Hard-Hearted Highlander--A Historical Romance Novel

by Julia London

  Lord Ramsey, as drunk as his brother, tried to engage Rabbie with a swing of his arm, but Cailean Mackenzie swatted him back like a fly.

  “Miss Kent,” Lord Chatwick said, pushing in between the older men. He reached for Avaline, presumably to help her, to soothe her, but she pushed away his outstretched hand and ran to her mother’s arms, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder. Lady Kent quickly ushered her down the walk, disappearing around the corner from Bernadette’s view. Aulay followed, still ranting in Gaelic. Cailean followed, as did Lord Mackenzie. Rabbie put his hand firmly on his mother’s elbow and spoke to Catriona, and they, too, disappeared around the corner and down the path Bernadette could not see. As Lord Kent realized he was being deserted at the corner of the house, his head came up, and he was suddenly bellowing, chasing after them.

  Bernadette was so stunned by what had just happened that she stood momentarily rooted to her place on the path. But then she heard voices rise again and ran after the others, rounding the corner and darting to the French doors of the salon, where she slipped inside, unnoticed.

  It was pandemonium in that room, everyone shouting at one another in English and in Gaelic. Charles and Renard looked as if they’d been backed into a corner and stared with shock at them all.

  “You will be hanged for defaming my daughter!” Lord Kent shouted at Aulay. “I challenge you, sir!”

  Aulay rolled his eyes. “I didna defame her,” he said hotly. “She’s a barmy lass! You saw with your own two eyes that she kissed me, aye?”

  Lady Kent gasped. “She did not!” she cried and looked at Avaline.

  Avaline did not deny it. Incredibly, she tried to defend it. “I did because we esteem each other—”

  “Och, uist, Miss Kent!” Aulay spat. “No’ another foolish word from you. You may believe you esteem me, but I donna esteem you, do you ken?” he said, ignoring Avaline’s weeping. “I’ve given you no cause to believe it. I am more than twice your age! I’m the captain of a ship and I’m at sea more than I am on land. You’ve created a fairy tale in your foolish head,” he said, gesturing to his own head. “Mi Diah, you are betrothed to my brother.”

  “I don’t want to be betrothed to him! I want to be betrothed to you!”

  “Oh, dear God,” Bernadette whispered. Suddenly, all her feelings of foreboding made sense. Aulay was right—Avaline had created a fairy tale, and now, a debacle. She had done the worst possible thing she could have. It was astounding, really, that Avaline could be so bloody obtuse. Bernadette looked at Rabbie. His gaze met hers, and from across the room, she saw the barest bit of relief glance his features. She felt that same relief—she would not see them married, not now. She would not be forced to live in agony tending his wife. She would not have to resign or flee or any number of things she thought she were possible.

  “You must have given her reason to believe her feelings were returned!” Lord Kent accused Aulay. “No one is so daft as to create esteem where none exists.”

  “I’ve no’ said a word of encouragement,” Aulay said. “Ask her.”

  Lord Kent looked at his daughter. She was still weeping. Bernadette’s heart went out to her—she looked utterly heartbroken.

  When she did not offer any explanation, Lord Kent sneered at her. “You stupid, stupid clown,” he said. “You’ve ruined everything.”

  “No!”

  Lady Kent’s voice was so unexpected that everyone stared at her with surprise. She was glaring at her husband. “You are the stupid clown, Raymond!” she said hotly. “You have used your daughter very ill, indeed. You’ve gone against her express wishes and have forced her into an untenable match.”

  Rabbie sighed to the ceiling.

  “I won’t stand for it a moment longer. Not one moment longer!” Lady Kent said loudly.

  Lord Kent was so stunned that he was, for once, quite speechless.

  Lord Mackenzie was not. He was leaning heavily on his cane, and yet he still seemed the most authoritative figure in the room. “Given the turn of events, there will be no wedding, aye? We’ll take our leave now, we will. Aulay, Cailean...go and bring the horses round.”

