The Highlander's English Bride

by Vanessa Kelly

She blushed like a foolish schoolgirl. Good heavens, she loved his brogue. And when Angus gave her another wink, like a co-conspirator in romance, a warm, happy glow suffused her.

  The truth was, she was tumbling quite hard for Graeme Kendrick. She adored it when he smiled at her, especially since he was so sparing in handing smiles out.

  “Nicholas put his foot down about being too close to the arch,” Victoria added. “He thundered at me for even considering the notion. I told him in no uncertain terms that the king was my father, and that I would sit wherever I liked. Sadly, he was unmoved by my argument.”

  “Nick has the right of it,” Graeme replied. “The crowds will be too thick. You could get stuck in there, especially if something were to—”

  He cut himself off, and the three Kendricks exchanged a quick glance. There’d been several of those looks over the last few days, along with abrupt changes of conversation when Sabrina walked into a room.

  “Are you expecting trouble?” she asked Graeme.

  He adopted a bland smile. It was quite annoying how he could so easily mask what he was thinking.

  “Not unless you count getting whacked in the head by an errant banner as trouble.”

  Victoria also smiled at Sabrina. “My husband is overprotective because of my condition. Nicholas is a bit of a worrier, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “I have, but—”

  “And yon pregnant lassie does need to use the necessary more than usual,” Angus interjected. “We canna be too far from a water closet or—”

  “Grandda,” Victoria interrupted in a longsuffering tone, “what will Lady Sabrina think of us?”

  “That we’re untutored Highlanders,” said Graeme, flashing Sabrina a charming grin.

  “Och, she knows that already,” Angus scoffed.

  Just as she knew they were deflecting her question. However, since they’d reached Picardy Place and the coachman was angling the carriage into their reserved spot, she let the matter drop.

  Victoria shaded her eyes to peer across the plaza. “This is an excellent spot. I can see the triumphal arch just ahead.”

  “Ah, there’s Royal and Ainsley,” Graeme said.

  When the couple joined them, he opened the carriage door and stepped out so Ainsley could take his place.

  “Good God, what a crowd,” said the dark-haired beauty as she gracefully flopped onto the seat. “I had to use my parasol on several impertinent fellows just to get through.”

  Victoria looked concerned. “Was someone rude to you, dearest?”

  Royal, an arm propped on the carriage door, flashed a grin. “No, the poor men simply didn’t get out of the way fast enough.”

  “I did say excuse me first,” Ainsley said.

  “Yes, but it’s a bit hard to hear over the crowd, love.”

  When she gave an insouciant shrug, Royal laughed. “All right, Graeme and I are going to see if we can get closer to the triumphal gate.”

  “Enjoy yourselves,” his wife replied. “But have a care for your leg.”

  Royal had been injured in the war some years back. According to Victoria, he was now strong and fit, but Ainsley still fussed over him.

  Royal leaned in to kiss his wife, lingering more than was strictly proper. When he finally pulled away, Ainsley whispered something that made him chuckle and kiss the tip of her nose.

  Sabrina couldn’t help sighing. To be so in love . . .

  She looked at Graeme, startled to catch him staring intently at her. When his smoldering gaze dipped to her lips, she could almost feel the press of his firm mouth to hers. It made her go weak in the knees—and other places. Sabrina had to resist the urge to shift on the plush velvet seat.

  Angus jabbed his grandson. “Would ye like me to step out of the carriage so ye can make a proper good-bye to her ladyship?”

  Graeme shot him an annoyed look. “I’m perfectly capable of saying good-bye from here.”

  “But—”

  “Grandda, you need to stay in the carriage and keep an eye on the women. The footmen will also remain, but you’re responsible, understand?”

  Grandfather and grandson exchanged a look that seemed to transmit an entire conversation.

  “Aye, lad,” Angus said. “I’ll keep a good eye on things.”

  Victoria smiled at Graeme. “We’ll be fine, dear.”

  “And we’ll be too busy watching the parade to think of leaving the barouche,” Sabrina assured him.

  “Excellent,” Graeme said. “We’ll come to fetch you once the king passes by. Stay out of trouble, all right?”

