The Bodyguard

by Joan Johnston

  But it was folly to expect a wolf to sniff at a piece of succulent meat and then not to swallow it whole.

  She said nothing, nor did he, as he threaded his fingers together to make a stand for her foot and boosted her up into the sidesaddle. A moment after that he was in the saddle again, and they were on their way.

  The danger had been averted.

  An opportunity has been lost, she thought with a surge of regret.

  “There you are,” the earl said, riding toward her, greeting her with a rueful smile. “I don’t blame you for leaving me behind. I hope you had a nice ride.”

  “I did,” she said, returning his smile, grateful that she was to be forgiven for leaving him and glad he had not come upon them a little sooner.

  “I looked for you in a different direction,” the earl continued. “I should have known you would come to the loch.”

  “ ’Tis beautiful this time of day.”

  “Not as beautiful as you.”

  Neither of them looked at Alex. Both of them already knew what they would see on his face.

  “Shall we ride again next week?” he asked.

  “I would like that,” she replied.

  Kitt kneed her horse to join Carlisle and never looked back.

  * * *

  The day the soldiers left for maneuvers, Kitt sent word to her clansmen to come to her cottage after the moon rose that night. Alex felt the tension in the room as each man reviewed his assigned task. Not everyone would go on the raid. Some would stay behind to provide alibis for the others in case there was any question of their involvement later.

  “Guard her well,” Duncan said as he left the cottage. “She has her father’s courage, but a woman’s foolish heart.”

  “Well I know it,” Alex replied.

  Kitt said nothing in front of Duncan, but she had no intention of standing by while the rescue went on without her. Nevertheless, she pretended to be content with her assigned role and even brought along a small pouch of medicinal herbs in case any of her clansmen got wounded.

  “I dinna intend to be left behind, Alex,” Kitt said, breathless because she was trying to keep up with his long strides.

  “I’ll slow down a bit, if you insist.”

  “ ’Tis not what I mean, and you know it,” she retorted.

  “You’ll be safer out of range of the soldiers’ muskets.”

  “The soldiers are gone on maneuvers.”

  “They’ll have left a few behind to guard the jail. ’Tis safer for you to wait in the trees and let Ian and the others do what must be done.”

  Kitt huddled in the copse of trees near the jail with Alex and seethed as she was forced to watch, rather than lead her clansmen on the raid.

  She saw Fletcher and Tavis take down one of the guards in front of the jail with a knock on the head, while Evan and Angus captured, bound, and gagged the other. Then the four of them and Ian headed inside to find and free Patrick Simpson.

  She and Alex waited. And waited.

  “ ’Tis too long since they all went inside,” Alex said when perhaps five minutes had passed. “Something’s wrong. Wait here while I—”

  “I’m no safer here alone than I would be with you,” Kitt protested.

  “Stay here!” Alex snapped.

  Before Kitt could protest again, he was gone. She saw him hesitate, calling out softly to Fletcher and Evan before he disappeared inside the jail.

  The instant Alex was out of sight, she followed after him. She was as capable as any man of doing her part, and she intended to prove it once and for all.

  Kitt hadn’t taken two steps before she heard someone coming through the undergrowth. She froze with her back to a tree until two men—soldiers!—passed by her. They were swaying drunkenly, hanging on to each other, and had apparently been in the bushes relieving themselves. If they got past her, they would likely see the men as they exited the door of the jail and raise an alarm. She realized she had no choice except to try and stop them.

  Her heart was pounding with fear and excitement as she stepped out of her hiding place. “What are two fine fellows like you doing out so late?” she said.

  “What’s this? What is it you want?” one of the soldiers asked in a drunken voice.

  “Only a little company,” Kitt said in a sultry voice. She planned to lead the two of them farther into the copse where the door to the jail would not be visible. The soldiers looked so drunk she was certain she could outrun them. “Why not come over here and—”

  They both lunged for her at the same time. One grabbed her arms and wrenched them behind her while the other clamped a hand over her mouth so she couldn’t scream.

  “Well, well,” one said to the other. “Shall we keep this treat for ourselves, or share it with the others?”

