Highlander Guarded: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander In Time Book 10)

by Rebecca Preston

  Holed up in her little room, she spent the afternoon deep in thought, and by the time the sun was creeping toward the horizon, she knew what she had to do. It was a terribly reckless plan that could end horribly for all concerned… but it also just might get her what she needed. And that meant it was the only way forward. She changed out of her servants' outfit, slipping back into the black clothing she'd worn here with a grin — it was a great deal more comfortable. A little more sneaking around… and then she'd get the information she needed. It was just a matter of waiting until dinner was over.

  She snacked on bread and cheese as she listened to the manor around her slowly turn in for the night, the hustle and bustle in the kitchen below slowly giving way to more and more peace and quiet. As the lights were extinguished around the house, she wondered if they'd given Kieran a good meal, if he was faring okay down there in the dark cellar. "Hold on," she whispered, wishing he could hear her. "I'm coming for you, Kieran."

  But first… she had a very important conversation to have. It was clear that Arabella was too volatile to see sense — there was no point trying to talk to a woman so pompous, so arrogant, so controlling. But the more she'd spied on Weatherby these last few days, the more she'd realized that he wasn't nearly as bad as his pompous, stuffy exterior might suggest. Maybe it was Baldric's influence, maybe it was his cowardice… but whatever it was, Scarlet sensed an opportunity with Weatherby. He could be made to see sense… if only she applied just the right kind of leverage.

  Grinning to herself in the darkness, Scarlet slipped down the hallways, all but cloaked in the gloom of the late hour. She found Weatherby's door unguarded and breathed a little sigh of relief. Her main worry had been the idea that he might have guards posted… talking her way past them would be a difficult task indeed. She slipped through the door and let it click shut behind her, gazing around the space beyond with wide eyes. A sumptuous, well-adorned sitting room with a fireplace and several bookshelves stuffed with books… several overstuffed couches, a little table with what was probably a very expensive bottle of brandy sitting atop it, and on a raised level, an enormous bed.

  And sitting bolt upright in that bed, his green eyes wide with shock, was Lord Weatherby himself.

  "Hello, Reginald," she said brightly, turning to face him with a wicked grin dancing across her lips. "Why, you look like you've seen a ghost!"

  Chapter 29

  “How the devil did you get into my house?"

  She strode across the room toward him, pleased by the way he recoiled in his bed. In his pajamas, he looked much less intimidating than he usually did in his black velvet — he was even wearing a little cap that hid his dark hair. If he hadn't been so irritating to her, he almost would have seemed … cute. As it was, he was at the very least nonthreatening… and she knew that by contrast, in her dark clothes with her cloak swept around her shoulders, she was quite the menacing sight. Good. She needed to keep that pressure on.

  "I've been here for days, Weatherby," she told him, relishing the frightened look he gave her. "I've been keeping an eye on you and your dreadful sister."

  "Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused?" Weatherby demanded, struggling upright. "I've half a mind to call for the guards right now."

  "Oh, yes? Go for it." She grinned at the uncertainty on his face. "What's the matter? Worried about being found alone late at night with a young woman in your chambers? Worried I might make up a few rumors about just what it was we were getting up to?"

  He looked horrified. "You would despoil your own reputation to damage mine?"

  "Oh, I've never given the slightest damn about my reputation," she said cheerfully. "I'll be the whore of the whole of Scotland if it gets me what I want. You believe me, don't you?" she added, looking at him intently. "You know I'm telling the truth."

  "Fine," Weatherby ground out, folding his arms. "Fine, I won't send for the blasted guards. Now what is it you want? Is it money? I've less than you'd imagine —"

  "I don't give a shit about your money, Reginald," she said impatiently. "I could steal plenty of that without disturbing you from your slumber. If I was here to rob you, you'd be robbed already, and you probably wouldn't have even figured it out. No, I'm here for justice. Justice for Kieran MacClaran, down in your holding cells — yes, I know about that. Justice for me. But mostly, justice for Emily MacClaran."

