My Highland Lord (Highland Lords)

by Scott, Tarah

  "I'm not leaving you," she said through tears.

  Letty appeared on the stair landing with Regan two steps behind, a revolver in his hand. "Mon dieu," she breathed in unison with Regan's "Good God."

  Regan pushed past her and she followed. She stopped beside Mason, as Regan sidled up to the door opposite Kiernan.

  "What happened?"

  Before Kiernan could answer, the pounding of boots on the wooden walkway pulled his attention back to the street. Douglas and Androu were racing along the walkway on the opposite side of the street.

  "Stay back," Kiernan shouted. "The shooter is still out there."

  "No, he's not," a man called from between one of the buildings across the street.

  Kiernan aimed his pistol in the direction of the man's voice.

  "Don’t shoot, for Christ's sake," Regan said. "He's one of us."

  Alistair Redgrave emerged from the alley, hands raised, but Kiernan didn't miss the revolver protruding from his waistband.

  "What the hell are you doing here, Redgrave?" Kiernan demanded.

  "Alistair?" Phoebe called.

  "Stopping you from getting your head shot off," Redgrave called back. "Your shooter is back there." He motioned toward the alley behind him. "Dead."

  "Androu, Douglas, go have a look," Kiernan ordered. "And start a search for Harrington."

  The men took off at a run.

  "Redgrave," Kiernan said, "if I don’t like your explanation, I'll kill you." He glanced at Regan. "I'll deal with you as well. You didn't tell me the entire story behind why you're here."

  "Blame Her Majesty," Regan said. "I was sworn to secrecy."

  "The devil with your secrets. Redgrave," he called, "get in here and help with your friend." Kiernan shoved the pistol into his pocket. "Come along, Regan, we'll need you as well." He hurried to Mason. "Letty, a room with fresh linens and a doctor, if you please."

  She nodded and called "Margaret," as she hurried through the drawing room door.

  Redgrave appeared in the doorway and reached them an instant later. He knelt beside Mason.

  "You're sure you got the man?" Kiernan demanded.

  "A bullet through the heart."

  "Any sign of Harrington?" Kiernan asked.

  Phoebe gasped. He followed the direction of her stare and saw Harrington in the doorway with a gun. Kiernan grabbed for his pistol as the deafening roar of a shot rang out in the room. Harrington's eyes widened in shock, then he toppled backwards. Kiernan shifted his gaze to Letty, who stood in the drawing room doorway, a revolver pointed at Harrington. A small curl of smoke lifted from the barrel of her gun.

  "I saw him pass by the window," she said. "He was skulking. That is never a good sign."

  "No," Kiernan agreed, it isn't." He looked at Regan. "She beat you to the shot."

  "I put the damn revolver in my belt."

  "Never underestimate a woman. Let's get Mason to a bed. Where are we taking him, Letty?"

  She lowered the weapon. "Third floor, second door on the right."

  "Third floor?" Kiernan grunted as they lifted Mason. He didn't like the looks of the man. His eyes were closed and his chest didn't rise and fall with its usual vigor. "You plan to make us work, madam."

  "The third floor is safer than the second floor," Letty replied, unruffled. "And that bed is unused."

  "Yes, well," he cast a glance at Phoebe, who stood beside him, eyes fixed on her father, face wet with tears, "unused is exactly what we need."

  *****

  The doctor had done all he could. Her father's life now lay in God's hands. To have come so far, to be so close, only to have him taken from her was too cruel. The candle beside his bed cast the only light in the darkened room and Phoebe felt her mind sliding into sleep. She jerked herself awake. She couldn't sleep. She couldn't leave her father's side. She had to be here, ward off death until her father was strong enough to fight that dark angel himself. He hadn't stirred since he'd closed his eyes before Kiernan and Alistair carried him upstairs. As long as he kept breathing, his strength would increase and, once he was rested enough, he would wake up.

  But he didn't wake that night, and when Kiernan returned to the room as dawn once inched across the sky, Phoebe shook her head before he said what she knew he was going to say.

  "I won't leave," she insisted. "If you carry me out and tie me up, I'll wrench free even if I leave my skin behind."

  Kiernan lifted her from the chair and she struck out at him with her fists. He hugged her tight, then sat in the chair and settled her on his lap. She collapsed into his solid warmth and cried.

  Phoebe sat across the carriage from her husband and studied him. Eyes closed, he leaned to the side, shoulder wedged against the corner. The worry lines around his eyes were softened, but she feared he didn't sleep. He had slept little in the last two weeks, perhaps even less than she. They both kept watch by her father’s side while he lay in bed, his soul trapped between this world and the next. Kiernan had hovered over her as if it had been she who lay on death’s door. There had been nights she prayed God would take her instead of her father. Phoebe took a slow, deep breath.

  He had spared them both.

  She looked out the window. The sun hung just above the trees in the west. Soft orange veiled the evening sky. Was the sky as beautiful in America? Phoebe smiled gently. She would ask her father. Despite Lord Harrington’s death, they all agreed her father was no longer safe in Scotland. Only after Alistair discovered who Harrington had confided in, could she travel to America to visit her father where he was on his way to stay with the duchess' brother.

  Alistair. Gratitude welled up in her in the too-familiar desire to cry. His intervention had saved her father’s life, and probably Kiernan's as well. She still couldn't believe that Lord Stoneleigh had been informing Alistair all along of Lord Harrington’s comings and goings, and that it was Alistair who had instructed Lord Stoneleigh to follow him to Scotland. Kiernan had been furious that Regan hadn't told him that Redgrave was there, and that they suspected the real attempt on her father's life was yet to come.

  “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 shoul
ders. 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 lunged 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.