The Bodyguard

by Joan Johnston

  “Denies we are handfast? There are too many witnesses.”

  “What if he says ye deceived him and lay with another.”

  Kitt’s face blanched. “He wouldna dare.”

  “He has nothing to lose and everything to gain. How would you prove yer faith, especially when ye lied to him about everything.”

  “I had no choice,” Kitt insisted. “I swore an oath to my father—”

  “Some oaths are meant to be broken,” Moira said. “ ’Twas a sorry thing ye did, Kitty, lying to get a husband.”

  “I’m sorry for the hurt I caused him, but I would do it again,” she said. “ ’Twas worth it to have a means of saving us all.”

  A knock on the door kept Kitt from arguing further with Moira. She rose to answer it, wondering what trouble was waiting there for her.

  Speak of the devil, and he arrived. It was Ian MacDougal.

  Kitt did not invite him inside. “What do you want, Ian?” she asked, keeping the door between them.

  “It seems you’ve been abandoned, Lady Katherine. You need another husband.”

  “Go away, Ian.” She tried closing the door in his face, but he pushed past her. She backed up toward the hearth, where her father’s claymore hung over the mantel.

  “You’ll not be needing that,” Ian said watching the direction of her eyes. “I’ve come to make you an offer. The clan needs a chief. Your father always wanted me, and now I’ve come to claim what’s mine.”

  In the month since Alex Wheaton had confirmed in Carlisle’s drawing room that he was the Duke of Blackthorne, rumors had run rampant. Her clansmen had been aghast to discover the snake they had taken to their bosom and had not been surprised that, as soon as he had recovered his memory, the dreadful duke had beat a hasty retreat for England.

  “I would spit on him, if he were here now,” Duncan had said.

  “Even after all he’s done to help over the past year?” Kitt asked.

  “He caused the want in the first place,” Duncan said. “And I dinna see the rents are lower, now that he’s got his memory back.”

  There had been no defense she could make. Apparently, the Alex Wheaton she had known and come to love, and the Alastair Wharton who owned the land and the castle, were two completely different people. And she was married to them both.

  “I have a husband, Ian,” she said.

  “Oh, really?” Ian sniggered in a deadly voice. “When was the last time you saw the duke alive? The last time anybody saw him alive?”

  “The night before he left for England.”

  “No one’s seen or heard from him since.”

  “Of course not. He—” Kitt caught a flicker of something sinister in Ian’s eye. “What have you done, Ian?”

  “Nothing that your father wouldna have done if he were here.”

  “You killed him?” she said, her heart caught in her throat.

  Ian’s lips curled maliciously. “Not yet. But I’ve got him in chains somewhere he’ll never be found.”

  “Dear God.” Kitt launched herself at Ian. Her fingernails raked his cheeks once, leaving ragged furrows, before he could capture her wrists.

  “Damn you, woman! What’s got into you? ’Tis the bloody duke, who killed your Leith, I’m for killing. Why do you care if he dies?”

  “I’m to bear his child!”

  Ian stared at her as though she had blasphemed.

  “Dinna you see?” she cried. “ ’Tis the salvation of our clan. It doesna matter what the courts say now, the bairn will have a right to claim it all. ’Tisna necessary to kill him, Ian. We’ve won.”

  Ian made a sound of disgust in his throat. “What makes you think he’ll accept the bairn as his own? He’s already accused me of lying down with you. He’ll think you mean to trick him.”

  “What?”

  “I tell you, he willna believe the child is his.”

  “We were handfast—”

  “What good will a handfast marriage do you in an English court?” Ian said. “Besides, Mr. Ambleside made me a better offer.”

  “Mr. Ambleside has disappeared.”

  “I’m sure he has. The night he came to visit me he was leaving the country. He offered me money to settle a score for him with the duke.”

  “Surely you didna take it!”

  “His money only sweetened the pie. I wanted the duke dead for my own sake. And for yours.”

  “No. Oh, no, Ian. You must let Blackthorne go free!”

  “ ’Tis much too late for that. He’s seen me. He knows I was responsible for kidnapping him and holding him prisoner.”

