The Highlander Who Protected Me (Clan Kendrick #1)

by Vanessa Kelly

  The coachman pointed past one of the outbuildings. “Go ye to the kitchen and knock. Mrs. Campbell or Betty will let ye in and fetch her ladyship. If ye try the front door again, ye’ll be waitin’ all bloody day for Hector.”

  Clearly, Lady Margaret had a servant problem. Royal found it hard to believe that Ainsley would put up with the likes of the mysterious Hector.

  The kitchen was easy enough to find, since several large windows were opened to catch the breeze, and the smell of apple pie and baking bread wafted out in delicious waves. Lady Margaret might preside over a madhouse, but it appeared that Bedlam had a competent cook.

  Since the door stood wide open, Royal ducked his head under the lintel and took the few steps down to the flagstone floor. A middle-aged woman, her brown hair tidy under a neat cap, was slicing potatoes at a wooden table in the middle of the old-fashioned but well-organized kitchen. She quietly sang an old Highland ballad that Royal’s mother used to sing, although she broke off when a clattering noise erupted from a door on the other side of the long, low-ceiling room.

  “Och, Betty,” she exclaimed. “Ye’ll not be dropping any more of the crockery, I hope. Not after ye broke my best mixing bowl, just last week.”

  “Never fear, Mum,” answered a cheery voice. “Just puttin’ the trays away.”

  A moment later, a young woman emerged, wiping her hands on her apron. “I was . . .” She pulled up short when she saw Royal. “Mum, who’s that?”

  The cook spun around. “Excuse me, sir, but how did ye get in here?” Then she winced before trying for a smile. “I mean, how can I help ye?”

  Royal doffed his hat. “I’m sorry if I startled you, ma’am. I’ve come to see Lady Margaret. When I knocked on the front door, no one answered.”

  The women exchanged a glance. “Hector,” they said simultaneously.

  “Indisposed again , the daft fool,” Mrs. Campbell muttered.

  Indisposed, no doubt, imbibing a wee too many drams of whisky.

  “I beg yer pardon, sir. Willy has gone into the village on an errand,” she said apologetically, “else he would have answered it.”

  Betty, a bonny girl with a pretty smile and flaming red hair, gave Royal a flirtatious wink. “Or I would have, if I’d heard ye. Ye can be sure I would have answered.”

  “Er, thank you,” Royal said.

  “None of that, lass,” her mother said with heavy disapproval. “He’s a gentleman, dinna ye ken? Not one of yer flirts down at the tavern.”

  “Sorry, Mum,” her daughter said, not sounding the least bit sorry.

  “Is Lady Margaret at home?” Royal asked with some exasperation.

  “And is her ladyship expectin’ ye?” Mrs. Campbell asked a mite warily.

  “Not entirely,” he hedged. “But Lady Ainsley will not be surprised to see me. We’re good friends.”

  The cook eyed him, clearly dubious.

  Royal gave her a coaxing smile. “Perhaps you could tell Lady Margaret or Lady Ainsley that Royal Kendrick has ridden up from Castle Kinglas. I apologize for appearing so abruptly, but my brother, the Earl of Arnprior, asked me to convey his greetings.”

  As might be expected, invoking Nick’s title tipped the scales in his favor.

  “Betty, take Mr. Kendrick straight up to the front parlor,” said the cook. “Then see if Lady Margaret is available.”

  “Aye, Mum.”

  “Take him straight to the parlor,” the cook reiterated.

  Betty rolled her eyes, but nodded.

  Royal followed her through a swinging door, then up shallow steps and into a narrow corridor running toward the front of the house. They emerged into the entrance hall, a handsome, somber space with stone floors and paneled walls covered with large, ornately framed portraits of presumably Lady Margaret’s ancestors. He could swear they were eyeballing him with the same suspicious regard he’d encountered from the servants.

  None of it made any sense.

  Betty opened a door off the hall. “Please wait in here, sir.”

  He limped past her into the room. “Thank you. And if Lady Ain—”

  “I think Lady Margaret is takin’ a nap,” the girl interrupted. “I’ll pop up and check.”

