by Cara Elliott
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Strangely enough, his hand lingered on the curls just above her ear. “You’ve a lump forming here.”
“Yes, well, that tends to happen when one gets punched by a miscreant with knuckles like granite.”
His hand stiffened. “The fellow punched you?”
“I hit him first,” replied Caro, allowing a smile of grim satisfaction. “And bloodied his lip.”
“That was a damnably foolish thing to do,” growled Alec. “Brave, but foolish.”
“Alec!” huffed Isobel in reproach.
Caro made a face. “You would rather I had meekly submitted to letting those men kidnap your sister and me?”
His mouth thinned, but his only reply was a noncommittal grunt.
A typical male reaction when defeat was inevitable in a battle of words, thought Caro.
“Speaking of kidnapping,” she began. “I cannot believe such a gang of men would try such a desperate act so close to Bath. Surely it was obvious we had no valuables worth stealing.”
“They must have thought you the daughters of well-to-do families,” replied Alec, “who would pay handsomely for your return—and for the matter to be hushed up.”
“But who—”
“There are many soldiers returning from the war who can find no work,” he said quickly. “They are desperate men.”
Caro knew that was true, and yet something did not feel right about the explanation. No matter how desperate, the men had to know they would be signing their own death warrants. The local gentry would quickly be up in arms and clamoring for blood if their daughters started being snatched off the roads.
“But surely—”
Alec speared her to silence with a sharp look and a tiny nod at his sister. “Time enough for talk later,” he growled. “Right now I would rather get you two young ladies back to town without delay. You both must be hungry and exhausted.”
Caro bit her lip. A sidelong glance at Isobel showed her last reserves of strength were fast ebbing away.
His gaze came back to her. “I imagine your mother will be beside herself with worry.”
“Actually she won’t. The plan was for me to take supper with your sister and your aunt.”
He exhaled a measured breath. “Then it seems we have an excellent chance of keeping this little incident a secret.” It was said as a half question. “That would be best for a number of reasons,” he went on. “Including the effect it might have on your reputation were it known the pair of you were out wandering alone after dark.”
“You may think my tongue ungovernable, but I think when it comes to keeping secrets, I have proved my discretion can be counted on, Lord Strathcona,” replied Caro a little tartly.
Despite her obvious fatigue, Isobel had been following the exchange with great interest. “I say, are the two of you acquainted?”
“Yes,” replied Caro.
“How—”
“As I said, let us leave long-winded explanations for another time, Bella.” Alec tucked her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders. “You’re chilled and exhausted. I wish to get you home without delay.”
“There’s no need to fuss like a mother hen, Alec. I’m not quite so fragile as I look.” But the tremor in Isobel’s voice belied her words.
“How did you come to rescue us, sir?” asked Caro, as he hurriedly fetched his horse and lifted his sister into the saddle. Bath was not a large town, and she was surprised that she had heard no mention of his being there. Gentlemen—especially unmarried, titled gentlemen under the age of sixty—did not go unnoticed. “I was under the impression that you are loath to spend any time in England.”
“I am occasionally obliged to travel to the south,” he replied, but offered no further explanation. “My plans on this trip include a stay in Bath while my sister is here taking the waters. I arrived this afternoon, and naturally went straight to the townhouse that my aunt has rented. She was becoming concerned about Isobel, and since she knew your intended plans, I decided to ride out and make sure there had been no sprained ankle or other mishap.”
“How very lowering to find that you all think me helpless as a kitten.” Isobel managed a smile, but pain pinched at the corners of her mouth.
“Do you mind walking, Miss Caro?” said Alec softly. “The truth is, my sister has been ill—in fact, that’s why she’s here in Bath. I am concerned that she doesn’t suffer a relapse from this little adventure.”
“Of course not,” she answered. “I should never have suggested the excursion had I known—”
“How could you?” he interrupted curtly. “Besides, it is not your responsibility to have a care for my sister’s welfare, it is mine.”
