At the sound of footsteps from outside, Kendrick straightened up. “I believe salvation is finally at hand, Miss Haddon.”
“Thank goodness. I’m so tired I can barely think.”
“Just a few more minutes, then you can sleep,” he said in a soothing tone.
Lovely. Now he was treating her like a fractious toddler. Donella supposed she couldn’t entirely blame him.
The porter entered the hall, a blast of cold air and dead leaves whirling in behind him. He slammed the door shut, shaking his head and muttering imprecations about old Brumby.
“Is there a problem?” Kendrick asked.
“Nay, sir. Just a little trouble roustin’ the stable hand out of his bed.” He grimaced an apology. “We dinna usually have travellers callin’ this late.”
Donella started to apologize, but Kendrick shook his head. He’d warned her to speak as little as possible, something that was proving to be a bit of a challenge.
“We’re sorry to put you out,” he said. “Were you able to make appropriate arrangements for my horse?”
“Aye, sir. Got him rubbed down and bedded for the night. Ye’ll not be needin’ to worry about him.”
“Splendid, Mr. . . .”
“Just Hamish, sir.” The porter rummaged in the old desk. “We don’t stand on ceremony ’ere at the Crown and Thistle.”
“Excellent. Then I’d be grateful if you could show us to a room, preferably one at the back of the inn. My little brother is dead on his feet, and I’ve got to get him into bed.”
Donella felt her face heat up. When Kendrick flashed her an amused look, she cursed her fair skin and russet hair. She rarely blushed, but when she did there was no hiding it. Her blasted escort had an uncanny ability to make her color up like a schoolgirl.
Hamish glanced up from his inspection of ratty-looking quills and finally gave Donella a good look. She slouched down in her chair, trying her best to imitate a rumpled boy.
The porter studied her with a puzzled expression. “Yer brother, eh? Not much of a family resemblance.”
“Half brother,” Kendrick said in a bored voice. “And far more trouble than he’s worth. Just got expelled from school, in fact. The good sisters didn’t know what to do with him.”
Donella glared daggers at him.
“He looks the type to give no end of trouble,” Hamish said. “Best give him a wee paddlin’. Spare the rod and spoil the child, my mam used to say.”
Kendrick’s eyes gleamed with unholy mirth. Donella made a silent vow to murder him once she got to safety.
“I’ll be sure to see to that later, Hamish. But our room, if you don’t mind.”
“Right, sir.” Hamish pulled a bottle of ink from a cubbyhole. “If ye’ll just sign here.”
Kendrick signed the ledger.
The porter peered at the signature. “Mr. MacDonald, eh? Well, follow me up, sir.”
Donella forced herself to her feet but then froze, as understanding finally blasted through the fog in her brain.
One room. They would be sharing one room.
Kendrick cocked an eyebrow, but she just shook her head. No sane person, especially a farmer of modest means, would book a separate room for his grubby little brother. As shocking and unnerving as it would be to sleep in the same bedroom with him, she’d simply have to manage it.
She trudged down a long hall to the back of the inn. Hamish fumbled with the key, then let them into the room. He quickly lit a fire in the small grate and pulled the chamber pot out from under the high bed. Donella was suddenly riveted by the entirely ordinary pot, which to her addled brain now took on a sinister aspect.
How would she attend to her personal needs with her brother sharing the room? While she’d experienced some humiliating and terrible things in her life, this was starting to rank fairly close to the top.
“Please bring a pitcher of hot water,” Kendrick said. “We would both like a wash. Oh, and an extra blanket, if possible.”
Again, Hamish regarded Donella with disapproval. “Best not to spoil the lad, if ye ask me. A night sleepin’ on the floor would do him a world o’ good.”
“Why do you think I want the extra blanket?” Kendrick said with a wink.
Donella stuck her tongue out at him.
Hamish tsked and scuttled out, promising to return in a few minutes.
“Was that performance really necessary?” she asked. “You made me sound like a budding criminal.”