  “Could you please tell her I’d like to see her as soon as possible?” he asked, grasping the fraying ends of his temper.

  “If she’s awake, I’ll do just that.” She flashed him a cheeky grin before smartly shutting the door.

  Royal muttered a few curses to relieve his spleen, then made his way to a red velvet chaise by the fireplace. If only he’d thought to ask Betty to fetch some tea—or, better yet, whisky, since the long day had taken a toll.

  Easing down onto the settee, he looked around the spacious and well-appointed drawing room. With expensive, rather old-fashioned furnishings, good carpets, and splendid silk drapes swagged back with extravagant gold cords, it was obviously for formal use. Still, despite its splendor, there was an air of rather sad, faded gentility. A thin layer of dust coated the furniture and no fire was laid in the grate, suggesting little use.

  After ten minutes, his leg stopped aching quite so fiercely, so he got up to inspect the fine landscape over the fireplace and the excellent collection of Meissen porcelain in a pair of glass-fronted cabinets. That took up perhaps ten minutes, after which he returned to the settee. After an equal amount of time, all spent straining his ears to detect any signs of life in the hall, he decided enough was enough.

  Mentally cursing eccentric old ladies and young stubborn ones, he stalked out to the entrance hall. Only the dust motes were stirring, dancing in the bolts of sunlight coming in the narrow windows set high in the wall. Two corridors led off from the central space, one back to the kitchen and the other likely to more drawing rooms and the dining room.

  That meant he should head for the spiral staircase at the back of the hall and the family rooms on the upper floors. He just hoped he didn’t have to search the entire bloody house to find Ainsley. God knows what he might stumble into. A mad monk locked in the cellars wouldn’t surprise him in the least.

  When he reached the top of the stairs, a long hall ran straight to the back of the house. As he followed it, a thick carpet runner muffled his footsteps. Royal could usually move as quietly as any man raised to hunt and track in the Highlands, but his limp was more pronounced after the long ride. Bad enough to be skulking about like a common criminal, worse to sound like a peg-legged pirate while doing so.

  The first door he came to was open, so he stuck his head in.

  And almost fell flat on his face.

  Sitting on a chaise by the bay window, her slippered feet resting on a stack of pillows and a book propped up on her belly, was an exceedingly pregnant Lady Ainsley Matthews.

  * * *

  Ainsley grimaced at another sharp twinge in the vicinity of her tailbone. The pains in her lower back had been worse the last few days. It was certainly discouraging, since both the midwife and the doctor claimed she had at least another three weeks before the little acrobat in her tummy was ready to make an appearance. Spending that much time in monumental discomfort was a daunting prospect, especially because it also meant another month of ceaseless worry. Her brain—like her body—felt sluggish and thick, refusing to do what she needed it to do.

  Come up with an answer to her growing—literally—dilemma.

  She sighed and rubbed her enormous stomach both to comfort herself and the baby, who was often kicking like a stubborn donkey. Sometimes she thought the poor mite could even be rebelling at its fate—a monster for a father, and a mother foolish enough to let such a man into her life in the first place.

  Ainsley knew that if she didn’t exercise a great deal of brains and caution, she and her child would find themselves forever yoked to a man who didn’t possess a shred of decency or compassion in his cold, black heart.

  She needed a solution, and she needed it fast.

  At least she had Aunt Margaret in her corner. No one else could have protect
ed her as fiercely as the elderly woman who had taken her in without hesitation, throwing herself wholeheartedly into the ruse. So far, they’d pulled it off, too. But for the doctor and the midwife, no one outside this household knew Ainsley was pregnant. Certainly, her own family had never guessed, still thinking she’d come north into unwilling exile.

  While there had been a potentially permanent solution to her problem, the handsome and immensely irritating Scotsman who’d unknowingly thrown her a lifeline deserved better than the horrific scandal Ainsley would drag in her wake. Royal Kendrick had been through enough without her further torching his life like a Guy Fawkes effigy.

