Highlanders

by Tarah Scott

The deafening roar of a shot rang out and Adam staggered backward a pace.

  “Adam?”

  Phoebe stood frozen for an instant, confused, then, lunged toward him. She grabbed his outstretched hand. He gripped her fingers, then his hold slackened and he slumped against her. His knees buckled and Phoebe caught him, his weight dragging her down with him. They landed together, her on her knees, him cradled in her arms.

  Adam grasped her hand. “Phoebe.” The word was a mere whisper.

  Something warm spread across her abdomen and she touched the sticky substance seeping from his chest.

  He grabbed her shoulder, dragging her face closer to his. “I'm sorry.”

  “No, no, quiet,” she said through tears.

  “I—" Adam coughed hard "—love—"

  He went limp.

  “Adam.” She felt for a heartbeat, her hand wet with blood, but found no pulse thrumming against his neck. “Dear God. Adam. No!”

  An unexpected sound penetrated her mind. The pounding of boots on ground? Phoebe looked up, barely able to focus on the two men who skidded to a halt beside her. She hugged Adam, ignoring the iron grip on her arm. She shook the hand off, then glanced sharply up. The drawn pistol the man held registered in her brain.

  “Why?” she cried, and lunged for his weapon.

  “Phoebe!” Kiernan jerked the pistol aside, sending the shot into the darkness. “Mather!” he shouted as Phoebe wrestled for the gun.

  “I’m all right, sir,” he called. “You missed me by at least an inch.”

  Phoebe’s grip slipped and Kiernan’s chest clenched at the realization that the slick warmth on her hands was blood. He wrenched the pistol free of her grasp, then stuffed it into his waistband and went down on his knees beside her.

  “Phoebe.” He gripped her shoulders. "Are you hurt—did he hurt you? Who is he?"

  “Miss!” a man called from the edge of the trees.

  “Phoebe.” Kiernan felt her face, her neck and down her bodice, but found no wound or blood soaked fabric. His mind raced. Had the man she still hugged been shot? "What happened?" Kiernan demanded.

  The noisy pounding of feet on the ground was followed by Elise calling, “Phoebe,” as she hurried into view.

  “Back, Duchess,” Niall shouted, and shoved past her, then stopped. “Laird?”

  Phoebe looked at his stepmother. “Elise, I—he—”

  With one hand, Kiernan crushed Phoebe as close as he could, given that she kept a tenacious hold on the man. With the other hand, he felt for a pulse on the man's neck. Nothing. Two other men appeared beside Niall.

  "Phoebe," Kiernan said, but she shook her head violently. He grabbed her to lift her, but she struck out at him.

  “No,” she cried, but he yanked her up. The man slid from her lap. “Adam.” Phoebe clutched at him as Kiernan lifted her into his arms.

  He hugged her, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. Hot and wet, her tears bathed his skin. “Bring him,” Kiernan ordered Mather.

  Mather hoisted Adam over his shoulder.

  “Duchess,” Niall said, and she led the way past the onlookers out onto the road.

  Kiernan headed for their coach.

  A woman standing near the carriage shrank back as he passed. “She shot him,” she gasped an instant later when Mather appeared carrying the dead man.

  Calders ran ahead and opened the carriage door for Kiernan.

  “Goodness,” Sue exclaimed, and scooted away from Kiernan. “What—”

  “Get out,” he ordered.

  The girl’s eyes widened and her gaze flicked to the blood that stained his shirt and Phoebe’s bodice. She scrambled from the carriage and Kiernan stepped into the compartment. Elise followed, slamming the door behind her.

  “What the bloody hell is going on?” he demanded, settling back and enfolding Phoebe closer.

  Elise shook her head. “I'm not sure. Phoebe was speaking with Mr. Branbury. Suddenly, there was a shot and,” she looked anxiously at Phoebe, whose crying had softened, “and the next thing we knew, we saw you with her. What happened?”

  “I'm as confused as you. I was following the carriage with the intention of catching up not long after you left the inn, but I found tracks that led off the road. I became concerned it was highwaymen. This Branbury—Adam—what was he doing here?”

