The Laird Of Blackloch (Highland Rogue)

by Amy Rose Bennett

  Fucking hell. Malcolm gritted his teeth. The man was right. He ordered the inquiry agent to wait before he went through the interconnecting door to his private study. After unlocking the compartment secreted behind a false section of the bookcase, he withdrew one of his few remaining bags of gold coins and measured out a half-dozen guineas. Sarah’s sapphire and pearl parure had netted him a decent amount but he had nowhere near as much money as he’d hoped; her bloody bitch of an aunt had absconded with all of Sarah’s private papers and the rest of her jewellery, even though he’d ordered her not to.

  At least Damaris had delivered. The diamond and ruby bracelet Lord Arbelour had lavished upon her winked at Malcolm from a dark corner of the compartment. He’d get his man-of-business to pawn it tomorrow. But he still wouldn’t have anywhere near the ten thousand pounds he needed to secure Sarah’s release.

  And time was running out.

  ‘I want another report in four days,’ Malcolm growled on his return to the library as he handed the guineas over to MacNab. It wouldn’t be long before Janus sent him another letter of demand providing further instructions on where and when the ransom was to be paid. But if MacNab found out something useful about Nell…

  His cock began to swell at the thought of questioning the bitch before he used her again. Roughly. ‘Make it three days, MacNab.’

  Chapter 10

  Eilean Dubh

  21 February 1757

  Even though the sky was a deep brilliant blue, it was icy-cold in the walled garden of Eilean Dubh. As Sarah wandered aimlessly along the gritted path, the late afternoon sun turned the marchpane-like snow cresting the top of the western facing wall and the gnarled bare branches of an ancient oak to a blinding white.

  ‘Look out, miss!’

  Sarah ducked to the side and for the first time in days, smiled when Bandit bounded past her in pursuit of a snowball pitched by MacLagan, the young footman. Apparently, before Black had departed the area on ‘business’ three days ago, he’d decreed that she could take walks in the walled garden around the tower as long as she was accompanied by either Aileen or Isla, and one of her ‘guards’. Today, Isla accompanied her, trailing behind her by several yards; Aileen was reportedly unwell with the ague.

  And of course, there was her newfound friend, Bandit.

  The collie, his brown eyes dancing and his long black muzzle covered in snow, came racing back, heading straight for MacLagan, and Sarah was obliged to make another sidestep. Black had left Bandit behind and Sarah appreciated the dog’s simple yet cheerful company; she was especially grateful at night as she sat by the fire in the solar or her room, endeavouring to read or sew. She didn’t feel so alone, not when he pressed his comforting weight up against her legs or pushed his elegant head onto her lap, demanding an ear rub.

  For the most part, it really did seem Bandit was her only genuine companion. She wasn’t sure why, but Isla had become as taciturn as her mother since Black’s departure. And she could hardly talk to MacLagan or Dobson, not when they took turns to dutifully guard the entrance to the tower both day and night, effectively destroying any hope she harboured of escape.

  Escape. It still seemed like an impossible feat and as the days marched on, Sarah’s uneasiness grew. On her fourth circuit of the garden, she paused at the locked wrought-iron gate, and her longing gaze travelled where she couldn’t, through the short stretch of woodland where snowdrops and purple crocuses nodded, down to the dark loch beyond. She couldn’t even see the shore from here but to the east, a sharp, snow-blanketed peak jutted above the trees into the cold blue sky.

  She was trapped in the middle of a beautiful but desolate landscape. With no way out.

  Gripping the bars of the gate with glove-clad fingers, Sarah leaned her forehead against the unyielding iron and failed to quell a wave of rising frustration and perversely, humiliation. Her plan to charm Black had gone completely awry. How could she possibly succeed if he wasn’t even here? Indeed, she hadn’t seen him since the night he’d rejected her blatant offer of a kiss.

  Of course, it was nonsensical to feel slighted but she did. When Black deposited Aileen’s ointment in front of her then all but fled the tower like the hounds of hell, rather than Bandit, were at his heels, a dark, weighty blanket of disappointment had settled over her and hadn’t shifted. Especially when she learned the next morning that Black had gone.

  She’d tried to convince herself that she felt this way simply because her plan had been thwarted; though deep down inside, she knew her feminine pride had been crushed. Even more bizarre was the startling and altogether unsettling realisation that she missed him.

