Highlanders

by Tarah Scott

  "But how—" she began, then understanding shone in her eyes. "Of course. Lord Redgrave has known all along where you were and apprised you of my…activities."

  "I’m sorry, Phoebe. There was no other way. I wasn't willing to risk your life by telling you the truth."

  She looked at Kiernan. "And you, sir, you weren't willing to risk your wife knowing too much about you?"

  "I have been honest about my intentions, Phoebe. I didn't know you were a spy until yesterday—which—" he laughed, "—doesn't speak highly of my deductive abilities."

  "How did you know that Redgrave knew of my whereabouts?" Mason asked her.

  "I didn't, until recently. Do you remember John Stafford?"

  Mason looked surprised. "Of course. He headed the operation to capture the Cato Street conspirators."

  "He died recently," she said.

  Mason’s eyes clouded. “He was a good man. But what has he to do with you?”

  "He sent me a journal of his private investigation into the allegations against you. He believed you were innocent."

  “Well, damn it all." Mason laughed. "Redgrave told me of the investigation. I should have known John would keep a thorough account. I suppose I also should have known my daughter would follow that trail.”

  “You were my final quarry," she said, "but I was headed for Tain.”

  “Ahh,” Mason said, “Galbraith, Redgrave's trail.”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you end up in Dornoch?” Kiernan asked.

  Phoebe lifted a brow. “Robbie.”

  “Robbie?”

  “The Achilty Inn?” she said.

  Kiernan groaned. “You have a knack for being at just the right place, my dear.” And he had to admit, he liked that.

  “It's in the blood," Mason said.

  “Quite right,” Kiernan said, and winked at Phoebe. “I'll have to remember that in the future.”

  "And I will have to remember that my husband is a schemer."

  "Phoebe—" he began, but she cut her gaze onto Mason.

  "Was my abduction your doing? Why concoct such a ridiculous scheme?"

  "That," he said, "was pure chance."

  Phoebe snorted. "I don't believe you."

  "Your kidnapping is exactly what it seems," Kiernan said. "And is all my fault," he added when she narrowed her eyes.

  "It's too fantastical," she said.

  "I did tell you that when I saw you that night, I intended to secure an introduction. If you hadn't been in that carriage, it would have only been a matter of time before I found you…and fell in love with you."

  Her lips parted in surprise and a blush reddened her cheeks. Kiernan was suddenly certain he would never tire of that reaction.

  "Have you lost your mind?" she demanded.

  "I lost my mind the night I waylaid your coach."

  The blush deepened and she cast an embarrassed glance at her father. There came a sharp rap on the door and it opened.

  “Forgive me,” Madam Duvall said, “but you have another guest.” She stepped aside and Kiernan straightened from the wall when the one man he didn't want to see stepped into the room.

  *****

  Phoebe shoved to her feet.

  Lord Ronald Harrington stopped three paces inside the room, his gaze locked on her father. “Tell your daughter and Lord Ashlund to relax. I wouldn't get a round off without receiving a bullet for my trouble.” He gave a gracious nod to Phoebe. “Miss Wallington is quite a good shot.”

  "That's Lady Ashlund," Kiernan said.

  Lord Harrington appeared surprised. "My congratulations."

  Phoebe tensed, then felt her father’s warm fingers grasp hers. Her heart pounded. What was Lord Harrington doing here? Alistair's words as written in John Stafford's journal raced to the forefront of her mind, "The criminals you deal with are nothing like Harrington. He has power and connections that are unimpeachable." What was Lord Harrington's part in her father being accused? Her father gently pulled her back onto the couch. and Lord Harrington's gaze shifted to him.

  “You are looking well, Wallington.”

  “You look as if you’ve eaten and drunk too much,” he replied.

  “The price of sitting at my desk so much. I wouldn't have thought of looking for you in Scotland," he said. "Clachair was rumored to be in France. Clachair: bricklayer, stonemason.” He raised a brow. "The name was simply too obvious.”

  Phoebe jerked her gaze onto her father. Clachair: Mason. She hadn't made the connection.

  He smiled softly, as if reading her mind, and said, “It took my daughter to find me.”

