The Highland Guardian

by Jarecki, Amy

  Audrey tried not to cringe as she turned around. If only it were polite for her to refuse. But if she’d learned anything at Talcotts, it was that ladies must always graciously accept invitations to dance…unless there was a matron on hand who could make appropriate apologies. Worse, this man looked the most disagreeable of them all. His face was pinched in the most unpleasant stare, and his gray eyes were taunting beneath a straight line of eyebrows. He wore a thin mustache and goatee. His mouth twitched in a sneer, almost as if he were willing her to err in some way. With no wig, he tied his thinning brown locks back with a ribbon. He bowed politely, however. “I am at your service, Miss Kennet.”

  She took a step back and narrowed her eyes. “Have we met, sir?” She couldn’t recall his being introduced earlier that eve, but something about him was familiar all the same.

  He sniffed, leering like he harbored a secret. “Perhaps you will recall during the contredanse.” He gestured to the floor and smiled.

  The musical introduction had begun and everyone turned to stare. With no other choice, she gave a single nod and allowed the strange man to lead her to the line. Beneath her fingers, his hand felt like the skin of an eel. Racking her mind, she tried to remember. Had he been one of Papa’s colleagues? Had he worked at the mine? His suit of clothes showed wear—clearly this man wasn’t wealthy. Regardless, she needed to fulfill her promise and see the dance through to the end.

  Fortunately, there was a great deal of interchanging with other partners during a contredanse, and Audrey was spared the man’s penetrating glare for the most part.

  When the dance ended, the conductor announced a brief recess. Relieved, Audrey curtsied. “Thank you, sir.”

  He gave a hasty bow, then stepped in and grasped her elbow. “Come. I need a moment.”

  “This is highly improper,” she hissed as he pulled her toward the inner courtyard door, his fingers boring into her elbow like iron tongs. She absolutely could not exit the gallery with someone she didn’t know, let alone trust.

  Just before they reached the doors, Audrey managed to yank her elbow free. “You, sir, are uncouth and insolent, and I shall thank you for remembering your manners and keeping your hands from my person.”

  Turning, she started to hasten away, but he grabbed her arm yet again and pulled her into an alcove, out of sight of the others. “I only need a moment.” He cackled wickedly. “Do you not know my face?”

  A brown hood came to mind. One framing gaunt features. “The monk?”

  He snorted. “You would remember only that. I have known you all my life. I have watched you from afar—on those shoreline walks you used to take with your father—at the summer fetes when you were eating honeyed crisps.”

  Audrey’s heart raced. She tried to tug away, but his grip only became stronger. “Let me go!”

  “I’ve always wanted what you have. It should be mine. You should be mine.”

  Audrey glanced over her shoulder. Where was her hulking guardian when she needed him?

  As the man pulled her against his revolting body, he twisted her arm up her spine until she could hardly bear the pain. “If you speak out against me, your earl will meet a gruesome end. If you refuse me, I will shut you out with nothing, just as your father did to my mother.”

  She winced at the pain of her arm on the verge of being dislodged. “Who are you?”

  “Never mind that.” His unpleasant breath steamed across her face. “You will be hearing from me, and you will bend to my bidding. Make no bones about it. I am a man of my word. If you utter a single hint of our encounter to the Earl of Seaforth, he will meet an unfortunate end just like your father.”

  Ice pulsed through Audrey’s veins. “You are responsible for the death of my father?”

  “I informed the captain of the Royal Buckingham of your father’s treachery and alliance with Seaforth.” A sickly grin spread across the man’s lips as he released her with a shove. “Only Nicholas Kennet was responsible for the accident that claimed his life. And only you can keep more men from dying.” He headed for the door.

  Audrey straightened and clenched her fists in front of her chest. “I demand to know your name, sir!”

  Pushing through the door, he glanced over his shoulder. “Wagner Tupps. When next we meet I’ll expect you to remember it.”

