Julia London 4 Book Bundle

by The Rogues of Regent Street

  Suddenly anxious to turn her thoughts—and his—to anything else, she blurted, “What would be your friend’s business?”

  Arthur glanced over his shoulder. “Pardon?”

  “You said you came to attend a business matter for a friend.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said, still walking. “My friend met with an untimely death and left behind some property here. His father has no wish to keep it. I am merely acting as his agent.”

  “I am sorry,” Kerry said, but her curiosity was piqued. “How did he die?”

  Without missing a step he said simply, “He fell in a duel.”

  A duel! She almost gasped aloud—she had only heard of them, had never known anyone who had even seen one. The very thought of it made a shiver run up her spine; a million questions tumbled in her brain, but she kept silent, as his powerful legs were suddenly surging ahead.

  By midmorning, the heavy underbrush had given away to sloping fields of heather dotted by the occasional black-faced sheep. The River Tay tributary snaked alongside the meadows, meandering north. By midday, they stumbled upon a series of small, cultivated terraces that caused Arthur to let out a whoop of laughter. “By God, it appears as if mankind actually does reside in these godforsaken hills!” he exclaimed happily, and grabbing Kerry’s hand, forged ahead.

  It was Kerry who saw the mule grazing across one field. When she stopped, Arthur, walking behind her, almost plowed over her. He caught himself on her shoulder. “What?” he demanded, his hand immediately going to his pistol.

  She turned and looked up at him; a smile slowly spread her lips. “A mule.”

  Arthur jerked his head to the left, saw the mule, and shifted his gaze to her. “Splendid! That would suggest a settlement of some sort—”

  He stopped, looked quizzically at Kerry as she shook her head. “They roam far from home. The grass, you know, it’s not enough. He’ll make his way home eventually, when he’s had his fill.”

  “What, then there is no one about?” Arthur asked, momentarily confused, and looked at Kerry. An understanding passed between them instantaneously; a devilish smile lifted one corner of Arthur’s mouth. “Madam, are you thinking what I am thinking?”

  “A man will hang for stealing a horse,” she warned him. “I doona think the penalty is much improved for a mule.”

  “Ah, but we should not consider this stealing exactly. Think of it as merely borrowing. Once we reach the River Tay, I shall hire a man to return him with a little gift for the owner. There, you see? Quite simple, really. So, madam, if you will kindly wait here while I fetch your mount.” And with that, he dropped her satchel and went striding across the field, his arms swinging wide.

  Kerry didn’t object as she ought. In fact, she laughed as he strode purposefully toward the mule, walking right up to the beast as if he expected the thing to come docilely. And she couldn’t stop laughing as she stooped to retrieve her satchel and followed him across the field. Apparently, mules were not to be found in England, or the poor man might have known a wee bit better than what he was doing.

  Mules did so inhabit England. Arthur knew this because he had seen them at a distance. Not that he had actually ever been near one, but that hardly seemed important. He had a particular knack with horses, and quite naturally, he assumed that knack extended to the cousin mule. Which was why, therefore, he was so taken by surprise when the mule tried to butt him with its head.

  Arthur jumped back, hands raised in a gesture of peace. “Come now, old boy, there is no call for that.” He extended one hand, intent on stroking the mule’s nose, but the beast jerked away. “Going to go like that, is it?” he asked, and began to slowly circle the mule, who glared at him over its shoulder.

  “Now see here, Mr. Mule,” Arthur continued in a very low, very soothing, sing-song voice, “I have walked for what seems days now, I am quite ravenous, absolutely exhausted, and hardly in the mood for disagreement. I’ll just come around to your right flank and we’ll have a bit of chat about that ride, shall we?”

  The mule responded with a loud snort and a hard flick of its head. Arthur paused only momentarily before continuing his slow, steady movement, thinking to catch hold of the mane first, then the nose. After that, he wasn’t quite certain what he’d do, but he thought he should at least be able to convince the beast that he was a gentle friend. On the mule’s right, he very carefully reached forward, caught hold of the mane—

  “What would you think to be doing?”

