Highlanders

by Tarah Scott

  “It was obvious that the assassination attempt at the docks was badly done.” Alistair had laughed. “Harrington would have made a very bad spy.”

  Thank God for that small favor.

  She shifted her attention back to Kiernan. He had placed himself in harm’s way when he dragged her father into Madam Duvall's—he had put himself in harm's way half a dozen times since meeting her. And yet, he had said he loved her. There, without hesitation, in front of everyone at Madam Duvall's. He hadn't said it since, but she'd recalled the words a thousand times, and still had no idea what to think.

  Phoebe lowered her gaze to where his shirt lay open at the neck. He wore no cravat. His arms lay crossed over his broad chest, his coat, unbuttoned, hung at his sides, and his legs were stretched out diagonally across the carriage floor. She glanced out the window. They were at least an hour and a half from her uncle’s estate in Carlisle. Plenty of time… Would Mather and the two men the duke had insisted accompany them guess what was going on inside the carriage?

  She carefully pulled the window curtain closed, then set aside the blanket Kiernan had draped over her legs when they left the inn after lunch. Phoebe placed one foot on the left of his legs, and the other on the right, then pulled up her skirts and grasped his shoulders as she straddled him.

  Kiernan's eye shot open and he seized her shoulders, eyes momentarily unfocused in the dim lamplight. Phoebe lowered her gaze to his chest and began unbuttoning the top button on his shirt. She unbuttoned the next button and the next, until his chest lay bare. She removed the Highland belt pistol from his waistband and set the weapon on the opposite cushion, then flattened her palms on his chest and pushed aside the shirt. Then she kissed a nipple. The rise and fall of his chest grew heavier. She took the nipple into her mouth. His quick intake of breath brought an answering pulse from the place between her legs.

  Kiernan’s fingers tightened on her shoulders. She sucked harder. He drew her body closer. She moved to the other nipple and administered the same treatment. He shifted, brushing her head with his chin as he straightened. His shaft pressed enthusiastically beneath her buttocks. She slid her tongue up his chest to his neck, found his ear, and nibbled on the lobe. Kiernan pressed her down, grinding her against his arousal. The carriage hit a bump in the road, forcing her weight down on him with a sudden jolt, and he grunted. Moving her hands downward, Phoebe skimmed his chest until she found the first button on his trousers.

  Her knuckles brushed the tip of his shaft as she pushed the button through its hole and she snapped her head up, meeting his gaze. The blaze in his eyes brought on a heady dizziness. By heavens, he liked what she was doing. With trembling fingers, she pushed the next button through its hole. Another, and the top of the trousers opened, revealing the upper half of his erection.

  In quick succession, she unbuttoned the remaining three buttons. Her mouth went dry at sight of his engorged rod resting on his belly. She slowly wrapped her fingers around him. The carriage rocked slightly, and Kiernan arched his hips, sliding his shaft between her fingers. He pulled her against him. The carriage shifted and she accidentally gave him a hard squeeze. He groaned.

  “Careful, my dear,” he whispered hoarsely in her ear, “or you may bring too quick an end to this.”

  Phoebe released him and shifted on her knees until her cleft hovered over his erection. The gentle rocking of the carriage teased their joining as Phoebe lowered herself onto him. Kiernan slid his hands beneath her skirts, up her thighs to her waist. She kissed him slowly and he let her. His fingers flexed against her waist. She broke the kiss, then braced her hands on his shoulders as she slid up, then down again. Up, then down again, and again until Kiernan’s hold on her turned fierce.

  He quickened their rhythm. Bringing her down hard, he filled her to the hilt. Ripples of pleasure radiated deep within her. When he lifted and brought her down on him again, he arched his hips, meeting the stroke in midair. Phoebe trembled. He gave another hard thrust, gripping her bottom and grinding them together. He groaned, his head thrown back. Phoebe kissed him where neck met shoulder and nipped at his flesh. Kiernan hugged her close and she slid her arms around his neck.

  He moved in her, circling slowly, the base of his shaft rubbing with firm insistence against her swollen sex. Phoebe gasped at the unexpected jolt of pleasure. He abruptly turned and lowered her onto her back and loomed over her, thrusting hard.

