‘Aye,’ she admitted. ‘I thought him so different from my father when I first arrived here.’ Sorcha pulled the other chair closer and sat down, her own body’s increase in size making her ungainly as she moved around now. And she tired more easily. And she wanted strange combinations of food. And she wanted...more. Her thoughts drifted away from Brodie to her husband’s attempts to appease the other appetite that had recently increased during her pregnancy. Arabella’s knowing glance brought her back to it. ‘Brodie gets what he wants, but uses completely different tactics to accomplish it.’
‘Beware, my friend, for Alan is his able student and he will use those same tactics on you soon.’
Almost as though called by Bella’s words, Alan entered the chamber. Both of them laughed and then again at his confusion. He kissed her and whispered a promise in her ear that made her blush and grow hot.
‘A letter from my mother,’ he said, holding out the folded parchment. ‘Would you like to read it to me?’
Elizabeth’s letters came regularly now and were filled with bits of information about Alan’s brothers and the changes in Achnacarry since Gilbert’s death. His mother had an amazing sense of humour and imbued her letters with it, leaving Sorcha laughing so hard that sometimes she cried from it.
Sorcha understood now that it was that sense of humour and inner strength that had seen the woman through her terrible ordeal those years ago. Now, no longer in fear of disclosure or retribution by Robert’s brother, she was a different person.
‘I would love to,’ Sorcha said, opening the parchment and flattening it on her shrinking lap so she could read the words. But, before reading it aloud, she quickly read bits of it to herself.
‘That is interesting,’ she said after seeing one part of it.
‘Interesting?’ Arabella asked.
‘Elizabeth speaks of a witch who lives on Cameron land north of Achnacarry.’
‘A witch?’ Alan asked, peering over her shoulder.
‘There have been stories of a witch who lives near the falls there.’ Arabella smiled at some memory. ‘Aunt Devorgilla used to tell us about her, but the details always seemed to change. In one story, she was old and wizened and in another she was young and comely.’
‘Us?’ Sorcha asked, looking at Alan who shook his head.
‘My brother Malcolm and I.’ A sadness entered her voice then, but Arabella shook free of it. ‘He was my twin.’ She brushed a tear away quickly, but Sorcha noticed it and realised of whom she spoke. ‘He used to claim he would find that witch and chase her from our lands. It was a challenge made to all the young men in Achnacarry—find the witch and be a hero. He was determined to be the one.’
‘And did he? Find her?’
‘’Twas just a story, Sorcha. There was no witch.’
Sorcha began reading the letter then and Arabella smiled when she reached the part that mentioned the rumours of a witch, shaking her head again at the fanciful idea.
But at that very moment, near Caig Falls on the lands of the Camerons, a woman looked out of her small cottage hidden deep in the woods. She whispered words that rhymed as another Cameron warrior climbed the rocky sides of the falls seeking her. When he slipped, his grasp on the wet stones not strong enough to hold him, and when he fell down into the deep pool that gathered below, she smiled.
That should scare him off for a while.
So, for a time, she would be safe from discovery and her secrets would remain hidden there with her.
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this story,
you won’t want to miss these other
great reads from Terri Brisbin
YIELD TO THE HIGHLANDER
STOLEN BY THE HIGHLANDER
THE HIGHLANDER’S RUNAWAY BRIDE
KIDNAPPED BY THE HIGHLAND ROGUE
Keep reading for an excerpt from AN UNEXPECTED COUNTESS by Laurie Benson.
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An Unexpected Countess
by Laurie Benson
Chapter One
London—1819
This wasn’t the first time Phineas Attwood, the Earl of Hartwick, had stepped onto a London rooftop at night in the rain—however, it was the first time he discovered he wasn’t alone.
Hart had to drag himself from Theodosia’s resplendent tester bed on such a dreary night. He wished he could have taken her once more, but there wasn’t time. Her husband would arrive home soon and Hart had no interest in running into the man. He could have been brazen and left by the front door, but there was nothing like the thrill of finding alternative ways to escape the town houses of his female companions—even if one was forced to do so during a downpour.
Shielding his eyes from the cold raindrops pelting his face, he stepped to the very edge of the roofline. Taunting death, he leaned over. It was a straight drop to Mount Street below, four storeys with nothing to grab on to or brace his feet against to climb down. It would also be in view of any approaching carriages.
To his left, the adjacent rooflines of the next three buildings ended at an alleyway that led to Reeves Mews. That appeared to be his best option. The building at the far end might have some architectural mouldings to aid his descent. Just as he was about to have a look, movement to his right caught his eye.
