The Highlander's Christmas Bride

by Vanessa Kelly

  Her voice was sharp, more for her own sake than his. Because if Donella were entirely honest, she had to admit she found him attractive. It was utter nonsense, of course, given that she’d just been released from a convent. Not to mention the sort of man he was. She shouldn’t even be thinking of him that way.

  His eyes gleamed with mischief in the flickering torchlight. “I try never to lie, Miss Haddon. As an almost-nun, you should appreciate my honesty.”

  “I am not an . . . oh, never mind.”

  Kendrick was clearly a tease, and she had no intention of responding to his nonsense.

  “May we please go inside?” she asked. “I’m rather chilled.”

  “In just . . . ah, here’s Davey now,” Logan said when the groom hurried over. “I wanted him to do another check of the building. Everything all right, lad?”

  “Aye, sir. The innkeep’s wife is waitin’ to show Miss Haddon up to her room.”

  Kendrick dismissed Davey with a nod and led Donella toward the two-storied, whitewashed building. The inn looked small and old, but also trim and homey. Tubs of late-blooming mums flanked the entrance and the windows gleamed bright from the lamplight within.

  “You’re not expecting more trouble, are you?” Donella asked. “No one followed us, did they?”

  “Apparently not, but I won’t take risks with your safety.”

  “Thank you, but—”

  Donella stumbled to a halt, gazing up at the gently swaying sign over the front door. She hadn’t been able to read it when she stepped down from the carriage. Now, in the light pouring out through the open door, she could see bold, black letters painted on the white background.

  THE OLD MURRAY INN

  Her vague suspicions—which she’d tried to ignore for the last hour—broke over her like a cresting wave. She pressed a hand to her waist, as if to hold her pitching stomach in place.

  Kendrick dipped his head to study her, then glanced up at the sign over their heads. “Is there a problem, Miss Haddon?”

  His words barely penetrated the roaring in her head.

  He rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Lass, tell me what’s wrong.”

  “N . . . nothing.”

  Kendrick made a frustrated sound. “I can’t help if you won’t tell me the truth.”

  “It’s none of your business.” Then she mentally grimaced, irritated by her sharp reply. “Besides, there’s nothing to tell.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Donella—”

  “Sir, I don’t believe I gave you permission to make free with my name.” She swept past him and through the door.

  Kendrick muttered something about daft lasses and followed her inside.

  The timbered-roof entrance hall contained a small desk, a chair, and a few wooden settles tucked into the corners. A long hall stretched toward the back of the inn, and a door on the right opened into a cozy taproom where an elderly gentleman dozed into his ale and a scrawny young fellow was behind the bar, polishing glasses.

  A middle-aged woman garbed in a round gown and starched apron bustled out from the hall to greet them. She had salt-and-pepper hair topped by a neat mobcap, and looked a trifle harassed.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon. I was roustin’ my husband to look after yer carriage and cattle,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to have ye under our roof, Miss Haddon. I can show ye to yer room now, if ye like.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Donella stripped off her gloves. “And you are . . . ?”

  “Mrs. Murray. The family has owned this inn for nigh on two hundred years. We’ve served many a traveller to these parts, and we pride ourselves on our hospitality. Ye’ll be havin’ a foine supper and a good night’s sleep tonight, Miss Haddon.”

  The woman’s chattiness was both useful and horrifying. For a moment, Donella debated whether to ask Kendrick to pole up the horses and take to the road again.

  The innkeeper peered at her with concern. “Are ye needin’ a cup of tea straightaway, miss? Or a wee dram to chase away the chill?”

  “The cat appears to have seized possession of Miss Haddon’s tongue,” Kendrick said. “We’ve had a bit of a difficult journey.”

  Donella shot Logan a warning glare before mustering a smile for the confused-looking Mrs. Murray. “I’m simply fatigued.”

  “Then we’ll fix ye up with a nice wash and a spot of tea while yer waitin’ for supper. If ye’ll step up with me, Miss Haddon, I’ll show ye the room.”

