Will gave Josette a look over his shoulder as he led Bhreac into a room that held a few stools and nothing more. He made a joke about elegant drawing rooms, but Josette caught the underlying message.
She hurried to the kitchen to explain what had happened and to keep the ladies quiet. The game had begun.
“Are they truly all gone, Will?” Bhreac asked as he sipped the ale Josette had brought in.
Josette had withdrawn, cheerfully saying she’d leave the menfolk to it, but Will knew she lingered outside, listening to every word. She didn’t trust Bhreac, which was wise, but even more, she didn’t trust Will. He knew he was considered a prisoner here, despite the fact he wasn’t chained or locked in.
“Aye.” Will decided to keep his answers simple. “Culloden finished us.”
Bhreac took a thoughtful sip of ale. “That means you are Duke of Kilmorgan now. If you’re the last.”
Will looked horrified. “No, no. I’m not interested in any duking. The title has probably already been taken by the crown, King Geordie thinking ‘good riddance to bad rubbish.’ I’ll stay plain Will Mackenzie, thank ye kindly.”
Bhreac continued to study him, interest in his light blue eyes. “But if you prostrated yourself before the king, claimed ye never took up arms against him—I don’t recall one man actually seeing you in battle—ye might be granted the title in your own right. Ye could save yourself and your family’s name.”
Will shook his head. “They’d never believe me. And I’m not falling on my knees in St. James’s Palace and begging for His Hanoverian’s forgiveness. The words would choke me.”
“Ah, I have it—ye dress up like a vacant-headed dandy and pretend you’re a long lost Mackenzie come to claim the land. Cousin to a cousin. Ye’ve been in Canada or some such place, and don’t even know who Charles Edward Stuart is.”
Will pretended to consider this. Bhreac was always full of schemes and scams, getting away with them by the skin of his teeth. “What about all the Highlanders who’d recognize me on the spot?”
“Ye take a house in London, put on a wig, and mince about with lots of flowing lace. No one will twig it’s you.”
Will had to grin. “The point of being Duke of Kilmorgan is Kilmorgan. I’d want to go home.”
As soon as Will said the word, longing gripped him. Unbidden came the memory of wind battering at the old castle, while inside, all was warm and filled with laughter—and because they were Mackenzies, shouting and arguing. The acrid odor of Alec’s paints, the bite of whisky when a ten-year-old cask was broached, the sound of the pianoforte coming to life under Will’s fingers—all flowed back at him and made him ache.
“Ye convince enough English lords you’re the true heir, and you’d be able to go to Kilmorgan,” Bhreac continued. “Your people there would know who ye truly were, aye, but they’d never betray you.”
That was true. Kilmorgan men were loyal. “Why are you so adamant I take the title back?” Will asked him. “Looking to touch me for cash?”
Bhreac raised his hands. “I know I usually have something up my sleeve, but not this time. I just hate to see ye turned to a vagabond, eking out an existence here.” He observed the bare stone walls and sticks of furniture in distaste. “Even when this was a proper home it was remote and melancholy. I remember it as a lad. If times are so hard, Will, go to the Americas. Always something for a resourceful man there.”
“You’re looking after me, as a friend, are you?”
“Why else?”
Will sent him a wise look. “When Bhreac Douglas gives ye fair words, beware.”
Bhreac looked hurt. “I’d never betray you, old friend. I owe you too much.”
Will sipped ale while he thought about how to answer, then he made a face and set down the tankard. First order of business—procure some decent drink.
“Yes, you would betray me if enough was in it for you,” Will said good-naturedly. “You have before. But you do owe me, in fact. Now might be time to call in some favors.”
“Ask away.”
Bhreac waited, his demeanor affable. He had to be up to something, because he generally was.
His clothes were threadbare and travel-worn, but they’d begun as a costly suit, tailored for him, if Will were any judge. Bhreac’s brown hair was thick and sleek, if dusty, the mane of a healthy man. He’d not fallen on hard times; he’d been wandering the Highlands for reasons of his own—with a giant dog Will had never seen before.