  Phoebe gripped the lapels of Kiernan’s coat. “Why? Why?” she demanded.

  “Shh, love.” Kiernan stroked her hair. He looked at Elise. “What the hell was she doing with him?”

  “We tried to stop her. It was clear he had come to talk her out of marrying you.”

  “And you didn't stop her?” he snarled, then, “Bloody hell. Forgive me, Elise.”

  “Never mind," she said. "I met Mr. Branbury at Shyerton Hall. He didn't seem violent. Did he try to force her to go with him?”

  Phoebe abruptly sat up and tried to shove from Kiernan’s lap.

  “No.” He held her tight.

  “Release me,” she hissed, and batted at his chest with a vehemence that startled him.

  Kiernan hesitated, then complied. She flung herself to the seat across from him, beside Elise.

  “Why—" A sob broke past her lips.

  “Phoebe.” He leaned forward.

  “Don’t.” She scooted to the corner away from him.

  Kiernan exchanged a confused look with Elise.

  “You didn't shoot him?” Phoebe asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

  “Damnation, of course not. Why would I?”

  “Perhaps you thought the situation was something it wasn’t?”

  “Such as?”

  “If you thought he was a lover.”

  “If you wanted him, I wouldn't have stopped you,” Kiernan replied. "You assured me you'd known him since childhood, but weren't interested in him."

  “You didn’t know who he was. You once told me I could come as go as I please, so long as I had no secret assignation.”

  Kiernan pulled the pistol from his waistband and extended it toward her, butt first. “You heard the single shot. There was no time for a reload.”

  Phoebe’s mouth twisted. “That is not the only pistol you own.”

  He stuffed the gun back into his waistband. “Do you honestly think I shot him?”

  “Kiernan,” Elise said in a calm voice.

  He looked at her, then returned his gaze to Phoebe. “I assumed you shot him in self-defense.”

  Phoebe lifted her chin. “Adam would never hurt me.”

  Kiernan raised a brow. “This is the same Adam you said tried to kidnap you the night I kidnapped you?”

  “He didn't send those men.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Phoebe turned her head aside.

  “Miss Wallington,” he snapped. Her eyes jerked to meet his and his heart wrenched at the pain he read on her face. He reached into his coat pocket and produced a handkerchief. “Here, take this.”

  She glanced at his hand, took the handkerchief, then blew her nose. “Adam's response when I mentioned that night proved he knew nothing.” She wiped her eyes. “I have never known him to lie. In fact, I thought it was him only because I could think of no one else, but kidnapping isn't in his nature. He was—" she hiccupped a small sob and Kiernan felt his heart constrict "—he was as you saw him tonight.” Tears streamed down her face. “He came here, faced the wrath of a duchess, to beg me once again to marry him.” She lifted her chin. “I wasn't in love with him, but I did love him.”

  “Listen to me.” Kiernan scooted to the side and slid forward so that his legs were on each side of hers. “I didn't shoot him. Listen,” he emphasized, when she shook her head and looked away, “I did not shoot him.” He paused, then said softly, “If you shot him, I know it was self-defense.” Her eyes widened, but he went on. “You needn't worry about telling me the truth.”

  “You bastard.” She raised her hand and Kiernan caught her arm mid-swing.

  He held her gaze. “All ri
ght, then, who shot him?”

  She looked as if he had slapped her. “I—" She brow knit in confusion.

  Kiernan released her hand and looked at Elise. “Who are the strangers?”

  “Their carriage—”

  “Yes,” he interrupted impatiently, “I saw that. Do you know who they are?”

  “Lord and Lady Ingersol,” she replied.

  “Are you acquainted with them?”

  “No. But it couldn't have been them. They were with me when the shot was fired.”

  “What about the men in their party?” Kiernan asked.

  Startlement washed over Elise's features. “We were all outside. I didn't want to return to the carriage until Phoebe returned. I saw them step into the trees, but never dreamed—Oh, Kiernan,” tears sprang to her eyes, “I’m so sorry.”

  “Please, Elise,” he said, “keep your wits about you.”

  “Yes.” She nodded and swiped at her tears with the back of her hand. “Of course.”

