Hero in the Highlands

by Suzanne Enoch

  Abruptly Fiona stood. “Thank ye fer saying so. And speaking of which, I need a word with Fleming and the cook, or it’ll be boiled potatoes fer dinner.”

  Gabriel wanted to leave with her, and not just because of the unfinished business between them. That could wait, he reminded himself, and stayed seated. This match wasn’t finished yet.

  “So the lass has been helpful to ye?” Dunncraigh asked, crossing his ankles.

  “Not particularly.” Whatever her loyalties, he wasn’t about to cause trouble—more trouble—for her with her clan. “She clearly cares for Lattimer and the people here, and as I said, she’s done a fine job with what she’s had.” He paused, abruptly realizing that he’d already decided who Lattimer’s next steward would be. Replacing her would do her harm, and he’d rather cut off his own arm than injure Fiona. He sent a quick mental apology to Kelgrove both for dragging the sergeant into the Highlands and for putting him into the middle of this without warning him first. “I found her lack of cooperation damned annoying. In fact, I brought my own man in to take over her duties, once we’ve learned the routines.”

  Green eyes turned to find Kelgrove standing silently beside the closed door. “Another Englishman, aye?”

  “Yes,” Gabriel answered. “Sergeant Adam Kelgrove. My aide-de-camp.”

  “Ye dunnae mean to take on Lattimer yerself, then?”

  “I haven’t resigned my commission, Your Grace. And there is still a war being fought on the Continent.” And men who relied on him to keep them alive.

  At the moment, though, he was more interested in tonight. Dinner would likely be another chess game, another contest of insults and diplomacy of the sort he detested. But the game he truly looked forward to was the one that would take place when the rest of them had gone off to bed. He meant to call on Fiona Blackstock. And no one was allowed to interrupt, this time.

  * * *

  “Why didnae ye tell me that Dunncraigh tried to purchase MacKittrick?” Fiona whispered, as she brought her uncle a glass of port. She wanted one herself, after the longest and most silent dinner in the history of the Highlands.

  “What concern is it of yers?” Hamish returned, his gaze squarely on Gabriel’s red-coated back as the duke poured himself a glass of something from the liquor tantalus. “Bloody lobsterback.”

  “Because if the Maxwells took it back, I assume ye or one of Dunncraigh’s sons or nephews would move in here. None of ye would require a steward.” Aye, she was being selfish. And she was equally certain that she would have been nudged out of her employment. Even so, she wasn’t certain why no one had bothered to say anything. Wanting to take back an old holding back didn’t seem like it needed to be a secret, and she’d been the Maxwell overseeing it for the past four years.

  “Clearing the Sassenach oot of the middle of the Highlands would be a boon fer all the clan. So stop yer whining over who told ye what.”

  “I’m nae whining. I’m asking ye a question,” she retorted, thankfully remembering to keep her voice down. “And as fer being good fer us all, well, the clan hasnae been doing a damned thing to help me with anything here. I’ve arranged it so the hoose employs nearly a hundred servants. That’s aiding the clan. If MacKittrick sinks into the mud, that’s a hundred more mouths fer the rest of ye to feed, and that doesnae include Strouth or the fishermen and their families, or anyone at the textile and porcelain works.”

  That seemed to earn his full attention. He faced her, eyes narrowed. “Dunnae ye go dictating to me, lass. I convinced His Grace to let ye have a go at running MacKittrick in the first place. And that wasnae an easy thing, with the example yer own brother set.” Glancing away again, no doubt to see if Gabriel had wandered within earshot, he turned back to point a forefinger in her face. “Ye may work here, but ye’re a Maxwell first and last. Yer duty is to me and to Dunncraigh. Nae to that Sassenach. Ye’d best remember that.”

  “Of course I remember that.” Trying to explain that what Gabriel was doing to stop the thefts was also in the best interests of clan Maxwell would likely only get her a cuffed ear. But by all the saints, she’d spent years trying to keep the people here fed and clothed and protected, and for most of that time she’d had no support at all. A man who took action wasn’t supposed to be a rarity in the Highlands, but it had been here at Lattimer—until Gabriel had arrived. She likely should have seen that earlier, and certainly she should have noticed how unacceptable it was.

