The Highland Guardian

by Jarecki, Amy

  You mean to say that you and your lot of scraggly brutes are not outlaws? The more she considered it, the more doubtful she grew. Audrey clutched her fingers in front of her rib cage to stop her trembling and squared her shoulders. She’d realized at the manse it was up to her to take matters into her own hands. Shy or not, she must make a stand. “Sir. I am not following you anywhere. Either you escort me to Saint Hilda’s Church, or…or…” Blast it. One of the accursed Highlanders was holding Allegro’s reins, and he didn’t look like he was about to give them back. “Or I will walk if I must.”

  The MacRae man stepped toward her. “Nay. His Lordship must give his approval first.”

  “I need no guardian’s approval. As you can see, I’m a grown woman. For all I know, you and the earl have fabricated this entire story. If you really want to see to my protection, leave me be.” Audrey’s entire body shuddered, but she fought her fear by raising her chin just as she’d seen her father do many a time. “At present, you are making me feel quite vulnerable.”

  Scowling, Mr. MacRae motioned for the Highlander to move forward with her horse. “You wouldn’t want me to show you exactly how vulnerable you are, now would you, lass?”

  * * *

  No sooner had Reid toweled off than the door to his chamber burst open. “Jesus Saint Christopher Christ.” Dunn barged in, swearing like a heathen.

  “Do you not knock before shoving into an earl’s chamber?” Reaching for his plaid, Reid tucked it around his hips.

  The MacRae chieftain looked like he could plunge his dagger into someone’s heart. “Holy hellfire, the wee lassie Nicholas asked you to tend is a fiery-tongued vixen sent by Satan himself.”

  Reid almost smiled. Dunn was about as refined with the lassies as a deerhound. “Och, so you met Miss Audrey, did you?”

  “I thought you were going to speak to the lass, ease her mind, help her understand we’re working for the cause and how sensitive matters can be.”

  “I don’t recall saying all that.”

  “Aye, but you were.”

  Reid scrubbed his hair with the drying cloth. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I thought she was a thief or worse.”

  “Wee Miss Kennet?” Now he’d heard everything.

  “Aye, well, she was riding for the gate like a bloody thief. When we stopped her, she carried on as if we were a mob of rogues preventing her from burying her da.” Dunn thrust his finger at Reid’s chest. “She doesn’t believe you are an earl. I didn’t even bother telling her I’m the chieftain of Clan MacRae, not that such information would impress her in the slightest. Christ, she’s as feisty as a badger.”

  “I thought she was demure and shy.” Reid grinned. It wasn’t often MacRae was this rattled. “You’ve been confounded by my wee ward, now have you?”

  Dunn scowled. “I thought she was supposed to be a child of six, not sixteen.”

  “She’s nineteen.”

  The big ox threw up his hands. “That makes it even worse.”

  “I ken.” Reid pulled a clean shirt over his head, though it was too tight in the chest. He’d borrowed one of Nicholas’s shirts and had his kilt and doublet brushed clean by Mrs. Hobbs.

  “Things were bad enough when we thought you’d be looking after a child, but what are you to do with a woman?”

  Reid swallowed against the thickening in his throat. The same question had plagued him since meeting the lass in the parlor. “I aim to write Baron Barnard at Raby Castle. As lord lieutenant of County Durham, his baroness will no doubt ken the appropriate suitors nearby. Mark me, I shall secure a betrothal for the lassie within the month.”

  “God save the man who takes an oath to spend eternity with that sharp-tongued hellcat.”

  “Truly, Dunn? I found Miss Audrey quite pensive, just as one would expect of an English rose.”

  “A Sassenach thorn is more apt.”

  “You’re overreacting.” Reid threw the hairy grouch a drying cloth. “There’s still some warmth left in the bath. I suggest you wash afore you let the wee thorn fester under your skin.”

  Dunn dropped the cloth onto the chair and loosened his belt. “You’d best take her to Saint Hilda’s to see her da on the morrow, else I reckon she’ll arm the servants and start her own bloody war of independence.”

