The Highlander's English Bride

by Vanessa Kelly

  “Just to be clear, pet, I’m not the one in danger. That would be you.”

  Sabrina grimaced. “Yes, well—”

  “Which is why you’re returning to Edinburgh,” Graeme cut in. “I’ve spoken to the Kendrick staff, and they can be ready to leave before lunch. I’ve also instructed Hannah to begin packing your things.”

  Irritation tightened Sabrina’s stomach. “You certainly had no right to do that.”

  “I have every right. I’m going to be your husband, and it’s my job to protect you.”

  “Thank you, but—”

  “It would be my duty to protect you, anyway,” he added.

  “Your job, you mean,” she groused.

  “It’s more than a job, but yes. Can you imagine what your father would say if he knew there’d been not one, but two attempts on your life?”

  “We have no idea if what happened last night was an attempt. As for the shooting incident, that entire episode still strikes me as very odd.”

  “Yes, I’ve always found it odd when people shoot at innocent young women,” Graeme said.

  “There’s no need for sarcasm, sir. Even you must admit the shooter was inept. Those shots went wide by a good ten feet. I know because I measured them.”

  “And when did you go down and perform these measurements?” Graeme asked in a rather bone-chilling voice.

  “Before dinner last night,” Sabrina said.

  “Don’t look at me,” Ainsley said when Graeme scowled at her. “I didn’t know about it.”

  “I didn’t go alone,” Sabrina added. “I brought Mr. Wilson and Brian with me. Wilson helped me perform the measurements, and Brian kept a lookout.”

  Graeme covered his eyes with a hand. “A stable boy and an old man. That is just splendid.”

  “Nothing happened. And I wanted a closer look.”

  “Sabrina, it’s no surprise the shots went wide, since there was no close protection where the shooter could hide. He had to take his chances from that stand of trees, a good hundred feet away. He’d have to be a very good shot to hit the mark.”

  Sabrina could not help feeling irritated by his rather sound logic. “But both shots went almost identically wide.”

  Graeme simply shrugged, obviously unimpressed with her logic.

  “Maybe they were shooting at you,” she couldn’t help saying.

  “Don’t be silly.”

  Royal sighed. “Let’s all admit to being silly this morning, shall we? But truly, Sabrina, it might be best if you and Ainsley returned to the city. Someone is definitely playing ugly bugger.”

  “Yes, but if someone is hell-bent on revenge, what’s to stop them from attacking me on the road? After all, they know I’m here, and why wouldn’t they be watching us?”

  “That’s why Royal is going back with you,” Graeme said. “Along with our groom and footman to guard you.”

  Sabrina stared at him, aghast. “And leave you unprotected? Absolutely not.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You will be a target, skulking about in unfriendly territory.” She shook her head. “I refuse to turn tail and run. If you wish to send for additional men to help guard the estate, please do so. But I am not leaving you here on your own.”

  Now Graeme looked downright thunderous. “Sabrina—”

  “I’m not abandoning my people, and I am certainly not abandoning you.”

  “Honestly, Graeme,” Ainsley said, “I hope you realize how lucky you are to win such a splendid girl.”

  “I do. Which is why I’m trying to keep her alive, so I can marry the splendid girl instead of burying a bloody corpse.”

  “That is a revolting image,” Sabrina said.

  He switched his glower back to her. “It certainly is, which is why you’re leaving this damn place today.”

  “I will do no such thing.”

  Graeme stood, drawing himself up to his full height, like a Highland warrior about to go on a rampage.

  “Sabrina Bell, you are going to be my wife, which means you’d best start obeying me when I decide something is in your best interest.”

  Outraged, Sabrina jumped up, struggling to find the words to respond to that piece of masculine idiocy.

  Royal snorted. “You’ve stepped into it now, laddie boy.”

  “With both feet,” Ainsley added.

  “Graeme Kendrick,” Sabrina said, “this is my house and I am in charge here. Not to mention the fact that I’m rich and can do what I want.”

  “What the hell does money have to do with it?” Graeme demanded.

  Since she had no idea why she’d said such a silly thing, she ignored his question. “The pertinent fact is that I have as much right to order you around as you have to order me.”