  Yes, she missed her captor. The smoky rasp of his voice, his storm-cloud eyes, their verbal sparring. She missed how he made her feel when he smiled at her. Even more telling was the fact she didn’t miss Malcolm. Not one little bit. God in heaven, I am not in my right mind.

  Black had been gone three days ago and she had no idea when he would return. Or if he would return.

  And it was now less than two weeks until the ransom was due…

  With a heavy sigh, Sarah pushed away from the gate and resumed her walk. Isla continued to shadow her like a dark cloud, but the girl’s sullen mood was the least of her concerns right now. As she’d told herself a thousand times, there was no point dwelling on things she couldn’t control. Which made perfect sense in the cold light of day but not so much when she lay alone in a wide, unfamiliar bed, unable to sleep, listening to the wind hurtle about the tower and rattle her bedchamber’s windowpanes.

  She hadn’t gone far before Bandit flashed past again, a blur of tan, black, and white.

  When he trotted back, he headed straight for her, tail wagging, pink tongue lolling, and a look of expectation in his bright eyes.

  ‘It looks like the furry rascal wants you to throw a snowball, Miss Lambert,’ called MacLagan.

  ‘Yes, I think you might be right.’ Sarah bent down and scooped up a ball of snow then turned on her heel and hurled it as hard as she could in the direction from whence she’d come.

  And hit Black square in the face as he pushed through the gate.

  ‘Oh, my God. I am so sorry,’ cried Sarah, her hands flying to her mouth.

  Black shook his head and brushed the snow from his face and the wing of raven black hair that flopped over his brow. ‘I probably deserved that, Miss Lambert,’ he said, a faint smile playing about his lips as he approached her. ‘At least it wasn’t a heavy, blunt object.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Sarah’s cheeks grew so hot, her face probably matched the scarlet gown she wore beneath her black wool cloak.

  Isla, her cheeks awash with bright colour too, bobbed a curtsy. ‘Welcome back, sir.’

  ‘Thank you.’ A joyously prancing Bandit claimed Black’s attention but when he’d finished ruffling the dog’s coat, his gaze returned to Sarah. ‘I trust he’s been keeping you company, Miss Lambert?’

  ‘Yes. Yes he has.’ Even though she tried to suppress any reaction to the unexpected interest in Black’s eyes, warmth bloomed inside her and flooded through her chest. ‘He’s a delightful companion. Thank you for leaving him here.’

  Black inclined his head and smiled. ‘You’re most welcome. Shall we go in? Before it gets dark?’

  He offered Sarah his arm and as she took it, she was taken aback when Isla threw her a hard glare. She wouldn’t be surprised if the girl thought she had become Black’s mistress. It was an obvious conclusion to draw, given Black had already spent two nights at Eilean Dubh alone with her. Her lavish gowns, just like the one she wore now, were cut low at the neckline and Isla knew very well what the armoire contained.

  Sarah almost laughed. Isla wouldn’t be so disapproving if she’d seen how Black had run a mile the other evening. But now he was back, would he dismiss the servants and stay the whole night again at Eilean Dubh?

  Black’s thoughts appeared to be running in the same direction, for when they arrived back at the tower’s ruined courtyard he p
aused to bid MacLagan and Isla farewell with instructions to return on the morrow.

  At that moment, a flurry of nerves assailed Sarah. Tonight she would indeed have the opportunity to try and charm Black again. Despite her wounded pride, despite all of her reservations, she must be brave and try to flirt with him. To tempt him. To make him care.

  She mustn’t listen to the voice inside her head whispering her plan was flawed. That he might reject her again, or worse, he could take the bait she offered, use her, and then discard her without a second thought. Just like Malcolm had discarded her.

  But Black does care a little bit, Sarah. You know he does, she reminded herself as he led her across the courtyard towards the stairs. Why would he leave Bandit here to keep her company if he didn’t care about her wellbeing? Why would he bother to make her hot chocolate to comfort her after a bad dream? Why else would he have just placed his hand at her back to steady her as she climbed the stairs to Eilean Dubh’s kitchen? Why else would his eyes glow with warm appreciation as she removed her cloak, revealing the red velvet gown beneath?