  He kissed her, then whispered in her ear, “Together this time." He reached between them and massaged her sex.

  Need coursed through her. He massaged faster. Climax ripped through her. Her breath caught, then pleasure shot through her on another, more intense wave. Kiernan ripped his hand away from her sex and, braced on one elbow, gripped her shoulder with the other hand and plunged deep inside her. She arched her hips, meeting his powerful thrust, and he groaned with his own release.

  An unexpected shout came from Mather. Kiernan's head snapped in the direction of the door. A pounding on the top of the carriage followed and he yanked his shaft from inside her as they came to a thunderous halt. Phoebe felt herself slipping from the seat, but Kiernan caught her and shoved her back against the cushion. She sat up and he had his trousers buttoned in the next second. He grabbed the revolver from the opposite seat as a shot rang out, followed by a heavy thud up top.

  “Don’t do it!” shouted a man.

  “Stand down, lads!” Mather yelled, and all went silent.

  The carriage door flung open and Phoebe stared at a man and the Wilkinson double barrel over-and-under pistol he pointed at Kiernan.

  "Well, well," he said through a kerchief that covered the lower half of his face, "what have we got here?" He glanced at Kiernan's open shirt.

  Kiernan began buttoning his shirt. "Did you kill any of my men?"

  "Never mind them," the man said. "I'm more interested in what you've been helping yourself to in this carriage.”

  “Are you willing to murder five people for a bit of sport?” Kiernan demanded.

  "Never heard the fancy call fucking his wife a bit o’ sport.’”

  “She would be nothing more to you. What do you want?"

  The man's eyes narrowed and her heart jumped. He intended to pull the trigger. Vaguely, she registered the other two masked highwaymen on horseback behind him, their weapons trained on the men up top. Then she kicked the man's arm. His arm flew upwards and the gun fired as Kiernan lunged for him. They hit the ground hard and Phoebe seized the revolver Kiernan had dropped.

  The coach rocked, and the largest of the highwaymen shouted, "Don't move!"

  Kiernan jumped to his feet, dragging the man with him. The man's scarf had twisted loose, revealing a square, whiskered jaw. The smaller of the mounted men leveled his gun on them. Phoebe leaned through the doorway and fired at him. His horse screamed as its rider jerked and slid from the saddle. Kiernan plowed a heavy blow into his opponent's jaw. The man stumbled backwards and tripped. He hit the ground near his fallen pistol. Kiernan lunged forward as the man snatched up the gun, and swung it onto Kiernan.

  Phoebe cried out. A shot blasted and her vision blurred in the second before her mind registered Kiernan's opponent limp on the ground, blood spreading in a dark stain across his dirty shirt. She cut her gaze onto Mather, who gripped a revolver pointed at the dead man. Another shot blasted and she jumped.

  "Nobody move," the remaining brigand shouted. "Or I'll shoot the lady."

  The man pointed a dual barrel pistol at her. The long barrel ensured deadly accuracy. She would be dead before she hit the ground.

  "You've got one shot," Kiernan snarled. "Get out while you still can."

  The sudden beat of horse’s hooves sounded through the trees.

  “Drop your weapons!” a voice shouted.

  "What the—" The brigand's curse cut short when a man burst from the trees.

  Phoebe blinked, uncertain that the newcomer was really her cousin Ty Humphrey. The highwayman backed his horse and fired his revolver. Kiernan l
unged for her. Ty came to a skidding halt as Kiernan's arms closed around her. Phoebe glimpsed the Blunderbuss pistol Ty aimed at the retreating highwayman in the instant before she landed on the ground, Kiernan on top of her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  According to John Glen, the magistrate in Glasgow, there was no mistaking the bullet wounds that had killed Adam. He'd been shot with a Dragon, a pistol-sized Blunderbuss favored by pirates in the previous century; a weapon which was still loved by those who wanted to ensure they didn't miss their target while inflicting the maximum amount damage to their victims. Not a common weapon in this modern age, but Phoebe knew one man who owned a Blunderbuss.