“Where did you get Beitris?” he asked.
“Won her.” The answer was too matter-of-fact to be a lie. “Dicing with fools in Glasgow. They kept her muzzled and hobbled, that afraid of her. But they had it in their heads she was a guard dog—she growled and lunged at them often enough. Can’t blame her. Poor thing just wanted a bit of a run in the open. She’s a hunting dog with the sweetest nature, which they’d have known if they’d bothered to release her.”
Bhreac had always been softhearted to animals and children, one reason Will had decided to rely on him on their first adventure long ago. Will had needed to warn a Highland man that the Black Watch was coming for him, but there were too many eyes on him. Bhreac, who’d sometimes worked for the Black Watch, had volunteered to take the message to the man to get himself and his wee daughters out of Scotland. Bhreac had completed Will’s mission with skill, and the two had become friends.
“Very well, ye’ve won me over,” Will said. “Ye can stay. First thing ye do is tramp over yonder hills and bring us back some decent ale and whisky. Maybe some oats so we can at least be eating bannocks. And if ye find any stray cattle, persuade them over this way. I’ll make ye a list.”
Bhreac laughed. He drained the last of his ale and wiped his mouth. “You’re putting me on procurement duty? That I can do. And then ye’ll tell me why you’re holed up here instead of in a mansion in France with that lovely bit of stuff. What can ye be thinking?”
The dog remained behind. She stayed near Josette as Bhreac pulled a tricorn hat down over his eyes and tramped away with a stout walking stick he’d cut from debris in the courtyard. He took the donkey that had pulled Will to the castle with him, needing it to help him carry back supplies.
Josette and Will—and the dog—watched him go from what had been a battlement over the main door.
“You know you gave him our only means of transportation,” Josette remarked, shivering in the cool breeze. She’d slung on a plaid shawl she’d found discarded in the castle, but it wasn’t much help—the fabric had worn thin long before their arrival. Beitris leaned on Josette’s legs and provided a bit of warmth. “Do you trust him?”
Will, characteristically, shrugged. “I have in the past. Doesn’t mean he’s entirely trustworthy, but he has no reason to betray me at the moment.”
* * *
“I haven’t heard you speak of him before.” Not that Will was forthcoming about all his acquaintance. He’d told Josette much when they’d pretended to be married a few years ago, but the name Bhreac Douglas hadn’t come up. Probably because it hadn’t been necessary.
“He’s a Borderlander,” Will said. “His family has switched sides more often than your morning bacon. If it’s expeditious to be loyal to the English, they are. When the Scots have the advantage, they’re back over to the other side. His ancestor, Margaret Douglas, niece to the wife-killer, Henry the Eighth, was quite the intriguer. Bhreac’s inherited some of that ability, though he mostly uses it to win at dice.”
“A harmless trickster, then?”
Will watched Bhreac disappear into the mist. “I wouldn’t say harmless. But he’s a font of information. The trick is to pry it out of him without giving away what you don’t want him to know.”
“Like the whereabouts of a hoard of French gold?”
“Exactly, my love.”
Will’s flashing glance made her shiver again, but this time not from cold. “He sounds much like you,” she said.
Will shook his head. “Not exactly.”
&nbs
p; “The trick is to pry it out of him without giving away what you don’t want him to know,” Josette repeated. “You try precisely the same strategy with me.”
He blinked. “Do I?”
“You know you do,” Josette said with conviction. “You tell me only what you wish. I’ve shared your bed and some of your life, and yet I know so little about you.”
Surprise flickered in his whisky-colored eyes. “Do you think so?”
“I know so. Sometimes you’re the Scot with the broad accent, wrapping yourself in plaid and rhapsodizing about bannocks. Sometimes you have no accent at all and dress in sober frock coats, going on about Latin historians and Sir Isaac Newton. Sometimes you speak as foul as a gutter urchin and gamble away your coins with tattered gloves. And then you’ll quietly watch a sunrise as though you’ve never seen anything so beautiful.” Josette took the sleeve of his shirt between her fingers. “Which of these is the real Will Mackenzie?”
