Daring Lords and Ladies

by Emily Murdoch

  As they rode, Davina struggled to form a plan. Once they found Elizbeth, how to get word to Graham without alerting James? One step at a time, she told herself. First, locate Elizbeth. Once both girls were safely at her side, she would find a way to contact Graham.

  They rounded a bend and her heart jumped into her throat at sight of a gleaming black carriage sitting on the side of the road, two spirited looking mounts unhitched and tethered nearby. Two servants and a gentleman stood at the broken back wheel.

  Davina slowed her mount. Should they turn back? The gentleman raised his gaze to study them.

  Margarette drew alongside her. “I recognize that carriage,” she hissed.

  So did Davina. The urge to flee pressed harder, but to do so would only ensure a chase. “Listen carefully, Margarette,” she spoke rapidly. “You are Lady Anne Myers and I am your elder sister, Helena.”

  Margarette frowned. “What? I do not understand.”

  “They have seen us,” Davina said. “We cannot turn back. We’re already attracting suspicion riding astride, but they do not know us, what we look like. We can get past them. You are Lady Anne Myers and I am Helena. Do you understand?”

  “Aunt Davina—”

  “Helena,” Davina cut her off. “I am your sister, Helena. Say it.”

  “You are my sister, Helena.”

  “Do not speak to anyone other than to offer a polite greeting. Do you understand?” Davina demanded.

  “But why?”

  “Because you might make a mistake.”

  One by one, the two footmen turned. Soon, all three men watched Davina and Margarette approach. Davina’s head hammered in time with her pulse. The ruffles on the young gentleman’s shirt and coat were decidedly French. He could be none other than Seigneur Faucon, on his way back from their home. His carriage must have passed them up while they struggled through the woods.

  They drew abreast the carriage and Davina smiled genially. “Good afternoon, sir. May we be of assistance?”

  The young man bowed. “Thank you, madam,” he said in a thick French accent.

  Margarette gave a small gasp. Davina didn’t dare even a warning glance as she said, “Forgive my sister’s manners, sir. She is enamored with all things French.”

  His gaze shifted to Margarette and Davina recognized the male appreciation that lit his eyes. Or was it something more? Please, she prayed, let it not be recognition.

  “Seigneur Faucon, mademoiselle.” He swept a low bow toward Margarette.

  “L—lady Anne,” Margarette stammered.

  Sharp eyes seemed almost to devour Davina’s niece. “Indeed?” Faucon asked, tone amused.

  “I am Lady Helena and this is my sister, Lady Anne,” Davina said in a stern, sisterly tone. “We would be happy to send help back to you,” she added as they inched passed the broken carriage.

  He returned his attention to her, turning slowly to follow her progress. “That would be very kind of you, my lady,” he drawled. “And completely unnecessary.”

  With a certainty, Davina knew he recognized them. She dug her heels into her horse’s ribs. “Ride, Margarette,” Davina yelled as her mount leapt forward.

  A French invective split the air. Margarette screamed. Davina twisted in the saddle to see the Frenchman’s hand clasped about her niece’s leg. His other grabbed for the reins. Davina yanked her mount around. Momentum nearly toppled her and the beast over n the instant before she charged back toward the Frenchman.

  His eyes flew wide. At the last moment, he jumped out of her way. Margarette’s mount sprang forward. Davina wheeled about again. The Frenchman lunged for her as she passed. Davina lashed the reins across his face. He threw his hands up in time to save his face and Davina kicked her horse’s ribs. She and Margarette shot forward. Behind her, the Frenchman cursed.

  Davina galloped after Margarette, soon overtaking her. A look showed her niece terrified. Fear, not horsemanship, kept her in the saddle. That would have to do, Davina decided as they galloped down the road. Behind them, raised voices shouted in French.

  Where would the go now? She risked a glance. The Frenchman and one of his lackies were already mounting the tethered horses. Would they be hindered by the lack of saddles? A second glance showed the Frenchman riding after them. Davina scanned their surroundings. Where could they hide?