  He looked at her for a long moment, those hard green eyes inscrutable. She held her breath, knowing that this was it — this was make or break. If he decided to stonewall her again, she was out of options — aside from attempting to torture the information out of him. And that idea turned her stomach. But to her acute relief, he shut his eyes, and she saw his shoulders slump as he nodded his head. "Fine."

  "Fine?" She leapt lightly up onto the raised platform on which his enormous four-poster bed stood, moving closer to his side as he rubbed his forehead wearily. "You'll tell me the truth?"

  "I'll tell you everything I know about Emily, alright? And then you can do with that information what you will."

  She had more requests, of course… but best not to let Weatherby know that. She pulled up a chair and he sighed at her, shaking his head as he gathered his wits. "Where to begin. Emily was… well, she was always a spirited girl. From the moment she could walk, she was causing trouble for her parents and the rest of the family. She must have lived with just about everyone in the family for a few months, hopeful that their influence might beat some of the spirit out of her, but it was to no avail. They kept her out of London as much as possible. She'd made it abundantly clear that she wasn't interested in being anyone's wife."

  Scarlet hid a smile at that. Emily sounded like her kind of woman. "Is that why she was sent out here?"

  "Yes. She was barely eighteen when they sent her out here, hopeful that the distance and isolation would drum some calm into her… or at least keep her out of trouble. She was a terrible nuisance," he said, shaking his head… though Scarlet could see a fond little smile on his lips. "I offered to marry her myself, actually. Just once, after my wife died. Thought she might like that a little more than being married off to some stranger — and we were only second cousins, after all. But she turned me down, and that was the end of it. She wasn't the kind of woman who'd answer the same question twice. She used to run away to the village just about every week. That was where she met Kieran."

  Scarlet felt a lump come to her throat at the thought of him. "Love at first sight?"

  "I'd imagine so," Weatherby said stiffly. "She certainly was taken by him. I made the mistake of forbidding her to see him anymore. Jealous, I suppose," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "Anyway, the two of them ran off together, as I suppose I should have predicted. I wrote back to London, and Arabella came out at once to 'take control of the situation', as she put it. She had Emily tracked down and brought in. By that time, of course, she was with child."

  "Right. And then what happened?"

  "She bore the child, of course." He looked mournful — an expression she had never seen on his face. "She was so unhappy here, those last weeks of her pregnancy. Kept demanding to see Kieran, demanding to be allowed to go back to him — called him her husband, though Arabella wouldn't hear of it. She kept telling her she was gravely ill, that if she put too much strain on herself she'd harm the baby… that was the only thing that kept her from running away. Emily could have broken out of the Tower of London if she'd put her mind to it," he said, shaking his head. "It was the thought of the child that kept her here. What could I do? Arabella claimed the baby's life was in danger. I didn't like the way she spoke to her, but — well, what do men know of such things?"

  Less than they should, Scarlet thought with a flicker of vexation. "And the birth?"

  "Arabella was right," he said with a sigh. "The child was stillborn. Poor Emily was broken-hearted. We buried the boy in the garden," he said softly. "The day after. She begged and begged for me to send for Kieran, so that he could at least say goodbye
to his child, but Arabella forbade it. I hoped he might come to the manor regardless, but Arabella had issued such threats that I suppose he stayed away."

  Scarlet could feel tears prickling at her eyes. "But — but Emily was well, after the birth?"

  "The loss of the child devastated her," Weatherby said, shaking his head. "But physically, she was well. When Arabella insisted on taking her back to London for proper medical care… well, as I said, I was no expert. Emily argued, but she was too weak with grief to do much against Arabella. And that was the last time I saw her. The letter arrived a week later, advising that Emily had died from the stresses of the birth."

  "But she was fine when she left," Scarlet said, shocked by the news. "She was healing. And I thought that you told Kieran she was taken to London before the birth of the child, not after?"