  Suddenly feeling breathless with nervous anticipation, Sarah moved away from Black, who was in the process of removing his own coat; the sight of his tall, muscular physique attired in black boots, tight buff riding breeches, and a form-fitting frockcoat of midnight blue, vividly reminded her that the man she sought to bewitch could just as easily bewitch her.

  ‘Isla has made cock-a-leekie soup for supper,’ she remarked to break the spell he was effortlessly casting over her. Picking up a ladle, she concentrated on stirring the fragrant contents of a large cast iron pot that hung over the fire. ‘She mentioned it was one of your favourite dishes.’

  ‘It is.’ Black poured himself a tankard of small beer from the cask standing on the oak dresser. ‘May I offer you something to drink, Miss Lambert? I believe I have some elderberry wine somewhere, or claret, if beer is not to your liking.’

  ‘Elderberry wine would be lovely, thank you.’ And maybe it will lend me some much needed courage so I can do what I need to do—play the part of a coquette.

  Sarah took her wine glass from Black with a murmured thanks and made a show of taking a seat by the window. Spreading her velvet skirts about her, she nonchalantly tossed her loose curls over one shoulder so they caught the light of the setting sun and gleamed like guinea gold. After she took a sip of her wine, she ran her tongue along her lower lip and then inhaled deeply so that her breasts rose and strained against the tight bodice of her gown.

  Black joined her in the window seat, and judging by the heat in his eyes, her preening had achieved the desired effect. His gaze locked with hers over the rim of his tankard as he drank and despite her outward display of boldness, she found herself blushing again. She couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking. Did he know what she was up to?

  Not able to hold his gaze, Sarah turned to examine the view outside. Above the distant mountains, the sky was awash with glorious shades of crimson, orange, and gold. ‘I know you cannot reveal too much about Eilean Dubh, or where we are for that matter, but I would be interested to learn more about this place. It is clearly very old, much older than my home, Linden Hall. Do you know much of the tower’s history?’

  Amusement danced in Black’s eyes. ‘A little.’

  Sarah raised an eyebrow. ‘And would you care to share anything?’

  Black rubbed his chin in apparent contemplation and Sarah’s attention was drawn to the shadow of dark stubble along his sharply cut jaw. ‘Not really.’

  ‘Then what are we to talk about, Mr Black?’

  ‘Why do you feel the need to talk?’

  ‘Well, it’s what civilised people do.’

  Black’s grey eyes grew imperceptibly darker. ‘Perhaps I’m not that civilised.’

  Sarah swallowed. At long last she’d roused the predator in Black and she wasn’t sure if she was happy about it or terrified. ‘Is that a warning?’ she asked in a voice that was noticeably husky.

  ‘Perhaps, Miss Lambert.’ Black’s gaze dipped to her mouth before he took another sip of his beer.

  Knowing full well she was treading along a dangerous path, Sarah toyed with the black satin ribbon adorning the neckline of her gown. ‘Well, what do you propose we do instead of talk, Mr Black?’

  When Black put down his tankard and leaned closer, his eyes alight with avid male hunger, Sarah’s breath caught. Oh, my goodness. What have I started?

  However, Black merely bared his even white teeth in a wolfish grin and in low voice murmured, ‘Eat,’ before heading for the dresser to gather bowls and silverware.

  Breathing a sigh of relief—she clearly needed more elderberry wine to bolster her bravado—Sarah followed Black’s lead, put her glass on the oak table, then moved to the fireside and picked up the ladle again. Bandit, who’d been lying in his customary spot by the hearth got up and wagged his tail, a hopeful look in his brown eyes, but Black shooed him to the side with a gentle nudge and a muttered curse of, ‘Begone, dog. You shall have your fill, later.’

  Sarah began to carefully ladle the soup into the bowl Black handed her. ‘He’s quite well-behaved for such a large dog,’ she said in Bandit’s defence.

  Black grunted. ‘Aye, I suppose so.’ He drew closer, his arm brushing her shoulder. ‘Can I help you with that, Miss Lambert?’

  ‘No. I think I can manage,’ she replied and tried to focus on what she was doing rather than Black’s distracting presence. She passed the brimming bowl to him. ‘I don’t mind playing servant.’

  He took it with a smile and a polite ‘thank you’, and when he retreated to the table, she filled another bowl for herself. Turning around, she took a step forward, only to find herself tripping over something. Bandit.