  Kitt moaned. “Surely he will bargain for his life.”

  “I canna take the chance he’ll change his mind once he’s free.”

  “Then flee, and let me free him. I’ll plead for mercy on your behalf. You canna murder the duke, Ian.”

  “Dinna you see? So far as anyone knows in England, he’s dead already.”

  “But people here know he’s alive. Carlisle—”

  “Will keep his mouth shut for his own sake. And the Scots will not betray me. Blackthorne must die. For the sake of the clan. You must see that.”

  Kitt shook her head. “The bairn will inherit—”

  “No one will believe the child is his, not when you didn’t conceive all these months you were handfast. Our best chance to survive is to deal with—”

  A hard knock on the door interrupted him. Kitt brushed past him and found Laddie on her doorstep.

  “What do you want?” Kitt demanded irritably.

  Mick took one look inside the cottage and felt his heart sink. Alex was right. His wife had conspired to have him killed. Here she was conniving with Ian before his very eyes.

  Following his gut instinct, he had come to enlist her assistance in freeing Alex and had just learned a terrifying lesson. His instincts were not always right.

  Mick had believed they were in love with each other and both too stubborn to admit it. He had seen the look in Lady Katherine’s eyes when she thought Alex wasn’t watching her. And he had seen Alex gaze adoringly at his wife. It amazed him how well he had been fooled.

  It was plain he could say nothing to Lady Katherine with Ian standing right there listening. He was quick-witted enough to say, “I wondered if you had heard anything from Alex?”

  “No, Laddie. Nothing.”

  “Oh. Well. He promised me a reward for helping him, you know. I thought he might have said something before he left.”

  “He lied to all of us, Laddie,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  She looked so miserable, Mick wondered for a moment if he had misconstrued Ian’s presence. But Ian crossed to stand at her shoulder and said, “If ’tis help you need, you may look to me. I’ll be chief—”

  “Is there anything else, Laddie?” Lady Katherine asked, interrupting Ian.

  “No,” Laddie said. “I’ve found out all I need to know.”

  He headed back to Carlisle Castle on the run. It had been several days since he had discovered Alex’s whereabouts, but he’d been unable to pick the lock on the door. He had passed Alex a dirk he had stolen from a wall full of ancient weapons in Carlisle Castle and had provided enough food and water for Alex to begin to regain his strength.

  But he worried that Ian might return and kill Alex before he had gained sufficient strength to defend himself. “Please let me tell Lady Katherine,” he’d begged. “I know she—”

  “I forbid it. I would rather die than have her see me reduced to such a state.”

  “ ’Tis only yer pride—”

  “ ’Tis all I have left.”

  But Mick hadn’t been willing to let his friend die for the sake of a little pride. He had decided to speak with Lady Katherine after all.

  And found her conniving with Ian MacDougal.

  He arrived at the dungeon door breathless and panting. “Ye were right, Alex,” he said through the bars.

  “About what, Laddie?”

  “Your wife … and Ian.
He’s to be the next MacKinnon.” Mick waited for Alex’s reaction, but heard nothing behind the solid door. He leaned his cheek against the rough wood. “I’m that sorry, Alex.”

  “Save your sympathy for my wife,” he spat. “She’ll need it when I get out of here.”

  “Perhaps Ian never means to open the door again,” Mick said.

  “He will,” Alex said. “I’ve been waiting only until I had my strength back to provoke him to it.”

  “Will it be soon, do ye think?”

  “Tonight,” Alex replied. “I will be free from this prison tonight.”

  “Shall I stay nearby, Alex? To help?”

  Alex knew better than to say he wanted Michael O’Malley out of the path of danger. The boy would have been insulted at the suggestion he could not defend himself, even against such a brute as Ian MacDougal. “I need you to do something else for me, Laddie.”

  “Anything, Alex.”

  “I need you to put together enough supplies to keep me until I can make my way home. Put them in the cave in the mountains where I stayed before. Could you do that?”

