Highlander Besieged

by Vonda Sinclair

  Cyrus hated to admit he envied her that. What would it be like to have a son of ten summers? He wished he already had an heir. That way, the future of the MacKenzies would be secure. He realized at times he might be jeopardizing the future of the clan by delaying siring an heir until his mid-thirties. But he did have four younger brothers, any one of whom could step in should he meet his demise in battle or elsewhere. He made sure each of them knew how to lead the clan if necessary.

  "Do you have any other children?" he asked.

  Elspeth shook her head and sent him a curious glance. "Do you?"

  "Nay." Cyrus could say this with near certainty. He was always most careful with his dalliances, for he wanted no bastards running about the countryside. 'Twas important to him that his first son be his legitimate heir.

  Moments later, when the meal was finished, they arose from the table.

  Elspeth turned to him. "Rooms are being prepared for you, Fraser, and your guards. I'll have the kitchen staff to serve an early breakfast in the morn. I'm certain you want to get back to Castle Rebbinglen as soon as possible so that you and Lady Lily can continue your courtship."

  'Twas what he should want, aye, but he hated to admit Lily was the furthest topic from his mind.

  "'Twill not be possible, unless we resolve all your problems this night." Leaning in, Cyrus lowered his voice. "I need to speak with you in private, away from your staff. I'm not certain I trust all of them."

  Chapter Eight

  Cyrus's deep and intimate voice disturbed Elspeth, and his dark eyes appeared even more serious than usual.

  Her staff, not trustworthy? She frowned and glanced around at them. Did he suspect them of participating in the theft or other malicious deeds? "In truth?"

  He nodded.

  "Very well. We can talk in the study." Taking a single candle in a small iron holder, she led the way along the narrow corridor toward the study where she did her bookkeeping and correspondence. 'Twas usually cozy, but at the moment, the hearth was not in use because she'd been away. She shuddered at the cool air, or maybe 'twas the chilling situation of not knowing who to trust. Once he'd entered, she closed the door.

  Cyrus glanced over the maps and tapestries on the walls, then the cabinets, desk, and chairs. "Is this room secure, or can someone listen in?"

  Anxiety prickled at the back of her neck. "'Tis secure, as far as I know." She was fairly certain she'd explored every nook and cranny of this house.

  "I must find out what happened to your guards before I return to Castle Rebbinglen." His determined eyes held steady upon hers.

  Elspeth placed the candleholder on the table. "I would never wish to impose upon your time. 'Tis not your responsibility."

  "You're a vulnerable woman alone, without a man to protect you."

  She scrutinized him, trying to detect if he wished to be her protector the way Dalacroy had been. Surely not, since Cyrus was most interested in wedding Lily. And yet, something in his eyes pulled at her... a spark of interest or instinctive awareness.

  She broke eye contact. Regardless of how attractive she found him, she had many reasons to stay far away from him. She certainly didn't want the most forceful man she'd ever met bossing her around and taking possession of her properties. As an independent woman, she'd made a good life for herself and her family. She intended to keep it that way.

  'Twas true with her guards gone, she had far less protection than before, but she had several male staff members. "Morrison is a man."

  A short laugh burst from Cyrus's mouth, but he quickly sobered. "Forgive me, but he is no guard."

  Well, he was right, of course. But did he have to show outright disdain for her steward? Morrison might not be tall and brawny, but he was efficient at running her household.

  She thought of another staff member. "Burns, the groom. He's a robust man."

  Cyrus snorted. "You must be jesting."

  "Why do you insist on insulting my staff? And why do you wish to help a woman alone, as you phrased it?"

  "I'm not insulting your staff." His defensive tone was grumpier than ever. "You cannot expect a steward or a groom to be a guard. 'Tis not what they're trained for. As for why I'm helping you... I'm a man with honor, a Highlander and a chief. That means something. I don't abandon the weak and helpless."

  "I am not weak or helpless!" She met his glare head-on. His overbearing nature was too much.

  He smirked. "I cannot imagine you putting on metal-studded leather armor and fighting with a sword to defend what is yours. Are you capable of that?"

