Once Upon a Highland Autumn (31 page)

She heard a shout. “Kit? What is it? What’s the matter?” she cried. Was he hurt?

“It’s an otter,” he muttered. “Just an otter. It moved in the corner, its eyes shining in the lantern light. It startled me.”

An otter? Megan frowned. How did an otter come to be in the crypt of Glen Dorian Castle? She felt her stomach clench. “But that means—”

“Indeed—there’s another way out,” Kit said, his voice distant. She heard the sound of things moving, water splashing, then silence.

“Kit?” she said. He didn’t answer. She pushed the plaid away and began to move toward the hole on her bottom, her eyes on the dark void, suddenly afraid. Her ankle objected, and her shoulder screamed in agony, but she ignored the pain. If she had to, she’d go down the hole, find him, save him. She peered over the edge into the darkness, saw nothing but the shadowy stone face of Sir Alasdair MacIntosh staring back at her. There was no sign of Kit. Fear rose like the water had done.

She almost screamed when something shot out of the hole and landed on the floor at her feet. It was just a box. Kit followed, pulling himself up over the edge of the stone, as agile and sleek as an otter. There was mud in his hair, weeds, too.

“I’m here,” he said. She almost collapsed with relief. He grinned at her, his gray eyes alight. “There’s a tunnel that goes out to the loch. It’s how the otters got in, where they make their den. It’s probably been there for years, a hiding place, and a way out. I found this, in a niche in the wall.”

Even muddy, Kit made Megan’s heart tumble in her rib cage, and she began to raise her hand to wipe away a smear of dirt on his cheek, wanting to touch him, but he was staring at the box, and didn’t notice her gesture. She lowered her hand to the folds of the plaid and waited while he worked at the latch, his attention all for that now. Hot blood rushed her cheeks, and she cursed the treasure, if that’s what it was.

“It won’t open,” he said, working at the lid of the box. He sat back and regarded it, his brow furrowed. The box was small, a hands breadth wide, and perhaps four times as long. Although it was scratched and muddy, inlaid gems glittered in the morning light that peered into Glen Dorian’s chapel.

“It’s a jewelry box,” she said. “Or a trinket box, perhaps.”

“Jewels?” he said, his voice eager. So eager it made her head ache, along with everything else.

“Is there whisky in the flask?” she asked.

He came to her at once, held Alec’s flask to her lips. The McNabb crest glinted, a warning of the burn of seventy-year-old whisky. It stung her tongue, and slid down her throat like liquid fire. It exploded when it reached her belly, warming her everywhere at once. The tang of smoke and peat filled her head.

“Oh my,” she said, putting a hand to her throat.

“Feeling better?” He grinned, and she nodded. “That’s the treasure, I think. The whisky is probably worth a fortune,” he said. “Or it might be the jewel in the sword. He looked extraordinarily pleased with himself as he looked at her. Despite everything, she felt her heart quicken yet again. “You have mud, just there—” she said, reaching out again to touch his cheek. This time he caught her hand as she rubbed at the mud, turned her palm over and laid a kiss there.

“You’ve been very brave, Megan,” he said, as if he were speaking to a child. But she wasn’t a child—she was a grown woman, and she was in love. She lowered her eyes before the whisky made her incautious, and she said something she’d regret.

“And you have your treasure now,” she said. She felt exhaustion catching up to her, her bones melting into the blankets. She reached for the plaid, pulled it closer. “I want to sleep.” In fact, she wanted a lot of things—food, a bath, sleep, and him. She was afraid he wouldn’t be here when she woke again, and she looked around the ruined chapel, felt the weight of the castle’s curse and shivered.

“Sleep, then. I’ll keep you warm.” He lay down beside her, and settled her gently against his chest, held her in his arms. “Am I hurting you?” he asked, and she laid her head on his chest, pressed closer, felt the beat of his heart and the warmth of his skin.
Yes
, she thought.
You’ll leave me, and that will hurt, and I will forever wonder—

“No,” she said. “You’re not hurting me.” She was being foolish. She curled her fingers against his chest, and he caught her hand in his, rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. She began to drift into sleep, safe in his arms. He began to talk. She could hear the rumble of his voice, but her mind wanted rest, not conversation. She was warm again, and exactly where she wanted to be. She closed her eyes and sighed.

