising,” he replied. She'd said even less to him. “You sent word to Father?”

“Yes, though it’s likely he is already on his way to us and won't receive the message.” She lapsed into silence for a moment, then said, “He will be deeply upset if he misses your wedding, Kiernan.”

“I won't wait. God only knows what trouble Lord Ingersol and his wife have already set into motion. Who was this Branbury, Elise?”

She sighed. “I only met him once. But in answer to the question I know you're thinking, she gave no indication of having any tenderness for him.”

“You were obviously wrong on that score,” he said between tight lips.

“No,” she replied patiently. “They were clearly well acquainted, but she didn't act the part of a woman in love. In fact, she seemed very displeased with him.”

Kiernan kept his eyes straight ahead. “Lovers quarrel?”

“No, it wasn't that sort of thing at all.”

“I'll have to trust your judgment in the matter, but her upset seems to go beyond that of a friend dying.”

Elise slipped a hand into the crook of his arm and tugged him to a halt. “Kiernan.”

Kiernan met her gaze.

“He died in her arms.”

Kiernan covered her hand with his and gave it a squeeze before starting forward again. “Why was he there?”

“He was in love with her.”

“Yes, that was obvious even to me, but waylaying her on the road was a highly irregular way to go about pursuing her. Damnation, first someone tries to abduct her—” He caught the surprised look on Elise’s face. “Father didn’t tell you?”

“No,” she replied.

“Well, the night Phoebe and I met—”

“Would this be the night you abducted her?”

He gave her a dry look. “Indeed, madam.”

“Ahh.” She faced forward and they started walking again.

“There was someone else attempting the same thing,” he said.

“Good Lord, you aren’t serious?”

"Very serious."

"Why wasn't I informed?"

The harsh note in her voice surprised him. "It didn't occur to me. I suppose, I assumed Father told you."

Her eyes narrowed. "Had I known that, I would have been more forceful in trying to stop Phoebe from making this trip. Don't think I'm not aware that you blame me for not stopping her."

"Blame you?" Did he blame her? "Elise, she was determined."

"Was her uncle aware that someone else attempted to kidnap her?"

Kiernan halted. "I-at the time, Phoebe was sure she knew Branbury was the kidnapper, so I didn't feel—" He broke off.

"Didn't feel what?" Elise demanded.

"Damnation, Elise."

She lifted a brow. "I know exactly what your father and you would have done if I kept that sort of secret."

He knew she was recalling a time when she had kept just such a secret and had nearly got her brother
and
him killed. That had been a terrible time for them all, and he had often wondered if she'd fully forgiven herself for the deception—and his father for nearly killing her brother. Would Phoebe forgive him for setting her life on this new course? Did she blame him for her friend's murder? Could she accept him despite being forced into marriage?

"I was wrong," he said.

Elise's lips pursed, but she began walking again and said, “Who was this kidnapper?”

“I believed it was Branbury, but Phoebe swears it wasn’t him. Given that he was willing to chase her clear to Scotland, I’m not so sure. By the way, until this mystery is solved, Phoebe isn't to go anywhere without a guard.”

“Ahh, that explains why Donald is always nearby," Elise said. "You may use Niall, also, if you like.”

He shook his head. “No. It 's best if you both have someone near at all times. I would prefer to think it was Branbury who had tried to adduct her that night," Kiernan went on with his previous thought. "A midnight run for Gretna Green would be harmless enough,”

“Yes. If it wasn’t him, the kidnapper is still out there.”

“Just as Branbury's killer is still out there.”

“You're certain it was deliberate murder?” she asked. "It is possible a highwayman shot him."

"Possible, but unlikely," he replied. "Which means I have to discover whether or not Branbury was the intended victim."

Elise gasped. "Why would anyone want to kill Phoebe?"

"That is what I intend to find out.”

*****

Kiernan opened the door to the women's salon at Brahan Seer.

Phoebe didn't turn from where she sat staring at the fire, but said, “Are you ready, Lord Ashlund?”

He closed the door and crossed to the couch. “No need to rush.” He sat down beside her and she looked at him. Her brow furrowed as her gaze shifted downward and he realized she was surprised to see him in a kilt. A hint of amusement shone in her eyes, then vanished.

“What did the constable have to say about Adam's murder?" she asked.

"I sent word to the magistrate from Glasgow. He's someone we trust and the closest magistrate. I haven't heard back from him yet, but rest assured, he'll conduct a thorough investigation."

"I can't hide forever."

"We aren't hiding, Phoebe, but we must prepare for whatever that fool Ingersoll has in mind."

"Adam was a good man,” she said. “I owe it to him to face his family.”

“It's not your fault he was shot.”

Her brow rose. “It was you who suggested he wasn't the intended victim.”

“That doesn't make it your fault.”

Something flickered across her face. A sense of knowledge, he realized.

“He was there to beg me to marry him—to run off to Gretna Green that very moment, in fact."

“I see. Why didn’t you accept?”

“I…I wasn't in love with him."

"Are you sure?" He glimpsed the moisture in her eyes before she ducked her head. "Phoebe," he began, but she pushed to her feet.

He stood and reached for her. She turned away, but he grasped her arm and turned her toward him.

"Let me go," she said through a sob. "He is gone. You needn't worry that he is any threat to—"

Kiernan pulled her close. “Hush,” he said. "You misunderstand."

“I understand well enough.”

The tears in her voice wrenched at his heart. “No, sweetheart, you don’t.” He pressed her closer and leaned his chin on her head.

She sagged against him. “He's dead, for-for what?”

“I wish I knew.”

