This Perfect Kiss (25 page)

Christel looked over Tia's shoulder toward the darkened stable. “There would be only one reason you would not be on a horse,” Christel said. “You did not want Grams knowing you had left Rosecliffe.”

Tia laughed. “Truly? Are we suddenly friends that I should be sharing confidences with you? In case you did not know, the only horses we have left in our stable are used for Grams's coach. 'Tis none of your concern why I am here.”

Christel walked after her. “Tia—”

A hand suddenly covered Christel's mouth. Followed at once by a whisper that brushed her ear. “It's me, Christel. Do not fight.”

Leighton.

“You will not scream or hit me?”

She bit his hand. He yanked it from her mouth. “Bloody hell, Christel! That hurt.”

“You should be so lucky to die of blood poisoning.”

“We can trust her, Tianna.”

“Bother, Leighton, why would you trust her?”

Oddly, Christel also resented the notion that Leighton trusted her. His words by their very meaning drew her into a conspiracy with them.

He lowered his voice. “Would you rather I kill her? Now that she has found us out?”

Christel folded her arms over her chest. “Tell me you are being facetious.”

The argument stopped. Leighton took her arm and turned her toward the stable. “She has worked in a field hospital. She is a seamstress. She knows how to use a needle and thread.”

In the shadows, three soot-faced men slumped against a water trough, muskets braced between their knees. Two more stood near the paddock, another in the doorway of the stable. All wore dark clothing.

Leighton took her into the stable. Someone lit a lamp. Her gaze fell on Blue slumped next to a bail of hay. Blood covered the lower side of his shirt. Christel dropped to her knees.

“Blue!
” She removed the soiled rag someone had already placed on his side.

“It hurts only a bit, mum,” he said.

A smooth slice in his flesh just above his hip oozed blood. She looked up, into the farmer's eyes. “Blue, this is a saber wound . . .”

Tia knelt in the straw across from Christel and presented her with a small surgeon's kit.

“He needs a real doctor,” Christel said.

“Doctor White is being watched,” Tia said. “Sir Jacob and his daughter are dining at Rosecliffe tonight. Otherwise he would be here rather than me.”

“Will you not be missed?”

“I fell down the stairs this evening and sprang my ankle terribly.” She held up a small brown bottle. “Doctor White gave me laudanum and put me to bed. I will not be missed until morning.”

Tianna opened Blue's big hand and set the bottle in his palm. “You may need this before the night is through,” she said gently.

Dipping the rag in the water and wringing it, Christel pressed it to the wound in an attempt to gauge its severity. “How did this happen?” she asked Blue.

“Me an' Heather were visitin' her kin near Maybole last night. The gaugers knocked on the door near dawn wantin' to search the place for contraband. When they dragged us out of our beds and set the place afire . . . weel, I did no' much like the treatment, mum.”

Gaugers—preventive men, custom officers of the Crown: they were as hated as the plague.

“Who else is injured?” she asked.

“The family inhaled smoke, but everyone be otherwise safe. Heather be with her sister and the wee lads in the rector's cottage.”

“Why would someone do this?”

Blue looked up at Leighton, clearly passing the responsibility of answering the query to him.

“That is what Westmont's men do with conspirators,” he said. “Your cottage is burned and your lands confiscated. If you are unfortunate enough to be caught, sedition is oft added to your list of crimes so his magistrates can more readily hang you.”

Christel's gaze touched the shadowy shapes lingering beyond the lamplight. “You mean that is what his men do to people
caught
smuggling.”

“They will be hangin' my brother-in-law in the village square in two days,” Blue said.

Numbly she shook her head as she tried to think. “This wound has bits of cloth inside. If I stitch it now, it will only putrefy.”

Leighton knelt beside her. “Unfortunately we do not have the luxury of a surgery, and we have already been here too long.”

“He be right, mum,” Blue said.

“Blackthorn Castle has a surgery, I can see to the wound there.”

Blue shook his head. “I will no' leave Heather and the bairns. I will no' have them defenseless should a patrol come here.”

“You will die if I cannot dig the scraps of cloth from the wound, Blue. And trust me, 'tis not a painless way to go. You need—”

“I will no' leave those bairns, Miss Christel.”

She sat back, more frustrated than furious. “The only place any patrol will not check is Blackthorn Castle. Maybe we should take all of your family there.”

“Aye,” Leighton scoffed. “You will hide a family of fugitives under my brother's nose. Too dangerous, Christel. If anyone suspects you are involved . . . hell, Westmont and my brother are close friends. Camden will not compromise Blackthorn's security for a bunch of tenant farmers.”

“You do not know him, Leighton. He would die fighting for what is right. If you think there is some grave injustice about,
you
should have gone to him long ago.”

