After they sat for a minute in companionable silence, she spoke again.
“There is one thing that does scare me. Right now, at least.”
“And that is?”
“That something bad will happen to Jeannie. That I’ll fail her somehow.” She exhaled a sigh. “I’m already failing her.”
“As someone with six brothers, most of them hellions, I can tell you conclusively that you are not failing your sister.”
“She told me that she hates me.”
Grant wrapped his arm about her shoulders, drawing her close. Kathleen’s entire body startled, and she hesitated for a moment before settling against him. He had the oddest sensation he’d held her a thousand times before.
“She didn’t mean it,” he quietly replied.
“She sounded like she did.”
He thought for a moment. “Kathleen, I know what true hate looks like in families, many times over. What Jeannie is going through with you is not hate.”
When she tilted her head to look up at him, the hood slipped back. Starlight seemed to glimmer in her eyes. Never had she looked more fey or more beautiful.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Do you wish to tell me about your family?”
Tell her about his brothers Nick and Logan and their years-long estrangement? Or how badly his father had treated Graeme when he was just a sad, wee boy? Such pain and ugliness couldn’t be conveyed in a few bare sentences, if ever. Nor would it help Kathleen with her present dilemma.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and then tucked her back under his arm.
“Some other time. Let me just say I suspect Jeannie is acting this way because she feels safe with you. She knows you will never betray her.”
“Of course I won’t.”
“So there you are. She is simply acting like a . . .”
“Brat,” she ruefully finished.
“That’s one way of describing it. However, I also think she’s trying to emulate you. She wants to be as dashing as you are.”
She sighed. “I am a terrible role model.”
“Not true. You’re teaching her how to perceive right from wrong, and how to stand up for herself. Those are valuable lessons, especially for a girl who’s led such a sheltered life.”
“That’s incredibly kind of you to say, Mr. Kendrick.”
He wanted her to think of him as more than simply kind. Yon booby-headed vicar was kind, and look how far it had gotten him with her.
“Enough with calling me Mr. Kendrick, lass. You’re making me feel old before my time.”
She chuckled. “God forbid anyone should think you were old.”
“Och, I’m practically on the shelf, ye ken. My family despairs of me.”
“Mine, too.”
“Your family is lucky to have you, and I’ll be happy to defend that point with anyone who says otherwise.”
“I might say the same for you.” She twisted a bit under his arm so she could see him. “You’re very good at taking care of people, you know. It’s . . . nice.”
“Nice sounds rather boring.”
“You’re not boring at all.” Her tone suggested she was a bit perplexed by such a notion.
“You used to think I was, though.”
“Only because I was a ninny.”
“You were never a ninny.”
“Well, I still say you’re very good at taking care of people.”
You’ll never know if you don’t ask.
“I’d like to take care of you, Kathleen, if you let me.”
She snuggled back under his arm, as if dodging the question. “I never thought of myself as someone who needed to be taken care of.”
“We all need help now and again, sweetheart.”
“Even you?”
“Definitely me.”
While she pondered his admission, Grant did his best to be patient. Yet all he wanted to do was kiss her breathless.
“I believe I would like you taking care of me, now and again,” she finally whispered.
Relief all but staggered him.
“Aye, that,” he managed.
When he bent down to kiss her, she pressed a finger against his mouth. “But only when truly necessary.”
Grant smothered a grin as he took her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. He felt her tremble. It was slight, but telling, so he cupped her chin, finally giving in to the craving he’d been fighting for days—or weeks, if he were honest.
Taking that first, precious kiss.
As soon as their lips touched, as gentle as a snowflake drifting down from the heavens, she breathed out a funny little sigh. At that moment, Grant knew he would never forget this kiss. Kathleen’s lips were as soft as rose petals, and as sweet as the ripest of berries.
For long moments, he simply enjoyed the feel of her smooth skin under his fingertips as he brushed featherlight kisses against her mouth. He wouldn’t rush her. As confident as she was, Kathleen was a novice to lovemaking. Her response was shy, almost tentative, as if she were exploring a world without a map, not quite sure which way to go.
Holding his instincts in check took a mighty effort. He longed to take her mouth in the same way he wanted to take her body, with complete and total abandon. But he’d be damned if he rushed her. He’d give her all the time she needed to—
When Kathleen’s tongue surged between his lips, Grant almost fell off the bench. She grabbed his shoulders, huffing out a laugh before slipping inside once more. Her innocent eagerness caught him completely off guard.
And set him aflame like a torch.
Brushing aside her cloak, he circled Kathleen’s waist and pulled her close. She quivered as her breasts pressed against him. Grant let his fingers drift over her rib cage, brushing her plump curves before settling on the gentle swell of her hip. He imagined stripping off her silky gown to explore every inch of her even silkier skin, licking his way down her body to the intimate secrets hidden between her thighs.
Hold back, ye randy bastard.
They were on a damn garden bench on a cold autumn night, and all he could think of was having his way with her? He’d never been so close to losing control. But her delicate kisses, followed by the luscious sweep of her tongue, turned him rock-hard with desire.