  A horrifying thought struck. What if he encountered Elizbeth’s carriage while chasing her and Margarette? Davina suddenly wished she had one of Graham’s pistols instead of the silly muff pistol she’d brought. No matter, if it came to shooting the Frenchman, she would make sure he got close enough that she wouldn’t miss his heart.

  “Where are we going?” Margarette shouted.

  “Inverness,” Davina yelled back, even as she doubted they would reach the questionable safety of town.

  Should she instruct Margarette to keep going and leave her behind? Davina had only one shot, but she would use it well. They could be rid of the Frenchman. A third glance showed him nearer still. Davina’s thoughts jumbled. Margarette would be lost without her. There could be more Frenchmen hiding anywhere. There were too many ways shooting Seigneur Faucon could go wrong.

  Davina leaned low over her mount’s neck. “Ride, Margarette,” she shouted.

  Chapter Eleven

  Robert stared with unseeing eyes at the road. A vision of Elizbeth assailed him. Her spine straight, shoulders back, eyes alight with anger… Robert shook his head, but the vision refused expulsion as adamantly as she’d refused his apology.

  He’d thought she would cry. He’d assumed, upon hearing his deliberately truncated explanation, that she would throw her arms about him in a mixture of fear and relief, and weep. He’d been ready to hold her, to permit an embrace for several long moments before manfully untangling her arms and setting her away, as honor and propriety demanded.

  Instead, she’d listened with smoldering calm, then walked away. A sick, sinking feeling washed through him. She hadn’t looked back, and he hadn’t gone after her. Could he so easily give up the woman he loved? The question settled deep in his gut.

  Haywood had ordered him to continue on as before. But how could Robert do that when his job, the only job that mattered, was to guard Elizbeth? What would become of her now that the French sought her?

  Robert knew the answer and it chilled him to the bone. The only choice to save the women and block James’s first move was for the women to marry—immediately. What a fool he’d been to send Elizbeth away that morning. When she’d come to him with the story of how her father had discovered the truth about his ancestry, Robert had been too shocked to think clearly. Nae, that was only partially true. He’d also been angry. Angry that she would jump at the first chance to manipulate him.

  A rider came into view up ahead. Robert’s mind snapped to attention. He slowed, then squinted to better make out the figure. Was that—aye, young Andrew McPherson from his office.

  The young man waved an arm, and shouted, “Mister McFarlan.”

  What could have Andrew searching for him on the road?

  They met a moment later, and Robert said, “What is it, lad?”

  “You have already been to Mister McKinley’s home, I see.”

  “Nae,” Robert said. “Why?”

  The lad frowned and pulled a letter from his inner coat pocket and extended it toward Robert. “Here, sir.”

  He recognized James’s seal. Grabbing the folded page, he tore open the letter and read.

  Mister McFarlan:

  Come see me immediately. I have urgent business to which we need to attend.

  James

  Robert stared for two heartbeats, unable to believe his luck, then refolded the letter and stuffed it into his front jacket pocket. “I shall attend to Mister McKinley immediately. Thank you, Andrew. You may return to the office.” Robert didn’t wait for a reply, but turned his horse back toward Kaerndal Hall and dug in his heels.

  His headlong pace soon brought him to the final crook before
the drive. He cursed that he hadn’t encountered Haywood and Elizbeth on the road. In truth, he’d known he wouldn’t. Haywood would have made all haste to get Elizbeth as far away from Faucon as he could, and their safehold, Elden, lay in nearly the opposite direction. Still, a fool always hoped for the impossible.

  Before he reached the drive, Robert realized that his headlong pace would garner suspicion. He slowed his mount to a trot, then a walk. Interminable minutes later, Carlton, Kaerndal Hall’s butler, welcomed Robert inside. He was shown into the library. To his surprise, the room was empty.

  “I shall tell Mister McKinley you are here,” Carlton said, then left.

  Robert began to pace, then realized he couldn’t allow James to find him in such an agitated state. He sat in the chair opposite James’s desk and tried to think of anything but Elizbeth’s last words to him, “I do not care.”