  Cailean gestured for Lord Chatwick to follow, which he did, reluctantly. He could not tear his eyes away from Avaline, nearly bumping into a chair in his distraction.

  “Margot,” Lord Mackenzie said softly.

  “Yes,” Lady Mackenzie said. She walked to where Avaline had now collapsed onto her side on the settee. She seemed to debate whether or not to disturb her, then finally looked at Lady Kent. “You have my sympathies,” she said, then looked back at Catriona and Mrs. Mackenzie, nodding at the pair of them. They quit the room with her, their gazes politely averted from Avaline and Lady Kent.

  Lord Kent was panting now, the exertion of his anger having exhausted him. He sank onto a settee across from Avaline, next to his brother, who had been the first to find a seat in all the commotion.

  Rabbie walked to where Avaline was laying and squatted down beside her. “My apologies, lass, if you found this union wanting. I think it is better for us this way, aye?”

  She nodded mutely.

  Rabbie stood up. He looked at Bernadette for a moment. She tried to understand his expression, but it was useless. It had all been too shocking. He exited the room with his father.

  Their guests gone and the wedding called off, the Kents were spent. Lady Kent sank down onto the settee beside her daughter. Lord Ramsey poured himself two whiskies, but remarkably, Lord Kent shook his head to the one he was offered. He seemed as downtrodden as Bernadette had ever seen him. He pushed himself off the settee and moved to the door with heavy steps. With some effort, he lifted his arm and pulled off his wig, letting it hang from his hand as he made his way out.

  Avaline watched him a moment, then sat up. “Pappa—”

  Lord Kent threw up his hand, still holding the wig. “I can’t bear to even look at you now. Do not complete my utter destruction by speaking,” he said, and disappeared through the door.

  Lady Kent whispered to her daughter, and the two of them stood, leaning against each other, and walked slowly from the room.

  Only Lord Ramsey remained in addition to Bernadette, Renard and Charles. Lord Ramsey sipped his whisky, then looked up at Bernadette. “What has happened to our supper?”

  She wished she knew how to tie a noose so that she could hang this buffoon from the rafters. What had happened to his supper, indeed? What had just happened to all their lives?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  THERE WAS AN air of celebration and liberation in the Mackenzie household that night as they gathered to dine on ham and bread, all of them famished after the calamity at Killeaven. Their concerns over the MacGregor land notwithstanding, they were, all of them, relieved.

  Aulay told them of the extraordinary meeting in the garden, how Avaline, unbeknownst to him, had believed there was something unstated between them, and believed it equally felt by him as well.

  “It’s my fault, it is,” Rabbie said. “I left her too often in your company, Aulay. I couldna bear it otherwise.”

  “Aye, ’tis your fault,” Aulay agreed, but then shook his head. “But I canna fault you, lad. She was bloody impossible, that one.”

  “Be kind, Aulay,” Rabbie’s mother said. “She is young yet. I feel quite bad for her, really, for she’ll have a very uncertain future now. If word were ever to reach certain societies in England about the disaster that occurred at Killeaven tonight, she might never wed.”

  “How would anyone in England ever know of it?” Catriona asked.

  Rabbie’s father snorted. “I’d no’ put it past Ramsey. Or a servant.”

  “They will hear of it,” Daisy said sagely. “Everyone knew she came to the Highlands to marry and it will not go unnoticed that she didn’t. People will sort out why.”

 
They all fell silent a moment.

  “What of Killeaven now?” Cailean asked of no one in particular. “He has negotiated for the MacGregor land. What will he do now, then?”

  “Niall has said the Buchanans have kept a close eye on Killeaven. I suspect they might put a son forth to offer, aye?” Rabbie said. “It would put them in direct competition for grazing land with us, would it no’, and with a wee bit of help from Kent, they’ll put a ship to sea.”

  “Oh, dear,” said his mother. “That does not bode well for us.”

  “No,” the laird agreed. “We’ll manage, we will. Mackenzies have survived the worst of times, have we no’?”

