To Defy a Highland Duke

by Cameron, Collette

  Hadn’t he witnessed her mother’s fierceness himself?

  Her lips bloodied and a welt suspiciously in the shape of a hand on her left cheek, Marjorie’s attention never wavered from her daughter.

  Silently vowing vengeance, Keane clamped his jaw until it ached to subdue the curses kicking at his teeth.

  Brother or not, he’d kill Lorne. Leisurely. Inflicting as much physical and mental pain on the sod as he had on Marjorie and her daughter.

  He dragged in a steadying breath, pushing aside his personal feelings. Ordering his pulse back to a normal rhythm, he mustered his control while deciding on the best strategy to disarm Lorne.

  Keane was between the hammer and the anvil, and that devil’s spawn knew it. He didn’t dare charge Lorne. Not with a dirk so close to Cora’s throat.

  Without a jot of remorse, Lorne would harm her.

  “I presume ye’ve been makin’ good use of the secret passages these many years?” Keane asked, nonchalantly. “I confess, I dinna suspect ye.”

  He hoped to stall Lorne and distract him from menacing the wee lass.

  A boastful thrust of Lorne’s chin and his mockingly skewed eyebrows revealed how much Keane’s confession delighted him.

  “Indeed. Since Father showed them to me when I was sixteen.” He turned his sullen mouth down, peevishness lining his features. “For years, I was at his beck and call, sneakin’ in and out of Trentwick. He always thought he had me under his thumb. Fool.” His lip curled in contempt.

  “Where is Bothan?” Keane had half-expected Bothan to charge into this fray. To clean up Lorne’s mess, once again. Or was he truly good and done with his despicable offspring?

  Instead of answering, a gradual, maniacal smile quirked Lorne’s mouth upward. He placed his foot on the floor, all the while twisting Cora’s bright red hair between his fingers and trailing the knife tip over the little girl’s face, neck, and chest.

  Saints preserve us. He is mad.

  “’Tis alright, pumpkin,” Marjorie crooned. “You’re being so brave.”

  By damn, she was courageous, refusing to show the fear that undoubtedly pummeled her.

  “Just stay perfectly still, my sweet, and look at me.” She smiled, adoration radiating from her brown eyes. “See how much I love you?”

  Cora gave a wobbly nod, her trusting gaze meshed with her mother’s.

  “Drop yer knife, brother,” Lorne ordered, derision and gloating flashing in his demented gaze. “All these years, the wily bastard kept that sordid secret. Can ye imagine how the guilt must’ve gnawed our father? Now I understand Gordan’s rage toward him. Havin’ to claim ye as his heir when ye were his twin’s whelp.”

  Marjorie’s swift inhalation drew Keane’s focus for a fraction. The unasked question burned in her eyes—almost black with terror—as she veered her gaze from him to Lorne then back to him.

  Keane tightened the corners of his eyes in answer, giving an infinitesimal dip of his chin.

  Shock registered, and she sucked her bloodied lower lip into her battered mouth, wincing at the movement.

  Abruptly, Lorne stood, heartlessly hauling a whimpering Cora before him.

  “You monster.” Marjorie’s throat worked as tears of frustration trailed down her wan face, and she frantically wrenched at the ropes binding her wrists.

  Still wearing a lunatic’s grin, his eyes glittering with madness, Lorne angled his blade toward Keane. “I’ll no’ ask ye again. I shall cut this wee lass.”

  Cowering and quivering, Cora released a terrified squeal.

  “Shh, darling.” Marjorie soothed, between the terror strangling her voice. “Mama’s right here. Just do as he says.”

  As if to demonstrate his absolute control and power, Lorne lopped off one of Cora’s shiny curls. He dangled the tresses between his thumb and forefinger before tossing it onto the floor.

  Fury flooding every pore, Keane advanced two predatory steps, the instinctive, primal urge to protect Cora, making him see red. By God, without a speck of remorse, he’d spill Lorne’s blood, and rid the earth of his putrid presence.

  Dual shadows of rage and fear contorted Lorne’s face. “Another inch and I swear I’ll draw her blood,” he gritted out between his teeth. “See if I dinna.”

