The Taming of a Highlander

by Elisa Braden

  Campbell grunted.

  Unsatisfied, she wandered to the chair nearest him and sat, examining his carving. The astonishing detail of a bird’s wing taking shape beneath his blade made her blink. “Heavens, that is splendid. What sort of bird is it?”

  He paused. “An owl.”

  “Oh! How lovely. Do you know, there is a tree on Broderick’s land with a whorl that resembles an owl. I’ve tried to capture it, but I’ve little talent for sketching.”

  “Aye. I’ve seen it.”

  She met his gaze. Campbell’s features weren’t as handsome as Rannoch’s or Alexander’s. They were blunter. Rougher. But his eyes had stories in them.

  Kate adored stories.

  “Have you never wished to marry?”

  He stilled. “Ye ask a great many questions, lass.”

  Perhaps it was the mind infection, but she couldn’t fathom why such an exceptional man as Campbell MacPherson hadn’t married long before now. “Well, I think a woman would be very fortunate to capture your heart.” She patted his wrist. “Now, are you certain you couldn’t lift a cow?”

  A deep frown furrowed his brow. His heavy jaw flexed, but he didn’t appear angry. “A coo weighs a thousand pounds.”

  “Yes, but you are extraordinarily strong.”

  “Is the beastie alive or dead?”

  “Oh, very much alive.”

  “Then, no.” He resumed whittling.

  She let several minutes of silence pass between them. “What about a bull?”

  He blew out a breath. “A bull is twice the weight.”

  “What if it was very young? And your dearest love stood directly in the animal’s path? And the only way to save her was—”

  “I’d lift the lass, nae the bull.”

  She blinked. Memories from the night Broderick had saved her from death-by-falling-tree-limb flew past her mind’s eye. Her heroic husband had knocked her from her horse then taken the brunt of their fall upon himself while wrapping her in the safety of his arms.

  “Good heavens. Of course!” She leapt to her feet and rushed back to the desk, frantically digging through her manuscript for the tenth chapter. Immediately she set to work, crossing out lines and writing new ones. Time passed swiftly, and before she knew it, she’d written two chapters, the rain had stopped, and the guard on the street now leaned casually against a lamppost.

  She blinked a few times and squinted to bring the young man into focus. Was that a pistol in his waistband? He adjusted his cap and peered toward her window. Just then, he stiffened, glanced behind him, and dashed off as though chased by a Highland bull.

  How odd. Perhaps he’d had urgent need of the privy.

  Distantly, she heard the front door open and close. Alexander entered the morning room, unwinding the blue-tartan scarf she’d finished for him yesterday. He shrugged out of his damp greatcoat and gave her a nod. “The songbook ye asked for will be delivered later today, lass.”

  She smiled. “You’re very kind, Alexander. Thank you.”

  His grin was wicked. “I’m nae even a wee bit kind, but ye’re most welcome.” He held up his scarf. “I’m obliged to ye for this. Standin’ in the pissin’ rain for three hours isnae as pleasant as it sounds.”

  Early that morning, Broderick had asked Alexander to watch Lockhart’s residence and report back on the movements of both Lockhart and his sister.

  Campbell stood. “Did ye see anythin’?”

  Alexander’s expression took on a sardonic glint. “Aye. She played the pianoforte. Drank three cups of tea. Sent a maid to the shops. I dinnae think she’s eaten aught but a dry biscuit in three days, but by God, she’ll have her kid gloves and satin bonnets, eh?”

  “Any sign of Lockhart?” Campbell asked.

  Alexander shook his head. “If he’s inside, she’s keepin’ him well hidden.” Unexpectedly, he chuckled, but the sound was dark. “I did see somebody I wasnae expectin’, though.”

  Kate stood. “Who?”

  “Sergeant Neil Munro of the Inverness constabulary.”

  Dear heaven. Munro was here? Was it because he was working for Lockhart?

  Campbell’s granite jaw flexed, his huge frame tensing. “Bluidy hell. Why?”

