The innkeeper narrowed his gaze and shifted to where Jules waited. “’Bout?” He scooped up the coin.
“A patron. A person in a dark-hooded cloak who comes here often to meet with James Grayson,” Jules said, lowering his voice slightly to keep the conversation between the two of them.
The innkeeper shook his head. “Ye don’t want tae tangle wit’ that one.”
“Why?”
“She’s nothin’ but trouble.” He said, wiping an imaginary spot on the bar with a ragged, brown towel.
“Does she have a name?” A female? An unsettling feeling lodged in Jules’s gut.
The innkeeper looked up and searched the room. “Don’t know it.”
“Is she here now?” Jules persisted.
“Haven’t seen her fer a week, maybe more.” The innkeeper’s expression turned pensive.
“She wouldn’t happen to have red hair?” he asked the question that lodged in his throat.
The man shook his head. “Nay, ’tis a dark color. Maybe black or dark brown. And the woman is older, maybe in her fifties? Hard tae tell beneath that cloak.”
A sense of relief washed over Jules. He hadn’t realized how much he hoped the mystery person was not Claire. “Why is she trouble?”
The innkeeper remained silent.
Jules waited for an answer.
“’Cuz people she talks tae end up dead. And people who ask lots of questions tend tae end up that way as well.” The innkeeper ducked his head and started scrubbing at the wood in front of him again.
“Anyone else know anything about her?” Jules pressed his luck, asking one last question.
“They are all dead.” The innkeeper stopped and met Jules’s gaze. “Watch yerself. Stay alert.”
Jules tossed down a second coin. “Thanks for the warning, but I’ll be fine.”
Disappointed that his questioning hadn’t brought him any answers, Jules headed out the door and continued down the cobbled street. At least he knew the hooded figure was a female, and by the innkeeper’s account, deadly. As that thought formed, so too did the suspicion that the woman might be responsible for Grayson’s death.
Frowning into the darkness, Jules walked back toward the main part of town, wishing now he’d thought to bring his horse rather than leave the beast stabled at the inn on Melbourne Street where he’d spent the last night.
The moon was only a sliver in the sky, and the silence of the night was palpable. Through the darkened shadows, Jules kept his pace slow and deliberate as the sound of footsteps echoed behind him. One set of footsteps was joined by a second, and then a third. Jules reached for the sword at his side only to have his hand clutch air. It was then he realized he had left his sword back at the inn with his saddle and his horse.
He quickened his pace and turned a corner. A small circle of light illuminated the street. Jules followed the source to a lantern hanging from the side of the hackney coach that waited near the curb.
Before he could take a step toward it, a hand gripped his shoulder and whipped him around. Three men stood before him, their faces twisted in a mask of hate, and death lived in their eyes. “Give us yer money.”
Jules had no intention of giving them the last of what he so desperately needed, but before he could so much as respond, the men were upon him. Two gripped his arms. Jules wrenched his body left and right, forcing the men to stagger against the motion. While off balance, Jules brought his knee up and caught one man in the groin. The attacker howled and released Jules’s arm.
His breath ran harsh in his throat as he shot his fist forward, connecting with the face of one of his attackers. But while his hand was extended, the third man clipped Jules on the side of the head, sending him staggering backward. He did not fall, but the blow left him dizzy and disoriented. Yet knowing he could not hesitate or he would be overpowered, Jules brought his leg up and kicked the second attacker in the gut, sending him backward like a rag doll.
The dizziness combined with the motion sent Jules to the ground. The first attacker charged, coming at Jules with a kick. He clenched his jaw as a stab of pain shot through his side. Recovering quickly, he grasped the man’s foot, taking him to the ground.
They wrestled there with the cobbled street biting into his side, his back, until Jules freed his arm and with all his strength let his fist fly into the man’s face. A moment later, his opponent went limp.
Jules rolled, came up instantly, his coat a-tumble, his feet planted against the cobbles. He staggered across the street to the hackney, leaving his assailants behind.
“Sweet merciful heavens, what has happened?” For a heartbeat Claire couldn’t catch a breath. She hurried into the late afternoon sunshine to greet her husband as he rode his horse up the drive to Kildare Manor. His face was bruised and pale. He alighted from his horse, unfastened his saddlebag, then handed the tired animal over to Joseph, who had stayed on with them, overseeing the stable.
“I found the truth.” He set down his saddlebag and waited for her to join him in the graveled courtyard. A smile crooked one corner of his mouth.
Instinctively she reached out for him, and he took both of her hands in his. She looked up into his battered face. “Did you have to beat it out of someone?”
He shook his head. “Thugs in the street tried to rob me.”
Claire tightened her grip on his hands as she looked past the black-and-blue welt on the side of his cheek and beneath his right eye. “We need the physician.”
“No,” he said, looking at her, really looking at her as though he had never seen her before. “You are really quite lovely,” he said in a husky voice, and his eyes filled with the same sense of wonder she felt.
“Thank you.” Tears stung her eyes, but she didn’t care. “Does that mean . . . ?”
He released one hand and brought his fingers up to brush a tear from her cheek. “I . . . I don’t know anything about being a husband.”
