Ann Lethbridge

by Her Highland Protector

  ‘Plimpton,’ Mr Gilvry said, ‘can you spare me a few moments?’

  The valet looked distinctly worried. He put down the boot and his brush and nodded.

  ‘In the butler’s pantry, if you don’t mind. So we can be private.’

  Now the man looked panicked. He followed them out of the kitchen and into the little room on the other side of the passage. Mr Gilvry closed the door behind them.

  ‘I’ll get straight to the point, Plimpton. Do you have any idea where we can find your master?’

  ‘Mr Murray, sir?’

  ‘Do you have another master?’

  Plimpton flushed red. ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Plimpton,’ Jenna said, gently, ‘it is most urgent that we locate him. He might be in danger.’

  The small man’s eyes widened. ‘He went out before it was light, miss. Seemed in high good humour, when he set off. Very pleased with himself.’

  ‘So he did not tell you where he was going?’ Gilvry asked.

  ‘No, sir. But you could ask Jemmy, his groom.’

  Niall raised a brow at Jenna and she nodded. ‘Thank you, Plimpton. You have been most helpful.’

  The man looked worried. ‘You think he is in some sort of trouble, sir?’

  ‘Hopefully, not.’

  They left and headed for the stables. The place was in turmoil preparing for the departure of two of their guests. Niall pulled Campbell aside. ‘Which one is Murray’s groom?’

  Campbell groaned. ‘Don’t tell me he is going, too.’

  ‘No. Murray went out early this morning. We want to know where he went.’

  Campbell looked surprised, but didn’t question further. He scanned the stables. ‘There in the corner, keeping out of the way. Good at that he is.’ He stepped back as a coach began its wide turn into the courtyard, the coachman yelling orders and curses at the grooms at the horses’ heads.

  ‘Wait here,’ Niall said to Jenna. ‘I’ll bring him outside. Better yet, wait for me in my office, we’ll be out of the way there.’

  Jenna nodded and, sidling around the coach, headed across the courtyard and into the secretary’s domain. He looked up from his papers and huffed and puffed to his feet despite her signal that he should not rise. ‘Good morning, my lady.’

  ‘Good morning, Mr McDougall. How are you today?’

  He wiped his red damp brow. ‘Well, my lady.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Where is Mr Gilvry’s desk?’

  He pointed through a low doorway. ‘Through there, my lady. But he is not here yet. Shall I have him sent for?’

  ‘Not necessary. He is on his way.’

  She wandered through the doorway and perched on a wooden chair, glancing around her at the ledgers and piles of papers. It wasn’t exactly luxurious surroundings. She could not imagine working in here all day, confined to one place.

  A few moments later, Mr Gilvry strode in accompanied by a rangy-looking individual in flashy bright-blue livery. Lank brown hair flopped over an extraordinarily high forehead. He paused when he saw Jenna, then stood straight-shouldered with his hands behind his back. ‘How can I help you, sir, my lady?’ He bowed.

  ‘We are looking for Mr Murray,’ Niall said. ‘Do you have any idea where he was headed when he left here this morning?’

  There was a lively interest in his eyes, but he shook his head. ‘He asked me not to say, sir, should anyone enquire.’

  Jenna felt a sense of relief. ‘Then you do know.’

  The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is there something wrong, my lady?’

  ‘He may have put himself at risk for a rather nonsensical wager. I am hoping to stop it before he puts himself in danger.’

  The man muttered something she did not quite catch. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘He was more or less saying that you might be out of luck,’ Niall said, grinning.

  The man turned red. ‘I beg your pardon, my lady. I’ve known Mr Murray since he was naught but a lad in short coats. I wasn’t much older myself. And there’s not much hope of stopping him once he has the bit between his teeth.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I think we should at least try,’ she said. ‘Before any harm comes to him.’

  ‘He was planning to hire a boat down at the quay. He’s a good sailor, he is. Never met a boat he couldn’t handle.’ The man managed to look both proud and morose. ‘I like to keep my feet on dry land.’

  ‘Which is why he went alone,’ Niall said.

