The Laird Of Blackloch (Highland Rogue)

by Amy Rose Bennett

  Alex drew a fortifying breath. Now was the moment to share a little of the truth. But how much? And would Sarah believe him? ‘Perhaps it will make more sense to you if you consider what it is that I’m trying to put a stop to.’

  ***

  Sarah frowned. Black had told her that the due date for the ransom was two weeks away. A mere week before her wedding day. The realisation jolted her to her very bones. ‘Our marriage? You don’t want Malcolm to marry me?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘But… but why?’

  Black stroked the stem of his wine glass, as though weighing his words before he spoke. ‘This may come as a shock to you, Sarah, but did you know your Lord Tay is on the brink of financial ruin?’

  ‘Wh-what?’ She picked up her wine with trembling fingers then put her glass down again on the oak table, untasted. ‘That cannot be true. I’m sure my father would never have agreed to our betrothal if that were the case. Never.’

  Black shrugged a wide shoulder and twisted the onyx and gold ring he always wore on his right ring finger. ‘I cannot speak for your father but what I’m telling you is true. Tay is desperate to wed you, Sarah. He’s desperate to get his hands on your fortune. But I won’t let him.’

  Sarah pushed her plate of half-eaten food away. Nausea roiled as things she’d noticed but had dismissed during her stay at Tay House sprang into the forefront of her mind. The shabbiness of some of the furnishings. The dark patch on the green flock wallpaper in the upstairs gallery where a painting had once hung. The stray cobwebs and dust upon the furniture in some of the rooms. The scarcity of servants… Aunt Judith had mentioned these things but she’d refused to listen. She’d fancied herself in love and that Malcolm was falling in love with her too. What a fool I’ve been.

  ‘If this is indeed the case, there’s no way he will ever to be able to pay the ransom,’ she whispered.

  Alex’s grey eyes narrowed and an emotion akin to sympathy crossed his features. ‘Probably not. He’ll try to raise the funds though. Make no mistake, he does want you for his wife, Sarah. But not for the reasons you thought, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Yes…’ The fact Malcolm had been with another woman didn’t seem all that strange anymore.

  He doesn’t love me. He’s never loved me… He never will. The knowledge stung far more than it should. Hot tears welled and she dashed them away roughly. He’s not worth my tears.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Sarah.’

  ‘You… you could have just told me all this, Black. In Edinburgh. You could have come to me at Linden Hall months ago for that matter. I would certainly have reconsidered the union if I’d known. Why kidnap me?’

  Black’s features tightened with anger. ‘Because I want Lord Tay to suffer like he never has before. I want—’ His fist clenched on the table, his knuckles bone white beneath the skin. His eyes closed, and on a ragged exhale, he relaxed his hand. ‘I’m sorry for my display of temper, Sarah,’ he said at length. ‘I don’t wish to frighten you.’

  Sarah nodded, acknowledging his apology. ‘I can see how strongly you feel about Malcolm. But you still haven’t told me why you want him to suffer so. Please, I need to know. I want to understand.’

  ‘Lord Tay and I have a long history…’ Black paused, measuring his words again. His anger had dissipated but deep lines of tension bracketed his wide mouth. ‘He hurt those I loved, Sarah,’ he said at last, his voice rough with emotion. ‘Grievously. I will never be able to forgive him or forget. And I will make him pay if it’s the last thing I do. I will not say more.’

  The bitter determination in Black’s voice, the turbulence in his grey eyes made Sarah shiver. And a little afraid. She wanted Black to tell her everything but she could see he was in no mood to make further disclosures. Instead she reached for his hand. The onyx ring was cold beneath her palm. ‘I believe you,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t know why, but I do.’

  Black nodded. ‘Thank you,’ he said. His mouth suddenly quirked into a wry smile. ‘Who would have thought you would be offering me comfort, Sarah Lambert?’

  A blush scorched Sarah’s face and she withdrew her hand. ‘Yes… well,’ she muttered. She took a sip of her wine and then another. When she chanced another glance at Black, he was smiling at her.

  ‘I know you said your wrists were improving, but are you sure you wouldn’t like me to change your bandages?’