  “I plan to.” Reid pulled his plaid over his shoulder and secured it with a brooch, all the while chuckling to himself. The lass wasn’t as difficult as Dunn made out. In no time, he’d have her married off and out of his hair, then they’d both head to the Highlands and forget they’d ever met her.

  “Ye ken she’s madder than a swarm of bees…” Dunn continued on to explain how she’d been thrown from her horse and threatened to walk to Hartlepool. She’d only agreed to return to the manse after he’d made her think he would throw her over his shoulder and smack her behind.

  The more Dunn talked, the hotter Reid grew. “Dash it, could you not be gentler with her? She’s only just lost her father.”

  “Next time I’ll send a lad for you so you can be on the receiving end of her barbed tongue.” Dunn slid into the bathwater. “How long do you reckon we’ll be in this abominable place?”

  “Not certain, but we cannot tarry. We need to summon a gathering at Brahan Castle by the end of summer. If the queen passes her bloody Occasional Conformity Act, we’ll all be sunk.” Reid shrugged into his doublet. “You didn’t say. Did you see any redcoat activity?”

  “A retinue of dragoons rode into Coxhoe this afternoon.”

  “Looking for us?”

  Dunn wrung out a cloth over the top of his head. “Seems likely, though I didn’t intercept them and hold an inquisition.”

  “Why not?” Reid chuckled. “That might have been fun.”

  In fact, Reid had thought about doing exactly that. The navy had just destroyed his ship without provocation. He should be making a royal case out of such an abomination, and he planned to as soon as he settled things with the Kennet estate.

  Without another word, he made his way to the dining hall. Audrey was already sitting at the long table, which was set for a feast and festooned with candelabras and a soup tureen. The lass didn’t look his way, but sat erect, her hair fashionably pinned up with curls framing her face. She wore a blue taffeta gown suitable for the evening meal. At least her finishing school lessons proved useful. Finding her a husband ought to be uncomplicated.

  “Good evening, Miss Audrey.” He slid into the chair at the head of the table.

  “Were you aware your men chased me across Coxhoe lands and startled my horse so that I was thrown?” She stared at her soup tureen as if speaking to it instead of him.

  A servant poured him a glass of wine. “I just received word.” Reid gave her a once-over. “Were you injured?”

  “I’ve a bruised elbow.” She shifted her seat, glancing downward. “And elsewhere.”

  “Apologies for that. It seems you quite befuddled the chieftain of Clan MacRae.” Though she didn’t take the bait, he regarded her profile. Pleasant, her nose wasn’t too large, her chin not too long. Even the red blotches on her face had disappeared into smooth, porcelain skin. A twinge of heat coiled low in his belly. “Do you oft venture out on your own?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “But I’ve never lost my father…a-and to such suspicious circumstances.”

  He took a sip of wine. “I understand you must be out of sorts, but—”

  “I am devastated,” she whispered, finally meeting his gaze.

  Reid gulped the sip down while that wee coil of heat shot through his chest. Holy Christ, the piercing stab of her stare cut straight through his heart. The lass expressed more feeling with one look than a preacher could throughout an entire Sunday sermon. She was angry and hurt, and more than anything, distrust filled those brooding blues.

  Reid licked his lips. “I know you are mourning.”

  Pursing her lips, she shifted her eyes to the folded hands in her lap.

  “I sense more tha
n my words are troubling you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  If he was going to be her guardian, she needed to be forthright with him. I’m fine was not an acceptable reply. “No, you are angry. I can feel the anger billowing around you.”

  She glanced up, but only for an instant. “How on earth could you know what I am feeling, my lord? I have just become an orphan.”

  He understood far more than she realized. “As a matter of fact, I became an orphan at the age of eighteen and was made a ward of the queen until I reached one and twenty.”

  She looked away as Gerald filled her bowl with a ladle of soup. “How am I to believe a word you say?”

  He pulled his seal from his sporran and tossed it on the table. “Only one of these exists—the seal of the Earl of Seaforth, given to me by Queen Anne herself.” Though I would have preferred if it had come from James.

