Ann Lethbridge

by Her Highland Protector

  * * *

  The gypsy was in the process of packing up his goods when Niall arrived. ‘Do you go back to Braemuir?’ he asked.

  ‘I do,’ the gypsy said, his expression guarded.

  Niall handed over the letter. ‘Please give this to the vicar.’ While the gipsy tucked the note into a pocket inside his coat, Niall idly poked through an assortment of hatpins on the table. ‘And where do you go after that?’ he asked.

  The gypsy shrugged. ‘Where the mood takes me.’

  Surprising. He’d imagined him going from one market town to the next on a regular schedule. ‘Your band is camped nearby?’

  The gypsy stilled, his dark eyes unfathomable. ‘Nearby. Yes.’

  Gypsies. Always suspicious. He wasn’t even sure why he had asked. Some instinct told him this man travelled alone, which was highly unusual for his race. Not that it mattered. He’d been making conversation as a way to take his mind off Jenna’s coldness. And off the regret like a lump of lead in his gut. He had no reason to feel regretful. He had done his duty. The fact that he thought Murray an idiot was immaterial. Lady Jenna had made her choice.

  At least the man had acted with honour, which was more than could be said of the other two.

  He picked up a silver pin that seemed to catch the light. At its head was a circle with the figure of a fairy enclosed. A pretty little thing. It reminded him of Jenna.

  ‘A pound,’ the gypsy said, shifting closer than was comfortable. ‘Good silver, see?’ He nipped it from Niall’s grasp and scraped it with the tip of a knife that materialised in his hand. The scratch revealed nothing but silver beneath.

  But what would she want with a paltry gift from him when she was marrying a man who could give her gold and jewels?

  He pulled out a handful of coins. ‘A shilling.’

  ‘Two,’ the gypsy said and exchanged the pin for the money.

  It was probably made of brass and worth no more than a farthing or two. Niall stuck the pin into the lining of his coat and headed back to Carrick. Perhaps he would give the pin to her on her wedding day. Likely, he would not.

  * * *

  Niall! Thump. Thump.

  Niall rolled on to his back and pressed a hand to his temple, seeking to ease the pounding in his head. But there was no ache. The yelling and the thumping must have been part of a dream. A dream that Lady Jenna was calling him. Hardly likely.

  ‘Mr Gilvry. Niall.’ More thumps on his door.

  He shot up in bed, awake and alert. ‘Jenna?’

  ‘Open the door. I need your help.’

  ‘All right. I’m coming. Give me a moment.’ He fumbled around in the dark, found his pantaloons and pulled them on and then his shirt. He opened the door, blinking into the candle held in front of his face.

  Lady Jenna stood before him fully dressed with a cloak over her arm and looking worried.

  He watched her gaze take in his state of undress, the open collar of his shirt, his bare feet. The way she licked her lips and swallowed as if her mouth was dry gave him an intense feeling of satisfaction. What? Did she think he went to bed fully clothed?

  ‘How can I be of service, my lady?’ he said, intending every innuendo those words allowed.

  Even by the light of the candle, he could see her turn pink at the purr in his voice.

  She looked up at his face, then, and visibly pulled herself together. Anger flared in her eyes. ‘The grooms refuse to let me take my horse without your permission.’

  He let his gaze roam over her body before he answered. It wasn’t nice. But then he wasn’t feeling very charitable at this hour of the night. Hadn’t been feeling charitable since her future husband had returned from his quest. ‘And where would her ladyship be wanting to go in the middle of the night?’ He straightened. ‘Not thinking of eloping, are you?’

  She waved him off with an imperious hand. ‘A boy brought a message from one of Lord Carrick’s tenants. Her youngest child is terribly ill. She is asking for help.’

  ‘Why would she ask help from you?’

  ‘Normally it would be Lady Carrick’s charge, but in her absence it falls to me, since Mrs Preston is not mindful to leave her bed in the middle of the night.’

  ‘If you want to help, send for the doctor.’

  She shook her head. ‘I doubt she can pay a physician’s fee. It is a fever the boy described. I am sure a willow-bark tea is all that is required.’

  It was the middle of the night, for heaven’s sake. How urgent could it be? ‘Where is the boy that brought the message? I want to question him.’

