Cowboys and Highlanders

by Scott, Tarah

  She nodded.

  “What in God’s name are you doing here? Never mind. In the future, I’ll entertain guests someplace other than a room next to our bedchamber.”

  “Kiernan.” Phoebe gasped his lapel. “That man—Clachair—is my father.”

  Kiernan’s expression softened. “I know. I meant to tell you, but," he flashed a lopsided grin, "you distracted me. That's why I'm here. I had to tell your father I'd married you.”

  Tears threatened again. “What?”

  “Stay back!" Androu shouted, then, "There the bloody bastards are!” He fired again.

  Kiernan gave her a hard shake. "Do not move, Lady Ashlund, or I swear by God Almighty, I'll spank your bare arse in the town square." He released her and pulled the revolver from his waistband as he sidled up to the building's edge and peered into the lane. “Your handiwork?" he said to Androu."

  "Aye, got him through the heart."

  "Damn good shot. No sign of the others. How many did you count?”

  "Two, maybe three. They made MacDougal's place, nearest the ship.”

  “Clachair," Kiernan shouted, "Stay down.”

  “Has Clach—my father—no weapon?” Phoebe demanded.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Kiernan's attention remained on the street. “He’s a man of peace, Phoebe.”

  A tremor shook her. “I always knew he was a peaceful man. No such man could be a traitor.”

  Kiernan's gaze shifted onto her. "I believe we discussed this last night."

  She felt her eyes widen and he lifted a brow in confirmation of her thoughts: her father was the Clachair wanted by the Crown because, like Kiernan, he was aiding criminals. He was, indeed, a traitor.

  Her jaw tightened, then she whirled on Androu. “Give me your spare pistol.”

  He cast a shocked look at Kiernan.

  “Do as she says,” Kiernan instructed.

  Androu looked dubious, but pulled the pistol from his waistband and extended it butt first.

  She looked at the pistol. “Had you not knocked my Blanch pistol from my grasp, I would not have to make do with this archaic piece of machinery.”

  Androu looked offended. “‘Tis a respectable Scottish pistol.”

  “Flintlock,” Phoebe muttered. "Care to trade the Pepperbox for this pistol?”

  His eyes narrowed, then he swung his gaze onto Kiernan. “I’ll go find the bastards for you.”

  Kiernan shook his head. "I must ask that you do something far more important.”

  Understanding struck like lightning and Phoebe began backing up.

  “Stay where you are, Phoebe, or that spanking will be forthcoming,” Kiernan said without taking his eyes off of Androu, and she halted when he added, "She's my wife, Androu."

  Something in the way he said 'my wife' sent a tremor through her stomach.

  "Aye," Androu replied, and Kiernan faced her.

  “He’s my father,” she pleaded.

  Kiernan stepped forward and grasped her shoulders. “And he’s my friend, for many years.”

  "Years?" she repeated.

  "Yes, love, years. Now trust me.” He flashed the all-too-familiar grin, and added, “After all, you're my wife—spy and all." He cut off her gasp with a hard kiss, then shoved her into Androu's arms. "Whatever you do, Androu, don't let her out of your sight. She's a very clever woman. Sit on her, if necessary.”

  "MacGregor," she shouted, but Androu hefted her up like a sack of potatoes and raced down the tiny alley.

  Kiernan glanced back at her, then looked both ways down the lane and disappeared, headed toward the ship.

  "Release me," Phoebe ordered, and jammed the pistol into Androu's side. "Or I'll shoot."

  He halted at the edge of the building. “No you won't. Unless you wish to explain to your husband that you shot his cousin’s husband.”

  Phoebe ceased pacing and whirled when the door of the general store creaked open. The crowd that had gathered in the shop fell silent. Phoebe looked past them, past Androu, who sat in the front of the shop, gaze steady on the door, to see another villager enter the store. Androu didn't look back at her, but rose, and moved to the window. He leaned against the wall and stared outside.

  Phoebe joined him. “Why haven’t they returned? It's been over an hour.”

  He straightened from the wall. “Perhaps we’ll find out now.”

  Phoebe looked out the window and recognized the man approaching as one of the men Androu had sent to help Kiernan.