  “It might be helpful if nobody ordered anybody around,” Royal put in.

  “Darling, stop being so reasonable,” Ainsley said.

  “This is a ridiculous conversation,” Graeme snapped.

  “I agree,” Sabrina retorted.

  He turned on his heel. “I’m going—”

  Sabrina shoved past him. “You stay there. This time, I get to storm out of the room.”

  * * *

  From his vantage point overlooking the loch, Graeme had been scanning the large shed, the nearby pier, and the surrounding glen for almost an hour.

  He’d finally caught a damn break.

  The smuggling actually was taking place on Lochnagar lands, and most likely from this small loch. It butted up against one tiny corner of the estate, and eventually emptied out into Loch Laggan. From there, casks of illegal whisky could be transported to Inverness, Islay, and even Galway. The surrounding landholdings were too fallow for anything but a few crofters and sheep, so the remote location was perfect.

  Just this morning, he’d stumbled across the entire operation, including a distillery setup in a well-hidden cave only a half hour’s walk to the loch. That had been the only bit of good arising from his fight at breakfast with Sabrina. Graeme had been so furious he’d stormed out of the house and gone on yet another search of estate lands, to get away from everyone as much as to do more sleuthing.

  Once again, he’d been a thundering idiot to his darling lass and undoubtedly owed her another apology. But since his splendid albeit frustrating fiancée was determined to stay at Lochnagar, it was imperative to make the place safe for her.

  The shed appeared well maintained, which suggested the Barrs used it as a hideout. The small fishing boat tied up to the pier was probably used to move supplies in and whisky out.

  Graeme straightened up from behind the shelter of the large blackthorn bush. Since there were no signs of life, he would scout the shed and, with any luck, find some clue as to when the Barrs would return. Then he’d set a trap and roll the bastards up once and for all.

  After checking that his horse was securely tied to a nearby bush, he headed along a narrow, gorse-filled ravine that ran almost to the shed. Aside from the ravine and the patch of bushes at the top of the hill, there was little cover. So far he’d not seen a soul, but there was no point in taking a chance.

  When he reached the end of the ravine, he climbed up and quickly covered the remaining ground to the back of the shed. He tugged on a sash window. It was locked, but certainly big enough for him to climb through. A quick jab of his elbow broke the glass. He unlocked the window and raised the sash, then pushed aside the burlap curtain and hoisted himself through.

  With only one other small window by the door, also covered with burlap, little light seeped in. Impatiently, Graeme dragged aside the other curtain. Sunlight streamed in, falling directly onto several dozen small casks neatly piled up to the ceiling. It didn’t take a genius to deduce what was in them.

  He strode across the shed and rapped on a few of the casks. Full, and the scent told him they contained prime Highland whisky, ready to be smuggled. From the marks on the floor, there’d been more casks stacked out to the middle of the room. Having engaged in a bit of illegal
brewing himself, he was reluctantly impressed by the size of the operation.

  The Barrs seemed to have established a roaring business in their corner of Lochnagar. No wonder they were so fashed by their eviction. This type of rig took years to build and couldn’t be easily moved or replaced.

  The shed also served as living quarters, with a bed against one wall and two smaller cots tipped on their ends in a corner. A roughhewn table with benches took up the center of the room, and a small peat stove stood by the door. A set of shelves contained dishes, glassware, and cooking utensils, along with basic foodstuffs like flour, oats, and tea.

  The stove, with its neat stacks of peat, was ready to be lit.

  Got ye, ye bastards.

  Grinning to himself, Graeme continued his search, finding tattered maps of the surrounding lochs and rivers with smuggling routes marked out in pencil. Even more rewarding was a cache of ledgers. He shook his head at all the careful notations of buyers, shipments, and receipts—evidence that the bloody rig had been running for years, carefully recorded for posterity.

  He took one of the ledgers and started for the window, but quickly froze, straining to hear.

  Hell and damnation.

  Oars slapping against water, then the scrape of wood against the pier.

  Time to make a run for it.

  He all but hurled himself out the window, landing hard on his side. Getting up, he managed only a few steps before someone clamped hands on his back and pulled him down. Graeme and his assailant landed in a sprawl in the dirt.

