Now that the day had come and almost gone with no sign of Kerry, Thomas donned the coat his father had left when he had died fifteen years ago and packed a sack of May’s biscuits. Big Angus drew him a map—a bit sketchy, it seemed to Thomas, seeing as how Big Angus hadn’t left the glen in a dozen years himself. But at least Big Angus knew where to find Pitlochry, and Thomas’s plan was to reach it before nightfall, then start out from there the next morning.
He finished wrapping the biscuits and walked outside to say his fare-thee-wells, but was distracted by Big Angus’s excited shout from somewhere near the barley fields. Thomas squinted across the field in the direction Big Angus pointed, and his heart actually skipped a beat or two. Thank the saints; he’d never in his life seen anything as wonderful as the sight of Kerry McKinnon walking across that field, even if she was trampling the new growth.
And he’d never in his life been as livid as he was with the man who was walking next to her.
Whoever the hell the stranger was, Thomas hoped for his sake that he had a damn good explanation for why Mrs. McKinnon was two days late and looked like that. Lord Almighty, her hair was loose and flying around her, her mourning clothes caked with dirt all the way up to her neck, and her pretty face was smudged with what looked to be mud. The lass looked as is she’d rolled all the way from Dundee!
He found it highly ironic, therefore, that Kerry was grinning.
Grinning.
Well, there it was, then. There was not a damn thing the stranger could say now that would save his bloody hide, and Thomas would take great delight in doing the killing, too. He dropped his bundle and walked out to greet them.
“Thomas!” Kerry cried, and ran the last few yards to him, laughing as she threw her arms around his neck and squeezed him tight. The sour smell of loch water assaulted his senses; Thomas wrinkled his nose as he pulled her arms from his neck.
“Been worried unto death about ye, lassie,” he said gruffly, aware that he had yet to take his hands from her wrists.
“Oh, Thomas, you will never believe what has happened!” she exclaimed gleefully, but before she could tell him just what in the hell had happened, she caught sight of Big Angus lumbering toward them. “Big Angus!” She slipped from Thomas’s grasp as May came running behind Big Angus, shrieking her thanks to the Lord above.
In the middle of their joyful reunion, Thomas turned and raked a very cold gaze over the stranger.
To his credit, the man calmly beheld him as Thomas took in the wavy hair, the beard that looked to be a few days old, the sorry state of his clothing … and the man’s boots. The rest of him looked like hell, but those were some of the finest boots Thomas had ever seen in his life. He lifted a blistering stare to the man’s face. “All right then, just who in God’s name are ye?”
“Arthur Christian,” he responded politely, and extended his hand.
Bloody hell, a Lobsterback on top of everything else! Thomas scowled at his proffered hand. “You see the lad standing just there,” he drawled, jerking a thumb in the general direction of Big Angus. The stranger looked at Big Angus, seemed to take in his enormous size and mess of bright red hair, then returned his gaze to Thomas.
Thomas gave him a wry smile. “Give me one reason why he shouldna wring your neck like an old hen.”
Arthur Christian didn’t so much as blink. But a corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly, and he said in a voice as pure as Thomas had ever heard, “You must be Thomas McKinnon. A pleasure to meet you, sir.”
That surprised him greatly; he folded his arms defensively across his chest and cocked his head to one side to better assess the scoundrel. “Aye, I’d be Thomas McKinnon. And if Thomas McKinnon finds that you’ve so much as touched a hair on her head, just a single hair, mind ye, so help me God I’ll see ye dead, I will.”
Incredibly, the stranger chuckled at that and looked to where Kerry was talking excitedly to May, her hands flying as she animated her story. He watched her for just a moment, but a moment in which Thomas had to suppress a groan—he saw something flicker deep in the man’s eyes, from some place deep within him. From the place that caused entanglements a man did not need.
The stranger looked at him again, his smirk turning to a lopsided smile. “Frankly, sir, I find it nothing short of a divine miracle that I have somehow managed to survive this extraordinary little journey, and relatively unscathed at that. I assure you, you have nothing to fear—your Mrs. McKinnon is quite indestructible.”