“M
egan, we need to discuss what will happen if—by chance—you are . . . I mean, the natural consequences of our—well, it could result in—um, if there is a child, then we . . .” A soft sigh made Kit glance down at Megan’s dark head, her soft hair a tangled skein of silk across his naked flesh. Her eyes were closed, and he realized that she hadn’t heard a word he’d said. Her long lashes lay over bruised cheeks and she was soft and warm in his arms, fast asleep. He felt his heart swell, thinking himself the most fortunate man in the kingdom. He stroked a lock of hair back from her face and swallowed, thinking of what might have happened—
would
have happened—if it had taken him just a few minutes longer to reach her.

But he had been there in time, and she was safe. He kissed the top of her head, let her battered body draw strength and warmth from his. “If there is a child I will marry you if you’ll have me,” he whispered, even though he knew she couldn’t hear him. “And we will make more children, and I will love you always. I will keep you safe, and do my best to make you happy.”

The only reply was the softest, daintiest snore. He glanced at the items he’d pulled from the muddy crypt—a sword, a flask of whisky, and the box. It was remarkable, and far more than he’d expected to find.

But the real treasure, Lady Megan McNabb, lay in his arms, asleep, her body curled against his as if she had always belonged there. He couldn’t imagine she didn’t.

S
ince the rain had stopped, and dawn was coming up pink and rosy over the horizon, Lady Eleanor insisted on returning to Glen Dorian with the rescue party. In the interest of expediency, Alec took the men nearest to hand, including Graves, Leslie, and Lady Eleanor’s gardener, since he had the key to the shed that held the shovels and axes they’d need. Alec tried to forbid her from leaving Dundrummie, of course, but she was old enough to ignore him, which Caroline, as his wife, could not do. Eleanor climbed into the cart with Jeannie as the laird of Glenlorne blathered at her, insisting on having his way. He didn’t get it. “Megan will need a woman,” she said, ignoring the earl, and nodding to the gardener, who drove the cart. “Go on, Robbie, fast as you can.” Alec was left to follow on his own horse, exchanging his fine stallion for a sturdy garron, like his ancestors rode, a creature far more likely to manage the mud and water without fuss.

They got stuck twice, and discovered water had covered the causeway like a thin sheet of glass. It was only inches deep, but Eleanor had to pat Jeannie on the back as she gibbered in terror. By the time they arrived at the castle’s once formidable gate, the impeccable Graves was muddy to his knees, Leslie was on the verge of tears, and the gardener was grinning at the pair of them, and muttering unkindly in Gaelic that adversity existed solely to prove that Scotsmen were superior to Englishmen in every way.

Eleanor handed Graves the blankets she’d brought, and the basket filled with food, and a few medical supplies like smelling salts, clean handkerchiefs, and whisky. Alec helped her down and set her stick in her hand, and she waved away his hand under her elbow as she walked into the ruins of the ancient home of the MacIntoshes of Glen Dorian. She paused beside Alec and regarded the destruction soberly. It must have been magnificent once.

She stood in the hall, leaning on her cane, watching the men as they worried away at the burned and broken tangle of timber, and then asked Jeannie to help her upstairs, so she might see the scene of the accident for herself. As Alec had described it, poor Megan had cashed through the floor, and it was a miracle she hadn’t been killed. He blamed Rossington, of course, even as he described how the English earl had saved Megan.

Eleanor peered carefully down the hole and grinned at the sight below her.

On the floor below, in a cocoon of blankets, her niece lay asleep on the naked chest of Lord Christopher Rossington, looking as content as if she were in a much more luxurious bed, though Eleanor couldn’t think of a grander place to sleep than draped across such a muscular, manly chest. Rossington’s eyes opened as she stared at him. For a moment he looked startled.

“Are you surprised to see me?” she asked him, her voice echoing through the space below.

“Not at all, my lady. In fact, I am used to seeing angels staring down at me in my bed,” he murmured, and Eleanor chuckled.

“I have no doubt you are indeed, my lord. I fear I have been away from England so long that I had quite forgotten the arrogance of English lords. Quite refreshing.”

“Have you come to rescue us?” Kit asked.