  The sound of Kerry’s voice startled the mule; it jerked around and snapped at Arthur, very nearly taking a bite out of his ribs. Arthur lurched to one side, just barely avoiding the enormous teeth, and seized the moment to clamp his hand down on the mule’s snout. For that, he was suddenly catapulted over onto his side with a mighty shove from the mule. The beast’s back hooves shot out, missing his head by a fraction of an inch. Arthur instinctively rolled into a tight ball and covered his head with his arms. The mule tried again, missed, and bucked away from Arthur before galloping to the far end of the field, braying as if he had been mortally wounded.

  Slowly, Arthur unwound himself and pushed up on his arms, breathing heavily. Not only was he covered head to foot in dirt, he had eaten a mouthful of it. And judging from the particular odor he suddenly noticed, he had managed to stick his boot in a pile of manure. The muffled laughter he heard pierced his ego like a shot; he lifted his head and glared at Kerry. She was bent over, her shoulders trembling. When she at last raised her head, a hand clamped over her mouth, he could see the tears of her great amusement shining bright in her blue eyes.

  That did it. He would kill her, strangle the little wench like he should have done the moment he was introduced to her pistol. He was up like a shot, barreling toward her. With a shriek, Kerry whirled, picked up her skirts, and ran.

  And good Lord could the lass run! Her speed surprised Arthur, particularly given that she held her satchel in one hand. Nevertheless, she flew across the heather, her hair falling out of its little knot and streaming behind her like a standard. He almost caught her at the edge of the field, but she dodged artfully to the right and ran, incredibly, even faster. He pitched after her, skidding on more manure and catching himself with one hand to the ground before gaining his balance and barreling down a small hill after her.

  He finally caught her on the banks of the tributary by the waist, jerking her back hard into his chest before forcing her around to tell her what he thought of her interference. But laughter was bubbling out of the imp like uncorked champagne. Her eyes sparkling, she pressed her hands against his chest and laughed so hard that her head fell back with absolute glee.

  It all but undid him. Arthur couldn’t help but do what he did, which was to catch her shoulders and yank her into his embrace, kissing the laughter from her mouth, her throat, and then her eyes. He kissed her so hard and completely that she shoved against him, gasping for air, then shoved again, backing out of his embrace, the glimmer of laughter still in her eyes.

  “I shouldna think it necessary to inform a man of such considerable education, but mules really doona make very good pets.”

  An impudent little wench, he thought, watching her breast rise and fall as she gulped air into her lungs through bites of laughter. He wagged a finger at her. “Mrs. McKinnon, you almost had me trampled to death, do you know that?”

  Kerry laughed again, her glorious smile stretching from ear to ear. “It wasna I who hit him on the nose!”

  “No, but you shouted at the ornery ass,” Arthur countered, taking two steps forward.

  She instantly matched him by stepping backward an equal number of steps. “There is where you are wrong, now—the ornery ass I shouted at was you!”

  Arthur laughed low, beckoned her toward him. “An ornery ass, am I? Then come here, Mrs. McKinnon, so that I might show you how ornery I can truly be,” he said, and without warning, lunged for her. With a squeal of laughter, Kerry whirled around, but Arthur was too quick; he grabbed her and tumbled to
the soft earth on the water’s edge. She struggled beneath him, managing to roll over on her back, and looked up at him with the same, wide-eyed look of desire he had seen last night. With her bottom lip between her teeth, Arthur thought it was perhaps the most provocative expression he had ever seen on a woman in all his life.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked gruffly.

  She shook her head.

  His hand went to her knee, bare beneath her bunched skirts. “Are you certain?”

  She nodded very slowly. He moved his hands to her calf, gently kneading the pliant flesh, watching her blue eyes watch him, then up again, past her knee, to her inner thigh, and felt the vibration in her leg as she strained to hold still where he touched her. Her breath was coming unevenly now, but her eyes did not waver; she held his gaze with a power that almost seemed to bewitch him. Those pale blue eyes, the exact color of the cloudless sky, her body, as soft as the dark green earth. He could almost feel the silkiness of her skin beneath her drawers, the firm, supple flesh …

  Kerry fell back on her elbows, and Arthur glided over her, never breaking the gaze between them until he lowered his head to kiss her. The succulent flesh of her lips torched his senses; his hand fell to the mound of her breast, skimming the cotton of her chemise before closing his fingers around her.