“And despite my name, I am most likely not the wife you intended.”
“We could take this slow, just start out by being friends?” Despite the words, he pulled her close. His gaze moved down her body, his smile purely sensual.
Claire laughed. “We bypassed friends a long time ago,” she said in a dizzying rush of excitement. In that moment all the pain and fear and grief of her lifetime melted away. He believed her. Believed in them.
A nagging truth threatened to ruin the moment, but she forced it away. She wanted this moment so badly. Just once in her life she wanted to feel as though she controlled her destiny. Today she could pretend and forget all else. Today she would indulge herself in fantasy and give herself something to remember for when she was gone. She stared up into his face, memorizing everything about him, about this moment, how it felt to be accepted.
And perhaps, if she were truly fortunate . . . to be loved.
“Are you certain you do not need a physician?” she asked as they turned to go into the house.
He shook his head, then stopped and stared at the house. His body tensed as his gaze moved along the exterior walls, now free from the brambles and grass that had engulfed the manor before he’d left. “I was only gone for five days. What in heaven’s name happened to Kildare Manor?”
Silence stretched between them as Claire listened to the gentle rush of the breeze and the soft lapping of the water against the shore of the loch in the distance. He released her hand and turned to face her. “Was this your doing?” He wasn’t angry, only surprised.
“All of us pitched in. The manor . . .” she hesitated trying to find the right words. “Kildare Manor has come back to life.”
The tension in his body eased. He reached for her hand once more. “More than the house has changed, Claire, and hopefully for the better.” The smile he offered her was filled with hope. He retrieved his saddlebag from the ground, hooked it over his shoulder, then took a step forward. She remained where she stood, suddenly feeling the weight of her lies crash around her feet.
“The
re is something else you should know before we go inside,” she said, her voice raw.
“What is that?” She saw the uncertainty in his eyes. “Some deep dark secret you’ve been keeping from me?”
Her stomach plummeted.
She must have turned ghostly white, because a quick smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I was joking.”
Claire found her voice. “The others—Jane, Nicholas, and all—have invited several people to the manor. They have planned a wedding feast and celebration of you being the new earl . . . tonight.”
“Guests here?” His brows rose in surprise. “I can’t remember the last time anyone came to call for any purpose other than tragedy.” He fell silent a moment, then touched her chin, tilted her face, and forced her to meet his eyes. “’Tis all right, Claire. Something had to change. You were right, the house was dead, along with its keepers. Past keepers,” he corrected.
She saw a transformation in his eyes from the angry laird he had been when she’d first arrived to the strong and confident man before her. He looked at her as if she truly mattered to him. Her heart sped up.
“Shall we go see what miracles you all have wrought?” They started up the walkway together, and halfway there, he reached for her hand.
Hidden amongst the trees, a hooded figure watched as Claire and Jules entered the house. The dark figure balled her fists as frustration and rage rose within her. She desperately fought to control her temper.
Jules was in love with Claire, and yet she did not leave him. Now it was time for her to break Jules’s heart. Claire would pay for not following orders. There was no mistaking that look in his eyes. Did the girl not see what she had accomplished? Or, had she changed her mind?
Claire had been warned what would happen if she didn’t do precisely what the woman had laid out for her. Yet her orders were being dismissed. The woman smothered the venom rising within her. No matter. She would regain all the power and her revenge soon enough. There would be no more waiting and watching. No more bribery. No more force. Only action.
The woman stepped back into the woods, where she had tethered her horse. Swinging up into the saddle, she noted that the sky was leaden, clouds rolling, scudding with the wind. She lifted her head and smiled as a gust of moist wind touched her cheeks.
A storm was coming to Kildare Manor.
Jules smiled as he looked about his study. The swords no longer dominated the space. They still remained, but now seemed to blend into the serenity of the still-sparse chamber. His desk had been moved to the opposite side of the room so that he could look out the window onto the newly threshed field.
He’d been gone only five days, and the place looked better than he ever remembered it looking, despite his desperate lack of funds. When he had returned home, he hadn’t seen anything but Claire. All else had faded from view but the voluptuous vision that had come toward him in the drive. He’d had to clamp his teeth together to keep from calling out to her. And then he’d seen the look of concern in her eyes, and his heart had raced in his chest and swelled with pride.
She was his.
Jules no longer tensed at the thought of a wife. His bride. His home. His new life. What had he ever done to deserve all this? A week and a half ago, he had only wanted to be left alone. Now he couldn’t imagine a life without Claire. The part of himself that had been so empty before felt suddenly filled. And he realized his love for Jane had never been the all-consuming sensation Claire evoked.
With a sigh of contentment, he sat in his chair behind the big desk and awaited Fin. He’d asked one of his new servants to send the steward to him there.
Waiting for the retainer, Jules smoothed his hands across the spotless surface of the desk. They’d not only tamed the outside, they had applied fresh paint to the walls, swept out all the mice and cobwebs, and polished what furnishings still remained in the house to a shine.
“Milord.” A knock at the door brought him out of his ruminations.
A young woman opened the door and curtsied. “Master Fin fer ye, milord.”