  “Aye. Gladly. But Alex—”

  “I am counting on you, Laddie. The success of my journey to England depends on you.”

  “I willna fail ye, Alex. And Alex … Godspeed.”

  “Goodbye, Laddie. I’ll send for you if—when—I can.”

  He thought the boy had left when he heard, “Alex …”

  “What is it, Laddie?”

  “I wouldna ask it for myself, ye understand. But if ye can find work for my family on yer estate in England—”

  “You did not need to ask, Laddie. It was always in my mind to offer what help I could. Wait to hear from me.”

  “Fare thee well, Alex.”

  If there is a God, he will save me so that I can repay you someday, Alex thought as he listened to the boy’s footsteps fade away. He would manage to escape tonight, if for no other reason than to keep his promise to Michael O’Malley. The boy and his family deserved a chance at a better life.

  It was hard waiting for night to fall. Harder still to keep his nerves in check. Alex was stronger than he had been a few days before, but he was still no match for Ian MacDougal in a fair fight. But he had no intention of giving Ian a chance to kill him.

  He leapt to his feet when he heard the tin plate rattle under the door. “You’ll never be The MacKinnon, Ian,” he said in a deceptively weak voice.

  “She’ll have me,” Ian replied. “Once you’re dead.”

  “I’m near dead now,” Alex replied. “Why not finish the job and be done with it? Or are you too much a coward to kill me when you’re looking me in the face?”

  Alex heard the key rattle in the lock. It had not been so difficult to provoke the beast. He stood waiting in the dark beside the door, dirk in hand, to confront him.

  The instant the door was open, Alex launched himself, blade first, at Ian’s bulk. He felt the knife sink deep, heard Ian’s grunt of pain, then felt himself being slammed against the stone wall as Ian’s giant paw swept across his chest.

  The air was knocked out of him, and he thought he heard his barely healed rib crack again. He was totally helpless, totally defenseless. He had failed.

  The lantern stood on the floor where Ian had dropped it, and his face remained in the shadows. Alex watched as Ian pulled the knife free from his chest and took a step toward him. “Where did you … get a … dirk?”

  “From a friend.”

  Ian laughed, a macabre sound. “I didna think you had any.” He took a stumbling step toward Alex, then crumpled to his knees and fell forward onto his face.

  It took Alex a moment to realize he was dead.

  He had never killed a man before. He felt nauseated, and spat to get the rancid taste from his mouth. A wave of regret swept over him. There should have been another way. But there had been no other way. Ian would have killed him. Had been, in fact, starving him to death. Alex fought the urge to vomit.

  This sin, too, he would lay at Kitt’s door. He was glad she was nowhere nearby. He might have sinned again.

  He leaned over to pick up the keys Ian had dropped and unshackled his ankle. Then he tugged the dirk from Ian’s clutched fist and winced, pressing a hand to his sore rib. It was not broken, thank God. He wiped the dirk clean against Ian’s shirt, then shoved his way up the rough wall onto his bare feet.

  He should have taken Ian’s trousers and shoes, but he found the thought of wearing a dead man’s clothes too offensive to bear. No one would see him in the dark. And he could get clothes where he was going. Her father’s clothes.

  There were no other passages than the one that led from his cell to the opening of the sea cave. He set down the lantern on a rock and knelt to splash his face with cold saltwater. He was alive. He was free. He could go to Blackthorne Hall for clothes. He never needed to see her again.

  But when he lifted the lantern, it was toward her cottage that he strode, unmindful of the sharp stones cutting his feet or the sharp wind off the sea chilling him to the bone. His anger kept him unheeding of any hurt.

  The cottage was dark, but he didn’t need a light to find his way to her bedroom. It was easy to sneak in and close the door behind him. In the scant moonlight from the window, he could see the shape of her on the bed. She was lying on her back, her arms outstretched over her head, the blanket barely covering her legs.

  He was struck with a lust so strong it made him quiver.

  Alex covered her mouth with his hand before he covered her body with his own. He watched her eyes flash open.

  “Do not speak. Do not even breathe too loudly, or I will ensure you breathe no more. Will you be silent?”

