The Highlander Who Protected Me (Clan Kendrick #1)

by Vanessa Kelly

  Nick put down his teacup and stood. “You’ll make your own decision, of course. But I would be grateful if you would at least consider working for Logan.”

  “And ye’ll no be turnin’ the lad into a glorified clerk, either,” Angus objected. “He’ll be stayin’ right here at Kinglas, where he belongs.”

  His grandfather meant where he could keep an eye on him, since he constantly feared Royal might suffer a relapse of some sort or the other.

  “It’ll be fine, Grandda,” Royal said. “Don’t fash yourself.”

  “Of course I get fashed,” Angus said gruffly. “After all, ye almost died fightin’ for the stupid English.”

  “Ahem,” Victoria said loudly.

  Nick clamped a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Come along, Grandda. I want to take a look at the south wall of the stables. It might even need rebuilding, and I’d like your opinion.”

  “Of course, lad,” Angus said, instantly diverted. “I’ve been thinkin’ the same myself.”

  “Then let’s get to it.” Nick started to propel Angus toward the door.

  “Laddie, don’t be makin’ any plans without talkin’ to me first,” the old man called to Royal before he disappeared.

  “Thank God,” Victoria said with a sigh. “I do love the old fellow, but sometimes he can be such a trial.”

  “But you manage him exceedingly well.”

  “As much as Angus can be managed. I admit that sometimes I’m tempted to clobber him with his own bagpipes.”

  When Royal laughed, Victoria gave him a relieved smile. “The discussion was getting rather fraught, wasn’t it? I’m sorry we made such a fuss. I know you hate it.”

  “A fuss is entirely unnecessary, I assure you. I’m perfectly well.”

  A moment later, his youngest brother came rushing into the library.

  “Nick just told me Taffy made seedcakes,” Kade said as he plopped down next to Victoria on the settee. “Oh, good. You saved me some.” He promptly crammed one into his mouth.

  “Dear, there’s no need to wolf it down,” Victoria said, handing the lad a plate and a serviette. “Remember your manners.”

  Royal leaned over and ruffled his brother’s hair. “If you’re not careful, someone will mistake you for one of the twins.”

  “Taffy hardly ever makes seedcakes, so you can’t blame me. And Graeme and Grant aren’t nearly as bad-mannered as they used to be,” Kade said around a mouthful.

  “Swallow before talking, please,” Victoria admonished.

  “The twins have become marginally civilized thanks to you, Victoria,” Royal said. “We were all barbarians until you came along.”

  “Oh, you weren’t that bad,” Victoria said.

  “Oh, yes, we were.”

  She grinned. “All right, the twins and Angus were quite appalling at first, and you were only slightly less objectionable. I still have nightmares about my first days at Kinglas. Kade, though, was perfect from the outset.”

  The boy leaned affectionately against her shoulder, throwing Royal a smug glance that made him laugh. It was grand to see Kade doing so well after years of ill health and suffering.

  “What were you talking about when I came in?” Kade asked, reaching for another cake.

  Victoria hesitated, eyeing Royal. He shrugged.

  “We were discussing whether your brother might like to visit Lady Ainsley,” she said.

  Kade fastened an earnest gaze on Royal. “So, why don’t you?”

  Royal waggled a hand. “I’m not entirely sure she’d want to see me.”

  “She would,” Kade said before biting into his seedcake.

  “You’re sure about that, are you?” Royal asked dryly.

  After swallowing another enormous bite, his brother nodded. “I think Lady Ainsley likes you. A lot.”

  Royal ignored the jolt to his heart. “She certainly liked to scold me.”

  Kade shook his head. “She didn’t mean it. It was just her way of dealing with you. Sometimes you can be quite gruff, you know. So she pushes back.”

  “Kade’s opinion makes a great deal of sense,” Victoria said.

  Royal thought so too. Although only fifteen, Kade had a perception that was beyond his years and probably greater than the rest of the Kendrick males put together.

  “Besides,” the boy added, “I like her, because Lady Ainsley always says exactly what she means. Adults usually don’t.”

  “She’s honest, I’ll give you that,” Royal said.

