A Breath of Scandal

by Connie Mason

  “Hush, sweeting, ’tis me.” He released her mouth. “What happened? I was going to return to the wagon soon. Why are you thrashing through the woods? Have Crockett and his men come back?”

  “Rondo betrayed you. We must leave before Crockett returns with his men. Pietro is bringing horses for us. He and Ramona await us at the edge of the forest. Hurry.”

  Julian spit out a curse. “I knew that young hothead was trouble from the beginning. He’d betray his own people if it meant he could have you.”

  “Perhaps we should return to London,” Lara suggested. “Papa can protect me and—”

  “No! ’Tis too dangerous for you there. The Jackal will try to hurt you to get to me. I can’t let that happen.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “I’ve thought about this a long time,” Julian began. “There’s only one place you’ll be safe. I should have brought you there straightaway. I’m taking you to the Highlands, to my brother Sinjun and his wife, Christy. When I return to London, I want to know you are with someone I trust implicitly.”

  “You’re not staying with me?”

  “I’ll remain long enough for our wedding to take place,” Julian said. “Even if you don’t wish to marry me you have no choice now that I can see. When this is all over, the scandal resulting from our being together without benefit of marriage will be brutal. Your father will demand it of me.”

  “We’ll see,” Lara muttered. Loving Julian was easy, having him love her back was more complicated. There were times she pined for the man she’d once known as Drago, that mysterious man who had entered her life unexpectedly and stolen her heart. Sometimes she felt she didn’t really know the dangerous earl still bound to his dead love by invisible ties.

  * * *

  Julian’s thoughts ran along similar lines. He couldn’t understand his need to bind Lara to him legally when he’d sworn off marriage. He told himself his reason for proposing to Lara was pure and unselfish. Lara was not the immoral Gypsy wench he’d thought her. But he was beginning to doubt his own motives. He wanted to protect her, which was certainly true. But even that line of reasoning was suspect.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Julian said, grasping her small hand and guiding her through the forest. The lines along which he was thinking were discomfiting and better left for another day.

  Pietro and Ramona were waiting in the clearing with two of Pietro’s best horses.

  “Rondo hasn’t returned yet,” Pietro said in a hushed voice as he handed the reins to Julian and Lara. “You must hurry. Where will you go?”

  “ ’Tis best you don’t know,” Julian said. “Trust me to take care of your granddaughter. What will you do to Rondo?”

  Pietro’s lips thinned. “He will be punished in the Romany tradition.”

  Lara threw her arms around Pietro first and then Ramona for one last hug, then Julian lifted her onto the back of her mount. “I will trust you both to do what is best where Rondo is concerned.”

  “Your valises, food, and warm blankets are attached to your saddles,” Ramona said. “Lara said you had sufficient funds for your journey.”

  “Aye,” Julian said. “We’ll be fine. I’ll try to send word when we’ve arrived at our destination.”

  “God go with you,” Pietro intoned.

  “Wait!” Ramona interjected.

  The spirited horse danced beneath his thighs, eager to be off, but Julian held him in check.

  “I would have a private word with my granddaughter,” Ramona said.

  Julian nodded and turned to speak to Pietro.

  “What is it, Grandmother?” Lara asked anxiously.

  “You must beware, little one,” she warned. “I read the tarot cards. There is no safety until the enemy is vanquished.”

  “I will take care,” Lara promised.

  “Are you ready?” Julian asked.

  “Aye, we must not linger. Good-bye Grandmother, Grandfather, I love you both very much.”

  Lara’s parting words rang in Julian’s ears as they rode away from the Romany camp. Love, he thought. If that tepid sentiment he’d felt with Diana was love, then what name would he give to the powerful emotion he experienced with Lara?

  Chapter 14

  They reached the Highlands ten days later. Garbed primly in traveling clothing an English lady would wear, Lara raised little curiosity during their stays at coaching inns, or at the homes of noblemen acquainted with Julian. The first time Lara was introduced as Julian’s wife, she darted him a look that did not bode well for him. One that Julian promptly ignored.

  “Why did you tell Lord and Lady Compton that we were married?” Lara challenged.