  “Don't leave this spot,” Androu ordered, and headed for the door.

  Phoebe watched through the window as the man stepped up on to the boardwalk and began talking with Androu. The man waved his arms in heated conversation and Androu glanced back in her direction. The man grew still as Androu spoke. The man spoke again, and Androu cast a quick glance in her direction. A moment later, the man turned and hurried down the street, and Androu entered the shop.

  “The bast—er, criminal has taken to the forest and MacGregor has gone for him," he said. "Murphy is gathering more men for the hunt.”

  Phoebe cast an anxious glance at the darkening clouds.

  “Your husband will be all right, lass.”

  “Damn him,” she muttered. “And damn my father. Damn them both.”

  “Your father?”

  Phoebe shifted her gaze to him. “How many men have joined the search?"

  “Enough," he replied. "MacGregor wants me to take you back to, er…”

  “Madam Duvall?” Phoebe snorted. “Try that, sir, and I'll shoot off your bollocks."

  Androu sighed. “Your husband was afraid you’d say something like that. Christine,” he called over his shoulder, “cut me several strips of material, lass.”

  Aside from the drum of rain pelting the house, all had remained quiet since Phoebe returned to Madam Duvall's two hours ago. Arm draped across the back of the couch, both feet tucked beneath her skirts on the couch, she stared out the drawing room window into a private garden. The front door opened in the foyer and Phoebe checked a start of terror at the murmur of voices. Kiernan appeared first in the doorway. His raven hair lay matted against his forehead and neck, and his coat dripped water on the carpet, but it was the harsh look in his eyes that frightened Phoebe.

  Lord Stoneleigh stepped into the room next.

  “Lord Stonel—” His name died on her lips when he cleared the doorway and another figured entered the light of the room, his body half visible behind the large frame of her husband.

  *****

  Kiernan stepped aside, allowing Mason Wallington to enter the room. Phoebe remained as still as a statue, arm slung over the top of the couch, not a lock of golden hair askew from where the tresses were piled high atop her head. For an instant, Kiernan feared the shock might cause her to swoon, then she blinked, breaking the spell.

  “Hello, sir,” she said.

  “Sir?” Mason repeated.

  He crossed the room and pulled her up and into a hug. Regan seated himself in a chair to Kiernan's right, and a long silence passed until Mason at last held Phoebe at arms length and stared into her eyes.

  “Sir?” he repeated.

  She shrugged. “Now that you’re here, I find I’m not sure what to do with you.”

  He laughed and hugged her again, then released her and urged her back onto the couch, sitting beside her.

  “What happened?” she asked, looking from him to Kiernan.

  “We caught five of the men, but one escaped, perhaps two," Kiernan replied. "We have a dozen men on their trail. We'll find them."

  Her gaze shifted onto Mason. “My guess is they were sent by Lord Harrington.”

  “You know who he is?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He glanced at Kiernan, then Regan.

  Phoebe frowned then turned toward Kiernan. “What—Oh. You think I'm connected with Lord Harrington, that I led him here.”

  “Phoebe—” Mason began, but she cut him off.
>
  “There's no need to apologize. You may not be far from the truth.”

  He placed a hand over hers. "Being associated with Alistair Redgrave does not mean you are associated with Lord Harrington."

  "But how—" she began, then understanding shone in her eyes. "Of course. Lord Redgrave has known all along where you were and apprised you of my…activities."

  "I’m sorry, Phoebe. There was no other way. I wasn't willing to risk your life by telling you the truth."

  She looked at Kiernan. "And you, sir, you weren't willing to risk your wife knowing too much about you?"

  "I have been honest about my intentions, Phoebe. I didn't know you were a spy until yesterday—which—" he laughed, "—doesn't speak highly of my deductive abilities."

  "How did you know that Redgrave knew of my whereabouts?" Mason asked her.

  "I didn't, until recently. Do you remember John Stafford?"

  Mason looked surprised. "Of course. He headed the operation to capture the Cato Street conspirators."

  "He died recently," she said.

  Mason’s eyes clouded. “He was a good man. But what has he to do with you?”

