The Highlander Who Protected Me (Clan Kendrick #1)

by Vanessa Kelly

  “I take it that the Marquess of Cringlewood is responsible for your present condition.”

  She blinked in dismay that he would take so blunt a tack. Then again, blunt was Royal Kendrick’s middle name.

  “I wouldn’t have expected anything else,” he added as she stewed in silence. “I’m just a bit surprised that it happened in the first place.”

  Meaning no decent girl would allow something like this to happen. Or, if she did, she would have the good sense to marry the man responsible.

  “You aren’t the only one,” she muttered.

  He frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

  She grimaced. “I cannot imagine what you must think of me.”

  Even though he’d done a very good job of hiding it, he had to be disgusted with her. It made her sick to her stomach to know she’d lost his good opinion.

  And it wasn’t even your fault.

  But how could she tell him that? Men always blamed women, even good men like Royal Kendrick. Ainsley wouldn’t hold it against him if he did, because her own naïve foolishness had walked her right into the situation in the first place. No one had forced her to go off with Leonard that afternoon, nor had she tried to stop him—at least not at first.

  By the time she had, it had been too late to do anything but try to manage the stunning and terrible consequences. Because everyone, from her father on down, would have held her responsible, as unfair as that was. They would have said that she was the guardian of her virtue, not the man she was supposed to marry. Some might even say she was lucky Leonard still wanted to marry her, given that she was no longer a virgin.

  Well, they could say whatever they wanted, because Ainsley would never let any man treat her like that again, even if it meant spending the rest of her life in a dreary hole in Scotland. She would join a convent before she allowed Leonard to touch her again or get anywhere near her child.

  She jumped a bit as Royal’s long fingers wrapped around hers in a comforting hold. She gripped him rather desperately, feeling like a lost child as she stared into his warm gaze.

  Apparently, he wasn’t disgusted with her, after all. She sniffled, horrified to find herself blinking back tears.

  “Och, tears from Lady Ainsley?” he gently teased. “Does she have a heart, after all?”

  “You’re a lout,” she said, trying to scowl. As usual, he understood she hated feeling vulnerable. “And my tears have nothing to do with you. Breeding tends to make one feel mawkish.”

  “I’m not judging you, lass, especially not for wanting to avoid marriage with Cringlewood, which I presume is the reason you’re hiding in this backwater. The man’s an intolerable ass. Why you let him come near you in the first place is the bloody mystery.”

  Annoyed, she tried to yank her hand away. “It wasn’t really my choice.”

  When his fingers tightened, she mentally cursed at her slip.

  “Are you saying he forced himself on you?” he asked in a voice that had gone soft and rather terrifying.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  “That’s not what I meant,” she said, finally able to extract her hand. The last thing she needed was a knight errant. Knowing Royal, he would ride straight to London and challenge Leonard to a duel. Then the cat would be truly out of the bag.

  “What did you mean?”

  “I . . . nothing.”

  His incredulous gaze dropped to her belly. “Nothing?”

  She bit her lip in frustration. Pregnancy had turned her brain to mush. “It was a misunderstanding. Between his lordship and me.”

  “That is one hell of a misunderstanding.”

  “Don’t you think I know that? I’m the one with the cannonball in my stomach.”

  Royal shook his head, clearly perturbed. “If the marquess finds out about this . . .”

  “I’ll be forced to marry him. Which is why he can never find out.”

  He made a visible effort to collect himself. “Ainsley, I don’t wish to offend you—”

  “Too late, I’m afraid,” she interrupted.

  “And you know I’ll support you in any way I can,” he continued. “But Cringlewood is the father of your child. When he does find out you kept this from him—”

  She jabbed a finger into his cravat. “You don’t know a blasted thing about it, Royal Kendrick. I do not want that man anywhere near me, or my child. He’s utterly selfish and mean-spirited, and would make my life a misery. I refuse to marry him.”

  Troubled, he searched her face. Ainsley’s heart all but lodged in her throat, praying he would accept her vague explanation.

  He wrapped his hand around her finger. “I would never betray you, lass. I promise. Word of a Kendrick.”

