Highland Heat (17 page)

After leaving the inn at dawn and traveling all day, Grace and Duncan stopped north of Manchester at the major's house, both of them nervous about the reception they'd have.

But they needn't have worried. Claire was ecstatic to see them, so happy when she saw them at the door that tears rushed to her eyes.

“Oh, you came!” she said, clasping her hands together over her heart.

Grace embraced her sister. “You look well, Claire.”

Over her sister's shoulder, she saw the major standing in the opening of the door leading out from the entry hall, his arms folded across his chest.

The major didn't bother with greetings. “Are ye married yet?” he asked Duncan.

“Nay.”

“Well, then. It'll be separate rooms for the two of ye.”

Grace managed to contain her laughter, but it was effectively squelched when the major added, “And I'm going to post a watchman all night to be sure there's no one sneaking about the corridors.”

“I suppose we can live with that,” Duncan said, his good humor firmly in place, “for one night. But when we return from Scotland, we'll be sleepin' together. In the same room. In the same bed.”

“Aye,” the major said, looking slightly ill at the thought. Grace grinned, because that was the closest she'd ever heard Duncan come to giving an order to the major. “I suppose that can be arranged.”

Dinner was about to be served, and Claire quickly arranged for two additional plates to be set. Grace was thrilled to see the Knights again—the last time she'd seen them all in one place had been on the ship.

She sat in the middle of the long dinner table at a seat facing a diamond-paned window and scanned the men. They all looked well. Fit, with their various injuries seemingly healed, and in good spirits. Captain Stirling still had a bit of darkness on the fringes of his expression, but even he seemed much better.

“We should discuss what we learned in your absence,” Stirling said to Duncan.

Duncan cast a glance in Grace's direction. “Aye. But Grace doesna ken much about why we're here.”

“Ye havena told her?” the major asked.

“Nay.” Duncan frowned. “No details. We were sworn to secrecy, aye?”

The major's lips twitched in the slightest semblance of a smile, which was shocking to Grace. She rarely saw the major do much of anything but scowl.

“She's one of us now,” the major said softly. “My sister-in-law can be trusted.”

Duncan bristled. “I ken that.”

“Of course you do. I'm glad you kept your oath. But Grace and Claire—they are exempt.”

Beside her, Duncan relaxed. Grace put a hand on his knee and squeezed, looking around at the other men, none of whom expressed an argument. In fact, they all gave her various looks of acceptance, from McLeod's sly grin to Stirling's serious nod to Fraser's wide, handsome smile.

“We're here rooting out an insurgent group,” Innes, the tall, blond-haired nephew of the Marquess of Lochleid, supplied. Grace had already known that much, but Innes continued, “They call themselves the Newsmiths, and their ultimate intention is to gather enough men to overthrow the monarchy by force.”

Grace gasped. “But that would be impossible, wouldn't it?”

Stirling looked down at his plate, twirling a piece of his partridge breast in the creamy sauce it had been served with. “Not as impossible as one might think, milady. These men are wealthy enough to buy armies, and their intent on accomplishing their task, no matter what underhanded and dishonorable actions they might need to take to do so.”

“Oh my goodness.”

“They've accumulated a rather significant army already,” McLeod said dryly. “Their leader, Ian Faulkner—you might have heard of him as Lord Barton, milady, though he no longer answers to that title—is very convincing. Yesterday, I heard him speaking to the workers at a coal mine just outside of Manchester. By the end of his speech, he had them all screamin' for his cause.”

The major frowned. “He's a talent for bringing the hardest-working men to his side. And quickly.”

“He's damned dangerous,” McLeod agreed, then slid a look at Grace—not Claire, who was probably used to his cursing by now. “My apologies, my lady.”

Grace waved it off. “Please, don't apologize.”

“Dangerous,” the major agreed, ignoring Grace and McLeod's little exchange, “and violent.”

“Aye,” said Fraser. “He's a contingent of cutthroats he keeps close at hand.”

Duncan frowned—this must be new information for him. “Cutthroats?”

“Aye, he's hired them for protection,” Fraser answered.