  Annoyance twisted inside her, for she knew he was right, but she would not give in. "Nay, but I'm not helpless. I could stab you with a dagger before you could blink."

  "Indeed?" He raised a brow, his gaze growing amused, but also intrigued. "I dare you."

  Her threat was an innocuous one and he knew it. Now, the tyrant was ridiculing her. She narrowed her eyes. "If I were going to do such a thing, I would not warn you beforehand."

  "Do you have a dagger on your person right now?"

  "Of course. Why would I mention it otherwise?"

  Suppressing a grin, he glanced down over her body. Was he trying to figure out where the blade was hidden, or was he entertaining lewd thoughts? Heated awareness washed over her. Though his domineering attitude vexed her, she found the hint of amusement lurking in his midnight eyes captivating.

  "Tell me of your enemies," he urged. "Who have you tried to stab in the past?"

  Was he teasing or mocking her? She could not figure him out. "No one. I have no enemies."

  He took the candle she'd placed on the table and lit the kindling already laid in the hearth. "Have you been paying your guards?"

  "Of course." Blast him. Why did each of his questions have an insulting slant?

  He placed the candleholder on the mantle, then turned to her. "Have you been having financial difficulties?"

  Annoyance jabbed at her. "Not that it is any of your concern, but nay, I have not. And I don't appreciate you treating me as if I'm daft."

  He lifted his brows as if taken aback at her response. "I meant no offense. I'm trying to get to the bottom of your troubles."

  "But you hardly know me, and you ask very prying and personal questions."

  "You're not a stranger. Rebbie is my friend. Rose is your friend. They're cousins, so we know each other." Cyrus shrugged.

  They had only met a few days before, and she could not fathom his insistence on being her champion. She knew of no other titled laird who would do such a thing... unless he had hidden motives. Did he intend to seduce her? She doubted it, given his continual slurs to her intelligence.

  "What about Lady Lily? Won't assisting me put your betrothal in jeopardy?"

  "Nay, she'll understand. She would want you to be safe and protected. Your guard has been clouted on the head and we must find the knave responsible. They could easily break in again and kill you, especially now that you have no protection outside of me and my clansmen."

  With that harsh and traumatic image, a chill shivered through her. Most men would not speak so plainly to a lady, but she appreciated Cyrus's forthright honesty.

  He sat on a straight chair beside the hearth, then motioned to the chair opposite. "Would you join me?"

  "Very well." Her mind was in such a state of turmoil, she had not thought to offer him a seat earlier. "I'm glad you started the fire." It made the room more comfortable and brighter. A bit of heat already radiated outward toward her knees.

  Remembering the reason they'd entered this room, she asked, "Why do you mistrust my staff?"

  "While you were upstairs earlier, I examined the broken lock from the postern gate. Given its positioning, it might have been smashed by someone on the inside of the walls."

  His words boggled her mind and fear clutched at her stomach. "In truth?"

  "Aye. 'Tis impossible to tell for certain. But now that I've had time to think about it, 'twould have been more difficult to smash the lock from the
outside, given the amount of force needed and the angle."

  "Why would anyone on the inside break it? The guards had the keys."

  "Trying to mislead you into thinking it was done by a stranger outside. Did all of your guards have a key?"

  "Three of them did. That way, at least one guard on watch would have a key at all times. Along with the front gate key."

  "So, 'twas either a guard who didn't possess a key, or one who did have one but wished to defer the blame."

  "It could've been one of the guards who disappeared," she admitted.

  "Most likely. Question is... would those guards act on their own, or has someone else hired them to do this?" He stared at her pointedly. "I ask you again... who are your enemies?"

  The very idea mystified her. Did she have any enemies? She shook her head. "Maybe my guards broke the lock and stole my jewels to split the profits. And 'haps Stillman wouldn't go along with the rest of them, so they bashed him on the head."

  "Could be. How long have they worked for you?"

  "Some of them have worked here for five years. Others, like MacGuire, a lot less time."