  Relief swept through her, leaving her feeling limp and washed out. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Then his gaze narrowed. “But if that bastard hurt you, he won’t get away with it. I won’t let him.”

  She again yanked her hand away. “Leave it alone, Royal. Please.”

  “Ainsley, I’m not—”

  A thumping out in the hall interrupted them.

  Thank God.

  “Splendid. That must be Aunt Margaret,” Ainsley said with idiotic false cheer.

  A moment later, her great-aunt stomped in, her polished walnut cane thudding emphatically on the floorboards. She stopped in the middle of the room, a startling sight in her extravagantly trimmed purple gown, matching turban, and glossily buckled heels that had ceased to be in style years ago. With her pince-nez firmly in place, she was the very picture of decrepit ferocity as she glowered at Royal.

  Aunt Margaret did enjoy making an entrance.

  “Ainsley, have you gone mad? Why are you receiving visitors in your state?”

  “It wasn’t by choice, I assure you,” Ainsley said dryly.

  Royal hauled himself to his feet, regarding Lady Margaret with something akin to astonishment. Ainsley understood exactly how he felt.

  Lady Margaret Baird was the daughter of an earl and the granddaughter of a duchess. She was both wealthy and well connected, and could live however she chose—which in her case meant taking the occasional lover and dressing like an Eastern pasha in wildly colored silk banyans and matching headgear. In her later years, it had also meant an increasingly reclusive lifestyle, tucked away on her estate in this quiet corner of the Highlands.

  “Then what the devil are you doing up here, young man?” Aunt Margaret demanded. “Why didn’t you wait in the drawing room until I arrived?”

  “I did,” Royal said. “After a considerable time, I assumed everyone had forgotten I was there.”

  “I was taking a nap,” the old woman said.

  “Well, that explains it,” Royal said with polite sarcasm.

  “It actually does,” Ainsley said. Her aunt’s afternoon nap was sacrosanct. No one dared interrupt it unless the house was burning down, and possibly not even then.

  “I take it you know my niece,” Aunt Margaret said.

  Royal nodded. “We’re friends.”

  “And who are you? For some reason, Betty couldn’t remember your name.”

  “She was too busy flirting to commit it to memory,” Ainsley couldn’t help saying.

  Her aunt ran a practiced eye over Royal’s figure. “Can’t really blame the gel for that, I suppose. He is a fine-looking specimen.”

  Ainsley glanced at Royal’s expression and had to swallow a chuckle.

  “This is Royal Kendrick, Aunt,” she managed. “Lord Arnprior’s brother.”

  “So, you’re one of the Kendrick boys, are you?” She glanced at Ainsley. “I did fancy his brother, at one point. A lovely, braw laddie. We got along splendidly, as I recall.”

  Royal looked appalled. “Ah, do you mean the earl?”

  “Lord, no. He’s a handsome fellow but much too starched-up for my tastes. I meant the next one down. Logan, I believe was his name. Such lovely shoulders.” She winked at Ainsley. “Not to mention the rest of him.”

  “G
ood God,” Royal muttered.

  “Well, enough reminiscing of days gone by,” Aunt Margaret said, once more looking severe. “You’re here now, Mr. Royal Kendrick, and I suppose we’ll just have to deal with you.”

  “It’s all right,” Ainsley said. “I’ll take care of him.”

  “What you will do is take a nap. I will have a little chat with Mr. Royal, and find out exactly why he’s here.”

  Ainsley’s heart jumped as if the baby had just elbowed it. “Oh, he’s just visiting—”

  “I will be happy to speak to her ladyship,” Royal said firmly.

  When Ainsley started to protest, her aunt threw her a sharp look and gave a tiny shake of her head.

  There was no arguing with the old girl once she’d made up her mind. Besides, what choice did she have? Aunt Margaret had so far guarded her secrets with canny loyalty. Ainsley had to trust she would know how to throw Royal off the scent.

  “If you’re such a good friend, help the gel up,” her aunt said. “Can’t do it on her own anymore. Sometimes we forget about her, and then she has to spend all afternoon stuck on the chaise.”

