To Woo a Highland Warrior

by Cameron, Collette

  Nothing suspicious met his initial surveillance, but as a seasoned fighter, he knew how deceiving appearances could be. Two women dressed in the height of fashion entered Harper & Morris Haberdashery directly to the left of La Chic Modiste.

  Logan Rutherford and Coburn Wallace had already questioned Mrs. Morris. She admitted readily to speaking to a Frenchman and telling him the LeClaires had journeyed to the Highlands. In fact, she’d been most forthcoming, offering succulent tidbits about nearly every merchant on the street.

  Beside him, Emeline sat rigidly straight, and so tense, he worried she’d shatter with each dip of the carriage wheels. The rich green of her borrowed cloak accented her pearly skin and the bronze hues of her luxurious hair. The fabric also made the gold flecks in her eyes sparkle, despite her solemnness.

  As always, her exquisiteness bemused him. He’d known his fair share of beautiful women—including his wife—but they’d all been forgettable.

  Emeline, alone, had imprinted her essence on his very soul.

  Like him, she preferred to wear her hair unfashionably natural, free of wigs and powders. And in her case, she foreswore the lace caps most women topped their hair with, as well. It was just another trivial way they were companionable. Another to add to an ever-growing list, convincing him more each day how well-suited they were.

  It had been an excruciatingly long time since he’d harbored such optimism. But in the days they’d shared in the cottage and the time she’d been at Eytone Hall, he’d come to realize she’d brought meaning back to his life.

  He had reason to get up every morning.

  They’d arrived in Edinburgh late in the afternoon two drizzly days ago. He hadn’t formally opened the house since Kristin’s death, and the sight of seven Highlanders on horseback, four coaches, and three loaded wagons heralding the grand arrival of Baron Penderhaven’s household had met with frequent curious stares and brazen gawking.

  Attired as a maid, and having moved to the one of the servants’ equipages at their last stop, Emeline—her head covered by a coarse, woolen gray cloak’s hood—had been bustled into the house amid the other staff straightaway.

  She’d held Prince’s lead to give credence to her disguise as well as provide protection. The lumbering dog was huge, and even though he was gentle as a newborn lamb, his sheer size and scruffy appearance intimidated all but those who knew him.

  Liam’s mother, Kendra, Skye, as well as his male friends had made a praiseworthy pretense of disembarking their coaches and mounts. Making themselves as conspicuous as possible, they’d chatted, stretched their legs, and fussed over their possessions, drawing all the attention and permitting the servants to disappear into the house unobtrusively.

  Since meeting Emeline, the unpleasant memories and private wounds from his life with Kristin had increasingly faded, until days went by without her invading his thoughts. Not so his wee children, but the pain wasn’t quite as debilitating as it had been even mere weeks ago.

  For the first time in five years, he dared consider a different future from the one he’d adopted after his bairns’ deaths. A future with a gentle and incomparable woman.

  A woman who made his soul sing and who gave his life meaning again.

  Out of habit, he brushed his hand over his face, forgetting for a second he’d shaved his beard and also shorn his mane a few inches. His hair still hung well past his coat collar.

  Emeline had expressed how much she liked his hair, and since he wasn’t going to start wearing wigs anytime soon, he’d left the majority of the length to please her.

  The expression of delighted surprise, and then the intense longing that had flashed across Emeline’s face when first she saw him cleanshaven, made his groin contract with overwhelming need.

  He fully expected the elitist denizens to speculate why he’d descended on Edinburgh at this unfashionable time of year. But he and his mother had settled on the ruse that they were officially introducing Kendra to Society as a promised birthday present.

  Never mind that she’d attended other functions previously. Or that balls, routs, and other assemblies were few and far between in October. Or that Kendra’s first and twentieth birthday wasn’t until next month.

  No one would dare speculate in his presence what the MacKays were about. Although, he’d bet Deri much chin-wagging would commence behind their backs. Gossip was the lifeblood of High Society.

  Thankfully, right before they’d departed, word had come that Skye’s father was slowly recovering. Aunt Martha deemed it best that Skye remain with her aunt and cousins for the foreseeable future as two servants had now fallen ill.