  Donella’s anxiety eased under the warmth of the woman’s kind manner. The Murrays were a large, diverse clan, with many branches. It was silly to think that these simple innkeepers would have knowledge of the troubles between Mungo Murray’s branch of the clan and the Haddon family.

  “Do you have a private room where Miss Haddon can take her supper?” Logan asked before Donella could reply.

  “Nae, sir, we’ve just the taproom. There’s one other gent stayin’ with us who’ll be havin’ his supper down there, but he won’t be botherin’ ye or the lady. He seems a quiet and polite sort of fellow.”

  “I think it best—”

  A balding little man in breeches and a leather jerkin darted through the front door, interrupting them. Eyes wide, he skidded to a halt in front of Donella. Wisps of sandy-colored hair stood straight up from his skull, as if they’d somehow taken fright.

  “Mr. Murray, why are ye runnin’ in like a looney?” Mrs. Murray scolded. She gave Donella an apologetic smile. “This is my husband, miss. He’s forgotten his manners, I’m sorry to say.”

  The innkeeper swiped a hand across his perspiring forehead and collected himself. “Yer Miss Haddon, I take it. I beg yer pardon.”

  His wife regarded him with disbelief. “Ye cannae have forgotten that Mr. Kendrick would be returnin’ this way with the lady. He told ye that himself only two days ago.”

  “Of . . . of course not,” he babbled. “I . . . I just was thinkin’ they were comin’ tomorrow night, is all.”

  Kendrick frowned. “Is that a problem? I’d hate to have to pole up and try to find another inn if you cannot accommodate the horses.”

  “We have plenty of room, sir,” Mrs. Murray assured him before rounding on her husband. “Were ye not just in the stables, seein’ to Mr. Kendrick’s carriage and team? Where have ye been if not doin’ that?”

  Murray bristled at his wife, but it was clear he was extremely unsettled.

  Donella found that extremely unsettling.

  “I was out back, ye ken. I didna see them arrive,” the innkeeper said.

  His wife snorted with barely concealed disgust. “Be off with ye to check on Mr. Kendrick’s men and his cattle, or ye’ll get the sharp side of my tongue.”

  Although clearly resenting his wife’s order, the innkeeper gave Kendrick a deferential bob and scurried out the door with a backward, worried glance at Donella.

  Kendrick raised his eyebrows at her. “That was a bit . . .”

  “Odd,” she finished.

  “Och, there’s nae need to worry, miss,” said Mrs. Murray. “My husband can be a bit scattered at times, is all. I’ll pop out to the stables in a wee bit to make sure yer men and the horses are settled for the night. Then I’ll see to yer supper.”

  “I think it best for Miss Haddon to eat supper in her room,” Kendrick said. “She’s had a tiring day, and she needs her privacy.”

  “I don’t mind eating in the taproom,” Donella said, reluctant to cause additional trouble. “Mrs. Murray has enough to do.”

  “Sorry, but I’ll have to insist.” Kendrick’s gaze held a clear warning. “You’ll be undisturbed in your room and better able to rest.”

  It was clear her protector still harbored concerns, as did she, and Mr. Murray’s behavior had done nothing to allay them. It might be best to pole up the horses and leave. It was a gruesome thought, though, given how cold, tired, and famished she was.

  Kendrick suddenly flashed a smile as he pressed a hand to her shoulder, stroking a thumb along the slight protrusion of
her collarbone. “Not to worry, lass. I’m just being a wee bit careful.”

  Donella froze, startled by the warmth of his hand cupping her shoulder. She gazed up into his steely blue eyes, and something instinctive urged her to sidle closer, seeking his strength and protection.

  An expression that looked remarkably like interest sparked in his gaze—the sort of interest a man took in a woman who’d caught his fancy. It had been years since she’d been a woman in that position. For Donella, dreams of romance were part of a distant past. Despite that blunt truth, a most disconcerting tingle started behind her knees and travelled upward. She forced herself to slip away from his touch.

  She was not that kind of woman and never would be again.

  “Of course, Mr. Kendrick,” she said. “Whatever you think is best.”

  His smile transformed into one of sardonic amusement. Blushing, Donella silently cursed the man for making her feel so awkward and self-conscious.

