The Highlander's Princess Bride

by Vanessa Kelly

  For a few seconds, Victoria couldn’t speak. “What a horrific nightmare,” she finally managed. She thought of her own childhood. For all its tensions and strains, it was idyllic compared to what this family had suffered.

  Angus rubbed his eyes and sniffed, so sad that Victoria wanted to envelop him in a hug. “We thought puir Nick would lose his wits when he saw the wee laddie dead.”

  Royal seemed to shake free of his emotion, resuming the story in a flat voice. “Yes, it was an awful scene. Nick blamed Logan, and they . . . fought. I’ll spare you the details. Eventually, we managed to calm Nick down, mostly because Kade needed our attention. After Cam’s funeral, Nick barely left Kade’s side.”

  “Except to toss Logan out on his arse,” Angus said bitterly. “That was when Nick told him never to step foot on Kendrick lands again.”

  “Can you blame him?” Taffy said sharply.

  “Nay, but it isna right for them to still be feudin’. They’ve both suffered the guilt for too long.”

  “If there’s one thing Nick does well it’s feel guilt,” Royal said.

  “It seems to run in the family,” Victoria commented.

  “Ah, nicely done, Miss Knight,” Royal said with the ghost of a smile. “Are there any other trenchant observations you’d like to make about us?”

  “Possibly, but time is pressing and I’m growing quite concerned about Lord Arnprior. As are you, or you wouldn’t be lingering in the hall like Macbeth’s witches.”

  “There’s no need to be insulting, lassie,” Angus said indignantly.

  She scoffed. “I can think of much worse insults to level at your family right now, sir. But the question remains—what is the earl doing in there?”

  “Drinking himself into a stupor,” Royal said.

  “If that’s all it is, then he’ll recover,” Victoria said. “But is that all he’s going to do?” She was beginning to get a very bad feeling about the earl’s state of mind.

  “Are you afraid he might hurt himself?” Royal asked. “I wouldn’t have said it was possible, but I haven’t seen Nick this low—or this drunk—in years.”

  “It’s more likely he’ll go after Logan and shoot him,” Angus said in a tone that suggested she should be consoled by that notion.

  “No one is shooting anyone.” Victoria rapped loudly on the library door. “Lord Arnprior, it’s Miss Knight. I’d like to speak with you.”

  A deafening silence met her effort. She placed her ear against the door, but either the oak was too thick or the earl had fallen into a stupor—or worse.

  She banged louder. “Sir, it’s Miss Knight. Open up, please.”

  Angus winced. “Och, lass, if he dinna hear that yelling, he’s already gone to the other side.”

  “And if he isn’t dead, I’m quite sure he knows it’s you,” Royal said with a glimmer of humor.

  “I fail to see the humor in the situation,” she snapped.

  “Then you’re not looking hard enough,” Royal said.

  Victoria forced herself to ignore his jibe. “Is there another key to this room?”

  “Taffy had one, but Nick made her hand it over,” Royal said.

  “The laird was insistent,” Taffy said unhappily. “I’ve been going through the old keys to see if I can find an extra, but no luck yet.”

  Victoria sighed. “Can you keep looking?”

  With a brisk nod, the housekeeper retreated to the main part of the house.

  “We need to get into that room now,” Victoria said, fighting a growing sense of panic.

  Angus shook his head. “The laird gave strict orders to be left alone.”

  “Not to me. Is there another way we can get in?”

  Royal snapped his fingers. “Good God, yes. The library windows overlooking the loch. If one is open, I can climb in and—”

  “No, I will climb in and speak to the earl,” Victoria interrupted. “He clearly has no desire to talk to any of you. I cannot say I blame him, since you are all acting like fatheads.”

  She ignored spluttering protests from Angus and set off toward the rear entrance to the wing.

  Royal caught up with her. “Miss Knight, if he is awake, my brother is bound to be in a very foul mood. God only knows what he could do.”

