Falling for the Highland Rogue

by Ann Lethbridge

  The two men shook hands and talked for a moment.

  Her heart began to thunder in her chest. Her mind was spinning in circles, trying to remember the rules of this foolish male ritual. She dropped the window and leaned out. ‘Logan, it is not too late to stop this. All you have to do is apologise and no one will get hurt.’

  His short crack of laughter was harsh. He looked up at the man on the box. ‘Follow us to Leith Links. Don’t let her out of the carriage.’ He swung up on to the spare horse and he and Sanford trotted away.

  She sank back on the squabs. If anything the thunder of her heart was worse than ever. She gripped her hands tightly in her lap and prayed Rawley would withdraw. Or not come. The sick feeling in her stomach confirmed her lack of real hope. And her dread.

  He’d promised not to kill Logan, but dare she trust his word? He had let her down badly last time. Allowed her to take the blame to save his own skin. And she’d let him. Because she’d thought he loved her. And when her father threw her out and he refused to take her in, then she’d known the truth.

  The revellers from the night before were still in their beds. The carriage moved swiftly out of the city and drew up beside another carriage and three saddled horses. Peering out of the window, she could see nothing of the men. They must have gone beyond a stand of trees. They wouldn’t want casual passers-by to see what they were up to and call the authorities. She wished she had done that instead of trying to talk sense into a pair of idiot men. She would have, only it might have got Logan transported or worse.

  Unable to sit any longer, she stepped down from the carriage. The coachman gave her a look, but said nothing as she paced up and down beside the vehicle. The morning air had a fresh coolness, but it did not account for her shivering. Her blood seemed frozen. She wrapped her arms around her waist, straining to hear the sound of shots, staring into the copse as if she could see through to the other side.

  A small movement caught her eye. Some sort of animal flitting among the trees? She had only caught a glimpse from the corner of her eye and now it was gone. She scanned the undergrowth. Too large to be a fox or a dog. Perhaps it was a deer.

  Or a man out hunting in the early morning.

  Icy fingers travelled up and down her spine, thinking about that damned duel. Not knowing what was happening was driving her mad. The consequences of this for Logan could be disastrous. She should have told him that Jack had paid Rawley to kill him. Warned him. Not relied on Rawley to keep his promise. Mark wasn’t a bad man. What had happened to her had been her own fault. And if anything happened to Logan it would be her fault, too.

  She ran.

  ‘Hey,’ the coachman shouted.

  But he was too fat and too slow to run after her and she quickly skirted the perimeter of the little forest, stumbling over rough tussocks and dodging clumps of gorse. When she rounded the turn where the trees ended, the duelists were still a good distance off. In the grey light, she could just make out two hatless men in dark coats and pacing away from each other, pistols at the ready, and three others watching in a group. Waiting for them to try to kill each other as calmly as if they were watching a cricket match. She wanted to ring their necks. All of them. Especially Logan.

  And so she would tell him. If he was still alive for her to tell him anything. She ran faster.

  A flutter of a white handkerchief stopped her in her tracks.

  ‘Logan!’ she screamed. A scream that came out as no more than a croak.

  A puff of smoke from Logan’s pistol. A loud crack following immediately after. It echoed through the trees.

  Rawley sank to the ground. No! Logan had shot Rawley. If he died, Logan would be hung.

  She felt sick. ‘No!’ she whispered and ran faster.

  All of the men rushed over to the fallen man. By the time she arrived one of the men, clearly a doctor, had his bag open and was pressing a gore-soaked pad to Rawley’s chest while another man supported Rawley’s head against his shoulder. She dropped to her knees, and glared up at Logan. ‘What have you done?’

  He gave her a look full of hurt.

  ‘Is he going to die?’ she asked the doctor, choking back the tears that threatened to fill her throat.

  ‘A flesh wound,’ the doctor muttered.

  She turned to tell Logan he was fortunate, but he had moved away and was talking to Sanford. They were both looking in the direction of the woods. Sanford strolled away. Logan came to stand over her and Rawley. ‘I told you to stay with the carriage.’