  With a huff, she picked up the seal and examined it. “So, you are a Scottish earl.” She slid it back toward him while her shoulders squared and her chin rose. “I never heard a good word about Scots during my years at Talcott Ladies’ Finishing School.”

  He ran a deprecating gaze from her head down to her bowl. Two could play her game. “Were there any Scots in attendance? Any Scottish instructors?”

  “No.” Her shoulders dropped a bit.

  “I thought not.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because then you would have had an opportunity to judge for yourself rather than rely on the opinion of ignorant and inexperienced schoolgirls.”

  Groaning, his ward rolled her enormous blue eyes, then fixated on her lap again. “Nonetheless,” she said softly. “I cannot allow you to run away with the profits from my father’s mines.”

  “Did I say I was looking for profit?”

  “Aren’t all men? Especially Highlanders?”

  Reid was beginning to understand Dunn’s frustration. Dear God, the lass could be incorrigible. “I see Talcotts didn’t do much to teach you about honor…or respect for nobility.” He flicked a bit of lint from his lapel. He was a guardian, not a bloody teacher. “I gave your father my word that I would see to your maintenance. And that I will do. There are a great many affairs requiring my attention, and the sooner I can set things to rights here, the sooner I can resume my own dealings. On the morrow I will take you to your father’s grave and then make an appointment with your da’s solicitor so he can administrate the estate on your behalf.” He bit his tongue, deciding it was best to wait to tell her about marrying her off until a suitor was found.

  “I would like to visit the solicitor with you.”

  He frowned. “I doubt the conversation would be of interest.”

  “You are quite mistaken, my lord. When the conversation includes my father’s estate and my affairs, I must be very interested, concerned, and invested. I refuse to sit idle whilst men whisper and plot my future in secret.”

  He blinked. “Well then, by all means, you are welcome to attend.”

  “My lord,” said Gerald as he stepped into the dining hall. “Captain Richard Wilcox from Baron Barnard’s Forty-Second Dragoons has come to call. Shall I ask him to wait?”

  Chapter Four

  After the earl excused himself and went to the library to meet with Captain Wilcox, Audrey set her spoon beside her bowl, dashed into the kitchen, and raced up the servants’ stairs. As a young girl, she’d often played in the narrow corridors hidden from the family’s view. Alongside the library there was a shelf with a stained-glass window where Gerald replenished her father’s brandy. More than once, she’d overheard conversations while hiding in that very spot.

  “It is odd to receive visitors after six. I assume your news is grave, sir,” said the earl, his voice resounding through the glass and sounding full of importance.

  “I was advised of the death of Mr. Kennet by the vicar at Saint Hilda’s, my lord. The death of such a prominent member of County Durham comes as a great shock.”

  “Agreed. Mr. Kennet’s passing is a most untimely and unfortunate state of affairs.”

  “But I am surprised to see you here. What is the nature of your relationship with the Kennets?”

  “The man was a business partner. With his last breath he asked me to see to the maintenance of his daughter.”

  “Business partner?” the captain asked, distrust filling his voice. Audrey didn’t blame him. She didn’t trust the earl either. “Then you are aware his estate employs a great many local laborers in the mines.”

  “I am aware, and that further exemplifies the need for a learned man to set Kennet’s affairs in order.”

  “The Lord Barnard will be following your endeavors with great interest. Ah…is there a will?”

  “I’m meeting with Mr. Kennet’s solicitor on the morrow to ask the same question.” The earl hesitated for a moment. “In fact, I intend to write to Lord Barnard upon my first opportunity.”

  Audrey knit her brows. What business would Seaforth have to do with the baron?

  “I’m sure His Lordship would be pleased to hear from you.”

  The earl cleared his throat. “If there’s nothing else, I should like to return to my meal.”

  “Ah…there is one more question I must ask.”

  “You’d best make it fast.”

  “Why were you sailing from France?”

  Audrey leaned forward, knocking a glass off the shelf. Stifling a squeal, she caught it in midair. Whew. Her heart pounded so loudly, she feared Seaforth would hear it, too.