  Pain stabbed through her. She'd told Lord Redgrave her suspicions about Kiernan being in contact with Clachair, and the information had reached Lord Harrington. She squeezed her father's hand and he squeezed back.

  “Actually, she isn't responsible for my being here," Lord Harrington said. "You have Lord Ashlund to thank for us finding you. Mason, your association with him is just a fortunate happenstance." He looked at Kiernan. “Really, my dear boy, aiding criminals?” He made a tsking sound. “When wanted criminals began to disappear, we knew someone was helping them leave the country. We placed several individuals among the ranks of the rebel rousers who were complaining about the government’s financial endeavors in Scotland."

  “Wilson,” her father murmured.

  Lord Harrington lifted his brows. “He was one of our agents. I gather his disappearance was your doing?"

  “Yes, only we didn't kill him, but shipped him to a penal colony in Australia.”

  “Poor devil,” Harrington muttered.

  “Poor devil, indeed,” her father said. “He was a maniacal killer. What do you want, Ronald?"

  Phoebe's stomach knotted. What did he want? She opened her mouth to ask—demand—answers, but her father said, "You were a fool to come here. You must know it's not safe for you here.”

  Harrington gave him an indulgent look. “Surely, you don't think I was foolish enough to come here without informing someone?"

  “That is exactly what I think," her father replied. "It's likely the only person you informed was Mallory, and, should you not return, he would gladly consign you to the devil.”

  Lord Harrington laughed. “Mallory is a good fellow, but certainly not the man to trust in such matters.”

  Who might Harrington have trusted? Phoebe looked at Lord Stoneleigh. What was the earl doing here?

  “It is not I our dear Lord Harrington speaks of,” Lord Stoneleigh said, clearly noticing her glance. “I am but a spectator.”

  Lord Harrington snorted. “I am aware of the connection between Stoneleigh and Ashlund. I had no intention of entrusting my fate to him. Besides, it isn't Lord Stoneleigh wants.”

  “Perhaps not,” the earl agreed.

  Phoebe could no longer stand the suspense. “What's going on?” she demanded.

  “Later, my dear,” Kiernan said quietly.

  Before she could reply, Lord Harrington said to her father, “You stand accused of treason. It pains me, but the evidence against you is too great to ignore.”

  “Evidence you created,” she cut in.

  His eyes shifted onto her. "Beware, Lady Ashlund, you don't want to be found guilty of treason, as well."

  “There is a great deal of evidence that says my father isn't guilty, sir. But his innocence isn't the question. The question is: why are you here?”

  “He’s here to kill me,” her father said.

  “His attempt to assassinate you at the dock failed. I am asking why he is here, in this room.”

  “Lord Harrington has come to guarantee his safe retreat," Lord Stoneleigh said.

  “No one will accost you,” her father said. “None of our men, that is. I cannot vouch for others.”

  Harrington inclined his head. “That is all I ask.”

  Phoebe glanced around the room in shock. "You can't just let him go."

  Her father regarded her. “What would you have me do, kill him in cold blo
od?”

  “I-I don’t know, but to simply release him. What about the penal colony in Australia?”

  “A man of his stature would attract far too much attention,” Kiernan said.

  “By heavens,” she murmured.

  “Exactly,” her father replied."

  “It's time you retired, Mason,” Lord Harrington said.

  Her father smiled, and Phoebe glimpsed a hint of the young man whose portrait hung over the mantle in her uncle’s home. “I have no intention of allowing you to manipulate more men into the gallows.”

  "You and I both know Thistlewood was mad."

  "The ends do not justify the means."

  Lord Harrington straightened. “I am in the Queen’s service. It is my duty to seek out and destroy all dissidents.”

  “My God." Her father shook his head. "You’re as mad as Thistlewood was. Go home. You’ve done enough damage—” he glanced at her “—for a lifetime." He looked back at Harrington. "Don’t come back. I won’t be here, but others will be. And, Ronald, should you give me reason, I will return to England and kill you.”

  "You?" He gave a derisive laugh. "I wager you still don’t own a pistol."

  Her father stared, an answering glitter in his eyes. A thrill shot through Phoebe.

  "If I hear so much as a whisper from you against my daughter, I will kill you," he said.