Kendrick shrugged. “Hamish was on his way to believing you were not a boy. My little act was necessary to divert his suspicions.”
She still couldn’t help scowling at him. “Then I’ll be sure to look as bratty as possible when he returns.”
“Actually, I think you’re quite a natural,” he replied with annoying insouciance.
“Now, see here, Mr. Kendrick—”
A knock interrupted her. “Here’s yer blanket, sir,” said Hamish, handing it through the doorway.
“Excellent timing. This little scamp was about to deliver me a rousing scold.”
“Dinna be takin’ lip from the young’uns, sir,” Hamish advised. “A spankin’ is the cure when they get smart with ye.”
“I will take that under advisement,” Kendrick replied, barely repressing his amusement.
It was the dead of the night, they were on the run, and yet the blasted man was apparently enjoying himself. She, however, was tempted to smash the blasted chamber pot over his blasted head.
“The kitchen boy will be up with hot water soon.” Hamish peered around the door at Donella. “And ye best behave yerself, lad, if ye hope to avoid a paddlin’.”
She could only level a ferocious glare.
“Touched in the head, I reckon,” Hamish muttered as he departed the room.
She mentally flinched. The old fellow’s comment was much too close to home.
Kendrick, pulling off his greatcoat, paused to study her. “What’s amiss, lass?”
Donella decided she truly did want to break Logan Kendrick’s skull.
No wonder they kicked you out of the convent, with that temper of yours.
“What’s amiss? I spent the last three hours clinging to the back end of a horse, someone is trying to abduct me, I’m in a smelly disguise, and you have just convinced a perfect stranger that I’m mentally defective. If anyone ever finds out about all this, I will be completely humiliated.”
Kendrick tossed his coat onto the worn leather club chair in front of the hearth.
“If anyone finds out about this little escapade, embarrassment will be the least of your problems.” Then he grinned. “Although even you must admit there are some rather hilarious elements to our situation.”
“Really? Because no one is threatening to paddle you.”
“Very true. Although the suggestion does have a certain appeal.”
For a moment, her mind went blank. Then she took a hasty step back. “If you come near me, I will make you sorrier than you’ve ever been.”
He blinked, startled by her reaction. “It was only a joke, lass. A bad one, obviously, and I beg your pardon.”
She eyed him, unsure how to respond to his rapid change in demeanor.
“Miss Haddon, I would never harm you,” he quietly said. “Never. And I am clearly a moron if I gave you that impression. In fact, my oldest brother reminds me on a regular basis that I am indeed a moron. I have a lamentable tendency to joke at the most inappropriate moments. Please forgive me.”
Regret softened the hard angles of his masculine features. Donella tried to find the words to respond, but they tangled up on her tongue. She’d always been a disaster when it came to managing men—probably because she didn’t understand them—and it would seem she was holding true to form.
Kendrick spread his hands wide. “Lass, yer killin’ me over here.”
It was the exaggerated brogue that did it. She had to smile.
“Of course I forgive you, sir. And I apologize if I overreacted.”
“You’ll not be apologizing to me. I had no business teasing you, especially after the day you’ve had. What you need is some sleep.”
Donella cast a furtive glance at the bed.
Kendrick sighed. “I would truly love to be able to give you some privacy, but it would raise too many questions and not be safe.”
“I know. I’m being silly.”
“Not at all. But you will sleep on the bed, and I will take this tattered excuse for a blanket and sleep on the floor.”
Now she began to feel guilty. “That’s not very fair. After all, you’re doing all the hard work.”
“Och, I’ve slept in rougher conditions.”
“I lived in a convent, remember? I slept in a small, cold room on a narrow cot. We were called to prayer during the night and then again at dawn.”
“That sounds rather gruesome.”
Suddenly, and in a great wave of loneliness, she missed the safety and peace of her old life so fiercely she almost burst into tears.
