The Bodyguard (34 page)

“Laddie!” he shouted. “Laddie!” His voice was too weak to carry over the sound of the crashing waves. He would have to hope Mick returned before Ian came back to finish him.

“He lied to me,” Kitt said as she ground herbs in a mortar at the table before the hearth. “He said he would reduce the rents before he left, but they are as high as ever. Fletcher’s youngest has sickened and may die.”

“What do ye expect?” Moira said. “Ye didna exactly deal with the duke honestly.”

“He promised.”

“Ach. He’s long gone to England, my darling Kitty, and has forgotten all of us.”

“He’ll not forget us for long.”

“Now, Kitty, what is that look I see in your eye?”

Kitt smiled bitterly. “I am with child, Moira. I will bear Blackthorne’s son.”

“A son is it? And when did ye begin seeing the future?”

Kitt looked down at her still-flat stomach and put a gentle hand to her belly. “I know it, Moira. God would
not have planted this seed if he did not want us to have back what was ours.”

“Sometimes God plays games,” Moira muttered. “What if the duke denies ye?”

“Denies we are handfast? There are too many witnesses.”

“What if he says ye deceived him and lay with another.”

Kitt’s face blanched. “He wouldna dare.”

“He has nothing to lose and everything to gain. How would you prove yer faith, especially when ye lied to him about everything.”

“I had no choice,” Kitt insisted. “I swore an oath to my father—”

“Some oaths are meant to be broken,” Moira said. “ ’Twas a sorry thing ye did, Kitty, lying to get a husband.”

“I’m sorry for the hurt I caused him, but I would do it again,” she said. “ ’Twas worth it to have a means of saving us all.”

A knock on the door kept Kitt from arguing further with Moira. She rose to answer it, wondering what trouble was waiting there for her.

Speak of the devil, and he arrived. It was Ian MacDougal.

Kitt did not invite him inside. “What do you want, Ian?” she asked, keeping the door between them.

“It seems you’ve been abandoned, Lady Katherine. You need another husband.”

“Go away, Ian.” She tried closing the door in his
face, but he pushed past her. She backed up toward the hearth, where her father’s claymore hung over the mantel.

“You’ll not be needing that,” Ian said watching the direction of her eyes. “I’ve come to make you an offer. The clan needs a chief. Your father always wanted me, and now I’ve come to claim what’s mine.”

In the month since Alex Wheaton had confirmed in Carlisle’s drawing room that he was the Duke of Blackthorne, rumors had run rampant. Her clansmen had been aghast to discover the snake they had taken to their bosom and had not been surprised that, as soon as he had recovered his memory, the dreadful duke had beat a hasty retreat for England.

“I would spit on him, if he were here now,” Duncan had said.

“Even after all he’s done to help over the past year?” Kitt asked.

“He caused the want in the first place,” Duncan said. “And I dinna see the rents are lower, now that he’s got his memory back.”

There had been no defense she could make. Apparently, the Alex Wheaton she had known and come to love, and the Alastair Wharton who owned the land and the castle, were two completely different people. And she was married to them both.

“I have a husband, Ian,” she said.

“Oh, really?” Ian sniggered in a deadly voice. “When was the last time you saw the duke alive? The last time anybody saw him alive?”

“The night before he left for England.”

“No one’s seen or heard from him since.”

“Of course not. He—” Kitt caught a flicker of something sinister in Ian’s eye. “What have you done, Ian?”

“Nothing that your father wouldna have done if he were here.”

“You killed him?” she said, her heart caught in her throat.

Ian’s lips curled maliciously. “Not yet. But I’ve got him in chains somewhere he’ll never be found.”

“Dear God.” Kitt launched herself at Ian. Her fingernails raked his cheeks once, leaving ragged furrows, before he could capture her wrists.

“Damn you, woman! What’s got into you? ’Tis the bloody duke, who killed your Leith, I’m for killing. Why do you care if he dies?”

“I’m to bear his child!”

Ian stared at her as though she had blasphemed.