Caro knew that fear and worry had him on edge. Still, she felt a little hurt by his tone. “Then let us be off without further delay, sir.”
A small frown momentarily creased his brow, but he merely gave a gruff nod, gathered the reins, and started walking.
Without, noted Caro, so much as offering his arm or a backward glance.
“So much for dreaming of dashing heroes,” she muttered under her breath, then shook out her skirts and hurried to catch up.
They weren’t much more than a mile from town, and as none of them seemed to be much in the mood for chatting, the short trip was passed in silence, save for the steady clip-clop of the stallion’s hooves. Alec chose a roundabout route through the side streets of Bath, arriving in the mews of his family’s rented townhouse without encountering anyone.
“Thank God we are here,” murmured Alec as he lifted Isobel from the saddle. “It seems the chances are good that we have given no grist for the gossip mills.”
“All’s well that ends well,” quipped his sister. “And you may put me down,” she added quickly when he turned with her still in his arms. “I am perfectly capable of walking from here to the door.”
He hesitated, which earned him another gentle rebuke. “Truly, Alec. I do not wish to be treated like an invalid.”
“Very well.” He relented and set her on her feet. “Still, you must promise me you will not overexert yourself.”
“On the contrary, exercise is very beneficial in building my stamina,” she countered.
As long as future walks don’t include attacks by a pack of ruffians, thought Caro, watching her friend prove her point by walking briskly across the small courtyard.
Which once again raised the question…
Her gaze slid to Alec. During the walk she had decided the desperate soldier story did not fadge. And it was highly doubtful that Isobel had any enemies who might be moved to violence. But as for her brother, Caro was aware that he was involved in some very dangerous activities in Scotland.
Alec seemed to sense what she was thinking, for instead of following his sister, he shifted his stance and cleared his throat with a brusque cough. “I suppose that look means you aren’t going to be satisfied with the earlier explanation for this evening’s incident,” he muttered.
“Should I be?” she countered.
He let out a sigh. Or maybe it was more of a snort.
“Soldiers may be desperate. But not that desperate,” continued Caro. “So considering that I have—however unwittingly and unwillingly—been drawn into this intrigue, I do think I have a right to know what dangers I may be facing.”
“None,” he said quickly. “That is, there won’t be any as soon as I take care of a few matters.”
She noted that he avoided meeting her gaze. “I can’t say that’s entirely reassuring.” A pause. “You forget that I saw some of your radical friends stealing an arsenal of weapons from Dunbar Castle. I’m well aware of what dangerous circles you move in, Lord Strathcona.”
“As you eavesdropped on our meeting, Miss Caro, you should know that they are not my friends,” he retorted.
“Let’s not quibble over words,” she huffed. “The fact is, you are involved in a secret political society seeking independence for Scotland. And yo
ur fellow members, be they friends or otherwise, are not afraid to use violence to achieve their ends.”
He didn’t argue.
“So whether you like it or not, I feel I have a right to know what is going on.” She drew a deep breath. “Especially if you wish me to keep silent on the matter.”
“That,” he growled, “is blackmail.”
“I prefer to think of it as persuasion. I am merely pointing out a sensible course of action.”
His jaw tightened.
“Alec!” Isobel’s call interrupted their exchange. “Don’t be so rag-mannered as to keep Caro standing in the chill. She, too, is tired and hungry.”
“We are coming,” he called to her. Offering his arm to Caro—rather ungallantly, she thought—he added, “I would rather not upset my sister’s delicate sensibilities with talk of this. I must leave town at first light for a few days on a matter that cannot be put off—”
Caro opened her mouth to protest.
“However,” he went on, “as soon as I return, I shall meet with you and explain the situation more fully.”
It was Caro’s opinion that Isobel was not as delicate in spirit as Alec seemed to think. But as the friendship was so new, she did not feel it was her place to say so.
Instead she merely asked, “Is that a promise?”
“Ye gods, would you like me to write it down in blood?”
