The Bodyguard

by Joan Johnston

  “Thank you, Duncan.”

  “If Duncan’s to go, I’ll go,” Cam volunteered.

  “Count me in, then,” said Birk.

  “And me,” Evan and Angus said together.

  “I’ll not be left behind,” Fletcher said.

  “Nor I,” Tavis echoed, taking a step away from Ian.

  Kitt’s heart was thumping madly in her breast. They had all joined her. All but Ian, and the task would be less difficult if she did not have him to contend with.

  “I’ll come, too,” Ian said. “But not because I believe Lady Katherine knows what she is about. I want to be there when disaster strikes and you all come to your senses and admit you’d be better led by—”

  “By a naysayer like you?” Kitt said scornfully.

  “What you want to do is dangerous and risks the entire clan for the sake of one who was breaking the law,” Ian said angrily.

  “A bad law,” Kitt said, “enforced by a greedy landlord who raised his rents so high he forced his tenant into disobeying it.”

  “ ’Tis a fool’s errand,” Ian said. “One only a foolish, softhearted woman would suggest.”

  The accusation hurt more than he could know. “You dinna have to go with us, Ian,” Kitt said sharply.

  “I’ll go,” Ian said. “If only to see you fail. Then we’ll see what the clan has to say about keeping a woman as The MacKinnon.”

  Ian stalked off into the church and was followed by her clansmen who, she noticed, kept their eyes averted as they passed by her. The worst part was, she had to walk past all of them again to sit in the very front pew, where The MacKinnon had always sat.

  Walking home after the service, she was aware of the silence of the man beside her. She knew Alex had a good baritone voice. She had heard him singing the hymns during the service. But he had not said a word since offering to go with her on the raid.

  “Thank you for supporting me, Alex,” she said to break the silence between them.

  “Ian was right,” he said. “A woman has no business leading men. But considering your father named you The MacKinnon—and until you choose one of them to take your place—they owe you their allegiance. To be honest, I felt sorry for you.”

  Kitt gasped. “Sorry for me?”

  The man she had made her bodyguard—the stranger she had given the job of guarding her life—stopped in the shade of a willow growing alongside the burn and turned to face her, his lips set in an expression of disapproval he had not let the others see. “You’ve acted just like a woman where Patrick is concerned—responding to the situation with your heart instead of your head.”

  “You may be wearing my father’s clothes,” she snapped. “But you’re not my father, so you needn’t lecture me.”

  “I speak as I feel.”

  “If you think I’m wrong, why did you agree to help me?” she demanded.

  “Because I have no doubt you meant what you said about going alone if need be, and I didna want your death on my conscience.”

  It was devastating to realize he had no more confidence in her ability to carry out what she had promised than Ian, that to him, she was just another female. “I can fight as well as any man,” she said. “Better than most!”

  He grabbed her shoulders and kicked a foot behind her ankles. A moment later she was lying flat on her back on the hard ground with Alex on top of her.

  His face was close enough to hers that she could see he had ridiculously long eyelashes, close enough that she could see the dark gray eyes that dared her to fight back.

  “It didna take much to get the better of you, Lady Katherine.”

  “I …” He was heavy, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. “Let me up,” she snarled, humiliated by his easy conquest.

  “You should defer to those wiser—and stronger—than yourself,” he chided, his knuckles brushing against her cheek. “You’re a fragile, beautiful—”

  She shoved his hand away. “I’m The MacKinnon,” she retorted breathlessly. “Not something fragile or beautiful or—”

  He clamped her wrists in the cool grass on either side of her head, but it was his eyes that held her captive. “You can be all too easily battered and broken, my lady,” he said. “ ’Twould be a shame to spoil something so perfect.”

  Kitt felt … female. She had fought long and hard to free herself from susceptibility to such male blather. All Alex had done was speak a few words, and she felt herself turning to mush inside. Well, he would not win her over using such blandishments. She would not allow it.

