Highland Heiress (19 page)

She half turned toward him. “Standing by the window?”

“Yes, standing by the window.”

Indeed, the idea was almost irresistible. Almost, because they would be by a window and soon the servants would be stirring, including, he supposed, the gardeners.

“We couldn't!”

“No, not here, I don't suppose,” he agreed. “But someday, Moira my love… Not at a window, but otherwise…”

She gasped as if horrified.

“It's not that outrageous,” he said, surprised she would find the notion so completely repulsive after what they'd already done together. She'd been as wild and wanton as any man could wish, letting him—

She raised her hand and pointed out the window to the garden below, her finger shaking. “It's that dog! That big black dog and it's on the terrace! Ring for the servants!” she cried as she hurriedly tugged on her robe and ran for the door. “You'll have to say you saw it. My room doesn't overlook the terrace.”

Then she was gone.

Wincing and holding his side, he climbed out of bed and went to the bellpull and gave it several tugs. Then he went the window as quickly as he could. Standing behind the drapery because he was still naked, he surveyed the terrace and the garden. He couldn't see…

Yes! There it was, just disappearing through a yew
hedge, the same huge ogre of a dog. He ran a swift gaze over the terrace, gardens and lawn, but as far as he could see, the dog had been alone.

He started to dress, until he heard the sound of footsteps rushing up the servants' stairs. Wearing only his trousers, he went to the door and saw Moira coming out of her bedroom as two footmen and her maid arrived from the servants' stairs.

A confused expression on her wide-awake face, Moira hadn't dressed, but had her bedrobe on and belted over her nightgown. “What's happened?”

“I saw the same dog I saw the night of the fire,” he said to the closest footman. His jacket wasn't completely buttoned, and the flustered Walters was still tying his cravat.

“I shall alert the gamekeeper,” Walters announced, turning back toward the stairs.

“And the grooms and gardeners,” Moira ordered. “That dog may have a master and they must search for him, too.”

As Gordon turned to go back into the room and finish dressing, Moira called out to him.

“You aren't going to help search, are you, Mr. McHeath?” she asked with obvious concern.

“No. I shall wait here, with you.”

A
short time later, dressed and shaved and having had a brief breakfast of toast and kippers, with a cup of tea to wash it down, Gordon sat beside Moira in the drawing room trying not to recline or otherwise indicate that his side was aching. She was already tense and anxious enough, and he didn't want her to blame herself for any pain he was feeling after their activities last night. He was fairly certain he hadn't done any serious damage, but he was hurting enough that it would surely be wiser to stay here than to chase after the dog.

“Why was that dog at the house?” she wondered aloud, her posture as straight and upright as if she had a spear down her dress. “Were they trying to break into the house, do you think?”

“It's no secret that the earl is rich,” Gordon replied, “although Walters says there's no indication that anyone tried to get in the doors.”

He wasn't going to tell her that an experienced and skilled thief would have a set of picks that would make any lock no hindrance. “It could be that the vandals fled Dunbrachie and left the dog to fend for itself. It would tie them to the attack, after all.”

He hoped that was the case, but he could think of at least one other reason besides theft that those men might try to get inside the manor, one that had nothing to do with robbery and everything to do with Moira, who was now lacing and unlacing her fingers in her lap. How he wished he'd been able to capture them and turn them over to the authorities the night they set fire to the school! If only he'd been more careful or heard that man coming up behind him before it was too late.

Not wanting to lie to her, afraid to say anything more that might worsen her dread, unable to touch her in case the servants saw, and not well enough to join the search himself, all he could do was sit where he was, offering the solace of his company, and hope that was enough.

As the morning wore on, she rose and started to pace. “I suppose we should send for the constable,” she remarked at midmorning.

He should have thought of that instead of dwelling on what he
couldn't
do. “Absolutely. We should let him know the dog's been seen, at least.”

She turned toward him. She looked so sad and vulnerable, he wanted to hug her, although he didn't dare. “I hope you're right and they're far away,” she said. “I would rather those men never get caught and punished than think of them still lurking about.”

Servants be damned. He got up and went to her,
taking her in his arms and holding her gently. “I don't want to think of anyone like that anywhere near you.” He voiced something he'd been thinking about since their hasty breakfast. “Perhaps you should go to Glasgow today.”

“I don't have anything ready. And the grooms and drivers are out looking for the dog. That's more important, isn't it?”

He kissed her tenderly, silently agreeing. “Tomorrow then.”

“I'd feel safer if you'd stay here with me and we both leave tomorrow. It's too late for you to start now anyway. At the rate Dr. Campbell wants you to travel, you wouldn't get farther than Dunbrachie.”