  “Mama,” Cora wailed, quaking and trembling. “Dinna let the bad mon hurt me, Mama. Keane,” she pleaded, between hiccupping sobs. “Please help me.”

  Lorne laughed, a high-pitched cackle. “He canna help ye, brat.” In an instant, his features turned to granite, and he pricked Cora’s cheek with his knife. “Drop. The. Blade.”

  Keane let the dirk fall from his fingers, inwardly cursing all the while. Weaponless, his chances of cutting Marjorie free and rescuing Cora diminished profoundly.

  No doubt remained in Keane’s mind that Lorne had tumbled straight off the precipice into total madness.

  Unstable as he was, could Keane reason with him?

  Perchance make a bargain?

  Mayhap tempt him with something he couldn’t refuse?

  “Cora and Marjorie have nothin’ to do with our differences, Lorne.” Keane held his hands out, palm upward. “Let them go, and I vow I’ll remain without a struggle.”

  “Do ye think me that stupid?” Lorne shook his head. “Father told me ye mean to wed the English bitch, and that he hoped ye had many fine sons.” His sneer transformed into a feral snarl. “That was the last thing the craven ever said.”

  He made a slicing gesture across his throat.

  God Almighty, he killed Bothan?

  Was there no end to Lorne’s vileness?

  Bothan mightn’t have been a person worthy of admiration, but to be killed by his son’s hand…

  Marjorie’s horrified gaze collided with Keane’s.

  He tried to pore all of the reassurance and comfort into his eyes as he could. He would find a way out of this debacle. Somehow. Or he’d die trying.

  “Yer a verra bad mon.” Cora glared up at Lorne, her little fists rubbing at her wet face. “Ye say bad words, too.”

  Lorne shook her. “Shut up.”

  She burst into a fresh round of sobbing.

  “Shh,” Marjorie warned again, her eyes wild as she worked at the ropes. “Don’t move, darling. Stay quiet for Mama. Please.”

  Desperation leeched into her anxious, ragged tone.

  Where in the hell were the Kennedys and the sentries?

  “They made it so easy for me.” Lorne cocked his head and scoffed as he jabbed the tip of his blade between Marjorie and her daughter. “The brat was wanderin’ the passages, lookin’ for her kitty. Once I had her in my grasp, her mother was only too willin’ to allow me into her chamber. If she’d done that the first night, there’d have been nae need for any of this.”

  Horseshite.

  Pausing, a calculating look replacing his irritation, Lorne gave a sardonic shake of his head. “Och, that’s no’ entirely true. I canna have ye weddin’ anyone, ye see. Why, ye might have bairns. Sons. And I canna let anyone inherit, now can I, brother? I’m older than ye, ye ken, and I should’ve been the Duke of Roxdale, all along, no’ ye.”

  Pushing the terrified child before him, using her as a human shield as only a despicable coward would, Lorne angled to the center of the room.

  Cora’s wee pink toes stuck out from beneath her night rail, and she looked so helpless Keane fought the urge to charge Lorne and squeeze him by the throat until he’d snuffed the life from the rotter.

  Something brushed his leg, and he glanced down.

  With their predatory yellow-green eyes affixed on Lorne, Chimera and Sphynx padded past him.

  “Kitties,” Cora breathed. “Stay there, kitties. The bad mon will hurt ye.”

  As if understanding, Chimera sat, but Sphynx circled Lorne, stalking him.

  Good girls, Keane silently praised.

  Lorne lashed out with a booted foot, but with an angry hiss and arched back, Sphynx leaped out of his reach.

  Chimera stood, archi
ng her back in warning, as well.

  “Get those damned cats out of here,” Lorne demanded, eyeing the large wildcats warily. Real fear glinted in his eyes. He clutched the dagger with the tip thrust outward as he pointed the blade to the door. “Get them out!”

  In less than a blink, hell broke loose.

  Sphynx soared onto Lorne’s back, sinking her claws and teeth into him at the exact moment Chimera launched herself at his face.

  By God, what an extraordinarily orchestrated ambush.

  Arms flailing, Lorne shrieked and cursed as he tried to dislodge the furiously attacking felines.

  Keane didn’t hesitate. He rushed forward, shoving Cora to safety with one hand while knocking the blade from Lorne’s hand with the other.