  God, she was warm, the heat of her skin radiating through the cotton and inflaming every masculine nerve in him. Arthur breathed into her mouth as her fingers scorched him everywhere they touched. Her tongue was like a flame against his lips and teeth, setting him on fire, making him burn with an almost desperate need to have her. “Arthur,” she moaned, and the longing in her voice made his heart and groin pound relentlessly. He shifted; with his free hand, he unbuttoned her blouse and slipped his hand inside to the warm smooth flesh of her breast. His thumb grazed the rigid peak of her nipple; Kerry caught a breath in her throat and raised her knee between his legs, innocently pressing against his testicles. It very nearly sent him over the bloody edge—he dragged his head to her breast, freeing it from the chemise and laving it. She clasped his head in her hands, pressed him to her, lifted her breast to his mouth.

  Arthur was drowning, completely submersed in her, nothing to stop him from taking her here, on the banks of the tributary, making love to her until her seemingly desperate passion was sated and his own fierce need appeased. He would have done it, too, had not the sound of voices interrupted the heat of the afternoon. The instinctive need to protect slowly gained ground over his desire; Arthur managed to lift his head and peer to the right, to the flatboat slowly approaching from a great distance.

  Kerry was less sluggish than he, however—she suddenly shoved him off of her with a strength that surprised him and sat up, beating her skirts down to her ankles. The terror in her actions pierced through what was left of the lustful fog on his brain. Arthur came to his feet, yanking her up with him, and adjusted his clothing as best he could as she nimbly fastened her bodice. Wildly, he looked around, his heart drumming steadily with the realization of how close they had come to being discovered making love.

  That thought instinctively compelled him to move away so quickly and thoughtlessly that he suddenly found himself down the banks of the tributary, waving to the approaching flatboat. “Ho there!” he called. “Ho!”

  The flatboat, coming in from the north, slowed a bit. Arthur slowly lowered his hand. His eyes narrowed. His hands found his waist as he pressed his lips tightly together and reminded himself that their predicament meant that he could ill afford to antagonize Mr. Richey and Mr. Richey a second time.

  Oh, it was the two oxen all right, the only change being that they were floating in the opposite direction of the last time they met, and their little flatboat was now covered with crates of squawking chickens.

  All right. Was this some sort of heavenly jest at his considerable expense?

  The flatboat drifted closer. Mr. Richey Number One eyed Arthur curiously from the stern of the boat as he stuck his oar into the earthen bank and brought the flat-boat to a halt. “Aye?” he called.

  As if he had no earthly idea what Arthur wanted! “Good afternoon to you, Mr. Richey. I should beg your pardon a second time, sir, as it would seem that Mrs. McKinnon and I are still quite lost and quite stranded. I hope that you could see your way into delivering us to the River Tay We are in search of Dunkeld.”

  Mr. Richey Number Two emerged from behind a crate of especially disturbed fowl and looked at Kerry. “You be well past Dunkeld, lass,” he said unemotionally, and leaned over the side of the boat to spit a wad of tobacco into the waters below. “And we just come from the River Tay.”

  “Past Dunkeld?” Kerry echoed, suddenly appearing at Arthur’s side.

  Mr. Richey Number One nodded.

  Kerry cast a quick, confused glance at Arthur before turning to the Richey brothers again. “Then we’d be very near Pitlochry, aye? How far to Pitlochry, then?”

  “Two leagues, not more,” answered Mr. Richey Number Two.

  Kerry’s face lit up; she flashed a bright smile. “Oh, really? That’s bonny, it is—Loch Eigg is just a bit past Pitlochry.”

  The Richey brothers exchanged looks. “Loch Eigg? We’ve been as far as that, lassie. Doona intend to go that way again,” said one.

  “But you must help us!” Kerry insisted. “We’ve come so far, and we’ve not eaten scarcely a bite, and I am certain my people are frantic by now! I’m naught called to leave the glen ever, you know, and oh Lord, they’ve surely called upon the laird for help and there will be no end to the trouble that will cause, and I shall not rest for all the grief I’ve brought them, especially now, because it’s really not so very far, Mr. Richey, not so far at all …”

  Fifteen minutes later, the Richey brothers had conceded that perhaps it was not so very far at all to Loch Eigg. Arthur didn’t know if he should be impressed or appalled—Kerry had somehow talked them into reversing course and taking them to Loch Eigg for an exorbitant fee—which he had, of course, quickly offered to pay.