  "He sent me a journal of his private investigation into the allegations against you. He believed you were innocent."

  “Well, damn it all." Mason laughed. "Redgrave told me of the investigation. I should have known John would keep a thorough account. I suppose I also should have known my daughter would follow that trail.”

  “You were my final quarry," she said, "but I was headed for Tain.”

  “Ahh,” Mason said, “Galbraith, Redgrave's trail.”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you end up in Dornoch?” Kiernan asked.

  Phoebe lifted a brow. “Robbie.”

  “Robbie?”

  “The Achilty Inn?” she said.

  Kiernan groaned. “You have a knack for being at just the right place, my dear.” And he had to admit, he liked that.

  “It's in the blood," Mason said.

  “Quite right,” Kiernan said, and winked at Phoebe. “I'll have to remember that in the future.”

  "And I will have to remember that my husband is a schemer."

  "Phoebe—" he began, but she cut her gaze onto Mason.

  "Was my abduction your doing? Why concoct such a ridiculous scheme?"

  "That," he said, "was pure chance."

  Phoebe snorted. "I don't believe you."

  "Your kidnapping is exactly what it seems," Kiernan said. "And is all my fault," he added when she narrowed her eyes.

  "It's too fantastical," she said.

  "I did tell you that when I saw you that night, I intended to secure an introduction. If you hadn't been in that carriage, it would have only been a matter of time before I found you…and fell in love with you."

  Her lips parted in surprise and a blush reddened her cheeks. Kiernan was suddenly certain he would never tire of that reaction.

  "Have you lost your mind?" she demanded.

  "I lost my mind the night I waylaid your coach."

  The blush deepened and she cast an embarrassed glance at her father. There came a sharp rap on the door and it opened.

  “Forgive me,” Madam Duvall said, “but you have another guest.” She stepped aside and Kiernan straightened from the wall when the one man he didn't want to see stepped into the room.

  *****

  Phoebe shoved to her feet.

  Lord Ronald Harrington stopped three paces inside the room, his gaze locked on her father. “Tell your daughter and Lord Ashlund to relax. I wouldn't get a round off without receiving a bullet for my trouble.” He gave a gracious nod to Phoebe. “Miss Wallington is quite a good shot.”

  "That's Lady Ashlund," Kiernan said.

  Lord Harrington appeared surprised. "My congratulations."

  Phoebe tensed, then felt her father’s warm fingers grasp hers. Her heart pounded. What was Lord Harrington doing here? Alistair's words as written in John Stafford's journal raced to the forefront of her mind, "The criminals you deal with are nothing like Harrington. He has power and connections that are unimpeachable." What was Lord Harrington's part in her father being accused? Her father gently pulled her back onto the couch. and Lord Harrington's gaze shifted to him.

  “You are looking well, Wallington.”

  “You look as if you’ve eaten and drunk too much,” he replied.

  “The price of sitting at my desk so much. I wouldn't have thought of looking for you in Scotland," he said. "Clachair was rumored to be in France. Clachair: bricklayer, stonemason.” He raised a brow. "The name was simply too obvious.”

  Phoebe jerked her gaze onto her father. Clachair: Mason. She hadn't made the connection.

  He smiled softly, as if reading her mind, and said, “It took my daughter to find me.”

  Pain stabbed through her. She'd told Lord Redgrave her suspicions about Kiernan being in contact with Clachair, and the information had reached Lord Harrington. She squeezed her father's hand and he squeezed back.

  “Actually, she isn't responsible for my being here," Lord Harrington said. "You have Lord Ashlund to thank for us finding you. Mason, your association with him is just a fortunate happenstance." He looked at Kiernan. “Really, my dear boy, aiding criminals?” He made a tsking sound. “When wanted criminals began to disappear, we knew someone was helping them leave the country. We placed several individuals among the ranks of the rebel rousers who were complaining about the government’s financial endeavors in Scotland."

  “Wilson,” her father murmured.

  Lord Harrington lifted his brows. “He was one of our agents. I gather his disappearance was your doing?"

  “Yes, only we didn't kill him, but shipped him to a penal colony in Australia.”