  He pounded to Marjorie and, in three deft strokes, cut her free. With an anguished cry, she scooped Cora into her arms, burying her daughter’s face in her shoulder to shield her from the ghastly scene playing out.

  Lorne crumpled to his knees amid the cats’ furious growls and hisses as they tore at him, unrelenting in their ferocity. Rivulets of blood covered his face, neck, and hands. Yet the cats hadn’t gone in for the kill bite, ripping his throat open.

  No child should witness such violence and gore.

  “Get Cora out of here, Marjorie,” Keane ordered, kicking Lorne’s dirk across the room. He wasn’t taking any chances.

  With a swift nod, she fled the room.

  “Down,” Keane ordered, and at once, the cats sprang free. In truth, as enraged as they were, he hadn’t been certain they’d comply.

  Teeth barred, and still hissing and growling low in their throats, they prowled over to sit beside Keane. And then, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to have savagely attacked a human, they began grooming themselves.

  On the floor, Lorne writhed and moaned, his clothing and flesh shredded, and from the looks of him, probably blinded in one eye.

  Keane couldn’t summon an iota of sympathy. He’d deserved that and more.

  Footsteps thundered outside the chamber, and a heartbeat later, Graeme, Camden, and four clansmen plowed into the room.

  Marjorie edged in behind them, keeping Cora’s cherub’s face shielded from the grizzly scene.

  “Holy God above,” Graeme said, as comprehension took root. He gave Sphynx and Chimera a wide birth, as did the other Scots.

  If the situation weren’t so serious, Keane might’ve chuckled at the six huge Scots skirting the cats as if they were fire-breathing dragons.

  “Remind me never to make them angry,” Camden muttered, a good deal of awe coloring his tone.

  “They were protectin’ me,” Cora ventured. “They’re my friends, and friends help each other.”

  Upon hearing Cora, both felines ambled to Marjorie and rubbed against her skirts, loudly purring all the while.

  “I think they deserve a special treat for bein’ so brave,” Cora declared.

  Her grateful gaze seeking Keane’s, Marjorie agreed. “Indeed, they do, darling.”

  He read the appreciation in her eyes. And something more. Something that he couldn’t explore with her brothers-in-law or his clansmen hauling Lorne’s limp form from her chamber.

  Her former chamber.

  Keane would have her moved next to him, assuring her safety. Assuring she was near him forevermore.

  Her head resting on Marjorie’s shoulder, Cora tipped her lips upward at Keane. “I kent ye’d save me.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lost in thought, a soft pale green wool shawl covering her nightgown, Marjorie sat in a comfortable chair, gazing out the window into the winter night’s sky.

  Driven by the wind, clouds butted against each other like playful kittens or puppies, but glimpses of starlight and moonlight shone through the vast black space between them. There was something immensely peaceful about staring at the stars while waiting for the man she loved.

  Candles glowed and flickered in the sconces, and a roaring fire warmed the opulent chamber. Marjorie suspected this was the duchess’s suite.

  Brazen of Keane to transfer her to these rooms. Doing so sent an unmistakable message. And instead of pique or vexation, immense warmth curled around her ribs at his daring and presumptuousness.

  While she’d tucked Cora into bed once more, servants had moved her possessions. As was their wont, Sphynx had settled beside Cora and Chimera stretched out next to Elana, still fast asleep.

  Pinpricks of tears stinging her eyes, Marjorie had run her hand over both cats’ heads, “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for saving us.”

  Sphynx and Chimera had saved them.

  They might not be as docile and tame as the typical tabby cat, but she’d never doubt her daughters’ safety with them again. If she hadn’t witnessed their calculated, feral attack herself, she’d never have believed it.

  They had known Cora was in danger, and they’d acted together to save her.

  It was a miracle, plain and simple.

  No doubt Cora would regale her older sister with the adventure she’d had this night. Hopefully, the awfulness would fade in time and not leave lingering scars in her daughter’s little mind or on her innocent soul.

  Before leaving, Keane had tenderly kissed Marjorie’s forehead. “I’ll explain everythin’, jo, but right now, my people need me. Their traditions are all some of them have. I try to discover who most needs a first-footin’ to encourage them for the next year. This year, eight families have suffered a loss of some sort, so I’ll no’ be returnin’ for hours.”

