The Devilish Lord Will

by Jennifer Ashley

  Will being dangerous had allowed his father and brothers to flee when hell descended, had ensured they’d been listed among the dead. Will continued to keep the king’s men from learning they were alive, as he went about his business finding out secrets and taking vengeance here and there on those who’d murdered his fallen brothers, Duncan and Angus.

  But one day …

  Will told himself that one day, he’d cease these wanderings and settle down, read books and keep his feet warm, hire a chef to make him lemon bisques, drink malt whisky, and go to bed with a fine woman.

  That woman in his daydreams was always Josette. Children and grandchildren figured vaguely in this vision as well, and they had Josette’s sable hair and deep brown eyes.

  Will lifted his hands in surrender. “If ye don’t want me near you, then why did ye bother rescuing me? You could have interrogated me about the gold and then left me tied to that stool.”

  “Because I didn’t want to see you die.” Josette’s face remained uncomfortably flushed. “That major was going to kill you once he was finished with you. But that is not the point.” She stepped back again, as though determined to put space between them. “You were the only one I could think of who could help us. Alec could perhaps, but he is in France, and he and Malcolm have families to look after. And I have to admit, you are the best of your lot when it comes to deception and intrigue. I had no choice but to ask you.”

  “I’m flattered.” Will folded his arms once more, tamping down his frustration. “Major Haworth wouldn’t have killed me in cold blood—he was a gentleman. He’d have tortured me until I was nearly dead and then given me over to his men to shoot, or had me sent to the Tower to be tried, fair and square, before I was executed. But no matter. I had already planned my escape. I always do.”

  “You thought you had,” Josette corrected with chilling patience. “They knew it, and were going to let you go, and then shoot you as you ran. Major Haworth was no fool.”

  He believed her. Letting Will slip away and then killing him as he escaped would put the major in a good light—he could boast that his captain and men had valorously shot a savage Highlander on the loose.

  Will had had contingency plans even for that, but he’d come close to death in that camp and he knew it. He suppressed a shiver.

  “How did ye discover all that, love?” he asked in a light tone. “Admirable work, by the way.”

  “No one pays attention to a serving woman. They say things in front of her they wouldn’t speak about before their own soldiers. Helps if she’s cheeky.”

  Most men completely underestimated women, Will had learned early in life, never believing that ladies could turn around and feed all they knew to people like Will. Josette had been instrumental in trapping the cardinal all those years ago, exposing his evil secrets and winning Will the gratitude of a king.

  “I thank ye again, love.” Suddenly he was tired of it all. He yearned to hold Josette and bury himself in her, forgetting the petty cruelties of the world. “Can I show you how grateful I am?”

  Narrowly avoiding death always made his passions run high. Fever high. A mindlessness stole over him, and all he wanted was Josette in his arms. Best if he carried her to the relative softness of his pallet, but the stones at their feet would do.

  Josette stepped from him again. They’d sashay all over the roof at this rate.

  “Have you not heard a word I’ve said? I’m asking you for help, and that is all. There’s no need for us to pretend to be man and wife this time—in any way whatsoever.”

  “Not even if I’m dying for you?” By heroic effort, Will stood his ground and didn’t leap at her.

  Josette’s pretty throat moved in a swallow. “I’m sorry, Will. Not even if we’re dying for each other. I can’t. Not again.”

  That was the difference between men and lasses, Will’s dad would say. A man could take comfort in lying with a woman and be done. A woman would want the comfort to continue and be crushed when it didn’t.

  Not that the old duke hadn’t been madly in love with his own wife and nearly drowned in grief at her passing.

  Will also knew he’d never be finished with Josette. Not now, not ever.

  He made himself nod. “Ah well, lass. If that’s what it’s to be.” He sighed like a man resigned, as though putting it behind him.

  Josette knew good and well he hadn’t decided to give in, but Will was wise enough not to pursue the matter at the moment. There would be time enough later. Will would make the time. He’d not let go of his dream, even if Josette didn’t want anything to do with him at present.

  He’d seen the spark in her eyes, the memories, the knowledge of what they’d had.