  “Regardless of your rather fraught past with Lady Ainsley,” Victoria said, “I agree with Kade. She might have trouble admitting it, but I’m sure the girl is very fond of you.”

  He’d been sure of that at one point too, and look where it had got him.

  “Maybe,” he said in a neutral tone.

  “If nothing else, she’s your friend,” Victoria said. “And I have the feeling she could use a friend right now.”

  “Even one of us blasted Kendricks?”

  “One Kendrick in particular,” she said firmly.

  He finally allowed himself to seriously consider the idea. Seeing Ainsley again would be a challenge. They were often like two comets colliding, generating a good deal of heat, noise, and smoke. They also tended to leave a pile of rubble in their wake, which was not pleasant for anyone who happened to be within the blast range.

  More to the point, Royal couldn’t figure out what she wanted from him. More than once she’d come to him, as if needing comfort and protection, but then she’d pushed him away and claimed she never wanted to see him again. The confounded girl was as mysterious as the bloody Sphinx.

  Then again, she had written to him three times this winter, hadn’t she?

  Victoria’s gaze was astute. “You will never know how she feels unless you ask her directly.”

  “She’ll probably demonstrate her feelings by smashing a vase over my head.”

  “That is a distinct possibility, I admit,” said Victoria. “But whether she is worth the risk is a question only you can answer.”

  “Lady A has my vote,” said Kade, “despite what anyone else says about her. She’s a corker, if you ask me.”

  Clearly, a second Kendrick male had fallen under the spell of Ainsley Matthews’s considerable charms. And since the lad was probably the smartest of them all . . .

  “As it so happens, little brother, I agree with you.” Royal hauled himself to his feet, a surge of unfamiliar energy coursing through his body. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must pack a bag for my trip.”

  “Oh, good,” Kade said, reaching for the tea tray. “More cake for me.”

  Chapter Two

  Royal pulled up his horse outside the half-open iron gates fronting the drive to Underhill Manor. The gates would have been imposing were they not almost rusting out of the brick walls that marked the boundaries of the secluded estate. The gatehouse was equally neglected. Its sagging appearance, with cobwebs stretching over the door, signaled that no one had been in residence for some time.

  Lady Margaret Baird, Ainsley’s eccentric great-aunt, was apparently as unwelcoming as her reputation suggested.

  The journey to Cairndow had been a slog. Normally an easy, half-day ride, the deplorably bad roads had forced him to slow Demetrius to a walk any number of times. Bad enough to have a lame rider, a lame horse as well would have been completely ridiculous.

  Royal had made a quick stop at the local tavern where he’d watered his horse, downed a tankard of ale, and quizzed the publican for information about Lady Margaret. The fellow had been remarkably closemouthed, grouchily offering that her ladyship minded her own business—as did everyone else who knew what was what.

  An odd statement, since gossip was the lifeblood of small Highland villages, especially when it came to the lords and ladies who exerted so much influence over the lives of the locals. Whether the fellow was simply loyal, bad-tempered, or indifferent was difficult to gauge, and no one else in the tavern had seemed inclined to talk to a s
tranger.

  He nudged Demetrius forward. “Come along, old son. With a little luck, there’ll be oats at the end of this drive and maybe even a warm stall if we’re lucky.”

  His roan’s snort sounded as skeptical as he felt. If the rest of the estate was as run-down as the gatehouse, they might end up foraging in the woods for their supper. He found it ever harder to imagine Ainsley willingly spending a week, much less the winter, in so remote and gloomy a spot. Even the rutted drive had a sad air, surrounded as it was by dense woods of beech and elm, the underbrush thick and tangled around their trunks.

  The fact that Ainsley had come willingly was not in doubt. Despite her vociferous complaints that her father had exiled her to the Highlands for refusing to marry Cringlewood, Royal had sensed relief on her part. She’d been so eager to leave Glasgow she’d fled almost as if a wolf pack was snapping at her heels. When Royal asked her to explain the hasty departure, she’d responded by telling him to mind his own confounded business.

  Typical Ainsley.