Unable to hold back, he finally stroked into her mouth with greedy, demanding desire. Shuddering, Kathleen dug her fingers into his coat before responding with a passion that almost knocked him off the bench a second time.
After heated minutes that brought him to the brink of losing every vestige of control, Kathleen gasped and pulled back.
Grant stilled. “Do you want me to stop?” he gritted out.
She peered up at him, puzzled. “Why would I want you to stop?”
“Because you just stopped. I don’t want to push you, sweetheart.”
She made an exasperated noise. “Silly. I just had to catch my breath.”
When he chuckled, she started to pull him back down. He evaded her mouth, pressing kisses along her jawline before flicking her dangling earbob with his tongue and then licking the edge of her ear.
“Goodness,” she breathily said.
He nipped her earlobe. She dug her fingers into his coat, as if needing to keep her balance. Smiling to himself, Grant moved down the lovely line of her neck, kissing his way to the dainty curve of her breasts. Kathleen pressed a hand to the back of his skull, melting in his arms.
When he flicked his tongue over the top of her plump breast, she squirmed. Grant came to the belated realization that she was now fully bent over his arm. He’d soon be dipping under the edge of her stays and searching for her tender nipple. Under the circumstances—sitting on a cold bench with a house party roaring away behind them—it counted as supremely idiotic behavior.
Regretfully, he moved away from the temptation posed by her breasts. But when he paused to drag his tongue over the fluttering pulse in her throat, Kathleen breathed out a delicious moan that sent a bolt of heat to his groin.
> He lifted his head and took her mouth in a deep, devouring kiss. As she trembled in his arms, Grant thanked every saint in the heavens for the fact that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
But then something penetrated the haze of passion in his brain, something that had been trying to punch through.
He froze.
Kathleen’s eyelids fluttered open. “What’s wrong?” she asked in a soft, husky voice.
That voice tempted him to forget what his brain was trying to tell him.
He couldn’t, though.
“Do you smell smoke?” he asked.
She looked befuddled for a moment, then her brows snapped together. “Yes.”
Grant kept a loose hold on her as he scanned the back of the house, looking for the source.
“It’s quite strong,” she added in a concerned tone.
“Yes.” And it smelled wrong. Not like a normal fire from the kitchens or one of the chimneys.
“You can let me go,” she said. “I won’t topple over.”
He glanced at her and grimaced. Both her dress and her hair were more than a wee bit disheveled. “Sorry, lass.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
He gave her a hand up. She drew the cloak around herself and followed him out of the gazebo. Grant again scanned the house, then cast a quick glance toward the stables and outbuildings. He saw nothing, even though the acrid smell was growing stronger.
“Can you go to the kitchen and alert the housekeeper?” he asked. “Mrs. Wilson needs to check the house.”
She nodded. “Where are you going?”
“The stables and outbuildings. They look all right, but—”
He broke off at the sound of hooves pounding along the path from the distillery. A rider was hell-bent for leather from the sounds of it. He strode to the gate with Kathleen scurrying behind him, just as a familiar figure pulled up and flung himself off the horse.
“Mr. Kendrick,” gasped Dickie Barr. “The distillery is on fire.”
Grant’s heart slammed into his ribs. Fire and explosion were a distiller’s greatest fears. He and Graeme had almost set themselves on fire more than once back in the day. But Graeme had learned from those near mishaps and made the new building as fireproof as possible.
“How did it start, Dickie?”
“Arson. Some bastard climbed in through the back window and—”
Grant didn’t need to hear those details. “Is there anyone in the building?”
“Adams, the night watchman, was upstairs when it happened. It started at the base of the stairs, cutting them ... uh . . .”
Grant almost shook him. “What do you mean, them?”
“Miss Jeannie’s with Adams, ye ken,” Dickie blurted out. “She came to see the cat.”
When Kathleen gasped, Grant snaked an arm around her waist.
“You’re saying Jeannie is trapped?” she choked out.
Dickie grimaced. “I was about to try to get up the stairs, but Adams shouted I had to run for help, instead.”
Grant knew what he had to do. “I’ll take your horse, Dickie. You run to the kitchens and raise the alarm. Get all the help you can. Kathleen, go with him.”
“I’m going with you,” she snapped.
“Lass, I don’t have—”
She pulled away and hurried through the gate, taking the reins from Dickie. Cursing, Grant followed her.
“Run!” he ordered Dickie.
As the young man took off toward the house, Grant hauled himself up into the saddle. The horse shied a bit, but Kathleen firmly held him. Once she’d transferred the reins, Grant reached down a hand for her.
“This is a bad idea,” he grimly said.
“It’s not up for debate.”
He reached down for her. It was a bit of a scramble, but he got her quickly settled in front of him. Then he turned the jittery animal on the narrow path.
“Hold tight,” Grant said.
Kathleen wove her fingers in the horse’s mane. “I’m not an idiot, sir.”
She’d gotten her fear under control, but it went against all his protective instincts to bring her toward danger. Still, he understood, and knew he would do the same if in her position.