  For a moment, she thought he would tease her. Thankfully, he switched his focus to Mrs. Murray.

  “So, you’ll see to it that Miss Haddon gets supper in her room?”

  “Aye, sir. Whatever ye want shall be.”

  “Good. I’ll eat in the taproom with my men.”

  Mrs. Murray nodded toward a staircase at the end of the long hall. “I’ll take ye up, miss.”

  Donella started to follow but paused to glance back at Logan. “Is this good night, or will I see you later?”

  When his smile flashed roguish, she couldn’t hold back a glower.

  “I merely wish to discuss the plans for tomorrow,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster.

  “Of course. You can count on it, lass.” Then he winked at her.

  She turned on her heel and stalked off. He was a terrible flirt, which is exactly what one should expect from a man like him. While he was undeniably brave, and she could only be grateful for his protection, it seemed clear he’d earned his reputation as one of the infamous Kendricks. Those men had cut a swathe through a hefty portion of the Scottish female population.

  Well, she had no interest in flirting with him or being the butt of his jests.

  Mrs. Murray led her up the narrow staircase to a room at the end of the hall. “I’ll be putting ye in our best room, miss. It’s farthest away from the public rooms, and nice and quiet. Warm too, since it’s right over the kitchen.”

  Donella gratefully took off her bonnet and shook out her curls as she scanned the small room, comfortably furnished with a four-poster bed with a floral quilt and pillows covered in starched linen. A handsome leather wing chair stood before the fireplace, and a round table with two high-backed chairs was tucked under the eaves. Compared to her cell in the convent, the simple room seemed almost extravagant.

  The innkeeper closed the window curtains before expertly building up the peat fire that had already been smoldering on the hearth.

  “It’s a lovely room, Mrs. Murray. Thank you.”

  “It’s nae what ye’ll be used to at Blairgal Castle, but ye’ll find it a bit more cozy than any convent. Now that’s plain livin’, I ken. Yer well shot of it, if ye don’t mind me sayin,’ miss. No life for such a foine lady as yerself.”

  Donella blinked. “How did you know I’d been in a convent?”

  Now that the fire was burning nicely, Mrs. Murray stood and wiped her hands on her apron.

  “Och, Miss Haddon, there weren’t a body within fifty miles that didn’t know ye were meant to be the future Lady of Riddick.” She shook her head. “And to be thrown over by a Sassenach, no less. No wonder ye ran off to join a nunnery.”

  Apparently, three years hadn’t been long enough to kill the chatter that had surrounded her broken engagement to Alasdair.

  “I appreciate your kind words, Mrs. Murray, but your sympathy is unnecessary. I never wished to marry my cousin, and I’m very fond of his wife. We’re all very fond of Mrs. Gilbride.”

  Mrs. Murray made a skeptical sound. “Then why did ye run off and hide in a convent?”

  “I wasn’t hiding. It was my choice, and one I was happy to make.” She hoped her firm tone would put an end to the embarrassing conversation.

  The innkeeper looked skeptical for a moment, then visibly brightened. “Still, ye found a grand, braw man in Mr. Kendrick. A lass couldna do any better, and I give ye both my hearty congratulations.”

  Good God.

  “Mr. Kendrick is simply a friend, Mrs. Murray. Nothing more. He’s . . . he’s escorting me home at my uncle’s request.”

  Under the woman’s penetrating stare, Donella felt the blood rise to her cheeks. Of course the situation would look dodgy to the average stranger—a single man and woman, travelling together with no chaperone in sight.

  “Mrs. Murray, do you think I could have a wash and a cup of tea before dinner?” she asked rather desperately. “I’m quite parched from all the dust on the road.”

  The innkeeper nodded. “And me natterin’ on while all ye want is a little rest. I’ll send up a nice pot of tea and some hot water. Then I’ll see what my man’s done with your luggage.”

  “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Murray trotted to the door but paused to look back. “I still say ye could do worse than Mr. Kendrick. And if ye don’t mind me sayin’ so, he seems fair taken with ye.”

  Donella did mind but kept those rather rude thoughts to herself.

