A Mackenzie Clan Christmas

by Jennifer Ashley

  “Aye.”

  The one word, and then silence.

  “Aye, you think so?” Beth asked. “Or aye, he actually did it?”

  “I’m certain he did.” Ian stopped again, then seemed to realize Beth wanted more. “Halsey has kept some of the art for himself. I saw it in his eyes when I accused him of it. He thought we wouldn’t notice the absence in the jumble the thieves left in the tunnels. But I saw that they were gone when we found the stash.”

  “Good heavens, Ian, why didn’t you say so at the time?” Beth exclaimed. “Fellows and Hart realized only yesterday that the paintings were gone.”

  Ian shrugged. “Everyone saw what I saw.”

  “I agree,” Beth said in exasperation. “They should have been brilliant and concluded immediately that not all the paintings were there. Now Hart is being accused of fraud, and unless you can prove that Lord Halsey has the artwork then . . . Ian?” Beth stuttered to a halt as Ian removed a square velvet box from the pocket of his coat. “What is that?”

  Ian touched the box’s soft lid. “We had to sleep in Edinburgh.”

  “I know,” Beth said. “I received John’s telegram.”

  Ian held out the box, waiting for her to take it.

  Beth knew that, for Ian, simply stating he’d stayed the night in Edinburgh passed for a clear explanation. She could read him enough by now to follow what had happened—Ian had decided he needed to bring her a gift to placate her for not telling her where he’d gone the day before, and for staying away all night.

  Beth could assure him that an apology gift was not needed, but Ian’s presents were always . . . interesting. She took the box and carefully opened it.

  And stood, dumbfounded. “Ian, this is . . .”

  Breathtaking. A strand of diamonds lay on white velvet, not a simple string, but a complex mesh like a spider’s web, glittering with multicolored stones. The necklace dipped to a point in the middle, from which dangled a large round diamond, sparkling in the soft light.

  “Oh . . . Ian.” Beth looked up at him, her heart squeezing. “Why?”

  Ian’s brows drew down, the gold in his eyes glinting. “Because I thought you would like it. If you don’t, I’ll have Curry take it back to the jewelers.”

  He reached for the box, perfectly serious. Not offended, Beth knew—Ian would reason that if Beth did not like this gift, he’d simply exchange it for another until he found one she did like.

  Beth gripped the box and took a few swift steps backward. “No, no, no, it is not going anywhere. This is lovely, Ian. Exquisite. Perfect.”

  Ian relaxed. “Then you do like it.”

  “Of course I do.” Beth hugged the box to her chest, then gave him a puzzled look. “But it must have been far too late when you arrived in Edinburgh for shops to be open, and far too early in the morning before you left it.”

  “Our jeweler’s shop was shut, yes. I knocked on the door this morning until he opened it.”

  “I see.” Beth envisioned Ian pounding on the door with his fists, unrelenting, while the jeweler stumbled down the stairs in his nightcap. “Poor man. But Ian,” Beth said, tears in her voice. “Thank you.”

  Ian came to her and took the box from her hands, laid it gently aside, and closed his arms around her. His eyes darkened. “I should have taken you wi’ me.”

  “Indeed, you ought to have.” Beth slid her hands around his waist, finding the soft wool of his kilt over his firm backside. “I would have liked to see this scion of the house of Halsey and helped you accuse him.”

  “Then I wouldn’t have had t’ sleep alone.” Ian leaned to kiss her neck. “I don’t like sleeping alone. Not anymore.”

  Beth smiled, her impishness rising. “You could have put a cot in your bedroom for John.”

  Ian lifted his head. “He’s a large, hairy, snoring man. He snored all the way from Edinburgh t’ Aberdeen then from Aberdeen t’ Kilmorgan Halt. Why would I want him near my bedroom?”

  “I’m teasing you, Ian. You seem to have become good friends.”

  Ian shrugged. “He’ll do.” He tilted Beth’s face to his. “He talks too much.”

  “But what are you going to—?”

  Ian nipped her lower lip. “Shh.”

  Beth rose on tiptoe and met him in a heartfelt kiss. Ian parted her lips to kiss her in return, his tongue sweeping in to heat her. He gathered her close, his strong hands bringing her hard against him.