  She slipped into her uncle's townhouse through the kitchen door. As expected, all was quiet. The housekeeper and cook napped through midday in order to fortify themselves for the evening hours when Lady Albery made her greatest demands. Phoebe's uncle was still in Carlisle, and she prayed Ty was anywhere but home. If she encountered him, she was liable to put a bullet through him.

  She hurried through the kitchen and up the main stairs, where she had less chance of encountering servants. Her aunt was adamant that only upstairs maids were allowed on the main staircases, and then only to polish the wood. On the third floor, Phoebe made her way to Ty's room. She knocked and, when no answer came, she slipped inside. She began her search with the desk on the left wall and halted when she discovered a letter from the Duke of Ashlund.

  To Charles Wallington, Viscount Albery

  Sir,

  I write in regards to the marriage of my son, Kiernan MacGregor, Marquess of Ashlund, to your niece, Phoebe Wallington. This announcement will come as a surprise, but be advised there are circumstances surrounding this engagement we must discuss privately. The formal announcement has been dispatched to the post and will appear in print, at the earliest, the day you receive this letter, at the latest, the next.

  I will be in London within the week and shall call upon you immediately.

  Signed,

  Marcus McGregor, Duke of Ashlund

  The letter the duke sent to her uncle? What was Ty doing with it?

  She refolded the note and slipped it into her pocket, then finished looking through the drawer. Next, she searched the armoire without success. The nightstand followed and her heart jumped into her throat when she opened the drawer and stared down at the Blunderbuss. This was the weapon he'd carried two nights ago when the highwaymen ambushed them. Phoebe hadn't forgotten the look on the first highwayman's face, and his intent to shoot Kiernan. Highwaymen were almost unheard of in their modern times, and murder without provocation by a highwayman didn't make sense. A great many things didn't make sense. Like why Ty killed Adam.

  Tears rushed to the surface and Phoebe was forced to sit on the bed in order to slow the turn of her stomach that threatened to bring up her breakfast. She had to maintain control, had find something, anything, that gave her a clue as to why Ty had killed Adam. It made no sense. She started to close the drawer, then decided to take the pistol. Phoebe hid the Blunderbuss in her pocket with the letter, but was forced to maintain a grip on the heavy weapon. She left the room, carefully closed the door, then hurried down the hall toward the library.

  "You're sure no one will come up here?" a muffled male voice asked.

  Phoebe's attention jumped to her aunt's closed door up ahead.

  "Yes," Lady Albery replied. "Mrs. Jenkins and Cook are napping, and I left strict orders not to be disturbed for the afternoon. The maids won't dare venture upstairs until I call for them."

  "But you called for me," the man said.

  "You know I can't go a day without you," she replied in a sultry voice.

  Phoebe stifled a gasp. Her aunt had a lover?

  "You like that?"

  "Yes," she gasped with a breathless moan. "Don’t be gentle, Clive, fuck me hard."

  Phoebe's stomach roiled.

  "Happy to oblige," he said in a gritty voice.

  Something in his voice gave her pause and she slowed. What was it?

  Lady Albery cried out.

  Phoebe stumbled, then caught herself. Dear God, she had to get away from there. She raced past her aunt's room, but couldn't drown out the sounds of the man's grunts and her aunt's moan. Phoebe reached the stairs and nearly tripped over her skirts on the first step. She yanked up her skirts and raced down the stairs. She reached the ground floor and left by the front door.

  Once on the main street, she hailed a passing cab and collapsed onto the seat. "Oh, uncle," she sobbed, and couldn't halt the flood of tears.

  When Phoebe arrived at the duke and duchess' home where she and Kiernan staying were staying, she'd composed herself enough so that the servants wouldn't be able to detect her anxiety. She needed time to think, to figure out what Ty was doing with the note from the duke, and how she was going to tell her uncle about his wife. Tears threatened again, but Phoebe forced them back as she nodded to the butler.

  "I'll be in my room, Hinks. I'm not to be disturbed."

  He gave an austere cant of his head and she took the stairs at a leisurely pace. When she reached her room, Phoebe sat on the bed and burst into tears again. She wasn't wholly surprised her aunt was unfaithful, but her uncle would be. How was she going to tell him? The door to the antechamber connecting her room to Kiernan's opened and he stood in the doorway. Phoebe drew a sharp breath.