  "I don't know what Arabella told him," Weatherby said, shaking his head. "I'll admit, my own grief clouded my vision at that time. She said she'd adjusted the details of events a little, to make it easier for Kieran to cope, and I simply accepted that she was acting in everyone's best interests." He looked up at her, his green eyes full of a surprising intensity. "But I'd be lying if I said I didn't suspect foul play."

  "Did you speak to Arabella about it?"

  "Of course not. I wrote to the family, of course, but they didn't want to hear it. Nothing short of a signed confession of wrongdoing would sway them against her," he said, shaking his head. "You may not know my sister well, but she's… forceful."

  "Yeah, I gathered that," Scarlet said drily. But her mind was racing. "She killed Emily — or at least saw to it that she died. Is that what you think?"

  Weatherby nodded, looking exhausted. "But what proof do I have? It was years ago."

  "I have one more favor to ask, Lord Weatherby," Scarlet said firmly, gathering her wits about her for this final appeal. "I think that you and I want the same thing. Justice, for Emily — and your sister out of the picture."

  He shut his eyes for a moment. "I love my sister," he said with dignity. "But I do not love her extended company."

  "Right. So, help me get a confession from her."

  He frowned at her. "And how do you propose to do that?"

  "Well, first of all, we need to free Kieran," she said firmly. "He's done nothing wrong in all of this — he honestly believed you had taken me prisoner. He came here in good faith."

  "Poor man," Weatherby said, shaking his head. "To lose you all over again."

  "So, we're going down to the cellars now," she said firmly, shaking her head at the look of objection on Weatherby's face. "Do you want to be done with this, or not?"

  Weatherby sighed. "Miss Adams, if it would mean being rid of you and your schemes, and the assurance that you would never manifest in my chambers in the dead of night again, I would move heaven and earth."

  "Good. Then get dressed. We're going down to the dungeons."

  She felt giddy as they moved through the silent house. Finally, things were in motion — finally, she could see the light at the end of the tunnel. She had most of the truth about Emily. She had an assurance of help from Lord Weatherby, who was pacing along beside her with a cloak hurriedly draped over his pajamas. And she was about to get Kieran out of prison… maybe that favor would do something to make up for what he'd put her through so far. Sure enough, he was fast asleep in the 'dungeon' — much more like an empty wine cellar than the horrible steel prison she'd been imagining, but when she called his name, he came flying up the ladder from the cellar as though he had wings on his shoulders.

  "Scarlet!" He swept her into a crushing hug, and she laughed, giddy with relief to see him. She'd missed him sorely these last few days. "I knew you were here. I knew they were holding you —"

  "We were doing nothing of the sort," Weatherby said indignantly, gesturing with the lantern he was carrying. Kieran narrowed his eyes at him, clearly not believing him. "Tell him, Scarlet."

  "I've been here for a few days," Scarlet admitted, biting her lip. She'd been hoping to avoid this particular conversation for a little while longer. "But Weatherby didn't know about it."

  "It was Arabella? I knew that hateful bitch had — pardon me," he added, eyes darting toward Weatherby.

  But the man just shrugged. He knew his sister well, it seemed.

  "No, she didn't know either. I kind of… broke in." She offered him a hopeful smile. "And hid out. I was hoping to overhear something incriminating, get to the bottom of the mystery once and for all. And I did! We know what happened to Emily, Kieran. And we have a plan to get justice."

  "She has a plan," Weatherby corrected her sourly. "I just want to go back to bed."

  Kieran looked at them both for a long moment, his blue-green eyes full of suspicion. "Right," he said slowly, his gaze settling on Scarlet. "You and I, Scarlet Adams, are going to have a very long conversation after this is over. But for right now…" He sighed. "I trust you. What's the plan?"

  Dizzy with gratitude, she beckoned the two of them in, her eyes dancing in the light of the lantern as she explained her plan.