  ‘They didn’t let him in the gate. The gatekeeper sent one of the footmen to awaken Mary and it was she who brought me the message.’

  ‘Then I’ll speak to the gatekeeper, before we go haring off into the night.’ He picked up the boots he had left outside his door for the bootblack and sat on his bed to finish dressing.

  She hovered in the doorway. ‘You’ll take me, then?’

  Damn her. When she looked at him like that with her eyes huge and imploring, he couldn’t think straight. He stamped his feet into his boots. ‘I’ll decide once I speak to the man who received the message.’ Messages got changed and embellished in the passing from one mouth to another. Likely it was all a storm in a teacup. But he wasn’t going to say that to Lady Jenna. She’d think him unfeeling and cruel.

  He shut the door in her face and finished dressing. When he opened it again she was pacing the corridor outside his chamber.

  ‘Finally,’ she said, as if he’d been hours instead of seconds, and led the way down the winding stairs to the courtyard.

  Niall went straight to the old night porter, whose job it was to guard the gate, with Jenna hard on his heels. The man touched his forelock as they approached.

  ‘Well, Gage,’ Niall said. ‘What exactly did this boy who brought a message for Lady Jenna say?’

  The old man gave him a grin, revealing several missing teeth in the light over the door used to admit foot traffic. ‘He said his sister was ill with a fever and begged her ladyship to come as soon as she might.’

  ‘See,’ Lady Jenna said, tugging on his arm. ‘We have to go.’

  ‘Did you recognise the boy?’

  Gabe scratched at his stubbled chin. ‘I did and I didn’t.’

  Niall glared at him.

  The old man backed up a step. ‘All the Tearny boys look the same. Red-haired like their mother.’

  Niall stiffened. ‘Tearny, you say.’

  ‘Aye. Five of them, there are. This one was one of the older ones, I’m thinking. Michael or William.’

  ‘Where is the boy now?’

  ‘Ran home to his mother.’

  ‘Mr Gilvry,’ Lady Jenna said, ‘Mrs Tearny is a sensible woman. She would not have sent for help if it was nothing.’

  ‘Open the gate for me, Gage. I’ll go for the doctor.’

  He strode for the stables with Lady Jenna half running to keep pace.

  ‘One of the grooms can come to Tearny’s with me,’ she said.

  He stopped, staring down at her. ‘What can you do if the child is seriously ill?’

  She stared at him, drawing herself up tall. ‘Are you doubting my skill?’

  As he looked down into her face, he saw pride. Aye, she was a proud wee thing and who was he to crush that spirit? ‘All right. We will go to the Tearnys’ and one of the grooms can go for the doctor.’ He had wanted to talk to the Tearny woman and this might be his chance.

  She made a motion as if she would hug him, then stilled. ‘Thank you,’ she said instead. The note in her voice was heartfelt and he felt an odd warmth in his chest.

  A groom met them at the stable door. Niall acknowledged his greeting. ‘Sorry to turn you out at this time of day, man, but can you saddle horses for me and Lady Jenna and one for yourself?’

  The man grinned. ‘Her ladyship said she was going to get you out of bed. I took the liberty of saddling Midnight and Belle.’

  Was there no one in thi
s place who could stand up to her? ‘Right.’ He clapped the man on the shoulder. ‘You need to ride to town for a doctor. Have him come out to the Tearnys’ cottage. On my account.’

  Damn. That would use up his winnings from the other night. Skinflint Carrick would never pay for a doctor whom Niall had bespoke.

  ‘I’ll go as soon as I see you and the lady mounted up.’

  He brought out Belle and Midnight. Niall threw Lady Jenna up and, while the groom checked her straps, Niall settled on Midnight, who was snorting and blowing and eager to be off. By the time they were ready the gates were open.

  Niall brought his horse alongside Jenna’s mare. ‘We’ll have to take it slow. I’ll not have you breaking your neck because your horse stumbled in a rut. Do you understand me?’

  ‘Always so careful, aren’t you, Mr Gilvry?’ she said, but there was a smile on her face so he did not take offence.

  ‘One of us has to be,’ he replied, and set his horse into a walk.