“You can bloody well believe—” she hiccupped “—I'll find out.” She sobbed softly into his coat. “Don’t think you can stop me.” She hiccupped again. “Or that our marriage will stop me.”

Kiernan placed a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up. “I wouldn't dream of stopping you.”

She stared, eyes wide, cheeks stained with tears. Desire swept through him.
Steady
, he warned himself.
Now isn't the time
—He froze when she reached up and wrapped a hand around his neck. She drew his face to hers. Her lips touched his. She's distraught, he reminded himself. She will regret her actions, but when she arched her breasts against his chest, his resolve failed. He devoured her mouth. Her small whimper sent blood pounding through his veins and his cock throbbed with staggering need. He became aware that her fingers had tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. His erection pulsed. Warm, insistent, her lips parted, and he swept his tongue inside. Her tongue flicked against his and he sucked her into his mouth.

She gave a small gasp and melted against him. Kiernan cupped her buttocks and undulated her mound against his erection. By God, her touch set him on fire. They were to be married in minutes, their wedding night was only hours away. Could he wait? He had only to lift his kilt and he would be inside her in seconds. Would she let him? She broke the kiss and he was sure she'd come to her senses, but she slid her mouth along his jaw and down his neck. When she breathed deep he thought he would lose his mind. Kiernan thrust gently against her. Pleasure radiated through his cock and he groaned.

Kiernan gripped her buttocks and lifted her from the floor, took one step and eased her onto the couch. He came down on her, kissing her hard as he yanked up her skirt and slipped his hand between her legs. His finger met her slick heat. She was so wet. Kiernan buried his face in her hair and slid a finger inside her. So tight.

"Phoebe," he whispered.

She stiffened.

His head spun.

“My God," she cried, and he jerked his head up.

His mind snapped into focus on her wide-eyed expression of shock.

"No." She shook her head.

“Sweetheart—”

"Not this, not now.”

He yanked his finger from inside her.

“No,” she cried more softly, this time.

He cursed and rose, pulling her to her feet.

"It's wrong," she said through tears.

Kiernan held her close. “I know," he soothed. "It's my fault, all my fault." And it was.

*****

Phoebe’s gaze fell from the afternoon sun shining through the stained glass window of the chapel to the sprig of white heather Kiernan had pinned to the bodice of the light green dress that served as her wedding gown. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of her hand resting on his, and the thick gold band he had placed on her ring finger.

The reverend’s “You may kiss the bride,” registered faintly in her mind. Yet, she understood quite clearly the meaning when Kiernan’s tender grip on her hands loosened and his finger curved under her chin. Her gaze flitted past the lock of golden hair that had come loose from its binding and across the strange sight of his kilted figure as he tipped her face up toward his.

“Lady Ashlund,” he said in a quiet voice, and brushed a kiss across her lips.

Her mind flooded with the memory of their earlier interlude and Phoebe experienced the same flush she had when Kiernan lowered himself onto her. Her mind clouded as it had in that moment, then shame followed, just as it had then. But the slick heat between her legs didn't fade. He slipped an arm around her and turned to face the small crowd who sat in the little chapel. Kiernan’s hold on her waist tightened and he halted, staring at his father, who stood at the end of the aisle. Kiernan started forward again, and Phoebe allowed him to lead her down the aisle.

“Father.” Kiernan stopped before the duke and extended his hand, but his father grasped his shoulders and pulled him into an embrace.

The duke released him, then turned smiling to Phoebe. He winked. “A bit sooner than you had anticipated, lass, but a fine thing, nonetheless.”

“Your Grace.” She started to curtsy.

He caught her hand, stopping her. “Father will do.” He kissed her cheek. “Now, let me look at you.” He took a step back. “A fine thing, indeed.” He drew her close and hugged her. “Don't fret,” he said into her ear. “All will be well.”

To her great surprise, relief rushed through her. The duke released her, and Phoebe turned to see Elise standing behind her. The duke stepped past Phoebe.

“Marcus.” Elise fell into his arms.

Just as a bride might fall into her groom's embrace, Phoebe couldn't help noticing, and a sudden urge to cry swept over her. She ducked her head with the intention of turning away, but the strong arm that slid around her waist startled her. She recognized Kiernan’s touch. He held her steady as the duchess withdrew from her husband’s embrace. Phoebe caught sight of her misty eyes and was sure she, too, would give into the tears that hung perilously close to the surface. When Elise embraced her, she remained silent, but gave Phoebe a squeeze, then returned to stand beside her husband.

Phoebe recognized the fiery redhead who next approached. Earlier, Elise had introduced Phoebe earlier to Sophie, the duke’s cousin, and her husband, Justin. “How wonderful that you have managed to settle this rascal down,” Sophie said with a lilt of Scottish brogue. She glanced affectionately at Kiernan, then looking back at Phoebe, added, “I'm pleased to meet you, Lady Ashlund.”

Justin stepped up and said, “
Mille failte dhuit le d’bhreid, Fad do re gun robh thu slan. Moran laithean dhuit is sith, Le d’mahaitheas is le d’ni bhi fas
.”

Phoebe frowned, and Kiernan's warm breath washed over her ear when he bent and whispered, “A thousand welcomes to you with your marriage kerchief. May you be healthy all your days, may you be blessed with long life and peace. May you grow old with goodness and with riches.”

She looked at Justin, though her mind was on the cool metal of the ring on the finger of the hand Kiernan held. Phoebe smiled. “Thank you, my lord.”

Justin kissed her cheek, then shook hands with Kiernan. “My congratulations,” he said, and moved on.