Highland Sinner

by Hannah Howell

  Chloe kissed her sister’s ice cold cheek and then wept as she felt the last flicker of life flee Laurel’s bone-thin body. Pushing aside the grief weighing upon her heart like a stone, she prepared Laurel for burial. The sun was barely rising on a new day when she stood by her sister’s grave, her sturdy little mare packed with her meager belongings, a goat tethered to the patient mount, and the baby settled snugly against her chest in a crude blanket sling. One wind-contorted tree was all that marked Laurel’s grave upon the desolate moors. Chloe doubted the wooden cross she had made would last long and the rocks she had piled upon Laurel’s grave to deter scavengers would soon be indistinguishable from many another one dotted about the moors.

  “I will come back for you, Laurel,” Chloe swore. “I will see you and little Charles Henry buried properly. And this wee pauper child you hold will also have a proper burial right beside you. It deserves such an honor.” She said a silent prayer for her sister and then turned away, fixing her mind upon the long journey ahead of her.

  When, a few hours later, Chloe had to pause in her journey to tend to the baby’s needs, she looked across the rutted road at the huge stone pillars that marked the road to Collinsmoor, the home of the child she held. She was tempted to go there to try to find out exactly what was happening. The village had been rife with rumors. Chloe knew it would be foolish, however, and remained where she was, sheltered among the thick grove of trees on the opposite side of the road which would lead her to London and her cousin Leopold.

  Just as she was ready to resume her journey, she heard the sound of a horse rapidly approaching. She watched as a man recklessly galloped down the London road and then turned up the road to Collinsmoor to continue his headlong race. He made quite a show, she mused. Tall and lean, dressed all in black, and riding a huge black gelding, he was an imposing sight. The only color showing was that of his long, golden brown hair, his queue having obviously come undone during his wild ride. His lean aristocratic face had been pale, his features set in the harsh lines of deep concern. He was the perfect portrait of the doting husband rushing to join his wife and welcome their child. Chloe thought of the grief the man would soon suffer, believing that his child was dead, and the grief yet to come when he discovered the ugly truth about the woman he loved. And wondered how it might change the man.

  She looked down at the infant in her arms. “That was your papa, laddie. He looked to be a fine man. And up the road lies your heritage. Soon you will be able to lay claim to both. On that I do swear.”

  With one last look toward Collinsmoor, she mounted her horse and started to ride toward London. She fought the strange compelling urge to follow that man and save him from the pain he faced. That, she knew, would be utter folly. Fate demanded that the man go through this trial. Until his lordship saw the truth, until he saw his lady wife for exactly what she was, Chloe knew that her duty, her only duty, was to keep this child alive.

  A fortnight later she knocked upon the door of her cousin Leopold’s elegant London home, not really surprised when he opened the door himself. He looked down at the baby in her arms.

  “Welcome, Anthony,” he said.

  “A good name,” Chloe murmured.

  “’Tis but one of many. The notice of his death was in the papers.”

  Chloe sighed and entered the house. “And so it begins.”

  “Aye, child. And so it begins.”

  Chapter 1

  London—Three Years Later

  Struggling to remain upright, Julian Anthony Charles Kenwood, ninth earl of Collinsmoor, walked out of the brothel into the damp, foul London night. Reminding himself of who he was was not having its usual stabilizing effect, however. His consequence did not stiffen his spine, steady his legs, or clear the thick fog of too much drink from his mind. He prayed he could make it to his carriage parked a discreet distance away. While it was true that he had been too drunk to indulge himself with any of Mrs. Button’s fillies, he had felt that he could at least manage the walk to his carriage. He was not so confident of that anymore.

  Step by careful step he began to walk toward where his carriage awaited him. A noise to his right drew his attention but, even as he turned to peer into the shadows, he felt a sharp pain in his side. Blindly, he struck out, gratified to hear a cry of pain and a curse. Julian struggled to pull his pistol from his pocket as he caught sight of a hulking shadowy form moving toward him. He saw the glint of a blade sweeping down toward his chest and stumbled to the left, crying out as the knife cut deep into his right shoulder. A stack of rotting barrels that smelled strongly of fish painfully halted his fall backward.