A shadow crossed Will’s face, elusive, gone before Josette could catch it. “All of them,” he said softly. “And none of them.”
His hand went to her cheek, warm against the wind tugging at Josette’s hair and his frayed plaid.
Yesterday when he’d tried to touch her, Josette had stepped away. Today, Josette couldn’t stop herself from closing her eyes and leaning into him.
She’d missed him, desperately missed him, though she’d been the one to tell him to go.
If things had been different—if she’d not had Glenna to protect, if Will hadn’t insisted on chasing danger for the fun of it—she’d have gladly stayed with him. She’d have disguised herself as anyone he wished, joined him in his spying and intrigue, and laughed with him as they lay together in the night.
But she’d been a mother first and had known Will would never leave his perilous adventures behind him.
Will cupped her face with both hands. He traced her cheekbones with his thumbs, then his breath touched her mouth.
Josette snapped her eyes open. Will was so close, his eyes fixed on her like golden sunshine before his gaze flicked to her lips. Josette’s heart pounded as Will closed the distance between them and gently kissed her.
His lips parted hers cautiously, as though he expected her to shove him away, turn her head, or tell him to leave her be.
Josette’s reason said this was what she ought to do. Her heart and body, on the other hand …
She sank her fingers into his plaid and swept her tongue into his mouth, craving his familiar taste. Will stilled a moment, and then all his gentleness fled.
He dragged Josette against him, his hands hard on her back, and let the kiss turn fierce.
Chapter 6
God’s balls, how had he kept himself away from this woman? She was sensual heat, softness, all that was good in the world.
Josette closed her arms around him, anchoring him, as the wind tried to blow them from the wall, a Highland wind that couldn’t be bothered going around them.
The cold couldn’t prevail with Josette in Will’s arms, heating him like the best fire, her mouth a place of warmth. Her lips were smooth and tender, her kiss coaxing him to surrender, to throw away the complexity of his life and simply be with her.
It was tempting. If they’d been born in another place, another time, he’d even now be in a cozy room, in a bed, with Josette, laughing, conversing, kissing, making love.
He slid his fingers under her cap, finding the silk of her hair. She dressed like a prim matron, but he’d known her in a filmy chemise, her hair tumbling down, a shy smile on her face.
He hardened, his need for her overtaking all other senses. Will pulled her closer, and Josette came readily. Her gown under the shawl was thin, only a skirt and a petticoat between her and the world. No panniers and other underthings in so primitive a place. She felt him—he knew she did—because she stiffened.
Their mouths eased apart. “Will,” she whispered.
Admonition? Or wanting more?
Will decided he liked the second choice. He kissed her again, smiling into it when her hands moved down to his hips and then to his backside, which was bare under the scratchy breeches.
Her breasts rested against his chest, and all Will could think of was loosening her bodice and dragging it downward so he could kiss and lick her flesh.
Josette made a noise in her throat, her lips answering his, her body pliant under his hands. She wanted him, he realized with gladness. Wanted him the same intense way he wanted her. That had never changed between them.
A cold chill struck his side, and Will flinched, still tender from his earlier wounds. Josette pulled back with a gasp, and then began to laugh.
The dog had pushed between them, her blunt nose bumping Will through a tear in his shirt, clearly wanting her share of the attention.
Will’s amusement died when he saw Lillias at the top of the stairs, her skirts held free of the loose stones, her glare in place.
She turned her angry look to Josette but did not begin a tirade, to Will’s surprise. Perhaps she expected Josette to be locked in an embrace with Will as soon as she possibly could.
Josette flushed, tucking strands of hair back under her cap. She did not apologize, did not hasten to explain. One thing Will loved about Josette was that she never felt she needed to justify to others what she did.
Lillias made a noise of derision. “While ye’re enjoying yourselves, did ye think that maybe that man is off to tell soldiers we’re here?”
“He won’t,” Will said. “Bhreac looks out for himself and has no love for British soldiers.”