With a short of disgust, Thomas frowned at Kerry’s back. He supposed he should not be too very surprised—after all, he knew better than anyone else that the lass had a way about her that could not help but seep into a man’s skin.
An hour or more after May—who was as petite and dark as Big Angus was enormous and red—ushered Kerry to a waiting bath in the pleasant white house with green shutters, Arthur calmly considered the possibility that he might have to fight his way out of the tidy parlor, judging by the expressions on the faces of Thomas and Big Angus. Both of whom were staring at him from the door.
As no one had invited him to be seated, Arthur stood with one shoulder against the wall, his arms folded negligently across his chest, his legs crossed at the ankle, eyeing the two men with some amusement. He had seen similar looks on the faces of fathers and brothers in England, but never delivered with quite such … intensity. He rather thought he’d have a fair chance with Thomas, although his tall, slender frame belied sinewy muscles that Arthur could see outlined in his clothing. His dark hair, peppered with gray, was just as deceiving—he was a man in his prime.
While he might have had a decent enough chance with Thomas, Arthur was extremely doubtful he could succeed against Big Angus. He had driven smaller carriages than that man.
He sighed, glanced around the room again, taking in the furnishings. The house was certainly smaller than what he was accustomed to, but larger than it appeared on the outside, and much larger than the cottages that dotted the valley. Perhaps a little ragged around the edges, but all in all, like the glen, the house was very pleasing to the eye.
Actually, the view along the tree-lined path leading from the loch into the glen was spectacular. Fields of heather gave way to green slopes of new barley that swept down to the banks of a small stream. The main house, nestled in a clearing overlooking the stream was a white frame and rock structure, marked by green shutters on pane-glass windows. Below the house was a scattering of smaller quarters, mostly thatch and stone, with lazy streams of smoke rising to the clear blue sky. A large stable and barn dominated the foot of one hill, where one horse and two milk cows resided.
But while the exterior of the house was attractive in a rugged sort of way, the interior of the house startled a man’s senses, and particularly that of an Englishman. It was quite obvious, even without the grand tour of the place Kerry insisted on giving him, that a woman ruled here. White chiffon curtains—from Edinburgh, May had proudly told him—lifted gracefully in the breeze, wafting across the muted floral prints that adorned every room. In the four main rooms that dominated the center of the house, there was evidence of many feminine hobbies.
Here, in the parlor, two worn but overstuffed chairs and a couch were covered with big pillows, each depicting a different rural scene in intricate needlework. Books ranging from breeding techniques, to a handful of popular novels, to history tomes and one very large atlas were carelessly scattered across various surfaces. In a small room at the end of the hall that served as an office, the account books lay open for anyone to inspect. Tiny little numbers were neatly recorded in the columns on a desk permanently stained with a large circle of ink.
It had taken Arthur a quarter of an hour to fathom that what was missing was any sign of a man. In the small cloakroom off the main entry, for example, there were no riding boots or crops, no hats. Instead, the pegs along the wall were draped with faded ribbons and tattered sun bonnets. Where sturdy boots should have stood was a pair of well-worn slippers. There was n
o tobacco box in the dining room; all port glasses were presumably tucked away in the scarred hutch. In the room with a basin, there were no strops or razors, no neckcloths or waistcoats or buckskins.
The only suggestion that men were even welcome was the presence of a small sideboard in the parlor on which sat one decanter of whiskey.
Only one.
Arthur had to admire Kerry’s spunk—while he might wonder who looked after her, he could not help but respect her bravery. Women were not supposed to milk cows, or balance books, or occupy their time with anything more taxing than an occasional ditty at the pianoforte. For her to struggle to keep this glen afloat was incomparably unique and wholeheartedly admirable. And to his own surprise, he found it quite refreshing—one woman, unfettered by the bounds of societal convention, living exactly as she pleased, and none of her family circle—including the crusty one—seemed to mind.
