The Highlander's English Bride

by Vanessa Kelly

  They entered a neatly furnished room with a comfortable mix of floral fabric wing chairs, round tables holding books and vases of mums, and a faded settee in red velvet. Sabrina perched on the settee while Mr. Brown took one of the wing chairs.

  The vicar was a tall man with an athletic frame. With his strong features, friendly smile, and glossy dark hair, he was attractive, though not as brawny and handsome as Graeme, of course. Few men were. Still, Mr. Brown had an engaging smile and an open countenance that immediately put her at ease.

  “Can I offer you something to drink?” he asked. “You’ve caught me a bit off guard, but I’m sure I could rustle something up.”

  “No need, sir. I had luncheon just before I came.”

  His gaze twinkled with humor. “Thank goodness. If you must know, I’m hopeless in the kitchen. Mrs. Adair barely lets me step foot in the room. She says I’m a menace to the domestic arts.”

  Sabrina laughed. It felt good to laugh and enjoy a pleasant conversation with a man who wasn’t barking at her. “Then we must be thankful I’ve already eaten.”

  “And please forgive my appearance, my lady. I was working on my Sunday sermon.”

  “I should have sent a note down first, but I needed to speak to you with some degree of . . .” Sabrina hesitated. “Urgency.”

  He turned serious. “Actually, I intended to call on you later today. I’ve been in Kinloch Laggan for the last few weeks, at my other parish. Kinloch is my primary living and keeps me busy. Not that Dunlaggan doesn’t have its challenges,” he dryly added.

  “Have you been vicar in Dunlaggan for some time?”

  “About two years. The Kinloch parish is within the purview of the head of the Chattan clan. When he appointed me to that parish, he asked that I be assigned to this living as well. Your father had no objection.”

  “So you were here when Mr. Hugo was still the estate steward.”

  “Yes,” he tersely replied.

  “Do you mind if I ask your opinion of him?”

  “The man was a complete scoundrel. We generally avoided each other.”

  Drat. Would this be another dead end?

  Mr. Brown grimaced. “I don’t mean to sound rude, my lady. I truly believe, though, that Mr. Hugo cared little for Lochnagar and its tenants. However, he did seem to have the trust of your father’s business manager in Edinburgh.”

  Sabrina clenched her gloved hands in her lap. “I apologize. My father’s health has been uncertain, and he turned his Scottish concerns over to his manager. With unhappy results, I’m afraid.”

  “No apology is necessary. There are a fair number of absentee landowners in the Highlands, and some are better than others. Now, there is little doubt that change is coming to this part of Scotland, Lochnagar included.”

  “And I intend to reverse the changes that have hurt the tenants and the locals, as best I can.”

  He gave her a relieved smile. “That is splendid news, indeed.”

  “But as you say, there are challenges. The villagers and even the manor staff are quite wary. We know something criminal took place under Mr. Hugo’s supervision. We’ve also deduced that the new estate manager, Mr. Francis, was apparently frightened off.”

  “That was my impression, as well.”

  Sabrina clapped her hands in frustration. “But no one will talk to me about it.”

  Mr. Brown sighed. “The people of Dunlaggan can be remarkably reticent. And it would be worse for you, the daughter of an absentee landlord, and a Sassenach, no less. I’m afraid I must counsel patience.”

  “It’s hard to be patient when there’s skullduggery afoot on your own lands. And aside from Mr. Hugo, I don’t even know the names of those involved.”

  “I know who they are and what they’ve been doing,” the vicar calmly said. “It’s not exactly a secret.”

  It took a few moments for Sabrina to muster her wits. “You know about the smuggling, then?”

  “Everyone knows about it, my lady.”

  “Yet I obviously know very little,” she tartly replied.

  He winced. “Forgive me. I’d assumed that Mrs. Wilson would have informed you of some of the details.”

  “Not a word. One of the older crofters did tell us that someone was brewing whisky and likely running a smuggling ring.”

  “A very successful smuggling ring, one that was primarily to the benefit of Mr. Hugo and the Barr family, one of your former tenants.”

  Sabrina frowned. “I saw the Barr name in the estate records. They had been tenants for at least two centuries.”