  “Poor devil,” Harrington muttered.

  “Poor devil, indeed,” her father said. “He was a maniacal killer. What do you want, Ronald?"

  Phoebe's stomach knotted. What did he want? She opened her mouth to ask—demand—answers, but her father said, "You were a fool to come here. You must know it's not safe for you here.”

  Harrington gave him an indulgent look. “Surely, you don't think I was foolish enough to come here without informing someone?"

  “That is exactly what I think," her father replied. "It's likely the only person you informed was Mallory, and, should you not return, he would gladly consign you to the devil.”

  Lord Harrington laughed. “Mallory is a good fellow, but certainly not the man to trust in such matters.”

  Who might Harrington have trusted? Phoebe looked at Lord Stoneleigh. What was the earl doing here?

  “It is not I our dear Lord Harrington speaks of,” Lord Stoneleigh said, clearly noticing her glance. “I am but a spectator.”

  Lord Harrington snorted. “I am aware of the connection between Stoneleigh and Ashlund. I had no intention of entrusting my fate to him. Besides, it isn't Lord Stoneleigh wants.”

  “Perhaps not,” the earl agreed.

  Phoebe could no longer stand the suspense. “What's going on?” she demanded.

  “Later, my dear,” Kiernan said quietly.

  Before she could reply, Lord Harrington said to her father, “You stand accused of treason. It pains me, but the evidence against you is too great to ignore.”

  “Evidence you created,” she cut in.

  His eyes shifted onto her. "Beware, Lady Ashlund, you don't want to be found guilty of treason, as well."

  “There is a great deal of evidence that says my father isn't guilty, sir. But his innocence isn't the question. The question is: why are you here?”

  “He’s here to kill me,” her father said.

  “His attempt to assassinate you at the dock failed. I am asking why he is here, in this room.”

  “Lord Harrington has come to guarantee his safe retreat," Lord Stoneleigh said.

  “No one will accost you,” her father said. “None of our men, that is. I cannot vouch for others.”

  Harringto
n inclined his head. “That is all I ask.”

  Phoebe glanced around the room in shock. "You can't just let him go."

  Her father regarded her. “What would you have me do, kill him in cold blood?”

  “I-I don’t know, but to simply release him. What about the penal colony in Australia?”

  “A man of his stature would attract far too much attention,” Kiernan said.

  “By heavens,” she murmured.

  “Exactly,” her father replied."

  “It's time you retired, Mason,” Lord Harrington said.

  Her father smiled, and Phoebe glimpsed a hint of the young man whose portrait hung over the mantle in her uncle’s home. “I have no intention of allowing you to manipulate more men into the gallows.”

  "You and I both know Thistlewood was mad."

  "The ends do not justify the means."

  Lord Harrington straightened. “I am in the Queen’s service. It is my duty to seek out and destroy all dissidents.”

  “My God." Her father shook his head. "You’re as mad as Thistlewood was. Go home. You’ve done enough damage—” he glanced at her “—for a lifetime." He looked back at Harrington. "Don’t come back. I won’t be here, but others will be. And, Ronald, should you give me reason, I will return to England and kill you.”

  "You?" He gave a derisive laugh. "I wager you still don’t own a pistol."

  Her father stared, an answering glitter in his eyes. A thrill shot through Phoebe.

  "If I hear so much as a whisper from you against my daughter, I will kill you," he said.

  "Not to worry." Kiernan interjected. "I own a very respectable arsenal of pistols and I don't suffer the same aversion to violence that Mason does. Now, there's ship bound for England. I can get you aboard."

  Harrington’s jaw visibly tightened.

  “Excellent,” Her father stood and started toward the two men.

  Phoebe jumped to her feet. “Don't think for a moment you're leaving me behind.” She followed her father to the door.

  Kiernan grasped her arm. “My dear—”

  “Unless you intend on tying me up, I am going,” she said.

  "The idea does hold some appeal," he replied.

  "I assure you, sir, it does not."

  Kiernan sighed, and she disengaged her arm, then cast an inquiring look at her father. He smiled in amusement, then inclined his head in acquiescence.