Kenleigh-Blakewell Family Saga Boxed Set (Books 1 & 2)

by Pamela Clare

The two men whirled about, gasped, dropped the reins.

  The stallion reared and galloped away.

  Jamie did not recognize one of them. The stranger cradled his limp arm, his face pale and covered with a sheen of sweat. But the other, the man with the dark, bushy hair and the pimple-scarred face, Jamie recognized as Sheff’s lackey. Edward was his name. Jamie knew instinctively which man Bríghid feared, which man haunted her dreams. He felt an overwhelming urge to smash his fist into the Edward’s ugly face.

  Edward smiled, gave a nervous laugh, spoke in an oily voice. “There you are. I knew it was your horse. Didn’t I?” He looked at the other man.

  The man nodded, his gaze fixed on Jamie’s pistol.

  “Such a fine animal. We thought it had run off, escaped, didn’t we?”

  The other man nodded forcefully, hugged his forearm to his chest. “We saw the horse and … Oh, damn, it hurts!”

  “Stop your bleating! You frightened that poor stallion, and because of that we’re looking down the barrel of a pistol.” Edward hunched his shoulders submissively, gave an unctuous grin. “You don’t really mean to shoot us, do you, Sir? We weren’t trying to steal the beast.”

  Jamie could see the fear in both men’s eyes, caught their nervous glances. “Get back on your horses, and ride out of here, and I’ll let you live. This time.”

  “Oh, now, Sir!” Edward looked at Jamie imploringly. “We’ve done nothing to earn your ire. We’re two simple servants riding out on our master’s business when we noticed your horse all by itself.”

  Jamie was not fooled. “Move your hand one inch closer to your pocket, and I’ll put a bullet through your forehead.”

  Edward’s face paled, and he slowly raised his hands.

  “You remember what I can do with a gun, don’t you, Edward? You were there that day on the hunt when I brought down the stag.”

  Edward nodded, licked his lips. “A fine shot you are, Sir, but there’s no need—”

  “You were there when we rode into the crowd of Irish peasants. You helped murder the priest, didn’t you? And when you were done, you went after her.”

  Edward had begun to sweat. Droplets pearled amid the stubble on his upper lip. “I-I don’t know what you’re gettin’ on about. I didn’t—”

  “Oh, but you did, Edward. I know Sheff had the priest murdered. And I know you kidnapped her, took her from her family, abused her, and delivered her to the Earl.” Jamie took a menacing step forward. “Are you always such an obedient toady?”

  “There’s no reason for insults.” Edward took a step backwards. “I didn’t harm the girl. I was sent to fetch her for you. You must be pleased with His Lordship’s gift, since you took her with you. You might say I did you a favor.”

  “Did me a favor?” Jamie laughed, a harsh sound even to his own ears, but his aim did not waiver. “Two servants out on their master’s business, you say? Pray tell, what is that business?”

  “Just lowly errands, Sir.” Edward smiled again, shrugged. “Nothing as would interest a gentleman such as yourself.”

  “Is that so?”

  Both men nodded.

  “Is she here, Sir?” Edward glanced about. “Or have you tired of her and put her aside?”

  Jamie did not answer, let the silence stretch. His rage grew. He didn’t want this man thinking of Bríghid, let alone speaking of her.

  Edward squirmed, hands still in the air. “His Lordship has no quarrel with you, Sir. But the girl’s family is lookin’ for her, and it was his job to look after her and all. It’s a matter of honor, if you take my meanin’, Sir. The Earl won’t do nothin’ to her you ain’t already—”

  Jamie moved so quickly he had Edward by the throat before either man could react. He pressed the pistol hard against Edward’s temple. “You know nothing about honor! Listen carefully, toady. I’ve a message for your master. You tell Sheff I know he’s hunting for her. But if he so much as touches her, or anyone dear to her, I’ll be hunting him—with a knife between my teeth! And I won’t fail. Have you got that?”

  Edward nodded, eyes bulging, clawing desperately at the hand that cut off his breath.