She plopped down on his coat in the creaky leather chair, finally overcome with the trials of the day. “I know,” she whispered. “But it was my home.”
He approached her as one would a skittish foal. Hunkering down, he took her hands and began chafing warmth back into them. Until he touched her, Donella hadn’t realized how cold she was.
“I’m sorry you miss it.”
She gave an awkward shrug. “It’s for the best. I really wasn’t a very good nun.”
His eyes, normally the color of blue ice on a mountain lake, turned warm with sympathy. “Maybe it wasn’t the right life for you. And you have another home to return to. Blairgal is a grand place, and your family is eager for your return.”
Donella rarely cried, but his kindness brought the sting of tears to her eyes.
“I . . .” She had to stop and clear her throat.
“Lass, if you cry, I’ll be forced to do something drastic,” he said gruffly.
“Such as?” she managed.
“Run from the room, most likely. I’m terrified of crying women. And children? Even worse.”
His silly comment made her laugh.
Kendrick grinned. “That’s better. Now if we could only . . . ah.” He rose and went to answer the tap on the door.
“Here be yer water, sir,” said the sleepy-looking kitchen boy.
Kendrick handed over a shilling and took the water pitcher.
“I’ll visit the necessary while you have a quick wash and get in bed,” he said to Donella. “All right?”
She nodded, grateful for his tact.
By the time he returned, she’d stripped down to her stockings and shirt and crawled under the covers. The mattress was thin and the linens stiff and scratchy, but she was so happy to be finally lying down.
Kendrick tapped on the door before stepping into the room. He shot the bolt and then went to check the latch and close the shutters on the single window.
“I’m sorry you have to sleep on the floor,” she said softly.
“I’ll do fine. Just try to rest.”
He snuffed the lamp and shadows fell over the room.
Donella turned on her side and gathered up the pillow, trying to ignore the fact that he was but a few feet away as he tugged off his boots and stripped down to his breeches and shirt.
For a few moments, he stood in front of the hearth, his frame outlined by the flickering light of the fire. As he shook out the blanket, his brawny shoulders shifted under the fabric of his shirt. The man was built like a warrior, with long, hard lines and superbly controlled strength.
When Kendrick crouched down to arrange his blanket on the floor, his breeches stretched tight, outlining the tight muscles of his backside and thighs. Donella’s mind seemed to go soft and fuzzy at the sight of him, and her body flushed with heat. Mortified, she quickly rolled onto her back, accidentally sending her pillow off the bed.
“All right over there?” came his low, rumbling voice.
Drat.
“I knocked my pillow off.”
“I’ll get it for you.”
“No, I’ll do it.” She started to shoot upright before remembering she was barely clothed. She instantly slid back under the covers.
“It’s no problem.” Two long steps brought him to the bed, and he swiped up the pillow and held it out to her.
Clutching the covers to her neck, she snaked out a hand and grabbed the pillow. She awkwardly wedged it under her head.
Kendrick watched her maneuvers with amusement. “Miss Haddon, you do realize that your virtue is perfectly safe with me.”
She scowled. “Of course. For one thing, my brother and my cousin would murder you, and then they’d make you marry me.”
“In the reverse order, I hope, for your sake.”
She glared up at the ceiling, hating that she’d sounded so foolish. What was wrong with her?
With a chuckle, he returned to his makeshift pallet. She listened to him settle in, then closed her eyes, determined to ignore the disconcerting circumstances as best she could.
Despite her exhaustion, however, her ruffled nerves prevented her from falling asleep. Rustling noises from near the hearth suggested Kendrick was chasing slumber, too.
Maybe if they talked a bit, she would soon drift off. “Why MacDonald?” she asked.
“Sorry?”
“Why did you pick that particular name to sign the register?”
“It’s my grandfather’s name. Angus MacDonald.”
“Ah, I had an uncle named Angus—Angus Graham. He was chieftain of our particular branch of the clan. He’s dead, though. He died during my first year in the convent.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. He was a good man, if a bit stern. Is your grandfather still alive?”