  “Yes, and exceedingly respectable farmers in the older generations. That apparently changed when your grandfather died. With Hugo’s assistance, the younger Barrs formed an illegal partnership that ran successfully for several years.”

  “And no one tried to stop it?”

  He shrugged. “As long as the rents were coming in and the estate was producing revenue, I suppose no one cared.”

  “What about the authorities?”

  “Illegal distilleries in the Highlands are hardly uncommon, I’m sorry to say.”

  She thought of Graeme and his brother. “So I have come to understand.”

  “Circumstances only changed when Mr. Francis was brought in to step up the Clearances. The Barrs were one of the first families to be evicted.” The vicar grimaced. “To say they were unhappy is a vast understatement.”

  “Does anyone know where the Barrs are now?”

  “If some do know, they’re not telling me.”

  She blinked. “They don’t trust you?”

  “It’s not that. Some of the locals are afraid of the Barrs. Afraid of what they’re capable of doing if anyone talks. Others simply feel loyal to the old Highland ways. Under the circumstances, it’s hard for them to know who to ask for help.”

  Sabrina stood. “I can help, so perhaps they’ll talk to me.”

  Mr. Brown rose with her. “I hope so. These are difficult times for Dunlaggan and Lochnagar.”

  “Thank you, sir. You’ve been incredibly helpful.”

  The vicar bowed. “Whatever I can do, please do not hesitate to ask.”

  She tilted her head. “Actually, there is something you can do.”

  “Name it.”

  “You can escort me to the pub and introduce me to the locals.”

  His eyebrows shot up in comical surprise. “Uh, you wish to go to the pub?”

  “I certainly do.”

  * * *

  No luck at the vicar’s house, which was incredibly annoying. The blasted man wasn’t home, and the housekeeper hadn’t a clue where he was.

  Annoyed was understating the case. Graeme was skating on the edge of panic. He couldn’t believe Sabrina had disobeyed his instructions and gone out by herself.

  He’d given Ainsley an earful about that, but she’d simply yelled right back at him. Fortunately, his sister-in-law had climbed down from her high horse long enough to tell him where Sabrina had gone and why.

  Graeme needed to keep better track of the lass, apparently every bloody moment of the day and night.

  Night watch would be fun.

  He ignored his moronic brain and trotted his horse back through the hamlet, slowing as he approached the Deer and Hound, the only pub in town. He’d stopped in a few times since their arrival and had been met with a wall of silence and suspicion. Today probably wouldn’t be any better, but at least someone might have spotted the vicar, with or without Sabrina. Graeme only hoped the two of them weren’t wandering about the countryside, looking for clues. Sabrina clearly thought of herself as something of an investigator. While there was no doubt the lass was sharp as a pin, amateurs always caused trouble.

  Sabrina had a knack for causing trouble without even trying.

  Graeme dismounted in front of the pub. As usual, an ancient lounged out front, smoking a pipe. There were always one or two of the old boys stationed there, keeping an eye on the street. Graeme rather imagined they did it in shifts, because he
’d never once passed by without falling under the scrutiny of one of the local Methuselahs. The results of their perusals were invariably disapproval.

  “Good afternoon. I’m Graeme Kendrick.”

  “I ken who ye are.”

  The old fellow vigorously pulled on his pipe, then blew out an impressive cloud of foul-smelling smoke. Enveloped, Graeme coughed.

  “Ye’ll be lookin’ for the lass,” he added.

  “Know where she is?” Graeme hoarsely asked.

  Methuselah jerked his pipe toward the door. “She and the vicar are havin’ a wee chat with Monroe and just about everyone else in the hamlet.” He puffed out another cloud. “Gossips, the whole lot of ’em.”

  Graeme waved a hand through the billowing brimstone. “I suppose you’re above that sort of thing.”

  “I already ken everythin’. Ye might try rememberin’ that, laddie. Save yerself some time.”

  Graeme mentally rolled his eyes. “I will do that, Mister . . .”

  “Get ye in before yon lassie causes more trouble.”

  “Yon lassie is your lady,” he replied. “You might consider treating her with the respect she deserves.”