“Dinna you see?” she cried. “ ’Tis the salvation of our clan. It doesna matter what the courts say now, the bairn will have a right to claim it all. ’Tisna necessary to kill him, Ian. We’ve won.”

Ian made a sound of disgust in his throat. “What makes you think he’ll accept the bairn as his own? He’s already accused me of lying down with you. He’ll think you mean to trick him.”

“What?”

“I tell you, he willna believe the child is his.”

“We were handfast—”

“What good will a handfast marriage do you in an English court?” Ian said. “Besides, Mr. Ambleside made me a better offer.”

“Mr. Ambleside has disappeared.”

“I’m sure he has. The night he came to visit me he was leaving the country. He offered me money to settle a score for him with the duke.”

“Surely you didna take it!”

“His money only sweetened the pie. I wanted the duke dead for my own sake. And for yours.”

“No. Oh, no, Ian. You must let Blackthorne go free!”

“ ’Tis much too late for that. He’s seen me. He knows I was responsible for kidnapping him and holding him prisoner.”

Kitt moaned. “Surely he will bargain for his life.”

“I canna take the chance he’ll change his mind once he’s free.”

“Then flee, and let me free him. I’ll plead for mercy on your behalf. You canna murder the duke, Ian.”

“Dinna you see? So far as anyone knows in England, he’s dead already.”

“But people here know he’s alive. Carlisle—”

“Will keep his mouth shut for his own sake. And the Scots will not betray me. Blackthorne must die. For the sake of the clan. You must see that.”

Kitt shook her head. “The bairn will inherit—”

“No one will believe the child is his, not when you didn’t conceive all these months you were handfast. Our best chance to survive is to deal with—”

A hard knock on the door interrupted him. Kitt brushed past him and found Laddie on her doorstep.

“What do you want?” Kitt demanded irritably.

Mick took one look inside the cottage and felt his heart sink. Alex was right. His wife had conspired to have him killed. Here she was conniving with Ian before his very eyes.

Following his gut instinct, he had come to enlist her assistance in freeing Alex and had just learned a terrifying lesson. His instincts were not always right.

Mick had believed they were in love with each other and both too stubborn to admit it. He had seen the look in Lady Katherine’s eyes when she thought Alex wasn’t watching her. And he had seen Alex gaze adoringly at his wife. It amazed him how well he had been fooled.

It was plain he could say nothing to Lady Katherine with Ian standing right there listening. He was quick-witted enough to say, “I wondered if you had heard anything from Alex?”

“No, Laddie. Nothing.”

“Oh. Well. He promised me a reward for helping him, you know. I thought he might have said something before he left.”

“He lied to all of us, Laddie,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

She looked so miserable, Mick wondered for a moment if he had misconstrued Ian’s presence. But Ian crossed to stand at her shoulder and said, “If ’tis help you need, you may look to me. I’ll be chief—”

“Is there anything else, Laddie?” Lady Katherine asked, interrupting Ian.

“No,” Laddie said. “I’ve found out all I need to know.”

He headed back to Carlisle Castle on the run. It had been several days since he had discovered Alex’s whereabouts, but he’d been unable to pick the lock on the door. He had passed Alex a dirk he had stolen from a wall full of ancient weapons in Carlisle Castle and had provided enough food and water for Alex to begin to regain his strength.

But he worried that Ian might return and kill Alex before he had gained sufficient strength to defend himself. “Please let me tell Lady Katherine,” he’d begged. “I know she—”

“I forbid it. I would rather die than have her see me reduced to such a state.”

“ ’Tis only yer pride—”

“ ’Tis all I have left.”

But Mick hadn’t been willing to let his friend die for the sake of a little pride. He had decided to speak with Lady Katherine after all.

And found her conniving with Ian MacDougal.

He arrived at the dungeon door breathless and panting. “Ye were right, Alex,” he said through the bars.

“About what, Laddie?”

“Your wife … and Ian. He’s to be the next MacKinnon.” Mick waited for Alex’s reaction, but heard nothing behind the solid door. He leaned his cheek against the rough wood. “I’m that sorry, Alex.”