  She nodded once.

  He released her mouth and captured both her wrists in one powerful hand. “Your lover is dead, madam.”

  Her eyes went wide with horror and fright. “My lover?”

  “Ian MacDougal.”

  “Ian was never—”

  “Don’t bother denying it. He said as much.”

  “You killed Ian?” she gasped.

  “He would have killed me. That was what you intended, was it not?”

  “Alex, let me explain—”

  “How could I ever have thought I loved you?” he said, looking into a face that seemed so very innocent, but which he knew concealed deceit. “This marriage is at an end. I’ll make sure of it when I get home to England. Don’t try to pawn off any bastard of Ian’s as my child. I’ll have you jailed if you do.”

  “Alex, please—”

  He was shivering violently, quivering with hatred. He had just killed a man, and he could easily have killed the woman lying beneath him. He put his hand to her throat and squeezed.

  She stared back at him but did not fight him.

  “Are you willing to die, then? Shall I murder you and have that on my conscience, too?”

  “I love you, Alex.”

  The pain was enormous, as though he had been stabbed in the heart. He was off of her an instant later and moving toward the chest across the room where she kept her father’s things. He could find no trousers, only the kilt he had worn on their visit to Castle Carlisle.

  He was too frightened of what he might do to her if he took the time to search further, so he grabbed what he could find, including the borrowed shoes with holes in the toes that sat in the corner of the room. He was running by the time he reached the front door, but her cries reached out to him.

  “Alex, wait! I’m innocent. The child is yours. Alex, please. You must believe me!”

  Climbing far up in the hills, he could still hear her ululating wails of despair.

  Chapter 21

  By the time the stone outline of Blackthorne Abbey came into view, Alex had traversed the breadth of Scotland and England as a pauper. It should have been a simple matter to throw himself on the mercy of his friends, or to send a letter to his valet and wait for Stubbins to bring proper clothing and funds for the return trip. But he had chan
ged a great deal in the months he had been gone. His pride was not as important as getting home to his family.

  So he had hitched rides and walked and traveled almost as fast as if he had come in a coach and four. He glanced down at himself and grinned. He looked like a Highland reiver, dressed in the kilt he had worn for the past few weeks of muddy travel. He hadn’t shaved and his hair was too long, but he had never felt more fit in his life.

  He wanted to see his children. And Marcus. He must speak with his brother and offer the forgiveness he had wrongly withheld. Life was too uncertain. And love was too precious to lose in such a way.

  To Alex’s amazement, there was not a soul to greet him when he banged the iron ring on the immense front door of Blackthorne Abbey. Most unusual. Where was Fenwick, his butler? He finally opened the door himself and walked in. He started to call out, but decided he would take himself to his brother’s rooms in the East Wing of the Abbey, where he was sure to find the answers he sought.

  As he walked the shadow-ridden corridor that led from the main portion of the house to the crumbled remains that his brother had claimed, Alex discovered the cobwebs were gone, along with the moth-eaten curtains and the tattered rugs. Had Marcus continued the restoration that had stopped when he had gone into the army?

  Alex turned a corner and ran into his butler.

  “Yer Grace? Is that really yerself?” Fenwick exclaimed.

  He smiled at the little man who had left Scotland to become his father’s butler so many years ago. “Yes, Fenwick. ’Tis I.”

  “We thought ye were drowned!”

  “I was not,” he said, gripping the shoulders of the tearful old man to reassure him he was real.

  Fenwick seemed to recover himself and looked with a frown of alarm at the hands on his shoulders. “Are ye well, Yer Grace?”

  Alex realized he had never before touched one of his servants, not even Fenwick, whom he had taken a liking to all those years ago when he was a boy at Blackthorne Hall. Well, that was going to change. He patted Fenwick’s shoulder once more and smiled. “I am perfectly fine, Fenwick. Where are my children? And my brother?”

  “Oh, my, Yer Grace. What a basket we are in! What can I tell you, but—”

  Alex felt a quiver of alarm. “Is something wrong, Fenwick?”