“They had a man killed two days ago.” Stirling's voice was as dark as his expression.

“For what reason?” Duncan asked.

“He was one of Faulkner's lieutenants. Faulkner discovered someone was inquiring about his activities in Manchester. It was a man who'd spoken to the Knights. Given us information.”

“Though he was an innocent,” Sir Ewan Ross said. Anger tinged his voice. “I'd had a luncheon with him the day before, pretending to be interested in joining their cause. He got a little ale in him and gave me all the information he could.” Ross's lips twitched. “Possibly more information than was wise, but he did it only because I fooled him into believing I could be beneficial to the cause.”

“And now Ross has been identified,” the major said. “We dinna think anyone followed him to the house, but he'll no' be able to engage with the insurgents again, until they're arrested.”

Ross nodded, his lips turned down in displeasure.

“We're close,” the major said. “But they're getting close to us, as well. Too close. Claire is returning to London at the end of the week. And Grace, you should go with her. Or you and Mackenzie should stay in Scotland until this is over.”

Grace instantly shook her head. “No. We'll marry and be back within three days. I'll return to London with Claire. Without Sir Ewan, you'll need Duncan's help in capturing these horrible men.”

“Aye,” Stirling agreed, “Mackenzie is a verra strong asset in a fight, and we're already down a man.”

“ 'Tis always a good thing to have Unbreakable Mackenzie at your back in a battle,” Fraser said.

“True,” the major said. He turned to Duncan. “What say you?”

Duncan pressed his hand over Grace's on his leg and squeezed. “Aye. We'll leave first thing in the morning for Gretna Green. We'll return in three days' time.” He turned to Grace. “Mayhap when this is all over, the major will allow me to take you to the Highlands to meet my family. And to have a proper honeymoon.”

She smiled. “I'd like that.”

“Aye,” the major said, nodding approvingly in their direction. “It's settled, then.”

At that moment, Grace thought she saw a movement beyond the curtain of the diamond-paned window. Goodness, could it be her father had come to take her home? She glanced around but no one else seemed to have seen it.

It must have been her imagination.

Grace settled into her narrow bed with a sigh. She wrapped her arms around her body, and, shivering, turned to her side and curled up in a ball. After spending the entire night in bed with Duncan and waking beside him this morning, being alone felt cold and lonely.

She couldn't sleep. A regiment of excitement and trepidation marched through her body. She couldn't wait to be in Gretna Green. Couldn't wait to marry Duncan. Couldn't imagine what it would be like, looking into his eyes and repeating the vows to him.

But danger was lurking in Manchester. The Knights hadn't talked much about how dangerous this mission was—but a man had already been killed and it seemed like this Faulkner had no compunction about murdering those who stood in his way. And the Highland Knights certainly intended to stand in his way.

Grace shuddered, then gave up on sleep altogether. Maybe she should write to her father. She'd been thinking about it for the past two days. She wanted to explain her feelings about Duncan and how sorry she was for her betrayal of him, but that she must follow her heart. She'd write that she hoped he'd forgive her, but she understood if he couldn't. No matter what, she still loved him and always would.

Of course, her father might be in pursuit of them right now. He might be nearby. He would certainly stop at the major's house to ask if they knew Duncan and Grace's whereabouts. Hopefully, by the time he arrived here, she and Duncan would already be married.

She sat on the edge of the bed and lit a candle before using her cloak to cover up her nearly naked state. She'd have to go downstairs to the major's study to find stationery and implements to write with. Sir Ewan Ross had been placed on guard in the corridor—of course the major hadn't been jesting when he'd said he'd have the corridor guarded to ensure that she and Duncan didn't sneak into bed together.

She blushed as she passed Sir Ewan. “Do you require anything, milady?” he asked her, sitting up a bit taller in his chair.

“I can't sleep,” she said sheepishly. “I've been thinking about writing a letter to my father. Do you think the major would mind very much if I used his study for a while?”

“Not at all.” Sir Ewan grinned. “Just walk right past that first door on your left, there, or the major'll be having my hide.”