  Emeline swallowed audibly and made a small sound of distress, wrenching Liam back to the present. Her fingers crept into his hand, and she clutched it as if it were a lifeline tossed to her in raging seas. The trust she put in him lanced his heart but, rather than leaving it wounded and oozing blood, strengthened his resolve to make her his.

  God, how he esteemed her audacity, her boldness, and her bravery every bit as much as he venerated her kindness and gentleness. He loved the way her eyes lit up when she was excited, the way her dark lashes fanned her satiny cheek, the blush of her lips, her melodious laugh, and her utterly delightful giggle.

  There was nothing he didn’t adore about Emeline LeClaire, and he hoped to tell her that soon. Mayhap, even tonight. Was it too soon to ask her to be his wife?

  He thought of the ring box tucked in his bedside table drawer. Not a family heirloom, but a ring selected because it reminded him of her. The twelve white diamonds surrounded a chocolate-brown diamond almost the same shade as her brilliant rich-brandy eyes.

  Predictably, she’d insisted on accompanying him today. It was her right, and he’d conceded without an argument.

  “I’m still on pins and needles,” she said, her voice not quite steady as she gripped his hand. “I have been ever since Laird Kennedy arrived at Eytone Hall and said those men had been at Killeaggian Tower prying around about Aunt Jeneva and me. No doubt, Mrs. Morris eagerly filled their ears about our whereabouts.”

  She had no idea the fountain of information Mrs. Morris had proven to be.

  Emeline’s winged brows dipped together as she pulled her pink mouth into a thin ribbon.

  “She’s such a busybody and a gossip, but she was also Aunt Jeneva’s friend. As our closest neighbor, it only seemed reasonable that Aunt asked her to watch the shop and feed Felix while we were away.” Her graceful mouth curved upward the merest bit in a winsome manner. “Honestly, the cat spends as much time at Mrs. Morris’ as he did with Aunt Jeneva. I imagine, I’ll just let her keep him now. Especially since I haven’t yet decided what I’ll do.”

  A wistful note leeched into her voice. Her life had been turned upside down through no fault or action of her own. He could sympathize in that respect. Look how long it had taken him to put his life to rights.

  He’d expected Emeline wouldn’t be satisfied sitting docilely in the tidy, but narrow four-story house with his mother and sister, embroidering or reading while he searched her aunt’s apartments and shop. And that was why the Kennedy brothers rode an inconspicuous distance behind the coach while Rutherford, Wallace, McGregor, and Catherwood were to have come separately.

  They should already be in position, awaiting his and her arrival as planned.

  Wallace and Catherwood had been appointed to watch the rear of the building, Rutherford and McGregor the front, and the Kennedys would accompany Emeline and Liam inside. Each Highlander was an experienced warrior, but a shroud of unease lay dense and weighty over him, nevertheless.

  The carriage rocked to a stop and then bounced as one of the coachmen descended.

  “Lass, the key?” Liam gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze and held out the palm of his other hand.

  Wordlessly, Emeline passed him the heavy brass key.

  “Ye must promise to do exactly as I say, Em,” he said gently, but firmly. “No arguin’ or hesitatin’. Yer life may depend up
on it.”

  Her eyes absent their usual brightness, she cast a covert glance to the shade-covered window and nodded. “I ken. I shall.”

  Bloody hell. How her damn trepidation infuriated him. Not that he directed the ire toward her, but to the miscreant that had dared threaten her. The poltroon who’d hired others to do his dirty work and was such a coward, he targeted defenseless women.

  I’m goin’ to descend first,” he said, reining in his ire. He must keep his wits honed and not permit any distractions. Even in thought. “I want to make sure Logan and Broden are stationed outside before ye alight. I’ve nae doubt that the establishment is bein’ watched. Even now, ’tis possible our arrival has been marked.”

  Emeline nervously licked her lower lip, her stunning umber-colored eyes wide and apprehensive.

  “Please do be careful, Liam,” she urged, her voice low and husky with her concern. “We ken what these people are capable of. I dinna want ye or the others hurt.”