  Demetrius shied when two red squirrels darted across the leaf-strewn path in front of him. Royal brought the horse quickly under control.

  “Pay attention, you idiot,” he muttered to himself.

  There would be plenty of time to ponder Ainsley’s odd behavior when he arrived at Underhill. Then again, it was still quite possible she’d refuse to see him, or her eccentric aunt would throw him out on his ear.

  He ignored those possibilities as he rounded a bend in the road and crested a small rise. Beyond the woods lay a large pasture, dotted with sheep and shaggy ponies, all amicably grazing. The drive meandered down a gentle incline to curve past hedges and some spectacular azaleas in fulsome bloom. Clumps of daffodils lined the road, lending an additional note of spring cheer to the landscape.

  Beyond the hedges and the surprising splashes of color rose Underhill Manor, a large house that would have dominated the landscape if not for the presence of the loch behind it and the craggy hills on the other side. It was a typical Scottish landscape of water, mountain, and sky, one he’d loved his entire life. Sublimely spare and harshly beautiful, it seemed the last sort of place one would find a sought-after diamond of the British ton .

  Royal’s heart skipped a few beats in anticipation of soon encountering that highly polished gem, but he chose to ignore it. He was here to see a friend and possibly lift his own black mood. If there were anything that could kick him out of his frustrating mental state, it was the sharp side of Ainsley’s tongue.

  He set the roan to trotting and made his way down the hill. For all the neglect he’d seen up to this point, the areas surrounding the house presented a better picture. The fences along the pasture were in good repair, the hedges trimmed, and the sheep looked champion—fat and healthy even after a long winter. Around the ewes gamboled a fair number of lambs, and the ponies, obviously work animals, looked sturdy and well cared for under their coats.

  Lady Margaret might not give a damn about some appearances, but it was clear she cared about what truly mattered. The pasturelands appeared well managed, and the livestock were in peak condition.

  Whatever else was going on, Ainsley was not languishing away in eccentric poverty.

  Royal tucked his head against a stiff breeze off the loch and urged the big horse into a canter. A few minutes later, he rode through a gap in the low stonewalls that surrounded the manor’s immediate grounds and into the courtyard that fronted the house. Bringing Demetrius to a halt before the front door, he glanced around the eerily deserted space with a frown. The unease that had dogged him in the woods returned full force.

  Underhill was a typical seventeenth-century manor house, sturdy and dour. It had uneven rooflines with crow-stepped gables, crenellated walkways connecting two wings to the main tower house, and a number of fanciful-looking corner turrets. The stone had gone smoky with age, and the diamond-paned windows were dark, drapes grimly pulled against the day. If he didn’t know better, he would have assumed the house empty.

  Incongruously, the front door was a bright, cheerful blue, a welcoming note in the otherwise lonely aspect. The only signs of life were the weeds growing up from the gravel and a pair of dippers flitting from turret to turret.

  When no footman emerged to take his horse, Royal sighed. He swung his bad leg up over the saddle, grimacing as he made a sliding dismount, putting most of his weight onto his good leg. Thankfully, Demetrius was used to his awkward antics by now, so he did little but shake his bridle, impatient for watering and a feed.

  Royal patted his neck. “I know, old fellow, we’ll get you squared away soon enough.”

  Noting the absence of posts to tie up his horse, he dropped the reins to the ground. Demetrius was too well behaved to bolt.

  He stalked up to the door and knocked, then peered up at the windows on the first floor. Several long seconds passed before a curtain twitched at one of the windows. He waited another few minutes, then once more thudded his fist on the blasted door. This time, he heard the faint echo of his knock.

  Unfortunately, it failed to produce any additional proof of life.

  He rubbed his forehead. Were Ainsley and her aunt no longer in residence? Was it possible she’d returned to London? She’d said in her last letter that she wouldn’t travel south before June, but she could be impulsive that way, and it was possible she’d decided to defy her father’s orders and return home early.

  Or maybe she’d even changed her mind about Cringlewood and decided to marry the blighter. That seemed unlikely, given her apparent animosity toward the marquess. But she wouldn’t be the first woman to change her mind about a man, especially one who was rich, titled, and handsome.

