My Highland Lord (Highland Lords)

by Scott, Tarah

  "Put me down," she ordered, but he didn't slow his march down the hallway. Phoebe thrashed, but his hold tightened so that she felt as if bands of steel crushed her against stone—stone that smelled of sandalwood and man, and radiated a warmth that brought a rush of heat to her stomach. "Sir," she managed, but only the powerful thump of his heart answered as he took the stairs two at a time.

  At her room, he threw open the door, crossed to the bed, and tossed her onto the mattress. She bounced and tried to gain her balance, but Kiernan grabbed her hands. He hesitated, and relief shot through her at the thought he had come to his senses. But he released one hand and snatched a napkin from the nightstand, then wrapped it around her wrists in one quick motion.

  “You can't be serious!” she cried, but his gaze remained fixed on winding the twine around her napkin-protected wrists.

  Phoebe jerked her hands, but Kiernan yanked the knot closed too quickly.

  “That hurts,” she cried.

  He made another knot and yanked harder.

  “How dare you!” She struggled against the ties.

  Kiernan responded by winding the two ends of the twine around the bedpost and finishing off with another knot. Phoebe stared, dumbfounded as he stared back, blue eyes startlingly dark, and chest lifting and falling with each heavy breath he took. His gaze dropped to her breasts, inches from his face.

  She flushed. "You can't," she began, but he shoved away from her and strode to the door.

  “In a few minutes, Mather will be outside your door,” he said without looking back, then slammed the door as he left.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Phoebe shifted against the bed pillows and glanced at the mantle clock. Ten minutes before six. Her gaze fell to the low burning embers in the hearth. Morning was upon them and the commotion of the earlier hours had long since died. Yet, as Kiernan MacGregor promised, Mather stood outside her door. Mather had shown the good sense to untie her before positioning himself as guard. Her first thought had been that Kiernan regretted his rash outburst of temper, but Mather’s, “You ought not to have ignored his commands, Miss,” did away with any notion that his master had enough sense to comprehend his sin.

  A perfunctory knock sounded on the door, then it opened and the object of her anger filled the doorway. Phoebe straightened.

  “My one burning question, Heddy,” he said, closing the door as he stepped inside—she noted Mather no longer stood outside the door—“is why you were following Alan Hay?”

  “That offense didn't warrant you tying me up as if I was the criminal,” she retorted.

  Kiernan snorted. “I would have done far worse if you were a criminal.” He strode to the chair to the right of her bed and sat down. “Answer the question.”

  “If I answer incorrectly, will you tie me up again?”

  “I might.”

  Phoebe forced herself to relax against the pillows and raised a brow. “A simple case of ennui.”

  He blinked, and Phoebe feared she had earned another trussing up, then his expression grew speculative. The look abruptly disappeared and he settled into a corner of his chair.

  He draped an arm over the chair’s back and drawled, “Ennui, you say?”

  Despite his lazy expression, Phoebe was startled by the decided lack of interest in his voice. “Yes,” she replied.

  He gave a single nod. “Your quest for adventure nearly got you killed, my dear.”

  “It was an exciting adventure,” she rejoined in a bright voice. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Indeed,” she emphasized.

  “I am pleased,” Kiernan said.

  Phoebe frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “This fine bit of coquettish flirting.”

  She stiffened. He was right, which made the analysis all the worse. “This isn't an evening ball,” she snapped.

  “And I am not an earl.”

  “You could be a merchant—or a farmer—for all I care." Phoebe narrowed her eyes. "Who are you? You keep company with Lord Stoneleigh, which means you're not lowborn, and the villagers here look to you for leadership. You are no merchant—or a farmer, for that matter."

  He laughed. "If I was a merchant, would my money be enough for you, or is a title required?"

  She forced her temper back. "Sir, I understand you believe I am Hester—”

  He coughed as if to clear his throat.

  Phoebe crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “I understand you believe I am Hester and that you're doing your friend a service.”

  “Heddy.” He leaned forward and reached for the hand she had stuffed beneath her arm.