“I'd be happy to stay. More than happy.”

She leaned close and whispered, “I don't want to sleep alone tonight.”

“You won't,” he promised her, pulling her close to kiss.

A shot rang out in the distance.

Startled, wondering who or what had been the target, Gordon went to the window. Moira hurried to join him there.

“Can you see anything?” she asked anxiously.

“No. It came from over there,” he said, nodding at the yew hedge that bordered the wood at the south side of the property.

“What do you suppose it means?”

“Only one shot could mean they saw something but missed. Or perhaps they hit their target, whatever it was, with one shot. We'll have to wait and see.”

Fortunately, they didn't have to wait long. A stable boy with bed-tousled hair and a short, patched woollen jacket and equally patched trousers came running from the direction of the wood. He dashed across the terrace and entered when Moira opened the door for him.

“Jem got him, my lady!” he cried, panting. “Big brute of thing it was, too. Charged right at him like a wild boar, so he didn't have no choice.”

Perhaps the dog had been abandoned, then. If that was so, if it was frightened and desperate, he could only pity the poor creature.

“Was anyone seen with the dog?” Gordon asked. “Or was anybody seen who didn't belong on the grounds?”

“No, sir, no. Just the dog.”

Moira took Gordon's hand, and he could feel her trembling.

No, he wouldn't leave her here, not while there was still a chance those men who attacked him and had been paid to harass her might be nearby, with or without their dog.

 

“They shot Dan. They shot Dan,” Charlie moaned, hugging his knees as he sat in the dim loft of the small outbuilding on the earl's estate. “We should've stayed here, let you get your own rabbit.”

“Shut yer gob,” Red ordered through clenched teeth, huddling to keep warm against the chill of the damp day. “It was only a dog.”

Charlie glared at him. “He was smarter than you'll ever be!”

“Not smart enough not to get himself killed! And it would ha' been worse if they'd caught
us.
”

“We never should have come here at all,” Charlie muttered. “We should have stayed in the cave. Nay, stayed in Glasgow. I told you it was too risky, that we couldn't trust 'im. Self-made men can be worse than crooks—do ya think it's only luck? Half of 'em makes pirates look like gentlemen. But you said it'd be easy money. Like a fool I listened—and now my Dan is dead!”

“Quit yer whingin'! That wouldn't have happened if you'd kept the damn dog tied, like I told you,” Red retorted.

“He wouldn't have liked it.”

“He likes being dead better, I suppose.”

Charlie's teeth drew back in a snarl. “He's dead because o' you and this stupid scheme that was supposed to make us rich. Well? Where's the rest o' the money? Rafe and my dog dead and we're stuck here like rats in a hole!”

Charlie got to his feet, although he had to bend to keep his head from hitting what was left of the roof. “Well, I ain't stayin'. I ain't getting caught and strung up. Bad enough I lost my dog, I ain't gonna lose my own life, too.”

Red likewise rose, blocking the way to the ladder that was missing three rungs and the only way down. “If that's what you want, go ahead. More for me.”

“Then get out o' my way!”

Red stepped to the side. Charlie turned to start down the ladder, his eyes looking down for the next rung.

Red stuck out his foot and shoved the ladder backward.

“Hey!” Charlie cried as it started to move and he frantically reached for something to hold on to.

He found Red's leg. Like a drowning man, he grabbed it and held on for dear life.

“Let go! Damn you, let go!” Red shouted as the ladder swayed like a drunken seaman on shore leave and he felt himself being dragged toward the edge.

There was a scream, a shout, a crash and a moan.

And then there was only silence.

 

Wearing only his trousers and shirt, leaning his head wearily on his hand after what felt like the longest day of his life, Gordon sat in the blue bedroom.

Had that poor beast been left behind by the vandals who'd attacked him, or were they still in the vicinity, waiting to do more mischief or even harm Moira?

Thank God Moira was leaving for Glasgow, even though he had no idea how long it would be before he saw her again.

At least his side had stopped aching….

The door to his room opened and Moira slipped inside, dressed in that same soft bedrobe and thin nightdress, her bountiful, beautiful hair undone and loose about her shoulders.

She let her robe fall from her shoulders as she crossed the room toward him and he hurried to meet her halfway.

“My Moira,” he murmured as he gathered her into his arms and held her close.

“Gordon,” she whispered as she raised herself on her toes to kiss him. “Take me to bed, Gordon. Take me to bed and love me and let me forget what's happened today, for a little while at least.”

“Gladly,” he replied, only too happy to do as she asked.

Because not only was it a joy to love her, he wanted to forget, too.

