The Bodyguard (13 page)

“Where will you get such a sum?” Ian demanded.

“That’s my business,” Kitt said.

“Ian is right. ’Tis a foolhardy idea,” Duncan said.

Kitt stared at her father’s advisor, trying not to feel betrayed by his failure to support her. If she had been a son … but she was not.

“ ’Tis more likely a few of us will end up in jail than that Patrick will be freed,” Ian said.

“Not if we plan everything carefully in advance,” Kitt argued.

“ ’Tis a stupid idea, and we’ll have no part of it,” Ian said.

To Kitt’s dismay, it seemed her clansmen were united with Ian in opposition to her plan. If she allowed him to win this battle, she might as well concede the role of chief to him.

“Cowards,” she accused.

The word hung in the air like a pestilential smell, causing scowls to form and noses to curl with distaste.

“I am determined to save Patrick Simpson,” she said in a quiet voice. “Who is with me?”

Kitt looked at Duncan, willing him to see the necessity of saving Patrick and his family, but Duncan simply lowered his eyes to his toes. She glanced at Cam, at Fletcher, at Evan, at Birk. All of them avoided her gaze. She did not get through the entire clan before a voice behind her said loudly and clearly, “I will go with you.”

Kitt turned to stare at Alex. His bruised face was pale, his lips thinned into a flat line.

“Thank you, Alex.” She turned back to her clansmen. “I intend to rescue Patrick—with or without your help.”

She stared them down, watching them trade shamefaced glances as they realized the trap in which they were caught.

“I canna let you go alone,” Duncan said. “Your father would come back to haunt me.”

“Thank you, Duncan.”

“If Duncan’s to go, I’ll go,” Cam volunteered.

“Count me in, then,” said Birk.

“And me,” Evan and Angus said together.

“I’ll not be left behind,” Fletcher said.

“Nor I,” Tavis echoed, taking a step away from Ian.

Kitt’s heart was thumping madly in her breast. They had all joined her. All but Ian, and the task would be less difficult if she did not have him to contend with.

“I’ll come, too,” Ian said. “But not because I believe Lady Katherine knows what she is about. I want to be there when disaster strikes and you all come to your senses and admit you’d be better led by—”

“By a naysayer like you?” Kitt said scornfully.

“What you want to do is dangerous and risks the entire clan for the sake of one who was breaking the law,” Ian said angrily.

“A bad law,” Kitt said, “enforced by a greedy landlord who raised his rents so high he forced his tenant into disobeying it.”

“ ’Tis a fool’s errand,” Ian said. “One only a foolish, softhearted woman would suggest.”

The accusation hurt more than he could know. “You dinna have to go with us, Ian,” Kitt said sharply.

“I’ll go,” Ian said. “If only to see you fail. Then we’ll see what the clan has to say about keeping a woman as The MacKinnon.”

Ian stalked off into the church and was followed by her clansmen who, she noticed, kept their eyes averted as they passed by her. The worst part was, she had to walk past all of them again to sit in the very front pew, where The MacKinnon had always sat.

Walking home after the service, she was aware of the silence of the man beside her. She knew Alex had a good baritone voice. She had heard him singing the hymns during the service. But he had not said a word since offering to go with her on the raid.

“Thank you for supporting me, Alex,” she said to break the silence between them.

“Ian was right,” he said. “A woman has no business leading men. But considering your father named you The MacKinnon—and until you choose one of them to take your place—they owe you their allegiance. To be honest, I felt sorry for you.”

Kitt gasped. “
Sorry
for me?”

The man she had made her bodyguard—the stranger she had given the job of guarding her life—stopped in the shade of a willow growing alongside the burn and turned to face her, his lips set in an expression of disapproval he had not let the others see. “You’ve acted just
like a woman where Patrick is concerned—responding to the situation with your heart instead of your head.”

“You may be wearing my father’s clothes,” she snapped. “But you’re not my father, so you needn’t lecture me.”

“I speak as I feel.”

“If you think I’m wrong, why did you agree to help me?” she demanded.

“Because I have no doubt you meant what you said about going alone if need be, and I didna want your death on my conscience.”

It was devastating to realize he had no more confidence in her ability to carry out what she had promised than Ian, that to him, she was just another
female
. “I can fight as well as any man,” she said. “Better than most!”

He grabbed her shoulders and kicked a foot behind her ankles. A moment later she was lying flat on her back on the hard ground with Alex on top of her.

His face was close enough to hers that she could see he had ridiculously long eyelashes, close enough that she could see the dark gray eyes that dared her to fight back.

“It didna take much to get the better of you, Lady Katherine.”

“I …” He was heavy, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. “Let me up,” she snarled, humiliated by his easy conquest.

“You should defer to those wiser—and stronger—than yourself,” he chided, his knuckles brushing against her cheek. “You’re a fragile, beautiful—”

She shoved his hand away. “I’m The MacKinnon,” she retorted breathlessly. “Not something fragile or beautiful or—”

He clamped her wrists in the cool grass on either side of her head, but it was his eyes that held her captive. “You can be all too easily battered and broken, my lady,” he said. “ ’Twould be a shame to spoil something so perfect.”

Kitt felt … female. She had fought long and hard to free herself from susceptibility to such male blather. All Alex had done was speak a few words, and she felt herself turning to mush inside. Well, he would not win her over using such blandishments. She would not allow it.

She bucked wildly against his strength, managing with a sudden move to roll him over so she was on top. Her breasts were pillowed against his hard chest, and her belly nestled between his thighs. She felt heart-stopping heat. She felt his strength and power. And, dear God, she felt the hardness of him.

Kitt realized when Alex made an animal sound in his throat that she had awakened a sleeping dragon. His features were taut, his breathing harsh.

