Rogue of the Highlands: Rogue, Book 1

by Cynthia Breeding

  “Ye are safe now,” Ian said and then bent his head to ravage her mouth

  The sight of Cantford Hall was almost anti-climactic after the evening Jillian had. But she was safe now in Ian’s arms as they approached his home. All she wanted was a warm bath and to snuggle beneath bedcovers with Ian.

  “Ye have no time for a bath,” Ian said once they were all inside the house. “Gather some clothes from one of the maids while Mrs. Ferguson packs food for us.” He turned to Jamie, “We’ll take fresh horses. Be sure Jillian’s mare is returned to Newburn, I’ll not have horse-thieving charges following us.”

  “Where are we going?” Jillian asked.

  “Scotland.”

  She widened her eyes. “You want to take us to Scotland? We’d only slow you down. Neither Mari or Darcy is used to riding.”

  “They wilna be going. Jamie is going to stay here and protect them.”

  “I really don’t think that’s necessary,” Mari said. “I’ll be returning to London as soon as I can make arrangements.”

  “Ye will stay here,” Ian replied, “where Jamie can keep an eye on ye.”

  “Aye, lass, and I think ye must obey me,” Jamie said with a grin. “For your safety, ye ken.”

  Mari ignored him and looked at her sister. “He can’t make me obey him. Take me with you.”

  “Nae. ’Tis settled,” Ian said firmly. “Jillian and I need to leave before Newburn finds her gone.”

  Mari stamped her foot. “She can’t travel with you alone. It’s not proper.”

  “We wilna be alone, much as I would like it,” Ian answered. “My men ride with us.”

  “That’s even worse. Jillian can’t be the only female riding with eleven of you. The scandal will absolutely ruin her.”

  “Or is it yourself ye worry about?” Jamie asked. “Ian says English Society has strange ways.”

  Mari gave him a furious look. “You know nothing about it. Jillian can stay here with me. If you feel you must protect us, you can arrange for an escort to London.”

  Jillian twisted her fingers nervously. “Perhaps she’s right. I can’t jeopardize Mari’s Season—”

  “Ye will be putting your sister in danger if ye stay,” Ian replied. “Is that what ye want to do?”

  “Of course not! I’m safe here. Surely you don’t think Wesley will come here?”

  “’Tis exactly what I think. No doubt he’ll be armed. He hasna let go the idea of marrying ye, even if he is keeping company with that wanton wh—with the countess. We must go.”

  “He is right, my lady,” Darcy said as Mrs. Ferguson appeared with two satchels filled with food. “Lady Sherrington is a jealous witch. She’ll hurt you if she can. You can’t take the chance on Lord Newburn making you go back.” She hugged Jillian and whispered in her ear. “Besides, there’s worse things than having the braw Highlander sleeping beside you.”

  Jillian hoped the tell-tale blush wasn’t showing on her face at Darcy’s words. She had been thinking along those very lines ever since Ian had given her that kiss that sent heat all the way down to her toes. The realization that she had nearly been murdered changed her perspective. Life was short. She was a woman and she wanted to feel Ian’s hands touching her, to taste his kisses, to feel him inside of her again, bringing her to that moment when her body shattered. She dared not look at him, lest he see the wanting in her eyes.

  Yes. She would let Ian finish what he started. Only she was just beginning to realize how much she wanted him.

  “Bloody hell!” Wesley slapped his riding gloves down on the polished table in the library and reached for a decanter of brandy. “She’s gone!”

  “Isn’t it a little early in the morning for hard liquor?” Delia asked as she studied a fingernail.

  He gulped the contents and refrained from backhanding her. The fool woman had no idea of what Jillian meant to him. Marrying his father’s wife was the final irony that he could hold over his father’s grave. Forcing her to accept punishment from his hand would heal his bruised pride from her rejections, but most of all…most of all, he would win. His father may have sent Lorelei away, but he would have no power over the woman who looked enough like her to be her twin.