  “I remember when ye first undressed for me,” he said, his voice going soft. “In Mac’s studio, in Paris, when ye brought me a present.”

  Beth remembered perfectly. She’d given him a gift—a gold pin to wear on his lapel—to apologize when she thought she’d stirred up trouble for him and his family. Ian had accepted the pin without understanding exactly why she’d given it to him, then told her he wanted her to undress for him, to show him her body. Beth, after a few heart-pounding moments, had.

  “You asked me to explain love to you that day,” Beth said. Her arms were around his tall body, and she felt the thickness of his arousal against her abdomen. “I was confounded, and did not know what to say.”

  “Ye said well enough.” Ian’s low rumble made her shiver. “And now, ye no longer have to explain.”

  “Good.” Beth swallowed. “I remember being very bad at it.”

  “Ye’ve made me know it instead.” His voice became a dark whisper. “Love you, m’ Beth.” Beth’s eyes moistened. “I love you, Ian Mackenzie.”

  Ian’s arms were solid around her, and at the same time, Beth felt herself falling. But the carpet on the floor of the Ming room was soft and giving, and Beth landed safely, cradled by Ian.

  He undressed her, as he had last night, as he had that afternoon in Paris, and so many days and nights in between. Beth’s clothes came away a piece a time, to lie strewn about the floor. Beth undressed Ian in turn, his coat, waistcoat, shirt. Finally Beth unpinned his kilt, the folds of it falling away to bare her husband to her.

  Ian took time to look at Beth, laid out before him on the plaid he’d slid beneath her. His golden eyes took in everything, heating as he slid his gaze down her body.

  He rose abruptly to his feet, sunlight through the windows playing on his nakedness, shadows sculpting muscles. Before Beth could ask where he was going, he returned with the box containing the necklace. Stretching himself next to her, Ian opened the box, drew out the necklace, and spread it across her breasts.

  “There,” he whispered. “They’re more beautiful when they’re on you.”

  Beth glanced down at the diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, and rubies that reposed on the swell of her breasts. Clusters of diamonds glittered on her nipples. “Um . . .” Beth began, “I do not think the necklace is meant to go quite in that spot.”

  Ian slanted her one of his rare smiles, this one full of wickedness that went with the sin in his eyes. “It does now, m’ Beth.”

  Beth’s heart beat faster. The stones and slim chains were cool on her skin, but Ian against her was as hot as fire.

  Ian cupped his hand under her breast, not disturbing the necklace as he kissed her, the kiss deep. She touched the line of his jaw, loving the burn of his whiskers against her fingertips.

  The jewels did not move as Ian lowered himself on top of her, kissing her, touching, his hands strong and gentle at the same time.

  Ian slid inside her, the intense pleasure of him opening her and stealing her breath.

  “I love ye, my Beth,” he whispered. “M’ wife. M’ everything . . .”

  * * *

  The house was in chaos that afternoon. The remainder of the family was due to arrive soon, and Beth had to return to assisting Eleanor. Ian decided that the next time he visited their jewelers he’d have them make matching pieces to the necklace to adorn Beth in other places.

  Ian regretted having to relinquish Beth. He’d prefer to lie with her on the floor in the Ming room, languidly touching her, trying to decide where the necklace looked best on her. He’d kiss
her when he wanted to, or come together with her for more lovemaking.

  Beth’s kiss good-bye before she hurried off to Eleanor held promise, but Ian would rather have her now than the impatience of waiting for later. Everyday life, in all its details, ground on too long, in his opinion.

  Ian unfortunately had plenty of details to attend to. He conferred with Fellows about what had happened with Halsey, then returned to the distillery to give orders about how to clean up the mess there. Once Ian finished with that, he looked for Beth, but she was still rushing about with Eleanor, the maids, and the housekeeper. Ian knew she’d be some time, so he hunted up Ackerley and told him he wanted to continue the cure.

  Today, this involved Ian talking about himself and his brothers and how he’d felt about them as a child. Though Hart, Cam, and Mac had often confused Ian, he’d always liked and admired them. Cam had taught him to ride and to drink; Mac had taught him about women and art; Hart about numbers and money. Ian had absorbed it all.