A slim, dark figure about fifty feet away was walking along the roof towards the back of an adjacent house. Apparently it was time for all assignations to come to an end. This gentleman was smart enough to wear a cape and cleric’s hat to shield himself from the rain, although Hart would wager he was no priest.
‘Fine weather for ducks,’ Hart called out.
His interruption startled the fellow so much the man lost his footing. Skidding over the slippery slate tiles, Hart caught him by the forearm the moment the man fell over the edge. It would be a long drop to the back gardens below.
Hart dug his fingers into the stranger’s arm and prayed he wouldn’t be pulled off the roof by the counterweight. ‘I have you,’ he ground out. ‘I won’t let you go.’
Even through his sleeve, Hart wouldn’t be surprised if the man’s nails were drawing blood as he held on to Hart for dear life while he dangled precariously over the edge. He didn’t have much meat on him, which made him appear more of a boy than a man. It didn’t take much effort to tug him back onto the roof.
A light mist was now
falling, replacing the earlier downpour. A thank you was in order, however the huddled form next to him was silent as stone, probably mute with fear or shock. Pushing his hair away from his eyes, Hart surveyed his companion—and wished the rain would have continued to obscure his view.
‘Dash it, Miss Forrester, what are you doing up here?’
The daughter of the American Minister to the Court of St James sat up. The cape she wore parted just enough to reveal the open neckline of a gentleman’s black shirt and the curves of her breasts. He recalled seeing her wearing those clothes about a year ago at the Finchleys’ masquerade, where she’d had the nerve to dress as a highwayman, which had also been his costume of choice that night. Now her shapely legs were stretched out before her, encased in black trews and top boots. Those legs were just as enticing as he remembered.
‘Do not tell me you are leaving a masquerade from up here,’ he said, tearing his attention away from those legs to stop himself from imagining them wrapped around his waist.
She arched one of her finely shaped dark brows. ‘I’d ask where you’re coming from, but I can already guess. Is this the time your assignations typically come to an end?’
An unmarried woman should know nothing of assignations. In the few times he had been in her presence, he had noticed that Miss Sarah Forrester enjoyed unnerving people with her candour. He was not about to let her best him.
‘I’m coming from seeing a business associate. More important, does Katrina know you’re prowling the rooftops of London at night?’ he asked to regain the advantage. Katrina was the Duchess of Lyonsdale, a dear friend of Miss Forrester.
‘No.’ She looked away too quickly. Apparently his friend’s wife knew exactly what this chit was up to. He wondered if Katrina would have told Julian.
‘How were you planning on getting down from here?’ she asked, interrupting his thoughts.
‘That is the beauty of leaving in such a manner as this. It forces you to consider multiple options.’ The fact that he hadn’t decided how he would make it off the roof was inconsequential in this discussion.
The clomping of horse hooves and the rumble of carriage wheels on the street below caught their attention and they both crawled to the edge of the roof. A black lacquered carriage rolled to a stop directly below the house next to them and a footman from Theodosia’s house darted towards it, carrying a large black umbrella. Hart had left her bed just in time and smiled at his luck.
‘That might have been a bit awkward, if you remained longer with Lady Helmford,’ she said.
He had momentarily forgotten the pest was beside him.
She leaned closer and the faint scent of lilacs filled the damp air. Her brown eyes held amusement mixed with curiosity as she looked up at him. ‘Have you ever been caught?’
He scoffed at the absurdity of her question. ‘No.’
‘Never?’
‘Not once.’ His chest puffed up at his declaration, then he realised what he had revealed. Damn!
She sat back and removed her hat. The rain had stopped and she casually brushed the droplets off the brim and crown. ‘I hadn’t realised Lady Helmford was a business associate of yours.’
He hated when she found ways to use his habit of bragging against him. While she might believe she had the upper hand, it hadn’t escaped Hart’s notice that she had avoided his question.
‘And what brings you to this rooftop? You never did say.’
She shifted her gaze momentarily. ‘I’m intrigued by architecture.’
‘Architecture?’
‘Yes, you see I came out here to study the carvings on the buildings across the way.’
‘But you don’t live here.’
‘Of course I don’t. What good would it do me to study the buildings across from my home when I already took note of them ages ago?’
‘Is that really the best you could do?’
* * *
Sarah was not about to be found out by the likes of the Earl of Hartwick. No rakish buck was going to best her. She wasn’t one of those empty-headed women who would throw themselves at his feet just because he was charming and handsome—very handsome. And every time she was around him, she had the strongest urge to remind him of that.
‘Those houses across the way are a perfect example of Mr Kent’s work,’ she continued. ‘I couldn’t very well stand on this rooftop during daylight hours. Someone might see me.’ She had no idea what Mr Kent’s work looked like, but she knew he was an architect held in high regard.