  Ainsley snapped off a mock salute. “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Graeme and his brother held a low-voiced conversation before Royal slipped through the crowds, away from Union Street. Graeme went the other way, steadily forging toward the triumphal arch. His imposing height made it easy to follow his progress until he disappeared behind a stand packed with dignitaries.

  “That’s odd,” Sabrina murmured.

  “What’s odd, dear?” Victoria asked.

  “I thought the men were going together, but they headed off in different directions.”

  “Oh, I believe Royal is fetching us ices,” Ainsley said. “It’s beastly hot, don’t you think?”

  It wasn’t the slightest bit hot.

  “And I suspect that Graeme wanted to check on Grant,” Vicky added.

  “Aye, to twit him about his missing broadsword,” Angus said in a droll tone.

  Clearly, the entire Kendrick family was in league with Graeme regarding his mysterious activities, trying to hide whatever it was from Sabrina.

  It was silly, really. Sabrina knew better than most what had to be done to safeguard the king. But Graeme’s behavior suggested something else. He was deeply worried about something, and was right in the middle of it, obviously.

  She leaned across to speak quietly to Victoria. “Is there some sort of specific threat to the king that you’re all worried about?”

  The countess appeared startled before quickly pressing Sabrina’s hand. “There’s actually nothing to worry about, my dear. Look around at the security. One can barely move without tripping over a soldier or a city constable.”

  That much was true. Still . . .

  “I’m not entirely sure what Graeme’s—I mean, Mr. Kendrick’s—role is in any of this. Could he be in any danger?”

  Victoria’s sky-blue gaze warmed with sympathy. “Graeme has gotten himself into a fair amount of trouble over the years and has always managed to get himself out. He’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

  Not a terribly reassuring answer.

  Ainsley stood, peering over the growing commotion in the street. “I can see the procession approaching the arch.”

  A growing din rolled up the street and echoed against the rise of Calton Hill, its looming slopes covered with a multitude of cheering Scots. It was an amazing sight, as if half the country had turned out to give the king a boisterous welcome. Unexpectedly, Sabrina’s throat went tight. In this moment, in this explosion of jubilation, she realized she’d never been happier. Scotland, which had been forbidden to her by her father’s fretful bigotries, now seemed exactly where she wanted to be. It was a splendid and almost perfect moment.

  It needed only one thing—or man—to make it entirely perfect. While that would require a bit more work, she’d never been afraid of a challenge.

  They all stood now, cheering with the crowds as the Royal Company of Archers marched beneath the triumphal arch.

  Well, everyone but Angus cheered. He was glaring at a group of men hoisting a gigantic banner next to the arch. It read: The Descendent of the Immortal Bruce.

  Angus jabbed a finger at the offending banner. “I might soon be losin’ my lunch, ye ken.”

  “Is that a reference to Robert the Bruce?” Ainsley asked.

  “Aye, and if King Fathead is his true descendent, then I’m queen of the faeries.”

  “I’m sorry, Grandda,” Victoria said, “but King George is
indeed descended from the Bruce through the Stuart line. Although many generations removed, naturally,” she hastily added when the old man began to bluster.

  “Still, full marks to His Majesty for trying to correct the mistakes of the past,” Sabrina said with a placating smile. “He’s very enthusiastic about Scotland and wants his trip to be a splendid success for everyone.”

  Ainsley patted her shoulder. “That’s the spirit, pet.”

  “Fah,” Angus said.

  “Look, there he is,” exclaimed Victoria.

  The king appeared under the arch, traveling in an open carriage. He was hard to miss, the old dear. For one, his portly, imposing figure was garbed in the uniform of a full admiral, and he waved an enormous white handkerchief. Even from a distance, Sabrina could tell he was tremendously pleased. As his carriage came closer, he enthusiastically dispensed smiles and waves to the crowd.

  The huzzahs and cries of you are welcome, King, swelled in volume as he rolled by. As luck would have it, he glanced over at the Kendrick carriage. Recognizing Sabrina, he gave a cheerful wave, then looked directly at Victoria and lifted his hat in tribute.