  “Keep it in mind, the next time ye’re tempted to tell him aboot missing sheep or where we hide the whisky. Now go away. If Lattimer asks ye what we’ve been discussing, ye can tell him I was admiring the way he stepped in to stop the thievery. Arrogant amadan.” With that last grumble he turned away and walked off to stand with Dunncraigh and the Maxwell’s nephew, Artur. Evidently the duke’s son and heir, Donnach Maxwell, was too precious to risk this close to a Sassenach.

  “That looked pleasant,” Gabriel’s voice came, and she started. He’d moved to gaze out the window behind where she sat, but she’d never heard him approach.

  The hair on her arms lifted, and with an annoyed cluck she briskly rubbed her forearms and picked up her cup of tea. “Family business,” she returned, from behind the cup.

  “You do recall that you work for me, I hope,” he said, humor touching his low voice.

  “Do I? I seem to recall a contrary opinion or two about that.”

  “Not from me. Not tonight.”

  She wanted to turn around and look at him. For Boudicca’s sake, she’d been spinning for days. And now he’d twisted her about again. Acceptance? Appreciation? Or was this some sort of ploy to make her a spy against her own? “Do ye wish me to bow to ye, then?” she asked, trying not to show that he’d ruffled her.

  “I’ve never asked anyone to bow to me, and I certainly wouldn’t make the mistake of suggesting that you be the first.”

  She took a breath. His expressions were difficult enough to read when she could see them, and she was beginning to think she might be dreaming. Otherwise she couldn’t conjure a reason why he would suddenly decide she could keep the job for which she’d been fighting. “Ye expected someaught from someone, or ye wouldnae be wearing that damned uniform.”

  “Ah, that,” he mused. “It’s what I am, as you’ve so often pointed out.”

  “Ye didnae wear it fer me. Ye wanted Dunncraigh to see it.”

  “Clever lass.” He took a swallow of something; whisky, she presumed, since his scowl at the after-dinner port had practically turned the contents of the bottle to vinegar. “Any idea how long my uninvited guests will be staying?”

  “I dunnae imagine they’ll be here long. The duke wanted a look at ye, to size ye up.”

  Another pause. “So I’ve been measured now, have I?”

  If she kept talking to him, she was going to float away, given the amount of tea she was having to consume to conceal her mouth from the other men in the room. “I reckon ye have been. And thanks to that stuffy nonsense ye spouted aboot scaring away the thieves, I imagine he thinks ye just above an imbecile.”

  “Good.”

  Fiona nearly did look over her shoulder at him then. “Why is it good that the Duke of Dunncraigh thinks ye’re an idiot?”

  “Because I’m not one.”

  “That doesnae make any damned sense. And stop talking to me.”

  “No. I have more questions for you. And I like the sound of your voice.”

  Port or brandy would have been a much better choice than tea, she decided. There he went, looking for trouble. If he found some, if the sheep or whatever came next made him stay on for an additional week or a month, would he consider that to be good or bad news? And what would it be for her? A pleasant romp beneath the bedsheets was one thing—especially when she knew his thoughts and his heart lay on the Continent with his regiment. Bedding him even let her thumb her nose a little at her uncle and the Maxwell; they’d both likely turn up their toes and fall into their own graves if they knew she’d been naked wi
th—or rather, would be naked with—the Sassenach duke.

  If he continued to find reasons to stay, though, the entire equation changed. The question of her loyalties, of her … affections would cause all kinds of additional trouble. Not for him, because he would always have the next horizon on his mind, but for her, because she would never be going anywhere.

  “I dunnae want to answer yer questions,” she finally whispered back, when she realized she’d been silent for too long. “They always mean trouble fer me.”

  “I could say the same about you. I’d be happy not to talk, if you’d excuse yourself and join me somewhere more private. I’m not finished with you, Fiona.”