  The man looked embarrassed. ‘Yes, sir. He said he’d leave the horse at the White Rose and find a boat in the harbour. He wanted to get down there before they set out for the day. I thought he was going fishing, but now I think on it, he would have taken the carriage and his gear. He never fishes without his own rods.’

  ‘He had a different kind of catch in mind,’ Niall said. ‘That’s all. Thank you for your help.’

  The man nodded sharply and left.

  ‘Let’s hope that he told whoever rented him a boat which way he was headed.’ Niall went to the hook beside the door and pulled down a greatcoat.

  ‘I suppose we must start at the White Rose,’ Jenna said, rising to her feet.

  Niall shook his head. ‘I think not, my lady. I could not ask for the carriage, not with all that going on out there.’

  ‘Please, Niall. This is my fault. I swear I will obey your every command.’

  A twinkle lit his eyes, a flash of amusement quickly quelled. ‘Those footpads are still on the loose. I cannot guarantee your safety.’ His gaze narrowed. ‘You will give me your word to remain here. You will only make my job all the harder and the longer I stand here arguing, the longer it will take me to find Mr Murray.’

  He was not going to give in. She could see the determination in his face. And he was right. The longer they argued, the more danger for Murray. She huffed out a breath. ‘Very well. I give you my word. I will stay here as long as you promise to send word the moment you have news.’

  He grabbed his hat from the desk. ‘I will.’ He gave her a long look. ‘Don’t worry. He will return safe and sound.’

  His look said everything. Trust me. Do not worry. And to her surprise, she did. She let him usher her out of the door and watched him enter the stables to call for his horse. She felt an odd sense of longing. A wish that Mr Murray was more like him.

  A disloyal thought about a man who would likely soon become her husband. It was wrong to wish things were different. She was Lady Jenna Aleyne and she would do her duty.

  Chapter Eight

  Jenna paced the library. Her tea tray, which the butler had delivered a few minutes before, sat untouched on the table beside a letter she had dashed off to Mr Hughes telling him to expect her very soon.

  She stopped pacing and glanced out of the window in hopes of glimpsing a messenger from Wick. It was far too soon to expect word. Mr Gilvry hadn’t been gone more than an hour. Still, she couldn’t help hoping. She kept imagining poor Mr Murray lying injured at the base of a cliff with no one to help him and she wanted to murder Mr McBane all over again. And to think she’d actually preferred the man to the others.

  The door opened behind her.

  She spun around. Mr Gilvry. Alone. ‘Is he with you?’

  ‘No. He left on the tide this morning in a boat he hired from one of the fisherman. Him and a boy.’

  Her heart sank to her feet. ‘And he hasn’t returned?’

  His expression was grim. ‘The tide won’t fill the harbour for a good hour or more, but I found a man who has a boat anchored in deep water. He’s going to search for him, first to the north, where we believe he went, and then south. He and his crew know these waters well. They will find him.’

  ‘You didn’t think you should go with them?’

  ‘No. They know what they are about. I would only be in the way. I thought you would like to know what I discovered.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Thank you.’ She looked at him standing there so tall and confident and tried to feel better. ‘I will never forgive myse
lf if anything happens to him. Never.’

  ‘It is more my fault than yours. If I had not told you about the contest, it would never have entered anyone’s head to do anything so foolish.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Let us put blame where it is due. McBane set all this in motion quite deliberately.’

  A small smile curved his lips, making him look more boyish, less stern. ‘I agree. The man’s a blasted troublemaker.’

  ‘And I am well rid of him. Would you like tea? You look as if you could use something to lift your spirits, and it is fresh. Unless you would prefer whisky?’

  ‘Tea would be welcome. Thank you.’

  She sat down, gesturing for him to take a seat. She poured tea into a cup. ‘I suppose there is nothing more we can do.’ She handed him his cup and poured her own.

  ‘No. Mr Murray is a good sailor according to the man who hired out his boat. The boy he took with him knows the coast well and the seas are quite calm. He will either sail back on his own, or he will be found.’

  She took a deep breath and smiled. ‘Thank you for offering such comfort.’