“Very much so. I expect Grandda will outlive us all.”
“Does he live in Glasgow, too?”
“At the moment, he lives in Canada. Halifax, to be exact.”
She turned her head so she could see him. Lying under the blanket, his greatcoat rolled up under his head, he was a large, comforting presence between her and the dangers of the outside world.
“What’s he doing there?”
“Stirring up trouble, I expect.”
“What sort of trouble?”
“It’s a long story, too long for tonight. You need your sleep.”
“But—”
“Go to sleep, Donella,” he said firmly. “We have a long day ahead, and I don’t want to have to lug you about because you’re half-dead on your feet.”
She bristled. “I’ll be fine. You needn’t worry about me.”
“Excellent, but I’ll be half-dead if you don’t let me sleep. And that will be something we have to worry about.”
She realized she was being rather selfish. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Lass, just go to sleep.”
Torn between irritation and guilt, she turned from him, resigning herself to a sleepless night.
Chapter Eight
Donella was half-sprawled on her stomach, her arms wrapped around her pillow. She seemed incredibly innocent in her abandoned slumber.
The fact that she’d kicked off most of her covers was something of a problem—a big problem. Her shirt had twisted around her body, riding high on her thighs and exposing the creamy white skin between the paltry hem of the garment and the tops of her stockings. The blasted thing was pulled tight around her rump, outlining unexpected and delightfully generous curves. Her russet hair, gleaming in the pale light of dawn, was a glorious mess that barely reached her shoulders—one of which was fully revealed by her sagging neckline.
All that delicious skin was so smooth and tempting that Logan’s fingers itched to stroke it.
He briefly closed his eyes, fighting for control. While the lass was no longer a nun, she’d just spent three years holed up in a convent. Logan had committed his fair share of sins over the years, but he didn’t need to add lusting after an a
lmost-nun to the list.
Gingerly, he inched the quilt up over her gorgeous arse. Then he leaned over the bed to gently tap her sleep-flushed cheek.
“Wake up, lass,” he murmured. “We’re in trouble.”
She breathed out a weary little sigh and rolled over onto her back. Her lush lips parted and the tip of her tongue slipped out, wet and pink. Logan had to clamp down hard on the urge to take her mouth in a devouring kiss.
Get a hold of yourself, you randy bastard.
He tapped her cheek more firmly. “Donella, you need to wake up.”
Her thick lashes fluttered up. Eyes as green and soft as moss, hazy with sleep, stared up at him. For a moment, Logan felt like he was falling into something so peaceful and sweet that nothing could ever disturb it.
A moment later, her gaze snapped into focus, turning as sharp as cut glass. “What did you say?”
“We’re in trouble. Time to go.”
She sighed. “Trouble. Of course.” Then she eyed him for a few seconds. “You’d best let me get up.”
“Oh, right.” He stepped away from the bed, feeling like an idiot.
Donella sat up. Though she dragged the covers around her shoulders, he nonetheless got a peek of the tops of her pretty breasts, as round and creamy as the rest of her.
God, she really was going to kill him.
He turned his back and began shoving his gear into his kit.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
“There are men in the yard asking questions about us. About you.”
“How did they find us so quickly?”
He flashed a glance over his shoulder but jerked his gaze away when she threw back the covers and slid to the floor.
“Not Mr. MacDonald and his brother,” he said. “They’re looking for Logan Kendrick and Donella Haddon.”
“I suppose our bait and switch wasn’t that effective after all. I just hope they didn’t hurt Uncle’s men.”
“I think it’s unlikely. It’s you they’re after.”
“Still, this is my fault. You’re all in danger because—”
“Try not to worry, lass. Davey and Foster know how to take care of themselves.”
“Oh, blast,” she muttered.
Logan yanked on his vest, and then chanced looking over his shoulder. Donella had managed to wriggle into her breeches but was having trouble lacing up her woolen jerkin.
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