  She got to her feet. ‘You said you wouldn’t hurt him.’

  Logan opened his mouth and then closed it again as he watched the doctor help Rawley to his feet. He gave Charity an inscrutable look. ‘He hasna’ taken his shot yet.’

  ‘He hasn’t?’ Her stomach curdled. She spun to face Rowley. ‘You wouldn’t. Not now. You couldn’t.’

  He raised a brow at Logan. ‘Not if he apologises.’

  ‘Like hell I will,’ Logan said.

  ‘You can’t stand there and let him shoot you!’ she yelled at him. ‘It’s ridiculous. Stupid.’

  ‘Take her away from here,’ Logan said to the doctor. ‘Now.’ She had never heard him sound so cold.

  ‘This way, miss.’ The doctor grabbed her arm and when she refused to move, he put an arm around her waist and lifted her off her feet.

  She kicked out at him. ‘Put me down.’

  He did and gripped her shoulders and gave her a shake. ‘Go, woman. And let me be about my business. I can do no one any good if you make me return to the carriage. Go on back’

  He was right. She nodded dumbly.

  ‘Bunch of young fools.’ He headed back.

  She started walking. Oh, please. Oh, please. The words beat in time to her steps. She looked back once and saw they were stepping out the distance already, even though Sanford was nowhere to be seen.

  She made herself keep going until she reached the carriage and the indignant coachman. But she couldn’t get inside. All she could think of was what she would say when she had to face his family. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t be the one to tell them why he had died.

  A shot rang out, and a second one, she thought. No, it must be the echo. Tears stung her eyes and felt hot on her cheeks. She dashed them away with her palm. She would not cry. Would not.

  A figure burst from the undergrowth a few yards ahead of her with a long gun over his shoulder and stood bent double, breathing hard.

  ‘Growler?’ she cried out, feeling suddenly faint and grabbing at the side of the carriage for support.

  He straightened and stood looking at her. ‘Jack’s dead.’ His gravelly voice sent a shiver down her back.

  The words slipped out of her mental grasp without leaving meaning. She grabbed them back. ‘You mean Logan.’ Her legs gave out and she collapsed on her knees in the grass.

  He breathed hard a few times. ‘Jack.’ He looked about him wildly. ‘He deserved it, he did. And so I’ll tell them what they comes for me.’

  Jack dead. Logan probably dying. She wanted to find the nearest bridge and throw herself off.

  ‘I tell you, Miss Charity. I don’t mind facing a man toe to toe, but I won’t shoot him in the back. Not nohow. I ’ad enough.’

  He wasn’t making any sense. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Confusion filled his eyes. ‘I wounded the other’n, to make it look like Gilvry did it, fired at the same moment. They must have figured it out, because he fired into the air. Then Jack told me to kill Gilvry when the other fellow took his shot. I killed Jack instead.’ He dropped his weapon and stared down at his hands as if he could see blood on them. ‘He shouldn’t have threatened my sister Maisie. Said if I didn’t kill your lad and make it look like the lord did it, he’d put her to work on her back to pay off my debt. It were my debt,’ he said d
arkly, suddenly glaring at Charity. ‘Not ’ers. And now I’ll swing fer it. But he won’t get ’is ’ands on ’er.’

  She swallowed, unsure of this new caring version of Growler. Not that he’d ever actually done anything to hurt her, but he’d always been Jack’s weapon. A threat. Clearly even men like Growler had a line they would not cross.

  ‘And Logan?’

  ‘I dunno. I ran before the lord took his shot.’

  Fear caught at her throat again. ‘Why aren’t you running away?’

  ‘Lord Sanford caught me and told me to wait here. I’ll not be running.’

  Sanford. What was his part in all this? She didn’t care. She only cared about Logan. She stood staring back at where they would walk out from behind the trees. Her breath stuck in her throat. Her mouth dried.

  Growler stood beside her, shading his eyes with one hand. ‘I always told Maisie you was a proper lady,’ he muttered. ‘I let him hit you. I should have stopped him, then and there.’