  The countess had a hand pressed to the swell of her stomach, smiling through her tears at her father.

  Ainsley took Victoria’s hand. “Steady on, old girl.”

  “I cannot believe I finally saw him,” she choked out.

  “And he saw you,” Sabrina said. “He’s going to be so happy when he properly meets you.”

  Even Angus seemed touched. “It’s a grand thing to see your da, I’ll give ye that.”

  Victoria smiled mistily at him. “Thank you, Grandda.”

  “You’d best sit down,” Ainsley said. “Nick will take a fit if he sees you teetering on your feet.”

  A few minutes later, the Celtic Society marched by, followed by the Scottish lords. Grant gave them an enthusiastic wave, and Lord Arnprior doffed his hat to the ladies. All in all, it was a ridiculous, extravagant, and wonderful display. Sabrina wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

  She only hoped Graeme was safely out of harm’s way—if there was any harm to be had—and that he would rejoin them soon.

  Royal strode up to the carriage. “What an insane crush. Did you ladies enjoy the show?”

  His wife flashed him a sardonic smile. “What? No ices?”

  He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You were supposed to fetch us ices. Because of the heat,” Sabrina couldn’t help saying.

  “Oh, uh, I seem to have forgotten.”

  “Obviously,” Ainsley replied with amusement.

  Victoria shifted uncomfortably on her seat. “It’s not an ice I’m longing for at the moment.”

  “Och, ye need to use the necessary, I’ll wager,” Angus said.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Victoria said. “But we’re not supposed to wander off.”

  Royal waggled a hand. “It’ll take some time to get home through this crowd. Sorry, lass.”

  When the countess grimaced, Ainsley stood and opened the door of the barouche. “Not to worry. There’s a lovely teashop just off Union Street, only a block from here. Royal and our footmen can forge a path through the crowd.”

  “Then I suggest we hurry,” Victoria said.

  Royal handed her down, and then did the same for his wife.

  “You’ll stay with Lady Sabrina?” he asked Angus. “Graeme should be back shortly.”

  The old fellow’s smile turned sly. “Aye. The lassie and I have plenty to talk about.”

  “I’m sure,” Royal dryly replied. “But stay in the carriage.”

  Angus waved him off.

  With the two brawny footmen leading the way, Royal escorted the ladies through the crowd and soon disappeared.

  “I’d quite like to stretch my legs, too,” Sabrina said. “Do you think I might step out? I’ll stand right by the coach.”

  Angus rubbed his hands. “Ye and me both, lass. Why don’t we stroll up the block while we’re waitin’.”

  “But Mr. Kendrick—”

  “Lass, let’s not be forgettin’ I raised that lad from the day he was a wee, mewling babe.” He grinned at her. “And I’ll be happy to tell ye a few more stories about his misspent youth, if ye like.”

  Sabrina laughed. “Very well, then. We’ll stroll, if only for a few minutes.”

  “It’ll be our secret,” Angus said with a wink.

  Since the procession had passed, the crowds were beginning to thin, allowing them to walk at a slow but steady pace along the row of charming shops. Sabrina had yet to find herself bored in Edinburgh, enjoying the intimacy of the smaller city and the friendliness of the residents.

  Angus was relating a shocking but entertaining tale about Graeme and Grant breaking into the poor box of the local kirk when they noticed a commotion ahead of them. A man emerged from one of the stores, shouting. Then a few ladies began shrieking as two little boys—street urchins—forced their way through a knot of pedestrians and dashed into the street, deftly weaving between horses and carriages.

  “Constable,” someone yelled.

  “Och, trouble,” Angus said.

  Sabrina was so busy craning up, trying to see, that she almost missed the tug on her reticule. Whipping around, she grabbed a bony wrist and found herself staring down into a child’s face.

  Chapter Eleven

  Graeme had spent the last hour roaming the boisterous crowd and had found no cause for alarm. City residents and visitors alike seemed genuinely excited to see the king. A few discontented but mild mutterings had been directed toward the Scottish lords and the policy of the ongoing Clearances, and he’d heard some trenchant, sarcastic comments but nothing more. It seemed he could finally relax. Perhaps he could spend an hour catching up with his twin over a pint of heavy wet.