“Me? Heavens, no. Glenlorne is downstairs with a troop of stalwart fellows. You’ll be out of there eventually, I suppose. Graves is putting in a fine effort, but Your Mister Leslie is bemoaning his deepest fear—that you’re stuck in there with nothing suitable to wear. I see he’s quite correct in that,” she let her eyes wander over the earl’s naked chest once more, covered only by Megan. “May I assume you simply don’t care what Glenlorne will think when he comes through that door?” She watched him color, but he didn’t move away from Megan. His arm tightened gently on her shoulder.

“I’m wearing his shirt, aunt,” Megan said, opening her eyes at last and squinting up at her visitor. “He used it to bandage my shoulder and my ankle.”

“And you decided to keep him warm instead, did you?” Eleanor asked.

Megan sat up gingerly and stared at her aunt. “Are you shocked?”

Eleanor grinned. “Not at all. Delighted. I always thought you were a resourceful lass, Megan. I brought you a bite of breakfast. Shall I have Jeannie lower the basket?”

“Good morning, my lady. We’ve been dreadfully worried about you,” Jeannie said, poking her head over the edge of the hole. “This is all the doing of Mairi’s curse, I’d say. The sooner we’re out of here, the better.”

“Just lower the basket, Jeannie,” Eleanor insisted, despairing that the girl hadn’t a single romantic bone in her body. She helped her maid tie a shawl around the handle of the basket and lower it through the hole to Rossington, who caught it with a nod of thanks.

“I’d invite you to join us if it were possible, Lady Eleanor,” he said graciously.

“Not at all, dear boy. Give Megan a full tot of the whisky for the pain. The trip back in the cart will be bumpy and rather uncomfortable. I think I’ll go and see what progress is being made below.”

“Dundrummie?” Megan said, looking at her aunt. “I expected to go back to the lodge.”

“What, and shock poor Alec?” Eleanor said. “You’ve given him gray hair already with this handfasting, and he still has two other sisters to see married and settled yet. He is insisting that if Rossington’s belongings and his valet are in residence at the lodge, then you must return to the bosom of your family at Dundrummie. What have you to say to that, Rossington?”

Did she detect a hint of sorrow on the earl’s handsome face? There certainly was disappointment in Megan’s eyes. To Eleanor’s dismay, Rossington bowed as if they were meeting in a drawing room, as if he were fully clothed, and not bound to Eleanor’s niece by anything more than the torn scraps of his fine linen shirt. Was he aware that the carefully embroidered monogram was emblazoned across her wounded shoulder like a brand? She hoped Alec took note of that.

“It will be as Glenlorne wishes,” Rossington said, his voice flat, carefully devoid of any hint of emotion. He turned to Megan. “You will be more comfortable there.”

“Fiddlesticks,” Eleanor murmured, and rose to go downstairs, taking Jeannie with her. Was there no hope at all to make these two see sense? Marriage wasn’t a bad thing, when it was with the right person. In fact, it was the making of a person, and their happiness. It had taken her three husbands to discover that, but she had, and she hoped that Rossington and Megan were not too daft to see that they had stumbled on the very thing that she had spent her life looking for. They were made for each other. She looked around at the crumbling stones, the broken timbers, the open roof and sighed. If the old place hadn’t already burned down, the polite, over-careful, and damped-down passion in their eyes would set Glen Dorian aflame all over again with just a single spark.

“I
should do what I can from this side,” Kit said as Eleanor and Jeannie disappeared, and crossed to the blocked doorway of the chapel. “It will make the work go faster. He moved a timber aside, using his frustration to shift the heavy weight.

Megan simply stared at him, her eyes huge and soft with sleep, her face sober. She was beautiful. He imagined waking up next to her this way every morning. He could not swallow the lump in his throat. “You’ll be comfortable at Dundrummie,” he said.

She picked at the edge of the plaid. “Will you stay at the lodge?”

He considered, then shook his head. There would be reminders of her there—not that there wouldn’t be at the cottage. He would see her everywhere, he realized. Even places she’d never been. “I will stay in the cottage.”

“It will soon be too cold to stay there. Winter can come early in the Highlands. Will you go home then, to England?”

Kit felt his stomach drop to his feet. “I suppose I must. There are things to see to—the harvest, for one.”

She lowered her eyes before he could read the emotion there. She simply nodded.

“Will you come to London with your sister in the spring?” he asked.

She shrugged, and grimaced at the pain it caused her, and her fingers dropped the plaid and fluttered over the bandage. “For now I’ll go home to Glenlorne,” she said, not divulging any further plans.