  Cupping her shoulders, he pressed a long, fervent kiss to her forehead, saying with his actions what he wasn’t quite ready to say with words.

  That he’d die before he’d allow any harm to come to her.

  That he still wrestled with demons from his past, but he believed, with her by his side, he might be able to face the future again.

  That she’d set up home in his heart and had commandeered his spirit, and his life was no longer his but hers to do with what she willed.

  She was his life. His breath. His everything.

  He’d tell her those things soon. Verra soon.

  Even as a callow youth who’d lusted after the English beauty that had become his first wife, he hadn’t experienced this all-consuming need. To make Emeline his. To take her to his bed and love and worship her until they forgot all else but each other.

  He’d need to tell her about the foolishness that had resulted in his forced marriage, though. His conscience wouldn’t allow him to court her otherwise.

  “Liam?”

  He started, realizing he hadn’t eased her worry.

  “I can defend myself, mo chroí. M’anam. Mo grá.” My heart. My soul. My love. He patted the dirk at his waist, rather than in his boot and then his sword. The others had guns as well. “Dinna fash yerself, leannan.”

  Her turbulent umber eyes rounded impossibly wider, vulnerability and an unspoken question in their depths at the endearment. “I canna help but fret.”

  She was his sweetheart. Aye, and more. Much more, despite his determination otherwise. He started to turn away, but she clasped his forearm. “Liam?”

  He turned back, eyebrows taut.

  To his utter astonishment and delight, she scooted across the seat and pressed a soft kiss to his scarred cheek. The puckered flesh throbbed where her sweet mouth had touched the bunched flesh. She laid a hand on his other clean-shaven cheek.

  “I couldna bear it if somethin’ happened to ye. Nothin’ in there,” she gestured toward the quaint shop entrance, “is worth ye riskin’ yer life for. Nothin’.” Her grip on his forearm tightened.

  His heart was so full, he wanted to shout his jubilation from Eytone Hall’s gables. Instead, he slid an arm around her slender shoulders, drawing her near, and kissed her deeply and thoroughly. She collapsed into him, returning the kiss with inexperienced enthusiasm.

  The blood rushing in his ears, he harnessed his passion. Caution and common sense demanded they stop. When he finally raised his head, he gritted his teeth against the lust surging through his loins.

  Emeline’s eyelids fluttered open, and she gifted him a radiant smile. The luster of her sweetly curved lips toppled his resolve. As always, her loveliness clobbered him with the force of a bludgeon, but it was the unguarded affection shimmering in her innocent gaze that shook his foundation.

  Now wasn’t the time to contemplate the revelation, however. Retrieving the documents and whatever else she deemed necessary, as well as keeping her safe, were his primary concerns. He would consider this unexpected, but highly prized, discovery later. When he’d completed this self-appointed mission.

  Unbeknownst to her, he and his six friends had set a trap for her assailants. If all went as anticipated, she’d be freed from the fear that had dogged her since that fateful afternoon she’d almost been murdered.

  He recalled, again, how brave and majestic she’d been facing down her attackers that day. A seasoned battlefield warrior couldn’t have been more courageous.

  Whoever the scoundrel was hunting her, he had resources and money. Besides the drivers Liam had killed, there had also been the two men who’d been snooping around Killeaggian Tower. God only knew how many others were in his employ and undoubtedly, watching Le Chic Modiste even now.

  The carriage door swung open, and canting his head to the driver—also armed—Liam descended. He deliberately stood in the opening, blocking any curious passersby or would-be assassins’ view of the interior. With indolent casualness, he yawned and through hooded eyes, scrutinized the area.

  “Stay alert,” he advised the coachmen. “And be in your seat, ready to leave the instant we emerge from the shop.”

  “Aye, sir,” the driver said, his sharp-eyed gaze scanning the area.

  Liam wrinkled his nose. Edinburgh stank.

  Overpopulated and crowded, the city was a cesspool of excrement, rodents, and refuse. Nonetheless, pedestrian strolled along, occasionally picking their way around or stepping neatly over rubbish or horse manure.