  He’d hardly seen Grant these last two years and missed him, almost as if he were missing a piece of himself. His twin was doing splendidly, and for that Graeme was thankful. By working at Kendrick Shipping and Trade, Grant had discovered an aptitude for organization and business. He’d only needed to get out on his own, away from Graeme and their endless misadventures, to discover his talents.

  Just like Graeme had discovered his talents. By society’s standards, they were not nearly as respectable as Grant’s, and that was probably why they suited him so well.

  Graeme elbowed his way past two drunken idiots toasting a portrait of the king. In the company of the “gentlemen of the city,” Nick had passed by some time ago, which meant the festivities in this part of town had concluded. The king was safely at Holyrood by now, surrounded by his loyal regiments. If all the events associated with the royal visit proceeded as smoothly as today’s procession, then the greatest danger might come from hapless spectators toppling off the rocky promontory of Calton Hill.

  No point in taking chances, though. He’d venture out after dark to roam the streets and taverns of Old Town, picking up gossip and taking the pulse of the city.

  One day down. Nine left to go.

  When he reached Picardy Place a few minutes later, the crowds had thinned. He’d gather up his little chicks and see them safely home, as he’d promised Nick. And before Graeme met up with Grant, there might even be time to stroll with Sabrina. She’d yet to see—

  He clamped down on his wayward thoughts. Going for a stroll with the lass, as if he were a normal man? Ridiculous. In less than two weeks, she would be sailing back home. There was no point in spending time with her and dreaming foolish dreams of what might have been. Not with the life he led. Not with a woman like her.

  His brain properly sorted, Graeme strode toward the barouche that was parked at the other end of the street.

  The empty barouche, he was sorry to see. The coachman and one groom were there, but no other family member was in sight.

  When he spotted Sabrina and Angus a moment later, he exhaled a sigh of relief. They seemed to be having a grand time, chatting like the best of friends. Sabrina obviously
didn’t give a damn that his grandfather looked like an escapee from a Highland version of Bedlam. Graeme loved the lass even more for her kind, accepting nature.

  Not that he loved her, though. Not like that. What a stupid thought.

  He’d almost reached them when he spotted a commotion farther up the pavement, as if several strollers had been jostled and pushed into one another. A man yelled, and some ladies screamed. A moment later, two urchins burst through the crowd and dashed into the street.

  Rum divers, obviously, taking advantage of prime circumstances to pick pockets.

  Another boy, dressed in an oversized coat and a woolen cap pulled low, popped out of the crowd a few feet from Sabrina. Graeme broke into a jog as he saw the rascal sidle up behind her. When the boy reached for her reticule, Graeme shoved through a group of university students and ran. He was about to shout out a warning when Sabrina spun around and grabbed the urchin by the wrist, holding fast.

  His heart lurched up into his throat. If the boy had a knife . . .

  Angus turned and clamped a hand on the urchin’s shoulder. “Hold fast now, laddie boy. None of that nonsense.”

  “Let me go,” yelped the struggling boy. “I weren’t doin’ a damn thing.”

  The boy kicked out, and Angus staggered. The boy was able to yank free, almost pulling Sabrina off her feet. The urchin turned and promptly slammed into Graeme, who lifted the boy straight off his feet.

  “Give it up, lad. You’re not going anywhere,” he said.

  “Let me go, ye bastard!”

  The lad wriggled like a worm on a hook. Disturbingly, he barely weighed anything. Underneath the flapping, ragtag coat, he was bony and frail, like a small child.

  A string of very adult oaths, however, streamed out of him in a thin, high-pitched voice. Graeme gave him a warning shake to get his attention.

  “Don’t hurt him,” Sabrina exclaimed.

  Graeme rolled his eyes.

  “If ye put him down, mayhap he’ll stop floppin’ like a fish,” Angus suggested.

  Graeme glanced down to encounter a furious and absolutely extraordinary gaze. A blue so light as to be almost silver, the boy’s eyes were set in a sharp, thin face the color of bronze.