  When they had at last agreed on a price, Mr. Richey Number Two turned a rather dazed but smiling face from Kerry and frowned at Arthur. “Aye, well, on with you now. The day’s awastin’,” he said as Mr. Richey Number One helped Kerry step onto the boat.

  “Righto,” Arthur drawled, and waited until Kerry had settled onto the one crate that did not seem to contain livestock. When she turned an expectant look to him—along with Richeys One and Two—Arthur leaned to one side to pick up Kerry’s satchel.

  That was when he saw the sow.

  An enormous one at that, munching happily in her pen.

  Bloody fabulous. Just bloody rotten fabulous. Reciting a colorful little something in his mind, Arthur hoisted himself onto the flatboat and without being told, settled in, wedging himself between the crate of chickens and the sow, almost nose to nose. For some strange reason, an image of his father flashed in his mind’s eye, and he rather imagined His Grace was spinning like a bloody top in his grave at that precise moment.

  Chapter Eight

  THOMAS MCKINNON WAS a man with precious few ties in his life—no unnecessary entanglements of the heart or mind, no one to disappoint when the time came to go. And eventually, he would go, would have gone long before now, had it not been for so many wee things in Glenbaden. He had never intended to stay so long. Aye, he would go, and soon, it seemed, for someone had to go have a look about for Kerry.

  It was her fault he was still in Glenbaden. But the lass, she had a way about her that could seep into a man’s skin. Thomas would never forget the first day he met her, scarcely a week after Fraser brought her home. With flour on her face and those loose, dark curls bouncing off her shoulders, she had smiled at him as if he was the Good Lord Himself and had offered him a plate of some of the best food he’d ever eaten.

  But that was not what made him stay. It was the way she respected everyone in Glenbaden as if they were her closest kin, when in truth, one or two of them weren’t any more indus
trious than the cattle. It was the way she had dealt with Fraser, treating him like a king when he wasn’t any better than an ass. Thomas had never cared for Fraser, had not since they were lads—there was something ugly about him, something that gave a body a cold shudder from time to time.

  But Fraser’s worst crime was letting his wife work herself almost into the ground without a single encouraging word. Kerry McKinnon had done everything even a man could do to keep the land producing and rents paid at a time when it seemed everyone around the little glen was being forced from their homes in favor of Black-faced sheep.

  And she had done it with a sunny disposition, too, even if she had become a wee bit desperate over the last two years. Any fool could see what was happening—the land was too rocky to support a cash crop. The beeves were too sickly with the fever in their bones. Fraser had not known what to do and had let some stranger buy in with a bit of cash. It had not been enough cash to save Glenbaden, though.

  Well, no one knew the glen like Thomas, least of all Fraser, and he wasn’t too proud to admit it. He’d meant to go a long time past, but he never seemed to find the right time. He could not leave them, not with things as bad as they were and getting worse. One thing led to another, and the next thing he knew, he was almost all Kerry had. Big Angus could not tend to the glen alone, not with a group of women and infirm old men.

  So Thomas had stayed.

  Which had brought him full circle back to his original conviction that a man should move on unless he wants his heart and his mind to get all wrapped around some unwanted entanglement. And dammit if he had not found himself with an entanglement. He was sick to death with worry about Kerry—the lass had been gone two days too long now—and he was just about as scared as he had ever been in his life.

  He and Big Angus had discussed it over a plate of haggis last night, had decided if she didn’t come home today, Thomas would go after her. Unfortunately, he had no idea where he was going—having never left Glenbaden, he wasn’t entirely certain how large a place like Dundee might be, or how difficult it might be to find his way there. He couldn’t even assume she had actually reached Dundee, but he refused to let himself imagine the things that might have happened, and had snapped May’s head nearly clean from her shoulders when she had begun to hypothesize on that point. He just preferred no one say a word, not a single word, because God knew his own conscience was talking enough for all of them.