  Julian slanted her an exasperated glance. “Would you have me tell them you were my lover? Your name would be dragged through the mud long before we returned to London. Think of the embarrassment to your father. Besides,” he said with a careless shrug, “our marriage is a foregone conclusion.”

  After that, Lara learned to grit her teeth and be as pleasant as she could be to the people who thought her Julian’s countess. Let Julian believe what he wanted, she decided. Until she heard the word “love” from him, she wasn’t about to marry him in an Anglo ceremony.

  Lara adored the Highlands. She’d spent many a pleasant summer on the Scottish moors, gathering heather beneath towering mountains in the clean, fresh air. She had been born in the Highlands, not far from Inverness, and had always considered herself more Scottish than English, though above all, she proudly proclaimed herself half Gypsy.

  Each year until she’d turned thirteen and joined her father, she had traveled with the caravan between their summer quarters in the Scottish Highlands and their winter home in the lowlands. At the first hint of spring they returned to their roots in the Highlands. Not even the raw wind blowing across the moors could dim Lara’s enthusiasm when Julian informed her that they were on Sinjun’s holdings.

  “ ’Tis like coming home again,” Lara said. “My family traveled throughout Scotland, but the Highlands were always special to me. It wasn’t until they brought me to Papa that they began spending winters in England, on Papa’s land. Now ’tis your turn. Tell me about your brother.”

  “Sinjun defies description. A few years ago he’d been headed for perdition. He was married at fourteen by order of the king to a seven-year-old Scottish lass, heir to Glenmoor and the future laird of the Macdonald clan.

  “The marriage was not to Sinjun’s liking and he never claimed his bride. Instead, he set out to become the most notorious rake in all of England. He succeeded beyond his wildest dreams, until Christy Macdonald showed up in London pretending to be Lady Flora Randall. Sinjun didn’t recognize her as his abandoned wife, but from the moment he saw her he was bewitched.”

  “My goodness,” Lara said. “Why didn’t Christy tell Sinjun she was his wife?”

  “Christy was no more eager to have an English husband than Sinjun was to have a Scottish wife. But she needed an heir for Glenmoor. Sinjun had all but ignored Christy and Glenmoor during his years of carousing and womanizing, so that heir seemed unlikely unless Christy took matters into her own hands. Needless to say, when Christy returned to Glenmoor some months later she was carrying Sinjun’s child, and my dim-witted brother had no idea he’d taken his own wife as his mistress.”

  “My goodness,” Lara repeated.

  “All turned out well,” Julian said. “They have a son, Niall, and a small daughter, Althea. Sinjun is now respected by Christy’s clan, and has become a fine laird.

  “See the sheep grazing on the hillside,” Julian pointed out. “They belong to Glenmoor.”

  Lara let her gaze roam freely over heather-covered moors and verdant hills, impressed by the vast number of fat sheep grazing upon lush grasses.

  “There’s Glenmoor!” Julian exclaimed as the towers and turrets of the fortress came into view. “ ’Tis a fine place. Sinjun has made improvements both inside and out, though he’s never gotten around to making a decent roa
d through his property,” he groused.

  Lara gazed at the gray castle rising out of the mist and thought it magnificent. She’d never been in a real castle before. Her father’s country estate was of recent vintage and could in no way be described as a fortress. Lara couldn’t wait to explore the ancient stone towers.

  They rode over a bridge and through the curtain wall. Since enemies were few in this remote comer of Scotland, no guard was posted at the gate, although they could see men patrolling the ramparts. They rode through unchallenged and drew rein before a set of stone steps leading to a scarred wooden door four times larger than Lara.

  They were preparing to dismount when a man came striding from an outbuilding. He hailed them with a shout and hurried over to greet them.

  “ ’Tis Sinjun,” Julian said.

  Lara stared at Sinjun, her breath catching in her throat. Julian had failed to mention how handsome his brother was. He was tall and muscular, and his smile alone could charm the leaves off the trees. She was more than a little surprised to see Sinjun wearing kilts, a garment banned after Culloden.

