Highlanders (82 page)

And even fewer had no one left in the world to protect them.

*****

Two towers came into view atop the mountainside to the west. Cool morning air rippled across Phoebe's cloak, tickling her arms. She cast a furtive glance at Kiernan MacGregor. He rode to her left with Mather to her right. Kiernan sat straight in the saddle, his body moving in a fluid motion with the horse, which gave testament to the countless hours he must have spent riding.

A tremor rippled through her. The memory of his kiss rose to the surface as it had a hundred times in the three hours since they'd left the inn. Kiernan wasn't the first man she'd kissed, but he was the first highwayman she'd kissed and—her stomach twisted—the first man she'd suspected of being a traitor. That, however, didn't stop her heart from fluttering with the memory.

For the thousandth time, she cursed her curiosity. Had she stayed in bed last night instead of following Alan Hay, she would halfway back to Edinburgh, where she could warn Alistair of the plan to assassinate the duchess. She would also be far away from Kiernan MacGregor. Though had she not followed Alan Hay, she wouldn’t know about his plan. Either way, her fate had been sealed the moment Kiernan MacGregor appeared in her coach doorway…or perhaps it was his fate that had been sealed. Her attention snagged on the way his trousers hugged his muscled thigh. Phoebe snapped her attention forward.

“Is something wrong, Heddy?”

She shifted her gaze to him.

He was regarding her. “I didn't think to bring a chamber pot with me.”

She scowled. “I have no use for a chamber pot here.”

Mischief lit his eyes. “Not even to brain me with?”

The brute was enjoying himself far too much. She turned her gaze to the castle, now in full view as they crested the hill.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

Phoebe noted the dozen armed men arrayed along the battlements. “This is the nineteenth century, why so many guards?”

Kiernan motioned with his head to the forest that surrounded them. “This is untamed country, far beyond the reach of traditional law. The nineteenth century won’t ride to our rescue any quicker than the Queen's men will.”

She pointed past Mather to the sparkling lake that stretched out in the valley to the east. “What lake is that?”

“Loch Katrine.”

"It's beautiful," she said.

They lapsed into silence. As they rode through the castle gate, three ruddy-faced children shot across the courtyard. Three women walking toward the castle slowed, their attention on Phoebe. She gave a cordial nod and they continued on. No one looked thin or underfed. What shielded these people from the catastrophe that had devastated Alan Hay and his people?

They halted and Mather dismounted. Kiernan slid from the saddle and tossed his reins to Mather. “If you would, Mather,” he said, and came around her horse.

Mather cast her a nervous glance that reminded Phoebe of when she'd told him she wanted help in writing a letter to Kiernan's father. Surely the rogue's father couldn’t be at the castle? Kiernan halted beside her and she looked down at him.

“When will I meet your father?”

He grinned. “He isn't here.”

Of course not. The kidnapper wasn’t about to be so easily caught. “Where is he?”

“In the south.”

Kiernan clasped her waist and lifted her from the horse. He set her down so close that she caught the familiar scent of sandalwood.

His gaze dropped. “That’s a fine dress you’re wearing, Heddy.”

Phoebe looked down to find her breasts nearly spilling over her bodice. She scowled and pulled her cloak more closely about her.  "I would have preferred my own dress."

"I think that one suits you just fine.”

She was sure he did think that. In fact, she had a suspicion he was responsible for the fact that the seamstress hadn't been able to finish her gown before they left.

He released her and turned to a man who had stopped behind him. "Johnson, how are you?”

“Well enough.” Johnson nodded. “Daniel wants to see ye.”

“Where is he?”

“The library. Harris is training the new steward and had business with Daniel.”

“Excellent.” Kiernan turned back to Phoebe. “Shall we?” He offered an arm.

Phoebe rolled her eyes and started toward the castle without taking the proffered arm. “How long do you plan on keeping me prisoner?” she asked.

Kiernan fell into step alongside her. “Are you so anxious to be rid of me?”

“Beware your choice of words, sir.”

He laughed. “I sent word to Regan. I expect he'll be here soon.”

“Don't you find it odd he hasn't yet arrived? Has it occurred to you I might be telling the truth?”

“It's my guess that my original message didn't reach him.” Kiernan gave her a serious look. “He is likely frantic with worry. You are, after all, missing.”

Phoebe looked sharply at him.

They had reached a side door of the castle and Kiernan opened it. “After you,” he said, waving her through.

She stepped inside and found herself in a large eating hall. Phoebe stood, transfixed by the variety of weapons mounted along the length of the wall on the far side of the room.

“An arsenal,” she breathed.

“Not quite,” Kiernan said. “Just a few relics we’ve collected over the years.”