  "Not to worry." Kiernan interjected. "I own a very respectable arsenal of pistols and I don't suffer the same aversion to violence that Mason does. Now, there's ship bound for England. I can get you aboard."

  Harrington’s jaw visibly tightened.

  “Excellent,” Her father stood and started toward the two men.

  Phoebe jumped to her feet. “Don't think for a moment you're leaving me behind.” She followed her father to the door.

  Kiernan grasped her arm. “My dear—”

  “Unless you intend on tying me up, I am going,” she said.

  "The idea does hold some appeal," he replied.

  "I assure you, sir, it does not."

  Kiernan sighed, and she disengaged her arm, then cast an inquiring look at her father. He smiled in amusement, then inclined his head in acquiescence.

  “You won’t accompany us, Regan?” Kiernan asked.

  The earl stretched his legs and shook his head. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll stay here and better acquaint myself with this establishment.”

  They headed out the door into the hallway where the bodyguard opened the front door for them. Phoebe started forward, but Kiernan grasped her arm.

  “If you don't mind,” he said, “Lord Harrington will go first.”

  “Then I will follow,” her father said.

  “Far be it from me to disagree with my father-in-law,” Kiernan replied, keeping a grip on her arm.

  “Ronald.” Her father waved him forward.

  “You have become suspicious in your old age,” Lord Harrington commented, and stepped from the house onto the walkway. He tugged his coat closed and began buttoning it against the chill afternoon air.

  Her father paused for a fraction of a second, then started out the door. Kiernan took a step forward.

  A shot rang out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  "Father!"

  Phoebe's shout blared in Kiernan's ears. He shoved her back through the door, then threw a backhanded punch at Harrington as a second shot blasted. Harrington slammed into the building and Kiernan lunged for Mason in the instant he hit the walkway. Kiernan jammed his arms beneath his shoulders and hauled him back through the door and out of view of the open door.

  Phoebe fell to her knees beside him. "He's been shot," she cried.

  Feet raced across the overhead floorboards. Kiernan glanced at the open door. Harrington was gone. He didn't like that any better than if Harrington stood there with a gun to finish off the job.

  Kiernan stripped off his coat and shoved it in front of Phoebe. "Staunch the blood."

  She looked at him, eyes dazed.

  "You've done it before," he shouted. "For me. Snap to, Phoebe."

  She grabbed the coat and he yanked the revolver from his waistband and flattened himself against the wall near the door. Cautiously, he peered around the doorjamb. Harrington was nowhere in sight.

  "God damn bastard," he cursed.

  "MacGregor," Mason said in a harsh whisper.

  "Father," Phoebe cried in unison with the snap of Kiernan's head in their direction.

  "Shh," Mason said. His eyes shifted to Kiernan. "Get her to safety."

  "I'm not leaving you," she said through tears.

  Letty appeared on the stair landing with Regan two steps behind, a revolver in his hand. "Mon dieu," she breathed in unison with Regan's "Good God."

  Regan pushed past her and she followed. She stopped beside Mason, as Regan sidled up to the door opposite Kiernan.

  "What happened?"

  Before Kiernan could answer, the pounding of boots on the wooden walkway pulled his attention back to the street. Douglas and Androu were racing along the walkway on the opposite side of the street.

  "Stay back," Kiernan shouted. "The shooter is still out there."

  "No, he's not," a man called from between one of the buildings across the street.

  Kiernan aimed his pistol in the direction of the man's voice.

  "Don’t shoot, for Christ's sake," Regan said. "He's one of us."

  Alistair Redgrave emerged from the alley, hands raised, but Kiernan didn't miss the revolver protruding from his waistband.

  "What the hell are you doing here, Redgrave?" Kiernan demanded.

  "Alistair?" Phoebe called.

  "Stopping you from getting your head shot off," Redgrave called back. "Your shooter is back there." He motioned toward the alley behind him. "Dead."

  "Androu, Douglas, go have a look," Kiernan ordered. "And start a search for Harrington."

  The men took off at a run.

  "Redgrave," Kiernan said, "if I don’t like your explanation, I'll kill you." He glanced at Regan. "I'll deal with you as well. You didn't tell me the entire story behind why you're here."