  She didn’t like the leave-taking at the end, she’d said. Neither did Will—it had always been stormy.

  This time, it would not end like that. Because there would be no leave-taking.

  He was Will Mackenzie, the best man in the world for covert campaigns.

  He’d finish what he’d returned to Scotland to do, and when he was done, Josette and Glenna would remain with him. He’d make them his mission, and this one, he would not fail.

  In the morning, after a breakfast of leftover bread and a few fried eggs, Josette led Will to the chamber where they did their planning.

  Without expressly saying so, Will had decided to throw in his lot with them. Josette knew this from the way he’d charmed the ladies over the meager supper, he eating little so the others would have more.

  This morning he’d risen in good spirits, helped Glenna gather eggs from the hens a few of the ladies had brought to the castle with them, and charmed them once again over a meal. Even Lillias didn’t look as murderous.

  The planning room had a carved table left over from when this castle had been a laird’s grand home. The windows held real glass, though the panes were old and warped.

  Will moved at once to the maps strewn across the tabletop and began studying them.

  Sunlight through the thick window slid across the sharp line of his jaw and burnished his hair red. Will leaned his fists on the table, the linen shirt, too small for him, tight on his arms.

  Josette saw when his eyes moved from the coves on the western coast—potential hiding places for the gold—to the north, above Loch Ness and Inverness.

  “You can’t go back there,” Josette said in alarm. “You know you can’t.”

  Will didn’t look at her. “But I’ll have to, love. It’s what I came here for.”

  Josette moved to him and brushed her fingers over the map, touching the area that contained the lands of Will’s family and his home, Kilmorgan Castle.

  “Promise me ye won’t,” she said softly. “If you’re caught … They’ll kill you for certain. I don’t think I could bear that.”

  “I can’t promise.” Will flicked his gaze to her, and Josette hid a flinch at the determination in his golden eyes. “I can’t promise never to go. I need to.” His look burned her a moment, then Will shook his head. “But I’ll not do so now. Don’t worry—I won’t bring soldiers down on your ladies by doing something foolish.”

  Josette relaxed in relief. “Thank you.”

  His roguish look returned. “Only if you tell me how the devil ye came to be leading a bunch of Highland lasses in a lost cause. What pried ye out of your safe London boardinghouse?”

  “If you believe London safe, then you’re naive,” Josette said. “Mysie Forster was boarding at my house—she’d come to London to try to discover what had become of her sons. I couldn’t help seeing how upset she was. After a time I convinced her to confide in me. Her sons are awaiting trial, she said, but they’ve been waiting a long time. Seems the Uprising was a bit of a mess for the clerks and lawyers who keep track of everything and everyone. There the lads sit, not being tried, but not let go either. She’d been told that a large bribe might get her sons released, but of course, she doesn’t have that sort of money, does she? I remembered you talking of the gold, and I thought, if
I could find it …”

  She closed her mouth over any more words. The story of the gold had made her decide a few things, had given her a way out of a dilemma. But Will didn’t need to know everything at the moment.

  Will regarded her with his Mackenzie stare. “What are you talking about? I never spoke to you about the gold. Never saw you after it came to Scotland.”

  “Yes, it’s been some time since you showed yourself in my doorway,” Josette said dryly. “I meant you mentioned it to Alec and Celia, and Celia told me in her letters.”

  “Celia is perceptive. And a very good wife to Alec. He needs the peace she brings him.”

  Josette let herself smile. “Peace, you call it? They’re very much in love, if I’m any judge. Couldn’t keep their hands off each other. I suppose lying exhausted in bed every night is a sort of peace.”

  Will’s answering grin flashed heat through her. “It is. I remember.”

  Josette stepped back. “None of that. We’ve agreed.”

  “You’ve convinced yourself we should have no truck with each other. I didn’t precisely agree.”

  “Will.”

  “Ye blush so hotly. ’Tis flattering, love.”

