by Tarah Scott
“By heavens,” she muttered.
She disentangled her fingers and yanked aside the curtain. She grasped her skirts, but hesitated. Climbing through the window was no difficult task, but climbing from the roof to the ground might prove too much despite her improvement. She scanned the lane between the inn and the stables, but the intruder didn't appear as expected.
Phoebe hurried to the door and, a moment later, reached the hallway’s end and crept down the stairs. At the bottom, she paused and listened to the silence for a moment, then headed for the kitchen door. Once outside, she sidled alongside the building to the corner. The lane between the inn and the stables stood empty. She hurried to the stables, around the building, and located a stall door. Phoebe eased open the bolt on the upper half of the Dutch door. When no sound came from within the stall, she opened the door and reached inside for the bolt that locked the lower half. The bolt held firm. She pressed harder, with no better luck.
Phoebe grasped her skirts and hoisted herself up and over the door into the hay-littered stall, then eased the door shut. She inched forward until her outstretched hand contacted the far wall and felt her way to the stall door leading into the main part of the stable. The metal of the bolt was cool beneath her fingers and she held her breath while easing it free. A tiny creak of hinges sounded behind her. Phoebe jerked her head around in time to see the upper door she had entered through opening. Her heart thudded. The door opened more and a large figure became visible in the doorway.
“Heddy,” came a harsh whisper.
Despite recognizing Kiernan MacGregor’s voice, Phoebe knew an instant of confusion.
“Come here,” he commanded.
Before she could respond, a door creaked and muffled voices broke the silence within the stables. Kiernan muttered something incoherent and she startled when he hoisted himself over the door and started toward her.
Upon reaching her, he grasped her arm and yanked her to him as he whispered, “What in blazes are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same,” she retorted.
“No, you could not.”
She started to reply, but the voices grew louder.
“Rest assured we will discuss this later,” he said.
“Nothing,” a low voice was saying. “I told ye they were too poor.”
“Did you search the fine gentleman’s room?” another said.
“Are you daft?”
Phoebe recognized Alan Hay’s voice.
“Hush,” the other said.
“Never mind,” Alan shot back. “No one inside the inn can hear us.”
“You didna’ find anything in the woman’s room?” the other voice asked in such a miserable tone Phoebe felt sorry for the speaker.
Kiernan’s hold on her arm turned painful.
“He was in your room?” Kiernan demanded in a harsh whisper.
Phoebe pressed a finger to his lips to quiet him. His free hand closed over her hand, but he stilled when Hay's companion said, “What are we to do next? We canna’ go on much farther without provisions.”
“We’ve come this far,” Alan replied. “We’ll make do the rest of the way.”
“But we have come only half way,” the other replied, “and ‘tis the easy half. The north is rough land.”
Kiernan’s lips tensed beneath Phoebe’s fingers.
“There will be plenty once we get there,” Alan said. “Just wait. We’ll make that bitch pay for what she and her kind have done to us—to us and every other Highlander.”
“I still say she’s got too much power,” another grumbled. “It won't be so easy.”
Alan laughed, low and cruel. “Even someone as powerful as the Duchess of Sutherland isn't invincible. She's seventy-two. She won't be hard to kill.”
Phoebe jerked. The duchess.
Kiernan pulled her hand to his chest. “Be still,” he hissed.
“Still…” the other man said.
“Are you a coward?” Alan demanded.
“I’m no coward,” he replied, “but I’m no fool either.”
“If you don't have the stomach for it, get out now,” Alan said.
“I didn't say I wanted out,” the accused said sullenly.
A sound like that of a slap on the back was followed by, “It's been difficult, George. You lost the wee one and Shannon hasn't been the same since.”
“I should have left her with her father in MacEwen territory,” George answered.
“We agreed,” Alan said, “no one suspects us with the women along.”