Phoebe recalled her father's mention of Arthur Thistlewood’s claim that he could amass fifteen thousand armed men within half an hour. The weapons that covered the wall in front of her were a far cry from fifteen thousand, but if Kiernan MacGregor flouted this small arsenal to the world, how many more weapons had he hidden in the bowels of this castle? Who was Kiernan MacGregor, and why hadn't she heard of so powerful a man? But he'd given her the answer; Brahan Seer was far beyond the reach of
traditional law
.

“Come along.” Kiernan cupped her elbow and led her toward the kitchen.

They stepped through the doorway into the busy room and a woman Phoebe guessed to be in her seventies looked up from a table in the middle of the room where she sat shelling peas.

“So, ye decided to grace us with your presence?” she said in voice clear for a woman of her advanced years.

“Aye, m’lady.” Kiernan swept a low bow. “I have returned to the nest.”

“Who's that with you?”

He winked at Phoebe. “A friend of Regan’s.”

“Does she have a name or is she like the others?”

Phoebe shot him a questioning look—though she well knew what the others must have been like. Lord Stoneleigh was a well-known rake.

Kiernan shrugged and said, “No, Winnie, she is nothing like the others.”

“Well,” Winnie said, “what is it?”

“What is what?” he asked.

The old woman gave him an exasperated look and Phoebe had the distinct impression her own frustrating experience with this man wasn't unique.

“Her name,” Winnie said. “What is it?”

“My apologies,” he said. “Hester Ballingham, may I present Winnie MacGregor.”

Phoebe angled her head. “A pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Allow me to make a proper introduction. My name is Phoebe Wallington.”

Winnie studied her for a moment, then looked questioningly at Kiernan.

“I told you she wasn't like the others.” Before Phoebe could respond, he said to Winnie, “Heddy will be staying with us until Regan arrives."

"Sally," Winnie called, and a woman kneading bread at the counter turned and wiped her hands as she approached.

"We have a guest," Winnie said when the woman stopped beside her. "See to the guest room on the second floor."

The woman looked at Phoebe. "Would you like a bath, my lady?"

"I would, indeed," Phoebe said, "and Phoebe will do. I am no lady." She cast him a Kiernan a glance, but he stared at the peas Winnie was shelling, his expression akin to that of a man who had struck gold.

Phoebe startled awake to the sound of footsteps running past her bedchamber door. She threw back the covers and jumped to her feet, reaching the door in three paces. She yanked it open in time to see two women, arms laden with blankets, disappear down the corridor. Phoebe dressed and hurried to the great hall. The room was filled with women racing in with more blankets and tossing them onto an already full table. She dodged a young girl who dashed up the stairs, then headed toward a woman who was pulling blankets from the table and piling them into the arms of another woman. 

“What's happened?” Phoebe demanded.

“A fire in the village,” the woman replied tersely.

“My God,” Phoebe exclaimed as the woman with the blankets whirled and headed for the postern door. “Is anyone injured?”

“Two men and a child, but Winnie is tending them.”

“The blankets,” Phoebe said, “they are for the fire?”

“Aye.”

“I’ll help."

“Take these blankets to the village.” The woman grabbed several blankets and shoved them into Phoebe's arms as three other women scooped up armfuls. “Go with them.” She waved Phoebe toward the women who were already hurrying toward the door.

The instant she stepped outside, Phoebe gasped at sight of the red glow in the sky. Thick, dark billows of smoke trailed a haze across the moon. She kept pace with the women across the courtyard. Even before they reached the gate, the smell of smoke assaulted her nostrils and the shouts of men filled her ears. The women hurried through the gate and down the hill at a near run. Phoebe's heart pounded harder at sight of the bucket brigade that led from the well in the middle of the square to the two burning cottages sixty feet away.

She followed closely behind the women as they neared the bottom of the hill. Another pail of water was thrown on the burning cottage to the left and she shuddered at the hiss of the water over the flames. She stayed with the other women as they pushed past the old women and children who watched in stunned silence. Men dunked blankets in a tub of water beside the well, then raced along the muddy trail created by the dripping blankets to a cottage adjacent to the burning cottage.

A child shrieked, and Phoebe's heart jumped into her throat as a flame leapt in a furious gust from the cottage on the left to its neighbor. Small patches of red glowed in the thatched roof of the endangered cottage. She hurried forward and dropped her blankets onto the others piled beside the tub. A man pulling water from the well hauled up another bucket. Sweat glistened on his forehead as he handed the bucket off to his companion. The man throwing water directly onto the first cottage hurled another bucket of water onto the inferno. Nothing more than a drop on hell’s flames, she thought. The man turned in her direction.

