Karen Hawkins - MacLean 1 How to Abduct a Highland Lord

by Karen Hawkins

  Gregor peered through the thicket.

  “Can you see anything?” Dougal asked.

  “Aye. I can see both of them. It looks as if they’re having a picnic.” He glared at Dougal. “So much for your thought that Kincaid was bringing her here to murder her.”

  “I didn’t suggest any such thing.”

  Gregor lifted a brow.

  Dougal flushed. “I don’t trust him, that’s all.”

  “Sometimes I think he truly cares for her. Right now, he’s looking at her as if she’s the only woman in the world. I wonder if he knows he does that.”

  Dougal scowled. “He needs a good thumping to wake him up. She’s the best woman on the earth, and he’s a fool not to realize it.”

  “Aye.”

  “And we should be over there, protecting her. I don’t trust him, and neither did you until recently.”

  “Has it ever dawned on you that he’s had many a chance to harm her if he wished? A push down the stairs, a bit of poison in her daily tea. It wouldn’t be so difficult,” Gregor pointed out.

  Dougal scratched his chin, then peered through the leaves. “Oh, God. He’s going to kiss her. I hate seeing that.”

  The brothers turned away, resting against the tree trunk. Silence reigned, except for the bubbling of the brook.

  Finally, Dougal looked at Gregor. “I hate to admit it, but perhaps you are right. We don’t need to be here.”

  Gregor nodded, and they headed back for their horses.

  Dougal turned to duck under a low branch, then pausing, peering back into the woods.

  “What is it?” Gregor asked.

  Dougal stared a moment longer, his blond head cocked to one side. Finally, he shrugged. “I thought I saw something, but whatever it was, it’s gone. Probably nothing.”

  They crossed the small stream, and suddenly, a shot rang out.

  Dougal turned a white face to his brother, and both of them yelled,“Fiona!”

  Then they were running, through the trees, over fallen logs, their booted feet thudding, their breath harsh.

  They turned the corner in the overgrown path and burst into the clearing.

  “Fiona!” Gregor charged across the clearing to where she lay on the blanket, a red stain spreading across her gown, her face alarmingly pale. On the blanket beside her was Jack’s pistol. Fury flooded him as he scooped up his sister, and lightning cracked overhead.

  “To the village,” Dougal said grimly, tucking the gun into his waistband. “Old Nora knows more about medicine than any doctor.”

  Gregor nodded, striding toward their horses with Fiona alarmingly still in his arms. How had he let this happen? As clouds gathered with amazing swiftness, he handed Fiona to Dougal, who was already astride his mount.

  Dougal immediately set off at a gallop.

  As Gregor swiftly followed, he silently swore vengeance. And not just on Jack Kincaid, but on the entire family who’d brought that son of a bitch into this world.

  Hell was now roused.

  Chapter Twenty

  Aye, they brought her to me, they did. Two more desperate men I’ve never seen. And all the while I was tendin’ her, the lightning and wind roared overhead, shakin’ the ground and rippin’ the trees from the earth ’til even the bravest fell to their knees and prayed.

  OLDWOMANNORA OFLOCHLOMOND

  TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD NIGHT

  Jack awoke slowly, as if layers of gauze were slowly drawn from his mind. He was lying on a plank floor with his hands tied behind him. His head ached powerfully. Overhead, thunder rumbled and roared, so loud it shook the ground.

  He shivered at the sound, a part of his mind searching for something—a lost thought or a memory or—

  Fiona.

  Horror trembled through him.

  “Here, now. Ye be awake already, eh?”

  Lightning split the air, lighting the face of the man who stood in the darkness. He was broad, his arms powerful, his face heavily lined and dirty. Lank hair fell over his eyes; his nose was bulbous.

  A crash of thunder made the man glance at the window. He frowned. “’Tis a horrible storm. I’ve never seen the like.”

  Jack knew that storm meant Fiona’s brothers were somewhere, their hearts as torn as his own. He tried not to think of the blood on her gown. Shecouldn’t be dead. He could not accept it. He’d thought they’d be protected, with Hamish and Devonsgate and the two footmen. What had gone wrong? Who had done this, and why?

  He had to escape, reach Fiona. Save her. His heart burned at the thought, and he looked around to see what he had to overcome. He was in a shed of some sort, tackle hanging from the walls, the smell of hay and horses strong.

  The man pushed Jack with his boot, the hard leather digging between his ribs. “Awake, are ye?”

  The man was too happy by far. “Where am I?”

  “Where I was tol’ to keep ye until ’tis time.”

  “Time for what?”

  Another flash of lightning cracked, eerily lighting the man’s face. “Time to let ye go, o’ course.”

  That made no sense. “You’re not going to kill me?”

  The man’s grin didn’t waver. “I could. I’ve done it afore. But this time, I gets me money fer doin’ nothin’ more than holdin’ ye fer a bit. Ye see, everyone thinks the constable will be wishing to speak to ye. Ye’ll tell them ye were captured by a mysterious man, but I’ll be long gone by then. No one will believe ye.”