  “Julian! Welcome. I was going to send a message to you in London and here you are. I was worried. You’re much too secretive.” Suddenly, his eyes narrowed and he caught his breath. “Something is wrong, I can sense it! What is it?” Before Julian could answer, his gaze settle on Lara. “Is this the lady I saw you with at the fair?”

  Suddenly Lara recalled seeing Sinjun with Julian at the fair. Julian had told her that Sinjun was merely someone interested in buying one of Pietro’s horses.

  “Your memory is intact,” Julian drawled. “Sinjun, this is Lady Lara, Lord Stanhope’s daughter. Lara, this is my brother Sinjun. I’ll explain everything once we’re inside, ’tis bloody cold out here.”

  Sinjun’s eyes were the same color as Julian’s, Lara reflected as she mentally compared the two men. Sinjun was younger, but no less handsome than his brother. They both had dark hair, dark eyes, and devastating smiles, but to Lara, Julian was far more attractive. The mystery and danger surrounding Julian gave him a distinct edge over his brother.

  Sinjun bowed over Lara’s hand. “Welcome to Glenmoor, my lady. Come inside where it’s warm.” He sprinted up the stairs and threw open the door. “Christy will be pleased to see you, Julian. I don’t believe you’ve met our daughter yet.”

  Lara’s eyes widened as she entered the great hall. The room was huge; its whitewashed walls were hung with colorful tapestries, and there was real glass in the windows. Servants moved about the room, involved in various chores and chatting back and forth. Sinjun led them to chairs set before a huge hearth that dominated one side of the room.

  A handsome woman wearing the Macdonald plaid hurried over with cups of warmed ale.

  “Margot, where is Christy?” Sinjun asked.

  “In the solar, Sinjun. Shall I fetch her for ye?”

  “Aye. Tell her we have guests.”

  “Your servants call you Sinjun?” Julian asked, taken aback by the informality at Glenmoor.

  “Margot is Christy’s kinswoman. You’ll find that we’re all family here, and that English titles mean little to Highlanders.”

  Lara slumped back in her chair, warmed by the fire and ale. Her eyes felt heavy and she had started to drift off when a high-pitched squeal and the patter of small feet on the fresh-smelling rushes jerked her awake. She glanced up just as a small lad toddled forward and threw himself into Sinjun’s arms. Sinjun laughed and tossed the boy high in the air, much to the lad’s delight.

  “This is Niall,” Sinjun said with a hint of pride. “The little imp would rather run than walk.”

  An old stooped woman wearing a white apron over her plaid came bustling behind Niall. “There ye be, ye little scamp. Dinna bother yer papa and his guests.”

  “ ’Tis all right, Mary, let him stay. This is his uncle Julian and Julian’s … friend, Lady Lara.”

  “Will they be staying, Sinjun?”

  “Aye, Mary, prepare rooms for them, will you? Ask Rory to bring in their luggage and see to their horses.”

  “Aye,” Mary said, scooting off.

  “Julian! How nice to see you. What brings you to the Highlands? Dare I hope ’tis your desire to see your nephew and new niece?”

  Lara’s attention was captured by the vision who had just entered the room. Lara thought the Macdonald laird the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. Hair the color of copper tumbled over her shoulders, and her slim figure belied the two children she’d borne. She wore the Macdonald plaid with inherent pride.

  “Christy!” Julian leaped to his feet and embraced his sister-in-law. “You’re more beautiful than I remember. Marriage and motherhood must agree with you. I hope my sister hasn’t run you ragged with her usual shenanigans. Where is Emma, by the way?”

  “Emma?” Christy said, exchanging a puzzled look with Sinjun. “Is Emma supposed to be here?”

  Julian paled. “I sent her north some time ago. She should have arrived long before now.”

  Sinjun’s expression turned grim. “I’ll instruct Rory and his clansmen to initiate a search immediately. If Emma reached the Highlands, we’ll know in a day or two. To my knowledge, no danger to travelers exists at this time. Did you send her alone?”

  “I assigned six guards to her, and Rudy Blakely offered to accompany her, though I was against it. Did you know Blakely asked permission to court Emma? I refused, of course, but it seemed to do little good. You know Emma.”

  Sinjun rolled his eyes. “Indeed I do. But Blakely? Surely you jest. His reputation is nearly as bad as mine was before I settled down to marriage.”