  “She’s joking,” Ainsley explained, when Royal looked outraged. Still, she couldn’t help blushing to the roots of her hair. Her aunt was the most embarrassing person, if also the kindest.

  Royal hooked a hand under her arm, easily hoisting her off the chaise. When Ainsley staggered, he carefully supported her until she was steady.

  “Sorry,” she said. “My balance isn’t very good these days.”

  “Your center of gravity is off,” he said with a faint smile. “Considerably.”

  She stuck out her tongue at him, which only made him laugh.

  As he helped her to the door, he bent his head to murmur in her ear. “By the way, I intend to have a very frank discussion with your aunt about this situation.”

  “You will not,” she hissed. “It’s none of your business.”

  “Och, don’t fash yourself, lass,” he said, teasing her in a heavy brogue. “Ye ken I’m on yer side.”

  She didn’t doubt it, but the truth was the last thing she could—or would—ever tell him.

  Chapter Three

  When Royal entered the parlor after dinner, Lady Margaret leveled a scowl at him from her perch by the fireplace.

  “Your visit is monstrously ill timed, sir,” she complained again. “We’ve gone to exhausting lengths to protect my niece’s privacy, and now you’ve upended everything.” The old gal snorted. “Just like a Kendrick. Always causing trouble.”

  “Not me,” he protested. “I’m the good Kendrick.”

  “Ha,” said Lady Margaret.

  “Ha,” Ainsley echoed from the chaise, her teacup resting on her belly.

  Still in the same gown she’d worn this afternoon, she’d kicked off her shoes and propped her swollen feet on a stack of pillows. Although never a high stickler in terms of behavior, Ainsley had always been fanatical about her appearance. She’d never looked anything less than perfect, down to the last button and bow. The fact that she wouldn’t bother to change her dress for dinner, and that she casually displayed her stocking feet in front of a man, told Royal volumes about her state of mind.

  To him, she would always be spectacular, no matter what she wore. If anything, pregnancy had enhanced her beauty, turning her into a lush goddess of impending motherhood. Yet it was clear she was in a great deal of discomfort, and he couldn’t help but be worried. She’d all but winced her way through dinner, constantly shifting in her chair and barely touching her food.

  Royal hated seeing her so wan and forlorn, and he had to repress the overwhelming impulse to gather her into his arms and rock her like a fretful child. Acting on that instinct, however, might earn him a dainty fist to the jaw. Like him, Ainsley hated coddling.

  She hadn’t minded a wee bit of coddling this afternoon, before they started talking about Cringlewood, but then she’d turned into a harridan. She’d been angry with him for wanting an explanation. Also, if he didn’t miss his mark, she’d been panicked, and that made him even more determined to get to the bottom of the mystery. If the marquess had harmed her in any way, Royal would see to it that the bastard faced the consequences.

  For now, though, he had to do what was best for Ainsley, which meant soothing rather than upsetting her. Lady Margaret had made that abundantly clear during their chat this afternoon—a chat that had quickly turned into a high-handed lecture. She’d dodged all his questions about Cringlewood, making it clear that the marquess was none of his business.

  Royal had no intention of giving up on the matter. But retribution, if required, would obviously have to wait.

  “Again, my lady, I beg your pardon for surprising you,” Royal said as he lowered himself into the matching club chair next to Lady Margaret. “But I would again like to point out that none of this is my fault. How was I to know I would be walking into so dramatic a situation? No sane person could have expected this.”

  “You know, I should just have the footman throw you out on your ear and be done with it,” Ainsley said tartly.

  “You’d have to find him first,” Royal said.

  Hector had finally surfaced for dinner. The lone footman was at least sixty years old, wore an elaborately curled wig, and dressed in black and gold livery that had obviously seen better days. He was also, as Lady Margaret had explained, quite deaf and so rarely heard the bell. After depositing a number of plates on the sideboard, he’d disappeared for the rest of the meal. Royal had served their food, since Lady Margaret couldn’t be expected to do so and Ainsley could barely get out of her chair.