  Jamie’s nostrils were assailed by the stench of Edward’s unwashed flesh and rotting teeth. The thought of this man touching Bríghid was utterly revolting, filled him with blind rage. It was all he could do to keep himself from breaking the bastard’s neck. “As for you … If I so much as see you again, if you come anywhere near her, I will kill you.”

  He took the poorly concealed pistol from Edward’s pocket, thrust the man from him.

  Edward rubbed his bruised throat, staggered backwards. “I’ll just be goin’ then.”

  “You do that.”

  Edward turned and hurried downhill toward the two horses tethered below. The other man followed, cradling his broken arm.

  Jamie watched them ride off, certain they would carry his message to their master, but equally sure he had not seen the last of them.

  When they had vanished round the bend, he turned to find Bríghid standing nearby, Hermes’ reins in one hand, the dagger in the other.

  “I thought I told you to stay where you were!” Anger with Sheff and fear for her safety made his voice sharp. He snatched the dagger from her hand, slipped it back into his boot.

  “What if you’d been hurt?”

  He lifted her none too gently into the saddle, put his foot in the stirrup and mounted behind her. “You’d have managed only to get yourself captured again. Is that what you want?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Then do as you’re told!”

  She muttered something in Gaelic under her breath, cast him a furious glance.

  He urged Hermes to a canter, turned the stallion’s head to the west, away from Ruaidhrí and the cabin.

  “Where—”

  “They might try to track us. I’m going to put them off the scent.”

  In silence, they rode west until they came to a small, half-frozen creek. Jamie guided the stallion into the shallow water and let Hermes pick his course southward through water, ice and slippery stone. Bríghid sat stiffly in his lap and seemed to be trying to avoid touching him. ’Twas just as well.

  Jamie had nearly come undone today. When she’d asked him to kiss her, it had been on the tip of his tongue to refuse. But his tongue had proved a traitor. It had wanted to taste her sweet lips, to slide inside her warm mouth, to mate itself to hers, consequences be damned. He’d known he was taking a risk touching her. But he’d understood her need and wanted for the world to replace the memories of that night with something better, something real. It was, after all, just a kiss.

  He hadn’t expected to find himself pushed to the brink by her sensual response. Untouched though she was, there was passion in her blood, passion that craved only a man’s touch to rouse it. It was a good thing he’d been dressed in his greatcoat and she in her cloak. He’d been able to hide his body’s reaction, but it had taken every bit of self-control he possessed to part his lips from hers.

  God curse him, but he needed her. He needed her to put out the fire she’d ignited inside him. Yet she was the one woman he could not have. If the situation weren’t so painful, he’d be tempted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. He was consumed by desire for a beautiful woman who considered him her enemy and whose innocence he had all but sworn to protect. What was it he’d said to Finn?

  I’ve no intention of touching your sister.

  He’d be lucky if he could think of anything but touching Bríghid after today’s folly. When he got back to London, he would head straight for Turlington’s and bed five of the prettiest women there. Five? Hell, he’d bed ten—one after the other. Ten lusty women should do it. Ten lusty women and a few hearty pints. Then he’d be himself again.

  The stallion tripped on a stone, stumbled.

  Bríghid gasped.

  Jamie tightened his grip round her waist, but Hermes had already regained his footing. “He’s surefooted. I’ll not let you fall.�
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  She pulled away from him, as far away as she could.

  ’Twas obvious she was angry with him. But she wasn’t being sensible. He’d done his best to keep her safe, and she’d defied him. Did she truly believe she could have helped him had the situation with those two thugs turned ugly? She’d have found herself overpowered in an instant and on her way to Sheff’s bed—or worse, on her back in the grass. Jamie hadn’t missed the gleam of lust in Edward’s soulless eyes when he’d spoken of her.

  Jamie made the mistake of looking down at her face and felt an instant pang of regret. Her cheeks were reddened from the chill, her lips set in a gentle frown, her brow knitted with worry. He had taken her riding to bring a smile to her face and chase her fears away. She was not smiling now, and he knew it was more than her anger with him. Seeing those men had terrified her. Her face had gone white as a snow when she’d heard that bastard’s voice.

  But why should Jamie feel any remorse? ’Twas not his fault.