  Sarah’s first instinct was to say no. But if she were to gain Black’s complete trust and her freedom, she needed to continue to court his favour. He’d let down his guard more than she’d anticipated so she’d be foolish not to take things further. Her heart beating faster, she extended her arm. ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  Black pulled his chair closer until his muscled thigh, clad in figure-hugging buckskin breeches, brushed against hers. She didn’t pull away—didn’t want to pull away—and brazenly leaned closer. When Black’s gaze grazed the tops of her breasts, her nipples tightened and her breath quickened. She was playing with fire but for better or for worse she wasn’t going to stop.

  After all, she owed Malcolm nothing. Not one deuced thing. And so far, turning Black around her finger seemed to be working.

  Black very carefully unwrapped one bandage, exposing the abrasions beneath. Wherever his fingers brushed, her skin burned and heat coursed through her veins.

  ‘You are right. Your wrists are much better,’ he murmured. His thumb brushed over the heel of her hand, raising gooseflesh along her arm.

  ‘Aileen’s salve has worked well. I don’t know if I need another bandage.’

  ‘Aye. I agree.’

  Sarah let her wrist linger in Black’s warm grasp. He didn’t seem in any hurry to relinquish his hold on her either. His long fingers stroked the underside of her forearm and his gaze caressed her lips. From beneath his black lashes, she could see his grey eyes were dark with desire. No, it was more than that; it was hunger.

  Oh my goodness. She knew that look. Black wanted to kiss her. And in her heart of hearts, she knew she wanted to kiss him too. But if she let him, where would it end? They were totally alone. Anything could happen.

  A potent combination of sharp want and trepidation catapulted her heart into a wild gallop. ‘Alexander,’ she whispered, not sure if she was uttering an invitation or a warning.

  At the sound of her voice, Black gently released her hand and sat back in his chair, breaking the spell. ‘I… ah… Perhaps… Applying a little more ointment wouldn’t hurt, Miss Lambert.’ He stood and went to the dresser, dug around in one of the drawers then placed the pot of Aileen’s salve on the table. Bandit abandoned his spot beside the fire and nudged Black’s leg with his nose. ‘All right, lad,’ Black said as he snagged the remains of the beef pie off the table. ‘Let’s go outside so you can have your dinner.’

  Sarah closed her eyes as the door shut and the key scraped in the lock. Her heartbeat slowed and her breathing returned to a regular pace but her mind was in turmoil. Feverish, unfulfilled desire warred with disappointment and an overwhelming sense of relief.

  What on earth am I doing?

  Tempting Black, winning his trust, was a dangerous game indeed. The question was, how far was she willing to go? What price was she willing to pay for her freedom? Did she really want to give herself to Black completely? Because if they kissed it wouldn’t end there.

  Aside from acknowledging she no longer wished to have anything to do with Malcolm, that was the only other thing she was sure of.

  ***

  Sweet Jesus, he needed some fresh air.

  With Bandit at his heels, Alex strode down the stairs of Eilean Dubh to the ruined courtyard below. Once he’d deposited the remains of the pie onto the snow-covered flagstones, he took up a position behind one of the crumbling walls. A howling, bitter wind flung snow through a yawning gap and he welcomed the shock of it. Inhaling a great lungful of frigid air, he closed his eyes and slowly but surely, the rampant lust surging through his veins began to subside.

  Things wer
e careening out of control and he had to slow down. Stealing a kiss from Sarah was one thing, but he couldn’t afford to scare her away with the strength of his ardour. But God help him, when she’d leaned towards him, her breasts rising and falling with each breath she took, her luscious pink lips slightly parted as though inviting him to drink his fill, his cock had thickened and he knew that if he did kiss her, he’d be hard pressed not to try for more and she didn’t deserve that, to be ravished like a common doxy. Not when the poor lass was already plagued by nightmares of cold-blooded men who’d tried to take her against her will.

  Yes, if he wanted Sarah to care for him, he had to woo her slowly. But slow wasn’t what he was capable of right now. She was a decent young woman and she was alone and completely at his mercy. It would be wrong of him to take complete advantage of her in this situation, just as he would never force her to do anything against her will. No matter how much he desired her.

  He wasn’t like Tay. He was better than Tay.

  He had to be.

  Chapter 9

  The Office of Mr Charles Swindon, Solicitor

  Newcastle, Northumbria, England

  19 February 1757

  ‘Something’s not right, Mr Swindon. Something has happened to Sarah. I know it.’