  Fresh pain slashed through his chest. He’d hurt her deeply, but was it possible he had truly destroyed her love? Nae, he couldn’t accept that. She was angry, but…but what? She would one day understand that he’d sent her back to her father because he’d been angry that she’d tried to manipulate him? Robert grimaced. That, he would keep to himself. How would he convince her of how deeply he regretted his actions?

  Devil take it. If not for the fear—not fear, knowledge—that Haywood would marry her as quickly as possible, he would simply allow her anger to cool. She was a woman, and they were fickle creatures. Her pride had been wounded, and when a woman’s pride was wounded, she was sure to make the man responsible suffer. A little time and the right sweet words and she would melt in his arms. But he couldn’t risk the time that would take.

  Damn it to hell, where was James?

  Bootfalls approached the door. Robert straightened, crossed one leg over the other, and adopted a neutral expression. A moment later, James entered. Robert hid his surprise at seeing him dressed in riding boots and jacket. Robert stood and bowed.

  “About time you arrived,” James barked. “I sent my message nearly two hours ago.”

  Before Davina and her niece had fled Kaerndal Hall. Was James going after the two women himself? A cold finger touched Robert’s spine. What if James encountered Elizbeth on the road? Nae. They would be far away by now.

  His chest tightened, but he kept his expression neutral and said, “Forgive me, sir. I was out on other business.”

  James’s mouth thinned as if Robert wasn’t supposed to have any other clients. He wasn’t completely wrong. James McKinley was the wealthiest client at Daly and Miller.

  “A very elderly client”—Robert sighed for affect—“is on his deathbed. He asked for me specifically.”

  That, Robert knew, would quell any objections. James was a stickler for propriety, and propriety would demand he not question the needs of a dying man. Unless, of course, he wanted to declare his needs paramount as the King of Scotland. But James wouldn’t tip his hand yet. He may be mad enough to try to claim the throne, but he was sane enough to bide his time.

  James walked around his desk and sat. “I am sorry to hear that.” Assessing eyes pinned Robert. “You may sit.”

  Robert retook his seat, trying to regain his calm, as well.

  “I have need of funds. Withdraw five thousand pounds,” James said. “Return here with the money yourself.”

  Robert hid his worry with feigned confusion. “Forgive me, sir, but you could have simply sent a message for me to bring the money.”

  James’s eyes locked with his. “You mean, saved you the time of making a trip here?”

  “It isn’t my time you would have saved, sir, but yours.”

  “I wanted to set eyes on you,” James said, tone as cold as his gaze. “I have grown mistrustful of late.”

  Robert straightened, bringing both feet to the floor. “I hope you are reassured of my loyalty, sir. I am always happy to be of service.”

  “As you were to my daughter this morning?”

  Panic jolted through Robert. What did James know? “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “Elizbeth’s maid gave a distressing report of my daughter’s morning.” The words seemed to grate from James’s mouth. “Apparently, Elizbeth called on you, and the two of you quarreled.”

  Robert’s face heated. He willed calm. “That is so.”

  “What could Elizbeth possibly have said to you so early in the morning, Mister McFarlan?” James’s eyes glittered.

  Robert swallowed. “You are aware I hold your daughter in great esteem, sir?”

  James slid open a desk drawer. “How great?”

  “Only in so much as propriety allows,” Robert assured him. Her soft lips, pressed to his, filled Robert’s mind. His one lapse. A moment of weakness. Elizbeth in his arms. He struggled to banish the image. Heat blazed up his neck.

  James lifted a pistol from the drawer and lay it on his desk. “Are you aware that Elizbeth was kidnapped on her way back from visiting you?”

  Not trusting his voice, Robert widened his eyes and shook his head, mind whirling.

  “I ask again, why did my daughter visit you this morning?”

  Robert eyed the pistol. It might not be loaded. Nae. James was not a man to make idle threats.

  Robert swallowed. “She came to me demanding that we wed. She said you’d arranged a union for her, and eloping was our only chance at happiness.”