Josette finished straightening her cap. “She has a point, Will. If he seizes opportunities as you say, he might take money from the soldiers in return for information.”
“True. But if he brings the soldiers back, we’ll know right away that he means to betray us.”
Lillias’s eyes widened. “And we’ll be sitting ducks. The logic of a Mackenzie.”
Will busied himself petting the dog, enjoying the warmth of her wiry fur. “He won’t find us at all. There’s a fine view of the glen from here, miles and miles—soldiers can only come from that way.” He pointed across steep hills beyond the loch. “We’ll see them in plenty of time to escape out the back way.”
When Josette and Lillias looked at each other blankly, Will raised his brows. “Ye did scout out the escape route, did ye not? Och, ladies, you’re lucky I decided to help you.” He gave Beitris a final pat and headed for the stairs. “Well, come on then. I’ll guide ye through it. But bring a lantern or two. ’Twill be deadly dark.”
Josette’s curiosity rose as Will led them unerringly through the keep and down a set of broken steps that led to the old kitchens. These rooms were too ruined for use, which was why they’d moved their cooking space to the upstairs chamber with the newer fireplace.
Will halted at the remains of an old hearth and removed blocks to reveal a rectangular opening supported by stout columns of wood, gray with age. The columns were solid, cut from whole trunks and kept moist beneath the earth.
“Where did they find trees?” Josette asked, touching a pillar in wonder. The surrounding hills were bleak, no forests to be seen.
“Hauled them from elsewhere,” Will answered. “In the old days, Highland lairds had power, men, and wealth. We weren’t always poverty-stricken wretches.”
“I’m sorry,” Josette said quickly.
Will shrugged. “’Tis the way of things. No one is rich forever. Or poor forever. The world moves in cycles. A sine curve, my brother Mal would say, as though we all know what the devil he’s talking about.”
He ducked beneath the opening and signaled her to follow.
Behind Josette came Lillias, and behind her, the rest of the ladies, and Glenna and Beitris. Not one of them had wanted to remain in safety while Josette and Will explored, and she’d known it would be fruitless to ask them to. The English considered Highland men strong-willed—it was clear they’d never met Highland women.
; Josette of course had every right to order Glenna to stay behind, but she also knew that her daughter would wait until they were gone and follow anyway. Beitris stayed next to Glenna, Glenna already adoring her.
Will led them through the tunnel, the candle inside his iron lantern barely cutting the darkness. The feeble glow showed a passage of brick, strong and squared, running straight ahead of them.
“Every castle in these parts has a covert way out,” Will explained as they walked. “Ye never know when your neighbors will decide to besiege ye and try to starve ye into submission. This way, ye can flee, or at least bring supplies in.”
“If every castle has tunnels, doesn’t everyone know where they come out?” Josette asked. “Wouldn’t the neighbors simply be waiting at the other end?”
“Not if the castle dweller is clever. The ways are hidden, sworn to secrecy within the clan.” Will sent her a dusty grin. “I, too, lass, always wondered about that. Secrets must have leaked. But now, no one remembers. These days clan wars are arguments across tavern tables—or long, silent grudges.” Or Highlander betraying Highlander in the Uprising, but Will decided not to mention that.
“I’m glad I missed the old days,” Lillias said. “I barely have patience with the new days.”
“You’d have been pouring pitch down on the heads of rival clansmen with the best of them,” Will said. “Ah, here we are.”
They’d walked, by Josette’s calculations, a mile, perhaps more. Her feet were beginning to ache, and Glenna, the most curious girl on earth, had wondered out loud how much longer it would be.
Will kicked aside rubble and started to climb what looked like steps cut into the wall. They seemed precarious, but Will scrambled up without worry.
“Not far now.” He sounded undaunted, animated, as though he’d done nothing so entertaining in a long time.
Josette eyed the crumbling, rather slimy staircase in distaste. Will was clambering up in a merry way, and Josette did not want him to think her too fastidious to follow.
The Devilish Lord Will Page 5