  Still, his conscience assailed him. Hadn’t it been his idea to take her riding in the first place? Hadn’t he exposed her to danger for no better reason than to make her smile? Or had his real motivation been the desire to spend time alone with her?

  By the time he’d answered his own questions, he was mad as hell—at himself.

  * * *

  It seemed to Bríghid they had been riding forever. The day had lengthened into late afternoon. Her fingers were stiff from cold, her entire body chilled. Her stomach rumbled with hunger. Her back ached from sitting like this. Her bottom wasn’t too comfortable either. She’d never spent so much time on a horse.

  They’d left the creek behind where it bent to the west and now were headed northeast through forest and open field. It could not be too far now—unless Jamie had gotten them hopelessly lost. She did not know this country well. It lay far south of her home.

  The temperature had fallen, the sky grown dim. Shadows stretched into darkness. A few fat flakes of snow were drifting down from the darkened sky.

  Another gust of wind buffeted Bríghid with icy-cold air. She shivered, fought to keep her teeth from chattering. She would not show the Sasanach any weakness.

  He’d treated her like a child or a servant to be ordered about and scolded. She hadn’t done anything to deserve his wrath. She’d been careful. Even he hadn’t known she was hiding nearby. She had only wanted to help, and he’d raised his voice to her like a parent to a wayward child.

  But she was a woman, not a little girl, though Jamie and her brothers persisted in treating her like one. Wasn’t she grown up enough to heal their sicknesses, cook their meals, keep their clothes mended and their home in order? Was she not strong enough to share their worries? Did they not depend on her as much as she relied on them?

  Another gust of icy wind seemed to blow straight through her cloak.

  Her teeth chattered violently.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Bríghid, let me warm you.”

  “I d-don’t n-need your h-help, Sasanach!”

  “You might not need it, but you’re going to get it.”

  She felt him shift in the saddle, realized he was unbuttoning his coat.

  “No!”

  But he ignored her protests and struggles, and she soon found herself hauled up against his hard chest and enfolded in the thick warmth of his coat. It was a battle she was grateful to lose, though she’d never admit it. The heat of his body chased away her chills, and her shivering soon subsided.

  The next thing she knew, Jamie was speaking to her.

  “Bríghid, love, wake up.”

  Her head lay against his shoulder, and she was toasty warm, except for the tip of her nose. Had she fallen asleep?

  The sun had set, and a thin blanket of snow lay on the ground. The cabin stood before them, ghostly white in the darkness. The warm smell of peat smoke was in the air.

  No sooner had they dismounted, than the door opened, spilling light into the gloom.

  “Where in the bloody hell have you been? I’ve a notion to bust your head wide open, Sasanach! Miserable bollocks!”

  Jamie led Hermes toward the cowshed. “Wait until I’ve had a bite to eat, would you?”

  Bríghid saw genuine anguish on her brother’s face, felt a stab of regret for the worry she had caused him. “Everything is all right, Ruaidhrí. We’re home.”

  “It’s about bloody time! Mother of God, I’m hungry!”

  * * *

  Sheff stared out the window at the falling snow, swirled his cognac, tried to ignore the shooting pain in his arms and legs.

  A log settled in the fireplace, breaking the silence.

  “Are you certain that’s what he said?”

  “Aye, my lord. I’m not likely to forget words spoken by a man pointin’ a pistol at me head.”

  Sheff turned, glanced at Edward, took a sip. “I should think rather the opposite. Perhaps, overwhelmed by fear, you misunderstood him.”

  “Oh, no, my lord!” The servant shook his head. “He said, ‘You tell your master I know he’s huntin’ for her. But if he harms her or any of her family, I’ll be huntin’ him with a knife in my teeth, and I won’t fail.’ Pardon me, my lord, but those were his words, not mine.”

  “I realize that, Edward. I’m not so stupid or heartless as to blame the messenger for the message.” Sheff looked back toward the darkened window and the fat flakes falling outside. “Damn this bloody snow! If not for this infernal weather, we could have set out early tomorrow with the dogs and perhaps picked up their trail. When the snow lets up, you will take me to the exact spot where you spoke with him.”