  Chapter Ten

  Reid continued to shift his gaze across the gallery while Lord Barnard droned on about every political issue affecting the kingdom. Unfortunately, the man spoke like a Whig puppet. Reid’s opinions on every matter were quite different from the baron’s, though voicing such would only create discord with his host. Presently, he needed all the help he could garner, and that meant enduring longwinded and one-sided dialogue about Britain’s state of affairs.

  This untimely and inconvenient role of guardian had him on edge. How the devil was he supposed to remain impartial while Audrey Kennet paraded around the dance floor with every slavering, bombastic Englishman within fifty miles of Raby Castle? God’s bones, he’d come close to spitting out all his teeth when he first saw the lass wearing that red gown.

  Why couldn’t she be wearing pink or blue or white? He’d trusted Mrs. Hobbs to select something appropriate, not a frock that screamed, Here I am, come and plunder me. Christ, Reid was but a man. He wasn’t a marble statue without blood thrumming through his veins. And, by God, that gown made things thrum in more places than his veins.

  The next time Reid scanned the dance floor for Audrey, some spindly-whiskered ferret was practically drooling on the lass. The earl cracked his thumb knuckles while images of all the ways he could make the weasel beg for mercy riddled his mind. There wasn’t a single man in the entire hall good enough for Miss Audrey, and the man who presently pointed his toes in the contredanse had to be the worst candidate for a husband he’d seen yet.

  So help me, if that bastard lays one single inappropriate finger on Miss Audrey, I’ll wring his scrawny neck.

  “Why is it I sense you are on edge?” asked the baron.

  Reid shifted his gaze back to his host. “Pardon?”

  “You’re wound tighter than the coil of chain holding up my portcullis.”

  Groaning, Reid feigned a smile. “’Tis not easy being the guardian of an heiress.”

  “I should say not, though a girl as lovely as Miss Kennet should have no difficulty finding a suitable match—and a wealthy one at that.”

  Reid clenched his fists. If one more person said anything about marrying Audrey to the highest bidder, he’d bury his fist in the braggart’s snout.

  “She has turned every suitor’s head, just as you’d hoped,” said Lady Barnard from her perch. “You simply must give me the name of her tailor.”

  Reid regarded Her Ladyship and splayed his fingers. Perhaps he was growing a bit overzealous. Besides, it would be very unpopular if he buried his fist in Her Ladyship’s nose. He almost laughed at himself until he realized the music had ended. Fully expecting to see Audrey walking toward them, his heart nearly stopped when she was nowhere to be seen. Nor was the vulture she’d been dancing with.

  Standing, he dipped into a hasty bow. “If you’ll please excuse me, I have a matter to attend.” Putting on an air of calm reserve, Reid made his way along the gallery wall, looking into every nook along the way, while praying Audrey hadn’t been so dimwitted as to take a stroll outside with a man who looked about as trustworthy as a snake.

  Before he made it to the French doors, a bit of shiny red caught his eye. He crossed the floor and found her in an ingress, hiding her face in her hands, standing alone, thank God.

  He strode toward her with purpose, making damned sure he looked like a concerned guardian. “What the devil happened?”

  She peeked at him through splayed fingers. “Ah…”

  “Is all well?” He stepped nearer, and a bit of light flashed on the moisture beneath her eyes. His gut roiled. I’ll choke the life out of that damned weasel. “Have you been crying?”

  “No,” she
squeaked.

  “Has someone said something inappropriate to you?”

  Shaking her head, she again hid her face in her palms. “I-I cannot speak of it.”

  Glancing over his shoulder to confirm no one was gawking, he quickly opened the door and led her into a small octagon-shaped chamber where china plates were on display behind glass. An oil-burning sconce on the wall had been lit, and there was enough light to see. Stopping in the center of the room, he grasped her shoulders. “Please, tell me why you’re crying, because if anyone has dared to touch you or hurt your feelings, I’d like nothing better than to call him out for a duel of swords.”

  She took in a deep breath as if suppressing her emotions. “’Tis nothing. I am simply ready to retire.”

  Oh no, Reid wasn’t about to let this pass and give their excuses, especially not when they were the guests of honor. “It would be rude to our hosts to make our apologies this early in the evening.”

  “Please do not make me go out there again. ’Tis far too…too mortifying.”