  They rode side by side, keeping to the middle of the road, letting the horses take their own path. Niall could feel Lady Jenna’s urgency like a vibration in the air around her, but he was glad to see she kept her head and maintained a steady pace.

  ‘Thank you for understanding my duty to Lord Carrick’s tenants in his absence,’ she said quietly.

  He did understand. The same kind of duty had driven his older brother Ian for years. It still did. Only he was happy with the yoke of it now, because he shared it with Lady Selina and counted himself lucky.

  The dark and the quiet, with nothing but the sound of the horses, made for an easy quiet between them. A sense of camaraderie. He did not recall feeling this comfortable with another person, not even with his brothers. Especially not with his brothers. There was always too much competition.

  Camaraderie, he mocked himself. Was that what he was calling this attraction between them? He was far too aware of her as a woman to be a true friend. But he did like and respect her for living up to her responsibilities. Riding along beside her in the dark, it was tempting to wonder what might have happened between them if she was not Lady Aleyne of Braemuir, but an ordinary woman seeking an ordinary life with an ordinary husband.

  He cut the thought off with impatience. He, too, had duties and responsibilities and they did not include dreaming about what might have been.

  ‘The light up ahead is the Tearnys’ house,’ she said, interrupting his thoughts.

  They drew closer, and the cottage took shape. A stone building with a peat roof and a couple of outbuildings. A house far superior to most of those in town. Tearny had indeed done his family proud. And they were clearly expected, because the front door opened long before they came close to the door. A woman stood in the doorway, looking anxious.

  Niall dismounted, helped Lady Jenna down and turned to secure the horses to a nearby post, while she hurried towards the woman.

  Something hard pressed against his ribs. ‘One sound and you’re a dead man,’ a voice said in a rough English voice he knew. Niall stiffened and looked towards the cottage in time to see the door close behind Lady Jenna. The weapon pressed against his ribs pulled away. Fists clenched, he turned to meet his attacker. Mistake, he thought, as he felt rather than saw a movement off to his right. Pain exploded at the back of his head. Big mistake. Black filled his vision.

  * * *

  In horror, Jenna stared at the man sitting in the armchair with a rifle pointed at her chest. The footpad who had accosted her on the road and again at the market in town. She looked at Mrs Tearny questioningly. ‘What is going on here?’

  The woman backed away, shaking her head.

  ‘Well?’ she said to the man with the rifle.

  A cocky grin spread across his face. ‘Third time lucky. The governor will be pleased.’

  The words chilled her blood. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Full of questions, aren’t you, milady Jenna?’

  ‘What of the babe?’

  ‘Sound asleep in its crib upstairs.’

  ‘But—’ She looked at the widow, who shook her head.

  ‘There is no illness here, is there?’

  ‘Nah.’ He glared at Mrs Tearny. ‘Upstairs you go with your brats. You aren’t needed.’

  ‘My son?’ Mrs Tearny whispered.

  ‘He’ll be safe enough.’

  What were they talking about? One thing was plain. She and Niall had been gulled. Jenna closed her eyes. Oh, good Lord, Niall would enter at any moment. She didn’t know if he was armed, but she had no doubt he would not take kindly to having a rifle pointed at him. She glanced over her shoulder at the door, half-expecting him to come bursting in.

  ‘You don’t have to worry about your servant,’ the man said with a smug grin. ‘He’s being well looked after outside.’

  Dread filled her heart. ‘If you’ve hurt him,’ she said fiercely, ‘I’ll—’

  The man pushed to his feet and loomed over her. ‘You’ll what?’

  ‘I’ll see you hung. My guardian, Lord Carrick—’

  ‘Is away. And your bridegroom will no doubt pay a pretty penny to have you back.’

  She swallowed. ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘What, you think servants don’t gossip? Turn around.’

  ‘Why?’

  He cocked his head on one side. ‘Do it.’

  When she didn’t move he raised his hand as if to strike her. She stared at him down her nose. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

  His face reddened. His hand curled into a fist. She braced herself for the blow.

  Slowly he dropped his arm. ‘The governor won’t appreciate me damaging the goods he wants. But there’s nothing to say I can’t take a piece out of the fella that nigh broke my arm. I wouldn’t mind seeing him with a few broken bones and a few bruises on that pretty face of his. Set the soldiers on us, he did.’