  The man leaned closer, his foul breath in Jack’s face. “They’ll think ye’re making excuses fer killing yer woman.”

  Despair gripped Jack, numbing his brain.

  “Here, now, perhaps I should stand ye up a bit so I can sees ye better.” The man roughly grabbed Jack by the arms and hauled him to his feet.

  Pain lanced through him. “The ties. They are too tight.”

  “What do I care fer that?”

  Jack thought quickly. “If they leave marks, they will verify my story.”

  The man swore. “Damn, they might at that. Very well. I’ll loosen them, but just a bit.” He reached behind Jack and fumbled with the ropes.

  Jack felt the knot loosen, then slip free.

  The man grabbed the ends to retie them, but Jack was faster. He flung up his arm, his elbow catching his captor on the chin.

  As the man stumbled back, Jack grabbed the lantern and swung it with all his might into the man’s face.

  “Argh!”

  Jack bolted for the door, out into the yard of an inn that looked vaguely familiar. Where in the hell was he?

  A noise came from the shed, and Jack scrambled behind a barrel. Crouched there, he rubbed his wrists and forced his sluggish mind to work. By God, he would find out who had done this and make them pay.

  Blinding lightning flashed, and the shed exploded before Jack’s bemused eyes, splintered wood flying through the air. Thunder crashed and rolled, the very ground shaking.

  Inside what remained of the shed, fire flickered as the straw began to catch, then smoke poured from the windows. Jack’s captor staggered out into the yard, collapsing in a gasping heap.

  A shout went up, and people began to pour from the inn. As Jack watched, a man came to one of the windows and stared out into the yard, then disappeared.

  Jack trembled with the desire to leap through the glass and take the bastard by the throat, whoever he was. But he was too weak from the attack, his head still swimming, his chest aching.

  He slipped from his hiding place and darted through the inn yard between the running groomsmen and stable hands. As the mayhem grew, he disappeared into the darkness beyond, pausing at the edge of the yard to look back at the window.

  His enemy was there, but he could not do this alone; he had to have help. And there was only one place he could go for it.

  He only hoped they would let him live long enough to explain.

  “Good God! Lightning struck the shed!” Campbell turned from the inn’s window, his face pale. “It is
the MacLean curse.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly. Fires happen all the time, as does lightning.” His companion stretched luxuriously before the fire of their private room. “It’s a summer storm, that’s all.”

  As if in answer, a deep boom rattled the window. “You don’t understand, Lucinda. The MacLeans have power. More than you know.”

  She held her slippers toward the embers. “Superstitions are for the lower classes.”

  He glared at her, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his brow. “I cannot believe you. How can you sit there so calmly—” He whirled away from her and madly paced across the room. “You never said you’d kill her! You said your men were crack shots, that they could graze her arm from such a short distance. That was all we needed to set the MacLeans against the Kincaids!”

  She shrugged. “My men could have grazed her arm or anything else,if I’d requested it.” Lucinda’s face hardened. “I wanted her dead. She stole Kincaid and humiliated me before everyone.No one embarrasses me.”

  He turned on his heel with a jerk. “Oh, God—I can’t believe this. Lucinda, the MacLeans will figure it out and come after us.” He stopped at the window, staring out at the burning shed, horror on his pale face. “Nothing will stop them.”

  “Nonsense. They think Kincaid shot their sister. You will get your desired outcome; the families will be at each other’s throats.”

  He sank onto a chair. “So many deaths. I never thought it would come to this, especially a woman—” He closed his eyes and shuddered.

  Her gaze sharpened. “Deaths? There have been more than one?”

  He slowly opened his eyes. “Yes. Her brother Callum.”

  Lucinda sat upright. “You revived the feud.”

  “Yes. It was so easy. Callum had fought with one of Jack’s brothers—they were forever tufting, so no one paid it much heed. Callum had been left at the inn, unconscious and lying on the floor. It was late at night and few were about. I came into the room just as some man, ill-dressed and desperate looking, finished rifling through MacLean’s pockets. He had smashed MacLean’s head against the hearth, probably to keep him from awakening.” Campbell shuddered. “It was horrible. I saw the man there and all the blood and I…I ran.”

  “You ran?” Lucinda’s lip curled. “How valorous of you.”

  He glared at her. “I came back, of course. By then, though, the damage was done—Callum was dead. I was horrified. But then I began to think of the advantages to be had if the MacLeans and Kincaids revived their little feud.Really revived it.”

  “They would fight.”

  “Of course. Then it would escalate, and they’d have to hire men to increase their forces. Eventually they’d begin to sell off property, jewels, whatever they had.”

  “And you’d be there, ready to ‘assist.’”