Phoebe drew a quick breath. Kiernan must have understood her horror, for his free hand shot around her waist and he gave her a squeeze. She felt the hard shape of the pistol stuffed into his belt and wished mightily for an opportunity to aim it at the men who sacrificed women and children for their own ends.
“What’s done is done,” Alan said. “It served its purpose.”
Phoebe started at sight of another figure appearing in the doorway through which Kiernan had entered.
He backed her into the corner. “Stay here,” he ordered.
The man in the doorway disappeared as Kiernan hurried back to the door that opened into the stables. He pulled the pistol from his waistband and, in unison with the groan of the main stable doors abruptly opening, yanked open the stall door.
“Lay down your weapons in the name of the Marquess of Ashlund!” a man yelled.
Kiernan lunged into the stables and out of her view.
Phoebe rushed forward as Alan Hay’s voice boomed above the female screams, “Lads! Dinna let them—"
A shot rang out.
She skidded to a halt in the doorway. Mather stood between the robbers and the main stable door, gun raised heavenward, smoke rising from the barrel. Six men in a semi-circle around the robbers pointed weapons at them.
The women screamed again and Phoebe’s snapped her gaze upward. The women cowered away from the edge of the loft. Two of Hay’s men dropped to their knees, their drawn weapons falling to the ground beside them. The man standing beside Alan Hay whirled toward Kiernan. Kiernan halted as the man thrust a hand inside his coat.
Phoebe’s heart leapt. Kiernan leveled his pistol. A heartbeat passed and she thought in that horrible instant that Kiernan had somehow frozen. The man pointed his revolver. She opened her mouth to shout a warning, but Kiernan fired. The man twisted to the side and blood stained the shirt at his shoulder even before he crumpled to the ground. Alan Hay dropped to his knees beside his comrades and Kiernan motioned the women from the loft. They backed away from the edge, but when one of his men moved toward the ladder, the first woman started down.
“Take them to the salon,” Kiernan instructed his men.
Once the women descended, they pleaded innocence for their men. Phoebe glanced left at the pitchfork leaning against the wall and decided it might do for herding them out the door. She froze at seeing the barrel of a revolver suddenly protrude from the stall to her right. Muscular fingers gripped the weapon, and an arm followed, the weapon aimed at her.
She met the eyes of the gun’s owner. His face, devoid of emotion, chilled her. She grabbed for the pitchfork. He leapt forward, knocked the handle from her grasp, and jammed the barrel of the revolver against her neck.
“Nay, lassie,” he said in such a reasonable tone, he might have been cautioning her against paying too much for a scarf at the market.
He snaked an arm around her waist and tugged her close while backing away from the stall and from his comrades. The women were at last being led toward the main door, but Charlotte looked over her shoulder and her eyes widened. Kiernan glanced over his shoulder.
His attention centered on Phoebe’s assailant as he turned and took a step in their direction. “You don’t have to do this, lad.”
“Dinna’ come any closer,” the man warned.
Kiernan halted. A hushed tension hummed through the room.
“Where are you taking them?” The man’s chin brushed the back of Ph
oebe’s head when he motioned toward the women.
“What do you hope to accomplish?” Kiernan said. “You won't get ten feet.”
“I will get ten feet and more.” The man pulled Phoebe closer. “Me and my friends.”
“Ye tell him, Robbie,” one man yelled before he was silenced by a pistol leveled at his head.
“I can't let you take her.” Kiernan took a step left and forward.
“You want her dead?” the man demanded.
Kiernan angled his head slightly. “I don't think you want to kill her.”
“I’ve done many things I didn't want to do,” Robbie replied.
“That’s right, m’lord,” said Alan Hay. “We’ve done many a thing we didn't like. Don't think we won't do so again.”
“Aye,” Kiernan agreed, taking another step forward and to his left, “but I don’t think one of them was murder.”
The man’s hold on Phoebe tightened and she wondered if Kieran had miscalculated in assuming the man’s conscience was free of murder. Kiernan took another step forward, and Phoebe’s assailant shifted to the right.