  A skeptical snort was the only reply.

  Hopeless.

  The sooner he got Sabrina away from this deranged corner of the Highlands, the better.

  Pushing open the door, Graeme blinked and then promptly picked his jaw up off the floor.

  Sabrina sat at a table in the center of the rustic, timbered room. With a pint in front of her, she was talking to Monroe, the publican, and three other men. One, a young fellow in a sober black suit, was obviously the vicar. The others were the local butcher and a crofter from Lochnagar. Scattered at the surrounding tables was probably half of Dunlaggan, straining to hear the earnest conversation.

  Graeme stalked over to Sabrina.

  Startled, she glanced up and then let out a quiet sigh. “Oh. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

  “I’m quite surprised to see you as well. Without an escort,” he pointedly added.

  “Ah, but I do have an escort. Mr. Kendrick, may I introduce Mr. Brown. He’s the vicar here in Dunlaggan.”

  The young man stood and executed a polite bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kendrick,” he said with a warm smile.

  Sabrina beamed at the vicar. “Reverend Brown has been ever so kind and helpful.”

  The vicar pressed a hand to his chest. “It is my honor to help you, my lady.”

  Graeme shoved his hand into his greatcoat pocket, resisting the impulse to rearrange the man’s perfectly straight nose.

  “I hate to contradict a lady,” Graeme said, “but I don’t believe Mr. Brown escorted you from Lochnagar to the village. Unless he made prior arrangements to sneak you out of the house, that is.”

  The vicar looked wounded, and that actually made Graeme feel guilty.

  “Sir, I never sneak, especially with ladies.” He resumed his seat with a great deal of dignity.

  “Happens that’s true,” said the butcher. “My Betsy has been tryin’ to sneak off with yon vicar for months, but he’s as skittish as a virgin on her weddin’ night.” He good-naturedly elbowed Brown, who was now looking appalled. “Nae luck for my poor Betsy, ye ken.”

  “Mr. Harrison, I have the utmost respect for your daughter. Indeed, for all the ladies in the village,” Brown protested.

  “Of course you do, my dear sir,” Sabrina said before frowning at Graeme. “Anyone with a brain can see that.”

  Splendid. Now she thought him brainless.

  Graeme made an effort to wrestle his temper under control. “My lady, may I suggest we return to Lochnagar? It’s getting late.”

  She glanced at the old case clock sitting on a shelf behind the bar. “It’s barely four o’clock. Besides, we’re having a very interesting conversation, which you should be part of.”

  “You can tell me all about it on the way home.”

  She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

  Mentally cursing, Graeme gave in, hooking an empty chair with his foot and swinging it over to the table.

  “Can I be gettin’ ye a pint, sir?” Monroe asked.

  “Another time, thank you. I really must be getting her ladyship home as soon as possible.”

  Sabrina cast the barkeep an apologetic smile. “You must excuse Mr. Kendrick, sir. He’s rather a worrier, I’m afraid.”

  Oh, he’d give her something to worry about, once he got her home.

  “I’m simply concerned for your well-being, my lady. You shouldn’t be riding around an unfamiliar neighborhood without an escort.”

  “This neighborhood, as you deem it, is my family’s ancestral lands. Besides, the hamlet is barely a mile from the gatehouse. I’m sure I was never in any danger.”

  “I’m actually quite good at measuring distances,” Graeme replied. “And a mile is certainly long enough for something to happen to an unescorted young woman.”

  Sabrina looked ready to argue, but the vicar turned and earnestly pressed her gloved hand. “Mr. Kendrick is correct, my lady. Given the present circumstances, it’s best you exercise caution.”

  Sabrina blew out an exasperated breath. “It seems overly cautious to me. After all, no one seems to know if the Barrs have even remained in the vicinity.”

  Graeme frowned. “Who are the Barrs?”

  “The smugglers,” Sabrina explained. “The ones brewing illegal whisky on Lochnagar lands.”

  Monroe solemnly nodded. “Aye, right bastards they are, too. Beggin’ yer ladyship’s pardon,” he said.

  Graeme felt the hairs bristle on the back of his neck. “You were discussing the smugglers? In here?”