  He stepped around her, keeping the rifle pointed at her chest. He opened the door. ‘Jake!’ he yelled.

  ‘No,’ she said, cringing at the thought of what they might do to Niall. ‘I’ll do as you say.’

  The smug smile returned. ‘Fancy him, do you? And you about to be married. I wonder what your groom would think of that?’

  ‘Mr Gilvry is paid to guard my person.’ And was here against his better judgement, too. ‘I do not see why you would take out your spleen on a man doing his job.’

  ‘And I’ve no time for arguifyin’, so turn around like a good girl and we’ll say no more.’

  She didn’t trust his word for a moment, but seeing that he held all the advantage, it seemed better to obey than risk them hurting Niall. She turned her back.

  ‘Hands behind you.’

  She complied and felt a moment of panic as he caught her hands in one of his. Then he passed a rope around her wrists and pulled it tight. She struggled to free her hands, but the rope didn’t loosen. If anything, it felt tighter.

  He grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her outside the door and handed her off to another man waiting outside. The small cowardly one she remembered from the road.

  ‘If you do this, you will be in terrible trouble,’ she said to the little pipsqueak. ‘Take me back to the castle and I will see you don’t suffer.’

  The man’s eyes widened.

  The man behind her swore and reached around to stuff a rag in her mouth. ‘Don’t listen to her, Pip, me lad. You’ll swing same as me. Get her in that there wagon while I has a word with the missus, here. We don’t want her runnin’ to the castle neither.’

  So Mrs Tearny wasn’t their accomplice?

  The man called Pip caught her by one arm in a hard grip, hustled her down the steps and around the back of the house. She looked desperately around for Niall but couldn’t see him. Nor were their horses outside. Pip picked her up and tossed her into the back of a flat-bedded cart and threw something heavy and rough and smelling of mildew over her head. A sack, she guessed. More things piled on top. She couldn’t breathe. She started to struggle. ‘L
ie still,’ Pip said, ‘or I’ll hit you over the head like we did with the other’n.’

  She stilled and breathed through her nose, turning her head to make it easier to draw breath in the small space beside her face while she processed what she’d heard. They’d hit Niall over the head? No wonder she hadn’t seen him outside. Was he lying out there somewhere on the ground? Injured? But they’d sent for the doctor. He would find him. And then Niall would find her. She had absolutely no doubt he would come looking. None at all.

  She could hear the low murmur of voices as the men came back to the wagon, felt it tip and jolt as they climbed aboard.

  ‘You sit still, now,’ said the voice of the man who was the leader of this band of outlaws.

  A strange thing to say to one of his men. The cart jerked and then creaked and she had the sensation of moving. Where were they taking her? She shifted to ease the strain on her wrists and heard a soft groan from behind her. A groan of pain. There was someone else in the cart. Her stomach fell away as she realised who it must be. Niall. He wasn’t going to come looking for her because he was here, in the cart. And hurt.

  Their only hope now was Mrs Tearny. No doubt she’d been paid to keep quiet about what had happened. Which meant there was no hope at all.

  Niall groaned again. Carefully, Jenna inched backwards, feeling with fingers that were already throbbing from the tight bindings around her wrists. Finally she felt something warm against her fingertips. Niall. It had to be. Though what part of him it might be, she wasn’t sure. But there was fabric and she gave it a tug, hoping to get his attention.

  She felt him shift. She didn’t dare make a noise, in case Pip made good his threat. She backed up again. She could hear him breathing. Heavily. Did that mean he was still unconscious? They must have hit him dreadfully hard. She found some more cloth and tugged on it again. The breathing stilled for a second. A smiled curved her lips. They hadn’t taken the slightest bit of notice of his groans and moans. She gave a pretty good imitation of the sounds he had made seconds before.

  Something pressed up along the length of her back. ‘Jenna?’ he whispered in her ear.

  Hearing him say her name made a hot lump fill the back of her throat. Tears welled in her eyes. Tears. Now. Not what she wanted. She sniffed, unable to make a sound or breathe terribly well with all that moisture clogging her throat.