“ ’Tis unwise to accuse men of cowardice for exercising good judgment,” he said. “Any one of your clansmen could take you in a fight.”

“I can defend myself!” she retorted, jerking sideways to get free. She succeeded merely in rolling him over on top of her again.

He hissed in a sharp breath.

She stared at Alex, stricken, as the exquisite heat and hardness of him found a haven between her thighs. His eyes narrowed, his lips were full and rigid, his nostrils flared for the scent of her. Kitt recognized his arousal because she felt—oh, how unwillingly—the same sharp desire.

“Choose a husband, Lady Katherine,” he said in a harsh voice. “You should be home raising bairns, not ordering men about.”

“Damn you, Alex. ’Tis not your place to—” She bucked again, but her hip came down on a stone. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out at the pain, but a sound in her throat gave her away.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, instantly concerned. “Are you hurt?”

Kitt closed her eyes and turned her head away. It hurt more than a little, but she had no intention of becoming a female watering pot. “ ’Tis not your place—”

“I’m your bodyguard, woman,” he said, transferring both her wrists to one hand and using the other to grab her chin and force her to face him. “ ’Tis my job to guard your body, so tell me where you’re hurt.”

Too many feelings were rioting inside her. Female feelings. “ ’Tis nothing,” she insisted.

“Tell me!”

“I’ve bruised my hip on a stone!”

She felt his hand on her hip, with only her homespun skirt and a petticoat between her flesh and his.

“There?”

“To the left.” More heat. A raging fire. “Alex …”

His hand reached farther beneath her right buttock. “There?”

“Ah.” That was as close to a cry of distress as Kitt was willing to utter. His hand gently massaged the hurt, but Kitt was feeling a great deal more than relief from his touch. She felt her body arching toward his, pressing against the aching hardness.

“Dinna move,” he rasped. His arm slid completely around her, and he clasped her tightly against him.

Kitt shivered as her body tightened inside. She looked into Alex’s eyes and realized he wanted her. And saw the abrupt change in his features when it became apparent that he had no intention of taking her.

“Enough,” he said. “Enough.”

He pushed himself onto his feet and reached down to grasp her hands and pull her onto her feet beside him. “No more such games, Lady Katherine,” he scolded, as though she were a child and he her tutor. “ ’Tis my job to protect you, not seduce you.”

“But I—”

“No argument. The matter is closed.”

Kitt was incensed. She had done nothing to provoke him. The seduction had been all on his side. She had succumbed to his touch like a filly to a willing handler. What a burden to be female and so susceptible to a man’s touch! She must be ever vigilant against such feminine weakness.

“I will lead my clan on that raid,” she said defiantly. “And it will succeed. I can do it, Alex. You will see.”

“For both our sakes, I hope you’re right.”

“There’s something else we must do first,” she said, eyeing him askance.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Steal the cost of passage to America for Patrick and his family from the Duke of Blackthorne.”

They had wasted no time in planning their clandestine trip to Blackthorne Hall to steal from the duke. Even so, it had taken Kitt almost a week to work out all the details of their adventure to the satisfaction of her bodyguard. On the day they’d chosen, she had waited restlessly for evening to come and had waited even longer for most of the evening to pass as well. Moira had long since gone to bed.

The instant she stepped out of her bedroom, Alex took one look at her and laughed. “What is that you’re wearing?”

Kitt looked down at the trousers, a pair one of Dara’s boys had outgrown that fitted her like a second skin, and said, “What did you expect me to wear on a raid? My best muslin dress?”

“You’ll never pass for a lad,” Alex assured her, his eyes full of humor—and something more dangerous Kitt preferred to ignore. “That shirt has two obvious
bumps in it, and the trousers …” He whistled. “I dinna know too many boys with hips made for bearing bairns.”

Kitt blushed at such frank speaking. “I havna finished my disguise.” She drapped a plaid around her, effectively concealing her figure. “I dare you to say I’ll be recognized in the dark.”

“ ’Twill not be dark at Blackthorne Hall. Not entirely.”

“Dark enough,” she said. “Let’s go.”

“Wait,” Alex said.

Kitt stood her ground as Alex’s hands reached toward her face. He adjusted the man’s bonnet—minus the identifying clan badge—she had donned to cover her hair. She shivered as he tucked in a long curl that had escaped at her temple.

He made a
tsk
ing sound. “No lad has such winsome curls, my lady.”

“I dinna plan to stop and visit with Mr. Ambleside,” Kitt said, knocking his hand aside. Why was he forever touching her? Always making her feel … like a woman. “The idea is to sneak into the castle and out again without being seen,” she said with asperity.

“I suppose ’twill be easier for you to maneuver without a skirt if we have to make a run for it,” he conceded.

“Aye. Let’s go.”

Alex’s legs were long and he walked fast, but Kitt would have died for lack of breath before she asked him to slow down. She stumbled once and would have
fallen, except he caught her arm. She was slung around in a circle and slammed right into him, chest first.

Everything would have been fine if she had not grabbed hold of his shoulders to brace herself, and he had not circled his arms around her waist to steady her. But she had grabbed hold, and his strong arms had circled her.

She was still trying to regain her breath when she looked up into Alex’s face. The swelling was long gone from his eye, and all that remained of the knot on his forehead was a yellowing bruise. It was impossible to tell that his lower lip had ever been swollen, and she knew now that it was naturally more full than the upper.

Even his nose had resumed a more normal size, though he would always have a bump on the bridge. The realization struck her that by any standards Alex Wheaton was a comely man. Any woman would be tempted to give him a second glance. Or maybe even stare at him in fascination, as she was doing now.

His eyes were intriguing, changing from a light gray when he was happy, to the color of storm clouds when he was angry or upset. Right now his eyes … were examining her face with as much studious detail as she was giving his.