  The dog yelped, Sarah stumbled, and her entire bowl of hot soup slopped down the front of her velvet dress before crashing onto the floor.

  ‘Bandit!’ Black thundered, chasing the dog away from the mess of spilled soup and smashed porcelain. In the next instant he was at her side, gripping her by the elbows. ‘Lass, are you all right?’

  ‘Y-yes.’ Sarah grimaced at the sight of her ruined gown. ‘Aside from being hideously embarrassed and covered in soup that is.’

  ‘You still look delicious to me, Miss Lambert,’ he said with a gentle smile. ‘But I expect you would like to change.’

  ‘Yes.’ Her face burning with mortification, Sarah beat a hasty retreat to her bedchamber. This evening was turning out to be another monumental disaster. Somehow she had to salvage things. With shaking hands and tears in her eyes, she opened up the chest containing all the gowns Black had bought for her and pulled out one made of embroidered apricot silk. It would do.

  She retreated behind the silk Chinoiserie screen but in the fading light, she struggled with all the clasps and fiddly ribbons and ties of the red velvet gown. The satin brocade stays beneath were soiled too. Damn and blast, if only Isla or Aileen were here.

  Then Sarah froze, her heart beating hard and fast as inspiration struck.

  Black was here.

  Dare she ask him to help?

  ***

  Still cursing Bandit to Hades for trying to break Sarah’s neck, Alex picked up the broken pieces of porcelain and dumped them in an empty bucket by the hearth. Velvet darkness was rapidly cloaking the tower so he began to light the candles and restoke the fire, all the while attempting to ignore the fact Sarah was undressing in the next room.

  The saucy minx. She’d been deliberately flirting with him earlier, he was certain of it. Since he’d left Eilean Dubh, he’d spent a great deal of time re-examining the last evening he’d spent here. And the more he’d thought about it, the more he’d been convinced Sarah had attempted to play the part of a seductress, even if she wasn’t entirely comfortable in the role.

  The only conclusion he could draw was that the lass was trying to court his favour. Just as he’d determined that he must try to court hers. It would be amusing but for the fact it reminded him how
desperate Sarah had become, that she’d do anything to escape.

  And that was a sobering thought indeed.

  For the past three days and nights, he’d stayed at Blackloch Castle, which was but a mile and a half from the island, farther along the shore of Loch Rannoch. Aside from arranging delivery of the final ransom note to Tay House in Edinburgh, he’d busied himself with estate matters and had checked with the mason in the village of Kinloch on the final plans for the almost complete reconstruction of the castle’s east wing. He’d only returned this afternoon because he believed he’d be able to keep a tight rein on his lust for the lass, whatever provocation she threw at him.

  But God help him, right now, he didn’t know if he could. He wanted her, more than he’d ever wanted any other woman before. Living in such close confines was proving to be pure torture.

  ‘Mr Black?’

  Alex swore beneath his breath before calling aloud, ‘Aye? What is it, Miss Lambert?’

  ‘Would you mind bringing me a candle? It’s terribly dark in here and I’m having trouble with… Well, never mind. If you could just bring a candle, I would be most grateful.’

  Hell. Alex closed his eyes for a moment and tried to think of anything but a half-naked Sarah Lambert. He thought about the spilled soup that Bandit was in the process of cleaning up. He thought about all of the ledgers he needed to go through with his factor and all of the tenant issues he must deal with. He thought of the expression on Tay’s face when he opened the next ransom note.

  Promising himself he wouldn’t flirt with Sarah anymore, nor try to sneak a peek at her in a state of dishabille—and heaven help him, he wanted to, badly—he picked up one of the wrought-iron candelabras and headed for the bedchamber. As he entered, he exhaled a ragged sigh of relief when he discovered she was behind the silk screen.

  ‘Thank you,’ she called. ‘Now if you could just—oh, for goodness sake…’

  The silk screen rocked and Alex grimaced. Sarah was clearly struggling with her gown. He’d undressed enough women to know how damned complicated the process could be. ‘I’ll leave the candelabra right here on the bedside table,’ he said, trying to ignore another mumbled curse from Sarah and the twitch in his breeches. Before he could stop himself he added, ‘If you need anything else…’