The Highlander's English Bride

by Vanessa Kelly

  It made Graeme ashamed to call himself a Scotsman.

  “If yer lookin’ for reasons to knock off King Fathead, the Clearances would be it,” Angus said in a thoughtful tone.

  “Yes, it’s an excellent motive for assassination,” Graeme replied. “But of the king? The Clearances don’t really have anything to do with George.”

  Royal thoughtfully stroked a gloved hand under his chin. “Is Aden truly sure the king is the target?”

  Graeme threw Royal a startled glance. “Why would you doubt that?”

  “If the Clearances are a motive, it stands to reason the target might be a Scottish lord who is close to the king, or in his retinue for these events. After all, the rumors are about an attempt in Scotland, not England.”

  Graeme scowled down at the wooden planks under his feet. That there were rumors of a plot involving the visit here was certain. But even Aden had admitted the rumors were frustratingly vague. That was why Graeme had been sent to Scotland in the first place.

  Maybe they’d gotten the wrong end of the stick, after all.

  “I don’t know nearly enough,” he finally replied, “despite practically living in the stews this last week and shaking down every damn criminal in Edinburgh. All I can do is keep searching, and make sure the king and his entourage are protected.”

  “Then best keep yer mind on the task and forget the folderol.” Angus pointed at the boat. “Looks like they’re startin’ to unload.”

  “Thank God,” Graeme muttered. He was sick of standing around, playing nursemaid.

  They moved down the pier to keep an eye on the astounding amount of cargo coming off the boat.

  “Good God,” Royal said as the dockhands lugged crates and trunks off the boat and loaded them onto waiting carriages. “Is the king intending to take up permanent residence here?”

  “King Fat—er, King George is bringing his own household goods, along with a considerable amount of special clothing for each occasion,” Graeme replied.

  “I suppose all the expense and trouble will be worth it if it buries the grudge between the Crown and the Scottish people,” Royal said. “It’s time to move on.”

  “Not for me, laddie,” Angus retorted.

  Graeme ignored his grandfather. “You’re right, Royal. That’s why this little jaunt needs to go off without a hitch. If anything goes wrong, the political consequences could be dire.”

  “The consequences for you, too, I imagine,” said Royal with a wry smile.

  “Don’t worry. If I go down, I’m taking the rest of you lot with me.”

  “What . . . what in the name of all that’s holy . . .” Angus jabbed a finger at dockhands unloading crates of live poultry. “Does the daft Sassenach not think we have chickens in Scotland?”

  “Yes, but we have Scottish chickens, Grandda,” Graeme sardonically replied. “Not nearly as tasty as British chickens.”

  “I’ll nae be havin’ ye insultin’ our chickens,” Angus blustered.

  The idiocy of it all was giving Graeme a headache.

  “There’s a young woman on the boat,” Royal said, elbowing Graeme. “And she seems to know you.”

  Graeme moved out of the way of two dockhands struggling with an enormous trunk. “Where? I can’t see anything with all these bloody crates.”

  Royal pointed toward the front of the boat. “There she is, ordering those poor cargo fellows about. Don’t you see her?”

  Oh, now Graeme saw her, all right. The biggest headache he’d ever encountered had just disembarked. She shook out her incongruously bright yellow skirts and headed directly toward him.

  Royal glanced at Graeme. “I presume you do know her.”

  Still trying to recover from the sensation that an anvil had dropped on top of his skull, Graeme simply nodded.

  “Who is she?” Angus asked.

  “More trouble than ye can imagine,” Graeme growled.

  Lady Sabrina Bell marched up to them. “Good afternoon, Mr. Kendrick. Captain St. George informed me that you would be meeting the boat.”

  She flashed him a smile so joyful and dazzling it almost knocked Graeme off the pier. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, sir. And I cannot tell you how thrilled I am to be here in Scotland.”

  Chapter Nine

  While not a man easily surprised, by Graeme’s horrified expression it was clear Sabrina had accomplished just that. One could hardly blame him for his shock at her sudden appearance, especially after that mortifying series of events at the Pan Theater. Graeme had likely assumed, considering her father’s excruciatingly rude behavior, that he’d never see her again. Sabrina had been hoping he’d been as disappointed by that prospect as she’d been.