‘William Kent?’ Hartwick shook his head and water droplets slid from his hair down his chiselled features.
Hoping to distract him, she brushed off her sopping wet trews.
His gaze shot to her thighs and remained there. ‘So you chose a rainy, dark night for your viewing pleasure?’
‘The opportunity presented itself and I took it. It wasn’t raining when I made my way here.’
‘I see. And how did you manage to sneak away from your parents for this escapade of architectural appreciation?’
He needed more of a distraction and rubbing her hand slowly along her thigh proved to be a good one. But all too soon Hartwick tossed his head, sweeping away a lock of black hair from his piercing blue eyes. ‘Your parents, Miss Forrester, how did you manage to elude them?’
Lud! He was like a dog with a bone. ‘I don’t see how it is your concern.’
‘True. Your welfare is none of my concern. I was merely making conversation—one impressive night prowler to the next.’
‘You can’t charm an answer from me.’
‘I wasn’t aware I was being charming. We’re merely conversing.’
‘You’re trying to flatter me.’
‘By calling you an impressive prowler? Darling, if I intended to flatter you, I would tell you how tempting you look in those trews.’
‘Thank you for the compliment, but I still have no intention of telling you anything.’
‘You misunderstand. I didn’t say you looked tempting. I only indicated that is what I would say if I were going to flatter you.’
Insufferable man! If only she could give him a firm push. But with her luck he would land on his back and see it as an invitation to activities he was most familiar with—or so she had heard. Standing up, she wiped her hands. ‘Well, I really must be off.’
He jumped to his feet. ‘What are you really doing up here?’
‘I told you. I was admiring the architecture.’
‘And I’m next in line for the throne.’ He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. ‘Are you coming from a rendezvous with a man?’
The horror on his face was rich considering his philandering ways, but if it would get him to stop asking questions, there was no harm in a small lie. ‘Perhaps.’ Gossip was rich with tales of his escapades with women. She doubted he would be one to talk of a small indiscretion of hers or even find her significant enough to discuss at all.
‘Perhaps? Perhaps? What kind of man leaves a woman to find her way out of an assignation by herself? Any man worth his salt would visit the lady, not the other way around.’
‘I live with my parents,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘And you seem more appalled by my exit than at the assignation itself.’
‘I’m the last person to judge anyone’s moral character.’ As if counting out the town houses they were standing on, his finger paused on the building under them. ‘Miss Forrester, he is old enough to be your father.’ He visibly shuddered. ‘I always assumed you had finer taste than this.’
She pushed past him, splashing through puddles on her way to the vacant town house at the end of the row. There was no reason for him to be insulting. Lord Baxter was not as handsome as Hartwick, and about twenty years older than the Earl, but he was not an antidote by any means. He was...mature. And why did she
feel the need to mentally defend a man she was barely acquainted with? Her hands curled into fists.
Hartwick went after her and grabbed her arm. ‘Where do you think you’re off to?’
‘I’m leaving. I’ve been up here long enough.’
His brow wrinkled. ‘How do you propose we get down?’
‘We are not getting down. You stated you had a multitude of solutions of your own. I’m finding my own way down.’
‘Don’t you enjoy my company?’
‘Not particularly.’
He gave her a devilish grin. ‘Now I know you are lying.’
‘Women can resist you, Hartwick.’
He laughed. ‘There aren’t many.’
‘Well, I can,’ she stated firmly. ‘Now, do release my arm. I have places to be.’
‘Very well, go your own way. I’ll go mine. But you do take the pleasure out of an evening such as this.’ He granted her a slow, exaggerated bow.
She was fun to be with. He just thought too highly of himself to appreciate her. That was the problem. She made her way to one of the back dormer windows and carefully edged along the thin strip of roofing in front of it. She was paused precariously on the edge and her hands began to tremble. One false move and she could tumble backwards off the roof, splattering on the terrace below. Would she have a better chance of living if she aimed for the shrubbery? How much blood did one body contain?
‘What are you waiting for?’
She jerked back and Hartwick grabbed her, pressing her cheek into a cold, wet windowpane. Her heart almost beat out of her chest.
‘Stop doing that!’
He let go of her. ‘If you plan to skulk about in the future, you need to pay better attention to your surroundings.’
‘I told you to find your own way down.’
‘I was, then I saw you mumbling at the window and decided you needed my assistance.’
‘I can do this myself.’
She went to push the bottom sash of the window up, but it wouldn’t budge. He went to have a go at it and she swatted his hand away. ‘I said. I. Can. Do. It. Myself!’
Claiming His Highland Bride Page 23