  Just as he thought that this time whoever sought to kill him would actually succeed, another shadowy form appeared. This one was much smaller. It leapt out of the thick dark to land squarely upon his attacker’s back. As Julian felt himself grow weaker, he finally got his pistol out of his pocket, only to realize that he could not see clearly enough to shoot the man who had stabbed him. Even now the pistol was proving too heavy for him to hold. If this was a rescue, he feared it had come too late.

  Chloe held on tight as the man who had stabbed the earl did his best to shake her off his back. She punched him in the head again and again, ignoring his attempts to grab hold of her, as she waited for Todd and Wynn to catch up with her. The moment they arrived she flung herself from the man’s back and let Leo’s burly men take over the fight. She winced at the sounds of fists hitting flesh, something that sounded a lot more painful than her fist hitting a very hard head, and hurried to the earl’s side.

  He did not look much like the elegant gentleman she had seen from time to time over the last three years. Not only were his fine clothes a mess, but also he stank of cheap liquor, cheap women, fish, and blood. Chloe took his pistol from his limp hand, set it aside, and then, with strips torn from her petticoats and his cravat, bound his wounds as best she could. She prayed she could slow his bleeding until she could get him to Leo’s house and tend to his injuries properly.

  “Need him alive,” Julian said, his voice weak and hoarse with pain. “Need to ask questions.”

  Glancing behind her, Chloe saw the man sprawled on the ground, Todd and Wynn looking satisfied as they idly rubbed their knuckles. “Did you kill him?”

  “Nay, lass, just put him in a deep sleep,” replied Wynn.

  “Good. His lordship wants to ask him a few questions.”

  “Well enough then. We will tie him up and take him with us.”

  “My carriage—” began Julian.

  “Gone, m’lord,” replied Chloe. “Your coachman still lives and we have him safe.”

  “Wynn’s got the other man,” said Todd, as he stepped up to Chloe. “I will be toting his lordship.”

  Julian tried to protest as he was picked up and carried like a child by the big man, but no one heeded him. He looked at the small figure leading them out of the alley and suddenly realized that one of his rescuers was a woman. This has to be some delusion brought on by too much drink, he thought.

  When he was settled on a plush carriage seat, he looked across at his coachman. Danny’s head was bloody, but his chest rose and fell evenly proving that he still lived. The small woman climbed into the carriage and knelt on the floor between the seats, placing a hand on him and the other on Danny to hold them steady as the carriage began to move.

  “Who are you?” he asked, struggling to remain conscious and wondering why he even bothered.

  “Hold your questions for now, m’lord,” she replied. “Best they wait until we can sew you up and some of that foul brew you wallowed in tonight is cleared out of your head and belly.”

  His rescuer obviously had little respect for his consequence, Julian thought, as he finally gave in to the blackness that had been pulling at him.

  Chloe sat in a chair by the bed and sipped her coffee as she studied the earl of Collinsmoor. He smelled better now that he had been cleaned up, but his elegant features held signs of the deep dissipation he had sunk hims
elf in for the last year. She had been disappointed in him and a little disgusted when he had begun to wallow in drink and whores, but Leopold had told her that men tended to do such things when they had suffered betrayal at a woman’s hands. Chloe supposed that, if her heart had been shattered so brutally, she too might have done something foolish. Yet, rutting like a goat and drinking oneself blind seemed a little excessive.

  Even so, she had to wonder if the earl was lacking in wits. Three times before this he had nearly been killed, yet he had continued to do things that left him vulnerable, just as he had done two nights ago. Did he think he was simply a very unlucky man? She had hoped he knew he was marked for death, and at least had some idea of the who and the why. Chloe did not look forward to trying to get the man to heed her warnings, but Leopold felt they could no longer just keep watch over the man, that it was time to act.