Kiernan MacGregor.

He yelled something to the man next to him—Mather—then snatched the bucket Mather held and threw the water high onto the roof of the cottage with the highest blaze. Searing smoke blasted across him. Phoebe stepped forward, but was forced back by a man who shoved past her to grab a blanket. He gave it a quick dousing, then raced to the cottage. The man pulling buckets of water from the well dumped more water into the tub. He shot her a questioning look and Phoebe dropped to her knees in the mud beside the tub. She grabbed the top blanket and dunked it elbow deep in the water, then barely lifted it to have it snatched from her by another man. She doused blanket after blanket, and handed them to men until her arms ached. At last, the pile of blankets had been exhausted.

For the first time since she’d begun the task, Phoebe looked up and saw the fire had diminished significantly. She looked back at the ground. No more blankets. They needed more. She jumped to her feet and dodged through the maze of people, only stopping when she found an open door several lanes down. She hurried inside. A woman, ransacking a large chest at the foot of the bed, looked up in surprise.

“What have you got?” Phoebe demanded.

“Take that.” The woman pointed to two heavy blankets on the bed.

Phoebe scooped them up, then dashed for the door. When she dropped the blankets at the well, the man who had just dunked a blanket in the tub of water thrust it into her arms. She ran to the cottage and dumped the wet tartan into the arms of the nearest man.

She turned and started back into the village, but slipped. Sharp pain lanced through one knee. She gritted her teeth against the tears that sprang to her eyes and started to push to her feet. A strong hand gripped her arm and yanked her upright. She looked at the man as he released her, then he seized the bucket his companion shoved into his view.

Phoebe backed away and, once clear of the bucket-line men, halted and rubbed her knee. She felt something slick on her wet dress and sniffed her fingers.
Animal oil
. She looked at the blaze. Smoke still rose in dark clouds from the flames. Heavy clouds, like those thick with the sort of oil meant for a lantern. A woman sped past, nearly colliding with her. Phoebe whirled and hurried back through the village.

An hour later, she stepped from the cottage of a young girl who had given her two linen sheets. The girl had seen her passing by with the single blanket she had found and insisted she take the sheets, but the men had finally reduced the fire to a smolder, and Phoebe felt certain it wouldn't be necessary to burn such lovely hand-made sheets. Phoebe headed for the square, but slowed at sight of a figure sprinting between cottages.

She hesitated, exhaustion warring with the impression that the man was purposely keeping in the shadows to avoid detection. She recalled the oil she'd slipped in. Her knee still ached. Phoebe glanced down the deserted lane. All the villagers had gathered at the fire, so who would be skulking through the deserted lanes? She tucked the blanket and sheets under her arm and crept along the front of the cottage until she could peer around the edge. The moon shone dimly through thin clouds, lighting the empty lane. A tiny splash drew her attention farther down the narrow road.

Phoebe crept forward between the cottages. She caught sight of trees and realized this row of cottages butted up against the forest. She stopped and cautiously looked around the cottage to her right. The figure hurried away from her toward the trees. She slipped around the cottage after him. He made an abrupt right turn as if heading back toward the lane. Phoebe halted. Maybe he simply took a short cut. She started at the unexpected bark of a dog, then whirled at a rustling in the trees.

*****

“Kiernan.”

Kiernan drew back after tossing up another bucket of water onto the smoldering ash to find Munro MacGregor looking anxiously at him. “If you have come to tell me Brahan Seer is ablaze, you can go to the devil,” Kiernan said.

Munro shook his head. “No. It's the Englishwoman.”

“Heddy?” Kiernan thrust the bucket into Mather’s hands and stepped clear of the bucket line.

“Aye,” Munro said. “Rebecca says her dog, Surry, chased her.”

“What's she doing in the village? Where's Rebecca?” he demanded before Munro could answer.

Munro pointed to Rebecca, who stood in the forefront of the crowd of onlookers.

Kiernan strode to her.  “What's this about the Englishwoman?”

“We were coming from the north end of the village,” Rebecca replied, “when Surry barked and ran between the cottages. I chased him and spotted her running into the woods.”

“Damnation,” Kiernan cursed. “You're sure it was her?”

“Aye,” Rebecca replied. “Ye can't miss that hair.”

“No, you can't. Mather,” Kiernan yelled, then said to Rebecca. "Show me where you saw her."

Mather appeared at Kiernan’s side. “You called, sir?”

“Yes. Mather, seems our work is not yet finished.