  "Where did you find them?"

  "I—" She snapped her mouth closed. She'd almost revealed that she hadn't found them herself. The Earl of Dalacroy had hired most of them, but she didn't wish Cyrus to know anything about the man.

  "Go on." Cyrus's disturbing and intelligent gaze delved into hers.

  She glanced away, trying to think of something logical to say. "I found them in town."

  "Where? On the street?" He sounded baffled. The frown deepening on his handsome face, he scrutinized her. "What are you not telling me?"

  Blast! The few times she'd tried to lie, people had told her she was terrible at it.

  "I am not a ninny, sir, and I wish you would stop speaking to me thus. My guards had excellent references from their past employment."

  "If you withhold things from me, I cannot help you." Cyrus crossed his arms over his chest, appearing as superior as most every male aristocrat she knew—nay, more so.

  She narrowed her eyes. "As I said, I have no need of your help. You're free to go whenever you wish."

  "Nonsense. You may not want my help, but you need it. What type of men were your guards? Were they loyal? Do you have an enemy who could've paid them to leave? Is someone jealous of your wealth?"

  Her head pained her, and she rubbed at her temples. Good lord, what was she supposed to do? Her guards vanished... and now this forceful Highlander was demanding she reveal everything. She knew very little about him. Her mind spun and grappled for the answers to his questions. So many questions. If she showed any weakness, would he also take advantage of her?

  Trying not to feel completely overwhelmed, she straightened her shoulders and put on a brave front. "I thought they were loyal, but obviously I was mistaken."

  "Aye, well, 'tis becoming clear to me that this was not a simple theft. Is this the baronial estate that your son will inherit?"

  At least that was one Elspeth could answer. "Nay, he will inherit Greymont, a separate estate with a small castle a few miles south of here. I own this manor house free and clear. My son will, of course, inherit it one day."

  Cyrus nodded. "How did you come to own this home?"

  A rush of discomfiting heat washed over her. Why on earth was he being so nosey? Surely that had naught to do with the burglary. "I purchased it with the earnings from my business." She hated to lie, but she couldn't tell him it was payment from Dalacroy. A home of her own was the main thing she'd wanted after her husband had lost Greymont to him. She'd had a devil of a time getting that estate back for her son.

  "Has anyone shown interest in this estate or your son's? 'Haps tried to purchase either from you?"

  The image of Mr. Thorndyke, with his pudgy body and stringy brown hair, popped into her head.

  "Tell me what you're thinking." Cyrus eyed her intently as if trying to read her mind.

  Not realizing her mouth had dropped open, she snapped it closed. No doubt she looked stunned. She would have to guard her expressions better. "Just before I left for Castle Rebbinglen, a Mr. Thorndyke came into my dress shop and tried to buy it."

  Cyrus frowned. "Who is he?"

  "Rose said he is a solicitor for aristocrats in these parts."

  "What else do you know about him?"

  "Naught, except that he's loathsome. He sneered at me, ridiculed my shop, and did not take well to my refusal. But he obviously had great respect for Rose, for he quickly left after her arrival."

  Cyrus stroked his fingers over the short dark beard on his chin. "Who are the other aristocrats in the area?"

  "There is a Baron Atken. His wife is one of my customers. As for the rest, I would have to ask Rose." 'Twas the truth, for Dalacroy was no longer living and she knew none of the others, aside from Rose. Many of her customers were from other towns or estates farther afield. "My late husband was very unsociable."

  A knock sounded at the door, startling her.

  "Enter," she called.

  Gracie, her newest maid, opened the door and curtsied. "Mistress Almsly bid me to come get you, m'lady. Stillman has awakened."

  Chapter Nine

  Upon hearing that her guard had roused from his knocked-out state, Elspeth charged out of the study at a staggering speed. Cyrus arose from his chair and followed her upstairs to Stillman's chamber. With its blue brocade draperies and large carved walnut four-poster bed, this room was not one that a guard would normally occupy.