  For little Anthony’s sake she had agreed. The boy saw her and Leo as his family. The longer that was allowed to continue, the harder it would be to reunite him with his father. Her heart would break when that happened, but she was determined to see that Anthony did not suffer unduly. The boy also needed his father alive to help him claim his heritage and hold fast to it. Between the earl’s increasingly dissipated ways and his mother’s greed, Anthony would not have much heritage left to claim unless this game was ended very soon. That was unacceptable to her. Anthony was innocent in all of this and did not deserve to suffer for the follies of his parents.

  She smiled at her cousin Leopold when he ambled into the room. Leopold never seemed to move fast, appearing permanently languid in his every action, but it suited his tall, almost lanky, body. Those who did not know him well thought him an amiable but useless fellow living off the wealth of his forefathers. Appearances could be deceptive, however. Leopold had been indefatigable in his surveillance of the Kenwoods, had gathered up reams of information, had assembled a large group of associates who were all dedicated to keeping the earl alive and getting proof of who was trying to kill him, and was himself responsible for saving the man’s life three times. England also benefited from dear Leopold’s many skills, for he was one of their most dedicated and successful agents. Chloe wondered at times if there was something about the earl’s enemies that made Leopold think they might be a threat to England as well, but she never asked. Leopold held fast to the country’s secrets.

  “He will live,” Leopold said, after carefully examining Lord Kenwood’s wounds.

  “Again. The man has more lives than a cat,” Chloe drawled.

  “His enemies are certainly persistent.” Leopold lounged at the end of the bed, his back against the thick ornately carved post. “Clever, too. If not for us they would have won this game long ago, even after his lordship discovered the ugly truth about his wife.”

  “Ah, but not all the ugly truth.”

  “I think he suspects most of it. He already strongly suspects that that babe was not his get. And that his wife was never faithful to him, never much cared for him at all.”

  “How do you know all that?”

  “His best friend has become mine. Do not look so uneasy, love. I truly like the fellow. Met him the first time I saved this poor sot’s hide. Thought he could be useful, but quickly saw that he was a man I could call friend. Even more important—he was a man I could trust.”

  Chloe nodded and set aside her empty cup. “How much does this friend know?”

  “Nearly all. Guessed most of it himself. Since I was already disinclined to lie to the man, I implied that I had begun to look into the business after the second attempt on the earl’s life. He told me that was exactly when Lord Kenwood himself had begun to believe that his wife wanted him dead, that she was no longer happy just cuckolding him.”

  “Who is this friend?”

  “The honorable Sir Edgar Dramfield.”

  “Oh, I know him. I have met him at Lady Millicent’s on occasion. She is his godmother. A very good fellow. He is kinder to Lady Millicent than her own daughter is.”

  “He is a good man and he is very concerned about his friend. That is why I sent word to him this morning about Lord Kenwood’s injuries, asking him to keep it quiet. Very quiet. He will undoubtedly arrive soon.”

  “Are you sure that is wise? Lord Kenwood may not wish others to hear what we have to tell him.”

  Leopold sighed. “It was a hard decision. Yet, the earl does not know us at all, does he? He has, however, known Edgar all his life, trusts him, and has bared his soul to the man on a few occasions.”

  “Whilst deep in his cups, I suspect.”

  “That is usually when a man bares his soul,” Leopold drawled and then smiled at Chloe when she rolled her eyes. “I felt the earl would need a friend, Chloe, and Edgar is the only close one he has. We will be telling his lordship some very ugly truths and he needs to believe us.”

  “You said he already has his own suspicions,” Chloe began.

  “Suspicions do not carry the same weight, or wield the same blow to one’s heart. We will be filling in a lot of holes he may have concerning his suspicions and giving him proof. There is also one hard, cold fact we must present to him, one that would bring many a man to his knees. It would certainly cut me more deeply than I care to think about. We may also need Edgar to help us keep this fool from going off half-cocked and to convince him to allow us to stay in the game.”

  “What game?”

  Chloe joined Leopold in staring at Lord Kenwood in surprise. There had been no warning that he was about to wake up, no movements, not even a faint sound. When he attempted to sit up he gasped with pain and grew alarmingly pale. Chloe quickly moved to plump up the pillows behind him even as Leopold helped the man sit up and drink some cider doctored with herbs meant to stave off infection and strengthen the blood.