  Lady Margaret’s gaze drifted thoughtfully over him. “I do believe you’d make a rather good footman, Mr. Kendrick. You’ve got a grand set of shoulders and lovely leg muscles.” She waggled her wiry gray brows at him. “I’d quite like to see you in livery.”

  Ainsley smothered a laugh. “Have some tea, Royal. You look about to choke.”

  As he poured a cup, Lady Margaret went back to glaring at him. “But don’t think your considerable manly attributes excuse the impropriety of your sudden appearance on my doorstep. My niece is correct. We should have Hector evict you, forthwith.”

  Royal simply gave Lady Margaret a bland smile and handed her a teacup.

  “I was only joking, Aunt,” Ainsley said. “Since he’s here now, he might as well be of some use.”

  “I’m happy to help in any way I can,” he said after getting himself a cup. “Even serving as footman when necessary.”

  He took a sip. It was a splendid gunpowder tea, expertly brewed. Lady Margaret was eccentric, but she didn’t stint on comfort. Dinner had been excellent, the wine French and expensive, and the after-dinner port top-notch. He’d had ample opportunity to enjoy it too, since Lady Margaret had insisted he remain at the dining table in solitary splendor for a half hour while the ladies repaired to the drawing room to await the tea service.

  If not for the pressing nature of Ainsley’s situation, he would have found the entire episode irritatingly comical.

  There’d been nothing comical about her behavior last January in Glasgow. Her changeable, even erratic emotions now finally made perfect sense. It was clear to him that much of her conduct had been generated by fear of scandal and fear of what Cringlewood would do if he discovered her pregnancy.

  Lady Margaret finally gave over her tetchy mood. “I know my household must seem rather ridiculous to you, Mr. Kendrick, but there is a method to our madness.”

  “Not ridiculous or mad in the least, my lady,” he said. “Just a wee bit unusual.”

  “‘Ridiculous’ does rather fit the bill,” Ainsley said, struggling to reach for the teapot.

  “Here, let me,” Royal said, jumping up too quickly for his protesting thigh.

  Ainsley frowned. “Be careful of your leg. I’m sure your ride today wasn’t good for it.”

  “My leg is fine, pet,” he said as he prepared her cup.

  “I am going to hi
re you,” Lady Margaret said with approval. “After all, there’s nothing like a handsome footman in livery to cheer up the ladies, eh? That’s why I hired Hector all those years ago.” She winked at Ainsley. “It wasn’t for his skill in polishing the silver, I assure you.”

  Ainsley pressed a finger to her lips. Royal couldn’t tell if she was amused or horrified.

  “Sadly, my lady, I must draw the line at prancing about in livery,” he said, trying not to think about who exactly polished what, back in Hector’s better days.

  “Ah, well,” said Lady Margaret, “I suppose you wouldn’t look any better in livery than you do in that kilt, so I’ll just have to be grateful for small favors.”

  Royal made a mental note to avoid spending any time alone with the old girl.

  “Speaking of additional help,” he said, determined to change the subject, “I’m assuming you have such a small staff in order to protect Ainsley’s privacy. You’ve pulled it off exceedingly well. I heard not a word of gossip in the village, and I did ask questions.”

  “And I am determined to keep it that way. Do you understand?” Lady Margaret asked.

  “You have my word that Ainsley’s secret is safe with me.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” she replied. “I’d be most distressed to order Hector to shoot you and toss your body into the loch.”

  The notion of Hector lurking about with an old flintlock was rather alarming. “I don’t imagine my family would be too happy about it either.”

  “She’s joking,” Ainsley said. “But it hasn’t been easy. Not for any of us.”

  “Did you let some of the servants go? Surely, you’re not always this short staffed.”

  Ainsley shrugged. “Yes, we are, actually. Betty, Cook, and Hector take care of the house, and there’s old Ben and Willy in the stables. Others come in from the village as needed.”

  “Could never abide legions of servants tromping around my house,” the old woman said. “Or guests, for that matter. All they do is eat their fool heads off, natter like idiots, and cause a great deal of fuss and bother.”

  Royal arched an eyebrow at Ainsley. “Underhill Manor seems perfect for your needs.”