  “What he will not do is hurt me,” she said, with more confidence than she felt. She was unnerved by the notion of venturing into Arnprior’s lair, but she couldn’t bear the idea of him suffering alone and without comfort.

  “She’s right,” said Angus, who stomped along behind them. “Best let the lassie try her hand first.”

  Victoria glanced over her shoulder. “You actually agree with me?”

  The old man gave her a bland smile. “No harm in tryin’.”

  She couldn’t shake the feeling that Angus was up to something, but she didn’t have leisure to parse the bizarre turns of his mind.

  “You’re both crazy,” Royal said as he picked up the night lamp from the small table by the door.

  “That we are, laddie,” Angus said with a suspiciously cheerful demeanor.

  They carefully picked their way around the side of the west wing. It was a dark night, with only a waning crescent moon to cast a pale shimmer over the gardens. The old tower house loomed like a ghostly remnant from ancient times, a few of its casement windows glowing with soft light. A cold wind gusted off the loch, the waves pounding against the shore with a distant crash.

  All around them, the mountains were massive, inky blots against the sky, craggy peaks outlined by faint moonlight. It was a primitive, forbidding landscape, and Victoria couldn’t repress an apprehensive shiver. Nor could she rid herself of the sense that something monumental was about to happen. If the king of the fairies had risen up from the ground before them, she wouldn’t have been surprised.

  Of course, she did not believe in premonitions, apparitions, fairies, silkies, or any other such Scottish nonsense. She was simply cold.

  Royal voiced her thought. “You’re not dressed for this weather.”

  “How perceptive of you to notice.”

  His only reply was a chuckle.

  Angus, who’d gone ahead of them, peered into one of the library windows. “I canna see a bloody thing.”

  Victoria went up on tiptoe to peer over his shoulder. The only light in the room came from the fire, which had burned low. It barely penetrated the Stygian gloom. She could make out the outlines of the big leather club chair in front of the grate, and the gleam from the polished leather of large booted feet.

  “I believe his lordship is sitting near the fire,” she said.

  Royal elbowed Angus aside. “He’s not moving, from the looks of it. Probably drunk as an emperor by now.”

  “Then we can only hope he’s fallen asleep,” Victoria said. “If so, I can open the door and let you both in. Then you or the footmen can carry him to his room.”

  “If you can find the key to the door,” Royal said. “He might not have left it in the lock.”

  “Oh, blast. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Ye can search his body,” Angus said in a helpful tone. “I’m sure Nick wouldna mind.”

  “I will do no such thing, Mr. MacDonald.” Victoria couldn’t help blushing at the idea of running her hands over the earl’s brawny form. Thank God it was too dark for anyone to see her color up.

  Royal smothered a laugh. “If it’s not in the door, it’s probably in his waistcoat pocket. I’m sure there will be no need to violate my brother’s dignity in any comprehensive way.”

  “Please just open the window,” Victoria ordered.

  She saw the gleam of Royal’s teeth as he smiled. Then he wrestled with the sash for a moment before opening the window.

  “Last chance,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go in?”

  Her nerve failed for a moment, then she shook her head. “No, the earl is probably asleep. And if he’s not, he’s less likely to fire up at me than he is at one of you.”

  “She
’s right, lad,” Angus said.

  “I don’t like it, but I suspect that’s true,” Royal said. “Up with you, then.”

  He took her by the waist and boosted her up onto the sill. She perched for a moment, getting her bearings, then swung her legs over and dropped down to the floor. Treading as softly as she could, she made her way toward the fireplace.

  The earl’s lanky body was stretched out in the club chair, his boots propped against the firedogs and his hands laced over his stomach. His chin rested on his chest, his posture deeply relaxed. Even before hearing the slow, steady rhythm of his breath, she’d known he was asleep.

  She spied an empty whisky decanter on the floor beside his chair, along with a crystal tumbler on its side. The earl had obviously drunk his way into blessed oblivion. Still, a frown marked his brow and worry lines bracketed his mouth, signs that restless dreams disturbed his slumber. She wished she could smooth them away with a gentle stroke of her fingertips.