The first door on the left, of course, was Duncan's. “I prefer your hide in your own hands, Sir Ewan, rather than the major's. So I promise I'll just go straight downstairs.”

“Thank you, milady.”

She did as she'd said, walking right past Duncan's door, resisting the urge just to peek her head in and see if he was asleep yet.

She went down the stairs, which were much narrower than the stairs of the grand staircase at Norsey House, for this was an older structure by two hundred years, and Norsey House was new, with all the modern conveniences. No wonder Claire had written that she was thinking of ideas for improvements for this house.

Downstairs, Grace entered the small study, finding parchment in the single desk drawer and a pen and inkwell atop the desk. She sat in the major's chair and dipped the pen into the ink. She wrote,
Dear Papa
, then held the pen over the paper, thinking of how to start.

She heard an odd scraping sound, and her breath caught. Slowly, she brought the pen back to its stand, then sat quietly, listening. More soft scraping noises…then footsteps. It was surely just Sir Ewan come to check on her.

The door opened, and she sucked in a breath.

The man who stood facing her was not Sir Ewan.

Duncan was awakened at two a.m. by Ross, his red hair standing up at odd angles and a wild look in his moss-green eyes. “Wake up, man. Lady Grace—”

Just her name was enough to snap him out of his somnolent state. “What about her?” he demanded.

Ross threw his hands in the air. “She's gone!”

Duncan was already up and donning his kilt. He gave Ross a narrow-eyed stare. “How can she be gone? Were you no' watching the corridor?”

“She went downstairs about two hours ago to write a letter. I thought she was taking a wee bit too long, so I went down to check on her, but she wasna in the study. I've searched the house and she's nowhere to be found.”

Duncan bit out a curse. “Rouse everyone,” he commanded. “I'll search downstairs again and the grounds. Meet me in the entry hall in five minutes' time.”

Ross nodded so hard his red curls fell into his face. “Aye. Five minutes.”

Duncan lit a lantern, strode downstairs, and did a quick search of the rooms, calling Grace's name. Nothing. He took the lantern and walked quickly around the perimeter of the forest, shouting for her now. His response was only silence, so he hurried back inside, where he found the Knights gathered in the entry hall, all dressed, wide awake, and alert—a skill they'd acquired in their military days.

Duncan met the major's eyes. “The earl has her.”

“Are ye certain?”

“What else could it be?”

“The Newsmiths,” Stirling said darkly.

“They dinna ken where we are, though,” Fraser argued, “and they havena connected us to Major Campbell yet. There's no way they could know.”

“Are you sure you weren't followed?” Innes asked Ross.

“Aye, I'm sure. I took all the proper precautions.”

“Why would the Newsmiths take her?” Duncan shook his head. “It'd make no sense. But her father—I'm certain he followed us. It would've been easy for him to deduce that we'd stop here overnight.”

“Aye, in which case we ken she's safe,” McLeod said. “But if the Newsmiths have her…” His voice trailed off.

She'd be in danger. Duncan's mouth went dry. He couldn't think that way. They couldn't have her. It
had
to be the earl. And he had to get her back.

“Where d'ye think they'd take her if they had her?” Fraser asked Stirling. “Faulkner's house?”

Stirling frowned harder. “Faulkner and his associates own several properties outside of Manchester. It could be any one o' them.”

“Not his house,” the major said. “His wife is there.”

Duncan shifted from foot to foot. All this talking was driving him mad. Every minute they spent talking meant Grace was a minute farther away from him. He had to go
now
. He had to find her.

He turned toward the door, but Stirling grabbed his arm, forcibly turning him back. “Think, man. Dinna just go out there blindly.”

“I have to bring her back.”

“We ken that. We'll help you.”

Duncan nodded. “I'm going to take the road to Manchester. Maybe I can catch them.”

“You really think it's the earl who has her?”

“Aye.”

“Go, then. Bring her back. But we're going to ensure the Newsmiths didn't take her.”

Duncan clasped his old captain's arm in thanks. Stirling let him go, and he was gone. Within a few minutes, he had a horse saddled and was riding down the lane toward Manchester.