  She just wished Graeme would say something, since the silence between them was now growing rather fraught.

  His companions also seemed perplexed by the situation. They exchanged meaningful glances before the younger man pointedly cleared his throat. “Graeme, are you going to introduce us to the young lady?”

  “If I do, then I’ll have to acknowledge that this is actually happening,” Graeme replied.

  Drat. This was going to be harder than she thought—and she’d already had to work quite hard to get this far.

  To cover up her embarrassment, Sabrina began to rummage in her reticule. “Mr. Kendrick, I have a—”

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he interrupted, scowling.

  The older man, dressed in a kilt and an old tam crammed onto a generous quantity of frizzy white hair, clucked with disapproval. “Lad, that’s nae way to speak to such a bonny lady.”

  “That’s because you don’t know her.”

  The other man elbowed Graeme in the ribs. “Mind your manners, lad.” Then he bowed to Sabrina. “Ma’am, I’m Royal Kendrick. I’m this sorry specimen’s brother.”

  The sorry specimen huffed out a derisive snort.

  “And this is our grandfather, Mr. Angus MacDonald,” Graeme’s brother added.

  Sabrina dipped a shallow curtsy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, gentlemen. I’m Lady—”

  “Lady Sabrina Bell, daughter of Lord Musgrave,” Graeme said. “A lady who should be in London, not standing on a dock in Leith with chickens and crates and trunks, some of which are obviously hers. That would explain why there’s so much baggage.”

  “Good God,” Royal muttered.

  Sabrina refused to rise to Graeme’s bait. Irritating him more than she already had was not part of the plan.

  Not that she truly knew what her plan was when it came to Graeme Kendrick. She only knew she’d wanted to see him again, and with a determination that had surprised her.

  “Most of the baggage belongs to His Majesty,” she explained. “At the king’s recommendation, I traveled with his household entourage to help organize the domestic details of his visit.”

  Graeme took his hat off and rubbed his head. The breeze gusting off the loch blew his hair straight up, and a sudden ray of sunlight caught the red, making his tumbled curls glow like flame. It was appropriate, since he appeared ready to spontaneously combust with frustration.

  “Sabrina, what are you really doing here?” he demanded.

  She should have been outraged at the informal use of her name, but instead it sent a glow to lodge right behind her breastbone. While supremely annoyed with her, at least he wasn’t indifferent.

  “As I explained, I’m part of the king’s retinue. His Majesty wished for my father to attend him, but Father’s indifferent health made that impossible.”

  “So ye came instead? How did ye manage to pull that off? Yer blasted da barely lets ye out of his sight.”

  Graeme was getting upset again. Still, it was best not to give an inch or he’d take a country mile.

  “His Majesty was delighted when I volunteered to come instead. Father was, naturally, happy to please the king.”

  Actually, Father had descended into rather impressive hysterics. Sabrina, however, had managed to calm him down and then convinc
e her royal godfather that she was dying to visit Scotland and would do her best to be of assistance to him.

  She’d found unexpected allies in Vivien and Aden St. George. Vivien, in particular, had thought it a good idea for her to leave town, given the lingering gossip about Sabrina and Lord Cringlewood. A respite from the ton would allow that ugly chatter to die down.

  “That reminds me.” She dove back into her reticule. “I have a note for you from St. George.”

  Graeme frowned. “Why wouldn’t he just send an express if he wanted to write me?”

  “St. George always has his reasons,” Royal said in a dry tone.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Graeme muttered as he broke the note’s seal.

  Sabrina waited patiently while he scanned the missive. His grandfather stood on his toes to read over his grandson’s broad shoulder.

  “Give over, Grandda,” Graeme said, exasperated.

  “What does it say?” Mr. MacDonald asked. “More spy business, I reckon?”

  Clearly, Graeme wasn’t the only blunt member of the family.

  “No, and I’ll thank you to keep your voice down,” he growled.

  “Nae one can hear us over all this commotion, laddie. If it’s not spy business, then what is it?”