  Phoebe stiffened, but he pried the hand free and lifted it to his lips. His mouth against her hand caused her pulse to jump and warmth spread up her cheeks. His eyes registered curiosity, but he released her hand and reclined in his chair.

  “Forgive me for laughing,” he said.

  “I can forgive the mistaken identity—as inconvenient as it is—but tying me up goes beyond the pale.”

  “I'm pleased to have your forgiveness, regardless of the reason.”

  “When this escapade is finished, you will find yourself at a disadvantage.”

  “Heddy,” he said with resignation, “I find myself at a disadvantage now.”

  She gave him a dry look. “I doubt that. When do you plan on sending word to the authorities of the murder plot against the duchess—or have you already done so?”

  “No need to concern yourself with that.”

  "But—my God, you don't intend to report them. You will stand idly by while a murder is planned and executed?”

  “What is one murder in exchange for fifteen thousand?" he replied. "Or do fifteen thousand Highlanders hold less value to you than a single noblewoman?” He paused. "Perhaps, the gratitude of the duchess' male relatives interests you more?”

  Phoebe shot to her feet. “Even Heddy wouldn't lower herself to such debased actions.”

  “Lower herself?” Kiernan laughed, although the sound held none of his characteristic humor. “Heddy, I have seen—”

  “By heavens," she burst out. "I am not Heddy.”

  “No?” he murmured. When she gave a frustrated growl, he rose. “Well then—" He yanked her against him.

  His mouth crashed down on hers and she froze. One arm slipped around her waist while the other cupped her neck. She gasped, but he hugged her closer. His tongue invaded her mouth, the taste of him, shocking and intoxicating. His arm tightened, but the kiss, the thrust of his tongue, softened to a feathery touch. He shuddered, and her heart leapt into a furious rhythm.

  His mouth moved slowly against her lips. She became aware of the hard bulge pressing against her abdomen and clutched at his shoulders. Heat streaked from the unexpected throb in her breasts to her stomach, then lower. He abruptly tore his mouth from hers and buried his face in her neck. Phoebe swayed. His low laugh washed warm across her ear and she shivered.

  “You temptress,” he breathed. “I understand what Regan sees in you.”

  “Just because I borrowed Heddy's coach doesn't mean I am her,” she said through a gulp of air.

  Kiernan straightened away from her and stared down at her, eyes intense. “I wonder if Regan would believe me if I swore I didn’t know you're his lover." His gaze slid down her body, and she couldn't find the will to turn away as his eyes lifted again to her face. "You make testing the theory tempting. In fact—"

  His fingers tightened on her arms and she realized he intended to test the theory that instant.

  Her head swam. A mental picture rose of Kiernan's large hands on her naked breasts, his mouth—Phoebe managed the presence of mind to tug free of his grasp. “I-I care nothing for what Lord Stoneleigh believes.”

  Kiernan tweaked a lock of her hair. “I think you do, sweetheart.”

  She feared her knees would buckle. By heavens, she had to get away from the man. Despite the shakiness in her legs, Phoebe crossed to the window and s
tared out at the road leading to the trees in the distance. “What have you done with the prisoners?”

  “Prisoners?” The lazy drawl had returned to his voice.

  Phoebe turned. “You freed them, didn't you?” But he had said as much a moment ago. He'd been in a rage when Robbie threatened to shoot her, then he had let them go. Why? “You have made yourself a conspirator to an assassination attempt,” she said.

  “I had hoped Regan would meet us here," he said, "but I can't wait any longer. I must press north. Connor will be here to see you early this morning. If he says you can ride, we'll travel together.”

  How was she going to escape him and get word to Alistair of the plan to assassinate the duchess? Phoebe closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.

  “Are you ill, Heddy?”

  “There's a good chance I will be.”

  “Shall I fetch the chamber pot?”

  “Only if you wish me to brain you with it.” She looked at him. “Don't you understand what this means?”

  “That you are ill, or that you wish to do me bodily harm?”

  “Lord Stoneleigh isn't coming—because I am not Hester.”