  “Dinnae ken. He came to the door; she answered. They spoke for a wee minute, then he left.” Frowning, Alexander glanced around the room. “Katie-lass, have ye aught that’s warm to drink? Parts of me shouldnae be as numb as they are.”

  She crossed her arms over her bosom. “Munro is my concern, too, you know.”

  “I ken.”

  “I’ll not be kept in the dark. I know him better than any of you.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Might we discuss this when I’m nae freezin’ my ballocks off?”

  Noticing that his lips were, indeed, much paler than normal, she clicked her tongue and moved to pour him a cup of tea from the tray on the desk. “Now, did you see her give the sergeant anything? A purse or a package? Did they appear friendly? Did she smile at him?”

  Drinking from his steaming cup, Alexander raised a brow at her. “Ye ask a lot of questions.”

  “Do you intend to answer any of them?”

  “Mayhap when I can feel my face again.”

  She scoffed. “Rubbish. You haven’t been out in the cold any longer than the new guard outside, and he hasn’t complained once.”

  Both MacPhersons suddenly went still. Dangerously still.

  “What new guard, Kate?” Campbell’s voice was a low rumble, his tone deadly.

  She blinked. “The man across the lane. Gray coat, black cap. He’s been watching the house off and on …” A trill of alarm washed over her skin. She swallowed. “For hours.”

  Campbell’s expression turned thunderous. “Stay with her,” he barked to his brother.

  “Be careful,” she warned. “He has a pistol.”

  He nodded. Long strides carried him swiftly from the room. The front door slammed moments later.

  Alexander set his cup on the tray and took her elbow. “Come away from the window.” He tucked her beneath his arm, positioning his body between her and the window. Then, he guided her out of the morning room and took her to a small sitting room near the master bedchamber.

  When she sank down onto a settee, she watched Alexander demonstrate why he was the brother-in-law she found most intimidating.

  He moved like a ghost. Minimal motion. No expression. Perfect concentration. She’d seen Broderick behave similarly from time to time, but he was never as coldly precise as Alexander.

  It gave her shivers.

  He pulled up a wooden chair and straddled it to face her. “Now, Kate. Tell me about the man ye saw outside. Did he see ye?”

  She nodded. “I think so.”

  “How long was he there?”

  “Since early this morning. He arrived shortly after Campbell and I settled into the morning room.”

  Alexander’s eyes were dark, like Broderick’s and Campbell’s. But right now, they were as flat and cold as a frozen blade. “Did ye see him leave?”

  “Yes. Just before you came in. I thought he had to use the privy.” She was relieved to see a tug of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

  “Likely saw me comin’.”

  “Alexander,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “Does this mean Lockhart knows where I am?”

  “Aye, Katie-lass. That’s what it means.”

  A sick wave of fear washed over her. “Where is Broderick?” She wanted her husband. Needed him desperately.

  “He’ll be back soon. He and Rannoch have been trackin’ Lockhart’s business partner. If we can cut off the bastard’s finances, he’ll have nothin’ to fund his favorite sport.”

  And no way to plague them after his death.

  Kate had never wished death on anyone. She’d never hated anyone this much. But Lockhart’s twisted schemes had maimed the man she loved. They’d made Annie’s life
and the lives of the MacPherson men a landscape of dread. In too many ways, Kate believed what Annie had told her: The devil won.

  She would do anything to ensure he didn’t win again.

  “I want to help,” she said.

  “Best ye keep safe.”

  “Yes, of course. But—”

  “Broderick wouldnae survive losin’ ye.”

  That startled her. “I think you’re overestimating his attachment.”

  Alexander simply stared at her with the intensity she found so intimidating.

  “He survived losing Magdalene Cuthbert,” she pointed out, deliberately ignoring the hot pang of jealousy. The woman was dead. She must stop resenting her place in Broderick’s heart.

  “She wasnae his wife. Besides, he only learned of her death months later, after he recovered his strength.”

  That couldn’t be right. She’d assumed Broderick had witnessed the attack. “How did he find out?”

  “He asked Rannoch and me to find her, make certain she was well.”