  He sipped at his tea. ‘It is no more than the truth.’

  ‘I think you are not a man to prevaricate.’

  He set the cup in the saucer with a sharp clink of china. He pressed his lips together as he stared at the cup and saucer, so dainty in his large hands. ‘I did not speak the truth when I told you about the contest.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  He looked at her. ‘Oh, there was a contest, all right. And my brothers looked forward to it every year.’ He set the cup down on the table. ‘I did not. I hated it. The cliffs around Dunross are verra high, Lady Jenna.’ He inhaled a deep breath through his nose, the lines around his mouth deepening. ‘It was the height of them, no the birds, that sent me climbing at night.’

  ‘It worked, did it not?’ she said brightly, not understanding the grimness in his voice.

  ‘Aye, it worked. That once.’

  ‘But you still don’t like heights.’

  He looked away as if ashamed to meet her gaze. ‘I doubt Murray is so cowardly.’

  He thought he was a coward. ‘I don’t think Mr Murray has the sense to be afraid of anything.’ The words were out before she had thought about them. She’d only meant to comfort but, heavens help her, the words were probably true. She gave an uncomfortable laugh.

  ‘And you will marry him?’

  Was that regret she heard in his voice, or were her own feelings colouring her judgement? Her own longings that perhaps if things had been different... But they weren’t. If Braemuir was to be saved, she needed to marry a man of wealth. She folded her hands in her lap. ‘If he asks, I will say yes.’

  ‘He’d be a fool if he didn’t.’ The resignation in his voice seemed at odds with the compliment.

  She clasped her hands tighter. ‘I will never forgive myself if he has come to harm.’

  ‘Aye. Waiting is hard. It was the same when we were waiting for news of my brother, Drew. We were always hoping for the best, for my mother’s sake, but in his case we feared the worst.’

  The change of topic seemed welcome to both of them and so she followed his lead. ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘He went to America on family business. He went off on some adventure—so typical of Drew—and then we heard reports of his death. There was never any proof, but after a year with no word, it was clear he wasn’t coming back.’

  ‘How dreadful for your family.’

  He looked at her then, sorrow on his face. ‘He was our mother’s favourite. She still blames my older brother, Ian, for his death. For sending him abroad. But I blame myself, too.’

  ‘How could it be your fault?’

  His mouth tightened. ‘I put a foolish idea in his head.’ He stood up. ‘Full of ideas, I am. None of them good. Thank you for the tea, my lady. I think I will attend to some duties in the office while we wait for news.’

  She wanted to ask him to stay but she could see that their conversation had brought back unpleasant memories. They all had those. Things they would sooner not recall. Which was why she was so anxious to return to Braemuir. She had let the memories of her father’s sudden demise keep her away. It was time to face her ghosts. To return to the house she had loved as a child. Her home. Her true place in the world.

  ‘You will let me know as soon as there is any news?’

  ‘I will.’

  The sound of a cart on the cobblestones in the courtyard below caused him to lift his head and listen.

  Jenna ran to the window and looked down. ‘Oh, it seems we will not have to wait after all.’

  ‘Is it Murray?’ he asked from where he was standing.

  And she understood his reluctance to come to the window and look down. ‘I believe it is. Please, stay. I asked the butler to bring him up here the moment he returned.’

  Niall agreed with a nod and went to the hearth, leaning one elbow on the mantel as she returned to her seat. They were not required to wait long before a windblown and dishevelled Mr Murray was ushered in. His coat was torn, his neckcloth gone and there was a hole at the knee of his buckskins.

  He gave a doleful sniffle as he bowed. ‘Lady Jenna. Excuse my appearance.’ He made straight for the fire, held out his hands to it for a moment, then turned his back on it. He sneezed and swiped at his nose with what looked like the remains of his neckcloth.

  ‘Thank you for sending a boat to fetch me off,’ he said. ‘I holed the boat, bringing her in to the cove. On rocks below the surface.’ His expression darkened. ‘The lad I hired as a guide lied when he said he knew that part of the coast well.’