  Rolling over, he lashed out a boot. The man howled and doubled over, clutching a hand to his groin.

  Lucky kick.

  Graeme started to push up, but another man jumped him from behind. The bastard was bloody heavy, too, all but knocking the breath out of him. Graeme writhed and managed to drive an elbow into the man’s gut.

  When the attacker grunted and loosened his grip, Graeme heaved and was able to throw him off. Coming up onto his knees, he drove his fist into the man’s face. With a scream, the big bloke collapsed to the ground, clutching his bloody nose.

  Graeme shot to his feet, reaching for the pistol inside his coat.

  “Leave off, ye bastard,” snarled another man in a thick Highland brogue, shoving the barrel of a gun to his skull.

  Graeme sighed as his own weapon was confiscated.

  “And ye two idiots,” barked his captor. “Get yerself out of the dirt before I shoot ye, too.”

  “He broke my nose, Jackie,” whined the big fellow.

  “And he broke my nuts,” moaned the other one.

  “I’ll break yer heads if ye don’t get up. Bloody useless, ye are. Dinna know why I keep ye around.”

  The one who’d taken a shot to the groin gingerly climbed to his feet, still cupping himself. He was a tall, skinny lad with a bad complexion, and probably not yet twenty.

  “That hurt bad, ye ken,” he said to Graeme in a wounded tone.

  Graeme shrugged. “Sorry.”

  The heavy-set fellow lumbered unsteadily to his feet. “My mam willna be pleased about my nose, mister. She doesna like me gettin’ hurt, ye ken.”

  Graeme barely repressed a snort. “My sincere apologies to your mother.”

  “Och, idiots,” came a mutter from behind him. The pistol retreated from Graeme’s skull. “Put up yer hands and turn around.”

  Doing as told, he faced a thickset, middle-aged man with brown hair streaked with gray. He had a canny look, sharp features, and a shrewd, hazel gaze.

  “Jackie Barr, I assume?” Graeme drawled.

  “Aye, and ye be one of them blasted Kendricks.” Jackie shook his head in disgust.

  Graeme flashed a smile that was all teeth. “That’s right. And if anything happens to me, my clan will hunt you all down and kill you all in a most unpleasant way.”

  “No killin’, Jackie,” protested the big bloke. “Ye promised my mam.”

  “I’d like to kill ye,” Jackie said in a disgusted tone.

  “But I’m yer cousin.”

  “We canna be killin’ no one, including a Kendrick,” the skinny lad added. “Ye’ll bring the law doon on us.”

  “Who cares?” Jackie retorted. “No reason to stay in this bloody country, anyway. I’ll just shoot the bastard and throw him in the loch, and then it’s away, I am.”

  “Since there are Kendricks in Scotland, England, Germany, and North America, you’re out of luck, I’m afraid,” Graeme said. “My family will hunt you to the end of the earth.”

  “Och, Jackie, that sounds bad,” said the lad.

  “Shut yer trap and fetch some rope from the boat,” Jackie snapped.

  The lad hobbled around the side of the shed.

  The big fellow was now holding a grimy kerchief to his nose. “There’s nae need to snap at poor Dickie. He’s just a lad.”

  “And what’s your name?” Graeme asked.

  “Don’t tell—” Jackie started.

  “Magnus, sir. Magnus Barr.”

  “Hello, Magnus. I’m Graeme Kendrick.”

  “I’d say pleased to meet ye, but for my nose.”

  “Sorry about that. You almost crushed me to death, though.”

  Jackie made a disgusted noise. “Magnus, why don’t ye just tell him where we live?”

  Magnus frowned. “Ye want me to?”

  Jackie shot Graeme a sour look. “Ye see what I have to work with?”

  “How sad for you. Still, it’s not exactly a secret that your entire family is involved in this little venture. The villagers certainly know.”

  “And they’ll keep their bloody mouths shut, or else,” Jackie growled.

  “They’ve already started talking, I’m afraid.”

  “Because of that skinny Sassenach bitch. She’s the cause of all our trouble.”

  Graeme’s mild sense of amusement was instantly snuffed out. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t kill you for taking those shots at her.”

  Jackie snorted. “Och, we were just tryin’ to scare her. I’ll nae be goin’ to the gallows for bloody Musgrave and his kin.”

