At first, he’d been relieved. As a man of three and twenty, Kendra’s obvious, youthful infatuation had made him uncomfortable. She was a child, for God’s sake. The beloved younger sister of his closest friend.
He’d done his utmost to kindly discourage her for years, and yet was puzzled by her sudden absence. Odd that all at once, she appeared to have comprehended and took to heart the hints he’d liberally dispensed for so long.
Later, he grudgingly admitted to himself, he’d missed her. Her precocious questions and dove-gray eyes wide with wonderment. Her unfettered laughter and mischievous antics. She’d been a delightful, brazen, spirited lass with a swift, playful smile and a keen mind. And an insatiable curiosity and joy for life.
Of course, once she’d bloomed into the sable haired, ivory-skinned, bowed lipped, scrumptiously curved woman now struggling to keep him in the saddle before her, he’d coveted her attention once more. Coveted a great deal more, in truth.
More of her forbidden fruit.
And wasn’t it just like a man to desire what he couldn’t have? What he’d deliberately put from him all those years ago?
Wee Kendra had grown into an exquisite woman.
A woman he’d observed many a man watching with a less than brotherly intent. How many times had he tamped down the urge to throttle a chap for overstepping? For daring to turn a lewd or lustful eye upon her? For remarking to another insolent whelp what he’d like to do with her lush form?
The same damned things Broden longed to do to her, God curse him.
But she’d never shown any degree of warmth toward him these past several years. The reverse was true. Icy and aloof, she seemed to detest his presence as if he’d somehow offended her.
And how they bickered and quarreled. Constantly, and over the most trivial and mundane things. Stupid, inconsequential things. Each one vying to win the current battle they were engaged in.
Like an ill-suited husband and wife.
Only Kendra Eislyn Olive MacKay could set his teeth on edge, ignite a wildfire in his blood, and burrow beneath his skin, causing him to behave like a recalcitrant schoolboy.
“We’re nearly there, Broden.” She gave his waist the merest nudge, worry tinging her low voice when he didn’t respond. “I see Eytone Hall’s chimney stacks. Do ye?”
He opened his eyes a fraction, squinting at the mansion, as familiar to him as his own much humbler house. The difference in their stations had never mattered to him and Liam. Now Broden had come into a bloody earldom and outranked Liam. And according to Oswald, he was damn wealthy, too.
Perhaps even suitable to court a baron’s sister?
The irony didn’t escape him.
Even in his weakened state, the idea brought a reluctant grin to his mouth.
“Broden? Do ye see Eytone?” Near panic had leeched into her voice.
“Aye,” he said, through the gravel clogging his throat.
Raising his head took too much effort, so he peered through his half-open eyes. Pray God, someone from the house would spot them, or else he had no idea how they’d dismount.
“Simmons! Liam!” Kendra shouted at the top of her voice as soon as they’d clattered into the courtyard. “We need help.”
The manor’s double doors flew open.
Prince, Liam’s huge mongrel, bounded down the stairs, woofing a greeting. At once, he sensed something was amiss and began whining as he circled the horses and sniffed Broden’s feet.
The butler said something over his shoulder into the entry before hurrying down the stairs, too. In all of the years Broden had visited Eytone Hall, he’d never once witnessed Simmons moving faster than a sedate, perfectly-measured stride.
In his haste to reach them, the servant actually trotted.
Trotted, by God.
“What’s happened?” Liam descended the risers two at a time. He reached Sheik, and forehead furrowed in concern, swept his pewter gaze between Kendra and Broden. He put a hand on Broden’s knee. “Ye look bloody awful, my friend.”
Only Kendra’s presence kept Broden from telling him to sod off.
He might very well vomit on him still, however.
Liam’s wife, Emeline and his mother, Louisa, took one look at Broden. Both went pale as milk as they, too, scurried from the house.
“Good Laird and all the blessed saints,” the dowager whispered upon seeing his blood-saturated front. “My poor, dear lad.”
Emeline wrapped an arm around her mother-in-law to steady her. “Oh, Broden,” she whispered, then bit her lip, her distress as palpable as the dowager’s.