  As Graeme muttered a few choice words, Royal covered his mouth, clearly trying not to laugh.

  When Graeme finished reading, he slipped the note into his pocket. “Aden wants to remove Lady Sabrina from the king’s entourage, and in with us at Heriot Row.”

  Sabrina almost dropped her reticule. “That cannot be correct. I’m to stay with the king, at Dalkeith Palace.”

  Rather than staying at Holyrood, the king would take up residence with the Duke of Buccleuch, in his palace just outside the city. Sabrina knew some had been disappointed in that decision, but the king’s personal comfort trumped other considerations.

  “Aden is clear that you’re to stay at Heriot Row for the duration of His Majesty’s stay,” Graeme said.

  “But—”

  “Lass, the king won’t even be arriving for another three days,” Graeme said more gently. “It wouldn’t be proper for you to stay at Dalkeith with only the staff.”

  It was the lass that did it. Sabrina found herself quite unable to resist him when he called her that.

  “Well, if you think—”

  “I do think. Aden also made it clear that I’m to keep an eye on you. To keep you out of trouble.”

  Her warm feelings abated a jot. “I do not need a baby-sitter.”

  “Oh, really?”

  This was not going as she had envisioned. “Regardless of St. George’s instructions, which of course I am not obliged to follow, I will be staying with the king.”

  He scowled. “The king is hardly a proper chaperone, and you clearly need one.”

  “Now you’re being ridiculous. I’m his goddaughter, as you well know. And you needn’t make me sound like a . . . a loose fish.”

  She could practically hear him grinding his teeth. “No, but you have a knack for stumbling into villains and ending up at gunpoint.”

  Mr. MacDonald perked up. “Gunpoint, eh? What happened?”

  “Nothing, really,” Sabrina said. “I simply waited for Mr. Kendrick to rescue me.”

  “Ye didna faint, or screech like a barn owl?”

  Sabrina frowned. “What would be the point of that?”

  The old fellow gave her an approving nod. “Sounds like ye’ll fit right in with the rest of us.”

  “This is a deranged conversation.” Graeme turned to inspect the massive pile of baggage on the docks. “We need to sort out her ladyship’s trunks and have them transferred to Heriot Row.”

  Sabrina tried one more time. “I still think—”

  “No.”

  There was obviously no point in fighting the pigheaded man. Besides, it might be rather fun to stay with the Kendricks. Evidence suggested they were the opposite of boring.

  Sabrina was so tired of boring.

  And you’ll be closer to Graeme.

  She ignored that prompt from the little devil sitting on her shoulder. “Very well, but you needn’t worry about my baggage. Hannah will take care of it.”

  Graeme spun back on his heel, looking aghast. “You brought Hannah with you?”

  “Of course. I couldn’t travel without another female in attendance.”

  “I thought we agreed you needed a more capable maid.”

  “She’s perfectly capable. Ah, there she is.” Sabrina waved a hand.

  “What’s wrong with the maid?” Royal asked.

  “You’ll see,” his brother grimly replied.

  Carrying a large bandbox, Hannah tottered up to them. “My lady, please don’t ever make me get on a boat again. That was the worst—”

  Hannah broke off with a shriek and dropped the bandbox. “Not him!”

  Graeme let out an audible sigh as he picked up the box.

  “Hannah, there is no need for dramatics,” Sabrina said. “Please recall that Mr. Kendrick did not push me into the river but rather pulled me out.”

  Royal threw his brother a startled glance. “Someone pushed her ladyship into the water?”

  Their grandfather frowned at Graeme. “Och, lad. Upsettin’ for both of ye, I ken.”

  “It was fine,” Graeme tersely said. “She wasn’t injured.”

  “That water was quite shallow,” Sabrina added.

  “But don’t forget you was robbed, miss,” Hannah unhelpfully said.

  “I need to have a quick chat with the steward overseeing the king’s baggage,” Graeme hastily interjected. “And someone needs to sort out her ladyship’s things and assist her maid. Angus?”

  “I’m sure ye can take care of all that,” the old man said with an airy wave. “I’ll stay and keep her ladyship company.”