The man who had been standing at the threshold to the major's study was tall and stick-thin, with dark brown hair and handsome features. When he saw Grace, his lips turned up in a smirk.

She opened her mouth to release the scream burbling up in her throat, but it was no good. The man was preternaturally fast. Before a hint of noise emerged from her, he rushed over to her and clamped his hand hard over her mouth.

“Now, we'll have none o' that, milady.”

She started shaking. So hard her bones felt like they were rattling. Two other men appeared at the door.

“What've we got here?” one asked in a soft voice. He had snapping green eyes and his hair was shorter and lighter than the man who held her. That man lifted her from the chair, wrapping one hand around her waist and keeping the other clamped to her mouth.

The third man, shorter and burlier than the other two, grinned, revealing a missing front tooth. “Who is she?”

“Sir Robert Campbell's wife,” the dark-haired man said.

Should she deny that? God, she was so scared. She didn't know what to do. How to fight.

“Ransom?” asked one of them.

“Mayhap. She could prove valuable.”

“Aye, I can think of a few ways to use her.” The man's voice dripped with lascivious intent, and he laughed.

Their voices swirled around her now—she didn't know which man said what.

“I say we give 'im the choice to lay off or get his wife back in a coffin.”

“Got anythin' we can gag her with?”

“Aye, I do.”

They wrapped a filthy cloth around her face, over her mouth, and tied it painfully tightly at the back of her head. The only sounds that emerged from her were pathetic little whimpers.

“Come, milady.” The man who'd lifted her from her chair pushed her forward. And Grace had a sudden inspiration. She needed to make a noise—any noise. She hooked her foot around the major's desk chair, and as the man pushed her again, the chair teetered.

But the blasted dark-haired man caught it before it fell.

“That was a close call,” he whispered in her ear. “Are you goin' to be difficult, milady? Because I can be difficult too.” He moved his hand down, rubbing it over her bottom. “Ye've a nice round arse. How about I flip up these pretty skirts and see it in the flesh?”

“Come on, Tibbets,” the stout man said. “Ye can gaze at 'er arse all you like later. We've got to get the hell out o' here before they discover her missing.”

Tibbets sighed dramatically. “Later, then. But I'll be having her first. I caught her—the spoils'll be mine.”

Spots swarmed in Grace's vision. She'd never known it was within a human's capability to be so frightened.

Tibbets pushed her forward until the other two men grabbed her arms and dragged her into the corridor. They took her to the front hall that she'd entered just this evening, and out the front door. The forest edged the far side of the lawn, and the men slipped into it, onto a path that looked well worn. How long had they been watching the major's house?

She stumbled over the uneven ground in her bare feet. Sticks and rocks poked the sensitive soles of her feet, but she hardly felt them. The men's grips on her arms were so tight, they'd surely leave marks. The terror swamped every other possible feeling she might have.

They walked for a long time—perhaps a mile, taking a twisting route between the trees until Grace was certain that even if she did manage to get away, she'd never find her way back to the major's house.

Finally, they stopped in a small clearing. Two horses hitched to a cart were hobbled in the center of it. One of the men released her to take the reins and climb into the driver's seat while Tibbets lifted her unceremoniously and dumped her into the back of the cart.

Released for the first time since the ordeal began, she started to scramble backward, but he easily leapt over the side of the cart and grabbed her around the waist. “Do ye think a haughty aristocratic bitch could be faster than me? Ye think highly of yourself, now, don't you?” He slapped her lightly across the cheek in warning. “Now, don't be trying that again, or the next one'll be harder.”

Tears crested and fell over her cheeks, and she turned away so he wouldn't see them. The other man climbed in on her other side, effectively trapping her between them in the cart.

“Go,” he said to the driver.

The cart lurched forward.

Grace wrapped her arms around herself and leaned forward.

Where were they taking her?
Please, Duncan. Please, help me.

Just the thought of Duncan infused her with strength. Duncan might come for her, but he might not. And if he didn't, she had to find her way out of this all by herself.