“He’s been shot, Liam.” Kendra’s voice shook slightly, and not for the first time, Broden acknowledged what stoicism and bravery she’d shown.
He’d likely have died if it weren’t for her courage and quick thinking.
Nonetheless, known for his wicked charm, Broden attempted to lighten the situation and wipe the solemn expressions from everyone’s faces.
“The good news is, thanks to yer sister, the gunman missed his mark.” Dizziness assailed him as he turned his head to glance at Kendra. “I’m surprised she warned me, considerin’ how she feels about me.”
Shock registered on her alabaster pale features, and something more glimmered in her wide, dove-gray eyes, the sooty lashes lowering to half-mast to hide the emotion.
Hurt? Disbelief? Accusation?
Her pretty, plump mouth compressed into a thin ribbon as she accepted her brother’s assistance from the saddle. “Someone needs to go for the physician at once.”
The fact that she didn’t blister his ears or offer a sharp retort bespoke much of his weakened condition. Kendra would never kick someone when they were down. But just wait until he’d recovered.
“I’ll see to it, Miss.” Simmons rushed to a hovering footman who nodded briskly before setting off toward the stables at a full run.
Dowager Penderhaven called to Simmons. “Have Mrs. Pottager prepare a chamber at once. We’ll also need hot water and bandages. And whisky.”
Aye. An entire bottle will do.
With a brisk nod, the butler disappeared inside the house.
Laying a palm atop Broden’s forearm, as if he feared he might keel over at any moment, Liam asked, “Can ye walk?”
Nae.
Not without falling face-first into the drive.
“Aye.” Broden’s male pride wouldn’t let him show weakness in front of Kendra. Well, further weakness, that was. “If ye can give me a hand…”
He swung his leg over the saddle and pretty much crumpled into an undignified heap as he slid from Sheik. Liam caught him, and Broden couldn’t prevent the groan from filtering past his meshed lips. “Can ye let my mother ken? Also, I dinna want her to stay home alone until we ken who did this.”
He already had a pretty damn good idea.
“Aye.” Liam slanted his chin at a stable hand. “Ready a coach and make for the McGregor’s straightaway. Fetch Mrs. McGregor.” He glanced at Broden, swaying on his feet. “Dinna tell her Broden’s been shot. Just say there’s been an accident, and she needs to be prepared to stay at Eytone Hall for a few days.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Take four men with ye to remain and act as guards, too.” Liam looped his arm behind his back, and a footman did the same on the other side. “Why would anyone want to shoot ye, Broden?”
Attempting to ignore the increasing buzzing in his ears and the thousands of black and gray dots cavorting before his eyes, Broden summoned a cocky grin. “Why, because I’m the newly titled fifth Earl of Montforth.”
Liam jerked his head around to gape. “Are ye serious? Ye’re an earl?”
“An earl?” repeated Kendra, astonishment mixing with the anxiousness in her soft, smoky eyes, that cloud of dark hair billowing around her in the persistent wind.
“Aye, an English earl,” he muttered through thick lips, as he, at last, gave in to the weight of his eyelids and slid into nothingness.
Chapter Four
/> After a deliciously long and relaxing soak in a lemon and camellia oil-scented bath, Kendra now sat before the robust fire in her chamber, brushing her hair dry. She’d dismissed her maid, Olna, needing time alone to unwind and ponder the day’s incredulous events.
She’d faced two of her worst fears—blood and a wound—and emerged, if not unscathed, then at least triumphant. She hadn’t crumpled into a swoon or vomited. No, she’d marshaled her gumption and did what needed doing.
As she stroked her hair, one long glide after another through her damp tresses, she closed her eyes. When the image of the man pointing his gun at Broden invaded her meditations, she popped her eyelids open at once.
That awful picture wouldn’t soon leave her memory. If ever.
Her mouth went dry as parchment, just as it had in the woodlands, and a shiver of fear rippled up her spine like waves rushing ashore, raising goose flesh high and taut.
So many unanswered questions ran through her mind, one after the other in rapid succession.