  Magnus heaved a sigh. “But she’s nae one for scarin’.”

  “No, she’s very brave,” replied Graeme.

  Jackie muttered a curse, clearly losing patience with the inane conversation. What he didn’t lose, unfortunately, was his focus on keeping his pistol pointed at Graeme.

  “Dickie, where the hell are ye?”

  The lad scuttled up, carrying a length of rope. “Ye needna yell, Jackie.”

  “What took ye so long?”

  “I can barely walk, ye ken.” He glared at Graeme.

  “Sorry, lad. It was just a lucky shot,” Graeme said.

  Dickie blinked, then gave Graeme a tentative smile.

  Clearly, not all the Barrs were as bloodthirsty as Jackie. The poor lads actually seemed quite decent—a factor Graeme intended to exploit.

  “Magnus, tie Kendrick up, good and tight, then get him into the shed,” Jackie ordered.

  The big man followed his cousin’s instructions, tying the blasted ropes very tight. Graeme had no hope of wriggling free. He’d have to talk his way out of this one.

  Fortunately, a plan was already taking shape in his brain.

  Magnus steered him around to the front of the shed. Graeme mentally cursed when he saw two other men on the pier loading barrels into a second boat. It was now five against one.

  “How’d you know I was here?” Graeme asked Jackie after Magnus led him to a bench inside.

  “Saw your horse as we were comin’ in to meet the boat. Then the broken window.”

  “Still running your rig on Lochnagar lands, obviously.”

  “Nae,” Dickie earnestly replied. “We were evicted.”

  “He knows we were evicted, ye twiddlepoop,” Jackie said. “He means now.”

  Dickie brightened. “Oh. We been stayin’ with kin, just on the other side of the loch.”

  “Aye,” said Magnus. “My mam’s family be crofter
s on the next estate.”

  When Jackie shook his head in disgust, Graeme could almost sympathize.

  Almost.

  “So you were still able to run the rig by coming across the loch and avoiding most of the estate,” Graeme said. “Makes perfect sense.”

  “Until ye showed up,” Jackie said. “We were just up and runnin’ again, but ye lot sent it all to hell.”

  “The eviction must have hurt.”

  “It was a pain in my arse, but we were managin’.” Jackie pulled a bottle down from the shelf and brought it back to the table. He poured a dram into a cloudy-looking glass and shot it down in one go.

  “I could use one of them,” Magnus hopefully said.

  “Ye’ll nae get anything until those casks are loaded,” Jackie said. “Get to work. Ye too, Dickie.”

  The two men exchanged an aggrieved look, then started hauling the casks out the door.

  “You’ve obviously been running this rig for some time,” Graeme said. “Since the death of Lady Sabrina’s grandfather, I imagine.”

  Jackie scoffed. “Longer than that. My da was doin’ it for years, while old Chattan was alive.”

  Old Chattan was obviously Sir Robert Chattan, Sabrina’s grandfather. “And Chattan didn’t mind?”

  “My da kept it small. Supplied the estate and the pub. Barely made a penny on it, the barmy old coot. Didna want to offend Chattan or cause any trouble with the law.”

  “Not you, though.”

  “Wasna goin’ to have Chattan lordin’ it over me.” He flashed an ugly grin. “Fortunately, the old fool kicked off shortly after my da.”

  “And then Mr. Hugo showed up. That must have made things easier.”

  “Aye. Musgrave didn’t give a damn about the place. But Hugo.” Jackie tapped the side of his nose. “He was a canny one. He knew where the real money was.”

  “What about the old business manager, the one in Edinburgh? Was he in on it, too?”

  Jackie rolled his eyes. “That old loony? As long as Hugo kept the rents comin’ in, he didna care.”

  Sabrina had been right. Musgrave’s disregard for Lochnagar, benign or not, had caused a great deal of misery.

  “But something changed.”

  Jackie poured another dram. “That twit of a manager in Edinburgh finally got suspicious when my family wasna evicted, so he up and fired poor Hugo. He said Hugo wasn’t enforcin’ the Clearances like Musgrave wanted, and if he found any dirty dealings, he’d bring in the law. Hugo disappeared right quick after that.”