  Sighing, she once more propped her book on her stomach and tried to focus on the page. It was quite a dreadful book, but she’d run out of reading material last week and had been forced to raid Aunt Margaret’s library. Sadly, her aunt’s taste tended to run to turgid philosophical tracts and bad translations of Latin poetry.

  A quiet footstep sounded in the hall. She felt rather than saw someone pause in the doorway and heard a choked exclamation. Frowning, she glanced up, and what little brain she had left scattered like a flock of frightened starlings. Gazing back at her were the same green-glass eyes she’d been so vividly recalling only a few moments ago. That riveting gaze was now taking in her gigantic belly with ever growing astonishment.

  Royal looked as tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome as ever. Many a susceptible girl had all but swooned when he came into a ballroom, imagining him to be a sensitive and romantic poet, with his brooding manner and extraordinary malachite eyes. His limp only added to the image, as did the dramatic Highland garb he wore to such effect.

  The idiotic misses had been wrong, at least about the romantic, sensitive part. Royal was as blunt and bad-tempered as Ainsley.

  At the moment, though, it wasn’t his looks or his manners that were stealing her breath. It was the horrifying realization that her secret was finally out.

  When her head started to swim, she had to force herself to start taking in slow, deep breaths.

  Don’t panic.

  Royal was clearly stunned, which meant he hadn’t known about her condition. So now she just had to persuade him to keep his Scottish mouth shut.

  “What are you doing here?” she blurted out.

  He shook himself, almost like a retriever coming in from the rain. “I was checking to see if anyone actually lived in this benighted house. I found only the cook and her, er, charming daughter.”

  Ainsley couldn’t help scowling. Betty was a very pretty girl, who was also not as big as a house.

  “I suppose Betty flirted with you, didn’t she?” Then she mentally winced. Who the blasted man flirted with hardly mattered under the circumstances.

  Royal stared at her for another excruciatingly long moment. Then he flashed a smile so warm and charming she went lightheaded again.

  “You know I don’t flirt,” he said. Then he tilted his head, as if considering. The late afternoon sunlight caught the red in his burnished mahogany hair, making it glow like fire. “Except with you.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. She ignored it, since her pulse was often a tad erratic these days.

  “I repeat, sir,” she said firmly. “What are you doing here?”

  “I should think it obvious. I’ve come to see you.”

  He crossed the room to join her, his limp pronounced.

  “Eating for two, I see,” he said, inspecting the generous tea service of sandwiches and cakes. “I hope you don’t mind sharing. I thought I would starve to death waiting in vain for your aunt to appear.”

  “Ah, so you thought you’d explore on your own. That was brassy of you.”

  When he sat down next to her, Ainsley tried to shift over to give him some room. Royal Kendrick was a big man, and given her present state it would be a miracle if the old chaise didn’t collapse under their combined weight.

  “You don’t have to move,” he said. “There’s plenty of room for both of us.”

  They were all but thigh-to-thigh.

  She was reminded that Royal had very nice thighs, indeed. “You’re quite squishing me. You’re ridiculously big.”

  “Not as big as you,” he said as he reached for a teacake.

  She glared at him. “Thank you for reminding me what an imbecile you are.”

  “I’m teasing, lass,” he said after he swallowed the teacake in one gulp. “You’re as lovely as always. But I’m sure you know that.”

  When his gaze flickered over her body with evident appreciation, she couldn’t help gaping at him. How could a man find her attractive when her figure resembled the Prince Regent’s rotund bulk?

  “Although your present condition does explain a few things,” he added.

  Oh, God. Whatever must he think of her? This had to be the most embarrassing moment of her life.

  “Royal, I—”

  He plucked the book from her lap and lifted an eyebrow. “Spinoza? Really?”

  “I was trying to lull myself into a doze.”

  “That would do it.”

  After placing the book on the table, he reached for the teapot and replenished her cup. “Here, have some more tea. I suspect my sudden appearance has given you a shock, although no doubt a welcome one.”

  She eyed him, not trusting his cheerful mood. “You’re sure of that, are you?”

  “Without a doubt. We always get along so splendidly.”