  “I say we should help ourselves first. They can have whatever’s left when we’re done.”

  Kitt’s eyes went wide with terror. Alex, where are you? I need you. Come find me, please!

  Chapter 12

  Alex had done everything in his power during the planning for the raid to ensure no one would be hurt—either clansmen or soldiers. But as he stepped inside the jail he saw everything had gone wrong. Blood pooled under the body of a soldier who lay next to Fletcher. The Scotsman still had a dirk stuck in his side.

  “Fletcher?”

  “I’m still here,” the big Scotsman whispered. “But that soldier’s in a bad way.”

  Alex laid his fingertips on the wounded soldier’s throat and found a weak pulse. He wadded up the man’s shirt beneath him and pressed it against the wound to stop the bleeding. With luck the man would live.

  Then he knelt beside the wounded Scotsman and whispered, “Can you stand?”

  Fletcher grabbed at the hand Alex offered him. “More soldiers than we thought stayed behind.”

  “How many more?”

  “One in back, two more expected soon,” Fletcher said.

  “Wait here. I’ll be back for you. Dinna sit down. When we come out, we’ll be moving fast.” Alex edged quietly, carefully, farther into the jail, searching for Ian and the others. He heard the English soldier before he saw the four MacKinnon clansmen with their hands held high.

  “It won’t be long now until my friends return, and then we’ll make sure you have a cell of your own,” the soldier said.

  Alex surveyed the scene, deciding how best to hit the soldier so that his musket would not discharge. He didn’t have much time. The soldier was obviously expecting help to arrive soon.

  He made eye contact with Ian to let him know what he planned, then leapt at the soldier. He caught him between the shoulder blades and forced him down. The man’s head hit the wall with enough force to knock him out. His musket clattered to the floor and Ian quickly retrieved it.

  Ian started to bludgeon the soldier with the wooden stock, but Alex grabbed his wrist. “There’s been enough harm done this night. Where’s Patrick Simpson.”

  “Patrick!” Ian called. “Where are you, man?”

  “Here!” Patrick shouted from the last of the cells along the wall.

  Alex took the keys from the waistband of the fallen soldier and threw them to Tavis. “Hurry! There are more soldiers somewhere nearby.”

  It took a matter of moments for Ian to free Patrick Simpson. The crofter had apparently caught his foot in a mantrap on the duke’s land and broken it. His ankle was still swollen to twice its normal size, and he could barely stand.

  “Let’s go,” Alex said, slipping an arm around Patrick’s waist and pulling the crofter’s arm over his shoulder.

  “We should free the others,” Ian said.

  “ ’Tis not what we came to do,” Alex said, standing in Ian’s way as he reached out a hand for the key. “The MacKinnon waits. Patrick Simpson is free. We should leave before someone else gets hurt.”

  “Alex is right, Ian,” Tavis said. “We should go. We must take Fletcher home to his wife.”

  Ian grimaced but nodded his head abr
uptly in agreement. “Ach. So we’ll go.”

  Tavis helped Angus to haul Fletcher up over his shoulder and then came to stand on the other side of Alex to help support Patrick Simpson’s weight.

  Ian went first with the musket to look for the English soldiers. “ ’Tis clear,” he said. “But I dinna know for how long.”

  Alex’s heart was pounding from more than the exertion of carrying Patrick Simpson. One soldier with a bad headache, Fletcher wounded, and another soldier wounded, perhaps seriously. If the soldier died, his comrades would be relentless in their pursuit of those responsible. The sooner Patrick Simpson and his family left Scotland, the better.

  By the time they reached the copse of trees where Alex had left Kitt, he was more than a little anxious. If she had been there, he might have taken out his frustration over the disastrous raid on her. But she was not.

  “Where is The MacKinnon?” Ian demanded.

  “She was here when I left,” Alex retorted. He looked over his shoulder toward the jail, wondering if Kitt had snuck in behind them and was in there now. “I’ll go find her. Take Patrick and Fletcher and get out of here.”

  “You may need help,” Ian said.

  “I can handle it.” Alex was headed back toward the jail before Ian could argue further.