  “Cologne,” said the earl.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Have you not heard of it? Eau de Cologne is all the rage with the ladies in Britain. It’s from the region of Cologne, Germany, and very popular in Paris. And because of the overzealous captain on the Royal Buckingham, I lost an entire shipment valued at a thousand pounds, and let me say, I am very unhappy about it. I am personally on good terms with the lord high admiral, and to be certain, he will be hearing from me with a formal complaint. Why with two wars, the Royal Navy goes after a small Scottish sea galley, I cannot surmise, but you have my word, justice will prevail.”

  For pity’s sake, now Audrey was even more confused. Papa entertaining a perfume venture? That didn’t sound like him at all.

  Chapter Five

  Reid rolled to his back and stared at the purple bed-curtains. Nicholas certainly spared no expense when he outfitted his wife’s chamber, rest her soul. Purple dye came only from Tyrian snails, and it took twenty thousand of them to make an ounce of dye. The cost to outfit an entire bedchamber from coverlet, to canopy, to curtains was nothing short of a display of great wealth. Reid had taken the lady of the manor’s chamber because it was in the west wing near the lord’s chamber and as far away as possible from Miss Kennet’s rooms.

  From the light streaming through the shutters, he could tell it was morning, but that did nothing to allay the throbbing in his head. Worse, someone saw fit to play a harpsichord directly below his bed. Only a lass as maddening as Audrey would wake at dawn and attack the ivories like she was herding a mob of deer.

  Regardless that he could sleep until noon, he had naught but to rise and face the day. Last eve he’d penned missives well into the wee hours. One to the lord high admiral to make good his case for a new sea galley to be paid for by the crown, one to the Lord of Barnard to find Miss Audrey a husband, one to the vicar of Saint Hilda’s that included a note from Reid’s own coffers to pay for Nicholas’s burial, and dozens to the Highland Defenders, trusted Jacobite clan chieftains throughout Scotland, explaining in code that the hunt of the king stag had failed and new sights must be set for the cause.

  Reid had summoned the Defenders to his lands for a gathering three months hence. In his estimation, that should provide plenty of time to put the Kennet estates in order, secure a betrothal for Audrey, and make his way home to set his own affairs to rights.

  He placed his bare feet on the cold hardwood floor and stretched. Dash it, if Audrey a
woke every morning and practiced scales ad infinitum as she was presently doing, he would be all but mad by the time he was ready to part ways.

  After dressing and grooming, he followed the music until arriving in the drawing room. Audrey had exchanged her scales and arpeggios for a ballad—a far more soothing tune than the repetitious plunking of notes. As a matter of fact, she was quite good. A certain emotion flowed from her fingertips to the keys, bringing an expressive quality to the melody.

  Reid stood in the archway and listened. Moreover, he watched. Miss Audrey, sitting with her back to him, sheet music spread across the stand as her fingers danced over the keys. She wore her tresses much like she had last eve during the meal, with the length pulled up into a chignon at the back and ringlets in the front. The curls bounced with her movement. The lass had a long, slender neck, tapering to demure shoulders. Delicate was the first word that came to mind, followed by lovely, precious, and accomplished. Something in his chest stretched, though he ignored the sensation.

  Today she wore a black frock, tight around the bodice, and from what Reid could see of it, fanned out into billowing skirts. He wasn’t overly fond of black, but since they would be visiting Nicholas’s graveside this day, the color was appropriate.

  The ballad ended with a minor chord, one that filled his chest with a hollow void—hollow because of the intense sadness imparted through the lassie’s fingers and because the tune had ended. How he would have enjoyed watching her unawares for a wee bit longer.

  She inclined her ear toward him, as if she sensed his presence.

  “Very nice,” he said. “You are quite accomplished.”

  “’Tis a way to pass the time when you are the only child to a widower.”

  Reid expected to hear the sadness in her voice, but the regret surprised him. “Did you ever entertain your father’s guests?”

  “On occasion, when I wasn’t away at Talcotts.” She turned. “I’ve ordered the coach to meet us in the courtyard at half past eight.”