  “Perhaps, when we’re not trying to kill each other.”

  “Drink.” He handed her the cup.

  After a few sips, which did seem to steady her, she put down her cup and adopted a stern expression. “Mr. Kendrick—”

  “Mr. Kendrick? Pet, I think we’re beyond such formalities, especially under the present circumstances.”

  “Mr. Kendrick,” she repeated firmly, “I do not want you to take this the wrong way—”

  He flashed a roguish grin. “You’re sure of that, are you?”

  She contemplated stabbing him with the cake knife.

  He took in her glare. “All right, I promise I won’t tease anymore.”

  “A promise you will no doubt break within the next ten minutes.”

  “Ainsley, it’s just so bloody good to see you that I couldn’t help myself.”

  He was studying her with obvious pleasure, which she found rather perplexing. “Royal, what are you doing here? Now is not the most convenient time for visitors.”

  “Yes, but I had no way of knowing that.”

  “You know very well that you shouldn’t just pop in on people without warning. Nothing in my letters suggested for a moment that you should.”

  It had been a mistake to write to him, but she’d been bored, lonely, and afraid of what lay before her. While Royal often drove her into a mental frenzy, he also made her feel safe, as odd as it seemed. Sending those letters had eased her anxiety, as if setting words to page would somehow protect her and the baby from harm.

  “Victoria was worried about you, so she suggested I ride up here and see if you were all right.” His shrug was apologetic. “It seemed like a sensible suggestion at the time.”

  Her heart stuttered as she pressed a quick hand to her belly. “Do you think Victoria knows about this?”

  “No, pet. She simply sensed something was wrong. Nothing specific.”

  “Thank God.” Then she mustered a scowl. “Apparently, it didn’t occur to you to give me some notice before charging north on your noble steed.”

  He weighed his reply. Or perhaps he was simply pondering what to eat next, since he reached across her for a meringue.

  “It occurred to me. But you might have told me not to come,” he said before swallowing the tart whole.

  “Will you please stop shoveling food into your mouth? It’s like watching a vulture attack a carcass.”

  He smiled. “You’re one to talk.”

  “I’m allowed, you brute. I’m eating for two.”

  “I recall that you liked to eat even befor
e you got in your present condition.”

  For some ridiculous reason, his comment stung more than it should have. “If you’re going to be insulting, please leave now.”

  He looked startled that she took his banter so seriously. “Ainsley, I like that you don’t pretend to be something you’re not. Society girls pick at their food, and they must spend a good part of their life on the verge of starvation. You’re far too intelligent for that nonsense.”

  She managed a weak smile. Really, it was ridiculous to fight about something as inconsequential as her eating habits when her carefully constructed ruse was crumbling to bits.

  “And you should have something to eat,” he added, placing some sandwiches on her plate. “You need to keep up your strength.”

  He seemed perfectly sincere. Even when they argued, she always knew Royal worried about her more than himself.

  In fact, no one had ever worried about her quite like he did, not even her own family. When he abandoned her after that horrible incident in London, she’d felt astonishingly bereft. Yes, she’d behaved badly by not telling him about Cringlewood, but he’d never given her the chance to explain. When she tried, sending him an apologetic note two days after that disastrous dinner party, he and Lord Arnprior had already departed for Scotland.

  Ainsley had done her best to forget Royal Kendrick after that, knowing that her future did not lie with an impecunious younger son from the Highlands. Only when they met again in Glasgow this past Christmas had they been able to reestablish a tentative sort of friendship.

  She took a bite of cucumber sandwich, mostly to please him. The baby now took up so much room she felt like her stomach was crowding into her throat.

  Royal studied her. “How are you, sweetheart? Really?”

  She forced a wobbly smile, resisting the foolish urge to start bawling. “I’m perfectly well.”

  He lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “Try again.”

  She put down her plate with a sigh. “All right. If you must know, I feel perfectly wretched.”

  And she wasn’t just talking about her aching back, or her swollen feet, or how hard it was to get a decent night’s sleep. Her life was a disaster, and she had no idea how to repair the damage.