  “I thought Jillian was ill,” he said as he poured a second drink. “Why would she leave in the middle of the night?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” Delia replied and stretched like a cat on the divan. “Why don’t you sit down beside me and I’ll make you forget all about her.”

  Wesley ignored the request. “It’s that damn Highlander. Finley admitted that he was here.” The man actually had the audacity to turn his back and walk away from Wesley without answering his question. A blow to his back with the pitchfork handle had put him on the ground and a few well-placed kicks in the groin had the man screaming in pain, but he’d finally answered Wesley’s question.

  Delia looked up. “I thought he left for Scotland.”

  “So did I,” Wesley said through gritted teeth. “I went over to Cantford this morning to see what all this foolishness was about. That wolf-eyed brother of his just smirked and said Jillian had gone with Cantford to Scotland.”

  Delia’s ears perked. “Do tell! This is delicious gossip. Totally scandalous.”

  “Forget about the scandal, woman. Jillian belongs here.”

  She pouted and got up from the divan. Swaying her hips, she approached Wesley and pressed herself against him. “Forget about her. You have me.”

  He looked down at her. “You’re married. The earl will be coming back for you any day now.”

  She twined her fingers into his hair and pulled his head down for a kiss. “I’ll write him and tell him you need a hostess a little longer now that Jillian is gone.”

  Gone. The realization sank in to Wesley’s diminished thinking. The Highlander had Jillian. How long would it be before he had her naked beneath him, riding her hard? Had it already happened? The thought brought a red haze before his eyes. He broke Delia’s hold and stepped away. “Jillian belongs here. With me.”

  For a moment, Delia stared at him open-mouthed. Then her eyes narrowed dangerously. “So the rumors were true. You want to marry her, don’t you?”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “You bastard. You’ve used me.”

  “Don’t look so offended, pet. You weren’t exactly a faithful, loving wife when we started this affair, remember?”

  “But the things I let you do—”

  Wesley laughed and downed yet a third drink. “You liked the pain.”

  “And how many of your other lovers did?” She began to pace angrily. “I knew she had some kind of hold over you. I saw you looking at her with lust in your eyes. It was rather clever of her to play hard to get.” She paused. “Men always want what they can’t have, don’t they?” She bared her teeth is some semblance of a sinister smile. “Well, you should thank Ian Macleod. Jillian wouldn’t have been around much longer if she’d stayed.”

  Wesley put his glass down and blinked blearily at her. “What do you mean?”

  Delia resumed pacing. “I had to do something. I couldn’t just let her have you. What we have together—”

  “What did you do?”

  She walked up to him and lifted her chin. “What women have been doing for centuries to get rid of rivals. I was poisoning her slowly.”

  Wesley grabbed both of her arms. “Why in hell—in bloody hell—would you do that? Have you gone daft?”

  “Well, shooting her didn’t work. I tried twice.”

  Wrath began to stir in him. “I thought you were aiming for Cantford!”

  “Hardly.” She gave him a tight smile. “I rather liked the way his body felt that night we arranged for me to be discovered. I wouldn’t have minded spreading my legs for him at all. You just got there too soon.” She sighed dramatically. “I suppose Jillian has enjoyed his cock by now.”

  The simmering anger began to boil. Wesley gave her a shake that made her head jerk back. Her
eyes widened.

  “Stop it!”

  But he couldn’t. Pure fury overtook him as he shook her again and again. Jillian was his. He had bided his time, not pushing her, making do with the slut in front of him.

  The slut who had almost killed Jillian. Rage exploded in tiny shards of black in front of him. From far away he heard someone screaming. He heard something snap. And then there was silence.

  Wesley became aware of Delia slumped in his arms, her head at a curious angle. In amazement, he realized she was dead. He opened his arms and her body dropped to the floor, overturning a small table.

  “My lord, I heard a noise…” Adams stood in the door way and then quickly came in to kneel beside Delia. He felt for a pulse and shook his head as he stood back up. “What happened?”