  They had taken the most direct route, over open land, when they left the jail, but Alex decided to go back through the trees, where he could more easily hide if more soldiers unexpectedly appeared.

  He heard Kitt before he saw her. It was plain she was in trouble. He broke into a run, heading toward the sound of her cries.

  Kitt kicked one man in the shin and cried out in pain as he slapped her hard across the face. A hand clutched her breast possessively. One soldier pressed his mouth against her cheek, while the other tore at her skirt from behind. A scream of terror was caught in her throat.

  The man behind her suddenly went flying. The other lifted his head to find out what had happened but barely had time to yelp before Alex’s fist smashed into his mouth. He went down without a sound.

  Alex grabbed her hand and started running. “Let’s get out of here!”

  Kitt took two steps and stumbled, falling forward onto her knees. Alex scooped her up into his arms, and she grasped him around the neck as he took off running again.

  “Is Patrick safe?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Yes, but Fletcher’s been stabbed and one of the soldiers as well.”

  Kitt drew in a sharp breath. “Will Fletcher—”

  “He’ll live. This whole business was folly from the start.”

  “ ’Twas no such—”

  “Shh,” he warned. “We’re being followed.”

  Kitt searched over Alex’s shoulder for some sign of pursuit but saw nothing in the moonlit darkness. She listened but all she heard was the sound of Alex’s harsh breathing and her own and the crunch of bracken beneath his feet.

  Kitt saw a flash of white in the moonlight—the lapel of a soldier’s uniform. At the same time, a drunken voice called out, “You, there! Halt, or I’ll shoot!”

  “This way, Harry,” a second drunken voice shouted. “We can cut ’em off.”

  “They’re catching up to us!” Kitt braced herself when she heard a musket being fired, but it was Alex who grunted with pain. “Are you hurt?” she cried.

  “ ’Tis nothing.” He readjusted her weight in his arms and began running again but with a decided limp.

  “You’re wounded! Put me down,” Kitt insisted.

  “I think I’ll keep you where I know you’re safe.”

  And where any musket balls would hit his body instead of hers, she realized. “Alex, set me down. I can run.”

  “Look there. Help is on the way,” he said.

  Sure enough, Kitt saw Ian leading Tavis and Evan back toward them. She breathed a sigh of relief. It would all be over soon. It was unfortunate Fletcher had been wounded. She hoped the soldier did not die, but even if he did, she would not regret the rescue she had ordered. And thanks to Alex, she had suffered no more than a dent to her pride.

  The second shot came as Alex stopped to set her down. She stared up into his astonished face a moment before he crumpled to the ground. “Alex!”

  She knelt beside him and felt, rather than saw, the blood streaming from the wound in his back. “No! Oh, no. Ian, help!”

  Ian shoved her out of the way, hauled Alex over his shoulder, and said, “You two help Lady Katherine. I’ll take care of him.”

  Tavis and Evan each grabbed one of her arms and hurried her toward safety, followed more slowly by Ian. When Kitt heard the third shot fired, she struggled to turn around.

  “We canna go back, Lady Katherine,” Evan said. “You must get away from here before the rest of the soldiers wake and begin their search.”

  “Is everyone else safe?”

  “They’ve all gone home,” Tavis replied. “Fletcher is—”

  “I know. I’ll send Moira to make certain he’s well doctored. Who’s escorting Patrick and his family to the coast?”

  “I’ll do that,” Ian said from behind them. “And put this one on the ship as well.”

  “What?” Kitt stopped so abruptly her arms were nearly jerked from their sockets by the two men. “You’ll do nothing of the kind. I want Alex taken to my cottage.”

  “He’s sore wounded,” Ian said. “Better he should die at sea and his body be slipped overboard than we should have to find a place to bury him.”

  Kitt felt a spurt of panic. “He isna going to die.”

  “His shirt and trousers are soaked with blood,” Ian said. “Likely he willna survive.”

  “Take him to my cottage,” Kitt said. “Alex saved my life. I’ll not let him die alone at sea.”

  “The soldiers are bound to come searching—”

  “Do as I say!” she snapped. It was an order from The MacKinnon, and though Ian grumbled, he did not disobey.

