My Highland Lord (Highland Lords)

by Scott, Tarah

  Adam reached into his coat.

  “Careful,” Niall warned, and Adam opened his coat, revealing the pistol stuffed into his waistcoat. He lifted the weapon with forefinger and thumb and tossed it to the ground.

  Calders came to a halt next to Niall. “What's he doing here?”

  “You’ve no other pistol?” demanded Niall.

  "No," Adam replied.

  Phoebe whipped her head around at hearing someone alight from the carriage and saw it was the duchess. Lord Ingersol stepped from the carriage behind her, leaving his wife and Sue crowded in the doorway peering out.

  “What's going on here?” Ingersoll asked as if he were in charge. “Do you know this man?”

  Phoebe ignored him and turned back to the duchess' men. “Niall, put away your weapon. I’ve known this man since the schoolroom. Satisfy yourself that you've taught him not to sneak up on a carriage traveling at night. And you, Adam, thank God for a full moon or I might have shot you myself. Why are you skulking about in the forest?”

  “I didn't care for this bend in the road,” he replied. “If I encounter a highwayman, I prefer being the one to catch him off guard.”

  “It didn't occur to you that if you were to catch me off guard I might shoot you?”

  “You didn't.”

  Phoebe rolled her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  Elise approached. “Is that Mr. Branbury?”

  “It is,” Phoebe replied, and started toward him.

  He dismounted and came forward, meeting her halfway. “Phoebe,” he said, and she heard the tender note in his voice and realized his intent.

  “Oh, Adam, you're only causing yourself pain by coming here.”

  “Phoebe,” he began again, then looked at the crowd gathered. “Over here,” he motioned toward his horse, “I'd like a private moment.”

  “Quite inappropriate,” Ingersol muttered.

  “Phoebe,” Elise called. “Perhaps Mr. Branbury would care to join us at the inn?”

  “Forgive the intrusion, Your Grace,” Adam gave a gallant bow.

  “Indeed,” Elise said, surprising Phoebe with her icy tone. “Lord Ashlund won't appreciate his future wife being waylaid on the road.”

  “Phoebe and I are close friends," he replied. "I would die to protect her honor.”

  Elise raised a brow. “You damage her honor by insisting upon privacy.”

  Even in the muted light of the moon, Phoebe saw his face redden.

  “Here here, now,” Lord Ingersol came forward, “if the young lady is engaged to another man, what right have you to be bothering her?”

  Adam stiffened and looked pleadingly at Elise. “It is of the utmost importance that I speak with Phoebe. I will keep her but a moment.”

  “Phoebe,” Elise began, but Phoebe stopped her.

  “Your Grace, Adam is an old friend. I owe him, at the very least, a moment of my time. We will only be a few feet away. Rest assured, Mr. Branbury’s intentions are honorable.” She turned and started toward the trees. “Don't dally, Adam,” she said in a whisper. “One of them is bound to protest in earnest at any second.”

  Adam hastened to follow her.

  When they reached the edge of the tress, Phoebe whirled. “What in God’s name is wrong with you?”

  “Phoebe—”

  “No,” she said, “don’t bother explaining, it’s quite clear why you're here, not only to me, but to every person standing over there.”

  “I had no idea there would be such an entourage. Phoebe.” He took her hand in his.

  “Please, Adam, don't do this.” She tried to pull free, but he held tight and took a step deeper into the trees.

  He stopped within the shadows and blurted, “We could reach Gretna Green in a few hours.”

  “Adam—” she started, but the despair in his voice halted the intended retort. “Adam,” she said more softly, and squeezed his hand, “you worry me. I've never seen you like this.”

  “Desperation drives a man.”

  A strange pang went through her. “I have never misled you.”

  “There was a time…”

  “Once, yes, but we were young. How often have I explained it was infatuation?”

  “You deemed it infatuation after reading your father’s letter,” he retorted.

  Phoebe stiffened. Adam and Alistair were the only two people who knew about the letter. She regretted both.

  “I care for you. Adam, but you go too far.” She added in frustration, “For God’s sake, why force me to hurt you? I have always been honest with you.”