  An hour later, everything was in place. They'd spent some time rummaging in the kitchens, some time in the storeroom… and though Kieran had had his doubts and Weatherby had reacted to the entire affair as though it was a bad dream he was just waiting to wake up from, Scarlet knew that the plan was perfect. It was just a question of putting it into motion…

  Uttering a low groan, she walked heavily up and down the landing, letting each of her feet fall as heavily as she could let it against the thick rug. Arabella had insisted on her quarters being distant from the rest of the manor and specifically from the help, and that solitude was very convenient for Scarlet, who was relying on being able to make a bit of noise without disturbing anyone but Arabella herself. She groaned again as she passed the door, reached out one hand to drum her nails against the wood… then kept walking, each foot thumping heavily with each step. Ten feet down the hallway, Weatherby and Kieran were huddled in a doorway, peering out around it, and watching her performance.

  Sure enough, it wasn't long before she could hear movement inside the room — Arabella was a notoriously light sleeper, often disturbed by the tiniest of sounds in the night, from what Weatherby had told her. That had been integral to the plan, that knowledge… that, and a few other bits and pieces. Scarlet hastened to position herself appropriately as the wooden door began to creak open — she'd positioned a flickering torch on the wall just right, to light up her features…

  Arabella emerged, and Scarlet saw her properly for the first time. She was about a head shorter than Weatherby, and her figure put Scarlet in mind of a hen — she was squat and rounded, taking short steps that seemed to shuffle her from place to place. The family resemblance was clearest in her eyes — they were hard and green, and shot from suspicious to horrified in about a second flat when they finally fell on Scarlet. A choked scream ripped itself out of her throat and she stumbled back, one hand reaching out toward Scarlet as if attempting to brush away the sight of her.

  And no wonder. She looked a frightful sight. A sack of flour had done its best to take all the color from her hair, her face, and hands — she knew she looked as pale as death, even though the flour had made her sneeze repeatedly when they were applying it down in the kitchen. She was wrapped in a bolt of linen, which she clutched around her shoulders as she allowed Arabella to absorb the full, horrible sight of her… and a spatter of blood rounded off the image chicken blood, of course — though Kieran had made a few jokes about how Weatherby ought to make a donation for the cause.

  The final piece of the puzzle, though, was Scarlet herself. Taking a deep breath, she let her facial expression remain haunted and vacant, and her jaw dropped open as she creaked Arabella's name in her best approximation of an English accent — Weatherby and Kieran had both given her a little coaching in sounding as much like Emily as possible, and she saw Kieran give her a thumbs up from the other end of the hallway where he and Weatherby were c
oncealed behind Arabella.

  "Arabella Weatherby," Scarlet groaned. "Do you remember me?"

  "Back, foul spirit," Arabella stammered, taking a brave step toward Scarlet, even though her entire body seemed to be shaking. "You aren't real —"

  "I am as real as you!" Scarlet boomed, taking a step forward and allowing her foot to thump dramatically onto the rug. That was proof enough of her existence, it seemed — Arabella shrieked in terror and collapsed backwards into a chair that had been positioned carefully in the hallway for that exact purpose. There was a balance to be struck — they wanted Arabella conscious, though terrified, and it wouldn't be much good if she passed out from fear and struck her head on the floor hard enough to ensure a long sleep.

  "What are you?" Arabella whispered, staring up at her with blank terror in her hard green eyes. Even in bed, she had her gray hair in a fiddly-looking updo — but it was beginning to look a little disheveled as her panic took hold of her. "How are you here?"

  "I am a restless spirit," Scarlet intoned — she'd practiced this part, wanting to get the accent perfect. "I will pace these halls until I am put to rest… until she who is responsible for my death makes her full confession to me…"

  "God save me," Arabella whispered, her face white and stark in the flickering light of the torch. "Emily —"

  "You speak my name!" Scarlet said, pointing a hand dramatically at Arabella. "You know who I am! Tell me what you did, Arabella Jane Weatherby!"

  The addition of the middle name seemed to shock Arabella further, and Scarlet made a private note to thank Weatherby for that little piece of information. The man had gotten quite enthusiastic about the plan, even after his initial misgivings, and she could see him smiling a little at the other end of the hallway. Enjoying seeing his overbearing older sister punished a little, she supposed. Well, if she was honest, she was enjoying it too.