At the thought of her family circle, Arthur languidly shifted his gaze to Thomas again. As insufferable Scots went, Thomas McKinnon was in top form. “So,” Arthur said amicably, hoping to lighten his stoic expression with a bit of civilized conversation, “I am given to understand that you raise cattle.”
Thomas McKinnon did not even blink.
Arthur blithely continued, “Must be quite an endeavor, raising beeves. I would imagine it requires a good amount of acreage for grazing.”
“What ye be doing here, then?” Thomas asked.
So much for civilized conversation. Apparently, the inquisition wasn’t quite over. “I believe I have said. I’ve some business in Dundee on behalf of an old friend.”
“Aye, and what business would that be?”
As if he owed the man any explanation at all. “Private business.”
“Private,” Thomas repeated, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. “Your private business would have naught to do with our Mrs. McKinnon, would it now?”
Good God. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I cannot speak any plainer than I already have. As Mrs. McKinnon herself told you, she shot me in the arm then insisted on running off into the wilderness as if she were Moses, without so much as a firearm to protect her. I was compelled as a gentleman to see that she did not come to any harm, and granted, although she returned to you quite mussed, I assure you the consequence might have been far, far worse indeed had I left her to her own devices. I am certain you have noted prior to this occasion that Mrs. McKinnon is perhaps rather headstrong, have you not? I should think it perfectly obvious that I have no designs on her, have never met her ’ere a day or two ago, and certainly do not intend to take advantage of her hospitality a moment longer than is absolutely necessary, given the unfortunate chain of events.”
Thomas’s scowl deepened. “Then ye willna mind sleeping in the barn, eh?”
“Oh, Thomas, don’t be ridiculous! He’ll sleep in the room at the far end of the hall!”
Kerry appeared behind Arthur’s two guards, shoving her way in between their elbows with such force that she stumbled awkwardly but resplendently into the room. Her cheeks were rosy from the bath; her hair hung in one long braid down her back while little wisps of black curls framed her face. She had, thankfully, disposed of the black bombazine and wore a soft gray gown cinched tightly at the waist and buttoned up to a neckline that dipped well below her shoulders. Her smile was so deep that her fair cheeks dimpled.
Thomas grunted; Arthur could not help the grin that slowly spread across his lips.
“I found a few of the late McKinnon’s things you might wear,” she said, ignoring Thomas.
“I am much obliged.”
“Big Angus will draw a hot bath for you”—she glanced over her shoulder—“will you not, Big Angus?” Satisfied with his nod, she looked at Arthur again. “We take our evening meal at nine o’clock if that suits you.”
He rather imagined anything would suit him as long as she continued to smile at him like that. “I thank you for your generous hospitality. I look forward with great anticipation to an actual meal,” he quipped, and pushing off the wall, strolled across the room. He paused in front of her and smiled warmly. “A rather dramatic improvement,” he said, winking, and chuckled at Thomas’s venomous look as he followed Big Angus out.
Kerry tried very hard to explain everything to Thomas, how he had saved her life despite her having shot him. Nonetheless, he remained stubbornly suspicious of Arthur. Big Angus didn’t say much, but nodded in solemn agreement to everything Thomas said. Only May seemed unconcerned, muttering several times as she prepared the evening meal that Arthur Christian presented a fine figure of a man.
But there was nothing anyone could say or do to dampen Kerry’s spirits. Freshly bathed and dressed in clean clothes, she felt like a new woman. Actually, she was ecstatic. First, because she had survived the adventure of her life and had proven to herself that she could persevere, in spite of almost having died, for heaven’s sake. And second, well … second, because he was here.
He was here. In her house, just down the corridor, no doubt relaxing in a steaming tub of water … naked.