  “A union with whom?”

  Robert shook his head again. “She did not say, sir.” He raised beseeching eyes to James, hoping desperation aided him in playing his part. “She was crying, well-nigh hysterical. Have you launched a search? How long ago was she taken?”

  “Elizbeth’s whereabouts is not your concern, Mister McFarlan.” James drummed his fingers on the desk. “Why did you decline my daughter?”

  Was Robert to be damned for not running off with her? Did James’s pride extend to Elizbeth, or was his question a test?

  “It would have been wrong, sir. I have not even asked your permission to court Miss McKinley. And…” Robert flushed at the thought of his next admission, but the truth was a strong ally. “And I felt her story was concocted to manipulate me. I am your attorney. If you had brokered a match for her, I would know. I didn’t wish to begin our union on so many sour notes.”

  Robert tried not to hold his breath as James stared at him. On the other side of the library, a clock ticked.

  At last, James nodded. “Your loyalty does you credit, McFarlan. Did I not have other plans for Elizbeth, I would welcome you as my son.”

  “O-other plans?” Robert stammered with unfeigned disquiet.

  A small part of him had hoped James would, even now, welcome the union. Robert had served him loyally, safeguarded his family, respected him for years.

  “Other plans,” James reiterated firmly. “You are correct. As my attorney, you should know. I have found matches for both of my daughters, and my sister.”

  “May I know with whom, sir?” Robert dared.

  “Somewhere on the Continent, which is more than you need to know.” James returned the pistol to his desk. He slammed the drawer. “Fetch my five thousand pounds.”

  Robert nodded. “I can have the money here tomorrow morning.”

  James shook his head. “I need the money this afternoon.”

  “Then I had best return to Inverness immediately if I am to reach the bank before they close.”

  “There would be no chance of missing the banker had you arrived earlier,” James snapped.

  Robert angled his head. “Again, my apologies. I shall return as soon as I have procured the funds.”

  James offered a curt nod. “If I am not here when you return, wait for me.”

  Robert could guess where James would be; searching for the ladies. Robert stood and made a slight bow, then hurried from the room. Five thousand pounds. The sum skittered about in his mind as he made his way to the front of the manor. Much less than the ladies’ dowries, but, still, a substantial sum.

  What did James inte
nd? To give Faucon the five thousand pounds to fund the ladies’ marriages? A payment of good faith. No doubt about it. The money would sail with Faucon when he left Scotland with the ladies. Anger whipped through Robert. He fought an urge to yank free the pistol hidden in his boot, return to the library, and shoot the very man he’d spent years protecting. What father sold his daughters to strangers?

  Robert must stop James’s madness. He would delay the money. Perhaps he could say he was robbed on the road? He shook his head, hardly noting that Carleton handed him his outerwear. The butler opened the door and Robert strode across the porch and down the steps. James would surely send Robert packing, should the funds be lost. Robert’s duty required that he remain where he was and serve James.

  Damn duty. Damn the money. He needed to make all haste to Haywood…and Elizbeth. If Haywood married her to another man— Robert broke off the thought as he turned toward the groom who held his horse. He closed the distance in three long strides, accepted the reins and vaulted into the saddle.

  Robert turned the animal around and urged him into a gallop. Would Elizbeth really agree to marry another man? Memory rose sharp of the cold look on her face in the instant before she’d whirled and walked away from him. Aye, she very well might marry the first man who volunteered. His chest constricted. Only a fool fell in love with the daughter of a traitor.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ten minutes later, Robert turned the bend and caught sight of an unfamiliar carriage on the side of the road up ahead. As he neared, he spotted a broken rear wheel. A lone man sat atop the driver’s seat, but no horses were harnessed to the vehicle, though the rigging called for two. Robert slowed his mount until he reached the carriage, then stopped as the driver dropped from his perch to the ground.

  “What happened?” Robert asked.

  “The wheel, she broke,” the man said with a slight French accent.

  Robert kept his expression neutral and nodded. “Where are your horses?”

  “My master has gone for help,” the man replied.