  He dropped her hand as if he held hot coals. “Honest with me? You're not honest with yourself. How am I to believe you are capable of being honest with me?”

  “You have the most abominable way of making me wish I had shot you.”

  “How does your future husband feel about your quest, Phoebe?” Adam demanded, and she was startled to realize how much he knew about her. Worse, how obvious she'd been in regards to her feelings about her father.

  “I have had enough.” She whirled, but he caught her arm.

  “Oh, no you don’t. Answer me."

  An instant of silence passed.

  “I’ll be damned,” he breathed. “You haven’t told him.”

  She jerked her arm free and turned to go.

  “That's unfair, don’t you think?” he snapped. “Doesn’t the poor fellow have the right to know your heart belongs to another man?”

  Phoebe whirled. “How dare you?”

  “Phoebe,” Adam said, his voice suddenly soft, “I know what your father means to you. Fool that I am, I would share you with him. Can your new love say that?”

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked. “I can change nothing.”

  “You know why. I love—"

  The deafening roar of a shot rang out and Adam staggered backward a pace.

  “Adam?”

  Phoebe stood frozen for an instant, confused, then, lunged toward him. She grabbed his outstretched hand. He gripped her fingers, then his hold slackened and he slumped against her. His knees buckled and Phoebe caught him, his weight dragging her down with him. They landed together, her on her knees, him cradled in her arms.

  Adam grasped her hand. “Phoebe.” The word was a mere whisper.

  Something warm spread across her abdomen and she touched the sticky substance seeping from his chest.

  He grabbed her shoulder, dragging her face closer to his. “I'm sorry.”

  “No, no, quiet,” she said through tears.

  “I—" Adam coughed hard "—love—"

  He went limp.

  “Adam.” She felt for a heartbeat, her hand wet with blood, but found no pulse thrumming against his neck. “Dear God. Adam. No!”

  An unexpected sound penetrated her mind. The pounding of boots on ground? Phoebe looked up, barely able to focus on the two men who skidded to a halt beside her. She hugged Adam, ignoring the iron grip on her arm. She shook the hand off, then glanced sharply up. The drawn pistol the man held registered in her brain.

  “Why?” she cried, and lunged for his weapon.

  “Phoebe!” Kiernan jerked the pistol aside, sending the shot into the darkness. “Mather!” he shouted as Phoebe wrestled for the gun.

  “I’m all right, sir,” he called. “You missed me by at least an inch.”

  Phoebe’s grip slipped and Kiernan’s chest clenched at the realization that the slick warmth on her hands was blood. He wrenched the pistol free of her grasp, then stuffed it into his waistband and went down on his knees beside her.

  “Phoebe.” He gripped her shoulders. "Are you hurt—did he hurt you? Who is he?"

  “Miss!” a man called from the edge of the trees.

  “Phoebe.” Kiernan felt her face, her neck and down her bodice, but found no wound or blood soaked fabric. His mind raced. Had the man she still hugged been shot? "What happened?" Kiernan demanded.

  The noisy pounding of feet on the ground was followed by Elise callin
g, “Phoebe,” as she hurried into view.

  “Back, Duchess,” Niall shouted, and shoved past her, then stopped. “Laird?”

  Phoebe looked at his stepmother. “Elise, I—he—”

  With one hand, Kiernan crushed Phoebe as close as he could, given that she kept a tenacious hold on the man. With the other hand, he felt for a pulse on the man's neck. Nothing. Two other men appeared beside Niall.

  "Phoebe," Kiernan said, but she shook her head violently. He grabbed her to lift her, but she struck out at him.

  “No,” she cried, but he yanked her up. The man slid from her lap. “Adam.” Phoebe clutched at him as Kiernan lifted her into his arms.

  He hugged her, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. Hot and wet, her tears bathed his skin. “Bring him,” Kiernan ordered Mather.

  Mather hoisted Adam over his shoulder.

  “Duchess,” Niall said, and she led the way past the onlookers out onto the road.

  Kiernan headed for their coach.

  A woman standing near the carriage shrank back as he passed. “She shot him,” she gasped an instant later when Mather appeared carrying the dead man.