  “Yes.” Campbell ran a hand over his face. “I cannot believe it has come to this. I spoke with Fiona, danced with her. It’s almost as if I’ve lost something precious.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Lucinda snapped. “She wasn’t worth the time of day.”

  The storm raged overhead, unchecked and wild. Campbell glanced out the window. “Not to you, perhaps, but I suspect she was worth a great deal to some.”

  Lucinda made a face, watching him from beneath her lashes. “Why didyou wish that marriage to end?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, his shoulders hunched. “A long time ago, my family owned all of the land along this valley. We were powerful and feared. But my family was never good at holding on to things of value. Over time, the land fell into disrepair. We lost everything. The MacLeans bought that land.”

  “Why not just offer to buy it back from them?”

  “I have. Many times. They will not part with it. I thought if they were drawn into the feud, they’d need ready funds and would reconsider.”

  “How complicated. My needs are simpler. Now Kincaid is free to marry once again.”

  “Andyour husband?”

  Lucinda met Campbell’s gaze.

  He flushed but said in a firm voice, “Kincaid will never marry again. He loved her.”

  “He didnot !” Lucinda’s eyes flashed. “He would not have married her at all except she had him tied and bound at the altar. Once he has observed the proper mourning period, he will come back tome .”

  Campbell scowled. “You are mad. You cannot think—”

  The door burst open. A large, burly man stood in the doorway, his face cut and blackened. He staggered forward. “Lady Featherington! He got away. He—” The man collapsed at Lucinda’s feet. Outside, a harsh rattle clacked against the window.

  Campbell sank onto a chair, his gaze on the window. “Hail. Gregor MacLean has been roused.” The noise rose, ice pounding from the sky, obliterating the thunder, obscuring the lightning.

  Lucinda wrinkled her nose at the fallen man and said over the roar, “Call someone, and have him moved.”

  “But he said Kincaid has escaped!”

  “We will send word to the constable that we’ve seen him. He cannot be too far away. Once he’s in custody, I will arrange to have him exonerated, but not in a way that gives peace to the MacLeans.”

  The window shook under the onslaught, a faint crack appearing in one corner. Campbell looked at the crack as it traced across the glass. “Dear God,” he said under his breath. “What have we done?”

  Jack slowly opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by boots. Four pairs, all well made and huge.

  He groaned. At least he’d made it to the MacLean stronghold.

  The last hour had been a blur. He’d found a horse in a field and had ridden it to MacLean House. If the storm had been bad at the inn, it cracked and exploded here. Like a living, breathing thing, it roared with fury, the wind swirling madly, lightning and thunder crashing.

  Just as he’d pulled the horse into the yard, the hail had begun to fall. Jack had thrown his arms over his head, trying to protect himself from the icy furor, urging his horse to the portico. Desperate for cover, the horse had obliged.

  Jack had not been there a second before the front door had opened, and Gregor—or Alexander?—had yanked him from his horse and thrown him headfirst onto the stone steps. That was the last thing he remembered.

  Dougal planted a boot on Jack’s shoulder and shoved him so hard Jack’s head smacked on the stone floor. “That’s for our sister, you mangy dog.”

  “Let him up,” growled Alexander, hands fisted at his sides. “So we can kill him properly.”

  Jack struggled to his feet. “You can kill me if you like, but not until we capture the person who killed Fiona.”

  Alexander exchanged looks with his brothers, then hauled Jack into a chair. “Youshot our sister.”

  “I would never harm her.Never.”

  A pistol was tossed onto the floor at his feet. “Then where did this come from?”

  “It’s mine, but it hasn’t been shot.” Jack pushed it with his foot. “You will not smell powder.”

  Gregor retrieved the pistol and sniffed it.

  “Well?” Alexander said.

  “He’s right,” Gregor said. “There’s no powder smell.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” Dougal said tersely. “It has been hours.”

  “It’s still loaded,” Jack said wearily. “Look at it and see.” He swallowed hard. “The bastards who shot Fiona left my gun there to implicate me. They tied me up and took me to the stable at the Strathmore Inn, but I escaped.”

  “And came here?” Gregor said, disbelief in his tone.

  “I need help. I cannot do this on my own, and I’ll be damned if I let these murderers escape justice.”

  Alexander continued to stare at him. Finally, he nodded.

  “You cannot believe this bastard,” Hugh protested. “He tried to kill our sister!”

  Jack’s head lifted, hope blooming in his chest.“Tried?”

  “Jack?”

  The soft voice came from behind him, it
s sweetness drawing every iota of breath from his chest. Jack could not move. Could not think. He could only sit and watch as the woman he loved more than life itself came back into his world.

  Gregor stepped forward. “Fiona! Nora said you should not even speak, much less rise from bed.”

  Fiona reached for Jack and he opened his arms, enveloping her in his embrace. He buried his face in her hair, his eyes full of tears. “Fiona. Oh, God, Fiona.” He held her tighter.