  She couldn’t think of a thing to say she was so surprised.

  The sound of voices made her turn away. Her heart was a wild thing in her chest. But she couldn’t bring herself to look.

  Growler looked over her shoulder with a grimace. ‘Bloody nobs and their duel. Gilvry is fine.’

  Her heart leaped and he grinned at her. ‘Thought that’d cheer you up.’

  Since when did her face show her feelings? Another complaint to lay at Logan’s door. Slowly, she turned around and watched the men trailing back across the grass. Logan striding out in front with Sanford. The other men came at a slower pace, helping Rawley.

  Logan was fine. Unharmed. Relief froze her limbs, but she could not keep a smile from her face. He was fine. She took a step to run and meet him, to throw herself into his arms and hold him close. But something about his manner, the way he held himself, his stony expression, stopped her in her tracks. She watched him approach with a feeling of dread.

  He halted in front of her, his expression carefully blank, looking over her shoulder as if he could not bring himself to look at her face. ‘I hope you are happy.’

  She gasped. ‘Of course I am.’

  His glance flickered to meet hers and he gave her a bitter smile. ‘You still love him.’

  Numb, dumfounded, she could only stare at him, mouth open. He thought it was Mark’s life she feared for when she’d knelt beside him. She took a breath, preparing to explain. Felt the pain around her heart at his lack of trust and realised what she must do. This was her chance to make things right. To keep him from alienating his family. To let him find a proper woman. Even if he said he accepted her word, she’d always wonder. And he would always suspect she’d played him false.

  There was no basis for a future.

  Her heart splintered into a thousand pieces. The pain was shattering. Worth the gift of freedom. His. She smiled. It came easily, the smile, because for once it really was the right thing to do. ‘Yes,’ she said softly, meeting his gaze head on. Not one tear did she let get past her throat, though the effort made her dizzy.

  He closed his eyes and winced as if she had thrust a dagger in his belly. When he opened them again, his expression was bleak. Cold. ‘I willna hold you to your promise, then. I should wish you well, but I find that I cannot.’

  He strode for his horse, swung up and rode off without looking back.

  Sanford, who had been standing a little distance off, looked at her in astonishment. ‘He didn’t shoot Rawley.’

  ‘I know,’ she said in a voice that seemed to come from far away.

  ‘Women.’ He gave her a look of disgust and turned his back to talk to Growler. ‘I’ve work for you, my lad, if you’ve a mind to join the side of law and order, instead of going to prison.’

  Charity didn’t hear Growler’s reply, because Rawley stood before her hesitantly.

  ‘I fired in the air,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, only vaguely aware that she was speaking.

  He glanced to the road where Logan had disappeared. ‘He’s gone then?’

  ‘Yes. He’s gone. Goodbye, Mark.’ She turned and climbed into the carriage.

  Not until she was safely inside the carriage, and the horses were moving at a smart clip, did she realise she was crying.

  It didn’t matter how much she told herself it was the right thing, the tears just kept running down her face. And her sobs scraped her throat raw.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Charity stared up at the keep from the road, a square stone tower pierced by arrow loops. The only window was an ancient oriel some thirty feet up. And the only way in, through an archway set in the outer wall.

  Two weeks it had taken her to get there by ship. They’d run into a storm and had had to put in to a harbour to the south for days. Sanford was wrong about it being the fastest way of travel. But she was here now. And she would deliver her information and be gone as quickly as she could. By mail coach this time. No more ships for her.

  Her heart pounded with excitement at the thought of seeing Logan. No matter how much she berated herself for such stupidity. Or how often she assured herself that her visit would be brief. She certainly did not imagine she would be particularly welcome. Braced against what was to come, she strode through the archway.

  A large man with a shock of greying red hair appeared from a door in the tower beside the gate. When he spoke she understood not a word.

  ‘I am Mrs Charity West. I am seeking Mr Logan Gilvry.’