  Wesley put on a sympathetic face. “Well, I really shouldn’t be sharing secrets with servants…but… Well, the reason Lady Sherrington wanted to stay here was because the earl… Well, she said the earl used her in ways that a woman shouldn’t be used.”

  Adams frowned. “I had no idea.”

  “Ah, yes. Well, she knew she was going to have to return home soon and had taken to drinking early in the day.” Wesley picked up the empty brandy snifter as proof. “I told her it wasn’t a good idea, but she got angry with me. That’s probably what you heard.” He shook his head sadly. “Poor woman. She tripped and fell, hitting her head on that table before I could catch her.”

  “Lord Sherrington will need to be notified,” Adams said.

  “I’ll write a post at once,” Wesley replied and moved toward the door. “Have the housekeeper notify the daughter and for heaven’s sake, don’t let everyone start wailing and whining. It will do no good.” He paused. “Meanwhile, have Lady Sherrington laid out in the servant’s quarters. There’s no need to carry her upstairs now.”

  “But, my lord—”

  “You disagree with me?”

  Adams gave him a steady look. “No, my lord.”

  “Then see to it.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Wesley slammed the door behind him. God, he needed a drink. Or a woman. Too bad Delia had made him kill her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jillian shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, wondering how bruised her bottom really was. Ian had set a hard pace these past five days, taking only short stops to rest the horses and riding until dark.

  She glanced at him now, riding slightly ahead of her. The claymore was slung across his broad back and she had a three-fourths profile of his face with its strong jaw and high cheekbone. Her gaze drifted down his muscular arm to the strong hand that held the reins so lightly. A hand that she wanted to feel touching her.

  She sighed in frustration. Now that she had made up her mind to allow him into her bed, he hadn’t even tried. The first night, when they finally made camp only an hour or two from dawn, she’d been nearly too tired to care. Ian had made a pallet for her near the small fire they built and he had lain close enough to be protective, but not near enough to touch. The past four nights when they had stopped at small inns, she’d been given a room and he had slept with his men on the floor of the common room. Maybe that would change once they reached his home.

  “How much farther?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound like a whiny child.

  He looked back. “About a half-day’s ride. Are ye tired? Hungry?”

  “No.” The thought of food was slightly nauseating, due to the constant bouncing in the saddle that she was doing. Even the sausage that the innkeeper’s wife set out with the porridge that morning had made her stomach turn.

  “Do ye need to rest?”

  She would love nothing more than to crawl off the horse and take a nap in soft grass beneath the shade of a tree, but she shook her head. It was already near midday and Ian’s idea of a half-day’s ride would more than likely be closer to a full day. If they could reach his home tonight, perhaps she could soak her sore body in a hot bath. That sounded like heaven right now.

  “I’m fine. Let’s move on.”

  Ian gave a grateful look and urged his horse to a faster trot, and Jillian thought it wasn’t just urgent business that drove him. He missed his home.

  The farther north they’d ridden, the more rugged the terrain got, but there was a beauty in its wildness. Forest lands and rolling moors had given way to craggy hills and narrow, winding trails. Patches of heather brightened the landscape in places and the countless bubbling burns they’d passed had the clearest water she had ever seen. And now they were picking their way through the mountains of Glen Coe.

  One of Ian’s men rode alongside her. “Your redcoats did the Macleod a fine turn here over a hundred years ago, ye ken.”

  Jillian looked over at him, surprised that he had spoken to her. He was an older man with a thick neck and barrel chest. Streaks of gray showed in his red hair. Most of the time he ignored her, but Jillian felt that he thought having a woman along was a nuisance. It was another reason she didn’t want to stop to rest even though she was nearly exhausted. She thought the poison had left her blood, but it had taken its toll.

  “What did the English do?” she asked.

  “’Twas over a hundred years ago, but they nearly wiped out a whole clan of MacDonald’s right there near the pass.” He pointed with a gnarly finger toward the dip in the mountains ahead of them.

  “I’m surprised you would side with the English,” Jillian said with a smile.

  The man snorted. “Against a MacDonald?”

  “The feuds are over, John,” Ian said from Jillian’s other side.