Moments later, Kiernan spotted a boot print where Heddy had jumped a puddle, then frowned, upon noting another much larger boot print in the mud inches from hers. A dog’s growl jerked his attention to the trees. He lunged forward in tandem with a woman’s muffled cry. An instant later, he and Mather crashed through the trees as Heddy shouted, “Take a large bite of him, lad!”

The dog snarled and a man’s curse followed. The dog gave a sudden high-pitched yelp. Kiernan squinted in a frantic effort to pierce the darker shadows of the trees.

“Bastard!” Heddy shouted in a breathless voice.

“Heddy!” Kiernan yelled.

Boots pounded away from them, headed deeper into the forest.

“MacGregor!"

Kiernan veered left, toward her shout and spotted her slim figure amongst the trees. She shifted as though to run. “Heddy!” he shouted. “Stay put!”

She whirled toward him.

A moment later, Kiernan arrived at her side. He grabbed her shoulders. “What in God’s name is going on?”

“A man,” she said in a rush, pointing deeper into the forest, “he went that way.”

“Mather,” Kiernan said, and Mather rushed forward in pursuit of the man as Kiernan began dragging Heddy from the forest.

“Sir!” she exclaimed. “You’re hurting me.”

“Nothing compared to what I plan to do.” Once they stepped from the trees, Kiernan yanked her around to face him. “What the hell were you doing in the forest?”

She frowned. “The forest—you think I was trying to escape? By heavens, if I wanted to escape, I wouldn't waste time helping with the fire and I certainly would not go on foot.”

“Then what were you doing?” Kiernan demanded. “Who was the man?”

“I don’t know. I saw someone behaving oddly and went to investigate.  I believe I startled him.”

“Startled him? What do you mean? Did he harm you?”

“I am well, sir,” she said. “There's no need for hysterics.”

There was a rustling and Kiernan looked up as Mather emerged from the forest, Surry, Rebecca's Border Collie, in his arms. The dog thumped his tail against Mather’s arm.

"What's wrong, is he hurt?" Heddy demanded.

“Looks as though he’s hurt his leg.” Mather stopped beside them. "Nothing serious."

Heddy stroked. “Well, done, lad.” She looked at Mather. “You're sure he will recover?”

“I caught up with him limping through the forest.” Mather smiled fondly at the dog. “He wasn't about to give up the chase.”

“And the man?” Kiernan demanded.

“Horace and Thomas heard the cries and came running. I instructed them to continue looking, but I fear we lost them.”

“Them?”

Mather nodded. “I believe there were two.”

Kiernan swung his gaze onto Heddy. “You said there was only one.”

“I encountered only one.”

“Only one? When this mess is sorted out, you will pay the piper. That is me, madam, in case you think otherwise.”

Her mouth dropped open in genuine surprise. “I have done nothing wrong.”

“Just as you did nothing wrong the night you followed Alan Hay?”

“I don't owe you an explanation for my actions,” she retorted.

“No matter how foolhardy the actions?”

“I would think men skulking about on the night of an arson would be of greater interest to you than what I was doing in the forest,” she replied.

Kiernan stilled. “Arson?”

“Are you saying you didn't notice anything strange about the fire?”

“I notice many things, Heddy, many things, indeed.”

*****

“You changed your dress.” Kiernan squinted against the morning sunlight at Heddy, who walked alongside him on the path to the village.

She glanced down at the bodice that covered her full breasts. “Yes. Winnie noticed my dilemma.”

Her dilemma was turning into a distraction he was having a devil of a time ignoring. He returned his gaze to the path, using the stick he’d picked up on the trail like a cane. “I shall miss your, er, shawl.”

“You may have it, sir, if it means that much to you.”

He would have that, and more. After a moment, he said, “We found no trace of your attackers.”

"Not attackers, sir. I encountered only one man, and he did not attack me."

Kiernan looked at her. "No?"

"As I told you last night, it seemed more that I surprised him."

"Heddy, there isn't a man in this village who would accost a woman—or attack her—because he was
surprised
."

Phoebe nodded. "I know. If he was at all familiar, my description would have jogged your memory, I'm sure. Who do you think they were?"

"What of the man you thought hired the men who tried to kidnap you the night—"

"The night you kidnapped me?" she cut in.

Kiernan canted his head. "The night I kidnapped you. Adam, I believe was his name?"

"Adam couldn't possibly know I am here," she said. "Not to mention, he wouldn't associate with violent men."

"He tried to kidnap you."

"Many men have attempted to woo a lady by abducting her to Gretna Green." Before Kiernan could reply, she added, "I assure you, sir, Adam would never set a fire to a home
for any reason."

"You believe the men who fled are connected with the fire?" Kiernan demanded. "You said nothing of this last night."