  “If that is true, when I return, you and I will get better acquainted.”

  Her pulse quickened. “It is imperative I return home.”

  “And I must continue north,” he replied.

  Why force her to go with him? At this point, his attempt to play cupid was dashed. Had he come to doubt she was Heddy? Surely he wasn't serious about getting better acquainted? He'd said he'd planned to secure an introduction at Drucilla’s soirée.

  “What is so pressing that you must return to Edinburgh, Heddy?”

  She shook her head. “Not Edinburgh, England.”

  “England, then?”

  “What awaits you in the north?” she said. “You don't strike me as a man displaced from his home.”

  “My home is nowhere near the duchess.”

  “I see.” Phoebe nodded. “Kidnapping women, stalking robbers in the night, dabbling in murder conspiracies, it is you who suffers a nasty case of ennui.”

  “But you have solved that problem, my dear,” he replied.

  “Lord Stoneleigh won't appreciate you kidnapping me,” she shot back in desperation. By now her uncle must know she was missing. If he was on following her as he had been she’d eloped with Brandon, Kiernan MacGregor was likely to receive a bullet through his heart.

  “So my money isn't enough, then?” Kiernan said.

  Phoebe narrowed her eyes. Perhaps he deserved the bullet.

  *****

  Baron Ty Arlington closed the door to his mother's bedchambers as he entered. She sat on the settee overlooking the small garden in their Carlisle home, and looked up. The smile on her face faltered.

  He strode to her, his fury barely held in check. "Where is Phoebe, mother?"

  "W-what? How should I know?"

  "She's been missing four days. Don't toy with me. I'll wring your beautiful neck, then make sure your precious Clive hangs for your murder."

  Her eyes widened. "Ty, I don't know what you mean by Clive—"

  "I am well aware you've been spreading your legs for him these last three months," Ty snarled. "Unlike your husband, I am no fool. What did you do with my cousin?"

  "We—I—did it for you," she sobbed

  Blood roared through his ears. "Did what?"

  "You know she won't marry you," his mother rushed on. "We must gain control of her inheritance. If she is dead—"

  Ty seized his mother's arm and dragged her to within an inch of his face. "If she dies before I marry her, we won't get a damned thing. There's a stipulation in her mother's will that if Phoebe dies before marrying, her money goes to a distant cousin."

  His mother gasped.

  "That's right," he said. "Lady Wallington didn't trust us."

  "Us? But we never hurt her."

  "Only because she had the good grace to die of a fever first." He gave his mother a violent shake that jarred dark curls loose from their pins. "What did you do?"

  "Phoebe isn't dead," she got out between sobs, then began to cry harder.

  Rage flashed in a blinding light through his brain before her words penetrated. Ty shoved her back onto the couch and she fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief. He pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and shoved it in front of her face. She hesitated.

  "Take it," he ordered.

  She took the handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. "You can be so cruel," she said through a dramatic hiccup.

  "Like mother like son."

  Her head snapped up and her eyes locked onto his.

  "Where is she?" he demanded.

  "I don't know. Clive said there were two men with her who protected her from him and his men."

  "His men? Bloody hell, do you realize I could hang if he tells a single soul what I have planned?"

  "Clive would never tell anyone."

  "He's a damned coachman. Once he tires of fucking you, he'll find a wealthier woman who's just as bored as you are."

  "Ty."

  Ty sat down beside her. "Listen carefully, you are to leave Phoebe to me."

  "Clive can help."

  "No one can help. Now calm yourself. If your husband sees you, he'll demand to know why you've been crying.”

  “He would take it for a touch of melancholia.”

  Ty gave a disgusted snort. “Twelve years of marriage and he doesn't know you at all.”

  "He sees what he wants to see."

  There was a rap on the door, then it opened and a young maid entered, a tray of tea in hand. She stopped. "Forgive me, my lady." She gave a small curtsy. "I didn't realize you had company."

  "Never mind," Ty said. "Bring the tray."