Her lips quirked up at the corners.
“Yes,” he snapped before she could reply. “You need not resort to knives or razors—it’s a promise. Though I daresay I’ll regret it.”
She bit back a retort, suddenly feeling too tired to argue. But as he paused to relock the gate to the mews, another thought occurred to her. “You may not wish to worry Isobel, but surely you will have to give her a more convincing explanation than rogue soldiers run amuck.”
“I’ll think of something,” he muttered.
“Yes, well, I’ve reason to know your imagination is more active than you wish to let on to the people around you,” murmured Caro. When they hadn’t been arguing at the house party in Scotland, she and Alec had actually engaged in some very interesting discussions on poetry and novels. Much as he wished to hide it, there was a softer, more whimsical spirit lurking behind the mask of stone-faced reserve.
“But whether prevarication will do any good,” she went on slowly, “remains to be seen.”
“By the bones of St. Andrew.” Exhaling a sigh along with the grumbled oath, Alec took up the decanter from the sideboard and poured himself a glass of Scottish whisky.
Thankfully his aunt hadn’t questioned his story of Isobel taking a nasty tumble on one of the road’s slippery hills and her new friend coming to grief in trying to rescue her from a ditch. In short order, his sister had been taken up to her bedchamber for cosseting, while Caro—well fortified with hot tea and her disheveled garments brushed free of mud—had been escorted home by the footman.
So one potential bombshell had been defused.
But the current situation was still threatening to blow up in his face.
“Damnation,” he added under his breath. The one thing he didn’t need was the distraction of a spitfire hellion setting off dangerous sparks.
Dangerous. He took a long swallow of the amber-dark spirits and felt it burn a trail down his throat.
Miss Carolina Sloane was the last person he had expected to encounter in Bath. By all accounts in the London newspapers, she had been one of the leading belles of the just-ended Season, with a bevy of suitors seeking to win her hand. Not that he deliberately read the gossip columns recounting the parties and soirees, but one couldn’t help skimming over the pages while turning to the section of political news.
By all rights, she ought to be enjoying the gilded pleasures of some fancy country house party rather than be found rusticating in the staid quietness of a provincial spa town.
But then again, Caro was unpredictable.
Inquisitive. Adventurous. Stubborn. Passionate.
Oh, yes—most of all, passionate.
And that was the trouble. Alec stared morosely into his empty glass. He couldn’t decide whether he found her frightening or fascinating.
“Do you plan to drown yourself in a sea of spirits?” Clicking the door of the library shut, Isobel moved to one of the armchairs by the hearth and nestled in a cat-like curl on the soft leather.
“Perhaps.” Alec swirled his whisky, setting off a flickering of amber flashes as the candlelight reflected off the cut crystal.
“Is there a reason you are seeking oblivion?” she pressed.
“Aside from the fact that my beloved little sister was nearly ravaged by a pack of rabid curs?”
“I don’t think they intended to hurt us,” mused Isobel. “Just take us captive.”
“Somehow that does not make me feel like dancing a jig of celebration.” Alec exhaled, trying to ease the constriction in his chest. “You should be sleeping,” he added abruptly.
“So should you. You look bloody awful.”
His mouth quirked up in a reluctant smile. “While it appears that Bath and its medicinal mineral waters agree with you. It seems you are making great progress in regaining your health.”
Isobel make a rude sound. “I would have recovered just as quickly in Scotland. You are worse than a nervous mother hen when it comes to worrying about me.”
With good reason, thought Alec as he took another long swallow of his drink.
“Yes, I caught a chill,” she went on. “But honestly, I’m not quite as delicate as you seem to think.”
“You were at death’s door,” he said tightly. All because of me. Thank God she did not know the contents of the note she had carried on to his friend in the neighboring town.
“An exaggeration.” She drew her knees up to her chest. “You must stop blaming yourself for that night. I’m not a child any longer, Alec. I am capable of making decisions for myself.”