  And so, after all of the horrific events that had transpired this evening, he’d painted a pleasant expression on his beloved face, and gone to the first-footings. To bring a bit of joy, happiness, and encouragement to others also suffering.

  He’d known Marjorie couldn’t leave her daughters tonight to accompany him, and he hadn’t asked it of her. But next year… She bent her mouth into a secret smile and nestled further into the chair, drawing her legs beneath her. Next year, she’d be at his side, and she’d prove that red-haired women weren’t bad luck.

  Keane’s unselfishness was one of the things she most admired about him. He took his duties as laird and duke seriously and didn’t only take advantage of the opportunities those positions afforded him.

  He was good. Truly good and decent and wonderful at his core. His gruff exterior protected a sensitive, caring man.

  As a child, she’d seen a remarkable stone once. There’d been nothing outstanding about the exterior, but the interior—oh, the gorgeous interior—had been a marvel of purple crystals. Amethysts, her grandfather had explained to her.

  Keane was like that marvelous stone, except he also possessed an exterior any woman would sigh over. In truth, the good Lord had taken a great deal of time forming such an extraordinary man.

  Marjorie still marveled that she’d ever believed otherwise. Still marveled that he wanted to make her his wife. And she wanted that, too. Wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, to bear his children, share his joys and sorrows.

  He’d heard the cry of her spirit tonight. Over and over and over, between prayers to God, she called out to Keane in her mind.

  Help us. Please. Help us.

  She’d never been so afraid. Utterly terrified.

  Not for herself, but for Cora and Keane.

  God, what a shock it had been to learn Lorne was his brother. There was a story there, and she’d be ready to listen when Keane was ready to tell what, no doubt, was a painful tale.

  Sighing, she shifted her position and rested her head against the chair back.

  When Berget had joined her in the nursery mere minutes after the calamity had ended, she’d been white-faced and shaking. “Graeme told me what happened,” she gulped, her violet eyes awash with tears. “I’m so verra relieved ye and the bairn are safe.” She managed an unsteady smile as she clasped Marjorie to her. “Yer the sister I never had, and I couldna bear the thought…”

  “Keane and the c
ats rescued us,” Marjorie explained.

  According to Berget, a locked and guarded cell deep beneath the castle held Lorne, his upper body a cartography of slashes, slices, scratches, and bites. Tomorrow, the authorities would collect him, and if he had truly murdered his father, the gallows awaited him.

  Never before had Marjorie considered herself an unforgiving person, yet she couldn’t summon an ounce of pity for him. Not after he’d threatened her sweet, innocent daughter. The world would be a better place without the likes of men like Lorne Buchannan.

  Midnight came and went, but Marjorie didn’t seek her bed. Keane had promised to see her before he found his, so unlike a couple of nights ago, she waited.

  She had an answer for him. One, she must tell him tonight. She’d wait until dawn if that were what it took.

  The clouds shifted again, permitting the quarter-moon to peek through.

  Graeme had correctly predicted more charitable weather.

  Given the events of tonight, would he still expect to leave on the morrow?

  Even if he did, she’d not be going with him. No, this wondrous thing between her and Keane was too precious to abandon. Who had the right to say love needed weeks or months to mature? To be real and lasting?

  She loved Keane.

  Marjorie permitted her heavy eyelids to drift shut as she imagined what a future with him entailed. More children, hopefully. Strapping sons with their father’s glossy midnight hair and charming grin, and another wee daughter, this one a brunette, too. Elana and Cora would be thrilled.

  Sometime later, she felt a wisp of firm, velvety lips across hers. She curved her mouth upward slightly as she came fully awake, finding Keane crouched beside her, banked embers of desire flickering in his gaze.

  “I’m sorry. I meant to stay awake.” She blinked sleepily, taking in his slightly damp midnight hair, and the day’s growth of bristle shadowing his hewn jaw.

  His fine lawn shirt gaped at the neckline, revealing a tantalizing display of hair, and the black breeches hugged the splendid, sculpted contours of his hips and thighs. He’d never looked more devilish or seductive, and Marjorie wanted this man with a ferocity that stunned her.