Three hours later, a beautiful morning lit the English countryside, turning the sky a jewel blue and opening the summer flowers scattered on the sides of the road. The air smelled of dried grasses and fresh blooms. Duncan had passed through Manchester at dawn, and he still rode hard, winding through the traffic heading north into the city.

He'd seen no sign of the earl, or of Grace, though he had passed one suspicious carriage and had spoken to the driver, who'd assured him the Earl of Norsey was not among his passengers.

A single rider approached him from the opposite direction, but Duncan paid him no heed until the man was nearly upon him.

“Ho!” the man cried, finally catching Duncan's attention.

Duncan slowed his horse, turning to scowl at the man, but the expression fell from his face.

The rider was the Earl of Norsey.

They stared at each other for several long seconds. Then Duncan asked, “Where's Grace?”

The earl gave him a thunderous look, his hand going to his side as if he held a pistol in his pocket and he was about to pull it out and shoot Duncan through the heart. “You tell me, boy. What have you done with my daughter?”

Duncan's mind was racing. The earl had followed them, but he had been far behind them. He didn't have Grace. Which meant the Newsmiths did.

Oh, bloody hell.

He turned his horse. “I dinna have time to explain it,” he said to the earl. “But Grace has disappeared. I thought you took her—”

“Clearly I did not,” the earl said angrily.

“No. Which means the Newsmiths did.”

“The Newsmiths?”

“The insurgent group we've been investigating.”

The earl's blue eyes went as cold and hard as chips of ice. “She's in danger, then.”

“Aye. I've got to ride back to the major's…right now. They'll be narrowing down the places she might have been taken.”

He was three damned hours away from the major's house. Three hours. It was too long.

“I'm coming with you,” the earl said as Duncan urged his horse to move faster.

Duncan didn't respond. Three bloody hours. Who knew what they'd do to her in three hours.

“What would these Newsmiths want with my daughter?” the earl said over the pounding of the horses' hooves.

Duncan's first thought had been that Grace would be of no use to the Newsmiths, which was why it couldn't have been them who'd taken her. But now he thought hard about it. The Newsmiths were always asking for money from their supporters. Would they ransom her? Use her as some kind of tool to bargain with? Use her as an example of what they did to people who crossed them?

It could be many things, none of which was good. He gave the earl a bleak look. “I dinna ken.”

The earl made a growling noise. “You run off with my daughter and put her in danger…”

Duncan gritted his teeth so hard his jaw hurt.

“If anything happens to her, you'll answer for it, boy.”

“Nothing'll happen. I'll be bringing her back,” Duncan said firmly.

They rode in silence for some time, pushing the horses hard while Duncan thought of all he'd learned about the Newsmiths. Various lieutenants of Faulkner's owned houses in Manchester—but would they take Grace there, where she might be seen? Probably not. It'd most likely be somewhere out of the way—a country house owned by one of the three main men, a farmhouse owned by one of their subordinates. But, as the major had mentioned earlier, those places would involve the men's families, and they'd want to avoid that, wouldn't they?

Stirling had spoken of a coal mine where he'd heard Faulkner speaking. Would they take her there? It was Sunday, so a mine wouldn't be as busy as usual.

The Gatley Colliery wasn't far from here—was that the one Stirling had been speaking of? It was the closest colliery to Manchester, as far as Duncan knew, and Stirling had said the coal mine had been just outside the city.

He wished he'd brought his pistol. But he did have his dirk, and he'd killed men with it before. It'd have to do.

He looked at the earl. “I've changed my plans. I'll be stopping at the colliery.”

“A coal mine?”

“Aye.”

“Are these men connected to the mine somehow?”

“I'm no' sure, but they might be.” And the more Duncan thought about it, the more convinced he was that they might have taken her there. Not to someone's house or farm. Not to the city. But somewhere they could keep her quiet and hidden.

When he turned toward Gatley, the earl followed. He wasn't sure if he was happy about that. On the one hand, having someone with him would be helpful. On the other, the earl was soft, not combat-experienced like most of the men he knew. How helpful could a man like that be?

But there was one think he now knew for certain—the earl cared about his daughter. That surely counted for something.

He just hoped the man didn't get himself killed.