  Or her mouth . . .

  Victoria almost jumped out of her shoes when Angus’s stentorian whisper echoed through the silence. “What’s happening, lassie?” he hissed.

  She pressed a hand over her thudding heart. “He’s . . . he’s asleep.”

  “Check the door for the key,” Royal said quietly.

  “Right.” She scolded herself for being a ninny as she hurried over to the door. Why was she fantasizing about kissing Arnprior? Even in her dreams, she had no business thinking of her employer in so scandalous a manner, no matter how handsome he might be.

  And no matter how much she was convinced he needed her—needed her in some way she had yet to define.

  There was no confounded key in the door. But just to make sure, she rattled the knob. The door remained firmly locked.

  A freezing gust blew through the open window, causing the drapes to billow out like a giant’s cloak. Shivering, she hurried back to the others.

  “It’s not there,” she said.

  “Naturally,” Royal said.

  Angus, now carrying the lamp, jerked it up to look at her. With the light flickering erratically over the men’s faces, casting their eyes into deeply shadowed sockets, they looked rather like ghouls.

  Victoria tried to repress a shiver, annoyed that she was letting her nerves get the best of her.

  “Are ye all right, lassie?” Angus asked.

  “Yes, but it’s gotten very cold, hasn’t it?” The wind off the loch had picked up.

  “Aye, cold enough to freeze the brass—”

  “Yes, quite,” she hastily said. “I suggest you gentlemen go back inside and wait by the library door. I’ll find the key and let you in.”

  “I think I should come in now,” Royal said, preparing to hoist up.

  “You’ll do no such thing,” she said. Royal had been favoring his leg all day and the last thing Victoria needed was an injured man on top of an inebriated one. “I’m perfectly capable of searching for the key and letting you in as soon as I find it.”

  “If my brother wakes up—”

  She shoved him back and started to pull down the sash. “He’ll only wake up if you keep arguing.”

  “But—”

  She closed the window in their faces. When they scowled at her through the glass, she made a shooing motion, then soft-footed her way back to the earl.

  The fire had burned down to embers that cast a soft glow, highlighting the planes of the earl’s rugged face. He hadn’t stirred, even though they’d made an ungodly amount of noise.

  Arnprior’s hands were loosely clasped over his stomach, making it tricky to reach into his waistcoat pocket without waking him. If he came awake while she was in the midst of groping him, he could only think such behavior was highly inappropriate on the part of his employee.

  Well, as her grandfather used to say, nothing tried, nothing gained.

  Leaning over him—and trying to ignore the rise and fall of his exceedingly brawny chest—she carefully pushed aside the edges of his tailcoat. Thank God he’d unbuttoned that, at least. The thought of undressing him to any degree was having a rather marked effect on her pulse.

  She’d just started to wriggle a hand into the pocket of his waistcoat when he moved so quickly that it was a blur. Between one breath and the next, he’d wrapped his long fingers around her wrist.

  Startled, she let out a squeak and all but toppled into his lap. He clapped his other hand around her waist, holding her steady but awkwardly poised over him.

  She jerked her head up to look at him. His amazing eyes gleamed at her like molten silver.

  “Why, Victoria Knight,” he purred in a low, seductive voice. “What in the world are you doing?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Ah . . . ah, my lord . . .” Victoria stammered like a schoolgirl, unable to voice a coherent thought. In fact, she seemed unable to do anything but stare into his riveting gaze.

  “Well, Miss Knight? Are you picking my pockets or trying to grope me?” His brogue had deepened, lending a seductive tone to his voice.

  “Of course I’m not trying to grope you.” She tried to sound and look appropriately indignant, but she had a bad feeling her cheeks were glowing as red as the embers in the hearth. And her voice came out disappointingly weak.