  “Whatever has come over you? You are the bonniest lass of all. Every courtier for miles has been lining up to dance with you.” And not a one had been suitable. In fact, Reid would relish a good row with one of the Sassenach fops.

  With a groan, Audrey turned her back. “Everyone but you. You only danced with me because you felt it was your duty.”

  Reid’s stomach flipped backward, then forward again. He reached out his hand, but stopped it in midair. If only he could run his fingers along the soft, exposed curve from the neck to her shoulder. If only he could step into her and brush his lips over her succulent skin. But he clenched his teeth until his jaw twitched. Och aye, he’d noticed how bonny Audrey was, he’d noticed it all too well. He wasn’t even supposed to be in England at the moment. But there he stood, trying to make good on a promise to a dying man—a man whose blood stained Reid’s fingers.

  Searching for the right words and coming up with nothing, he finally whispered, “Pardon?”

  Her breath stuttered with her next inhale. “Call me a featherbrained wren, but I’ve compared every man at the ball to you, my lord, and not a one measures up.” She whipped around. “How dare you do that to me?”

  Something inside his heart snapped and soared while Reid fought against his urge to smile. No matter that he was unable to court the lass himself, it always stroked a man’s ego to have a lassie admit her attraction—though she had a confounding way of going about it. “I…”

  With a wail, she flung her arms around him, most likely as she would have done if her father were standing there instead of Reid. “I’ve been trying to be strong. I’ve been trying suffocate the grief in my heart, but this whole sham is killing me. It’s too soon. I’ve lost my father and now everyone’s trying to force me into a hasty marriage, and I’m just not ready.”

  “There, there, lass.” Against his better judgment, he smoothed his hands up and down her spine. Dear Lord, she was trembling, but now everything made more sense. In truth, Reid might have taken up arms if someone had forced him into marriage right after his father had died. He could be an unfeeling buffoon. Audrey buried her face in his chest.

  Closing his eyes, he embraced her, ruing the day his father had made that damned pact with his uncle—a pact he needed to evade without ruining alliances between Clan MacKenzie factions. Reid’s goal was to unite the Highland clans and foster loyalty, not to destruct centuries of kinship. His damned hands were tied. Worse, the longer he remained in England, the more Miss Audrey’s wiles baffled his heart.

  I cannot put my desires before those of the cause. And for the love of God, a Sassenach lass would wither at Brahan Castle whilst my da rolls in his bloody grave.

  Nonetheless, he didn’t want the lass to suffer on his account. She already was suffering enough. Surely there must be some other way to keep her estate out of abeyance. He lightly kissed her temple, breathing in the heady scent of lavender as it laced its way around his heart. “Everything will be all right, lass. I vow to you, I shall not force you into an unhappy marriage.”

  “But—but—but I cannot bear to think of losing you, too.”

  “I’ll not be going anywhere, not until you’re settled and happy. I promise.” He bit his tongue. Something told him he’d better bite back his lustful MacKenzie urges and grow comfortable at Coxhoe House. His role as guardian had just grown more complicated.

  Chapter Eleven

  A sennight after returning to the manse, Reid sat in “his” chair in the library and read a letter from Lady Barnard, babbling about how successful the ball had been and providing a list of six potential suitors who had expressed interest in courting Miss Audrey. She gave a detailed dossier on each man, singing their praises. With every description, the ache in his head grew worse.

  They all seem like gutless fops to me.

  He crumpled the parchment between his hands and groaned. He had already spent far too much time in England. The cause needed him, and there he sat, playing guardian and matchmaker for an heiress. If only he could pass this task off onto someone else.

  Gerald stepped into the library and cleared his throat. “Mr. Watford to see you, my lord.”

  Reid smoothed out the letter, folded it, and slid it into his doublet. “Perhaps he has some favorable news.”

  “I take it the missive from Lady Barnard did not meet with your approval?” The butler was fishing. Everyone in the household was fishing, wondering whom Miss Audrey would wed, and whether they’d be employed in the future.