  Rabbie wished he could be as confident as his father was in that belief.

  “Rabbie?” his mother said. “We’ve not inquired after you, darling. How are you, given all that’s happened this evening?”

  “Relieved,” he said.

  “As are we all,” Aulay muttered.

  Rabbie couldn’t say more than that, not yet. But in truth, he was elated. A great burden had been lifted from him, and he’d not realized just how heavy that weight had been until he’d been freed of it.

  “How did she ever believe that Aulay, of all people, held her in some esteem?” Catriona asked, shaking her head.

  “What do you mean, then, of all people,” Aulay asked laughingly. “Och, I donna know, lass. She’s as barmy as a bird.”

  “Well, I’m relieved for you, Rabbie,” Daisy said. “I should hate to think of you attached to that family. To think they’ve employed someone of Miss Holly’s reputation to attend her. There is something quite pedestrian about them.”

  “Miss Holly?” Cailean asked, confused.

  Aulay, Rabbie noticed, was peering at him.

  “Oh, pay me no mind,” Daisy said, and waved her hand. “She was involved in a bit of scandal a few years ago. It was a long time ago—I should not have mentioned it.”

  “Good riddance to the Sassenach,” Catriona said, and lifted her glass. “To the Mackenzies. To our good health, to Balhaire.”

  “To the Mackenzies!” they all said in unison, lifting their glasses in toast.

  They fell into conversation about how soon Aulay might sail, how soon before Cailean, Daisy, Ellis and wee Georgina would return to Chatwick Hall.

  Avaline Kent would be erased from their memory in the coming weeks, and they would congratulate themselves on somehow having avoided that wretched union. They would determine a new path to save their clan and deal with the Buchanans, perhaps a harder one when it was all said and done, but the laird was right—their lives would go on.

  But Rabbie? He had only one thought: Bernadette.

  * * *

  AT DAWN THE following day, Rabbie left Balhaire. He intended to return to Arrandale, to think about what he would do about Bernadette now that the wedding had ended, but at the last moment, he turned toward the sea, drawn by a feeling. At the cliff—his cliff, where he’d contemplated leaping to his death only a fortnight ago—he sat under an oak and waited.

  The sun continued its steady rise, and he had no idea how much time had passed. Long enough that his belly growled with hunger. Long enough that he removed his cloak, the sun’s warmth making itself known. Rabbie was about to concede his intuition had been wrong, and stood up and brushed off his clothing. That’s when he saw her. She was walking up the path, her head down, her arms swinging, her stride long, the clomping sound of her too-large boots reaching him.

  She suddenly paused midstride and looked up, almost as if she’d sensed him there. They stared at each other across that distance, and it felt to him as if a river of understanding flowed between them—relief. Joy. Desire.

  And then she was running toward him. He ran, too, catching her up in his arms, burying his face in her neck, breathing in her scent, kissing her. He set her down, cupped her head in his hands. “Come. We’ll talk at Arrandale, aye?”

  For once, she didn’t argue. She slipped her hand into his, and ran up the path with him.

  He pushed his horse to run hard, and they arrived at Arrandale in half the time it should have taken. He helped Bernadette down from the mount.

  “Your servants,” she said, uncertainly.

  “They’ll be gone from their morning chores, to Auchenard now. They’ll no’ return before the afternoon,” he said, and with his hand on the small of her back, he hurried her inside.

  Inside, Bernadette looked around her with an expression of someone who expected to find an unwelcome surprise.

  “Are you all right, leannan?” he asked. “No harm has come to you, aye?”

  “What?” She shifted her gaze from the furnishings to him. “No, no harm,” she said. “I’m fine.”

  Except that she didn’t look fine. She looked as stunned as she’d appeared last night.

  He tossed his cloak onto a chair. “And Avaline? How does she fare?”

  Bernadette winced and shook her head. “It’s chaos at Killeaven. His lordship has gone to call on a man he calls Buchanan, and has inquired after a caretaker for the property. He and Lord Ramsey mean to take their leave straightaway, as soon as they find passage. He’s so angry, Rabbie.”