  “Aye, my lord.” Edward paused, shifted. “He called me a toady, my lord.”

  “Yes, well, you are a toady, Edward. It is your job to be obsequious and obedient to my commands, is it not?”

  Edward looked confused, but nodded. “Aye, my lord.”

  “You may go.”

  “Aye, my lord.” Edward bowed and turned to leave.

  “Oh, Edward, one last thing.” Sheff rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Did it not occur to you to lie in wait for him and to follow him rather than trying to seize his horse?”

  Edward shifted nervously. “We thought if we had his horse, he’d come to us.”

  “Indeed, he did.” Sheff smiled at his servant’s stupidity. “I rather think you underestimate him.”

  Edward bowed his head. “It won’t happen again, my lord.”

  “Go.” Sheff sank into his favorite chair in front of the fireplace, let the rage come. Beneath it lay an emotion he loathed, one he refused to name or acknowledge.

  How could Jamie say such things? How could Jamie threaten him over a woman? How could Jamie treat him with such disdain and cast aside his friendship with such finality? A swell of anguish rose up from inside him, strong enough to eclipse the pain in his limbs.

  Damn Jamie Blakewell! And damn the Irish bitch who ruined him!

  Sheff tossed back the rest of his cognac, hurled the crystal tulipe snifter into the fireplace, the shatter of glass giving expression to his tangled emotions. Before he had been torn between amusement and irritation. But he was no longer amused.

  Jamie had crossed the line. There could be no forgiveness now.

  Sheff rose, poured himself another drink, and began to pace the room.

  You tell your master I know he’s hunting for her. But if he harms her or any of her family, I’ll be hunting him with a knife in my teeth, and I won’t fail.

  Sheff mulled over Jamie’s message to him.

  I know he’s hunting for her.

  How could Jamie know that? Perhaps it was a lucky guess. They knew each other very well, he and Jamie.

  But if he harms her or any of her family…

  Her family. Why should Jamie give a damn about her family? He’d never even met them.

  Or had he?

  An impossible idea occurred to Sheff. Had Jamie been colluding with the Irish against him? Had Jamie somehow won over
the girl’s brothers and persuaded them to hide him among them? Had they agreed despite the dishonor Jamie had done to their sister?

  Such a thing seemed too ridiculous to be true. Jamie was every bit as English as Sheff, and the girl’s family had a history of rebellion against the English. Worse, Jamie had stolen her virtue. Then Sheff remembered the morning in the clearing. Jamie had argued for leniency toward the Irish traitors that morning. No doubt some in the crowd had heard. Did they perhaps view him as some kind of champion for defying an English lord?

  Sheff swirled his amber drink, held it to his lips, swallowed. Questions ran in circles through his mind until his head hurt. He sank into his chair, held fingers to his temple.

  This was intolerable. Already he’d tarried in Ireland far longer than he’d intended. If not for Jamie, he’d have been in London for a fortnight by now. As it was, he’d been forced to plead illness and had missed the state opening of Parliament. Not that he truly regretted that. In truth, he found sitting through sessions in the House of Lords to be quite dull. Still, it was his duty as Lord Byerly to maintain a presence in London politics. He needed to leave for London—and soon.

  “Jamie, what I am to do with you?”

  Snow fell outside the window, a thick curtain of drifting white.

  You tell your master I know he’s hunting for her. But if he harms her or any of her family, I’ll be hunting him with a knife in my teeth, and I won’t fail.

  Her family.

  Perhaps it was time to pay another visit to her brother—and the pretty young widow he was trying to protect.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It continued to snow for four days without stopping.

  Each day, Jamie grew more restless. Certainly part of it was his body’s aching, unfulfilled need. He hadn’t been inside a woman for almost two months, though he’d been tortured with desire for one particular woman. He reminded himself this particular woman was the kind who both wanted and deserved a loving husband and was not for him. But his cock refused to listen and grew erect at the slightest provocation.

  Like when Bríghid smiled at him with those sweet lips. Or when she walked past him, hips swaying and smelling faintly of lavender. Or when she ladled him a bowl of stew with her small, soft hands.