  His smile would unmake her. Josette remembered it over her in the dark, and how his eyes would drift closed when he entered her …

  Will turned away, the air his plaid stirred chilling. He leaned over the map again, blunt fingers moving down the paper, tracing the line of the coast. Josette refused to think of how those fingers at one time had skimmed her body, her breasts, moved along her belly to the join of her legs.

  She jerked her eyes open, having no idea she’d shut them, and sucked in a breath.

  Will’s hand stilled, and he frowned. “Hmm.”

  “What?” She stepped to his side. “What is it? Where are you looking?”

  The maddening man only rubbed his chin, his eyes narrowing. “I wonder if—”

  Outside, a dog barked. Will’s head came up in alarm.

  Their gazes met, Josette going cold with fear as a man’s voice, raised in a shout, drifted through the ill-fitted diamond-paned windows.

  Chapter 5

  Where have ye got to, ye daft dog?” the man bellowed.

  Will and Josette ran into each other trying to reach the window. Josette scrubbed at the pane to peer out, but the glass was too grimy and pitted to let them see much. The man below, whoever he was, began to sing.

  Will headed for the door, his long legs taking him through to the stairs several strides ahead of Josette. She noted, as he plunged down the staircase and through the passages, that he’d already learned his way around the keep.

  Ladies scurried from the kitchen and elsewhere, fear on their faces. Will signaled them to stay put. Glenna, poker in hand, tried to follow, but Josette shook her head.

  “No,” she whispered. “Stay hidden. Back to the kitchen with you.”

  Glenna did not obey, too curious for that, but at least she remained in the hall and did not try to follow Josette or Will.

  The keep’s main door was bolted with a stout piece of wood. It was a makeshift bolt, as Josette and the women had found the door lying smashed in the weeds when they’d first arrived.

  Opening the door now involved lifting it from the frame, the hinges useless, but Will managed it with ease. He gave Josette a warning look and soundlessly slipped outside.

  Josette saw no one in what was left of the courtyard. The walls surrounding the keep had fallen, except for the outer gate, which stood forlornly, guarding nothing.

  Will moved to the tumbled stones of the ruined wall, silent as smoke. If Josette had ever thought she could keep Will here against his will, he now proved, before her eyes, that he could vanish whenever he liked.

  A huge gray dog trotted around a clump of wall and made unerringly for Will. It was an enormous hunting dog, its wiry hair matted with grass and mud. Its tongue hung out as it gamboled to Will, tail wagging.

  The situation might have been comical—the ghostlike Will Mackenzie easily spotted by a hound—except the dog barked in greeting, and the singing, which had warbled in the distance, ceased.

  “Beitris! Where are ye, lass?”

  The voice was thickly Scots, but speaking English. The owner of the voice ambled around the stones, a large walking stick propelling him.

  He wore breeches of homespun cloth, a flapping linen shirt that had once been fine, and an open coat. The man had light brown hair loosely bound in a queue, tattered gloves, and boots that had seen much walking.

  He called again to the dog, irritably, then spotted Will and hesitated, hand snaking to his side. Reaching for a knife or pistol?

  Will stepped from the wall and stood fully upright in the sunshine. His plaids, once brightly dyed blue and green, floated on the stiff breeze that hadn’t calmed since the ladies had arrived in this glen. Will looked like a warrior of old, ready to defend his castle from all enemies.

  The man facing him stared, mouth open. The dog, oblivious to the tension, circled Will once then caught sight of Josette and ambled her way, joy in its brown eyes.

  Will and the other man motionlessly assessed each other, while the dog bumped Josette’s thigh. She absently pet it, her heart racing as she waited to see whether the man would attack before Will could strike.

  Then the man threw open his arms. “Willie!” he yelled to the skies. “Will Mackenzie, as I live and breathe! I thought ye dead and gone, old son.”

  Will roared a wordless sound. The two men embraced, Will lifting the visitor off his feet as easily as he had Glenna. Will shook him like a bear toying with its prey, then dropped the man on his feet and thumped his shoulders with both hands.

  Josette gripped the doorframe in worry, poised to rush to his aid. The thumping and hugging didn’t mean Will trusted the intruder—he probably was checking him for weapons.