  The girl cast a nervous glance at Lady Albery, but did as instructed. She set the tray on the sideboard. Ty rose and approached as she poured the second cup.

  She paused and looked up at him. “M-m’lord?” she asked in a whisper.

  Ty placed a hand over her fingers, steadying her as she finished filling the cup. "No need to be afraid,” he said softly.

  “Y-yes, m’lord,” the maid stammered, then set the pot down and made a hasty exit.

  “Really, Ty,” his mother said once they were alone again, “must you have every maid that passes through these doors?”

  Ty carried the two cups of tea to the table in front of the settee, and sat down beside her. "Don't meddle in any of my affairs—especially Phoebe. Do you understand?"

  "Surely you can find a better prospect than her?"

  “Few heiresses are willing to wed a mere baron,” he replied. "And even if I were to find an heiress, few can boast fifteen thousand pounds a year.”

  And even fewer had no one left in the world to protect them.

  *****

  Two towers came into view atop the mountainside to the west. Cool morning air rippled across Phoebe's cloak, tickling her arms. She cast a furtive glance at Kiernan MacGregor. He rode to her left with Mather to her right. Kiernan sat straight in the saddle, his body moving in a fluid motion with the horse, which gave testament to the countless hours he must have spent riding.

  A tremor rippled through her. The memory of his kiss rose to the surface as it had a hundred times in the three hours since they'd left the inn. Kiernan wasn't the first man she'd kissed, but he was the first highwayman she'd kissed and—her stomach twisted—the first man she'd suspected of being a traitor. That, however, didn't stop her heart from fluttering with the memory.

  For the thousandth time, she cursed her curiosity. Had she stayed in bed last night instead of following Alan Hay, she would halfway back to Edinburgh, where she could warn Alistair of the plan to assassinate the duchess. She would also be far away from Kiernan MacGregor. Though had she not followed Alan Hay, she wouldn’t know about his plan. Either way, her fate had been sealed the moment Kiernan MacGregor appeared in her coach doorway…or perhaps it was his fate that had been sealed. Her attention sna
gged on the way his trousers hugged his muscled thigh. Phoebe snapped her attention forward.

  “Is something wrong, Heddy?”

  She shifted her gaze to him.

  He was regarding her. “I didn't think to bring a chamber pot with me.”

  She scowled. “I have no use for a chamber pot here.”

  Mischief lit his eyes. “Not even to brain me with?”

  The brute was enjoying himself far too much. She turned her gaze to the castle, now in full view as they crested the hill.

  “Do you like it?” he asked.

  Phoebe noted the dozen armed men arrayed along the battlements. “This is the nineteenth century, why so many guards?”

  Kiernan motioned with his head to the forest that surrounded them. “This is untamed country, far beyond the reach of traditional law. The nineteenth century won’t ride to our rescue any quicker than the Queen's men will.”

  She pointed past Mather to the sparkling lake that stretched out in the valley to the east. “What lake is that?”

  “Loch Katrine.”

  "It's beautiful," she said.

  They lapsed into silence. As they rode through the castle gate, three ruddy-faced children shot across the courtyard. Three women walking toward the castle slowed, their attention on Phoebe. She gave a cordial nod and they continued on. No one looked thin or underfed. What shielded these people from the catastrophe that had devastated Alan Hay and his people?

  They halted and Mather dismounted. Kiernan slid from the saddle and tossed his reins to Mather. “If you would, Mather,” he said, and came around her horse.

  Mather cast her a nervous glance that reminded Phoebe of when she'd told him she wanted help in writing a letter to Kiernan's father. Surely the rogue's father couldn’t be at the castle? Kiernan halted beside her and she looked down at him.

  “When will I meet your father?”

  He grinned. “He isn't here.”

  Of course not. The kidnapper wasn’t about to be so easily caught. “Where is he?”

  “In the south.”

  Kiernan clasped her waist and lifted her from the horse. He set her down so close that she caught the familiar scent of sandalwood.

  His gaze dropped. “That’s a fine dress you’re wearing, Heddy.”