What if Broden hadn’t stopped to speak to her?
Would he still have been shot?
How had whoever shot him known he’d be on the road at that time?
What if she hadn’t been near to help him?
Would he have died?
That last unpleasant thought sat in her stomach, a hard, aching, miserable knot.
Oh, the man infuriated her to no end. But in all of her memory, there’d never been a time he wasn’t around. A brief horse or carriage ride away. His wickedly low and frequent chuckles, echoing in his wide chest. His rumbling brogue reverberating inside Eytone Hall. His treacle-brown eyes flashing with one devilment or another.
She brought a hand to her throat, feeling the fluttering of her pulse beneath her fingertips.
Broden dead? Gone? Forever?
Her heart cramped, taking on an irregular rhythm. Nae. ’Twas inconceivable.
Why, try as she might, she couldn’t envision a world without him in it. If he were absent, nothing could fill the space that had been him. Nothing, and no one. That sphere would remain empty, void, tragically hollow until the end of time.
Her mood distinctly more somber and pensive, she resumed brushing her hair.
Dr. Haines had come and expertly extracted the ball from Broden’s shoulder, which he said, hadn’t penetrated deeply nor damaged bone nor muscle.
Conveniently, Broden had remained insensate during the removal. Although he’d lost a great deal of blood, the physician expected him to recover. If he stayed abed and heeded orders to rest.
“He’s hale and hearty, and as stubborn a Scot as there is,” the doctor said in his thick burr while cleansing his medical instruments in the washbasin. “We must watch for infection and fever, of course.”
He’d turned a gimlet eye on Broden, pale and vast against the pillows, a bandage wrapped around his chest and shoulder. “I expect he’ll no’ be a passive patient. I might have to resort to dosin’ him with laudanum if he refuses to cooperate and stay in bed.”
Indeed. Dr. Haines hit the mark straight on with that assessment. Broden wouldn’t take well to lying abed for any length of time.
Kendra wasn’t above tying him to the four posts if he refused to cooperate.
Promising to return every day to check on Broden’s progress, the doctor had left instructions with Mrs. McGregor, Emeline, and Mother regarding his care. It rather piqued her that they’d excluded her.
Hadn’t she shown she could handle a bit of blood?
Maeve McGregor had arrived a couple of hours ago. At this very moment, she sat beside her only living son’s bed, holding his hand and waiting for him to awaken. And praying. Praying as only a mother could for her son.
Mother had deemed it prudent to assign Mrs. McGregor a chamber near Broden’s, and the kindly woman had taken her dinner in his bedchamber, as well. She was grateful to be allowed to nurse her son, but her discomfort at being obligated to the MacKays was tangible.
When she’d learned Broden had been shot, she’d buried her wizened face in her hands and wept. She’d already buried two sons. The poor woman had no one else.
After a thorough interrogation by Liam in the rose salon, requiring Kendra to impart every single detail she could possibly recall about the shooter: his horse, how he sat upon his mount, what he’d been wearing, the kind of gun he wielded, how he held the pistol, even the handkerchief covering his face, and the color of his eyes, she been permitted to seek her chamber.
Not, however, before receiving hearty hugs from her brother, mother, and sister-in-law.
“My bonnie, brave girl,” Mother murmured throatily. She shook her dark head, her gray eyes, so like Kendra’s and Liam’s, brimming with unshed tears. “I canna hardly fathom what ye’ve gone through this day. Och, and how brave ye’ve been, my girl.”
Liam nodded, rubbing his nape with one hand. “In all likelihood, Kendra, ye did indeed save Broden’s life. I confess, I’m puzzled why someone would shoot him. Everyone loves and admires the man.”
Kendra barely refrained from rolling her eyes. In point of fact, however, she’d had similar thoughts, and what Liam said was true. Broden was utterly charming to everyone. Everyone, that was, except her.
Emiline, a twinkle in her pretty eyes, gave Kendra an almost teasing smile. “And here I believed ye couldna abide the mon.”
“What should I have done?” Eyebrows arched, Kendra shrugged. “Let him die?”