  She bucked wildly against his strength, managing with a sudden move to roll him over so she was on top. Her breasts were pillowed against his hard chest, and her belly nestled between his thighs. She felt heart-stopping heat. She felt his strength and power. And, dear God, she felt the hardness of him.

  Kitt realized when Alex made an animal sound in his throat that she had awakened a sleeping dragon. His features were taut, his breathing harsh.

  “ ’Tis unwise to accuse men of cowardice for exercising good judgment,” he said. “Any one of your clansmen could take you in a fight.”

  “I can defend myself!” she retorted, jerking sideways to get free. She succeeded merely in rolling him over on top of her again.

  He hissed in a sharp breath.

  She stared at Alex, stricken, as the exquisite heat and hardness of him found a haven between her thighs. His eyes narrowed, his lips were full and rigid, his nostrils flared for the scent of her. Kitt recognized his arousal because she felt—oh, how unwillingly—the same sharp desire.

  “Choose a husband, Lady Katherine,” he said in a harsh voice. “You should be home raising bairns, not ordering men about.”

  “Damn you, Alex. ’Tis not your place to—” She bucked again, but her hip came down on a stone. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out at the pain, but a sound in her throat gave her away.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, instantly concerned. “Are you hurt?”

  Kitt closed her eyes and turned her head away. It hurt more than a little, but she had no intention of becoming a female watering pot. “ ’Tis not your place—”

  “I’m your bodyguard, woman,” he said, transferring both her wrists to one hand and using the other to grab her chin and force her to face him. “ ’Tis my job to guard your body, so tell me where you’re hurt.”

  Too many feelings were rioting inside her. Female feelings. “ ’Tis nothing,” she insisted.

  “Tell me!”

  “I’ve bruised my hip on a stone!”

  She felt his hand on her hip, with only her homespun skirt and a petticoat between her flesh and his.

  “There?”

  “To the left.” More heat. A raging fire. “Alex …”

  His hand reached farther beneath her right buttock. “There?”

  “Ah.” That was as close to a cry of distress as Kitt was willing to utter. His hand gently massaged the hurt, but Kitt was feeling a great deal more than relief from his touch. She felt her body arching toward his, pressing against the aching hardness.

  “Dinna move,” he rasped. His arm slid completely around her, and he clasped her tightly against him.

  Kitt shivered as her body tightened inside. She looked into Alex’s eyes and realized he wanted her. And saw the abrupt change in his features when it became apparent that he had no intention of taking her.

  “Enough,” he said. “Enough.”

  He pushed himself onto his feet and reached down to grasp her hands and pull her onto her feet beside him. “No more such games, Lady Katherine,” he scolded, as though she were a child and he her tutor. “ ’Tis my job to protect you, not seduce you.”

  “But I—”

  “No argument. The matter is closed.”

  Kitt was incensed. She had done nothing to provoke him. The seduction had been all on his side. She had succumbed to his touch like a filly to a willing handler. What a burden to be female and so susceptible to a man’s touch! She
must be ever vigilant against such feminine weakness.

  “I will lead my clan on that raid,” she said defiantly. “And it will succeed. I can do it, Alex. You will see.”

  “For both our sakes, I hope you’re right.”

  “There’s something else we must do first,” she said, eyeing him askance.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “Steal the cost of passage to America for Patrick and his family from the Duke of Blackthorne.”

  Chapter 8

  They had wasted no time in planning their clandestine trip to Blackthorne Hall to steal from the duke. Even so, it had taken Kitt almost a week to work out all the details of their adventure to the satisfaction of her bodyguard. On the day they’d chosen, she had waited restlessly for evening to come and had waited even longer for most of the evening to pass as well. Moira had long since gone to bed.

  The instant she stepped out of her bedroom, Alex took one look at her and laughed. “What is that you’re wearing?”

  Kitt looked down at the trousers, a pair one of Dara’s boys had outgrown that fitted her like a second skin, and said, “What did you expect me to wear on a raid? My best muslin dress?”