“He will not die fighting for these people, Christel. He would not even die fighting for England if you asked him now. He is not the same man he was. Ask Tianna.”

Tianna was watching Christel. “Maybe she should ask him,” Tianna said to Leighton. “I do not see that we have a choice.
You
cannot stay here on guard, and she needs the use of the surgery. 'Tis logical that we take Blue and Heather's family to Blackthorn. Who would think to look there?”

“Logical
!” Leighton rasped, keeping his furious voice low. “What is logical about getting hung?”

“Hanged,” Tia corrected. “The proper word is hanged.”

“Fook
the proper word. I will not have her risking—”

“Her
! You were not worried that
I
risked a great deal coming here.”

Christel watched the hushed verbal skirmish, a little awed to discover Tianna had a temper. Growing up, she had always been so pale and balmy in comparison to Christel and Saundra. More than that, she clearly had a
tendre
for that rapscallion libertine towering over her.

“Hush! Both of you,” Christel snapped. “ 'Tis a moot point. We need the surgery. And Tia is correct. No one will look for the family there.”

The lamp suddenly whisked out with a hiss. “
Dragoons
!”

Christel could hear the soft rasp of movement as men took up positions outside behind bushes and trees.

“Get down,” Leighton whispered. “Cover your hair. Especially you, Christel. Your hair is like a light beacon in the night.”

“And what is mine?” Tia whispered. “Mud?”

Christel knelt next to Blue with Tia on the other side, her sister's breathing staggered in the darkness. Tia wasn't used to the terror of being hunted by soldiers. Christel breathed slowly, calmed by the stable's fecund smells.

“Concentrate on the smell of the stable,” she whispered to her sister. “Inhale.”

She thought Tia coughed behind her cloak. “It stinks!”

“I know.” A sliver of moonlight wedged between the slats. “I think your hair is more like sable,” Christel whispered, her gaze holding Tia's, “not mud.”

Silence fell between them.

“Have you done this before?” Tia asked.

Christel nodded. They both turned their attention to the doorway. A man with a perspective glass stood inside the shadows and quartered the hill at the back of the cemetery. “Six dragoons,” he said. “I do no' think they are alerted to us or they would no' be sitting like pretty ducks in a row for us to pick off.”

“Then why are they no' movin'?” someone whispered.

“They could no' have seen the light.”

Christel's heart leapt and she struggled to stand. “My horse and dog are still at the cemetery—”

But even as she said the words, a man's distant shout alerted the other soldiers, and they headed down the hill.

Chapter 14

W
hen Camden left Rosecliffe near nine o'clock, the night was cold and clear. Even this close to spring, the threat of snow lingered until May. Moonlight reached across the ground in pale fingers, sifting through tree branches that had not yet budded with the first breath of spring.

A tap on the small port above the forward seat alerted Camden just before it slipped open. “Riders approaching, my lord,” his driver said. “A full half dozen at least.”

Camden leaned to the window to see the oncoming riders directly on the road in front. Even though he was on Blackthorn land, he never discounted the possibility of being robbed on his own road by overambitious highwaymen bent on their own self-destruction.

As the coach slowed, Camden reached beneath the cushion of the opposite seat and withdrew two pistols already primed, setting both next to him. “Can you tell yet who they are?” he called back.

“Six dragoons. A woman and a dog,” the driver said. “They are hailing us.”

Camden's heart dropped into his stomach. As his coach slowed, he dimmed the interior lamps and returned to the window. “Stay armed and alert,” he said to both men up top. Two others rode the boot. All were well armed.

When the coach came to a rocking halt, the footmen hurriedly set out the step. Camden opened the door and descended before the riders reined in their mounts in front of him. Camden refrained from leaning heavily on his cane to work out the cramp in his thigh.

The first thing he noticed was that Christel rode sidesaddle, her cloak spread around her skirts, revealing a glimpse of half boots laced over her ankle. Her hood had fallen across her shoulders and, even in moonlight, he could see that the wind had reddened her cheeks and her pale hair lay in windblown curls around her face and shoulders. His first thought was that she possessed a graceful seat on the saddle. His second thought was territorial, primal in nature as he shifted his attention to the dragoon sergeant holding the reins on Christel's mount. He had met the man once before in Christel's stable.

“We found her in the cemetery,” the sergeant said without sliding from his horse. “She claimed she was there visiting the late Countess Carrick. I am not of a mind to disbelieve her, my lord, seein' as how they were related. But 'twas past dark—”

“If I am not mistaken, St. Abigail Kirk belongs to Blackthorn Castle,” Camden said tersely. “What are you doing on my land without permission, Sergeant?”