  Charles Swindon eyed Judith Lambert over the top of his brass-rimmed eyeglasses with a look that could only be described as sceptical. ‘Surely not, Miss Lambert,’ he said in a voice as dusty as the ledgers and leather-bound tomes on the shelves behind him. He put down his quill, pushed the papers he was working on to one side, and folded his gnarled hands together on the leather blotter. ‘From what you’ve told me, the letter Sarah wrote more or less stated that she’s only suffering from the usual nerves that plague most young women before they wed. If Lord Tay is not concerned—’

  ‘If Lord Tay is behind Sarah’s disappearance—and I suspect he is—then of course he’s not going to show any concern. I’m completely certain that letter he showed me is a forgery.’

  Beneath his grey wig, Mr Swindon’s grizzled brows plunged into a deep frown. ‘You are really that sure, Judith?’

  ‘Yes, I am. I suspect Lord Tay’s vixen of a sister, Lady Glenleven, forged Sarah’s handwriting. Not only that, I noticed her poking about Sarah’s bedchamber the day before I left. She claimed she was looking for a jewelled comb that Sarah supposedly borrowed but I didn’t believe her for a minute. She was probably trying to pilfer something of value.’ Judith, who was perched on an Adams-style wooden chair in front of the solicitor’s wide mahogany desk, sat up even straighter. ‘And furthermore, when I announced I was leaving to check if Sarah was at Linden Hall, Lord Tay suggested I leave all of Sarah’s things behind in case she returned in my absence. But because I don’t think she will, and I don’t trust Lord Tay or his sister, I took Sarah’s jewellery box in case they try to sell its contents. Unfortunately, the earl has Sarah’s pearl and sapphire parure secreted somewhere so I’m especially worried about that. I also took Sarah’s private papers. I didn’t think it wise to leave any of her personal stationery or bank notes lying about. Not when Lady Glenleven might try to forge her handwriting again.’

  Mr Swindon’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You think Lord Tay would try to pawn Sarah’s jewels and withdraw her money? Why would he do that? Her fortune will be his in only a matter of weeks.’ He shook his head and his jowls quivered. ‘This makes no sense, Miss Lambert.’

  Judith sniffed. ‘It does make sense if Lord Tay is on the verge of ruin. Which I think he is.’

  ‘Surely not.’

  ‘I know a run-down household when I see one, Mr Swindon. His Edinburgh residence was understaffed. The furnishings shabby. At first I thought he had let things go so Sarah could refurbish the townhouse to her liking once they were married. But as the weeks passed, I began to suspect he might be short of funds.’

  Mr Swindon’s brow furrowed in thought. ‘But Edwin had me investigate Lord Tay’s financial situation when he suspected the earl might propose to Sarah. He’d sold off some of his unentailed land in recent years but as the Taymoor Castle estate is huge, it hardly mattered. Nothing else untoward turned up.’

  ‘But how deep did you really dig?’

  Mr Swindon’s mouth flattened into a grim line. ‘From what you’ve told me, clearly not well enough.’

  ‘And then there were other things that didn’t sit well with me.’ Judith wrung her hands. ‘Lord Tay drinks far too much and has a temper. And his sister, Lady Glenleven, I recently saw fresh bruises on her chin—as though she’d been grabbed—after I’d overheard harsh words being spoken between the pair. I didn’t want to upset Sarah by saying anything, but now I honestly wish I had.’

  ‘I shall write straightaway to Drummonds in London to look out for any suspicious attempts to withdraw any of Sarah’s money. Would that help, do you think?’

  Judith’s nod was adamant. ‘Yes. Yes it would.’

  ‘Have you been back to Linden Hall by the way? Or have you spoken with any of Sarah’s friends?’

  ‘Yes I have. On both counts. And she is not anywhere to be found. She’s disappeared into thin air.’ Tears misted Judith’s vision. ‘I’m sorry to get so emotional, Mr Swindon, but Sarah is so dear to me. I love her like a daughter. If anything terrible has happened…’

  As Judith rummaged in her reticule for a handkerchief, Swindon steepled his fingers together beneath his ample chin. ‘Would it ease your mind if I hired an inquiry agent, Miss Lambert? To look into Sarah’s whereabouts—someone must have seen her leave the ball at Kenmuir House. And he can also look into Lord Tay’s affairs. Ordinarily I wouldn’t offer to take such action but you’ve convinced me that something very odd is going on. And I’m sure if Edwin were still alive, he’d concur.’