  Why had he waited months to discover what happened to the woman he loved? He didn’t love Kate, and yet, she couldn’t imagine him patiently waiting to discover if she were alive or dead. The man had promised to chop down every tree along a mile of road to ensure her safety, and he merely lusted after her.

  “Ye look confused, lass.”

  “Yes, I … How did you learn Magdalene had been killed?”

  “We found one of her attackers. He told us they abducted a woman down the hill from the prison.”

  “A woman.” She puzzled at the vagueness. “Did he describe her?”

  Alexander shook his head. “’Twas dark and they were sotted when they took her.”

  A suspicion tickled the back of her mind. “So, you believed a man who was too drunk to recall what she looked like?”

  His smile sent chills down her spine. “He was beggin’ to preserve his manhood at the time, so aye. We believed he’d done what he claimed.”

  “No, I meant, how do you know it was Magdalene?”

  “We dinnae ken for certain.”

  The walls shifted around Kate. Her heart stopped then restarted. Hope and anguish warred inside her chest.

  Magdalene might be alive. This very minute, the woman whose death had imprisoned Broderick’s soul in a bleak, dark cell might yet be found alive.

  “Lass, I see what ye’re thinkin’, but ye’re wrong. We tracked her to a kirk near where they left her for dead. The minister said she wore the same color gown as Magdalene wore, though it was in tatters.”

  “What color?”

  He frowned. “Gray.”

  She waved a dismissal. “Too common. It means nothing.”

  “There was nae sign of Magdalene Cuthbert after that day. We looked.”

  Kate’s stomach churned. She should leave it be. Resurrecting Broderick’s lost love would tear her heart into pieces. Kate might lose him. Worse, she might be forced to watch while her husband suffered the mind infection for another woman. Either way, unendurable pain awaited her.

  And, yet, how could she leave Broderick to suffer in the dark?

  “Magdalene would not use her real name to find employment.” Kate barely squeezed the words through her tight, aching throat. “She was imprisoned for theft. No employer would have her.”

  Alexander eyed her sharply. “Aye. We assumed so.” He explained how they’d scoured the areas of the city where she might have found employment, and no one had recalled a woman of Magdalene’s description. “Nothin’ is certain, but we spent a fortnight searchin’ for signs of her. Naught was found.”

  “We must search again.”

  “We? Nah. Ye’ll be stayin’ here.”

  Kate raised her chin, ignoring the voice that screamed for her to let Magdalene Cuthbert remain dead. “Lockhart already knows I’m in Edinburgh. If he seeks to target me, he will do so regardless of my location.”

  Alexander’s dark eyes flashed. “He’ll bluidy well die if he tries.”

  “Alexander, we must find Magdalene.” Her belly twisted painfully. She laid a hand over her midsection to stifle it. “For Broderick’s sake. Please.”

  It took a half-hour of coaxing to win his agreement, but he would only agree to conduct the search himself. After an additional half-hour of persuasion, he agreed to take her along on the condition that she must wear a disguise, and at least two MacPhersons must accompany her at all times.

  Kate had won many arguments in her life. But never had victory tasted so bitter.

  Two days after learning Lockhart had sent a man to spy on his wife, Broderick wanted blood. Instead, he donned a cravat, tailcoat, breeches, and waistcoat to escort Kate to the theatre.

  He was bloody well choking. And not because of the cravat. His rage simmered too close to the surface.

  Kate was afraid. He saw it every time she looked at him, the way she worried the edges of her shawl and twirled the curls near her temple. Her fear maddened him. He’d told her over and over that he would keep her safe. He’d whispered it in her ear as he’d made love to her. He’d murmured it at breakfast and at dinner and later, while he held her on his lap by the fire.

  She would smile. Nod. Reassure him that she believed him. Then, she’d swallow or glance away or sigh, and his frustration grew.

  Even now, as they sat together in an ornate box watching her beloved “Scottish play” onstage below, she wound a curl around her gloved finger and nibbled her lower lip. None of her fretfulness made her less beautiful, of course. His wife was so bonnie, he struggled to catch his breath sometimes.