The man straightened in the saddle. “We have Sir Jacob Westmont's warrant, my lord.” He fished out a folded document from deep within his waistcoat but was forced to dismount when Camden made no effort to step forward and retrieve it. “We have been cleaning the spiders from their nests,” he said. “Ridding Ayrshire of its criminal elements.”

Camden walked nearer to the interior of the coach and read the decree with a frown.
Damn, Jacob
.

Adjusting his tricorn, he turned his head. Christel sat atop the horse, watching the proceedings. “My horse bolted, my lord,” she said. “The good sergeant thought I was attempting to escape him.”

The sergeant shifted uneasily. “One of my men was seriously injured earlier this morning near Maybole during an altercation with dangerous blackguards, who have since eluded capture. After I informed the woman of this, she became frightened and begged us to escort her to you directly. She said you were dining with Sir Jacob at Rosecliffe.”

Christel smoothed her hand through the gelding's mane. “Before they arrested me for seditious activities, they needed to confirm with you that I had legitimate cause to be at St. Abigal's, my lord.”

“Are you all right?” he asked her.

“Aye, my lord. Who am I to argue with six dragoons when they offered me the protection of their services?”

He could not see her face in the shadows, and he was glad, because he knew she was no damsel in need. She was the most capable woman he had ever known. She was lying.

“The men you seek, are they the same responsible for the sinking of the merchant ship outside Troon three years ago, holding, among other goods, gold that was supposed to be going to the royal coffers in England? Am I not mistaken?” Camden asked.

“Aye, my lord.”

His eyes returning to the document in his hand, he said, “Six men died.”

The sergeant concurred that this was the same lot.

“Did you search St. Abigal's?” Camden asked.

“We saw nothing amiss. But . . . then Miss Douglas's mount bolted. We were a mile gone before we finally caught the horse.”

Camden returned the warrant. “Miss Douglas is in my employ, Sergeant, and has leave to go wherever she chooses on my land. Next time you want to visit St. Abigal's for whatever reason, come to me first.” He kept his voice calm. Only someone who knew him well would have guessed his anger.

H
e was furious.

Once in the carriage, Christel bundled in her cloak and attempted to relax against the velvet squabs, listening as Camden barked orders to his driver to tie her horse to the coach. She whistled softly and Dog bounded into the vehicle, exuberant with joy at her invitation. After she finally stopped him from licking her face, he circled around the squabs, turned three times and plopped next to her on the seat, clearly finding the prospect of traveling in royal style preferable to running another three miles. “I am sorry you were run so hard tonight, boy.”

His red and white tail thumping, he settled his head in her lap, gave a great heave of his chest and was asleep. She reached up and extinguished the light at her head, preferring the darkness.

The coach dipped with Camden's weight as he shut the door. Dropping onto the seat across from Dog, he braced one arm along the back of the squabs. A crack of the driver's whip roused the four horses and the coach jerked forward. She and Camden remained in silence each in their corners, like two pugilists awaiting the bell to ring for the first round.

“Why were you at the cemetery?” he asked.

“I thought it prudent to visit your wife . . . now that I am sleeping with her husband.” Tears sprang to her eyes. She bit them back. “I am sorry. That was a horrible thing to say.”

“I am relieved that you recognize it.”

She smoothed her cloak over her skirt and found it damp from the evening mist. “I did not go to the cemetery tonight with any intent but to visit Saundra. I have not done so since my return.”

“And somehow during the course of that visit you came across the blackguard spiders the sergeant is hunting.” He leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees. “I did not tell you that Jacob Westmont would be at Rosecliffe tonight. I can only guess you found out from someone who knew he was there. The only person not present at supper was Tianna. So I will merely speculate 'twas she you met at the cemetery. And if there was trouble in Maybole this morning, then Leighton was no doubt involved.”

With half-angry discontent, Christel rubbed Dog between the ears. Camden had most everything figured and she had barely said a word.

Leighton would have gotten Blue and Heather's family to Blackthorn Castle by now, she thought. How could she possibly broach the topic of their needing shelter? Her heart shivered in her chest.

“You would not have asked those questions about the merchant ship if you did not want me to hear the answers,” she said.

“I want you to know the kind of people you are defending.”

“Leighton would not . . . he would not condone murder.”

Camden dragged off his hat and tossed it on the seat. “And I am finished with your defense of him.”

“The dragoons burned a house that belonged to Blue's brother-in-law. Blue was seriously injured defending the family. The children's father is to be hanged in two days.”

“I know,” he said.

“You know? You
know
?”

“I found out tonight over a glass of port.”

Christel waited for him to say more. He didn't.

“There were women and children inside that house,” she said.

“There are sixty-two men imprisoned at the military stockade in Ayr. Should I fight to have them all pardoned? Or merely the ones for whom you care? Does being a father make a man less a criminal?”