  She looked puzzled. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Hell and damnation.

  Because half the bloody village was in the pub, and one or more of the locals might be in cahoots with the damn Barrs, whoever they were. If so, the Barrs would soon know that Sabrina was on to them.

  “What else have you been discussing with the villagers?” he asked, trying to keep a level tone.

  Several people shifted uncomfortably and exchanged furtive glances.

  “How to improve the situation at Lochnagar, for one thing.”

  Sabrina sounded a trifle mystified. She had no bloody idea how bad this could be.

  “Like stoppin’ them bloody Clearances,” someone called from the back of the room. “Will ye be doin’ that, or do ye need your da’s permission?”

  Sabrina peered around, trying to identify who’d spoken. “It’s my intention to stop—”

  “And what about them Barrs?” interrupted a middle-aged woman in a mobcap. Graeme recognized her as the daughter of one of the remaining crofters. “They’re a bad lot, and who’s to say they willna be comin’ back?”

  Sabrina bristled. “I say.”

  “And how will ye be doin’ that, so foine a lady as yerself?” the woman sarcastically replied.

  “That’s no way to talk to her ladyship,” the vicar said in a reproving voice. “She deserves our respect and consideration.”

  “The way her da has been considerin’ us all these years?” The woman snorted. “She’s just another do-nothing Sassenach, if ye ask me.”

  Monroe stood. “That’s enough out of ye, Jennie Robertson. I’ll nae have ye insultin’ her ladyship in my pub.”

  Sabrina also stood. “It’s fine. I—”

  “I’ll insult who I please, Dan Monroe,” the woman retorted.

  Almost instantly, everyone in the pub started talking—yelling, really—either at Monroe, Jennie Robertson, or the vicar. And many were now on their feet, waving their arms and arguing on top of one another. If there was one thing Highlanders were good at, it was arguing.

  And fighting.

  It was obviously time to go.

  Graeme took Sabrina’s arm, propelling her to the door. She started to bluster, but he continued, dodging various patrons and getting her outside.

  “Was that real
ly necessary?” she snapped.

  “Yes.”

  “Things dinna go as planned, I take it,” said Methuselah from his bench.

  “That is an understatement, I’m sorry to say,” said the vicar, who’d followed them out.

  Graeme rounded on him. “What in God’s name were you thinking, man? Anyone could have been in that bloody pub, listening in.”

  “Anyone was,” Methuselah cryptically replied.

  Sabrina jabbed Graeme in the chest. “You leave poor Mr. Brown alone. He’s been nothing but helpful, and I’m grateful to him.”

  “He’s a bloody fool,” Graeme said. “Landing you in the middle of that scene.”

  She jabbed Graeme again. “Everything was fine until you walked in.”

  “No, Mr. Kendrick is correct, my lady,” Brown surprisingly said. “I should have known better, even though you seemed so very determined.”

  “You were simply trying to help, sir. Unlike some people,” she tartly added.

  When Brown flashed her a rueful, charming smile—one Sabrina returned—Graeme’s faintly stirring instinct to forgive the man went up in the proverbial puff of smoke.

  “Well, this unhelpful man is going to get you back to the manor house, where you’ll be safe.” He again took her by the arm. “Where’s your horse?”

  “Behind the pub,” said the old man. “I’ll fetch it.”

  He rose with surprising alacrity and disappeared around the corner of the pub.

  “I suppose I should make my good-byes,” the vicar morosely said.

  “I suppose you should,” Graeme responded.

  Sabrina’s glare all but torched him. “I swear I’m going to murder you,” she hissed under her breath.

  “I’m sure Mr. Brown will be happy to give you absolution,” Graeme replied.

  Now looking thoroughly alarmed, Brown gave a hasty tip of his round-brimmed hat. “Good day, Lady Sabrina. I’ll be in touch.”

  He rushed off, all but leaving a dust trail in his wake.

  “You are truly an awful man,” Sabrina said to Graeme.

  For the last few minutes, his instincts had been telling him to get her back to the house as soon as possible. Now, they were all but blowing trumpets in his ear.

  “You love me anyway,” he replied as he scanned their surroundings.