  Oh, she should just tell him that that had been a mistake, and that they were lucky Dunncraigh’s arrival had interrupted them when it had. But the sensations and the memory were too fresh, and for God’s sake she’d been hard-pressed not to stare at the front of his close-fitting white breeches all night. But it hadn’t been a mistake. It had been a risk, and one she remained willing to take. Once they had the house to themselves again, that was. “The Duke of Dunncraigh and his men are staying here, Gabriel. Ye ken they’d string ye up by yer bollocks if they caught ye with me.”

  He cleared his throat, obviously finding the threat amusing. “They could try,” he returned.

  “Fiona, ye’re quiet this evening.”

  She just managed to keep from jumping as Artur Maxwell dropped onto the couch beside her. “Am I? I’ll admit, I didnae wake this morning with the thought that the Duke of Dunncraigh would come calling.”

  Where most of the Maxwell’s inner circle wore more traditional Highlands garb, the duke’s nephew had always preferred English attire. It made him stand out, she supposed, just as the crimson coat Gabriel wore set him apart from the crowd. The difference, though, lay in the why: the gentleman’s clothes were a costume for Artur, a way to gain attention. For Gabriel, they were simply the outer skin of who he was. And who she’d begun to wish he wasn’t.

  “We do make a stir, I suppose,” Artur returned with a charming grin. He glanced over his shoulder. She followed suit, expecting to find Gabriel looming, but he’d strolled over to converse with the other duke in the room. “Uncle Domhnull wanted to surprise the Sassenach,” he went on. “We didnae want to have to listen to any pretty speeches aboot the English saving Highlanders from ourselves.”

  “I dunnae think Lattimer knows any pretty speeches.” If he did, he’d never attempted to regale her with one. No, he clearly preferred directness with a touch of sarcasm. Veiled threats and pretty words hiding lies—those were tricks for other men.

  Light green eyes assessed her bosom. “And how are ye faring here, with a murdering brute fer a master?”

  Answering that question today was far more complicated than it would have been a week ago. She didn’t want to seem flippant, because evidently Dunncraigh had had a say in allowing her to take on Kieran’s job. On the other hand, too much dedication, too much praise for her new employer, and she’d be seen as a traitor to her clan. Fiona sighed. All this because she loved what she did and wanted to continue doing it.

  “He worries aboot the missing sheep, and I see to everything else. Nae much different from before we even knew he existed, if a mite louder.”

  Artur chuckled. “Lattimer doesnae mean to stay, I hear, so ye’ve nae much longer to listen to him.” He glanced toward the ceiling. “It’s a shame the way this place has been falling to rubble. Hopefully its fortune—and yers—will alter soon.”

  She smiled. “It willnae, according to the curse. I dunnae think Lattimer’s likely to wake up as a Highlander.”

  Brushing his fingers along her forearm, Artur stood again. “Aye, but he is the last of his line.”

  A sudden shiver ran up her spine. “But fer his younger sister, aye,” she blurted, not certain what had made her want to be certain everyone knew that Gabriel was not entirely alone in the world, but convinced it was vital that she do so.

  “A sister? Well. I suppose even the devil had parents.”

  As accustomed as she was to danger in her everyday life, for a moment Fiona couldn’t help wondering if she hadn’t just saved Gabriel Forrester’s life. If so, she didn’t feel even an ounce of regret. Sassenach or not, he was trying to help. And that was more than any of the other men in this room had attempted.

  The drinking and sly insults continued until past midnight. As the clock in the foyer began chiming the quarter hour, Fiona set aside her teacup and stood. “If Yer Graces have nae objection, I’m off to bed. We’ve a count of the sheep to make at sunrise.”

  Gabriel was the only one who even acknowledged her, giving her a brief nod from where he stood between Dunncraigh and Sergeant Kelgrove. She wouldn’t want to be Kelgrove tonight, a southern commoner caught between an English and a Scots duke. Of course she didn’t precisely envy her own situation tonight, either.

  The hallway outside the sitting room had a chill to it, and she took a deep, grateful breath at the absence of both the heat and the tension. Immediately, though, the noise of more conversation hit her. Far too many servants milled up and down the hallway and spilled into the library and the billiards room where a handful of the Maxwell’s men had retreated to play.