  “He’s not that bad,” Christy defended. “All he needs is the right woman to reform him.” Her brilliant gaze settled on Lara. “Isn’t someone going to introduce me to Julian’s lady?”

  “Forgive me,” Julian said. “This is Lady Lara Stanhope, my—oomph.” Julian rubbed his leg where Lara had kicked him.

  “Julian and I are acquaintances,” Lara said before Julian could finish his sentence. She didn’t want Julian’s family to think of her as Julian’s wife when Julian himself refused to recognize their Romany marriage.

  Sinjun stared at Lara, clearly confused. “I could have sworn I’d seen Lady Lara dressed in Gypsy garb the day I ran into you at the fair.”

  “Lara’s mother was a Gypsy,” Julian explained. “She visited her grandparents each summer after she went to live with her father at age thirteen. She was spending her last summer with them before settling down for good in London when I met her.”

  “I see,” Christy said, eyeing Lara with speculation. “Are you two traveling alone? Where is Lady Lara’s chaperone?”

  “I suppose I can’t keep anything from you two,” Julian said on a sigh. “Very well, here’s the way it is. Lara dragged me from the sea and saved my life. Her grandmother treated my wounds and the Romany protected me from my enemies when they came searching for me.”

  “You were wounded? Someone tried to kill you?” Christy gasped.

  “Aye, there are people who want me dead.”

  “You’re in danger now,” Sinjun inferred.

  “Aye, so is Lara. Attempts have been made on both our lives.”

  Sinjun sucked in a harsh breath. “ ’Tis time for you to give up your dangerous life and go back to being just plain Julian Thornton, Earl of Mansfield.”

  “I suspect you’re right. My identity as a secret agent has been compromised. But I refuse to retire until Diana’s death is avenged.”

  “Where does Lady Lara fit into all this?” Christy ventured.

  “I had no idea Lara was an earl’s daughter until I returned to London weeks later and met her at a ball given in her honor by her father. Due to the … unusual circumstances of our … association, I felt honor bound to offer for her. My enemies took note of my interest in Lara and decided to use her to get to me.”

  “So you had to flee London before your wedding day,” Christy surmised.

  L
ara decided it was time to put an end to all the speculation. “Not exactly. I refused to marry Julian for reasons of my own.”

  Julian’s jaw hardened. “We will be married, make no mistake. I’ve placed your reputation in serious jeopardy.”

  Christy cleared her throat. “You both look exhausted. I’ll show Lara to her room. We have dinner early in the Highlands but there’s plenty of time to freshen up and take a nap.”

  “Take Niall with you,” Sinjun said. “The lad is falling asleep in my arms.”

  Lara rose while Christy gathered up her son, grateful for Christy’s timely interference. She followed the Scotswoman up a winding stone staircase to the solar.

  “I’ll take Niall to the nursery first,” Christy said. “ ’Tis time for his nap.”

  Lara stood aside while Christy entered a room at the top of the stairs. A young woman came forward to take Niall from his mother’s arms.

  “This is Effie,” Christy said. “She cares for the children. Effie, this is Lady Lara. She’ll be staying with us for an indefinite period of time.”

  Effie gave Lara a shy smile. “Pleased to meet ye, my lady.”

  Lara smiled a greeting, then her gaze fell on a cradle holding a tiny babe. “That must be your daughter?”

  “Aye,” Christy said proudly. “Would you like to see her?”

  “Oh, yes, I’d love to see her.”

  While Effie tucked Niall in bed, Christy plucked her tiny daughter from her cradle and offered her to Lara to hold. Raised in a Gypsy camp where babies and children abounded, Lara naturally nestled the babe in the crook of her arm.

  “She’s beautiful,” Lara breathed, mesmerized by the infant’s sea green eyes and mop of reddish fuzz atop her small head. “How old is she?”

  “Althea is in her third month,” Christy said, “and already she has her father wound around her little finger.”

  “ ’Tis no wonder,” Lara said wistfully. “I wish …” Her sentence fell away as she handed the babe back to Christy.

  “I’ll take her, Christy,” Effie offered.