  He looked again at Phoebe. “You're sure—”

  “I did not shoot him,” she snapped. "I'm not even carrying a weapon."

  That was true—or, at least, he hadn't seen a weapon. He had to search the area.

  Phoebe burst into tears again. “Where is he? Dear God, we left him out there.”

  “We didn't leave him out there. Mather brought him." Her eyes widened, and he said, "I will see to him. Elise.” He looked meaningfully at her, and she nodded.

  Elise wrapped an arm around Phoebe and pulled her close. “Come, Phoebe,” she soothed as Kiernan opened the door. “That’s it, yes. Cry all you like.” And he clicked the door closed behind him.

  Despite Phoebe's objections, he held her. She fought it, fought him. Not outwardly, for he made it clear her efforts were useless, but from within. She fought to shrink from the arm resting reassuringly on her hip, fought to ignore the rise and fall of the chest he pressed her face against. He had taken off his greatcoat and wrapped it around her. Her cheek lay against the soft linen of his shirt and her senses swirled with the smell of him. The scent of Sandalwood she had noticed that first night he appeared in her carriage. Despite the stink of Adam's blood on his shirt, Kiernan smelled as though he had just bathed. His scent comforted—but she despised the comfort—oh, how she despised it. How much comfort was Adam—she sobbed and Kiernan’s arms tightened around her.

  “Shh, love,” he whispered so softly she knew neither Elise nor Sue could have heard even in the close confines of the carriage. “We're nearly there.” He smoothed her hair and Phoebe melted into a river of dreams.

  It seemed she had slept a lifetime, yet she felt as if her eyes had only just closed. Phoebe was aware of arms lifting her. She looked up, her sight catching the angular jut of a man’s jaw. She reached to touch a lock of raven hair that curled where neck met shoulder, but stopped when the roof of the carriage gave way to a clear night sky. She blinked up into the light of a full moon and nestled into the crook of Kiernan’s neck when cool air rushed across her face.

  So quiet here. Phoebe opened her eyes. She lay on a bed in a room she didn’t recognize. Still, something in the flicker of light cast by the fire in the hearth sent a ripple of security through her. She gazed in wonder at the sea green canopy that draped the bed before again closing her eyes.

  Voices, soft, murmured nearby. Had she slept? Her head turned toward the sound as though it was a mechanical object controlled by something other than her will. Phoebe opened her eyes and saw only the blur of objects. A figure moved toward her and sat on the bed beside her. She tilted to the side toward the weight on the mattress. She focused on the figure, trying to understand the sense of familiarity she felt.

  “Uncle?” Phoebe said and reached up to touch his face.

  “Shh,” he replied. “Sleep.” A tiny strand of hair was brushed back from her face. “It won’t be long now,” he said. “Sleep while you can.”

  And she did.

  “Phoebe.”

  Her name came to her as though an echo from a distant canyon.

  “Phoebe.”

  Large hands grasped her shoulders. She tensed, then relaxed upon understanding the gentleness in the touch. She felt a little shake to her body.

  “Phoebe, wake up. It’s time.”

  Time? She tried to recall a forgotten appointment.

  “Wake up.” The voice grew more insistent.

  Phoebe opened her eyes and blinked into the face above her.

  “This isn't what I had planned,” he was saying. “Not what you had planned, I know. But so much more than your reputation is at stake now.”

  “Reputation,” she repeated groggily.

  “Yes.”

  “Ashlund.” She slowly wrapped her fingers around the wrist gripping her shoulder. Flesh and blood. Indeed, he was with her in this unfamiliar place.

  “Yes,” he said. “Can you get up?”

  “Must I?”

  He broke into a brief smile and she realized his brow had been furrowed in a fierce frown.

  “You must. Though, I promise you a good bed once we are—”

  “What time is it?” she interrupted.

  “Five-thirty.”

  Phoebe glanced at the curtained window and detected no sunlight. She frowned. “I slept an entire day away?”

  “You haven’t, sweetheart. It is five-thirty in the morning.”