  “I don’t know how I felt,” Ian said irritably after a time. “I didn’t know how to feel anything. I didn’t feel until I met Beth.”

  “Ah yes.” Ackerley looked up from writing his notes. “Dear Beth. She is a sweet woman. How did she . . . well, teach you to feel, as it were?”

  Ian had no trouble meeting Ackerley’s gaze now. “I don’t know. I wanted . . .” He groped for the words that swooped and swirled past him like elusive fish. “I wanted to be with her. See what she saw; hear what she heard. She taught me to understand. What is here.” He touched his forehead. “And here.” He placed his hand over his heart. “And the day I thought I’d lost her . . .” His emotions had buried him, and he’d realized that every loss he’d ever endured before Beth would be as nothing if she went. He loved her with his whole being.

  “I see,” Ackerley said softly. “I see.”

  “No, ye don’t,” Ian growled. “Ye talk about m’ father and m’ mother and brothers, and what I did as a lad, but it doesn’t matter. It’s all gone. Beth is now. M’ family is now. I don’t care about a long time ago.”

  Ackerley studied him with renewed interest. “Indeed? I shall have to think about that.”

  Ian sprang up, restless. “When ye’ve thought, and ye can cure me, ye find me and tell me. I have many things t’ do.”

  With that, he left the room, sensing Ackerley’s fascinated gaze on him all the way out the door.

  * * *

  At dinner, there was more interminable discussion, this time about Lord Halsey and his culpability.

  “Unfortunately, Ian,” Fellows said, as the meal began, “I can’t rush down and arrest Halsey without any proof of your suspicions.”

  Ian saw no reason why not, but he knew Fellows liked to follow the rules—unless expeditious not to. “Doesn’t matter,” Ian said. “Watch him. He’ll do something wrong sooner or later.”

  “Let him hang himself, you mean,” Fellows suggested.

  “Aye.” Ian, finished with the discussion, applied himself to his food.

  Hart, obviously, was not finished. “Your solution is to do nothing until Halsey makes a mistake?” He scowled at Fellows and Ian. “What if he never does—or does in twenty years? I’ve been accused of fraud—not openly yet, but that will come.”

  “Insurance men are so tiresome, aren’t they?” Eleanor put in from the foot of the table. “Why should Hart want to throw his own paintings into a hole?”

  “For the money, of course,” Beth answered, her gentle voice a caress to Ian’s soul. “As though Hart would ever let his finances become so unsound.”

  “The vulgar insurance man implies so.” Eleanor made a face. “He doesn’t come out and say it, thinking it is too gauche to mention money at all. At the same time he drops little hints, such as Very odd thing for a thief to do, isn’t it? Leave most of what he stole behind? Almost as though he knew he could come back for it whenever he liked. Pompous prig.”

  Ian swallowed a mouthful of buttery fish. “Hart can talk his way out of it.” Hart was good at that.

  “True,” Eleanor said before Hart could reply. “Perhaps we should invite Lord Halsey to stay here,” she went on, her fork poised. “For the birthday celebration. We could surround him and get him to confess. Or, I could take him up to the roof . . .”

  “El,” Hart said.

  Eleanor blinked her very blue eyes at him. “To show him the view, of course. It’s a fine one, you must admit.” She gave Hart a sweet smile, and returned to her meal.

  Hart watched her, his golden eyes holding a mixture of wariness, affection, and heat. As much as Hart growled, Ian knew he loved Eleanor’s impetuous boldness, her fearlessness. They made a good match—the fearsome duke and the warmhearted woman.

  After dinner, Ian returned to the nursery with Beth. The children were more unruly than usual—tomorrow, the rest of the cousins would arrive, and the excitement of this had them animated.

  Ian worried a little about that—his own son, Jamie, was the ringleader, and could incite his younger cousins to do anything he could think of. Ian would have to keep a careful eye on them.

  When the girls and small Malcolm finally settled in the nursery, and Beth chivvied Alec and Jamie into their own room, Ian went wearily to bed. He’d never imagined how exhausting children could be. His father had tried to quell the high-spirited Mackenzies with iron control and vicious beatings. Beth had been showing Ian for the last ten years that there was a better way—patience and love.