  “I know you,” Julian said after taking several slow, deep breaths to push aside his pain. “Lord Sir Leopold Wherlocke of Starkley.” He looked at Chloe. “I do not know you.”

  “Chloe Wherlocke. Leo’s cousin,” Chloe said.

  There was definitely a similarity in looks, Julian decided. Chloe was also slender, although a great deal shorter than her cousin. Julian doubted Chloe stood much higher than five feet, if that. She had the same color hair, a brown so dark it was nearly black, but her hair appeared to be bone straight whereas Leopold’s was an unruly mass of thick curls and waves. Chloe was also cute more than pretty, with her wide inky blue eyes. Julian nearly started in surprise when he suddenly realized where he had heard that low, faintly lilting voice before.

  “You were there,” he said. “When I was attacked.”

  “Ah, aye, I was.” Chloe decided it would be best not to tell the man just how she had known he needed her help. People often found her visions a little difficult to understand, or tolerate. “Me and Leo’s men, Todd and Wynn.”

  With his left hand Julian touched the bandages at his waist and shoulder. “How bad?”

  “You will live. The wounds were deep enough to need stitching, but are not mortal. They also cleaned up well, the bleeding was stopped fair quickly, and you continue to reveal no sign of a fever or an infection. You have also slept most peacefully for nearly two full days. All good.”

  He nodded faintly. “I should go home. I can have my man care for me and relieve you of this burden.”

  “That might not be wise,” said Leopold. “This is the fourth time someone has tried to murder you, m’lord. The ones who want you dead nearly succeeded this time. Indeed, they came closer than ever before. I think you might wish to consider letting them think that they have succeeded. The rumors of your sad fate have already begun to slip through the ranks of the ton.”

  Before Julian could ask just how Lord Sir Leopold knew this was the fourth attack on him he was surprised by the arrival of Edgar Dramfield. He watched his old friend greet Lord Leopold with obvious warmth and wondered when the two men had become such good friends. It surprised Julian even more when Edgar greeted Miss Wherlocke as though he h
ad known her for quite a while as well. Finally Edgar stepped up to the side of the bed and studied him.

  “Either the ones trying to kill you are completely inept or you are one very lucky man, Julian,” said Edgar.

  “’Tis a bit of both, I think,” replied Julian. “Have you come to take me home?” He frowned when Edgar looked at Leopold before answering and that man slowly shook his head.

  “Nay,” replied Edgar.

  “What is going on here?”

  Edgar sat in the chair Leopold brought to the edge of the bed. “We have decided that it is time this deadly game was ended, Julian. You have been attacked four times. Four times someone has tried to kill you. Your luck simply cannot hold. Do you really wish to continue to give them the chance to succeed? To win?”

  Julian closed his eyes and softly cursed. He was in pain, although he wondered what had been in that drink he had been given, for his pain was definitely less sharp than it had been when he had first woken up. Nevertheless, he was not in the mood to discuss this matter. And, yet, Edgar was right. He had been lucky so far, but this time, if not for the Wherlockes, he would be lying dead in a foul alley outside a brothel. And what the Wherlockes had to do with his troubles he did not know. He looked at Edgar again.

  “No, I do not want them to win, whoever they are,” he said.

  “I think you know exactly who is behind it all, Julian,” Edgar said quietly, his eyes soft with sympathy.

  Not ready to say the name, Julian turned his attention to the Wherlockes and frowned. “Just what do you have to do with all of this?”

  Chloe felt a pang of sympathy for the man. She knew the pain in his jade green eyes was not all due to his injuries. Even if he had lost all love for his wife, the betrayal still had to cut deep and she was soon to add to his wounds. As her cousin retook his seat at the foot of the bed, she clasped her hands in her lap and tried to think of just what to say and how best to say it.

  “I believe we can leave the explanations as to how we stumbled into this until later,” Leopold said.