  “The English king may have said so, but that dinna make it happen,” he replied. “Are ye forgetting the blood wars on Skye and Lewis?”

  “Nae. But fighting among the clans would do naught but draw the English attention to us. The king isna right in the head and I doona trust the pompous arse son of his.”

  John studied him for a moment before he nodded. “’Tis glad I am to hear ye say it. Duncan has been blethering other nonsense.”

  Ian looked grim. “’Tis why I am here, isna it?”

  Jillian watched as John nodded and then rode on. “I doubt that the prince takes much interest in anything as far north as this,” she said. “It’s too far from court and too cold. Prinny favors the warm climate of Brighton.”

  “’Tis true,” Ian answered, “but if we violate the Disbanding Act by admitting the clans still exist, we could well be barred from wearing our plaids again. ’Tis only a small step more for the prince to start seizing our lands.”

  Jillian could well understand. Her father had been forced to sell their land and finally the townhouse because of gambling debts, and now she was about to lose Newburn and her wonderful Andalusians. She hoped Ian could squelch whatever problems were brewing here.

  Ian moved forward to ride point through the pass and Jillian was left to her own musings. The slowed pacing of the horses as they angled their way carefully over rocky paths nearly lulled her to sleep. When they finally stopped to water the horses along the shores of Loch Linnhe and have a bite to eat, she actually felt the beginnings of an appetite.

  The boatman ferried them across and Jillian watched Ian’s face light up as they drew nearer his home. Even his horse picked up his ears and lengthened his stride as though knowing his own stable awaited him.

  Still, Jillian’s mouth dropped open as they rounded a bend and she saw Ian’s home perched high on a craggy hill overlooking Loch Shiel. It was nothing less than a medieval castle.

  She looked around in awe as a real portcullis ground upward and they rode past the stone curtain wall where several Scots stood guard and entered the courtyard. The keep towered above her, a full four stories high with merlons and embrasures lining the roof. She felt as though she had been transported back in time. She craned her neck, halfway expecting a contingent of armored knights to come charging through on huge destriers.

  Instead, the huge oak doors burst open and a bevy of brightly clad wo
men came rushing out, all throwing themselves at Ian, shrieking in Gaelic and laughing. No wonder Ian had an ego, Jillian thought, as they all tried to hug him at once. One of them had hair red as fire and another more resembled Jamie, and two others were light-haired. Ian emerged from the group, an arm wrapped around a young woman. Her raven hair and pearl grey eyes gave her delicate face an ethereal look that matched the rest of her slender, graceful body. The girl was clinging to him with an adoring look in her eye. Jillian felt a pang of jealousy flash through her. She had not even thought that Ian might have a woman waiting for him here. Her heart dropped to her toes. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to commit to any of the debutantes of the ton. The girl was devastatingly beautiful.

  A man emerged from the house, a book in his hand. It looked out of place with his powerful build. He stood a good hand taller than Ian and his shoulders were equally as broad. His hair was not as inky black as Ian’s, but it flowed to his shoulders and the big hand that held the book looked like it could handle any kind of weapon. He looked slightly bewildered at the noise and then his face broke into a big grin when he spotted Ian. It changed his look from grim warrior to handsome man immediately.

  “I should have known it would be ye,” he said to Ian as he came closer and grasped Ian’s forearm in a military greeting. “The lasses have been in a tizzy ever since Jamie left to bring ye back.” He looked around and his gaze landed on Jillian, standing next to John, the only man who hadn’t headed to the stables with his horse. “What have we here, cousin?”

  All chatter ceased. Only the sound of John’s horse shuffling his feet could be heard in the sudden silence as six pairs of eyes looked her way. Jillian swallowed hard and lifted her chin. Would they accept an Englishwoman as a guest?

  “Jillian.” Ian held out his arm that wasn’t clasped around the grey-eyed beauty. “Come here, let me introduce ye.”

  She moved forward. So far, the looks she was receiving weren’t hostile, mainly just curious. “Lord Cantford,” she said.