“You aren’t like the duchess,” Kiernan said. “She is the one capable of hurting innocents, not you.” When the man made no reply, Kiernan went on. “It’s a hard line to walk, seeking justice against one so powerful.”
“Watch him, Robbie,” Alan called. “You have them right where we want them. Don't be taken in by his soft manner.”
“We haven’t a prayer in heaven,” the man said as if he hadn’t heard Alan.
“Aye,” Kiernan agreed. “You haven’t a prayer of committing murder. But justice is another matter.”
Robbie laughed bitterly. Alan opened his mouth to say more, but Mather shoved the barrel of his pistol against the man’s temple. Robbie retreated a step. Alan looked at him, and Phoebe read the message conveyed in his eyes: take no prisoners. She shifted her gaze to Kiernan and sent him her own message: be ready. Surprise flickered across his face and his eyes narrowed in a command to remain still, but she jammed her elbow into the ribs of her captor and shoved the gun barrel pressed against her neck heavenward.
No shot rang out as she broke free. Kiernan leapt forward. He caught her, pushed her aside, and lunged for Robbie. Kiernan rammed his fist into Robbie’s jaw. Robbie staggered back, arms flung out to his sides like a rag doll. Kiernan drove his left fist into the man’s abdomen. He doubled over and the gun jettisoned forward. Kiernan swung again and hit beneath Robbie’s jaw.
Phoebe leapt to her feet. “Stop him!” she yelled.
No one moved and she realized they had no intention of interfering. Kiernan grabbed Robbie by the collar and dragged him to his knees. Phoebe stumbled forward, latching onto Kiernan’s arm as it reared back for another blow. The force of his strength dragged her forward and she dangled at his side before his muscle relaxed enough that her feet touched the straw laden floor. He looked at her as if trying to recognize her.
“You'll kill him,” she whispered.
“Yes,” he answered just as quietly.
“But the pistol wasn't loaded.”
Doubt crossed Kiernan’s features.
“He intended no harm,” she said.
Kiernan’s fingers slowly unclenched as he lowered his arm and looked at Robbie. Utter silence reigned in the stable until Kiernan turned to Phoebe and said, “A simple request, Heddy. Stay in the stall.”
“I didn't leave it.” She released his arm.
His lips pursed and he gave a grim shake of his head. “You're splitting hairs.” His gaze abruptly shifted onto the men, “Mather,” he called. “Tie them up.” Then he swung her into his arms.
Phoebe cried out and threw her arms around his neck. Kiernan strode through the stall door and lifted her over the Dutch door through which they had entered and set her down. He vaulted over the door, then grasped her arm and pulled her toward the kitchen door of the inn. Once inside, he paused to open a drawer and rifled through it until he produced a wad of twine.
Phoebe’s pulse jumped. “What are you doing?”
Kiernan again swept her off her feet and stalked from the kitchen.
"Put me down," she ordered, but he didn't slow his march down the hallway. Phoebe thrashed, but his hold tightened so that she felt as if bands of steel crushed her against stone—stone that smelled of sandalwood and man, and radiated a warmth that brought a rush of heat to her stomach. "Sir," she managed, but only the powerful thump of his heart answered as he took the stairs two at a time.
At her room, he threw open the door, crossed to the bed, and tossed her onto the mattress. She bounced and tried to gain her balance, but Kiernan grabbed her hands. He hesitated, and relief shot through her at the thought he had come to his senses. But he released one hand and snatched a napkin from the nightstand, then wrapped it around her wrists in one quick motion.
“You can't be serious!” she cried, but his gaze remained fixed on winding the twine around her napkin-protected wrists.
Phoebe jerked her hands, but Kiernan yanked the knot closed too quickly.
“That hurts,” she cried.
He made another knot and yanked harder.
“How dare you!” She struggled against the ties.