 

When Moira opened her eyes, a ray of sunshine was coming in through the narrow opening between the closed drapes.

That wasn't what woke her. Nor was it the singing of birds in the garden, or the cocks crowing, or the lowing of cows as they waited to be milked.

It was the chambermaid laying the coal in the blue bedroom's hearth. Moira's breath caught—until she realized that she'd fallen asleep on the far side of the bed behind Gordon and was thus hidden from the maid's view.

She should have gone to her own room immediately after they'd made love—wonderful, glorious love—but she'd been so sated and so satisfied, so comfortable and secure, she hadn't wanted to hurry away. So she'd asked him instead about his family and nestled against him as he told her of his deceased parents and their hopes and dreams for him, and the sacrifices they'd made for his education that gave him such an appreciation for her efforts to open a school. And, she had realized, put him in thrall to the popular Robbie when he was a
young impressionable lad desperate to make friends at school.

She told him about her mother, who'd taught her at home until her death, and then her days at school. And the times she got to go to the warehouses with her father, and how he let her roam around and climb like a monkey—her happiest memories, until she'd met Gordon.

Afterward they'd lain in companionable silence. She'd intended to ask him about his legal education, but she'd drifted off to sleep instead.

It was a long, torturous wait for the maid to finish her task, made more tense by the fear that Gordon would wake and speak to her, or roll onto his back, or somehow reveal her presence in the bed.

At last she heard the maid rise. But instead of leaving at once, she continued to stand by the hearth. What on earth for? Moira wondered, until it occurred to her that she might simply be admiring Gordon. The sheets only covered his lower torso and legs. What woman wouldn't be tempted to take in such a view?

She felt Gordon's body tense and his breathing quicken. He must be awake, too, but he wisely didn't move, or she hoped, open his eyes.

At last, however, the maid gathered up the coal scuttle and brushes, and went out the door, closing it behind her.

Moira let out her pent-up breath as Gordon turned toward her, a wry smile on his handsome face. “That could have been most unfortunate.”

“Could have been, but wasn't,” she said, kissing him
lightly. “Nevertheless, I must go. My own maid will be coming to my room, and if I'm not there, she'll wonder why. She might sound an alarm and start searching for me after what happened yesterday.”

Although Moira was determined to leave, she couldn't resist as he put his arm around her and pulled her close, his naked flesh against her own. “I'll miss you. I miss you already.”

“I'm right here!” she protested, trying not to think about their inevitable, if temporary, parting.

“What do you think your father will say when he finds out I want to marry you?”

“And that
I
want to marry
you,
” she returned. She ran her hand down his shoulder and along his side, in part to touch him, but also to ensure that he wasn't bleeding again.

Fortunately, the bandage was still dry, although the problem of her father's reaction to her future marriage to Gordon remained. “He said he wanted me to marry,” she offered.

“To a solicitor?”

“He didn't say anything about my husband's profession.”

“He doesn't have to. He's an earl now, Moira, and you're a lady. He no doubt thinks you should have a titled husband.”

She brushed Gordon's hair from his forehead and kissed his cheek. “I don't want a titled husband. I want you.” They were so close, she added, “As much as you want me right now.”

He rolled her onto her back, so that he was above her,
his weight on his elbows. “I do want you now, and for the rest of my life, too.”

He leaned down to brush his lips over hers, then drew back with a sorrowful smile and moved away so that she could get up. “Unfortunately, unless we want to be discovered together, you had best return to your own room, my lady, and leave me here to dress, so that I can go back to Edinburgh and begin to close my practice.”

She still could hardly believe he would do that for her. “Write to me in Glasgow,” she said, reluctantly rising from the bed and wrapping the coverlet about her. She went to the small desk in the far corner of the room to note her address.

“I'll be staying with—oh, no!” she cried as she saw the robe on the floor half under the bed where Gordon had kicked it as they'd stumbled, still embracing, to bed. “What if the chambermaid saw my robe? Maybe that's why she took so long!”

“I don't think so. The room was dark when she entered, and it's still fairly dim now with the drapes drawn. I confess I opened my eyes a bit to see why she hadn't left and she was…” He gave her a wry, self-deprecating smile. “Well, she was staring at me. If she suspects anything's amiss, it will be because I was blushing. I'm not used to being looked at that way.”

Just as Moira had suspected, and she let out her breath in a slow sigh of relief. Then she grinned as she picked up her nightdress from the floor on her side of the bed and put it on. “You'd better get used to that, Gordon McHeath, because I intend to stare at your naked body every chance I get.”

“So long as I get to admire yours at every opportunity, too.”