  Chapter Six

  Donella came blearily awake. Where was she? Not in her convent cell, waiting for the great bell to call her to early morning prayers. Why didn’t she know where she was?

  A spurt of panic jerked her upright. Her heart pounded as her gaze darted around the unfamiliar, shadow-drenched room. It took several slow, steadying breaths for her mind to settle, but the fog finally lifted and her memory dredged up the gruesome events of the last few days.

  “Drat,” she muttered as she flopped back onto her pillow.

  As tired as she was, she longed for daybreak. One more night on the road and she’d be home to Blairgal and her family. Although it would be an awkward reunion, with a host of uncomfortable questions, she’d be safe in her uncle’s stronghold. Even more importantly, she could share with him the fears that had seemed ridiculous one moment but all too real the next.

  Mungo Murray.

  The name conjured up painful, humiliating memories. She’d spent the last ten years trying to erase them. Now, her past had come back to haunt her, and at the worst possible time.

  Over a solitary dinner in her room—Kendrick had eaten downstairs with Foster and Davey—she’d almost managed to convince herself that it was just her imagination spinning out of control. Mungo and the Murray Clan had surely long forgotten her. The likeliest explanation for the abduction attempt was that word had somehow gone round that she’d left the convent, and some enterprising group of bandits had tried to take advantage of her situation. She wouldn’t be the first wealthy young lady to be abducted and held for a ransom or used as a bargaining chip in marriage negotiations.

  That last bit was the troubling part. Ten years ago, Uncle Riddick had stood fast against the demands of Mungo Murray, and the vile man’s threats to ruin her reputation. While her uncle had prevailed, as he always did, Mungo had vowed to extract revenge for the insult to his family, and especially to his son’s honor.

  Donella feared that day of reckoning had finally arrived.

  After her unnerving conversation with Mrs. Murray, Donella had considered telling Kendrick of her suspicions. He obviously knew she was withholding information, and it would almost be a relief to tell him the truth. She’d kept silent for ten years, hiding the whopping, great secret that rattled behind her like a rusty chain. But now she no longer had the convenient shield of the convent to protect her.

  Uncle Riddick had made Donella swear on the good name of Clan Graham to hold her tongue on what they referred to as the incident. That wasn’t quite as serious as swearing on the Bible, but it was enough to inspire caution and the r
esolve to keep her suspicions to herself until she was safely home.

  As for any further dangers on the road, she’d simply have to trust Kendrick to keep her safe. He’d done a splendid job so far, and she had little doubt he’d continue to do so even if she did keep refusing to answer his nosy inquiries. Fortunately, after brusquely reminding her to bolt her door, he’d taken himself off for the remainder of the evening.

  Shivering a bit, Donella wriggled down under the quilt. As she tried to decide between saying a rosary or counting sheep, the quiet shuffle of footsteps outside her door made her freeze like a startled rabbit.

  A key turned in her lock. A moment later, footsteps retreated down the hall.

  Why would anyone lock a door that was already bolted? Had she misheard?

  Rising, she grabbed her woolen shawl, flung it around her shoulders, and strode to the door. She pulled back the bolt and cautiously tried to open the door. Her heart jolted because someone had indeed locked her in.

  Kendrick? He was irritating, but she doubted he would lock her in without telling her.

  Ignoring a spiraling sense of dread, she cudgeled her brain for ideas. She had only one option—to pound on the door and, if necessary, start yelling. She could only hope that Kendrick would hear her first, and not the likely nefarious person who’d locked her in.

  “Mr. Kendrick, can you hear me?” she called out after banging on the solid oak panel.

  She waited several seconds before banging again. “Mr. Kendrick. Please wake up.”

  Silence met her straining ears.

  Donella was winding herself up to start yelling when she heard the quick tread of boot steps.

  “I’m here, lass,” Kendrick said. “Are you all right?”

  She sagged against the door in relief. “Yes, but someone’s locked me in.”

  He rattled the lock. “What the devil?” he muttered.

  “Can you please get me out of here?”

  “I’ll have to roust the Murrays out of bed. Although I suspect one of them is the prime suspect.”

  “Yes. I admit I find the notion disturbing.”