  Cyrus halted just inside the doorway as Mistress Almsly—a squat woman with silver hair—and the young maid exited. Stillman still lay abed, on his back, his eyes closed. A swollen, bloody lump marred his almost bald pate. The man had been clouted on the side of the head, not the front or back. That made the situation even more mysterious, for his attacker could've been either in front of him, behind him, or beside him.

  Hoping the man would remember something, Cyrus moved to one side of the bed, while Elspeth circled to the other side and sat on the straight wooden chair. She gently took the guard's beefy hand into hers, making Cyrus wonder darkly whether their relationship was more than employer-employee.

  The barb of annoyance at this potential arrangement stunned him. Why the devil should he care if she dallied with her guard?

  "How are you feeling, Stillman?" she asked. "I've been deeply troubled over the assault."

  The guard turned his head slightly toward her and opened his eyes. "M'lady, my head pains me greatly," he murmured low.

  "What happened? Who hit you on the head?"

  He closed his eyes and frowned. "I only recall someone was banging and trying to get in the postern gate in the wee hours of the morn. 'Twas dark as pitch out, but I had my lantern. Someone outside the gate had a torch, but I couldn't see the face. He wore a broad-brimmed hat which cast his face into the shadows. I don't ken if 'twas one man or several."

  "Were my other guards with you?"

  "Aye, a couple of them followed me when I awoke them and alerted them to a commotion at the gate."

  That was different from what Morrison had told him, Cyrus realized. But then Morrison had only been guessing, for he hadn't been out there. Regardless, those two guards had withheld this information from Morrison.

  "Which ones?" she asked.

  "Ballantyne and Parker."

  "And then what happened?"

  The man grimaced. "I... I don't remember anything after I drew near to the gate."

  Elspeth's brow furrowed. "Do you remember being hit?"

  "Nay."

  "Could either Ballantyne or Parker have struck you?"

  Stillman's eyes widened. "Your own guards, m'lady! Why would they?"

  "I know not as of yet."

  "They could have, I suppose. Or someone outside the gate might have had a long stick or pike which they shoved between the bars and clobbered me with that. I wish I could remember. They didn't enter, did they? Surely the other guards stopped them."
/>   She sat back and pressed her lips tight, remaining silent.

  "Did they get in, m'lady?" Stillman persisted.

  She nodded. "They did. And they stole some things, but please don't worry over it. 'Twas not your fault."

  "Saints! Were the other guards killed?"

  "I know not. They disappeared."

  Stillman blinked rapidly. "What do you mean?"

  "They're no longer here. They're gone. Vanished."

  The guard scowled. "Forgive me, m'lady, but that makes no sense."

  "I agree," Cyrus said.

  Stillman jerked his head around and gawped at Cyrus on the other side of the bed. His face drained white.

  "I'm Cyrus MacKenzie. I escorted your lady home."

  "The Earl of Stornmor," Elspeth added by way of introduction.

  "Och, m'laird. 'Tis a great honor. I'm Archie Stillman. If I could get to my feet, I would bow."

  "Do not fash over it. Rest and recover." Though Cyrus wanted to question the man thoroughly, he didn't wish to overtax him after such a severe injury.

  "The reason he and his men escorted me home is that I was in a coach accident," Elspeth told him.

  "Saints above!" Stillman looked back and forth between them. "Are you all right, then?"

  She nodded and touched her scalp. "Just a wee bump on the head. Nothing at all like yours. But Jenkins broke an arm."

  "Are you certain 'twas an accident?" Stillman looked panicked of a sudden.

  Elspeth sent Cyrus an intimate but apprehensive look that asked what he thought of the notion her coach could've been sabotaged. 'Twas as if someone had given him a welcoming pat on the back, for he felt her trust and reliance on him. Savored it. He did not understand why he liked that sensation so much. In fact, he didn't ken why he felt so compelled to help her.

  She switched her attention to the guard again. "By all appearances, it was an accident. The horses spooked and bolted. 'Haps they scented the wolf that had been seen in that area."

  Stillman's brow knitted. "Strange that both calamities would happen a day apart."