  Kitt thanked Tavis and Evan at her door and sent them home to their families.

  “What’s amiss?” Moira cried in alarm when she saw Kitt with Ian and his burden.

  “Alex is hurt. I can care for him, if you’ll go to Fletcher. He’s been cut and will need stitching.”

  Moira looked from Kitt to Ian and back, and Kitt saw the question in her eyes. Will you be safe alone with Ian? Kitt nodded. She did not think Ian would bother her tonight—especially since the only person who had stood between him and his goal had been removed when Alex was shot.

  Once Moira was on her way, Kitt lit a lantern and led Ian to her bedroom. She removed the quilt from her bed, leaving only the sheets.

  As Ian dropped Alex onto the stout wooden bed, he said, “Maybe now you’ll admit a woman has no business on a raid. If this man dies ’twill be your fault. We’re not safe yet. The soldiers will be searching for any who are wounded.

  “If fortune favors us, Fletcher will be able to work a little tomorrow, so he’ll not be suspect. Choose a husband, Katherine. Choose me and end this foolishness.”

  Kitt began to shiver as the adrenaline that had sustained her through the raid and their flight from the soldiers began to dissipate. “I dinna like you, Ian. I dinna desire you. I dinna love you. Even more, I dinna trust you.”

  Ian’s face flushed visibly in the candlelight. “Whether you want me or no, whether you trust me or no, I will have you to wife, Katherine. Make up your mind to it.”

  Ian took a step toward her, but when her determined eyes met his, he changed his mind. “When this stranger is dead and gone, I’ll be back to claim what’s mine.”

  Kitt shuddered as he stalked away, then shook off the foreboding she felt at Ian’s threats. She hurried through the cottage gathering the things she would need to treat Alex’s wounds.

  Would it make any difference to Ian if she explained that she planned to marry the Earl of Carlisle to help the clan gain back what they had lost? More likely he would be enraged that she contemplated making an Englishman laird of Clan MacK
innon.

  Kitt heard Alex muttering in her bedroom and called out to him, “Be still. I’m coming.” She arrived at his bedside moments later carrying a knife, a bowl of water and a cloth, a collection of herbs and salves, and what remained of a bottle of good Scottish whiskey that had been untouched since her father’s death.

  Alex was moving restlessly on the bed, and she realized he could not be comfortable lying on his wounded back. However, she also needed to treat the wound on his thigh, which she could only do from the front.

  The whiskey first, she thought. She held Alex’s head up and tipped the bottle against his mouth. “Swallow some of this, Alex.”

  “What is it?”

  “Something to ease the pain.”

  He swallowed, coughed, and swallowed again. “I’ve used this before to ease the pain,” he said. “It doesna work.”

  “Drink enough of it,” she promised, “and it will.”

  When she thought he had drunk enough, she let his head rest on the pillow again and set the near-empty bottle aside. “Lie still,” she said soothingly. She brushed back the hair that had fallen over his forehead, loving the feel of it, loving the thought of doing it, wondering why she hadn’t done it before.

  “Am I going to die?” he asked in a quiet voice.

  Kitt couldn’t speak. She could not bear the thought of Alex dying. But sometimes the flow of blood from such a wound could not be stopped. Sometimes wounds did not heal at all. And Alex was sorely hurt.

  Finally she said, “You’ve been shot twice, Alex. You have a flesh wound in your thigh that needs tending, and then I must remove the bullet from your back. I’ll try not to hurt you any more than I must. Should I tie you down?”

  “I’ll lie still,” he said, then added with a rueful twist of his mouth, “As still as I can.”

  He lay still even though she was hurting him, and she was only cutting away his trousers to expose the wound on his upper thigh. She heaved a sigh of relief when she realized the bullet had passed completely through the fleshy part of his leg. A few stitches would be enough to close the wound, but she needed to hurry, because Alex was losing blood at an alarming rate.

  She quickly gathered needle and thread, worried by Alex’s silence. “Alex?” she said softly, peering into his face. His gray eyes were glazed with pain. He had lost so much blood he was chalky white.