  Calders ran ahead and opened the carriage door for Kiernan.

  “Goodness,” Sue exclaimed, and scooted away from Kiernan. “What—”

  “Get out,” he ordered.

  The girl’s eyes widened and her gaze flicked to the blood that stained his shirt and Phoebe’s bodice. She scrambled from the carriage and Kiernan stepped into the compartment. Elise followed, slamming the door behind her.

  “What the bloody hell is going on?” he demanded, settling back and enfolding Phoebe closer.

  Elise shook her head. “I'm not sure. Phoebe was speaking with Mr. Branbury. Suddenly, there was a shot and,” she looked anxiously at Phoebe, whose crying had softened, “and the next thing we knew, we saw you with her. What happened?”

  “I'm as confused as you. I was following the carriage with the intention of catching up not long after you left the inn, but I found tracks that led off the road. I became concerned it was highwaymen. This Branbury—Adam—what was he doing here?”

  Phoebe gripped the lapels of Kiernan’s coat. “Why? Why?” she demanded.

  “Shh, love.” Kiernan stroked her hair. He looked at Elise. “What the hell was she doing with him?”

  “We tried to stop her. It was clear he had come to talk her out of marrying you.”

  “And you didn't stop her?” he snarled, then, “Bloody hell. Forgive me, Elise.”

  “Never mind," she said. "I met Mr. Branbury at Shyerton Hall. He didn't seem violent. Did he try to force her to go with him?”

  Phoebe abruptly sat up and tried to shove from Kiernan’s lap.

  “No.” He held her tight.

  “Release me,” she hissed, and batted at his chest with a vehemence that startled him.

  Kiernan hesitated, then complied. She flung herself to the seat across from him, beside Elise.

  “Why—" A sob broke past her lips.

  “Phoebe.” He leaned forward.

  “Don’t.” She scooted to the corner away from him.

  Kiernan exchanged a confused look with Elise.

  “You didn't shoot him?” Phoebe asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

  “Damnation, of course not. Why would I?”

  “Perhaps you thought the situation was something it wasn’t?”

  “Such as?”

  “If you thought he was a lover.”

  “If you wanted him, I wouldn't have stopped you,” Kiernan replied. "You assured me you'd known him since childhood, but weren't interested in him."

  “You didn’t know who he was. You once told me I could come as go as I please, so long as I had no secret assignation.”

  Kiernan pulled the pistol from his waistband and extended it toward her, butt first. “You heard the single shot. There was no time for a reload.”

  Phoebe’s mouth twisted. “That is not the only pistol you own.”

  He stuffed the gun back into his waistband. “Do you honestly think I shot him?”

  “Kiernan,” Elise said in a calm voice.

  He looked at her, then returned his gaze to Phoebe. “I assumed you shot him in self-defense.”

  Phoebe lifted her chin. “Adam would never hurt me.”

  Kiernan raised a brow. “This is the same Adam you said tried to kidnap you the night I kidnapped you?”

  “He didn't send those men.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Phoebe turned her head aside.

  “Miss Wallington,” he snapped. Her eyes jerked to meet his and his heart wrenched at the pain he read on her face. He reached into his coat pocket and produced a handkerchief. “Here, take this.”

  She glanced at his hand, took the handkerchief, then blew her nose. “Adam's response when I mentioned that night proved he knew nothing.” She wiped her eyes. “I have never known him to lie. In fact, I thought it was him only because I could think of no one else, but kidnapping isn't in his nature. He was—" she hiccupped a small sob and Kiernan felt his heart constrict "—he was as you saw him tonight.” Tears streamed down her face. “He came here, faced the wrath of a duchess, to beg me once again to marry him.” She lifted her chin. “I wasn't in love with him, but I did love him.”

  “Listen to me.” Kiernan scooted to the side and slid forward so that his legs were on each side of hers. “I didn't shoot him. Listen,” he emphasized, when she shook her head and looked away, “I did not shoot him.” He paused, then said softly, “If you shot him, I know it was self-defense.” Her eyes widened, but he went on. “You needn't worry about telling me the truth.”

  “You bastard.” She raised her hand and Kiernan caught her arm mid-swing.