  "What's wrong?" He strode to the bed.

  "N-nothing."

  "Give me any trouble, Phoebe, and I'll turn you over my knee."

  She blinked, then ire shot through her. "You've threatened that many a time, my lord. I don't believe you."

  Kiernan stood quietly for a moment. "It sounds as if you would like a spanking."

  "What I would like is to be left alone."

  "What's wrong?" His attention dropped to the pocket with the Blunderbuss.

  His brow furrowed, but she realized his intent too late. Kiernan seized her arm, yanked her to her feet, and pulled the pistol from the pocket. The note fluttered to the floor.

  "What's this?" He shoved the pistol close to her face.

  Something in his tone gave her pause, and she realized he'd read the magistrate's report on Adam's death. He thought the weapon was hers…that she'd killed Adam.

  Kiernan released her and snatched up the letter. She stood frozen as he read it.

  His gaze shifted to her face. "What are you doing with my father's letter? Damnation, Phoebe, I know this isn't your weapon. What have you done?"

  She considered telling him to go to the devil, but realized she couldn't sacrifice Adam's justice—and her uncle's life—for her own anger. "It belongs to my cousin Ty. As you have clearly guessed, I read John Glen's report on Adam's bullet wounds. I recalled that Ty was carrying a Blunderbuss when he happened upon us on the road."

  "And the letter?" Kiernan demanded.

  "That, too, I found in Ty's room."

  Kiernan's mouth thinned. "Ty's room? You were snooping in Arlington's room? You are not to go back there. No more playing spy."

  "Playing spy? I am a spy."

  "Not anymore."

  "I warned you, sir, that marriage would not change me. I'll come and go as I please, continue on as I always have."

  He gave her a critical look. "I see. So it is you whose life won't change, while you brought me to task for believing I wouldn't change with marriage."

  "I never asked you to change, and I made it perfectly clear I wouldn't."

  He stepped close, towering over her. "A wife who wishes to attend parties is one thing. A fiancée who is spying and doesn't tell her future husband is quite another."

  "I never planned on marrying you," she replied.

  He nodded. "So I gather."

  "If you are dissatisfied with the union, have the marriage annulled."

  Kiernan scowled. "I have no intention of letting you go."

  "Why? I have been nothing but trouble for you."

  He snorted. "No truer words have been spoke
n, but that doesn't mean I don't love you."

  Her mouth parted in surprise.

  He lifted a brow. "What have you to say to that, madam?"

  Phoebe narrowed her eyes. "I think that you are once again trying to charm me."

  A speculative glint appeared in his eyes. "I haven't charmed you in two days."

  Her cheeks flushed hot with the memory of how she had charmed him in their carriage.

  "I am going to keep a closer watch on you, wife. There will no sleeping in the lady's chamber tonight. I want you in my bed."

  She stared. "You're insane."

  "Be that as it may, I warn you, when I return home, should I find you in this bed instead of mine, I will remove you to my bed and tie you there. As you know, I'm quite capable of carrying out that threat. Though you haven't learned where that can lead." He turned and started for the anteroom.

  "By heavens," she exclaimed. "I have no intention of sitting idly by while you—"

  He whirled. "What?"

  "Where are you going?" she demanded.

  "I have a meeting." He lifted the note and shook it. "I suspect you now know who is responsible for the story in the Satirist."

  With that he whirled and left.

  Phoebe stared. She hadn't told him about Clive.

  *****

  Phoebe started awake when the clock in the library chimed. The book she'd been reading thunked as it struck the carpet and the second chime told her she'd slept for an hour. The fire had died to coal red embers and her blanket hung half off the couch where she lay. She considered putting another log on the fire, but pulled the blanket over her shoulders instead. Either Kiernan hadn't returned home, or he hadn't yet found her. The mansion was a labyrinth of rooms. He might have looked for her and given up. No, she decided. He hadn't exaggerated when he said he was a relentless hunter. He would search every nook and cranny of the mansion—then make her pay for the effort.