He leaned forward and tilted her chin. “Look at me.” Even in the darkest of nights there was always some light. Moonlight came into the coach via the windows. She could probably see Camden better than she could have had he been shadowed by lamplight. “If anyone ever learns that you had contact with Leighton tonight . . . or in any other way—”

Turning her head, she dislodged his grip.

“I know about the letters he has written to Anna,” he said. “He would not have done that on his own accord—”

“The fact that he did write the letters at all should mean something. Anna misses him terribly. She is a child and does not understand the world.”

“Then I am thankful for something,” he said.

Christel could only gaze at him in the darkness as a tumult of emotions coursed through her. “I am glad you know,” she finally said.

“Indeed,” he said doubtfully.

“I meant it to be no secret. They were not hidden.”

The mood in the carriage shifted like currents in the sea, the ebb and flow of a tide, the sky just before the sun dipped into the sea.

Christel did not have to light the lamp to know that his eyes were as grave as his mood. A chill went over her. “Whatever you think of him . . .”
He is not the one who fathered Saundra's child.
“You both are blaming the other for something . . .” Shaking her head, she didn't know what to say. “Something that was neither your fault nor his. Talk to him.”

Numbly, she lingered in the silence growing heavier between them, then she heard his quiet laugh. “We do not need you to save us from each other, Christel. What is between us has nothing to do with you.”

“Talk to Leighton.”

“Why? Because you have affixed some moral aura around my heart that gives off the delusion that I am somehow of different temperament than other normal men? Or from the man I have always been? What makes you think we would not kill each other?”

“Oh, yes. I forgot. Much of the world once feared the Barracuda. Your accolades reach to all shores of the Atlantic. You built wealth and rank as thick as the stone walls of Blackthorn Castle. You filled your world with beautiful things and a beautiful wife who gave you a beautiful daughter. Now you are battered by your own insignificance in an attempt to find relevance in your life again. And all I can do is be a spectator.”

“Do I detect a hint of scorn in your opinion of my character, unworthy as it is?” he softly asked.

“Nay,” she said just as softly. “You do not. I think you are one of the bravest men I have ever known.”

“I would rather be scorned by you, Christel.”

She drew her cloak tighter. “Too bad,” she sniffed. “If you were not an earl, I would probably fall in love with you; maybe even settle on being your mistress.”

“Come here.” He opened his cloak. “That dog in your lap has hair all over his body to keep him warm. You do not. Your teeth are chattering.”

She thought about refusing him. The words were on her tongue. But then she eased Dog's head from her lap. The hound protested briefly with a sleepy groan that ended as he stretched out on the velvet squabs. “Thank you for allowing Dog to ride in the coach,” she said.

Camden gripped her waist and pulled her across his lap; even through the layers of their clothes, she felt him hard against her.

After a moment, he pressed his mouth against her hair. Her breasts brushed his arm, and she felt the hard muscles beneath his sleeve. “No one has ever believed in me as you have, Christel. No one has ever had more cause
not
to believe in me.”

“You are wrong. You have just forgotten what it's like to believe in something again.”

“Leighton and I were not always adversaries,” he said.

The vulnerability in his voice lifted her chin. He was looking out at the night and she knew that he was thinking about Saundra.

“I know.”

He touched the strands of her hair as if her presence became something greater in his thoughts. Something he did not comprehend. “Leighton was with Saundra when Anna was born. I had tried to get back but missed the event by a few weeks. In the fourteen years I served the admiralty, my brother buried our grandfather, father and cousins. I missed every special occasion, every important event in my family's life except Saundra's death. I was the last person to be with her before she died. Had I been more of a husband . . .”

The edge in his voice became even more perceptible. “All of my life I have played hero to a cause that was more important to me than my own wife and family. I did everything duty bade me to do.

“In the end, nothing mattered. Not wealth or prestige or honor. I never questioned my responsibility before, but I find myself questioning it now. I do not want Anna growing up thinking her father a cripple who failed his country. Even more so, I do not want her dishonored because of something I did or failed to do right by this family.”

His deep sense of duty, which was evident in every nuance, every word he spoke, made Christel's throat tighten. “Whatever happened, you did not kill Saundra. She was a fool.”

His hand tilted her chin. “ 'Tis not my intent to make you feel pity for me, Christel.”

She dabbed a knuckle at the corner of her eye. “I fear I have harmed you.”

“How so,
a leannan?
” Amusement laced his words.

He had called her “darling” in Gaelic. She had thought he did not even know the language.

“Blue needs help,” she whispered.

“I will find a way to get Doctor White to him, though that in itself poses risk. Westmont is watching him.”