  Judith dabbed her eyes. ‘Thank you, Charles. And I know that Sarah—wherever she is—would thank you too.’

  ***

  Tay House, Edinburgh

  ‘What have you unearthed so far, Mr MacNab?’ Malcolm drummed his fingers upon the grey marble mantelpiece in the library of Tay House, then swore beneath his breath when he noticed his claret-hued brocade sleeve was covered in dust.

  The rusty-haired inquiry agent cleared his throat as he withdrew several sheets of parchment from a battered leather satchel, then crossed the threadbare Turkish hearthrug to hand them to Malcolm. ‘My lord, as ye suggested, I began my inquiries at Kenmuir House. An’ withoot too much trouble, I managed to procure the Saint Valentine’s Day Ball guest list from the housekeeper.’

  ‘Excellent, MacNab.’ With a mounting sense of excitement, Malcolm ran his eyes over the extensive list. Even though more than two hundred guests were in attendance that night, his gut told him Janus must have been one of them.

  A large number of the names were familiar but only one leapt out at him. Mr Alexander Price, his neighbour. A filthy rich dog of dubious origin who’d not only purchased the forfeited Rannoch estate, but over the last five years, had also snapped up huge parcels of his own unentailed land—land he’d been forced to put on the market to cover some of his mounting debts. By now, the bastard probably owned half of bloody Perthshire.

  Malcolm had never met Price in person, but from what he’d heard, he was ruthless when it came to business. Amongst other enterprises, he apparently owned a logging company and a merchant fleet that operated out of Edinburgh, Glasgow, Newcastle, Liverpool, and London. Rumour also had it he was having Blackloch Castle on the shores of Loch Rannoch rebuilt. Malcolm smirked. The common upstart probably fancied himself as the next laird.

  However, considering Price had more money than Croesus, it didn’t seem likely that he’d bother kidnapping an heiress in exchange for a ransom.

  No, Malcolm was looking for someone as desperate as himself. One thing was clear, he needed more information.

  MacNab cleared his throat again. ‘I dinna ken if you’ve noticed it yet, my lord, but the young woman you had a liaison with, Nell, she isna on the list. Of course, a guest
may have escorted her in without an invitation…’

  ‘Yes…’ Malcolm frowned. Nell. He’d never come across her at any society events before. And it wasn’t likely that he’d forget a woman with such bountiful tits. The fact that she’d been more than eager to fuck him in every way imaginable after only a chance encounter now seemed rather odd. She’d been up for anything… just like a whore…

  The more he thought about it, the more the timing of his encounter with Nell bothered him. Because whilst he’d been occupied, Sarah had disappeared. Of course, Sarah simply could have run off if she’d seen him with Nell and had then, unwittingly, met with misadventure. But he didn’t think it likely. No, Janus had clearly planned Sarah’s kidnapping meticulously. And perhaps Nell had been part of that plan. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of the possibility earlier.

  ‘MacNab, I want you to start scouring the brothels for pretty, fair-haired whores with big tits,’ he said. ‘The woman in question may have used a false name as well.’

  ‘Aye, my lord. However, I should say tha’ might take me a wee bit o’ time.’

  Malcolm thumped the mantelpiece with his fist. ‘For Christ’s sake, MacNab, I’m not asking you to sample the wares.’

  MacNab winced but held his ground. ‘I’m sorry, my lord,’ he said with an obstinate lift of his chin, ‘but I’m sure there’s many a buxom blonde whore in Edinburgh. Perhaps you could give me a wee bit more information to go on…’

  Malcolm sighed and wished to God he had a glass of whisky at hand. ‘The woman I met with was slender, of middling height, with good teeth. Her hair was her own and blonde, not dyed. Paps as red as raspberries too and her mound was bare. And I don’t think she was more than five-and-twenty.’

  ‘Aye, my lord. Tha’ should narrow the search down.’ MacNab shuffled his feet. ‘You have paid me handsomely, my lord; however, I’m afraid I will need extra funds. To loosen the tongues of the brothel owners, ye understand.’