“Thank you, Betsy,” Jules replied, unable to keep the grin from his face. He had servants. And food in the larder. And a home, thanks to Claire, his friends, and the slightly bent, aging man before him. Jules stood and gestured Fin toward the chair he had just vacated. “Sit, please.”
“Nay, lad.” Fin frowned. “’Tis yer chair.”
“Please, Fin, sit.”
With a shrug, the older man made his way behind the desk and sat. “What happened tae ye? Yer face looks like ye’ve taken a hit or two. Did the debt collectors find ye?”
“Not creditors.” Jules said as he waited for Fin to settle himself.
“Then who?” the retainer asked, his frown deepening.
Jules shrugged. “It matters not. I escaped in far better condition than they did.”
His brow heavy with concern, Fin said, “Ye wanted tae see me?”
Jules nodded.
“I need to know about my father’s last days.”
Fin folded his arms over his chest and nodded.
“What do ye want tae know?”
Facing his steward, Jules paused. He didn’t know where to start as one question after another filled his mind. “Why did my father never pay for my release?”
“He had not the funds fer one thing. And I think he was just as happy tae know ye were safe enough there. He mentioned tae me once that he’d made a mistake forcin’ ye tae come home from the Lennoxes. He knew how much ye wanted to learn tae use a sword, and tae train as a knight. He said he thought yer brother who wanted nothing tae do with battle would be safer with ye around.”
“Safe from what?” Jules asked.
Fin shrugged. “I was close tae the man, but not privy tae all his doin’s.”
“What about Father’s behavior about six weeks ago? Was he doing anything unusual?” Jules continued.
“Not six weeks, but about a month ago. That’s when he started goin’ to Edinburgh. The first time he left in a hellfire hurry after receivin’ a note.”
“Grayson sent Father a note?” Jules asked.
Fin nodded. “Yer father was furious about somethin’. He sold off the last of the furnishings, and he and yer brother had a few heated fights.”
“About what?”
“I’ve been not listenin’ tae conversations around here fer so long, I couldna tell ye. But it was after the last argument that yer brother started drinkin’. Yer father’s heart gave out a week later. Yer brother died two days after that.”
As Jules listened, he tried to pull a timeline of the events together in his mind. His own discussions with Grayson had started five weeks ago. A week later, Grayson had involved Jules’s father without his knowledge. A week after that his father was dead, and the following week Claire and he were married.
Jules released a ragged sigh. He may never know the truth about what had happened or why, but he could not let that stop him from what he had to do as the current laird. “Thank you, Fin, for your honesty, and for your service as well.” Jules reached inside his coat to withdraw a small bag of gold coins, approximately one-third of what he had received from selling his mother’s ring. He set the bag on the desk before Fin. “I am certain the estate owes you far more than this in back wages, but consider this a start toward your compensation.”
Fin’s tired gray eyes widened. “Where did ye get the funds?”
“I sold my mother’s ring.” He turned and picked up the box he had leaned against the wall. “This is for you as well.”
“I had my suspicions that yer father went back into yer mother’s grave fer it nae too long ago.” His voice sounded pained.
Jules frowned as yet another piece to the puzzle his father had left behind was revealed. “Why would he violate Mother’s grave to get the ring back?”
“He must have wanted ye tae have it somethin’ fierce tae do so,” Fin replied.
Jules stared at his steward a moment, trying to make sense of why his
father had given Claire something so important as the ring. Then after a moment, Jules forced his thoughts aside. He could mull things over later after he did right by Fin. Jules held the box out toward Fin, encouraging him to take it.
Fin stared suspiciously at the box, which was tied with a string. “What is it?”
Jules laughed. “Open it and find out.”
His lips pressed together in concentration, Fin pulled the string free, then lifted the lid to reveal a new gray suit, shirt, and shoes. Startled gray eyes searched Jules’s. “Milord? New clothes?”
“Yes, Fin. And when you change into them, promise me you will burn the others.”
“Thank ye, milord.” The steward smiled. “Thank ye, fer comin’ back here and fer facin’ what yer father and yer brother could not.”
A flicker of unease moved through Jules once more at the reminder, but he forced the thought away. He didn’t want to worry about that now. For the first time in years he felt eager and hopeful. He had every intention of enjoying the sensations while they lasted.
On that thought, he left the study and Fin in search of Nicholas. Another third of the funds he had received would go to his friend as partial payment for all he had spent on Jules’s behalf. The last third would go to that rapscallion from the village, Arthur Cabot, so that the young man would stop following Jules around.
Jules had been given a second chance at life, and he would find a way to pay for all his debts, including settling the one debt that annoyed him the most—the debt he owed to the mysterious person who had released him from gaol.
He did not want to be indebted to anyone ever again.
The last rays of the setting sun broke through the gathering clouds and came through the windows of the ballroom, bathing the room in golden light. It was as if the sunlight had battled the storm that was building outside to glory in the celebration.
The sweet melody of harpsichord, violin, and flute wove through the crowded ballroom. Jules’s gaze moved over the chamber. Never in his life had this many people been at Kildare Manor at one time, especially in this room.
Highland Bachelor 02 - This Laird of Mine Page 13