  She caught the arm of a second footman as he walked by. “Lochie, Fleming’s likely to be caught up till daybreak. I want ye and four others walking the floors all night. Make shifts if ye want, but five of ye are to be awake and alert at all times.”

  He tugged on his forelock. “I’ll see to it. Are ye expecting trouble, Miss Fiona?”

  “It does seem like it’d be a good time fer some,” she returned, and left the noise behind to ascend the stairs to the third floor and the long hallways of bedchambers. The storage room next to where Gabriel slept remained locked, so at least no one would be trying to frighten him into leaving tonight. Though knowing him, he might welcome a few ghosties after the deadly and dull drama of the evening.

  She stepped inside her own bedchamber and closed the door behind her, then leaned back against the old, polished wood. She knew MacKittrick was slowly failing, but she only felt it when her uncle and others were present to point out the old castle’s flaws and cracks. For God’s sake, at least she kept it running—and from losing money. That would have brought the London solicitors north to pound at the front door faster than anything else.

  Making a profit would be easier if she didn’t have so many employees to pay, but this was the only opportunity most of them would ever have to earn an honest income. Without that, the property would likely be missing far more than three hundred sheep and a few cattle. And it wasn’t only about keeping thievery to a minimum; these people were her kin and her clan, and she would keep them safe and fed and with a roof over their heads even if the lairds were too occupied with arguing over who had the responsibility and the ownership of the place to do anything else.

  The small fire in her hearth had dropped to nearly nothing, and she knelt down in front of it to add another log and stir the embers back to life. Immediately the room brightened and warmed, and she stood with a sigh. The men downstairs could come and make their proclamations and puff out their chests and then leave again. She remained. She was the one who’d put her blood and sweat and dreams into the old castle, and whoever claimed ownership today or tomorrow or the next day, she knew one thing deep in her soul—this place, these people, they belonged to her. And she belonged to them.

  “When you stand in front of the fire like that,” the low, precise, English voice came, “I can see the silhouette of your legs.”

  Fiona turned around as Gabriel silently closed the door behind him. “A gentleman firstly wouldnae be looking at my legs, and secondly wouldnae comment aboot them.” Asking why he was there wouldn’t serve any purpose; she knew the answer already. Goose bumps lifted on her arms.

  “Is this gentleman of whom we’re speaking blind, by any chance?” As he spoke he began unbuttoning his red coat.

 
“I didnae say ye were invited in here,” she stated, mostly because that sounded like something she should be saying.

  “Then tell me to leave.” His fingers paused their descent down his chest.

  Fiona regarded him for a moment. A handful of years ago a lass who found an English soldier in her bedchamber had exceedingly good cause to be alarmed. Even speaking to a soldier would have meant trouble for her and for her family. In other circumstances that likely still held true—but he wasn’t just any soldier, and she supposed she wasn’t just any lass. Not tonight, anyway. “I reckon ye can stay fer a time,” she said aloud.

  “It’ll be more than a time,” he returned with a grin that heated her all the way to her bones.

  Oh, this was going to be very, very wicked.

  Chapter Eleven

  Gabriel hooked a finger into the low neckline of Fiona’s gown and yanked her forward, lowering his face over hers and taking her mouth in a whisky-tasting kiss. Digging her fingertips into his shoulders, she lifted along his body to deepen the embrace. Whatever the devil about him it was that felt so intoxicating, she couldn’t get enough. No damned interruptions this time, or someone was getting punched in the nose.

  “Help me with my boots,” he murmured, letting her go as he pulled his shirt off over his head.

  This time she wasn’t going to waste time arguing over who removed which piece of clothing for whom. Sinking onto her knees, she gripped one heel and pulled as he lifted his foot. Once the other one came free, she shifted her attention to his breeches. As she began unfastening them, his fingers dropped to her hair, pulling pins free and casting them aside.

  Tiny shivers raced along her scalp and down her spine at his touch. It required all her concentration to open the last button, and then she took his trousers by the waist and drew them down. His very impressive cock made the degree of his lust unmistakable, and she closed her hand around it. When she deliberately ran her tongue from base to tip, his entire body jumped.