  Equestrians clattered past atop their mounts. A variety of conveyances rumbled up and down the busy street, and grubby, thin-faced urchins darted here and there.

  Making a show of examining the sullen clouds for signs of rain, he tilted his head upward. He took note of the rooftops, some stacked six stories high in the distance. Whomever spied upon Jeneva LeClaire’s shop did so discreetly. At least thus far.

  Armed in much the same manner as he, except they also bore firearms, Graeme and Camden Kennedy sauntered forward. Every one of the Highlanders he’d asked to assist him had done so without hesitation.

  After exchanging a casual greeting for the benefit of anyone spying upon them, the threesome formed a semi-circle before the open coach door.

  The coachman assumed a position halfway between the shop and the conveyance while the other driver, atop his seat, swept his keen gaze back and forth, focused and alert.

  “Come, Emeline.” Liam reached his hand inside the equipage, and she placed her palm in his, permitting him to assist her to the ground. The trio immediately closed ranks around her, making it impossible for anyone to approach. The men boasted large frames, and while Emeline wasn’t petite, they dwarfed her as they moved as one to the entrance.

  “Berget sends her greetin’, Miss LeClaire,” Graeme said with a kind quirk of his mouth. “She hopes ye’ll pay a visit soon.”

  Leave it to him to try to put Emeline at ease.

  Face pinched and appearing as if she might cast up her breakfast, she fashioned a small smile in response.

  Inserting the key into the brass lock, Liam’s brows crashed together. The catch had been forced. He cast Graeme a sidelong look, saying out the side of his mouth, “The lock is broken. Someone’s been here before us.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The revelation came as no surprise. “The back entrance is more inconspicuous. It’s odd they’d choose the one facin’ the main street,” Liam remarked.

  “There’s a stout board obstructin’ the back doorway, rather than a keyed entrance,” Emeline said. “I imagine, that’s why. It would have been much too noisy to break the door down. Mrs. Morris hears everythin’.” The last was murmured in a tone that clearly conveyed she didn’t mean it as a compliment.

  At once, Graeme and Camden slid their hands to their waists and grasped their dirks. Liam lifted his cocked hat and smoothed his hand over his head, a sign to the others that the establishment had been broken into and to be on guard.

  Rutherford signaled to Broden who stro
lled to the other side of the street and doffed his hat. A warning to Wallace and Catherwood to be vigilant.

  One hand at the base of Emeline’s spine, Liam ushered her in behind Graeme.

  She gasped in dismay upon entering the dim interior.

  “Nae! Look what they’ve done, the rotters!” she cried softly. Fingers to her mouth and pale, but steady on her feet, she gingerly ventured forward, slowly turning her head back and forth as she took in the mayhem. “I dinna understand. What could they possibly be after? They even sliced the cushions open.”

  It was true.

  The cushion stuffing had been ripped out and scattered pell-mell. The place was an absolute shamble. Fabric lay strewn upon the floor. Every shelf had been swept clean of its contents, and every bureau drawer emptied. The intruders had yanked the artwork from the walls, dumped out a potted fern, and tipped over the coal basket during their thorough search.

  “I’ll check above,” Camden said before disappearing up the narrow flight of stairs situated at the back of the shop.

  Emeline cast a furtive glance to the window. Tasteful midnight blue draperies obscured the display window as well as blocked the view of any curious patrons or passersby. She pointed to an unremarkable, long cutting table against the far wall.

  Speaking in a low tone, she said, “There’s a board beneath a table leg that is loose. Aunt Jeneva hid anythin’ of import in the space beneath it.”

  Graeme stepped to the door and, arms crossed, rested his back against the entrance, preventing anyone from coming inside. A handful of breaths later, Camden lumbered down the steps, a deep line between his eyebrows. “Whoever they were, they ransacked the upstairs livin’ quarters and bedchambers as well.”

  “I expected as much,” Liam said, once more grateful these friends had agreed to assist him.

  The plundered establishment confirmed his suspicions about why Emeline had been targeted. Quinn and Camden had poked around a bit themselves yesterday and discovered a French aristocrat had arrived in Edinburgh recently. Likely the very same man who’d visited the haberdashery next door.