“Save your sympathy for my wife,” he spat. “She’ll need it when I get out of here.”

“Perhaps Ian never means to open the door again,” Mick said.

“He will,” Alex said. “I’ve been waiting only until I had my strength back to provoke him to it.”

“Will it be soon, do ye think?”

“Tonight,” Alex replied. “I will be free from this prison tonight.”

“Shall I stay nearby, Alex? To help?”

Alex knew better than to say he wanted Michael O’Malley out of the path of danger. The boy would have been insulted at the suggestion he could not defend himself, even against such a brute as Ian MacDougal. “I need you to do something else for me, Laddie.”

“Anything, Alex.”

“I need you to put together enough supplies to keep me until I can make my way home. Put them in the cave in the mountains where I stayed before. Could you do that?”

“Aye. Gladly. But Alex—”

“I am counting on you, Laddie. The success of my journey to England depends on you.”

“I willna fail ye, Alex. And Alex … Godspeed.”

“Goodbye, Laddie. I’ll send for you if—when—I can.”

He thought the boy had left when he heard, “Alex …”

“What is it, Laddie?”

“I wouldna ask it for myself, ye understand. But
if ye can find work for my family on yer estate in England—”

“You did not need to ask, Laddie. It was always in my mind to offer what help I could. Wait to hear from me.”

“Fare thee well, Alex.”

If there is a God, he will save me so that I can repay you someday
, Alex thought as he listened to the boy’s footsteps fade away. He would manage to escape tonight, if for no other reason than to keep his promise to Michael O’Malley. The boy and his family deserved a chance at a better life.

It was hard waiting for night to fall. Harder still to keep his nerves in check. Alex was stronger than he had been a few days before, but he was still no match for Ian MacDougal in a fair fight. But he had no intention of giving Ian a chance to kill him.

He leapt to his feet when he heard the tin plate rattle under the door. “You’ll never be The MacKinnon, Ian,” he said in a deceptively weak voice.

“She’ll have me,” Ian replied. “Once you’re dead.”

“I’m near dead now,” Alex replied. “Why not finish the job and be done with it? Or are you too much a coward to kill me when you’re looking me in the face?”

Alex heard the key rattle in the lock. It had not been so difficult to provoke the beast. He stood waiting in the dark beside the door, dirk in hand, to confront him.

The instant the door was open, Alex launched himself, blade first, at Ian’s bulk. He felt the knife sink deep, heard Ian’s grunt of pain, then felt himself being
slammed against the stone wall as Ian’s giant paw swept across his chest.

The air was knocked out of him, and he thought he heard his barely healed rib crack again. He was totally helpless, totally defenseless. He had failed.

The lantern stood on the floor where Ian had dropped it, and his face remained in the shadows. Alex watched as Ian pulled the knife free from his chest and took a step toward him. “Where did you … get a … dirk?”

“From a friend.”

Ian laughed, a macabre sound. “I didna think you had any.” He took a stumbling step toward Alex, then crumpled to his knees and fell forward onto his face.

It took Alex a moment to realize he was dead.

He had never killed a man before. He felt nauseated, and spat to get the rancid taste from his mouth. A wave of regret swept over him. There should have been another way. But there had been no other way. Ian would have killed him. Had been, in fact, starving him to death. Alex fought the urge to vomit.

This sin, too, he would lay at Kitt’s door. He was glad she was nowhere nearby. He might have sinned again.

He leaned over to pick up the keys Ian had dropped and unshackled his ankle. Then he tugged the dirk from Ian’s clutched fist and winced, pressing a hand to his sore rib. It was not broken, thank God. He wiped the dirk clean against Ian’s shirt, then shoved his way up the rough wall onto his bare feet.

He should have taken Ian’s trousers and shoes, but
he found the thought of wearing a dead man’s clothes too offensive to bear. No one would see him in the dark. And he could get clothes where he was going. Her father’s clothes.