  Graeme’s gaze went flinty. “Listen, Grandda—”

  “Nae, lad. Off with ye, now.” Mr. MacDonald made a shooing motion.

  “Hannah, please go with Mr. Kendrick,” Sabrina said, hoping to forestall an argument.

  “Oh, my lady, are you sure you can’t go with me?” Hannah plaintively asked as she gingerly accepted the bandbox from Graeme.

  “I can help your maid,” Royal said. “That way Graeme can finish his business, and then escort you and Angus back to Heriot Row.”

  Graeme looked visibly relieved, as did Hannah. In fact, she was now staring at Royal Kendrick with a dazzled expression. While he was very appealing in a dark and dramatic fashion, Sabrina preferred Graeme’s rugged good looks.

  “Thanks, old man,” Graeme said.

  Royal took the bandbox from Hannah with a wry smile.

  As they walked away, with the maid enthusiastically chattering to her escort, Sabrina regretfully crinkled her nose. “I do apologize. Hannah’s a good girl, if a bit flighty.”

  “Och, that’s nothing new for our Royal,” Mr. MacDonald said. “A charmer, he is. Unlike someone else, ye ken.”

  That someone’s expression was positively thunderous, so another intervention was in order. “I do hope I won’t be an inconvenience to your family. Are you sure you have room for me?”

  Mr. MacDonald smiled. “Not to worry, lass. We’ll squeeze ye in.”

  “We can give her your room,” Graeme said in a blighting tone, “and you can sleep in the mews. Now, make yourself useful and take Lady Sabrina to the carriage. Both of you need to sit quietly and wait for me. And stay out of trouble.”

  Well, that was a bit much.

  “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” she said firmly.

  “That remains to be seen.” Graeme stalked off.

  “Huh.” Mr. MacDonald shook his head. “The laddie seems a mite fashed with ye.”

  She sighed. “I do seem to have that effect on him.”

  He gave a low chuckle. “Ye can tell me all aboot it as we wait.”

  Mr. MacDonald escorted her toward a town coach that sported a coat of arms. It
was spacious and well appointed, with luxurious red leather fittings and polished brass lamps.

  They climbed in, and he settled opposite her. “So, yer the king’s goddaughter.”

  “I am, sir.”

  “And Lord Musgrave’s yer da.” Mr. MacDonald stroked his chin. “And would that be the same Musgrave with yon estate in the borderlands?”

  “Indeed. Our family seat is in Northumberland.”

  “Yer da married a Scottish lass. Of the Chattan Clan, if I’m recallin’ correctly.”

  “That is correct.”

  From everything Sabrina knew about Scots, they were rather obsessive about their history and clan lineage, so she supposed it made sense that he’d know about her mother. And why he’d be so curious.

  “And ye have no brothers and sisters, I’m thinkin’,” he probed.

  “I’m an only child, Mr. MacDonald.”

  He beamed at her. “Call me Angus, lass. Everyone does.”

  “Oh, that’s kind, but—”

  “How did ye meet my grandson?” he interrupted. “Surely not in that river.”

  “Well . . . yes, that was when I met him. It’s more of a pond, though.”

  She looked away, having no interest in reliving that humiliating experience.

  “Och, there’s nae need to be embarrassed. When it comes to Graeme, there’s always a bit of a story. I ken that he pulled ye out, but how did ye end up in the drink in the first place?”

  Clearly, the old Scot was impervious to hints.

  But thankfully, Graeme appeared just then, the carriage rocking as he bounded onto the step and climbed in. The roomy interior seemed suddenly crowded as he slid past Sabrina and sat next to his grandfather. Graeme’s long, booted legs took up every available inch of space between the seats.

  “She was pushed into the Serpentine by a cutpurse,” Graeme said as the carriage began to move.

  Angus looked perturbed. “I canna be surprised at such doin’s in the Sassenach fleshpots, but that’s a bit of bad luck.”

  “You have no idea,” Graeme said.

  “It wasn’t my fault, as you know,” Sabrina retorted.

  “If you hadn’t been hanging about the park, waiting for—” He bit off the words, as if they were sour.