  “You’ll never pass for a lad,” Alex assured her, his eyes full of humor—and something more dangerous Kitt preferred to ignore. “That shirt has two obvious bumps in it, and the trousers …” He whistled. “I dinna know too many boys with hips made for bearing bairns.”

  Kitt blushed at such frank speaking. “I havna finished my disguise.” She drapped a plaid around her, effectively concealing her figure. “I dare you to say I’ll be recognized in the dark.”

  “ ’Twill not be dark at Blackthorne Hall. Not entirely.”

  “Dark enough,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait,” Alex said.

  Kitt stood her ground as Alex’s hands reached toward her face. He adjusted the man’s bonnet—minus the identifying clan badge—she had donned to cover her hair. She shivered as he tucked in a long curl that had escaped at her temple.

  He made a tsking sound. “No lad has such winsome curls, my lady.”

  “I dinna plan to stop and visit with Mr. Ambleside,” Kitt said, knocking his hand aside. Why was he forever touching her? Always making her feel … like a woman. “The idea is to sneak into the castle and out again without being seen,” she said with asperity.

  “I suppose ’twill be easier for you to maneuver without a skirt if we have to make a run for it,” he conceded.

  “Aye. Let’s go.”

  Alex’s legs were long and he walked fast, but Kitt would have died for lack of breath before she asked him to slow down. She stumbled once and would have fallen, except he caught her arm. She was slung around in a circle and slammed right into him, chest first.

  Everything would have been fine if she had not grabbed hold of his shoulders to brace herself, and he had not circled his arms around her waist to steady her. But she had grabbed hold, and his strong arms had circled her.

  She was still trying to regain her breath when she looked up into Alex’s face. The swelling was long gone from his eye, and all that remained of the knot on his forehead was a yellowing bruise. It was impossible to tell that his lower lip had ever been swollen, and she knew now that it was naturally more full than the upper.

  Even his nose had resumed a more normal size, though he would always have a bump on the bridge. The realization struck her that by any standards Alex Wheaton was a comely man. Any woman would be tempted to give him a second glance. Or maybe even stare at him in fascination, as she was doing now.

  His eyes were intriguing, changing from a light gray when he was happy, to the color of storm clouds when he was angry or upset. Right now his eyes … were examining her face with as much studious detail as she was giving his.

  “You’re very beautiful,” he whispered.

  Kitt looked deeply into his dark gray eyes, felt the heat of her own awareness rise on her cheeks, and watched with her heart in her throat as he lowered his head toward her mouth.

  “ ’Tis forbidden for you to touch me, Alex,” she reminded him. She felt a stab of alarm when her warning had no effect. But she refused to be the one to back away. Her flashing eyes dared him to come closer. Dared him to try and kiss her.

  He gave her a wolfish smile. “You let go first.”

  She realized her hands were twined in the hair at his nape and snatched them away. “Now you let go,” she said.

  The feel of his breath on her flesh had already sent an expectant shiver down her spine, when he finally stepped back.

  “You’re safe from me, my lady,” he said, though his eyes sent a different, dangerous message. “I will keep my promise. No matter how great the temptation.”

  Kitt could not deny she had wondered what it might be like to kiss him. Perhaps she had even let him see it in her eyes. But she knew better. To succumb to mere physical desire was disaster, plain and simple.

  You must get rid of Alex and hire someone else as your bodyguard. Someone safe.

  Even that would be an admission that she could not handle the situation. She could control her own behavior, especially toward her bodyguard. And he had promised to keep his distance. “The matter is forgotten,” she said to Alex. “We will speak of it no more.”

  “But—”

  “We can enter the castle through the kitchen door,” she said, cutting him off. “ ’Tis likely to be unlocked.”

  He opened his mouth as though to continue the discussion but shut it again without speaking. Perhaps he recognized, as she did, that such an involvement could lead to nothing more than disgrace for her and dishonor for him.