  She rose and went to Mr Murray with a smile that felt a little too bright, a little too stiff. ‘You don’t know how glad I am to see you safe and well, Mr Murray.’

  He took her hand in his. His fingers were freezing. ‘Thank you, Lady Jenna. Sadly, it seems I failed. I caught nothing but a cold.’

  Her heart gave a little thump of hope she did not quite understand as he stuffed a hand in his pocket, pulled out a soggy mess of cloth and held it out.

  Disappointment filled his face. ‘Your egg, my lady. I’m afraid it broke when the man Gilvry sent pitched me headfirst into the boat.’

  She looked down at the sticky mess of shell and broken egg in what had once been a fine lawn handkerchief, then darted a glance at Mr Gilvry whose mouth was set in a straight line.

  Her heart gave a painful twist. Regret. Sadness. Longing. A handful of painful feelings.

  Somehow she managed to smile at the dejected man before her. ‘The quest was to bring back an egg,’ she said. ‘There was no mention of it being whole, as I recall.’

  Mr Murray looked as if he didn’t quite believe her, then his face broke out in a charmingly boyish smile. ‘You mean I won?’

  ‘You completed the quest, Mr Murray.’

  He glanced down at himself and back at her. ‘I did, didn’t I? Capital.’ He took her hands in his. He went down on one knee. ‘Lady Jenna, will—?’

  Mr Gilvry made a sound of protest and turned his back. ‘Do you not think you should wait until you are private, man?’

  Mr Murray ignored him. ‘Lady Jenna, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’ He sneezed.

  She snatched her hands back, looking down at his earnest expression, his reddened nose. For one mad moment she almost said no. She closed her eyes briefly. Swallowed and managed a smile. ‘Thank you for the honour you do me, Mr Murray. Yes. I will.’

  Once more he sneezed.

  ‘I think a hot bath would be in order and a tisane,’ Jenna said. ‘Right away. Before you take a terrible chill.’

  Mr Murray shuddered. ‘Good Lord, yes.’ He got to his feet and bowed. ‘Thank you, Lady Jenna. You don’t know how happy you have made me.’ On those words he hurried to the door. ‘We will talk, later. When I feel more the thing.’

  ‘A mustard plaster sometimes works wonders,’ she said as he disappeared.

&n
bsp; There was an emptiness inside her. A coldness. She found she couldn’t look at Niall, not with the way the coldness seemed to rise in her throat and threaten to choke her. She went to the desk and picked up the letter she had penned earlier. ‘I wonder if you would mind delivering this note to the gypsy in the market, Mr Gilvry.’ Her voice sounded as cold as she felt. ‘I have a few words to add and it will be ready.’

  ‘Certainly, my lady.’

  There was something wrong with her vision. A blurring. She didn’t understand it. Everything was just as she had desired. A wealthy bridegroom safely netted. A man she could manage quite easily, she thought. A wedding in the offing. She blinked the tears away and signed the note informing the vicar that she would soon be returning with a new lord of Braemuir. She folded the paper and pressed it with the seal provided. It would have looked more important with her father’s seal, but that had been left at home, waiting for its new master.

  She should be rejoicing that she had at last kept her promise to her father, instead of feeling like the egg in Mr Murray’s handkerchief. Crushed. Annihilated.

  She held out the letter. Heard his heavy tread as he crossed the room to take it, the creak of floorboards, the stomp of his boot heels.

  ‘Lady Jenna,’ he said quietly, ‘Is something wrong? Is there anything I can do?’

  She schooled her face into indifference and looked at him. ‘Oh, no, Mr Gilvry. I think you have done everything possible.’ She just wished there wasn’t such a cold hard lump on her chest.

  ‘I’m glad you think so,’ he said in a low voice filled with pain.

  And when she looked at his face she saw the same pain in his eyes. The pain of regret. Regret for the wild emotions that had flared between them that must not be? Something neither of them had wanted? It did not do to dwell on such a thought. ‘Mr Murray is safely returned,’ she said around the ache in her chest. ‘And for that you will always have my gratitude.’

  ‘You are welcome, my lady.’ He bowed and took the letter.