“Of course no’,” Emeline swiftly reassured, casting Liam an inquisitive glance.
Must they make more of this than it was?
“Besides,” Kendra said, “’tis no’ that I dislike Broden. ’Tis that he’s able to irritate me as nae one else can, and I dinna like bein’ vexed continually. And I do believe the mon goes out of his way to do so, merely to goad a reaction from me.”
“Aye, darlin’, and ye so easily respond to his teasin’,” Mother said, not unkindly.
Kendra did, in fact, but she didn’t appreciate having the truth pointed out to her.
Mother’s expression turned speculative, and she opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. Nonetheless, she regarded Kendra with slightly narrowed eyes, as if she’d stumbled upon a secret she wasn’t quite ready to share with the others.
For certain, Kendra would like to know whatever it was. Maybe then, she’d understand the man lying unconscious upstairs. Understand why she couldn’t expunge him from her mind despite her determination to do so. Even when she knew full well what he thought of her. Even when she was at odds with him most of the time.
Tossing her head to fling her hair behind her, she squared her shoulders. “For all we ken, the shooter was a cuckolded husband bent on revenge.”
The thought made her positively ill, and her empty stomach sank with the weight of fresh nausea.
“Nae.” Liam choked on a laugh, shaking his head. “I highly doubt that. Ye dinna ken him as I do.”
What? He didn’t dally with married women? He saved his cavorting for…? Who? Strumpets? Widows? Actresses?
Kendra couldn’t quite identify why the light teasing miffed her. She made no bones about her feelings toward Broden. If her family meant to imply something else went on between her and the great lout lying abed upstairs, then they were sorely—sorely—mistaken.
She’d done what any decent human being would do when another person was hurt.
After an eternity, but which had only in fact been a few more minutes, she finally excused herself. Before she made a sharp retort or unkind remark to her family. Her patience had long since evaporated, and she’d gone past the point of polite ripostes.
Truth to tell, she’d been utterly petrified she wouldn’t reach Eytone Hall in time.
Or that the murderer would pursue them.
She had never been so terrified in her life. Still, she hadn’t swooned at the sight of so much blood, and she’d been able to deliver Broden safely to the house. Those were no small accomplishments.
&nbs
p; Evidently, as concerned as she was that the shooter might yet be skulking about, Liam had posted extra watches around the manor and the perimeter of the grounds. The women, including Mrs. McGregor, had been warned not to leave the house without an escort until the gunman had been caught.
Kendra paused brushing her hair, then shook her head.
Broden, an earl.
Could it possibly be true?
He’d lost consciousness before anyone had a chance to question him about his astounding declaration. She’d quite forgotten to ask Mrs. McGregor if it was true, and wouldn’t it be rude to pry at such a time as this?
A glance at the tabletop clock revealed the hour was a quarter of eleven.
Too agitated and restless to sleep, she quickly plaited her hair, tying the ends with a purple ribbon, and then donned her night robe. She paused at her long bedchamber windows, pushing the heavy emerald velvet aside to stare out over the pastures beyond.
When she’d seen that man sitting there, his gun pointed at Broden, something deep within her, something feral and wild and savage, had burst loose of its confines.
Its foreignness, strength, and ferociousness had frightened and exhilarated her. She could’ve done that man harm in that instant. Could’ve killed him for daring to threaten Broden. And she hadn’t known she was capable of such dark, violent emotion.
What’s more, she couldn’t regret it.
After slipping her feet into her slippers, she made for the kitchen for a cup of warm milk laced with brandy, rum, nutmeg, cinnamon, and sugar. Mother called the tasty concoction hot milk punch, and the remedy was a staple in the MacKay household for those suffering from insomnia or a myriad of other elements.
Once in the kitchen, she puttered about, gathering the ingredients to make the hot beverage. Perhaps Mrs. McGregor would enjoy a cup, as well. If she were still awake, that was.
Kendra decided she’d make enough for everyone, and what they didn’t drink, she’d offer to the servants—a rare treat for them indeed. Twenty minutes later, she climbed the risers, balancing a tray with two steaming cups of the tasty brew.
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