  “What do we do if the kitchen door is locked?” he said.

  “You’ll have to help me climb in through a window.” She turned and began walking again.

  “The windows at Blackthorne Hall are all far above ground and quite small,” he pointed out.

  “I’m aware of that, which is why I’ll have to be the one to go in and come around to unlock the door for you.”

  They had discovered that Blackthorne Hall was completely unguarded. And why not? Who would dare to steal from the duke? The repercussions would be swift and absolute. Transportation at the very least. If they were caught inside the house, they might even be shot.

  Kitt’s heart was already racing from her encounter with Alex, and it speeded up so that she could hear her pulse pounding in her ears as they crossed the moat that surrounded Blackthorne Hall. Her father had taught her to move quietly, to attack an enemy with stealth. She had even been taught there was no dishonor in stealing from one’s enemies. Reiving cattle was practically a Scottish rite of passage.

  She had never actually gone on a raid before.

  Kitt had practiced all the necessary arts of war, but that was all she had ever done. Practice. This was the real thing, and she found herself unaccountably frightened by the enormity of what she was doing. She did not want to be transported from the only home she had ever known. She did not want to die.

  Given a choice, she would not have chosen to steal. But the duke had left her no choice. Kitt was surprised at the depth of the revulsion she was able to conjure for Blackthorne, even though he was already dead.

  A full moon gave them enough light to see where they were going when they reached the grounds on the other side of the moat, but there were no lanterns in any of the upstairs windows they could see to indicate that the occupants were awake. They inched their way around to the back of the castle in the shadows along the wall.

  “Ouch!”

  “Shh!” Alex warned. “Dinna move. Someone’s coming.”

  Kitt instinctively moved anyway, backing up closer to the wall near the kitchen door. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as she was jabbed in a dozen places by the rosebushes at her back. Whoever heard of roses planted near a kitchen door? She tried easing herself away from the pain, but her clothing, and a great deal of skin, had snagged on the thorns.


  Kitt was too frightened to move, even to save herself further pain. She breathed through her mouth, panting almost, and the raspy noise sounded loud in her ears. Would they see her? Would they hear her?

  She very nearly gasped aloud when she saw who was walking past them. It was Mr. Ambleside and the Earl of Carlisle. What were they doing out and about so very late? She and Alex had scheduled their clandestine visit far past bedtime to avoid just such an encounter. Kitt couldn’t help overhearing what Mr. Ambleside and the earl were saying.

  “I’ve heard from the duke’s brother, his heir,” Mr. Ambleside said. “Lord Marcus refuses to honor the contract, because he doesn’t believe his brother is dead. He says he will not act at all until he sees his brother’s body. He believes His Grace could not have drowned because he is too good a swimmer. Lord Marcus is so certain his brother is alive, that he is sending a detective, a Bow Street Runner, to search for him.”

  “Is it possible?” Carlisle asked. “Could Blackthorne be alive?”

  “Consider the facts, my lord,” Mr. Ambleside suggested. “Then tell me if you think it is possible.”

  “I don’t know what to think,” the earl said. “Even if he was … when he … the sea …”

  Kitt strained to hear the earl’s reply but could not make it all out. “Did you hear that?” she whispered to Alex. “The duke may be alive!”

  “Whether he is or not, makes no difference to what we must do tonight,” Alex said. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m stuck on the rosebushes,” she admitted. His hand brushed her cheek, then followed the line of her throat to her shoulder, sending a shiver along with it. “I can free myself,” she said, anxious to escape his touch.

  “Be still,” he said, ignoring her protest.

  She felt his hands slide carefully over her shoulders and down her back to where the thorns were embedded. Her flesh quivered at his touch. She moaned and he leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Shh.”

  His warm breath made her shiver again.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  “No. Yes. No.” She jerked when he pulled the cloth free and hissed as a thorn tore her flesh.