  When she tried to pull away, he held her wrist in a gentle but inexorable grip. “Ah, I was so hoping you were about to have your way with me.”

  “My lord, really,” she huffed.

  “And you didn’t deny you were picking my pocket.”

  “No.”

  Victoria shifted, all too aware that she was still leaning over him, almost chest to chest. She was so close she could see the tiny lines around his eyes and the fine grain of his beard scruff where it darkened his jaw.

  She was also starting to get a sore back from bending over.

  “May I ask why?” he purred in that husky brogue.

  “I was trying to find the key to the door. Sir, this is a rather awkward and painful posture,” she said, giving another tug against his hold.

  Humor gleamed in his eyes. Blast him, he was finding this entire humiliating situation amusing.

  “Of course,” he said. “Especially for a woman as starched-up and proper as you are.”

  “I am not—”

  Suddenly he pulled her toward him, and in the blink of an eye she was sprawled inelegantly across his lap. While her brain scrambled to catch up, he arranged her neatly across his thighs.

  He had very muscular thighs, ones that she felt quite easily through his tight-fitting breeches and the too-thin fabric of her gown and shift.

  “My lord, what are you doing?” she finally managed to gasp.

  “Correcting your awkward posture. Surely this position is much easier on your back.”

  She stared at him, taking in the wicked curve of his sensual mouth. She should be shrieking the house down around their ears, and yet all she wanted to do was snuggle closer.

  Clearly, she had lost her mind.

  Victoria tried once more to gather her wits as well as her morals, which had gone missing the moment he touched her. “My lord, I only came in here to check on you, not engage in . . .”

  Well, she really didn’t know quite how to classify the moment. The earl was not a man to dally with any woman, nor did this feel remotely like that frightening experience with Thomas Fletcher. She felt instinctively that if she tried to scramble off his lap, he would make no effort to prevent her.

  Arnprior leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose. “Engage in what, Miss Knight?” he murmured before brushing his warm lips across her cheek.

  When she recovered from that shock, she tried to summon a stern look. “Sir, I believe you are not at all yourself tonight.”

  His eyebrows arched up in an offended lift. “If you think I’m trying to seduce you because I’m drunk, Miss Knight, you are very wrong. I may be a bit jug-bitten, but I have not clipped the King’s English.”

  She frowned. “I have no idea what th
at means.”

  He leaned in, nose to nose. Her heart galloped around her chest.

  “It means I am in perfect command of my faculties,” he whispered.

  “I cannot agree with you.” She began to wriggle, trying to communicate her desire to get off his lap. It seemed to produce the opposite effect, though, since he let out a strangled groan and held on even tighter.

  A moment later, she knew why. A quite formidable erection was now pressing into her backside. “Sir! I think you’d best let me go before something untoward occurs.”

  God, she sounded like a complete ninny.

  He sucked in a deep breath, as if composing himself. “I disagree that it would be for the best, but very well.”

  Victoria let out a panicked squeak when he leaned over and reached for the footstool beside the chair.

  “I’m not going to drop you, love,” he said, holding her securely with his other arm.

  Love? Despite his protests, he must be even more foxed than she thought.

  With his easy strength, he placed her on the footstool, then smoothed down her skirts with exaggerated care.

  “Better?” he murmured.

  A good part of her did not think it was better, but of course she would die before admitting as much. “Yes, thank you, sir.”

  He settled back in an elegant masculine sprawl, looking much too comfortable given the upsets of the last few days. Victoria couldn’t help noticing the continued evidence of his arousal, since it thrust aggressively against the fall of his breeches. While that should alarm her, she was sorry to say it seemed to be having the opposite effect.

  “Now, my little governess,” he said with a lazy smile, “tell me why you climbed through my library window.”

  She sighed. “You heard.”

  “The three of you were as loud as a cavalry regiment on a charge. No sleeping through that.”

  “Then why didn’t you open the confounded door when we knocked?” she said with exasperation. “We were worried about you, so I came in to find the key to let the others in.”