  “Morning?” She sat up, forcing him back as he released her. The room spun around her. She tried to focus on him. “What are you doing in my chambers at this ungodly hour? Is this my bedchamber?” she added more to herself than him, glancing down to find she was dressed in nothing but a shift. “Rather improper, you being here.”

  Kiernan took her hand in his. “Propriety is of little consequence at this point.”

  “I beg your pardon.” Her stomach gave a lurch to match the dizziness in her head. “My agreeing to come to Scotland gives you no rights to my bed.”

  A tender smile touched his mouth. “I know. The necessity of what lays ahead is what forces me to overstep the boundaries of gentlemanly behavior. I pray you'll forgive me. We have a trip ahead of us, but it’s what awaits us there I have come to explain.” He gave her an odd look, then said, “Is the idea of marriage to me really so appalling?”

  “Marriage? Why the devil are we discussing marriage at five—” Badgering her in the dawn hours was going too far. She kicked. He grasped her shoulders and forced her back against the pillows.

  “Phoebe,” he said, his voice firm, his expression now burning with a fervor that startled her. “Do you remember what happened last night?”

  “I—dear God.” She stilled. "Is Adam really dead?"

  “Yes.”

  She stared at him, her breathing heavy. “You.”

  He shook his head. “We have been over this. I had a single pistol.”

  “But you could have—”

  “When have you known me to carry more than a single weapon?”

  That stopped her. She recalled that first night when he had waylaid her. “Never thought I’d need more than one shot,” he had said. And he hadn't even shot those men…had he?

  She focused on him. “Who?” Her voice caught. “Why?”

  “I don't know. I didn't know the man, remember?”

  She flushed. “I never dreamed he would—” Tears threatened again.

  “I know.” Kiernan squeezed her shoulder, then released her. “Up.” He pulled her into a sitting position. “As hard as it may be to believe, we have a larger problem at the moment.”

  He stood and Phoebe swung her feet over the edge of the bed. She pulled the blanket around her shoulders. “What could possibly be worse?”

  “Lord and Lady Ingersol.”

  “What of them?” she croaked, keeping her eyes on the floor in an effort to slow the dizziness.

  He regarded her for a moment, “You remember nothing of the evening?”

  She jerked her head up. “Lord Ashlund. I shall remember it
for the rest of my life.”

  “Afterwards,” he insisted. “Do you remember what happened after I arrived?”

  Phoebe thought for a moment. “You took me to the carriage. The duchess was there. You had a pistol.”

  “The one that fired when you grabbed it.”

  “Yes.”

  Kiernan sat down beside her. “Lord and Lady Ingersol believe you killed Branbury.”

  “What?” she exclaimed. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Forgive me, my dear, but it is not a far fetched notion.”

  “I would never harm him.”

  “Consider how it looks.”

  Phoebe opened her mouth to argue, but muttered instead, “By heavens.”

  He smiled. “Never fear, I will remedy the situation.”

  “I don't see—oh no.” She shook her finger at him. “No you don’t.”

  “Phoebe.”

  She jumped to her feet only to have the room spin in a violent circle about her. In the next instant, Kiernan’s arms encircled her.

  “Easy, sweetheart,” he said, holding her steady against him.

  Phoebe nearly fell into his solid warmth and she didn't resist when he held her tighter. The strong thump of his heart forced the rise and fall of his chest against her cheek. Eyes closed, she breathed deep of his familiar scent. Memory rushed forward of the carriage ride last night and—

  "The highwayman." She yanked her head back and looked up at him.

  He stroked her hair. "What?"

  "You told the duchess that you were following someone who you feared might be a highwayman intent upon waylaying us. What did you find? Oh, my lord, this man could be the killer."

  "He very well could be. Unfortunately, I didn't find him."

  "What?" she cried. "We must find him. We must try."

  "I agree, which is why I have someone searching for him."

  "You do?"

  "I do."

  She buried her face in his chest. "Lord Ashlund, thank you."

  He gave a laugh. "Lord Ashlund? Why so formal, Phoebe. In a few hours we'll be married."

  "What?" Then she recalled the reason for his visit. Phoebe shoved at his chest. "Let me go!"

  He grasped her shoulders. “Stop it. Don't you understand? Once you're my wife, they can't touch you.”