“If I had been there—”
“Well, you weren’t. So I chose to carry the message on to Angus. Mr. Multoon seemed to think it was very important that it be delivered as soon as possible. And as I knew a shorter way over the moors than the road, it seemed the best decision.”
He grimaced. “In a raging storm?”
She had the grace to color slightly. “If the rocks hadn’t been loosened by the rain and given way, I would not have lost my footing.
“You are bloody lucky you didn’t lose your life.”
“Auch, we Scots are far too sturdy to succumb to a wee bit of fever.”
Her attempt at a jest only sunk him deeper into a brooding mood. Ignoring her frown, Alec reached for the decanter. “You really ought to be resting, to ensure that overexertion and overexcitement brought on by Miss Caro Sloane’s little adventure doesn’t bring on a relapse.”
“Miss Caro’s adventure?” Isobel’s expression tightened. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Alec wordlessly lifted the glass to his lips.
“Surely you aren’t suggesting that what happened was in any way her fault?” pressed his sister.
She was right, of course. It was absurdly unfair and illogical. But at the moment, his brain was not functioning very rationally.
“Wherever she goes, trouble seems to be only a step or two behind,” he growled.
“While I, on the other hand, walk carefully enough so as not to ever kick up a dust?” asked Isobel.
“For the most part, yes.” The heat of the liquid tingled against his tongue. “Thank God.”
Alec heard her inhale sharply. “Why, that is quite the most bloody, bloody awful insult you have ever made to me.”
He nearly choked on the mouthful of whisky.
“I would have hoped you had a better opinion of my character,” she went on. “But clearly you think me a spineless ninny.”
“That is the last thing I think,” he replied, once he had managed to swallow the fiery malt as well as his initial shock. “The truth is, you hav
e too much steel in your spine.”
“I don’t have nearly as much as Caro Sloane does.”
How had the conversation strayed down such a slippery slope? Unwilling to slide any deeper into brooding about the fiery English beauty, Alec muttered, “Count your blessings. Steel sharpened to a razored edge can cut both ways. She is…”
Isobel tilted her head, waiting for him to go on.
“She… she is hardly someone you ought to use as a patterncard of propriety,” he finished lamely, knowing he sounded like a pompous prig.
“Perhaps not,” replied his sister thoughtfully. “But her unorthodox courage and fighting skills saved us from being abducted by those men.”
“Miss Caro Sloane may rival Boadicca, England’s mythical Warrior Queen, for bravery in battle,” responded Alec. “But that is not to say that other mortal women ought to aspire to such bellicose spirit.”
“And why is that?” she challenged. “Because men find a strong woman threatening?”
Damnation. There was an old Scottish adage about being caught between a rock and a stone.
“Kindly sheath your sarcasm, Bella. If you don’t mind, I’m in no mood for verbal fencing,” he muttered. “I’ve fought enough opponents for one evening without having you, too, cut up at me.”
Isobel fixed him with a speculative stare, which lasted for an interlude of awkward silence. He would have poured himself another drink, but the decanter was now empty.
“By the by,” she finally said. “Since Caro confirmed that the two of you are not strangers, I can’t help but be curious as to how you met, given your reclusive habits and your dislike… that is…” Her words trailed off.
“My dislike for the English,” he finished for her. “Given my history, I don’t consider that an unreasonable sentiment. Do you?”
When Isobel didn’t reply, he chuffed a sigh. “If you must know, it was at Dunbar Castle last autumn, during Cousin Miriam’s hunting party.”
“Good heavens, the one where the French jewel thieves made off with her diamond necklace?”
“Yes,” he answered tersely. That was the official explanation given out for the skullduggery that had led to a wild chase through the castle’s dungeons and subterranean tunnels. The truth was far more… complicated. Intrigue and deception had swirled around the invited guests, heavy as the Scottish mists rising from the moors. Caro’s older sister and the gentleman who was now her husband had been involved in the thick of the action.