A delicious little flame shot up her spine so quickly that Kerry abruptly made a show of cutting the potatoes. Every time she thought of that charming smile and that wicked, wicked glimmer in his hazel eyes, her heart seemed to skip around her chest, she couldn’t stop smiling, and she had to consciously remind herself not to hum. Not only was he so very handsome, he was courageous, entirely unflappable and, she was quite convinced, invincible. After weeks of despair, he had appeared from nowhere to make her feel lighthearted, as if she had been freed from some terrible burden.
Safe.
That silly sentiment almost caused her to laugh out loud, because nothing could be further from the truth. Her situation was far worse than she could have imagined—there was hardly any money left in the household fund and she had a mere three weeks remaining to come up with a bloody miracle.
Thomas was, as she knew he would be, furious with Mr. Abernathy and the Bank of Scotland. He expressed his frustration in some rather lengthy railings against banks and governments and sheepherders—the latter simply for good measure. He was so caught up in his speech that he had thankfully forgotten Arthur for the time being. Even when Kerry thrust a pile of plates in his hands with instructions to place them around the long wooden table that dominated the kitchen, Thomas would not stop. It wasn’t until Arthur appeared in the kitchen doorway, bathed and dressed in a pair of heavy buckskin trousers and a crisp linen shirt that Thomas stopped.
They all stopped.
Kerry’s heart stopped.
If she had thought him handsome before, he was positively virile now. His wavy hair was brushed back, still wet at the ends. The clothes were a tight fit—so tight that she could see the breadth of muscle in his shoulders and legs. The rough beard was gone, scraped clean by Fraser’s old razor.
Arthur looked at them looking at him. “Is something amiss?” he asked after a moment and glanced down. “I suppose it’s not the best fit.”
“Mm-mmm,” May muttered with a shake of her head, and turned back to the food preparations.
“Oh no! You look … You look …” … majestic … “refreshed,” Kerry sputtered, and abruptly busied herself with the contents of a pot hanging above the hearth. Except that the pot was empty. “Would you like a pint of ale, then? Supper willna be long now,” she said, motioning awkwardly to the kitchen table where Thomas and Big Angus sat.
“Ale,” Arthur repeated, as if testing the word, then beamed a bright smile at her. “A pint of ale would be just the thing, thank you.” He took a seat at the table next to Thomas, gave Kerry a sly wink when she placed a pint of ale in front of him. “Something smells wonderful,” he remarked, and turned his warm smile to May.
Thomas muttered something that sounded more like a growl and placed his pint down with a thud as May fairly burst with pride. “I hope you’ve a hearty appetite, laddie. Big Angus has brought us a fine piece of trout.”
“I am ravenous, Mrs. G
rant, and quite eager to try your trout. I had the pleasure of sampling your culinary skills when Mrs. McKinnon shared a biscuit. I think it was the most delicious bread I ever had the good fortune to taste.”
May beamed with the pleasure of that compliment. Big Angus, however, exchanged a frown with Thomas, then turned that frown to Arthur, who blithely sipped his ale as if it had been served in a fancy crystal glass. “What is it ye said brings ye to these parts?” Thomas asked.
“I said it was personal business,” Arthur responded politely as Kerry slapped a plate of freshly baked bread in front of Thomas as a warning. “More than once.”
Thomas ignored Kerry. “Strange, is it not, that an Englishman would have personal business all the way up here.”
Arthur shrugged, calmly regarded Thomas. “I don’t think it terribly strange a’tall.”
“It’s not as if he has business in Glenbaden, Thomas,” Kerry interjected, piercing him with a sharp look. “Surely you havna forgotten the gentleman very kindly escorted me home.”
Thomas scowled and looked intently at his ale.
“Actually, my business is in Dundee,” Arthur informed them. “I am to meet a solicitor by the name of Regis.”
Kerry’s breath caught in her throat. “Regis?” she blurted, wincing when Thomas, Big Angus, and May simultaneously cast questioning looks in her direction.
“Oh, so you know him, do you?” Arthur asked pleasantly. “A rather industrious chap, I think.”
Kerry carefully avoided the gazes of her family and smiled thinly at Arthur. “I doona know him. I overheard the name in Dundee,” she lied.
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