  He gave her a sharp look. ‘Mr Logan isna’ here, Mrs West.’

  Determination flagged, along with her strength. She straightened her spine against the weariness bearing down on her shoulders. And the worry. ‘Do you know when he will return?’ She could take a room at the inn in the little village not far from the keep for a day or so.

  ‘Ye will be wanting to talk to Lady Selina.’

  That was not what she was wanting at all. ‘Is Lord Aleyne here?’ He might not be pleased to see her, but at least he would know her name.

  ‘Lord and Lady Aleyne went off to Braemuir a week ago.’ He lifted an arm, herding her towards a set of steps on the outside of the tower. ‘Best you speak with my lady.’

  The man had an expression as impenetrable as the stone tower. Her heart began to thump harder than ever. She did not want to face Logan’s family. ‘Perhaps I will call another day.’

  ‘Best you come in.’ The herding continued, subtle but irresistible, and she quickly found herself inside climbing the stone steps of the tower. Once inside, the Scot handed her over to a butler who took her cloak and deposited her in a drawing room with the window she had seen from the ground.

  Idiot. She should have taken a room at the inn and sent up a note. Now what would she do? Brazen it out. As she always had. She perched on the edge of a chair, setting her face in cool repose.

  A petite blonde woman with a lovely face floated in with a puzzled but friendly expression. ‘Mrs West?’ Her gaze took in Charity’s attire and her face froze.

  Charity had chosen the most modest of her gowns for this journey and the least flamboyant of those to make this call, but it was still not the sort of gown a lady would wear. She fought the urge to blush. ‘I beg your pardon, Lady Selina, I would not have troubled you in Mr Gilvry’s absence, but your servants would not take no for an answer and insisted I see you.’

  If anything her face became more frosty. ‘I see. And why did you wish to see my husband?’

  Her husband? The blood rushed from her head to her feet. Logan had married this beauty in the three weeks since he left Edinburgh? She couldn’t breathe for the heavy weight on her chest. Her tongue would not work. She could only stare.

  The woman’s blue eyes flashed fire. ‘I don’t know what game you are playing, but Ian would never ever hav
e anything to do with a woman like you.’

  Heat seared her face even as she was flooded with utter relief. She sagged back against the cushions. ‘It is Logan I came to see.’

  The woman recoiled, and once more her gaze travelled to Charity’s attire, but this time she met her gaze stonily.

  Lady Selina nodded. ‘I see. You come by way of Edinburgh?’

  Thank goodness. At least the woman seemed willing to listen. ‘Yes. I have some information I think Logan will wish to hear.’

  Again that searching look sweeping her person.

  Charity forced her anger below the surface. ‘Your servant said Mr Logan Gilvry is not here at present. I can return later.’

  ‘Logan does not live here.’

  ‘Not...’ The ground seemed to shift beneath her feet. Sanford had sent her on a wild goose chase. But she was sure Logan had talked of this keep. ‘I am sorry to have troubled you, Lady Selina. Perhaps you could give me his direction.’

  The woman ignored her hint. ‘I assume you are the reason he returned looking as if he had lost a guinea and found a groat.’ She frowned. ‘Haven’t you done enough damage to the boy?’

  Her heart gave an unpleasant lurch. Because it was true. She had done enough damage. Now she wished she had sent a letter instead of making the journey. Except that Sanford had said it might not reach him for weeks. Not that she had got here any faster. She rose to her feet. ‘He is hardly a boy. I have important news. If you will not give me his direction, I will leave him a note.’ She glanced at the writing desk in one corner. ‘If you would allow?’

  A troubled look on her face, Lady Selina signalled her assent.

  Charity sat down at the desk, which was well supplied with paper, ink and pens.

  ‘I didn’t know we were expecting company,’ a deep voice said from the doorway.

  For a moment, Charity thought it was Logan, but instinctively knew it was not. When she turned, she was not surprised to see another stranger staring at her with suspicion. A big man, dark and tall and rugged. Logan’s brother, she assumed. There was something about the jaw that looked familiar.