  He held her gaze. “All right, then, who shot him?”

  She looked as if he had slapped her. “I—" She brow knit in confusion.

  Kiernan released her hand and looked at Elise. “Who are the strangers?”

  “Their carriage—”

  “Yes,” he interrupted impatiently, “I saw that. Do you know who they are?”

  “Lord and Lady Ingersol,” she replied.

  “Are you acquainted with them?”

  “No. But it couldn't have been them. They were with me when the shot was fired.”

  “What about the men in their party?” Kiernan asked.

  Startlement washed over Elise's features. “We were all outside. I didn't want to return to the carriage until Phoebe returned. I saw them step into the trees, but never dreamed—Oh, Kiernan,” tears sprang to her eyes, “I’m so sorry.”

  “Please, Elise,” he said, “keep your wits about you.”

  “Yes.” She nodded and swiped at her tears with the back of her hand. “Of course.”

  He looked again at Phoebe. “You're sure—”

  “I did not shoot him,” she snapped. "I'm not even carrying a weapon."

  That was true—or, at least, he hadn't seen a weapon. He had to search the area.

  Phoebe burst into tears again. “Where is he? Dear God, we left him out there.”

  “We didn't leave him out there. Mather brought him." Her eyes widened, and he said, "I will see to him. Elise.” He looked meaningfully at her, and she nodded.

  Elise wrapped an arm around Phoebe and pulled her close. “Come, Phoebe,” she soothed as Kiernan opened the door. “That’s it, yes. Cry all you like.” And he clicked the door closed behind him.

  Despite Phoebe's objections, he held her. She fought it, fought him. Not outwardly, for he made it clear her efforts were useless, but from within. She fought to shrink from the arm resting reassuringly on her hip, fought to ignore the rise and fall of the chest he pressed her face against. He had taken off his greatcoat and wrapped it around her. Her cheek lay against the soft linen of his shirt and her senses swirled with the smell of him. The scent of Sandalwood she had noticed that first night he appeared in her carriage. Despite the stink of Adam's blood on
his shirt, Kiernan smelled as though he had just bathed. His scent comforted—but she despised the comfort—oh, how she despised it. How much comfort was Adam—she sobbed and Kiernan’s arms tightened around her.

  “Shh, love,” he whispered so softly she knew neither Elise nor Sue could have heard even in the close confines of the carriage. “We're nearly there.” He smoothed her hair and Phoebe melted into a river of dreams.

  It seemed she had slept a lifetime, yet she felt as if her eyes had only just closed. Phoebe was aware of arms lifting her. She looked up, her sight catching the angular jut of a man’s jaw. She reached to touch a lock of raven hair that curled where neck met shoulder, but stopped when the roof of the carriage gave way to a clear night sky. She blinked up into the light of a full moon and nestled into the crook of Kiernan’s neck when cool air rushed across her face.

  So quiet here. Phoebe opened her eyes. She lay on a bed in a room she didn’t recognize. Still, something in the flicker of light cast by the fire in the hearth sent a ripple of security through her. She gazed in wonder at the sea green canopy that draped the bed before again closing her eyes.

  Voices, soft, murmured nearby. Had she slept? Her head turned toward the sound as though it was a mechanical object controlled by something other than her will. Phoebe opened her eyes and saw only the blur of objects. A figure moved toward her and sat on the bed beside her. She tilted to the side toward the weight on the mattress. She focused on the figure, trying to understand the sense of familiarity she felt.

  “Uncle?” Phoebe said and reached up to touch his face.

  “Shh,” he replied. “Sleep.” A tiny strand of hair was brushed back from her face. “It won’t be long now,” he said. “Sleep while you can.”

  And she did.

  “Phoebe.”

  Her name came to her as though an echo from a distant canyon.

  “Phoebe.”

  Large hands grasped her shoulders. She tensed, then relaxed upon understanding the gentleness in the touch. She felt a little shake to her body.

  “Phoebe, wake up. It’s time.”

  Time? She tried to recall a forgotten appointment.

  “Wake up.” The voice grew more insistent.

  Phoebe opened her eyes and blinked into the face above her.