  Will pasted a wide grin on his face. “Bhreac Douglas. What are you doing so far north? Or I should say, on this side of hell?”

  Bhreac stepped back comfortably. “Roaming. The Borderlands are the devil of a place these days. Bloody British soldiers all over it. I thought you dead, my friend. Saw your name on the rolls—broke my heart. No, I said, not old Will. It’s a trick. Must be. I knew it. I bloody well knew it.”

  He seized Will’s arms and dragged him back against him.

  Once the two had danced around again, Will untangled himself. “I am dead, Bhreac. Right? You’ve never seen me. Now that you’ve gone and shouted it to all the Highlands.”

  “Not a soul around to hear. Except …”

  The man’s sharp blue gaze went straight to Josette in the doorway, with the dog now sitting at her feet. He laughed heartily.

  “I see why ye’ve holed up here, Willie. Ye’ve found yourself a beautiful lass, Geordie’s men are far away, and ye can live out your life in bliss. You always land on your feet, don’t ye, old friend?”

  “Aye, this is my Josette,” Will said. “Come out, love. Meet a reprobate.”

  Josette left the sanctuary of the drafty doorway and walked carefully across the broken stones of the courtyard. She smiled in welcome, as though dwelling in a ruined castle far from anywhere was perfectly normal. The dog, which had latched itself to her, walked beside her, tucked against her thigh.

  “Good morning, monsieur.” Josette gave him a little curtsy, putting just enough coquettishness into the greeting.

  “French, are ye?” Bhreac’s eyes took on an interested gleam. “Very wise, very wise. Scottish lasses can be deadly.”

  Josette hid amusement—the Scottish lasses inside must be avidly listening.

  “This is Bhreac Douglas, ancient enemy of the Mackenzie clan,” Will said. “It’s been so long, no one remembers why or what the original feud between our families was about. We celebrate it now. Another excuse for a dram.”

  “Aye, that it is,” Bhreac said in a loud voice. Ye don’t have one, do you, Willie? Roaming’s thirsty work.”

  “Of
course. Seventeen barrels of finest Mackenzie malt stored in the cellars.”

  Bhreac looked eager, and Will laughed out loud.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, lad. Weak ale is the best I’ve got. I’m hiding out for me life, you know.”

  Bhreac’s expression turned somber. “When I heard of you all dying, I shed a tear, I’m not ashamed to say. But you’re well and alive. What about your brothers? Your dad? Is it all a lie? Please say it is.”

  Will shrugged, a bleakness in his eyes. “I wish it were. Duncan is dead—went down at Culloden. Angus in a skirmish in the north. The rest ...” He opened his hands.

  Will was always adept at telling the truth while at the same time skirting around it.

  “I’m that sorry,” Bhreac said. “You Mackenzies are good men, no matter what others say of ye. I’m glad ye escaped—I take it Cumberland and his ilk have no knowledge?”

  “And I’d be obliged if ye kept it that way,” Will answered.

  “Damned if I’ll speak to a lot of British soldiers. Your secret is safe with me, Willie. And Madame.” He gave Josette a flourishing bow. “Now then, I wasn’t joking about thirst. Can ye spare me a bit of that weak ale? Maybe something edible? Haven’t had a meal in I can’t remember how long. I’m a stoic Scot, but even I have a limit.”

  Josette glanced at Will, waiting for his cue.

  “Come inside.” Will stretched out his arm to usher Bhreac into the keep. “Love, see what’s in the kitchen, and we’ll share it in the parlor. We live in the lap of luxury here, my friend—you’ll see.”

  Josette nodded, understanding what he was telling her. Will would let Bhreac in—it would be strange to not offer hospitality to an old friend—but the ladies would remain hidden for now.

  The wolfhound waited with Josette until Will and Bhreac had ducked inside. Bhreac turned to look for the dog and grinned when he saw it remaining with Josette.

  “She likes you,” he said. “Don’t ye, lass? She’s called Beitris.”

  Beitris wagged her tail, which was neither short nor long, the appendage banging Josette’s skirt. She seemed happy enough to stay with Josette while the men disappeared into the castle.