He prodded the horse into a canter, resisting the urge to gallop. It was dark, and he didn’t know the path as well as Dickie.
“This is my fault.” Her voice was tight with anguish. “If I’d gone up to check on her—”
“The only ones at fault are the bastards who set the damn fire. And I’m bloody well going to kill them when I find them.”
When they rounded the long curve in the path, Kathleen let out a strangled cry. Grant hissed a curse under his breath.
Flames were visible through the windows on the ground floor, and smoke seeped out from doors and windows. He couldn’t see any flames on the upper floors, so Jeannie and Adams should still be relatively safe. Unless—
“What if the fire reaches the casks?” Kathleen asked, seeming to read his thoughts.
“I’ll get them out before it does.”
If even one cask caught fire, the building could go up like a torch. And if fumes were left in the stills . . .
Grant reined in before the gate to the distillery. Kathleen pushed herself off the horse, all but tumbling down into the dirt.
“Dammit, lass,” he barked as he pulled the panicking horse away from her.
Ignoring him, she scrambled up and pelted down the path toward the distillery. Grant swung his leg over the saddle, slid to the ground, and took off after her. Her dark cloak streamed behind her as she raced for the front door, and Grant had to lengthen his stride to catch her.
When he did, he pulled her to a halt just as her hand reached out for the door handle.
Kathleen struggled in his arms. “Let me go!”
He pulled her tight against his body, where he could feel the frantic beat of her heart.
“You can’t touch the handle. You’ll burn your hand.”
She wriggled like a worm on a hook. “I don’t care! I have to get to her.”
Grant put steel into his voice. “Not by running straight into the fire, you won’t. We’ll all end up dead.”
She froze in his arms, her breathing erratic. “We have to do something,” she managed.
“I know. I’m going to—”
“Kath!” cried Jeannie’s voice from above.
Her sister leaned out the window, the cat clutched to her chest.
Kathleen sagged in Grant’s arms. “Are you all right, love?” she called out.
A grizzled head poked out of the window beside Jeannie.
“Aye, we’re fine,” Adams said. “But it’s getting’ smoky up here.”
“And very hot,” Jeannie added in a tearful voice.
“Darling, we’re going to get you down right now,” Kathleen replied. “Just stay calm.”
“Adams, take Jeannie and go to the north end of the building, the part closest to the stream,” Grant ordered.
Every distillery had a source of water close by. At Lochnagar, it was a deep, swift-moving stream that drained into a nearby loch. At the far end of the building, the stream ran right beneath the windows, kept in its course by bulkheads. Jeannie and Adams could always jump for it, if everything else failed, though it was not a good option.
Adams nodded, clearly taking Grant’s meaning. “Come along, lass,” he said to Jeannie.
“I don’t want to leave Kath,” she tearfully replied.
As Kathleen persuaded her sister to go with Adams, Grant took a quick look into the closest window. There was a hell of a lot of smoke, and flames were visible at the back of the building, around the stairs, and close to the still chimneys. Fortunately, Graeme never left the peat fires burning at night unless a full crew was working. And most of the casks were stored by damn good luck against the wall closest to the office, thus away from the fire.
But the stairs were bloody well blocked, as fire licked its way up the staircase and the w
all behind.
Kathleen joined him at the window. “What can you see?”
“The stairs are on fire.”
She pressed a hand to her mouth.
“But Jeannie and Adams are safe for now,” he quickly added. “This building is new, so the wood is fresh and shouldn’t burn too fast.”
She made a visible effort to control her fear. “What can we do?”
He stepped back, looking for footholds on the building. Unfortunately, it was built too damn well for him to scale the wall to an upper window.
“We need a ladder, or something I can climb on and get purchase on that window sill.”
She whipped around. “The horse—”
But it had bolted, because Grant had been chasing after her instead of lashing him to the gate.
“There’s a work shed around the back,” he said. “I’ll look there for a ladder or something else first. You go round the other side of the building and see if you can find anything.”
She raced off while he ran around the building to the shed. Smoke and blazing heat poured out from a broken window where the arsonist had gained entry.
The shed door was locked. Ignoring his watering eyes, he drove a kick just above the lock that knocked the door half off its hinges. A quick survey of the room—mostly by feel—told him there was no damn ladder. He found an axe, though, and snatched it up just in case.
Outside again, he searched the back of the distillery for a way in. The back door was too near the stairs, which were now almost engulfed in flames. He’d have to try to scale up the building somehow and hope he didn’t slip on the whitewashed walls and tumble down, splitting open his skull.
He was looking for handholds, when Kathleen came pelting toward him.
“I found one,” she gasped. “At the north end of the building. It was just lying there in the grass.”
Thank God.
“Grant, where are you?” roared a familiar voice.
A moment later, his twin stalked around the corner. They rushed to meet him.
“Jeannie’s inside, upstairs,” gasped Kathleen. “With the watchman. But there’s a—”
“Ladder, I know,” Graeme said. “Captain Brown is already on it. He and the others will get Jeannie and Adams out.”
The Highlander's Irish Bride Page 26