  Reid didn’t blame him. “If only there was an honorable and stalwart man among the lot of suitors, I might be a bit more content.” He flicked his fingers. “Show the solicitor in.”

  After the requisite greetings, Mr. Watford took a seat and propped a satchel on his lap. “I had to visit straightaway. A male heir has come forward.”

  Reid hid the churning of his gut beneath a frown. “An heir, you say? Who?”

  Watford pulled a slip of parchment from his bag and placed it in Reid’s hands. “Mr. Wagner Tupps. He’s the son of Josiah Kennet, Nicholas’s brother.”

  Reid glanced back to the portrait of the said sibling. He only knew who it was because of the brass nameplate attached to the bottom of the frame. Why didn’t Audrey mention she had a cousin? “Tupps?” He narrowed his gaze. “Why is the surname different?”

  Watford sniffed and crossed his legs. “It appears the young man is of illegitimate birth.”

  “A bastard cannot inherit over Miss Kennet.”

  “I know his circumstances are a bit peculiar, but Mr. Tupps has filed a claim with the court, and I can cite at least one other example of where the magistrate ruled in favor of an illegitimate male over an unwed legitimate daughter.”

  “And you have verified his parentage with his record of birth?”

  The solicitor gestured to the paper in Reid’s hands. “Indeed I have, my lord, as the document clearly states.”

  Reid skimmed the scrawling penmanship. It appeared Mr. Tupps was born on the fifth of June 1678 to a Miss Felicia Tupps, occupation, gentleman’s companion. The boy’s father was listed as Josiah Kennet.

  Reid’s mouth grew dry. “This is a load of hogwash. The man’s mother was a whore. How in God’s name could a fortune-hunting tinker lodge a claim for an estate the size of the Kennet’s and be taken seriously?”

  “Have you found a suitor for Miss Audrey?”

  Reid tugged at the itchy cravat strangling his neck. “I am very close. As a matter of fact, I have a list of potential suitors from Lady Barnard in my possession.”

  “It is my duty to inform you that Mr. Tupps has consented to marry Miss Kennet forthwith to ensure her circumstances remain unaffected.”

  “Och, how convenient for a conniving, backbiting bastard.”

  “I suggest you give his suit some serious consideration. After all, he is an arguable candidate as the male heir for whom we have been searching. If you ask me, things couldn’t be better. And
the last time we spoke, you were anxious to return to Scotland. With this news, I would think you could wash your hands of your responsibility and head home within a fortnight.”

  Reid sprang to his feet and thrust his finger toward the door. “You, sir, are speaking as if I have no concern for the welfare of my ward. Leave her in the hands of an unproven wastrel? That is your solution? What in God’s name am I paying you for?”

  * * *

  Anger shot through his veins like steam blowing through a kettle as Reid marched straight to Audrey’s wing, tracking the scent of lavender like a bloodhound until he burst through a door at the end of the hall. “Miss A—” His mouth hung open as his gaze homed in on the most perfect pair of wee breasts he’d ever seen in his life.

  “Eep!” she squealed, while she crossed her arms, hiding such exquisite beauty and sliding lower into the wooden tub.

  “My Lord Seaforth.” Mrs. Hobbs stepped between them with her hands on her hips. “I must ask you to leave immediately.”

  Leave? He didn’t care if the lass was standing naked in the midst of an icy loch. He was Audrey’s goddamned guardian for Christ’s sake. He would ignore the inopportune stirring of his loins. His loins had absolutely nothing to do with his anger, and he would not pay them another mind. He turned his back. “I’m afraid that is not possible. Please grant us some privacy. What I have to say to Miss Kennet must be uttered in utmost secrecy.”

  “But—”

  “I shall keep my back averted. Now please leave us.” Reid swiped his fingers over his eyes while Mrs. Hobbs scurried out the door. Bloody hell, how was he supposed to erase the image of Audrey’s breasts from his mind? Perfectly round and rosy-tipped and pointing straight at him when he’d boldly burst through the door. How was he to know she’d be bathing in the middle of the day?

  When the latch clicked, Reid turned his head to speak over his shoulder. “Did you ken you have a cousin?”