  "Blame Her Majesty," Regan said. "I was sworn to secrecy."

  "The devil with your secrets. Redgrave," he called, "get in here and help with your friend." Kiernan shoved the pistol into his pocket. "Come along, Regan, we'll need you as well." He hurried to Mason. "Letty, a room with fresh linens and a doctor, if you please."

  She nodded and called "Margaret," as she hurried through the drawing room door.

  Redgrave appeared in the doorway and reached them an instant later. He knelt beside Mason.

  "You're sure you got the man?" Kiernan demanded.

  "A bullet through the heart."

  "Any sign of Harrington?" Kiernan asked.

  Phoebe gasped. He followed the direction of her stare and saw Harrington in the doorway with a gun. Kiernan grabbed for his pistol as the deafening roar of a shot rang out in the room. Harrington's eyes widened in shock, then he toppled backwards. Kiernan shifted his gaze to Letty, who stood in the drawing room doorway, a revolver pointed at Harrington. A small curl of smoke lifted from the barrel of her gun.

  "I saw him pass by the window," she said. "He was skulking. That is never a good sign."

  "No," Kiernan agreed, it isn't." He looked at Regan. "She beat you to the shot."

  "I put the damn revolver in my belt."

  "Never underestimate a woman. Let's get Mason to a bed. Where are we taking him, Letty?"

  She lowered the weapon. "Third floor, second door on the right."

  "Third floor?" Kiernan grunted as they lifted Mason. He didn't like the looks of the man. His eyes were closed and his chest didn't rise and fall with its usual vigor. "You plan to make us work, madam."

  "The third floor is safer than the second floor," Letty replied, unruffled. "And that bed is unused."

  "Yes, well," he cast a glance at Phoebe, who stood beside him, eyes fixed on her father, face wet with tears, "unuse
d is exactly what we need."

  *****

  The doctor had done all he could. Her father's life now lay in God's hands. To have come so far, to be so close, only to have him taken from her was too cruel. The candle beside his bed cast the only light in the darkened room and Phoebe felt her mind sliding into sleep. She jerked herself awake. She couldn't sleep. She couldn't leave her father's side. She had to be here, ward off death until her father was strong enough to fight that dark angel himself. He hadn't stirred since he'd closed his eyes before Kiernan and Alistair carried him upstairs. As long as he kept breathing, his strength would increase and, once he was rested enough, he would wake up.

  But he didn't wake that night, and when Kiernan returned to the room as dawn once inched across the sky, Phoebe shook her head before he said what she knew he was going to say.

  "I won't leave," she insisted. "If you carry me out and tie me up, I'll wrench free even if I leave my skin behind."

  Kiernan lifted her from the chair and she struck out at him with her fists. He hugged her tight, then sat in the chair and settled her on his lap. She collapsed into his solid warmth and cried.

  Phoebe sat across the carriage from her husband and studied him. Eyes closed, he leaned to the side, shoulder wedged against the corner. The worry lines around his eyes were softened, but she feared he didn't sleep. He had slept little in the last two weeks, perhaps even less than she. They both kept watch by her father’s side while he lay in bed, his soul trapped between this world and the next. Kiernan had hovered over her as if it had been she who lay on death’s door. There had been nights she prayed God would take her instead of her father. Phoebe took a slow, deep breath.

  He had spared them both.

  She looked out the window. The sun hung just above the trees in the west. Soft orange veiled the evening sky. Was the sky as beautiful in America? Phoebe smiled gently. She would ask her father. Despite Lord Harrington’s death, they all agreed her father was no longer safe in Scotland. Only after Alistair discovered who Harrington had confided in, could she travel to America to visit her father where he was on his way to stay with the duchess' brother.

  Alistair. Gratitude welled up in her in the too-familiar desire to cry. His intervention had saved her father’s life, and probably Kiernan's as well. She still couldn't believe that Lord Stoneleigh had been informing Alistair all along of Lord Harrington’s comings and goings, and that it was Alistair who had instructed Lord Stoneleigh to follow him to Scotland. Kiernan had been furious that Regan hadn't told him that Redgrave was there, and that they suspected the real attempt on her father's life was yet to come.