  Ian had tucked the necklace into the bedside table, and decided he wasn’t too tired to show Beth how much he appreciated her teaching him about the gentle side of life. He snuggled down with her much later, knowing that the next day, he’d have to again take up the problem of Halsey. He, like Hart, did not want to wait twenty years for the man to put a foot wrong. Ian wanted an end to this. In the meantime, he let himself drift off with Beth, knowing he’d come up with some idea if he let himself.

  In the small hours of the morning, in velvet darkness, Ian snapped open his eyes.

  He did not know what had awakened him—a tiny noise, a breath of air—but a tingle swept through his blood, a warning that something was terribly wrong.

  Beth slept on in the warm nest they’d made. But in the same way Ian had known when the thieves had invaded the gallery, he sensed that someone was in the house.

  In the nursery.

  He slid from the bed, wrapping a kilt around his hips, not bothering with shoes or shirt. Ian silently left the bedroom, taking the key from the lock inside and locking the door behind him. He’d not risk one of Halsey’s thugs skulking around him and getting to Beth while Ian explored elsewhere.

  The hall was quiet, every door closed. Ian moved noiselessly down the corridor, which was lit by moonlight through a large window at the end. The very last door led to the nursery. Its knob turned easily under Ian’s hand.

  Ian slid inside, becoming a shadow in deeper shadows, and made his way to Megan’s bed. He let out a sigh of relief when he found her sleeping quietly, on her belly, her cheek pressed to her pillow.

  Ian smoothed the cover over her and moved to Belle’s bed, already hearing her soft breathing. Ian let his hand drift over her dark red hair. He checked Malcolm, who was also sleeping, then he left the room, his heart beating thickly with relief. His daughters and wee nephew were safe.

  Ian went next to the lads’ room, the hall’s carpet prickling his bare feet. This door opened as easily, though its hinges gave a faint creak.

  Ian’s breath stopped. It was this sound, the small noise in the darkness, that had awakened him.

  Ian swiftly entered the room, his lungs tight. He saw Alec, Hart’s son, sprawled across his bed, his eyes tightly closed, covers barely rumpled.

  The bed in which Jamie slept was empty. The blankets and sheets had been dragged down the side of the bed, and the pillow was on the floor, the mark of a large and heavy boot imprinted on the linen.

  But apart from Alec, no one else was in t
he room. Jamie, and the man he’d struggled with, were gone.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ian’s roar of anguish jerked Beth from a sound sleep. She sat straight up, her heart pounding. She hadn’t heard Ian sound like that in many years.

  She hastened out of bed, drawing her wrapper around her. Beth found the bedroom door locked, the key gone. Ian hadn’t done that in a long while either. Locking her in was his way of protecting her, Beth understood, but she’d learned how to circumvent the problem. She fished in her bedside table drawer for the spare key and let herself out and into the corridor.

  The noise came from the boys’ room at the end the hall. Beth, every limb cold, raced toward it. The nursery door was closed, and Beth heard her daughters’ voices, worried, calling for her and Ian.

  Ian stood in the middle of the lads’ bedroom, his head bowed, eyes closed, fists balled. He’d ceased making the terrible noise, but he rocked back and forth, his body tight. He had gone into his mind, searching for a place to retreat.

  Alec, strangely, was still fast asleep, his chest rising with his even breath. He should have been awakened by his uncle shouting next to him, but he didn’t stir.

  Jamie’s bed was empty.

  Icy fear rose up to beat at her. “Ian!” Beth ran to him and seized one solidly fisted hand. “Ian, where is Jamie?”

  Ian jumped at her touch. His body shuddered, then he peeled opened his eyes and looked down at her with fathomless anguish.

  “Gone,” Ian said. “He’s gone, he’s gone, gone, gone, gonegonegonegone . . .”

  Beth’s world broke into glittering shards of colors and light. “Gone? What do you mean . . .”

  But she knew exactly what Ian meant. She took in the torn-up bedding and the boot print, and knew in her heart that Jamie had been stolen from them.

  “No.” The word dragged out of her, a cross between a whisper and a moan.

  The sound made Ian’s continuing gonegonegone cease. He seized her hands in a tight grip, his eyes filled with a terrifying anger.