Kiernan responded by winding the two ends of the twine around the bedpost and finishing off with another knot. Phoebe stared, dumbfounded as he stared back, blue eyes startlingly dark, and chest lifting and falling with each heavy breath he took. His gaze dropped to her breasts, inches from his face.
She flushed. "You can't," she began, but he shoved away from her and strode to the door.
“In a few minutes, Mather will be outside your door,” he said without looking back, then slammed the door as he left.
CHAPTER FIVE
Phoebe shifted against the bed pillows and glanced at the mantle clock. Ten minutes before six. Her gaze fell to the low burning embers in the hearth. Morning was upon them and the commotion of the earlier hours had long since died. Yet, as Kiernan MacGregor promised, Mather stood outside her door. Mather had shown the good sense to untie her before positioning himself as guard. Her first thought had been that Kiernan regretted his rash outburst of temper, but Mather’s, “You ought not to have ignored his commands, Miss,” did away with any notion that his master had enough sense to comprehend his sin.
A perfunctory knock sounded on the door, then it opened and the object of her anger filled the doorway. Phoebe straightened.
“My one burning question, Heddy,” he said, closing the door as he stepped inside—she noted Mather no longer stood outside the door—“is why you were following Alan Hay?”
“That offense didn't warrant you tying me up as if I was the criminal,” she retorted.
Kiernan snorted. “I would have done far worse if you were a criminal.” He strode to the chair to the right of her bed and sat down. “Answer the question.”
“If I answer incorrectly, will you tie me up again?”
“I might.”
Phoebe forced herself to relax against the pillows and raised a brow. “A simple case of ennui.”
He blinked, and Phoebe feared she had earned another trussing up, then his expression grew speculative. The look abruptly disappeared and he settled into a corner of his chair.
He draped an arm over the chair’s back and drawled, “Ennui, you say?”
Despite his lazy expression, Phoebe was startled by the decided lack of interest in his voice. “Yes,” she replied.
He gave a single nod. “Your quest for adventure nearly got you killed, my dear.”
“It was an exciting adventure,” she rejoined in a bright voice. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Indeed.”
“Indeed,” she emphasized.
“I am pleased,” Kiernan said.
Phoebe frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“This fine bit of coquettish flirting.”
She stiffened. He was right, which made the analysis all the worse. “This isn't an evening b
all,” she snapped.
“And I am not an earl.”
“You could be a merchant—or a farmer—for all I care." Phoebe narrowed her eyes. "Who are you? You keep company with Lord Stoneleigh, which means you're not lowborn, and the villagers here look to you for leadership. You are no merchant—or a farmer, for that matter."
He laughed. "If I was a merchant, would my money be enough for you, or is a title required?"
She forced her temper back. "Sir, I understand you believe I am Hester—”
He coughed as if to clear his throat.
Phoebe crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “I understand you believe I am Hester and that you're doing your friend a service.”
“Heddy.” He leaned forward and reached for the hand she had stuffed beneath her arm.
Phoebe stiffened, but he pried the hand free and lifted it to his lips. His mouth against her hand caused her pulse to jump and warmth spread up her cheeks. His eyes registered curiosity, but he released her hand and reclined in his chair.
“Forgive me for laughing,” he said.
“I can forgive the mistaken identity—as inconvenient as it is—but tying me up goes beyond the pale.”
“I'm pleased to have your forgiveness, regardless of the reason.”
“When this escapade is finished, you will find yourself at a disadvantage.”
“Heddy,” he said with resignation, “I find myself at a disadvantage now.”
She gave him a dry look. “I doubt that. When do you plan on sending word to the authorities of the murder plot against the duchess—or have you already done so?”
“No need to concern yourself with that.”
"But—my God, you don't intend to report them. You will stand idly by while a murder is planned and executed?”
“What is one murder in exchange for fifteen thousand?" he replied. "Or do fifteen thousand Highlanders hold less value to you than a single noblewoman?” He paused. "Perhaps, the gratitude of the duchess' male relatives interests you more?”