  Tonight, she wore ice-blue satin. It gave her skin a soft, creamy sheen that matched her silk gloves. Those dense lashes lay against her cheeks, and a faint smile curved her tempting lips.

  God, how he wanted her. But just when he thought her heart was his, he’d catch her sending him uncertain glances or pretending to sleep when he knew she was awake. Then, there had been her nonsensical tantrum before they’d arrived in Edinburgh. Baffling woman.

  Plainly, she wasn’t yet his. Not completely. And it was driving him mad.

  His campaign to make her fall in love with him had shown signs of success—she often touched him with tenderness, and since that morning at the inn, she’d declared her affection several times. But it felt like dry toast when he longed for a feast.

  During their marriage, with a few exceptions, he’d restrained his appetites, limiting the tupping to two or three times a night. She was a passionate, responsive woman and often sought to please him. But the intensity of their lovemaking alarmed her. She still fought her own desires, withholding crucial parts of herself, and he didn’t know why. He’d done everything he could think of to win her—gifts and pampering, conversation and compliments, pleasure and restraint. He’d even asked Rannoch for advice.

  Rannoch had laughed. Then he’d suggested Broderick try “letting the lass out of the house, man.” Every so often, his youngest brother said something sensible.

  He’d purchased a box for that evening’s performance at the Theatre Royal in Shakespeare Square on Princes Street. He’d presented the playbill to her at breakfast, expecting her to light up and leap into his arms. Instead, she’d given him a false smile and a halfhearted, “How lovely. Thank you, Broderick.”

  Now, partway through the scene in which Macbeth learned of his wife’s death, Kate’s eyes shimmered with tears, and Broderick wondered if this had been a shite idea. What the devil did he know about winning a woman’s heart? He’d only ever done it accidentally.

  She sighed. Pressed her lips together. A tear tracked down her cheek.

  “’Tis nearly over, lass.”

  With a startled glance, she blinked up at him and gave his hand a pat. “Never mind me,” she whispered. “This part always makes me weep like a ninny.”

  He handed her a handkerchief.

  She dabbed her cheeks, wiped her nose, and turned back to the stage. Whe
n the play finished, she pressed her hand to her bosom. “No matter how many times I see it, I am still moved.”

  Behind them, Rannoch snored.

  She giggled and shot Broderick a blushing grin. “Perhaps we should take a stroll before the opera begins, hmm? I find it helps improve stamina.”

  He had no need of stamina. If anything, a cold drenching was in order. Nevertheless, he wanted to please his wife, so he stood and offered his hand. She hesitated the briefest second then slid her fingers into his grasp.

  After he nudged his daft brother awake with his boot, Rannoch dutifully fell in behind them as they headed toward the saloon on the lower level. The room was too crowded for his liking, but Kate remained close, and he remained vigilant.

  Suddenly, she stopped. Gasped. Murmured in a high pitch, “Can it be? Francis?”

  Frowning, he scanned the crowd. He followed her wide-eyed gaze, searching for the friend Kate had described as “very amusing,” the one who’d given her a bottle of her favorite scent for her birthday. Oddly, he only saw a pair of gentlemen conversing with a fruit seller. Nobody in that area was female.

  “Where, lass?”

  She pointed to the pair of gentlemen. “Come, Broderick.” She tugged eagerly, more animated than she’d been all evening. “We must say hello.”

  Confused, he searched for the woman she considered one of her dearest friends. As she dragged him toward the men, his suspicions mounted. Then, closing the last few feet, she pulled free and rushed toward the taller of the two. That man turned at the last second, a surprised grin lighting his face.

  His unearthly handsome face.

  Kate squealed and launched herself into the man’s arms. “Francis, I cannot believe you’re here!” she cooed as the distinctly male Francis embraced her.

  Everything inside Broderick went dark. And red. Mostly red.

  Rannoch clapped his shoulder. “Steady.”

  It took all his strength, but he managed to control himself.

  The blond dandy was well-dressed, he noted. Finely tailored blue coat. Gold silk waistcoat. Polished boots that likely never touched a pasture’s muck.