  And able-bodied.

  Royal closed his eyes and pulled in a few deep breaths, trying to ease the tight feeling in his chest at the thought of Ainsley as another man’s wife. A loud whicker brought him back to himself, and he turned to find Demetrius regarding him with what he swore was equine sympathy.

  “I hear you,” he said, returning to pick up the reins. “I’ll never find out the truth if I keep standing about like a pinhead. Let’s see if anyone’s around back.”

  They walked around the west-facing wing to find a well-maintained set of stables and two smaller outbuildings. There was also a large kitchen garden, tidily kept and showing evidence of spring planting. Beyond the boxes of vegetables and herbs were ornamental gardens and a lawn that ran down to the loch. The flower garden and the lawns, however, looked poorly tended. In fact, some of the sheep had wandered over from the pasture and were calmly wreaking havoc in the flowerbeds. Royal couldn’t help wincing at the wreckage. Perhaps Lady Margaret had been forced to economize, spending only on those things that supported the estate.

  Or perhaps she was as barmy as everyone said and didn’t give a damn about appearances.

  One of the stable’s double doors opened and out clomped a stooped-shouldered man dressed in breeches and a smock. His boots were so deplorable it was as if he’d been mucking out the Augean stables. He looked seventy if he was a day but stomped over with a fair degree of energy, even if the scowl on his face suggested he suffered from the rheumatics.

  “Here, now. Who are ye to be sneakin’ aboot like a cutpurse?” he barked. “Her ladyship weren’t expectin’ no visitors. Be on yer way, or I’ll be forced to fetch me pistol and have at ye.”

  Since there was no pistol in sight, it wasn’t much of a threat. But Royal gave the old fellow full marks for effort. “Your precautions, while laudable, are entirely unnecessary. While I may not be expected, I’m sure Lady Margaret will see me.”

  “Then why didn’t ye say that?”

  “I just did,” Royal said.

  “Bloody nob with yer breaktooth words,” the old man muttered. “I doubt her ladyship will be wantin’ to see the likes of you.”

  At least she was home. “I’m a friend of Lady Ainsley Matthews, who is expecting me.”

  It was an out and out lie, but he had no inten
tion of leaving until he was sure she was safe. His instincts were now practically screaming at him.

  His wizened nemesis gaped at him. “Ye know Lady Ainsley is here?”

  Royal frowned. “Of course I do. It’s not exactly a secret, is it?”

  “Who are ye, if ye don’t mind me askin’?”

  “Royal Kendrick. I’ve ridden up from Castle Kinglas to call on Lady Ainsley and her aunt.”

  The old man snorted. “One of the Kendrick lads, eh? That explains it.”

  Royal wasn’t sure exactly what it explained, but he suspected that the twins’ wild reputation might have made it to this little corner of the Highlands. Still, he fancied that his interrogator’s hostility abated a jot.

  “And who do I have the privilege of addressing?” Royal asked with exaggerated politeness.

  “Darrow, stable master and coachman to her ladyship. And groom,” he added in a disgruntled tone. “When young Willy is off on errands.”

  Lady Margaret must be verging on destitution if she could only employ one decrepit coachman and one groom.

  Darrow’s expression suddenly switched to one of professional interest. “That’s a fine piece of horseflesh ye have there.”

  “He is, and I would be most grateful if you could see to his needs. If you’re up to it,” he added a moment later. “If not, I can do it.”

  “Of course I’m up to it,” the old man snapped. “I’m no in the grave yet. Will ye be stayin’ the night?”

  Royal pulled off his hat and scrubbed his head. “I have no idea. I’ve yet to talk to anyone in the house.”

  “Why the bloody hell not?”

  “Because no one the bloody hell answered the door when I knocked.”

  “Och, that’ll be Hector, for ye. Useless,” Darrow said. “All right, I’ll see to this laddie’s needs and get him settled.”

  “Thank you.” Royal patted Demetrius. “I’ll come check on you in a bit, good boy.”

  The horse nickered and then docilely went off with the old man, who handled the animal with practiced ease.

  “By the way, how do I get into the house?” he called after Darrow.