  “What of Avaline and her mother?”

  She shook her head. “He refuses to accompany them back to England. He swears he can’t bear the sight of them and has told them they might rot at Killeaven for all he cares. They are, of course, frantic, as they have no idea how they will return to England and are frightened of staying on without the least bit of protection.”

  Rabbie could well imagine how intimidating the prospect would seem to the two Kent women, particularly with no friendly faces around them. Neither of them possessed the fortitude necessary to live in the Highlands. “Aulay will see them to England,” he said.

  Bernadette’s bonny eyes rounded. “Aulay!”

  “Aye, Aulay. He intends to sail in two days as it is, returning my brother and his family to England. Cailean and Daisy will see Lady Kent and Avaline safely home.”

  “He would be so kind after all that has happened?” Bernadette said. “What did happen, Rabbie? Avaline wouldn’t speak of it. She’s scarcely stopped weeping since last night.”

  “I donna know, really,” Rabbie said. “Aulay said she had a fanciful notion that he esteemed her.”

  “Foolish, foolish girl!” Bernadette said, and fisted her hands, knocking them against her legs in frustration. “Now what will become of her? I tried to warn her, I begged her to cry off—”

  “It’s my fault,” Rabbie said brusquely. “I wouldna give her the attention as I ought to have done. But I’d no’ fret over her future, were I you. I rather suspect she’ll have more Scottish suitors. Killeaven is valuable property.”

  “No,” Bernadette said. “They’re all going home and they won’t come back, I swear it. Avaline is too humiliated.” She ran her hand over her head, resting it on the crown a moment, then dropped it. She looked as if her thoughts had taken her out of this room.

  “And what of you, Bernadette?” he asked quietly. “What will become of you?”

  She jerked her gaze to him when he asked, and a shot of uneasiness sluiced through Rabbie. “I’m to stay behind until a caretaker can be arranged and installed.”

  That sliver of uneasiness began to rush like a river. “And then what?” he asked, his voice damnably weak.

  “I suppose I am to return to my parents in Highfield.”

  He shifted closer to her. “I wouldna like to see you go,” he said. “God has shined His light upon me and I donna want to lose you.” He reached for her, drawing her into his arms. “I canna lose you, Bernadette,” he said, and lowered his head to kiss her. The moment their lips touched, a violent turmoil of desire rose up in him so strong that it felt as if he might disintegrate with it. His arms sl
id around her back and he held her tightly to him. The kiss was urgent, and Bernadette clung to his neck, almost as if she feared he would step away if she let go.

  There was no inhibition between them now—their want had been laid bare. Rabbie would not have believed it possible to feel this way again, but this desire for her pulsed in him like a living, breathing thing.

  He lifted his head, impulsively kissed the palm of her hand that she’d pressed against his face, then roughly took her head in his hands and gazed at her. “Where did you come from? How did you appear on my cliff?” It was a rhetorical question, but it mystified him how this woman, this Sassenach, might have presented herself when he needed her most. He grabbed her up, lifted her off her feet and kissed her, then walked with her to the settee, falling onto it with her. He pressed his lips against her cheek, her eyes, and her mouth again. “I’ve fought my desire for you, I have, but I’m powerless against it.”

  “As am I,” she admitted, and dipped her tongue into his mouth, and sent a wave of prurience crashing through him, pushing him into the deep of absolute desire.

  He shifted onto his back, pulling Bernadette on top of him, his hands on her body, his lips on her mouth, on her face, her ears and neck. He was intoxicated with her soft lips, the weight of her breasts, the curve of her hip. The bedlam of the last twenty-four hours fell away—Rabbie was only aware of Bernadette, of her scent, of the feel of her hair beneath his fingers, of the smoothness of her skin.

  He had to have her out of the gown. He rose up, his fingers working on the fasteners of her gown, then the stomacher, until he could reach the strings of the stay.